Aarglu sniffed the air, his great nostrils flaring. The other beastmen brayed behind him, tired of standing in one place for so long. Aarglu turned an angry bloodshot eye in their direction and gripped his axe, giving them a meaningful snort. The grove became quiet again. Aarglu again turned his large nose to the wind and inhaled. He thought he had caught a strange scent in the air. The subtle scent of fresh flowers, spice, and the dusk, but whatever it was, it was gone. Aarglu turned to the group of beastmen he led and raised his axe; he bellowed and motioned forward, the signal for 'march.' The knot of half-human children of the herd lurched forward in anticipation, their hooves grinding the tender grass below. Aarglu smiled-if it could be called such-he liked a bunch that always had the smell of blood in their nostrils. As Aarglu watched his raiding party tromp past, one of the bulls in the back stumbled and stopped, falling to his knees. Aarglu stumped over to where the young bull knelt, preparing to kick the youngster into action. Laziness would not be tolerated. The young bull moaned, toppling backwards, a look of fear written on his brutish features. A slender grey fletched arrow protruded from his gut.
Aarglu acted immediately, bellowing harshly to his followers as his eyes whipped from side to side and his receptive nostrils gulped air, searching the surrounding woods for the assailant. The troop stopped and milled in place, lowing nervously and gripping their crude weapons. There was a moment of stillness where Aarglu's stomach seemed to churn all too fast for the slow pacing of his surroundings. Then, a faint whisper, the hiss of grey fletched arrows, spurred the world into motion.
Bulls bellowed as the long slender shafts pierced their thick hides, pinning eyes and transfixing throats with pain. Ten of his thirty fell in the first wave, some still writhed on the ground, braying as their dark blood soaked the forest floor. Aarglu seized the momentary stillness to bellow a charge in the direction of the arrows. Aarglu raised his axe and jumped forward from where he crouched. As he did so, he snorted in air, trying to smell his enemies. His nostrils filled with the scent of fresh flowers, spice, and the dusk, now mixed with the dark tang of beast blood. Aarglu's ears flattened on his head. Charging through the undergrowth bellowing, Aarglu calculated his pace so he wouldn't be in the front of his raiders. Always best to let some other bull catch an arrow with his throat. Caution kept a bull alive. Aarglu prided himself on his calculations and uncharacteristic caution, they had kept him alive through many raids and made him unchallenged Bullchief of this herd.
Aarglu watched as a slender form dropped from a tree in front of the charging mass, drawing a thin graceful sword as it landed. The man thing was tall and slim, with hair black as raven wing drawn and tied behind pointed ears. It wore a long gray cloak, and a breastplate and vambraces of dark leather. Before the pack of beastmen could reach him five others dressed in similar fashion had dropped down from the trees. A whistling arrow from above pierced the foremost bull's throat, toppling him to the ground. Then the leading beastmen reached the man thing, bellowing a challenge and lifting its crude axe for a blow. Serpent like, the man thing easily avoided the heavy blow, and whipped his sword across the bull's gut. Dark ichor spewed from the wound as the bull tumbled to the earth. Arrows continued to rain down from the trees as the beastmen charged into combat.
Aarglu chose to kill the black haired assailant first, these man things would pay for feathering half of his raiders. As Aarglu charged into combat with the black haired one, the man thing had just finished slitting two beastmen's throats with swift aggressive strokes. Aarglu swept his axe low, feinting for the man thing's legs, at the last moment pulling the axe up sharply to try and catch the man thing's head. Many a man thing had lost his head to this feint, but the dark haired one saw it coming and easily flicked Aarglu's axe out of its intended path with a skilled counter-stroke coupled with a light blow drawn across Aarglu's right forearm. Aarglu ignored the thin ribbon of blood blossoming on his forearm and pulled his axe horizontally back towards his opponent, hoping to catch the man thing with the wicked hook on the back of his axe. The man thing stepped beyond reach, and his slender sword whipped out again, turning Aarglu's left hand into a bloody ruin of dangling flesh. Aarglu readjusted the grip on his axe as hot pain pulsed from his ruined hand, and bellowed defiantly. As Aarglu bellowed he looked into the man thing's eyes. There, he saw death.
This man thing's eyes burned with a hatred and disdain beyond that of any Bullchief Aarglu had ever seen. In contrast to his hair, this man thing's eyes were pale grey, cold oceans of pain and hate. Aarglu recognized those oceans, for they were the kind that could only be calmed by hot blood. The man thing bounded forward, his feline teeth bared, and knocked Aarglu's clumsy parry aside. The man thing's slender blade moved with god like speed, arcing down to Aarglu's neck. For Aarglu, all was darkness. There was a dull thump as Aarglu's head rolled to the ground, followed by his body.
*******
"Forgive me Arion, but you showed a reckless abandon in dropping from the tree" Gillahas said, lowering his voice as he approached his raven haired captain.
"My life is my own Gillahas, to spend as I please" Arion replied, carefully wiping the dark blood off his sword on the shaggy hide of a dead beastman.
"You do not only endanger your own life" Gillahas replied sharply "four others followed you to the ground. You are their captain Arion, and with that comes responsibility, no matter how your blade yearns to drink dark blood." Arion looked up sharply at the terse remark, his eyes narrowing for a moment, then relaxing. Arion smiled at his comrade and stood, lifting his sword to catch the light.
"Yes, Illekane has certainly drunk the blood of many foul creatures," Arion said, gazing at the bright steel of his sword "but you are right Gillahas, I shall be more careful." With that, Arion sheathed his sword and turned to his troop. "To the hunt my brothers. Shadows our homes and darkness our blood, we spirits of the dusk shall know neither rest nor comfort until all that is evil weeps in remorse for the destruction Nagarythe" Arion intoned solemnly.
Grey clad shapes silently melted into the forest again, leaving behind a bloodied copse strewn with the bodies of the foul creatures of chaos. The Shadow Warriors, were on the hunt.
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