The hunter's hunger, the prey's demise, the power flood his veins, the hunt continues
The Hunter

Message posté par skekMal le 20 Oct 2020

He observed skekSo more often than the Emperor could even guess. Most often, the ruler has seen him only when he revealed himself. The days in the forest passed slowly, animals were protecting their cubs this season and he didn’t mean to interfere. He will wait till they grow up and become worthy prey, no honor in pursuing a mother with her children.

But skekSo was always an interesting observation subject. Head always high, feathers crowning his face like a spiked tiara. The court members were coming and going, supplying, and demanding. And he herded them like nebries until they were doing what he wanted. What they should be doing.

But when he was alone and that was most often when skekMal was most curious to observe him, he was shedding the skin of a mighty ruler.  That was skekSo only skekMal knew. Tired, almost destroyed by responsibility and angry, very angry.

Most skeksis would never believe it, maybe only the angry part, but the Hunter knew that either of these faces are true one, it was duality they all had, despite being already halves.

skekSo was most dual of all of them.

The powerful Emperor at day. A tired shepherd at night.

The Hunter’s eyes were piercing the candle-lit chamber, when skekSo was massaging his own forehead, trying to get rid of the pain.

He allowed the Emperor to hear him and when skekSo turned back, he just disappeared.

Another time.

It was a promise.

He would never confront him when he was not ready.

skekSo, apart of skekSa, who wasn’t part of all of this anymore, was the only skeksis in the court, that skekMal had some respect for.

Another time. Hunt your nightmares, Emperor, with head high, just as you confront the reality.

Just as I confront mine.

Message posté par skekMal le 13 Oct 2020

The gelfling were indifferent to him as a prey.

There were tales that he especially likes to capture the reckless Stonewood, who got too far into the woods, kill them and eat their flesh to satiate his endless hunger for prey’s meat.

That was amusing.

Gelfling were unworthy prey and he killed them only, if they get in a way into hunt on something bigger and more intimidating. His skill as hunter would be insulted if he especially followed, tracked and killed a gelfling.

But that was good they feared him. They won’t be meddling in his pursuits.

He liked few gelfling in his life. These were not afraid of him, at least not when he allowed them to know him. When he allowed them to live and see that he won’t send them forth and follow them for sport, to later devour them. Though they believed that for quite long at the beginning.

Gelfling weren’t as stupid as the castle dwellers imagined. They were naive in some way that he couldn’t deny but could guess much more than skekVar or skekSo could expect. They didn’t have sharp skeksis senses, talons and fangs. They had much less to use. Yes there were hunters among them and he knew they aren’t weak, scared and clumsy. In comparison to him, much weaker, like childlings. but they had something, this energy of youth, that he liked observing, from afar, when they killed prey, fought for life or died in the claws and jaws.

Still, the tales of himself amused him, even if at the beginning, when he was young, insulted in some way.

Now he was wiser enough to use them for his own benefit.

Message posté par skekMal le 17 Sep 2020

He never knew what went wrong. His face gained a raw scar, a cut of talons that almost severed right half of his face. He didn’t care for how this looks. He would even wear it with pride, as all scars on his body.

But others would see and know, yes, know, he can be beaten, torn, and his flesh destroyed. He didn’t fight for reputation  being a shadow and death, to show the gelfling and especially skeksis, mostly other skeksis, that he can be vulnerable.

So he killed the beast. His size, his strength, all matched his own.

Took one trophy only, a skull. And put it on the face, on the scar and it fit, like he swallowed not only the strength of that animal with its meat but its being.

Many trines later, the gelfling will be talking about masked ghost, killing the reckless fools at night and leaving bones of animals, taking some as a trophy, the rest allowing to return to Thra and become one with earth. It will please him.

But now, first time in his short, hundred-trine life, he really absorbed the soul  of a slain beast. He didn’t know if this happens again. But it was good feeling.

Message posté par skekMal le 13 Sep 2020

His opposite. His enemy. His friend. His lover. And his undoing if he ever chooses that.

He never ever tried to solve the mystery that was his counterpart. He never tried, not really hard, only sometimes was giving this a few thoughts, to abandon them, as unable to explain. He never knew if he can call him a foe or the only person that truly understood him. Even when they were sharing bodies. This was act of self love, which suited him. After all, he was as selfish as skeksis could be. Self love was only kind of real love he would admit he could feel to anyone.

urVa was patient. Not as patient as other urru. He had wild streak which fascinated skekMal, because he felt that he himself had some sentimental part too. There was a thick mental rope between them they shared and which was binding them together with a vine which couldn’t be cut.

Sometimes he thought that this sentimental side was implanted in him by urVa himself. Sharing hunts, sharing tales, sharing everything, when they rarely met – it all made him different. He was sure that the same happened with urVa – he became wilder, more reckless.

Dare and calm mixed together into something that once was a one creature and never – if skekMal had a word in that – will exist again.  The mere thought of being someone else than the Hunter, was repulsing to him.

They both shared one more love. Love for life. Curiosity for life and the will to explore, travel, tear the last drop of existence from Thra and absorb it themselves. urVa would not admit it but skekMal knew. He was observant and patient.

Why his enemy, his friend, his lover, his opposite, was the only one who could be his undoing? Why he had a string of certainty that urVa, even if loved him, could put Thra before him and himself?

But skekMal never wanted to destroy Thra. This was his land, his blood, his root and bone. And they both walked the same paths, sometimes in the same unum, knowing that the other was there too.

And smiling bitterly at that. Soon. We will meet soon. And we won’t talk about anything but us.

Message posté par skekMal le 28 Aug 2020

There were rites at the beginning of time when he was still very young and his body still not as tested by battles and hunts and age, not scarred, not hard as leather. He was more naive, purer, and definitely more stupid.

He was thinking them up himself, leading parties of the hunting skeksis, who were as well young, and naive and very very stupid. Even more than himself, he thought.

Their bodies were bending in an ecstatic dance of the prosperity and when the hunt came well, they were taking even more wild approach, to appease Thra. To appease themselves, to assure themselves that Thra wants them.

Now, the rites were gone and the hunt started to be a rite of its own. He had his habits, yes. But he never danced at night anymore, never squirmed between starts, not now.

Now, he was silent, deadly, and focused and if he ever did any rite, did any honor to Thra, it was never before or after the hunt.

He was silent facing the days of youth. He wanted to forget them. Not because he was so very very stupid back then. Not because the other skeksis became even more stupid as the trines went on.

Because it – deep down in his soul – was too painful to think about. He had secrets, which never see the daylight. These secrets will disperse one day during the next and next hunt. It was his own ritual of survival and the way to forget the things that never should be seen by a living being.

He wanted to feed on life, on fresh prey. Not the ghosts that inhabited his soul every time he got lost in memories.

One day. One day he ventures onto these paths and deals with them.

But not today.

Message posté par skekMal le 27 Aug 2020

The hunt never ends. But after a rough battle, the blinking stars over his head seemed blurred and the forest denser. The shadows were creeping around him as they felt blood on him. And there it was, a lot of blood, trickling, and pooling from his wounded flank and leg, like a stream of rubies. 

skekMal’s tired hand laid on the dead animal’s corpse, which he eventually slew. But not without costs. Each hunt could be his last, he knew that, but even if he was prepared, he didn’t  w a n t  that. He liked to live, conquer his limits, each day, from morning til night filled with lumimnescent light of Thra.

His gaze landed on the sharp jagged wound coming from his chest to his hip. A slight hiss escaped his beak. That was too easy. Too easily the animal wounded him. When he gets off this ordeal – and he was not sure, if he will, not at all – he will be more cautious. Last hunts made him feel invincible, and this one put him again on Thra’s surface. 

Curse it; he spat saliva, which was not mixed with blood. If he was wounded internally, it will be much more difficult to mend his hide.

But the animal was laying next to him, dead, very dead, and he was still alive. If he manages to move, he will go to his camp and mend himself.

He wouldn’t be skekMal, if he didn’t try.

He wouldn’t be a skeksis, if he didn’t want to win over death. One more time.

Message posté par skekMal le 28 Jul 2020

He never considered himself a guest. Not in this forest. Not in Crystal Desert. Not among the nature breathing the fresh air into its green lungs.

He surely wasn’t born here and his body won’t return to Thra, as it never came from it.

But he was never a guest. He was part of Thra since his first day, when he was travelling whole day, searching for his first prey.

Maybe his blood never belonged here, maybe the soil would never accept it, when it soaks into the ground. But this land was his and no one would take that away from him, he was owner of it, as much as the other skeksis owned the castle, gelfling, power over the commons.

He didn’t even need to prove that. It was as natural as the circle of life, natural as strong taking over the weak, and natural as the predator claiming its meal.

Message posté par skekMal le 22 Jul 2020

He was proud, of everything that he was. It was not only typical skeksis pride, which was so tied to their kind, as the Dousan were tied to death. Skeksis were boasting over the power they had, feeling everything belongs to them, taking and taking and taking, never giving. And if something happened and they gave, it was never sincere.

His pride was never connected with who he was, when he was born, in the flash of light and screaming and terror. It was earned. It was based on hundreds of trines of proving his skill to himself, hard work over his traits, relentless pursue over being the one that was feared among the land, the shadow that eats the flesh, the ghastly apparition everyone knew about yet no one could say they know its true identity.

He was proud, because he had reason to. Not sniffing books, not partying till the legs were bending and world spinning, not using slaves or servants to do things for him, which he could easily do by his own.

Yes, his pride was coming from a source that was carved in his very being. Because he could engage into most deadly battle, most bloody fight, most dangerous hunt.

And always end up victorious.

Nothing as good as the thought, that he was the only skeksis that truly conquered death.

Message posté par skekMal le 08 Jul 2020

My territory mark the skulls of my prey.

Message posté par skekMal le 21 Jun 2020

He has never forgot the first hunt.

Never forgot the first bite of the prey he slew himself. The taste of blood on his tongue, sharp and intense scent of the animal, the way his teeth were sinking into the flesh.

He learnt to prepare his meat i the future, over the brimming fire.

But the taste of blood still lingered in his senses, the taste of youth and freedom. It would be foolish from him to not try it even now.

His fangs tore the morsel of freshly hunted makrak. It’s good. It’s natural. It’s HIM. Why change that?