RP:Bakru Watching, or When the Bottle Does Her Wrong
Summary: While Orikahn studies the enigmatic and unsettling Bakru from high in a tree, Aira stumbles across the scene and startles the strange, aggressive little humanoids. Once to safety, the elfess admits that perhaps if she had been at her keenest, the incident could have been avoided.
Forest Path
Orikahn sits silently in the leafy cover of a tree's boughs, clad in armor, his face hidden by the dark of his visor and the shade of his hood. The feline is alert and observant; he is watching the bakru pair on the ground below. The strange little humanoids work industriously, hacking up roots and trimming down foliage with strange, magical tools. Now and then, their bizzarre eyes raise alertly and sweep their surroundings with hateful suspicion, much as though they already suspect they are being watched.
Aira was dressed as she normally does when not in Frostmaw, her quiver of arrows slung over her back and bow pulled across her body. Her eyes are slightly glazed over and her breath indicates that maybe she hit the bottle a bit earlier than usual or maybe she drank too much the night before and it still hasn’t worn off. She walks fine, however, but pulls up short upon seeing the strange humanoids at work. Head cocked to the side the longer locks of her platinum hair spill across her shoulder as she narrows her copper eyes.
Orikahn spots Aira, and he double takes. For a moment, he looks around himself, trying to find a way to discreetly alert her. Relying on the elf's sylvan hearing, the cat reaches up and crushes a branch between his thumb and forefinger, sounding a telltale "snap." Immediately, the bakrus each hoist up their tools to martially brandish them, and they stand back to back. The two gibber between one another, and their searching gazes sweep the woods around them. If Aira isn't quick with her wits and light on her toes, she'll almost certainly be spotted.
Aira immediately looks up when she hears the snap, catching sight of a familiar figure perched in the tree. Her reflexes and instincts are a bit slower than usual but she gets the message and beelines towards the nearest tree. Unfortunately for the elf, she is not exactly quiet as she does so and the little creatures spot her and begin to pursue the huntress, who attempts to scurry up the trunk without being caught with one of their tools.
Orikahn draws his bow and covers Aira's retreat with arrows, and sure enough, Aira will hear a pained cry and more malicious gibbering. She'll also hear the "pock!" of their tools nearly missing her, striking hollow, wooden notes against the dense bark of the tree. One of them begins climbing after her, and if she looks, she'll see it already sporting a couple arrows, much to Orikahn's disadvantage. His projectiles hiss and fly, and they strike the pygmy's fibrous skin, puncturing deep and making bright green lines of ooze to leak down its filthy little body. "Grah!" The cat roars in frustration and disbelief. He's used to things dying when he shoots them. With a jagged, serrated pick of sorts, the little arrow-dusted creature continues nimbly climbing up after the elf. Finding itself within reach of her, it gives a shrill cry and swings with intent to dig the point of his pick into her calf.
Aira hears the arrows fly, catches the pained gibbering coming from the creature as Kahn’s arrows make contact. She chances a look down and squeals as she sees it continue its pursuit. She attempts to climb faster but Aira is not quick enough and the high elf yelps out in pain and slides down the trunk as the bakru’s weapon embeds itself in the flesh of Aira’s calf. She kicks down with her boot quickly, attempting to make contact with it’s face as she goes back to climbing, having to rely on her upper body as blood begins to trickle down her leg.
Orikahn gives up on the arrows, probably a little later than he should have, and sheathes his bow to bound through the trees, leaping from branch to branch, bough to bough, trunk to trunk, speeding his way over to lend his fellow hunter whatever aid he can. The bakru, meanwhile, catches a boot to the face, and it goes a little stiff. Perhaps Aira hit a weak point, perhaps the pygmy began to feel the sum of its wounds, but whatever the case, it looses its grip and topples down the trunk, hitting his fellow on the way down so the two can land at the base of the trunk with a rustle of underbrush. About that time, Orikahn shows up in Aira's tree. "I tried to warn you," the cat growls as he pulls his way up onto a nearby bough, "but they had good ears, too." The underbrush continues to rustle beneath them.
Aira grunts when Orikahn proclaims trying to warn her. “I heard you,” she says, reaching her hand up when she is close enough so that he might hoist her up into a bow. Assuming he does she twists her body to examine her wound, wincing slightly as she prods at it. “Pull the weapon out, will you?” She wasn’t even sure what the thing was but Kahn had a better shot at pulling it out cleanly. “I’ve been drinking,” she admits in a low growl. “Probably would have moved faster if I wasn’t.”
Orikahn is quick to offer Aira a hand as soon as she reaches up, and he hoists her onto the bough as is expected. Already, he's lifting his visor to peer at the elf's leg in morbid curiosity. Pull it? "Uooo..." The feline sounds hesitant, but he obliges, taking the head of the little tool/weapon between his thumb and forefinger to give a testing tug. The barbed serration catches in her muscle tissue, and he flinches in empathy, knowing that couldn't have felt good. "Wait." He tells her, and he unsheathes his flint knife. Aira will have to cooperate for the next part. If she pulls away, it will be to the sound of Orikahn's fierce growls. If she complies, well... With knapped stone sharper than the keenest razor, so sharp that Aira barely feels it go in, he cuts a small incision to make room for the barbs to pull cleanly free *without* ripping jagged, irreparable tears through her muscle fiber.
Aira lets loose a string of expletives as Kahn gives the thing a testing tug, gritting her teeth as the barb catches in her muscle. She clutches the bough so tightly her knuckles turn white. As much as instinct tells her to just yank the thing out, she knows Kahn has a better vantage point, and at least right now should be considered trustworthy. She lets him do his thing with minimal twitching on her end and is soon free of the obstruction. “What the hell are those things?” she asks, eyes peering down at the brush below.
Orikahn pulls out a pat of moss and presses it firmly to the bleeding cut, holding it carefully in place as he follows Aira's eyes, peering down into the brush with her. The rustling has stopped, leaving one to wonder what the little savages might be up to. "I was trying to figure that out," the cat admits. "Horrible little things. These woods don't sit well with me. You know..." He tilts his head from one side to the other. "...the juju. It's bad." Carefully, he lifts his hand away, and Aira will discover that the moss sticks of its own accord, sealing her bloody wound with a fine, grasping network of thirsty roots, sealing the wound neatly shut.
Aira inclines her chin over her shoulder to peer at her leg, noting the moss is doing its thing. Copper irses raise to Kahn and she offers a rare smile. “Thanks.” She shifts on the bow to sit more comfortably now, her leg dangling over the side of the branch. “Yeah, I don’t like these woods either.” An unconscious shiver runs up her spine. “Bad juju,” she agrees. “I’ll be happy when we’re back up in Frostmaw.”
Orikahn throws another nervous glance to the brush below, and he wrinkles his nose, snorting. He picks up the odd little pick in his hands and turns it over before tossing it down into the layer of vegetation below. "This is no place for hunters like us," the cat agrees, and he sullenly props his chin on his knuckles. "Very glad." Feeling more an exile than ever, the cat dangles his legs off the bough, swinging them and wondering if its safe to climb down yet. Probably not.