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Sand, Iron, and Honey

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He had the sun at his back, an ally flanking, equipment suitable for the foe, and was well rested and uninjured. Kal’to couldn’t ask or pray for a more beneficial situation to fight a monster in. Chrysilla got in position, and the beast was still as it continued to try and strike with its tail. The deadly appendage shook side to side for a brief moment before each strike, giving the warrior-smith ample warning to dodge and block.

At his companion’s signal, Kal let loose a mighty roar and charged, meeting a vicious bit towards his thigh with the indomitable shield he favored so much. His hammer swung, bring all the metal shaping power of it’s weight to bear on the beast’s skull once more more. Crack went the bone as it fractured, and rip went the cloth of Kal’to’s shoulder as the beast’s claws retracted and the manticor reeled back. Chrysilla’s strike too had landed home, further driving the nail of pain and injury into the monster’s mind.

Sand churned as blood dripped and pads twisted in furious agony. A whip-like snarl lashed at the pair as the thing finally relented, know this this prey was not so simple, and too much of a risk. With a limp in its gait and a dazed stagger to it’s direction, the threat made a hasty egress, slinking over a dune with speed that was terrifying considering its state of injury.

Kal’to dropped his hammer and rushed over to Chrysilla before the beast even faded from sight. His hands flew over her as he fussed, looking for injuries, not noticing the crimson blossoming through the white clothing on his shoulder.

“Are you hurt, bumblebee?” his voice was concerned and a worried frown covered his face.

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Chrysilla watched with satisfaction as the beast flailed and snapped, infuriated by its sustained wounds. Even now, though, she gave it a wide berth, spear at the ready, eyes narrowed as the monster headed in the opposite direction with an odd, almost janky gait. It reminded her vaguely of one of her kind running with a broken leg, though this was far less tragic. The monster might yet live. If one of her kin had lost a leg, they'd certainly die right away, if only due to the Queen's command. She glanced elsewhere, and in doing so managed to react to the speeding blur that was her ally. Master Kal'to came out of left field, and grabbed at her, causing her to drop Stinger in surprise as his hands hiked up her sleeves and felt along her legs. The Hero wasn't too sure what to expect, but she was pretty sure this was supposed to seem helpful. She remained still as his questing hands felt her all over, until he asked her if she was alright.

"I'm quite fine, Master..." She caught a glimpse of the red stain on his shoulder, and her words halted. She broke free from his grip, and reached out, curious. She hadn't noticed the would earlier, what had hit him?
"Your shoulder..." She began, before her voice dropped an octave, as if she expected him to be angry with her for noticing. "You're bleeding."
Nevertheless, Chrysilla soon turned the tables on her partner, and grabbed him gently by the wrist, while her other hand roamed up his arm. She lifted the bloodied cloth away, and stared curiously at the wound beneath. It wasn't a terrible gash, so to speak; his shoulder was still attached. Yet the bee-girl couldn't help but notice that it seemed to be a rather troublesome wound. It would have issues closing on its own, and if it couldn't close, he'd bleed much more. She started tugging him back towards the Willand.

"Come, come!" She instructed. "I must get you out of those clothes, Master Kal'to!" She declared.

Once her friend was indoors, she tugged him to what she considered the safest place to keep him for the time being, and wasted no time in putting Kal'to to bed. She dragged him into the bedroom slowly, and eased him down onto the bed. Her uniform brushed against his chest, her breath against his forehead as she laid him back, before she pulled back just a bit. Her hands snaked beneath his shirt, and felt the steel of his abdominal muscles beneath her kneading fingers. Yet as her fingertips brushed against his flesh, she began lifting up and away from his body, taking the shirt off easily. With it off, she had a much better view of his wound, and fretted softly. She wasn't trained to deal with injured people. In fact, she was astonished that she knew he needed treatment. With what she did know about humanity, however, she knew for a fact that wounds like this were dangerous. Other humans would react quite poorly to seeing it, which spoke volumes about how much trouble her charge might be in.

She needed guidance on how to help him. Chrysilla sat on the bed next to him, and bent over, her voice husky, breathless with worry. "Oh, Master Kal...what am I supposed to do from here? I've never done this sort of thing with anyone before..." She admitted, gnawing on her lower lip. She fixed him with a stare that plainly said 'I want to help you.' She hoped he wasn't too hurt that he couldn't recognize her intent to help. 


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Kalto's heart thumped in his chest. Despite his wound, which he could now feel after the battle's excitement wore off, his mind couldn't ignore the tension of Chrysilla's naivety. Though she lacked the traits that made women women, her voice, her body language, the way she brushed her hair from her eyes and touched him with a gentle elegance...he could see her as nothing other than a woman. He let her remove his shirt, lost in a daze at her cool touch on his skin. The blood running down his arm was slow, as the wound wasn't so terrible it would pose an immediate threat to his life, but it further put his mind out of the normal as he began to feel dizzy. Manticore claws weren't poisoned, right?

"Kgh...Chrysilla you can't...phrase things like that. It makes men feel strange...just...get some bandaging from the bathroom. Dress the wound," he instructed with a slightly pained tone, pointing towards the restroom with his good arm. Her expression at the moment was the worst part. It was a face that begged for something he would kill a man for doing to her. Chrysilla was a precious flower to be protected, he had to restrain himself. She needed to learn, to understand the meaning behind these things, to be able to choose whether she wanted such a thing. She had to lose her innocent mind before he would allow any to touch her, himself included. Closing his eyes against the pain and her temptation, he waited for his guardian to do as he'd told her.

That damn uniform needs to go away as well. Surely I've got enough supplies to make her something suitable...

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On 5/14/2017 at 8:04 PM, Avvercus said:

Kgh...Chrysilla you can't...phrase things like that. It makes men feel strange...just...get some bandaging from the bathroom. Dress the wound,"

The hero nodded, and soundlessly got to her feet and hurried out of the bedroom, his words still floating about her head. Like she knew how to dress a wound! As talented as she was, Chrysilla knew for a fact that making tiny clothes out of the bandages would be next to impossible without some sort of training. Worse still, she had no idea what tastes her master had. Did he want a dress? Armor? What would she do for plating, even? The utter madness of it all continued to confound the bee-girl as she grabbed the roll of pure-white paper and hurled herself back into the room. She moved to his side again, and slowly unwrapped a length of the bandage, eyeing the gash. Granted, putting clothes on it probably wouldn't help; he already had clothes on, right? However, if she were to wrap the injury tightly, it would stop the bleeding, at least. Like closing a seam, but without closing the seam. It took her a second to figure it out, certainly, but she put it together, and finished the band with a tight knot, maybe a little tighter than necessary. 

Chrysilla heaved a sigh of relief, and only then realized she'd been holding her breath. The bug girl rolled her shoulders, and got to her feet before turning around and plopping down next to her master.

"I've dressed the wound, Master." She said simply, only to glance over and realize that he seemed unresponsive. Chrysilla gave him a nudge, and another, with no response. Suspicious, she pulled her legs up off the ground, and climbed over top of him, straddling him as she listened intently. The still air of the Willand was punctuated by a few different noises, from the winds occasionally buffering it about, to her own breathing and...there, Master Kal'to's breathing as well. The hero leaned forward, and pressed her head to his chest. Somewhere, behind the skin and meat and bone that made up his being, she could hear the gentle, steady percussion of his heart.

Thump Thump. Thump Thump.

Chrysilla listened to it, and felt her breathing slowly change to match the tempo of his heart rate. Two thumps in, two thumps out. Inhale, Exhale, everything was okay. She sat still, her hands on his shoulders, silky black hair like a curtain of shadows, blanketing his naked form. He was alive, she supposed, but sleeping, resting perhaps. Did the shock get to him? Perhaps she was wrong about how bad the cut was. Chrysilla gingerly climbed off his bed, and nodded respectfully at him before she shuffled him around to get him comfortable. 

"Master, it seems that you need your rest. I'll take care of your home until you wake up; don't worry." She offered him a smile, and waited for an answer, before realizing he probably couldn't talk to her right now. With a sigh, she turned and moved towards the door, and vanished down the hall. She had things to take care of, certainly, and she was positive Kal'to wouldn't mind if she attended to them herself.

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Ebony silk tickled his chest as she loomed over him, a tall and gentle shadow. He could hear the beat of his own heart through her ears, feel the warmth of his chest through her perfect skin and relax into her wonderfully doting thoughts. As she leaves, the world brightening smile and her promise put him at ease, sending him afloat into yet more fluffy dreams.

With a stupid smile Kal’to awoke. Nude and wrapped in his blankets like a happy child, he almost didn’t want to get up. Stretching his arm out, he was able to pull the drawstring on the blinds to his window. The dim brilliance of a waning crescent drifted in. Night blanketed the desert, and with it came a celestial sea of stars unabashed by light pollution. After a moment of casual admiration, Kal’to finally managed to heave his considerably large torso upright.

The blood caked beneath his not-so-professionally dressed wound cracked, and a sharp pain reminded him he’d been injured. The first of many scars he would earn during his journey, he assumed. With that alone, he could return home with pride.

He emerged from the room fully dressed once again, ready to attack the endless miles of the desert once more. He searched for the exotically alluring honey eyes of his companion, but they were absent. Perhaps she was waiting on the pilot deck?

Chrysilla where are you… he thought, though not only to himself. His mind reached out through the strange connection the bee-girl had shared with him, tickling her consciousness much like the Queen of her homeworld. An unintentional act on the smith’s part, and one he wasn’t even aware he’d performed.

Edited by Avvercus

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With an audible crack, Chrysilla rotated her body again, twisting her wrist as she jabbed forward with her Stinger. Rolling the shoulder and twisting the wrist was essential; with this action, you gained a few last inches of distance at a remarkable speed. Catching a foe at the end of this jab was all part of a great warrior's repertoire. The speartip struck the center of the couch; she'd had reservations about hacking at the seat, initially, but the fabric worked well for her purposes and if she struck at a naked wall of the Willand, or at thin air, she would stumble, flinch or possibly hurt herself. The couch simply worked best for her purposes.

She followed through with a downward slash, taking a full step forward before slashing to the side again and following through with another debilitating stab at the couch, rinse and repeat, until she rested the blade against the ground again. That last rush had been over in around four seconds; in four seconds, she'd slashed the couch to ribbons as quickly as she could, beating her old record of four and a 'little' seconds. The hero huffed, satisfied, and set the blade down, moving on to the next part of her exercise. With an audible exhale, she settled down in the lotus position, already feeling her muscles burn following the intense training. She took several slow, shallow breaths, feeling her lungs fill with oxygen, disperse into her bloodstream and fill with carbon dioxide just as swiftly. With each breath, then, her heartrate settled, and the bug girl came back to her center. In and out, in and out, such was the mantra of war. In the short hour and a half that she'd been alone, Chrysilla had thought of naught else save for training. Though her limbs still ached, she finished her breathing and stretching, and stood up slowly, brandishing her arms once more.

On 7/11/2017 at 4:23 PM, Avvercus said:

Chrysilla where are you… he thought, though not only to himself. His mind reached out through the strange connection the bee-girl had shared with him, tickling her consciousness much like the Queen of her homeworld. An unintentional act on the smith’s part, and one he wasn’t even aware he’d performed.

The voice reverberated somewhere in her mind, rattling around in some dark, primal corner of her brain reserved for the dull, automatic labor of the life she'd forgotten. The hero felt her form stiffen reflexively as she stood at attention. The Queen sounded odd, and for a change the bug-girl could only think of the voice as just that; who else would contact her, save for the Matriarch?

I am here. What is thy will? 

Chrysilla found it somewhat tricky to send the message, as if she were losing the ability to do so, but that wasn't important. What was important was that, in her short time spent reflecting on the task at hand, she'd inadvertently recalled the actual speaker. In fact, the dulcet tones of Master Kal'to's voice resonated all the same, even then, in the dull confines of her skull. Her figure relaxed, and though her curiosity was piqued, it was set aside in favor of seeking out her master. Chrysilla laid her weapon down and cast off her armor in favor of her fluffy robe. As the well-made metal bits and flowery garb fell aside, and she slipped on the robe, she couldn't help but wince. In contrast, the robe was somewhat less pleasant, more restricting, perhaps. She made a note of that, but said nothing right away as she hurried down the hall, throwing open the door to Kal's bedroom with an expectant cry.

"You were thinking about me, sir?"

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Kal’to’s forge-fired fingers reached for the door to his room, just before it was suddenly thrown open with energy. Chrysilla’s excited voice and expression immediately filled his eyes and ears, and a soft smile covered his face with ease. The man was so caught off guard by this unexpected appearance he failed to note an obvious red flag. That being the fact she knew he’d been thinking about her.

“I’m going back to the piloting deck, if you’d like to join me.”

His hand reached up to ruffle her raven locks before the man turned to climb the ladder to the pilot deck, noting she seemed to be radiating heat for some reason. She wasn’t sick, he hoped, but doubted it with how spirited she seemed.

Breaking into the cool night air, Kal’to let loose a long breath. He was ready to leave this desert behind already. Perhaps this time there would be no interruption, like dying women or aggressive monsters. Broken was the calm quiet as his footsteps drummed out a low, dull thump against the wooden deck on his approach to the controls.

The Smith activated his vessel, feeling the magic engines thrum to life as the entire ship hummed with tiny vibrations for the first minute before everything stabilized. The balancing anchors that held the ship upright as it rested in the sand retracted and the entire mass lifted off the ground, defying gravity via magical means.

More adventures surely waited with the sun. Kal’to and his new companion had till dawn to catch up to the horizon and claim them. What else could possibly await them beyond this endless sea of sand?

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