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| The Long Road Home | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sat Aug 24, 2013 3:03 am (854 Views) | |
| Luna Moore | Sat Aug 24, 2013 3:03 am Post #1 |
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It was late autumn. Winter threatened, but had yet to snap its jaws shut on the land; the clouds that stiffly guarded the high passes and peaks in every direction loomed like thugs in the dark alleys of a city, waiting....waiting....waiting for the time to be right. Even so, the air held a certain crispness to it, a certain edge that hinted that the pleasant days of summer were over, and even the scorching afternoons of fall had flitted away while no one watched. The trees bore gold, red, and brow more than they did green, and only the evergreens added a touch of vibrant green to the cacophonous display that the oaks, aspens, and ash trees put forth. In the shade of thick boles, winter lurked; patches of snow and ice that melted slowly in the thin warmth the sunlight provided this high up in the mountains this late in the year. More snow would come. She could feel it. She could feel the swirling ice in the towering banks of clouds that wreathed the jagged peaks to the north, the swirling winds out of the north that drove them higher and higher while the warmer, softer breezes gently wafting southward held them at bay. There was a charge to those clouds, and it wooed her soul like a lover at the window of his lady. She wanted to call out and touch that power, use it and be filled with it. The desire was almost as terrifying as what she could do with it once seized. The whole of that aspect of her life filled her with fear, though she had ceased to run away from it - even tried to use it. But only to a purpose, only for a purpose. Her staff bobbed with every step as she used it like a walking stick. It was thin and light, carved with ivy and vines that curled around it in interesting ways. They were so detailed that one might think that the staff really was wrapped in greenery, even though they were as wooden in color as the rest of it. She wore a dress, too - it had taken some time to grow accustomed to normal clothes again, after so long making do with whatever she could fine. This was of fine, well woven wool and thick enough to keep most of the chill in the air off of a day. Blue like a deep, clear lake made up the bodice with a neckline that encircled her neck and showed not a trace of the modest cleavage the fabric hid. The skirts were pale cream that came down to just above her ankles, and though she had traveled afoot for a long way already, it was unmarred by travel stain. All of her dress remained pristine and clean, and the only part of her that had the tiniest trace of dirt were the boots she wore. Good, thick boots of the kind she'd worn back home, back before all of this had happened. Back before Fate had spun her thread in a direction she had never intended her life to go. But then, that was fate for you. Breathing the clean air, she followed the road as it bent around the loer edge of a ridge. The sun stood a good three hands above the horizon still, and though it was growing late in the afternoon her breath still misted occasionally, especially when the rutted track that served as a road passed 'neath the bows of the towering trees that dominated the landscape. Somewhere off in the distance, water gurgled and babbled over stone and limb, hidden deep in the underbrush. Good, pure water, she knew, with the tang that comes from being on the edge of freezing. It was late in the year. Woodsmoke filled her nostrils, even though it was not visible in the air. Her dark eyes searched the trees for a source, and found none. And in any case, it was far too prominent to be a cookfire at any distance beyond within arms reach. It was curious,. because she had studied maps before beginning this trek back to her roots, and by the way she came there were no villages marked. Perhaps it was imagination. Certainly with her thoughts running as they had been these long weeks, she could expect a few tricks to slip in. She wished to visit the graves of her parents, high in the mountains passes of the Dragonspine. In Nefut, the forsaken village of the dead. She shuddered at the thought, an entire village left to rot with nary a soul living in it. Not now, anyway, though in the year or two she had been absent it was certain to look as though it had been unoccupied for many more than any two winters could account for. The rutted track turned sharply, and she followed. It parted the undergrowth like a surgeons knife, and dove down a steep bank to the glittering, frigid waters of the small creek she had been hearing for a while now. There was no bridge, though there were stones enough over its shallow bank that she could lightly hop from one to the next without getting so much as a drop of it on her person. Climbing the bank on the far side required using her staff as more leverage than she would personally liked to have admitted, but once she reached the crest she stopped, and stared. A small village spread before her, wooden structures with steeply roofed homes, all of stone and slate, lining the narrow track. There had to be at least two dozen buildings in sight, and probably half again as many that she couldn't see. This place was on no map she had read, unless she had taken a wrong turn somewhere many miles back. That could simply not be. The trees stood in amongst the houses, except for a dozen buildings built side by side further on down, but even with roof and tree to block her view northward, she could still see the familiar peaks that she remembered from childhood dominating the sky, even if their uppermost reaches were shrouded in a blanket of heavy grey clouds. There were people here, too, and they looked up when they noticed her, staring as hard at her as if strangers were not of the ordinary. The children running through the streets stopped and gawked, pointing at her and whispering quietly to each other before darting off back to their parents; house wives out on the front porches looked up from their chores, airing out laundry and rugs and anythign else that might require doing outdoors before the first of the winter's heavy storms moved in. They looked at her with unreadable expressions before returning to their work. Luna frowned. A village where there should be none, and all of the people she had seen either seemed surprised to see an outlander or were otherwise displeased to see one. Stil, she shrugged her shoulders and continued on. It wasn't as if she need do more than pass through, anyway. Halfway through town, though, stood the general store she had known would be there. The leather scrip she had slung over her shoulder was empty, and had been for a day or two (not that it mattered as she knew enough of woodscraft to keep her alive as long as necessary). Suddenly, though, she felt the desire to spend some of her scarce coin on further provisions. She did not know if it was simple impulse or intuition at work; she had six silver marks and a handful of copper and silver pennies left, so it wasn't likely she could get much. Perhaps some salted meat and travelers bread, and some other odds and ends. After all, where she was going was not too much further into the mountains than here - over one towering shoulder of rock and into the valley beyond - but who could say what would happen once she was there. And so she turned from the road, and walked up to the front of a building that had a sun-faded sign hanging out front of the large porch. There were tables and chairs out on that porch, but there was only one occupant, a man with dreadlocks that didn't appear to pay much attention to the town, or her for that matter. Perhaps lost in thoughts of his own, as it was clear he was no villager either. She pushed through the swinging door and into a room that was a little inn common room and a little of the general merchant she expected, with shelves full of such goods as could be needed in a community such as this. Canned goods and salted meats, tack and candy, pins and pots, and an assortment of other odds and ends. She ignored the shelves, and approached the counter. A fat man in a white apron stood behind the counter, and eyed her with an equal measure of disapproval and obsequiousness that clashed so horribly that it almost made him look silly. "Is there something I can do for you, good Mistress?" He asked her, and she cokced her head to one side in thought, leaning wearily on her staff. The proprietor eyed that staff several times. After thinking for a bit, she went back among the shelves, and came forward with a couple pounds of salted beef, a container filled with spun wool in which several eggs had been placed, and a small cast iron skillet, suitable for cooking a meal for one person. She indicated the thin loaves of flat, unleavened bread behind him, and held up four fingers. He shrugged, and took the four down, wrapping them in parchment paper that he took from under the counter. And then she stood and waited, while he figured how much he was going to rip the outlander off for. "Will be a couple silver for that, miss." He said, and an oily smile crossed his lips. I know its more than twice what its worth, and you know I know, but you won't do anything about it because you do not belong here, and need it in any case that smile said. A touch of fire burned in her gut as she read the lines between his words, but she wordlessly dug out a couple of the silver mrks in the thin, small purse hanging from her belt. She began to gather her things into the leather scrip, which was now a touch heavier than before if not so much as to be unbearable. "Come to do some prospecting, miss?" He asked blandly as he straightened his shelves while she stowed her purchase. His tone said he didn't believe it no matter how much she would say otherwise, and she did not respond to him, either. She walked away from the counter, listening to his mutters about her 'being too good to talk to him' and shook her head slowly as she pushed through the doors. She walked to the edge of the porch, and looked north. Heavy clouds, full of threatening promise, boiled over the mountains there. Not that I thought I was going to get through this trip without having a white blanket dumped on me at least once. She stood staring north, dark eyes unreadable. There were other things than storms she sensed, too, and they were from beyond that ridge of stone too. But what? |
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Sat Aug 24, 2013 8:15 pm Post #2 |
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They wanted for nothing here. They grew fat cheating travelers, undercutting locals, and backstabbing enemies. Taiaka felt right at home. The fat man behind the counter at the general store was especially delighted that the old scavenger, when asked, completely confessed his every intention of going up the mountains this near to winter. And when he paid for his meager selection (mostly tobacco) with a ring of Taras' gold, felt obliged to offer a piece of advice. He said that there was nothing in Nefut worth going for, and said it without a smile. Taiaka replied in his native language, compared the relativity of ‘value’ in terms of the amount of tattoos on one's skin, and flashed him a tight lipped grin. The old scavenger wouldn't be staying long, though he had landed here quite on purpose. The village had been a welcomed relief after such a long flight and the large crow with a lemon yellow bundle clutched in it claws, alighted gracelessly in the southern valley. Barefoot and sweaty, he walked into town beneath the harsh stares of townsfolk, yet did nothing to hide the odd switch to his hips or the coldness in his pale eyes. The Fat-Man had not liked the ice he had seen in Taiaka's eyes, or the way he cocked his head with a bird-like tilt and watched every move he made; he thought him feverish as well, and oddly underdressed for the harsh climate. Oddly dressed to begin with. The owner of the general store frowned as he watched Taiaka leave the store, yet remain on the porch and sit at one of his tables. When the girl wandered inside, he almost spat. Taiaka, cloaked in a thick blanket of black feathers, the skeletal arms of unstrung bows peeking from his shoulder blades like unformed wings, took a folded piece of leather from his bundle. He set it on the table and gently unfolded it, eyes flicking across the painfully small writing. It was a map of sorts, a star chart marked with physical landmarks- and numbers, lots of scrawling calculations and charcoal smudges. For-Ophour, the temple For-Ophour. First, Three-oh-Three-For, three-oh-four the island. Five-oh-four, Nefut. Taiaka, whispered under his breath and traced a line burned into the leather with the tip of his finger, before looking up and across the porch. The Stargazer noticed the girl in blue then, staring out to the wooly northern horizon filled with pot bellied clouds, and he grunted quietly. Quickly, after a final glance, he refolded his map and tucked it safely under the rust colored band of his leather bracer and stood. Pulling his cape of feathers closely around his body, Taiaka walked within an arm's length of the girl in blue and heavily rested his forearms on the porch railing. He stared towards the white-capped peaks in the distance and spoke, "It be going to snow." His accent was thick, but his voice was deep and kind. "Ah hope you not be thinking of going that way," After flicking his fingers towards the North, he turned his head and pale eyes to her. Taiaka had a charcoal mask painted across the bridge of his nose, tattoos on his chin and ringing his neck; his grin was sudden, "Ah'm thinking of buying property 'ear in fact, dah people be so nice. And it be so outta dah way, quaint." he said this last word with the slightest hint of contempt; it was impeccably pronounced and made his accent seem lazy and conniving. Taiaka shrugged then and straightened. He turned, folding his arms across his feathered chest, and leaned his lower back against the railing. |
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| Luna Moore | Sun Aug 25, 2013 2:15 am Post #3 |
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Hair the color of wet cedar wood, hanging about the middle of her shoulder, tossed as she cast a look back at the stranger in surprise. She did not expect any locals here to have anything to say to her,l unless she was buying something or else telling her off. She took in the feathered cloak and pale blue eyes, lightly tilted....and paused. There was a certain amount of familiarity about this man's face, though his manner and accent were suitably different from anyone she had ever met before that she could not understand what it was, precisely, that tickled at the back of her mind. Nevertheless, she looked him over, from feet to head - which stood a good deal taller than she was. An imposing, if somewhat gaunt figure, dark hair glistening in the golden light of afternoon. She risked a glance north again, and then laughed silently, her lips and throat making the movements but the sounds not in evidence. She shook her head, and turned back to this stranger, a trace of mirth on her face that was largely overridden by distrust. Distrust, and perhaps incredulity at the words he spoke, which were so clearly false that they were comical in their own way. Luna had heard the concept of sarcasm before, but in practice had never used it. She opened her mouth, speaking silently for a few breaths before realizing what she was doing. She colored faintly, and shut her mouth. And stood in silence, gauging and regarding this stranger critically. She didn't care too much about the townsfolk; none were present in any case, or at least not close enough to oversee what she was intending to do. Uncertainly intending to do. The thing was...well, she had come to an agreement of sorts with herself, but the actual ability still seemed dirty, foul. Even the Academy and all the instruction she had received to date had not washed clean the concept that magic was dangerous, and not intended for the hands of the mortals of this world. It had been ingrained in her by her mother, who was a strange woman in and of herself. She had always said that magic was not meant for the hands of elf nor man, belonging to more ancient powers that could use it wisely. She was eighteen. Two years had passed since her parents had died, and scarcely more than a year and a half since her brother. She had a year of training in one fashion or another. Wisdom and discretion were not part of that training, which had largely consisted of learning how to not kill everyone around her...or herself. And yet....and yet, it was so wonderful, so enticingly sweet to the senses, so seductive, so alluring. The more she tried to stop from using the power, the more she wanted to - and the more she did, the more acute the need became. She had no way of knowing how intrinsic it was to part of her bloodline, so close to breathing for kindred of that ilk as breathing itself was to humanity. And so, it was with a mixture of reluctance and anticipation that she closed her eyes for a brief second, imagining that vast ocean of power just beyond sight. It was there, beckoning like all the light of the sun, so close she felt if she turned her head she should be able to see it. She still had no way of describing what it was she did, or how, but she reached out and seized the power, the mana the flowed around and through her. Instantly, white fire seared her veins, flooding her to the point that she felt she should burst. It filled her with a sense of life that could not be had in any other fashion, the thrill of adrenaline, the clarity of a tranquil moment. And the rage of an angry tempest. She fought it, and for a few brief moments she teetered on the brink losing herself in the tide. Then slowly, so slowly, she mastered it, and began to winch the sluice gate shut, fining the flow of mana from its source until it was a hair-fine thread. Enough, just enough. She pulled that power through her staff; nothing about the staff changed, but the hair thin flow strengthened, doubling in strength. It was enough, just enough for her to do one of the only two things she'd reliably learned to any degree. A soft breath of wind sighed its way down the street, ruffling distant townfolk's clothing and stirring the scent of woodsmoke and horse manure into a melange of the commonly accepted scent of civilization. On the porch, the sounds of everything beyond seemed muted, as if heard through a thick fog. It should not be here, came a whispered voice, and though her lips did not move, it was clear that they were her words. The words sounded of a soft breeze through trees, or the sighing of wind through canyons and rocks; it seemed to gain a hundred, a million tiny elements from all the natural sounds present in their vicinity, stealing them and subtly changing them from the common place into the mildly strange voice of a young woman, pleasant in their own way and at the same time disconcerting. Her eyes gleamed at him, glassy as the power flowed through her. I would not wish to live amongst these scapegrace people, she continued, completely missing the flavor of his comment. She looked up to those distant mountains again. She had an unnerving feeling about this man. She couldn't put her finger on this sense, either, any more than she could put her finger on the other odd qualities of this stranger. All she knew is, for reasons unknown, she did not like him. He had the same shifty feel about him that a certain merchant had, long ago. And she knew well where that particular fellow had led her, much to her shame. Alas, stranger, I must go that way. O'er the hill lies the rubble of my home... The words were delivered with the sound of having been directed towards him from her mouth, though she had looked away toweard those distant clouds, pregnant with snow and worse. There had been a touch of sadness and regret in the timbre of those words, too, but her face was impassive. Time could heal some wounds, at least. |
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Sun Aug 25, 2013 10:02 pm Post #4 |
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Her voice was a mother's kiss, Mistress Wind, Taiaka's long lost matron. On desert dunes he would dance, and She would respond with the rumors of the sand; and so fickle was she that from the gentle caress of wispy morning breezes came the fury of the storms that changed noon to midnight and rubbed the skin from the meat! She was the hand on the Stargazer's back, a regret and a cosmic loss, but forever a guide, however spitefully wrought with peril her chosen path may be. Taiaka, superstitiously wary to begin with, brought his thumb to his mouth, bit off a sliver of nail, and spit it on the ground at his feet. He reminded himself that he was no longer a ghost, that there was young blood flowing through young veins, that his knees no longer ached and that he was not graying at his temples. Yet, the vast well of timeless experience remained; some of his memories were disembodied, it was true, but the old scavenger would never admit to having a weak grasp on past realities. For it was like trying to recall someone else's dreams, out of context and intangible, to tell a story, to compensate for the gaps. He could be content only in the here and now and regarded any inconsistencies as a symptom of a recent death. Now, for instance, Taiaka felt that swelling of anxiety roil inside his bowels. Another bout of deja vu, another spindly image flickering at the corner of his mind- and it happened when he looked at the girl with the high necked collar- her face was turned away from him, her lips in simple profile never moved. Her words though, breathy and scented with the ambiance of life, were balmy with emotion. Taiaka, still standing against the porch railing, lowered his head, snaked his hand under his cloak and removed a small, silver cigarette case. Long dark fingers with nails bitten to the quick snapped it open to expose the row of slim, tightly rolled cigars. He drew one out for himself, and offered it out to the girl in blue before clicking it shut and returning it back to its original hiding place under all those feathers. "You must." He repeated, before bringing the unlit cigar to his mouth and licking its chocolatey casement. "Ah must. We must." When he brought the cigar to a spark from a bent index finger, the flame lit the animalistic shine in the shifter's eyes. A deep inhale, two half hearted attempts to spit a thread of tobacco from the tip of his tongue and a smile, "'Home' be the land of prayer, a journey dat burns the candle at both ends." Clove scented smoke drifted from his nostrils, but the old scavenger blew the majority of it from between his teeth, the curls slipping through his slight overbite and his the space his chipped canine tooth used to fill. "Unless what you really mean is the land of your birth." He pushed himself off the railing, his every movement lissome, and drew up next to the Girl-In-Blue, "Unless, of course, it be really dah answers to hard questions that lie o'er that hill in dah rubble, Little One." Taiaka cooed into her ear, dreadlocks sweeping across her shoulder, spicy smoke trailing in his wake as he pulled away. He shrugged then, and tapped cigar ash into the palm of his hand poignantly; his stomach ached wetly. Edited by Taiaka, Sun Aug 25, 2013 10:12 pm.
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| Luna Moore | Sun Aug 25, 2013 11:49 pm Post #5 |
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Luna regarded the silver case quizzically, neither knowing what it contained nor why he would offer it to her. She reached out a hand uncertainly, and withdrew one of the deeply brown sticks it contained, and stared at it in deep thought. She eyed the tall man as he lit the thing with sparks from the tip of his finger, and then tried to mimic him. It didn't, of course, work out that way. There was a spark that was incapable of lighting anything, not even paper....and then after a long, drawn out moment, the weaving shifted subtly. What should have been innocuous was suddenly anything but, and fire erupted into brilliant, violent life. The cigar turned to ash in her hands, and the blossoming flame billowed outward several feet before vanishing as quickly as it had come. The timbers holding the roof over the porch were scorched and ashed halfway through their thickness, and Luna was only grateful that it hadn't been worse, hadn't brought the entire roof down on them. Ashes drifting from her fingers, she regarded the man, red staining her cheeks. The red of embarrassment, not of anger or offense. She turned away, staring at the clouds. They had begun, at long last, to move. Slowly, like a herd of animals that is only just starting to realize that the way forward was open...or rather, like an army that realizes the enemy has pulled back from a key point in the front, and means to take advantage. They billowed higher, and Luna could feel the forces that drove them somewhere in her bones - not magical, just natural. And violent. Home, as in where I was born, Her voice retained that same quality, unfathomable as it was sweet. Her eyes widened in surprise, though, at his referring to her as 'Little One', and she turned back to him, searching his face, his features. There was a a familiarity there, but she could not for the life of her remember what it was, or where, or when. It was like that troubling thought that remained ever on the cusp of being uttered, but every time you went to snatch the word, it slipped through yoru finger. Anyway, it is a graveyard now. When I left there two years ago, there were maybe three or four survivors, and all of them were fleeing. What reason did we have to stay? She turned away from him as she started speaking, and towards the end the words hanging in the air took on a speculative, and utterly sad note. If she had stayed, the worst that could have happened was tht she would have sickened and died like the rest. But if not, her brother would still be alive. So many would be, so many that didn't have to die. But she'd dealt with that, or at least she'd dealt with most of it. Not the physical consequences, of course - she'd never had to face any of the people she'd wrongs face to face, or not many of them anyway. The scars, though, she had faced. They had, most of them, healed by this point, though there were still some that were raw and she doubted would ever heal fully. She didn't speak candidly of her purpose, returning to Nefut after all this time. She wanted to visit the final resting place of her parents, and see the land that had once been hers before she continued on down the road life had chosen for her. She doubted she would ever return to this place ever again; she desired little more than to live in peace for the rest of her days, perhaps becoming the wife of some farmer and bearing his children. Her learning had been of one purpose, and only one purpose - safety. For her, for others, for any around her. Her secret desire to learn more, to keep touching the power that even now she held in the most meager amount...well. That life led to a road of violence and death, perhaps on a scale such as she couldn't even comprehend. She turned back to the dreadlock-clad man, uneasy at the closeness of him but at the same time curious as to what it was that tugged at her memory. It refused to be dislodged, however, however she worked on it. The land of prayer... The voice was a faint, breathy whisper of the wind through a quiet meadow. Prayer will not help me, not me...but perhaps I can find some solace... Solace in the confession to the dead. Solace in the acceptance of those who could not speak. It was a quest that likely held an empty reward...but she was willing to endure it for the imagined rewards. |
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Wed Aug 28, 2013 5:32 am Post #6 |
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His smile was wolfish, his chuckle deep, as he danced backwards from the girl's sudden blast of fire. As if this was normal, as if that tobacco was not exquisite Istani gold, as if no one would notice the ember riddled scars on the porch, she spoke. Her breathy voice purged the scent of burning wood and caused the tip of Taiaka's cigar to glow as brightly as her cheeks. And when she looked at him, she did so with such intensity that the old scavenger felt compelled to dredge up a smile, however disingenuous, and turn away. He was glad he did so. As the Girl-in-Blue prattled on about the idea of finding solace, Taiaka watched, through frosted windows, the proprietor of the general store move from behind the counter and disappear into the bowels of his shop. The old scavenger stepped down from the porch and gentlemanly offered the girl his hand; he spoke, but all the while his pale eyes were focused behind her, a fact he did not try to hide. "Ah like to think we can't learn nothing from dah dead that we can't be learning from dah living." Indeed it was something he would like to think; and at that moment the girl in blue would have seen the ice creep back into his stare, a haunted look that could very easily have come from the sudden indication of danger as it could have the roiling in his guts. The door of the general store opened then and the fat man in the white apron, a broom clutched in his meaty hands, gave them a pained smile. Instantly his eyes darted to the blackened ceiling, but he did not say a word. Instead, he began sweeping across the porch in choppy, dusty, strokes as if Taiaka and the girl were no longer present. But he would occasionally stop, breath coming in misty puffs, and glance across the street. Unconsciously, the old scavenger glanced too. A handful of people milled about in the waning afternoon, a blend of natural hues and dry glances. Taiaka smiled to himself when he realized he was not squinting; these eyes were better than his last and he could clearly see the men who were trying to look nonchalant as they silently communicated with the ruddy shopkeeper. Taiaka took two more lanky strides away from the general store and tossed the left side of his feathered cloak over his shoulder. Beneath, what could only be described as a long, black skirt was belted high on his waist, and his chest was bare but for two stripes of white leather that crossed over his breast-bone in an X. It was from this sling on his back that he drew the arm of his shortbow. "We be overstaying our welcome." Taiaka strung his bow as he spoke, casually and calmly. His demeanor had not changed despite his actions, yet his weedy grin and cold eyes were for the Girl-in-Blue alone. "What do Ah call you?" He asked, the tone of his question was in stark contrast to the way he held his bow at his side in a tightly clenched fist. "Taiaka." He pointed to himself with his free hand, taking the opportunity to flip his cloak back down over his body, and let his gaze shift to the far end of the street. They were being watched. And the ones that were watching were slowing gathering ranks, whispering and doing their best to strike intimidating poses. Taiaka had no intentions of causing any trouble, but these folks had been on edge since the moment he stepped into town. He made his assumptions, as any seasoned traveler would, and flashed his wealth- if only in a vain attempt to be seen as sympathetic to their contempt. They didn't even have an inn! Then again, the place had not shown up on any maps that Taiaka had studied. Still, the slant of the shadows told Taiaka is was nearly dusk and the storm upon the mountain was driving forward. If there was no hope of a warm bed and a less than murderous populace, the old scavenger was wont to carry on towards Nefut, the Girl-in-Blue's home. |
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| Luna Moore | Wed Aug 28, 2013 5:37 pm Post #7 |
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Her thoughts drifted as she contemplated the idea of redemption, as if it could be received from the departed in any case. She was a simple country girl with the barest skim of worldliness that had been gained through happenstance on her flight southward. Not a flight from pursuit, or rather not from something physical and tangible. She had demons in her closet, like every other warm blooded and breathing person in the world. At first she had fled from them as hard as a deer flees from wolves. Eventually though, fears need to be faced else they would consume all that you were. She'd had help in that, truth to tell, but help or no help she had turned and faced the silent accusations in her head. It had been an unpleasant experience but every bit as necessary as breathing. The sound of a door and then a broom sweeping the porch that was already clean swept broke her reverie. With the sweet flow of power - even as minute an amount as she allowed to channel through her - she could hear things with more clarity, smell things more sharply. She broke her gaze from the distant peaks, now entirely shrouded in boiling and angry clouds, and looked at the stranger. Overstay their welcome? What a quaint notion...she had not thought that they had been welcome in the slightest. She took to the street after him, noting the people but not understanding their silent words or meaningful glances. This was not a world she was familiar with, after all, and the undercurrent of unease and resentment washed over her without making any impression. The only impression she felt at all was the need to be away, northward. To Nefut. The compulsion had been strong for days now, almost unbearably so. For months it had nagged at her, but once she had set her feet on the path it had become increasingly consuming. It was far beyond her simple view of the world to wonder why, after two years away, she suddenly had the most aching desire to return. Her mind of course came up with its own explanations, and those satisfied her conscious thoughts well enough. Forging ahead, neither keeping pace with Taiaka nor following behind as she once would have, she moved on. My name is Luna, master Taiaka. And why are we in such a hurry to go? The weather ahead feels.. Her words trailed off. She could sense the front coming towards them with the inevitability of an avalanche. It was cold and implacable, pitiless as the sun in the Istani sky and every bit as deadly, if only in a different way. And, under unable as yet, wrong. It was the right time of year for these kind of things, but... And then she could feel it. It was subtle and yet strangely powerful. It should not have been possible for a power such as she felt - and at such a distance! - to be subtle and yet this was. Threads of air and fire gleamed amidst banks of heavy clouds, the first outriders of which scudded overhead as if driven by impossibly powerful winds further up in the atmosphere. Unaccountably, lightning flickered high overhead, deep within the bellies of those grey juggernauts. Laden with power, but even that was not quite right. It felt fragmented and wild, like eddies cast off of some greater flow. Luna looked up at those dreadful clouds as the world descended into twilight gloom, a sense of unease and foreboding filling her. The first frigid drops of freezing rain splashed against the dirt and trees and also her upturned face. She suddenly became conscious of the fact that she wore a wool dress, and if it was warm and well made it still would do little to keep the damp chill from her skin. She wanted to turn back and find more suitable clothes but could not. Her feet kept moving forward and she found herself unable to speak the words. And that was even more frightening than the prospect of a night spent cold and wet. I do not like the feel of this...its not right. Wrong.... her words were a soft murmur on the wind, cold as the air and more uncertain than the weather. |
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Wed Aug 28, 2013 11:56 pm Post #8 |
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She was at his shoulder, passing by like a mourner at his wake, when she gave him her name. Luna. Taiaka's grin was flat and made imprudent by the stub of a cigar hitched to its corner. He let her go as she moved past him and stood on the street with his shoulders squared, smoking, until the cold rain began to fall. Then the old scavenger started to backpedal in long, smooth steps, keeping his eyes trained on the village and his back to Luna. The village stared too, insipidly now, narrowing their gaze at the collecting darkness, silhouetted by newborn lamps moored to homes and shopfronts. Only when he was beyond the far wall and ringed by trees did Taiaka turn and quicken his pace to catch up to the Girl-in-Blue. More words came to him on errant zephyrs; Luna's voice was cold, it caused the fine hairs on his arms to stand at attention and a shiver to run down Taiaka's spine. He was not entirely sure that it was indeed the temperature that had given him gooseflesh, perhaps it had been Luna's intention, her 'tone'. Regardless, she didn't seem to mind the old scavenger's presence, hadn't even had the mind to questions his intentions for traveling to Nefut. It was possible that Luna would have voiced her concerns outloud to the squirrels and larks is he had not been there to hear....Then again, maybe not. Maybe she told him how wrong she felt for a reason. Personally, Taiaka felt nothing but the stinging sleet that burned face and caused his charcoal mask to begin drip down his cheeks. To him, it was a storm overhead and nothing more. Though, he visibly jumped every time a flash of lightning would light their path, sometimes snorting and sighing as if angry with himself for the reflex. A fat drop of icy rain landed on the side of his cigar and caused it to hiss as it went out. Taiaka, nostrils flaring, tucked it behind his ear, "Luna," he drew out the first syllable of her name and let the word linger as he closed the last few yards between himself and girl at a trot. "Ah hate to presume, but do you be intending to crawl up dah mountains in dah middle of the night, in dah middle of a blizzard, with no gear at your back?" he took a breath, "Without shelter and in dat pretty dress?" He paused and wiped the corner of his eye, fatally smearing the remainder of his khol mask across his forehead, "Again, Ah hate to presume." he said this last very quickly, stutter-stepping as he replaced his bow at his back, pale eyes attentive and curious as they scanned Luna's features. The old scavenger abhorred being wet; being cold and wet; being cold and wet and hungry. His body longed for a shape more comfortable in this type of climate, instincts honed from countless species tightened around his chest. And something else: a pang of familiarity that, for some odd reason, Taiaka dreaded. It was like a scent he could not shake, or an itch he could not scratch. He looked up suddenly, aching for the guidance of the Stars, his own breed of solace. But they were hidden beneath a wooly blanket. Not a single one shown through. This was an omen unto itself, Taiaka, a man that was born without a constellation, thought. Yet, he pushed the notion aside, dismissing it as his habit of reading meanings into things without meaning and pulled his feathered cloak tighter around his body. he leveled his gaze on Luna once more and jumped from a sudden skyhook of lightning. |
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| Luna Moore | Thu Aug 29, 2013 12:46 am Post #9 |
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Fat drops of rain began to hammer down with increasing strength, and the dim light afforded by the lightning increasingly revealed trees hung with icy drapes from branches that glistened wetly in the brief flashes. Thunder never reached them, though - the flashes, while frequently, were ghostly silent. Fat wet flakes of snow drifted lazily amongst the raindrops. It was a blessing that the wind had not picked up at all; the air was still, stagnant even, and the only sound was the sound of half frozen beads slapping into the ground, coating it with ice as it coated everything else with ice. Luna was oblivious to it all. She moved as if in a dream, the world without little more than a dream in truth. Her mind blazed like fire, urging her feet onwards though she could not fathom the why of it. With every step it grew stronger and harder to resist. Before long, the lights of the small, unfriendly village were lost amongst the trees as the road wound away, heading mostly straight towards the mountains. It also rose steadily, now, and began to wind between ridges of stone flanked by evergreens that glistened like ice sculptures in the frigid, lightning lit night. Water streamed down her back, soaking her dress clear to her skin, and it seemed even her skin was completely sodden, so that her bones must be awash in icy water. The fire in her veins seemed to quell the shivers that wanted to fill her limbs, and the grim and determined set of her jaw prevented her teeth from chattering, for all that her breath misted in front of her face, and her hair crackled with each movement of her head and glittered with ice. She still felt the fragmented power above her. It felt exactly like the eddies you saw in rapid water, where the water breaks around a submerged rock and sends of eddies and whirlpools out into the rest of the stream. Powerful, but nowhere near as powerful as the force that spawned them. It was disquieting, thinking of the storm overhead as merely some remnant, cast off from a greater whole. It was....impressive in its strength, even if the gale force winds were further up in the clouds and not tearing everything at ground level to shreds. Huh? Out of the weather? She came out of her inner thoughts, but only surface enough to regard her surroundings muzzily. Icy exhaustion was creeping into her limbs, making her feet leaden and her arms felt as though lumps of lifeless meat hung from their ends. Her eyes were already heavily lidded as the chill in the air robbed her of strength. And yet she did not stop moving forward. She could barely feel her feet in their stout boots, but they were nevertheless completely accepting of plodding onwards. It was as if something awaited beyond the ridge... Her eyes widened. How much time had passed? How long ago had Taiaka asked his question, and she simply kept walking onwards into the night. It was dark outside, not the darkness of twilight but the darkness that only comes with the depths of a moonless night. The rain had shifted in that mindless period to almost completely snow, the wet, heavy stuff that marked the first snows of the season. The lightning above was still as constant, and the hair-fine threads of power remained, shattered and ragmented as they had been since she first noticed. But now, something else loomed. Ahead. And she had no idea how far, only that the road, if it deserved the name, had already began the perilous winding that would take it to the high pass high overhead. Even at this lower elevation the wind had begun to pick up, and it howled hard enough to whip the half-frozen folds of fabric she wore about her body. And she still couldn't stop walking. Can get out of the weather when we go just a little further...have to go just a little further... Her teeth chattered incessantly, though it didn't seem to impair her speech any. The cold air bit at her lungs like a cornered badger, so that it was growing somewhat harder to breath. But she could not stop moving forward. |
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Thu Aug 29, 2013 2:01 am Post #10 |
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Luna took her time to answer him. Precious time that was counted in steps- steps taken in an unbroken staccato into the heart of the storm. Taiaka's blood burned hot in his veins, but not hot enough; he was a creature of the desert in the first place, proud and bold upon his dunes. As the rain changed to wet snow and fresh ice crunched under the pads of his bare feet, the old scavenger relinquished his pursuit of the Girl-in-Blue, never too proud for his own comforts. He did not stop long, but in that time he carefully stowed his shortbow on his back, and unwound his bracers from his wrists. Unconsciously, Taiaka had hunched over a little bit more each time a jagged bolt of lightning would crackle overhead. The trek upslope only exaggerated this, and when he began, once again, climbing after Luna, he did so with the palms of his hands pressed into the earth and his hips high in the air. Like this, the change happened organically. Father Bear. Mostly black- red streaks and tufts of yellow are there within his sleek coat where his tattoos had once been. Hands into large paws, skin bristles with soft, heavy fur, a crown of dreadlocks stands above a thick neck and small, iceblue eyes do not change. The cloak of feathers remained about his fat middle, the glamour stretching the illusion, and the arms of his bows poked from Bear's long shoulder blades. Taiaka groaned in relief once the change was complete, relishing the feeling of warmth creeping into his limbs. The entire shift took seconds and Taiaka never broke stride. Luna was just up ahead and Bear had no trouble catching up. She looked hypothermic- blue around the lips, ice in her hair, teeth chattering. A little further, a little further- the girl was mad, hell bent on feeding the wolves her frozen corpse. It was difficult to watch- or perhaps it was different for Bear to watch; after all, the creature was possessed by a different nature, different desires and instincts. Yet, it was true that the old scavenger remained in control, balancing needs and wants against morals and ethics, but there were some things that no animal could ignore. Taiaka swung his big body around and stood directly in Luna's path with his shoulder facing her, immovable. Warmth: his voice was the tropical lilt of the dreadlocked man without a touch of growl or bear, "Luna, Ah've tried death. Ain't no solace there. But you be looking Brother Grim in the eyeball right now." |
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| Luna Moore | Thu Aug 29, 2013 2:36 am Post #11 |
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She kept walking, following the turns of the road, eyes blearily on the next bend and then- Ran into something soft and furry, but one and the same as solid as stone. Her feet continued to try to carry her further, just a little further. They dug furrows in the snow, already six or seven inches deep. The wind howled down off the mountain, swirling snow, but the wall in front of her cut the wind as effectively as the walls of a house. It took an effort to bring her mind back from the drifting corridors of the mind, far and away from the present. Brother Grim? She muzzily remembered thinking about the highways in hiding, and the hallways of the dead. It did not seem to relate to this situation? Did it? Where had she wandered to, now, where it was so cold? It was sleep that she wanted most of all, sleep and something to calm the ache in her throat and the burn in her breast... ...which, with the alacrity of the human mind, resolved into a great big, dark furred bear. Luna felt the ragged breath stir and stop in her lungs, and every muscle tense. Instinctual fight or flight loomed in her mind - she'd been born in a land filled with the creatures, and knew enough of them in any case. But this one, it seemed odd, strangely colored for the clime and indeed for the species prevalent so close to home. She was used to the big black bears, massive creatures bigger than men and far more foul tempered when they weren't seeking to flee themselves. It occured to her that she was standing with her face pressed into the unusually clean fur of a beast that could snap her in half and not even notice what it had done. She almost staggered with relief when the voice came from the moving lips of the beast, illuminated by lightning as it arced from underbelly of cloud to underbelly. Her breath hitched in her chest, constrained for too long, and expelled in a rush that crackled a touch going out, and coming in as well. She coughed into warm fur that took just enough of the edge off to allow her hair, closest to the body, to begin thawing, sendign fresh runnels of cold water running down her frigid body. She leaned forward, into Taiaka, almost falling down as the exhaustion that...that whatever had kept at bay clamped down like a vise. She stood there for a long moment, and then realized her connection to the immense well of power had been lost at some point recently. She had been trying to wield it, to speak, but the only sound that came to the ears was the wind and the soft sound of snow falling. She tentatively reached out with that part of her mind, and grasped at that ocean of power. And it came. But it was not a torrent or a rush. It came sluggishly, as it too shared her exhaustion. Even using near the full feeble flow, even focusing it through her staff, it was barely enough to allow her to give voice to her thoughts and intentions. It was not overly surprising - she felt as if she could fall over and sleep for an eternity, right there. She knew she should have been upset, perhaps scared. She was not. Even in her fugue she had felt the subtle twist of magic as the shapeshifter changed forms. If it was even magic at all, but then, it had to be at some level or another, right? Besides, she was just too tired to shout or scream, or heavens forbid, run away in terror. She doubted she'd make it more than a few steps unaided. She glanced about, steeling herself to us the faint power left to her. What she could see between flashes of lightning was the cold shoulder of a mountain, pine trees clustering close to one another as they crept away from the road. Bare rock stood a little higher, though with the fitful light it was difficult to tell how much further the pass was. She didn't even notice that she was looking through the snow as though it did not exist at all; a white wall had formed around them at twenty paces, but to her eyes it was as clear as a moonlit night (providing the lightning to give illumination, of course). I....I do not...we need to get out of this. I do not know where, or how....or Her thoughts were difficult to hold to a certain course. She visibly struggled to master herself, and nearly failed. Need to find shelter. You know that. Been trying to stop me for... How long? It escaped her mind. There was no recollection of time or distance...merely walking. She stood, mute and tired. Taiaka would have to be the one to make the move - she could not think straight, between near-prostration and that unnerving, unthinkably powerful pull. Northwards. A dull roar filled the world, above all the rest, unnoticed. |
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Sat Aug 31, 2013 7:44 pm Post #12 |
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Bear wrapped an arm around the girl when she leaned into him, and sat in the snow. Sometimes he lifted his head, grunting as he sniffed the air, but he mostly remained hunched over and braced against Luna. What are you doing Taiaka? he asked himself coldly. Luna's voice was wispy, a whisper that Taiaka could barely make out over the sheer ferocity of the blizzard. Lightning, prismatic within the wall of snow, flashed neon hues...He could stay here no longer. Wrong, yes, the Stargazer had felt there was something wrong from the moment he set foot in Friendlyville. Luna had been just another broken spoke on that wheel. You see a pretty face, and you want to be a hero. Yes, and I'm sure she would help you go through her dead mother's jewelry as you pilfer the remains of her family home to find the most valuable pieces. Bear wrapped his other arm around the girl and lifted her off the ground; he was strong, it was true, but he was also gentle and quick as if acting on reflex. He hefted her to his shoulder, stood, and sniffed the air once more before setting off at a lumbering trot towards the cliffs ahead. Yet, he veered off the path and headed for the thinning treeline. The snow drifts weren't as deep here, which was better for the three-legged Bear; he held Luna against him as one would a sleepy toddler. You can't just leave her to die out here. Right? Taiaka just wanted to get out of the lightning. His best hope was where the pine trees yielded to the jutting fists of icy gray rock. An outcropping, a cave, there had to be something this close to the pass- people had to travel. You could always bring her back down the mountain. You'd still be saving her life, though perhaps not her chastity. Taiaka considered that he may have had enough gold on his person to persuade the fat shopkeeper to forgive all transgressions. He'd give them room and board. And then he'd probably kidnap us and sacrifice us to their heathen mountain gods. Bear skirted two large boulders and the frozen creek that ran between them, and abruptly came upon a tall shoulder of stone. He lowered his nose to the ground, turned in a tight circle, and kept the wall of rock on his left as he padded back into the whiteout. But his instincts had been correct, the stone retreated in on itself and formed a wide overhang: the natural awning of a cave. (Taiaka would file this instance away to brag about it later in taverns all across Chaon. He will embellish, including a pack of ice trolls and an epic bear fight.) However, it was just a cave. It did though, show signs of former occupants; a mica flecked roof was sooty from cooking fires; a tall pile of rotting furs was stacked against the far wall; a meager armful of thick branches, probably someone's firewood for the night, was in the corner. Taiaka set Luna down and let Bear slip away. The cave was too small for his bulk anyway, and Bear had trouble making fire. Once Taiaka shed his skin, he untied his lemon yellow bundle from his belt and quickly stripped the bows from his back. He stretched then, palms pressing against the sooty ceiling. Now we just have to get you out of those wet clothes. Instead, he made a fire, avoiding any and all eye contact with Luna. He did though, offer her a thick, brown sweater that he took from his bundle. It was oversized even for Taiaka, with one sleeve longer than the other, but it was of the softest wool and smelled like cloves. The old scavenger was loathe to give it up but smiled helplessly and declared the fire his new best friend. He stalked over to the pile of dusty branches and found the thickest ones, before moving over to the stack of furs for something to sleep on. But when he pulled at one, the crumbling skins toppled over to reveal a long, dark crawl space. Taiaka pushed at the furs with his foot, dislodging the rest, groaning out loud. The old scavenger, had an odd smile on his dark face when he returned to Luna. He broke sticks over his thigh and dropped them in the fire. "Gunna be morning soon. warm up, sleep." |
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| Luna Moore | Sat Aug 31, 2013 11:23 pm Post #13 |
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She blinked, and looked around. Mountains strove to pierce the heavens all around her, their summits eternally encased in snow and ice, and permanently wreathed in clouds that hid those terrifying heights from the prying eyes of people much further down their flanks. Only, that was how it should have been. Clear skies of dazzling blue with a sun blazing like cold fire, its heat never able to touch the piercing cold of the alpine heights. Fields of white, unmarred by the fall of human foot for mostly the entire year. But it was not so, not now. Luna stood upon the summit of the pass, shoulders of rock thrusting to heights that defied scaling to either side, and she stood in the heart of a blizzard that was little more than three or four miles wide. But to her eyes, it wrapped itself around the valley, a glimmering wall of white where the winds angrily tore at stone and tree and those foolish enough to venture into the teeth of the gale. She eyed the storm; it was odd, how it seemed to flow through the mountains rather than over and around them, and how it never varied by more than a few feet in or out of the valley. Like a wall, she thought, barring the world outside from coming in. Within the valley the sun shone on pristine fields of snow and evergreen tree's untouched by the hurricane force winds that swirled endlessly round the Nefut valley. All seemed peaceful, there, beyond the touch of the world outside, carefully shielded from the world by a wall of windblown ice that towered tens of thousands of feet into the air, boiling clouds spinning, spinning... ....peaceful? This was not true. She took a step forward, hearing the sound of snow crunching underfoot even though she stood in the heart of the storm. It did not touch her, and its roar was barely even a buzzing in her ear. But that was not what drew her attention. It was the feeling, the emotion that saturated everything. The storm, the valley....all of it, tinged red by wild, mad rage. She recoiled at it, and even as she realized that it was there, an implacable presence seemed to descend upon her. Pinning her where she stood. You shall not bind me to your will, human. BEGONE! She screamed in mortal agony as fire tore at her, blistering her world with unbelievable, unquenchable heat. Snow and rock alike flashed to steam and gas, and she could feel her bones melting. Against the sensation of agony, the familiarity in the voice was lost. Her eyes flew open, mouth wide in a soundless shriek. Her breath hitched in her lungs, and every single breath caused deep, sharp pains in her chest that only made it even more difficult to breath. She coughed, and if she could make no sound to communicate, the hacking certainly was loud enough to be heard in the confines of the cavern, its lot and soot stained ceiling catching and echoing the sound back. There was great pain in every movement, and despite the fire that burned merrily in the center of the cleared space, she was freezing to her bones. If it wasn't for the coughing that wracked her so thoroughly, she would have been chattering her teeth. Her fever-glazed eyes darted frantically, taking in the surroundings. With a silent groan, she rolled on to her side, and had to struggle with not being violently ill right then and there. Her head swam, sight spinning dizzily as she lay on her side and swallowed hard. Her breath came raggedly, crackling and popping in her chest, and proved to be as difficult as breathing through a straw. She wore a finely made sweater of brown wool, and it was damp with her sweat, though with as cold as she felt she was surprised she could have sweat at all. Her fingers ached and so did her feet, a dull throb that never grew stronger but never grew less either. All in all, she felt absolutely wretched. And she did not remember having gone to sleep within this cave, or in these clothes - a quick glance found her dress hanging from a limb wedged into a crack in the ceiling, mostly drew but with damp spots and stains now marring it. From where she lay, however, she could not see the shape of the man that had started up the mountain with her. Face pale as the white ashes that stirred fitfully in the fire ring, she sat up slowly. And it was slowly, requiring every scrap of strength she could muster to accomplish. Her head swam again as she righted herself. The cavern was not very large, big enough for a few people to take shelter in and little else. The fire had burned low enough that the illumination it gave was a dusky red glow and little else, and it cast crazed shadows on the ceiling and walls that made her itch. Childhood fears seemed to swim into focus on those walls before melting away...perhaps she was fevered, and her mind addled? She had to admit that she felt like something the dog had left on the doormat of an evening, every joint aching, head pounding, lungs burning and stabbing mercilessly wit each labored breath. She looked outside the cavern, through the narrow opening that should have left a wide view of the sweeping alpine slopes. Snow had piled up so deeply that only a few feet near the top remained open, and the view outside showed the calm typical of pre-dawn in the wilds, the air sharp with cold and clear as crystal. Even so, the sound of howling, roaring wind filled the world outside. There certainly was no storm here, though. She turned - carefully - and espied a shape laying against the back wall of the cavern, on or around some old hides that had gone mostly to dust. And then broke into another fit of violent coughing, breath wheezing in her lungs as she struggled to regain it afterwards. Fine mess....I've gotten into, she thought to herself. A fine mess, but even so, even as she felt, she still felt that pull northward, like iron filings to lodestone. Calling. Beckoning. Demanding. And above it all, the visceral memory of animal rage, of eyes in the dark watching, of muscles bunched, tensed and ready to uncoil in a violent pounce. That, and fire. |
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Wed Sep 4, 2013 10:31 pm Post #14 |
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For as tired as he was, sleep remained just out if his grasp. He tried valiantly though, laying down in the far corner with his pale eyes staring at Luna in the darkness, body curled beneath his feathered cloak. But it was a futile effort. His mind wandered and he was nocturnal by nature. The storm outside howled a strident lullaby and Taiaka found himself clenching his teeth against the sound until his jaw ached. Luna moaned and twitched fitfully, her form nothing more than a heap of flickering shadows. Taiaka burned two cigars as he watched her, silently and unmoving, before he was convinced she was truly swaddled by the comforting arms of slumber. All the while, the old scavenger avoided looking at the exposed darkness of that crawlspace. Until he had to pee. There was no way he would brave the elements to relieve himself; the snow had done a brilliant job corking the entrance to the cave and sealing in the warmth of their fire. Still though, nature called. Quietly, he stripped off his cloak, frowning deeply as it melted back into a very common looking leather breastpiece once removed from his essence, and set it aside. He left the longer of his two bows leaning, unstrung, against his lemon yellow shawl that doubled as his pack, but took the shorter one. He also took his quiver, which was already tied to his right thigh by padded straps that wound beneath a narrow slit in his skirt. Taiaka padded over to the hole in the back of the cave and shouldered his way through the rotting pelts. It was a tight squeeze but the crawl space opened up a bit once he made it past the debris of numberless campers and it became a cramped, dark tunnel. The low ceiling caused Taiaka to hunch over and he fought a growing sense of claustrophobia; he was forced to press past a bottleneck of collapsed stone, scraping his shoulderblades and chest against the sharply hewn rock hard enough to draw blood. He didn't notice the scrapes, only the growing pressure inside his bladder. Beyond the bottleneck, the tunnel came to an abrupt dead end. Taiaka placed his palms on the stone, eyes darting to a sliver of pearly gray light just above his head. His fingers found the ledge and he had no trouble pulling himself up, bow and all; wriggling on his belly, elbows and knees leaving layers of skin behind, he huffed and puffed and muscled through. Finally, the tunnel once again opened up, but this time, it presented Taiaka with a large cavern mottled with ice, and stalactites drip drip dripped minerals into a emerald green lake. The old scavenger hopped from the ledge and landed with the grace of a cat, his hands were already undoing the belt at his waist. He trotted over the the lake's edge and sighed, eyes staring aimlessly into the distance as he made water. He finished with a shiver and let his gaze wander around the cavern. He could see a path leading from the far edge of the lake and disappear into the blackness, trailing off to the north. There were also crates and ewers strewn about, and various spoor that spoke of smugglers and, perhaps, criminals. When Taiaka investigated, drawn by an insatiable curiosity and the desire to find ancient relics to pawn in Balefire, he found most crates were empty. The ones that were not, were filled with old clothing- small outfits that were at one time vibrant in color and daintily sewn- pretty little dresses for thin-boned daughters and striped onesies for babies. Another crate was filled with carved wooden animals. Another with thick, rusty chains. The old scavenger was thoroughly unimpressed and he could not, for the life of him, figure out what kind of operation had taken place down here by the lakeside. The only conclusion he came to was that of slavers...It just seemed like such an odd location for such. Regardless, Taiaka turned around, tail erect, and started to head back to the bolthole through which he climbed. But something stopped him, movement in his peripheral. He stopped dead in his tracks and squinted into the darkness beyond the edge of the lake. Nothing. Just his imagination. He turned back....again to see the flickering of moving shadows. Taiaka's heart caught in his throat, whether it was his imagination or not, but he sidestepped away from terror and found a coiled reserve of anger just beneath the surface of his countenance. It caused his features to darken and his eyes, forever pale, to cloud with ice. He turned away with a defiant grunt, a steeling, baiting whatever it was that had aroused his ire to show itself. It did not. So, the old scavenger, moving faster than now with his breath coming in choppy puffs of mist, jumped up to the ledge, found purchase, and crawled through. He returned to the cave, covered in a sheen of sweat and bleeding, and did his best to stuff the crumbling pelts back into the hole. He did a poor job, but he laid down like a hound near it, staring, always staring. Sometimes he'd let his eyes rest on Luna; he longed to crawl over next to her and curl around the curve of her back. He didn't though. He also didn't realised he had drifted off to sleep as the sun breached the horizon- not until Luna coughed. He snapped awake but did not move for a long time. When he did, he did so slowly, fatigue echoing in every stretch and yawn. Taiaka stoked the fire after resting a rough hand on Luna's forehead. He could not tell if she was feverish or not, his blood burned too hot and she felt cold and clammy to his touch. Sitting beside her, the old scavenger fished around inside his lemon yellow pack for a metal cup and a pouch filled with various, tiny waxed-sealed packets. He said nothing to the girl as he melted a cup of snow and added a mixture of leaves and something that looked remarkably similar to dirt to. He let it sit there and boil on the hot rocks as he took Luna's hands, one after another, into his own, and tried to rub some warmth back into them. His machinations were sterile and silence fit him poorly, like a ill-tailored jacket. |
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| Luna Moore | Thu Sep 5, 2013 2:11 am Post #15 |
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She endured his ministrations in silence. She had little other option, for she still felt faint and listless, and as weak as if she had nothing to eat for days and run hard for every single one of them. The warmth of the fire and his attempts to rub life back into limbs that had been on the bitter edge of frostbite slowly seeped their way through her flesh, though her shivering never ceased nor slowed a hair. The vile tasting concoction he gave her made her want to cough and sputter, but at least it quieted the coughing that threatened at times to double her over in pain, and the pain lessened. Not the heavy feel of her breathing though, nor the surreality of the world as she gazed almost vacantly at him with now clearly fever-glazed eyes. And still, she would not relent to it, or anything else. She drew such coverings as she had close, teeth chattering on occasion, and sought that shimmering light, that wellspring of life and safety, comfort and joy. It flickered queasily now, just beyond sight. It did strange things here, so close to...to that other thing. That wall of power, impenetrable storm with all the wrath of an angry god. Was it an angry god, then, that resided in the dead valley of Nefut? If so, then why? If not, then... She shook her head. The cotton that tried to stuff her thoughts to the side was shaken away with it, though it threatened to return. Desperate for some clarity, she shifted mentally, groping for her power like a man blindly groping in the dark for the rope to pull him from suffocating mud already touching his chin. She groped and grasped something, and at first it seemed to slip through her fingers like sand. And then it firmed, and hesitently something opened, beyond touch, beyond knowing. Power flooded her, but fitfully. It waxed and waned like a beating heart, and only remained strong enough for what she intended in any case. Even so, there was a...resonance, from without. A similarity between what she now touched, and the raging tempest that stood like an iron wall straddling the summit of the mountains, concealing all that lay within. A oneness, and if she just added her own flow to that power... She killed that line of thought for the madness it was. Instead, she peeled off flows from the source within her, threads of power that writhed in her mental grip as they never had before. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion that made it so difficult; normally, working with things aligned to wind were as natural as breathing for her. Unfortunately so, in so many cases. She cast a look at the entrance to the cavern, the rosy light of dawn creeping over the mountain managed to pierce the shallower snow towards the top of the entrance. The close air of the small cave, warm and smokey from the fire as it was fetid by the smell of her unwashed body and likely that of Taiaka as well, stirred. The sounds of the crackling fire, of his deep breathing and her irregular, hitching breath, even the rattle deep in her chest seemed to warp faintly as she worked with minute flows of mana, so intricate and so finely done that it always amazed her how new it was to her. And how no one she had ever met to date could manipulate magic so finely, in such breathtaking detail. Stop worrying over me, Taiaka. I am not made of porcelain. The words held the quality of gentle chiding, completely bereft of the chills she suffered from and unimpeded by her labored breath or the occasional cough that still managed to worm its way past whatever medicine the scavenger had given her. It also held a faint trace of amusement. Truth to tell, she did feel like porcelain right now, but she didn't want him to think that. The way out is buried. We'll have to dig to get out, and... She paused, unsure of how to proceed. He would probably think her mad, or delirious, or both if she mentioned seeing that awe-striking wall of elemental fury circling the valley of Nefut. Especially in a dream that may very well have been fever-wrought. She certainly felt wretched enough at the moment. We'll have to find some other way into the valley. Someone or something doesn't want us, or anyone else, to get in. She explained briefly about the blizzard that served as a very effective barrier round the valley, and that awful, rage-filled presence that seemed to be the guiding hand of it all. And then she took in scraped skin and blood, and the drying sheen of sweat on the scavenger, and found herself at a loss for words. Where have -you- been while I lay prostrate, I wonder? She did not voice it, though, instead sitting there shivering. |
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7:02 PM Jul 11

