[color=9e0b0f][i][centre]Zerabil, Prophet of Vowzra

Level 1 Hero[/centre][/i][/color]

The sun was bright in the sky, a few lazing wisps of cloud floating in thin stripes here and there. It was warm, but Zerabil remained in his coat, almost impervious to the heat. He felt it, sure enough, but it was hardly a concern. And which was more, walking through this thick underbrush of this forest certainly provided for shade against that burning eye of the sky. So thick was the undergrowth that Zerabil thought it impossible for any living creature larger than a fox to have passed through. Every now and again he would find himself facing a wall of particularly thick thorny bushes and shrubbery that he would have to turn back and forge a different path.

Had he gone around the forest instead, as he had considered not an hour earlier as he descended the hill of his creation, perhaps he would have found it to be a much easier and smoother path. But then again, he was not one for smooth and easy paths; a rough path was so much more interesting, there was so much more to see and learn. He was not one for retracing the steps of his forebears, no. Zerabil was one to forge his own path, that was the way of the one in pursuit of knowledge, that was the way of one with purpose. That was the way of one whose every step carried the weight of Fate.

Hitting another wall of thorns and undergrowth, Zerabil decided that simply walking through this forest would not do. He could, of course, quite literally carve a path for himself, cutting down all plant-life in his way, but something about that irked him greatly, even the idea was repugnant to his mind. He could trace his way back and go around the forest...but that would be to admit defeat. He was not stubborn, he did not think himself proud either, but here was a challenge, and he was not one to back away from a challenge. Pondering to himself, he looked to the earth. There was certainly no way of getting through that! However...allowing his gaze to rise, he looked up at the canopy of greenery above. The green was bright, promising sunlight beyond, and the trees were all tightly packed together. Surely it would be a simple enough task to reach the top and ride that canopy like the squirrels that made for themselves a home up there.

Without waiting any longer, Zerabil removed his coat, tucked his club into the quiver and slung the bow around his chest, so it would be out of the way. He tied the coat around the quiver and set off for the nearest tree. Placing his foot on a gnarl, he stepped onto the tree and wrapped his arms around it before pulling himself up. Upon lifting himself, he tightened his thighs around the tree and began his slow ascent, making use of an knots he came across as foot or handholds. He slowly ascended the trunk, his small, powerful muscles working and straining until he reached the first branches and lifted himself up on to one. With branches all around him and leading in all directions, Zerabil chose his path carefully, going ever upward and choosing the sturdier looking branches.

It was not long before he reached the top and his head broke through the tree line and the sky rose up above him, vast and blue. Sunlight danced against the treetops and the wind turned it into a vast, sunbathed sea of green. Zerabil admired the view for a few minutes. If this was the glory of the creation, then how glorious indeed must the creator be! This would have been a most beautiful place to sit and meditate for a while, but alas, he could not waste any time. A man with a purpose was a busy man indeed! With that, he began his careful climb over the forest. Sweat and dirt, tree sap and the occasional bug in the mouth or eye made it all the more difficult. So it was no surprise that an hour or so after he began his treetop trek, he managed to misplace his foot and plunged head-first into the sea of green.

His head received more than a few blows which would have put down any normal man for good. At one point he landed right onto a thick branch, letting out a little 'wow' at the blow to his more delicate parts, before falling to the side and continuing the unfortunate fall. Fortunately, his landing was cushioned by a thorny bush. His Father was clearly looking out for him, thanks be for that. He lay there for a while, allowing his body to check itself. Nothing was broken, thankfully, though he had a few gashes here and there, and his body would be black and blue from bruising for a while. The cuts stung as he began moving again, sweat and dirt lashing at them.

Thankfully, though, it seemed that he had managed to bypass the thickest of the undergrowth and the going was much easier from there. As he limped off, what he wished for, more than anything else, was a stream. He needed to bathe and check his quiver. His bow seemed fine, he doubted the club would have been affected by the fall, but a few arrows may well have splintered. Fifteen minutes of limping passed and he finally heard the tell-tale sounds of running water. Without hesitation, he made right for it. Upon arriving at the flowing stream, he dropped his quiver and bow before stripping down and slipping into the cold running water. He loosened his long white hair and allowed the cold water to carry the sweat and the blood and the filth away. Now if only there was a waterfall, that would certainly be a terrific thing to meditate under. Or so it seemed to him in his mind's eye.

Feeling clean and refreshed, he lifted himself out of the water and stood by the stream for a while, letting the cold water run down his body and the warm air dry him. His leg felt much better, the cold water had taken the soreness away and his body's natural properties allowed it recover quickly. A few minutes passed and he bent down and cupped some water in his hands, drinking the life-giving liquid and giving thanks to his Father and the Guardian of Life for this blessing, and he mumbled a little of prayer of thanks to She of the Waters for her blessing him with this stream and this gulp of water when he so needed it. Standing back up, he turned, tying his hair in a quick knot before freezing. His instincts on high alert, he noted that his items were still there, but he was being watched. Nonchalantly, he walked towards his weapons, slinging the quiver and bow over his naked shoulder and drawing the club in preparation. He had to admit, standing in the nude didn't exactly fill him with confidence or make him feel very prepared, but getting his clothes on was the least of his concerns at that moment. He should have been able to sense any creature in his vicinity, but he was terrible at using his divinely granted gifts. It would take more time and meditation, but for now, he was aware and that was all that mattered. There were four beings that he was aware of, watching from behind the trees. They were certainly not any normal animal and- was that clicking he heard?

One the creatures began to move, its presence signaling that it was rushing forth. From behind one of the trees an ugly creature burst out and rushed towards Zerabil with lightening speed, its speed augmented by its four legs, what passed for a mouth on its hideous face opening and closing as it clicked. Zerabil calmly took his stance, its appearance even if sudden not phasing him, waiting for the opportune moment. The creature was nearly upon him when he took a step forward and to the side, swinging his club with all the power he could muster using both his hands. The bloated bug swerved to the side with agility and maneuverability that shocked Zerabil. The power behind his swing sent him hurtling, but the creature could not take advantage of his momentary defenselessness as it too was still trying to stop itself after the mad charge failed miserably. Two more charged from behind their trees, these ones slightly more cautious.

Zerabil backed away as they approached him slowly, coming at him from three different angles. There was no possibility that he would be able to take them all on, especially when that fourth one came out, as it inevitably would. The one right before him charged forward suddenly, only to receive a mouthful of club. The weapon was not used for stabbing, but that was about all Zerabil could manage given the surprise attack. The creature backed away, clicking angrily but largely unharmed. Zerabil stopped moving and watched the creatures as they advanced once more. He felt a strange, cold emotion rushing up within him as he breathed deeply and eyed the creatures. His eyes opened wide and a snarl escaped his lips before he rushed forward. The three creatures were surprised momentarily, but they were skilled fighters, it would take more than surprise to defeat them. With his club in his left hand, Zerabil made to swing it at the fiend's head. Almost instinctively, it ducked to avoid the blow, only to find Zerabil's right fist rising to meet its maw at speed. The power and angle of the blow sent the creature flying, and Zerabil followed through smoothly. The right hand rose to grip the club with the same movement and the club came down upon the flying creature almost immediately. It was sent to the ground with a satisfying squeal before Zerabil moved forward and put an end to its miserable existence with a mighty blow to the head, sending brains and gore flying into the face of its approaching friend.

Blinded by the specks of blood and flesh, the creature attempted to retreat. Zerabil could not follow it as the third one was now upon him, its claws reaching for his face and eyes. Instead of backing off, he burst forward between its out-stretched claws, bashing his head into its bony chest before releasing his club and wrapping his own hands around its face. It squealed and clicked at this sudden act, its claws tearing at his skin. It cut him, but nowhere near enough to cause him serious pain or injury, his skin was not that of any normal human after all. With a savage twist, Zerabil cracked its neck and its claws immediately fell to its side. Lifting it whole, he lurched it over his head and into the other bug which had recovered its sight and was now approaching. It dodged the throw, having seen it coming and charged forward with its claws right for its prey's face. Catching its claws in his prepared hands, Zerabil fell back and threw it over him using his legs as leverage. So much power did he use that it went flying into a tree before falling down, winded but still alive. Not wishing it let it go, he quickly reached for his club and struck while it was still disoriented. For the second time that day, a spray of blood and gore filled the air as the huge bug's soft head was pulverised.

The last presence, still behind the tree, was now slowly backing away. It knew that they had met their match here and was attempting to escape. Fearing that it would come back with even more of its kind, Zerabil dropped his club and whipped out his bow before giving chase. Immediately, the creature began running too. Accelerating before it got too far into the forest, Zerabil loosed an arrow but missed. Firing while running was no easy task, especially with trees and bushes in the way. Letting his arrow go, he focused on catching up with it and was upon the creature within thirty seconds. It was very fast, but he was faster. Bringing it down from behind, he proceeded to bash at its head without stopping. Again and again, until its squealing and all movement stopped. He held his bloodied and gooey fist up, waiting to see if it would move again. When it did not, he breathed a sigh of relief and got up, allowing his breathing to return to normal.

Turning away, he began to make his way back to the stream, following the trail of broken branches and bushes bent out of the way. So much for not wishing to destroy the plant life. Picking his bow and arrow up on the way back, he let his now truly disheveled hair trail in the late afternoon air. It was late and he was tired, but he had promises to keep, and miles to go before he sleeps, and miles to go before he sleeps.

He bathed once more in the stream, quickly this time, and cleaned his club. It had proven most useful on this first encounter, and it would prove useful on many more. Putting his breechcloth and leggings on, and slipping into his coat, he began his walk anew. This time, he followed the stream.

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13 Khookies gained
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