Fubsy
Cool beans, my homie.
The moment the land grew quiet, Cheronis knew something was wrong.
He clutched his sword tightly, his body coated with sweat and blood. Ash and dust dyed his tanned skin a mottled grey. The weary fighter's breath came in labored gasps as the full weight of his burns came into full effect.
Cheronis knew he should've been happy. This was their greatest yield yet -- a rare phoenix with plumes of gold and breath of eternal flame. Just selling a few of the feathers would profit enough gold to buy an entire kingdom and more. It had taken months to find the bird, and only by the graces of Fortuna had they managed to catch wind of a beast dwelling in a volcano. The battle had been fearsome, with moments Cheronis was sure he and his acquaintance would be turned to ash. But they had won and they had their prize. Cheronis should've been happy.
And he was. For a moment. But something was wrong
Cheronis sheathed his blade and removed his helm, wincing slightly as the heated metal burned his fingers. His dark hair stuck out like a birds nest, but he took no care nor notice. Tossing his helmet and thoughts to the side, Cheronis carefully made his way to wear the firey bird had fallen.
He'd heard stories of these creatures. Tales of wings wrapped in searing flames and eyes brighter than a thousand suns. But none of them -- none of them -- described what a dying bird was like. The creature's eyes, once brilliant and bright, had simmered to the dullness of fading embers. Its body, once seemingly untouchable, now seemed so fragile that Cheronis was afraid just looking at it would destroy the body. Even the golden feathers seemed less vibrant. More cold. Perhaps, a lifetime ago, Cheronis would have taken pity. Even felt guilty. But not now. Now, he had a job to do.
"I hope that brain of yours wasn't completely burned off." His voice was light and teasing, but that underlying concern poked through. Cheronis drew a dagger and crouched by the dead bird, beginning to pluck a few feathers from the plumage. He cursed softly as some of the body crumpled and fell, turning to blackened soot at the softest touch. They needed to move, and move fast. The regeneration cycle was already beginning, and it was only a matter of time before all that was a left was a pile of ashes to sell. "Help me with this, will you?"
He clutched his sword tightly, his body coated with sweat and blood. Ash and dust dyed his tanned skin a mottled grey. The weary fighter's breath came in labored gasps as the full weight of his burns came into full effect.
Cheronis knew he should've been happy. This was their greatest yield yet -- a rare phoenix with plumes of gold and breath of eternal flame. Just selling a few of the feathers would profit enough gold to buy an entire kingdom and more. It had taken months to find the bird, and only by the graces of Fortuna had they managed to catch wind of a beast dwelling in a volcano. The battle had been fearsome, with moments Cheronis was sure he and his acquaintance would be turned to ash. But they had won and they had their prize. Cheronis should've been happy.
And he was. For a moment. But something was wrong
Cheronis sheathed his blade and removed his helm, wincing slightly as the heated metal burned his fingers. His dark hair stuck out like a birds nest, but he took no care nor notice. Tossing his helmet and thoughts to the side, Cheronis carefully made his way to wear the firey bird had fallen.
He'd heard stories of these creatures. Tales of wings wrapped in searing flames and eyes brighter than a thousand suns. But none of them -- none of them -- described what a dying bird was like. The creature's eyes, once brilliant and bright, had simmered to the dullness of fading embers. Its body, once seemingly untouchable, now seemed so fragile that Cheronis was afraid just looking at it would destroy the body. Even the golden feathers seemed less vibrant. More cold. Perhaps, a lifetime ago, Cheronis would have taken pity. Even felt guilty. But not now. Now, he had a job to do.
"I hope that brain of yours wasn't completely burned off." His voice was light and teasing, but that underlying concern poked through. Cheronis drew a dagger and crouched by the dead bird, beginning to pluck a few feathers from the plumage. He cursed softly as some of the body crumpled and fell, turning to blackened soot at the softest touch. They needed to move, and move fast. The regeneration cycle was already beginning, and it was only a matter of time before all that was a left was a pile of ashes to sell. "Help me with this, will you?"