Thread: The Sorcerer and the Nekos (Kittycat19 and Blueflame451)

Somewhere beyond the borders of civilization, deep in a lush forest the exiled Lord Corvix Orbyn slid from his saddle and moved to sit on a nearby fallen tree, a humble place to take his lunch and a bit of relaxation as he rested his shaggy horse. He scrubbed a hand through his longish tousled chestnut brown hair and bright green eyes in a chiseled face that was more handsome then rugged scanned the deep foliage. Soon straight white teeth nipped at the bit of roast rabbit he had saved from last nights cook fires and he knew hed have to catch something again soon if her wanted to eat more tonight. His free hand toyed with the spear resting against one broad shoulder, even though he didnt strictly need the weapon for hunting. The leather pants and a wool shirt he was wearing were both travel stained and his boots were scuffed, but the curved sword and a dagger that hung from scabbards on his belt were of fine make and in good repair. His exile had turned him from lord to vagabond and his long wandering he left its mark but he still held himself with a proud, self-possessed bearing, spoiled only slightly as he licked the last tastes of rabbit from his fingers. Corvix stood up and stretched his wiry limbs reached to the leafy canopy his straight spine arching, and all of a sudden he felt a small sharp stabbing pain at his right calf that caused him to leap away from the log. When the dull green serpentine body of a jade tri-fang slithered out from under the log and away Corvixs eyes shot wide with alarm and fear, for the venomous bite of a jade tri-fang was an almost certain death sentence. He bent down and snatched at his leg, there he could see three tiny holes had been torn in the material of his pants and three bloody holes puckered the flesh beneath, but the lances of fiery pain shooting up his leg were already telling him the bite had struck true and that he was poisoned. His leg alternated between throbbing numbness and a bone deep burning and the anguish sent him to his knees, just as the growing pain and tightness in his chest told him he did not have long left to live. But Corvix refused to give in to panic, or to accept the certainty of his death, after all it seemed a great shame to survive so many hardships and battles only to die because he had chosen the wrong spot to sit down. His only hope was his sorcery, the very gift that had distinguished his family in ages past and had also doomed him to wander as an exile. His potent magic was more suited to destruction and battle then healing, but he was desperate. He would channel the energy into the wound, scour away the venom that was there and already coursing through his veins. The attempt might well burn him to a cinder but death would surely come if he did nothing, at least this might give him a chance. He reached out to the flows of magic and pulled the power into himself and instead of channeling it outward he forced the terrible power into his body. Sweat erupted on his brow then broke from ever pour on his body and it steamed away almost instantly, the grass about him blacked and the leaves above turned brown and curled away. Corvix gasped out loud, than banishing the power as he collapsed face first onto the charred earth. He had scourged away the poison though the toll on his body had been severe and might yet prove deadly besides. Any thoughts of victory were banished by a deep desperate thirst, an all consuming need for water. It took almost all of his strength to pull himself into his saddle and a simple spell told him the direction to the nearest water and he guided the horse that way, swaying weakly on top of his mount. On his desperate insistence the horse trampled through underbrush and eventually leaped to burst through a hedge line. Small thorns scratched Corvix arms and face but he hardly felt the tiny gashes, just as he only dimly heard the gasps of the people his rushing horse had surprised. Dizzily he blinked at the hidden village and smallish forms scampering about before him. His parched mouth worked to speak but he only managed a small rasp, his cloak had become tangled in the hedge and it now pulled him backwards dragging him from his saddle, his fingers too weak to hold rein. He fell weakly to the earth and landed with a hard thud, and laying on the ground he stared up the noonday sky, its brilliant blues darkening swiftly as the world tumbled away into blackness. The young man lay unconscious, his handsome face drawn and haggard, his full lips dry and parched, his skin burned a slight red in place and his brown hair was slick with sweat.