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| The Remorseless; [O] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Wed Jun 18, 2014 12:00 am (748 Views) | |
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Wed Jun 18, 2014 12:00 am Post #1 |
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Cerulean Wheat was named for the vibrant blue kernels upon the tips of their stalks. Unique to the area, the wheat stood tall and proud in the ancestral fields of Debon before the annual summer harvest and subsequent festival. Like any other grain, Cerulean Wheat was considered a major staple to the Gythia Horsemen, who considered blue a sacred color, and had kept the cultivation of their prized crop a secret for generations. When pounded into flour, the wheat retains its color, the germ like a drop of ink inside the kernel, and the usual breads, flat-cakes and alcohol made by the people all have a deep, sapphire hue. During the harvest, every hand is stained blue and every body is adorned with flour paste- even the oxen are painted blue! Along with the hens and pigs and goats. Every child. Every man and woman. Outsiders were not an uncommon sight during this time of year and they were welcomed….mostly. As long as they had something to offer the Clan. Yet, despite the joy of the harvest, the celebrations did not revolve around music and feasting as one would expect. No, instead, it focused on beauty and prowess. Men would fight and die in the fields for the pleasure of the single females with pretty faces and bare shoulders. To die in the wheat was an honor. As much of an honor as was conception. And during the harvest, many new Gythia Horsemen were made under the waving blue stalks. These would be the babies born in the dead of winter, when mother’s would rely on their foodstuffs from the harvest. It all came full circle…. * * * White panthers were extremely rare, even more so considering Debon was not their natural habitat. Yet, the large male that lounged in the hot sun in the short grass was alive and real. He rolled with the children, each one laughing and daring to approach the huge snowy beast with fistfuls of blue flour paste. They pulled his tail and yanked on his tufted ears, put their little handprints all over him until he was more blue than white. Then, the panther would chase them up and down the fields until all parties involved were too tired to do anything but lie beneath the Kolyma trees and nap. The panther dozed under the shady boughs, purring loudly, with the hot, sweaty bodies of towheaded children when Siica appeared. “Come with me” The chieftain of the Gythia Horsemen asked of the white panther. The blue smeared cat got to his feet slowly, arched his back in a great stretch, and pawed after Sicca. They walked quickly, but remained silent; down past the far fields and across the meandering creek that formed a natural boundary between grazing pastures and into the untamed forest. The afternoon sun cut slivers of gold through the broad leaved canopy of maple and oak. Late blooming honeysuckle filled the air with the sickeningly sweet scent of blossoms rotting on the vine. They followed a well trodden deer trail, the sound of their foot falls muffled by emerald green century moss and the fact that both the panther and Siica were quite at home in the rugged wilds. When the Gythian Horseman thought they had traveled far enough from the prying eyes of his village, he paused, took a deep breath and turned his face down to the cat. “I willnae speak to you like that.” Siica’s voice was wonderfully quiet, deep like a purr, yet no more than a whisper. “Are you asking me to change, or telling me?” The panther replied, sitting on his haunches. “I’m asking you.” Beseeching but not compromising, his coffee colored eyes met the panther’s pale blue ones. “So be it.” The panther muttered, somewhat affronted by the request. But he respected the Horselord, enjoyed the hospitality of his clan, and would do as he asked. So, he let his skin shift, the disguise falling away until the panther was no more and only the man remained. A man stained blue despite his coal colored skin. “Better?” Taiaka questioned Siica, frowning. “Aye. Much. Stay behind me. Be quiet.” With that, Siica turned and pushed his way through a tangle of weeds. A few minutes later, the pair, still within the tree line, looked down and out over a wide clearing…Except, it was not clear. Black dots marred the perfection of yellowing sedge grass, milling around in clusters. Fires burned too. The acrid scent of smoke and the musky scent of horseflesh caught in Taiaka’s throat. “Who are they?” The shapeshifter asked, somewhat awestruck at the fact that an entire war party was camped this close to Gythia. Sicca shook his head, tail swishing anxiously, shifting his weight from hoof to hoof, “My best guess is that they are the Remorseless.” Taiaka knew the word. The Remorseless were nomadic Horsemen, criminals and eccentrics- some horribly twisted by the weight of magic they had no business using. They were mythical, the stuff of legends and dark fairy tales that kept the foals from galloping into the forest. “I hope ye brought yer bow.” Taiaka furrowed his brow, astonished that Siica thought a raid was imminent. “You don’t think they would honestly attack during the Harvest?” “I do, Taiaka. They’ll come up from the west after the sun sets. While they think we are vulnerable and unaware.” Siica paused, licked his lips, “My Battlekin know already and are preparing. I don’t want panic, but I cannae sew mouths shut.” Taiaka looked from Siica to the Remorseless in the clearing. They outnumbered the Gythia two to one. “We need help. Did you send a runner?” The Horselord shook his head again, “No time for a runner. But don’t worry, boy, we have you.” The sarcasm was thick and prompted both men to offer a weedy chuckle to one another...Before their features fell once again from the severity of the situation. “Stay here for a few, watch them. Come back and tell me what you think.” Siica patted Taiaka’s shoulder fatherly. The shifter just nodded. Spoiler: click to toggle
Edited by Taiaka, Sun Jun 22, 2014 10:45 pm.
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| Swift | Wed Jun 18, 2014 1:50 am Post #2 |
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Most gnolls in the Debon Plains were rarely seen on the surface or during the day. For the most part they chose to stay underground in their den-like villages, hiding from their enemies and only coming out when they had to during the day, and only to scavenge during the night. Some turned to being thieves and stealing supplies from some villages, which definitely didn't help their bad reputation, but the risk to try and right the wrong perception of their kind was deemed too much to actually do something about it. Some gnolls from the Velkelab, the Debon Plains' gnolls, refused to stay buried alive and instead sought to leave and experience the world. One such gnoll called himself Swiftrunner. Despite being his home by birthright, the Swift didn't really think that he would return. After all, the last two times that he was there were nothing pleasant, but there were more places than just Kellen and the home den in the Debon Plains. He had to go back if he wanted to be a hero, he had to find damsels in distress to save, and he had to find some way to make coin. The jobs in Taras grew ever riskier and more challenging as he took them. Some were simply traps for unwitting heroes and sellswords, others required crossing lines which the gnoll refused to cross despite popular beliefs on his kind. He needed to get away from the madness for a while, go back to something simpler. He didn't wish to go North to Striberg, and Cascadia didn't seem like it would make for a very good hub of missions to him, so the only option he could see as being left was Istan, which meant that he would have to travel along the trade routes, riding along with caravans whenever he could, just to get to the desert metropolis. Unfortunately the first caravan that Swift hitched a ride with went through Kellen, and despite the change in the appearance of the place, some of the literal old guard remained who recalled the gnoll's rather distinctive presence at first glance and saw fit to hold a grudge for past misunderstandings. Swiftrunner was run from Kellen and into the Debon Plains, wherein he wandered until the sweet smell of honeysuckle brought him to a village with beautiful women in the fields. Centaur women, with toned bodies from head to hoof which struck the gnoll's heart aflutter as he looked upon their graceful forms among the field of blue. The only thing which kept him from being completely forward with the centaur females of the horse-people was a singular thought which plagued his mind of everything in the Debon Plains. What was their affiliation with the Velkelab Gnolls and the Anhuet? Swiftrunner had never been one to partake too much in relations with other species, leaving him somewhat lacking in the appropriate knowledge. While he would love nothing more than to try and sweet-talk one of the stunning women to a private place for intimate interaction, the thought that they could just as easily try and crush him beneath the might of their hooves and lower-bodies struck sense into even his lecherous mind. As a result, he stayed out of the obvious territory of the centaurs, just out of the blue fields, left to look longingly upon the centaur beauties from afar. While he would have loved to love those women closer, he also loved living to love in such a way another day. |
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| Shalia | Wed Jun 18, 2014 2:32 am Post #3 |
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It had been some weeks since she had gained her freedom and exacted her revenge upon her dear master. Freedom...such an odd sensation for her. She had lost count of the passing years centuries ago. This was the first time she could ever remember living as a free woman. She came over a small hill and stood there. Stretched out before her as far as the eye could see where flat lands. A native she had spoken with recently had told her she was heading towards the Debon Plains. Apparently she had found them. As her lavender eyes scanned the horizon she spotted something. It looked like a camp of sorts. Against the vast open lands it stuck out like a sore thumb. The advantage and disadvantage of such opens lands is that nothing could hide. If she could see the camp, they likely could also see her. Was it merely a camp of nomads? Or where they bandits? As much as she preferred to avoid interacting with the mortals of this realm...her water canteen was running a little low. And she did not see a water source near by. If it was nomads, she was sure she could trade something she had to fill her canteen. If it was bandits...well she would merely kill them and take what she wanted. Having decided upon it, the woman began the trek towards the camp drawing ever closer. As she neared, the people within the camp became clearer and she could see that they were centaurs. She had heard of the horse like creatures but had never met one. She had also heard that they could be territorial and were excellent warriors. Even so, she did not fear their battle prowess and even if she did, it was too late to turn back and she was certain she had been spotted. |
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| Plork | Thu Jun 19, 2014 6:16 am Post #4 |
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The decades of heartache over her childhood loss had finally receded enough for Jessica Jaelani to yearn for her own garden once more. No longer was her wandering without any aim beyond shunning company. She had decided to amass a collection of seeds to nurture, but this time she would gather them herself. So she had come to the Debon plains, in search of some ears of Cerulean Wheat. Slightly disheveled, and displaying none of the customary grace and bearing that is synonymous with her kind, the elven lass roamed erratically down the streets of Kellen, ignoring the flow of traffic. For a time she amused herself by bouncing the butt of her spear off cobblestones, then veered suddenly to the side, entranced by a pile of broken bricks. After a time she nodded to herself and marched on, bare feet pounding out a cadence that made no concessions to puddles or other less pleasant substances smeared on the road. A hawker crying his wares startled her, and she skipped and twirled over to him. After looking over his goods she selected a shaslik, first proffering a stone with a hole in it, then a length of rawhide in a complex knot. Her voice dropped a few octaves "Spoons have such a graceful shape, don’t you think?" she said. The vendor eyed her warily, until she reached into one of her countless pouches, her hand returning with a small coin which she placed on his tray. Walking away she fastidiously plucked the vegetables from the kebab, then bent down and fed them to the rabbit cavorting round her feet. Smiling at its antics, she crammed the meat into her own mouth, gobbling it down barely chewed. Absently she cleaned her hands in her hair and placed the skewer into a hidden pocket. Her meal complete, she headed out of town in the direction of the tribe of Gythia centaurs that tended her prize. |
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Mon Jun 23, 2014 12:35 am Post #5 |
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Taiaka wasted no time. He ripped his soul from his body and drifted into the Naw, the pale place where words sounded tinny and a hot wind unceasing blew. The In-Between was a lonely place, but the old scavenger wanted to go down into the Remorseless camp and knew this was the quickest, and stealthiest, path. And, lonely or not, Taiaka felt comfortable here, addicted to the detachment and omnipotence of it; to listen, to watch, to never be seen, and never interfere. The concept of time here too, was unnatural. Not for the corporeal shell he left behind, nestled in the weeds like a kitten, though. But that part was unimportant as he flowed, dark and troubled, down to the Remorseless camp without even a parting glance. A black centaur is holding a spear. One side of his face is disfigured and his mouth is being held closed by a thick leather strap. He is threatening a blond centaur whose left arm is a patchwork of shiny green scales and tufts of brown hair. “You stole it!” The black centaur plunges the spear into the blonde's chest. His legs give out, but the blonde begins laughing and pulls the spear from his breast without the slightest hint of pain on his ruddy face. A gout of black blood spills from the wound, but the flesh knits itself together quickly. Taiaka moved on. A female coughs inside a wide, 3-walled yurt. She is lying on her side, surrounded by biting flies. Outside, two young centaurs with chestnut hides peer off into the distance. These guards are skinny. Their clothing hangs in tatters, the tridents in their hands are bent and worn. One points to the horizon. The other looks. Both move off in that direction. He drifts through. This centaur has bracers on his legs and armor strapped over his shoulders. His thick body is dappled, gray and white, like a stormy sky. He is speaking with four others, all but one are frowning. An albino. He has a grin on his face. A terrible grin. “...and what did he say?” The dappled one was their leader. He was angry. He only had one eye. “They have no idea!” The albino was trembling with joy, “We’ll overwhelm them in seconds. Kill the children. They will be screaming, so easy to find, clutching their dams.” He giggles, “Rope the women and reap what they have sown! Enough to eat then! A hero’s feast...You can smell it cooking from here. So blue!” “Enough, Toba.” The leader of the Remorseless was amused. “Send two scouts along the high ridge, ride wide around Gythia, see who’s coming and going. No surprises! The plan’s unchanged. We go at moonrise.” Taiaka moved away. A silhouette walking down the hill just outside camp. She is alone and, curiously, bipedal. He had to get back to himself. Taiaka felt cold when he could feel his limbs again and he gave himself a moment to reacquaint himself with his senses. But he was not generous. Time was ticking and the crystalline blue sky was already slipping into the dun of sunset. He stood quickly and darted into the woods, yet veered left along the treeline to see if he could catch a glimpse of the Remorseless scouts leaving camp. And, indeed, there they were! Taiaka cursed under his breath, and picked up his pace. He was so focused on the Remorseless, the plans, the terrible intentions and imminent fight that Taiaka didn’t see the gnoll until he thought himself too close. He slid to a stop, a wild look on his dark features, and instinctively reached for the dagger sheathed at the small of his back. But his hand came away empty. He had left all of his gear at Gythia- his sole article of clothing was a thin leather kilt belted high on his waist, the only thing that could survive his shifting. So, he froze like a fox, and waited for the foul beast to strike first. OOC
Edited by Taiaka, Mon Jun 23, 2014 1:51 am.
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| Swift | Wed Jun 25, 2014 6:17 am Post #6 |
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Maybe there was something that he had learned which could tell the gnoll whether or not he could stop hiding on the outskirts of the blue field to test relations between animal-people. Something from back in the den that he had only listened to long enough to regurgitate solely to impress the instructor before heading off to his own devices. What that may have been, however, was a complete and utter mystery to the dog. There, ever taunting and without ever realizing it, were beautiful half-horse women who didn't even recognize that there was a strange dog nearby, standing like a puppy waiting as patiently as it could for a treat, fidgeting just so much while keeping close to the ground. What words could he try to woo them with? What big-city tactics to try and apply to the Plainsfolk of Debon. To test his charm against the hearts of such exotic beauties, while simultaneously dodging any particularly violent males, if not the women's own hooves and kicks, if not weapons concealed on their bodies. His mind was so lost to his own lechery that the typical thoughts to self-preservation were utterly robbed from him, leaving him completely open and unaware as a figure came barreling from the trees not too far off. Thankfully the stranger stopped just short of a full-speed collision, but the noise of him doing so caused Swift to jump, readying his crossbow out of pure instinct as his blue eyes went wide. For a long moment Swift would just stand there, holding his crossbow with a furry finger ready to click the trigger at a moment's notice, but when he finally realized that the man he was face-to-face with was unarmed, the gnoll chose to lower his weapon with his right hand and remove the left from it, waving it towards the stranger uneasily. "Uh, I come in peace?" He was hoping to avoid confrontation, especially so close to women, especially so close to dangerous women, and even more with the possibility of protective male centaurs being just out of sight, "Anything you've heard about gnolls is probably a blatant lie. Probably. I don't really know what you've heard about gnolls, but I'm guessing it's bad." |
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| Shalia | Tue Jul 1, 2014 3:56 am Post #7 |
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Two of the guards had spotted her. They shared a glance before trotting out towards her, hands on weapons. As they neared she halted and stood her ground, also keeping her hands on her weapons. If they decided to attack, they would be in for a fight. The centaurs moved to flank her, keeping out of easy reach. Their eyes looked down upon her, and she met their glare in kind. Her instincts told her that they would not exactly be the friendly sort. But she could at least give them a chance to think twice about attacking her. "What brings a human here?" one of them asked in a harsh tone. Lavender eyes met the one who spoke. "First of all, I am not human. I am about as close to being human as you are to being a horse," she replied in a bored almost dismissive tone. She could tell that they did not like being compared to a horse. But she too did not like being compared to humans. "As for why I am here, I merely a traveler. I saw your camp and thought I might trade for some water," she explained. "After that you need not see me again. What say you? Fill my water skin and see me on my way? Or do you intend to not let me pass peacefully?" She was unsure if they would be willing to let her go, or if they would attack. If they did, she would be more than ready for a fight. |
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| Plork | Wed Jul 2, 2014 6:19 am Post #8 |
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Most other travellers would have arrived quickly at the Gythia encampment, but Jessica Jaelani disdained roads unless it was absolutely necessary. She instead made her meandering way via whatever distractions took her interest, and in a place as fertile as the Kellen plains, there were many indeed. Outriders skylined against a distant ridge meant that it was time to focus on something less pleasant than the anthill that was captivating her. Still swathed in the grasses and largely hidden from view, Jessica Jaelani watched them as they made slow sweeps. Idly she chewed a stalk, and considered her options. Based on how lazy their sweeps were, she decided they weren't looking for travellers, but instead enjoying an afternoon gallop. There would be time enow to treat with the centaurs later, so Jessica Jaelani left them to their pleasure and returned to her contemplation of the the ant colony. Occasionally she placed twigs in their part or crumbled small pieces of flatbread for them. So engrossed in this was she that the scouts passed her unnoticed, returning westward. It was only as the shadows lengthened and the insects became nigh invisible that Jessica Jaelani stood up in a flail of limbs. If she hurried, she would be able to get to the settlement before sunset. Following the sounds of harp and drum, Jessica Jaelani approached the gathering in the fields. A tow headed foal was the first to greet her. He walked up to the elf and with the inherent openness of the young said "You don't look blue enough to play with us... I can help you if you like!" Before waiting for her answer he began daubing her clothes and skin with the colour of the celebration. Warned of this tradition back in Kellen, Jessica Jaelani smiled, and scooped some of it onto Esmeralda Isolde, her rabbit. This caused the centaur child to laugh, the infectious sound drawing others closer. They joined in the task of decorating the visitor, and before long her coat of woad was complete. She shucked her pack and gear by one of the unlit bonfires and started to mingle, unsure what was the best way to trade for some of the grain but certain this was neither the time nor place to do so. |
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2:37 PM Jul 11

