Feast Of Feat

"What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." Well that is bullshit, not in this world. Run the next time you see it, or you might not be so lucky again.



Traè, Thames Empire. As/A: 3088.

"Where is this place?"

Akillim had been running through the woods. More accurately, he has been limping and hopping while making his way through the forest. He avoidably trips from a tree root, twists his ankle again and fell; rolling down the hilly grounds, and then dropping into a shallow slowly running stream. He struggles up, and reaches out for the box floating on the water's surface, he grabs it and swims out to the other side of the bank, soaked and dripping of water.

"Shit!" He curses as he pulls off his shirt, and begin to flap it. He squeezes it, and repeats the previously established sequence.

His stomach slowly grumbles in rage, which he ignores and continued swaying the cloth in the air.

It had been about forty seven minutes since he left the underground routes, and judging from the direction of the sun and the shadow it casts, he could deduce that it was the early hours of the morning, about two hours before noon.

"Enough time to reach any human habitation"

He thought while putting back on his shirt and squeezing the leg ends of his trouser. He makes another step, but twists his already bruised ankle even more, reeling over in search after equilibrium.

"I must find a healer --" he says firmly within the grips of balance "-- but an emergency treatment which should prevent any further damage."

He adds, while applying a little pressure on the broken ankle with his index finger, hissing loudly in pain.

"How can I find the Turiaa herb -" his thoughts went afloat with his eyes skimming through the woods, carefully observing the root ends of each tree. "- it alone can help with the pain."

He went for the ground, sitting and having his left hand on his chin, seeping into deep thoughts, which gets run over by the wooden box sitting beside him, catching his eyes.

"Right! What's inside this?"

He hadn't had a moment alone with his thought, 'survive' was the only thing his mind whispered. He had forgotten to grief; to mourn his deceased life. Run, run and keep running, were the only impulses he had.

He sits still, holding unto the wooden box and giving it a deep stare. As his fixed eyes never escaped the surface of the box, pain found its way to his mind, and so did sorrow and guilt. He felt guilty for being the cause of the untimely demise of his family. He felt guilty for not ever giving his family a chance into his life; for living like a stranger in his own home, keeping considerable distance, and being emotionally insecure.

He couldn't ease the tight grips of guilt grabbing him by the neck, for staying angry at his father for more than six years: his father was a busy man, and barely had a concrete hour with him. He knew his father cared a lot for him, but the detest he mustered made him blindly wave it off, slipping it under a pile of misfits, mistakes, and short comings.

He couldn't handle the overflowing regrets, and chose to discard them altogether.

"The world is too great to live a life of constant regret. I'm not built for such sentimentality."

He wipes his face of the tear that had created a path on his fair skin, as it rolled down and folded up the drops of water that situated in its path.

He made an attempt to open the locked box with the key he had, but the key wouldn't fit into the keyhole. He grunts in rage, and tries picking it with the tail end of the key, but it doesn't work either. He stands up, and takes the only available rational option he had: he throws the box against a plain rock, smashing the box into pieces. A folded up scroll, and an old rusty book, fell among the debris of the shattered box. He picks up the scroll, unfolds it lid, and folded it back when he realised the scroll was a map, and after he searched for the marked region before folding the map.

He picks up the book, examining it.

"What is this old piece of trash." arching a disdainful brow, while blowing away the situated dust, he reads out the only word inscribed on its cover.

"Inscripus."

The pages of the book flips open and stops at a chapter.

A magic circle was drawn on the opened page, and an instruction was written below the circle of the same page.

'Place a drop of blood with your hand upon the circle, and another drop on the map you possess. Say the

name of the location you want to find, and a shortest/safest path to your destination will be revealed'

He rushes quickly for the folded up scroll, opens it, and studies the name of the marked region.

"Asyrria." He reads quietly "I've never heard of it." Folds back the scroll. "This ain't my top priority, fixing up my broken bones and filling up my stomach is."

He closes the book, and didn't bother attempting the instructions.

"I wonder what this book is."

He says while giving another glance at its cover.

He jerks up from where he squatted, picks up the book and scroll while holding tightly the key, and turned to leave. He began limping again, preventing his aching ankle from pressing hard against the leaves that coated the black earth. His steps ordered by the course of pain, suddenly gets blocked by an arrow that pierces into the ground in front of him, undeniably blocking his path. Akillim takes a deep gulp, trying to make his shaking less obvious: braiding composure. He gave a dead stare at the direction the arrow came, carefully looking between the trees, and shrubs that stood about his height. He saw nothing. He takes a second gulp, using the back of his palm to wipe sweat off his face, while giving a firm grip on the book and scroll he held.

Another arrow whooshes through wind, straight for him. Before he could duck, it stabs his right shoulder, forcefully drawing out a bound yell that escapes his lips.

He wasn't having a very good day.

"Arghhh! Fuck!" He screams and curses against the throbbing pain that was coursing through his body. His shoulder took the damage, but his whole body got credited with the pain. Strangely.

He holds the arrow in an attempt to pull it out, but the pulsating pain and his leaking strength made him fall to his knees. Blood streams out of the affected area, soaking his thick brown cotton shirt, dripping to his boots and glazing the soil. He lacked the courage to free himself of the thorny metal that pricked into his skin. Holding unto it, he winces and curses in agony.

"Don't bother, the arrow is poisoned."

A threatening coerce female voice rippled through the chirps of crickets, and a tweeting swallow.

"Its a painless slow death -" It says again, as a young female rigidly jumps from a towering branch, holding a bow, with the veneer of her arrow's casement on her left hand.

"- your liver and kidney will slowly dilapidate, your arteries and vein will begin to rupture and split open, your Lungs will slowly degrade, until you become short of breath, and die." She walks into Akillim's full vision. Her bashing eyelashes welcomed words in its pair, so did her pointy ears twitch to the grunts and moans Akillim made.

"You have about two hours to live."

She ended her steps, stares at the grovelling boy, and turns around to leave.

"Thanks for the info."

Akillim grunts again, and pulls himself up. He staggers upon his first step but reclaims balance soon after.

"Two hours is more than enough time for me to find a cure."

He forces a sarcastic smile, moans a bit, and smiles again, looking at the white skinned girl with a crimson braided lock that fell vigorously on her shoulder, cropping over her furry vest that heeded the tight pants which held her ass together. Her accent, similar to those of the Scottish of the previous century; words carefully sweeping over the next.

Her sea blue eyes twinkles, riding the waves of surprise, while giving the weakened boy a deep look.

"There is no cure to the Molingnir, fella."

She smiles back in a similar manner as he.

"Bitch, The Jade bane. It is called the The Jade bane."

He rolls his eyes disgustly, then forces out the arrow and throws it at her.

"It induces hypoxia, in a very, very twisted way. Instead of immediately weakening your muscles, it prefers a slow feast of feat."

He stares right back at her, reciprocating the vibe of intimidation he endures.

"It is truly sadistic."

He bends over and wipes his knees, and exits her presence, leaving her in an awe fixated gaze.

Her fixed retinas remains at his back for a moment, then she quickly follows behind him; calling unto him and requesting an audience. Akillim ignores her, hissing.

"Who are you?"

She calls at him.

"How do you intend to find a cure? Not even I know the cure to its Molingnir."

"Jade Bane"

Akillim says softly in a sigh, before turning to face her.

"Could you keep a distance? And piss off, you're annoying."

"I've never found a human so intriguing before."

She increases her pace at him, ignoring his every word.

"The cure is simple, it is a cauglinghog flower."

Akillim shakes his head in frustration, and waves about his contorted face. His muscles were weakening, his legs trembling, and every inhalation ushered a stabbing pain to the chest. His sneezes and coughs held more blood than before, which he wipes off his mouth, and proceeds his journey.

"Before you bitch out your thoughts again, it grows beside a water sufficient region, and there is one along this path."

As Akillim approaches, he could smell the cold air of the steam now, that swizzled with the general warmth of the forest, fizzing into his nostrils, tickling as it tunnels in. He carefully picked his way towards the brook, in a premise search for his flower.

After minutes of munching down the bright purple thorny plant that held the taste of a rusted metal muddled up with chlorinated water, and a smelted salt's odour, his breath slowly became relaxed, and so did the shaking and drowsiness. He took a minute inhaling and exhaling, feeling every molecule of air rush through his lungs. He kneels at the brook, scooping water with his palms, and sending every content into his mouth.

Rising I agitation, he lashes out at the girl towering over him.

"Could you please fuck off?!"

Their eyes meeting, Akillim redirects the stare he receives.

Its funny how the one who sorted his life, now possesses interests that resides over their murderous intents.

"I'm Ceira, an inhabitant of the forest of Traè"

Her eyes twinkled, as the wind swam across her face, pulling the pieces of hair that escaped the thick bundled braid, to itself.

Their gazes never left the other, basically an impromptu staring contest.

"The Tree folks?"

Akillim pulled out of her gaze.

"I'm a proud member of the Elven clan. We protect this forest, our only home, from the prying fingers of greedy humans."

Ceira's relaxed lids, withered with the sounds of her fading voice that slowly painted a grimace on her face.

"I know that the elves' great culture, and heritage were lost during the ascension -" Akillim says, making effort to avoid her soft flipping lashes swaying over her eyes. " -and what remains of it now are shades of the past."

"That is why we mercilessly protect what is left of our pride."

She takes her eyes off him, lowing her head while heaving saddened sighs.

"Our tribe suffer. When the humans enacted the echleons, dividing themselves in sections, the lands we had were stolen from us, forcing us to hide within the confines of Traè. Our people die daily, the young ones feed on nuts and rats to survive, while the adults scavenge the forest to find suitable meals; hunting, fishing and scrapping for food."

"So that is your apology for trying to kill me earlier? Or is it one of your victimized excuses?"

Akillim coldly asks.

"You humans plunder into this forest, stealing our stocks, raping our females, and killing our young, all in a conquest for power and dominance."

Ceira's lovely pale face, sears with anger.

"We may not be a proud and powerful elfdom as we once were, but we will not sit still and let ourselves be slaughtered, killing out our very race by your ignorance and our laziness."

"Well, I am not here to rape anybody, I'm simply a lowly traveller, seeking human habitation"

Akillim scoffs.

"And please, no more stories of the heart. Crappy shits like that makes me wanna hurl."

"The nearest human kingdom is a three days journey from here, rest here tonight and -"

"And have my throat slit by you? Never!"

Akillim harshly jumps on her sentence, retorting scornfully.

"Fine, but you won't last a night in this woods alone."

"I'll take my chances miss. And thanks again for the attempted murder."

Akillim snorts, and walks away from her, and her peering eyes.