[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/VwHJlRz.png[/img][/centre]

Daethyrd sat absolutely still, watching the mighty beast as it swallowed a cow whole. He had been watching it now for a few days, trying to understand its behavior and habits as well as glean an understanding of its strengths and weaknesses. Eventually he decided that if he was going to gain its back he would need something to tie it up with so he could hold on, and so he gathered vines and made a sturdy rope and then he climbed a great clay spire and lay in wait for the beast.

When it passed below, he swung the vine rope and threw it at it, hoping to catch its tail. However he missed miserably and the great beast noticed him. It growled and then gave off a mighty roar, and it circled around the spire a few times, and then it kicked off into the air and dashed towards the vall. Daethyrs cursed and called for Gul-Tir. The molf erupted from some trees and flew towards his master, but the beast was already upon Daethyrd who swung his spear, realized that it was useless, and leapt from the spire. As he leapt the beast's powerful tail caught him on the shoulder and Daethyrd grunted in pain, his graceful leap turning into a mad descent. Luckily however his molf caught him, though Daethyrd winced in pain as the protrusions on its back cut him up.

Brandishing his sling in his undamaged arm, he placed a stone into it (gritting his teeth despite the pain) and he swung it as the molf dashed about in the air and struck the beast on the head. It simply bounced off and appeared to leave no damage whatsoever. The beast looked at the two for a few moments before turning away and dashing off. Adrenaline rushing through him, Daethyrd egged Gul-Tir on and the molf leapt after its first father.

The land rushed behind them as they accelerated after the powerful beast, and the rain whipped Daethyrd's face like never before. It felt like he was being pelted with thousands of sling stones. And then a putrid smell hit him and he gagged. By this time the beast had disappeared into the fog and rain, though his molf was still following its scent despite the terrible stench. The pain growing too great to bear, Daethyrd brought his molf earthward and crawled under a tree. He rubbed at his bottom and the back of his legs, which were cut up from landing on Gul-Tir, and then felt his tear-inducingly painful shoulder and realized that there was some kind of shard stuck in there. He closed his eyes and picked it out, and when he looked at it he saw that it was a small spike from the beast's tail. 

Grunting, and glad that his shoulder was not broken, he lay back and closed his eyes. However, before he could settle into a healing sleep something stinking and putrid landed on his head and he gagged and thrashed to get it off. Even after he had gotten the black stuff off he could feel his skin reacting badly and he pulled himself up and into the rain so it could wash it all away. As he looked around he realized that the black stuff was everywhere on the ground where there had once been grass or fruits in the trees. A rabbit in the distance sniffed at some of it and Daethyrd saw it attempt to eat it, only for it to fall down dead maybe ten minutes after. A wild goat licked at the stuff and nibbled at it, but quickly spat it out and went off to find something better. Only worms and other creatures usually attracted to rot seemed to benefit from this whole affair, and Daethyrd saw the disgusting things everywhere he looked.

As he returned to camp to recover, Daethyrd noticed that the rot was everywhere, and everywhere there were dead animals. After a few days, they were dead, rotting, disease-ridden corpses that added to the stench. Normally the rain would have acted to cleanse things like this, but the enormous volume of rot only meant that the rain descended and mixed with it and made it all worse. Perhaps a week later, Daethyrd came across a small camp and asked its people for food and lodgings. A number of them stared at him and his molf, and then invited him to stay. "Rest a while," a woman with a waxen baby tied to her chest told him, "and we will wake you up when food is ready."

What woke him up was not food being ready, but the barking of Gul-Tir and attempts to tie his arms up. As he came to, he found that he was being carried towards a great fire and that Gul-Tir was struggling with maybe three hunters who were trying to put him down. Roaring and foiling the attempts to tie his arms up, Daethyrd scattered the strange people and ran at the hunters bare-handed. Two of them yelped in shock and dashed off, but the third turned on Daethyrd and stabbed at the vall's thigh. He grunted in pain as the spear pierced his flesh and buried itself deep, but then thwacked his opponent on the side of the head and sent him reeling. Then the battered vall leapt onto Gul-Tir and spurred him into the air. Daethyrd spared one look back, and found that the weird pale people of the camp were stood staring at him with glazed over and hungry eyes. It sent a shiver down his spine.

As they flew through the fog and rain and stench, his stomach growling and eyes heavy and very suddenly cold and dizzy, he wondered what had brought about this terrible rot. But no answer was forthcoming. Later in the day Gul-Tir hunted down a great reindeer and brought it to him. Daethyrd noticed immediately that the reindeer was very thin and had clearly already been half dead of starvation before Gul-Tir caught it. He opened it up and cleaned its innars, noticing that it had eaten some of the rot and that had already been eating at it from inside. He cleaned it out, ensuring none was left, and then both he and Gul-Tir dug into the raw meat.

Some days later they passed through the ruins of another camp and Daethyrd was shocked to find the remains of little children and women in it. Their corpses were maybe a week old. Searching the camp, he found that the camp's stores had been hurriedly emptied out. The camp had been a victim of a food raid. Given what Daethyrd had seen of the rot so far, this seemed hardly surprising. He stood over the corpses for a long time, a deep frown etched onto his face. Then he sighed and buried them all, and then he spoke the decree the Land had given to him and all the vall of middle Be'r-Jaz:

"The Land your Home, demands Justice. 
Honor the Land, 
Honor its creatures, 
Cultivate balance, 
Create harmony. 
Do not hurt and do not mistreat,
Only with justice.
Do not transgress. 
Do kindness to who do kindness, 
Withhold from who do not. 
Fulfill your duty, 
Shun who shun it.
Take not another's due, 
Allot to each their due. 
Ask after the blood of kin, 
The price of blood is blood,
The price of a hurt is a like hurt.
And forgiveness is good."

He looked over the graves for a few moments and then turned and jumped onto Gul-Tir. "The price of blood is blood," he repeated, and the molf mewled slightly before setting off. When he arrived at his home camp things had changed. He found that a black-haired vall named Gildrik, one of the hunting pack leaders and a terrifying warrior, had now gained mastery over the people due to the food shortages. He allotted food arbitrarily and had a number of people from different camps, alongside people who opposed him generally, locked up in sturdy wooden cages. Some, who he decreed would die, were thrown into holes in the ground and weighed down with a rock, then the rain water filled up the hole and they perished. 

All of this had come about due to the sudden lack of food, and Gildrik led great hunting packs - not five or ten individuals, but up to forty or fifty - on great raids of other camps and came back with more prisoners and food. Gildrik himself wore a great necklace with the fingers of all those he had bested in combat, and his hide armour was decorated with the ribs of his foes. When times grew very tough they brought some of the prisoners out and slaughtered them and ate them. When Daethyrd saw all this it made his stomach turn, and he expressed his anger and disapproval to Gildrik. The other warrior only laughed.

"What is this Daethyrd! I thought you of all people would approve of this. Isn't this what we always wanted? Hunting, fighting, the thrill of the chase, besting all who defy us, GLORY. My name and the names of my faithful and bloodied warriors are whispered by all middelvalls. They fear our coming when we come and they know that we are the masters. And in time even the southerners will be cowed by us, and the Queen-Mother will come to know her mistake and she will make us, not them, the honored ones!" But Daethyrd only shook his head.
"You are killing and slaughtering our own people wantonly, this is not the way of the Land. We are warriors for the protection of the people, it is not our purpose to kill and slaughter just for the thrill of it. There is no glory in forsaking our duties." But Gildrik only scoffed.
"I am not killing or slaughtering wantonly. We do what is necessary to survive. If we do not raid and take what we need with the strength of our arms, then another people will strike at us and humiliate and debase us, and they will steal our food and do to us as we have done to others. If we do not do what is necessary to maintain our strength, then we will fall by the wayside and be destroyed. These are terrible and shifting times, and it is just in such times that the fruit of glory awaits the glorious to pick it." Daethyrd's eyes narrowed and then a grin grew on his face. Seeing this, Gildrik also grinned. "See! I knew you would like it!"
"So you go off with your men, you fall upon their camps, you best their warriors and slaughter their women and children, and you take any food they have, and whoever remains you take with you as prisoners?" He asked Gildrik. The black-haired middelvall nodded.
"We don't take everyone who survives," Gildrik said, "but otherwise yes. You will be my right-hand man Daethyrd. We will raid further than ever before and everyone will know to fear us!" Daethyrd stood up and nodded, and he looked around at the gathered people and raised his spear. There were a few cheers at this display. Daethyrd grinned.
"The price of blood is blood!" He roared, and his eyes flashed and he turned on Gildrik with sudden speed and fury, and before anyone knew what was happening the black-haired middelvall had a spear in his throat.

A shocked roar went up, hunters leapt towards Gildrik in the vain hope of saving him while others leapt at Daethyrd. The middelvall brandished a sharpened bone knife and shoved it into the eye of the closest warrior, before barely dodging a stab from a spear. Daethyrd gripped the offending weapon and threw its wielder over his shoulder before stabbing the helpless vall with his own weapon. There was a cold, wild gleam in Daethyrd's eyes, and he moved with a grace of form and calmness he had never felt before. Spears seemed to slip by him without doing any harm, and his knife or spear seemed to find the vulnerabilities of his enemies with great ease. It was all over in minutes, and when it was done he felt suddenly exhausted.

People were huddled against trees in their dens, staring in horror at the terrible scene and the one who had been responsible for it. Daethyrd looked with glazed eyes at the scene of the execution. Some thirty warr- [i]murderers[/i] lay dead, their blood everywhere. He brought a blood hand to his face and breathed, and then he spoke in a calm, loud voice. "The price of a hurt is to undo it or suffer like it, and death which cannot be undone is paid with death. This is Justice." He looked around him sternly. "Know that the Land your god is a just and kind god, and know also that I am its executioner. And I will strike you down with great vengeance and furious punishment for your transgressions, and you will know the full glory of the Land only then when retribution is due and the hour has grown late."

And Daethyrd then walked into the darkness and stench of the night, leaving the people of Gildrik behind.

[list][*][hider=Summary]
Daethyrd continues trying to gain Zer-Du's back but the beast bests and eludes him for the moment. Then the Rot arrives and Daethyrd travels around witnessing the terrible effect it has had on the island itself and on the vall in particular. Cannibalism, food raids, murder, and slavery have grown rife in middle Be'r-Jaz due to the food shortages, and in Daethyrd's home camp a tyrant named Gildrik has come to power. Daethyrd speaks with him and eventually executes him and his warriors before leaving the camp behind and continuing on his journey.[/hider]
[*][hider=Prestige]
[hider=Prestige Rules][list]
[*]1 Prestige for each post in which a Hero plays at least a minor role; this should still be more than just an offhanded mention or a few lines of dialogue. The role must advance the story in a notable way. ✔
[*]1 Prestige for a hero if they are the focus and the star of a post. ✔
[*]1 Prestige to each hero involved, if the post was collaborated between two or more people. ✘
[*]1 Prestige if the post follows a hero on a quest. ✔
[*]5+ Prestige if a Hero completes a quest they pursued over three or more posts. If the Quest is completed in two posts, this is halved and rounded down to the nearest whole number. ✘[/list][/hider]
+3 Prestige to Daethyrd
6 Prestige in Total
-2 Prestige to claim Title: Justice's Executioner
4 Prestige in Total
[/hider][/list]