Whisper For Mercy - Printable Version

Timir counted, vaguely, to about forty before he lost his place. He wasn't very well-versed in mathematics, and past sixty was mostly a mystery to him anyway, so one mental shrug later he was pushing up and warily eyeing the slope.

Vargas's utter disappearance had not been lost on him, and he sort of understood the premise: he was to use his magic, not his eyes.

He considered his approach. Storming up blindly, even with his magic seeking, seemed stupid. He couldn't really hear the world where it lay behind the boulders, just as he couldn't see through solid rock, and Vargas was probably hiding. Timir thought about Vargas drawing him out with cries for help, but obviously he wouldn't fall for that. It was his own trick, after all, and a random creature crying out was completely unlikely.

But what if he could sneak his way up, and fake not being... sneaky? If he used his mimicry to instead create a sound like falling rocks, or something?

Timir considered. But the first approach, either way, would be to head up there undetected--so he did his best to muffle the sound around his feet before setting off uphill.

His first few steps were still a little scratchy, and he grimaced at this, but by the time he was picking his way cautiously up the boulder fields, he was giving nothing away.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Now that he was hidden, Vargas at last let the shadows drop. He slid another sort of magic out: a listening for the heartbeat heralding Timir's arrival.

He had nothing, yet. Which either meant that the magic was faltering, or that Timir was still down the slope.

None the wiser, Vargas nevertheless remained tense and ready. He hadn't survived this long by ever letting down his guard.

He was wondering how the Valkhound would approach this. Would he try to sneak around, somehow, and come from the steeper side of the cliffs? Or would he come right up and attempt to hide his approach, or try to hit Vargas from a distance? Vargas had only said 'strike,' and while at the time he'd meant a physical, close-range hit, it was his fault for not really clarifying. If Timir rounded a corner and used magic to successfully lob a rock at his head, he'd... concede, probably. Mostly, he was curious, appraising, hoping that Timir would exceed expectations and get creative.

Timir examined the slopes with a critical eye as he ascended. He didn't want to accidentally walk right up on Vargas, or past him. But nor did he want to stop too soon, because his plan--one he was developing on the fly and was in no way sure of--depended on drawing Vargas out. And he didn't want him stalking for long enough to realize it was bait. The... "it" was the question. Timir was still trying to figure out how to bait anything at all. And it did not help having no idea where Vargas actually was.

He finally tucked himself up between two boulders, a far narrower space than Vargas had chosen and possibly one the Leviathan couldn't fit fully into, though Timir thought that his long arms would likely reach. There he crouched for a long moment, silent, again examining the terrain.

No sign of him.

I can fake my footsteps with wind, maybe. If it's... subtle? The word was tentative; he'd never heard it before and it came to him almost uncertainly. He thought it was right, though. Something quiet, something where Vargas wouldn't actually hear the wind blow. Just a little skitter of small rocks a little ways down the slope and distant. If the Master emerged to stalk the sound, maybe Timir could hit him from behind, or even as he passed him.

He took a breath, and concentrated on the air. He focused on the pressure of it, on gathering it, pushing the air by altering it here and there to be denser and less so.

It's working! he thought, exhilaration rushing through him, as the barest breath of wind blew outward.

A few stray pebbles rolled, skidding into others, where a few more hit. It sounded very much like someone had misstepped, a clumsy foot knocking a few small rocks free where they'd tried to walk quietly.

Timir then hunkered back, silent as he could be, hoping that the Leviathan would fall for it.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas, lying in wait, heard the "misstep." He was completely aware that it might well be fake--that it would be, if Timir had any skill to him, and Vargas thought Nineteen did.

But it wouldn't be sporting, or even realistic, if he just holed up here and ignored the attempt. He was trying to teach Timir how to hunt, and teaching him how to hunt Vargas would've been a lesson in frustration. No, he wanted him ready for war, and his targets would be far easier creatures, and far more gullible. They would not be expecting magical trickery, or Valkhounds.

That being said, he wasn't about to make it easy.

So Vargas slid from his hiding place, heading not straight for the falling rock, but in a wide circle around it. He wanted to see, from a distance, the place where he'd heard the stumble--to see if it were Timir or thin air.

Almost at once he picked up on the heartbeat crushed between two rocks, hiding. And it was nowhere near the skidding stones. Vargas made one mental tick of approval to the trickery, and one of failure to Chaos-Nineteen being so easily spotted, but in fairness he wasn't sure how the Valkhound could hide any better than he was.

Still, Vargas shifted his direction, heading back uphill with the intent of circling around behind Timir--assuming Nineteen didn't spot him first. He could hear the Valkhound's heartbeat; if Timir were watching, he'd see--or hear--Vargas, too. Line of sight worked both ways.

Timir wanted to be watching--he really did. But his exhaustion was dragging him down. It was draining, casting so much magic. And it was not something he was used to. He was starting to feel dizzy, and for a moment he actually laid down, jaws parted and glowing tongue lolling out in a panting grimace, though he caught his breath quietly.

For a few moments he just used his regular, mundane ears, wearily listening for any sounds of approach.

He heard none.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Now that Vargas knew where his target was, it was a matter of making his way there without being seen or heard. He had to remember the exact pair of boulders he was aiming for, and creep silently along behind them, out of line of sight.

...The light scuttle of pebbles underfoot, about halfway down, wasn't a trick. He froze, jaw clenching in irritation. He was a hunter, a stalker, who had hunted these caves, rooting out and killing dozens if not hundreds of hiding rebels. And he'd just kicked a rock.

He gave it a moment, but heard nothing in response, and so he began to slowly creep forward again.

Oh, no.

He was coming. Timir had heard the scuff of pebbles, and whether it had been trickery or not, it meant Vargas knew where he was. And most likely, he was coming.

And Timir didn't know where he was. He was realizing a mistake: his magic relied on line of sight just as much as sight did, so stuffing himself away between two towering boulders had essentially blinded all his senses.

He froze, heart racing, struggling to figure out just what the hell to do next. Right now, it felt like he was just waiting for the inevitable--and despite his rising panic, he couldn't think of an alternative.

Maybe if I run- and no sooner had the thought hit him that he acted on it, exploding from cover and bolting down the hill. He wasn't trying to escape entirely--he just didn't want to get cornered blindly in the hole he'd been in. He made space, heading out into the open, skidding to a halt and then whirling this way and that as he tried to see the Master coming.

It didn't really occur to him that Vargas might still just be in hiding, and that Timir had now given his position completely away. He felt more that he'd lost all his advantages, and there was no point in clinging now to a lost cause.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas paused in some surprise. He'd not expected Timir to just break cover like that; on the face of it it didn't seem strategically a good choice. But he considered, and sort of got the logic. Timir had figured out that Vargas was coming, and rather than remain in a position he could not defend, he was opening up his surroundings so he could see.

Well, then. That left Vargas just a little at a loss, because charging out across the open didn't guarantee him first contact.

He had to settle his raised foot down, and think.

Another distraction-? That sounded best, he decided.

Would it be fair to use an entirely new type of magic on Timir, when their lesson had purely been of air pressure? Also yes, Vargas thought. He was already going fairly easy on V-Chaos-Nineteen; there was no telling what this foreign world, and its combatants, might bring to the table.

So he crouched, and then began to slink catlike down the hill, sticking to cover. Alone it would not have been enough, particularly with the more open area Timir had surrounded himself with. But Vargas was calling on a different magic, now: one that cast his shadow visibly in the direction Timir was facing, before pulling it back abruptly, as if "Vargas" had realized he'd been spotted. He hoped it'd keep Timir's attention pinned firmly in that direction as he himself approached him from behind.

Timir's heart was racing, pounding in his chest, adrenaline leaving his mouth parched dry. He spun, head twisting this way and that, a frantic and chaotic series of movements that he tried to keep unpredictable.

When he spotted the hulking shadow, and saw it jerk behind the rock, he fell for it completely. And instead of backing off or waiting for Vargas to approach, he charged forward. It was, incidentally, away from the real Leviathan--but his back was still to Vargas, and his skittering run was quiet but certainly not muffled or silent. Timir was rushing for the space he thought the shadow had been cast from, intent on somehow striking first.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas sped up. He didn't want to rush, not so loudly that he was heard. Nor did he want to arrive too late, though, when Timir was realizing it had been a trick. He had to reach Chaos-Nineteen just as he reached the space he expected to find Vargas in, when his focus was most completely on something other than the Master lurching up behind him.

He broke into a run as Timir reached the gap where 'Vargas' should have been, as quietly as he could.

Assuming he wasn't heard, first, he'd loop a limb for Timir's legs, aiming to flop him off his feet, exactly as he'd hooked him to drag him to safety less than an hour before.