[Eastern Gauthrel] The Pup's Nemesis

[Varthakh]

72nd Ymiden 717

Being the exceptional recruit he was, the Jegers had assigned Fridgar with the task of tracking down a 'Alpha Feron' for his trail of the nemesis. It had been described to him as a beast capable of going invisible, or nearly at least. It was a beast that originated in Emea and grew flesh, making it quite unique, even by Gauthrel's standards.

A long time ago, Alistair had also put a similar faith in him. Every step of the way, Alistair filled him with confidence in himself, his ability to learn, his strength, his morals. He always trusted Fridgar's judgement and never once questioned him, even when he threw lightning at one of their patients in Alistair's new doctoring business. He loved him, and after what was revealed on their wedding trial, it made so much sense.

Fridgar was keeping an eye out for Feron tracks. he'd brought with him his Terrendyte battle axe, loin cloth, three totems and... Halden! "Hey, Halden," Fridgar spoke in Haltunga, believing himself to be more or less fluent with the language now. "What is it, Cub?" the older Jeger spoke, his voice an irritable growl. "I thought you'd be more impressed with how quickly I learned Haltunga," Fridgar replied, patient. "You're a fucking Lothar, you should have been born speaking it," the older male retorted. Fridgar rolled his eyes. "Alright then, Halden," the younger of the two replied, paying him no heed. As he walked, however, he found himself growing bored. Halden wasn't much of a talker, admittedly, but he'd given Fridgar his Terrendyte axe during training, so that was nice!

Eventually, they came across the crime scene in question; a merchant’s carriage, destroyed and ruined with... dummies all broken and bloody, scattered in multiple pieces. Other Jeger were gathered around the site, waiting for his arrival. As he made his approach, the larger of the assembled would nod respectfully. It was Royand, the packmaster that was there to 'greet' him and Alistair on their arrival to Kaer Jeger. "Common or Haltunga?" Royand offered in the common tongue. "Haltunga is fine by me," Fridgar replied with a similar bow in Royand's tongue. The other Lothar would raise his eyebrows, impressed. "You've learned quickly, Pup," he offered a nod.

Fridgar had always been fond of Royand, he was respectful, unlike some. He cast a glance to Halden before turning back to the Packmaster. "Thank you, Packmaster. I'm ready to follow the trail." Fridgar clenched tightly around the leather straps of his heavy broad axe. He was psyched for killing a Feron, it would be new, interesting. Nodding, the pack master looked to the scene. "As you can see, this travelling merchant's cart has been ransacked by a beast. Specifically, the Feron. Take your time to adjust to the sight of it." Fridgar approached the scene and looked about the bodies, the damaged belongings, all of it. from what he could tell, the 'creature' had taken its time here, almost playing with its prey.

"This beast is cruel," Fridgar spoke, seeking reassurance. "And how do you know that?" the pack master asked, curious. Fridgar nodded, gesturing to one of the 'fallen' dummies with his paw. "This one here, he has a gut injury and appears to have dragged himself to the cart before succumbing to his wounds. Also, all the body parts are here, nothing has been eaten. Does it kill for pleasure?" The Lothar asked, considering the scene. "Close," Royand spoke, waving a finger, smiling, "Very close. The Feron actually eats for pleasure, but it has been known to change its mind half way through an attack, they do not need to eat to survive."

Interesting enough. "For the sake of this trail, we have released a captive Feron into the wild from this location, you must find it and bring back its head, the rest do with as you will. Any questions?" Royand asked, looking the savage up and down. "Would you have be back at Kaer Jeger as soon as I'm done?" The bred one asked, earning an amused chuckle from a couple of the Jeger. Some still doubted his abilities. Royand was not among those that laughed, he instead looked to the other Lotharen with a scowl, standing up for the pup. "If you're not back by sun down, we're coming to look for you. Be quick, but also be careful."

Well, that settled it. He had no time to spare and it didn't look like Halden was coming with him. He had to move. Fridgar had brought with him four totems; The Redbear, the Solghannon and the Llewnos were all adapted and ready to use. His self totem was tied tightly in his ponytail with plenty of field testing to make sure it didn't come loose. He may have to create another necklace for his totems of some sort, but that was a thought for another trial. He cast echo on the scent of the Redbear, filling his nostrils with smells from all around. Closing his mismatched eyes, the naked Lothar smelled around the scene, searching for any trace of what might be a Feron.

The other Jeger would look between one another, confused. Magic was still new to Gauthrel and Fridgar was an accomplished mage, one that would likely reveal soon. They might as well have been on different planets. When at last he caught whiff of an interesting smell, one headed toward the treeline in the distance, he opened his eyes. "I'll be back before sundown," Fridgar promised with a cocky grin in common. Soon after, he slung his enormous broad axe over his shoulder with a thud before following the trail.

[Alistair]

He promised he'd be back before sundown... but he wasn't. No, Fridgar had been gone a long time. So long that Alistair surely would have been consumed by worry, had he not carried the locational initiation bond. Instead, he knew exactly where Fridgar was, and offered to Royand that he would find his mate and return him. The man accepted, stating that this would be Alistair's Trail of the Nemesis. If he passed this, he was eligible to join the Hounds - if he passed. But, more importantly, he needed to find his love. He'd not explored these forests before, so he could not simply teleport around unless he could see the location clearly.

This meant that it would take a while for him to reach his lover. He'd need to run through and maneuver around the forest, making sure not to - well, die. There were a lot of beasts prowling these woods, and as he'd seen before, even the Jeger couldn't always isolate and contain a section of the forest. Two of them died fighting the Llewnos family that Fridgar and Alistair had encountered, and two of the three Llewnos got in anyway.

. . .

Fridgar, recently, became Alistair's husband. The mage had begun to feel a strong obligation to protect him, even though he was the kindal and Fridgar was the havendal. Their relationship had been unique, Alistair sometimes pretending to own dominance for the sake of his own excitement, the two shuffling back and forth though with the Lotharro always winning in the end, and always putting his kindal in his place.

He began to use Haltunga, which he recently became fluent in -- Fridgar too -- to illustrate his love for his mate. Ann gadiyan, he whispered beneath his breath. Ann gadiyan, Fridgar, senn havendal. "I love you, Fridgar, my husband and guardian." The mage kept thinking on the serene days, of late, and how happy they'd been. They must've spent three whole trials after the wedding just laying in a comfortable bed at the temple, in each other's arms, talking and thinking about their future. They decided they would have kids together -- lots of them, probably. They decided they'd buy a bigger home, much bigger, probably keep a big backyard filled with animals. Pets, beasts.

Everything was great... and that was why he knew Fridgar was not dead, was not grievously injured, and why he knew Fridgar would survive. Because there was no way his mate would leave him behind like that -- he would fight to the last breath, using everything he had. Fridgar was strong, and he was a strong havendal. He would protect his flock, Alistair knew.

As he followed his sense down the forest trail, he came upon a glade, feeling Fridgar incredibly near. Stepping through the brush, he noted that the direction had fuzzied; he must've been only a few trills away, though the mage could not find him at first glance, or second, or third. He was here, but - where had he gone?

[Varthakh]

His own heartbeat was loud in his ears, thumping like a rapid drum. The sky had long since darkened on the animal, making his foe an even more difficult find. Every sound was amplified greatly, from the rustling of leaves to the disturbance of grass on the forest floor. he could almost hear the beetles and bugs crawling through the green below; this was a blessing. He could hear everything, his prey would be easier to catch this way, especially as it was invisible most of the time.

A different animal had tried its luck against him, preying on him from above. he could hear the beat of its heart as it approached from an overhanging branch before he killed it with his axe, severing its head in a fell swoop. Now, he wore its bloody skull and the pelt of its back. The blood, he used to paint his body for war, as was custom among his people. It masked his scent, made him one with the wild. He was harder for the hunter to hunt. This was a battle of wit, he was winning. No dull creature was going to get the better of him, not when his trail of the nemesis was on the line.

Alas, the voices returned, beckoning his attention. He needed to heed their call, he feared what happened last time. With his black axe in both hands, Tharos kept low to the ground and moved silently. He'd learned how to with the amplified sound in his ears. If he could hear his own movements, why couldn't every other predator in these god forsaken woods? No, they were not god forsaken anymore, they were his. He was the god of these woods. The beast prowled, following the beckon voice of the spirits, embers that twisted and reshaped, changed colour. They howled with the voices of children as he approached, following a trail of wisps.

Soon after, he arrived at his next destination; food. It was a Stekir, a wild one. Tharos crept silently through the foliage as he made his approach. he was hungry, beyond hungry. he needed this food or he would starve out here. how many trials had it been? He'd lost count of all the suns he'd seen rise and set. Just as he was about to make the pounce and land a kill, another noise disturbed him, drawing the attention of his meal. Now. Tharos leaped forward, almost on all fours before throwing the blade of his black axe into the side of the creature, cutting it in half.

His axe would land beside him when he let go and threw his fist into the mewling creature's head, crushing its skull. The noise drew closer, he had to run. He took the bigger half of the Stekir and packed his axe onto his back with the sling he'd fashioned from the Feldorei's tail. As quick as he could, he dashed through the forest on all fours, scaling a nearby tree with unreal ease, blatantly echoing the trait of prowess from the Llewnos. he perched atop one of the broader branches, crawling on all fours across its surface before setting the upper half of the Stekir before him and sinking his hungry jaws into its flesh. Though, the sound still approached.

He paid it no heed until it was revealed, standing below his tree, looking about. It was a demon, it had come for him at last. The voices had foretold this trial, but Tharos paid no attention. He was the god of this domain, he would never allow demons into his territory! Or so he'd thought. Yet, here it was, standing below his tree, searching for him. He wouldn't allow it. Very carefully, failing to make even the slightest noise, Tharos crawled back and edged himself down the back of the tree at a slight slope. Once all fours were on the ground, he reversed onto his hind legs and took his broad axe into his paws.

As stealthy as the Llewnos itself, he prowled behind his decided prey before slowly rising to his feet. he waited a trill or two, his heart beating heavy in his chest before he exhaled, perhaps a little louder than he should have. Soon after, he swung his axe... If Alistair turned around, he would be met with Fridgar, dressed in a fresh animal pelt, covered in strange markings made from animal blood, wearing the skull of what appeared to be a large bat over his head; his face in the maw of the skull while he still wore his loin cloth. What was more, he was swinging his axe at the noble. Embedded in the skin of his thigh was a bright yellow feather-type protrusion, though that was probably the least of his worries.

[Alistair]

A breath. As soon as he heard the exhale behind him, Alistair turned, only to be met by what appeared to be Fridgar saturated in a tribalist's apparel whilst swinging a heavy axe at him. The mage needed to react immediately -- he ducked beneath the swing and, after throwing his spear properly into his grip -- swept at Fridgar's feet using the far less damaging end of the spear. The mage then threw himself onto his elbows and rolled past Fridgar, gathering distance before flinging himself onto his feet using his hands. Alistair stood, his spear pointed at Fridgar from between the grip of his two palms. The mage began to spin and twirl the spear with his fingers, exhaling.

"What in God's name, Fridgar?" he asked, beginning to breathe heavily. The psychological effect of having your husband nearly kill you arbitrarily was far more damaging than the acrobatic maneuvers he'd performed - those were natural and easy. This... this was wrong, and he knew it was Fridgar -- the sense he had for him pointed right here, at this man of the same body, but with a decorated exterior. He had a skull on him, a pelt of what appeared to be a large beast... he was slathered in blood and the markings of the forest - dirt, grit.

Notably, a feather seemed to be lodged into his thigh. The mage wondered what that was for a brief moment, though he knew he could not linger in thoughts and observation for long. Fridgar looked angry, and hostile. He would attack again. He... he had to be under the effect of some psychological alteration. For a brief moment, the thought passed Alistair's mind that maybe Fridgar revealed and it turned him into this. A violent beast. Wasn't it possible? He knew revelations failed -- just didn't know what they looked like. Could this have been...?

No. He wouldn't accept that notion. Fridgar was the love of his life, he wasn't losing him to the revelation. Not for anything.

The mage straightened his spear and began to circle around Fridgar, keeping his movements fluid and continuous. He would have to fight with the blunt shaft of the spear, rather than the two Terrendyte heads. A singular gash from Shadowsong, and it was highly likely that Fridgar would die, torn to bits. He couldn't risk it -- the mage needed to fight him at a disadvantage and knock him out. There was no other way.

[Varthakh]

His escaping breath was too loud indeed, immediately his prey caught on to what he was doing. The demon proved to be an exceptional wielder of the spear and sent him to the floor with ease. He would need to take care to dodge the next one, he'd been caught off guard this time. The demon pointed its spear at him while floored, bellowing some sort of speech at him. It was amplified beyond recognition, but the sound was recognisable, soothing in some ways.

Tharos then rolled his legs over his head and backed up into a prowl, taking his axe with him. "My forest, my domain!" His voice was unnaturally distorted, low pitch like some sort of growl. Rumbling from his very being was the roar of a Llewnos. "Tharos will purge..." His eyes then lit up a shade of violet, gleaming in the night with a black slitted pupil. Alistair might recognise them as the eyes of the Llewnos that they killed on the night of their trial of the survivor.

Alien thoughts filled his mind, such as copulating with the demon. Where these thoughts came from, he did not know, but said thoughts took their toll on his body, taking his precious blood to less useful areas in his form. Just like the exhale, Tharos would have never been so dull as to take a breath before striking a demon, especially not as loud as he had. had he not learned to keep quiet?

Regardless of what had caused these phenomena, he had a fight on his hands now. The demon hadn't killed him yet, perhaps it also wanted to copulate? Tharos shook his head, of course it did, it wanted to steal his power. He wouldn't let it. "PURGE!!" The Llewnos roared as he swung his axe with one hand from the bottom of the eight-foot-long pole, he swung for Alistair's legs and caught the axe with his other hand when it likely hit nothing, he then prowled silently across the forest floor, strafing to the side. His movements made no noise, it was almost unnatural, the deftness he'd acquired.

The tension in his form was visible, even in the darkness. It might have alerted the human to his next strike, where he slammed his heavy axe into the side of the spear, knocking the pointy end away from him, only to rush forward, closing the gap and trying to drive his axe through the crease of the demon’s shoulder and neck. When this manoeuvre failed, he kept the gap closed and slammed his fist into the jaw of the lusty demon with a heavy left hook. If successful, he'd try and take out the demon's legs with his own in a single broad sweep. Then, he'd swing his axe into the creature's chest from above in a single full motion, leaving more than enough time for Alistair to register what was going on and how to dodge it.

If Fridgar was really trying to kill Alistair, he was doing a shitty job of it. Meanwhile, pale yellow eyes watched the scuffle below. The beast, the Feron, was perched atop a tree, overlooking the fight. Once they were done, it would reveal itself and devour the weakened victor and corpse of the loser alike.

[Alistair]

Who the fuck was Tharos? He didn't understand. Had he mistaken Fridgar for someone else? No - the voice was the same, albeit angrier. He must've been going through some psychological alteration, believing this to be his domain within the forest. Alistair needed to incapacitate him - that was now the goal. The Sunless closed his eyes for but a moment as Fridgar began to rush forward, exhaling through his nose and bringing himself calm.

When he opened his eyes, he twirled his spear, gracefully dancing to the side as Fridgar attempted to bash his weapon away and close the distance. He did get Alistair's weapon, but it did not go far - the mage's spinning twirl throttled much of the blow, preventing his axe swing from meeting his weapon with all too much force. This was a fundamental he'd learned from strength training, as much as Shadowdancing and Acrobatics - using movement, momentum, to gain the upper hand in raw power and deflect another demonstration of strength.

Fridgar rushed forward, tied to his momentum, attempting to charge the Shadowdancer who had already danced away. Now to his side, Alistair had a choice, and he chose what he imagined was for the best. He needed to weaken him, make it possible to incapacitate him. Alistair wasn't sure if he'd win a long battle of endurance, and fighting out in the forest like this only made them vulnerable to predators.

The Shadowdancer twirled his spear again, stepping behind Fridgar and dodging his punch. He then swiped his spear across the man's thigh, shallowly, attempting to slice through the outer layer of the muscles in his thigh, making sure not to cut through an artery. This would slow his movements, and rightly so - being a Shadowdancer was much about whittling down opponents like these. Fridgar was fierce and deft right now, Alistair's advantage came from the other male's inexperience in the weapon he was wielding, and his equally low experience with acrobatics. He would capitalize on these to bring him to his knees, and then drag him back to Kaelserad.

The mage, after slicing across the man's left thigh, attempted to whack the man's head with the shaft of his spear, holding the bottom end of Shadowsong with a closed palm. Fridgar quickly compromised this action, turning around and blocking the blow with his heavy axe, meeting the shaft with superior strength before bashing the weapon out of Alistair's momentarily loose grip. Shadowsong flung backwards, lodging into the floor behind him. The mage threw his body back and back-flipped once, before leaping into a twirl and grabbing his spear. He strafed to the side, holding it tightly in his hands, twirling it and silently meeting the grass with his nimble feet.

The mage then blinked behind Fridgar, zipping forward through space. He attempted to sweep him off of his feet again, bashing hard against his ankles with the Beryllium Emerald shaft. If Fridgar fell, he would splinter his axe and pin him to the ground. He'd lodge his spear into his palm if he had to - the mage needed to get that feather, and he wasn't going to play games.

[Varthakh]

Just as he swung his axe at the demon's legs, he stepped out with ease. It gave Tharos a chance to re-position appropriately, standing slightly higher ground. Then, as he tried to close the gap by shifting the demon's weapon aside, it moved. His enemy was mobile, but he wasn't. His attack missed and landed him a slash to the thigh. Tharos growled with bestial ferocity as he fell to one knee. Seeing the overhead attack coming from miles away, he raised the pole of his axe sloppily overhead, blocking the collision.

The demon had apparently struck with such force and a weak grip that its weapon was flung from its hands. The resounding of their metals rumbled in his arms as the demon ran off to fetch his weapon. Tharos put all his weight on one knee, resting his axe on the ground, he tried to remove the pressure from his damaged muscle. It didn't help much, Tharos still blossomed with pain. Still, the beast needed to be cleansed, purged, ridden of his domain. He couldn't stop now, he had to keep going. With the resolve to protect his forest, Tharos pressed into his palms, putting his right foot forward.

He lifted his axe again, facing his enemy with defiance. He would not be defeated, not by his kind. Tharos listened, very intently on recognising the creature's movements with his hearing alone. Then, the creature disappeared, appearing behind him. The demon's heartbeat alone told him that, the sound of his sorcery did more than confirm his presence. Tharos turned, twisting hard on his leg with unnatural speed, only to cry out in pain at the realisation of his injury. He then fell as the spear came under him, sweeping out his feet by the pole.

Tharos hit the ground with a thud, leaving his back to the demon for a time. This creature knew magic, he couldn't fight it, not with his leg injury. He had to use his hidden ability; spirit regeneration. His paw slipped free of the axe handle and reached to his hair beneath the skull he wore, still tied there was his Lotharen figurine. Touching it, he focused and calmed his being, slowing his breath and clearing his mind. He initiated Chrysalis by transforming into his self totem, relinquishing all his abilities as his skin rippled, replacing with fresher meat.

As he did, his wound healed over. The skin would close as it returned to its appropriate form. Then, the yellow quill fell from his thigh, dropping to the floor visibly. Everything ended and began anew. His hearing faded into a loud, deafening ringing in his ears, his nose numbed and tingled, filled with aromas and scents of every kind. His Mouth watered, drooling profusely and all of his skin crawled and tingled, stinging in numbness in some areas. Then, his vision cleared, returning to the dark of night with few other details, he saw less. Finally, his mind cleared, returning to normality as his heightened state faded.

Fridgar held there, covered in... something wet... cold. He was wearing more clothing than usual, a pelt... a hat? helmet? he'd been still for around two bits on his hands and knees. He looked over his shoulder, beholding what he'd thought to be a demon; Alistair. Alistair was the demon? "...My rose?" Fridgar asked, unsure. His vision was still fuzzy and the ringing in his ears so deafening that he couldn't hear his own words.

As his vision cleared, Alistair's shape returned to normal, his scent too. It really was Alistair. Only, he had company. Stood towering behind him was the massive shape of the Alpha Feron, glaring down at his beloved with its pale-yellow eyes. Fridgar's own eyes widened, fear narrowing his pupils. "Alistair!" He cried out a roar of warning as he spun with all his remaining strength, throwing his axe full pelt, aiming above the noble.

[Alistair]

He initiated Chrysalis. Alistair danced back, gaining distance from him and twirling his spear. He moved around him, ready to push him back down if he needed to. The man's body rippled and repaired itself, mending the bruises Alistair had created on his ankles and his torn thigh. In addition to those wounds, the mage noticed that a hole in Fridgar's thigh left by the feathered quill left in his leg had begun to close, forcing the object out. Fridgar laid quietly, stirring as if he'd begun to awoke from a slumber. Alistair stared, confused. What had happened to him? Was the quill the source of the madness?

"Fridgar," he whispered, "Are you--"

My rose? he asked. The mage smiled brightly and nodded, beginning to step slowly over to his fallen lover. It was then, however, where he felt a heat behind him - the body temperature of something else. Alistair! Fridgar yelled, and the mage immediately turned around. Not before the Alpha Feron's claws raked across his chest, ripping through his leather armor. His skin had been rend, and his flesh too, though shallowly. The mage immediately flew back from the impact, his back hitting the forested floor with a thud.

The Alpha Feron grinned, freakishly, his maw splitting as his long teeth grit together. A bellowing laugh rose from his chest, leaving his lips with a ghastly and haunting pitch. After the sound of his laughter had ceased, the entity appeared to begin cloaking his appearance. He became almost transparent, with nothing but the outline of his shape and figure layered in the colorful backdrop of the forest. This made him difficult to perfectly make out, and certainly difficult to counter with the eyes alone. The Feron lunged for Alistair, only for the mage to immediately blink behind him, swiping hard with Shadowsong and slashing across the Feron's two lower leg muscles. Alistair gripped his chest in pain, groaning, pressing his back to a tree.

The Feron immediately turned back, and with a snarl, it descended upon the mage and attempted to swipe him with its claws. Alistair twirled his spear, even managing to break off some of the claws with the accelerated pace of his weaponry. But the onslaught continued without rest, and the Feron punched Alistair's chest hard into the tree, further opening his chest wounds and sending shocking pain throughout his body. He was seriously injured, and in seething pain. Three claw marks across his chest, a punch that would've caved him in if he didn't have the strong muscles and bones that he did...

And another, coming for his face, right now. Enough to break his neck, probably. He started to blink, but he didn't know if he'd make it in time. Fridgar, he whispered, begging for aid. Just as he did, Fridgar's axe tore through the Feron's back, swiping across his shoulderblades and sending the beast away, rapidly throwing traction into a leap by bending his knees and launching upward. The Feron went into the trees, Alistair laying quietly against the bark he'd pressed his back into, breathing softly.

[Varthakh]

Too late, he was too late. Alistair caught a rake to the chest, sending him straight to the floor in a most horrifying visage. That was his beloved, his Kindal, being sent to the floor. Blood rushed from Fridgar's skin, whitening him with fear. He was paralysed all over, preventing the hurl of his axe. Alistair laid there, un-moving... could he...? No, no way Alistair could ever die that easy... right? His fears were cast aside when the noble blinked out of the way of the incoming slam, stirring his conscious mind once again.

Alistair did battle with the beast as Fridgar stood, breathing shakily. He rushed forward, determined to aid his beloved in a fight with such a dangerous foe. All too soon, the creature punched his lover into a tree, knocking the wind and fight right out of him. Fridgar had no time, he couldn't get there, and gods only knew how much ether he'd spent in his psychosis. Fuck it. He cast adapt, taking the speed of the Llewnos and rushed forward at extreme speeds. Just as the creature was about to slam its fist into his beloved again, Fridgar would hack into its shoulder with frightening speed, lodging the curve of the blade deep within its nightmarish flesh.

He then threw all his weight into the pull and ripped downward, pulling himself from the floor for a trill. Then, the axe carried on through the attack and ripped through chunks of flesh and bone alike before being dropped from the being's mutilated back. Fridgar hit the floor with a thud, but he didn't care especially not as the beast fled into the trees above. Fridgar paid no attention to it and looked to his mate instead. His trial could wait, his Kindal could not. "Alistair! Alistair I'm so sorry, stay with me!" the Lothar cried frantically as he cast aside his axe. He had no time, he had to help Alistair and he had to help him now.

He searched through the injured human's medical satchel, the one he carried with him everywhere. Once he'd found what he needed, he put them to one side and ripped his Kindal's clothing from his body, setting it out on the forest floor as a sort of pallet while he organised the tools and salves. As quickly as he could, he opened the disinfectant salve and dipped the tips of his clawed digits into the thick white paste before rubbing it into his mate's open wounds. Gods, it was awful, the creature had left four massive gashed in the chest of his beloved mate. "I'm so sorry I didn't recognise you, Alistair, this is all my fault! I promise I'll make it better, I promise, I'm so sorry..." he whimpered and winged, his eyes filling with water as he took in the broken form of his mate.

He could feel it, he'd already overstepped by casting adapt, but that wasn't a big problem if the Feron stayed away. It was worth it to save his mate. As he finished rubbing in the salve, he dried his hands in his pelt afore fishing about the bag for the coagulant. "Alistair, you eat this, right? It slows the bleeding?" he asked as he beckoned the noble's mouth open. He wasn't nearly as skilled as Alistair in medicine, but he was learning fast. Working at Alistair's doctoring business really paid off.

As he set the cube of medicine in his lover’s mouth, a massive impact to his side sent Fridgar flying away from the noble. It threw the three-hundred-pound Lotharro with ease as he skidded across the forest floor, landing on his axe's polearm. Grimacing and shaking with blatant injury, Fridgar looked up to see that the Alpha Feron had returned. It stood there, grinning sadistically and chuckling to itself as the Lothar tried to stand. It took a step in his direction before stopping and looking to Alistair. It's pale yellow eyes then looked back to Fridgar with malice and menace.

The creature was a nightmare apparition made flesh, it was sadistic as fuck. It knew exactly how to hurt the Lothar and would have done so right there and then. But, it had triggered Fridgar's eye of the challenge by looking at him in the eye for so long. Adrenaline rushed through the Lothar's body as he readied a blink, gripping his axe. Fridgar had been challenged, he needed to accept. He needed to rise and put the beast in its place, teach it who the real alpha was. Despite having already overstepped, Fridgar chased a pocket of ether above the Feron and pulled himself toward it. In an instant, he would disappear from his spot, axe and all, and he appeared above it. Though, as he did, he came out slightly dizzy.

The world span around him as he fell and landed on the creature's back. Somehow, with his high adrenal state, Fridgar wrapped the Feron's neck with his broad axe's pole and pulled hard, steering the creature away from the human and cutting off its air supply, not that it needed it. Still, he proved to be a best if nothing else, so pulled hard into the creature's throat. His worried eyes cast to Alistair, how was he doing?

[Alistair]

Fridgar returned to him, and treated him and his injuries, sending the beast momentarily away by ripping hard through its back with his axe. During that span of time, his lover coated his wounds with a creamy white paste, a strong disinfectant to prevent the Feron's Claws from forcing his wound into a fester. But that wasn't necessarily the issue right now -- now, it was about surviving in the moment. They had no time to cauterize the wound, the beast still prowled.

The best they could do was -- yes -- coagulate. Fridgar had it right on the money, he'd gotten a great deal better than before. "My love, you're doing great," he whispered.

Alistair healed quickly, faster than almost anyone due to the blessing upon his back. If they could just stop the bleeding, his muscles and skin would mend themselves fairly easily. He wouldn't even necessarily need stitches or bandaging, if he could have the time to rest. But as he consumed the coagulant, Fridgar was kicked away from him, hard. Alistair looked the Feron in the eye and grimaced, before splintering the tree against his back and pacing backwards, through it. The mage drew his spear and continued backward, blood flowing from his lip as he coughed through the clenching pain in his chest.

The spear spun, twirled, as he looked around rapidly to attempt to find the location of the prowler. But as he finally saw the Feron draw near, Fridgar drew its neck into a lock with the shaft of his axe, and began to steer and strangle it. The Feron resisted, flailing about wildly and slashing across Fridgar's arms with its claws. It howled and screamed, wails echoing throughout the forest. Before long, it had drawn other creatures near, excited to feast upon the remnants of the Feron and his foes. Two Scython leapt from the brush behind Alistair, the injured mage gritting his teeth and glaring at them. The Feron weakened, though at this point, Fridgar's arm muscles might have been diced through viciously.

Alistair front-flipped to the side of one of the Scython, impaling through the skull of the beast as he spun forward with a follow-up cartwheel. He lost some blood from the motion, but it had already begun to quickly coagulate, and the mage had Leechbane to boost his blood production. The other Scython drew near, lunging at the mage only for his paw to be chopped off with a descending slash of his spearhead. As follow-up, the mage spun his spear, rapidly dicing through the neck and torso of the second Scython and finishing it off.

A Stekir prowled, its typical reeeee sounding through the brush. Alistair calmed himself and focused, and threw Shadowsong like a javelin into the brush, a ripping sound echoing as Shadowsong tore through its body, ripping off a large chunk of it. The mage blinked over to grab his spear, and returned his attention to the beast, holding his offhand tightly against his chest.

The mage stepped forward slowly to his mate, who was still wrestling the failing beast. Alistair swept his spear horizontally, ripping through the paws of the creature at the wrist joint and sending them limp so that he could no longer scratch his mate. At that moment, he opened a portal back to the Jegers, beckoning Fridgar through whenever he finished the Feron. They needed to get back to the Kaer Jeger for immediate medical attention, both of them.

"Come on, Fridgar," Alistair called, "We can't stay out here any longer."