*Author note: Forgot to say, this is part 2 of 3 of a short fanfic using primarly characters from Bace-Jeleren. Eisi is mine.
The Hunter
Grii hated this plane. Half the time it was far too bright, as though the sun never set. There was a glistening, warm quality to Lorwyn that threatened to scrape away at the edges of her mind. And the other half … the shadowy allure of Shadowmoor, was still sickeningly sweet in its darkness. It threatened to sour her, to sour her abilities, and if not for the little rabbit she was hunting across the Blind Eternities she would never come here.
But she had, and so Grii had followed. It had been an immediate mistake. The plane was alive, more alive than most, and while its dark half had pulled her prey towards it, the light had other plans.
Whatever those plans were, the burning village she left behind was a sign that she would not be toyed with.
As skilled as she was, the machinations of an entire— truthfully half, plane was enough to slow her. As luck would have it she’d met someone in that village that seemed more than willing to help. A like-minded individual who seemed far more in tune with Lorwyn than she ever could be, and thus far more able to make his way through it. A useful tool.
A tool that had finally shown his use; a magic signal flared up in her mind like nails on a chalkboard. He had found her.
Grii burst through the treeline and into clearing, bloodlust blazing in her eye. A sudden movement, a smattering of blue against green, and with a wild swing the target, whatever it was, was split in twain. She took just a moment to admire the bloo—
Blue. Her massive sword was stained not with crimson blood, but an acrylic blue gunk.
“Oh, Miss Grii. You didn’t have to kill the dog. What a cruelty you’ve visited upon me.”
Eisi’s voice was almost as irritating as the signal. He radiated a smugness about him that almost drowned out the smell of paint. He was sitting on the forest floor, sketching away at some fool drawing, back pressed again a paint-made kavu laden with packs and tarps.
Grii growled. “Where is she?”
He gave her a disappointed look. “Unfortunately, Miss Grii, you’ve just missed her. I had only just managed to locate her when—”
Grii clenched her hand, muscles tightening, and focused her glare on him. Fear radiated out towards him, and he froze for a moment. His ears twitched and she saw a shiver roll up his spine.
“You told me you knew how to navigate this place, rabbit.”
She lessened the aura, just enough for him to respond.
“I— I can, believe me. This plane is just… hard to navigate, and I am no great hunter. Had you stayed by my side instead of torching those Kithkin to the ground, you may have yet found her.”
Grii snorted. As much as she wanted to wring his neck, he was correct. And he still had uses. She’d snap him in half later.
“If you couldn’t stop her from leaving, did you a least track her down, painter?”
Grii doubted she’d need help tracking her aether trail, but with how the day had been going what patience she had was stretched thin, and she’d rather not risk searching herself lest the plane muddle her thoughts.
“Oh, that I do know. I believe she’s off to Tarkir next. Do you know the place?”
Before Grii could answer, a sudden sharp whistle rang out from the forest. She turned to see three arrows flying toward her.
One slammed into her shoulder, a nuisance more than anything else, while another skimmed her cheek and thudded into a nearby tree. The third had been aimed directly for her eye, and that one she had caught.
“Eyeblight! There is an eyeblight with the defiler,” came a voice from the woods. It seemed to echo across the clearing, and only now could Grii hear the faint shuffling of people moving through the trees, the soft ‘clop’ of hooves against ground and wood.
The forest around them seemed to darken, brilliant eyes shining out through the dark. It almost reminded Grii of home. She gripped her sword hilt tighter.
“Well, this isn’t very good,” Eisi said, though Grii barely heard it. A quick glance around showed her just how surrounded they were. Fifteen elves at least, and keeping their distance; no doubt sensing the oppressive dread seeping out of her. A smart move, as horrifying as her aura of fear could be, this plane fouled her aura. Fifteen or more might be too much.
But what do they even have to fear? I can feel the nature of this world, so foreboding and twisted. Would it affect them? What do they fear?
The thoughts were not her own, but delivered in her voice. Grii hesitated for but an instant.
The arrow that had struck the nearby tree erupted into brambled vines that lashed around her left arm, digging in and trying to bind her. Then the elves attacked, five of them lunging from the woods with slender, leaf-blade lances. The swiftest of them thrust forward, towards her face.
Grii smiled as she shifted her head to the side, the spear missing by inches. Then she ripped her left hand free of the binding and slammed the elf in the face. His skull caved in and his horns scattered, shattered off in the blow. She did not need to flare out her aura of fear to make the other lancers hesitate.
With a war bellow she charged forward, swinging her blade in a giant arc. Two of the remaining lancers couldn’t resist, fear both magic and mundane leading them do a bloody end. The remaining two held their ground, both of their lances hitting home against her chest.
Pain, not enough to stop her, but enough to make her next swing only kill one of them, cleaving him in half as the last of the initial lancers leapt backwards.
A horn sounded, and the elves descended as one. Four other lancers, two of whom rushed to stand with the one she’d been left with, five archers, and a single old elf with a staff, who was glaring daggers at Grii. She could feel a twinge against the back of her mind.
“Painter! Prove your worth!” she bellowed.
Eisi sighed and rose to his feet, as the final two lancers and two of the archer’s neared him. Intent to capture him, and kill her.
“Oh, if you insist Miss Grii.”
Grii spared no real thought towards Eisi. If he died, he died. Her attention was focused purely on the mage, hiding behind so much chaff. She let out another war cry and focused every ounce of fear on her target, and charged.
Arrows thudded into her shoulders and the ground before her, thick spiked branches jutting up suddenly like spike traps. She barreled through them, smashing them apart with her blade. The lancers met her advance, but the fear bleeding from her, even as it focused on one point, still caused them to shudder. One thrust missed, another taking her in the side, and the third struck home only to shatter, leaving half the spear in her.
Grii responded by simply stomped forward, sending them scattering. One of the lancers— she could not tell which in the frey— falling underneath her boots, his rib-cage crunching like dried leaves. She swung her blade down on another lancer, burying her blade in his flesh and the ground beneath it.
The slight hitch in pulling it from the ground left her open. Two of the archers she was engaged with fired a volley of arrows into the ground, roots and vines raising up to grip her blade in a death-grip. The other aimed straight for her.
But the third lancer was still within arm’s reach as well. Grii ignored the pain of the spear digging into her collar, oh so close to something even approaching danger, in order to grab the foolhardy elf and throw him in the path of the arrows intended for her. They hit him, and then he hit the archer, the two of them collapsing in a heap. Only a single groan escaped the pile.
Their mage, clearly their leader, watched it all while straining against her aura of fear. He looked like a vein in his forehead was about to burst as he did his best to assault her mind. Mental talons dug in, and with the disruption this plane had put in her, it almost hurt.
Grii let go of her sword and advanced towards the remaining archers, each of them reaching for fresh arrows to send her way, only to miss grab or drop them.
A single punch broke the neck of one, and Grii used his body to beat the other to death. The final archer, still struggling under the weight of his dead ally, had his skull crushed beneath her boot.
So … satisfying. She thought. This was what she needed today.
Grii grabbed the mage by the throat and squeezed, just hard enough to stop him from mentally assaulting her. She’d have fun with this one.
“Ah, Miss Grii. Hold that pose a moment.”
Grii turned toward Eisi. He was sitting down against his painted pack-beast once more, painting once more. Beside him, made of crystalline green paint, was a hunched over and warped elf. It looked far more twisted in form than even the ones she had brutalized.
The elves she had him fight lay in the grass, heads and limbs twisted in a garish display. Maybe he was useful as more than just a guide on this garbage plane.
She returned to the task at hand and growled at the elf, grip tightening. “What do you fear, elf?”
It wasn’t like her, normally, to linger like this. Maybe the darker half had taken a liking to her, and decided to have her indulge. Maybe she was just angry.
He answered by kicking at her with his spindly little hooves. It hurt only in that it brought about echoes of pain from her still bleeding wounds.
Grii grabbed him by one of his horns, and pulled until it broke off. Then she cut him across the face with it.
The response was immediate. Almost too much so. His eyes went white and he sobbed and screamed. Simply scaring his face had broken him. It felt like a cheap trick. Like the plane itself had fooled her into playing its rules, and then pulled the rug out from under her.
Grii felt nothing from this fear. She felt a guttural growl rise and die in her throat, and popped his head off like a child would behead a daisy.
Eisi let out a sigh of satisfaction. “Ah, wonderful Miss Grii. You really are as skilled as you said. Have you need of medical attention?”
“No,” was her response, and that was all she cared to say. She focused on the painter, hoping to draw at least some enjoyment from watching him squirm before leaving, to wash the taste from her mouth.
He kept on painting. He was afraid, clearly, she could see it in his body language. Could see his hair standing on end. But he kept on painting.
Killing him wasn’t even worth the effort.
“I’m going to Tarkir. Follow if you want, painter. I may yet have use for you.”
Grii concentrated on her spark, which demanded blood and death and screams, and left in pursuit of her prey.
