Member
NytefallHraakir
The hare skittered this way and that, desperate to escape, its nose twitching as it let out little whimpering sounds of fear. Yet all that struggle came to naught, ending with a vicious sound of tearing flesh and a dull thunk. An axe embedded in the artic hare’s flank stood in horrible contrast as blood pooled over the snow, staining it a dull red, and the small creature breathed its last, its ears twitching toward the sound of footfalls crunching toward it, the approach of its killer.
A powerfully built reptilian creature claimed its prize, lifting the hare by the axe embedded in it, relishing in the blood that dripped over its claws. It carried the creature a mile, hungrily, and promptly dumped it into a receding campfire on the edge of the Moving camp, scattering burning cinders and ashes over the two men sitting nearby, who looked up in shock.
“Wha? The ‘ell you doin-” the affronted guard’s sudden change in demeanour was almost comical to the reptilian, as realisation suddenly dawned on him who, or what, he was talking to so roughly. A Dragonoid, redscaled, standing almost a foot taller than him, garbed in tribal furs and carrying nasty curved axes, one stained with the blood of its kill. It was the type of savage that ordinary men do not fuck with. “Oh, one of you, eh, Redscale lot? Like your… food burned then?” The man tried to make awkward small talk to cover over his earlier rudeness, but it was a little difficult as his nose was turning up from the smell of burning hair. The reptile grinned, showing far too many teeth, and simply dumped a few choice organs from the disembowelled creature into the fire alongside it.
Hraakir, Dragonoid of the Redscale tribe, left the organs of his kill in offering to his great god and ripped the burned fur from the hare so as to sink his fangs into the scorched flesh beneath. Ripping and tearing, fat and grease leaked down his scales and claws, and the men around him promptly left. Probably queasy. Pathetic little manlings. Eventually far preferable company replaced them, another of his tribe who had found his way to this place.
“Hraakir.” The Dragonoid greeted him simply, dumping his own hare in the fire.
“Sakaar.” Hraakir replied, around mouthfuls of food. After a while of comfortable silence, Hraakir posed a question. “Will you go find the Elflings then?”
“No, I go south, kill god-haters myself if I have to.”
“Good hunting, cousin.”
“You?”
“I go find Elflings, they say here if they find Elflings they have a big battle, kill the god-haters.”
“Good hunting, cousin.”
Summary: Hraakir the savage Dragonoid seems to be planning to find the Elves, if only to have a big battle and kill people.
