Blood; For the Bloodied One

[Gustando 1990]

 

Blood; For the Bloodied One     

 

An aspiring honorary on a hunt for a worthy sacrifice

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As the rising sun, golden and glorious, heralded the coming of a day anew, a young honorary-aspiring readied the essentials for The Hunt. With a longbow, mundane in history and make, over his shoulder, a blackened blade of ragged, orcish craft - sheathed in a simple wooden scabbard -and of course a sack of potatoes, the elf set out.

Hours passed, as he scoured the forest in search of a prey worthy for sacrifice. The hunter strode, tirelessly forth, bountiless, until the sky could no longer bear the weight of the sun; and the day was over. The sacrifice-to-be need not to be grand in stature nor beauty - but rich in essence; essence thick and red. 

  ~

 

Dawn broke with the shrill cry of birds chirping and once more, Runtwig rose to the hunt from the sticky and flattened bedroll that served its simple purpose. Cautious of time wasted, and with naught to spare - for the snaga had duty beyond that of his Spirit - he set out, munching a cold and stale potato for his measly breakfast.

One hand bore the little weight of the bow, the other taken by the arrow to be used by it. Time countless and infinite passed until, in the lacklustre and harsh bounty of the Orcland’s dried forest skirtings, the hunter’s luck revealed.

Idly munching on the grass nearby, the pure white of the sheep’s coating reflected the bright, heating of the sun. It had come to him - a worthy sacrifice - one he had searched long for. Surely, though, a mere sheep may not be of worth to a Spirit with might as such as his own; and that is true. The sheep, a stranger among its pack, was larger than any other his falsened eyes had passed in the day previous - mighty in the way of flesh and red, red, bloody red.

~

The hunter drew a breathe deep and heavy, his left eye falling closed as his right elbow hoisted the bow - his hand steady and vigilant. Time was meaningless, in this moment of a minute or a month, and without hesitation, the whiiizzz of the soaring wood let loose. Naught but a moment later came a shriek horrid and dwindling, as the leaf-headed arrow stuck from the meager sheep’s lung.

Such a show scattered the fearful sheep; a fear and response not unique to these tame beasts. The sheep, alone - for the life of the others was all but precious - lost one buckling leg, and another, and the last two following shortly. Runtwig skirted to the fallen creature, withdrawing his rugged, once-ornate blade for sacrifice. Promptly, he put the steel to its throat and let flow the red red bloody red.

A prayer no louder than his steadied breathe muttered from the hunter, satisfied, as he made off with the prize.

 

 

 

 

[Demotheus 651]

Ooc: really glad these trials don't... At least as far as I see at this point... Involve sentient sacrifices. Lol

[Guzr 2050]

The Wargoth Skalpboila Da Skary nods approvingly as he hears of his slave's sacrifice, nodding as he and his brothers think of another.

[Ardory 2978]

Fizzard’Raguk gets word of the slave’s hunt and rubs his chin in thought. Fizzard could use this slave’s skill on a later date.

[Zacho 2177]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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