Cw Death - Tumblr Posts

Huh been thinking about when I lived back in my old town, and about the made-up ghost stories I'd tell my school friends. My town was pretty old, and it had some local legends, even to the point where my school was built next to the cemetery where said local legend was burred, though for the most part it was just a place for teens to skip school and drink.

But me being the very creative and original story teller, my story was a little bit closer to home. My house was built on one of the tallest points in my town, and at the foot of a place called Mount mutton. Mount mutton was in my humble opinion, one of best places to walk, it had a main walking trail that went all around spat you out at the other side. There was also a trail that went up to a lookout and a huge water tank, that also had a few local legends tied to it. But I'd say it's most interesting part was deeper into its forest. You see, if you went off trail, deeper into the brush, you could find a small structure, I would struggle to even call a cabin. It was a small crudely make stone cabin that was completely overgrown. I can't remember it super vividly, I don't even think you could go inside. But that thing completely enwrapped my imagination, and me being the hell spawn of a child I loved to scare my friends with stories of that place.

One such tail was about the supposed owner of the cabin, an old man who built it himself. He was a recluse, not dangerous by any means, but someone who you would steer clear of. But the few times anyone saw him, he was always accompanied by a large greyhound. The greyhound and the man were never seen without each other, the two of them were more than dog and man, they were family, in every sense of the word. But unfortunately as time went on the man became older, he couldn't get into town for basic supplies, he begin relying on the greyhound to find the both of them food. It was on one of these days the greyhound disappeared, it wasn't uncommon for the dog to leave for a day or two, but three days had passed with no sign of her. It was winter at the time, but despite that the man went out to look for his companion. He surched restlessly for days, with no sign of her. He was weak, tired, and cold, but he still didn't give up.

Eventually he did find her. But it was too late, the greyhound had slipped off a cliff and fell into a blackberry bush, where she was unable to escape. The man was heartbroken, he couldn't bare to go on without his loyal friend. So, he lay down to rest one last time, with his friend at his side he slept, letting the cold take him. Unfortunately for the old man, he couldn't quite yet join his friend. His still broken heart kept a part of him in the forest, and in that old stone cabin he built with his own two hands.

Of course that story wasn't true, it also kinda spiralled into me pointing to random unrelated structures and telling my friends he also haunted them too. And something about the number 17?? I can't remember exactly, I'd also tell my friends that if you were mean to dogs the old man would dump you in a blackberry bush and watch you very slowly die, but I mean who's mean to dogs anyway?

And that wasn't the only story me and my friends came up with, we'd always tell stories like that whenever we had to walk anywhere for school excursions. There was also one about the abandoned swimming pool also near the school, were people would say they heard screaming from, (Wow there were alot of creepy things near my school). But the old man and the greyhound was always my story and I really loved it for that.

Anyway it's pretty fun to reminisce about stuff like this, and it's kinda sad the place I'm at now doesn't have any thing like it. Or at least that I know about now. I really wish I could go back and visit the stone cabin but I'm decently sure it was nocked down when they started to build there. But if I can find it I will definitely take a picture of it, I really just need to make sure it actually existed lol.

Some violent doodles.

Also I have no idea what nine-inch nails is.

genuinely thought i was going to die today. in the moment i thought it might happen , i felt this awkward mix of terror and peace. if it were to have happened idk. though i’m glad i got out safe, i still kinda hoped i could’ve gone

a man self immolated in front of the israeli embassy in washington dc yesterday. not just any man. an active member of the us air force. he live streamed his death, and said that he refused to be complicit in a genocide any longer. he said that compared to what palestinians were facing every day, setting himself alight was nothing.

let me reiterate. an active duty air force member burned himself alive because he was so disgusted by what the us government was openly supporting. he live-streamed his own suicide, so the whole world could bear witness as a man in his military uniform set himself on fire to protest his government’s complicity in the horrors that we have all been forced to watch happen in real time. he became a new horror. footage of the immolation blurs him out the moment the fire catches, but you can hear him. it is over in seconds, really, but you can hear him screaming. he shouts “free palestine” until his body physically cannot make any sounds other than guttural screams of agony. and then he falls silent. a police officer arrives and points a gun at his still burning body, shouting at him to get down on the ground. and it is over.

his name was Aaron Bushnell. he was twenty five years old. and he isn’t here anymore because the political ruling class has decided that genocide is perfectly fine as long as it preserves imperialism. in the coming days, people will try to discredit him. to say that he was mentally unstable. they will try to bury his actions to save face and defend israel’s propaganda. do not let them. aaron knew what he was doing. he knew what he was doing when he put on his military uniform, set up his twitch stream, and made his final walk up to the embassy. he knew what would happen to him when he flicked that lighter. do not let them forget. aaron’s blood is on the hands of the political ruling class.

DAY 1 OF OCTOBER, DSAF TIME!,!

While I'd like to draw more wholesome coolcat-as-his-own-guy stuff, this is all I had

BLOOD, DEATH AND GORE WARNING FOR UNDER THE CUT (both in art and story)

“Tácito! Hurry!”

It really should not have been difficult. Their mission was simple: collect the rich minerals in this cave and go. That’s it. And it was like that, up until suddenly a cave-in happened. And from there, Tácito and Mono were running for their lives.

Mono sprinted through the dark cave, avoiding obstacles such the stalagmites and the constantly falling rocks from the ceiling. Tácito was right behind him, one wing injured and fists with immense strength crushing and smashing whatever got in the way. His impulsive moves were a double-edged sword: the more destructive moves he made the worse and faster the cave collapsed. He was falling behind, not nearly as agile or quick as Mono.

“Dude! Slow the fuck down! I’m eating dust back here!” Tácito shouted.

Mono looked behind him, and with a sigh slowed his pace. He slowed down enough for Tácito to get about a meter’s distance from him, then began to speed up. Mono’s eyes squinted, then widened. He could see the cave’s exit up ahead.

“Hurry! We’re almost out of here! Mono shouted next, his judgement now clouded by the way of escape. He went faster, until suddenly a sharp pain shot through his foot. He stepped right on a much smaller stalagmite, which pierced his flesh and drew blood. Mono stumbled, loosing his speed and balance. He collapsed onto one knee, staring at his bloody foot.

Tácito was catching up again now that Mono had halted. He searched around for anything else to punch out of the way, but in his search for thrills he found something much worse. A large rock was disconnecting from the ceiling, threatening to crush the colorless and hurt wolf beneath it.

Shit. Mono, what are you doing! Get up! Tácito thought. Once he noticed Mono was injured from something, he stopped. The dragon hybrid saw the large rock further crumble and loom over his friend, and there he realized what he must do.

“Monotone,” Tácito began, also readying to sprint at full speed, “It’s better me than you. You were always the more valuable one.”

“What?”

Tácito began to run, wings spreading despite one being injured. The dragon kept going, determined and focused for once. His usual selfishness was becoming courage. No way he could be selfish now, not when such a valuable person’s life was at stake. Besides, it’s not like he would be missed as dearly if it were the wolf who died today.

Mono stood up, his ears peeking as the large rock above him gave way and fell straight towards him. But before he had a chance to react, a great force shoved him out of the way, knocking him forward a good distance. And by the time he could comprehend what happened, his dull gaze landed on Tácito’s body, one half spared and the other flattened into a bloody mess.

“Tácito…? TÁCITO NO!”

happened few hours ago, the "aid ambush". people in northern Gaza who were outside waiting for aid trucks, were targeted by the Israeli army. 150 person killed immediately and around 1000 injured. check Anas Al-Sharif's page, the Al-Jazeera correspondent for more details.

people died hungry. their hunger was their vulnerability and they were attacked waiting for food. exactly how depraved that army is???

⚠️WARNING:GORE

“You could be my child now”

I will never forget this day for the rest of my life.

Israel has sealed its legacy in history as one of the most evil, diabolical, genocidal and blood thirsty regimes.

There will be no redemption for Israel. No forgiveness, no going back.

This is what Israel will be remembered for, for decades to come. This is what Zionism will be synonymous with. Pure, unadulterated evil.

i hope my stepdad dies

visuals in Baldur are absolutely insane

Surgery Tomorrow

CW: Medical Stuff, Mild Violence, Death

Howdy, so turns out taking a tyranitar tail to the back, can mess you up haha. My gear prevented my spine from being snapped like a twig and as far as could be found I just had a broken rib, turns out it damaged the system by prosthetics connect to so a section bunch of stuff needs to be replaced, most of it is on the outside so its not too bad but a section about a foot long will need to be replaced in my lower back and a small section in my right shoulder, thankfully its not too deep in so as the doctor joked "if we somehow mess up the only thing you will lose is some feeling in your toes". Anyway

Since I never really got into what occurred I probably should, so we have a pc system on site so that people can transfer their pokemon here for check-ups and so forth. The lab is also the main producers for prosthetics for people and pokemon. One of our patients in this regard was a Clefa, now Cleffairy named Rosie, and absoluty sweetheart, she was born with Phocomelia so she had no arms, she was sent to us and got a prosthetic set so she could live a normal life with her trainer, since she evolved she was being fitted for a new set which had just been finished and she was being sent to us to have them tested, give her some physical therapy with them, they are very similar to the ones she had before so it wasn't thought it would be much trouble. So Dr. Glide picked up the ball from the pc, took it over to the check-up room and released, a very pissed off mega tyranitar, needless to say the room nor the doctor were prepared for this kind of pokemon and it quickly evolved into a very dangerous situation. Turns out the pc system here in the region had been compromised and as such some unknown party was able to redirect Rosie and replace her with this tyranitar. (for those worried, yes we found Rosie, she got redirected to a pc in a pokemon center about 4 hours away, shes now back with her trainer) We have the tyranitar contained and the regional police and the local rangers are looking into it but have had no luck so far.

Thankfully we were able to get through this with no deaths, just some injuries and a lot of broken equipment.

Update: I learned Dr. Glide passed away this morning due to complications from her injuries, we will miss you Ivar.

Recreyo Chainsaw Man AU Concept

I decided to play with a concept in my mind, and this came out. Explanations will come later, but here are three povs of the same scene as a concept. But first, simple profiles. You are free to ask in my ask box! :D

(please give more specification because my mind might blank out when I get it :( )

Kristine - Canine Devil

Den - Affection Devil

Ivan - Cave Devil

RCSM:GD (Kristine)

Notes: (This is Kristine’s dialog. It may be onomatopoeia[ex: (“Ugh.”)], or actions. [ex. (Snarling])

(Broken sobbing.)

Den 

“Hey, hey… Kristine, you can hold my hands. Just keep your breathing steady.”

“Are you okay, Look, we could-”

(“AGH!”)

“Wait, where are you-?”

(Snarling.)

“Right, Chilly’s-”

…

(Footsteps away.)

RCSM:CA (Den)

She’s sobbing. She’s sobbing, and it must be stopped. Den, with no hesitation, runs towards Kristine as she's near the wall she was thrown to, as if she’s paralyzed there. She’s *not*, she’s sure of that. “Hey, hey.” She taps Kristine’s shoulder, and she flinches in a reply. 

“Kristine,” She tries to look concerned for her, because it should work and it does, the two engage with eye contact which just tenses her up, she guesses. “You can hold my hands. Just keep your breathing steady.” It would be predictable that she doesn’t know much to do, but feeling the trembling hands of one she treasures had struck a chord in her. One she acknowledges. She tries to make herself to be more gentle, focusing on her hands and slightly shifting her own. 

Kristine doesn’t tremble as much anymore. “Are you okay? Look, we could-” She smiles because everything just seems better-

“AGH!” But Kristine tugs, breaking away from her cold touch. She’s angry. Why is she angry? 

“Wait, where are you-?” She stands up and chases after her, but not in a long, action-filled chase scene but the ending is as dramatic as the middle part. And it’s because she goes to what remains of her. Kristine grabs the panda cap that *her* best friend wore(not Den’s, no no.) and points to it, snarling. 

“Right, Chilly’s-” She throws it at her, and Den just stares at it. ‘I’m sorry’ are words that feel right, but she doesn’t say it out loud and there’s no sign of her thinking of it in her face.

And for this moment she won’t because she can hear her footsteps gradually disappear.

RCSM:GM (Ivan)

What a battle. At least they won, right? Since the evil is gone, they can have a rest, since they’re guaranteed safety as per the rules. Ivan stands up, the dark fog that he must’ve breathe out and begins to look around, to see everyone *alive*.

He looks to see Den running towards a sobbing Kristine, attempting to comfort her. “Hey, hey.” She taps her on the shoulder, which makes her flinch but likely *not* on purpose of course. “Kristine, you can hold my hands. Just keep your breathing steady.” He notices that in the middle that the two hold eye contact, as people do. Maybe he shouldn’t watch because he knows how it’s going to end up – with a hug.

Or not. It’s fine. Maybe Den doesn’t like touch anyways. When he looks away for a second he hears them suddenly run. “Wait, where are you-?” Maybe he should’ve just left it as it is, because *everyone wasn’t alive.* Kristine grabs the least harmed, her panda cap and points at it, with resentment on her face. “Right, Chilly’s-” In a way that it really shouldn’t be, she throws it directly at Den, leaving her to ponder. Kristine runs away from her, but he knows for a fact that she’s just mourning. The two will make up, and everything will make a bit more sense.

TW TALK ABOUT ANIMAL DEATH UNDER THE CUT

Alright so he made it through the night. I honestly didn’t think he’d make it. He hung on there pretty long.

He passed earlier today tho. We were trying to move him out of the direct sunlight to keep him from overheating and he ran around his box so we thought he was fine but I came out a bit later and he wasn’t breathing. We’ve called the county vet to pick him up because we can’t bury him with the dog. I’m sad now but at least he’s not in pain anymore.

My dog attacked a baby squirrel and now he’s injured and I don’t know if he’s going to make it. I’ve put him in a box with food and water and I’ve tried soaking a raisin in water and putting it by his face because I’ve heard that raisins are good at soaking up water but he hasn’t moved at all. There’s a bit of blood on the side of the box and he has a giant lump on his head and he’s breathing really fast and I can’t really do anything because there’s no vets close by to my house and my mom says to not move him and I’m worried about him what do I do?

I don’t know what to do and I’m home alone! I can’t do anything and that scares me. I don’t know what else to do other than to keep watching him and trying to distract myself from the fact that he’s probably going to die because I can’t do anything

Absolute magical moment driving home. Going down a dark parkway. See something moving on the side of the road so I slow down. Two 20-something dudes in weirdly matching tank tops and gym shorts carrying a dead deer along the side of the road, one guy holding the front legs the other guy moving the back. Not just like moving it out of the street, they were fully walking to destinations unknown with deer corpse in tow. No vehicles parked anywhere along the road. No fucking idea what they were doing with it. Both dudes looking directly into the headlights with blank expressions. One guy had sunglasses on his forehead. Dead deer eyeshine catching the light. “In Your Eyes” Peter Gabriel blasting from my car the whole time which isn't directly relevant but really added to the experience.

"You always remember your first kill."

Kaleh'a had heard that statement a hundred times, and felt like he would hear it another hundred before he ever got the chance to experience what it meant. It was something of a mantra from his mother, the white haired Miqo'te past her prime, but more the wiser for it, and guiding her son's hand in archery had proven easy enough. Even if that same son had still not felled a beast, an alert deer, or a darting rabbit. It was his greatest failure as a hunter, so far, and one that he went out every evening to try and rectify.

That day was no different.

Above him, Menphina winked down between wisps of clouds, the sky painted a vibrant hue of orange and purple as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the last rays of warmth kissing the tip of the tree he sat crouched in. Shifting on his feet, his leather boots scraped softly against the bark, the only sound he made besides soft breaths, his bow unslung and strung, the firm wood resting against the tops of his boots as his blue eyes scanned the forest floor below. He had picked his location carefully, tracking coming naturally to the cat boy, his blonde ears flicking one way and then the next as the forest came alive. It was his goal to blend into that liveliness, to just be a part of his, to not stand out in his soft, laced, long sleeve brown shirt, to be just high enough to avoid detection by scent, and yet low enough that he wouldn't split his wool pants when he dropped down to finish his prey. His long tail flicked at the thought, carefully wrapped around his ankles, so it wouldn't hang down and alert an animal with its unconscious movements. He wanted that kill, needed it at this point, already eighteen and considered an adult, but truthfully, he didn't mind one more night of going kill-less.

He loved these nights. The calmness. The watching. The waiting. He just didn't love the strain of staying in one position for so long. His right hand left his bow string, brushing away his bangs from his eyes, their white tips--his mother's prideful voice rising in his head, "Moon kissed"--a little more evident in the moonlight starting to filter down, and he shifted again on his perch. On his back, his quiver shifted, he fur lined inside keeping the noise of his arrows to a minimum, the two gripped in his right hand parallel with the bow's curve more likely to make a sound than those resting peacefully in their home. That was all he should need anyways. Two quick draws, two quick fires, one dead meal. Then it would all be handy work, a knife, skinning and claiming his trophy, that coveted first kill.

If anything shows up, he thought dully, letting out a soft sigh, blue orbs lazily gliding along the forest floor. There was nothing there, not even a curious mouse to brush a leaf and catch his attention. It was so...quiet.

Both of his ears shot up, at attention, as his eyes stopped seeing, and instead, he focused on his hearing. When had the crickets stopped singing? The nightingales stopped warbling? When had everything around him grown so unnaturally still, like the entire forest was waiting for something...something Kaleh'a knew nothing about. He sat there, for a long, slow minute, listening, and finally, as the sun dipped below the surface of the horizon fully, he saw it. A flicker of orange in a forest of green, something as out of place as he was in the foliage, and something he knew deep down exactly what it was.

He was already moving before he could fully think it through, bow slung into his quiver, hands grabbing the branch below him, swinging down to the forest floor, smoothly rolling and bouncing out of it as he started running towards the oddity he had spotted, perhaps the most dangerous thing in a forest.

Fire.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Kaleh'a knew the layout of the surrounding area well, and it was only three minutes before he reached a small, well used road that cut through the forest, about where he had estimated the orange glow of early embers lay. He wasn't sure if he should be proud he was right, or worried, perhaps even fearful as he took in the scene. A carriage sat in the middle of the road, overturned and the lantern in the front broken, burning oil licking at the dry wood as someone pounded on the broken door from the inside, the twisted frame jamming it shut. He could see that all, about thirty yards away, clear as day as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, scanning the surroundings for danger. He found a hint of it only ten yards in front of him.

In the road, the carriage driver lay, and just from the glance Kaleh'a took, he knew the man was dead. His legs...his legs were no longer joined with his body. And his chest...

The archer felt like he was going to puke as staggered out of the tree line, his gaze flicking away from the man as he took a deep breath, the sound of someone yelling catching his attention, his eyes alighting on a, thankfully, alive and well dressed knight. His armor was dented, right in the center of the chest plate, but he was up, waving his sword, and staring down--

"Never hunt a red eye."

Red eyes. Angry, blazing, red eyes. The pierced the soul with hatred as the beast stomped a hoof, the boar staring down the frantically waving guard, not a drop of sympathy in it's gaze as it shook it's head. A tusk, easily twice the length of Kaleh'a's torso, curved from it's lips, the other, shorter tusk chopped off halfway, but already the full one had blood dripping from it, a tattered remnant of a guard's clothing hanging from the tip. The wound on the fallen driver's chest, the force he had to have taken... Bile rose in his mouth as Kaleh'a pushed forward, his body recoiling inside as he reached back and pulled out his bow, yelling out as the boar stomped it's front hoof again,

"The carriage! Get behind it!"

The guard, surprised to hear a voice turned, eyes widening as he saw the archer knocking an arrow and aiming it right at the creature easily twice his size, recognizing the wisdom of those words as he took a step towards the only barrier he could put between himself and the monster. But his armor was heavy, his chest was on fire, and his movements were slow, slow enough for the boar to begin it's charge.

Thundering footsteps were met with a twang of a bow string, an iron tipped arrow singing through the air and smacking wetly into the beast's neck, a grunting snort and toss of its head the only sign it had felt the sting of the archer's shot before it was upon the guard, but the arrow saved the guard a gruesome impalement. The toss of the monster's head was enough to turn aside it's tusk, the goring instrument glancing along the guard's side as he screamed in fear and pain, sending the armored man spinning to the ground, but out of harms way. A heavy thud followed, and a shrill shriek rose from the carriage, whoever was within it feeling the jolt and hearing the splinter of wood as the beast turned the carriage rack on the back to splinters. The passenger hold held up, the beast squealed angrily, and those beady red eyes turned towards the last known offender.

"Never hunt a red eye."

Kaleh'a understood why now. The shot he had landed should have ended the threat, on any normal boar he was sure it would have. But this...this monstrosity was another thing entirely. He cursed under his breath, a second arrow knocked, drawn, and released before the beast could fully face him, the second arrow striking just as true, square between and slightly above the eyes. It froze for a second, as if confused, or hopefully, wounded, but dread crept through Kaleh'a as he saw those red eyes narrow, focus, and pin him.

Fear like nothing he had ever felt stilled his arms, his hands, his feet. It left him frozen, rooted, a dead man. No! Move! Do not freeze! He had to move, his life depended on it.

The boar's left front hoof scraped the dirt angrily, beady eyes fixed on its target.

Familiarity. That was what made an archer dangerous. Knowing their bow, their arrows, their draw speed and turning each motion into a smooth and sure flow. Muscle memory propelled his arm, up and back, hand closing around three arrows, two transferred to his bow hand, the third knocked on the string.

The boar's left foot dug again at the dirt, and with a squeal it charged.

It was enough to shock the Miqo'te's system, get him moving, a rapid full draw and release, his left arm stinging as the bow string snapped along it, no guard there for the young archer. The second arrow was knocked before the beast made it five yards, fifteen left between him and death, the steel tip joining it's earlier brother between the eyes, sinking a few inches into flesh, but nothing more. The second draw and fire was quicker, accurate, true as the last, slamming into the beast to the left of the other two, turning its head into a pincushion of three arrow shafts, but none of the heads biting deep enough. Ten yards.

He didn't know who was screaming, wasn't even aware it was his lips parted in that terrifying caterwaul as he drew back the third arrow, the beast's breath hot as it closed within five yards, three, two--

That last arrow sang as it left his bow, a tune he had never heard before as bow string propelled it forward, wooden shaft scraping along wooden guide, metal tip gleaming as the carriage seat caught fire and flared to life. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was skill. Either way, the arrow found something besides tough, thick skin.

The beast's eye gave easily to the force of the arrow tip, collapsing and welcoming it into its home, the shaft following at speed as blood gushed around it. The arrow continued onward, discontent with its initial findings, travelling deeper, deeper than any arrow before it had landed. That beady red eyes was replaced in seconds with a three feathered flight, the knocking notch and its supporting feathers the only thing visible of the arrow, the second eye falling as lifeless as the other now was.

Legs crumpled, the dead weight too much to support as the beast belly flopped to the earth, sliding without so much as a sound those last two yards, tusk sliding clear of its target, the short nose of the monster stopping right at Kaleh'a's boots, snot dripping from it as the archer stared down at it in shock. No breaths lifted the thing's chest. No heart still beat in it. Only black and red ichor leaked from its eye, the killing blow, as the archer tried and failed to comprehend what had just happened.

His mouth was slightly agape, his heart hammering in his chest as adrenaline coursed through his body, his tail twitching and flicking behind him as he tried to catch his breath, throat raw for some reason. He had imagined his first kill a hundred times, fired a thousand arrows for that very purpose. It was always an animal, unaware, clean and fast, no chance to run, or hide, or spoil the hunt. It had never crossed his mind that it would be this, staring down a boar, a red eyed boar, charging him, shooting like his life depended on it--because his life depended on it, and dropping a monster that had taken a life already. He had never imagined--

The boar twitched, a phantom twitch, muscles relaxing, and the Miqo'te leapt a solid yard straight up, hissing wildly as his tail shot out and bristled, an arrow just appearing in his hand as he loosed it point blank as soon as his feet touched the ground, right into the beast's head again as he hissed again. But it was already dead, the arrow seeming to stick out of its target oddly, as if to ask "why did you do that?" He took a slow, deep, shuddering breath and let his shoulders relax, lowering his bow as he breathed out, taking in another breath...why did he smell...smoke?

"Oh. Oh shit! The carriage!"

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was much easier to break into the carriage than out, a shrilly trilling woman dressed in expensive, but not haughty clothes pulled out first by Kaleh'a, before an equally well dressed man he could only assume was the woman's husband followed, only needing the faintest attempt at help before he just hauled himself out. The woman was staring at the beast, rooted at the spot she had jumped down to from the overturned carriage, a mere seven or so yards from the front of the carriage, as her husband set about throwing dirt on the fire, Kaleh'a quickly joining him, then giving up, kicking the weakened driver's seat a few times, dislodging the flaming bench, and kicking it away from the rest of the carriage. It only took the two men a minute to put the flat piece of wood out that way, before both, and then a third in the form of a hobbling soldier, put out the lantern and lingering oil flame. Slowly, all three turned tired, and beaten, faces towards the beast.

"Our driver, Reyn." The nobleman turned a hopeful gaze towards Kaleh'a, and he just shook his head, unwilling to speak what he had seen, what had become of the man, gesturing to the noblewoman.

"You should keep her towards the back of the carriage. That way she won't see--"

"Is it dead?"

The soft voice that cut off the young archer grabbed both their attention, Kaleh'a taking a moment to answer as he saw what looked like overwhelming awe on the woman's face. "Yes. It's dead."

"And you killed it?" Her husband was at her side in a moment, murmuring softly to her as he turned her towards the carriage, guiding her towards the back of it, but her words still reached Kaleh'a where he stood. "How...how do you kill something like that?"

His tail flicked, and he slowly lifted his hands, as if realizing for the first time that yes, he had killed it. He had killed his first prey. He had done it, and as he stared at his hands, he noticed they were shaking slightly, as if her words confirming it made it real.

"It gets...easier." The raspy breath beside the cat boy nearly sent him jumping again, until he saw armor, a now sheathed sword, and a guard looking a good bit worse for wear, although incredibly standing and standing well. "You saved us."

Kaleh'a could only stare at the guard, dumbstruck, and a little confused, meeting his hazel eyes for a moment before realizing what the guard was hinting at, the archer's eyes widening as he shook his head. "I don't expect a reward!"

"But you deserve one." The guard reached out, grabbed Kaleh'a's left hand, pulling it up and pressing a small, but heavy bag of coins into it, giving the archer a stern look. "Don't try to give it back. You did a good thing. That money is nothing compared to our lives." The sad glance towards Reyn's body had the Miqo'te's ears wilting, his mouth opening and closing, trying to work the words out of his mouth, the money feeling heavier in his hand.

"I'm sorry...I didn't get here sooner."

"Don't be. There was nothing you could do." The guard shook his head, and slowly sank back against the carriage, sitting with a groan as he gestured towards the beast. "Came out of the forest on our side, gored the poor fool before he could even react, and tipped our carriage. Honestly...I thought we were done until you came along."

"I saw the fire." He didn't know why he felt like he had to say it, but it just made sense to say it, motioning to where he had come from. "The sun had already set, I knew it had to be a fire."

The guard gave the young man another look, a long one, before he remarked, "You know this area well."

"I do."

"Anywhere we could stay?" A simple question, and one Kaleh'a should have thought of, especially while still holding their money. He rapidly pocketed it, nodding as the bag of gold found its home against his chest, turning towards the road.

"Yes! My town, I'm sure we could find a place for you. It's about..." He glanced around, checking their surroundings, and the position of the moon, before confirming, "no more than twenty minutes walk."

The guard chuckled, and gestured towards the road. "We won't have to walk."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

When Kaleh'a saw the flicker of torches in front of his town's gate, he knew his absence had not gone unnoticed. The town of only thirty some-odd people meant everyone knew everyone, and when one went missing, everyone went looking. Instead of having to venture out into the dark, they were instead met by the Miqo'te archer leading two horses, a nobleman and his wife on one, and a guard in silver armor on the other. It was a white haired Miqo'te female who broke the line first, letting out a wail as she ran towards her son, hugging him as he laughed, Kaleh'a happily returning his mother's hug before she broke their embrace to look him over.

"What were you thinking?! Staying out this late. You know what lurks in this fore--"

"Mom, please." He chuckled and nodded to their guests, already the townsfolk helping them down and asking if they were okay. "They needed help, I gave it."

His mother's eyes narrowed, taking in the guard's dented armor, and his ragged appearance. "Help, help with what?"

Abruptly, a cry of surprise went up, and the townsfolk shifted, flowed, and then pressed towards the dark, shadowy object behind the horses, what they had dragged the entire way back to the town. His mother didn't need to look closer, her night vision giving her all the view she needed, eyes going wide as she saw the arrows sticking from its head, turning slowly back to her son as he gave her a tired smile.

"You were right, mom. You never forget your first kill."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

He never spent a cent of that money. Even to this day he carries it with him. The bag has changed, a padded one to muffle the sound of clinking coin, but he never forgot. The money became a reminder, of why he hunted, what he hunted, and for who he hunted. He hunted to protect. He hunted the monsters of the world. And he hunted for those who couldn't. And with every step, and every draw, and every soft shift of those coins, he'd always remember that first kill, and the path it set him on.

Cold

It was one of the few things Brynhorn Fiske hated, but found himself in more often than not. Laying belly down in snow would do that to you, and of course, he was doing just that, sighting down the sights of his rifle as he breathed slowly, evenly, watching as far below him on the mountain, Garlean soldiers passed through a small mountain pass. He tracked the first soldier, his head appearing in his sights, a tiny little black dot, as his finger slowly shifted from the trigger guard, resting against the trigger, taking a slow breath, letting it out even slower...

"Boo!"

Bryn felt his eyes narrow, slowly turning his head to stare at the ashen haired joker as the Hyur assassin snickered next to him, the sniper slowly removing his finger from the trigger. "You are lucky I have good trigger discipline," the soldier growled out, his voice deep and rich for his age, the thirty four year old Sergeant pushing up onto his elbows and disrupting a few small pebbles of soft snow.

"We would have been fine," Thancred chuckled out, "the sound wouldn't have reached them from here."

Bryn shifted his gun, rising to his knees as he shouldered the pine wood rifle and sighed, the younger man still very much a silver tongued tease. "You're right, but they would have noticed their Lieutenant dropping dead at the head of the line."

Thancred actually looked mildly concerned at that statement, looking down towards the mountain pass, and then back at the all white clad soldier, before nervously saying, "You couldn't hit that...right?" Bryn just gave him a stare, his silver eyes gleaming as he repositioned the hat on his head, the snow dusted linen hiding his short cropped black hair as he turned and began to trudge through the snow towards the next lookout, Thancred following along behind him and calling out, "Right!?"

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn was back in the snow, belly down, the angle of the slope steep enough to give him a natural angle down towards the pass, nearly fully covered by snow now that they were closer, his rifle sticking out from it and angled down towards the next section of the pass. Nearby, Thancred tossed a knife up into the air, catching it blade first, and repeating, the Sergeant mildly annoyed at him. He would have told him to stop, if the sun was out, but the day was blissfully cloudy. Correction, it was bitterly cloudy. It made the snow an extra few degrees cooler, and that just added to the soldier's mounting annoyance. He wasn't used to all of this sneaking around, waiting, and watching, more a man of action with his militant background, but after joining the cloak and dagger operation out of Limsa Lominsa, he had adapted, quickly. It wasn't his preferred method of engagement, but he could be deadly at the long ranges the organization wanted him to observe from.

He let out a slow breath, watching the pass, the slow progression of the Garlean soldiers, not even bothering with the sights this time as his finger rested on the trigger guard. The snow had fallen thick the evening before, and it was showing, the foot soldiers slogging through the soft powder as their black armor stuck out like beetles on paper, the sniper thanking the guild for providing him with a white coat, white shirt, and white pants, even a pair of leather boots with white fur sewn over the brown material. It kept him camouflaged, even better than Thancred's white and black coat.

"What's your camouflage again?" The question was mumbled, the Sergeant's cheek pressed to the butt of his rifle as he glanced at the younger, but senior in the guild, rogue. It actually got the spy to stop tossing his knife, look at Bryn, and then raise his arms as if it was self explanatory.

"A rock!"

"Rock's don't move."

"You are zero fun."

"I thought this wasn't supposed to be fun."

Thancred narrowed his gaze, and then let out a grumbling curse. "I preferred my last detail. No one to babysit, and plenty of beautiful women to court~" Bryn actually groaned, and Thancred laughed at the sound, returning to tossing his knife as the soldier shifted slightly, looking back down his rifle at--

"Hey. Where's the patrol?"

Thancred stopped tossing the knife, looking down towards the mountain pass, as Bryn rose to one knee, sighting down his rifle and slowly scanning, the rogue crouching down as he too looked for any trace. "How the...there is nowhere else to go but...wait..."

He tapped Bryn's shoulder, pointing, and the older soldier shifted his sight line to where he was directed, closing one eye as he took in what his eagle eyed leader had.

"A door? Metal... Huh, magitek I think. See a keypad."

"You can see that?"

Bryn just nodded, continuing on with his explanation as he looked slightly to the left. "Single guard, blends in well with the rocks and door. Still stupid to wear black in snow."

"When do they not wear all black?" Thancred drawled out, sitting back in the snow. "Well, we have the location of the secret Castrum! I think we've seen enough."

Bryn had to agree, rising to his feet and stamping them slightly, getting the blood flowing as he shifted his gun onto his shoulder, lifting his gloved hands and blowing on them before answering. "Plenty. Let's head back and--"

The crack of the rifle rang out, and Bryn staggered back, slamming back into the snow as pain blossomed in his side, laying on his back, nearly starting to slide down the steep mountain peak, he saw for the first time the Garlean scout who had just shot him, the still smoking blade-gun pointed right at him, and the pristine white armor enough to make the soldier eat his earlier words. Already, the scout was aiming at Thancred, the rogue leaping forward, ready to close the distance as Bryn reacted on instinct.

The crack-BOOM of his rifle, brought to bear against his shoulder, sent a ball of aether spinning towards the scout, stabilized with spin and cutting through the cool air. The poor sap didn't stand a chance, Bryn's older, less advanced rifle far more accurate thanks to familiarity and old, lost technology, the concentrated ball of death slamming through the visor of the scout and snuffing out his life in an instant.

Bryn lowered his rifle slowly, already panting as pain began to truly radiate from his wound, blood seeping into the snow under him and staining his coat a rich, vibrant red. The crumpled Garlean began to slide down the mountain, his armor dragging him along, as below an alarm sounded and soldiers began to pour from the door. The rogue was at Bryn's side in a moment, handing him a fistful of bandages that the sniper pressed to his wound, hissing in pain before making a move to get to his feet.

"You can't--"

"I can and I will." Bryn cut him off, not needing to hear that the wound was bad, or that it would slow them down. Instead, he just pressed his rifle into Thancred's hands and then pulled himself up, swaying slightly as blood slowly dripped from between his fingers and around already stained bandages. "Go. Get them the location. I'll follow."

"You're kidding!" Thancred was incredulous, his brown eyes shining with disbelief, and his mouth working open and closed, a few sounds like words leaving his lips, but he didn't get the chance to say them.

"No. Go. You're the leader, you know the mission takes precedence."

"And you're my charge!" Stubborn. Someone had mentioned that about Thancred, Bryn didn't care to remember who. He just gave the well built man a shove and growled out angrily.

"And I'm saying go! I've survived worse, now let me do what I'm trained to do, and go!" Thancred hesitated, then tried to hand back the rifle he still clutched, Bryn waving him off with a quick, "I'll be better without it," only then turning and starting to make a rapid, half sliding half running descent down the mountain, angling away from the Garlean forces trying to pick their way up it. Bryn watched him go, making sure he didn't turn back, before he too turned and headed along the mountain ridge, but going up and away from the approaching forces.

He knew he had a long few days ahead of him as every step barked with pain in his side.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Three days later, when Bryn walked over the threshold of the guild in Old Sharlayan, the whispers began. Thancred had returned only the day before, begging that a search party be mounted, but finding no one willing to search for a body. Not a single one of the unsavory bunch expected him to crawl through the door, but to walk through it? Tattered white clothes stained red with blood? He shocked them all.

For a long week, some swore they had seen claw marks in his clothes. Others said they saw a healed bullet wound on his left side. Others whispered his eyes glowed unnaturally. But no matter what was said, his name was whispered nearly reverently, and an old moniker made a resurgence from his military days.

"Silver Wolf."

He never told anyone what happened up on that mountain. Not even Thancred. All he would say was that he hid, and waited until the danger passed.

And that he hated the cold.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

[...]He crouched, crawling forward with haunches shifting this way and that to adjust the finer details of his trajectory of a lethal pounce- Only to jump back as the ringing sound of a gun caught him by surprise.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The dull throb of his pulse matched the soft thump of his boots, even, steady, calm, his silver eyes scanning his surroundings as he listened carefully, for any dragons or welps that wanted to try and make a meal of him. Already, just within the winding tower that rose up towards sun-bleached sky, dragonettes flew and roosted, eyeing him, but turning away. They were not from Nidhogg's unholy brood, simply mindless creatures who were drawn to the Father of Dragon's bleached bones to live out their days. Revenant's Toll, shortly after peace between dragons and Ishgard was announced, gave up trying to keep the spire dragon free, and instead decided to make it an attraction, to draw adventurers to it and let them see the place the Warrior of Light had fought, and bested, the mighty Midgardsormr.

Occasionally, though, even with the culling the Warrior of Light had handed the local dragon population, Nidhogg's brood came to roost and stir up trouble among the more peaceful dragons. When those dragons came, a hunt was mounted, and adventurers would rush to slay them, to get the prized title of dragon slayer that was less common these days. Bryn technically had that title.

Bryn also didn't tell anyone how he had gotten it.

No one asked anyways.

He could not see his black scaled friend and charge, his eyes unable to see the shift in shadows the half-dragon inhabited, instead focusing on finding his prey, traveling up the circling metal, rock, and debris. All remnants of a battle, a battle that had shaken Mor Dhona to its very core. As he rounded a bend, one dragonette snapped at him, angry eyes with green scales, but a slightly larger one, older, and wiser, smacked it with its tail and dragged it off. Bryn thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in its eyes, as if it knew not to mess with the soldier, and to leave him be. He only gave it a nod as the smaller dragon screeched in indignation, before continuing on. It was another turn, a flatter area, with pools of water covering half the surface, that Bryn heard it.

The snap of teeth, the angry screech, and the sound of a larger wings. He slowed, looking over the wide platform of metal and stone, before spotting it. A few dragonettes, unroosted and angry, flew around the intruder to their home, a larger, hungrier Aevis, their scales a sickly green-black, snapping right back at the little ones that flew around and dived after weak wings. It didn't move though, the snapping of its jaws scaring away the dragons who would become meals if they struck true, Bryn's eyes tracking how it moved and snapped, looking for a pattern as he slowly crouched, right knee down, left leg out front and up.

Thirty yalms. No zero needed.

His left elbow pressed into his left thigh, stabilizing his arm as he lifted his rifle, stock pressed back into his right shoulder as he sighted the creature, the proud, uplifted chest swaying minutely within the circular rear sight as he lifted his left arm, and his rifle, clear from his leg. The single post that made the front sight sat steady on the dragon's chest, then rose, slowly, Bryn's pointer finger on his right resting on the trigger guard as his rifle lifted to point towards that gnashing head.

My rifle is an extension of my body. A part of me when I shoot it.

His finger lifted from the trigger guard, and slowly rested on the trigger itself, curling around the curved metal piece, not squeezing, resting, waiting.

It is my protection, and my sword.

The dragon snapped, angrily, a dragonette peeling away in alarm.

It is death to my enemies, and life to my allies.

The dragonette wasn't fast enough, the lunging jaws catching its tail, a jerk, a scream of fear, and it was between the larger dragon's maw, sharp teeth pressing into scales, ready to crush and crunch as the Aevis brought its head back in, a triumphant gleam in its eyes as the dragonette's brood-mates screeched in fear and panic. It lifted its head, ready to crush the life from the welp's body, as from the corner of its eye it caught a flash of silver as the light caught something just right.

The sight of Bryn's rifle aligned with that head, as he pulled the heavy-weight trigger back smoothly, the rifle kicking into his shoulder as the crack of the report echoed through the spire.

Within the gun, the aether it had collected had become condensed, waiting for the pull of the trigger to use a reserved portion of it to send it spitting forward. As the trigger was pulled, the excess aether propelled the ball of condensed energy down the barrel of the rifle, screaming towards freedom as it found itself spinning. Within the barrel, intricate, swirling carvings lay on the metal, spinning and turning the ball of aether, increasing that spin speed along every inch of the three fulm barrel, until it was spinning so fast it heated that last fulm a glowing red. The crack of sound was not the aether, or the inner workings of the rifle itself, it was that ball of death breaking the sound barrier, a promise to those who heard it that they had not been the target. The blueberry sized ball of superheated aether, stabilized on its direction with spin, screamed towards its target with a vengeance, and reached it in less than a second.

Scales cracked, shattered, barely slowing impending doom. Muscle rended, shredded, flattening the aether and turning it even deadlier. And with a spray of ichor, red and blue, the aether ball shot from the far side of the dragon's skull, the light behind those angry eyes already out.

The dragonette dropped from limp jaws, the large beast swaying, still upright, and then slumping, head tilting down into its breast, neck limp as it folded in on itself, and front wings fell loosely at its sides. All motion ceased, leaving the dragon sitting upright, as if it was just sleeping, not dead as the slow drip of red blood seeped from the twin holes in its head. Bryn rose slowly, walking forward, his rifle held at the ready by his side, the soft buzz of energy around the wooden death stick marking it was slowly charging again, as he went to confirm his kill, the would-be-snack dragonette taking to the skies after a moment and circling the dead beast, a triumphant screech rising from it and their brood mates.