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RULES

Here, in what was previously England, there lies only ruins and broken dreams, as it has been for roughly three years now. The once pedestrian-filled streets are now bare, aside from the rubble from fallen and unkept buildings. What plants there were have become massive and overgrown with nobody to tend to the gardens they once lived in. The foul scent of car exhaust and overpopulation is gone, replaced by the constant heavy scent of rain soon to come. The once noisy city is now mostly quiet, the only sounds being the wind and the occasional scuff of rubble against rubble. The only motion is that of mice, rats, insects, and the creatures that caused the disorder in the first place. The beasts wander the streets and clearings, clambering over low walls and stumbling through the foundations of shattered houses.


What survivors there are either hide from the creatures or fight them, though the latter is far less common. Many people are women and children, who knew it was a bad idea to try and fight the monsters. Many men tried, succeeded, then failed quickly. Some used bows and arrows, some used guns, some used knives and axes. Only those that learned about the monsters first ever really succeeded. With the attacks from the beasts, and the sudden knowledge that loud guns attracted them, technology both receded and advanced. Instead of guns, there were bows and arrows, swords, knives, axes... Anything sharp seemed to work, as did anything quiet.


Each survivor has their own story of this hellish time and place. Each one might tell you, if you ask them.

Once upon a time, there was a prince. The prince lived happily with his brother and fiance, spending each day smiling and laughing and helping others. The prince's brother became the king and the prince was happy, traveling around the kingdom with his fiance and living the rest of his life in bliss, occasionally returning to the castle to spend time with his brother. The three would happily pass on, old age doing nothing to break them apart. But if I told you that story, you would only scoff. Fairy tales were rarely that happy all the way through.

So how about another story.

Once upon a time, the world ended. Gloomy, I know. But just because the world ended does not mean that humans cease to persevere. Indeed, the world had ended many times yet each time it did people would rise from the ashes and rebuild. Such was the cycle of life for in death there was life and in life there was death. So yes. The world had yet again ended. But instead of only one or two countries feeling the affects of such an end, all seven continents were torn asunder by the calamity. Many died and will continue to die but among those who survived there was a not so young human. No one quite knew when this oddity of nature would appear, only sweeping in during times of need and disappearing just a quickly. Those who were saved by this person would weave tales of a fearless someone who would run into death's open jaws and dart back out unscathed, those who had been thought lost cradled in deceptively thin arms. Others only scoffed and told of the times the stranger could only lie, bleeding out in the unforgiving wasteland for who would be foolish enough to accept help from those who would only turn their blade against the other. Still others would warn of the black devil that traveled with the mysterious stranger, to be wary of those which can not be explained. But regardless of rumor, it was undeniable that the mystery and suspense around such a fellow only increased, making the birth of a sort of urban myth. The Witch who Saves. He who Wanders the Roads. The Roserot Ghost. So many names but not one knew who exactly this person could be. They say that if you wish from the bottom of your heart for someone else to be saved, then the black ewe will appear before you, upon its back seated the mysterious stranger.

Ah but the moon is high in the sky and tomorrow is upon us. Here is where the story ends, an open epilogue to those who wish to find out who this savior could be. Rest child for tomorrow we set out.

---

A tiny sneeze fluttered through the desolate wasteland. Huddled into Calliope's fur, Rikka sniffed, one slim finger coming up to rub a button nose. The night wasn't even that cold, there wasn't any reason to be sneezing. Oh well, the ruins of what used to be Ceatharlach was just a stone throw away so finding some warmer clothes hopefully wouldn't be too hard. The pair were simply wandering with no destination in mind only with the single minded need to remain in the area. Perhaps it was the fact that there wasn't very many other survivors around and the area was free of those monsters that prowled the lands. But Rikka could make all the excuses in the world but the real reason would never be a mystery. There was still unfinished business in these parts and it would be unwise.

---

-Oh? So we are telling stories now? If Tayla were in a book, she would be seen as a villain. Don't get her wrong, she does bad things for good reason, but that doesn't excuse her actions. What was the old saying? 'If you live by the sword, then you'll die by the sword?' Oddly enough, Tayla didn't mind dying by the sword. As much as she despised herself and her lifestyle, she couldn't imagine how boring a 'normal' life would be... whatever that was. Besides, maybe it was long overdue she got what she deserved. Her villainous lifestyle all happened due to one fateful night. A jealous mistress, a handgun, and a strong spell of sleep were all it took to change her life forever. If only things were different...

Maybe in a different life, things would be different for her. For example, Tayla had a boy on her mind. It was almost embarrassing just how often she thought about him. One would almost say that she was obsessed with him. But this wasn't some type of love-sick teen romance. No, this was a vengeance-filled violent obsession. Lucius Mcdaniel was his name. He had an endless list of crimes. The little rat somehow managed to survive during the fall of the world and Tayla was determined to ensure it didn't last long. Both her and Faustus had that in common- they loved to hunt rats.

"What do think Faustus?" Tayla asks from her position next to the busted-down window. The question was rhetorical, but she still paused for effect. "If things were different? Do you think I would've gone to school? Gotten married? Maybe I would be living down by the beach? Ah... maybe one day we can do all those things?" She chuckles to herself and turns to Faustus, who was grinning a toothy feline smile. That would never happen, not in her past life and certainly not now.

The coast seemed to be clear. Tayla hadn't spotted or even heard a creature for hours. Still, she wouldn't be safe on the street for long. She glances towards Faustus again, who was making his way loyally to her side. "Shall we go meet our prince?" She asks sarcastically. She turns towards the empty streets again and leaps out the window. The drop wasn't that large, but it still made a startlingly loud sound when she landed on the ground. She freezes, listening for danger. She only relaxes a little bit when she is met with tense silence. There was no telling if the silence was a good or bad thing.

She makes her way down the street, towards Lucius' last known location. It was a puny thing that Lucius seemed to be calling his home- it was more of a den than a house. A pile of rubble that had an opening wide enough for a human to live in. If she timed it well enough, he should be back. It was the perfect time to strike! She moves quickly and not too quietly. She sticks close to the busted-down buildings. If she had to, she would leap into one to hide. But she'd rather it not come down to that.

Stories, eh? What a time for stories... But no matter. Stories can be wondrous things. In days such as these, I suppose I can see why stories may prove useful.

...

Well then, perhaps this tale of one wandering soul may bring you some dim spark of light in a world with a dying sun; a metaphor, or so we should hope.

The silence was stifling. A once-roaring city, the Manchester area had been particularly hard-hit in this new plague. The greater the pride the harder the fall, the louder the noise the harsher the quietude. So, so few had survived, and many of those few no longer particularly desired to do so. Soft, barely audible footsteps, though, padded quietly across the rubble, and if one were perhaps able to discern them they may realize there were two sets, both moving nearly in sync, one a vaguely loping cadence of quadrupedal feet and the other those of a quickly shuffling biped. The owner of the latter set could have been said to be somewhat in that earlier category, though the rather tall young man with messy black hair shrouded beneath a tattered, likely stolen hoodie did have his reasons for his actions taken in hopes of preserving his vitality.

The collie padding along beside the young man somewhat mirrored his actions. While it often moved in ways that were clearly independent, glancing up or back as its companion kept his gaze down, it kept perfect pace with him, even the movement of its sides as its breath moved in and out matching that of his chest. Perhaps its canine expression could even be said to mirror his, though that may be the breed's natural intelligence mixing with the viewer's predispositions based on their other observations.

The man himself was older than he looked, albeit not by much. Some may have guessed him to possess two or three years fewer than the twenty he did hold. He fit in well enough with the surroundings; rubble and knocked over buildings seemed to complement his perpetual all-over-the-place hairstyle, though calling it a style was stretching it, and threadbare clothing. A ratty and fraying grey blanket that moved stiffly as he progressed through the destroyed city was slung over his right arm. Any who might have repetitively observed his comings and goings through the area likely would assume his pillaging and scavenging were only for himself, just the way he intended to appear.

Tempest, for that was his name, was used to drawing breath without the notice of any who did so as well around him. Live and let live was one way to put it, but with the high crime rates in the low income neighborhood his family had been trapped in since the death of his father when he was 9, his usual pace of life was more of a, "Keep your head down and you may just retain your lunch money." However, the lack of people now was simply unsettling, though he'd gotten used to it over the course of the past years. It did make avoiding others quite a bit easier.

While he had always preferred not to maintain solidarity outside of his family members, he was grateful for the presence of the dog beside him. Angel, he called her; it was what his family had planned to name the dog they'd always wanted, at least once they were on better terms financially. He wasn't sure where she'd come from or why, but he trusted her. There was an innocence to the collie that mixed well somehow with her intelligence, and she seemed to have a strong devotion to him, though for what reasons he also didn't know. Even as he kept a watch out himself whilst he did his best to proceed with total silence, he felt somewhat comfortable with keeping his navy eyes on the ground to make sure he didn't misstep and send the wreckage of rocks he was picking his way over tumbling, knowing Angel was more than capable of keeping watch without him.

---

It was a new day, though the story remained the same. Rising at the first disturbance of his weary sleep, the man in the dark room had only quickly paused to brush his teeth before quickly jogging.. For few knew how long. This man wore a tight shirt with a heavy black vest over the top of it, Kevlar by the looks. His pants were false blue jeans, somewhat tough but easy to move in at once. Of course, this man would be one of few people to even think about how well his hair or teeth looked, or how his breath smelled.

This was Icarus Flare. He was a younger man, only having just turned twenty recently. His hair bounced as he jogged, a small axe at his side bouncing along with it. His goal was not to go out and attack anything. Not unless his perimeter was breached. But that happened every few days, so there was no telling what might occur. A rabbit moved alongside Flare, her long steps sending her in jutting motions as her large ears strained for even the slightest out of place sounds.

This was Aiou, the white rabbit that Icarus had found in his quarters one morning within the past three hellish years. He'd nearly instantly had a connection with the small mammal, and she had quickly proven herself incredibly useful in the field as well. Her ears were sharp, so she could easily detect any creatures or beasts or people that happened to be nearby.

In total, Icarus and Aiou were simply man and beast, bonded in some fantastic way. Icarus only ran with Aiou to make sure his bunker was secured and safe, and to make sure the few people he was protecting would remain safe. Aiou only ran with Icarus because she realized how important this bunker was to Flare. She realized many things, really. Almost a frightening amount. But it did not phase Icarus. In fact, it only really helped. Their perimeter, so far, was perfectly secure. Though, they'd only checked a small amount.

---

The darkness often houses many disturbing and fantastic monsters and mishaps, though perhaps it is the story of this monster that takes the prize; a man so dark, so disturbed and brutal, that he had decided to not only live with the dark, but to tame it as well. His name was simply Darren, no surname or nickname, not even a well known title. He wore his black hair in a loose way, as if it mattered the least to him out of everything. He wore a jacket, too, despite the heat and heavy air. He always wore it, a fur collar surrounding his neck at all times. However, what one would usually not notice was the boa he wore. Or, rather, the mamba.

A massive black snake was coiled among the seemingly harmless folds of this Darren's jacket, even wrapping herself around his body to secure herself to him. Darren was wide awake, of course, and sitting in a large cubby of rubble. His keen eyes scanned the lands before him, as did the black mamba's. The man and snake were practically one. What one knew, the other knew. What one felt, the other felt. Even if it was malice, they shared it. His mind was hers, and her mind was his. However, some poor trespasser was the only reason their malice stood as shared as it was.

A young man- a boy even- was sulking through the road before the hidden two. How dare he? This was not his domain. No no, this was the domain of Trigger and Darren. And they guarded is jealously from those who believed that they could own it. Darren removed his hand from his chin, instead pressing it to the wall of his alcove. The far too familiar feeling of Trigger's sleek body sliding away from Darren's own made his smile, ever so slightly. The coffin head coiled herself at the edge of the sunlight, awaiting the right moment to dash out of their hiding place.

"Kill him."

The massive coffin head darted light a bolt of cursed lightning from her shadow, as if the shadows itself had actually waken up and flung a javelin of itself at the passerby. He had but a few moments to hear the hiss of the snake before she wrapped thrice around him, sinking her fangs into his upper arm. As quickly as she appeared and injected her venoms, she was gone, Trigger dashing back to the shadows as the boy cried out in pain, clenching his arm. Trigger's fangs were no small set of teeth; they would cause immense pain in whoever she bit. Their lethal payload was only an addition to the pain and eventual death.

If there was anything Tayla hated more then men like Lucius. It was when her prey was stolen away from her. Especially in this world. God only knows how much time she spent tracking this man. All her wasted days she spent following him, learning his habits, waiting patiently for the perfect moment to strike. She even had a whole speech prepared. But it was all for nothing.

Lucius' screaming lured her out of the shadows. She had purposely chosen a building close to Lucius. While she had missed where the attack came from, it was clear from his screams that something terrible had happened. She didn't bother checking her surroundings. Whoever attacked Lucius was bound to be close by and they would be a fool to target her. Or was it the other way around?

Lucius squirms around pitifully at her feet and desperately reaches towards her foot. His eyes flashing in recognition when he lays his eyes on her. It disgusts her. "Please help me" he sputters out. Tayla smirks and kicks her foot backwards, allowing his hand to fall to the ground. One would think that he were stabbed by the way he was reacting.

"Ah Lucius what a pleasure to finally meet you again. I was hoping our reunion could've been a bit more joyous. But unfortunately, someone had to ruin that for me." She spits at the ground and grunts. "I suppose I'll have to make due with a shortened version." She takes her time loading her crossbow, keeping a wary gaze at Lucius in case he tried anything. It could've been the shock but he didn't seem to be moving anytime soon.

"Blah, blah, blah, it's about time you meet your maker-" she visibly cringes. "Right... This is lame. I swear I had this planned. Of course someone had to ruin it!" She points the crossbow at him and he immediately stops wiggling around. His eyes widen and he opens and closes his mouth. He seemed to rightfully assume that begging wouldn't do anything. "This is for all the people you hurt" she growls as she fires the crossbow at Lucius. Finally ending his suffering. She doesn't bother retrieving the arrow. Instead she glances around, seemingly for whoever attacked Lucius. "Alright, where are you?" She calls. "Don't worry, I promise not to hurt you if you come out!" This wasn't a lie, Tayla was at a disadvantage as long as her opponent stayed hidden.

While the newcomer did interrupt Darren's delight in the scene of agony, she seemed to be something other than a target. Trigger slipped into the shadows before the man's feet, though her mind was Darren's, and his mind was Trigger's. She left a small length of her tail just outside the shadows, an odd shape against the sunlight. A simple test, as it was, but nonetheless an important one.

Darren twitched his lip, soon calling out from his shadowy keep. "The Lord is my Shepard. I shall not want. Yet my hunger for the agony of villains only grows under His mighty stare. In fact, I'm sure it is He who bestowed upon me the live of a reptile, so brutally precise in her tactics that even the Devil fears her. Or perhaps it was O Mighty Loki, the trickster of another Pantheon." Darren didn't move, didn't reveal himself. He only waited for the response of the woman before him, standing over the dead body of a trespasser.

Story huh? Such a childish thing of no importance in this "world"

Razor sleep soundly on a lifeless husk on a tree branch not that there was much to do for entertainment all that matters is either killed or be killed....

except there seems to be a creature on top of their head looks like...Tasmanian devil? and it didn't look like the friendly type either. Diablo was its name as its Spanish for "devil" seeming to fit quite well with the rodent like entitly there claw were surprisingly dull, but her teeth were still nice and sharp to make up for it with ears that seen better days filled with cut and holes.

Diablo jet eye around a Barren Wasteland In there eyesight ready to let out a hellish scream if anything comes near Beast monster Survivor... they would be sure to let razor know even if there weren't planning to wake up soon.

---

With all this talk of stories, you must know of the phrase "Knowledge is power." Even with the destruction of society as a whole, those who kept the right kinds of knowledge, be it how to tie knots or to “tie the knot”, may be regarded by others as important. En never really thought of himself that way, powerful, important. He just liked to collect information. It gave him something to do while he focused on surviving. Now he had his own hoard of information, and gathered more valuable and relevant information in exchange for his useless little trinkets.

For now, though, it was just him and Raz. He was perched on En's shoulder, observing the buildings as they strolled down the seemingly deserted street. En held his makeshift spear low in his hands, a combination of a clip-on broom stick and two knives taped together that was surprisingly durable. There was little point in hiding with his height, so he stuck to the sidewalks, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything who did the same.

---

Her body stiffens when she realizes that the voice was a lot closer than what she had expected. She shouldn't be surprised, yet she was. Did this person really stick around to watch Lucius die? She couldn't blame him, her actions weren't much better. Yet she still fixes a judgemental stare towards the building on her left side.

Slowly and catiously, she shuffles her feet around to face the shadows of the building. Her eyes squinting as she struggles to see what, or more who, was inside. A flicker of movement, too small for an innocent person to notice, but large enough to set off alarm bells for someone who is use to living life on the edge catches her eye. She takes a step back when she notices the tail of a serpent. Was that a serpents tail? Maybe it were an old hose? Or a piece of fabric? No matter, she wasn't willing to take any chances. Not in a world where even basic medicine was scarce. Keep your distance. Next to her, Faustus was baring his teeth and pulling his ears back. Yep, something about this situation was alarming to them. But she didn't know exactly what it was that alarmed them yet. Maybe it was how mysterious the guy was? Or maybe it was the threat of this guy being dangerous?

But here this poor man stood, patiently awaiting a reply while she stood here, practically cowering before him. She was better than this. She straightens up and glares into the darkness. "It would appear your God has cursed me with the same bloodlust" she replies with a chuckle. "It's a common thing to see here. In my experience, there seems to be two types of survivors. The ones who hide and the ones who continue to fight. But here I go, rambling on about things that don't matter. Tell me, why did you attack this man-" and do you plan on doing the same to me? She didn't dare speak the final part. She had yet to lower her unloaded crossbow. The weapon in her hand made her feel safe, even if she couldn't use it right now.

The shadow let out a slow, exaggerated laugh, and the sound of other movement from the shadows soon crept through the shocked air. Slow, deliberate steps brought the large man forward, nearly six feet tall and with an impressively wide set of shoulders. The reptilian tail vanished, only to be seen again among the collar of his jacket, the black fur housing the venomous Dendroaspis with perfect camouflage.

It almost seemed deliberate, the way the snake positioned itself, gazing at Tayla in the way only a reptile could, the near unblinking eyes affixed upon her weapon with a terrifying intensity. The man shared no such glare, his calm eyes having difficulties settling on either Tayla or Faustus.

"The same reason you were trying to kill him most likely. He committed a crime. From what I know, he had a bad habit of doing that." Darren stopped roughly three yards away from Tayla, a slight grin creeping across his face. "You can put that down, now. I know it's not loaded." His eyes had not even brushed across the weapon since he'd emerged from the shadowy keep behind him. Perhaps it was that he knew Tayla had unloaded it earlier, though something seemed to tell her that it wasn't that. Something told her that it was, in fact, the serpent who had known that, and only her. It wouldn't be surprising, would it? It would nearly be the most normal thing in this world, if thought of correctly.

Even though she was reluctant to follow the orders of this strange man, Tayla knew that there was no use in continuing to hold her weapon. She couldn't even safely load and fire it, even if it came down to it. Darren was close, too close. She couldn't help but wonder if he has intentionally chosen to put this much distance between them She straps the crossbow onto her back, looking away from Darren for only a few seconds before she fixes her eyes back onto him again.

She wants to ask him how he knew of Lucius. Or, if he, like her, hunted criminals. But all her questions were silenced as she struggles to think of a way out of this mess. She didn't expect him to be this big. It wasn't only his physical advantages that worried her, it was also the way he stood comfortably and confidently in front of her. Everything is just going wrong today huh? Tayla thinks to herself with a smile.

Nothing could be done. All she had to do was keep this man talking. If they were talking, she could think of a way to escape. If they were talking, then he probably wouldn't think to turn on her. "He did, but that's in the past now. I suppose I should thank you for your efforts in helping me take him down." She looks away from him and at the serpent. She still had no idea what type of snake that was, but she was willing to bet anything that it was venomous and probably what attacked Lucius. She is once again reminded that in this world, a bite by a snake is almost a death wish. "It looks like you had a bit of help," she says while nodding towards the coffin head.

"As did you." Darren in turn nodded at the cougar next to Tayla. "Puma concolor, a cougar. Mostly native to the North and South American continents. Do you know much about animals?" The mamba wrapped around the shadow's shoulders slipped down his arm, vanishing into his sleeve for a moment before coiling next to him on the ground. She was impressively long, though still sleek and intimidatingly slow, for the moment.

The serpent had no odd markings, no scars or scratches, hardly any way to even tell where her mouth parted for a bite. She was black, her scales the color of void. Her eyes blended in well with her dark color as well, the shining beads only visible due to the way they reflected light.

Darren yawned slowly, earning what seemed to be a glare from the snake next to him. In turn, she earned a glare from the man as well. "Don't look at me like that. You were the one keeping me awake all last night." The snake shook her head a little, evidently exasperated by Darren. Sighing, Darren turned back to Tayla, seemingly more exhausted that he'd been earlier.

Darren's sudden relaxed demeanor was contagious. Tayla finds herself relaxing as well. Things could change, but at the moment, it would appear that Darren had no intentions in fighting her. She smiles and glances down at Faustus, who, like her, suddenly seemed much more relaxed. He was suddenly laying down on the ground and looked to be asleep. But the slight tension in his shoulders and swiveling of ears told otherwise.

"No" she admits. "I never really had an interest in learning about animals growing up. I never thought that information would be useful. I guess you can say that I was wrong." She catiously holds a hand out towards Darren, still wary that his companion would suddenly bite her. "I believe it's about time I introduce myself. My name is Tayla Mckee. And you mysterious stranger- what's your name?"

"Tayla, hm? A nice name. Though, the last name was a bit excessive. Not a huge amount of people care about them any more. Due to that, I go by the name Darren. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Tayla." He shook the other's hand without much hesitation, Trigger seeming to roll her eyes a bit next to him.

Despite the hovering presence of danger, the shadowy man managed to completely calm the landscape around him like this, as if he were some kind of bastion, ready to fight off even the mightiest attackers. Though, this rogue was still both mysterious and potentially dangerous. If the snake next to him had truly attacked Lucius, then Darren himself could likely order immense amounts of suffering on whoever he pleased.

And even despite that, he seemed to make everything better. Charming, noble almost. Yet, with his odd clothing and terrifying companion, what was to be said? He was kind, so it seemed, though he was the only logical reason Lucius had suffered for the time he did. It was nearly paradoxical, with this stranger being both kind and seemingly malevolent in a unified moment.

He was right, again. But even with last names being utterly useless, Tayla refused to drop it. It was one of the last things tying her back to her family. Even though it's been years since she lost them the pain has never really left. But now wasn't the time to look back on those painful memories. "Maybe so..." is all she says about that matter.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Darren. Although please understand that I mean no offense when I say that I hope we don't meet again." She would never openly admit it, but she wasn't willing to trust others so easily. She managed to survive this long on her own so she was obviously doing something right. She turns around to face the road she had just ran across earlier, Faustus once again taking her side without verbal command. "I wish you the best of luck in surviving in this new world."

The low clopping of hooves rung out across the barren wasteland, accompanied by the howling winds. The plateau crossing was famous for its windy temperament, having been leveled by sloughing waves and raging beasts. The screech of nature drew the nightmares to this area, the cacophony a melodious lull to those who no one would dare fight against. Rikka liked to walk around the particular area, pulling unfortunate travelers out of the jaws of death before running for it. The plateau was a second home at this place, navigation easily done even when chocolate eyes closed to rest and protect against the whipping winds. Gloved hands gripped the escaping beanie, keeping it firmly atop a head of brown curled hair. Parts of Rikka's cheeks stung as hair lashed against tanned skin, the tight clothing chosen specifically to reduce the amount of sound that would be produced doing precious little to shield Rikka from the cold. Beyond the windy plains lay a settlement, humans settling down in broken houses shielded by the screaming air and rubble. Rikka would often drop off the wanderers who had strayed too far there, a place to rest before continuing on their journey.

A shrill screech blended in with the background music, commonplace as the withered ground Rikka stood on. With a sigh, Rikka smiled apologetically at Calliope before sliding onto the goat's back. It was an old routine by now, one both had perfected ever since the end of the world and had to re-perfect once they were left alone. The drumming of Calliope's hooves against the hardened earth was a grounding melody that had Rikka preparing for an encounter. Granted, a metal fan and a whip wasn't very much to defend anyone with but Rikka had learned. It wasn't hard when you're very existence hinged on the mastery of such tools. In the distance, Rikka could see the combatant. Two survivors scuffling over supplies would be the logical jumping point and that theory was proven true as a scattered bag of medicine was strewn to the side. Ugh these were the ones that Rikka hated the most since it meant having to actually straighten stuff out instead of hitting something. With a sigh, a black whip crudely stitched together with different leather pieces and held together by duct tape and a prayer slithered through the air to yank one of the survivors backwards. It was with a swift strike and a swirl of fabric that Rikka dismounted, metal fan quickly incapacitating both survivors. Using spare rope to secure the two rescues, Rikka gathered up the contested supplies and loaded them onto Calliope's back. The first time they had done this, Calliope had given Rikka such a dirty look that could only be appeased with a chunk of cheese which was such a pain to procure.

Hefting the lighter survivor, a child no older than 12, Rikka let Calliope carry the other combatant as the two began to move towards the settlement. The pair would then split the supplies between all of them and separating them on opposite ends of the ruined city. For all of the legend and mystery surrounding Rikka, however, the young adult's only strength was speed. With a weak physical build, even catrying a child was enough to wind the fragile speedster. But seeing the rubble and now familiar broken buildings in the distance, Rikka let out a sigh. They would be relatively safe for now, granted that no survivors attack them.

---

Darren's overly sarcastic and rather forced laugh echoed after Tayla as she left, the shadow turning and vanishing into yet another shadow, slipping between piles of rubble with shocking ease. Trigger darted ahead, her dark eyes absorbing any and all things before and around her. The two had no quarrel with that foe, no need to execute her. They vanished, as quickly as they'd appeared. In due time, they would be seen again.

Dawn broke with the usual brazen display of salmon-pink, periwinkle blue, and russet, which only brightened as the sun slowly crept up the hill. The display was only faintly obscured by navy-blue clouds, allowing most onlookers a broadly unobstructed view of a grand sunrise.

Cognac eyes scanned the barren wasteland of a city with unnatural hunger as a beast and its keeper crept forward, every step poised and purposeful. Ebony paws, with the unmistakable shape of a canid creature, scuffed lightly over dust with painstaking care, as if it was afraid of making a sound. White claws glinted like miniscule blades. The air tasted heavy and moist, faint threads of petrichor lacing the air like morning mist. The beast's eyes were not focused on the wan display above as the sun slowly trudged up to its peak, warming the colors with a mother's fond grace. Nor did the hulking brute glance once at the human female, dressed in colors as dark as its pelt, cold sage-green narrowed with intense focus as she examined footprints on the ground. Each breath was exhaled carefully and quietly, held in tenuous anticipation as she probed the dirt. She was clearly looking for something, something specific, though to an outsider, what it was did not seem obvious. A noir nose poked close to her hand as the beast sniffed the dirt, clearly tracking a scent. One scent, one meaning, one purpose. One person. The large shadow sniffed the dirt around and ahead, proceeding a few paces ahead of his human. But only just. Two noir ears perked up. Ivory incisors that looked like the swords of some ancient time bared as the wolf loosed a faint sigh of satisfaction. It's keepers head snapped up at almost the exact same response, eyes widening, pupils dilating like an aggravated lioness. There she seemed to say. Our prey went this way.

They were stalking prey, as a cat might stalk a mouse or a wolf might stalk elk. Their prey's fear-scent - as viscous and sweet as fresh honey - clung to the dirt like moss. And judging from the shallow indentation, the appearance of disturbance on the soil besides it...they were afraid. They were running away, fear spurring them on brandishing a whip that promised certain doom. Good. They should be afraid. Even if all their fear was going to do was allow them to die tired. As the duo prowled forward, the footsteps grew closer. The fear scent grew stronger, drowning out the more relaxing taste of the rain on the horizon, beckoning within both woman and beast an unholy lust for blood as old as time itself. This was predator and prey. One runs, the other chases. One feasts when the other dies. And the woman intended to feed good and long upon Death itself.

The valley and forest was mostly barren by now, but nonetheless, it still offered a fair amount of hiding spots. The woman paused, the rising sun - and fading morning display - casting a unnervingly long shadow before her. The fear was strongest here, fear and anxiety rippling off in waves. It served her prey right to be afraid, because this was not the first time the woman had made a kill, and it was unlikely to be her last. The woman was feared and hated because of the blood on her hands. When she wanted you caught, you were caught. When she wanted you dead, you were dead. No question. The hour was early and her skills were finely honed, but the assassin had no intention of playing whack-a-mole. She wanted her kill done quickly and efficiently. This … ramshackle hut, if you could even call it that, had only one exit. There was no way of escape. Briefly, she contemplated the possibilities of escape, the odds. The duo had been tracking this particular man for a little over four days, which was only a testament to his skills. But the beast's patience was beginning to wane - he had none of the woman's control - and she knew he would surely go mad if they lost their prey now. So, the black huntress took her time, circling the house with a practical look in her eye. To an outsider, she looked almost as if she was toying with her prey, each paw fall reminding them of her horrid presence. In some ways she was.

One word, a name, a summoning. "Daedra." The woman's voice was as unearthly as her visage, a low empty whisper fading almost instantaneously into the dead air. The black hound fixed her with a gaze of gravity and intense focus, no doubt a look which would have sent men of weaker will running in the opposite direction. A command. "Wait at the door." To trap him - three words that did not need to be added. The two were so finely in tune that verbal communication was almost nearly useless. Her will was his will, her thoughts his thoughts. He was a physical extension of herself, dark and predatory and kingly. A conqueror borne from the depths of hell.

In she crept, the diseased and rotting wood creaking beneath her feet. The overwhelming and nauseating aura of fear and various other smells assaulted her senses in a noxious wave. 'You're here somewhere.' Aelin hummed silently to herself as she examined her surroundings. A pile of dirty clothes there, broken bottles here underfoot; she swept the glass shards aside disgustedly with a foot, their tinkling fading quickly as she dismissed it from attention. Her prey was hiding well, she thought - but not well enough. Daedra's senses brushed up against hers, sharp with excitement and adrenaline. Turning around, she saw why. A cry! Her prey had bolted right to the entrance, and yanked open the battered door expecting to find freedom. Instead, they found a furiously snarling direwolf, cognac eyes filled with malice and a lust for death, ivory incisors on full display. Her prey cried out in consternation and dismay as the black canid tackled them to the ground, fangs sinking into flesh and tearing. Blood gushed from new wounds to the floor, glowing like rubies.

Please! They screamed, hoping for mercy that Daedra's fangs wouldn't give.

Please! They howled as Daedra lunged for their jugular, only impeded by the stick that was roughly jammed into his jaws. The black brute choked, shaking his head back and forth as he tried to free the debacle from his maw.

PLE- Their next scream was abruptly silenced as Aelin drew her blade of steel and ended her prey's life. Her posture was tense with rage, eyes alight with the frenzy of the kill. It was her, again, that had driven the direwolf to kill with three days worth of rage and fire. Now, it was done.

It was done. Aelin exited, stepping over the body and coming to stand on the unkempt lawn with the grace of a panther.

Distantly, thunder rumbled ominously on the horizon.

1168 | aelin strikes