Feed the Family

Illyria

More arm-twisting. *grumbles*

A short but sweet log of @Rhalkyr bringing the new Glom baby Illyria a rather unorthodox lunch, with @Irilara showing up (that conversation detailed in Rhalkyr's other logs).


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


                 Presence betrayed by the bumbling of the infant manticore that clumsily gambols in

his wake, leaping and clawing at the burden he carries over one immense shoulder, Rhalkyr prowls 

into the clearing, soundless. Blood slicks the right hand of his bare torso, seeping down from the 

carcass of the cow that hangs limply from where he holds it. Without preamble, he thumps the thing 

down before you, and sinks into a crouch, balanced upon his heels, and waits, head turned aside, 

eyes flicking to you and away, with each new sound or motion.

Sheltered beneath an elder pine, leaned against the trunk in the deep shadows around the clearing,

Illyria looks up at the sound of the manticore, letting her journal rest in her lap as she watches 

the other approach. Noting both the clumsy manticore colt and the carcass with equally curious eyes, 

a faint smile teases at her lips. When the cow is presented, she blinks, slitted pupils tightening 

further as she considers it for a moment in surprise. The sounds of the wyrden forest filter around 

them, as she considers it, then withdraws a wickedly sharp athame from within her sleeve. Rolling 

forward onto her knees, she flashes Rhalkyr a bright and warm grin and carefully makes a slice along the 

flank exposed to them. Parting and peeling away the flesh with a slurping slick sound, she cuts 

further in, neatly removing two long, thin strips of bloody tenderloin. She extends one silently to 

him.

                 Watching you throughout, his eyes both inconstant and consistent in their

flitting, curious regard of her, Rhalkyr waits with silent patience, as comfortable in the quiet as 

a tiger in its den. The manticore, however, bounds forward, dashing at you and the corpse with a 

high pitched growl in a thoroughly unconvincing threat display. Rhalkyr's massive paw bats at the 

cub, sending it rolling over onto its back, where it extends its paws out past its head, pupils 

dilated. Flexing his thick digits above the babe, he slowly lowers his hand down, in the manner of a 

menacing spider, while he uses his free hand to accept the slick strip from you. Turning his 

head away so that his face is hidden from you, he uses the back of his forearm to nudge the mask 

up enough so that its base juts out over his shaded mouth. Snapping the meat up between his teeth, 

he chews even as he engages in play with the manticore, fending off the swatting paws effortlessly.

When the strip is accepted, Illyria sits back against the tree, shaking the excess blood from her

own before further slicing off a bite-sized piece and popping it into her mouth, eyes on the frankly 

adorable young creature as she chews. The smile grows, and she distractedly sets her journal to the 

side with her things and flows carefully to the other side of the carcass, sitting down on the 

deceased bovine's shoulder to observe the play. After a while, she tilts her head to look over at 

R. "Thank you for the cow," she says quietly. "Why, though?" Pausing as the darkness filters more 

fully over the forest, the shadowed faeling takes a moment to look up and smile at Mother Night with 

a deep fondness, eyes bright. Pulling the shadows around herself, she reaches out almost reflexively 

to bond her spirit with the Night's, her face briefly exultant.

                 Swiftly done with the chewing of his own morsel, Rhalkyr swallows, running the back

of his hand over his chin, smearing the rivulets of blood into a swathe of glistening red, before he 

slips his mask back into place. Turning back to face you, he mimics the angle of your head, 

blinking languidly at the faeling, before his eyes slip down to the cub, which is currently engaged 

in attempting to chew off one of Rhalkyr's fingers. Prising the cub's gem-like teeth apart gently, 

the human grabs it by the chest and wiggles it back and forth, causing the infant to wrap its limbs 

about his thick wrist and cling there, claws piercing the striped bronze and black skin. Lifting a 

single, immensely muscled shoulder in a slow shrug, his own voice is pitched to match his 

companion's, though at a much lower register, and far more ragged. "Feed, family."

Startled at the brief eye contact, Illyria closes her own eyes equally slowly, though it takes

longer for hers to reopen as she gathers her impressions. Looking back down at the baby beast, she 

nods silently, the curve of her lips remaining and growing. "Family," she murmurs to no one 

particularly, nodding in acceptance. A warm, hazy flush of pleasure comes and goes, leaving behind 

the simple contentment and rightness of being surrounded by Wyrd and Night. Looking at the cub a 

moment longer, she lifts two bloody fingers to her lips and breaks the quiet of the night with a 

brief whistle. After a minute, a graceful but clearly youthful winged filly trots in, lovely and 

delicate. Despite her fragile, flighty appearance, though, the horse approaches the carcass and 

those surrounding it fearlessly, giving the manticore a dismissive snort. The faeling pulls out a 

feedbag and fills it, patting the young horse's neck. "Reminded me," she notes with a hint of a 

smile.

                 The whistle jerks Rhalkyr's head about so fast that the motion is a blur, his eyes

widening into huge discs of gleaming, predatory green - though upon seeing the source of the sound, 

he immediately relaxes, and returns to wrestling with the manticore. The horse is given a brief, 

curious glance, but afforded no greater attention from the human. The cub, on the other hand, 

strives to win free from the immovable cage of his father's fingers, scrabbling at the dirt and 

growling in an attempt to menace the delicate equine. Head angling to one side at this, he 

abruptly releases the babe, allowing it to bolt over to the horse in a rush, bristling, while the 

hulking human simply watches, impassive.

A single ear is flicked at the sound of the scrabbling cub as the young horse eagerly stuffs her

nose into the oats, though she angles slightly so that her hindquarters face the noisy thing, 

shifting her weight off of a rear leg to allow a hoof to cock idly as she eats. When the cub finally 

is released to stampede, the horse doesn't so much as flinch. Rather, she waits patiently until the 

thing is nearly at nipping distance and plants a dainty hoof directly into his chest, sending the 

infant manticore flying across the clearing in a painfully impressive arc. Illyria winces 

sympathetically. "She's more than she seems," she murmurs apologetically. "Pretty, but dangerous. 

Sorry about your cub- might have broken something."

Watching the cub unconcernedly as it approaches its inevitable fate, Rhalkyr makes

no move whatsoever to deter the manticore infant from its course. Even as the yowling thing goes 

hurtling through the air, his glittering eyes merely track the trajectory, impassive. Softly, in a 

husky, honeyed voice that is distinctly not his own, he says, "Pain is a teacher." Upon the arrival 

of Acosris, the giant scorpion, he cocks his head at the creature, snapping his hands together to 

mimic the sharp rhythm the scorpion clacks out. In his usual, torn tones, he says, amiably, 

"Warden."

 

Irilara arches a brow as she watches the soaring manticore cub. She glances toward you before

commenting, "It can be. Hail, Initiate." Then she turns her eyes toward Illyria. "So this is the one 

you were speaking of, formerly of Serenwilde and Celest, now of the Glomdoring. Always good to see 

someone come to their senses about such things."

 

Acosris, the giant scorpion skitters over toward the young manticore upon it's landing. The scorpion

stares down at the young thing, before nudging it with a segmented leg.

 

Illyria nods a quiet agreement to the sentiment, eyes lifting to track the entry of scorpion and

sileni alike. She says nothing in reply to the words, simply meeting Irilara's eyes levelly as she 

continues stoking the neck of the young winged horse.

 

Uttering a guttural sound of indiscernible sentiment, Rhalkyr rises slowly to his

feet, before following Acosris, the giant scorpion's path to pad over to the pitiable mewling cub. 

The infant yowls and hisses at the nudge, fleeing in a limping, lopsided gait to the presumed safety 

of Rhalkyr's feet. He looms over it for a moment, before lowering himself into a crouch, examining 

the distressed babe at length, which trembles. "Long, and winding, path may be. Matters, not. 

Destination, was, correct." Tenderly, he runs his fingers along the manticore's head, uttering a 

low, soothing series of rumbling sounds which soon serve to quieten the babe. "Missed, presence, 

Warden. Will be, waking, more?"

 

Acosris, the giant scorpion turns toward Irilara, his pincers clicking together before one leg

stomps the ground.

 

Irilara tilts her head at Illyria's scrutiny before looking toward the giant scorpion. "No,

Acosris." She then turns her attention toward you. "I would argue that the path does matter. Yes, 

the end destination is more important, but one can learn much from observing the path." The sileni 

pauses then, head tilting to one side before she moves her shoulders in a small shrug. "I wake as 

often as I can. Given that I do so I cannot make any promises about waking more."

 

Illyria watches the conversation silently, polite neutrality on her face as she listens from her

perch atop the cow's carcass. Her wings wave slowly, idly, the only source of motion from the 

faeling save for the tiny motions of fingers against the horse's dove grey fur. Not being addressed, 

she seems content to remain wordless and observe.

 

Rhalkyr's eyes slip from the cub, to study Acosris, the giant scorpion for a long,

silent moment, gleaming within the depths of his mask. At Irilara's command, however, they slide 

away once more, shifting to rest upon Irilara for a beat, and then over to Illyria, and away again. 

"Yes. Is, fair." Lifting his free hand, he makes a circular motion over his heart, and then jerks a 

finger aside, as if pulling something out. "Not, censure. Just, miss, whole. Same, for all."

 

 

Reaching up to pluck off her spectacles, absently using a bit of the mantle she wears to clean them

Irilara inclines her head slightly to one side as she examines you. "Regardless, have things been 

going well for you?" The sileni then turns to regard Illyria. "And I suppose that formal 

introductions are in order as, whilst I know of you from having kept an eye on those of the 

Serenwilde, if only to know of those I may end up facing in battle, we have never formally met. So, 

names. I am Irilara."

 

Illyria lets her hand fall away from the horse's neck finally, leaving her to finish her meal in

peace. Standing up from her seat atop the cow, she places a foot back behind the other and dips a 

small, graceful curtsey, keeping her eyes on Irilara. "I am Illyria," she replies quietly, her voice 

low in volume but pitched to carry easily. She says nothing more, simply moving her cloak out of the 

way and sitting back down on the carcass.

 

Rhalkyr tilts his head from side to side, lifting a hand to mirror the motion, in

response to Irilara's query. "Yes, no. Have, task, for Blackpetal. Is, difficult." Gaze sliding over 

to Illyria, he utters a low, amused rumble, raising the same hand to brush his fingertips across the 

painted teeth of his mask in a soft rasp. "Quiet, one."

 

Irilara lets out a soft thoughtful, and melodic, hum. Slipping her spectacles back on the sileni

says, "A pleasure, I am sure, Illyria." Looking to you she continues, "There is nothing wrong with 

silence. Some might say there is something wrong about the staring, but I am fairly well used to 

such." The sileni moves over to Acosris, the giant scorpion, and hops up to settle in a seated 

position on his back, prompting the scorpion to move his curled tail away to avoid stinging her. 

"What sort of task were you given, and is there aught you need help with in regards to it?"

 

Illyria glances in between Rhalkyr and Irilara, giving the former a small smile before turning and

slipping away into the shadows of the forest once more, trailed by a mildly irritated horse.