RP:Corbin Meets a Bear
Misty Cairn
The misty area surrounding this barrow does not cross over onto the hallowed burial ground. Grass and stones ring the crest of this tall hill, and at its apex grows a lone tree, the only living and thriving being for miles around. The bark is of a golden-brown and smells of sweet honey and morning dew. Silver tinged leaves complete the metallic glow, every one reflecting whichever streams of light they can catch. From afar the tree resembles a crystal-tipped tower, burning white in the sky. The roots dig deep. This tree cannot be uprooted; this tree is of a different mettle than all others. Tucked between the thick roots of the plant is a large cairn, which is a small tower in itself. Moss grows along the smooth surfaces of the rocks that create the structure, and beside it is a small hole, probably of a fox.
Corbin seems to have wandered a bit away from home! Not to worry, though. He has come prepared for battle! After the boy's meeting with Kuzial, he ran right home to have mother make some armor for him. She wasn't so surprised he found a new love and just smiled with a soft 'I'll see what I can do' before finishing dinner. Resourceful moms are resourceful and now here we have Corbin all armored up! "Ha-rah!" He leaps over a great fallen tree (okay maybe it was a stick cause... you know... he's little) waving his new dagger around. On his head sits a sauce pot with the handle sticking out on the side like some sort of homeboy-knight and in his free hand is the lid, perfect for a shield. "Stab! Stab! Stab!"
Eboric is nearby, but cannot be seen at the moment. What is visible, however, is his horse, standing still in the mist, so that it appears to be part of the fog itself. White as fresh snow, feet lost in the carpet of pale mist, it does not even seem to be breathing, and the red runes stand out almost painfully in the growing gloom. As Corbin comes into view, the stallion seems unperturbed, even as the child calls out his warcry, such as it is.
Corbin's warcry is something fierce! Like a kitten pounce! Or some sort of baby otter swimming on its back. Those runes are seen before the stallion is. The boy crouches in readyness. "The brave warrior spots his prey. No! Conquest! For every man needs a good steed. A strong steed with cool, glowing lights." He blinks. How the heck does that happen. Standing again, he slowly approaches the horse. "Hey there, horse." Shifting the dagger to a spot under his arm, he reaches into his pocket and produces a cookie. "My mom made these. Do you want one?"
The horse grows less and less solid, the closer Corbin gets to it. By the time he is close enough to offer the cookie, it is all but indistinguishable from the mist, vanishing with a whisper of wind, as if it had only been a mirage of some sort. However, the distinct sound of a horse's neigh carries out across the barrows, and the sound of heavy footfalls soon follows, as if something very large is approaching.
Corbin stares at the mist with a bit of disbelief. "There be strange happenings afoot." That previously offered cookie is popped into his mouth. Waste not, want not! He jerks around, looking for where that neigh might have come from. Maybe that was some sort of ghost horse he was trying to feed. The boy's eyes widen a bit and he gets his dagger ready. Whoah man. "Sounds like something very large is approaching." Cookie still poking out of his mouth, he crouches again, peering in the directions of those footfalls.
Eboric emerges from the mist suddenly, his actual proximity having been masked by the mist and the echoes amongst the barrows. The warlord has taken his other form, however, and appears as an enormous bear, the gray-brown fur scored all over with scars, the bare patches revealing the solid, rolling muscles beneath. The wide nostrils flare as they catch Corbin's scent, and the glowering eyes lock on the small form as a low rumble fills the air.
Corbin damn near drops his shield! Right there in front of him is the largest bear he has ever seen! To be fair, it is the only bear he has ever seen. No matter! Knees a' knockin, the boy holds out his dagger. Puny little thing that the boy is doesn't stand a chance against such a magnificent beast! "Stay back!" Shaky voices call out shaky warnings with a little swish of that blade having no business in a boy's hands. He didn't even wash the blood off it! Not all the way anyway. He did try. Have you ever tried to wash off drow blood? It has some sort of adhesive qualities or something.
Eboric smells that blood and, deep inside his bestial mind, remembers that fight, so long ago now, remembering the taste of the defeated drow's eye, taken as punishment for his arrogance. Could this small thing then be Kuzial's cub? Why else would it reek of the drow? The bear pads closer, still rumbling.
Corbin drops his shield to hold that dagger with both hands. He doesn't really think he'll be able to fight off this bear, but he sure as heck is gonna try! Even if he isn't a drow! There's no way. Pale little human that he is. "Okay bear. I uh." Be brave! What would that guy say? "I'm gonna stab your face like demons and then eat matches!" He waves the dagger again. Clearly the drow scent is coming from the blood on that blade. "Don't make me give you a Knuckle Sandwich too!"
Eboric pauses as the words filter, half-understood, through his mind. With a snort of what might be irritation at the undesired distraction, he rears back onto his hind legs, swinging out with one of his huge front paws. Even a glancing blow from that paw would be enough to snap Corbin's spine, but this strike is casual, almost gentle, and intended solely to knock the dagger flying, although in truth such a blow, should it land, will likely cause at least some pain to the boy's hands.
Corbin's chin lifts as that bear stands and the dagger kind of goes slack in his grip. So. Tall. So. Big. So. Furry. Bears are awesome! He doesn't manage to move fast enough to avoid that swat and his dagger goes flying, bringing a yelp from the boy's lips. Shaking both hands from the pain, he hops back. That wasn't so bad! He's been cracked across the knuckles with a wooden spoon for reaching into the cookie jar when he wasn't supposed to. No big deal. What -is- a big deal is this bear standing in front of him. What to do about the bear? Feet spread a little apart, the boy tosses off his helmet, lifts both arms, and turns his still throbbing hands into claws. "Raawra! I'm a bear too!" He growls, trying to imitate the beast in front of him while shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. Fool kid actually expects to wrestle a bear!
Eboric watches the boy with something akin to confusion on his ursine face. A part of him, deep down inside, understands the words, and can see the humor in it all, but the rest of his mind lashes out savagely at that weak thought, so far outside of what a bear would think. After a slight hesitation, the werebear's jaws gape open to reveal his huge teeth and lolling tongue, spraying slaver as he rumbles out a roar, thinking perhaps to frighten the child away.
Corbin's knees kind of buckle together. Moving only one hand to wipe the spittle from his face, he swallows audibly. "My." You can even see his little adam's apple move up and down. "What big teeth you have." The boy takes a calming breath. Should he just run away? What do you do when you meet a bear. Obviously the bear could catch him. Climb a tree? Bears can climb, dummy! Play dead? Well he isn't a stupid bear. What killed you? "Maybe you just need a hug!" Weak little voices never sounded so unsure and weak as they do just now squeaking out of that boy. He always feels better after a hug. Maybe the bear will too. Like ripping off a bandaid, kid. If you knew what a bandaid was. Just do it. And he does! It is only a few steps before he throws his arms around the bear's middle, beneath its arms, and squeezes. His face buries into the soft fur there by his belly. "There, there, bear."
Eboric is not best pleased with this new turn of events, and it is only the slow but steady advance of that less-animalistic part of his mind that saves Corbin from a sure and terrible death. Instead, the bear cranes his head down teeth nipping out lightly at Corbin's clothing. Oh, the child will likely get scraped; Eboric is a bear, after all, but if he is successful he will have the boy hanging by his clothes, as the werebear drops back to all fours and begins to plod toward the distant end of the barrows.
Not too much of the boy's blood is spilled onto his shirt. Sharp teeth are sharp! "Woah!" Dangling from the bear's mouth, all 85 pounds of Corbin hangs from the seat of his pants. Arms and legs dangle to the ground as he is carried around like some sort of picnic basket. "Uh. Bear? Where are we going?" Like the animal can just answer back. You're not a druid, kid.
Eboric plods onward, naturally not stopping to reply to the half-heard words, still torn between completing his current task and simply eating the child here and now, an option that becomes more appealing the more noise Corbin makes. Upon reaching the outskirts of the barrows, the bear opens his jaws to let the boy drop unceremoniously to the ground. This done, Eboric turns and walks back the way he had just come.
Corbin hits the ground with an 'oomph' and a, "Heeeey!" Standing up, he brushes himself off and checks the damage to his clothes. "What are you doing, bear!" He frowns at the animal that is just walking away like 'whatevs I'm going home' and shakes his little fist at the bear butt. "You ripped my pants! I'm gonna tell my mom and she'll show you!" Cause moms are something to fear. Even the bear has to admit that. The boy stalks after that bear. He can't just leave his armor and dagger behind! Straight legged and arms bent, he stomps by with a purpose. Like those mall walkers that just circle the mall all in a hurry. "You forgot my stuff, bear." And he passes the bear's casual gait. You know what is scarier than a bear? A mom when she finds out you left her saucepan in the wilderness.
Eboric lets out a 'whuff' of irritation, but doesn't move to stop the boy. Instead, he veers off, moving toward the thicker mist where, just on the edge of sight, a white horse stands, waiting.