The moon hung like a silver coin in the indigo black sky, casting a pale glow over Varis as he steathily made his way to the outskirts of the city. The giant runed walls loomed ahead of Varis, the 20ft stone structure that was the main protection the city had against Mistborn assaults.
His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the guards stationed at the city gate. Their armor gleamed in the moonlight, highly polished and showed almost no use. Varis's footsteps were soft and calculated, his every movement measured to evade their watch.
He pressed himself against the shadows cast by the surrounding buildings, using every trick he had learned over the years to become one with the night. His form seemed to melt into the darkness as he slipped past the guards and through the open gate, his breath held until he was safely beyond the gate. Doging between the pools of torchlight he eventually got through to the otherside.
Finally relaxing he took the time to take a deep breathe. Calming his nerves and steadying his trembling hands. The air outside was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the stifling streets of the city. After steadying himself he took his first steps into the wilds with a mixture of excitement and unease. He had heard the rumors—the whispers of a recent culling of the monsters that had haunted the outskirts. So it should be relativly safe for him to head in. Well he hoped anyway. The heart of the forest was said to be just a few hours' walk away, deep into the realm untouched by the safety of the city's magic.
As he continued deeper into the forest he looked around at the trees around him, clearly still illiminated by the moonlight that booled between the leaves. The trees seemd to whisper in the light breeze. Mist clung to the undergrowth, weaving through the trees like ethereal tendrils. Varis's steps were cautious, his senses alert to every sound and movement. The mist was a constant presence, a reminder of the curse that had birthed the monsters and Players alike.
The heart of the forest felt close, an intangible promise hanging in the air. Varis's heart beat in time with his determination as he walked, his path illuminated by the silver tendrils of moonlight that filtered through the leaves. The recent tales he had overheard fueled his growing confidence—a recent Mistborn culling had taken place, and he could expect fewer mistborn creatures in his way.
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An hour or so later, Varis' journey through the Mistwood Forest became an even more taxing odyssey, marked by the haunting beauty of the ancient woods and the relentless challenges that lurked within.
The mist seemed to be rising, clinging to the trees and obscured the path ahead. His vision was at best only 15ft in front of him. It felt like navigating through a shifting dreamscape, where reality and illusion intertwined. Every step he took seemed to echo in the eerie silence, a stark contrast to the bustling city he had left behind.
The forest itself grew denser. A labyrinth of towering trees with gnarled, twisted branches that reached out like skeletal fingers. Their leaves rustled with an unsettling whisper, as if they harbored secrets from centuries past. Vines and underbrush further obscured the forest floor, making each footfall uncertain and treacherous.
Varis' senses were on high alert. The distant hoot of an owl or the scuttling of unseen creatures added to the mystique of the place but the sudden sounds made him jump at every turn. He was acutely aware of the possible dangers that lay hidden, lurking in the shadows.
His mind coundt help but wonder about the dangers that lurked within these ancient woods, dangers he had only heard of but had never witnessed with his own eyes.
The Mistborn creatures were a source of both fascination and dread among the inhabitants of the city. Stories told of creatures born from the very essence of the Mist itself, beings with supernatural abilities and a savage, untamed nature. These tales were often whispered around firesides, each storyteller adding their own embellishments to make the creatures seem more fearsome.
Varis knew that Mistborn beasts came in various forms, each more formidable than the last. There were the elusive Shadowstalkers, rumored to be able to blend seamlessly with the shadows, striking with deadly precision when least expected. Then there were the Thornspine Drakes, with scales as hard as steel and the ability to breathe searing fire.
The most terrifying of all, however, were the Mistwraiths, shape-shifting abominations that could assume the form of any creature or person they encountered. They were known for their cunning and their ability to lure unsuspecting travelers deeper into the mist before revealing their true, monstrous selves.
But Varis also understood that these were just stories, tales spun to frighten and caution. He had never encountered a Mistborn beast himself, and the reality of the forest was a far cry from the tales that had been passed down through generations.
Still, as the Mist thickened around him, he couldn't shake the feeling that the forest held secrets that defied explanation. Every rustle in the underbrush, every echoing howl in the distance, seemed to be a reminder that he was a trespasser in a realm where the rules of the city no longer applied.
With each step, he reminded himself that he was here for a purpose—to find the luminare that might be able to heal that noble's daughter, that might hold the key to his escape from the slums.
His grip on the hilt of the black katana tightened, and he steeled himself for the trials that lay ahead. As his nerves had risen he had decided to hook the naked black blade to his waist. IT made the journey slower as to not nick himself with it's surprisingly sharp edge but he felt safer that it was within reach.
The path was a winding one, marked by the occasional glimmer of hope when he stumbled upon a small clearing, where beams of filtered moonlight pierced the thick canopy. In those moments, the forest revealed its true majesty, with wildflowers carpeting the ground and vibrant butterflies dancing in the dappled light.
But the beauty of the Mistwood Forest was deceptive, and Varis knew it well. He encountered challenges at every turn: quicksand-like mud pits that threatened to ensnare him, thorny vines that seemed to lash out of their own accord, and chasms that required nimble acrobatics to cross. It was a relentless test of his wits and survival instincts.
As he ventured deeper, Varis began to notice signs of past actvity, something large and powerful that had left its mark on the forest. Massive claw marks scarred the trees, and the underbrush had been trampled as if by an enormous beast.
His heart pounded in his chest as he realized that perhaps not all the beasts had been found by the Players in the last culling. The feeling of being watched gnawed at him, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of the black katana, cold sweat sweat condesing on his brow.
It was then that he heard it—a low, guttural growl that sent a chill down his spine. Behind him, still hidden by the thick veil of the Mist came the source of the sound, a massive, oddly shaped shadow
The creature's eyes glowed through the haze, the fiery orange orbs locked onto Varis's terrified silver eyes. At that moment he knew he had fucked up. With far too much boyish fantasy for adventure. He knew that he was face to face with a nightmare made flesh.
Varis took a deep breath, his heart racing with fear. He had come to the Mistwood Forest seeking a chance at freedom, and now, he would have to fight for his life instead.
With a swift, surprisingly graceful movement, the shadow stepped out into clear view. Oh shit. It was a Manticore.
He was so dead.
The Manticore's body was a fusion of disparate elements. Its massive form was that of a great lion, covered in coarse, rust-colored fur, each sinewy muscle rippling with power. But this lion-like body was only the beginning of its bizarre visage.
From its broad, feline shoulders sprouted a pair of massive, bat-like wings, their leathery membranes stretched taut as the creature landed gracefully on the forest floor. These wings bore eerie patterns reminiscent of arcane sigils, glimmering faintly in the dappled light filtering through the mist.
The creature's head was a grotesque fusion of leonine and humanoid features. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural, malevolent intelligence, crimson orbs that seemed to pierce the very soul of anyone who dared gaze into them. Rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth lined its gaping maw, and its elongated tongue flicked out in a sinister display of anticipation.
But the most unsettling aspect of the Manticore was its tail—a flexible, serpentine appendage that terminated in a venomous, barbed stinger. The tip of the stinger glistened with a deadly, iridescent poison that dripped with malevolence.
The Manticore's wings unfurled with a shuddering, leathery sound, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. It let out a guttural, echoing roar that reverberated through the Mistwood, a sound that sent shivers down Varis's spine.
Varis stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest as he beheld the nightmarish creature before him. This was no tale, no bedtime story—it was a living, breathing embodiment of humanities enemy.
Panic surged through Varis's veins, and he began running for all his worth, his heart pounding. Adrenaline surged, ignited by his terror as he took off running.
The beast lept in pursuit of his prey, a relentless specter that moved with uncanny swiftness. Varis's breath came in ragged gasps as he ran, his heart thundering in his chest. His heart sank as he realized that the chase was leading him deeper into the forest than he had ever intended, farther from safety.
His rapid steps were a uneven rhythmic pulse. His surroundings were a blur as he pushed himself, every muscle straining in his quest for escape. Branches wipped at him, causing cuts to appear across his face and arms. Yet, no matter how fast he ran, the shadow remained on his heels.
Time seemed to stretch as the chase continued, the forest's grip tightening with every step. The shadows closed in, the mist wrapping around him like a shroud. Panic gnawed at Varis's chest, the realization that he was trapped settling in.
And then, with a final, frantic burst of speed, Varis burst into a clearing in the trees, his chest heaving as he came to a sudden halt. In growing horror he stared at the drop in front of him. He was on a large cliff that opened up to a large ravine. He coudl see a waterfall, its waters cascading into a chaotic river below.
The manticore's growl rumbled in the stillness, a primal sound that sent a shiver down Varis's spine. The noise caused him to turn around. Fear mingled with growing sense of defeat as he stared at the beast, his heart a drumbeat in his chest. He was a mere runeless waste facing a creature of legend.
The manticore's eyes locked onto Varis, its predatory gaze unrelenting. A cruel smile on its horrifically human like face. It advanced, its movements fluid and calculating. Varis's hand instinctively went to the hilt of the black katana—the weapon that had chosen him, that had given him the confidence to take this journey. He drew the blade, its surface coated in a layer of rust and grime, yet its aura was undeniable. If he was going to die...he was going to at least take a pound of flesh for the trouble.
As the blade slid free, a strange sensation rippled through Varis—a resonance that seemed to resonate with his very core. He felt a sudden hunger burst forward, emanating from the blade. A sensation that seemed to seep into his very soul. It was as if the sword itself was taking control of his movements. Its hunger becoming Varis' own. A red haze decinded across his vision and his panic and fear seemed to fade away. The onyl thought left in his mind was...DEVOUR!!!
The manticore suddenly lunged, its talons gleaming in the moonlight, but Varis was ready. His movements were swift and brutal, a inleigant dance of evasion and attack. The blade arced through the air, striking the manticore's flank with a burst of blood. Pain and surprise bloomed across the creature's face, its roars echoing in the clearing. It had not expected its previosly terrified prey to suddenly attack.
Without missing a beat, Varis moved with a beastial strength to keep attacking. if anyone could see him now they would think he was in fact the monster. His once silver eyes glowed a demonic red. A smile with too sharp teeth split his face. A rapid foam of drool coated his mouth as he looked at the beast in...hunger?
With every strike, the black katana seemed to grow stronger, its aura resonating with Varis's heartbeat. Each slash left gashes in the manticore's hide, spilling rivulets of crimson. Varis didnt escape unsacthed though. He was after all relitivly untrained and was unfamilar in the use of the sword. Claw marks adorned Varis's flesh, but he pressed on, his movements driven by the growing hunger and madness.
The blade seemed to feed on the manticore's blood, its hunger insatiable. Varis's strikes were fueled by a primal urge. The rhythm of the battle was a symphony of steel and fury, the clash of fang against blade, the dance of predator and prey. And in this instance...the Manticore was learning it may be the prey.
The manticore's roars turned to pained cries, its once-proud stance faltering. Varis's breaths were ragged, his body battered and bleeding, yet he pressed on. His strikes found their mark, leaving the creature wounded and weakened. The blade's hunger seemed insatiable, growing with every drop of blood it absorbed.
Amidst the chaos of battle, Varis's clouded mind was torn between the Manticore and the blade he wielded. The weapon radiated a strange energy, a power that seemed to resonate with his very being. The hunger emanating from the blade was a whisper in his mind, a promise of strength and purpose.
Lost in the thrall of the battle and the sword's resonance, Varis made a crucial mistake. He hesitated for a split second, his focus torn between the beast before him and the sensations coursing through his veins. In that moment, the manticore seized its chance, its spiked tail lashing out with deadly accuracy.
Agony erupted through Varis's side as the poisonous tail pierced his flesh. His cry of pain was swallowed by the night, his breath hitching as venom seeped into his veins. He stumbled back, his vision swimming, his strength waning. He was wounded and vulnerable, facing a creature he had no right to be against. He was just a mortal, not even close to even the weakest of Players.
The Manticore, sensing victory, lunged once more, its fangs bared. Varis's heart was slowing, his breath shallow, but his resolve burned brighter than ever. He drew deeper upon the blade's aura, his movements fueled by an otherworldly confidence. With a final surge of strength, he thrust the blade forward, the point finding purchase in the manticore's side. Straight into its heart.
Time seemed to slow as the Manticore faltered, its life force ebbing away. Darkness encroached on the edges of Varis's vision, death's grip tightening. His body was just pain. Pure gut wrentching pain. He watched as the blade seemed to pulse with an eerie red light, its aura consuming the manticore's essence.
And then, with a final heartbeat, Varis's strength gave out. His legs gave way beneath him, and he tumbled from the edge of the cliff, straight down into the waterfall. The rush of water met him with it's icey embrace, his body plunging into the pool below. The bone breaking impact was jarring, yet strangely comforting, as unconsciousness claimed him.
He may be dead but he went out fighting. Pity he woudn't be able to show those arrogant prick how wrong they were.
The world began to fade to black as he was carried away by the raging current. His consciousness wavered at the brink of oblivion, his senses overwhelmed by a maelstrom of pain and sensation. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the blade, aglow with an eerie red light, as it seemed to consume the essence of the fallen beast.
Just as death came to claim his soul word's seemed to echo in his mind.
"Host identified. Begin system initialization....
"Welcome to the Devourer system...."