Hunting The Hunter

[Erin_]

Tarla

By nature, rangers were solitary beings. They lived out their lives protecting the forests that had called to them, helping maintain the balance of those lands. Balance... Tarla contemplated that word even as she readied Mason for the journey. Balance did not mean peace. It did not mean perfection. Balance only meant harmony or equity.

The bay stallion was calmer this night, and Tarla wondered how much of his panic had been caused by her own heightened nerves. Certainly the animal interpreted her emotions. Pulling herself it the saddle, Tarla rode, still contemplating all that had happened. She was glad of the silence. It gave her a chance to gather her thoughts and examine them, surprised at how many inconsistencies she found.

The hushed sounds of the night changed, and Tarla looked up sharply. Beneath her, Mason whickered, and Tarla silenced him with a single whispered word.

“Are you sure you know where you are going?”

"Silence!" The ranger turned her savage ice blue eyes on Jared, "Listen..." Her senses were open, and it seemed to her that the moonlight was lost, and an inky blackness crept over the land.

Mason heard them first. The bay tossed his head wildly, dancing beneath Tarla, though he made no sound. Tarla patted his sleek neck fondly, watching the creatures shamble into view. The undead came on, their ungainly, ambling forms rustling through the trees, their moans sending chills down Tarla's spine.

The undead were on all sides of them now, forming a tightening ring around ranger, horse, and vampire. They were not close enough yet for Tarla to make out many of their features, but the stench of them was overwhelming, and Tarla fought down the bile that rose in her throat.

Slipping lithely from Mason's saddle, the half elf rifled through her pack, bringing out two torches and tossing one to Jared. "Here."

 

[MaiusImperium]

If his heart hadn’t died long ago, it would have jumped from his chest at the sigh of the undead. Before he knew it they were upon them, his keen senses had counted for nothing, perhaps as they were undead as he himself was. He hadn’t sensed their foul stink, the sound of their limp bodies shambling along the dirt path, nor the groans they now uttered until it was too late. It was as if they’d sprung out of shadows that now encroached. The stench of death made him sick to his stomach, even a vampire was sickened by the truly rotting undead and their blood was said to taste foul to a vampire and even afflict them with diseases.

The sword was in his hand within the blink of an eye, the undead were all around them. Tarla shouted and throw him a torch, which he caught in his off-hand nimbly. He took the tinder stick from his belt and lit it in a flash. The cured tar and cloth caught light quickly, illuminating the grizzled half-rotted faces of their deathly assailants.

“I thought you rangers were notorious for keeping your lands undead free.” He spoke the words mirthlessly, his eyes shifting from one zombie to the next. Indeed it seemed they had come from the soil, their clothes, where they remained, where mouldered and decaying, and soil clung to their sickly pale bodies. Jared was worried, only Tarla knew the way to the mountains... and now the darkness was all around them he couldn’t even see which way the mountains lay. He could take it no longer, the creatures were only a yard away from him, he could smell the stink on their breath.

With a wordless cry he lashed out at the nearest one, the sword was lightning-quick in his hand. The blunt blade sliced through the zombie’s head messily, the flesh and bone so soft that the sword bludgeoned more than it cut. His face was covered in black, sickly blood as the zombie fell to the floor with a groan. Suddenly the undead creatures started howling and moaning as they rushed towards them. Jared and Tarla were two flecks of light, slowly being surrounded by a dark mass of undead, the torches in their hands seemed to gutter noisily, as if the dark hordes around them were suffocating the flame of air.

Suddenly it all went by in a blur. He and Tarla danced frantically in a circle, their blades pointing outwards, fighting to keep the zombies at bay. The undead claws cut into Jared’s flesh, tore at his clothes, one left a great gouge across his left eye, which caused him to cry out in pain, but both he and the elf kept them at bay, hacking and slicing at their decaying attackers. They circled around Mason, keeping the creatures away from him, though by now the horse was terrified he obeyed Tarla’s voice perfectly throughout the assault.

“If we remain much longer they will bury us!” Jared shouted above the tumult, a young female lurched at him, snarling, Jared had long since dropped the torch and now he used both his hands to drive the sword completely through her midriff, severing the creature in two. The dead blood coated his blade thickly as he buried the point in the woman’s head as her upper body clawed at his boots futilely. They were all in and around them now, Jared went into a frenzy, hacking and slashing and punching and kicking at all that came into contact with him. He whirled like a dervish, striking down zombie after zombie, using his own vampyric speed and strength to clear breathing room.

Tarla had used the room well, and she was mounted atop Mason now, who was straining not to gallop off. The blade whirled impressively in her hand as she fought to keep the zombies from her steed’s vulnerable flanks. The horse reared and kicked at a gargantuan man of a zombie, the creature groaned and fell back, it’s face collapsed by Mason’s thick, powerful hoof.

“Jared!” Jared looked up, blood dribbling slowly from his eye and didn’t need further encouragement. He leapt with a cat’s grace up onto the back of Mason. “Go!” Jared clung tightly around Tarla, she shouted something in her native tongue that the vampire couldn’t make out, and Mason charged with unbridled fury and terror through the night, cutting a path through the shambling zombies.

 

[Erin_]

Tarla

Fire was all that would work against the undead, cut off a limb, and still they came, cut off a head, and still the body ambled on, clawing and grasping at whatever it could reach.

The stench of burning undead flesh was choking, but there were far too many for the two meager torches that she had Jared carried. They burned out far too quickly. She was left with just her sword...inadequate ((haha, spelled it right!)) defense, to be sure. Their only hope was to be able to cut their way out of the ring of the undead.

As she always did in battle, the ranger separated herself from her feelings, there was no time to examine each thing she felt, there was time only to act and to react, to see an opening and take advantage of it. It seemed as it time slowed, and the focus of her world narrowed until it included only her blade, her enemies, and her allies.

Such focus lent speed to her movements, the grace of long practice lending them an almost effortless look. Mason too, was well versed in battle, the steed constantly bucking and rearing, lashing out with hooves that would have been deadly to a living foe.

One of the creatures managed to get past her defenses and Tarla hissed sharply, driving the pommel of her blade downward to crush the spongy skull of the being gnawing at her side. The creature fell away with a chunk of her flesh, blood dripping from his jaws, a ragged hole in her tunic where the creature's teeth had rent it. The pain was blinding for a moment, but she did not cry out. The momentary lapse in her defenses had opened her up to other attacks though, and she staggered backwards, closing her eyes against the feel of clawing hands and gnashing teeth against her body.

Jared was there then, taking her elbow and pulling her up to her feet, “If we remain much longer they will bury us!” With his help, Tarla regained the ground he had lost. Jared burst into a fury of motion, forcing the undead back even more and Tarla took full advantage, leaping onto Mason's back, her blade still moving, keeping the undead from her beloved steed.

"Jared!" She shouted his name and he looked up, understanding immediately and mounting the horse behind her. "Run mela!" Tarla urged the terrified stallion, who did not hesitate. Gathering himself, the great horse broke into a smooth cantor, plowing over the zombies barring his path. Tarla crouched low, her head very near to Mason's ear, her own blade moving as well to mow them down before they could offer harm. Jared did the same protecting the horse's flanks from the horde of undead.

They left behind the majority of the creatures, encountering fewer and fewer as they moved away from the site of the battle. Tarla murmured encouragements to Mason, feeling her own strength ebb.

“I thought you rangers were notorious for keeping your lands undead free.” She did not remember when Jared had spoken those words, but they haunted her now. These were not her lands, they were Haldir's. But something was horribly wrong in them.

Her side throbbed, blood pouring freely from the open wound, poison from the rotten flesh of the creature who had bitten her slowly taking hold. But there was no time yet to stop. "Jared, did you know any of them? Recognize any of the clothes?" Her mind touched on the many faces she had seen, men, women, children, all equally rotted...which mean they had all met their fate at the same time. "It was an entire village. Do you know the closest one?"

She did not know if he would or not. He had been running himself when he had last passed that way. Tarla was already considering how they might find the place if he did not know. Hakyere could find it from the sky...it could not be far from where the attack had taken place.

Mason snorted in alarm when Tarla almost slipped from his back. Righting herself, Tarla's hand fisted in Mason's tawny mane, holding tight, trying to keep herself from slipping into unconsciousness.

 

[MaiusImperium]

It didn’t take them too long to clear the undead, their numbers thinned, until they were passing one only now and then. The undead creatures didn’t turn to chase them, the few that they now passed all seemed intent on moving off towards the site of their skirmish, Jared thought that to be strange, though perhaps now was not the best time to be dwelling on it.

Mason’s pace gradually slowed until he was at a trot, albeit an urgent one, though they hadn’t encountered any zombies for at least half a mile now. The moon hung high over them, the clouds and fog that had assailed them earlier in the pass had now abated, and for all intents and purposes it was now a pleasant night. The air was silent, peaceful, though the mountains loomed above them still, ominously. Tarla was all but slumped over Mason’s mane now, from the state of her clothes it was apparently that the wound in her side was still bleeding quite profusely.

Jared frowned, he opened his mouth to tell her to come to a stop, but just as he did she asked him of the zombies. He considered her question and tried to think, he wasn’t overly familiar with the area. They had been accosted by a large number of undead, and there was only one village in the area that could have supported that number of zombies.

“The only settlement I know of close to here is the village of Dalespring, they have to have come from here. I will take us there, but you must stop Mason first, Tarla, you are bleeding badly, we have to get off the path for the night.” He could tell she was fading fast, her steed seemed to know this instinctively and with barely a sound from his owner, the horse trotted gently into a clearing, boulders parted this way and that to leave a small patch of grass and bracken where they could rest amidst the rising hillocks all around them.

“Come on, give me your hand.” Jared had hopped down from Mason and he took Tarla’s hand and helped her from the steed, and he was shocked to feel so little strength in her limbs. This was the same woman he had slain at least half a dozen of the undead beasts less than an hour ago. Instinctively he knew of a way to help her, but he was not sure she was going to like it. He frowned and waited before he confronted her with the choice she would have. Mason was tethered and grazed lazily, though his head was bowed to the grass his eyes were upon his owner. If Jared didn’t know any better he’d have said the horse was concerned for her.

Once Tarla was nested in the shadow of a large, formless boulder Jared knelt by her. His face was silhouetted in the silver light of the moon, and his eyes glinted brightly like those of a cat in the torch light as he made a fire to keep her warm. He could see her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Tarla you must stay with me, please. Listen Tarla…I can heal your wound, my saliva has a powerful coagulant in it, I will not feed from you, but you must let me help you. I promise.” He was crouched over her now, he could smell the blood, this close, like a heady perfume rising to his nostrils, already he could feel his fangs sharpening.

 

[Erin_]

Tarla

Dalespring...Tarla had not heard the name before. That was not surprising though. These were not her lands. The Green Goddess knew there were half a hundred small villages in her own lands that she did not have names for. Still, judging from the number of the undead, Dalespring had been a sizeable village. Where was Haldir?

It was the last thought that she was truly aware of for a while. When next she stirred, she was laying in the shadow of a large boulder that loomed over her like a tomb. It was cold...and Tarla shivered, noticing then that a small fire burned near by.

Mason was not near, and he should have been. The horse knew not to leave her when she was hurt. Pushing herself up to her elbows, Tarla saw Mason grazing, shifting uneasily as he did so, watching her the whole while. Jaren knelt beside her. She could not say how she had missed him at first. His pale features seemed that much paler in the shadow of the boulder, his eyes glimmering brightly.

“Tarla you must stay with me, please. Listen Tarla…I can heal your wound, my saliva has a powerful coagulant in it, I will not feed from you, but you must let me help you. I promise.”

Though the way he crouched over her seemed threatening, the worry in his voice was unmistakeable. Tarla shook her head, forcing herself to sit up, her right arm tight against the wound in her side. "I need to see it first. It's poisoned." She spoke through gritted teeth, taking her dagger in her left hand and cutting away her tunic, baring most of her upper body. The ranger lifted her right arm at last to expose the ghastly wound.

The bite was vicious...a gaping hole in her side where a chunk of her flesh had been ripped away. Already the skin around the bite was reddened and puffy looking, a whiff of decay discernable from the still bleeding wound. "Sweet Goddess..." Tarla hissed softly, ice blue eyes looking up in dismay at Jared. "I need your help Jared."

The pain was lessened now that she was no longer moving, and Tarla could think clearly. "There are herbs in Mason's saddlebags and bandages, and water in the canteen. You'll need to heat the water and prepare a poultice."

Swallowing, Tarla held out the dagger to him, laying on her left side and closing her eyes. "Heat the dagger too. Once the poultice is prepared, you'll have to cut away the diseased flesh."

She remembered his offer about his saliva, her eyes closing more tightly still. "If it bleeds too much Jared...then do what you have to do."

 

[MaiusImperium]

Jared licked his lips nervously and took the offered blade from Tarla’s limp fingers. He moved to approach Mason, but the great steed whickered loudly and stamped his feet in warning, the horse was calmed with a soft, faint murmur from Tarla and Jared approached. Unsure of which pouches to take, Jared lifted the entire saddlebag into his arms and dumped them before the fire, haste precluding any grace from his movements as he stooped over the bags.

“I am no shaman, no medicine man! I cannot mix this…Tarla, you have to tell me…” But even as he was ranting, he now realised Tarla had been speaking, her voice no barely more than a whisper, and Jared cursed himself for his selfishness. She was fading quickly now.

“Jared, you must take three pinches of Mugwort, a brown powder, one pinch of Bloodwyrm, that’s red, a single Althyliss leaf, small, yellow leaves, a pinch of rock salt and a sprig of Jasri root.” It took Jared some minutes to collect the correct herbs and remedies from Tarla’s saddlebags, as he did so he left the blade over the fire and boiled some water.

“Tarla…I must look at your wound now…” He didn’t need to say any more, they both knew what it meant. The elf nodded and Jared eased her onto her side. What frightened him most was how Tarla didn’t even flinch, so weak was she now, she didn’t even have the strength to struggle against the pain in her side. He helped her clutch her tattered tunic to her breast, a vain effort to preserve at least some of her modesty as he rested his hands on her bare flank. Her skin was frighteningly cold beneath his fingers as he eased her arm away from the wound.

The wound practically gaped, and already the torn skin about the periphery of the gash was puffy and red with infection. With a grimace the vampire stroked his fingers over the wound, causing Tarla to murmur in pain. He could taste the fear coming from her, smell the blood in the air and his teeth ached, canines sharpened in his jaw, and he was shamed. Even now his nature got the better of him. Their skirmish with the undead had excited him, and now he fought the urge to skin his fangs into the soft, pliant flesh of the elf before him. Slowly he bowed low over Tarla’s pale, prone form, and nuzzled his nose to the wound, he could smell the infection, the badness of the blood and he felt his stomach churn and wretch.

Yet, his fangs ached for flesh, and his mouth watered, and his nose brushed against her shivering skin as he parted his pale lips and kissed the wound in her side. His saliva was dripping freely now from his mouth, and he allowed it to seep into the wound as he kissed her softly, his lips like icy velvet against the hot and angry flesh wound. Now and then he latched his lips onto her and sucked the bad blood from her, and the rapidly building puss and infection. The foul taste of infection made his gut twist and turn, and he spat the vileness out after taking his mouth’s fill of it. He sucked and kissed until the blood ran fresh from her wound once more, and though the redness and puffiness was still there, the wound was clear now, and the taste of blood on his lips was…vibrant…alive, and so, so rich.

There was a look of the animal about him as he licked the blood from his lips, stooping over the elf as he fought the urge to state his hunger. For just a moment his lips parted once more, his fangs glinted in the moonlight, before his mouth clenched shut again and he turned to the fire.

With the boiled water and herbs ready, he quickly ground the herbs into a poultice, using the pestle and mortar Tarla kept in her saddlebags. Then, gingerly, reluctantly, the vampire took up the red-hot blade and went back to her. With the confusion of puss and infected blood free from the wound, he could see clearly there was only a little diseased flesh. A relief, but it was still going to a be agonising.

Jared tore a strip of his shirt off, around the cuff. “You will want something to bite down on,” he bunched the fabric and placed it between her teeth, Tarla bit down and he began. It was all over in several heartbeats, but the pain doubtless seemed to last an eternity as Jared quickly drew the blade through her wound, slicing the bad flesh from her side and holding the flat of the burning hot blade against her bloody wound. The flesh cauterised as the night air was filled with her barely-stifled scream of agony, before he applied the soothing poultice to her wound and helped her apply bandages to her torso. Jared was thankful that she was too exhausted to resist his help as he lifted the tunic from her front and wrapped the bandages around her chest to hold them tight against the wound. This was no time for modesty, though his eyes were unable to stay from wandering completely, it was near impossible given where the wound was located.

“Sleep, Tarla. We will be safe here for a time.” He stroked her sand-coloured hair from her face and lay her down on the soft, blanket-covered ground, but she was already asleep before she came to rest against the ground.