^^^^
(Yeah, this one's in two posts. Got interrupted halfway through posting, so dumped what I already had and came back later. See above for the first bit.)
Every instinct he had screamed at him to flee, but Makkah bore straight into the flames without hesitation, and his brother came right after him. Ahead of the pair, a tree began to fall, just slowly enough for one to get through the gap, but not the second. Being in the lead, Makkah purposely slowed his breakneck pace, bracing himself more for the primal terror, rather than the pain, that would momentarily assault his nerves.
He threw up his club, bracing it against the creaking trunk, leaning his full weight into it. Had he thought before the urge to flee was almost overwhelming? Belief formed through ignorance! Now, desperately trying to hold his ground, fire dripping around him, Makkah truly understood the nature of fear. Yet he stood his ground anyway, his entire body flinching at every spark that drifted past him.
No five stallions in their prime could have stopped that tree from coming down, but stopping its fall was not Makkah`s goal. One, two, three seconds. That was all it took, and Harrah passed him. The air was too smoke-filled to waste precious breath on calling encouragement, so no words were spoken. Makkah exerted himself once more, pressing up against the club. For an instant, the tree was held motionless, roots aflame and cracking apart, and the young centaur hurled himself clear before the whole thing came down.
He caught up with Harrah far too soon, his brother bucking frantically as though he were a common yearling being broken in, beating madly at his mane where a branch had become entangled and bound him to another tree. Makkah reared up with a scream, barely avoiding the lashing hooves that had nearly split his face in two, and almost overbalanced straight into a hut that was somehow still standing.
There was no time for niceties. He backed up a step and swung his club, smacking Harrah on the haunches so that he was the one who lost his balance and fell. The branch was a sturdy one, but not enough so to bear the full weight of a centaur stallion, and it broke immediately. Though Harrah yelped in pain as a fair portion of his mane was torn free in the process, the sudden shock of it proved enough of a jolt to bring him back to his senses.
He was scrambling back to his hooves, leveraging himself up with his own club, when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Harrah turned his head to see more clearly, and felt his bladder empty. Encircled by dancing fires that glowed off her skin, body and blade blackened with the dark blood of orc and hobgoblin, a monster had noticed their arrival. Superficially, it resembled the stoic warrior, Embla, that they had met on the road. It was the same general size and shape. It even had the same sword. There, however, the similarities ended.
Every part of it was in furious motion, the muscles writhing such that they seemed likely to tear free of the bone, the limbs shaking their image to a blur. Horribly, its hands were almost still, the massive sword barely trembling as it was turned to face its next prey. Worst of all was the face, with one eye bulged almost from the socket and the other sunk inside. The veins along its temple pulsed so violently it seemed the skin might burst. Blood and froth already poured from its mouth, which had ripped apart at the cheeks, and the crimson gullet stared out like an eye from behind shredded lips.
Harrah had previously assumed that the large woman they had met had been nothing more than a notably oversized human, a freak of nature. Bizarre, but comprehensible within his existing framework of how the world worked. Now he saw that this assumption was incorrect. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago, then there had been human blood introduced to this monster`s ancestry. Whatever they had mingled it with...now that, perhaps, was closer to what he was seeing at this moment.
Step by step, the monster moved closer to the centaurs. Makkah had frozen in place and was making a low piteous whine in his throat, the sight too much for him. Harrah felt his own courage buckle under the strain. The irony was not lost on him. This was what they had risked their lives to save? Ridiculous! The only thing that needed saving was themselves!
>>>>>
I really wonder what the original risari giants were like. Cyclopean? Aldran? Elemental? Lovecraftian? A mixture? I genuinely don't know. And just perhaps, in her current state of disease and injury, Embla is giving the modern world a (distorted) glimpse of them. I'm genuinely unsure here as well.
(Yeah, this one's in two posts. Got interrupted halfway through posting, so dumped what I already had and came back later. See above for the first bit.)
Every instinct he had screamed at him to flee, but Makkah bore straight into the flames without hesitation, and his brother came right after him. Ahead of the pair, a tree began to fall, just slowly enough for one to get through the gap, but not the second. Being in the lead, Makkah purposely slowed his breakneck pace, bracing himself more for the primal terror, rather than the pain, that would momentarily assault his nerves.
He threw up his club, bracing it against the creaking trunk, leaning his full weight into it. Had he thought before the urge to flee was almost overwhelming? Belief formed through ignorance! Now, desperately trying to hold his ground, fire dripping around him, Makkah truly understood the nature of fear. Yet he stood his ground anyway, his entire body flinching at every spark that drifted past him.
No five stallions in their prime could have stopped that tree from coming down, but stopping its fall was not Makkah`s goal. One, two, three seconds. That was all it took, and Harrah passed him. The air was too smoke-filled to waste precious breath on calling encouragement, so no words were spoken. Makkah exerted himself once more, pressing up against the club. For an instant, the tree was held motionless, roots aflame and cracking apart, and the young centaur hurled himself clear before the whole thing came down.
He caught up with Harrah far too soon, his brother bucking frantically as though he were a common yearling being broken in, beating madly at his mane where a branch had become entangled and bound him to another tree. Makkah reared up with a scream, barely avoiding the lashing hooves that had nearly split his face in two, and almost overbalanced straight into a hut that was somehow still standing.
There was no time for niceties. He backed up a step and swung his club, smacking Harrah on the haunches so that he was the one who lost his balance and fell. The branch was a sturdy one, but not enough so to bear the full weight of a centaur stallion, and it broke immediately. Though Harrah yelped in pain as a fair portion of his mane was torn free in the process, the sudden shock of it proved enough of a jolt to bring him back to his senses.
He was scrambling back to his hooves, leveraging himself up with his own club, when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Harrah turned his head to see more clearly, and felt his bladder empty. Encircled by dancing fires that glowed off her skin, body and blade blackened with the dark blood of orc and hobgoblin, a monster had noticed their arrival. Superficially, it resembled the stoic warrior, Embla, that they had met on the road. It was the same general size and shape. It even had the same sword. There, however, the similarities ended.
Every part of it was in furious motion, the muscles writhing such that they seemed likely to tear free of the bone, the limbs shaking their image to a blur. Horribly, its hands were almost still, the massive sword barely trembling as it was turned to face its next prey. Worst of all was the face, with one eye bulged almost from the socket and the other sunk inside. The veins along its temple pulsed so violently it seemed the skin might burst. Blood and froth already poured from its mouth, which had ripped apart at the cheeks, and the crimson gullet stared out like an eye from behind shredded lips.
Harrah had previously assumed that the large woman they had met had been nothing more than a notably oversized human, a freak of nature. Bizarre, but comprehensible within his existing framework of how the world worked. Now he saw that this assumption was incorrect. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago, then there had been human blood introduced to this monster`s ancestry. Whatever they had mingled it with...now that, perhaps, was closer to what he was seeing at this moment.
Step by step, the monster moved closer to the centaurs. Makkah had frozen in place and was making a low piteous whine in his throat, the sight too much for him. Harrah felt his own courage buckle under the strain. The irony was not lost on him. This was what they had risked their lives to save? Ridiculous! The only thing that needed saving was themselves!
>>>>>
I really wonder what the original risari giants were like. Cyclopean? Aldran? Elemental? Lovecraftian? A mixture? I genuinely don't know. And just perhaps, in her current state of disease and injury, Embla is giving the modern world a (distorted) glimpse of them. I'm genuinely unsure here as well.