Expedition Completed Urk Climax #2: The Damned and the Divine.

[Ulog the Savage]

Ulog snarled in pain as the small creature he had pinned down before him simply refused to die as it should, raking and cutting deeply into the metal chestplate of the beast. A few more seconds, and it would be torn through, and he would rip the beast’s heart out. He tried to simply bite the beast’s neck, killing it, but for now it retained another small piece of metal. The adrenaline rushing through him allowed him to ignore the pain from the attacks, but it still held him off-for now. It did not matter-in a matter of moments he would either eventually break through the mustelid’s defenses either at the breastplate or his head, and it would be dead.

Just before either of those things happened, pain lanced across his rear, and he spun around instantly, his backpaws kicking a pile of snow onto the wounded mustelid as he did so, yelping in rage. A lone, bloodied vixen stood before him, defenseless now as the spear had been ripped from her paws when he turned. She stood defiantly before him, screeching something in her language as she charged at him with her bare paws.


“For the Empre-” her shout was cut short as the maw of a furious Ulog clamped down on her, and this time, unlike the others, he raised his head high, chewing her up and then swallowing her whole as he did so, blood spilling down his maw. Two of the beasts dead. He paused for a moment, preparing to sit down to remove the spear by kicking it out of him, when suddenly a sharp, agonizing pain went through one of his back legs, followed by a sensation of dullness-he could no longer feel it. Turning around, he snarled once more, first glancing down at his now lame leg, which had a curious, curved dagger stabbed directly into it. And an older Todd who was already backing away and taking up a fighting position.

“That’s right, you bastard!” Talinn spat, Duty’s Burden drawn and gleaming in the pale sunlight “you will never use that leg again, even if you kill me today!"

Drawing himself up fully, Ulog gave another long howl, then prepared to do battle with the beast. He did not understand what the fox had said, but he had understood the expression. This one died next.

 

[Talinn Ryalor]

Talinn’s mind and heart were completely clear as he faced off alone against the giant direwolf. It had taken him decades to achieve this state, but all that existed was the here and now, him, his opponent, and his blade. As Ulog moved against him, deadly even with one leg crippled, he was but an extension of his sword. Unholy demonic claws met the Auldarnian steel blessed by the Great Kitsune herself, sparks flying as neither yielded to each other in the swift, vicious fight, that moved so quickly that any outside observer would have a hard time keeping track of any individual moves. Ulog burst forth like a raging fire, Talinn smothered the flames by moving as gracefully and calmly as a flowing river, dancing, parrying, striking, advancing and retreating all in perfect synchronicity. A beautiful display of the peak of of Fyadoran swordsmanship, a lifetime’s worth of practice and experience coming into play as the much smaller fox held his ground against the demon before him, alone in the snow.

Yet, even though he managed to get in strikes against the beast, while evading most of the damaging counters himself or having his fine leather armor absorb them, even with all the wounds that Ulog had suffered, it was still a flip of a gilder who could win if things continued as they were. Both Talinn and the monster were tiring, and, much like Stowett, if he made a single misstep, he would die. He needed to end this, and he needed to end it now. Breaking away from the wolf, Talinn took some steps back, then sheathed his blade, getting into a low, drawing position, right paw on the hilt of his blade.

Ulog paused, watching him, confused as to what the hardest opponent he had thus far fought was doing. A small gust of wind blew in front of the cave, small flakes of snow once more rising from the ground. Talinn took a deep breath, preparing his body for the final sword technique of the Way of the Steadfast Storm. He had only used it once in battle, over a decade ago, against Alexei. Now, it was time to use it once more.

Cool, pale blue eyes blazing in a rare fire he addressed the demon before him, voice loud and clear, as the snowy mist swirled around him.

“Demon! Heed my words!

Blazing in the sunlight, my blade is both duty and justice,”

Ulog did not wait for the fox to finish the words, snarling as he moved full force. He, also, intended to end the battle here.

An opening.

“There!”

Time seemed to freeze as Talinn drew the blade in an impossible flash of light, sparks flying from his scabbard, as he burst forth in a single, blazing motion, blade tearing through the entire left flank of the direwolf, the rippling patterned Auldarnian steel tearing through fur, flesh, and bone as if it were paper from the fury of the single, powerful strike. Pain lanced through his body as the physical strain of the strike took much out of the older fox, but he managed to finish the traditional words.

“Steadfast Storm! Typhoon’s Lightning Gust!”

Turning around, he expected the dire wolf to be dead-no beast could have survived such a vicious, full on raking. He would take the head of the beast, see to Gyles, and -

Talinn barely had time to parry the vicious claw strike that came at him, throwing him threw the air into the snow, Duty’s Burden flying off towards Gyles on the opposite side. Talinn tumbled until he finally came to a stop, dragging himself up to a sitting position. It could not be, but it was.

Ulog was still standing. Blood oozed from his entire left flank, each beat of his heart pouring out a veritable river of blood, and smaller streams from the other wounds, but the wolf was not done yet. It roared once more, the sound being heard across the entirety of Urk once again, before it began to run towards him.

“AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

This is it, then. This is what will end me. I am sorry, Dusk. I wanted to return home to you and the kits. To make things right.

Talinn had no weapons left on him, his wakizashi still embedded in the beast’s left backpaw, his katana far away near Gyles. All he had was his cane. Standing up, he drew it, and prepared himself for the end. There was only one thing he had left up his sleeve. Twilight’s Last Gleaming. The one technique he had never used, and been advised never to use, because the chance of survival was slim to none. Create an opening, let the opponent strike you, and then, while he thinks he has won, deliver the final blow.

Ulog came down upon him with the force of a furious storm, and Talinn let him. Vicious claws raked through his fine leather armor, tearing open multiple, deep lacerations across his chest, blood spraying from the Minister of Innovation. He was flung into a nearby rock formation, pain flaring throughout his entire lower body as a sickening crack of multiple broken bones echoed through the battlefield-ribs, pelvis, legs, and who knows what else. And then it came for him, that wide, gaping maw, those sharp teeth. The monster intended to devour him. Time slowed down as the Duke watched what would bring about his death-and then struck forth with his cane just as the jaws moved to devour him, shoving it up into his mouth, pain shooting through his arm as it was sliced by the teeth as well.

“Got you, you bastard.” Talinn muttered, flicking a secret switch on the cane he always carried with him.

A loud BANG was heard across the battlefield, as the gunpowder inside the cane exploded into multiple fragments, some striking deep into Talinn’s arm and face, others flying into Ulog’s mouth, as it set the hard blue forward and upward into the wolf’s brain, a miniature cannon blast. It pierced through his skull, embedding itself deep in the brain. And, with that, Ulog collapsed, rolling over to the side with one final, unnatural twitch.

Talinn withdrew his limp arm, shattered and filled with shrapnel, from the wolf’s mouth, and then glanced up at the sky. The storm above had broken, and the pale sun shined down upon him in a soft, warm rays. He closed his eyes, focusing on that warmth instead of the fire coursing through every part of his body as he slipped into unconsciousness...or possibly deeper...the last thought he had being of Dusk and his four kits together in the secret inner garden of Storm’s Peak.

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

Just like that, the spinning top that was the world stopped. The white sun filtering through the breaking cloud cover dappled the fur of the young stoat lying motionless against the snowdrift where he had fallen. The air glistened where a faint exhaled breath rose from his slack muzzle.

Gyles blinked back a combination of wolf-gore and wood and bone fragments. Ears singing with the echo of the sudden blast that had ended Ulog, his unhurt paw instinctively searched until it grasped his rapier handle where it had been hurled before, then he heaved himself up, using the bladepoint in the frozen earth for balance.

He was alive.
Brull and the two captives were alive - somewhere. He didn't know if the medic had made it.

Macallish...Macallish was no more, he knew that. She'd saved his life. He choked on the lump forming in his throat, forced it down. Good old Macallish. True to the death.
His own words to Shorris came back to him, taunting. "Nobeast's dyin' here today."
His thoughts materialized as a painful whisper, scarcely recognizable as his own as he forced his eyes to dwell on the bloodied spear, the last testament to the gruff motherly sergeant's life. Tears flowed hot on his fur as he knelt and traced the haft with a paw. "This wasn't your end." He shook his head, trying to make sense of the senseless. "Allish, I'm sorry."


His ear twitched suddenly. If Macallish had failed, who had...?
Talinn. Of course.
Talinn lay in a heap, silent as the grave, beside the great hulking corpse of Ulog the Savage. Gyles could not contain a gasp that hurt his battered ribs on its way out as he rushed to the noble todd's side. Talinn was a shape of a fox with misshapen things beneath the surface - bones at angles they shouldn't be. Fur and flesh torn away. Matted with blood of the wolf; matted with blood of Talinn's own. Brull was already crouched beside the Duke. "Say somethin', yer Exc'llence, come on...d-don't die!" His eyes brimmed with loyal tears. "Yosha. Ye got ter 'elp the Minnisser!"
Gyles stared numbly at the humble form and instantly felt the sting of regret. Much had happened since then, but he was reminded of how he had judged Talinn when Vihma had gone overboard into the icy waves on his direction. More than anything, he knew now that Talinn was challenging her then, not condemning her to die. Talinn challenged his creatures to be better versions of themselves because he challenged himself to the same standards. Anything he put them through, he put himself through, and more. He had proven that here. Perhaps he had paid the final price to prove that.
He had done his duty for the Imperium. Billy and Shorris were gone with the idol safely in paw, secured for the future of all creatures in their nation, from Vulpinsula to Eastisle. For the two convicts, there was nowhere else to go but the shore camp and the Golden Hide where the Duke's promised clemency awaited.

Gyles leaned in and drew the dagger again. Brull's eyes widened.
He gingerly held the blade above Talinn's mouth, watching for telltale fog on the mirror steel.
Come on. Just one breath.

 

[Talinn Ryalor]

The Duke of Westisle remained motionless, but the steel fogged up with the barest of breaths, if coming in fits and starts. The todd was alive, somehow, likely due to the effects of Lecur Ferro, otherwise known as the “blue stuff”. That would not, however, be for long, the analgesic and pain-numbing abilities were only temporary, after all. If he were to survive, they would need to bandage what they could here-and hope that Barrett could work some magic.

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

He was alive. Against the Devil's best attempt to collect on what could only be an extensive laundry list, somehow, Talinn remained among the living. Battered, yes, in body. If the wounding cut as deep as the spirit remained to be seen.

Gyles and Brull pulled themselves aside in unison for Yosha the medic to do makeshift field repairs - not medical care, hardly apt, the word - measures, rather, to hold the grievous injuries together into something resembling the Minister of Innovation before the Devil could have the last laugh. Before the quick-spilling sand in his timeglass ran out.

Yosha needn't put any of that in words: Gyles and the solitary ferret knew urgency when they saw it. Gone like flash summer rain were the tears from Gyles' red-rimmed eyes. Room for steel resolve alone remained. He stood arrow-straight, paws clasped firmly behind his back, ocean greys staring grimly southward where thin smoke trails streaked the bleak Northern sky, signalling catastrophe.

Then he marched to the lifeless form of Ulog, picked up Duty's Burden where the katana still lay beside its enemy. Yes, it would be Duty's Burden that did this act.
He studied the wolf for a moment. So, this's your god, eh.
He felt the intricate weave of the wrapped handle, traced the wavy zig-zag of the layered Auldarian blade with a thumb along the flat. Then he wordlessly raised Duty's Burden high and brought it down with deft power on Ulog's neck. The great head was cleanly severed from the body in a single blow.

Brull watched with a look of disgust and satisfaction as the stoat officer hefted the shaggy mess aloft, then bagged it in a ragged cloak left by one of the slain unfortunates. "Insurance, you know."

"He's stable," Yosha said finally, dusting off her paws in satisfaction with her work. "But not long fer this world without powers I don't 'ave, I fear. I'm no Doctor. This one needs Arthur Barrett's paw."
Gyles tossed the sacked head to Brull, who caught it and slung it from his shouldered spearhaft like a wayfarer's affects.

"To the shore, then." He took one last look about him and his features darkened. "Deuce knows our welcome's long been spent."