A Different Kind of Spear.
« on: February 10, 2019, 04:06:33 PM »
Dyel couldn't argue with beautiful scenery. He loved his homelands more than most males probably should, but it was the premise of enjoying it because of how much blood had been shed to defend it. So many deaths, so many losses of life all because one creature decided that freedom for all wasn't something they could support. He'd remembered those fights. The war that felt like it would never end, the number of souls that had passed on under his hands. The number of people who had been hard fighters, reliable spears, worthwhile users of the Craft, taken before their time by a War that by all nature, the Eyriens were not supposed to survive, let alone win.

They had broken all odds on that measure, and he was proud to be one of them.

Standing in the shallows of the sea, he was statue-still; the fish here were wary, fickle creatures who knew too well what movement in the water of legs probably meant, and they wouldn't come if he moved even an inch. Sharp gold eyes tracked the movements, the glimmers of shining scales and the darting to and fro of small and larger bodies. He was hoping for enough food to manage getting his stomach full without a trip into town - Marks were no problem for him, but it didn't mean he wanted to spend them needlessly when he could very well hunt for his own supper. He'd managed a few oysters already off the stones down the beach, and had chosen a different location to perch for his spearfishing, in order to capitalize on the schools that had probably avoided him splashing about looking for shelled mollusks.

He couldn't get that Warlord Prince out of his head, but who was he to mess around with a male who had that much station? Let alone who probably never entertained that kind of attention. It felt like it had been too long since he'd had himself a proper Rut, or even a good night between the sheets with someone who wasn't Mister or Missus Right, just Right Now. The hunger gnawed at him, but not quite as bad as the echoing growl in the depths of his stomach. He needed to eat, but one had to  hunt first before they ate.

Dyel refused to succumb to the forces of his own hunger, and cede defeat in favor of a meal in town. No, he had been a more than capable hunter for the last several centuries. He wasn't about to fly a white flag to a bunch of instinct-driven, sea-residing filets. At least, that was what he intended them to be, once he caught some. A little salt and pepper, some spices....mmmm...

He could have used craft to calm them, but it felt like cheating. No, he'd sort this out, or he'd be out here until he did. At worst, until nightfall. Then if he still hadn't eaten anything, the oysters would last him until Mellavi proper. Maybe he'd find a decent inn and a good bed to occupy there for a few hours, then it was off to Undavi again to see about the shipment of herbs he'd ordered a few weeks ago. Before he had to ship out South and attend the catastrophe there.

His eyes were incredible...like molten gold, in a face that looked far too grim to belong to someone so handsome...formidable even if Dyel had been larger-bodied than him, a stature that commanded control and attention far more than the Healer's own ever really had, even among so many of his own kind and even with the power of his jewel...

Dyelzrynar sighed through his nose, faintly enough as to not move his body. Don't think about him. Don't even remember him, he would likely punch you versus speak to you, you're mistaking duty for conversation. He probably had his share of women to bed and wouldn't so much as look at Dyel's spear, anyway. It was rare for him to find a male who would. Far more women who entertained that kind of thing. He wasn't discouraged, it would happen when it happened. He had bigger things to concern himself with, like making sure the shipment he'd ordered hadn't dried out on the way over.

A sizable silver body crept closer. Closer, still. Well-worked muscle tightened beneath his sun-touched skin, and eyes tracked the fish as it approached him; his fingers curled in a stronger grip on the shaft of his newly-honed weapon, and he waited. Closer. Closer, now, if he didn't wait long enough it might slip too far out of reach. If he waited too long, it would lose interest and venture elsewhere.

Steady, now....steady....