Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

Paul and Carrie set off on their task after following Pamela out. There were not many people out in the town because of the rain, which was gradually growing heavier, but they immediately set off to inform the few loose groups of the peril they were most likely never going to encounter in the first place. The people of Ichdale had very little reason to leave their place of living in these harrowing days. Happenings such as this were not helping their anxieties much.

The four Angels of Brodudika did as they promised. They saw Pamela out of the arched gate that led into thicker woods of pine and proceeded to take up ambush positions. Ghaal hunkered down behind snowy shrubs while Bart and Rastif braced themselves behind trees, staying out of sight and keeping their eyes and ears peeled.

Veera did not leave the town, instead choosing to sit on a bench on the outskirts of the quiet. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a small book, more aptly described as a pamphlet more than anything, and read.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

The woman made her way into the forest proper not long after leaving the confines of the city itself. Naturally, her objective would take her from the road, where all manner of creature made residence. The foliage made it difficult to keep an eye out for threats, but also worked in her favor in that same respect - not that she really cared, however.

Stealth was not exactly her forte.

[C S]

Some time into the walk signs of a struggle were becoming more and more apparent. The immense pines had deep and irregular gashes across their trunks, and branches were snapped and bent higher than any person could reach unaided. They hung awkwardly, entangled with the surrounding foliage, and were all around precarious to be around for it was only a matter of time before they crashed into the ground by some strong breeze or weakness in the other trees.

The ground was littered with wood chunks, torn and frayed. Some even bore the signs of burning, which extended to the exposed ground where snow should have been. The soil was black and charred, as if someone left a firepit unattended. Keeping with the trail of destruction, Pamela eventually heard the clamor of the resting site. Pots and pans were clanging, and the sweet scent of a meal being prepared reached her nostrils, rich with smoke and other earthy smells.

The camp was defined by a few logs set down near a central fire, where a pole was set up over the flames and a huge iron pot was hung from it. The poachers, revealed by the heavy sets of armor they wore that incorporated the scales and claws of their fantastic livelihood, sat atop the logs, resting after the intense fight that left such a mark on the surrounding forest. Their helmets were laid on the floor, and they spoke freely as comrades, even with the gigantic blades that were set down around the camp.

Not far away from the bulk of their numbers, a scaled giant lied. Many ropes went around its back and were driven into the ground by stakes. The restraints pinned the light blue wyvern's head, neck, body and tail down. Its patterns of white, yellow and black bands were broken by the slash marks left by the warriors' swords and arrows. The ripped scales revealed bruised and sliced flesh. Despite the sorry state of the animal, it was made to sleep by those who reveled in another job well done.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"I'll assume you lot are the poachers I'm looking for," Pamela called as she strode into the camp, making no attempt to hide her intentions or her presence. "You've made quite a stir in Brodudika. Enough to put a price on your heads."

[C S]

The din of comradery in the small clearing ended with abrupt vocalizations of surprise and puzzlement.

"And who the feck are you!?" called out of the beast-fighters from within the crowd of his tired peers.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"Someone who's come to collect," Pamela replied, her pace across the camp steady, but unhurried. "I would highly suggest surrender."

[C S]

"Brodudika is nothin' but cowards if this is all they sent to handle us," said one of the larger and more imposing men in the group. He stood up as he delivered the statement with a self-assurance of a seasoned warrior. "And if payment is what you're after, they sure as hell aren't paying you as well as we were for this job." He took his helmet in hand and put it on, and then lifted his heft sword from the ground. It was more like a slab of iron with a rounded bevel at the tip that gleamed with sharpness.

A couple others took his lead. The clattering of armor and weaponry ensued as the slayers readied themselves for a fight, though none made any move to step in. It was a forgone conclusion among them that their stalwart and steadfast comrade would make quick work of the vying "hero".

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"Perhaps if your friends see a demonstration, they'll make smarter decisions," Pamela replied, though she was mostly thinking out loud. The woman stopped a few feet away from the most vocal poacher, inclining her hat slightly, indicating it was his move.

[C S]

The man laughed bitterly. "Most of us don't want to see others get hurt because of what we do, but hell, I'm brave enough to do what must be done!" He braced himself, locking his hands firmly on the long handle of his oversize sword. The poacher let the tip of the blade angle forward, then charged as if he were wielding a lance instead, intending to run the woman through. The sword was wide enough to span the entire length of her torso, and then some.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

Just as the blade was about to hit its mark, the woman's hand moved. At first, it appeared as though she was going to attempt to shield herself from the attack with nothing but her forearm. Then, the arm itself - including the coat over top of it - changed. Elongating, much of the flesh and fabric merged into a solid, curved blade with a sporadic, toothed edge. The blade itself seemed to be made of metal, and shined with a menacing sheen. Although the blade itself was more than half the length of the woman's body, beneath it was a red, fleshy appendage connecting back to the rest of her body, looking almost like exposed muscle. The limb, the blade, and Pamela's body blended abruptly - but seamlessly - with one another.

The poacher's charge was brought to a decisive halt as his sword impacted the blade with an awful sound. Flakes of metal wafted down from where the two weapons clashed; the man's sword was responsible, looking ready to fall apart at any moment.

[C S]

In the wake of ringing metal there was a hush over the group. The crackle of the fire, the hissing when rain fell on the exposed flame, the bubbling within the pot over it, even the breathing of the sleeping wyvern, all these sounds came to the forefront of perception in the silence. No one dared to speak. The attacker quivered, and appeared just about ready to drop his humongous weapon then and there.

With a feral cry, he recoiled from Pamela, hoisting his sword with the motion. Holding it high, he prepared to bring its weight down on this inhuman foe. She was no great beast, but she was still a beast of some regard, and for that she deserved death.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

With one deadly, precise flick of her bladed limb, the woman severed her assailant's right arm. At the end of the motion, Pamela's grotesque appendage rebound back into place with an almost rubbery elasticity.

The poacher's mangled limb, meanwhile, flopped to the ground, cut at the shoulder; while the wound on his body should have poured forth with blood, it became encased in the red liquid instead, stopping the flow completely and sparing the man a horrible end from blood loss.

"Please take this time to reconsider," Pamela stated bluntly, the splattering of blood across her blade soaking itself into the metal-like substance almost instantly.

[C S]

The response Pamela got was devoid of reason. The man roared with pain and shock and his giant sword tumbled from his grasp. It sunk into the wet earth behind him as he himself fell forward, grasping at the scarlet ring where his arm used to be. Seconds later he fainted, flopping onto the ground while the other poachers looked on in terror.

"What the hell is this... what the hell are you!?" the stranger in the crowd shouted.

In the heat of the moment, another challenger sprung forth from a log, this one holding a polearm overhead. Its blade was short, but what it lacked in length it made up for in width. Its edge stretched quite a distance down the handle, and a small portion of it extended past it, making the weapon ideal for sweeping cuts and stabs. The woman in the exotic armors made from her previous kills swung her trusty weapon about from a much greater range than her dispatched brother in arms. She would do what she could to not suffer the same fate.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"I'm starting to think my mercy is futile," Pamela thought aloud with a sigh.

Her blade flicked outward, the muscle-like material at its base stretching and extending to lengths that far surpassed the ridiculous. With another flick, the woman let the assembled cord of flesh go slack, falling all around the spear-wielding woman's feet before snapping around her ankles.

The woman was hoisted off her feet by the grotesque length of limb, the bladed end hanging with some flesh to spare to her side. Pamela's other arm, meanwhile, twisted into yet another bladed monstrosity, poised to launch at the suspended poacher, despite their significant distance apart.

[C S]

Horrified reflexes took over any practiced regimen that the hunter of monstrosities had up until then. She twirled the polearm about so that its cutting edge slashed the limb holding her. While it was no means enough to sever the tendril, it did free her from the coil, if only to have her thud back onto the ground. She lost the weapon in doing so, and looked up at the gray sky in a daze.

"It was only a matter of time before that damned city created a ***** like this!" came another voice as the group began to scramble for their lives. "First was the metal *******, and now they've gone ahead and done this!"

Bart looked up inquisitively at the muffled sounds of despair. "Huh. I guess she really does have it handled, after all."

Rastif gave him a sideways look and somehow deepened his scowl.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

The woman's elongated limb retracted back with a strange, disgusting sound. The damage done by the polearm remained, but almost as soon as it was inflicted, it began to repair itself.

"My patience has reached its limit."

The readied blade shot out like a bolt from a crossbow, impaling the still-recovering poacher as if there was no resistance what so ever, anchoring itself midway into her chest. In one fluid motion, Pamela wrenched the limb - and its captive - back over her head and hurled it into the throng of fleeing dissidents. The blade slid itself free and pulled back just as the female poacher reached the center of the group...and promptly exploded.

The poacher's blood showered the party as her body was ripped apart, covering most of them. Almost immediately, the sanguine substance began to eat away at flesh and armor alike, covering the immediate area in a thick mist as if super-heated to an absurd degree.

[C S]

Bart's expression slowly turned blank at the unmistakable sounds of anguish and suffering. The sounds by their very nature stirred images of terrible tyrants who wallowed in the pain and misery of their foes. There was exacting justice upon the wicked, and then there was whatever it was Pamela was doing to those people.

"Definitely not what we thought she was, huh?"

"Bart," Ghaal said tersely.

Rastif gripped the hilt of his knives and looked off in no particular direction as if to distract himself from the sickly noises emanating from afar.

Those very noises, and the smell of blood and viscera on top of them, brought the sleeping giant back from its forced slumber. Its nostrils flared as it drew in the moist air, and intoxicated with the scent, its eyes shot open thereafter. Wide and pale, the wyvern's pupil's contracted in the light to narrow lines. Its muscles rippled beneath its hardened hide.

As the beast shifted beneath the lines that bound it, the stakes were torn from the ground one by one. It let out a deep, permeating growl as it rose, tail thumping the soil and producing a tone akin to a war drum. The cries of the poachers were silenced when it was back at full height, staring down the otherworldly being that struck down its foes.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

Pamela's limbs, still transformed into the grotesque blade structures that butchered the poachers, remained at her sides as the wyvern regained consciousness. She looked on with the same mercilessly neutral stare.

"My task involved only the poachers," she said calmly, as if the beast could understand - or cared to. The spilled blood of her assault - caused by the blades, or by the explosion of molten liquid thereafter - began to snake its way across the ground from wherever it laid. Upon reaching the woman in red, it soaked into her boots and disappeared.

At the same time, the wound in her limb disappeared in seconds.

"Now what am I to do about you?"

[C S]

The wyvern's head swayed and bobbed.

Its powerful jaws slackened and clenched as the woman spoke.

The beaten giant was clearly studying the figure in front of it, and the hungry look in its saurian eyes made it just as apparent that it intended to make her its next meal. Her, and the drained corpses that were lying in a heap. Some of the poachers were frozen in their crawling poses, one hand in front of the other in a display of desperation to flee when their legs had failed them. The grotesque scene had no impact on the winged terror.

It stomped forward, chest heaving as it angled its body high, before issuing its proud booming roar that dispersed what remained of the bloody mist in the rain-soaked air.

"What in the hell?" Rastif snarled suddenly. He pulled his blades free of their sheaths and twisted their handles in his hand. The hollow-bladed knives locked in his wrists and he looked to Bart to signal the other warrior. It was time to move. Bart's eyes widened, but impulse had him drawing his weapons all the same.

Ghaal cleared her throat, summoning their attention. "It sounds bad, but this Pamela... only move in if she comes back this way. Otherwise..." she trailed off with a most morose expression on her already grim face.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

Pamela, her course clear, began walking toward her draconic foe at a steady but unhurried pace. The roar that seemed to shake the very forest around her had no effect on the woman in red herself - long had she fought over her life, against foes small and mighty alike.