brave_kreyu | OOM: Elysium or Shephard's quest for an arm.

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OOM: Elysium or Shephard's quest for an arm.

Even before the Combine came, Shephard's world had few places left that had never known the touch of men. This forest has no name, for no tribe of wanderers has ever dared to settle here, to harvest the mighty oaks that tower far above his head.

It is nearly noon on Midsummer's day, but little light reaches Shephard and Kreyu down here on the forest floor. The only thing of note in the clearing is a large ring of mushrooms, a formation sometimes called a faerie ring.

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If he looks like he could use the help, Kreyu will assist him in getting the shield back on. "Good hunting," she says with a smile. The Smith nods in agreement.

"These woods are no place for a hunter at night," he warns. "We will look for you at dark, if you do not return before the light has gone."

Duir stands, gives himself a shake, and trots over to Shephard.

"Ain't gon' be a problem," says Shephard with a crooked grin. This is more of a beast than he's ever hunted at close range before, and it's a damn dangerous one by any stretch of the imagination, but he's got a reputation to maintain. "C'mon, now, Duir. You ready? We got us some pork to sniff out."

Duir woofs something that sounds like an affirmative and trots off, leading the way. They pass between those gigantic oak trees again, their leaves turned brilliant autumn colors.

Leaves crackle underfoot and acorns crunch under his boots. As they go deeper into the trees, Duir pauses from time to time to sniff certain places on the ground.

He's watching the dog, some, and listening, some, and darting his attention around this way and that. This is a forest, even if it's not one of Earth, and when a big thing moves in it the little life knows.

Or the dog points the way. Either one. He'll find it, and he'll follow.

In the end, it's a bit of both. The two of them reach a small clearing surrounded by brush when the dog stops and stands stiff legged, hackles raised. Then, he starts to growl low in his throat.

Something BIG is moving through the brush. A moment later, there is a horrifically loud squeal of challenge as the monstrous boar tears through the brush.

Ye gods, it's HOGZILLA! A normal boar can weigh more than 200lbs, but she's far larger, massing about twice what Shephard does.

"Jesus fuck-"

Shephard dives and rolls out of the way fast as he can. "Git that fucker turned!" he shouts to Duir. "I got to git her in the back 'fore I c'n git her in the throat!"

There's not going to be any knives thrown today, but if he can get a good stab or two in on top it'll slow her some. He's going to need that if he's going to have a prayer of shoving the pig down and getting a proper stab in for the kill.

Duir is hard at work almost before he can finish the command, lunging at the boar's heels. His jaws rip only a shallow gash in the enormous sow's hind legs, but it causes her to squeal in pain and rage and turn her back to Shephard.

Duir leaps back, only just avoiding being gutted by her tusks as she tosses her head in an attempt to gore him.

If he had two knives Shephard would throw one, but what he's got is a sword and a sharp bit of stone and neither of them is balanced for throwing. The shield would be better for throwing, frankly.

On the other hand, a pig that's trying to gore is a pig that's quartering away from him. That means that a man who's lived most of his life by having a fast hand and eye can dart up to her and thrust the bronze blade between two of the ribs. It won't reach the lungs, not if he wants it back before she turns- but a wound's a wound, especially that close to the spine.

The sow screams in agony as the blade of Achilles slides between her ribs. She wheels on her tormenter, but she's slower than she was before. Even so, he'd best move quickly if he doesn't want her to rip his leg open with those tusks.

Duir leaps in again, aiming for the sow's underbelly and drawing blood. The sow starts to turn again, unable to decide which of them to gore horribly first.

He's already missing an arm. He doesn't need to be missing a leg, or a chance to contribute to the gene pool.

But he doesn't like to miss an opportunity, and the monstrous pig is unsteady on her feet, so rather than flinch away he shoves with his shield-arm, hard as he can, aiming to force her off her feet for a proper strike.

Between the dog's attack and his shove with the shield, the sow goes over sideways with an outraged squeal. For a few precious moments, her belly is exposed and she's off of her feet.

Time to end this.

Achilles' sword was forged with the intent of a demigod stabbing an ordinary man to death through a massive bronze and leather breastplate, then stalking off to do it over and over again.

The positions are a bit reversed, with the figure of legend and myth bearing in-born armor of bone and hide; but in the end it's all the same. In the hands of a man who's cut more beasts down for skin and meat than he can even begin to remember, the sword knows exactly where it has to go.

The sword slides home and the boar still struggles, trying to gore him even in her death throes.

But she is too weak for her tusks to find their mark and she struggles less and less until at last the life goes out of her.

Shephard's just gonna pant for a while, because that was hard and nerve-wracking. Also, he's only really got one hand to lean against his own knees with; the other arm isn't good for bracing himself right now. Then he's gonna look up.

"Duir? Duir, boy, you okay?"

Duir wuffs reassuringly and moves near Shephard to allow the man to brace himself with Duir's bulk.

"Oh, good," says Shephard, and exhales soundly as he leans against the dog.

After a while he adds, "Gon' have to skin that fucker in a minute. You want any of the offal, boy?"

He's aware that legendary animals' blood and hearts apparently have legendary properties- it happened with that salmon- but, shit. The dog earned it. All Shephard's here for is a hand- and maybe a tusk if the Master Smith doesn't need them all.

The way that Duir perks up at the offer and starts wagging his tail is probably a yes.

Shephard smiles crookedly and wipes the sword on the pig's hide. This isn't a sword's job, this is a knife's, and flint knives've cut elephant hide before. If the stone can do it, that's what he'll use, and if not... well, Achilles isn't here to stop him.

The knife will work well enough.

It's a messy business, butchering a boar this size, but he'll manage it by the time the sun gets low in the sky.

It's probably worse what with the one arm and all. But, hell, he'll do what he can, and then he'll make sure the dog gets whatever offal it wants, and then the hide and the tusks are coming with him. The beasts of the forest are just going to have to be content with the pork. There's no way he's going to take even the slightest chance of consuming part of the animal; this was a kill for someone else, and they're going to get what they asked for.

"Ready when you are, Duir. Let's git a move on."

Duir is full of offal, so he's happy to get a move on and lead the human back to the home of the Master Smith.

Dinner and a large bucket of water, soap, and some cloth for washing with will be waiting for him when he gets there.

The Smith and Kreyu both greet him with a smile. "You have done well, warrior," he begins, "and earned your boon from me."

"Thank you kindly, sir," says Shephard, and lays the bundle of skin and tusks down at the Smith's feet. "Sure do 'preciate it."

That sounded like there was more coming, though, so he's going to wait a moment to see what else needs to be said.

"Rest awhile and replenish your strength," he continues. "There is water drawn for washing and a hot meal waiting."

He turns to Kreyu. "I am afraid I must ask you to depart for a time, Shadow Spinner. A work such as I will attempt is a delicate thing when it is being made, and your innate magic may disrupt its structure."

Kreyu nods, "I had wondered if that might be so."

He nods. "My brother has offered his hospitality and wishes to speak with you." He smiles. "It may be just as well that he has offered you his hospitality. I have no doubt that I can forge the boon, but binding it to living flesh will likely take my brother's touch as well as my own craft."

Shephard's busy washing as best he can, and trying not to look too much like he's got his ears perked up. Eavesdropping is bad form, but sometimes it's the only way to get information. And anyway, who knows if he might get asked a question before he gets to eat and rest?

He won't have to eavesdrop long, as Kreyu will come over and explain what she and the Smith were discussing.

"I must leave you here for a time, so that my innate magic will not disrupt his crafting. I would ask that you do what he asks of you, as those things will aid in the making of your arm."

She smiles. "His brother is a healer, and I suspect he will be helping get your arm attached once it is finished."

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