Alright, since Narin is finished now I think I'm ready. I'd rather have first strike, if you don't mind, I don't feel much creative flow left after taking nearly two hours to write up a simple character.
A seed falls from above
nestling a burrow in Mother's womb,
from the grain of life, blossoms fortune
blossoms fortune
...fortune for whom?
Like thread through air, the sky split open. At first, chaos reigned as the fledging bore its way to a place deep inside, a place it could call home; but as surely as slowly, everything returned to silence. The ebbing waves returned to their course and swallowed the wound whole. Steam no longer smothered the sky, consumed the air or stifled life from existing. But this, in and of itself, took near ten centuries to complete. And in that time, the fledging stole from its mother the nutrition it required.
The roots dug down to the very center itself, resilient to the heat and pressure exuded by the massive, molten core; it tangled itself upon the life force of the very planet itself. And with its grip tightened, outward burst the stalk. Weaving its way through rock and soil, breaking way to the water-swollen surface of the planet above. No continents, no islands, merely water upon the whole face; and once the first drop of water clung to the barb of life, a chain-reaction stole through every molecule of water upon the planet. Racing out, each compound crystallized upon contact with another afflicted. Like a thick sludge, the currents and life forms were stunted to the motion of glass itself.
And in this only momentary process, within which the entirety of all was turned to a thick, defiled substance, the tree took to life as its main food source was supplied. From this planet, the parasite grew massive; near in size to even the mighty Yggdrasil, this voracious life form broke from the confines of the planet's gravitational pull hung heavily above the planet, lingering like an over-bearing tyrant, savoring its glory. Its branches hung down, veiling its mass from the surface like a weeping willow, while its fruits bore only spawn of its own kin – seeds.
Though parasite it may be, it yet exhaled the force of life. Oxygen permeated its massive leaves, and in this suffering world, the atmosphere slowly began to shift. And even though this process had just barely begun, should a telescope from afar, thousands of years from now, peer down onto this world's ultimate demise, it might just see the figure of a man through an opening in the leaves, who seems to be cradled by the branches themselves.
Narin’s eyes scanned the massive tree that sat before him. Its girth barreling out into deep seeded roots, massive branches extending like arms to the heavens, and yet, Narin felt nothing for this titan. This spectacle of nature. He would sooner burn it to the ground then admire its beauty. It must have stood here for near-centuries, if not longer. Narin could have told you how the tree was born, where the seed had been laid, and give you its age to the second. The matter is, he could have.
He moved silently, swiftly, among the water. If one could even call it that. It disgusted him, but he had been in much worse. Much worse. His catlike eyes found a figure amongst the tree and for a second he paused. Unmoving. A human? Narin’s teeth begun to grind, unsure of his next action. Thoughts raced through his mind. He despised the humans, he had even killed some in his day, but to attack a foe in the midst of what would appear to be a nap...Narin still had an honorable code within him.
He moved.
The sun beat down upon him violently until he reached the comforting shade of the massive tree. The human was not far now, a simple fire would burn it and the tree to ashes. Narin’s head shook. No, he couldn’t. Honor was the last thing holding his kind together. He called:
“Terve!”
(Hello, in Finnish)
OoC: As a sidenote, the Nattfodd are part of a much larger story I've been working on for some months now. The Nattfodd began as a broken sect of Elves, forgoing the druidic ways of nature and focusing on overcoming nature through technology and invention (where the original Elves still dwell in the woods and commune with nature).
And as another note, my writing will pick up once we start, I'm kind of out-of-it right now.
OoC: Sar is also a larger story I'm working on. His current visage, the one you're currently going to see, is him at his utmost prime (Currently in my head, anyway.). I'd wager he's around 15-20 thousand years old at this point, if not more. He's also extremely powerful, I'm not sure how your mythology pars up (Or down.) to mine; if you want to check for yourself, I've got a few fights around here using Sar.
Also, I'm just setting it up. You wanted first strike, after all.
Silence. No response.
Nothing but the rustling of the gigant foliage that drifted lazily over head. It was definitive though, there was in fact a man nestled in the bosom of the parasite. His red hair shone brightly against the meandering brown's coil and snarl. Though the knots wove themselves intricately, the art of nature itself blinding in its own radiance, the fire that mocked the swooning branches shone ever more powerful.
"[color=darkred]Kyl'
Narin's lips moved, but words did not breach the air. This man...this human...he knew his language...no. No. That was too giving, he did not know it, he was not fluent, he spoke with hesitation and accented incorrectly. His eyes scanned the man's body, he appeared human. Which was enough for Narin.
The sun, still peering brightly from the sky, shone harshly against Narin. The pale white of his skin made him glow, though ***like in appearance now, continue exposure to such intense rays would turn out very badly. While he intended for this fight to be over quickly, Narin was willing to take his chances.
"Hyv
"...well that was rude."
Sar flexed, shifting the surface of his body, and in return the ice adhering him to the tree cracked and broke. He stepped forward lazily, his hand reaching for his neck to brace as he rolled it around his collarbone. The ground below him still frozen solid, shattered under the weight of his boot, spider-webbing to its edges.
"Some new Finnish greeting I'm unaware of? Or is it because I'm a little rusty? Either way..." Sar trailed off into thought as he moved toward Narin; he rotated his arm in its cuff to revive itself from his nap, massaging it tenderly with his other as he continued, "Either way. I'm not going to be mean to someone whom I've just met. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and merely warn you."
Sar stopped nearly ten feet shy of Narin, his eyes gentle and his mouth opened in a tooth-baring smile. "If you hit me again – I'll kill you."
Narin didn't feel it till he had made the ground's acquaintance the fourth time, face slamming into the frozen ocean as he ricocheted like a doll made of straw across the landscape. A wave of excruciating pain smashed into him five seconds delayed as his nose swelled from the backhand strike.
Sar tilted his head backward and watched his new friend tumble into the distance. "Too hard, I wonder?"
Fire.
Narin let out a ghoulish screech, one so disturbingly sharp that Sar’s left eye winced as the sound cut through his ears. Before his hearing returned and he could shout at him to shut up, Narin went quiet. Wait...a death cry? Already? He was dead? Sar almost laughed at the irony, but held his composure and waited.
The Nattfodd’s body twitched and rose, albeit slowly, and then flipped to a crouch, his eyes matching Sar’s eyes...no matter the distance. Narin’s facial muscles convulsed and gripping his from the chest, proceeded to tear it from his body, exposing the hundreds of intricate lines carved into his flesh. The bits of cloth fell to the ground as Narin rose, clutching his skull with one hand, and breathing in rhythm with the severe pounding, waiting for it to subside.
Heat.
An itching, scratching, burning sensation began to fill Narin.
His senses went mad.
His mouth begun to dry.
His vision dazed.
The world became a haze...and it started. A small orb-shaped carving begun to glow a vibrant blood-shade of red on Narin’s lower left abdomen and his sense returned to normal. The color flowed through the complex pattern, swirling and curving and arching until it reached the orb once again. And it was over.
Narin’s eyes glazed over. The world darkened.
Ba-dum.
Sar’s heartbeat echoed throughout Narin’s mind. He could almost make out the ripples of sound in the air...
Ba-dum.
Blood pulsing through Sar’s system, organs working diligently to keep him alive, tissue and cartilage and muscle and flesh holding everything together...yet something was wrong.
Ba-dum.
This man...human in appearance, smell, and sound...could not be such a thing.
Ba-dum.
Narin was gone from his spot, thirty-five feet from the spot he had previously been in. Standing perfectly still with the red rune glowing just as pleasantly.
Ba-dum.
Closer now, maybe twenty-five feet, maybe more. Sar couldn’t tell anymore, the world began to seem a little hazy, as if it were entirely on fire. Still. Narin’s eyes found his and the game continued.
Ba-dum.
Narin was in Sar’s face now. No expression. Just a blank, hollow death stare. Shaking himself loose of whatever had held him in place, Sar leaned into a punch, but found himself hitting nothing but air.
Ba-dum.
“Liekitt
[color=black]Sar's hand slammed down through the blackened soot that dispersed; he dragged, pivoted, then weighted himself to the ground with the sole of his right foot. The crystal waves beneath him cracked, caving inward only to jut out like a fistful of broken nails.
Sar's eyes lowered in this short recoil, eyes drifting to the translucent floor, mustering the resolve to end a life. Narin could feel it swell, a twisting and churning within the soul until it climaxed with a simple, inaudible snap.
[i]Elementary, uninspiring and weak. Nothing extraordin