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Post by jarahamee on Mar 16, 2020 23:52:13 GMT -6
The night was pitch black and the air was crisp with wet, whipping winds. It was sleeting, and though the temperature was above freezing, it felt much colder exposed on the slopes. This was not an easy area to reach, the footing was uneven, and the way up was steep, but the creature was on a mission. It was looking for something; the one that could lead it to its goal. That was all that mattered now.
The creature making its way up the mountainside blended magnificently into the dirt and darkness. The sound of its padded feet were lost in the splatter of the sleet. It barely felt the cold, and why would it. This body and mind hardly belonged to it anymore, and it was always one step from the void, fueled by focused anger, and its desire to both find her, and see for itself that she was truly gone.
Finally, the scent it was searching for became more prominent; its quarry was here, and had stopped moving for the night. One of these cliff caves was its home for now. They would have the answers, they were hunting for the same thing that it was, but for different reasons. The reasons did not matter to it, only the result.
The being rose from four legs, folding itself in half briefly before untwisting with an unpleasant cracking and popping, slipping out of the skin, stepping out onto the wet ground with bare feet. Filthy.
The creature reached for the bundle tied around its neck, and pulled out a mud and sleet-stained dress, shoving it over its head. It would not provide much warmth, but it would provide some kind of coverage. Perhaps the one it came to speak with would not be scandalized. It shifted the hide down and tied it about its neck like a cape, then took a breath and walked towards the entrance.
Smoke. Cooking. Warmth. It would be pleasant to be sheltered. If things went well. It hoped that they would.
Hopefully the Hunter would not have an itchy trigger finger.
It paused before coming into view, and then decided on its approach, calling from around the side of the chosen cave entrance;
"Hunter, are you there? I have come to talk."
It's voice was rough but perhaps feminine. Its body was well-hidden from sight, likely to protect itself from sudden attack from within. It was not the nature of this being to be so jumpy, but who knew. Some hunters would extinguish any wicked creature, and it could very well be considered wicked now.
It knew that the Hunter would be able to see through any facades that it put on, and it had decided not to put on any. It would merely be itself.
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Post by luscen on Mar 31, 2020 6:24:45 GMT -6
Casmir's day had been far longer than he would have liked, with not enough to show for it. As it turned out, the Jagged-Tooth mountains consisted of a very large area, and his “man-eater” could have been hiding anywhere within them; which meant that he may as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack. Thankfully, after making sure that Sjira wasn't in any immediate danger from bleeding out, the two had parted ways under good terms, leaving the Hunter to continue his search in earnest. And yet, Casmir's thoughts kept drifting back to the dragon, thinking about their discussion, and about the Storm's temperament. The boy's story was far too close to his own, so much so that it was hard not to feel some measure of concern for his safety, of some form of bond shared by two survivors of the same murderer.
Of course, a human worrying about a dragon's well-being was patently absurd, some would say. But then again, most people would have said that a dragon existing in the first place was already absurd. Absurd or not, however, the fact remained that Atol had apparently murdered an entire aerie of Storm Dragons, already. As such, it probably wouldn't be too difficult to kill one more, especially one so young and still so afraid of Hunters. If Sjira wasn't careful, then the Storm Dragon species really would be extinct...
But that was neither here or there; now that he knew the Storm was in the area, it was only a matter of time before Atol made a move. And when the red-eyed mage turned his attention towards Sjira, he'd find Casmir, instead. So long as the Hunter still drew breath, Sjira wouldn't be another victim of the monster's ambitions. He would make sure of that.
'After you make sure the fish bites the worm, of course,' an errant thought drifting across the surface of his mind supplied in a cruel whisper. Casmir shoved down the insistent, unpleasant sensation of barbs scraping along the inside of his gut at the thought he was using the boy as bait. Atol already wanted Sjira, and warning the Storm about Atol wouldn't help him. If anything, it would make it even easier for the mage to get his hands on the dragon he prized so much, assuming those Hunters from earlier weren't an attempt at that, already.
Keeping Sjira in the dark was for his own good. It was as simple as that.
The hail had started half an hour ago. Thankfully, Casmir had already managed to find a suitable cave to sequester himself in; only an idiot would travel around a man-eater's territory at night when there was no moon, after all. Especially when they didn't even know what the man-eater looked like. He could have simply left the mountain, as the entire reason he'd come here was more to do with securing a lead on Atol, which he'd managed to accomplish. But his sense of professionalism, alongside that cryptic warning from the grey-haired troublemaker with the golden eyes, refused to let him withdraw and give up the job to someone else. If this man-eater was already giving him this much of a headache, he didn't want to see someone else get themselves killed taking the job in his place.
Besides, he could use the exercise- the Amaroq had given Casmir more trouble than he had expected, and he knew Atol wouldn't have had anywhere near as much trouble. If the Hunter was going to face someone like that, he had to keep improving. And the only way to do that was to face deadlier opponents. So, he would find this man-eater, and he'd see what kind of mettle it was made of. Hopefully his own caliber was up to snuff. If it wasn't...
Casmir didn't bother to finish the thought; there was no point in it.
He turned his attention instead to the fire, and the meat roasting on it. Rabbit wasn't exactly the most sustaining of foods, but it was food, nonetheless. And besides, some herbs and a few decent mushrooms he'd found would help fill out his meal and make it more nourishing. Judging from the smell, the meat was ready, and the Hunter's mouth was already watering in anticipation. He plucked the spit off the fire, blowing over the crispy browned meat to cool it. Just after taking his first bite and tearing into the tender, juicy flesh, however, he heard a few quiet pops and cracks, giving him pause as he watched the mouth of the cave. He wondered, briefly, if it was just the din of the hail striking the mountainside, but those sounds were very particular, and something felt... off in a way he was intimately familiar with. Regardless, he didn't want to appear too jumpy, so he continued eating, though his red-and-blue gaze never left the mouth of the cave, and his free hand eased towards the grip of his revolver.
That was when he heard a voice calling from the darkness.
Calling for him.
Casmir didn't bother to get up; had this unexpected guest intended to try and assassinate him, it would have attempted to do so already. He wondered who in the world would come calling for him all the way out here- gods knew how many enemies he'd made. Another severed lover, come to claim misguided vengeance on behalf of their slain partner? A child he'd left orphaned, perhaps? Some Super come to entreat him for aid? Despite being a Hunter, Casmir had had his own dealings with Supers as well as Humans, so it wouldn't be a first...
He drew his gun, pointing it towards the mouth of the cave, still keeping his gaze locked on the entrance. “You want to talk?” he asked, voice loud enough to carry out past the entrance, but no further. “The come in and we'll talk. But don't expect much in the way of conversation; I just got started on my dinner.”
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Post by jarahamee on Apr 3, 2020 1:12:11 GMT -6
“Very well,” hissed the strange voice, rough as ever.
A moment later, a strangely hunched figure looked over the entrance of the cave like a cautious animal, bloodied, bare fingers digging into the crumbling stone of the entrance.
Its wide eyes glowed yellow-green in the moon like the eyes of a wolf, its hair was disheveled and hung about its shoulders and flowed down its back like a ragged mane. It was dark-skinned, blending into the shadow, skin streaked with mud, blood and the sleet from outside. From where it stood, it must have been relatively tall. It was probably a woman, though a tall one, barefoot even in the frigid weather.
It wore a simple cotton garment, almost like a sheet, over its body, and a filthy, wet animal hide was tied about its shoulders like a cape. The skins that composed it appeared to be stitched together haphazardly to form a ragged, uneven mass, and it had a rope with various satchels tied to it slung about their neck and below their arm.
They paused, as if waiting for a reaction, then when none came, they stepped forth, towards the Hunter. “I want to join you. I hunt the one you hunt.”
Her voice was harsh, bitter, cutting.
The creature left clammy, wet prints behind them, dripping sleet on the floor of the cave. As they drew closer to the light, Cazmir could see the person was a youngish woman with an athletic build, long, lank hair, and the darkest black eyes.
She reached up and squeezed the excess water out of her hair, and then looked down at the ground before them. She had the hungry look of a starved animal, but she did not hunger for him, or what he was eating. Her face was tense and her attention was rapt.
“I have ways I can help.”
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Post by luscen on Apr 23, 2020 22:28:14 GMT -6
The Hunter watched as the strange creature shuffled into the cave, its slow gait carrying it to the edge of the fire, but no further. She gazed across at him from underneath a wild mat of dark hair, the flickering light of the fire giving her black eyes an almost flint-like quality. She was tall, and savage, the hands she used to wring her hair out more akin to claws. And though the Eye of Ahura couldn't immediately see anything of particular note about her yet, there was a distinct air that clung to her, a primordial thing that only those of the “old world” or their kin would carry. Was she a child of Oberon, perhaps? Or a Gibborim? Perhaps the Ramac? Casmir wasn't sure, and as such kept his weapon leveled at her, while continuing to eat his dinner. As she didn't seem interested in food, he didn't bother offering her any; if she wanted something, she'd ask, or she'd take it.
“I wish to join you,” she offered, in her wiry, barbed voice. “I hunt the one you hunt. I have ways that I can help.”
Casmir slowly paused as he considered her proposition; the first thing you learned as a Hunter was that offers to “help” were often anything but- aid always came with a price: whether it was simply a cut of the spoils, or some favor to be given later, help was never given without something being taken in exchange. Casmir had had enough dealings with other Hunters, both in the professional sense and not, to know that assistance was never simply handed out as an act of beneficence. Even when it was, the person offering was often naive, and that made them more of a hindrance than a help. And this entity didn't seem naive nor gracious.
No, this thing this... witch... wanted something.
“What exactly makes you think I need help?,” Casmir asked by way of reply, never taking his eyes off his unexpected guest. “And what would you know of my hunt?” He wasn't entirely surprised that someone knew he was currently trying to pin down this man-eater; after all, that's what that unpleasant business back in Nunavut with the golden-eyed pocketwatch had been about. On the other hand, how much did this witch really know? Perhaps she could at least tell him what she knew, whether about the man-eater or Atol, whichever one she was referring to. If she had something useful to offer him, he didn't mind engaging in a bit of quid-pro-quo.
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Post by jarahamee on Apr 24, 2020 2:22:52 GMT -6
The witch leaned forward, slightly, slowly. She did not want to make the Hunter's trigger finger itchy. She knew the feeling all too well, being a hunter, but also being in danger of being hunted oneself. Perhaps, she hoped, she would impress this Hunter with some answers, and by proving herself useful.
She hesitated at the edge of the fire, waiting for an invitation perhaps. Her dark eyes glinted. Perhaps he could see, beneath her bestial appearance was the vestiges of a feral kind of beauty. In the meantime, she studied him. Nothing yet. He was suspicious. And given her nature, he had a right to be. A creature like her was hardly ever anything good, but in this case, it was a boon.
"I do not think you /need/ help, but I think it may be...mutually beneficial."
The creatures' strained voice shook with her agitation, and she swallowed hard, and then seemed to settle herself again. She needed to focus, and now was not the time to be overcome by her anger. It had done enough to her.
"I know you hunt Atol. I hunt them too. They have taken something precious from me."
The Witch made a soft sound like a swallowed sob, a crack in her voice, perhaps. Her eyes were fixated on him. They communicated something unspoken; she felt he would find Atol, and she needed to find them too. The hand covered her heart ever so briefly, and then returned to her side.
"I have many powers, some are...very useful, even for one like you."
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Post by luscen on May 7, 2020 21:21:08 GMT -6
Casmir watched the crone carefully, taking in the clues her body language gave him. Obscured though her frame was, he could feel the anger, the deep sense of loss, that this witch radiated. It seemed to be true that Atol had taken something from her. Something she cared about greatly. A child? A parent? Perhaps a friend or lover? Maybe some item or relic of power she had held, since Atol seemed to have a habit of collected such things.
Casmir paused with a harsh frown as he realized he had made another assumption about the mage he shouldn't have known. And yet, just as before, he was sure it was correct. That phenomenon was becoming more frequent, and more troublesome in equal measure. Ever since he'd met that blasted raven-haired siren.
Putting the disturbing thought out of his mind, as well as Rhys' alluring visage, he instead directed his mind to the idea that the Soundless had taken a family member or friend from the witch. It was hard to say which of those potential candidates had been the victim; The Soundless didn't seem to care much for whom they took, or why. At least, he'd never managed to find a consistent pattern- they'd take anyone: any ethnicity, any gender... their victims weren't even always humans, as he'd seen some Supers among their “stores.”
Although they did often take the young, he had learned, due to their overabundance of vitality. Children of the age of 11 to 13, in particular, were capable of providing very potent fuel for a blood gem. He knew that for a certainty.
Casmir's grip on the gun tightened, more out of reflex than anything the witch had done. Old memories. Old faces. Ones that would never let him be, even in his dreams. The hand holding the weapon gave the barest tremble as those faces threatened to turn to him in his mind's eye, their accusing stares baring down on him. He clenched his jaw, expelling a stress-fueled breath from his nose as he fought to ward off those dreadful eyes.
'Focus on the here and now,' he reprimanded himself. With some effort, he dispelled the phantoms from his mind; Red and blue eyes now turned to the creature on the other side of the fire, her claw-like hands grasping, clenching, her unseen gaze staring out at him and beyond, to whatever it was she was actually looking at. Atol, perhaps? Not that it would matter much. Hatred alone wouldn't give her what she wanted, otherwise she wouldn't be here. He knew that much for a certainty, as well.
“That may be...” Casmir replied slowly, grabbing a cigarette from his belt and holding it to the fire. The end of the white stick darkened from the heat of the blaze, and soon enough a small trail of smoke began to wend its way into the air. The Hunter brought it to his lips and inhaled, blowing out a slow smoke cloud that clung to him like a mantle. His mind cleared of its tension as he considered what the witch was potentially offering.
He needed to be careful about this, as a bargain with a witch could be just as dangerous as one made with a demon- you never knew how binding a deal they made was, until it was too late to change your mind. He focused on the sensation of menthol filling his lungs, his body relaxing slightly thanks to the familiar sensation. The whole affair reminded him of fishing- too tight a grip on your line, and the tension would cause it to snap. Too loose, however, and the fish would get away with your bait.
He needed to make sure he got his fish, when all was said and done.
“What is it you want from me, then?” He continued, taking the cigarette from his lips and resting the hand holding it across his knee. “I don't know where Atol is, yet. I know where he will be, even if I don't know when. But why should I share this information with you?” his brows lowered, and he adjusted his grip on his weapon. “More specifically, what happens if I don't share this information with you?”
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Post by jarahamee on May 8, 2020 2:18:35 GMT -6
The Witch paused, her frame, which was both muscular and strangely wiry shuddered a little. Her strange mantle seemed to have a life of its own, staring at Casmir with lifeless eye-holes and limp faces patched together.
Her emotions were contained. She had to focus. She did not like the idea of his refusal, but perhaps, perhaps, she could give him an offer he could not refuse. Yes, she had so many things in her bag, the catch for her was, she had the foresight to see this was something she could not do alone. She drew a little closer, slowly, cautious of his itchy trigger finger.
"Because, I can give you when... I can...guide the way." She studied him. This was no time for threats, as much as her gut said otherwise. She had learned not to trust the instincts of this body. She had only her goal, and she would need to do anything possible to accomplish it. No, she had to offer him something useful. She needed to know where Atol would be, she needed to stand at his side to win, to get her revenge.
"I cannot win on my own, but if I am with you..."
The statement was more or less said. She had forseen their victory. The less she told him about how her abilities worked, the better. She spoke with the most frank honesty she could muster. Her voice cracked with the emotion, and she sobbed softly. It was an oddly pitiful sound for such a menacing creature. All this sacrifice, and she did not have the strength to take him, no friends to speak of, no one reputable would trust a creature like her. She was at a dead end.
No, this was her last hope.
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Post by luscen on May 14, 2020 2:20:03 GMT -6
Casmir watched his “guest” carefully, waiting for her to make a move against him. He had a feeling she wasn't planning on killing him- this didn't fall in line with the usual assassination attempts he had to deal with, either from Supers Atol had occasionally thrown at him, or those poor souls left behind in the wake of one of his hunts. That didn't, however, mean she wouldn't try lashing out at him, and he wasn't in the mood to simply roll with the proverbial punches. If she thought she could coerce him into helping her by force, well... she had another think coming.
When the crone spoke, however, the Hunter paused, frowning. “I cannot win on my own,” she said, her frame drooping wretchedly. “But if I am with you...”
The blonde understood; that hesitation, that frustration... He knew how powerful the Soundless were- they were an old cult, with centuries of knowledge behind them, who were capable of enslaving very powerful entities to do their bidding. Part of that could perhaps be given over to the peculiar way of combat the Egyptians engaged in, where – in the old days – the House of Life had fought by channeling the powers of their gods through their spells. How simple, then, would it have been to bind and compel other metaphysical creatures to them?
Very simple, it turned out. He found that out when he'd attempted to dismantle one of the Cult's underground bases, where they collected “resources.” Two weaker members had managed to summon a peryton, which had given him a bit of a run-around. Given that demons of that sort weren't ones just anyone could dominate, it spoke of the level of skill they had.
And if the lower-ranking members of Atol's cult could do this, how much stronger must he have been, to stand at the head of this group of mage and warrior fanatics? The Hunter had a rough idea of what he was up against, there could be no doubt of that. It was why he fought stronger and stronger Supers; if he couldn't contend with monsters above a certain threshold, he'd never be able to even touch Atol, let alone kill him.
Casmir closed his eyes and let out a sharp breath. She could still be lying, of course. But he didn't think so; he had done this long enough to know when someone was trying to deceive him, even if he wasn't sure of the nature of said deception. And this witch was being straight with him, so far.
He could sympathize with her desperation. But that didn't mean a bargain wouldn't cost him, if he wasn't careful.
“I'm not making any contracts,” Casmir warned, drawing the weapon back so that it wasn't aimed at the creature. “I don't care if you can promise to give me the strength of a thousand men or the speed of a hundred wolves or whatever it is you might think will tantalize me- you're not getting so much as a hair or a fingernail clipping out of this. Is that clear?”
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Post by jarahamee on May 15, 2020 1:32:49 GMT -6
The Witch understood. He was stating his terms, and she would do best to accept them. Binding was best, her human side told her not to trust anyone, but he appeared to be honest. Her bestial intuition told her he spoke no untruth, and beyond that, he could use her help too. She could guild him, and show him the way. And she could get her revenge. Her blood blazed with the power of her focus. She wanted to leave now, sprint to the finish...But there was a time and place, and now was not the time, or the place. The human needed rest.
She took a deep breath, focused, and then nodded to him, taking a step closer. Her footsteps were careful, slow, measured. She moved near the fire and stretched out her bare hands to warm herself. In the light, her skin looked different, smoother, her feral features more ordinary.
"I understand. I will ask for no such things. I will cooperate with you, and provide what you need."
She sat in a half-crouch, and then focused. It was time to act normal. Focus on being human. An ancient talent passed down through her blood. The ultimate skill of the Witch.
As she closed her eyes, Casmir saw her appearance shift subtly. The Witch's monstrous nature seemed to have vanished in the blink of an eye, her tanned skin smoothed and firmed, though her body still had the lean, athletic quality. Her mane-like hair soothed itself, falling into organized, sleek, black locks that fell to her hip, and when she opened her eyes, her dark, almond-shaped eyes gleamed with intelligence, but lacked their animalistic qualities.
She folded her cape and then used it as a seat-cushion. The many sorts of animal skins seemed both alive and limply benign separated from her body. She then seated herself, her long legs folding under her wet cotton dress.
She then reached into the bag tied to the now-displaced mantle, and pulled out an overdress, which she slipped on over her thin cotton gown. If her under-dress had not been soaked through, it would have made her seem like any other athletically beautiful young hiker out camping on a mountain. Well, besides her bare feet.
"My name is Stella Graymountain. What is yours?"
In the back of her mind, her clans named themselves, her mother and father, but she kept it to herself. She was none of those things now, she was simply a witch. The question for her was a formality, she knew he was Casmir the hunter, but perhaps he would have something else to call himself, maybe a last name. More humanity.
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Post by luscen on May 21, 2020 3:14:30 GMT -6
Casmir watched the figure sit down and slowly “melt” from her larger, bestial form into something more civilized, if still antediluvian: she was pretty, for a human, and while she appeared more on the young side, with her smooth, dark skin and lustrous ebony-colored hair, her eyes were not those of a fresh-faced woman in her spring years; they had the look of someone who'd seen more than a few summers. A pain and a wisdom that could only come from those who had learned the value in knowing how to wait. Her posture reflected this as well, in the way she sat, all of her energy resting in such a way that not a single ounce would be wasted in the motion, should she need to move. That was to say nothing of the fact that his right eye beheld a type of ghostly image of the figure she had been a moment ago looming over her, though more... “bestial,” perhaps. More idealized.
He'd seen this sort of thing before, though perhaps not this close- she was a spirit walker. He couldn't be sure if she were Inuit or Navajo or Incan, as the wolf was relevant in each culture, and their bronze skin and dark hair was likewise a common trait. But he was quite certain she was of one of those cultures, and was well-versed in their shamanistic ways, given the power of her astral spirit. Underestimating her, even in this more appealing form, would be a very dangerous mistake.
As she doffed her skins and sat down on the ground in her shift, the Hunter didn't bother to look away- it may have been rude, but his intent wasn't to ogle. Rather, he didn't trust her not to try and take advantage of his offer for modesty. Besides, if she were as proficient as he believed her to be, she wouldn't have been bothered, anyway; when you walked in the Dreamtime long enough, you found things like clothing to be something you wore for the benefit of others, rather than yourself. So, once she was properly dressed in a cover, Casmir reached over and took one of his roasted rabbits and extended it out to her; it was customary to offer a shaman a bite if they happened upon you at dinner.
“I'd rather not give you my name, to be honest. I'm sure you know why,” Casmir replied. Besides the fact that he'd not used his family name in a long, long time, he knew that names often had power among her kind- One who had your name could often exert some measure of control over you, if they so chose. How much depended on whether or not they could acquire your true name, but it was best not to take risks in this matter. While he had agreed to let her help, he didn't trust her yet. “If you must call me something, call me 'Tuvaak*.'”
He set his weapon down, and leaned back against the rock he was using as an impromptu chair. “That aside, You can tell me what it is you think I can do to help you with Atol. You seem fairly competent, and I don't see how I can be of much use to you, even if you... 'guide my way,' as I believe you called it...”
(*Inuit word for "Hunter.")
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Post by jarahamee on May 22, 2020 2:08:14 GMT -6
The witch half-smiled, though the expression was tinged with pain. This was a person who experienced a great loss. She settled back on her strange, combined skin, and accepted the rabbit offered. She was hungry, and had been hunting him, rather than food. Her mission kept her focused. She had a single goal in mind, and she was going to get there.
"I'll accept calling you Tuvaak. You can call me Stella, if you want to call me something besides Witch."
She took a big, rather ravenous bite of rabbit. The cooked food tasted good, and what little fat the roast provided melted in her mouth. Mutton would be better, but there were no sheep up here. The witch had not brought enough provisions with her. She had thought she would find the Hunter much sooner, but of course, circumstances were not so. Probability could only tell her so much.
"You will find Atol with me, and you will bring others, powerful others, to destroy Atol, the cult... Maybe. That 'maybe' is what I see in my visions. I can throw bones and tell you the probability, but probability is only useful to assess risk."
She sits her slender hands on her folded legs, thoughtful. How could she convince him? Shapeshifting was hardly unique. No, she would have to offer something special. Thankfully she was nothing, if not special. The power of her acts made her a valuable ally, for most.
"I can do a great many things, Tuvaak. You need but ask, and I will provide."
The implication did not seem to be sexual at least, though she did not seem uncomfortable or hesitant with her statement. She was not afraid of the Hunter, and she seemed somewhat pleased that his assessment of her physical form seemed to be more clinical than lewd. She simply sat and waited. He would decide when and if to trust her on his own. Only he could decide.
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Post by luscen on May 28, 2020 1:59:52 GMT -6
Casmir's brows lowered as he considered Stella's words. While many often regarded them as shysters and charlatans, the Hunter knew bone-readers – true ones, not the ones who were good at fooling their audience – to be on the level. He'd conferred with a few, whenever he had to seek out dangerous, elusive marks, and their assistance had been invaluable.
Still, his confrontation with Atol was a matter of time; he didn't need her to tell him where to find the man, now that he'd encountered Sjira. The red-eyed man would come for him, in due course. How that confrontation would go, however...
“Can you do a reading, now?” Casmir asked, eyeing the young woman. “I'm fairly certain Atol's going to show up in a few days time. Call it a hunch. I've made my preparations, but it might be worth knowing how the fates have it laid out.”
It wouldn't change anything, whatever the answer would be. In truth, you didn't know how things would go until the moment came, but if there was a chance this could help him with his preparations... Besides, if he could gauge her strength level in this matter, then perhaps he could find another use, as well; his trump card, the trap he'd laid ready to spring when Atol arrived, was still questionable, at best. It was a series of interlocking bindings, all meant to build on each other, and create something that not even he would be able to simply smash his way out of with his overwhelming power. If anything, had Casmir arranged everything in the proper configuration, Atol's might would be a detriment- a wellspring that would feed the trap, strengthen it, and redirect that energy back against him, creating a closed circuit that would bleed him dry, figuratively speaking. Once he'd burned through his reserves, he'd be just as vulnerable as any other human.
The only problem was finding something to help stabilize the trap. Gathering the materials for traps of this level was already costly, but Atol's power was so great that only something capable of withstanding an equally large amount of power, constantly cycling around itself, would suffice. Without it, there was no guarantee that the array would hold long enough to finish its job. Assuming it could even hold Atol, to begin with...
“Show me what the bones have to say,” he said, turning his attention back to the shaman. “And we'll see whether or not you're wasting your time having hunted me out.”
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Post by jarahamee on May 30, 2020 1:41:27 GMT -6
The Witch looked into his eyes, a steady gaze, its depths somber, filled with pain. She was judging his goals, as much as he judged her own. She was a wicked creature that held on to its humanity, whatever shreds were left after such a spiritual transformation. She broke gaze with him finally.
She looked down at her satchel, and drew out a handful of items. Bones, stones... Odds and ends. She rolled them around in her hand, like an old gambler with dice, and closed her eyes, humming softly to herself. It was almost sensual, the way she rolled her head back and then, finally, she released the bones.
They hit the ground, bouncing less than he might have expected, rolling against one another, to settle together in a mound.
The Witch's eyes opened, and then widened subtly. Her mouth became a tense line as she read them, then pointed a shaking finger towards the bones, as if in accusation.
"Disappointment...disaster...death...turmoil, involving more than yourself, Tuvaak..."
She breathed the words out as if she could not believe them. Her voice was faintly monstrous as she spoke. True magic flowed through her; this was true. How could this be true? She had foreseen victory? But was it someone else's victory tangled with his fate? What was the meaning...
The Witch drew herself up as she sat, and then placed a hand on her cheek, as if supporting the weight of her disappointment. For a brief moment she resembled her beast-self, if only by the image she projected.
"An ill-fated meeting, I see. It is only the most likely outcome, nothing is certainty in this world, not even magic. I will still aid you."
You are my last hope.
She did not speak the words, but she felt them in her heart. If the meeting was only days away, then she was out of time. Soon there would be no way to find her answers, or to have her revenge. Time had run out, it seemed, likely for more than just herself.
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Post by luscen on Jun 17, 2020 20:57:48 GMT -6
Casmir watched the bones land, looking up at Stella to gauge her expression. He wasn't familiar enough with bone-reading to know what to look for, but he was well-versed in reading faces, and hers told quite a tale: frustration, disbelief, and a desperate hope. All of it cast solely onto his shoulders, no less.
'I didn't ask to be anyone's damn savior,' the Hunter growled to himself, though he kept his expression neutral. He brought his cigarette back to his lips, inhaling deeply and releasing a slow, wending wisp of smoke back out. He watched it curl upwards, mingling with the larger smoke cloud from the cooking fire, that lazily drifted over the two of them and out of the mouth of the cave.
“You sure that's a good idea?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the ceiling of the cave. Shadows flickered and danced in the dark corners of the stone daggers that pointed downwards, like the fangs of an ancient beast. Atol's red eyes hung before him in his mind's eye, that ever-present smirk laughing at him. Rather than cower, however, Casmir felt a stubborn thorn blossom, perhaps born out of a desire to defy fate. “If you are, then I know of a way you can help.”
He withdrew something from his coat, holding it up so the witch could see it: it was the Amaroq's eye, still glassy and brimming with power from when he'd removed it from the great wolf spirit almost four months gone, now. The charm maker had told him to keep it, as he would need it in the future, though she hadn't said for what. Perhaps this Spiritwalker had been who the eye had been meant to go to. Casmir wasn't sure, but at any rate, she'd find a better use for something like this than he could.
“I need a totem made from this,” he explained, looking over at the wild woman. “Something that can redirect magic.” The totem was central to his design- When Atol made contact with it, it would divert his energy into the rest of the array, strengthening it and binding him tighter within its grasp. His own power would serve to imprison him, but the skill to actually make it was beyond him, or any other shamans he'd conferred with on the matter. Without it, the trap wouldn't work.
If Stella couldn't craft his totem, then he was out of options.
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Post by jarahamee on Jun 18, 2020 13:14:27 GMT -6
The witch looked over at Casmir. He wasn’t pleased to be the one she pinned her hopes on, but it did not seem the resentment went far. Good. Her eye wanted to follow the curl of smoke upwards, but she stayed focused on his face. Stared into his eyes, as if discerning his make-up. Her dark eyes were inscrutable and filled with the glittering intelligence of a dangerous carnivore.
He was a predator. Like her, he was some kind of witch who had forsaken his humanity. What kind, she could not say; he was likely one of those Bilagaana sorts she was not well versed in. Maybe he knew about this change in his nature already, or perhaps he did not know it yet. She would not be the one to tell him.
She considered. It probably was not a good idea, but when had she ever had good ideas? She decided to become a yee naaldlooshii after all. Embraced her darkness and wicked magic, for revenge. For love. The oldest and most foolish of stories. She leaned forward. She already knew her answer.
“You came to the right person.”
She held out her hand to take it.
Even without holding it, she could feel its innate power. A forbidden animal, and a wicked one, with cruelty all its own. A maneater. Filled with malice. The darkness was like her own. A part of her wished she had its skin, had seen its size. Imagine the power she could have wielded.
She focused again; the eye was perfect. A totem with its use was exactly the type of item she could craft. She had come in a timely manner.
“I can make your item. What do you need it to redirect to?”
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