And The Devil Called Him Son

“ARGHHHHH!”

It was an ungodly roar that pierced the wind. Furious with the ire and frustration of a frenzied stallion as he lurched forward across the terrain. Weaving between trees and throwing himself violently against their trunks in his fury. If it weren’t for their own weight, deep roots and bulk they might have nearly been uprooted by the raw force he launched his weight against them with.

Instead, they stood firm. Something Ryder found himself grateful for as he attempted to drag his shoulder across the thick bark. Relief sought on the rough surface and a hope to rid himself of some of the tiny sources of his fury and frustration. The pain was something he could live with. Pain was not something he was unfamiliar with.

But Gods in Hell, THE ITCHING!

Furious, he let out another wordless roar of deep rage as he kicked his back legs out in an attempt to send some of the small beings airborne. It did little. If anything at all. Perhaps, it even made things worse. The small ants sinking their pincers harder into his flesh. The deep wrath he felt doing nothing but driving them to bite more. Which only summoned more anger in its wake. He lunged forward again, a few long powerful strides before he dropped, throwing himself to the earth and rolling. How ironic it was that this was what got him in this situation in the first place. Simply put without hands he had chosen to roll to get rid of an itch.

An itch that quickly turned into a much larger one. Crescendoing into pain and ungodly infuriating crawling sensation that would not leave. Fire ants. Easily some of the most annoying insects on Earth when in very small numbers. But in the mass they were in now, crawling across his coat and biting at whatever fleshy part of his skin they could find, they were more than that. Much more. They sent pain across his flesh with every movement and he did his best to keep his ears pinned to his skull and his head free of the creatures. He certainly didn’t need them in his mouth, nose, eyes or ears. But there was little else he could do.

Little else besides follow the commands of whatever entity or whatever the fuck it was told him to seek out this Screecher. Whatever that was. Ryder was not sure nor did he care. What he wanted was the itching to stop and furthermore to be able to repair his ship. His Ranger. The one thing that almost equated to how important Arronax was to him. Growling in fury he was more than thankful Arronax had not been here to see this. Or to see exactly what he did to get into this mess. It wasn’t that Ryder didn’t trust him. No that was far from it. But it was his own stupidity that caused this and he cared not to fess up to such things until he had something to show for is choice.

So he was off to find a Screecher. And from what he had gathered they frequented the Western Mists. There was nothing more he hated than being away from the sea. Thus, adding grievous insult to injury. Another ungodly furious roar ripped from his chest as he rolled to his hooves and then threw himself back onto his hind limbs. Muscles bunched and rippled in the act, folding and coiling with every toss of his large skull. Thick, beachy waves thrown to the heavens as the teal beast screamed once more in anger. Powerful forelimbs raking the air in an attempt, pointless as it was, to rid himself of some of the annoying insects causing him the distress. Instead the movement only made things worse.

Ten fold.

Yet how the fuck was one supposed to stay calm when covered in these things? If he had been thinking for even a second he would have gone to Arronax first. But you couldn’t truly put together such thoughts when you were in both pain and incredibly fucking itchy. So rather than seek out the one soul that would have made this process easier and soothed his infuriated mind, he had charged off in search of this fucking vampiric creature so he just might rid himself of the tiny beasts and in turn, with luck, repair some of the damage to the Ranger. Who knew how long it would take but he would acheive it.

That was his only option.

They would sail again.

Now if only he could find one of the little wingless bat creatures so he could let it do whatever the hell it was supposed to do and he could get the fuck out of this hell hole and back to his beach. And of course, hope that these Gods would keep their word and repair his ship. Gods were such fickle things after all.

Perhaps they would take mercy on his frustration and anger and obvious agony. But usually? Usually, being pissed only made them angrier.

Gods in Hell why hadn’t he gone to Arronax first?

“FUCK!”

Another roar as he slammed to the ground and threw himself against the nearest tree in frustration.

"I FUCKIN' HATE ANTS!"

879 WORDS - @Rift Presence / Anyone who wants to watch Ryder suffer - Finally Ryder’s getting some payback for being a jerk to everyone since he got here. Though honestly I know his pain all too well. I have been in this exact situation, right down to the type of ants.

T
A
I
V
A
S

She sailed over the rainforest, though not necessarily for the Trial given to her by those angry plants.  Her travels had taken a rather unpredictable route, mostly due to the fact she could not hear the sounds of the spirits below.  The shaman's sense of direction had been lost along with them, and while she could see the charred remains of the great mother tree in the distance now, it had been rough traveling for a while.

Now, she looked to the massive branches, looking so miniscule in the distance, for some sort of guidance.  The permanence of the mother made her feel safe and calm, despite missing the fundamental strength of her soul's connection to the world.  The feeling of safe and calm came to an abrupt end, however, as the sound of a bellow echoes from the trunks below.  Taivas pauses midair, flairing her wings back in order to stop her flying.

Dark, starry eyes scurry through the rainsoaked trees to find some sign of the creature who hollered in pain.
Taivas could not resist the urge to help those in pain.

Little can be viewed between the large leaves of the rainforest, but she need not see to locate her quarry.  Another loud bellow of distasteful language radiates upward, and the pegasus dives downward to follow it.  In the shadow of the great trees, the pale glow of her coat announces her arrival well before she can be heard.  Despite the near constant downpour of the season, the girl is completely dry thanks to the charm granted to her months before, making her flight soft and quiet as the down in her wings.

The figure which echoes the slew of curse words becomes visible quickly, for he is a brute of size and proportion that Taivas has rarely seen; she believes this massive stallion would stand above even Roscorro.  The dragonkin had the advantage of wings inflating his general size, however.  It is with a blank expression and calm posture that the shaman lands a few paces away from the thrashing stallion, dark eyes already scouring his frame for noticeable afflictions.

She can summon no spirits to heal his wounds, but she does know a few practical ways to heal injuries without them.  However, the cause for his pain and discomfort appears to be hundreds of ants.  If she were one to express emotion easily, she would have grimaced.  Instead, she simply blinks.

"You won't get them off like that," she says calmly, her voice barely carrying over the passive sound of rain hitting leaves in the distance.  Ants were common back in the fields, and the one thing she learned best was to douse them in something with pungent odor to get the to flee and scatter.

"Look for something odorous."

Without much warning, the girl turns to go about following her own instruction, searching with her nose for the solution to the giant's problems.
""

Do you live for the love you've found?
Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart
Throw light upon your darkest dark

image credit to the lovely Blu

the Rift

The Rift has no mercy.

While you writhe and bellow your protest, cursing the enchanted creatures which bury painful bites beneath your skin, the only cure accepted has occupied itself with the carcass of an old, expired Cervavo.

Good luck convincing them that your flesh is sweeter!