[closed] DANGEROUS GAME

[esquive]

WHO: Kylo Ren, Anna, Etienne, and Marcoulf
WHAT: In exchange for his support at the front lines, a small group has been dispatched to clear bandits from the Comte Chantral de Velun's estate. Spoilers: they're not bandits.
WHEN: Early Harvestmere
WHERE: Orlais, the Heartlands
NOTES: CW: violence, death, murdering innocent folks on the behalf of THE RICH, setting-typical discrimination; it's not great, bob. ASSIGNMENT INFO

The Orlesian Heartlands bloom in every season. In Spring, it is daisies and apple blossoms; in Summer small white flowers and black-eyed susans and poppies all red; and here at the beginning of Autumn the trees burnish themselves and black-green and golds, yellowing grasses ceding to white limbed poplar with their spinning coin leaves. Even far from any field for growing in, the Velun lands paints itself in harvest colors. The land and air recognizes what Celene might not yet admit - that change is a season rotating, and that some things have been the same for long enough that they insist on circling.

Comments

[notched]

She hears, says nothing. Marcoulf is correct. There will be no escapees into the woods who might haunt their leaving from this place with some mad vengeance in their heart. She swoops quickly, taking the knives that some of the corpses had once brandished, one could never have quite enough, and she prowls silently back into the underbrush, eyes scanning. At least one, she expects. There was always at least one beast hidden in the brush, although it was rare for them to cower so without flame in their faces.

She finds her one, their head down beneath the brush. She throws two knives into its back in rapid success, and has bludgeoned it into silence with the dripping cane almost as quickly. She takes their place there in the brush, crouched over the still body, watching for any more creeping-- rolling a stolen knife in her fingers, waiting.

[sangsues]

A nod, and Etienne is moving swiftly in the direction of the girl and her screams. She sees him, and begins to try and draw away, retreat, to do anything. She reaches a tree, is reaching up to pull herself up the gnarled base, managing to grab onto a bough and begin pulling herself up.

If she can get into the branches in a forest so dense as this, she could hide, might even be able to move through the tree tops.

He grabs her ankle. His strength far exceeds her own, the benefits of being well nourished and rested, and when Etienne jerks her downwards, she falls with a cry that is cut short by her chin hitting the branch. Her consciousness does not lapse, so she sees when Etienne stands over her, and has opened her mouth when the blade slashes over her throat.

Maker.

[letoldthingsdie]

"Caedus. The tents. Don't let anyone escape." He'd brought his mabari along, the beast his constant shadow. There was a nervous rustle of one of the farthest tents as he approached, hackles raised and a snarl ripping between his teeth. A moment later another refugee tried to make an escape, knocking the tent over as they went. Caedus was far quicker, diving in to sink his teeth into their leg and drag them, kicking and screaming.

"End it." He commanded, watching the elf shriek and scramble in the dirt. A moment later the beast was on them again, their throat ripped messily to shreds by sharp canines. He looks to his companions, running a gloved hand through his hair.

"Is that the last of them?"

[esquive]

Marcoulf reemerges from the tent with the boy in hand, a sturdy grip at the scruff of the child's neck and shirt collar like marching a naughty dog. There's blood soaking through Marcoulf's shirt sleeve from the puncture of the needle and it's clear from the pinch of his expression that his temper has frayed.

"Sit," he tells the child. The boy sits in the dirt without question. "Stay there."

Marcoulf jams his long dagger back into its belt sheath. Wipes his brow with the unbloodied back of his hand. It takes him a moment to sort himself - to realize he's meant to be the person answering that question. "Go fetch Anna," he tells Kylo. "See that she doesn't need anything then both of you come back here."

The camp will need sorting.

[notched]

She is crouched in the brush, her eyes cloudy. Rotting out of her head a little more every time she lets the blood lust rise in her. It was common for hunters to be spotted by the bandages over their eyes. The work took something from them, they became harrowed. She smells Kylo Ren when he comes to 'fetch' her. She turns her head like she can see him just fine, when all she notes is his shape against the light through the trees.

"Almost don't need me, with such a clever dog," she says with a strange airiness. She's killed many a rabid dog in her time, plenty enough of them former humans. She stands, pocketing the remaining knife she had been turning across her knuckles. She listens a moment longer, for panicked breathing, for muffled cries. She hears blood, soaking into earth. Shakes her head and meanders back into the camp where the overt sounds of weeping fill the space between her ears.