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| Desert Kings [O]; (2 others max) | |
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| Topic Started: Mon Apr 12, 2010 9:18 pm (315 Views) | |
| Taiaka | Mon Apr 12, 2010 9:18 pm Post #1 |
 
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On foot, the scavengers assembled twenty miles south of the oasis. They were a motley bunch, races and creeds spanned the spectrum, but they all had one thing in common: Experience. They wore it on their skin rather than in the form of rank or title. These scars bound the scavengers together in unspoken camaraderie, though they had been nothing more than strangers the day before. In the ruined places, the eyrie where wilier vultures roost, a call had gone out. Not one for foolish adventurers; nor one written on fancy parchment. It was a subtle cry, a ripple of rumor that was caught in the scavengers’ web of interest. It had rained in the desert. And while the silly druids in their green and blue war paint bawled to their dead gods for thanks, the scavengers gathered their gear and made a hasty exodus. Every year it rained. Every year the cool air from the mountains tangled with the arid zephyrs of the Istan hardpan. The resulting storms were unpredictable and violent. Still, the scavengers did not care about the reasons behind the seasonal rain, be them divine or mundane. The scavengers cared only for what the storms had unearthed. There was an undercurrent of friendly competition amongst the steely men at the camp. All of them wanted to fill their rucks with ancient treasures and priceless baubles. There was a terrific market for ‘cultural artifacts’ in Balefire and Kellen. Often the Academy of Magic would pay through the nose to get their paws on a rare tome of counter-curses or elemental cantrips. Every scavenger dreamed of finding the ‘dragon’s horde’ of unclaimed wealth in the darkened maw of a desert ruin. Most though made a simple and modest living. Taiaka was no exception, his presence at the camp far from unexpected. The shifter heard his name spoken in hushed tones several times since he had arrived at the rendezvous point, but none of the men approached him. This suited Taiaka just fine. As the fire in the center of their encampment burned steady and warm, staving off the surprising chill of the desert night, Taiaka sat silently scribbling on a piece of dirty canvas. He felt no need to speculate about what the recent storms had uncovered with his opposition; he did not wish to brag about his prior accomplishments or techniques. He would give them no advantages; he was morally inclined to desire their failure. The others however, basked in the glow of their own deeds until the horizon grew pearly and gray. The sun prompted the construction of ruddy lean-tos, cloaks stretched between scabbards, and shallow holes; anything for some shade, a kind shadow to sleep away the day. Taiaka lay curled beneath a length of red and silver cloth pinned into the cracked earth by two poorly fletched arrows. He slept on his elbow; hip cocked against the hard ground, holding the naked blade of his dagger against the length of his other forearm. For awhile he was comfortable, dreaming in fragments about dead things and the color red, but woke long before dusk. The shifter scrawled a few more lines on his canvas, shoving fleshy Macca fruit in his mouth by the handful, as the other scavengers rolled from their shelters lazily. “We move tonight.” The gruff voice caused Taiaka to smile and turn his head slowly to the left. Villmo, a stocky naga born and raised in Istan, slithered around the smoldering campfire tossing sand into its embers with flicks of his tail. “You say this like we are a unit.” The curt reply was voiced by a stringy elf with liquid gold hair. “No, I say this because we are being followed.” Answered the naga indifferently. The elf’s face quickened with suspicion. Taiaka watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye as he repacked his belongings. “By whom?” Asked the elf. Villmo smiled a dangerous smile and shook his head. “Hell if I know. But I’m not sticking around to find out.” Mumbles of agreement erupted from around the camp and the men, with surprising quickness, had prepared for their egress. Taiaka was ready as well and yet he remained sitting beneath his cloth, smoking an obscenely thick cigarette. One by one the scavengers began their race into the dunes. Some, like the shifter, lingered behind, appropriating strategies or simply hoping they would kill each other within the first mile. By the time the moon, swollen and bright, pulled itself high in the night sky, only the naga and the Star Gazer remained behind. “Do you know something I don’t, kid?” Villmo crept close to Taiaka and dropped a scaly hand on his shoulder. The shifter took his eyes from the black sea of sand and looked up at the naga wryly. “Why do I wait? Is this what you ask?” Taiaka’s voice sounded tinny and dry. Villmo nodded. “Something tells me I should.” The shifter turned his gaze back to the featureless sands, “Something tells me I need to wait for whoever be following us.” The naga’s face soured, “Have it your way, boy.” Taiaka chuckled and heard the naga shoulder his pack. “Just don’t wait too long.” Villmo’s grin was genuine, “The early jackal eats the heart.” “Mmmhm, and dies of dysentery. Good luck, Villmo.” “You too, Star Gazer.” And suddenly Taiaka was alone. |
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| Zulu | Mon Apr 12, 2010 10:46 pm Post #2 |
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((I hope its okay if I respond)) The days were hot, the nights were cold. It was some natural law of the desert to be this way, to opposing sides with their own realms, almost seeming to conflict with each other at dusk and dawn. Zulu looked up to a darkened sky, rain falling down upon his large mask, almost seeming to rejuvenate his dry gray skin. It seemed a bit unusual, though. This was the second rain this year, already. He gazed into the blots which covered the sky with interest. And soon enough, his ears caught sound of praying, worshipping something or another for the rain falling in such a hellish place, no doubt. He turned, following the sound to try and find its source, dragging his feet through the wet sand as he climbed his way up a sand dune. How long had he been in the desert? Travelling its sands by himself, slaying beasts with his spear and magic, never panicking when he could not find food nor water. Chaon rewarded those who did not fear it, and Istan was of no exception. Plenty of deaths in wild places were due to fear, the sudden loss of direction. He was lucky, spending a good time of his life in Gloomwood had already prepared him for the harshness of the elements. Finally he reached the top of the sand dune, the lantern he kept near the tip of his spear did not glow, there was no flame to light a way, and as such, he blended well into the darkness. Zulu looked down at a crowd of people, walking forward as a small group sat on their knees and thanked whoever they worshipped for the cool relief. The belief systems of most beings entitled them to go to the ground and fully worship for what they received. Zulu simply said a few words of thanks and continued on, following after the larger group from a distance, hiding himself behind the dunes and keeping from their sight. The rain dissipated, and night became day, Zulu watched intently, hidden by the distortion of the desert heat and shifting sands. His eye caught sight of a naga who slithered through the camp, apparently making sure everything was well. Most of the beings in the camp didn’t seem like they belonged anywhere there, and the cluster of chatter began to pick up distance. Apparently, from what the witchdoctor could make out, the group was a scavenger party, people looking to find fortune amongst the endless sea of sand. Most likely, most of them would find death, unless the naga knew of ways to stay alive for such fragile beings. The gray being’s gaze had wandered through the camp, and as he watched, he saw the naga once more, seeming o stare at him. Zulu stood, returning the gaze, even from such a great distance, and slid down a dune and away from sight. It would prove interesting to see how they would react; maybe the snake-like creature would pass off the sight of such an odd thing as a mirage given from the heat and sands. Zulu moved around, out of sight from the camp, and looked down from a different dune. The naga seemed to be acting a bit quicker than what Zulu had seen as his norm, he was giving commands and announcements as he snuffed their fire with sand. While most scurried to pack up their supplies, one sat in a make-shift construct, smoking a large cigarette. It was well into night as Zulu still watched, only two beings had remained in the camp. The naga and the one who had been smoking. Everybody else had made their way into the dunes, which brought suspicion to the witchdoctor, why had only these two stayed behind? He watched with curiosity, his form hidden well against the darkness. The two said things to each other which the gray man could not hear, and then only one being was left alone. A slightly sinister smile was hidden behind the large mask as he made his way down the dune to the only being left. If there were traps around, Zulu could deal with them, he was more concerned with the person left. By now, he could surely be seen approaching, using his spear like a walking staff. A sort of air finally came around to Zulu, neither bad nor good, this was a neutral being, so there was no true telling what he would do. “Your group has all left, and yet you stay behind. I suppose you were waiting to see what was following you?” He chuckled, stopping a couple of yards, being sure to keep his distance from whatever tricks this man may have. |
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| Taiaka | Fri Apr 16, 2010 7:26 pm Post #3 |
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High dunes cast low shadows as the moon held court in the night sky. The stillness of the desert, the quiet, was cast in hues of thick indigo and draped across the windswept sand like a quilt of midnight. Taiaka stood listening to the desert, holding his breath with an ear cocked to the horizon. He turned his head just in time to see a stranger coming towards him, now only meters away. At first, Taiaka assumed this was just another scavenger, a straggler perhaps belayed by low merchant stocks or a nagging spouse. But the closer the shifter looked the less stock he placed in distanced first impressions. When he spoke, Taiaka tilted his chin down and clasped his hands behind his back but never took his eyes from the face behind the mask. “You suppose right.” He showed a smile but not his teeth. Purposely, he turned his attention back towards the eastern skyline. Minutes passed and yet Taiaka remained perfectly still, but when the silence was growing awkward, a tiny metallic jingle could be heard. The shifter, with a gratified smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, lifted a single hand in the direction of the sound. “If that scumbag, Marrimo sent you,” Taiaka barked at the man in the mask, “You tell him he be too late.” The sound of jingling was coming closer. Taiaka plodded through the sand, the tail of his ornate kilt dragging behind him; he only went a few steps, and turned around. “The scout report is mine. Not even the naga knew.” He swiveled, chuckled, “If Marrimo wants a piece of the pie, he got to work for it.” The shifter said this very matter-of-factly, a timbre of levity firmly in place as if he expected the man in the mask to feel equally as exasperated at this Marrimo guy. To the east, a white camel trotted with its gauche gait down the eastern dune. It was moving at quite a clip; the bells and jesses attached to its harness clanked and rang, splitting the night. And it was dragging something behind it. Taiaka made a series of obnoxious tongue clicks and whistles as the beast came lumbering closer. In the bright moonlight, a broken rickshaw could be seen teetering on a large, spoked wheel behind the camel. The reigns dragged on the sand and it was clear that the driver’s hatch, the reed platform at the back, was torn in two. The shifter consciously looked at the man in the mask. “We both too late.” His voice was flat. The camel trudged over wearily, immediately curled its knobby knees beneath itself and lowered to the ground. Taiaka came forward and stroked its neck. It showed him its brown teeth. He graciously unlatched the rickshaw from the harness and lurched back as it groaned, and toppled to the side. Frowning, the shifter began circling and picking at his bare arms absently. He stooped down slowly and tossed back the flap of a canvas bag hooked to the side of the camel’s thrown saddle. It was filled with sand. “This can’t be right.” Taiaka muttered. He removed the bag completely and emptied its contents into a pile. Sand. More sand. Then, three distinct thumps. The shifter’s mouth opened slightly as he threw the bag aside and dug one of the objects from the sand. It was clearly an egg; the silvery moon reflected off its golden surface until it seemed to glow in his hand. He quickly dropped it as if its recognition was terrible, as if he would convince himself he was simply hallucinating. On rubbery legs, Taiaka took two steps back from the ruined rickshaw- but he couldn’t stop looking at it. His mind was racing as he let his eyes wander. The camel gave an eerily mournful croak. There, clutching the reigns… Taiaka pulled the strip of tanned leather closer without ever moving his feet like an angler. Five fingers, waxy and gray, gripped the reins as if they did not know they were dead. The shifter lifted the fingers, hand, and splintered severed forearm from the sand and grinned stupidly. He shook the limb at the man in the mask, “The scout not be saying much.” |
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| Zulu | Sat Apr 17, 2010 9:11 am Post #4 |
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Zulu listened to the man’s words quietly amongst the jingle which carried itself through the air, non-responsive to what was being said. Apparently whoever this Marrimo character was gave the man a bit of grief, and despite his claims apparently against the gray man, he thought that Zulu was sent by whatever this Marrimo being was. Zulu’s eyes showed a certain lack of interest, as if he had just found a madman who had allowed the sun to beat down on his head for too long. He took a few steps, a bit of distance between the two before turning to Zulu and claiming that a scout report was his and his alone, making another mention of Marrimo, Zulu still lost as to the man’s identity. He finally looked up to where the sound came from as it became clearer, unobstructed. A camel coming from a dune to the East, Zulu turned quietly towards it and watched the adept survivor of the harsh Istan desert approach closer. The dark man’s voice dropped flat as he went over to the camel and looked through a canvas bag before dumping more sand onto the desert ground, going through the newly added sand and picking up an egg which mysteriously glowed in the moon’s light. Apparently this didn’t bode as a good sign to the apparently tormented man as he dropped it to the ground, Zulu continuing to watching silently as the man went over to the white camel’s reigns and removed a cold gray hand, shaking it with words trying to make a bit light of the situation. Zulu wasn’t impressed, and he knew that even the being he met didn’t either. At last the gray man made a sound, a simple sigh as if he were exhausted from those last few moments, shaking his head a bit as feathers from his mask trailed. Something was sending a message, and the guess was that whatever probably killed the scout was going to do the same thing to the group of scavengers. “Pity his life ends before he brings proper news of what he saw, I suppose.” He said with such obvious uninterest in his tone as he walked to where the dark man dropped the egg, examining it for a moment. It seemed to still be glowing, and leaning against his spear, Zulu reached down and picked the egg up, a question appeared in his mind as he gazed at its smooth surface. “What kinds of eggs can you find in the desert that glows? A phoenix egg glows differently, and if I remember correctly, dragon eggs are much larger.” Zulu placed the egg softly on the ground before turning to the sack and taking another moment to think. The eggs were in there in such a manner that they wouldn’t be badly damaged, and the forearm attached to the dead gray hand seemed to be broken off. “It seems your scout may have been the nest-robber of a particularly large and powerful creature.” Zulu mused as he walked over a few steps, picking up the canvas bag and looking over it real quick. “And I guess that whatever is the mother to these eggs won’t particularly be in a pleasant mood while its eggs are missing. Far as I can see, there are two obvious options, we take the eggs and go the opposite direction of the scavenging party, or we save their lives by bringing the eggs back to their ferocious mother.” He chuckled a bit, both ideas seemed well in place to him, but what did he know? He had been stuck in Gloomwood for most of his life on Chaon by his father who thought he took his power for granted. He walked back to the sand pile and dug out a few more eggs which supported his theor a bit more, and then shoveled some sand and the eggs in so they wouldn’t break, just as they had been before the dark man dumped them onto the sandy ground. The bag was a bit heavy, but it didn’t bother Zulu much despite his naturally thin frame, he looked back to his new acquaintance, eyes rather unimpressed with the situation showing through the large mask. “Nothing is kind to those who fear it, not even this world. And where as my initial reaction would be to let those people die, yours may differ, and I don’t seek a fight over some deadly beast’s children. So it ends up being your call.” His voice was dark, so far the being’s his actions had been influenced by were of a… much darker nature. This may in fact turn out to be an actually good encounter for his alignment issues, or they may just further his path down a path of evil, he was sure his parents didn’t care, they literally said that to him before stranding him in a blackened forest on a strange world for over ten years. |
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| Taiaka | Sat Apr 17, 2010 7:02 pm Post #5 |
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Taiaka licked his lips and squared his shoulders with the man in the mask, “You have the heart of a scavenger, but you think with the mind of a man.” The shifter tapped the dead fingers against his temple before tossing the severed limb away. The man in the mask had made cautious sense of the situation but Taiaka, a symphony of unscripted expressions, remained suspicious. Yet he listened; even as he pretended to give the camel his undivided attention, he was listening. Taiaka sketched pictures of the face behind the mask upon the surface of his mind, grateful to the night. “Every one of those men will die.” The shifter drew close enough to the man in his mask that the moonlight caused the ink on his skin to look alien and oily. From the way he spoke, he seemed to choose his words very carefully, specifically enunciating every syllable as if they were tarry and thick. “The camel came from the east. The men, they move south. If momma’dere be tracking her eggs, she will be on the wrong scent.” He took a half-step back and motioned with his hand to the bag of eggs the gray man held, “You carry what’s mine,” a smile, “As long as that’s on your back, we be blood. Kin. Brothers.” The last word smarted of sarcasm and deep seated resentment: Taiaka could not hide it. Yet he remained smiling, “So yah. On one path we walk back to the Oasis and caravan to Istan to sell these eggs- barring they don’t hatch before we get there.” He paused. “On another path, one found only by the heart of a scavenger, we flank the southern party and do our own breed of scouting.” The shifter shrugged, the dreadlocks on the top of his head bouncing, “Who knows what the rains uncovered? Who knows what they have already found, yah?” Taiaka licked his lips again, “They will kill each other. Dawn brings daggers. The vultures always come.” Feral, “We can feed off their bloated satchels and backpacks like jackals, brother. Be rich.” He took another few steps back from the man in the mask, his face growing mildly apathetic, “On a third path, you give me my eggs, then you run home and find a nice teat to suckle on.” He bowed his head, “Nothing is kind to those who fear it, not even me.” |
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| Zulu | Mon Apr 19, 2010 6:18 am Post #6 |
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Zulu didn’t know whether or not to take the man’s first words of response as a good sign, or an insult. Though, the masked man decided to just ignore the comment for the most part. Though, he became a lot more interested when the dark man said that every one of those men would die. A sort of fiendish smile was hidden by the large mask on Zulu’s face at the thought, some horribly large beast of the sand ripping through the ranks of the caravan. He chuckled softly. Not speaking until the other was finished. The man spoke of a couple other paths, the first was going back to Istan and selling the eggs, the other was going to see about scavenging through the bodies of the scavengers who would most likely turn on each other for riches. Again, the thought was very intriguing to Zulu. And then the man spoke again, and this time a darker look came to Zulu’s eyes as the darker man said what could easily be interpreted as a threat. The dark man seemed to have no emotion to his words, but the ones which appeared in Zulu’s we filled with appropriate emotion. “Did you just threaten me? Something tells me you won’t actually admit to that with the sense of a scavenger.” He said coldly, the grip on his spear tightening as he locked his eyes with a dark intent, the intent being that of slowly draining the man of all moisture in his body and leaving him to be scorched by the desert sun’s blistering heat when it would rise. “Well, then. I suggest we hunt for the dead and see what kind of creature hatches from these eggs.” Zulu didn’t leave much time for a true air of awkwardness, not looking away from the other man. “And as for your little show, I suppose one could call it from your bow, be wary not to anger me, and we can both try to be each other’s ally, brother.” Zulu’s words were slightly dripping with venom, his words blackened from previous encounters with much darker beings, one that didn’t take kindly to insults either. And the witchdoctor didn’t even realize just how perfectly he had matched that venom, the dark air which surrounded him as he spoke. He was more interested in the eggs than he was in the remains of the dead. He turned, a risky move, he knew, but the plan of draining the man could still stand easily, even with a dagger in his back. “Nothing is kind to those who fear it, and nothing shows mercy to those that anger it. I keep this in mind with every being, creature, and place I come across, it is how I survived Gloomwood for a decade, and it is how I have survived the Istan Desert, you should keep it in mind as well, for neither of us knows the power of the other.” He turned again, sharply pivoting and sort of slamming his spear into the ground for him to stop. “Let’s follow the doomed, then. And see what lies ahead.” He was giving a dark smile from behind his mask, one hidden from his eyes, and the sight of the dark man. |
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| Taiaka | Mon Apr 19, 2010 6:10 pm Post #7 |
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Taiaka was amused; he tried to keep his face as plain as possible but he knew the glimmer of impish approval showed in his painfully blue eyes. This one has fire in his belly, the shifter thought, and he’s full of bravado. He must be young. Young enough to worry about power and to puff out his chest like a cockerel. No doubt his breath must smell like milk. They threatened each other like men though, like brothers, like young males on the hunt. In truth, Taiaka was glad the man in the mask had the wherewithal to notice the eccentric flair of his monologue. It was a show. And he was equally as relieved as the curtain fell. “I pray you do not judge me on the merits of others.” Taiaka yanked the camel’s reigns and brought the beast to its feet. He slapped it roughly on its flank. It, once again, showed him its flat, stained teeth. “Go, stupid. ‘Fore we eat you.” It did not move. Taiaka cooed a stream of guttural curses and insults at the camel, sighed, and ran his hands down the length of dark blue cloth that covered his thighs as if his palms had been sweating. He looked over to the man in the mask without giving the humpbacked beast another thought. “I am called Taiaka,” When he voiced his own name, the tattoos on his shoulder blades flared of their own volition. One, a long looping series of tribal black lines, produced a wobbly aura of holiness while the other, a tight knot of sharp points, contradicted the first and gave off an ominous air. Taiaka had no conscious recognition of this happening; neither a shiver nor tremble marred his lean frame. “And I will head your advice, brother. Something in your voice tells me you are telling the truth.” The shifter’s tone was somber. He feared the man in the mask would betray him at the first opportunity. There was no way to change the mindset of a man who lived in the past; Taiaka wondered if the mask hid more than just a face. Perhaps there was a very fragile, wounded man behind the wood and feathers. Despite himself and his better judgment, the shifter felt a pang of pity for his desert brother. He knew, too, that this unwarranted sympathy would most probably get him killed. “But you’re right.” Taiaka snapped out of his inner pomp and circumstance and let a very naive smile play upon his chapped lips. “We waste precious moonlight.” He lifted his right hand to the sky and muttered a string of words, a poem, in his native tongue. The stars in the sky quickened and a constellation known by the shifter as The Serpent began to whirl and tumble. The stars rolled in the black like uncut gemstones until they formed a concise line, from the zenith of the dark canopy to the horizon line. Taiaka sent a sharp stare at the man in the mask and pointed out to the sandy wastelands, “Our map until dawn.” He said as if waiting for the man’s primitive acknowledgement. Then, after wiping the sweat from his brow, he began walking towards the line of stars. |
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| Shuett | Tue Apr 20, 2010 2:53 am Post #8 |
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This night was proving to be quite interesting. First, there had been a large party, that had made camp a half mile from his own, then, they had departed somewhat quickly. After minutes of silence, and little movement, he heard a strange voice shake the air, and that voice caused the stars above to form a line. As soon as this happened, the wolf-man stood quickly, and attached his lantern onto his belt. He muttered a few words, and his body changed from that of a wolf creature, to a tall man, with thick gray dredlocked beard and hair, a heavy leather kilt, and a large scarf around his neck. He tossed his spear back and forth, thinking , his dark skinned hands making dull thumping sounds as it hit the wooden shaft. He muttered to himself, and decided he would investigate. He moved in swiftly, running in a crouch. He neared a dune, about fifty feet away from where he thought he heard the voice, and saw the silhouette of two men, standing near a camel. There was a pile on the ground, to vague to guess what it was. He muttered for a few seconds, then decided to move in to the group, and investigate. He stood and began to walk slowly toward the men, not bothering to try and hide, or dampen the sound of his feet. "Good evening, gentlemen!" he called out in a deep voice. |
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| Zulu | Tue Apr 20, 2010 7:57 am Post #9 |
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Zulu didn’t look up to the sky, he already knew which way to go to follow the caravan of scavengers. It was the same way that the stars he didn’t look at were pointing, but he knew how to keep distance. The witchdoctor turned and began walking with a slight chuckle, leaning against the spear that he used more as a walking stick as he carried the bag of eggs and sand with ease. This was already proving to be quite an entertaining night, one the likes he hadn’t seen in months. The black sands ahead were almost beckoning, but that sensation quickly dissipated at the arrival of something new, it looked odd in the moonlight, another tribesman of the sands, perhaps? Zulu didn’t know, but he was already wary, looking at the oddly happy being with a slight one of confusion in his eyes. He pondered for a moment before giving a gaze back at Taiaka. The dark man had given his name, names were a sort of power, showing some bit of trust. Though, with this new being appearing, Zulu was questioning speaking his. Though, maybe the name Ga’Zulu would strike a sort of respect into a tribal being. Any who knew of the Puppet God. To most, the Puppet God was little more than a fair-tale about the cloth creations. For Zulu, it was his father, Ga’Rifcaa. The large mask on his face tilted a bit to the side as he turned his attention back to the strange new being. “I’ll tell you my name, brother, if this one tells us his.” He said with a bit of caution as he waved his spear at the new man, the lantern trailing behind the spear head. He didn’t even wonder about needing a light for the lantern, if they were going to track after the group of scavengers, it would only bring attention from the sand naga. That would be the last thing they needed. And if this being were loud and wanted to join, they would surely need to quiet him. The witchdoctor was cautious with the sort of air that the new one carried, the chaotic wind. Taiaka shared that same air, and it had already taken him a while to trust him just enough to not try and drain him and leave him for the sands to deal with as they pleased. “And you, stranger. You can either leave us be or lower your voice. If those scavengers are as greedy as to kill any threat to their riches as my new friend here claims, then the last thing that we will need will be to alert them to our presence. I already question if one stayed behind to keep watch over this one and report back to the group when I arrived.” The thought seemed very plausible, it wouldn’t take much for somebody to hide amongst the black dunes, merely dark clothing and silent steps. He breathed an uncomfortable sigh at the troubling thought. It would be considerably more difficult to track the group if every scavenger was on look-out, and if there had been a scout, if there was still one watching them, it would be considerably more difficult to hide from their sight. And here sat three neutral beings, amidst the black sands, possibly all with the same general interest, to see what the scavengers dug from the old desert. And to see if there was a large and angry beast which ripped them to shreds. Three eggs, three beings… it almost seemed a bit too perfect. And that made Zulu sort of lose himself to thought. |
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| Taiaka | Tue Apr 20, 2010 4:21 pm Post #10 |
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Taiaka touched two fingers to his forehead, then his heart, and then brought a single finger to his lips. His eyes were locked on the newcomer, his gesture respectful but unmistakable: Sssshh! For Taiaka, the appearance of a third compatriot did not dredge up such profound paranoia as it seemed to invoke in his masked brother. Of course, this was because Taiaka was a fool to his own superstitions; three was a mystical number. Plus, the shifter found something familiar and comforting in the way this man presented himself; arrogantly, he was reminded of himself. He spoke in a tone just above a whisper, “Oh brother, there is no need for such…suspicion.” Taiaka had turned his eyes to the man in the mask and slurred his words as if he had been drinking. “If he wasn’t meant to join us, he wouldn’t have found us.” He said this very nonchalantly, as if the dogma of fate was universally understood. “It’s a very big desert.” A shrug. By now, it was well after midnight and the moon had begun to set. Taiaka frowned as he looked up at his line of stars. Something whispered to him but he pretended not to notice. A few lanky strides later and he was shoulder to shoulder with the other dreadlocked man. Brother Mask was out of earshot when he spoke, “The other is not to be trusted.” Taiaka kept walking, brushing past the newcomer but not without a long appraising glance to the trinkets he wore around his neck and the spear in his hand. He was smugly smiling to himself. When he crested the next dune, he did so in a crawl. He did not want his silhouette to give him away. From above, the sand looked like the roof of a dog’s mouth, ripples and ridges facing the blow of the wind. Yet, the shadows seemed to coalesce around something down below. A pile of rocks perhaps, a copse of devil grass…But no, even from his vantage point Taiaka could see the telltale, akimbo limbs of a dead man. And in the next moment, the spirit of the dead man was crouched next to Taiaka on the dune. The shifter again pretended not to notice, if only so he did not appear stark raving mad to the others. The spirit kept looking at Taiaka; he was the ethereal remains of the stringy blond elf. “It was Villmo.” The dead man said, “I found a caravan wagon, loaded with wares, Taiaka! That dirty naga killed me for it!” “Quiet, I don’t care. You’re dead.” Taiaka answered curtly. “You will raise me, right? I mean…You can’t leave me like this.” The elf’s voice sounded watery. “Go. Away.” The shifter whispered angrily, occasionally letting his gaze linger over Brother Man and the newcomer. |
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| Shuett | Tue Apr 20, 2010 5:45 pm Post #11 |
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Shuett nodded at The Maskless Man's gesture, and took a few steps forward. "I am Shuett, and I am quite interested in what you are doing in this area of the desert, and how you managed to move the stars; I only know a few who can handle them and what they bring." He cocked his head slightly to the left as the other man began to whisper to himself. "Sorry if I ask too many questions...but, I saw a caravan moving away from here, and wondered if it was yours." He chuckled slightly. "I heard rumors of raiders in this area, of course I hear a lot of rumors." He nodded slowly. These men were interesting. One seemed to be a shaman of some kind, maybe a witch doctor, and the other...the other he could not place- he would have to be watched. He scratched his chest, and cleared his throat quietly, "You're going to follow them, aren't you?" he asked in a rumbling voice. He chuckled, "They must be the raiders." he nodded slowly. This settled it, he would follow these men, whether they liked it or not. He was extremely interested now, especially in what The Masked Man carried in that satchle of his. As he pondered what he had in the bag, a falcon dove out of the sky silently, and landed on Shuett's shoulder. He petted the bird on the head, and spoke to it quietly in a gutteral language. He sighed, and tossed him into the air, headed toward the caravan. "Asher will show me what he sees of the caravan." he said quietly. He rubbed his right hand up and down his left arm slowly, a nervous twitch. ((OOC: You can post what Asher sees, I have no idea what you want to happen in the caravan.)) |
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| Zulu | Wed Apr 21, 2010 8:18 am Post #12 |
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Zulu was naturally cautious, few enough good beings existed in the world, let alone those who could survive the Istan Desert. The man with the braided beard spoke his name, apparently not having the same reaction to name the witchdoctor did, and the current situation wasn’t being helped by Taiaka calling him paranoid. Was it really paranoia to be cautious when in all of the desert sands a man just happened to walk out of nowhere and find them? He scoffed silently, shaking his head as Taiaka went close to the Shuett, most likely saying something about Zulu. “Apologies if I seem over-cautious, but fate is rarely kind when one meets somebody new. I am Ga’Zulu, I’ve had enough encounters with untrustworthy beings. Those beings, for example, the ones in the caravan, according to Taiaka, they are willing to stab each other in the back once they find riches amongst the dunes, scavengers perhaps no better than the vultures that will circle their corpses, I suppose.” Zulu’s words were a bit more relaxed, he had no expectations for this newcomer to recognize his name’s prefix as a god’s often laughed at, especially as one that should be feared, rather than buried under a sea of laughter. Zulu watched carefully as a falcon came from the night sky and landed on the new man’s shoulder before being sent off to go and spy on the caravan of shady scavengers. It seemed to be a smart move in the night; a bird could easily hide in the dark sky over Istan, unless something had enough aim and well enough sight to pick it out from amongst the inky blackness littered with bright stars. He nodded lightly, as if in a bit of approval. This man had a falcon, Zulu had chickens… somewhere. Perhaps those were still in Istan, harassing any who tried to eat them. A surprisingly deadly swarm, for their being chickens. He sighed, finally looking up to the night sky which had arranged itself to show a path. He cocked his head a bit to the side, the stars looked a bit familiar from astrology which his father and essentially drilled into his mind and seeded. He brought his gaze down, looking at Taiaka on top of a dune, seeming to scout a bit. “What are you?” Zulu said curiously at Shuett as he brought his gaze down to the mysterious third man. It wasn’t so much as a question of mistrust as it was one of intrigue. Out of seemingly nowhere had come this cheery man with ample means of scouting the caravan, the witchdoctor’s thoughts had immediately gone to something non human. When tracking the caravan, he had often glanced behind him to make sure nothing was there, and he hadn’t seen anything for miles really from the tallest dune he could find, yet this being still managed to sneak through, and perhaps even watch him and Taiaka for a while, it was only a minor upset, but still a thought he wanted to put to rest. |
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| Taiaka | Fri Apr 23, 2010 4:22 pm Post #13 |
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Taiaka saw the falcon’s shadow zip by him and swoop south. The shifter followed, half walking half sliding down the dune to reach the corpse of the elf; he did not go far. Yet, it was Asher who would lend his eyes to his master as he soared over the open sand. The falcon had no difficultly finding the scattered tracks of the scavenger caravan. He could see no forms though, as keen as his eyes were, just deep footsteps. Asher continued south until he could see where the soft sand gave way to cracked hardpan. Here, the bird could not find the tracks, but he did not need to. He could smell the residual earthy smell of recent rain and up ahead (as he circled) he could see a strange hump sticking out of the ground. Still, nothing stirred. As the falcon drew closer to the hump, he could see that it was a minaret that had tumbled over long ago. Perhaps it was a piece of a bigger structure, but the bird didn’t think about that. Its dome was scaly, and it shimmered in the moonlight even after being left in the harsh desert for so long. The falcon thought its surface looked like it was made out of lizard skin. The actual stone was totally dilapidated and piled with sand…but Asher caught a glimpse of a dark opening near its base…and he thought he heard a woman scream. Yet, the falcon banked hard, gaining altitude as he turned back to report to his master. Taiaka was rummaging through the pockets of the dead elf when Asher flew back over him. The spirit of the elf continued to pester the shifter all the while. But Taiaka was too interested in the wounds on the body to listen to the pathetic pleas. The elf had been ravaged; an arm had been severed at the elbow and a long gash marred his left side. His neck had been broken and the bottoms of his legs looked as if he had been running through straight razors. Most odd of all though, was that around each wound was a halo of black ichor. Taiaka reached out, touching the black substance with his finger, and brought it to his nose. He almost vomited from the stench. It smelled like month old decay, sweet and disgusting. “Villmo did not do this.” Taiaka thought aloud as he wiped the goo from his finger on the elf’s clothes, trying to dredge up his catalogue of necromantic knowledge. “Yes he did!” The spirit insisted, unwarranted. “I heard him yell something and the next thing I know, I’m dead!” “Maybe he was warning you.” The shifter said flatly, his pale gaze warily panning the scene. “I don’t care. I just want you to raise me or I swear to the gods, Taiaka, I will haunt you until the day you die.” Taiaka grinned, “Fine.” The shifter took a moment to center himself before emitting a series of low growls. He saw ethereal tendrils reach out, wrap around the elf’s disembodied spirit and tether him to his devastated body. The merge was about to happen, a new flame of life about to spark…And then, for no reason, the magic faded. Taiaka shook his head. Something was wrong. The elf’s spirit rapidly began losing its consistency until Taiaka was sure he had gone. Perplexed, the shifter ascended the dune and paced over to Zulu and Shuett. He arrived just in time to hear Brother Mask ask Shu, “What are you?” While usually a wealth of witty retorts, the shifter’s face was now creased with thought lines and he was silent. In his pondering, he lost control of the cantrip that moved the stars; they slipped back into place without fanfare as Taiaka stood sweating. |
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| Shuett | Fri Apr 23, 2010 5:13 pm Post #14 |
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Shuett licked his dry lips. Should he lie, or tell the truth. They might try to kill him if they knew the truth...or they might take him with. He had no way to be sure. "I am one of the Desert People, The Entael from the tribe Hundaii. I know these deserts well." he stated this in a deep voice, like tumbling rocks on a mountain side. He scratched his arms, "Now, Mr. Taiaka. I have a question for you if you would be so kind to answer." he looked into the man's eyes, and began to speak. "You have magic that controls the stars, are covered in strange star markings, and what I think is speak with the dead in hushed tones next to a corpse." Shuett's eyebrows raised slightly, "My question, is who are you?" he turned to the man in the mask. "The same goes for you sir. Men who wear masks usually have something to hide. A man with something to hide, and a spear frightens me slightly, although I am such a man also; I can admit it." he nodded. Shuett patted Asher on the head, "No need to answer now, we will have plenty of time while we walk south. Asher found something, a piece of a building, entombed in the earth, dome like lizard skin." Shuett nodded, "A dark entrance, and an image of what might me someone screaming. That is most likely where your...companions will be." Shuett nodded again, grabbed the camel by his bridle and began walking in the direction Asher had flown from. |
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| Zulu | Sun Apr 25, 2010 1:17 am Post #15 |
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Ga’Zulu slipped his hand beneath his mask to rest it in a very annoyed manner on his face, wondering if Shuett had heard anything he said and shaking his head slowly from side to side, the feathers of his mask trailing behind before taking a deep breath to relieve his annoyance. “I have said it once, and I shall say it one more time so that Taiaka can hear it as well… I am Ga’Zulu. And I am not of Chaon.” He said with a calm voice as he slipped his gray hand from beneath his large mask. He didn’t try to hide anything, the mask was more of who he was, rather than a tool to hide his identity, but of course somebody who did not hear his name, or simply didn’t know the bloodline would think that he was hiding something. “In the off-chance that either of you know of Ga’Rifcaa, he tired of my indecisiveness, took away my powers, and left me on Chaon to figure out my alignment.” He said with a light shrug, wanting to make sure that none of what he said was missed by either of the two people he was with. As the newcomer made his way to the camel, Zulu made his past Taiaka, remembering with a good deal of success which direction they were to head, “I thought we were going to make the camel leave so it didn’t attract attention.” He said uncaring of the Camel’s fate as he began to climb the dune which was in their way and looked down to the desert ground below with a spot of curiosity. Tracks were still somewhat fresh, not much wind was blowing in the middle of the Istan Desert this night, so it would be a while before the clumped and obvious tracks would dissipate. Zulu looked back to the two… or four, counting the animals and waited patiently on top of the hill of sand. There were going to be several hours in the frigid night to trail the caravan if it was still moving, so there was no actual worry about time constraints, the only thing he was fretting was if the camel would end up giving away their position in tracking an unsuspecting caravan filled with, apparently, cut-throat scavengers which Taiaka was with. And something just itched in the back of the witchdoctor’s mind that the three eggs were probably going to hatch well before their adventure together was through. |
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5:22 PM Feb 11
