Accounts taken by the journal of a World War One Russian cavalry man, a respected Cossack. His name was Yolkov Romanovich, age 34.
November 22nd, 1914.
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We are now in full conflict with the German enemies, we encountered their Ninth army. On the first few days of conflict, the higher-ups told us to charge into battle, the glorious 6th Regiment of Cossacks will strike them down! Or so we thought, the German machine guns decimated the majority of us. No longer will war be about heroes and lances, but hot lead and disfigured men. This saddens me, there is no more honor or glory in war, it is just men in chairs far away from the fighting, drawing on maps and pointing to places. I'm glad my last charge went well, I killed many German scum. They come to invade the land of the slavs, and I am their rightful defender. I figure I will just be a messenger now, as they will surely not send us in again to fight the Germans. Back at our camp, I've been noticing large footprints and items out of place. These prints are not of a man, and they are so obviously there that whoever is stalking us either wants us to see them, or is a complete fool. Maybe the legend of Baba Yaga that mother always told me isn't so hard to believe after all.
November 25th, 1914.
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I have been running messages between our encampments along with a fellow Cossack, Ivan. He is from a different encampment, but informs me of similar activity at his camp. He personally believes it to be the Polish legend of the Potsnik, the elf of mischief that dwells in the woods of Poland. After some talking, we decided to go into where in the woods he think he is hiding, and route him out. It is no doubt a German playing tricks on us, trying to get into the enemy's head. We will have none of it. I believe his German snow shoes are making these odd prints, they make things weird and confusing. In other news, one of my comrades, Chendev, has lost a leg due to the cold. I sing him folk songs, and Ivan plays his flute to go along with it. It calms him down.
November 28th, 1914.
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Today, I heard the sound of a baby crying come from the woods. I rushed in there, thinking it was a civilian escaping the Polish city of Łódź and her child. When I got there however, there was no one there. I dismounted off of my horse to see if I could look for tracks or anything, but I was met with a quick movement, and then a line of blood across my forehead. I mounted my horse and galloped out of there for my life, it is not my blood. How did it get there? Are the folk legends of Baba Yaga and the Polish Potsnik true? Regardless of the matter, I have now decided to gather Ivan, and we will enter the forest with our horses and guns.
November 29th, 1914.
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Ivan was killed by artillery shrapnel. I will take this road alone with my horse and sword.
Dismounting his horse, he picked up his rifle from his horse, and walked his way cautiously into the collection of walls, leading into a cave. Within this cave, he found something that would only ignite nightmares. German and Russian bodies alike, torn and disfigured into odd shapes, protruding tubes and bones everywhere. There were a few round pieces of hollow wood, with human skin stretched over them. It all immediately resembled tribal drums and instruments that he had seen drawings of in a textbook during his schooling days. Yolkov was a brave man, but he decided that telling the others of this horror would be better than him fighting the creature that did this, but as he turned around a tall figure stopped him...
The symphony.
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Xarvis was surprised that his prey had decided to come to him first, he even found his lodge. The puny human had proven himself to Xarvis, after witnessing his bravery and battle prowess in the battle seven days ago. His skill with the cavalry sword, his accuracy with the rifle, and his courage to charge into human machine gun fire made this quiet spectator assured in his choice. The human, Yolkov, instinctively raised his rifle at Xarvis, but was met with large hands ripping it out of his hands, and then snapping the rifle over his knee.
The pieces of the rifle fell at Xarvis' feet, and then he drew the clan sword off his back. Yolkov, realizing his fate was sealed against such a creature, pulled his cavalry sword from his waste and raised it at the Yautja man. Then something odd happened that threw Yolkov off, the large, alien humanoid in front of him just bowed. He hesitated a moment, out of pure confusion, but that didn't stop him from swinging the sword down upon the Yautja. Xarvis parried it, and then they began their fight. Trading cuts and blows, as well as quick dodges and the clashing of metal swords, the fight was heavy and intense. A cut against Xarvis' chest, a slash at Yolkov's shoulder, the human was showing that he wasn't a foe to be taken lightly. Xarvis, not wanting to hurt the mans lungs, for Xarvis would need them, thrusted the sword into Yolkov's stomach, making him fall to his knees.
Xarvis got down on one knee, and stared the bearded Russian in the eyes. He then looked down to his wrist gauntlet, and then pressed a few buttons. The noise of a baby crying began to emit from the gauntlet, and Yolkov made a horrified face. "I believe that ooman mother's senses are more sensitive when their child is crying, I was almost discovered when getting this sample." The crying abruptly stopped as Xarvis pressed some other buttons, and was replaced by the sound of Yolkov singing from a few days earlier.
"Your voice is an amazing addition for my collection, ooman. Rejoice in knowing that you will be apart of the great symphony." said Xarvis, knowing entirely that the human could not understand him. It felt good to say it beforehand however, he hoped that the ooman knew he was a good foe. Once that was accomplished, Xarvis finished the job by digging his wrist blades into Yolkov's skull.
After that, he tore into his chest, and pulled out his diaphragm, and gave a victorious roar. Turning on the recorder on his wrist gauntlet, he began to bang on the drums and blow on the flute created by Yolkov's diaphragm. In Xarvis' eyes, he is now closer to creating the perfect symphony, the one he so desperately seeks. Once the music was concluded, it was saved in his wrist gauntlet, and forever there among many other songs. This symphony was about the cold, the war between the oomans, and the great battle that Yolkov gave in his final moments. Xarvis pondered over his action as he was collecting his instruments to place aboard his ship, "Perhaps I became too ambitious with the clue leaving at the camp..." but after some reassurance he shook them off. "It is my goal to create the ultimate music, and I will not let doubt of my actions, or being scared to take control do so." he said in a firm tone to himself.
This hunt brought many challenges, from the nearby ooman war, to the harsh cold faced within this terrain, but no matter. Xarvis Ut'ur-era had triumphed, and created himself another new piece of music. His fellow hunters did not see the point in it, but Xarvis believed it is one thing to hunt and kill a prey, but it is another great feat to make their death beautiful.
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- XO Kennard Davis
Chibi Leon by Okand37. Huge thanks to her!
