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 secrets and the scent of aged parchment mingled with the faint metallic tang of ink, creatures of legend twisted in the margins, their true forms often lost beneath layers of misinterpretation. The Crypt in the Old Empire, with its bone-laden 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 guttering candles, it was a grievous oversight, a sin against knowledge itself.
The harpy, in its purest form, was a thing of wind and wing, 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, their violence a sudden plummet from the clouds, a shadow against the sun before the strike.
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, their pages yellowed with age and riddled with the shaky hands of terrified scribes, 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, whispered in taverns and 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, a thing 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 the slow creep of rot. 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 thing 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 talons clicked against the frozen ground, 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 palm, but he was no fool. He knew the blade was useless against these things. They were too fast, too agile, their wings 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 a blur of feathers as it darted forward. Femi sidestepped, 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 legs. The beast barely acknowledged the pup, kicking it aside with a casual swipe that sent Victim tumbling into the snow with a pained yelp.
Femi's blood boiled.
"You dare touch my dog?!"
With a roar, he charged, spear leveled like a jousting knight. The creature reared back, wings spread wide, but Femi wasn't aiming for its body.
At the last second, he dropped low, driving the spear upward into the soft underside of its wing. The blade punched through flesh and sinew, 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 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 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, his voice a whisper lost in the wind.
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, bolting 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 lightning-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, the hungry gaze just inches from his back. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed himself harder, faster.
Then..there. 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, the blunt end cracking against the beast's skull with a sickening thud. The creature reeled, dazed, its wings flapping wildly as it staggered back, just long enough for Femi to plunge the spearhead into the glowing coals.
The cloth close to the spear head ignited instantly. Flames roared to life, twisting up the spear head in hungry tendrils.
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 fire seared its flesh, sending up a plume of acrid smoke. The beast howled, stumbling back, right into Victim, who latched onto its ankle with a furious growl, his small teeth sinking deep.
Femi didn't hesitate and waste such a free meal.
With a final, desperate thrust, he drove the burning spear straight into the creature's chest.
It let out one last, guttural scream, then collapsed, twitching, 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 into the sky with an awkward, lopsided flight, its shadow shrinking against the trees horizon.
Femi stood there, panting, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, his arms trembling from the effort.
"...I won?"
Victim let out a small howl in triumph, wagging his tail furiously, his muzzle stained with blood.
Femi allowed himself a shaky laugh before his senses snapped back to reality. His fur stood on end as his gaze lifted to the sky.
"Of course it can't be settled easily," Femi muttered, his voice hollow.
The battle wasn't over.
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Across the camp, the remaining Krag warriors fought desperately against the winged horrors, their voices rising in a cacophony of battle cries and dying screams.
Tarlak, the young hulking warrior with a spiked mace, bellowed with a voice like thunder as he rallied a group of fighters near the shattered remains of the wooden fence. "Flank them! Drive them toward the archers!" His command cut through the chaos, dispite his youthful self, his calm confidence was a beacon of strength amidst the carnage.
The Krags moved with practiced discipline, forming a wedge behind Tarlak 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. The beast screeched, thrashing, before Tarlak buried his mace in its skull with a sickening crunch, the impact sending bone fragments flying.
"Push forward!" Tarlak snarled, yanking his weapon free.
Near the supply tents, a younger Krag named Jorik fought back-to-back with two others, their movements synchronized through years of training. One of the creatures darted in, aiming for Jorik's throat, but 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, driving his short sword, a strange weapon for a Krag deep into its ribs, the blade grating against it's bone.
"Good kill!" Harken barked.
Jorik grinned, panting. "Still breathing, old man?"
Harken snorted. "Longer than you will be if you keep talking."
Their brief moment of camaraderie was shattered as another creature swooped down, claws raking across Harken's shoulder. The old warrior grunted, stumbling, 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, Varga fought ferociously, 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 the ease of a seasoned warrior.
When the first beast lunged, she sidestepped, her sword cleaving through its wing with a wet *thunk*. The second attacked from behind, but she twisted mid-motion, driving her elbow into its throat before slashing its belly open, its entrails spilling onto the snow.
The third hesitated, just for a second and that was all she needed.
With a roar, Varga leaped, her blade flashing downward in a brutal arc. The creature's head hit the snow before its body did, its eyes still wide with shock.
But more were coming, their shrieks growing louder as they descended upon the camp like falling leaves from a widow tree.
"Varga!" Femi shouted, sprinting toward her, Victim at his heels, his lungs burning with the effort.
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 raised, though there was something like approval in her voice.
"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 tinged with fear 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 echoed throughout the entire camp and beyond. The creatures, known also 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 strangely beautiful. Its feathers shone in the twin suns, giving it an almost ethereal glow.
The creature's face was a paradox of beauty and terror, with full lips and ember eyes that seemed to gaze right through them. Its chest was full and covered in feathers, showing a voluptuous bosom and curves that would put other maidens to shame. This creature, both terrifying and alluring, led the flock with another screech that sent a shiver down Femi's spine.
Why does this creature look like a flying temptation to me? he thought, his pulse quickening. It must be this body that caused it, he concluded, shaking his head to clear the strange allure.
Varga seemed to have completed her thought, her voice steady but edged with grim recognition. "This is a Harpy Queen." She stepped forward, chanting familiar words under her breath, the air around her blade shimmering with green light.
Kuros- Partial Enchantment- Blades Blessing.
A burst of emerald energy enveloped her sword, and she stepped forward, her eyes locked on the Harpy Queen as the creature landed at the center of the camp, its talons gripping the cursed pole with effortless grace. It gazed down at them as if they were nothing but worms, its presence radiating dominance.
Femi could only manage a stunned expression, his mind racing with the implications.
"Oh boy, so it's a death match that wants to start now," he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Varga smirked, her grip tightening on her glowing blade.
"Then don't die."