Rubo Galane is a forest entity of simple pleasures, existing as a taxidermist up until recently. If not for Lady Muse he could have continued on as he was for all of eternity. Now bodiless at the hands of an inter-dimensional samurai, Rubo seeks revenge for his be-heading, unaware of his distant watcher and the intricacies of the events leading up to the loss of his body.
Rubo Galane: A seemingly out of the blue fourth dimensional, partially corporeal, forest dwelling taxidermist, whom in a poor transpiring of luck was beheaded by the samurai Eska. Due to Rubo's deathlessness he currently exists as a floating head, whom (due to the fact that without hands one can not be a taxidermist practically) is rather irritable and prone to displays of his inherited abilities. Rubo seeks the destruction of Eska, though during the interlude of this expedition he is satisfied to muddle about with mortal dilemmas. He represents to mortals a sort of genie in the wood, a puck, as it were.
Eska: A third dimensional stellar-age samurai, who's sword (Gong-Si) has an edge a quarter of a proton thin, enabling the warrior to transcend both time and space and even the dimensions in-between them. Upon a whim, based upon rumor, Eska beheaded Rubo Galane of the Wood, only to discover he'd been fooled into disabling the forest dweller, by a long time enemy of Rubo, a Lady of the Virtuosity, Muse.
Muse: A Lady of the Virtuosity existing in sixth dimensional space in a non-corporeal state. After doting in great part upon Rubo Galane from a distance, she showed him favoritism among her observed peoples, gifting him small trinkets, of which were mostly her home-bred song birds. Needless to say, the oddly tame birds were captured by the fellow and true to Rubo's nature, were stuffed and preserved for their fair colors and abnormalities. In her anger, Muse spread false word in the human world of a wood nymph, whom if beheaded would grant his slayer the secrets of the universe.
It was upon the dark morning of the winter solstice that Eska awoke beside his protection dog, a burly black Tibetan Mastiff, Freybug. The samurai's bones ached from the cold of the night, spent for the most part tossing and turning upon a bear-skin bed-mat. It was early, the dew still damp about his wool sheets and the mist still low about him. Snowflakes were settled upon his dark eyelashes and brought a chilled blush to his youthful complexion. He inhaled the morning air and felt those icy clutches slither down his gullet and into the center of himself, fighting to extinguish that young and flaring flame that burned within him. His stomach rumbled as he lay there, attempting to preserve the pocket of warmth he'd captured beneath his sheets. It wasn't until the third rumble that Eska got to his feet, and with his sheets wrapped about him as armor against the cold, he began to gather his objects. The large and tired Freybug too got to his feet, following about his person.
With his bear-skin bed-mat wrapped in red rag woven ropes slung over his left shoulder, Eska treaded his way through the damp grass with bare feet. His blade with it's emerald stone charms dangling from it's handle, was placed in it's dark leather case and carefully set, dull side down upon his right shoulder, Gong-Si, the indifferent killer.
Ahead in the clearing loomed a yeti, tall, fluffy and white as winter, tending to three young calves with braided silk collars. Eska crouched in the underbrush, gesturing with his outstretched hand for Freybug to wait behind and out of the path of the wind, for the yeti were a people of good sense and cautiousness. Eska silently removed his blade from it's sheath, and with careful footing, perched in a squat upon the toes and front pads of his feet, he crept forward like a cold demon, blue and ugly, as death in the wood. With a single slash of his sword, crimson painted the snow. The yeti fell, and the three calves scattered. Freybug emerged from the wood like a phantom, and with all gentleness herded the three into a tight circle just outside the clearing where the yeti fell.
There was no time to skin the beast, the white fur ruined with crimson that would brown and putrefy. Yeti meat was bitter and tough, sour to the stomach and blunting to the mind. The insects began to gather upon the corpse, like tiny black ambers, eating away at the once towering behemoth (a creature of thought, goal and intention) joyfully unaware of the poisonous flesh.
The veal the calves provided would last Eska and Freybug at very least for the journey to their destination. God-willing for the journey back home there would be the dried fruits and nuts of the wood, of which the hunter could only expect his query to have. At least then there could be celebration, an image less bleak than the spattered crimson at his bare feet.
Eska removed a rope from his bag, and looped it through each of the calves' decorative collars. The animals, with large stupid eyes, followed behind Eska, blind as bats, sightless to what awaited them on the voyage of death through the wood.