2015-09-24 The Hunting
This scene is rated Everybody
Warning: Contains some violence
Players: Hrimhari Borgon
GMed by N/A
Title: The Hunting

The forest breathes.

Warmth in the soil - subtle, in the middle of the afternoon when the sun is already on its home stretch toward evening - moisture in the grass and leaves… that sun on one's back. For those with the senses - and the mind - to appreciate it, such a place is truly alive.

But that is not to say it is safe.

Here in the deep woods beyond the Alfheim plains - home of the Elfin kin - the pathless forests are as perilous as they are beautiful. The landscape dips into a bowl on the edge of the plain, where vast trees grow thick and the ground is largely - but not entirely - covered in undergrowth. The sounds of the forest fill the air - birds mainly, but also the telltale cries of four-legged animals… herbivores and carnivores both.

There are also signs of disturbance - broken branches, scored tree-trunks, trampled shrubs… and even the odd spattering of blood. Multiple tracks lead from the plain into the woods - and not all from the same direction. Moving swiftly and silently through the woods - tracing one set of tracks - is a silver-grey wolf. It does not appear to be all that special, except that its care to navigate the area so deftly would hint at intelligence greater than 'normal'.

Smarter than the average wolf.

It stops by a tree that looks like something large collided with it, sniffing.

To breath with the forest, to breath with adventure and life. That is Borgon. He could appreciate this place for what it was, the dance of life and death. Just as beautiful as it was dangerous. He had travelled far across The Sea of Marmora to reach Alfheim.

Exploration and Adventure sung to him.

In Asgard and most anyone else, trolls weren't exactly welcomed. And half trolls were often distrusted at best. And Borgon looking primarily liked a full troll simply wanted to get away from it all. So it would be no surprise if one of those tracks where his own. But for now, he was on the hunt. He could see the small disturbances and was carefully following them. Despite wearing heavily plated boots, he moved silently. An axe on his back crossed with his quiver of arrows, helping to keep his heavy cape against his back.

Food was on the mind

Carefully his gauntleted hands knocked an arrow, but did not draw. He was close to something, his eyes able to see far father than any full blooded Asgardian (except Heimdall). He draws and readies to fire an arrow at a large silver-grey wolf, from perhaps sixty feet away. Though a thought went through Borgon's head 'Was it the wolf who made this trail, or a game much more dangerous'

If the wolf notices at all the sound of a bowstring being drawn back, or the near-silent scrape of an arrow shaft against the bow… he gives no sign of it. He has not, at least, smelled the half-troll - such a hunter would know to approach upwind of it.

The wolf pads slowly about the broken tree… and vanishes.

There is more movement in the trees. Behind the half-troll, a shadow crosses from one massive trunk to another - but not without disturbing the underbrush. A veritable chorus of twigs and leaves snap and crunch together, just as similar noises can be heard on the other side of the thicket - past where the wolf had just been. Whatever the creature is, it is big - noticeably clumsy - and not alone.


The sound splits the air like the painful cry of a monster, except that it belongs to a tree. One of the trunks topples forward, aiming directly for the half-troll - at about the same moment that the silver-grey wolf appears standing on the broken tree it had just been circling.

It spots the falling tree, going stock-still - legs splayed, ears forward, lips curled back in a snarl - watching.

The creature BEHIND the falling tree? A full-blooded rock-troll. In leather armour. Sporting a broken bow, and a nasty gash across its forehead - obscuring its vision with dark blood.

Borgon wasn't exactly startled by the wolf circling around the tree. But he saw the shadow, heard the movement and jumped away, not scared, but rather getting prepared. Two swift movements, his arrow was back in the quiver, the bow worn across his shoulders and his big bad battle axe in his hands.

It these days were one can appreciate being adaptive. Borgon was in fact All-Tongue deficient and has actually bothered to learn the tongue of different creatures, including his own parentage, Asgardians and Trolls. //"I'm guessing yer not very good at hunting, are you?" He asks.

But then there is that wolf. A very angry looking wolf. He eyes that snarling wolf as much as he eyed the full blooded troll. Out here, nothing is what it seems, but everything is what it was meant to be.

The falling tree makes a terrible racket throughout the woods, sending birds and smaller animals fleeing in all directions. The troll that caused it to crash almost ploughs straight into the half-troll - despite the axe in the latter figure's hands - barely coming to a halt before colliding with the weapon's edge.

The troll sniffs, paws at his bloodied eyes and sniffs again. Yew smell funny, he tells Borgon as he cranes his head upward, sniffing all the while, to 'look' into the half-breed's face.

For all the good it does the blind troll.

'Alf-Breed. Figgers. Didjou see it? It's out 'ere. Comin' fer us. 'Ey! he calls out. I found me a half-breed! Gotta name, Half-Breed?

All the while, the troll fidgets with his broken bow… and a knife belted around his waist. At the same time, two more rock-trolls come trudging through the trees from opposite directions - both male, both armed with bows and spears - and both injured.

Meanwhile, the wolf makes a dash - almost faster than the eye can see - along the tree-trunk and circles around… with the intention of getting behind the first of the injured rock-trolls. There it pauses, melting into the shadows a bit.

I'm starved! calls out the second of the three rock-trolls.

Is it gone? asks the third. Wot's this thing? Stay out here 'n yer a meal… it says, with a tone heavy with implication. The rock-troll fingers its spear - eyeing Borgon. They do not appear to have noticed the wolf yet.

Half breed? HALF BREED! As if it were some curse. Odin knows Borgon 'father' taught help teach him some pateint. He takes a breath and didn't seem quite nervous. He does however give the Troll in front of him a shove hard enough to 1.suggest he keeps some space and 2.Let him know Borgon is not push over and stronger then your average troll //"Course Ah gotta name. Ulik knows everywan does"\\ he growls out out.

Borgon sighs as the wolf, which WAS his quarry disappears. He says in annoyance to the second troll //"Yea? Welp, seems we're all going ta be starvink tanight. Your friend here scarred away the food I was hun__" and he hears the third Troll

"Then little rock troll best go home before it becomes a meal if your too scarred" Borgon says, his troll temper beginning to kick in as he is referred to as a 'thing'. Back in Asgard he had to watch his temper, but out here… DO NOT piss him off. His grip tightens on his axe his own face contorted into a down right nasty snarl. If his smell said half blood, boy did his temper and face say full blood right now.

'Ere, remarks the second of the three rock-trolls - only to pause as the first of them (the blinded troll) reels backwards to land unceremoniously on his rump in the bowl left by the recently downed tree. The other two rock-trolls laugh raucously.

There goes the rest of any remaining game in the area.

I fink our luck's jus' changin', fellas, says troll number 3 while the second laughs.

'Urry up, yew togs! the first one calls out. I'm 'ungry and that… thing could come back any second!

Troll-2 hefts his spear and shrugs at Borgon. Nuffin' personal, eh? And with that he moves to throw the spear straight at the half-troll, while Troll-3 nocks an arrow to his bow. In the same instant, the wolf leaps out of the shadows…

At Troll-3 - he with the bow.

In the distance, through the trees, something moves. Something big.

Borgon was actually chuckling with the other two trolls and the first ones predicament. But then Troll two had to start hefting that spear. He WISHES he could be surprised, but he is not, and luckily still possed the strength and reflexes of an Asgardian, and moves to the side catching the spear, and cracking it in his hand. Now he was pissed. //"Nuffin… personal"\\ he repeats. He didn't even realise the wolf was attacking troll-3, he was just angry now. He charges the second troll jumping up and swinging his axe down with enough power to shake the earth should he miss!

But then there is that sound in the distance. It was big, really big. And knowing The Realm of Asgard, big meant dangerous. Big meant trouble, and big meant fun for Borgon. But even then he doesn't pay attention as he ebbs on the brink of going Berserk.

A few things happen all at once then.

With the threat of impending doom - or fun, depending on one's perspective - the trolls start a fight that (even with three of them), they really should have thought about some more. With the spear so efficiently removed from the fight, Troll-2 utters a roar of anger - his face a contorted mess of indignation and rage followed by profound dread and the too-slow realisation of his life-altering mistake.

And that is the expression upon his face as it is cleft in twain. Both the creature's eyes blink once - now separated by several inches of open air and the odd strand of brain-fluid - as it topples backwards to the ground.

The wolf moves with speed too great for a typical beast of its kind, seemingly darting just PAST the rock-troll's leg. There is a sound of snapping bone - like a 'pop' puncturing the air… and in that instant, the troll is short one half of a leg. With a bloodcurdling cry, the creature loses its balance and its arrow flies wide…

Whilst the first of the rock-trolls attempts a hasty retreat (possibly the wisest thing any of them had done this day).

A hasty retreat eh? Very little can stop Borgon when he goes on a rampage, and he hefts his axe his grip tight, angry, unyielding. It wasn't so much the grip, it was simply his presence his aura that gave it away. That gave question to how much of a 'half breed' he is. Nothing else mattered now, no one else mattered. They wanted him and now they have him. His axe comes up as he prepared to throw it, not caring there was blood on his face, nor that the third troll was down for the count thanks to a wolf faster then the eye can see.

But then it hits him, both literally and figuratively. The wide flying arrow actually get Borgon in the arm, and his rage turned on the third troll. Rage, that made him no better then him. His father taught him all he knew, and believed he could be more. It would be easy enough to just give into the rage completely, he soooo wanted too. Hell he wasn't even sure if he was the one he took the troll leg or if that phantom wolf did.

His breath began to slow, his rage began to die.

And with that he lets the first troll go as he put the axe firmly back on his back. Slowly he walks over to the downed troll and growls out //"Where's your camp? I take you. Then you leave me alone"\\ Yup, despite all that has happened, he was willing to simply move past it. But there was that sound. That sound from the distance coming closer.

What was that?

A blind troll fleeing in a thick forest.

What could possibly go wrong?

The answer to such a question might become apparent with the frequent crashes and smashes as the troll collides with an entire forest. Troll-3, now the only one remaining, does more roaring in pain than answering any questions posed to him by Borgon. He does, however, jerk a thumb over his head - back the way the majority of the tracks had led into the woods

The wolf trots briefly after the blinded troll, then returns to Borgon and his quarry… the troll's leg in its mouth. Dropping it to the ground, it sits by its… trophy of sorts, and watches Borgon with its head tilted to the side in curiosity.

"There is little time," the wolf remarks. "Thy compassion for the troll is commendable, but danger is imminent. His path was chosen ere ours did cross - and you intrigue me." The wolf turns its amber gaze to the one-legged rock-troll, almost sadly.

"Let him go," he repeats.

Borgon has to take a double take on the talking wolf "Oh great, my former food talks" He wasn't about to eat something sentient like SOME trolls. But he wasn't about to leave the troll behind "Are paths are what we make" is his response. He ignores Troll-3 roars of pain and instead just hefts the troll ino his arms. It days like these you are glad to be half troll and half Asgardian, for he had the Asgardians Strength as well as their Stamina.

"Look here… wolf person guardian thing" Borgon says "It's a forest. Danger was imminent the moment I started hunting you, and they tried to kill me. Danger is imminent when you live here" he had already begun to follow the tracks, wolf or not "And if I can give this troll a saving chance, I will" He seen one legged trolls before, they happened. It just a matter of getting them somewhere.

But hey, at least he is walking AWAY from the sounds coming to them, so theirs that. He just hopes he s faster as he calls over his shoulder "You coming?"

The wolf tucks its chin inward, staring with unblinking amber eyes at Borgon for a moment or so, and finally nods its head in a most human-like (or humanoid-like - but that lacks the same ring to it) fashion. "This one is gratified to hear you say 'former' food," it tells the half-troll," and trots past both Borgon and his 'carry-on' in the direction the rock-troll had indicated.

The rock-troll merely protests in roars and moans of pain, trailing blood behind it as they head off toward the edge of the woods. At least an accelerated healing factor can take care of most of the bleeding - but the scent is well and truly in the air, and they are leaving a trail that might as well have glowing magical arrows pointing the way.

Behind them, the source of the noise becomes apparent as a scaly head reveals itself twisting around a tree-trunk followed by a serpentine body far longer than several rock-trolls lying end to end. It has four legs, but only vestigial wings - better suited to swift ground travel rather than flight.

It knows where they are, and it is coming.

"Well I figure if I kan have talk with et, must not be good for eatink" Borgon says. He grunts and gives the troll he is carrying a rather rough shake //"Stop yer bellowing. Wot you expectin ven yer mess with things you shouldnea be messing with?" He follow his now wolf compaion as he carries the injured troll. True the accelerated healing help stop the bleeding, but there was no denying the smell. They were after all blood covered.

A glance behind himself, as he sees the dragon like creature gets Borgon moving faster "By the forge!" he says annoyed "Great stuck carrying this guy instead of going after THAT thing" well…. full or half, trolls weren't exactly known for their intelligence "Ouse, wolf. Think yer can carry Stumpy here while me fight…" glance behind still moving fast "Eeeerrr snagon. Snake dragon"

"This one is a wolf, not a horse," the wolf replies as it skids to a halt; it turns its head fully around to gaze at the wyrm gaining on them, and a shudder passes through the beast's body, rippling its furry coat. It looks back at Borgon and HOWLS.

The sound is not so much 'deafening' as it is… reverberating. It echoes out from where half-troll and werewolf stand like ripples in a very large pond. With trees. And a… wingless wyrm. In the next moment there is no longer a diminutive wolf there, but a massive direwolf - a size greater than that of most heavy, warm-blood stallions.

The direwolf pads over to the rock-troll - Stumpy, henceforth shall he be named - and nods to Borgon. "This one can," he replies simply.

The wyrm has its quarry dead in its sights and gains in speed. It is almost ridiculous - were the danger not so very real - watching its sinuous body weave in amongst the trees as such velocity. It would be upon them in moments. Fortunately, a wyrm such as this is no fire-breather - but it is fast. Rearing upward as it draws nigh, the monster strikes forward in a powerful lunge to cover the last bit of intervening distance… aiming at Borgon.

The time to think was over, the time to act was now! Borgon throws Stumpy onto the direwolf's back (much to the roaring cry of the trolls protests) while at the same time dodging just in time to avoid being Wyrm food. He hopes that Direwolf moves fast.

But he doesn't stop moving he already has his bow out and nocking arrows like it was no one business only to fire them at the Wyrms thick hide "Over here Ugly!" he roars out hoping to distract the great beast! He wasn't exactly aiming, but anything to get the creatures attention at this point

The direwolf is fast.

The real question is - can Stumpy hold on, though?

It would appear he can, gripping the werewolf's coat as though his very life depended upon it. This is appropriate. The wolf takes off through the trees, putting considerable distance between it and the wyrm in the background.

It could almost make for the perfect getaway, were it not from the strong scent of blood left behind… as both Borgon and Hrimhari would know: unless the wyrm dies, it will never drop the hunt. The wyrm recoils from its next strike as multiple arrows either embed themselves in its thick, scaly hide - or bounce off. Most… find a mark and stick there.

The dragon dodges around the next few attacks - trying to find a way past Borgon to reach the one legged Troll - and feints with another strike of its fanged maw. Instead, it swings its tail around a nearby tree, far enough that it can reach around and perhaps hit Borgon from the side…

Well there relief from Borgon that he is making at least a half decent distraction. But it wasn't the time to celebrate. he continues dodging the head strikes. But he wasn't fast enough to see the tail coming.

Take notes people, this is one of the few time you will see Trolls Fly!

And flew Borgon did, right into the tree from that strong tail attack. He never has faced a Wyrm before. And it was painful, good thing the denizens of Asgard are sturdy. The attack made him lose most of his arrows, and the Wyrm was far faster then him.

Indeed, the tail sent him flying a couple dozen feet. But since the Stumpy has stopped bleeding, the blood wasn't fresh, but wyrm rarely give up Quarry unless something better comes their way. What to do, what to do!

Something stupid that's what.

Borgon hoped to Odin this worked. He presses his hand against the head of his axes blade and cuts down slicing a large wound into his hand, he roars from pain. But now, the moment of truth, he take off his boots! Every soul knows, feet in boots for days create the smells that drive death away! And him being half troll…. well he is definitely going to have troll scent. He runs along the forest running his hand on trees and plants, anything really trying to get to the Wyrm's rear.

There are days when having super-human senses is a bad thing.

And there are days - like today - when it is a very, very, very bad thing.

Hrimhari coughs when encountering the smell of Borgon's unwashed feet, and lurches forward - depositing Stumpy unceremoniously upon the ground… within sight of the forest edge, and the troll's village on the plains.

'Within sight' is still not 'near', however.

Hrimhari turns about to look at Borgon and the wyrm, and is mildly gratified to see the wyrm's tongue snake out - tasting the air, the poor thing - only to clamp down so hard on its tongue that it severs the forked tip of it completely.

It drops writhing like a dying eel to the ground.

The wyrm thrashes about in a frenzy, having momentarily forgotten to keep up the chase, spraying blood from its mouth in all directions. It is, without a doubt, at its most vulnerable…

Well…. Borgon did NOT expect his feet to smell THAT bad as he muses to himself "I wonder if that's why Pa make me bath everyday" he wonders. But enough of that, time to strike. Time to make sure this Wyrm knows not to mess with Borgon The Half Troll!

He picks up his axe once more, and with steady aim, he hurls his axe with all his might, going for the Beasts throat! "Catch!!!" he roars. May his aim strike true, and may his axe go through!

Though all the while he can't help but think "My feet can't smell THAT bad… can they?"

The wyrm rears.

Its bloodied maw opens wide.

It arches its neck in preparation to strike.

And stops.

Hrimhari dashes forward to help - since his 'rider' fell from his back - only to spot Borgon's axe lodge itself firmly in the creature's neck. With the speed of the wyrm's strike adding further force to the blow, the axe's edge bites in DEEPLY.

It sways. It's head lolls from one side to the next, just that little bit slow to catch up to the rest of its body-movement, until finally… it collapses. The creature's hand strikes the ground right in front of Borgon, dripping blood on his toes.

The direwolf… smiles.

"Well fought," he congratulates the half-troll. "And now… meat for the both of us, no?"

Borgon chuckles and nods "Indeed. And the rest we can probably give to them trolls. Never seen trolls hungry enough to eat a half troll before" he says. He hums "And, plenty of hide to use for armour too! Hopefully the brains still intact" what that has to do with armour is anyone's guess.

He none the less walks over and jerks his axe from the beasts neck. He was bloodied, wounded and breathing deeply. He was happy. "Borgon" is all he says to the direwolf. Some folks would have been dumb enough to try and pet a wolf, but he followed the law of 3D. That petting a wild creature is Dumb, Dangerous and Disrespectful.

It is… a good thing one does not try to pet a wild wolf - especially a wild werewolf. Hrimhari watches Borgon impassively, then trots back to 'Stumpy' to make sure the foolish Rock-Troll is still with them. Only the Fates know what might've befallen the first troll, Blindy.

Probably slain by a tree.

With an eye cast toward Stumpy's injury, the direwolf rears on its back legs and morphs into a humanoid, wolfman form - considerably smaller than the direwolf. Once shapeshifted, the wolfman bows his silver-maned head politely to Borgon. "Hrimhari, Prince of Wolves," he replies in a regal tone of voice. "The Moon favours you, Borgon - and this one thanks you for not eating him, yes?" He glances at Stumpy and then at the distant Troll village. There is clearly much to do.

"Shall we?" he asks, and smiles.


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