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| A Village Lost; For the possum. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mon Aug 12, 2013 8:22 pm (310 Views) | |
| Coralkin | Mon Aug 12, 2013 8:22 pm Post #1 |
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Rubble shifted behind a broken wall, the remains of a smoldering building whose frame had only barely survived. The man’s shoulder ached but it was a dull pain that was ignored with relative ease. His left hand went to the blunt ends of his arrows; he had twelve ordinary arrows and sixteen ice arrows left. They had called him Almarat for lack of a better name. It apparently meant “wise wanderer”; the people of this village had been quick to compliment outsiders, though whether that was out of fear or out of kindness was an answer unknown to the man. The old man had tried to help him but his herbal remedies and needles had not driven him into very deep a dream state; what he had seen was only a compilation of the few memories that he had acquired since awakening in that wretched hole in the ground, a deep scar upon the face of Chaon hidden by its mist-covered dimples. When the raiders had come, they had come in force. The guard posts had fallen far too quickly and silently but whatever had happened after that was nothing less than chaos. Homes, shops, and other buildings had been burned to the ground. Those that could not be burned had been torn asunder. Men, women, and children alike had been mercilessly slaughtered; those that had fought back were quickly put down. By the time that they had reached Medicine Square, the central marketplace that was named after the herbalists that often dwelt there, half the village was in flames. One could hear the screaming on the other end of the village and smell the acrid smoke as it curled demonically into the sky. It was the sudden destruction of the building that had killed the old man, although it had still been intact enough for Almarat to loose arrows into two of the horses’ flanks; he had finished the men off quickly and killed their horses just as quickly. He could not bear to hear a horse scream. When the building had collapsed completely he had been thought dead. When he had awoken, he feared he would not remember his name again. Thankfully, his current memories remained intact. So did he, it seemed. His wounds were almost invisible, for they were mostly bruises from the falling stone. He shrugged off his pain as best he could and checked his bow. The string was broken. He removed its thin fragments and quickly replaced it; it did not take much time or effort to restring the bow. The sound of hoof-beats in the distance made his ears perk up. There were still raiders here. Where had they come from, he wondered briefly? But he knew that it did not matter. They had slain a fine people, and they had done so from the backs of beasts that they did not deserve. It took some doing but Almarat finally found his way out of the ruined building. He moved quickly and quietly. His right leg was a bit sore and numb and there were minor cuts and bruises upon his right arm. A jagged cut, he suddenly realized, ran from the left hinge of his jaw bone to the left side of his chin. He wiped the blood away and moved his jaw. It, too, was a bit sore but it was nothing that a little wine would not cure. From the sound of the hoof-beats, they were only a couple of streets away. Almarat took a quick look around at the buildings. There was a path up to a higher point not too distant from his current location, and it seemed that he could easily move across several shattered rooftops before he reached the end of his skyward passage. He checked his immediate surroundings but there was no one about; the yelp of a distant hound made him wonder if there were survivors or if the horsemen had brought hunting dogs with them. If they had, he was quite certain that it was neither fowl nor elk that they hunted. He moved up a broken timbre to a small platform that had once been a balcony. From there, he ducked through a window to leap across a gap. He landed a bit clumsily upon a roof that had sunk into the shape of a wooden gulch but soon regained his balance. His steps were careful and precise, and he did not take any more foolish risks than he needed to. It took him several long moments but he finally reached an alcove atop a small home. It had once been a window at the end of a hall; now, it was merely an archer’s point. It saddened Almarat to see how quickly such a peaceful village could be darkened by the horrors of warmongering. He had envied the old man his peace of mind but there was no time to mourn for that now. By the look of things, there were at least a dozen horsemen; one of the men had no horse at all. It was odd. There had obviously been something fighting against them, yet there did not seem to be anyone down there now. As he searched the ground below his hiding spot, however, he soon found a grim sight indeed: a female swordswoman lying dead upon the ground. A dog lay near her, its legs obviously broken and its spine clearly snapped in two. Its lower jaw had been ripped off, and its eyes had been gouged out. A quick inspection told Almarat that its missing tail was now being worn as a prize by the largest and most prominent of the soldiers that he could see just up the road a ways: a horrible-looking fellow who probably hadn’t washed in a month. A great wolf pelt gray in color and mottled with black, complete with skull, formed a cloak around the heavily armored man. He was clearly these raiders’ Captain, and the man scars upon his face and hands showed that he was no stranger to battle. His horse was just as scarred, and it was clearly a horse bred and broken solely for the purpose of war. From where he stood, he could see four raiders and the leader. The raiders couldn’t yet see him; they were spreading out, probably to look for additional rebels or attempted escapees. He drew an ordinary arrow and its neighbor but he only knocked one. He would not harm the horses if he could avoid it; they were just animals caught in the crossfire, mounts with broken spirits that had no choice but to bear their riders. He drew back his first arrow, aiming carefully. The man just ten feet below him and twenty feet away couldn’t even breathe when the arrow pierced his throat, let alone call out. As the horse whinnied in a panic, drawing another horseman’s attention from around the corner, a second arrow was knocked and loosed. It, too, found its way into the body of a raider; this one, however, missed the throat by mere inches. A third arrow was knocked and loosed quickly, and this one found its way into the man’s skull. He fell from the horse, dead, just as the first raider had. Almarat drew a fourth arrow of no remarkable quality and drew back into the shadow of the broken alcove; he remained able to see and hear but out of sight for the time being. He would take down as many of these men as he could, and he would do so at the first opportunity. The leader and his two lackeys were still down the road a ways, and they did not seem to have yet observed the deaths of their fellows. For now, Almarat simply waited… |
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| Ouroboros | Mon Aug 12, 2013 9:03 pm Post #2 |
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Rien could see the carnage from the sky... he watched the raiders hunt down and slaughter the innocents... as a knight, he wanted to charge in and kill them all, but as a anthromorphic possum, he wanted to stay away from people that might try to eat him. In the end... he knew fighting them all would be suicide, not only were there around a dozen in the town still, but scores more could be called upon if a single one got away. He kept kept watching until he noticed a few raiders simply falling over, he lowered the altitude and could easily see... that the men were dead. He did not know who or what had slain them, but he wasn't going to let the opportunity go. He angled himself into a steep dive, aiming at the man's side, the man wearing the wolf pelt to be more precise, he was either a powerful warrior... or the leader, either way Rien planned on crippling their forces by taking his life. Rien slowly started to pull up, he would prefer crashing through a building than crashing into the ground, but fate had a different idea. One of the horses noticed Rien, and it whinnied loudly as it tried to dash forward... only to cause it's rider to take the hit. Rien had hit someone who wasn't his target, and had hit him to early, he wouldn't hit the wall, but at least he had a soft human cushion. Rien landed with a sickening crunch, sliding across the empty street just pass the horses. The man below him was screaming in pain, his ribs broken, his stomach crushed, his lungs punctured... and soon his face would be on fire. Rien turned and sent the command to the bronze colored tubes on the back of his plate mail, sending a gout of fire into the man's face for a few seconds before taking flight. The fire, the smell of death, and a loud noise of crashing metal and screaming men... all of that together caused the horses to bolt, all except the leader's horse, which calmly started to gallop away, not allowing it's masters orders to be ignored. Rien growled as he whipped himself around, twisting and turning until he could land on solid ground half a street away. He stomped his steel booted foot as he spoke, "Blast! What ill fated luck I've had since coming to Imythess. As a Knight of Ignasium I must fight corruption no matter where it is! I will succeed next time! ... Who am I kidding, the same tactic will not work twice. I shall need to plan more." With that he began to tap his foot as he pondered, his tail swishing behind him, his large ears sticking out from holes in his helmet, and finally a set of goggles lay over his eyes. He stroked his tan furred muzzle, wondering what to do next. |
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| Coralkin | Mon Aug 12, 2013 9:21 pm Post #3 |
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When the horse whinnied more loudly than usual, Almarat thought for certain that another survivor had been found. His knocked arrow was aimed in an instant but what he saw was…well, actually, he wasn’t entirely certain what he saw. Some…something had slammed hard into one of the soldiers, and he now skittered across the ground like an upended scorpion. The horses were beginning to throw their riders and bolt from the sudden aerial assault. Some of them were quickly controlled; most of them, however, were not. The leader was getting away, too, and the hidden archer did not have a good enough shot at this angle to be able to take either him or his horse down. Curse that foul bandit! he exclaimed in his mind. Whatever just attacked those men completely ruined any chance I have of exacting revenge upon these raiders’ leader. I’ll have to settle for the raiders themselves. Almarat was just a wee bit angry. That anger, however, gave him focus enough to quickly loose his knocked arrow and two more besides. The others had come running at the sound of the battle - or whatever it was. Three of them fell at once, their skulls pierced by the archer’s mundane arrows. That was six arrows gone and only six left, plus the sixteen ice arrows that he possessed. He had planned to use at least some of those on the leader, whose armor looked thicker and heavier than those of the rest of the raiders. Knocking his seventh arrow, he tried to get a clear shot but there was too much going on. The few remaining horses were panicking, making it impossible to get a clean shot at any of the raiders. Almarat did not see the point in harming an animal simply because it was attached to a rider. That would have been akin to killing a slave to get to its owner. It just wasn’t right. Finally, the horses began to bolt. The raiders had now lost complete control of their former mounts. Apparently, they didn’t know the first thing about horses. First off, they were jerking them around like the property that these raiders so obviously believed them to be; they were hurting the horses, and that made Almarat even angrier. Second, several of them were trying to mount the horses from the wrong side in an attempt to control them; any horse mounted from a side it wasn’t used to being mounted from was going to panic. It struck Almarat suddenly that he wasn’t quite certain where his knowledge of horses came from. Regardless, he was beginning to push such questions aside. It was obvious that he had knowledge that whose origin he was unfamiliar with. It was better to just go with the flow and worry about where that knowledge came from. With that firmly in mind, he took a shot when he finally had one: right between two horses’ heads and into the skull of the bandit trying to control one of them. The horse bolted at last, quickly escaping from the raiders and fleeing from the scene; the other one was still struggling, and so Almarat readied another arrow. He wasn’t going to let these men treat those horses the way they had treated this town’s fine people… |
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| Ouroboros | Thu Aug 15, 2013 8:31 pm Post #4 |
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Rien's mind snapped back to reality has he heard a horse gallop away, he took flight in response, just in case someone was trying to get behind him. He flew above the houses and saw something to perfect to pass up... a single raider was left behind, his allies killed by arrows, he could capture this one and question him, he would hunt these bandits down, one at a time if need be. He flames from his pack started to grow in strength as he shot towards the last foe, he didn't dive straight down like before, but went at an angle that wouldn't crush his foe between himself and a wall. Just before he could grab the man, he felt something thunk into the back of his armor, causing him to wince in pain as he tackled the man. The two went rolling through the rubble and dirt, the horse bolting at the new opportunity. Rien was the first onto his feet as the man groaned. Rien reached to his side, drawing a longsword, he placed both hands onto the handle and placed the tip at the man's thigh. He spoke with an even voice as he started to apply pressure slowly to the man's thigh, "I suggest you give me the answers that I seek marauder, or else you'll first lose this thigh, and then something a bit... higher up." The man stared at the fuzzy creature threatening him, he thought it was joking... until the tip of the longsword dug into his thigh, eliciting a cry of pain from him, the fuzz ball wasn't joking. The bandit nodded, and with that the sword raised up a bit. Rien was satisfied with the quick agreement and began his questions, "Tell me, where is your leader heading and how many more of there are you?" The bandit nodded as he spoke, "Yeah, the boss he went a ways west, took over another town he did. My... I mean, his mates are 'round... another twenty? Maybe thirty. A good half day by horse, a day's walk if ya don't sleep." Rien nodded, satisfied with his answer, he sheathed his blade and kicked the man with his steel boot, "Get out of here, I can fly there in the matter of a few hours, your horse is gone, I suggest you go straight and become a righteous and honest man." Rien smiled at him as the man turned and ran... now he could follow him to his boss's lair. Rien had come from the west, there was no town for days, even with his ability to fly, he would just stalk and track the man, even if they knew he was coming, as a knight, he'd fight, until the day is won. Though until it was time to fly, he would wait for the hidden man to come out, he looked around, seeing an arrow nearby, blunt from hitting his armor. He rubbed the dent as he spoke, "Come on out, there's no need to fear citizen, I have dealt with the last of the foes and I shall find and slay the rest!" Of course, his completely non-threatening figure would probably cause some doubt, but he would fly to his foe and slay them all the same. |
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| Coralkin | Thu Aug 15, 2013 8:53 pm Post #5 |
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When he heard the thunk, Almarat looked quickly at what he had hit. The marauder had not been wearing a helm, yet Almarat’s arrow had most certainly hit something. What he saw was a rather odd-looking creature. He had not seen its like before, although it appeared to be an over-sized rodent of some sort. It had some kind of pack attached to its back but what interested it the most was that it was wearing what looked like heavy plate armor and carrying a longsword. He listened as the creature questioned the marauder. He was tempted to loose the arrow into the man’s fleeing back but that would have defeated the purpose that he almost immediately saw: he could follow the man to the leader, and he could follow the leader and the man together to the next town over. From what he understood, it would be four days’ hard ride to get to the next town. The marauder most likely wouldn’t be riding all that hard once he’d made a day’s travel, at the very most. After all, he would probably realize what Almarat was now thinking: Almarat didn’t have a horse. In the short time that he had been here, Almarat had made friends. He had not made very many but he had made a few - including that old herbalist. Now that the few people he knew (and liked) were dead, his anger threatened to engulf him. It was a difficult thing to swallow but he managed to at least restrain it for the time being as the marauder ran away. Coward, he thought, his eyes burning into the back of the marauder’s fleeing skull. Filthy, greedy, murderous coward! He couldn’t say he was much better, of course. There were probably a large number of people that would have considered striking from a distance was cowardly by its very nature. Almarat had come to see it as little more than a strong tactical advantage, especially if there were others on the ground to distract a large force while he picked off those that he considered the most immediately threatening. His thoughts were interrupted by the creature calling to him, and he stepped out from his hiding spot. Although he did not leave his post, he was at least visible - or would be once he identified himself, anyway, which he promptly did. “Greetings and well-met, Sir Knight,” he said to the creature, for the look of him gave Almarat the impression of a knight. Of course, his shining armor was now dented thanks to Almarat’s last arrow. From what he could see of the head, it was shattered; that arrow was now useless. The others might be salvageable but it was likely that he would have to fletch a few more when he had the time. Unfortunately, he did not have the time now. “I thank you for coming to the aid of this village,” he continued. “Plainshold was an old village but it had a lot of good people in it - simple folk that did not deserve this decimation. I am Almarat, a recent friend of a now-dead herbalist, and I intend to seek justice for what was done here. What might I call you, Sir Knight?” |
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| Ouroboros | Thu Aug 15, 2013 11:04 pm Post #6 |
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Rien looked up as the man walked out, he held a bow and had a quiver. He listened to him speak and noticed the man had enough kindness to call him 'Sir Knight' and not 'Thing' like so many others. Rien smiled as he took flight at the last question, landing next to the man as he offered his hand, Rien had to offer it at an angle being so short, but he spoke with respect to the archer, "Ah, yes, I am a knight. My name is Rienfleche, but please call me Rien, I am a Rocket Knight. Now who are you good Sir?" He waited for them to be properly introduced before speaking again, "I plan on hunting these dogs to their last, he told me they were holed up in a town a half day's ride west, but I came from the west. It is nearly four days on foot, two on horse, and a day by flight. He flees south, so I best ready myself for the journey, I only regret not making it here sooner." His large ears slicked back as he felt genuine sadness for the loss of lives... he was a knight, here to protect the common man and those to weak to rise up... yet it meant nothing if he was late to the fight, this wasn't the small country of Ignasium back in his world in a different plane, but the massive country of Imythess, he could only protect those as he wandered this new world. Rien looked the lad over and nodded, "Perhaps I could ask for your help? I find myself most likely out numbered... and while I may be a knight, I have fought in several wars, on more than one occasion I have been saved by archers, I would feel more comfortable with a reliable marksman at my back. I'm sure to run into them while I travel after them, and moving at a slower pace would be best, we can thin out their numbers as they're sent out, I'm sure together we can ambush and slay every last one of them." Revenge wasn't on Rien's list but slaying these men would stop them from causing more suffering, his goal was to keep the casualty list as low as possible for the innocents or stop victims completely. |
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| Coralkin | Thu Aug 15, 2013 11:30 pm Post #7 |
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Ah, so the pack allowed the knight to fly. He called himself Rien and requested that Almarat do the same. Almarat had no problem with that. He didn’t ask for “Sir” to be added to the title. That was a good thing in Almarat’s opinion, however; “Sir” seemed like an unnecessary additive to one ‘s name to him, as he’d rather just call someone by their name. It was quicker and easier to remember that way. Putting his arrow away, he shook the knight’s hand and nodded grimly as he spoke about tracking the marauders here far too late to prevent the destruction of Plainshold. Truly, Plainshold had no real defenses against marauders. Neither did New Plainshold to the west, although it at least had walls. They were just stone walls complemented by thick, heavy doors of oak but they were walls nevertheless. Then again, the walls and doors were more a tribute to the gold they had earned with their over-priced goods than they were a sign that they knew how to defend themselves. The old man had even said that they were rather pompous for countryside folk. Still, they did not deserve to be wiped out by a bunch of marauders whose only thoughts were for themselves. “It would be my pleasure to accompany you. I just need to gather those of my arrows that I can,” he replied to Rien. “I have no horse or ability to fly so I’m glad that you favor a slower pace. I would very much like to avenge at least some of these fine people. This, I think, is an instance in which both righteous vengeance and justice go hand-in-hand.” With that, he put his bow away and pulled out a long coil of thick rope. He tied one end loosely around a somewhat sturdy point on the outside of the building and descended via the outside wall - or, rather, what was left of the outside wall. A quick yank and the rope was free. He wound it back up and put it away. Then he began going around collecting his arrows. As he did so, he elaborated a little upon his presence here. He decided at that particular moment that he would tell no one else about his amnesia if he could avoid it. Now that he had a name, there was no reason for anyone to know. It was his personal business, and he would deal with it as he saw fit. If anyone delved too deeply and discovered it, then that was that. If he decided that it was necessary, he would divulge it. Until such time as that necessity arose, however, he would simply keep it to himself. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t speak honestly, however; it just meant that he wouldn’t be telling people everything about himself unnecessarily. “I came here seeking a place to stay and to gather my thoughts,” he told the knight. “I found a few acquaintances that I suppose I can call friends, although I did not know them for very long - a few days, I’m afraid. Still, there is a peace and a trust here that’s unlikely to be found in a larger city. I made friends easily enough and was considering learning a trade in this village when the marauders struck. They came like a sudden storm, destroying everything. Those that got in their way were trampled, stabbed, beheaded, or beaten to death. The marauders took everything. Some of the villagers - mostly hunters and what-not - tried to fight back but to no avail. My archery was a great assist to them, for I took down a number of the fiends. Unfortunately, they saw fit to spare no building that made up this village. That’s why my friend, an old herbalist, is dead.” He allowed a grim silence to settle in the wake of his words as his tale sank in. The arrows that he had fired were mostly recoverable, and he could easily repair all of them. There were a couple of them that he could not salvage, however, including the one that had accidentally broken against the plate armor of the knight. Rien had not complained about the mishap, however, and Almarat did not bring it up. Finally, he counted what he had: eight arrows in all, plus his sixteen ice arrows. Checking his boot with a quick stamp, he felt that his stiletto was still in there. Good…that meant that he’d have it in a pinch if he needed it. The horses were all gone by now, and the weapons that the marauders carried were nothing that Almarat had any sort of skill at wielding. It looked like he was down to the bare minimum arsenal again but that was fine by him; he was obviously a highly skilled archer, and now he had a knight to distract the marauders while he picked them off from a distance. It was a fine tactical advantage for him and for the knight. Finally, when he was ready - which was after only a few moments - he turned to the knight. “Shall we go, Rien? I believe those marauders are destined to meet their fate in short order.” |
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| Ouroboros | Fri Aug 16, 2013 12:33 am Post #8 |
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Rien nodded as he listened to his new friend, following close behind as he recounted his time in the town as he collected his arrows. He felt sorry that the man had lost his place to stay... if people could live peacefully, this kind of thing would never happen. The story bolstered his resolve to fight, and as he readied himself to leave, Rien lead the march towards the exit. Rien loosened the sword in it's scabbard, not wanting to be ambushed early, for who truly knew where the enemy was resting. Rien couldn't help but feel they were wasting their time walking... but if he wanted the archer's help, he would need to make sure he stayed with him, his rocket pack couldn't help two people fly, especially one so much larger than himself. Rien made small talk as they went, complimenting the weather of Imythess and about how interesting of a place it was. Being from Ignasium, he was more accustomed to magic items and weapons, but he had seen people summon lightning and throw fire, the people of Imythess were amazing. If he could, he would bring a few back with him to teach magic to his people, that way they could better defend themselves against the Lion, Dog, and Pig armies. It wasn't long until night fall came, and it was best to stop. Rien plopped down onto the ground and sighed, "I forgot how tiring walking is... I'm to used to flying around. We'll need to rest for the night, I can forage for food in the morning and scout out our course. That way we'll be at our best for our next fight. I'll take first watch for the night, you can sleep my friend." With that he was ready to stay away for the night, he would wake his friend in a few hours, and after that, he would wake up to perform his duties. |
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| Coralkin | Fri Aug 16, 2013 1:45 am Post #9 |
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There was much of the day left and the road was long. Whereas Rien was used to flying, however, Almarat was used to walking. He had strong legs and a decent tone to his body, telling others the tale of an athletic fellow that seemed human. Unfortunately, even without knowing who or what he was, Almarat knew that he could not possibly be human. There were simply far too many things about him that would not have made sense for a human. For one, there was always the scent of the sea about him; that was not something any but an aging human sailor who’d spent the entirety of his life upon the ocean could boast, and even for such a man, the scent would not have been nearly as strong as it was upon Almarat. Despite this, the scent did not seem to be picked up by anyone other than Almarat himself. He had quickly grown used to it, of course, but it seemed that birds were attracted by it from all over. Such a thing was particularly odd, for there was no rhyme or reason to the manner of birds that were attracted; how could the scent of the sea be so strong upon Almarat, and yet so subtle, and attract birds both of the aquatic and non-aquatic natures so easily and so frequently? No human could have claimed that, no matter how many years he had spent upon the sea. Then there was the seemingly unnatural stamina Almarat boasted. Oh, it wasn’t that he was any more endurant than anyone else. Rather, it was that he seemed to do more with less. While others would eat full meals for a small amount of energy, he could eat a small fish and have enough energy to last him for two days. Indeed, he did not seem to need to eat or sleep more often than that. Perhaps the oddest thing, however, was the recent discovery that he could breathe underwater. It was as though he was bound both to the primal elemental forces of air and water, a quality that seemed most prominent in the hue of his irises, yet the color of his hair was more akin to the primal elemental force of fire than of either air or water. No, he was most definitely not human. Precisely what he was, however, he had no idea. The idle chatter was nothing special as the day wore on, the afternoon slowly turning into evening. At long last, the time to camp came. Almarat was offered the chance to sleep but he shook his head. He had slept last night and eaten this morning; he would not need to sleep again until tomorrow night, nor eat until the following morning. “I shall take the watch,” he said. “I do not sleep as you likely do. Trust me, friend, we shall be safe enough. I shall alert you if something comes up.” The night itself was longer than expected. Ordinarily, it was the days of summer that seemed to be particularly long and the nights that seemed to be particularly short. Yet it was precisely the opposite here. Perhaps, however, it was simply the monotony of a night’s watch. Nevertheless, because of his strange sleep cycle, Almarat considered it his duty to take the watch tonight. If he so desired, Rien could take tomorrow night’s watch. However, for the time being, the night seemed silent regardless of who was watching. As the hours stretched on and the night deepened into a darkness that was completely impenetrable, yet another strange trait of Almarat manifested. His eyes reflected the starlight and moonlight, making his ocean-blue eyes glow a vibrant purple. To Almarat, the world adjusted as though it were still daylight. While others might have seen only darkness, the landscape was merely tinted with the night rather than consumed by it before the inhuman amnesiac. Everything was clear and in precise focus even at a distance of a hundred yards, his natural low-light vision picking up everything. Yet it was not his eyes that first picked up on the presence of a guest. It was his keen, yet human-looking ears. As sensitive as his eyes, they caught the flapping of great wings in the distance. When a screech far too loud for the comfort of his ears pierced the night, it was a horrible sound that made him jump and shudder. At first, he knew not what he saw. The sky was almost completely blotted out before him, the moon invisibly covered by shadows. Then those shadows descended, the sound of great wings flapping until they came into view. His muscles had tensed when they did not know what flew above them; they certainly did not relax now as Almarat saw the great bird that rose up just ten feet from where he stood. It was a roc. How he knew that, he did not know, but he knew it. It was a great and powerful roc, and for some reason, he recognized the earlier screech as that of a female. For far too many minutes, the two stared at each other. The purple glow of his irises met the golden glow of hers, and their stares seemed almost a contest of wills and wits. Finally, with a great flap of the bird’s wings, it seemed to bow before him. Its wings lowered, fully extended, and her head soon followed. Her eyes closed, completely trusting Almarat. He approached the bird slowly, yet he felt that she would not attack him. He did not recognize this bird but the back of his mind seemed to believe that it was not a threat to him. When he touched the bird’s neck gingerly, she opened her eyes but did nothing. Almarat did not know the bird’s name but, after spending a few moments with her, he knew that she should have one. Remembering an old name that he had red in one of the old herbalists’ books, he decided to call her Valkyrie. Although it supposedly meant “chooser of the slain”, the name was said to be an honorable one. Valkyries were supposedly angels that chose the most honorable of warriors to dwell eternally in Celestia as honored guests. As powerful and majestic as this roc was, the name fit. “Valkyrie,” Almarat whispered to the bird as it rose up to its full height once more and folded its impressive wings. As though accepting the name, it screeched again. Stroking the roc’s neck, Almarat winced. He would have to get used to that and adjust his hearing accordingly. From the sound of things, however, he was not the only one bothered by the sound. Then again, how could the knight not be bothered by it? Even compared to Almarat, Rien was rather small. This roc was a huge bird capable of acting as a mount, and it made Almarat seem just as small before it as Rien was before Almarat. “Relax, friend,” he said without turning around, his eyes still locked upon the left eye of the roc. “This is Valkyrie.” |
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2:37 PM Jul 11

