Finished [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.

 

[Maxxob]

bd0693 | Hector

Clutching the bloodied armband, the path led deeper into the woods, drawing closer to the unseen heart of the mystery. The two ancient, twisted trunks almost seemed to close in on themselves, their gnarled branches scraping and pulling at his clothes, as if reluctant to let him pass. But beyond them, the forest opened up into a clearing—a sight that could only be described as a scene from a nightmare.

The ground was drenched in blood, so thoroughly that the familiar brown of the earth was almost entirely obscured by dark, sticky crimson. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, some intact but many reduced to little more than severed limbs strewn haphazardly across the ground. The chaos was overwhelming, as if a violent storm had torn through, leaving nothing but death in its wake. The dead were varied—humans, fae, beastkin—all races united in this grotesque display. Yet, despite the diversity, every corpse bore a common mark: the same crimson armband now in hand, emblazoned with a black dagger.

????
​

A muffled, agonized grunt broke the eerie stillness. At the center of the clearing, a hulking reptilian figure loomed over a body pinned to the ground by a massive greatsword. The blade pierced the chest of its victim, a final, sickening twist drawing out one last, feeble moan. The reptilian’s orange scales shone slickly in the muted light that filtered through the trees, his curved horns glinting sharply. He turned his head, and his amber eyes fixed intently, a sly grin stretching across his lips.

"Ah, another one," the reptilian hissed, his voice carrying a cold amusement. "Maybe this one will have the information we need." With a casual, brutal motion, he placed his clawed foot against the dying man’s chest and wrenched the sword free, sending the limp body sprawling to the ground, leaving a dark, gory streak behind.

????
​

As the clearing seemed to hold its breath, a flicker of movement shifted in the shadows cast by a tall, imposing tree. The darkness itself appeared to pulse and ripple, almost liquid, until it twisted and condensed into a shape. From the shadows emerged a cloaked figure, shrouded in black, their form wreathed in smoke that seemed to cling to their body like mist. The hood and scarf concealed most of their face, leaving only a pair of piercing purple eyes to catch the light. Their voice was a distorted echo, reverberating unnaturally through the clearing.

"Just be sure not to kill him too quickly, Rakutan," the shadowy figure spoke, a note of dark amusement in their tone. "At least not until we’ve gotten what we came for."

Rakutan, as the reptilian was named, glanced back briefly, then nodded, his grin widening before turning his attention back with renewed intensity.

????
​

Further back, but still very much a part of the scene, stood a smaller figure—a masked individual clutching a weathered, leather-bound book. Though her stature was slight, there was an air of danger about her, and the eyes glinting behind the mask were sharp, calculating. A small, bat-like creature fluttered beside her, its tiny eyes fixed on the new arrival with unsettling, predatory curiosity. When she spoke, it was in a peculiar, almost sing-song tone, her words clipped and rhythmic.

"This one weak," she muttered, her voice low and feminine. "Weaker than others. Maybe new? Won’t run." With a fluid motion, she raised her hand, fingers curling as she incanted, "Vynan!"

The command echoed ominously, and the ground trembled in response. Cracks appeared, and slabs of stone erupted from the earth, forcing their way upwards and crashing through the underbrush, toppling trees and forming an imposing wall around the clearing. The slabs closed in, sealing off any possible escape routes, leaving the clearing isolated and confined, like an arena waiting for its grim contest to unfold.

Rakutan raised his greatsword, its blood-streaked blade gleaming darkly in the dim light. His grin turned savage, and he pointed the weapon with a taunting gesture. "Come on," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "I’ll even give you the first move. Let’s see what you’ve got."

The clearing lay still, the walls of stone casting long, jagged shadows. The scent of blood and steel hung heavy in the air, mingling with the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds, as if the forest itself was watching, waiting.

Spoiler: Combat

During combat players have 3 actions they can take. These actions can be used for a multitude of things, example: moving, blocking, dodging, attacking and using abilities. When acting, remember to always put a summarization at the end of your post, like the following example:

Actions:
1 - Move to I9
2 - Move to G11
3 - Attack the enemy F12

The distance between each square in the map is 5ft. Hector is considered a medium-sized creature and, as such, can move up to 20ft per action spent or movement (auxiliary skills can increase how far he can walk per movement action).

 

[Maxxob]

Not a single movement or sound came from the lone figure, standing in eerie silence. The stillness seemed to grate on Rakutan’s patience, his sharp teeth grinding together in a sound like stones scraping. His frustration was clear, each muscle tense with the desire to strike. The shadowy figure, a silent observer, sensed what was about to unfold. "Raku–" he began, his reverberating voice cut short as Rakutan lunged forward, becoming a blur of scales and rage.

With a viciously swift motion, the reptilian warrior thrust his greatsword forward. The blade cleaved flesh and bone, driving deep through the chest with terrifying ease. Blood spilled forth, rich and dark, pouring from the wound. A strained, voiceless gasp followed, blood trickling from parted lips as the steel embedded itself, biting deep enough to steal breath, slicing partially through the lung with ruthless efficiency. Rakutan wasn’t finished; he wrenched the weapon upwards, tearing through tissue and sinew in a cruel upward arc before withdrawing the blade, leaving a gaping, ragged wound behind.

A warm spray of blood splattered across Rakutan’s orange scales, momentarily staining them a dark, glistening red. Hector’s form crumpled, folding to the blood-soaked ground with a heavy thud. Fresh blood pooled beneath him, the sharp scent of iron rising and mingling with the dense forest air, infusing the clearing with a heavy, visceral presence.

The masked figure observed without a hint of surprise, her small fingers tracing intricate gestures in the air. "Weaker than expected. Will die. Let’s find others." Her voice was calm, almost bored, as the stone walls she had summoned earlier disintegrated, crumbling like sand against the forest floor. Her indifferent words echoed across the clearing, fading as the walls dissolved.

And, as darkness edged closer, those dispassionate words were the last sounds to drift through the clearing before silence settled over the blood-soaked earth once more.

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Title suggestions:
Hector → [Dead]