The vicious tribe of the Taurerosa forest, men of bloodlust and cannibalistic rituals. Intelligent beings were sacrificed to there gods, travellers taken from the muddy paths of the forest and murdered on a bloody altar. They swam in pools of human blood and had sexual intercourse with women like they were dogs, taking pride in the sadistic nature of there evil culture. When a baby was born, they cut off the mothers thumb and let the child suck the juicy flesh and drink the red blood until the bone was all that remained. The mother was left alone to stop her own wound while the baby was taken away to partake in a painful ritual that was performed by the medicine man. This was but one of the traditions the Taurerosa tribe practised, for it was all that they knew and everything they believed in. Situated in a remote area that was infrequently passed by adventurers, they lived relatively peacefully. No other tribe situated the area, which meant they did not have to worry about the troubles of war. The only battle they saw was between themselves, most of the time over a woman they wanted to have for the night. There was of course the battle for chieftaincy, which existed between the existing chief and a challenger who wanted to take the position of power. This meant that only the powerful could lead, and if you held power, you held respect.

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The shrieks of the forest wildlife were heard in the canopy as Nofurye Mando sat by his campfire, eating a bush rat he had charred on the burning fire. The skin was crispy as he bit into the juicy flesh, liquid dripping down his chin, and falling on the muddy ground below. This was the first thing he had since breakfast, and all that contained was a bowl of oats and a pitcher of sour milk. His hunger had taken hold and he decided to make camp early, under the trees a small way from the unkempt track he was travelling. The sun was still an hour away from sinking and the angel had regretted the early stop. This area of the forest creeped him out and the least time he had to spend in it the better. The strange noises of creatures he didn't want to see were making it worse, for it felt like they were watching him, waiting until he closed his eyes then coming out for the kill. These fears were understandable yet unrealistic, and Rye concluded that he would be safe under the tree of the Taurerosa.

The crickets started to chirp as the last of the light wisped away to nothing and the nocturnal creatures came out to feed. Rye was writing in his journal, after finishing off his third bush rat and feeling like he had eaten a horse. He put his mind off his surroundings and concentrated on the words that spilled out on the white page in front of him.

...I'm hoping to find the cave tomorrow, yet I am unsure. The track is becoming less traversable and soon there will be nothing to follow. I will have to use my own sense of direction, which is not the smartest idea. I'm still thinking about the stories I have read about a grotesque tribe situated here, yet those books were classified as fiction and I should not be afraid of crazy stories made up by drunken bards with no life. And if I am attacked by something, I can use my wings and get the hell out of this accursed place. The smell of the mud...

A wisp of wind blew through his camp, giving the holy angel chills down his spine. He knew that he would not be sleeping much tonight, and he didn't mind for he would be safe once he reached his destination. He was told that the people he was going to visit were very nice, and were rumoured to throw some of the best dinner parties. He couldn't wait to smell the piglet roasting on the spit, yet he couldn't take his mind off the task he was set out to accomplish. After he finished his entry, the angel decided to practice his swordsmanship. He wasn't very good with the blade, yet it was essential he learned the sacred art that would be an immense help in the future. He picked up his sheath that was lying with his backpack and slowly drew the longsword, the sing of steel making him feel safe amongst the sounds of screaming snakes and laughing gorillas. Dropping the sheath, he pivoted and struck the tree trunk behind him. Rye used so much force that he embedded the blade within the wood, jarring his wrist as he tried to pull it out.

"Son of Ita. Why must the mortal man persist on combat with pieces of metal."

The question was directed at the gods who would spite him, yet it was rhetorical so he didn't expect an answer. He inspected his wrist, seeing no injury and noticing the pain was temporary. Sometimes he thought that he tried too hard and needed to take it easy, yet his work wouldn't let him do such things. He was a lightbringer, and most bandits these days used bow and steel which was a pain in the ass for Nofurye. Of course he could attack from afar with his magic, but they always managed to find a way of getting close enough to hit him with there melee weapons. He then had to fly upwards, which was an extremely exhausting exercise. It was always up, attack with a magic missile which didn't always hit, and then fly away so he could attack some more yet that didn't last long for the enemy always seemed to get close enough to reach him with there swords.

The rustling of moving feet alerted Rye to the presence of others, which made him leave his sword embedded in the tree and flap his wings invigoratingly fast enough to get him airborne.

"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The sound of a screaming man almost made Rye lose his flight and fall to the ground, which would have been a mistake for five men came running out of the brush in different directions. They had him cornered, but luckily the old man had wings. He flew up into the tree before they could reach him, grabbing onto the branch and pulling himself up. Unfortunately for the angel, the crazy men had spears and one of them hit him right in the leg. A spasm of pain ran through his body as he hugged the branch, gagging with pain as he held on for dear life. He felt the poison running through his body, the paralysing effect taking hold as he slowly slipped from his place in the tree and fell towards the ground. The last thing he remembered was the loud thudding sound as his body rattled against the soft ground. He was done for, and he blamed it on the sword that had stupidly lodged itself in the tree.

The Taurerosa Rainforest. The damp armpit of Arda, and the bane of Nathaniel's existence. Everything was a swarming green here; even trees had blankets of coarse green crawling up the sides of them. Green vines, green grass, a green rooftop over head. What strangled light did pass through breaks in the trees was swallowed by the green, turning it a hue of green and making anything that wasn't green already glow in that sickly colour.

Oh, he had not always hated green, of course. There was a time he liked it just as much as any other colour; reds, blues, yellows -- his comprehension of a difference had been lacking. He knew that visually some colours looked better with others, but there was no affinity to one hue. Unlike what some would gladly claim, he did not favor crimson red over a peaceful sky blue. In fact, blood was just as disgusting as this place as far as he was concerned. It stained, it practically splashed everywhere, and worse it had a tendency to get in between plates of armor and rest the metal. No, he far rather kill a man swiftly and in as few blows as possible. Swordplay was an art, and to disgrace it was to reduce one's self to nothing more than a mere brute in a bar brawl.

But back on topic! The green. So much green, and so much filtered light turning that shade. Many times he had thought the ground was grass, then stepped forth only to find himself knee deep in a sludge like mud. It was absolutely infuriating, made worse by the fact he'd not expected the drop and tended to land heavy on his ankles. Cursing was kept to a minimum lest some sentient tree branch decide to devour him for being rude, and constantly was he tense so as to minimize the amount of surprises hitting him. There were buzzing insects he had to swing at (more than a few bigger than his palm, which led to splatting them and getting doused in thick green slime that could only be compared to mucus). More than a few times he'd had to wipe his eyes with the back of his arm, then wipe that on the side of a tree like some child without kleenex.

And why? Why was he out here, being tortured in ways that would make him confess any crime at the promise of a warm fire and a pint of ale?

A rumor, naturally. Someone had said that there was a two-headed warthog out in these parts, with horns as thick as a man's leg, a tail that was actually a living snake, and front legs ending in lion's paws instead of hooves. They claimed it was as large as a bear, and supposedly it had been coming out at night, chewing on whatever cattle (or farmer) it could find in its hunt. A few archers had been sent out to kill it, but they hadn't returned. A tracker, a swordsman, a hunter, and a few odd ones; a barber, a barmaid and a blacksmith, had all headed off to kill the mighty beast and bring its head back. Naturally it had killed all it encountered, only a few men escaping by the dark shroud of night, catching sight of the beast by the glint of night and fleeing.

Truly, this was feeling like a fool's errand. Nathaniel had seen a few pig tracks, but nothing that was coupled with lion's paws. The ones he'd thought might be it had led to small piglets that had simply taken a trail once crossed by other creatures. He didn't even attempt to follow the ones without any sign of hooves; he was no moron and would not face a lion without reason. They were dangerous beasts, with sharp claws and sharper wits. Tired as he was from traversing this wood, he stood no chance against a lion unless he got the jump on it.

Which made one wonder how he possibly thought he might take on a bear-sized warthog, armed with a venomous (it must be venomous, after all; that was how those legends went) snake to protect its rear and bull horns to protect its front. However, being of noble heritage he was able to join his brother on hunting trips, to a secluded area set only for those of decent descent. He was able to observe how to battle the wild hogs, wolves and even bears, his young mind greedily drinking in the knowledge. Now, as a man, he was confident in his skills. He knew that all he needed was a sturdy tree to climb up so that when the beast drew near he could jump down and drive his blade through it. Given enough time he could even make a noose from vines, strangling the animal instead. A much more effective means, and one that would put him in less contact.

Then again, how was Nathaniel to noose both heads? Perhaps if the branches were wide enough he would sling a vine over it, and try to guide with the other one. Yes, that would kill it. Normally he was used to simple creatures, such as deer, but this beast was no different. At first as a child he had thought such tactics brutal, like many children feeling an affinity for something so soft and furry. Quickly he learned to abandon such thought though, and it was good. Many years of training and come to this honed moment. He would perform flawlessly and without second thought. Then he could bring the body back to the Wilwarin, mount the head and get paid in lavish riches.

Yes, Nathaniel needed riches. Decent wages were passed between greasy palms, but it was nothing like the fortune he had when the family name still held grace and meaning. Not allowing a smile to betray his positive attitude, he let his mind consider what he might buy with such riches. Weapons, and armour, no doubt. Perhaps hire a small army, or buy off those foolish council nobles. Perhaps he could do both! If he sold the snake's venom to one buyr, the teeth to another and the body to yet another, he could make good pay on just the tail! The horns would not doubt go for much, and--

"HOOOOOOOLLLLLAAAAA!!!!! Wicked fast he dropped down in the sludge, his knees touching slimy earth and the brown muck rising just above his shoulders. With twigs (among other things) poking out of the water, he was more or less hard to spot unless someone was looking directly for him. It was good, as it gave him time to think. The shout, had it been from behind him? No, surely he would have heard someone moving through the thick muck. Still, something told him it was somewhere behind him and to his left. Before he could decide whether or not to investigate he heard a great number of whoops and hoots go up, no doubt a group of people. Out of eye range, he knew not what they were doing. He was just as happy that way, too. Perhaps he'd get lucky, the giant warthog would devour them and save him the trouble of trying to hunt it down.

THUP. The winded noise sounded exactly like something falling, about the size of a cougar or perhaps an over grown wolf.

Perhaps it was the beast! His mind screamed, though he silenced such thoughts quickly. That was preposterous-- it was far too large for such a noise! No, the creature would make an earth-shattering boom, the ground quaking when it fell. Still, his curiosity had been piqued. Perhaps they were other hunters, intending to lure it out with bait? Or simple travelers, unaware of the danger this place presented. Normally he would have left such idiots to their fate, but the chance the beats would show itself was too great. Nathaniel would need to follow them, and when the beast had slaked its appetite on bone and flesh he would strike. It was well known that a full beast was sluggish and slow, unable to put up nearly as much fight as it did when on the prowl.

As soon as the hooting dimmed and he thought he heard footfalls retreating he moved through the sludge, his pace slow as he waded through it. Noise was minimum, mostly swallowed by boisterous frogs and cawing birds. Not long after had he slipped from the mud, slowly easing his blade from its sheath. Bending at the knees and somewhat slouched he began to follow, a good enough distance away not to see them but not so far as he couldn't hear them at all. Constantly he kept to the trees and bushes, eyes ever wary for the old traps of hunters and even the lingering ones of Wurzag, the Judge. Getting snared now would promise a most horrid fate. It wasn't something he would be able to handle, not if he was to remain unseen and sneak up on the mighty predator. Boar King... a fitting enough name for his prey. Until he came up with a new one, at least.

Stupid LaPlace...

She'd given up trying to read his custom-made map in the dark. And considering how well it'd proven already, she probably had a better time of going the right way by trying to read it now than in broad daylight. Not that the sun ever hit the floor of the jungle in any real strength, but there was always that ambient light about. Now pale moonlight was non-existent, giving her slightly accelerated vision an impossible task of seeing in this vegetative hellhole. Taking the inability to see more than ten feet in front of her and hearing some sounds of big-game predators in the distance, she'd chosen to try and scale a tree to get up off the ground and into some form of safety.

It was gnarled tree, twisted with age and the hardships that come with it. Disease, animal-scrapings, insect infestations and other unpleasant occurrences. Parasitic vegetation in the form of vines gave her a small measure of comfort as she crawled up, hauling herself by making use of the twisted branches. They didn't favor the vine's capacity to support their weight safely enough to use it as a makeshift rope. Her boots and a good portion of her leggings and cloak were positively filthy now, and trying to wash them off in a stream or river was just asking to get attack by carnivorous fish or get ambushed by a large cat or something. Now that they thought about, Nature was just as bad as Life.

Out here by herself, without even LaPlace or Robyn, was starting to wear on their nerves. For the past day they would've sworn there'd been a small party of elves tracking them in the distance. The occasional breeze, caught when the trees broke out into a clear blue sky, carried the stink of their kind. It might all be worth it though, the treacherous journey, the loss of their expedition, even the possibility of death. They were the closest to laying their hands on the sarcophagus. The only real issue being the lack of men under her command due to attrition, and that the temple-city hadn't been located yet.

Pausing in the tree-climbing she wrapped her head softly against the tree trunk while muttering the chant LaPlace had taught her. And behold, it's grip on her still worked and they felt a sense of calm come over them as their objective became clear again.

They were in fact after an artifact in a fabled city, but it was supposedly a grail of some sort. Not the coffin to a hideously ancient lich.And she'd been by herself the entire time, not at the head of a company-strength expedition. However she'd yet to find the burial grounds LaPlace had been "directing" them to via the map. So at the moment they were fairly lost in, isolated in, and surrounded by the jungle.

There was a slight whirring noise in the air that kept getting louder as she climbed higher, and a slight vibration. Generally things like that weren't good, regardless of where you were. Generally speaking of course. Looking up a squinting, Triella shivered for a second. Only four or so feet away was a mildly active hive of bee-like creatures. Bee-like in that they were probably each six or so inches long and inhabited a hive where she, and four others, could stand up without being too crowded. And seeing as she lacked virtually every kind of flame-based weaponry, engaging them would lead to suicide.

And fire attracted bigger predators as well.

Carefully and slowly, they started to back-pedal climb, and it was going well, they were only eight feet from the ground. And that's when her foot caught a vine. stupidly they jerked it, thinking she'd caught a small crevice, this only yanked the vine, which happened to have been cemented into the hive. Thus leading to a rattling motion in their home. Feeling the angry buzz, more so than hearing, they jumped the small distance and crashed to the moist floor with a thump. Ignoring the slight throb in her knees and feet at the impact, they rose up and started into a stride, desperate to distance herself from the giant insects who were slowly taking flight to investigate who attacked their home. So long as she got away in time there wouldn't be any danger.

From them at least.

Beating feet through the rain forest in daytime isn't a good idea, doing it at nighttime is much like suicide. Fear removes logical thinking for the most part, especially if you've been in this place all alone for almost a week now. And Fate it seemed, was quite ready to punish Triella for lacking the foresight to bring along others or research the rain forest before coming to it. As the dirt beneath her gave way, all motion stopped as they became terrified the world crafted by madness had slipped away, only to be replaced by fathomless pits of despair.

They felt dirt under their hands and fingernails as they clawed desperately at the sides, begging for purchase, but finding none. then they hit bottom and there was a tearing noise before they lost the ability to hear from the overwhelming noise of her heartbeat. Looking down, she could hardly even see the glimmer from a liquid.

The sharp ache in her calf and the warm sensation she felt there told her exactly what it was and what'd happened. there was an odd tingling sensation that seemed to numb the pain though, gently reaching out she touched whatever had impaled her before pulling back her hand. It was coated with a dark-colored substance of a foul-smelling nature.

Poison?

Then whatever it was took effect, like the blood that was pumping to her heart became loaded with holy water. It set her nerves ablaze and she seized up, twisting in agony, only making her injury worse. and for the first time, in a long time, Triella felt ashamed as she let out an animalsitic scream off fear and pain.

Big mistake, hunters were also attracted by sounds of weakness.

[OOC: We can just assume zee tribesmen grab Triella if you wish to move it along. Otherwise my second post will be collection, transport and delivery of her to the village o.o]

Nofurye opened his eyes, an immediate feeling of pain washing over his body. He had been stabbed in the leg with a spear and had fallen from a tree that was several metres from the ground. That was discounting the number of things that could have happened while he was unconscious, his whole body covered in mud from being dragged across the forest floor and blood dripping from savage cuts that he could not feel. His wrists were raw from the rope that his hands were tied with, the thick cord slung over a log placed directly above him. His fingers had lost all circulation, the tight rope causing them to go a purple black colour. But this didn't matter to Rye, for the first thing he thought when he awoke was that he had to get out of there. He was in extreme danger and he didn't know what would be done to him. The thought of the stories told of travellers being taken and eaten for dinner filled his muddled brain, scaring the holy angel as he realised those stories were not made up.

As he struggled to get free, he realised his feet were also tied with rope, weighed down with a large rock that would stop him from taking flight, which would have enabled him to take pressure from his hands. They had probably dealt with an angel before and unfortunately made the mistake of not realising he could fly. They wanted to make sure that this didn't happen again, the rock too heavy to lift by himself. So he struggled for awhile longer, taking no note of the dim objects surrounding him. It was still dark, yet the sun wasn't far from rising which meant that he had been unconscious for atleast eight hours or so. The poison was extremely powerful for it had taken him out straight away. There must have been a certain plant used in the alchemical formula, something dangerous that would have been extremely useful for hunting game. And Nofurye had the unfortunate feeling that he was the game, hunted down and slung in a stuffy hut waiting to be carved up. Then again, they may use him for a sacrifice, which would be much better than being eaten.

The heavy smell of dead meat filled his nostrils, the angel throwing up all over himself. The bushrats he had for dinner obviously hadn't digested well, the chunky substance sliding down his dirty robe, mixing with the mud. It felt like there was a musical troupe playing in his head, the thumping beat causing extreme pain. After a minute of trying to free himself by shifting his weight back and forth, he tried to think of other ways he could get free. He realised that he was magically talented, and thought that a magic missile was more than enough to break through the rope. He whispered the words, just incase there was someone outside. He knew that he had sparse time to escape for they would either kill him in the morning or give him another dose of the paralysing poison.

"Magic missile"

He placed his hand on the hanging rope, the numbness of his wrist making the task both difficult and painful. When nothing happened, he thought that he didn't say the spell loud enough.

"Magic missile"

This time he said it louder, yet it didn't work. What was happening! This had never happened to him before, the angel being an experienced spellcaster that was more than able to cast a simple magic missile. He tried to keep his emotion inside, for he felt like screaming in defeat. Yet that would be stupid and he was too old for stupidity. The fact of the matter was that they had obviously restrained him from casting magic. There was either an anti-magic effect in the poison; a spell that had disabled his abilities cast by the tribe shaman or other things that did not matter for the fact was that Rye could not use magic to escape.

He was hanging about half a metre from the ground, so he didn't have a chance in hell of reaching it with his feet. What was he supposed to do? He had calmed down a bit and he started thinking more rationally. What was he working with? The holy angel looked around, his eyes accustomed to the darkness. There were corpses hanging around him in much the same way as him, some of them skinned and some of them not, yet there was an extreme smell of rotting meat that was nothing normal. He couldn't distinguish one corpse from the next, yet one of them looked different from the rest.

Is that a person?

He couldn't single out specific features for the only light was coming from the moon which was coming through certain cracks in the infrastructure of the wooden hut, yet it appeared one of the corpses had there arms tied much like his and two legs which were dangling freely below. But the question was if she was dead or alive. The hope of this person having been poisoned the same way as himself bought him a little happiness, yet there was no way of telling if this person was unconscious or plainly dead. Rye did not want to say anything for a whisper would not be heard, and besides how was a girl in the same situation as himself going to help him escape? Not unless she was a master at freeing herself from restraints, which would be a gift from Lothlomendil herself. But that was a one in a million chance so the angel didn't like his options. For now, he had to keep trying to swing himself out of the rope, which he knew would not work. Even though, he had no other choice. Not unless he could use the surrounding corpses to his advantage. Maybe he could kick off one and grab onto the log above with his arms, yet he wouldn't get enough air from a swinging corpse for it would swing more than he would. All he could do was wait for his fate to roll out infront of him, but he knew that the day would be hard fought and rest would come either when he was free or when he was dead.

Nathaniel had followed the hunters as they dragged their prey back, traversing the rainforest as he followed. A childish glee had settled in him, enjoying the hunt (as primitive as it may be). His eyes were constantly scanning for traps or drops into water, and he was careful to use trees and ledges when he could so that he would maintain high ground. It was important to keep a quarry in sight when you were hunting in a place as large and crowded as this; just letting them escape his vision once would be enough for them to permanently disappear.

Velvet greens gave way to memory though, and every step he took was full of thought. He blinked off the memories that threatened to surge, casting them away as if they were rubbish. Long ago, when he'd been a young lad, he'd happily trotted along with his father and older brother. Back then he had been naive, seduced by a world of colour and noise. Everything was beautiful, breath-taking in its own right. Nathaniel's bright eyes had been wide and warm, and though he wasn't overtly nice there was never malice to his step nor disdain in his frown. Wrapped in a world of butterflies and fairy tales, he'd had no notion of such feelings. Befitting a young boy of his age and upbringing, really.

It was in this world that he'd been brought along to hunt deer, elk, and even carribou. It was a special forest, one owned only by nobles and absolutely forbidden to those of lesser titles. There life flourished, and the chattering of birds to passing squirrels was a constant. Nathaniel had not enjoyed watching his brother fire an arrow into the flawless pelt of a doe, nor had he felt any enjoyment when his father yelled, "C'mon, boy!" as the two raced after the deer. A young child unaccustomed to hunger had no knowledge of death, and all he knew was that something furry and warm was being hunted down and killed. Nathaniel was his mother's child, and hadn't been an overly masculine boy growing up.

Then again, the more he was brought on the hunt the more he grew to accept it, eventually realizing that these beasts were mere tools of humans; to be played with and broken as the child saw fit. Oh, even today he wouldn't torture an animal needlessly, he wouldn't be so gruesome to any living thing. However, if a benefit were to be gleaned from it he'd perform the task dillgently. Perhaps some small part of him thought he could impress his father by becoming like this, even though the old fool had long since passed on.

Stop! Every muscle and limb halted, his body going still. It seemed that thinking over such things had led him right to the hunters, and they were now in plain view. They stepped slowly, and like some great jungle cat Nathaniel followed smoothly. His muscles rippled as he followed, moving through brush and between trees to remain unspotted. This chase felt just as long as the previous one, but eventually the trees shrunk down to reveal a hutted village. Homes, made of mud bricks, with thick thatching as a roof. From his angle (crouched down in a bush) he couldn't make out a great deal of the village -- only knew it spanned much farther than he could see. This seemed to be the back portion of the village.

There! A large hut, grand in size. It could have easily served as a butcher's shop back in Lomedor, and instead of muddy bricks it had slender, pointed sticks to compose the walls. The thatching was heavy, but a hole in one area suggested that fires might be started within. Nathaniel watched silently as they dragged the being in -- the one he'd been trailing, the one who almost looked human but not quite. An angel! I did this for an angel?? I should let the cretin die! It was difficult, not to leave the winged one to his fate. But having traveled so far, he wasn't certain he could retrace his steps.

So, what? Would he free the angel, hope it decided to help him in return? It seemed like a foolish concept. Still, he had the whole night to sit and stew over it; the guards at the hut didn't look like they'd be leaving any time soon.

Hunkering down, Nathaniel peered through the brush. He would make a move when the coast was clear, and the guards had moved on. As silent as the dead he sat, oblivious to the lurking danger of the woods or even what the hut held. He didn't miss the passing of a woman into the place though, one of whom lacked wings. She was reason to stay, if the angel was not.

~.~.~

Nathaniel jerked away to the haunting call of a morning bird, the shriek a warning of the approaching dawn. Tiredly he rubbed his eyes, shifting to sit up. He must have fallen asleep in the bush, and the distance protected him (or perhaps the fact they already had meat was enough to leave more possible prey alone). His hair pointed in every which way, and his mouth felt dry. What was he even doing here again?

A man coughed, and he looked out to see the large hut. Ah, yes. That was right. Where were the guards, though? There didn't appear to be anyone around the hut, or even wandering the village. Had they been scared off?

With the alertness of a doe he crept from his hiding place to crouch behind what he had thought was a pile of garbage. His quick ejection of his last meal was caused when he realized it was not. The foul taste of rotting flesh was in the air, and these things were the muscle and bone remains of those this village had dined on.

What if the two he'd followed were in this pile?

Turning his face into his shoulder so that he could keep gagging to a minimum, he began to sift through the bodies, feeling for wings. At one point a hand clasped his, and he nearly cried out in fright. However, the spastic nerves finished their death throes and he was released, the body it belonging to once more dead.

After some time he came to realize these sacks of flesh were not angels. Whether the girl he'd seen was in here or not was unknown, though he had to at least attempt seeing if she lived yet.

Maneuvering carefully from the bodies once more, he moved to the large hut. The wooden sticks were branches, and not properly sheered. Jutted growths and minor twigs extended, so that he could find some form of grip and climb the side of the hut. To his shock the thing didn't so much as groan from his weight; either reinforced or of a very, very powerful make.

People! Nathaniel heard them before he saw them, and quickly he scuttled up the last bit of the hut. The thatching, also reinforced with a wooden frame under it, held his weight comfortably. How could it not? It was designed to hang many corpses from, so had to be sturdy.

Glancing down, he examined what he could of 'the enemy'. Tanned skin from working in the bright sun, with ebony markings and white face paint. He couldn't see their faces well in the darkness, the paint only showing up because of the dark environment. They looked human though, and that was good. It meant he stood a chance.

Moving once more he slithered up the hut, glancing down into the hole. The sight nearly made him retch again, but thankfully his stomach had been emptied of its contents previously. The stench alone was unbearable, and from what he could see, the fate inside wasn't much better than the one out here. Damn.. they're probably dead already.

Their wasn't much of a struggle. They had rapidly found their limbs growing heavy and awkward with everypassing heartbeat, the liquid-fire pushing through her body with the inability to move. They started panicking when it seemed inevitable they'd cease breathing, even though it'd ease the agony a little. That never came, but a small group of "wraiths" did. They were hauled out of the hole like nothing more than another piece of game, which for all intents and purposes humans were just that. Soon after their body shut itself down to relieve her stressed psyche of the pain, if only temporarily.

The poison coursing through her veins had impacted them far worse than it had Nofurye. Whether it was because of his inhuman form, or her mild demonic taint would only be known to the savages, and even they might not understand how it works, only that it does. This was a little beyond the scale of her thoughts at the moment, they were more so concerned about the perpetual darkness and the frightening cold feeling from her upper arms. The shoulder blades ached worse than anything, which would indicate something being torn or dislocated. Which was fairly bad in any situation.

With, in her current situation, a herculean effort they managed to crack open the dirt stained eyes that, if observed closely, a bit red from the tears before. they couldn't see out of the left eye. It didn't feel like it was opening all the way, and judging from how warm it felt it was bruised over pretty well. They were looking through the slight partings in her brown hair that had become matted with sweat, dirt and blood. There was...a winged being flailing across from her, with little success it seemed. Was it an angel? Or just some freak of nature?

They weren't bothered by the nature of the larder, they actually kept a smaller scaled version of this in Lomedor for Robyn. It wasn't good to let an undead creature go hungry, especially with the mentality and capabilities of Robyn. Not that they were afraid for their own life, just that it would put Robyn in danger, which was not acceptable.

Tugging at her own wrists, and biting her tongue as a fresh burn of pain rolled down her back, they guessed that their hands were bound similar to the angelic creature's. Swallowing the salty copper flavored taste that was in her mouth, they did notice that there wasn't a rock holding her down. Not that it mattered, she was quite incapable of serious movement at the moment. A feral-looking grin came across her face, their blood-stained teeth and slight dribble of her own blood coming from over her lips made her seem quite at home in a place like this.

Not here though, but in a place where the laws of man fell apart and it was quite literally kill-or-be-killed. They weren't the strongest predator or the most cunning, as evidenced by her current state, but cut her down and flush her system and they wagered a dozen others would be taken to Hel screaming with them.

All the guessing and enjoyable fantasies of butchery weren't going to solve this situation. The angel was their only current key out of here. So it was best to make her state known, with what though? It was so...awkward.

So the only thing she could think of came out in a cracked, low-pitched tone that ached her throat from the damage she'd done by screaming a bit earlier, "Hello..."