Live Like You Know the Day You're Dying

satanic pandemonium

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The first sign of the crocotta pack was a dead steer on the side of the road. Altan had only just left the village of Hornsay and already there were signs of attack. The pack must have grown brave enough to venture closer and closer to town until it could call away unsuspecting men and women to their deaths. The animal’s innards were pulled out, bones crushed and chewed on. A frown creased across Altan’s face, his thick eyebrows furrowing. No wonder the villagers were willing to pay as much as they were for this job. Not far off lay the rotting flesh of a man, clothes and body torn to pieces and an expression of decomposing horror at his face. Flies and maggots squirmed through dead muscle. Swatting away a few flies that buzzed too close to his face, Altan watched as his dog ventured closer to the death. Her grey muzzle was low, sniffing at the area around the bodies, mud clinging to her wiry fur where she’d wandered through puddles all too happily in the village. The dog lapped curiously at the carrion, earning a grimace from Altan.

Altan clicked his tongue to get her attention. To stop her from putting strange things in her mouth, he lowly said, “Come on Girl,” and tugged softly at the reigns in his hands, urging his horse forward again. Girl scattered back over to the road and continued on ahead of the horse, keeping her usual place in their wandering trio. She picked up the pace whenever the sound of hoof beats came up too closely behind her, tongue dropping out of her mouth as she hurried along.

They kept by the road, only turning off it when the smell veered off the dirt into a field. Girl led them through it and towards a sparsely wooded area alongside a small field of crops. The wheat grew tall, golden and almost ready for harvest, shifting with the breeze in quiet whispers. Paranoia made Altan hear his name. He was bracing himself for it, had been since he’d heard the job out here in Hornsay had to do with crocotta. A pack of the hooved hyena-dogs had taken over a bear den not far from the main village. Not an outright difficult job, and while he was bound to get hurt his thick leather caribocks armor and the extra padding of coarse fabric underneath was hopefully going to keep him from bleeding. Bruising was another matter entirely.

Crocatta were more difficult to kill than a plain wolf. They were prone to lunging in groups and neither steel nor stone would fall one. Altan had spent his off hours on his way to the village fixing arrows dipped very carefully in cockatrice poison. He really didn’t like working with the stuff, especially when he was caught in the moment as it had a tendency to turn good gloves into stone. Not to mention the expense. But it was effective against crocatta and Altan chose to see the expense as an investment. With this job, he would make back the cost of gathering and buying poison plus some. And while Altan was not very silver tongued or interested in regaling others with stories of victory, often enough a village would be grateful enough to get him a few rounds and a room free the night of a completed job.

Altan tried to focus on that profit and foreseeable gifts of gratitude as the bear den came into view, framed by trees with bare branches and fallen leaves. He was expecting to hear eerie calls of his name, luring him inwards with an injured impersonation of human voices. Instead he heard yips, laughing barks, and the clattering of hooves against stone and earth. Altan dismounted his horse, pulling his bow from its quiver on the side of the saddle, the one allotted for his arrows already strapped at his back. He sent the horse off with a relatively gentle smack to keep her from immediate danger. Old Man, as he had so aptly named the mare, would come round when he whistled anyways. Arming the bow, he approached the mouth of the den, squinting into the shadows. He released his arrow into a crocatta that emerged, it had already been bleeding from its leg. The beast was paralyzed immediately, falling to the ground as it’s flesh turned to stone slowly from where the arrow had penetrated its flank.

“Girl! Here!” he snapped at the dog harshly who had gone running forward towards the den. Who or whatever had injured that crocatta was bound to mistake his dog for one and he didn’t want her dying stupidly. Girl came running back to her human, heeling and moving with him as he approached the den and came across his rival hunter.

Rearming his bow, Altan retraced the movement of a spear launching at a dashing crocatta to the man throwing it. The unarmored man throwing it. He couldn’t care less about what sort of a death wish some local villager or wet-behind-the-ears hunter might have. What he did care about was the fact that if this man truly was trying to take a job from him, he ought to be doing it better or preferably not at all. Altan shot the targeted monster down when the spear missed, smoothly drawing another arrow from his quiver as Girl lunged at another one of the pack who came to attack him.

“Idiot! I’ve got this! Leave while you can!" He called over after shooting his third arrow, frown deepening when it missed and struck the far wall instead of its target. It clattered into a pile of bones. Altan kept moving as he drew his arrows and fired them, making sure to keep distance between himself and the moving members of the pack.

@Tinder
 
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“How many of these bloody monsters are there?” Ashok grumbled loudly as he slashed at a crocatta, his voice reverberating off the walls of the den. Four of the beasts stood in a semi-circle around him their constant yipping and bouts of chilling laughter damn near driving him mad. The remainder of the pack padded back and forth behind their mates, tongues lolling out in anticipation of the feast. They took turns rushing forward, sometimes alone sometimes in groups, only to be driven back by Ashok’s spear. His breath hissed through his teeth as he countered their attacks, sweat dripping down his skin and mixing with blood spatter.

Today had not gone as Ashok planned. Not that he’d had much of a plan. He stumbled across the village on his way to Orililon and happened to overhear the locals discussing the infestation and the possible increase in the bounty to encourage more hunters to make the trek out to them. Said bounty turned Ashok’s head. A heavy purse like that could end his financial worries for a week if he behaved himself. Someone might even feel inclined to throw in a free meal or two. He chatted up the bartender for information that night, wringing out enough to give him a place to beginning on the morning. Good looking man, unfortunately married, but Ashok expected no less in such a small town. It was why he preferred the bigger cities where he could find more ready supply of available company.

He started out early before the sun had risen fully, taking only his weapons and a skin of water. The main road out of town brought him to the path of destruction lined with a whole host of gruesome sights that had become a common sight in the current age. He followed the tail out into the woods. And followed. And followed. And followed…

He accepted the fact that he was lost only after the sun reached a high point in the sky. He wandered through the forest for a good while, growing hungrier with every new animal trail he found. The thought occurred to him that it might have been a good idea to bring food and more than one waterskin. He hadn’t expected it to take so long. The other hunt he’d gone on had been over before he could work up a thirst. He frowned. Though the farmers had led him directly to his quarry that day. I ought to have asked someone from the village to show me the way, he mused.

The voices started calling when he came across a shallow stream. He’d bent to retrieve fresh water and caught someone calling his name on the wind, the voice thin like a person in pain. A smile crossed his face as he abandoned his task. No one in the area, outside of said bartender, knew his name which meant only one thing: something supernatural was afoot. He knew little more than rumors about these crocatta, but he had no problem believing they could mimic voices. He knew of several species from the West who could do the same.

He started out after the voices. Even if this wasn’t the crocatta, it was something. He’d find them or some other monster capable of human speech. Either way outcome he could manage…he hoped. His hand drifted up to the scar on his chest, wincing at the memory. No, they don’t have nix out here, he assured himself. He brushed off the memory and focused on the voices calling him.

He discovered a small clearing not long after where the voices sounded strongest. Something brown vanished in the darkness, enticing him to follow. They intended to trap him inside. He adjusted the grip on his spear and started in. What they failed to realize was that the hunted would be doing the hunting.

Or that had been Ashok’s intention. The battle had deteriorated quickly after he entered the darkness. Nearly a dozen pairs of eyes surrounded him. The pack attacked him all at once. He managed to drive them off at first. He landed several clean blows and nearly took the head off one. The pack became enraged when the smell of blood hit the air. They began snapping at his legs with the occasional brave attempt to leap for his throat. His second kill was one such creatures that he managed to skewer on the end of his spear.

One of the larger crocatta rushed Ashok from behind and took him to the ground with an almost playful cackle. The group closed in to begin ripping the flesh from his bones. He swept the ground with his spear, pushing them back enough to find his feet. They left his shirt in ruins with multiple bits along his arms and back. One on his shoulder bled badly.

His wounds continued to burn as the fight dragged on, likely one of his defense mechanisms kicking in after losing so much blood. With the addition of his aching muscles and a mountain of frustration and it became readily apparent to him that he would not be finishing this fight in one day. Maybe I ought to leave, he pondered, start again after a short rest.

Another beast lunged forward. Ashok shifted his hold and drove his spear blade into the beast’s chest. It gave a little gurgle before collapsing. A smile crossed his lips before another dove in from the side and managed to close its jaws around his thigh. Ashok pulled the blade free and used the blunt end to smash the skull of the other. It fled as the others rushed forward to assist. Ashok fought them back with more sweeps. One nearest caught the blade across its chest and went running from the cave, fur dripping blood. He wheezed as the creatures reformed their circle. Three down…too many more to go. I need a break, but how can I slip past these bastards? He couldn’t let them near the village or he’d never get that reward. Maybe he could climb a tree and wait them out, at least until he caught his breath, though he’d prefer to have a break from their constant cackling. It grated on his fraying nerves.

As though aware of his thoughts, another pair gave a bark of laughter. He glared at them as he pushed his hair from his eyes, it having long since slipped out of the cord he tired it with. They group joined the pair with a series of loud yips. He heaved his spear up and hurled it across the cave, hoping to shut the lot of them up. It missed and clattered harmlessly against the walls. The offender grinned back at him. He might have screamed.

Until an arrow appeared in its hide and turned the beast to stone. Ashok looked to the cave entrance his eyes widening when he saw another man standing there accompanied by a dog. Judging by the man’s attitude, he had some experience in these affairs. Ashok might have taken him up on the offer to run had he not recognized an opportunity.

He gave the man his trademark smirk. “Hey now, I was here before you lot!” Another crocatta leapt for him. He raised his arm to keep it from his neck and kicked its abdomen to shake it lose. He leapt over the nearest beasts and retrieved his spear. He slashed the ones that followed to drive them back. “Not to mention,” he continued in a breathless voice, “This has become personal. They ruined a perfectly good shirt. I intend to see these terrors dead.” He jabbed his spear toward the corpses already on the ground. “And my kill count is above yours.” He still had chance to profit from this, perhaps not as much, but he’d take a handful of gold over nothing. With the crocatta’s attention divided, he went on the offensive, striking at the monsters nearest to him.
 
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“What an irritating way to thank someone,” Altan snorted derisively in response, catching sight of the smirk through the shadows and finding it immediately annoying. Quips and snarking in a fight, verbal or otherwise, were only charming when they were coming from himself. Altan thought it was obnoxious when other people did it out of some deep-set jealousy for not actually being all that clever of a person. Worse was when it came from someone who physically seemed incompetent. At least, that was the impression Altan got when he saw how haphazardly the man dealt with these man-eating monsters. No wonder he was bleeding so furiously. Altan, drew his arrow, touching the poisoned tip on accident and turning the finger of his glove to stone. He made a noise of distaste, he would be able to fire without it, but there went a perfectly good glove.

A huffed laugh came out of him as he glanced at the few lumps of bleeding fur dead on the den floor. “Not for long,” Altan grunted competitively, firing the arrow he had drawn. It pierced the hide of a charging crocatta, sending the beast sliding on the den floor as its muscles went stiff. He grinned to himself, determined to win out against the stranger even though no challenge had actually been issued to him. There were nearly a dozen of the crocatta in the pack and Altan told himself he had to kill more than half. With the monsters’ attention split three ways, between himself, the stranger, and Girl, he was expecting it to be light work. Besides, he was fresh to the den, his skin hadn’t been gouged at by hooves and bone-crushing teeth as this man had.

Actually, now that Altan thought about it, and looked over between firing his poisoned arrows, the man looked absolutely grotesque. As if he’d thrown himself to the monsters, only to decide halfway into becoming lunch that he ought to fight back. One of the crocatta came too close to him for Altan to fire in confidence so he slammed the thing with his shoulder, holding the bow and arrow in one hand so that he could move more unencumbered. He whistled for the dog as he darted back, retreating to the far wall of the den to give him some space to work. The den was not ideal for his hunting method, but he’d learned to make his weapon of choice work in cramped spaces with the animal’s help.

Girl had been warding off some of the crocatta by the stranger, her barks echoing viciously off the walls of the bear den along with the laughing yips from the pack. She growled, running to take on the beast who had directly affronted her human companion. To avoid shooting his dog, Altan directed his arrow to one of several of the pack that had decided to continue after the bleeding stranger. And why not, the stranger was tried and true and they’d already taken chunks out of him. Altan had a strong stomach, it came with falling victim to tooth and claw himself, but seeing another in such a state did make his guts turn.

Moving around as the crocatta became aware of him, Altan continued to pick numbers off the pack. One by one he felled the monsters. A half grin, half grimace would spread over his mouth at the satisfying sound of stone limb and flank hitting the ground. Accompanied by the sound of blade cutting through fur and flesh. It was symphony of gore that just kept giving, even after the yipping died out and all that was left was the sound of panting on his own part and excited barking from Girl.

“Seven are mine,” Altan stated as he lowered his bow and looked over the den, putting the arrow he had drawn back into its quiver, “And I’ll take a fee for saving your hide.” The words acted as a claim on his share of the coin for the job, as his concern for a profit by large overrode any feelings of concern for the injured stranger who was remarkably still standing. He moved towards one of the carcasses that the other had killed, as the ones he’d done in were all creeping into death as statues. Kneeling down beside the carcass, he set his bow down and pulled a hunting knife from its sheath at his side. The pelts of monsters were worth something, and while Altan was not sure if their hooves might be of similar use, he’d harvest some of them regardless. If it was junk, he’d toss it as he didn’t have the silvery tongue required to sell snake oil. Or in this case, crocatta hoof.

He tried working at first with his glove on. That quickly became frustrating and he chucked the stone-fingered glove aside to skin the carcass in front of him. He sliced and pulled the hide off with little difficulty, having plenty of practice in doing so. Altan folded the skin over on itself before grabbing one of the crocatta’s limbs and snapping below the cannon roughly so that he could cut off the monster’s feet.

“How did you get here, stranger?” he asked as he worked, grunts of effort coming out of him as he worked with the carcass. Altan was tired, not necessarily from hunting, but just as a rule of thumb. Not to mention his shoulder ached from overuse and injury that was still healing from a week ago. While he might have complained aloud to himself, or to Girl who was still barking her head off, he avoided doing so now because he had come out of this relatively unscathed.
 
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Ashok never bothered to respond to the stranger’s challenge. The remainder of his fight devolved into a struggled to remain standing. He moved back into a defensive position when the crocatta resumed their attacks, allowing the stranger and his dog to take the offensive role. He wanted kill enough of the creatures to win himself a fair cut of the bounty, but the bleeding from his wounds had begun to affect him. Bouts of dizziness became reoccurring while sweat coated his skin, stinging his half-closed wounds. He held his own, giving the creatures their share of cuts. He’d never win the fight alone but he refused to become a burden.

The dog helped though he came close to swinging at it several times. Distinguishing between the four legged shapes in the cave didn’t top his priority list. The dog managed to add a third element into their scuffle which further divided the crocatta and kept them from launching so many coordinated assaults. It also covered his blind spots when its master had no need of it. I need to buy that dog meal when this is done, he told himself.

Another beast broke through his defenses and closed its jaws around his calf. His breath hissed through his teeth, turning into a growl as he skewered the crocatta on his blade. He hated these damned beasts.

The battle crawled to a close as the stranger finished the remaining monsters. Ashok dropped his spear to the floor when the last fell, leaning onto his knees as he fought to catch his breath. Never had he imagined a day where he would wish to be fighting bandits. His body burned from numerous wounds and every muscle within him ached. He allowed himself to drop down onto the ground and lean back against the wall. Better to be nearer to the ground should he pass out. Some of his earlier wounds had managed to stop bleeding and he could feel the others closing even as he sat there. His skin would remain broken and scar if he didn’t find a doctor tonight but the bleeding would end in a few minutes. He moved to reach for his canteen, remembering when his hand found an empty place where it ought to have been that he had dropped it outside to avoid damaging it during the fight. Damn it. Water might have eased the burning in his throat.

He glanced at his ‘rescuer’ as he moved to skin one of the beasts Ashok had killed, raising an eyebrow as he examined him. Not bad for a hunter. If Ashok had to accept being saved by someone, he could scarcely have chosen a better candidate. A smirk slipped back onto his face when the man asked his question. “I walked for a bloody long time. What of you? Did you fly?” He rolled his head to loosen his neck. He would need wine tonight, several bottles, and preferable a massage. “I don’t’ suppose you have some water on you.”
 
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“What?” Altan frowned at the response he was given to his question, “No. I rode.” It didn’t entirely go over his head. Altan was somewhat aware that it was probably a joke, but it was a stupid one and he couldn’t be entirely sure. So he answered seriously to be on the safe side. Perhaps the stranger was struggling with reality after having lost so much blood.

The hunter stood after finishing with the crocratta he was working at, leaving the skins and hooves in a small pile by what was left of the carcass. At his hip he had a small water skin, his larger one being with his horse. Altan had gotten into trouble by not having water on him before and surviving without it was not a position he wished to ever put himself in again. As he stepped over to the stranger, he worked at undoing it from his side, his bloodied fingers mussing up the leather strips and padding as he did so.
“Here,” he handed the waterskin off to the man, pausing a moment before crouching down next to him. “They bit you good,” he stated flatly, inspecting him with furrowed brows and a general grimace as he looked him over. Meeting the man’s brown eyes with his own, he shook his head, “How are you still awake, stranger?”
Altan would have expected most to have passed out by now and much sooner into the fight. The fact that he was still wary was amazing, though that didn’t stop him from thinking that the stranger was stupid with a clear death wish. What with how he’d gone to fight a pack of monsters alone, and without water or the ability to flee on a horse.


“You’re not going to be able to walk back like that,” he said as he stood, gesturing lightly to the man with his hunting knife. He knew he was stating the obvious. He did so in an effort to decide whether he ought to let the stranger take his horse back while he walked. Altan really didn’t see a practical reason to do as much for the stranger. It wasn’t his fault the man had gone out and done something foolish alone. He hadn’t encouraged this, nor had he told him about the bounty in the first place. Besides, Altan had already saved him. It was not his responsibility to continue to extend the favor to someone who would only end up taking some fraction of his bounty away.
Frowning thoughtfully, he began to work on skinning another carcass, throwing occasional glances up to the man and then over to his dog who had now ventured over to one of the dead crocatta. He clicked his tongue at Girl when he saw her put her mouth around some of the monster’s flesh.

“How do you intend to get back to the village? My horse will be angry if she has to carry two men,” he said, still wavering on why he ought to help the man. Clearly he felt some obligation to, otherwise he would’ve just dropped the thought and been comfortable leaving once he got the skins and hooves he wanted.
 
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Ashok bit back a laugh at the stranger’s response to his joke, wondering if the man understood sarcasm. Wit did not seem to be his strong suit though his ability to skin a beast was impressive. Ashok never thought to take anything from the remains of monsters he’d encountered, outside of the occasional meal on the road.

He took the offered water and drank it down, savoring the coolness as it soothed his aching throat. Liquids helped the dizziness after major blood loss as he’d learned in the past though his mouthful would only do so much. He gave a contented sigh and tilting his head back against the stone. His eyes returned to the stranger who had dropped down beside him, allowing Ashok a better view of the man’s face. Rough but with that sort of worldly charm Ashok had come to appreciate about the people of the land. No paints or powders to hide the marks life had left. Just the dust and grime of the day. A bitter smile touched Ashok’s face when the stranger asked about his condition. “My situation is unique,” he replied. “Though I’ve always possessed a great deal of endurance.”

He brushed his tangled hair from his face. He need a bath, though he craved a visit to a proper bathhouse rather than the inevitable wooden tub he would find in town. He could not fathom how the people of the East stood living in these conditions. The stranger had a point however. Walking back would be a daunting task on a good day. It would take most of the day in his present condition. He needed a good meal and some rest before he would be back in any sort of state for traveling. He cursed himself again for not stopping for some breakfast at the inn before starting this hunt. The extra energy would have helped him avoid some of these bites, perhaps even bettered his performance against the stranger. Or so he told himself.

He watched the stranger continue to work as he weighed his options. He could make it on his own. The pace would be painfully slow and the odds of him passing out along the way were high, but at some point he would arrive back in the village. By that time the stranger might have collected the gold and moved on, leaving Ashok broke and injured. No, Ashok decided as he considered the stranger. He doesn’t look the sort to stiff someone. He had an honest face, bit on the cold side but honest. Ashok recognized that he might win himself a trip back into the town where he could properly tend his wounds if he appealed to the man’s better nature. Or his curiosity.

“I’ve survived worse,” he began, keeping his tone light. “The bleeding’s almost stopped. My energy should return in another few minutes. So long as I take my time I ought to make it there by nightfall.” The receding burning sensation in his limbs told him most of his wounds had closed. Jumping into another fight might reopen the larger ones, but not a simple walk. Not that that guaranteed him a comfortable trip. He’d probably find a group of bandits on the way back knowing his luck.

He took another drink of water. “However if you’re willing to help me, perhaps we could split the bounty 60/40? In your favor, of course.” He didn’t like the idea of taking less but a ride back to town would end his suffering sooner. The coinage would pay for food and drink aplenty, perhaps even a companion for the evening.
 
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It didn’t seem likely that the man’s bleeding had already begun to stop, no matter how “unique” his situation or how vast his endurance. Just as unlikely was his energy returning so quickly. Altan assumed saying as much was just some roundabout way of trying to earn sympathy because every hunt that he had gone on took at least a day to even begin to recover from. Hell, he was still exhausted from a deer hunt just the week before and that was just for the sake of finding food and materials to sell and craft with. Granted, he’d still been recovering from injures while on that hunt. But that was just the way things worked with this wandering lifestyle. There was never enough time to sit and heal before money started to become tight or his bones would start to itch for something else to see and do.

With the stranger’s injuries in mind, Altan considered the offered split thoughtfully. Altan was certain he deserved more than sixty percent of the reward for saving the man’s skin, but technically they had killed about the same number of crocatta. Girl pulling some of the heat away from the stranger had definitely influenced that, but between the stone and flesh carcasses the numbers were fairly even. The chances that he’d be able to talk the stranger into taking a smaller share were slim anyhow since Altan wasn’t a confident talker. A smaller, but still present concern, was that he didn’t wholly feel right leaving a near mortally wounded man to suffer.

With a sigh, Altan pulled the skin off the last flesh carcass before agreeing, “Fine,” he folded the skin and set it aside while he took the hooves off this carcass too. He didn’t speak again until he was finished.
“My horse can carry you and these,” he looked to the stranger as he stood, skins and hooves bulky in his arms, his bow having found a spot at his back long since he’d put it down. “And I’ll just walk alongside with Girl here,” Altan hadn’t been lying when he said his horse would be unhappy about having to carry too much weight. With how much of Altan’s life had been spent traveling alone with animals he had to make sure to keep them happy.
“Come on,” he urged the stranger to his feet, unable to offer much more assistance since his hands were full. For the nth time that day he clicked his tongue at the dog who was again tempting a bite of an unsavory carcass. “You act like I don’t feed you,” he scolded the dog who rejoined his side promptly as they entered the light of day.

With his hands preoccupied Altan couldn’t whistle as loudly for Old Man as he usually did. Squinting out at the woods he repeated the whistle until he heard the sound of hoof beats approaching. He waited for the mare to settle before approaching her to pack away the skins and hooves. It was quick work considering how often he had to pack and repack during his travels. He rolled some of the hooves into the skins so that they could be tied behind the saddle, everything else he managed to shove into the saddlebags until they fit. He ran through a mental checklist while he finished trying straps. Satisfied that he wasn’t forgetting anything, he led the horse closer to the den so that the injured stranger wouldn’t have to walk as far to mount it.

“Need help getting up?” he asked. The question came from a sincere place; the man was heavily injured after all. There was just something in the way he said it that full heartedly doubted the stranger’s competency in doing anything useful.
 
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A smile came to Ashok’s face when the stranger agreed to his offer. “I won’t say no to that kind of generosity. Thank you,” he said, his gratitude genuine beneath his natural glibness. A horse ride would expedite his trip back to town exponentially. Then he could get himself a hot meal and a bath, and be back to his old self before evening. Mostly.

He picked up his spear off the ground and leaned heavily on it as he got to his feet. His vision grew dark for a blink but cleared in time for him to follow the stranger out of the cave. A heavy bleeding then; he knew the signs. His head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton while a light sheen of sweat remained on his clammy skin despite the fever of battle having passed him by. He would need something hearty when they returned to civilization if he wanted to avoid passing out. Mmm…going to sleep on a full stomach after a good jug of wine.

His attention returned to his reluctant companion when his horse approached. He had everything packed in heartbeats, never once pausing his work as he secured his haul. A seasoned professional then or in the very least a capable woodsman. The corner of Ashok’s mouth turned up. Perhaps he ought to do more than offer him a drink.

He shook his head when the stranger offered his help. “Not necessary, good man,” Ashok assured him as he gently patted the horse’s neck. Not a fancy breed, but sturdy with an air of resilience. He put his foot into the stirrup and grabbed the pummel to mount, his form correct but the cotton in his head thwarting him. His leg shook when he landed back on the ground. Damn blood loss. He shook his head and made a second attempt, landing lightly in the seat this time. He spear he settled over his legs to keep it from bothering the horse.

A sigh escaped him as he settled into the seat. “Thank you again for the help. It will be good to get back to town sooner.” He reached forward to scratch the horse’s neck. “So tell me, stranger, do you have a name?”
 
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Altan watched the man with a quirked brow as he struggled to mount the house the first time around. Once he seemed settled, Altan took the horse’s reigns and used it to lead the mare back the way he had come. It wasn’t a very winding walk and it had been easy for Altan to keep track off while the dog had led them there. While she could sniff out monsters with little trouble or fear, she was less reliable when it came to sniffing out civilization. This shortcoming had never been a problem for Altan as a nomadic childhood, especially one where he was often guiding herds out to pasture alone, meant that he was good at finding his way around. Despite the perpetual exhaustion that made up his existence, it was rare for Altan to become disoriented to the point where he couldn’t find his way back some settlement.

“I do. It’s Altan,” he answered the man’s question simply. “And yours?” he asked in turn, supposing it would be easier than referring to him as “you” for the remainder of the walk back to the village. He remained facing forward as he spoke, step between trees over crunchy, fallen leaves. Signs of autumn were crisp in the air, and a quick reappearance of golden wheat in the distance only served as further reminder winter cold would be settling in before long. With the dog trudging ahead of him, Altan guided the horse along the edge of the wheat field so as to avoid disturbing the crop. A dirt road was further ahead in the distance, and from there it would be an hour walk to the village. Riding would have cut that time down considerably, but the stranger’s presence had made the option less viable.
 
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“Ashok,” he replied with a tired grin, “Good to know the name of the man who saved me a few hours more of gruesome fighting.”

So Altan chose to play along with his chitchatting as well. Ashok had almost expected stony silence from the man given his demeanor. Not only would that have made for a thoroughly unpleasant experience, Ashok feared passing out might be a real possibility if he had no way to keep his mind running. Besides, though they had gotten off on the wrong foot, he found Altan to be a fascinating individual. And a handsome one. Ashok had to wonder if he might accept sharing more of himself…though that sort of proposition was best left for after he’d had a bath. No one, male or female, would considering going near a man who looked as bad as himself. If Altan rejected him, it would only be after he had glimpsed Ashok at his best…relatively speaking.

“You made an impressive show in that cave. Thinking ahead to bring whatever you had on those arrows of yours. I can tell you’ve done this sort of thing before.” Ashok slumped forward on the horse some. “This was only my second official go at hunting myself. I’ve tangled with plenty of monsters on the road before, but I never bothered going after them before now. Quickest way I could think of to replenish my coffers,” he chuckled.

His gaze flickered to Altan. “What drove you to such a profession? Natural talent? Exciting adventure? The charm of the aroma of monster guts?”
 
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"I don't think you would have made it a few more hours," he state, even though Ashok hadn't asked his opinion and he only gave it because hours seemed like a laughably optimistic guess. Especially seeing Ashok now, a tattered and bloody mess that was only just beginning to dry in the chilly breeze. Altan was only somewhat aware of how unfriendly and blunt the words were sure to come across, not that the intention behind them was very kind. He was plenty talented at hunting and a quick learner when it came to unfamiliar monsters, but that by no means held over when it came to how terribly not tactful he was. Of course he'd never been bad at taking compliments himself. He was easily flattered, being called impressive and all. Even if it was followed by a bit of an understatement. While not a tactful person, Altan managed not to be big-headed enough to be boast about having hunted monsters for just a half a year short of a decade. It took some skill to be able to do what he did for so long without losing a whole limb or two.

"No kidding," he commented dryly, not at all arguing with Ashok's inexperience in an intentional hunt. Altan could find praise in how resiliently Ashok had fought despite his injuries, but he didn't voice it because it seemed unnecessary to him. He raised a hand to wave away a stray insect from his face. It wasn't often that he was asked why he'd started, nor was it something he thought about very often despite how much time he had for introspection. Altan shrugged as he considered his answer, " I like to travel and killing monsters keeps me alive while I go place to place." It was nothing ground breaking because the decision to embrace wanderlust had been little more than whim despite the large impact it had on his life.
 
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Ashok grimaced when the horse jolted him. The adrenaline that had dulled his pain in battle had drained away leaving his body utterly spent. If only his damned wounds would heal faster. A haze drifted in front of his eyes as he listened to Altan’s sparse comments. He had to keep them both talking if he wanted to avoid passing out.

“That’s an interesting way to put it. Few people would recommend killing monsters as a way to keep yourself alive,” he chuckled breathlessly, “But I understand you. Adventure is a fickle, sultry mistress. Her call is not easily put off. I have heard it before myself.” He shifted in the saddle, pressing a hand to one of his deeper cuts as he did. Stiffness to accompany his slowly healing flesh. Excellent. “Though some days I wish all this adventure came with better accommodations. Sleeping out in a forest is terribly uncomfortable. I’ll never understand how beasts can manage it.”

Carrying camping equipment had helped in the beginning but he sold all that off ages ago. Adventure demanded much including coin. Something he had never had the need to consider before he decided to take to the road. He examined Altan once more with some curiosity. “Are you from this area or have your travels taken you far from where you call home?”