Description

PROFILE

TÝR'GÜR of the TA-NA-RUKK
"WHO I am is not important, only what I am not."

Name: Týr'gür of the Ta-Na-Rukk

Nickname: Týr, Sharptooth

Title: Týr'gür of the Tanarukk, Týr The Fierce

Race: Human

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Theme Song: Kid Cudi - Cudi Zone

DIAGNOSTICS

Hair: Naturally wild from years of irregular maintenance and any form of grooming, Tyr's hair is blown out as if he were recently the victim of a close range explosion. It is resistant to all forms of motion, never giving way to gravity and only succumbing to severe hydration where it will then lay flat against his scalp. His natural color is a muddy brown, which has and will forever be the same.

Eyes: Cold and bleak: Tyr's eyes possess both qualities of blue and gray, melding to produce a singular color that is neither of the two. With an animalistic quality, Tyr's gaze is intimidating, equating to the ever watchful eyes of a predator. No amount of armor can protect you from his narrow, piercing stares that see straight through to your soul, discerning all of your fears and secrets, thus leaving you bare before him. Meanwhile, he has given you nothing; not even a single emotion is revealed by his eyes.

Build: Years of stalking the Ruins and combating nature has gifted Tyr with a superior physical form. His body is riddled with muscles and void of fat. Whether or not Tyr is physically fit because of a vigorous exercise routine or struggling to survive, is irrelevant. What does matter, is that his athleticism has played a major role in his survival.

Skin Tone: Though he is a fan of the cool and relaxing effects of the shade, Tyr is no stranger to the blistering heat of the sun. His life in the wasteland has bronzed his skin into a caramelized tan tone. Dirt, grime, and dried blood have also been incorporated to his skin, successfully camouflaging him visually along with his odor.

Height: Unfortunately, Tyr doesn't come from a family of giants but fortunately enough, he doesn't come from a family of dwarves either. Standing tall, Tyr is about 5'10"ft from head to toe. He can often appear shorter because his muscles are so well compact, but those same features can cause him to appear larger.

Weight: Being an adept hunter has ensured that Tyr has never missed a meal, allowing him to reach the impressive weight of 220 lbs. His diet often consists of various edible creatures he has hunted and vegetables when he can manage to find, steal, or grow them.

Voice:

Handed: For as long as Tyr can remember, he has been naturally and equally skilled in the use of both hands. While he often shows favoritism to his right, he can switch to his left without any problems.

Body Markings: Its a common tradition and expectation that both males and females of his clan decorate their body with ink markings. Tyr, however, has only had one his entire life. Located dead center on his right pectoral, is the Symbol of His Clan in bold black ink.

Scar Tissue: Littering the entirety of his body are numerous scars, both healed and healing. Each has a story of some long ago trial that he had to overcome or battle for his life, that obviously ended in his favor. Tyr is proud of these scars, to him they are medals of the valor, proving his worth as a warrior.

DOSSIER

Quirks: Tyr is an unusual individual... his mannerisms are the result of his unique upbringing. He is tragically illiterate, absent of just about any knowledge that doesn't revolve around surviving or general information on the world around him. Tyr also has trouble communicating, innocently referring to others as "it" or "chorga" (stranger) and will also refer to himself in the third or first person. Whether this is a Ta-Na-Rukk tradition or a custom he adopted from the beast he calls kin, Tyr will smell people to identify them and will also mark his territory to ward off other predators. Surprisingly though, Tyr knows three languages: one of Common Tongue, another the language of his people, the latter of which he speaks perfectly and fluently, and the third is an innate ability to communicate with wolves.

Virtue/Creed: "Hunt or be hunted."

Motivation: To Tyr, life is a test and survival is the goal that one must achieve if they wish to pass. Tyr must overcome obstacles set before him which present themselves in the form of everyday struggles. Only once he has appeased the spirits will he be allowed to rejoin his ancestors and family in their eternal resting place of Cam Lire.

Goal: Outside of his primary objective in life, Tyr would like to restore his clan and make a new home amongst other humans.

Fear: Tyr doesn't want to be a Lone Wolf for rest of his life. Though he isn't aware of it himself, his greatest fear is that he will one day die alone. The only salvation he can hope to find in death, is that he will hopefully be reunited with his family.

Likes: There are a lot of things that Tyr enjoys, for instance, he loves to run. To feel the wind rushing through his hair and across his body is pure ecstasy. Opposite of this, he loves to take his time when stalking his prey. There is just something about waiting patiently in total darkness, before the opportunity arises and you leap out and strike your prey down! Tyr also likes to gaze longingly at the moon which holds great meaning in his people's culture. Fish and apples also bring him great delight since they are his favorite foods. Lastly, Tyr has an insane curiosity about humans and their culture, which he hopes to one day satiate by mingling among them.

Dislikes: Just like there are things Tyr likes, there are things he dislikes. At the top of this list, is death, for it has claimed the lives of many he once held dear to his heart. Disrespect towards his clan or even a thought of harming them and those alike will warrant wrath equal to that of gods. Since scavengers are often the source of his distress, he holds deep-seated hatred towards them and will not hesitate to take one of their lives. Among the minor things that annoy Tyr are loud noises and bright light. He is also against all forms of communication, preferring to let his actions speak for him.

TALENTS

Combat Prowess
Hand-to-Hand Combat: Tyr is an excellent fighter and a practitioner of his clan's original martial art from called: _____. It is a mix of Taijutsu, Capoeira, and Wrestling. The mix results in a fighting art that focuses on grapples and strikes, utilizing speed and power as well incorporating the environment to launch aerial attacks.

Melee Combat: Tyr is in skilled in the use of a number of weapons, primarily any bladed weapon, but his focus is on knives, daggers, and swords.

Armed Combat: Tyr is an excellent marksman, proficient in the use in a vast category of ranged weapons. His expertise, however, lies in archery.

Powers
Beast Mimicry: Tyr's power allows him to take on the physical attributes of a single animal of his choosing. In turn, this grants him the ability to take the form of said animal. It also bestows upon him other beast-like abilities, alter his physical appearances, and experience animalistc personality changes.

Tier 1 - Beast Empathy: This ability allows Tyr to communicate with the race of his chosen animal. The ability is an innate sense that allows him to understand animals and the animals to understand him.

Tier 2 - Wild Sense: As a bonus granted from the animal Tyr chose, his five senses are now heightened to levels equating that of a wolf. In addition to the boost of his original five senses, Tyr also gained a sixth that allows him to sense incoming danger and/or harm to his person.

Tier 3 - Physical Empowerment: Another enhancement gained from Tyr's powers and the beast he mimics, is the amplification of his physical attributes, which includes: speed, agility, reflexes, strength, endurance, and stamina. Other aspect of his physicality are the growth of claws, fangs, and other wolf-like appendages.

Tier 4 - Transformation: As the primary ability of his power, Tyr can assume the form of the beast he chose,

which is a special breed of wolves, called: Fenrisúlfr . What makes them different is their average size and the fact that they are trained by Tyr's clan, making their genetics naturally better. Tyr's wolf form has thicker mane than the other males, he also stands taller than the others, at 5ft. In addition to this, he is an alpha among alphas, giving him sovereignty over the other wolves. His abilities are also supercharged by the magic that surges through him, plus the fact that he is in natural form of which all these abilities were derived from.

Tyr can remain in this alternate state for the maximum of two hours, once his limit is reached he must recharge as the transformation is powered by his magic reserves, which become empty after 120 minutes of constant use. Even transforming in short burst can take its toll on Tyr's body resulting in varying levels of physical exhaustion relative to the time spent transformed.

Any damaged sustained while in his human form, is not carried over to his animal form. However, once he reverts, the injury will still exist. Any injury he receives in his wolf form, will not hamper Tyr, in fact it will be as if it didn't occur. But, the moment he changes back, the injury will become real.

A side effect of this ability, seems to leak beast-like qualities into Tyr's human form. So far, this has allowed him to move comfortably on all fours, with all the speed and agility that an animal has. It has also allowed Tyr to quickly scale and climb surfaces with the help of his strong claws.

Skills
Hunting & Tracking: Tyr is an adept hunter and tracker. Part of his proficiency in this area is due to his abilities. Typically, Tyr will assume his wolf form and hunt in a pack of wolves, and together they feast upon entire herds of animals.

Scavenging & Forging: While Tyr is not specifically skilled in this area, he does have a keen eye which aids him in searching the ruins for tech and other useful items.

Survivability: Aside from his skills in hunting and scavenging, Tyr has a number of other talents that enable him to survive in the wasteland. He has good knowledge of first aid, what plants have what herbal effects, and isn't completely terrible at farming or fishing.

Free Running: Together with his animal abilities, Tyr is pretty athletic and a nimble acrobat. Together those skills make him a master free runner, who is able to traverse the random terrain of the ruins and nature in general, with ease.

Navigation: Tyr has lived in the Ruins for his entire life and has explored the area around it countless times. This has made quite knowledgeable on the area.

CLOTHING & ARMOR

Head
Nothing

Neck
Medallion: A gift from his older brother, this medallion is on Tyr's person at all times. It represents their clan and their kin-ship with the Fenrisúlfr.

Muffler: A thick piece of cloth worn around Tyr's mouth and nose at all times. It works as a muffler to silence his breathing, despite the fact he was taught to control this as a child. The cloth also works as a filter, to rid his breathing air of any harmful air particles.

Mantle Shaw: A decorated tribal shaw, which is a common piece of clothing among his people. This specific item belonged to his brother, which Tyr claimed as his own once he was big enough to wear it. The shaw is mainly cloth material, except for the mantle which is metal. The metal purpose is to be an aesthetic feature symbolizing their mane as a male, but it also has protective qualities.

Chest
Nothing

Back
Travel Bag: Whenever away from his shelter, Tyr will carry with him a small bag, that slings over his shoulder. The bag contains a few essential items that could come in handy for trips longer than a few hours or if he will be returning with extra supplies. Among these smattering of items are slated meats, a water skin, a fire starter, and herbs with medical effects.

Arm/Shoulder
Arm Gauntlet: A steel arm gauntlet protects Tyr's entire left arm and shoulder. The metal is of a unique alloy that has withstand damage and the test of time, without breaking r faltering in its purpose of protection. However, the metal is light enough to where is not a bother to Tyr.

Right Hand
Beast Paw: Tyr's palm are heavily padded and rough with the addition of strong, sharp claws.

Left Hand
Beast Paw: Tyr's palm are heavily padded and rough with the addition of strong, sharp claws.

Right Accessory
Sleeve: A single sleeve hangs on Tyr's right arm. The pattern and design matches Tyr's shaw.

Utility Knife: Attached to the sleeve on Tyr's right arm, is a hidden sheathe which holds a knife that Tyr often uses for wide variety of reasons.

Left Accessory
Chain: A simple chain is wrapped around the gauntlet on Tyr's left arm. The chain, like Tyr's knife has a plethora of uses. One of the ends of the chain is linked to Tyr's gauntlet, while the other is weighted and hangs loosely.

Waist
Waistband: A cloth waistband that matches the rest of Tyr's clothing decor. The article of clothing also has a number pouches installed, used to hold any small item Tyr may need to store on his person.

Legs
Pants: Simple cloth pants, wore to fend off weather and keep Tyr warm like the rest of his clothing.

Shin Guards: Heavily padded shin guards, protect Tyr's legs from harm.

Feet
Beast Paw: The soles of Tyr's feet are heavily padded and rough with the addition of strong, sharp claws.

BACKGROUND

Mechanophage Type: Mage

Group Affiliation: Ta-Na-Rukk Clan, Scavenger

Marital Status: Single

Relatives: All Deceased

Birthplace: Hinder's Valley

Occupation: Warrior, Hunter

Education: Taught everything he knows by his eldest brother.

Bio/History: Soon to come...

So begins...

Tyr The Fierce's Story

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#2012-06-24 02:51:54, as written by Crooked Thoughts

The Curious Wolf
Morning - Fall - Day 9125
Chathair Tús Nua - Southern Ruins
Týr'Gür of the Ta-Na-Rukk Clan

Heads were turned and lifted; ears were affixed and former actions were paused, as the shot heard throughout the entire wasteland, rang out. It was like a radiating beacon and like moths to the flame; everything in the area would be drawn to its light. Much like how ripples spread throughout a pond, the seductive call would resonate in every structure and vibrate every ear drum, until all sought it out. The scavengers would be the first to investigate, as they always were. Unfortunately, after they were finished, there would be nothing left. They were highly efficient, greedily picking and stripping everything clean until it was void of anything of worth. Thus, leaving behind a gruesome and indistinguishable visage of wreckage and gore. Their presence was enough to detour any and all forms of life. The only thing worse than one scavenger, was a group of scavengers. But... this day was different. This day, a single life form lingered near the source of the disturbance. Driven by curiosity, it watched high amongst the ravaged roof tops, studying the scene below. Whether it was idiocy or bravery, was not known, only time would reveal the truth.

Chorga...

A word so ancient and foreign, it had nearly been forgotten since it had not been uttered in ages. The word was not used for enemies, or for prey... no, this noun was for those alien to the expanses of Chathair Tús Nua. Humans, or as they were known to the Ta-Na-Rukk, outsiders. Never had one been seen like, this. It was more common to discover them as unrecognizable scarps, gnawed remnants of their former being. Occasionally, they would stumble into these desolate ruins, thinking it to be a safe and alternate route. Soon though, the lazy fools were shown otherwise at the hands of the ruthless and mindless aasgeier. But here, fortune was abundant, allotting for the chance to see them alive; for now, at least. With a few scavengers already among them, it wouldn't be long until the entire horde had arrived with their unsatisfiable hunger for flesh and metal. It was at that moment, a decision was made.

Overwhelming intrigue caused curiosity and pity to take the place of rational thought. Incidentally, this was the catalyst needed to transform the spectator to a savior. Poor idjaa... It must be your charakterze that allows ignorance to run rampant within you, this why you mimic children? Making noise, stupid and ignorant like a child. Mhmm... This fierce one understands. You are confused and don't know what to do, so, this fierce one will teach you. This fierce one knows he should not intervene, but the spark can be seen within your hearts. Death will not have you this day. Retreating from the advantageous perch, the figure made movements to accomplish the newly set objective.

Light gleamed off the sheen and sleek form as it moved between slivers of light and shadow. Silently like death itself, the being padded around with steps as careful as to not disturb the smallest piece of rubble. Yet, it moved with ease, possessing all the speed and grace of an autumn gale. All the while, wide glowing orbs, like a lighthouse' beams piercing the night, were honed in on its targets. With every level descended, the moment of clarity drew ever closer, until the ground floor was finally reached. Slowly, but surely, the keen observer slinked out from the cover of darkness into the light of day.

Trending lightly on all fours, his glorious debut was made. He was boldly clad in his natural-born decor of a thick, soft coat consisting of a black fetched from the deepest, darkest pit accented by a creamy brown that highlighted his underbelly, sides, and face; but, not a single article of clothing touched his body. Flesh rendering and muscle shredding claws & fangs were on prominent display, ready to eviscerate those that would harm him. His eyes surveyed the scene before him, cold and ever calculating like a predator. Yet, there was a sense of awareness, like this creature knew something others did not. Such wisdom could only be owned by one with sapience, which could be seen within his brilliant crystalline spheres. Though obviously a wolf, given it was a rare wolf at that, one still might get the sense that there is more to this beast than meets the eye.

In spite of the animals astonishing features -- the fact that when fully erect, his height extended well over six feet, easily making him the largest living being in present company -- his appearance was unnoticed. Approaching from the west, seemingly granted him a cloak of anonymity, the cause of which could be because everything was transpiring in the east; either way, it was a benefit in which he reveled. He watched carefully with dazzling blue eyes, washing over everything like tidal waves crashing against bluffs. It was a task he had familiarized himself with years ago, stalking and watching with unyielding patience. He had placed his hind quarters to the ground and taken to waiting for the group to escape from their binds or notice him, whichever came first. As Týr'Gür the Fierce of the Ta-Na-Rukk clan, he had taken it upon himself to be their guide and lead them to safety. He had no reason as to why he was doing this, other than genuine curiosity. His brother had once told him that such virtues can be lethal, but he would always argue that he could be just as lethal.

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#2012-06-26 05:35:43, as written by SkullsandSlippers

Illyn walked. This was nothing new to her. She was dirty, sore and bore the wounds of the long trek like the rest but her mind was not thinking about it. That was the advantage she and Neman had over “newer” slaves. They knew when to tune out thinking about the walk and the pain. The trick was to keep the mind active on other things. Illyn was busy counting the number of stiches it took to fix the leg of Neman's pants.

"14, 15, 16..."

Her nose itched, a piece of blonde hair was tickling it. It interrupted her counting. Leaning over towards her hands, Illyn did her best to scratch and not rattle the chain too much or break her pace. One of the slavers seemed a bit more sadistic than she was used to and Illyn did not want him coming at her for a simple annoying itch.

Her eyes watched ahead, keeping an eye to ensure Johno, as she had heard him called did not look over to her. She did not need to worry. Ahead of her, another slave had fallen and she could hear Johno voice yelling for him to get up. The crack of the whip broke the air and the chain slowed as the guards were called for.

Illyn scratched the annoying itch for all it was worth, relieved at the break to do so. Her eyes raised to their surroundings. There was something eerie and unsettling about the ruins. It wasn’t simply the stories she had heard about it. Intact but empty buildings as they entered made it feel as if ghosts were watching them as they walked, bidding them enter if they dared.

The caravan kept going moving further in and as they did more and more slave became nervous. Illyn went back to counting.

"1. 2. 3..."

Now, remnants of structures stuck out of the ground. Large pieces missing giving them the appearance of giant creatures about to devour anything that came near them. Illyn tilted her head mesmerized for a moment by one particular one. The whole building was slightly toppled but there was also a chunk missing out of the one side. This hole gaped open, a great mouth of darkness. Two openings, windows in a bygone time were perfectly positioned, giving the building-creature black absorbing eyes.

Illyn was staring into it and to her the building was looking back. She could almost hear it calling her forward, calling her to her death. She frowned, blond eyebrows furrowing on tanned skin. Something was wrong. The chain was suddenly heavier.

Illyn pulled her gaze from the building and looked to those in front of her again. Her mind worked to play catch up to her eyes. Slaves, on the ground. No, not just slaves, slavers too. She worked to comprehend just what she was seeing. It made no sense. As more dropped, Illyn was forced to the ground. She tried to look behind her. Neman had been chained there. Maybe he had an idea of what was going on, saw something as she was staring into the building.

Her brother lay on the ground. Illyn blinked. He must have collapsed under the weight as she had. Neman wasn't on his knees though. His body was contorted, crumpled and misshapen from how he had landed as if he simply dropped or collapsed. Trying to turn Illyn grabbed hold of the chain in front of her. She attempted to drag the body and chain in order to aid her movement. There was too much weight and she too weak. She huffed slightly in annoyance.

“Neman...wake...wake up....” Her voice was low and hushed, a habit from conversing with him when others might be listening. “Neman...”

Illyn kept trying to pull on the chain. She needed to see her brother. They had never been apart, he had always protected her. He couldn't just be dead, not after the years they had endured. Not without a logical reason for his death. Illyn could hear but did not understand the sounds of gunfire. She didn’t understand anything at that moment. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Illyn grabbed the chain again. Her hands wrapped themselves around the links and pulled. This time it moved and allowed her to turn towards her brother. The shackles rubbed but she didn’t care. “No...”

Someone was yelling from the front of the line but she wasn’t able to hear it clearly. Her mind was too preoccupied and new noises made distinguishing words harder. New screams rang out. Illyn looked up from Neman’s corpse, angered slightly that people were making so much noise that it was making it hard for her to think. She was struck immediately at how few slaves were still alive. Looking towards the front of the line there was a commotion going on.

Head’s were looking into the ruins, the chain was being pulled on and Illyn simply watched it all. Those that she could see, at least three other slaves were watching some the ruins and frantically trying to escape. Blue eyes were wide as she watched the scavenger emerge from the ruins. “From the pit of demons....they are coming for us.” She felt oddly calm as she watched certain death come for the survivors. Illyn nodded as if understanding now what the fear was about.

Illyn watched a very big man scream for someone to grab the keys. Somewhere inside of her there was a voice telling her that she should be doing the same but kneeling in the dirt next to Neman’s body all she could do was watch with an almost fascination. Flight. Crouched in the dirt, Illyn observed first hand a person's desire to flee to save their life.

A scavenger was eating one of the dead slaves. The remaining slaves were screaming and trying to flee still. Illyn licked her lips. The slave was dead when the scavenger began eating, like Neman. She looking around at her brother she realized just how many were dead and the slavers too. Again a frown appeared on the woman’s face.

There had to be something that had caused the initial wave of death. On her right had been the ruins and judging by the sun, it was the east. The scavengers had come from that way. Nothing else that she could see gave her any clue. Illyn looked to the north, again nothing but dirt and ruins. Turning her head to the west, Illyn’s left, was something entirely unexpected. Her expression never changed she stared back at the wolf. It was watching the chaos as if, like her, it was fascinated with watching the people flee.

Illyn stood slowly, the chain still in her hands. Those bodies closest to her moved slightly with her, including her brother’s. She paid them no mind. Her eyes never left those of the wolf’s. Licking her lips again, Illyn stepped towards it. Something about the way it stared, that it was staring gave the wolf an almost human quality. Illyn was both terrifed and unafraid of it.

She knew she should run. Neman would have wanted her to run, to try and flee but Illyn couldn’t bring herself to do it. Chaos was behind her and calm in front of her, yet everywhere was death. Whatever killed Neman had not killed her and now it seemed she had a choice. Scavengers or the wolf. Moving as best as the chains allowed Illyn moved towards the wolf. She was pulling lifeless bodies behind her, like the train of a dress.

“A choice in death, than I chose you”

Illyn kept her eyes locked to the wolf’s.

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#2012-08-10 07:08:12, as written by MilkHoney

Cammara made herself small. It hadn’t worked when Johno had accused her of trying to escape. As she’d learned, there were too many vulnerable places to protect them all, and it was easy for anyone to pry her open like a clam. She’d hated freshwater clams. Silly thing to think about now. She dragged her forehead across her forearm and buried her face into the crook of her elbow. PET nestled uncomfortably in the tangle of her limbs; it was large enough to shield her if she wasn’t trying so hard to wrap herself around it and hide it from the Scavenger. She heard the final blow, but didn’t know for whom. Acrid ozone burned her nostrils, along with cloying minerals that hung in her dry throat, making her closed eyes water and her lungs spasm to find fresh air. It overpowered the scent of blood and offal, meaning it was closer. Her ears pricked on the sound of his weapon pulling free and she looked up, meeting his eyes.

Cammara unraveled her limbs out of the defensive crouch, letting her feet hang off the wagon before dropping the short distance to the ground. Her focus went to the dead Scavenger. The size… she could only assume it had been a child. She regarded the man’s face and saw the surety there she lacked. He’d killed it. It looked dead, but so did a sleeping snake. Just in case the thing was faking the stillness of death, she kept him between them. Scavenger mortality wasn’t something she wanted to get close enough to confirm.

He began talking. Introduced himself as Milo. Names were details she didn’t think were important at the moment, and the inane details of his preferences bordered on surreal. But if they survived this, she’d get him his coffee. As green and creamy as he wished.

“Cam,” she returned, feeling acutely uncomfortable with the name exchange. Imogen had told her horror stories of mages able to curse or control a person if given a name. She found herself hoping he wasn’t a mage. If she’d saved a mage and in turn been saved, they were even, and she had only to wait for him to turn on her, which was only what she expected from anyone in the Wastes. But it would gnaw at her that she’d given the key to a mage. It would be akin to setting Gozer free. Only she could trust Gozer wouldn’t save her life. That was it, was it? She didn’t want to owe her life to a mage.

She listened to his plan. She was about to tell him outright he was crazy, but she held her tongue in check. He’d told her to stay behind and he’d protect her. They’d each done exactly that, and had come out of it alive. It was something to consider. Then again, she would have done it anyway. And he’d have done it anyway, because the Scavenger had attacked him. Mustn’t give him too much credit.

Only it was terribly hard to not be impressed. He’d killed it with a fork. In less than a minute. She was staring, wasn’t she? Cammara made a conscious effort to look away.

But his plan was still terrible.

Who retreats closer toward the city of gnashing hungry cannibals? Seriously, might as well crawl into a Scavenger’s mouth now. They have better technology, are on their territory, and already know we’re here. We have no advantage. We’re going to die.

Cammara’s fingers were back in the wagon. Where her fingers were, her eyes were, and at least this way she could keep track of them. It made sense that items used often would be within easy reach. It wasn’t proving true in practice. Surely there was something more. Better than possibly spoiled grain and a bag of salt, she amended. An idea struck her, and she stuck her hand under the carriage of the wagon, blinding searching out with her fingertips until she closed over something smooth and cool. Ripping it out from its hideyhole, she dangled a flask by its short chain. “For you. Use later,” she said before tossing it to Milo. It was alcohol, something better than the rotgut the other slavers had access to, and not at all like the smooth spirits Cameron made to keep them warm in winter. She knew whose it was. He wouldn’t miss it. She was confident it would dissuade Milo’s abused flesh from becoming septic.

“How long did it take you to decide that structure was defensible?” she said. Cammara couldn’t bite her tongue forever, and she rationalized there was no nice way to communicate how horrible his plan was. She spoke quickly, hoping he wouldn’t have time to be offended, and in no small part because there was a panic lying in wait to swallow her should they stay here a moment longer: “If it is good, that building hasn’t been vacant in seven centuries. Not my first choice for holding out a siege. It is a fine tomb. Very tall. I think though the locals would know best where the nearest watering hole is. They probably eat there regularly.”

Speaking of which, the furry beast had impeccable timing, like it had heard a dinner bell. Or maybe it had followed them in. It couldn’t have attacked in the ravine. Too many had been alive then. Predators didn’t attack herds (and there was no doubt in her mind that this was a predator); they attacked individuals that strayed from the group, or those too weak to adequately defend themselves. It was large, very large, so it didn’t need a pack to take down a human. There had been mountain lions and bears back home that hunted solo, but this creature wasn’t acting at all like either species. Its paws, massive as they were, were not structured for the terrain of the Ruins, which suggested strongly that the Ruins were not its native environment. Like a nut around a nail, it didn’t belong. “Milo, what kind of animal watches a chained lamb but does not eat it?” The question wasn’t as rhetorical as her tone implied, and despite the slew of analytical ground she’d covered, came quickly on the tail of her last words. The beast might not be hungry. Or it might be suspicious, familiar with the concept of traps. Or, as she suspected, it did not eat humans. Even if it wasn’t harmless, it wasn’t a flesh-rending Scavenger or the ancestral family home of a flesh-rending Scavenger.

“I think we should go back through the ravine. I don’t want to be trapped in a dark tower with no clear escape route and who knows how many Scavengers.”

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#2012-09-03 20:08:34, as written by SkullsandSlippers

Illyn’s eyes remained on the wolf. Around her there were screams, yells of survivors trying to escape and utter chaos. All she could focus on was the eyes of the beast in front of her. Her body felt warm, her heart was pounding but her breathing was slow and deep. The blue of her eyes were like a blue sky, calm and serene.

Illyn was about to step towards the beast again when something hit her calf. Confusion flickered in her features. Eyes darted watching a man run towards the caravan. He was free, no chains. Illyn looked closer. There were others moving about, free of their bonds and looking to flee.

The large man, the one who had yelled for keys was free and carrying something very large. Illyn realized it was a piece of the caravan wagon. He was running with it. Illyn’ brain was struggling to come to terms with the image. Yes he was big but he shouldn’t be able to do that...

Blue eyes blinked and the man was now airborne, landing with a sickening thud. She was certain he was going to be dead soon. He would be too damaged from the attack to fight off anything that came at him. Eyebrows lifted in wonder as the man stood, wrenching his arm back into place. He smiled and Illyn shivered.

She licked parched lips and turned her eyes back to the wolf. It hadn’t moved. Blinking once it occured to her that something had hit her earlier. Looking down she saw the key laying in the dirt. “Key.”

Illyn knew that it could be used for something but her mind was failing to make the connection. She looked up again at the wolf and then at the caravan, there was movement there. Others, moving, searching...

Everything suddenly clicked her mind. The key was for her shackles, to unlock them, to get away like everyone else.

Illyn crouched, grasped the key in her fingers and watched the wolf as she inserted the key in the locks. Her breathing was slow and deep as she struggled to fit metal into metal. The beast hadn’t moved, hadn’t come at her but was still watching. There was scraping click as the first shackle released and dropped at her feet.

The key was moved to the other shackle and again with a click it fell at her feet. Illyn stood slowly. She looked around.

“Now what?” Her mind mocked her. She had been ready to walk into the wolf’s teeth than be ripped apart by a scavenger. She was free and yet defenseless. Wolf on one side, scavengers on the other. Illyn still felt there was more to the wolf than appeared. It was too calm and too curious. If was here to feed it would have joined in already.

Looking at the wolf again, Illyn began to back away slowly. She locked eyes with it again and began to edge towards the caravan. There were others there, maybe food she could take or water.

Glances stolen over her shoulder allowed her to keep track of the large, now even more intimidating man as well as any other creature that would come between her and the caravan.

Illyn reached behind her and felt the wood structure. She could hear voices. The wolf still hadn’t moved. A slow huff out and Illyn turned to find the source of the voices. Two figures stood and seemed to be discussing where to run. Fear gripped Illyn. “Don’t leave...”

She opened her mouth and at first nothing came out. Illyn looked behind her at the bodies that lay there. Neman’s was there and he would want her to live. The man had a weapon, the woman sounded like she knew what she was talking about. The body of a scavenger lay at the man's feet. They seemed ready to fight and do what it took to survive. Illyn looked them over again.

He was tall, very tall and lean. Stubbled faced and long haired but held the pronged spear as if he was more than capable with it. She was a tangle of hair and torn clothes.

Illyn found her voice, interrupting their discussion. “Take me with you. Please.”

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Tyr The Fierce

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a character in “Mechanophage: The Nextgen Infection”, as played by Crooked Thoughts

Description

So begins...

Tyr The Fierce's Story

Setting

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Setting

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Setting

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Setting

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