Survival

[Chiangtao]

Vurk and these traveling companions had just defeated a small pack of the "fire shades," but his personal contributions had been minimal. He had nearly fallen many times, his old bones unable to dodge the terrible dark talons that sought his flesh. The few strikes he landed from his blade were simply absorbed--he did no more damage than had he tried to slice through water. He was outmatched.

So Vurk ran.

He ran hard, but not fast. It was not a bolt for the exit, nor a flight in terror. He made a conscious, cowardly decision to flee. He reached the cave exit, shifted form into a sparrow, and took flight.

Vurk deliberately avoided his usual eagle shape--he did not feel strong and courageous. There was shame in leaving, but he had always been a survivalist. The Frostmaiden knew this when she gave him his new life, long ago. Survive at any cost: this had always been Vurk.

He flew high and slow, taking his time. Memories washed over him, memories of his old life. As a young man, he was many things: a hunter, a shaman, a lover, and a father. He had been a man of his people, but always a man of himself. He shot game to eat, but also to profit. He healed the sick, but used his powers for political gain. He had loved once, but he left her when she could bring him no son. He had three daughters, but he sold them to neighboring tribes. Vurk had known shame all his life. He had taken the cowardly route many times. But always, he lived on.

Vurk flew low, down to the Cold Climb beneath. He found a quiet cliffside and built a small campfire. Just as quickly as it was lit, the cast an incantation of wind to put it out. Kossuth be damned, he thought. Vurk wrapped his cloak tight around his body, leaving his face to be kissed by the Frostmaiden's airy lips.

"Ah am no hero. Ya knew wha' ah was when ya took me. Ah kin only be th'man ah was barn to be, m'lard. Ah will'na throw m'life away in battles ah canna win. Ah reckon ah'll serve ya better livin than dyin. Please fergive meh, an' understand."

[Chiangtao]

Vurk's answer came on the back of a yak.

After his prayer, Vurk sought solitude. He shifted form and flew east, over the Gate and hugging the road. He watched caravans come and go, passing both ways along the pass to Sundren. The thought of giving them a "surprise from above" tickled his mind with a smile, but he would never act upon such impish thoughts. He did not want to be noticed right now. High above the ground, he was alone.

Miles down the road, something caught his eye: a reflective, prismatic glimmer. It was something large and reflective, but not quite smooth. The item bounced along, riding on the back of a pack animal.

Vurk scoffed to himself. The indignity of forced servitude--the pack animal deserved better. But it was not so long ago that he used beasts in such a way as well. He sighed. The sins of his own past would spare the caravan below from his wrath. He would relieve this animal of its burden in another way.

Vurk flew close into the woods. He landed on a low branch, then dove down to the earth, shifting back to his human form just yards ahead of the caravan. He stepped onto the road quietly, keeping his weapon hidden under his cloak. He waved the men down as the caravan neared.

"Blessed day," said Vurk the soft-spoken manner he had adopted in his old age. Truthfully, Vurk was not so old as he appeared, but this was the price he had paid for his second chance at life. "Reckon yall are merchants headin t'th'city?"

The men of the caravan paused, not sure what to make of Vurk. The fingered their weapons uneasily, but the leader replied: "Yep. We bring goods from far and wide, past the Great Desert from the Coldlands. Exigo will be expecting us, and we travel under their protection."

The implied warning did not go unnoticed to Vurk, but his purpose was not highway robbery. "That's quite a trip, ah reckon. Ah made it once m'self. Not an easy flight." He smiled to himself, seeing the men take a step back at the mention of flying. Subtle statements of power were understood among all people.

Vurk continued. "Reckon ah could make yer trip a bit lighter. Who's that thar shield fer?" Vurk pointed to the object: a shield, encased in some sort of magical ice. It sat upon two blankets, shielding the yak from its chilling touch.

"Ain't sure, but it's for sale if you want it. We picked it up in Vaasa. Fine craftsmanship--cold iron enchanted by the shamans of the Glacier," replied the merchant. He rambled on, explaining the fine work the smiths did back East. Vurk listened patiently, allowing the man to finish before making his offer.

"Reckon ah'd like t'buy it. Th'yak, too," said Vurk, once the man finished his sales pitch. A deal was struck, and the merchants unloaded the animal, leaving Vurk with the yak and the shield. They parted, exchanging pleasantries and good wishes.

Vurk led the yak into the woods. He removed the shield from its back and the blankets, stripping the animal down to only the natural fur with which it was born.

Civilization had breeded weakness into this thing, thought Vurk. The yak stood lazily, grazing from the foilage, with no care in the world, no fear for its life. He shook his head sadly--this was not a strong beast. The sheltered life it led in civility, under the protection of men, had bred out the instincts of survival.

Vurk shouldered the shield and said a quiet prayer. He shifted form yet again, taking the shape of a wolf. He was hungry, and the yak was not fit for anything in this world beyond a meal for the strong.

He howled, a calling to the woods for unseen brothers. He heard a response from a grey wolf, less then a mile away. He howled again, bringing the wolves to the feast. He waited quietly in the shadows for them to arrive. He always enjoyed a good meal. He paid tribute to his Lord, praying silently until the pack arrived...