To confuse a harpy for a cockatrice is to blur the lines between two distinct terrors, one born of the sky's wrath, the other of the earth's corruption.
In the crypts and scriptoriums of the old world, where dust-laden tomes whispered forgotten secret. creatures of legend twisted in the margins, their true forms often lost beneath layers of misinterpretation. The Crypt in the Old Empire, with its vaults and silent warnings of mortality etched into every crumbling archway, held one such error, an ancient illustration, a cockatrice misnamed as a harpy, its ink faded but its inaccuracy preserved like a wound left to fester. The distinction may seem pedantic to the unlearned, but to those who studied the taxonomy of terror beneath the flickering light of candles, it was a grievous oversight, a sin against knowledge itself.
The harpy, in its purest form was a thing of wind. Simply, a tempest given flesh. Theon myth remembered them as swift-handed thieves, snatchers of men and meals, their bodies caught in the liminal space between bird and human, their voices carrying the keening wail of storms. By King Azrael's time, they had grown grotesque, hollow-eyed and ravenous, their droppings poison that blighted the earth where they roosted. Yet they remained aerial, their domain the open sky.
The cockatrice was a different horror altogether. A rooster's egg, corrupted by the chaotic touch of Kuros and left to fester in the damp embrace of a serpent's nest or a toad's burrow, it was a creature of creeping malice, its very existence a blasphemy. Its gaze turned flesh to stone; its breath withered crops and men alike, leaving behind husks. Unlike the harpy, it did not descend, it emerged, slithering from damp places, its rooster's crown a mockery of the dawn it would never truly herald, its scaled belly dragging through the muck of the world.
The ÆŒM bestiaries often conflated the cockatrice with the basilisk, another serpent-king of lethality. Both shared the same dread lineage, the unnatural mingling of bird and reptile, a perversion of the natural order that left the air thick with the stench of sulfur and decay. The harpy had no such kinship. She was not of the earth but of the air, not a corruption but a force of nature, as untamable as the gales that scoured the mountaintops.
Yet the error persisted, scribbled in the margins of ill-informed texts. Perhaps it was the hybrid nature of both creatures that invited confusion, the mingling of avian and human, of bird and serpent. But the harpy did not coil; the cockatrice did not soar. One was a storm given flesh, the other a venomous blasphemy against life itself that should never have been.
To call one by the other's name was to dull the edges of their horrors, to mistake the lightning's strike for thunder that follows. The harpy's scream was not the cockatrice's hiss. The cockatrice's deathly stare was not the harpy's ravenous clutch. Both were monsters, yes, but monsters demanded precision, for in their differences lay the key to survival.
For in the end, it was not the name that killed, but the thing itself. And one should always know which monster was coming for them.
—Excerpt from The Beasts of Forgotten Age by Philip the Mad Sage
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Femi's breath came in short, panicked gasps as the two monstrous bird-women circled him, their crimson eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. Their black wicked looking talons clicked against one another.Their white feathers ruffling in the wind like some twisted mockery of elegance, each movement sending a fresh wave of terror down Femi's spine.
Think, Femi, think!
These are just overgrown chickens, that look like they crawled from hell, that's all. So calm down, Femi.
His grip tightened around his knife, the leather of the hilt biting into his padded palm, but he was no fool. He knew the blade was useless against these things. They were too fast and agile. Their wings looked capable of carrying them beyond his reach in an instant.
What he needed was something to keep them at bay, something to put distance between their razor-sharp talons and his very soft, very delicate body. If he tried to fight them head-on with nothing but a skinning knife, he'd be torn apart in seconds, his remains left to freeze in the snow.
His eyes darted frantically around the camp, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon, but all he found was the chaos of Krags locked in battle and the fallen bodies of those less fortunate, their blood staining the snow in dark, spreading pools.
Then, his gaze locked onto the corpse of a Krag warrior nearby, his head torn clean from his shoulders. A crude spear lay beside his body, its tip still slick with blood, a cloth tied close to the tip, almost like a flag and the shaft was long but serviceable.
That's will do.
Femi lunged for the spear, rolling through the snow just as one of the creatures lashed out with its talons. The sharp claws grazed his shoulder, drawing blood that seeped into the fabric of his cloak, but he ignored the sting, his fingers closing around the spear's rough shaft as he scrambled back to his feet.
Now armed with something more substantial than a skinning knife, Femi felt a sliver of confidence return, though his hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"Alright, you ugly chickens," he yelled, testing the spear's weight with a few experimental swings. "Let's see how you like this."
The creatures hissed in unison, their needle-like teeth bared, their wings flaring as they prepared to strike. One lunged first, its movements quick as it darted forward. Femi sidestepped, the snow slipping under his feet, as thrusting the spear toward its exposed flank. The blade bit deep into flesh, drawing a shriek of pain.
"Yesss!" Femi grinned, his heart pounding.
But his victory was short-lived. The second creature struck from his blind spot, its talons raking across his back with a searing pain that made him gasp. He cried out, stumbling forward, barely keeping his footing as blood seeped through his fur, leaving ragged holes in his cloak.
Damn it!
Victim snarled, darting forward to snap at the creature's scaled legs. The beast barely acknowledged the pup, kicking it aside with a casual swipe of a taloned foot that sent Victim tumbling through the air into the snow with a pained yelp.
Femi's blood boiled.
"You dare touch my dog?!"
With roar he charged, spear leveled like a jousting knight. The creature reared back, wings spread wide to strike, but Femi wasn't aiming for its body.
At the last second, he dropped low, driving the spear upward with all his strength into the soft, vulnerable underside of its wing. The blade punched through thin flesh and sinew with a crunch, and the creature let out an ear-splitting screech, thrashing wildly as its wing hung limp and useless. Femi held on, twisting the spear deeper until the beast screeches could spoil a man's ears.
The other creature shrieked in fury, launching itself at him. Femi barely had time to yank the spear free before he was forced to block its talons with the wooden shaft. The wood groaned under the force, nearly splintering in his grip.
He was clearly outmatched in strength.
I need an advantage.
While keeping the two confirmed evil spirits in view, his arms and shoulders straining to hold the spear steady, his eyes darted around the camp, searching for anything that could turn the tide. Then, his gaze locked onto the camp's central fire pit. The flames had died down to embers, but the coals still pulsed, red-hot and hungry.
A reckless idea formed in his mind.
"May I not see my ancestors today," he prayed silently.
Femi scooped up a handful of snow, its icy bite stinging his palm, and hurled it at the creatures in a wide, scattering arc. The powdery burst exploded in their faces, momentarily blinding them, their crimson eyes blinking rapidly, their shrieks sharp with irritation as they shook their feathered heads.
Now!
Seizing the distraction, Femi broke into a sprint, his legs pumping as he bolted toward the fire pit. Behind him, the creatures recovered in an instant, their wings snapping open as they gave chase. Their movements were erratic, almost jerky, but fast. Talons tearing up sprays of snow with every lunge, their hissing breaths hot on his heels.
The distance closed too quickly. Femi could feel them, the rush of air from their beating wings stirring his fur, the hungry gaze burning into his back. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath coming in burning gasps as he pushed himself harder to go faster.
Then..there it was. The fire pit.
He skidded to a stop beside the smoldering embers, his clawed feet sliding on the icy ground. His fingers tightened around the spear's shaft.
One of the creatures lunged, its talons outstretched
Femi swung the spear like a club, putting all his momentum into the blow, the blunt end cracking solidly against the beast's skull with a sickening, hollow thud. The creature reeled, dazed, its wings flapping wildly as it staggered back, screeching, just long enough for Femi to plunge the spearhead deep into the glowing coals.
The cloth close to the spear head ignited instantly, with a soft whump. Flames roared to life, twisting up the spearhead in hungry, orange and yellow tendrils, the heat washing over his furry face in a sudden wave.
Don't have much time then.
When the second creature attacked, Femi was ready. He whipped the now-improvised flaming spear around, the fire roaring to life as it cut through the air. The beast screeched, recoiling as the flames licked at its feathers, the stench of burning bird filling the air.
"Ha, how you doing, eh?" Femi taunted, pressing his advantage.
He swung again, this time aiming for the creature's legs. The flaming cloth was just good enough distraction for then to misjudged his true aim.
Fire seared its flesh, sending up a plume of acrid smoke. The beast howled, stumbling back awkwardly, right into Victim, who latched onto its scaly ankle with a furious growl, his small teeth sinking deep.
Femi didn't hesitate and waste such a free meal.
With a desperate, two-handed thrust, he drove the burning spear straight into the creature's chest, feeling the tip grate against bone before sinking deep.
It let out one last, scream that died in its throat, then collapsed, twitching violently, as blood pooled beneath it.
The remaining creature, its wing mangled let out a furious hiss, but then, to Femi's shock, it turned and fled. Darting way as it tried to take to the sky with an awkward, lopsided flight.
Femi stood there panting.The adrenaline slowly ebbing away to leave a profound weariness, that caused his arms to tremble.
"...I won?"
Victim let out a small, triumphant howl, wagging his tail furiously, his muzzle stained with blood.
Femi allowed himself a shaky, breathless laugh before his senses suddenly snapped back to reality. The brown fur on his neck and arms stood on end as his gaze lifted instinctively to the suddenly churning, ominous sky.
"Of course it can't be settled easily," Femi muttered, his voice hollow with exhaustion and dread.
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Across the camp, the remaining Krag warriors fought desperately against the winged horrors, their voices rising in a collection of battle cries and dying screams as they fought for their camp.
Tarlak, the young warrior with a spiked mace, bellowed as he rallied a small, bloodied group of fighters near the shattered remains of the wooden barricade.
"Flank them! Drive them toward the archers!" His command cut through the chaos dispite his youthful self, his calm confidence was a steadying force of strength amidst the overwhelming carnage.
The Krags moved with veteran discipline, forming a wedge as they advanced, their boots crunching over snow and fallen weapons. One of the creatures lunged, talons outstretched, only for three spears to impale it mid-air from different angles. The beast screeched, thrashing wildly before Tarlak buried his mace in its skull with a sickening crunch, the impact sending bone fragments and brain matter flying.
"Push forward!"Tarlak snarled, as he yanked his gore-smeared weapon free from the collapsing body.
Near the now torn and flapping supply tents, a younger Krag named Jorik fought back-to-back with another. Their movements well synchronized, as one of the creatures darted in, aiming for Jorik's throat, the warrior beside him, a grizzled veteran named Harken, intercepted the strike, his shield slamming into the beast's face with a resounding crack.
Jorik didn't hesitate, using the opening to drive his short sword, a strange, almost elegant weapon for a Krag, deep into its ribs.
"Good kill!" Harken barked, while still looking for treats.
Jorik grinned. "Still standing, old man?"
Harken snorted, adjusting his grip on his shield. " Probably, longer than you will be if you keep talking."
Their brief moment was shattered as another creature swooped down, claws raking across Harken's shoulder. The old warrior grunted, stumbling back a step as blood welled through his torn furs clothes, but Jorik was already moving.
Leaping onto the beast's back and stabbing downward repeatedly until it collapsed, its wings twitching in its death throes.
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Across the camp, near the smoldering central fire pit, Varga fought with ferocious, almost graceful intensity, her blade a silver blur, each strike precise and lethal.
Three of the creatures had surrounded her, their movements coordinated, their attacks relentless. But Varga had fought worse than this and she adapted to their pincer tactics with some effort.
When the first beast lunged, she sidestepped bringing her sword to cleave through its wing with a wet thunk. The second attacked from behind. Probably, seeking to capitalize on her distraction, but she expected it and twisted mid-motion, driving her elbow into its throat before slashing its belly open, its entrails spilling onto the snow.
The third hesitated, its crimson eyes widening just for a second and that was all she needed.
Varga leaped, her blade flashing in an horizontal arc. The creature's head hit the snow with a soft thud before its body did, its eyes still wide with shock.
But more were coming, their shrieks growing louder, as they descended upon the battered camp like falling leaves from a widow tree.
"Varga!" Femi shouted, while sprinting toward her with Victim at his heels.
She turned, her glowing eyes widening slightly at the sight of him armed, and covered in blood that wasn't entirely his own.
"I thought you'd be hiding," she said, her right eyebrow arched, though there was something like approval lurking beneath the dry tone of her.
"I just came here to play tic-tac-toe and join the festivities," Femi shot back, falling into step beside her, his grip tightening on the spear, as he gaze upward .
"Can't you see there's soon to be fried chicken everywhere?"
Varga's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she snorted and turned to follow his gaze.
"What's that in the distance?" Femi asked, his voice anxious as he pointed toward the horizon.
Varga's eyes narrowed, her glowing irises reflecting the distant shape growing larger against the sky. The creatures around them began to screech in response, their cries a mixture of excitement and fear. What Femi had pointed to was a creature of utmost terror, and yet, strangely beautiful. Its feathers shone in the twin suns, giving it an almost ethereal glow, its form both regal and monstrous.
As she spoke, a screech far louder and more complex than any before, echoed throughout the entire camp, silencing the other creatures and Krag momentarily.
The creature's face, now visible as it drew nearer, was a paradox of beauty and terror, with full human looking lips and ember eyes that seemed to gaze right through both of them. Its chest was full and covered in iridescent feathers. It's voluptuous bosom and curves would put other maidens to shame. This creature, both terrifying and alluring, led the flock with another ear-splitting screech that sent a visceral shiver down Femi's spine.
Why does this creature look like a flying temptation to me? he thought, his pulse quickening with a confused mix of fear and something else he dared not name. It must be this body, that caused it, he concluded, shaking his head vigorously to clear the strange allure.
Varga seemed to have completed her silent assessment, her voice steady but edged with grim recognition.
"This is a Harpy Queen." She stepped forward, planting her feet firmly, chanting familiar, words under her breath, the air around her blade began to shimmer and crackle with green light.
Kuros- Partial Enchantment- Blades Blessing.
A burst of emerald energy enveloped her sword, as she stepped forward into a ready stance, her eyes locked on the Harpy Queen as the creature landed with a heavy thud at the center of the camp, its powerful talons gripping the cursed pole with effortless grace. It gazed down at them from its perch as if they were nothing but worms, its presence radiating an aura of absolute dominance.
Femi could only manage a stunned, slack-jawed expression, his mind racing with the terrifying implications of facing such thing
"Oh boy, so it's a death match that wants to start now," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the thrumming of his own heart in his ears.
Varga smirked, her grip tightening on her glowing blade.
"Then don't die."