Active [Woods near Etiva - Ryke] Opening A Can Of Whoop Ass.

[Maxxob]

bd0693 | Hector

It was another languid afternoon in the sprawling, untamed forests of Ryke. The air was alive with the melody of chirping birds, their songs echoing through the dense underbrush. Squirrels and rabbits darted through the foliage, their tiny feet barely rustling the leaves. The gentle whisper of the breeze carried the scent of pine and damp earth, weaving through the branches above. As the wind stirred, it set the canopy to swaying, the leaves rustling softly—a sound that seemed to envelop any who dared to venture through.

What had drawn Hector into these woods was a mystery only he could decipher. Perhaps it was the quiet allure of solitude, or the unspoken promise of adventure lurking just out of sight. Either way, he found himself near the winding road that led toward Etiva, where the forest grew thicker and wilder. The vegetation was dense, forming a green wall that swallowed up vision, while the towering trees stretched high, their leafy crowns intertwining to form a natural ceiling. Only slender beams of sunlight managed to pierce through, casting dappled patches of light onto the forest floor, as if illuminating a path known only to those willing to look.

It was while treading this path that Hector stumbled upon something unexpected. Pushing aside an overgrown bush that reached up to his chest, he saw a sight that gave him pause—a patch of the earthy ground, soaked and darkened with blood. The scent was faint but distinct, a sharp metallic tang that mingled unpleasantly with the fresh, earthy aroma of the woods. And there, lying atop the crimson stain, was an armband. Its color was a rich, deep red, with a black dagger emblazoned boldly on the fabric, its dark blade gleaming like a whispered threat. The armband seemed almost to beckon him, its presence alluring and sinister, a silent siren’s call that was difficult to ignore.

Beyond the armband, a trail of blood snaked away, leading toward a narrow gap between two tall, gnarled trees. Their trunks were thick, covered in patches of moss, and their roots clawed at the ground, as if guarding whatever lay beyond. The trail disappeared into the shadows, where the sunlight could no longer reach. It was as if the forest itself was trying to hide the secret, daring anyone to follow.

What would Hector do? Would he heed the call of the crimson trail, or turn back and leave the mystery to the whispering trees?

 

[bd0693]

What had drawn Hector to these woods was no act of his own.

Slam fired from a portal aimed for nowhere in particular, a random act of chance that was a final, desperate move to put someone anywhere but there. An act of witchcraft that, in all aspects of its nature, were crude and poorly understood. They barred him from taking steel, as it'd affect the spell. They forbade the weaponry, as they sensed the dark forces lingering from all the violence it'd been apart of. They said nothing about the blood staining him, as they knew it was human blood. Anything else would've caused it all to go awry. That's what they say anyways.

Shame they never had it right in the first place.

Above the trees, elder and strong, a rift of light flashed open, and in the absence of its blinding glory, a man appeared. From this high up it'd be hard to see his wrinkled, tired face, but it was plenty old. Black short hair slightly salt and peppered with a beard to match, just unruly enough to show he'd hadn't had the time to take good care of himself lately. Dressed in cloth trousers and a simple shirt, an outfit made as undergarments to a set of armor, now all he had to his person alongside boots, a backpack, and belt. All of it caked in different layers of blood. Still dripping, even.

A few feet above those very arbor, his legs kicked. They had felt ground a moment ago, but now only air. His hands sprawled outward, reaching for something, anything to grasp for a handhold. His eyes were blinded by the brightness, adjusting only enough to see the first branch strike his chest. His hands wrapped around the powerful wooden limb, but his speed just didn't cut it. He bounced, striking another branch, and another, and another, until the ground found him at less than full speed. When he hit the forest floor, his body spilled out between the trees, the barely covered roots catching his solar plexus and knocking the wind out of the old chap, leaving him with a wheeze.

He rolled onto his back and found sunny skies. There was life and nature around him. Gods, he made it. Gods, that hurt.

There was so much to process in that moment. It was the first time in weeks that things felt at peace. No wails or screams, no bloodshed to come or already present, no threats of violence at all really. No home. No neighbors. No comrades. Nothing. His mind lingered constantly to his beloved Rosa. The loss that hurt the most. Hector gasped, sucking in breath, and the air tasted crisp. Hector Vacio, Captain of the Guard for the village of Driftwood, laid in a land without any semblance of familiarity. It'd be a minute before the ringing in his ears subsided enough to catch the whispering of the bloodied trail. It'd be a few minutes more before he sat upright, and found his footing.

A bloody trail leading into the woods, and the bush obscured the safer path back. He groaned, putting his sorrows away for another time, and centered himself on his duties. His people were not a lost cause. There was much work to be done. And so, clenching his fists and gathering his focus, he began onward, into the woods.