To say it was a matter of caring or not was an oversimplification. Bodily desires like thirst are a thing several magnitudes less complicated than others, but nonetheless it is not simply a robotic reflex that when one feels thirsty one drinks. It is a matter of choice to drink now or to work toward satisfying one’s thirst. Or it can be postponed. It can be cared about, or not cared about. Naturally this affects one’s physical health to a degree, but that can be put on hold if need be if the situation calls for it.
That is, if one feels so.
Feeling at his canteen, the white Reyn named Veseris rubbed his paws on it, aware of how much precious fluid remained in its volume, how much hydration he had left to look forward to in this sweltering climate. He was rather thirsty, no question about it. This blazing heat, these dry sandy dunes: none of it was anything like he was used to in all his travels. There were reasons that he had never gone to the desert, especially such an inhospitable locale such as this. Granted, what jobs or assignments could he possibly have been given that would require travel to these forsaken lifeless wastes before?
Still, when the need was there, one did what was necessary.
Wrenching his footpaws through the soft sand, it was a constant effort for the white Reyn to keep his balance in the dunes, especially as the wind leaned into him constantly bullying him, threatening to topple him over with a brutal relentlessness at times. More exertion, more effort.
More thirst.
His throat ached, cracking with a dryness that wanted to shatter like an evaporated riverbed, like it wanted to just let loose with one giant fissure that would spread up and down his body, snapping him in two on the spot. Giving in, the white Reyn clutched his canteen and allowed himself some precious gulps of the life giving liquid that coated his mouth and throat, undoing the parched dryness inside him, if only for a time.
It is of course a delicate choice. Drink now? Refresh yourself in the present? Or wait later? A delicate calculation to make, especially with something as embedded into the psyche as thirst.
His vision scrutinized the sands, peeking this way and that, not seeing much for miles around in all directions. Sand, wastes, emptiness. It certainly was a place where if one had time for feelings of loneliness, such isolation could gnaw at your bones. It could seep into your gut and deliver a quiet pressure that sapped your breath like an ever present leak.
Still, little there was that one could do but wait.
This is what he had been told to do, by that odd pair. A rabbit spirit and a short Gray with odd antennae like hair. He’d been told where to go. He’d been told what to do. He’d been given justification. Save the world, gain power, prove oneself, all that.
Was it a good why?
Depends...
The white Reyn swore their scent reached him before his eyes caught sight of them. Two... peculiar, considering that he had been told there would only be one. Thoughts reflexively fell to his knife, and his paws clenched with memories of knowledge that had been acidicly etched onto his soul. Was there a trick afoot? A team up? Perhaps the spirit and the Gray had been duplicitous; it had been mistake to trust them so openly.
The sight coming forward was not one that would be expected however. Both were rather short. From what it looked like the pair consisted of a Fen- a woman- and a Gray, and a child at that. Confusion creased the white Reyn’s brow, as he steadied his balance, stiffening like a statue, like the rigid remains of a long forgotten king who had set up and displayed his fallen wonders for the world to see, to be swallowed up by the sands.
The two parties became closer now, the other now firmly in the sights of the presumed opponent. The distance closed, the gap narrowed, scrutinizing eyes examined.
"You there?" the female Fen called out, the child watching with an intense curiosity, a concentration animating his pupils that verged almost on the unnatural. A child, yes. But there was something off, something that made him pause. Both of them approached cautiously, awaiting a reply.
The white Reyn did not venture a reply for the longest while. "Unless you believe me to be some sort of ghost, most certainly so." The newcomers snapped each other a quick glance. "So, which of you would be my opponent?"
Fears of a team up were put to rest when the Fen pointed at the young Gray. "Surprise!" she exclaimed. "It’s the kit here. Mine name’s Bedisa, and this is Greg by the way."
Barely an eyebrow was raised by the white Reyn.
A long silence. "Erm... hello mister?" the one called Greg said, snapping his finger paws about. "You gonna tell us your name?"
An apathic shrug. "Would it make a difference?"
"Um... usually most people do tell their names? It’s just us, I might as well know yours."
A reply was not given. Neither of relenting or of scorn. A blank mask stared out, face unmoving.
"Mister?...
"I don’t think this one’s going to say anything kid," said the Fen. "Just... have at him," she declared gesturing with her paws.
The white Reyn moved not an inch. The most that occurred where thoughts, memories. He looked at the young Gray, small but strutting his stuff, moving with a confidence... He looked like a certain brother...
The image of Yeforr, standing tall and brash, eager for adventure, confrontation, excitement; it burned through his memory, bright as the sun shiny down on this sandy desert. Bright as the light on this small Gray. Now there was a change. Now there was an alteration to that steadfast stone mask that was called a face.
The Gray did not fail to take notice. "Mister? Erm... you sure you’re here to fight?" The child... was a child, yes, but he was clearly more too. So like Yeforr, but stronger... the white Reyn nodded in response very slowly.
"... um, right... you sure? You don’t seem very into it. You sure you want to fight here? I mean-"
"Greg!" the Fen snapped behind him.
"What?" he snapped back.
A facepaw. "Just attack him already?"
"But this fighting stuff, you sure it’s necessary?"
"Look at him!" she exclaimed, "he’s just standing there like a statue!" The white Reyn obliged her flawlessly. "Go at him!"
The Gray sighed deeply. "Alright, alright... Well mister, I guess we gotta do this." Suddenly a strange flash light the sands, and without further preamble the diminutive vulpine was now garbed in greener clothes... as well as standing on a rug that hovered above the sand.
There was very little warning for the elder opponent at as the green clothed child rocketed forwards. The white Reyn barely had time to evade. It might have been enough, but he was successfully caught off guard by the abruptness of the attack. Spinning and clutching his side from the severe and sudden blow to his abdomen, he was almost too disoriented to notice the child warrior spin his scimitar around, this time holding the blade out and not the grip which had just pummeled his side in. "If you insist on fighting, I’ll make it quick and painless for you then."
Groaning from perhaps a cracked rib, the white Reyn shook himself and glared at the flying green devil as he zoomed over the dunes and swooped in for another pass. This time, he was ready.
The instant the Gray came in for his blow, the white Reyn fell over backwards flat on his back. Sliding down on the dune, he waited just the split second before his opponent’s flying carpet was over him before kicking up from underneath with all his might.
A child’s scream reverberated across the sweltering dunes as the one called Greg tumbled chaotically through the air. The white Reyn leaped to his feet, his chest flaring with ache. Of course now it would be time to finish the job.
...Except it wasn’t. This point was quickly delivered home when a fierce blue light instantly preceded a grappling hook flying forward and latching around his leg. The white Reyn screamed in shock and surprise as he was brought low and out from a burst of sand emerged the Gray, this time decked with blue, his face beaming with a upright determination and pride. "I can win this no matter what, snow Reyn!" Running forward, he began lobbing small black spheres.
Crashing into the sands, the white Reyn was curious only an instant before rolling away as they exploded with an ear piercing volume. Cradling his ears, he saw another bomb flying. Instantly he rolled himself down the sand dune, tumbling about chaotically and with almost complete disorientation in his mad desperation to evade the hurled explosives. Another burst hurled a column of sand upward mere feet away and produced a shock that slammed into the tumbling snow Reyn like a wall.
"Hah!" the Gray shouted triumphantly as he bounced yet another bomb in his paws. "Well Bedisa, now we’ll make short work of him," he declared triumphantly as he hefted the last bomb to finish off his opponent.
Gasping, totally dizzy and dazed, the white Reyn only had the barest second to see the bomb coming... and slam right next to his shoulder. At the bottom of a sand dune, there was little room for him to move, too much sand to gain his balance to stand in time... He couldn’t get away... so he decided to return the package to its sender.
Not sure of how few twinklings of an eye he had left, he snatched the lit explosive and hurled it blind in the direction of the child warrior.
So flush he was with victory the Gray didn’t notice the bomb flying back until too late. Exploding midair, the blast wasn’t enough to injure, but it was enough to knock him off his perch atop his sand dune and knock him over backward, landing on his ankle at a jarring and painful angle and tumbling down in a general heap.
Grunting, the white Reyn grimaced, clawing at the shifting sand and forcing himself up, determined to follow his prey. Clearly he had been incapacitated or set back in some way, as the snow Reyn was still allowed to stand. Hurrying, he ran up the dune, panting and sweltering in the heat. If only he could have more water...
A yellow flash painted the sands. Bracing, the white Reyn found himself at the center of no attack. Instead, he found the child now dressed in yellow, an air of serenity exuding from him, wielding a double edged sword.
The Gray breathed deep. "Clever, Mister. Very clever. You got the best of me with my pride showing there. Guess I’ll just have to swallow it and just flow on some tranquility." And with that, the child warrior proceeded to run up the sand dune as if it were solid ground, flying as if propelled by mystical energies.
Fortunately for the snow Reyn this was not unforeseen, as he had been expecting something surprising and stood as prepared as he could. The child moved up, flew up, staring him down, ready to make his move. Again, the white Reyn saw his brother Yeforr in those eyes, so set upon his purpose, so believing in his aims, so convinced of the righteousness of his cause.
The blade came forward swiftly, swinging in at inhuman speeds that sliced into the white Reyn’s desert cloak several times. He attempted to evade, but was cleanly sliced at the edges of his arms and across the tip of his belly even, all moves of deathly precision and deliberateness.
"Do you give up?" the Gray asked calmly. His opponent flailed and tried to push out from the sword’s reach. The snow Reyn was rewarded by a sharp butting of the sword’s hilt to the head. Dazed and grimacing, he was grabbed by the child warrior with both paws and yanked face to face, up close.
"This doesn’t have to go on any longer. You don’t need to hurt yourself anymore. Do you give up?" he repeated with the utmost serenity.
Such tranquility was rewarded by a close quarters kneeshot to the groin. Keeling over backward in shock and mouthing wordlessly, the white Reyn lowered his neck and head butted the child. The Gray’s paws let go and they both tumbled over backwards, greeting the sands with their wide open muzzles and receiving large mouthfuls of swelteringly hot sand.
Spitting up blood and sand, the white Reyn rasped for breath, dizzy and becoming rapidly dehydrated, spent of almost all energy. He tried lifting himself up, but merely stood on his hands and knees, gasping for breath and spitting out spittles of bloodied sand.
That is, until the desert burst with red, and an enraged howl ripped through the sands and crashed into his ears. Stumbling to his feet, the white Reyn crawled up the dune...
He was greeted by the sight of the child warrior. But this time his garb was red, his weapons were a giant lance and enormous sword; one in each paw. His eyes were beaming red, his face curled into a vicious snarl, his whole body seething with rage that desired nothing more than to deliver an almighty wrath against this cursed enemy.
Glaring and charging, the Gray hefted his weapons with unnatural strength, utterly unimpeded by the tremendous weight of his enormous weapons.
Instantly the Snow Reyn bolted for higher ground, determined to wrest whatever advantage he could gain in this incredibly lopsided fight. He charged, and as the enraged Gray ran up after him and kicked up large clouds of hot sand right at him as he approached, hoping to blind him and slow him down.
It turned out it marginally succeeded at both these goals; though what it really succeeded at was royally pissing off the super strength child berserker. Roaring in fury he jabbed his giant lance forward. While he failed as in any way impaling his fleeing prey, he was easily able to jerk his weapon to the side and smashed the white Reyn’s legs out from under him.
Brought low and tumbling, the white Reyn was given another mouthful of hot sand. For a moment the world simply spun about him in a dizzy kaleidoscope, and the one thought occupying him... was thirst. Just so thirsty. So dry. His lips and throat were dryer than a cracked desert stream. He just needed... needed so bad...
The face resembling Yeforr’s came into view, triumphantly looking down at his prey. "Now you asked for it Mister." His paws raised themselves, hoisting their weapons up high. Coming to inflict the final blow.
Thoughts returned of his brother. Of the trial, of the shock. Of the scorn. Of the betrayal that the white Reyn had committed.
Lurching upward the dirtied Reyn threw his body weight at the lance, and shoved it backward with all his weight in a sudden move. There was little doubt that the super powered Gray could have brushed this push aside and sent his opponent flying backward with as much effort as brushing aside a fly... if he had been expecting it.
Instead the momentum caught him utterly off guard, thrusting him backward and disrupting his balance. Charging forward, pushing against the lance the snow Reyn leapt in a burst of utter adrenaline. He unsheathed his dagger and brought it in forward and low.
Had he been aiming at an adult, it is very likely the Gray would now have had a stab wound straight into his liver. As it was it thrust in and stabbed right above his right lung, under the shoulder. Screaming with surprise he dropped both his weapons and fell back, smashing into the sand with a tremendous impact.
Kneeling over him lay the snow Reyn, rasping, in agony out of breath, holding the knife in tight against the now weaponless Gray. Leaning in, he placed his muzzle next to the child warrior’s ear. "Now... do you yield?"
A dizzy but angry grunt was the immediate reply, to which the white Reyn jiggled the knife around just a tad more. Staring at his opponent, his eyes locked down on him, gazing at him more like a pair of stationary orbs than windows into a man’s soul. Gurgling and spitting up some sand, the red dressed Gray nodded in defeat.
"Wow..." came a stunned voice behind. The Fen wobbled up on the sand dune to finally get an up close look at the aftermath. "You know, I didn’t quite see that coming."
The victorious combatant shrugged. "A knifing you see coming isn’t proper use of a knife," he said without mirth as he gripped his weapon and yanked it out to a howl of pain from the incapacitated Gray.
"Oh blah," the Fen woman shook her head, and retrieved from her back a strange sword, peppered with curved etching and borderline unsettling shapes. A soft disconcerting red glow emanted from it as she brought it forward... and stabbed her companion with it. Upon his predictable scream, she grimaced. "Oh quit it already, you’ll be good as new in a moment!"
Strangely, this statement turned out to be truer than it had any right to be. While obviously in a great deal of pain, the child warrior’s stab wound was patched up in little to no time. Catching sight of the stare from the white Reyn, the Fen held up the sword. "Pain's Caress," she said, wielding it about. "Hurts just like a normal sword but heals the wounds as it passes good as new!"
This was an interesting concept to the victor. More than interesting in fact. But that was suddenly a lesser concern at the moment. A rather much more interesting one was the figure unexpectedly standing behind.
A lean, curled forward figure, like a coiled spring dressed in tight black and red garb. His hair spiked from several ends in black, yellow and purple, and held out unnatural red blades at a hungry angle, ready to sate themselves with more of the blood red color they were made of.
Bedisa caught sight of this and only gawked for a moment before the intruder leapt forward, screeching with a howl that felt like it shattered eardrums, slamming at the Fen quickly and slicing at her.
A scream of pain rang out, though as she crumpled she was clearly not mortally wounded. Her wounds were shallow and superficial, more for the benefit of pain than inflicting fatality. The newcomer Gray Reyn held up his left blade, shimmering with lines of his victim’s blood, and tongued it slowly. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, ecstasy gripped his body as he smiled deliriously.
"That," his gravely voice rasped, "was a wonderful appetizer." His eyes snapped back into place, squarely feasting their gaze upon the recently victorious snow Reyn, still haggard and leaning over from his costly triumph. "You are the victor then?" the bloodthirsty Gray whispered with a blood coated tongue as he examined the child Greg’s still limp and breathing heavily form. "Some victor..." he snarled. "What is your name?"
A response was not forthcoming. The snow Reyn stood still, breathing, his eyes focused but his mind racing.
"I asked you a question... Preeeeeeeey," he slurred the word, like he was tasting the word in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue.
Silence was the only answer he received.
"Speak!"
The white Reyn, dirtied by sand, grime and blood in matted glumps, simply breathed raspily but slowly.
"Fine! The last thing you shall taste is the blood from your own wounds that you will choke on, foolish Prey. Now taste death from Zaharl!"
Screeching, the deranged Gray charged.
It was a foregone conclusion that the dirtied grimy Reyn was no match for his new adversary. He had been utterly spent facing the child Gray, his body was cracked, bruised, and two steps away from being just plain broken at any given moment. He needed rest, recuperation, medical care.
The strange assassin barreled down at him, eyes alight with hunger, the need to sate and devour. To feed on hopelessness and fear.
There was a fear that grew in the wounded Reyn’s eyes. But it was distant, like looking at a far away world. He heard screams from the one called Bedisa, screeches over her pain for him to run, fight, to do something other than just sit there. For there was no trick up his sleeve this time. No drop kicks, sudden surprise moves, no opportunity to disorient his enemy and plunge his blade in. There was just the charging assassin... and the thought behind the white Reyn’s eyes.
Screeching as the assassin rushed. Rubbing as the Reyn pulled out his dagger. Bloodlust in the Gray’s raging eyes. Contemplativeness in the White’s. The twin red blades upraised. The simple unornamented dagger held downward.
The red blades held themselves high and poised to strike down, ready to end this pathetic wretch in front of them. A darkness covered the white Reyn’s face as he lowered his gaze, his eyes hidden from view... and he suddenly raised his dagger and stabbed his own arm.
No sound echoed at all from the event. In fact no sound echoed at all. It was as if the desert had been deafened from a sudden and forceful impact, wrenching from it the temporary ability to hear... until there was only a roar.
A surging black and gray mingled with red pouring from the white Reyn’s arm, and burst forward in a wave that blasted the desert with the force of a god’s hammer, annihilating dunes in an instant and smashing headlong into the utterly shocked expression of the assassin Gray. His eyes burst wide with fear as he was propelled, shorn away from his grounding as if a giant maelstrom lifted him from the sands, hurling him upwards like a speck of dust sent flying from an impact, helplessly careening out of sight into the skies.
The white Reyn rasped, breathing heavily as the chaotic din died down as he extracted his dagger from his arm, halting the unholy blood magic he had just unleashed. He staggered in his balance, lightheaded, and in shock from the event. His eyes lifted slowly, rock hardness was their expression as he stared at the desert sands, barely noticing the two dumbstruck Reyn laying nearby.
Suddenly, he felt thirsty again, dryness etching at his throat and body. Finding his canteen battered but not punctured, the white Reyn took a long satisfying gulp. However demanding or merely necessary his thirst, it was time to satisfy it. Gently he capped his canteen and stared at the direction where his opponent had flown out of sight.
"My name is Veseris Hashrim, assassin. Pray we don’t meet again."
