CHPT 256: Goat-Like Vs. Wolf-Like
Claude sat in the sand at the ready with his Wolves for what felt like ever. He had a tendency to do that in times of intensity. Times when his focus was needed and his prey drive sharpened it into a sword-like point.
He took in everything.
Their smells, resembling something similar to wood, grass and another scent. Something almost tangy and carnal in scent. He smelled it when he passed bars in SkyHaven often. Lust.
Their sounds. The hooting goat-like human roars that climbed and ripped from their throats as they neared, making them more visible and more horrifying to witness.
Beneath the animal skin cloaks, they were strapped with lean muscle and fur much thinner than his own of many colors. Their faces were all different variations of both parts ugly and beastial. Some had the face of something more like man, with the horizontal glowing pupils of a goat, while others had bearded extended jaws full of thick rotted teeth and eyes that were too far apart to even resemble anything human. Despite these many differences, there were two glaring similarities.
They were all male, and they reeked of three scents to a nauseating degree; Rage, woodlands and Lust.
"[Based on the quality of their weapons and cloaks, I'd say they've been out here for a while.....long enough to realize they're built for mountains instead of forests. They may have once been relatively weak, but they've grown. These Satyr's are experienced to some degree, so be careful in your approach. But don't hesitate.]"
Claude silently agreed before speaking to Frosty mentally to adjust his plan. And then, there wasn't much left to do. He couldn't watch them approach forever, the urge to pursue the moving targets spoke to the predatory parts of his mind in a coaxing and unavoidable language. So, it was time for the wolves to descend...
"GO!" Claude snarled before taking off.
The attack unit consisting of, Claude, Frosty, Ashe and Gil exploded from their positions, kicking up sand and pebbles in their wake.
Claude went straight, looking to take the bulk of the splitting stampede of Satyr's.
Frosty-- once meant to go alone, now moved left with Ashe in a two man team to face the small collection of fanning Satyr's who roared and hooted at the Wolves surrounding Ursula.
Gil went alone, much like Claude. To the right, there were less of the creatures, but they were larger. The Satyr's carried large rusted great-swords and spiked clubs with muscular arms riddled with pulsing veins. It was a hell of a first pack fight for the Hound. But, Gil had the dangerous gift of speed, defense and range......range that came in the form of flaming spikes a number of the creatures had already fallen victim to. The monstrous wild-men paled under the light of the Moon as the eyeless scaled beast bounded towards them.
Claude's ears pricked and flinched in response to the snarls of Wolves in the heat of combat as he closed in on his targets.
The closest being three large Satyr's with rusted swords held firmly in their hands. They regarded him just as they saw him. A large wolf-like creature on all fours. This caused them to hold there blades in an overhanded grip with plans to stab through his back and overpower him with their numbers.
It looked like two mindless beasts approaching each-other. Luckily, he had the gift of reason.
He continued running, snapping at them and flinging frothy saliva like a wild-dog in an attempt to intimidate and distract from the fact that he was centering himself.
As he neared, their roars became louder and louder--- painfully harsh on his ears. Making the idea of crushing their skulls feel that much more rewarding.
His eyes snapped on his intended target, moving between the two other Satyr's with the best looking sword. His claws flexed as he neared, digging deeper into the sand with every step.
The two Satyr's on his targets left and right roared for a final time. He was in striking distance.
In a flash, he fluidly shifted from his predatory gait on all fours to standing on two hybrid feet. During his ascent, he let his claws scoop up handfuls of the sand beneath him and fly into the eyes of the two Satyr's as dry shrapnel.
FWOOOSH!
"Rrrriiahhhh!!!'
Before they could recover, Claude dashed at the central Satyr and smashed his foot into the creatures chest with a front kick. Due to their size difference of a little over a foot, the impact landed square in the creatures upper chest while the his clawed feet ripped into it's throat with a deadly ease.
CRSHK!
As the Satyr disappeared from his sight with a torn throat and shattered chest, he turned to the left, slashing through the sand and ripping the Satyr's throat out.
SHWSH!
[+ 90 EXP]
His momentum continued, allowing him to spin and deliver a reverse roundhouse kick to the Satyr on the other side of him in a blend of feral combat and martial art.
He felt the claws on his feet rip through the Satyr's face and heard teeth land in the sand like raindrops soon after.
When the all the sand fell, he assumed he'd find three dead Satyr's. Making assumptions in battle wasn't always smart.....
"AAAARGH!!" The Satyr he'd just kicked to his right was still alive and kicking.
In a rage, the creature charged him with it's sword in hand, face ripped to shreds and a viciously broken jaw.
Claude moved, but the sword still cut across the outside of his arm causing him to let out a roar of pain as they tumbled through the sands while the others closed in on him.
Pebbles and sand flew. Clumps of fur floated through the air like feathers as they rolled. The madness continued for a matter of seconds before the sands began to run red and clump together in the presence of the new source of fluid soaking the ground.
Suddenly the goat-man roars morphed into screams as Claude took top mount in their grappling match and began to ruthlessly disembowel the creature.
[+ 90 EXP]
The approaching Satyr's slowed their approach in response to an arm flying from the ball of madness in the sand. Following the removed arm, Claude burst from the fray-- leaving an unrecognizable Satyr corpse in the ground in his wake as he charged them.
As more blood fell, Claude slipped further and further away until he was simple the Lupine in the midst of battle with his pack.
***
After five long minutes of pure combat, the ashen remains of dead Satyr's mixed with the sanded grounds in some places. While other parts of the sand worked to hide the removed limbs and heads that once rolled across the ground grotesquely.
The Satyr's that once assumed they'd prevail were now shrinking in number by the second. Frosty and Ashe were finishing off their last attacker while Gil did the same.
Claude faced off against two Satyr's. One wielded an axe while the other lunged at him with a spear already dyed with blood.
Fwoo!
He evaded the attack and swiped at it's face, removing the creatures vision in the worst way possible before swiping at it's throat with his other hand and then moving on to the next attacker.
[+ 180 EXP]
When relative silence remained, the scents of blood rode his mind and took him to a place of wild ferocity. Causing him to continue ripping and tearing at the dead Satyr beneath him while he roared and slammed the ground.
It seemed he'd been shifted fully for too long and his mind was beginning to take affect.
An affect of overwhelming bloodlust that lasted for a few seconds before Arne's words finally penetrated his psyche.
"[....Claude! Wake up! You missed one! It's heading for Ursula and the Wolves!]" Arne snapped.
The haze of red that once clouded Claude's vision faded and allowed him to hear the hooved beat of a Satyr running past him and towards Ursula.
He moved on instinct, grabbing the spear of the dead Satyr and while he exploded to his feet.
Instinct was a weird thing sometimes. It didn't always make outright sense, but you followed it anyway.
That's what Claude did. He followed his instinct that told him to reach for the Satyr-- despite it being way beyond his wingspan in reach.
But, it wasn't his hand that needed to reach the creature.
FWSH!
The chain-like tattoo running down his left forearm ignited in a flash of verdant fire, leaving the Malevolence Tether in it's wake and slithering through the air towards the fleeing Satyr.
In a matter of miliseconds, the chain reached and triple wrapped around the goat-monsters neck. That was all he needed for confirmation and yanked the monster back to him with every ounce of power he had.
CRCK!
FWOO!
"RIAAHHH--"
The Satyr's cloven feet left the ground as it flew back to him in a blur, only to to be run through by his spear as he lunged towards the beast with the weapon held firm in his right hand.
It wiggled on the spear in a fight to survive for a few seconds before soundlessly dying. The rest of them fell around the same time.
[+ 90 EXP]
For the first time, true silence fell back on the desert.
Claude dropped the Satyr and let the snaking chain unravel itself to hand loosely from his arm.
"....I think I'm starting to like this thing." He thought soundlessly.
"[The chain and spear is a combo most original, I must say.]" Arne supported.
"Everybody good?" He called out while he searched left and right for Frosty, Ashe and Gil.
Just as his head turned, he found them trotting over to him, mouths dripping with blood that wasn't their own and bodies expanding with each elevated breath.
Frosty reached him and forced his head into Claude's freehand for a post-battle petting.
Arne made a curious sound as Claude scratched behind Frosty's ears and head, "[You don't find it odd? That they came straight after us from so far away I mean? I mean Satyr's aren't known for their uncanny visual prowess.]"
Claude stood up from petting Frosty and Ashe, "Yea th--"
The sound of unwarranted footsteps behind him swallowed up his previous thoughts and had him spinning to throw his spear at whatever was moving near Ursula and his Wolves.
He missed his target as it stumbled out of the way by seemingly pure chance and coughed up foul colored fluids into the sands.
Claude was ready to right his mistake until he realized what he just attacked. Or who.
It was a human.
He was ready to grab Ursula and run for hills in hopes that the man hadn't seen much under the dark of night, but he soon realized that wouldn't be necessary.
A black cloth covered the mans eyes and wrapped around his head like a blindfold while he moved like he was listening instead of looking. He was blind.
"....Sorry about the madness, Monsieur....Satyr's and the like don't appreciate my presence..." He spoke, words slurred and deep toned in a accent that was violently foreign. Something smooth that rolled off his tongue almost stylishly. French.
Claude stayed silent, growling silently in discomfort at his presence.
The man that was thirstily gulping down whatever fluid filled his brown glass bottle, stopped and backed away as the predatory sound worked overtime to sober him up. He continued to move with his head down in response while he made weird sniffing sounds like a dog.
The movement caused Claude to take in the rest of the man. He was.....odd.
With exceptionally dark skin and standing at 6'8 at most while slouching, he was exceedingly large for a human male. But he didn't look imposing. His dark green sweater hung over his body like a jacket on a coat rack, he was dangerously thin, and moved like he knew so.
As if to further accentuate his weakness, the pouch that hung from his left shoulder seemed to be actively pulling him to the ground as if it weighed a thousand pounds. All this oldness in his movements, yet he looked somewhat young. His dark skin shined even under the moonlight, showing it's relative tightness and lack of intense wrinkles. He didn't look a day over forty.
The only thing keeping him upright was his cane.
Claude had to double take his..."Cane".
It wasn't even a cane. It was a Great-Sword.....a Claymore to be more exact. Showcasing the silver glinted blade and the angled hilt they all had. Only his was comically dull.
His hackles raised at the sight of the weapon, but he didn't attack.
The man was a blind drunk at best and a sick homeless man at worst. He must've belonged to one of the villages not far from where he was, and Claude didn't ever want to partake in senseless murder. Although, his sudden appearance had him ready to do so if push came to shove.
So, when he picked up Ursula and the Wolves reminded him not to move with their snarls, he wasted no time in leaving.
He was off to leave the man in a rush, back to following the scents of water and the seemingly stronger pull of that feeling of forestry or nature.
***
The man stood as still as a statue, listening to the many footsteps of the pack of wolven creatures as they faded steadily. Despite what he heard, that wasn't the focus.
His nostrils flared repeatedly in response to an array of smells that stood out strongly to his trained nose. Acrid flames....blood...brimstone.....all wrapped in the foul scent that can only be described as malice. The smells caused an abrupt realization to blossom within his sobering mind.
"....Hm. You smell of ....Demon, Monsieur la Bête...."