51st of Ymiden, Arc 717
"Alistair of the Northern Realms," he shouted, "we call you to face a trial of blood and bone; to show us that your fangs are as pointed and gnarled as ours, and to make a testament of your valor from the corpses of great beasts." Royand von Sidhe -- Packmaster of the Jegers -- stood upon a stage overlooking what was, really, a small and enclosed pit acting as a coliseum for the viewers above. For one to change their Path, one needed prove their worth to the new. A lifetime of education in a Path could not be overcome by mere will, but only a test.
Alistair claimed to wish to join the Jegers. Though they knew it was only to ensure rehabilitation and treatment for his fallen lover, their procedures remained the same. Outsiders, of either Path or nationality, were treated the same. They would join only by proving their value.
"To test your skill, we have provided for you an appropriate enemy. It is a foe that each and every aspiring Jeger faces, whilst the boys built and educated for our cause face this particular foe as a final test to secure their membership. This enemy, proud and strong, is a signification of one's elite capability. We unveil him, now," the Jeger commanded. With his words and a following gesture, that of a hand risen with fingers pointing to the ceiling, the foe was unleashed.
It was... a voluminous, purple-tinted gas, filling the pit and consuming Alistair's space. The mage began to cough, and before long, he began to wheeze. Moments later, he was on the ground, his Terrendyte spear laid quietly beside his motionless body.
. . .
Breaks later, he awoke, laying among dirt on the forest floor. He was stripped of any armor, allowed only a wooden spear with a steel tip, and given a loincloth that barely made it to his knees. His feet were bare, his chest and arms free of any obstruction. Alistair was stripped to that of a savage. How had they managed to do this, he wondered? How long had he been gone?
As he began to observe his surroundings, an arrow flew past him, nearly slicing through his cheek. The mage recoiled, immediately stepping backward in a firm motion and gripping his pointed weapon, turning at every angle and seeking the point of the arrow's origin. He could not see any man, or any foe. He only heard a humming, and then a howl - one that sounded like no wolf he'd ever known. It more closely resembled a vile, guttural wail from a man with an incredible chord.
He followed the sound, stepping cautiously through the forest, alert to even the most singular of crushed branches or shifting of the leaves.
"Alistair of the Northern Realms," he shouted, "we call you to face a trial of blood and bone; to show us that your fangs are as pointed and gnarled as ours, and to make a testament of your valor from the corpses of great beasts." Royand von Sidhe -- Packmaster of the Jegers -- stood upon a stage overlooking what was, really, a small and enclosed pit acting as a coliseum for the viewers above. For one to change their Path, one needed prove their worth to the new. A lifetime of education in a Path could not be overcome by mere will, but only a test.
Alistair claimed to wish to join the Jegers. Though they knew it was only to ensure rehabilitation and treatment for his fallen lover, their procedures remained the same. Outsiders, of either Path or nationality, were treated the same. They would join only by proving their value.
"To test your skill, we have provided for you an appropriate enemy. It is a foe that each and every aspiring Jeger faces, whilst the boys built and educated for our cause face this particular foe as a final test to secure their membership. This enemy, proud and strong, is a signification of one's elite capability. We unveil him, now," the Jeger commanded. With his words and a following gesture, that of a hand risen with fingers pointing to the ceiling, the foe was unleashed.
It was... a voluminous, purple-tinted gas, filling the pit and consuming Alistair's space. The mage began to cough, and before long, he began to wheeze. Moments later, he was on the ground, his Terrendyte spear laid quietly beside his motionless body.
. . .
Breaks later, he awoke, laying among dirt on the forest floor. He was stripped of any armor, allowed only a wooden spear with a steel tip, and given a loincloth that barely made it to his knees. His feet were bare, his chest and arms free of any obstruction. Alistair was stripped to that of a savage. How had they managed to do this, he wondered? How long had he been gone?
As he began to observe his surroundings, an arrow flew past him, nearly slicing through his cheek. The mage recoiled, immediately stepping backward in a firm motion and gripping his pointed weapon, turning at every angle and seeking the point of the arrow's origin. He could not see any man, or any foe. He only heard a humming, and then a howl - one that sounded like no wolf he'd ever known. It more closely resembled a vile, guttural wail from a man with an incredible chord.
He followed the sound, stepping cautiously through the forest, alert to even the most singular of crushed branches or shifting of the leaves.
