Let's Kill Stuff, Boys!

Jäger. Cazador. Vânător. Hunter. Whatever you called it, Saracyn called it himself. There was nothing the red-furred adolescent wolf loved more than a good hunt, save for maybe a bloody fight, but really what was a hunt but a fight to the death between you and your prey? You couldn't rightly kill your opponent in a spar—at least not without some consequences—so in many ways, a physically demanding hunt scratched more itches the young brute had than even a battle did. Following Elysium's festival, their food stores had dwindled some to levels less than comfortable to support the growing pack through the harshness of winter, so when his Uncle Merrick came around to recruit him for a hunt, Sara just grinned a smile that showed off rows of his jagged teeth before gathering up his bracers and whistling for his raptors. The day he turned down a hunt was the day they put him down for senility and feebleness.

Together, Saracyn, Merrick, and the other yearling that had come with the group of vagabonds to act as mercenaries for his family began their trek to the far northern reaches of the Boreal continent. Saracyn didn't know much about the other adolescent, just that his name was Arcturus, as had been announced during the fishing competition, and that he'd been a decent fisher. Plus he was a large dire wolf with a good amount of muscle on him too; that made him useful. But probably the most redeeming feature of the plebeian wolf was the fact that he knew his place. Unlike the wretched blue urchin his parents coddled, Arcturus didn't assume anything of himself and didn't try to press his station. He knew exactly where he belonged and what his purpose to the pack was, and he accepted his lot without any sneer or rebuke. The Mendacium prince respected that, and in turn, he treated him fairly and showed the same consideration back for him. He would be happy to hunt with the golden wolf in his team. The trio ventured farther north away from the pack, moving through lands Sara hadn't been to for an age. The last time he'd come up this way was when his mother had fought the pirate bitch for a pack. This time hopefully, the Mendaciums' efforts would not be as fruitless as that endeavor had been.

With the scent of bison on the wind, the wolves prowled through the forest of sparse pine trees, following the smell until they spotted the herd. No words were spoken, but none needed to be. Saracyn's icy cobalt eyes scoured the herd, locking in on the wounded cow just as Merrick indicated wordlessly to it. She would be their victim. Overhead, Veior and Vindr circled silently, looking to anyone else like simple black birds searching for small game. Merrick took the lead and Saracyn followed close behind, moving nearly silently through the thick snow that covered the desolate land. The cold winds of winter whistled through the pines, rippling in his ears and coat, stinging his skin where it was the thinnest. It was bracing, exhilarating, and make the yearling feel alive! The closer they crept up the game trail towards their prey, the thicker their scent became, clinging heavy in his nostrils and making him salivate at the anticipation of the kill. Once they were close enough, his uncle gave the signal, and every tensed muscle in Saracyn's body exploded with raw youthful energy, propelling himself like a crimson bolt of lightning toward the herd. The young brute snarled and snapped, driving away the bison they didn't desire to help single out the hobbling cow while Merrick and Arcturus ran it down. When she was finally isolated, he rejoined the group, running up alongside the bison with fangs bared.

It took some time and effort, and a good bit of agility as Saracyn had to avoid the occasional kick from shattering his skull like a dinner plate, but eventually their plan came to fruition. Between Merrick pouncing on the cow's back and the blood loss she suffered from the deep bite wounds he and Arcturus inflicted once she was toppled, the bison swiftly succumbed to the wolves, her strength and life sapping away from her with the rich sea of red that poured out from her body across the pristine white snow. When it was all said and done, they had bagged one hell of a kill. This would be enough meat to feed the pack for a week, maybe more! A proud grin painted the bloodstained muzzle of the prince, his tail wagging so fast it was almost spinning when Merrick commended their efforts. Although he hadn't spent a lot of time with his uncle since he'd come to Elysium, Saracyn did admire Merrick's domineering mannerisms, violent brutality, and the way he controlled his woman. He was a monolith of power to be respected or feared—perhaps both.

"Thanks, Uncle," Saracyn replied, swiping his pink tongue over his lips to clean off some of the saccharine sweet blood. One trait he had adopted from his father was his sanguiphilia, the taste making electric shudders he couldn't identify or explain run through his nervous system. But before they could celebrate, a gust of wind brought about another scent with it—one he recognized all too well, and it stole the smile right off the lad's features. Ursine. Grizzly bear. A low grunting bellow echoed through the pines coming straight for them. The bear must have woken up from its hibernation and smelled the blood, thinking it could get an easy meal. Well, Saracyn would be damned if he just turned their kill over to some overgrown scavenger. Once the lumbering mass of fur and fat came into view, Sara bared his teeth in a vicious growl to try and threaten it away, but the bear remained undeterred, lumbering at the wolves like a massive furry tank. Arcturus volunteered to keep their foe distracted and ran forward to engage the bear head on, giving Saracyn the distraction he needed to move freely about the bear's side and out of its peripheral. He circled the battlefield slowly so as not to attract attention, large white paws vanishing almost silently in the snow while he stalked around the bear. Those cobalt eyes were cold and steeled with lethal intent, watching and studying the bear for signs of weakness. It was still covered in excess fat from its hibernation, but it seemed dazed and groggy, like it shouldn't have been awake yet. That would be the key to its undoing.

While Arcturus bit and snapped at the ursine's paws and legs, Saracyn gave a whistle to his avians, gesturing to the bear and watching with a macabre smirk as Veior and Vindr dive-bombed down to begin clawing and pecking at the bear's face. The confused grizzly bear bellowed in pain and anger, swatting aimlessly at the birds while trying to keep its attention on Arc as well. Now with it fully distracted, Saracyn seized his opportunity and charged the bear. His paws pounded the ground, kicking up snow as he ran full-tilt at his enemy, powerful hind legs launching him up in a graceful arc to land on the bear's back. The sudden weight of the dire wolf slamming into him send the bear falling back onto all fours, also permitting Saracyn to finish his leap up the length of the bear's back to sink his fangs into the back of the grizzly's neck. Sure enough, the predator's protective layer of fat and fur was too thick for him to bite through—but he hadn't been intending to. Instead, Sara used his bite as a grapple to hold himself to the bear while he extended his smooth-edged blade from his bracer with a flick of his wrist to activate the mechanism, then drove the dagger into the bear's exposed throat once, twice, three times. The Mendacium prince landed a fourth stab just as the roaring and bellowing bear managed to shake him loose and reach a paw around, grabbing Saracyn by his foreleg and pulling him off to throw to the ground.

Saracyn collapsed to the snow with a grunt, watching with a wicked grin as blood poured from the grizzly's throat at an alarming rate, each pump of its strong heart gushing a fresh river of red from the four clean puncture wounds severing its carotid and jugular. But as quickly as the bear was dying, it wasn't quick enough. With strength still in reserve, the bear rounded on Saracyn, powerful jaws baring sharp teeth as it roared and stumbled closer to him. Sara shuffled backwards, putting a bit more space between him and the stumbling, bleeding bear. Gradually its movements became woozier and more imbalanced as it poured a trail of steaming red blood across the snow like a gruesome Jackson Pollock painting, and by the time it was within striking distance of the adolescent wolf, it barely had the strength to stand. Saracyn's lips peeled back from his teeth in a cruel smile, watching the bear stumble as it clung to life with the desperation of a creature unwilling to accept its own mortality. The red-furred lad would help it along that process. Raising his paw, Saracyn extended his smooth dagger once more then leveled the blade to the grizzly's glassy eye. The bear huffed and nearly collapsed, giving a weak and pleading bellow to the wolves. Saracyn responded by slowly pressing the blade forward until it pierced and sunk through the bear's eye socket. The bear tried to recoil and fight, but Saracyn placed a paw on its head and pushed it down to the snow with ease, a demented smile on his face while he continued to press the dagger deeper and deeper until with one final strong push, he drove the blade into something with density and his paw pressed to the bear's skull.

Immediately, the bear's sounds and struggling stopped as it was forcibly lobotomized by the wolf. With several inches of sharp steel penetrating its brain, the bear died in the blink of an eye, its body immediately shutting down and flopping limp to the bloodstained snow. Saracyn withdrew the blade from his foe, watching a mess of fluid, blood, and gray matter seep from the gaping wound where the bear's eye used to be. Thanks to the precision of his weapon, the pelt of the grizzly was still nicely intact. They wouldn't be able to take both the bear and bison back, but he sure as hell would be taking the time to skin it and take this pelt back as his own trophy. Maybe he'd line his bed with it for some extra warmth through the rest of the winter. With the fight over and the threat neutralized, a blood-soaked Saracyn set to skinning the bear while Merrick and Arcturus could fetch the sledge to load up the bison and bear pelt, grinning like a sociopath to himself all the while he worked. His fluffy tail wagged like a happy puppy playing with a new toy. Today had been a very good day.

WC: 1860
Total: 4745 / 3500

"Saracyn Mendacium"