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| Shattered Bonds; A Tale of Loss and Revenge | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 28 2007, 10:43 AM (411 Views) | |
| Post #1 Oct 28 2007, 10:43 AM | Grunt_of_War |
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Yes, that is correct: I'm starting a completely new novel. However, I'm taking a different approach to it this time: instead of simply making this a secondary hobby, I've decided to make it a priority by setting myself a goal. If I can get five pages (on Word, 12 font) worth of material for the developing novel every week by Sunday, then hopefully I'll make a lot of progress over the next several months. So, for those who are willing to read it, here are my first five pages, all of which was started Friday night and finished this morning. Hope you enjoy it. UPDATE: Well, with three parts up and a map to boot within a single month, I've never felt more invigorated by my progress. I'll be taking another week off to finish the map of the mainland, hopefully up by Thanksgiving weekend, and then it'll be writing, writing, writing from that point on. Hope you all are still enjoying it! --- Copyright @ 2007. Illegal duplication of the text within this topic without credit to the Author or without the Author's permission is prohibited. |
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The Hamburger of Death
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| Post #2 Oct 30 2007, 06:41 PM | Grunt_of_War |
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Chapter One: Duvar The chill of mourn still stifled the thin air with a calm pause. Prying through the dense forests of Moon Wake Isle, Vai’den Suvern kept his bow at the ready, his fingers eagerly gripping the wood with one hand while leveling the front end of the arrow. The other rested the base of the projectile against the bowstring, although the thread itself wasn’t disturbed. He allowed his back relief by leaning against a thick tree as the Dark Elf watched for movement. Vai’den’s keen ears constantly scanned the environment, listening for a disturbance among the aura of silence that condemned the woods at this hour. The forest showed few signs of life within its icy domain. The trees were partially frozen and many of the branches were covered in sleet and snow. The nearby cliffs that littered the island were a dull gray and the sky was filled with sheets of blue. The sun, still struggling to overcome the Vaskan Mountains, brought what little warmth and light that entered Moon Wake. It would be another month before the Low Cycle ended, when the much needed Intermission would come and overtake most of the Realm. Few crops grew well in such cold weather, and because of it, the villages of the Isle had to import food from across the sea, which was a costly ordeal. The few nations that even cared to trade with the Duvar Elves charged high prices for their merchandise, forcing them to either empty their pockets, or switch to a largely agricultural lifestyle. A pause in his breathing soon followed as the Dark Elf felt movement pulse around him. Amid the cold thickets, some of the snow that had been piling up was finally starting to drop from the warmth of the rising sun. A few minor sounds entered the hunter’s ears: the first beginning with repetitive chirps and whistles atop the frozen trees, followed by the sweet hum and melody of an arctic bird. Insects that could withstand the cold emerged from their lairs, basking themselves in the rays of sunlight. Life had again sparked within the woods, beginning a new day within the wilderness. Even with the warmth permeating into his skin, the expert hunter dared not budge. While his eyes focused to the left, he spotted a small creature cautiously treading upon the forest floor. The young boar began to nibble upon a small shrub that erupted from the snow bank, oblivious to the Duvar’s presence. With an unwavering smile, he slowly raised his weapon. The animal peeked in another direction as a swift bellow of wind disturbed the lower branches of the trees, diverting the hunter’s movements to a halt before it again returned to its lush, green cache. He lightly pulled back the string. His eyes matched the creature’s position, and brought the bow even further back in a comfortable position. Vai’den’s furthest eye squinted, and his fingers trembled with anticipation. The creature squealed with intense pain and shock as the shaft punctured its leg. The boar fell to its knees with little conscious resistance, an audible squeal forcing the environment into an unsteady silence. Vai’den bit his lip in moderate frustration; he almost missed the shot, and now he had merely aggravated the beast and revealed his position. He hadn’t truly anticipated a gust of wind to blow as he released his arrow, which he could only blame himself for; as a woodsman, he shouldn’t have been ignorant of any outside factors. With a swift motion, the hunter knocked another arrow and pulled back the bowstring as the creature pulled itself onto its feet, the Dark Elf taking several steps back in the process to create a little more lenience should he be required to flee. Its eyes filled with fury and instinct, spurring from the agony in its leg, and with a clumsy start, charged forth at the intruder. Another shot was released, and this time the projectile fortunately struck true. Extending from the boar’s back, the wooden shaft caused blood to ooze from the injury in light trickles. The feral pig’s eyes lost focus and anger, and its muscles began to shake irresistibly. Shutting his eyelids, Vai’den finally lowered his guard and approached in a slow pace as the hog collapsed on its side, finally surrendering to its fate. He had only wished he didn’t have to kill such a juvenile and lively creature, but he had little choice due the rigors of the bitter season. Bending down, the Duvar slowly withdrew the two arrows used to bring down the animal. He drew forth a cloth and a small jug before removing the cork from the latter. With its contents, he dabbed the small cloth to make it wet and cleaned the arrows, wiping each side firmly several times so they would be usable again. Vai’den was relieved that none of them broke; crafting new arrows was always a hassle. It also gave him more time to skin the pig and prepare the meat before he went hunting again. With a deep breath, the ranger crouched down yet again and hoisted the remains onto his shoulders. His feet trudged through the muddy snow and brush while making his way home. --- “Laphias!” The young boy turned in his bed, obviously disturbed by the yell but not aware that it was he who was called. His mind filled with images of darkness as they overtook the dream he had been experiencing before, slowly revitalizing that it was morning. However, he felt little inspiration to actually break his subconscious hold. “Laphias Suvern! Are you out of bed yet? Your father will be here any minute now!” The insistent sound of his mother’s voice finally kicked in. Light beamed past his flickering eyelids as the young Duvar faced towards the only window of his small abode. He transitioned towards a sitting position, wiping his eyes to rid himself of the yellow crust that formed in his sleep. His awareness was shallow, as he couldn’t directly recall why he woke until his mother finally stepped into the doorway, releasing a dismembered sigh. She was a very young and charismatic woman. The female Duvar was little past her third decade of life, marrying to the hunter Vai’den when he was already reaching into his second century of life if one wished to compare. Her teal hair, identical to Laphias’ in color, flowed freely towards her mid-back and across her shoulder whiles her eyes bore a contrasting brown. Her skin embodied a light velvet color like most Duvar, but captured a thin, flawless grace that even most elves didn’t possess. She wore simple clothes, no more impressive than those in the rest of the village, but it did little to hide the young woman’s outward beauty. However, despite these traits, there were many times when the boy noticed an uneasy expression cloud her eyes, sometimes without explanation. Laphias rarely ever consciously questioned this, however; it was simply something the child took for granted. Despite Auva’s attempts to sound like a stern mother, she grinned at the boy in an almost humorous fashion upon viewing his face. “Make sure you comb your hair before you go outside; it’s a mess!” With a giggle, she left his doorway to go back into the kitchen, leaving Laphias confused while sitting on his blanket. Truthfully, he hadn’t really expected the sudden change of mood, but it was a mixture of this and drowsiness that made his eye lids flicker inconsistently. His thumb motioned back and forth along the fabric, silently wishing he had still been asleep. He had forgotten what his dream was about, but the feeling of his head against the pillow overcame his rationality to even try recalling. But after a moment of thought, he slowly slipped off his bunk, standing firmly on the cold floor of the room. The only thing that stimulated his desire to wake was found within the fact that he needed to empty his bladder. Slipping on some trousers and a shirt, he sprinted outside the door, hoping to find an inconspicuous spot behind a tree. His mother couldn’t help but smile again as he ran outside. He still couldn’t figure out why she had him drink apple cider every night before bed. --- The smell of fresh pork filled the young Duvar’s senses as he returned from his morning chores. It had only been two hours since Laphias’ father had returned, and the dead pig was already being smoked. The large slabs of meat rested upon a long, metal stick over a fire just outside the house, Vai’den sitting on a cut log while turning the meat every few minutes. Auva was scrambling around inside, preparing some of the accommodations that were to go with the coming meal. With a frank expression on his face, their child strolled up towards his father, glancing at the raw pork as he introduced a question. “Why is mother preparing all that food?” Vai’den then faced Laphias with a calm look, crafting a smile. “We’re having company tonight. Oma and Alamora are returning sometime early this afternoon, least that’s what they told me.” The boy’s face filled with glee, though he bottled it down to an enthusiastic smile. Alamora had been gone for nearly four days with her aunt, which was a rare occurrence since Oma often preferred to travel alone. As the elder of Icemoon village, she had to make several excursions along the isle and out across the sea, usually leaving her niece with him and his family. Apparently, however, this was a special occasion, although the reasons still remained unclear to Laphias’ young mind. With all of his chores done, the young Dark Elf was free to travel around the settlement until supper was fully cooked and prepared. Icemoon was little larger than a simple trading post, though it doesn’t serve this purpose on most occasions. Laphias’ stroll revealed numerous yet spaced plots of land that were filled with raised rows of soil, though few bore any crops. Only about a half dozen of the useful plants the Duvar Elves used could even tolerate the chill of the current season. It reminded the boy of how much he both anticipated and dreaded the Intermission; there was often more to eat and a greater variety, but that also meant he would have almost double the work he had now: a ‘bitter sweet relationship’, his mother called it. As he crossed into the intersection of the forked road, Laphias peered toward the center of the village. It was represented by a tall, thin statue of black crystal no one could name, since its originally given title was lost over time, but it proved to be a hardy substance since its erection six centuries before. No one alive was old enough to recall its construction or background, but it was a widely accepted theory that it hailed from another realm, somehow transported to Icemoon by a rift or perhaps by a long forgotten mage who attempted to discover some type of secret within it. Because of this, most of the inhabitants simply called it ‘Sil’, after the family name of the founder of the settlement, Melborne Sil. It took less than five minutes to sprint down the winding path to the center of the village, crossing a clear stream that flowed through the entire isle from east to west. He was greeted by a few of the locals who were working outside, all of whom he could identify off the top of his head. The population, after all, was only held in the two hundreds altogether. The sound of grating ice sounded within the youth’s ears, leaving behind murky puddles of chilled water for every footprint he left behind. It wouldn’t take another two or three hours before the frost would finally thaw out, only to be reformed late the next evening. After finally catching up to the black monument, he glared in awe at its size. It rose at least twenty feet into the air and was thick enough to hold Laphias on top had he decided to lay up there. He remembered the first time he viewed it with his parents as if it were just a day or two ago, for it lost hardly any of its glory in the child’s eyes over the years. His hands reached up to brush the light inscriptions that littered the outside of the pillar, his hand quickly conducting heat away towards the cold stone. Though the language appeared familiar, he couldn’t translate the symbols correctly; in fact, he couldn’t even come close on his own. He had been told, however, that the symbols represented two forces, good and evil, and their respective attributes: kindness and anger, thriftiness and greed, sharing and burglary, justice and revenge. Not surprisingly, the one who carved the hieroglyphics was anonymous. The majority of the town believed that a deity erected them long ago, or that a previous bearer of the stone, if any, crafted the words. His mother and father even suggested that it might have been the founder of the Icemoon settlement himself. The boy believed in the latter simply went with his parents, though he had little reasoning to back up his statement. He was still caught up in his thoughts when a voice permeated his ears. “Hey!” The Duvar’s face immediately turned to gaze upon his friend, who was waving benevolently over her head to attract his attention. She stood alongside the road that eventually led to the coast, several yards away, but obviously close enough to be recognizable by voice. He quickly sprinted over to Alamora’s position, her doing the same. They exchanged a quick greeting just before enveloping each other in a hug, smiles bright on their faces. With little regard to those within earshot, Laphias dislodged and proceeded to speak in excitement, curious as to how her trip went. “So, how was it?” The older girl brushed back her lime green bangs from her eyes, which shone in the same tint as her hair, only in a darker shade. Her smile stayed consistent, though her lips relaxed to make them more comfortable. “It was all right, I suppose. All we did was ride up there, converse, and then travel back after a few days.” She looked toward the ground, engrossed in thought. “But I got to ride a horse!” she almost cried out, her expression returning to a grin. Laphias’ momentary disappointment soon sparked curiosity in his eyes. “Really? Well…how was it?” It appeared to be obvious that she detected his interest, for her grin changed slightly to reflect her insight. “It’s actually quite difficult to explain; I think you’d have to try it out yourself, Laphias.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted or expected, but the boy decided he wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of her. Still, he eventually followed up with a response. “Was it hard to learn?” “…To ride the horse?” He nodded at her clarification. “Yeah, a little, but Aunt Oma helped me learn the basics. She said we needed to ride slowly on the way up there so I could learn, but on the way back, she taught me how to make the horses go faster; without falling off, that is.” Alamora half-giggled as she recalled her experience. “Blackjack almost tipped me off a couple times, too. She said he would do that sometimes, but for the most part she said I was doing well.” He nodded. “That sounds a little harsh… wait, isn’t Blackjack Farmer Lokon’s horse?” Alamora simply grinned. “He was kind enough to lend us two of them. Oma was riding Nightstar, I think…?” She stuttered near the end of her sentence, but her thought process stopped abruptly when she decided to move on with her reply. “Well, anyways, I could swear that both she and Lokon purposely had me ride him just to see me fall over. I’ll bet I surprised both of them.” Laphias brought his arms around the back of his head as she strolled around at a slow pace, though never treading too far away from earshot. The boy could tell she was rather proud of herself for her feat, as she continued to recite her experience in detail. He decided early on that he felt a bit sorrier for her mount than he did for his friend, and even more so for himself. She knew well enough that he would rather actually try horse riding than listening to oral tales about it. Suddenly, the boy was reminded of the roasting boar from the sound of his stomach growling. His palm overcastting his stomach wearily, he looked up at the sun, which was almost directly above them in the sky. “I think we should be getting back,” he suggested, finding a correct moment to intervene, “Father said he would have the meat done before noon.” “Hmm?” She was drawn out of her original train of thought while the comment was processed. The girl quickly took her friend’s hand. “What’re we waiting for, then? I haven’t eaten since last night. ”As quickly as she grasped his palm, she let go, a determined smile encroaching upon her lips. “You want to race to your house, Laphias?” He was about to answer when she suddenly took off down the beaten path back up towards his abode, her asking obviously a ploy to distract his attention. With a frustrated look, he charged after Alamora, the latter yelling something undecipherable as she quickly gained ground. The younger Duvar, however, was determined to turn the tables. It had been awhile since he had won a race against his friend. --- Laphias was panting more heavily than ever. “Are you all right?” Alamora asked, concern growing in her eyes. Though she had won the race, as usual, the margin between them had decreased quite drastically - only by about five yards aside from the extra she gained from the head start. The boy had fought to work his muscles to their near limit in order to catch up with his opponent. His short stature, however, only made this feat even more difficult to manage. It was a widely known fact that he was one of the shortest children in the village; even Voheron, over a year younger than Laphias himself, stood five inches higher off the ground. Despite his loss, he managed a grin amidst his inconsistent breathing after eliciting a cough to clear his throat. “I’m…just…fine,” he stated firmly each time, spacing each word between his breaths. He gripped his chest, his heartbeat almost shooting through the roof. As a result, the child began taking light steps around the immediate area despite the ache in his legs begging him to rest. It was his father who advised him to do this should his breathing ever become too rampant; otherwise, he warned, he would likely drop dazed then and there, prone to have a horrible headache once he woke up. The logic of this protruded the youth, but given that he knew little of the body, he wouldn’t risk it. The girl’s eyes relaxed, a lazed smile overcoming her lips at his confirmation. Regardless, he barely detected a sliver of thought etched within her gaze. “Good; I’ll fetch you some water. Just don’t go anywhere, OK?” His nod signaled her leave, but he was amazed that she would even try running any more than the girl had to. After all, Laphias had noticed that she was exhausted as well, as much as Alamora attempted to hide it. From where the children initially stopped, they were but fifty yards from his home. His keen eyes revealed that the pig must have finished cooking: the fire had been put out, the boar itself was missing, and his father was nowhere in sight, though the child presumed that he was inside the house. His stomach growled even louder than before at the thought, his body void of energy after spending so much of it trekking up the long, winding road and back at a faster pace than normal. He wiped a light coat of sweat off his brow, and he suddenly felt the urge to quench his thirst as well. Laphias merely hoped that his friend would return sooner than later as he began fiddling with a wire of grass on the side of the road, ripping at the plant bit by little bit. Several minutes passed before he dropped the last tiny strip onto the chilling dirt. A thought rose in his head amid the silence of the surrounding area, raising his head to scan the environment, but resulting only in downed hopes. Where was she? Alamora knew the locations of several places in Icemoon Village, the wells included, and his family had their own private water source not more than ten meters from the house. He was hoping that she was merely distracted by something, or had simply forgotten about the closer water source. Yet, as more time passed, his doubts were beginning to swell. Unable to sit idly anymore, he turned in the direction she wandered off towards and followed her footprints in the melting snow. His exhaustion from before, though it had partially subsided, still caused his insides mild pain and numbness around his chest and legs as he stumbled into a light jog. His mind still continued to throb, but at a milder pace than before. With no doubt, he believed to have recovered enough to handle a moderate stride, switching between mild sprints and brisk walking. The layer of air surrounding the region still harbored a slight chill, each breath converting into visible clouds from his lips. Every step; every breath formulated an even larger haze, though whether it was his exhaustion from before or his rising anxiety he couldn’t tell. He had factored in a few of the other children that lived in Icemoon, particularly Lucy and Baxid, who favored to push Laphias around and Alamora in particular. He then, however, recalled that the antagonizers were more than likely at Farmer Lokon’s place. After their stunt to try and release his horses from the stable, they had been forced to work rigorously to pay for their contraband, evident after both he and Alamora witnessed them, brief smiles upon their faces. The boy also crossed out his initial assumptions as well, as a simple distraction or a misjudgment was highly unlikely in the scheme of things. After all, her mind was usually crafty and reliable, particularly in immediate situations. The true reason continued to protrude him. What in Akiloth’s name is happening? he thought. Just short of reaching the well, however, his muscles suddenly trembled from surprise. His lavender irises swelled in shock after wiping his eyes for clarity. Cornered against the stone barrier of the well, Alamora shivered in dismay as the giant insect crept closer. In all comparisons, it resembled a normal beetle in description, only holding difference in its size, which was like that of a large dog. Its exoskeleton revealed mixed shades of red and orange, flowing along the carapace like a horrid flame. A shade of glimmering black reflected miniscule amounts of sunlight from its face, as if covered in a thin coat of clean wax. A long jaw, at least three feet in length and half that in width, protruded out from the center of its thin, elliptical head, occasionally parting from one another to intimidate its victim. The beast’s eye sockets, likely the most peculiar things about the creature, were glowing in the shade of a bloody red, giving off an inspiring yet abyssal light not found with most natural insects. The boy had never seen such a creature before in his entire life, and now that he did, Laphias wished that he hadn’t. Another stride forward nudged Alamora into a scurry off to the side; her body trudged against the barrier of the water well. Her eyes never tilted away from the dire insect, the fear that had taken root diverging her from bolting into a run, or even screaming for help. It appeared that the girl had not even taken notice of her friend yet despite her normally keen senses, who was but several yards away. The colored beetle consumed this fear readily, for its antennae twitched repeatedly, and its mandibles clenched and separated continuously. The former of its appendages extended forth slowly, brushing up against the girl at a safe distance from her, as if attempting to confirm that she was safe to consume. With abstract reflexes, however, she fell to the ground, scrambling backwards while trying to crawl away from the assailant of this meeting. Laphias clenched his teeth, and his fingers balled into shaking fists. Adrenaline began pumping into his system, making him itch for some form of action. However, he merely stood there, frozen like a fearful Serf. As much as he wished to help his friend, the youth was paralyzed with apprehension: what could he possibly do? The inherent abilities of the massive invertebrate also flooded his mind, feats he had seen first-hand with normal insects, such as the ants that were capable of lifting litter or soil many times their size, and even the amazing speed of the pesky flies that roamed en masse during the warmer seasons. However, Alamora’s life was definitely forfeit should he risk trying another action. It was difficult for him to rationalize a proper plan under the stress of the situation. Suddenly, amidst his thoughts, a shrill scream reverberated within his ears, startling him from his previous standstill. Laphias’ earlier restraints snapped as the welfare of his friend immediately overcame his youthful fear. In response, he brought his hands up to border his lips: “Alamora!” The message trailed by her. Harboring immediate relief at his presence, the female Duvar’s eyes diverged away from her pursuer for the first time towards Laphias. A flicker of hope entered her mind as the girl’s lips silently whispered his name. The insect also took notice, if only for a second of interest as the large bug continued to close the distance between it and the hunted. As its inspection neared to a close, the antennae both recoiled of their own accord from the struggling girl. Its elongated maw then reached forward, a thin, translucent glob of liquid extruding from the side. A tear built up along Alamora’s green eyes before another scream was expelled from her lungs, irregular and more insistent compared to the first. By then, the male Duvar was already sprinting towards their position. Anger built up inside of him, Laphias’ adrenaline had quickly substituted his earlier lack of energy, and the second cry motivated him even more than ever to intervene quickly. The giant invertebrate’s course of action was sidetracked at the sound of the boy’s trek through the sloshed snow, but its body shape and size was too cumbersome to turn and face the new threat in time. His fingers still mingled into a fist, they made contact with the carapace of its head with an audacious indication, narrowly missing the left eye as the youth passed over head from his leap. The boy slid along the ground due to his lack of coordination, however, and his side slammed against the stone wall. The sound of cracking bones ringed within the immediate area. Laphias struggled not to wail. The pain in his ribs was overbearing, and he gripped the bruised wound in earnest. The child’s eyes were closed shut and his mind was ignorant of external events as his nerves struggled to cope with the agony. Moisture immediately converged within each eye, small streams flowing along each cheek and down his neck. All of a sudden his body felt cold, like the surrounding air had been chilled towards that of a windless blizzard. He shivered from the condition of his body: partly from the chill, but mostly from his affliction. With the boy's thoughts growing blank, Laphias suddenly felt his eyes begin to fade in strength. --- Alamora’s expression was held frozen in time. The cause of her tears changed to that of her friend’s state of mind and health, the only factor repelling her from aiding him being the giant beetle itself, who had grown agitated over the course of the happened events. The monster’s growing, red eyes glared at its new target with primal rage, for the blow was unusually forceful even with a thick exoskeleton and Laphias’ small stature. A visible crack severed along its head, but an inch away from the jaws. Without warning, its mandibles struck out for its unconscious target with implied revenge deep within its primitive thought. Alamora scrambled around, reaching for a rock or twig to use in the process while mumbling undecipherable phrases in vain to quell the invertebrate. At last, she found a serrated stone that must have chipped off the well and held it underneath her algid palm. With struggling nerves, her arm extended with the intent to strike the aggressive animal. However, her actions were deemed useless, and the girl’s eyelids flickered in awe after the sound of cutting air articulated nearby. Sticking out just behind the hardened covers for the wings, two arrows protruded outwards; green blood trickled down the shafts and onto the icy soil. A silent figure stood in poise with the bow still raised from the simultaneous shots, a deep sigh emanating outwards from the bowman’s lungs. The large beetle, impaled in lurid shock by the injuries, toppled onto its side whiles the nerves in its legs shook crazily from an unexpected demise. Certain that it was either dead or too disabled to move, Vai’den approached in a sprint, dropping his bow on the ground as he motored to his son’s aid. Alamora, in the meanwhile, had taken precedence to use the liquid from her water skin to drench his injury. After checking for any more wounds or problems regarding his health, the girl inhaled deeply with relief. She had begun drenching water upon her face as Laphias’ father closed in, the latter grounding to a halt not but a foot away from the boy and kneeling down to check his condition. As he did this, Alamora was asked about her own condition, to which she replied positively and then noted out his blow to the rib cage. After she confirmed that he had no other notable injuries, Vai’den pulled back the youth’s shirt and investigated the damage. However, as he touched the skin, the sleeping child shook, obviously from pain, and the hunter shook his head lightly. “Is it bad?” she asked, anticipating the man’s answer. His lips, however, were still formed into a straight line, unsure of what to make of it for a moment. “Well, he’s not going to die, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He grinned slightly at his statement for a moment, but then his expression returned to a neutral position. Alamora bowed her head a little, forming a thin smile as well for her friend’s well-being. Vai’den continued, “But his bruises look none too good, and from the looks of things, a couple of bones may have been fractured. What had he done?” She simply replied, “He ran and jumped at the creature, trying to save me from the large beetle. He…” The girl stuttered in her wording, attempting to remember every detail she could during those few seconds. “He tried- No, he smacked it on the head, but then his body slid across the ground as he came down, and rammed against the wall.” She eyed the boy’s sleeping form for a moment, swallowing after describing her own account of the situation. A mix of the shock from before was blending with a calmer emotion, but she couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, that feeling was. Whatever it was, she didn’t wish to leave her friend’s side. The hunter shut his eyes. Alamora anticipated for him to say something, but silence swept over them both for a minute before it was broken. “Come, let’s bring him inside so he can get warm and treated. I’m sure dear Auva would like to hear about what happened as well.” He sighed, picking up his son in his arms before walking forward through the chilling air. The girl followed closely behind, her eyes glaring deep into the murky soil as they continued. However, only after a couple dozen steps forward, Vai’den paused, glancing backwards at Alamora with a reassuring smile. “He’ll be fine, I promise.” His statement sunk into her mind, and she smiled, wiping moisture from her eyes as they continued forward. Thank you; I needed that, she replied silently. |
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The Hamburger of Death
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![]() Thanks to Tifa (RPGFO) for this signature and avatar set! Tifa is also taking requests. Just PM me the following: If you want an avvy, sig, or both; the sizes; what pics you want used; any text you want added; and any other specs you have in mind. Just try not to go too overboard. :p | |
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| Post #3 Nov 17 2007, 12:52 PM | Grunt_of_War |
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Chapter Two: Truths The atmosphere of the house was filled with nothing but the subtle sound of whispers and footsteps throughout most of the night. Since the incident with the giant insect about six hours before, Laphias hadn’t awoken from his forced slumber. And for that amount of time, neither had Alamora left his side. Even with Vai’den’s assurance that the boy just needed some rest, she insisted on sticking close by to watch the younger child and greet him once he became conscious again. However, his father had a hunch that he wouldn’t awaken until mourn: the boy’s eyelids were unusually heavy and his body hardly moved aside from the child’s deep breathing. Auva was rarely too far away either. She had confirmed that two of his ribs had indeed been fractured, though it would likely take little over a month to recover. All of the other injuries were minor bruises or cuts, and the latter were covered with musk mallow, ground up and packed along the wounds to speed up healing. Vai’den and his wife felt blessed that Moon Wake Isle carried such a diverse range of vegetation for the typically cool weather this time of the year. Despite the clime, soil had always been unusually high in nutrients, evident within their yearly crops along the High Cycle and parts of the Intermissions. It was a rare occurrence when the yield was low from farming. For obvious reasons, their meal that day was postponed indefinitely, and Vai’den had been busy most of that time sprinkling spices along the meat and exposed vegetables. Before that, his arrows needed to be cleaned of blood again and was asked to pry some musk mallow from the nearby forest. Along with his routine tasks that day, the middle-aged Duvar had cause to be exhausted. He had finally been able to relax for a short while within the den room, kicking off his fur boots near the doorway and dropping his layers upon a rack standing up against the wall. The hunter’s back then rested upon a wooden chair covered with moose hide, and his feet were supported by a wooden stump he had chopped and etched for a stool. A fire was burning but two meters from him near one end of the cabin, separated from the Oakwood floor by a layer of stone. Radiating from the flames, warmth swelled over the exhausted father and his mind began to swim, while his body sunk comfortably into a restful slumber. The next thing Vai’den heard was a knock on the door. The hunter turned his head, eyes prying open at that sudden moment and looking for the source. He rose as a second series of pounding erupted, and solemnly cruised to the door sluggishly. Reaching into his pocket, the Duvar pulled out a metal band, sliding one of the three keys away from the cluster on the ring before shoving it into the lock. With a brief pivot of his fingers, a metal click sounded, and he pulled the door open automatically to meet the gaze of Oma U’mara, the elder of Icemoon. Behind her stood a shorter Dark Elf, somewhat chubby but around Vai’den’s age if he had to postulate. “It’s important that we speak, now,” regarded the aged woman, her icy blue eyes peering into Vai’den’s own from beneath frosted clothing. Gaining composure of himself, the hunter nodded, backed up, and allowed room for them to enter the abode. Both visitants nodded slightly in turn as they entered, silently acknowledging him as their host and thanking the man for his hospitality in a formal manner. They halted for a moment after he closed the door, however, regarding the drowsy Duvar with stern expressions. “Please accept my apology; I wasn’t expecting you to arrive until tomorrow at the earliest,” he spoke, eyes focused upon the floor. “I expected your meeting to last…” “Longer…yes,” Oma replied, finishing his statement. The Vai’den’s face relaxed to its previous position as she continued. “But, surprisingly, the rest of the council was almost unanimous on our immediate actions. Considering that it was your family, along with my own, that was most directly affected by the incident, we found it imperative that I discuss some matters with you before going any further. Because once the council gains more insight and time, there’s no doubt opinions will spark and differentiate.” The elder’s disposition carried an outline of distress, noticeable even to the ranger. It vaguely reminded him of his wife’s own grief late that morning when she heard of their Laphias’ condition. The sound of footsteps emerged from one of the bedrooms as Auva trekked up the short set of stairs to reach the ground level of the house. Her lips formed an uneasy smile to show respect for the guests, but it was clearly readable that her thoughts were troubled with the freight earlier that day. Vai’den found it difficult to ease her distress, and not even several hours time appeared to assist. “Do you require anything to drink?” she insisted as Oma and the other stranger took their seats in the room. Whether Auva heard anything that had been said before her appearance wasn’t apparent. “Do not trouble yourself,” the Elder replied, “I don’t intend to stay for very long, not with the storm intending to blow over the village soon.” Her eyes kept contact with Auva’s through the entire statement, her expression unchanging. “But you may wish to listen to what I must tell, for it addresses your household in particular.” The younger woman’s mask faded, and her expression once more became a beacon of motherly worry as she peered in the direction of her son’s room. Shutting her eyes for a brief period, Auva drew her head forward in respect for the Elder. “…Very well.” As the Lady Suvern situated herself in the fourth and last chair within the room, a moment passed before the short ritual of silence was again broken by Oma. “As I said, we spoke with a number of my aides about the creature that attacked your son.” A question poised itself before she continued. “Were you able to discern its variety?” “It was a Fire Beetle,” he simply replied. “They’re hardly worth the challenge of hunting, fortunately. A couple of arrows beneath the wings can fell one easily. Still…” He rubbed his chin for a moment in thought. “It’s been nearly twenty-five years since I’ve encountered one of their like.” “Seeing that it's been nearly two decades from the last time you were on the mainland, it's not surprising," she added in. The hunter simply nodded, and Oma resumed her speech. “Truth be told, this is an unexpected occurrence. Although the majority of us consider the insect itself an insignificant threat by itself, there are still other matters that have obviously arisen. It’s incredibly odd that a creature accustomed to warmer lands would even migrate to the Bleary Keys, and even a fool wouldn’t accidently harbor a beast of that size upon a trading vessel, not without notice of the crew. This led us to believe that they were brought here on purpose – this kind of incident suggests a motive of some kind, a hostile one. The fact did little to perturb the experienced woodsman. “It wouldn’t be unlike our enemies to irritate us. But could such a creature truly give that indication?” “Had it been a native creature that attacked the children, our suspicions wouldn’t have been this great. Even the slightest factors, however, cannot be overlooked.” The aging woman’s eyes glanced in no particular direction, facing the wooden wall between Vai’den and his wife. “Do you recall the struggle between our people of the Utora and those of the Shava to the north?” The shift in subject noticeably shook Auva in surprise, an expression of dread overcoming her face despite attempts to hide it. Vai’den’s eyelids notched open from the comment. A short sense of quiet again overcame the setting as he pondered her purpose for bringing the topic up. At the sight of this, Oma took on a grave disposition, forcing herself to commune what was on her mind. “I understand if this is difficult for you to listen to, but it is important. Even I find it painful to…recall.” Vai’den nodded in modest compliance, though he was still slightly troubled in his speech. “Much of our bloodline and the Shavans’ were slain during those three years of war, if you could call it that. I had not been compelled into such bloodshed since my youth, and from the beginning, I regretted our clan’s desire to gain access to The Trudging Pools by conflict. Had we simply accepted the Shava’s threat to keep our distance from their borders…” The Duvar bit his tongue back, swiftly changing from his growing bitterness. “Well, either way, the damage had been done. Both sides were cost thousands of lives, including those of my father and brother.” The hunter sat quiet again, his eyes downcast for a moment as if what he said carried a toxin within it. “They were good men, Vai’den, and I did not wish to dampen you with the losses,” the elder commented, noting his reaction. “I knew your father well, and his father before him. I also took pride in watching you and your brother mature over the years, and grew attached to your family as much as my own. I regret losing them much like you did, but now their spirits rest in peace, watched over by the Night’s Eye of Akiloth.” The recognition seemed to do little to ease his inward anger, but he calmed himself down enough to speak a modest assessment. “I cannot defy your logic, Elder; it was almost fifteen years ago, and it would be foolish of me to dwell upon them after such a time. My father was outnumbered during the effort to sneak along the coast to Sloueth, and died a warrior’s death when he and his comrades were discovered about a day short of their largest settlement. And had my brother not been shot in the head when the Shava assaulted Icemoon, he might be sitting here now.” Oma nodded, her eyes closed for a moment as she spoke again. “We all suffered losses, and there is no one who could be blamed more than we. It is…difficult for old habits to be ignored, especially when we’re desperate for resources.” The hunter shook his head. “I would die for the sake of our people, Oma. This family has supported our culture more so for its beliefs than our actual connections to it by blood. Whether our claims and decisions rest either by the bow and blade, or more peaceful means, has been up to the decisions of the Council.” “When my father took me across the sea to the Crest of Shattering, I noted more bloodshed than I care to recount on. They beheld a great arena within their spiritual center, Avestol, where men and women fought creatures of the wild and their own brethren. More often than not, the defeated were put to death by the victors, though any who proved their worth despite loss were kept alive to fight another day. I know not what kind of business dictates that forsaken place, but it is a waste of life.” His lips ceased for a moment, a thought transpiring within as his gaze met Oma’s. “And I felt a thrill just watching it.” The abode became silent again before the elder finally made a comment. “You speak of the Moord?” “Of that, it is true,” he mumbled. “I’ve never forgotten that we are of the Duvar, distant kin to the Wood Elves that banished us to these isles. I carry little sympathy for our race’s actions many hundreds of years ago, as we’ve traditionally been reckless in our actions and often sided with evil creatures in the long past. However, our tribe has always been different, as had the Tus’ven in our ideas despite our occasional outbreak of burning ties towards other clans and nations. The Utora had been respectable towards other races, willing to trade whenever possible and whatever there is to barter. But, when I am reminded of my ventures out to our fellow clans, our own misdeeds appears no less troublesome than a small blister upon a worg’s foot.” She nodded in compliance. “The inhabitants of this world do not see us as separate factions with individual beliefs and alliances, though that is often irrelevant during times of war. It is a rare occurrence when the Shah does not require the assistance of every clan when war is declared – even those tribes that are weak, small, or dishonored in his or her eyes are asked to take part more often than not.” Vai’den’s eyebrow perked up. “I don’t recall ever having such a ruler within my lifetime, Oma. They have only been told to me through oral tales as a child. For the first time during their conversation, the elder revealed a brief smile. “We’ve never had the need for an emergency power since you were but an infant. It wasn’t a major conflict; the Moord attempted to defend their scarcely populated lands in the northern half of The Crest of Shattering from the humans, who wished to colonize it to expand their kingdom. The Shah, of course, was of that bloodline, and before we could send reinforcements, the brief war had ended with our neighboring tribe in defeat and their leader killed in the first battle.” Despite himself, the hunter grinned at the loss of their more devilish cousins, whom those of the Utora disliked even more than the humans for their primal ways. Auva sat quietly, having decided to take in the information without response, though it was apparent that she had finally relaxed enough to relay a brief grin towards the topic. He had been constantly itched by his wife’s unmistakenable condition during the conversation before. Her eyes had often made shifting glances at nothing in particular, not willing to protrude her gaze upon anyone in the room. Her hands clenched together, index fingers twiddling along and around endlessly while her lips parted ever so slightly to accustom towards her heavier breathing. He wished that he could properly sympathize with his wife; out of everyone there that night, she had taken the effects of the conflict between the Utora and the Shava worse than anyone – even if she rarely ever exhibited her pain in public. The stubby Duvar who accompanied the elder sat next to the window along the wall that beheld the front door, his arms lightly crossed upon his stomach while eyeing everyone else in a calm manner. At that moment, the hunter finally took active notice of her aide, gaining perspective of his thick layers of wolf skin that surrounded his entire body – all but his hands and head. Vai’den soon shifted his attention back towards Oma, however, attempting to avoid glaring at the man for fear that he would make the wrong impression. Even among the families within Icemoon, some still held ties of discontent with one another, and he and this man could barely tolerate each other for their beliefs. “Lucare, shall you present your ideas?” the elder offered. The stout dark elf’s expression changed little from what it once was, merely showing directed attention to Oma beneath his stern veil. Lucare slowly sat up to compensate for his previously slouched position, and his thick fingers were outlined against his unshaven face, occupied with organizing his thoughts. “ ‘Course, ma’am,” he stated in a lazy but deep, accented voice. His index finger brushed up from his chin to his lips, outstretching his palm slightly when he conveyed his words. “In response to the incident with your child, Vai’den, we came up with a few…possibilities on what might’ve caused this Fire Beetle to land upon Moon Wake. As you well know, them Shava forced our surrender after our failed expedition to Sloueth. However, even after we set things back to the way they were beforehand, there’s reason to believe that our northern neighbors still carry hatred for our outbreak, even after twelve years.” “Given that information, there’s a good chance that, perhaps, the Shava are planning something, though what it is, we haven’t a clue. More likely they’re importing the little buggers to assist in an assault.” Vai’den shook his head in disapproval. “That’s doubtful; I’m sure even a worg pup could fell one of those insects without delay, so their effectiveness in combat would be minimal. They also cost a heavy bag of coin, considering that they’re difficult to catch en masse. Grouping large numbers of them together would be the only plausible way to have them assist a company of soldiers.” “I meant not in direct combat,” Lucare scuffled, “Their stomachs are used by alchemists for a number of potions and weapon applicants. The beetles’ digestive juices, if mixed with the right chemicals, are said to be able to make a potent poison, or even a minor explosion have you enough of it.” “Ah,” the hunter mused, “Are you sure of this, Lucare?” “I’m positive, good sir.” The chubby man grinned in mild self-pride. “I don’t sit in my house mixin’ liquids for nothing.” “Let’s hope not,” Vai’den muttered. “Are there any other possibilities?” “There are few to mention, and any that have been suggested were very farfetched,” Oma mentioned. “Suspicions of the humans that reside north of Moord lands are few, as it would be foolish for them to believe that they could strike at us and succeed. With one of our more aggressive neighbors under their noses, they’d be occupied with their more prevalent issues. Their kind may be short-lived and succulent for power, but Man reigns over the mainland for a reason – they have a knack for persistence. The Moord themselves also lay claim to plot against us, but analytical tactics are not their specialty, and they take pride upon defeating an enemy themselves rather than gaining assistance from external sources.” “There are the mages, as well.” The voice that mentioned the idea surprised everyone in the room, but the ongoing silence pushed Auva to continue. “There are…few of them along the isles, but wouldn’t it be logical for one or two of their pets to have somehow escaped?” The idea circulated around the residence until Lucare finally spoke up. “There isn’t a single known spell caster within the Keys until you either cross the sea or trek far to the north past Lavos. I doubt many foreign creatures, no less a Fire Beetle, would survive within these cold temperatures for such a long trip to begin with. “There is one,” Vai’den mentioned, his eyelids dropping as he attempted to recall. “It’s rumored that a Wizard takes refuge within a tower, far along the southernmost cape of this isle, though he hasn’t been seen for almost thirty years. It’s also been rumored that he is the offspring of Agos, born just before his death four hundred years prior to now.” Even Lucare’s expression became one of questionable medium. “Impossible - who do you claim this man to be?” Oma breathed in deeply. “You would likely know him by his title, Mordel the Gazer. He’s the only spell caster within our tribal boundaries, and his blood runs through my veins.” Before the baffled Duvar could speak, she completed her thought. “He is my uncle.” --- Lucare’s voice teemed with contrast with his usual tone, his musky voice partially replaced with one of awe and personal disbelief. “It can’t be…all this time, I believed Agos to carry no living family up to this day, and now to hear of another magician of his philosophy within our land, and for you, Oma, to be descended from his lineage? I find it difficult to believe…the other cabinet members must learn of this!” Without hesitation, the elder caught the bewildered man by his arm, caught in an unbreakable grip. Vai’den just sat passively as events unfolded, unsure of her revelation’s justification. He recalled the time when she spoke this fact to him, and later to his wife – Oma was quite confidential with the information at the time, and was only told because she held a bond with his own family. It was said time and again that she was more of a spiritual mentor to Vai’den than a supervisor, and a sister to his own father more so than simply a friend. Even with Laphias, she treats him not unlike a caring grandmother, and her niece, Alamora, had always been like a sibling to his child. But now, the hunter questioned Oma’s decision to reveal it to Lucare not unlike a hypothetical decision to release the plague upon Moon Wake. Auva returned to her speechless, gloomy attitude, obviously caught between her worry for her son and Oma’s comment to her aide. He took the time to stand crouch next to the young mother, comforting her while half-way paying attention to their guests. “You cannot leave this house with rambling lips,” she sternly commented to Lucare. “Do not make me regret my decision to trust my closest aide.” The hunter evoked a curse in his mind at the sound of her latter statement, but otherwise didn’t react. The standing Duvar snorted, sighing. “You won’t, good Elder. I was just…startled.” He said nothing more and sat back down lethargically. The couple attracted their attention towards Oma once more. “This isn’t the time nor place to idly wait. In accordance to what has been suggested, there’s no doubt that warrants will be issued within the next couple days to search within Utoran borders for any odd occurrences or creatures of any kind. Messages will be sent to our neighbors asking for news on recent events, and small caravans are going to be issued to trek north within Shavan territory. The alchemists of our settlements will be questioned and their laboratories searched.” She turned to her aide. “You’ll probably qualify for that search, Lucare, since you are well-versed in potion making.” He shook his head momentarily. “That I am, but I always have my ingredients shipped already prepared for me. In other words, I would simply order the beetle’s belly rather than the entire creature itself – gets messy.” The elder chimed in briskly. “We’re aware of your imports; I meant for you to help conduct the search should you have time. No doubt you’d have some insight on the creatures you use for your concoctions.” Lucare briefly expressed a nervous smile. “No doubt…” Vai’den finally pitched in after a moment. “I’d check his house anyways – just to be safe. They might enjoy the smell of their dead brethren rotting in a jar, after all.” Both he and Auva slightly grinned, while the alchemist just waved the speaker off. Oma was straitlaced, though her face gave silent consent that it would be done. “As for your suggestion, Auva, it’s quite viable, but I dare wouldn’t risk a visit to his tower until many of our other options are exhausted. It’s important that we try to eliminate our more aggressive threats first. I doubt Mordel would try anything suspicious, but I’ve only met him once, briefly, as a child. His methods of security could likely be dangerous, knowing other practitioners of that art,” continued Oma. Weary glances mobilized around the room, as only the imagination could put a limit on what could happen. Eventually, the conversation died down to several minor points of what the elder and her equals had discussed, and what was planned out. Auva eventually retreated back to her son after a formal and polite farewell, and it was another twenty minutes before the guests stood to leave. The storm was beginning to batter against the Suverns’ roof and eastern wall: a signal that nature wouldn’t stop its torrent anytime soon. After their good-byes were told, the Duvar closed the door and leaned against it. He closed his eyes. Various thoughts crossed the hunter’s mind: the Moord, humans, Shava, his son…even Oma’s confession of her birthright staggered amidst them. Though he was aware of it years before, Vai’den barely even dwelled upon it. The information had rested at the back of his mind for all those years, hardly adjusting his disposition towards the elder as a close friend and mentor. But revealing it to Lucare of all people was like a hard slap back into reality. He personally didn’t trust the man and knew not what he would do with the information afterwards, but the potential that her lineage would spread concerned him. I hope your judgment exceeds mine in truth, he silently half-mumbled, half-thought to himself. Without a pause, Vai’den regained his sense of the present and made his way back into his son’s room. He came to a halt after his last step off the stairs. Gazing past the open door, the Duvar noticed Alamora soundly asleep in a chair, her head slightly tilted downward with arms and feet stretching down and outwards, respectively. A soft, woven blanket was clutched onto the girl’s body, laid in a sense that made the hunter suspect Auva perched it about her body when she returned into the room. The only source of light was a small candle sitting on a small table near the bed, shrouding the room in a calm, soporific aura. Auva became aware of his presence as a yawn vibrated through the air. “Did they leave already?” she asked quietly, turning in her own seat to face her beloved. Vai’den noted that she was becoming weary herself, for she put little effort into clarifying the words in her phrase, and her eyes appeared to fluster while boring onto his form. “Yes, my love, they did,” he mentioned in a subtle yet deep voice. Her continued stare motioned for him to go on. “Oma just discussed some of the details about my part in the search, since she and her aides had already agreed on a search behind our tribal borders.” “…And?” Auva mustered a moment after he paused. It was obvious he wouldn’t be able to save his surmise for the morning, and the hunter sighed. “…I am to organize and lead a band of rangers out into the surrounding woods. I’m still oblivious about when this will occur, but her tone…it suggested that the search will be conducted within the next several days.” His wife dealt a deep breath of her own, shutting her eyes to ease her mind. “I was afraid of that.” “Don’t worry about me,” he commented, taking a seat at the end of Laphias’ bed. “The wilderness is no stranger to me, and should I go, my return shall be as swift as possible.” Vai’den gently grasped Auva’s hand with one of his, locking their fingers together in the midst of the flickering light. Her expression changed into a moderate smile, though he noticed her eyes still carried a subtle fear within them. She said nothing to reflect her feelings, and after a moment, he lightly pecked her cheek before rising from the bunk. “You should get some rest – in fact, all of us do.” He noted the children, and before long, she nodded slightly before simulating his stance. With one last look, Auva gently whispered to her unconscious child, bidding him Akiloth’s protection before retreating up the staircase. --- Within two days, Oma’s inquiries proved to become fact. The council had made its actions known, and with a two-to-one vote, their decision to search the isles came into fruition as various messengers were sent out to Icemoon’s neighbors, including Lavos and the Utora Hill, of their findings and decisions. Several more were readying themselves for a trek to the coast, intent on braving the distance of the Drifting Sea to reach the Crest of Shattering, home of the Moord to the south and the human settlements to the north. Vai’den and other hunters were gathered along the village’s center, peering over local maps to assign and confirm routes that were to be taken. The hovel was bursting with activity, and information grew like wildfire across the town about the happenings and their consequences. “Me and Jhed will take the northern route through Moon Wake Forest, while you two will tarry along the northeastern coasts and forests. Just don’t follow it too far, less you meet the abandoned tower,” began Vai’den. He almost rushed through the end of his last sentence, still thoughtful about Lucare’s discovery their previous meeting. The town had always believed the tower was abandoned, and few even knew it existed. There was still possibility, however, for word to have gotten out through that man, no doubt capable of spreading like the Council’s rulings early that morning. But after no one objected or questioned the hunter’s false claim, he relaxed his voice and motioned his index finger to just south of Icemoon on the parchment. “Norm, check the southern beaches. The forests along that boundary are likely to have been where the Fire Beetle came through, particularly with the lake down there, so keep on your toes and watch for any suspicious activity. You’re the best tracker out of our party, so I couldn’t think of a better person to go than you.” The slightly larger man grinned from the praise, ushering a self-appointed grunt signaling his willingness to take on the task. “And finally,” Vai’den mentioned, turning his head towards a younger Duvar, “I’ll need you to scale the bases of the Vaskans. I doubt there’ll be anything in the west, but we can’t afford to overlook it, not with such a wide gap between here and there. Is that clear?” Everyone expressed a unique way of showing their comprehension, to which he nodded. “Good; we are to leave early this evening, so be sure you all don’t forget your gear, or your furs. You aren’t going to have anyone to lend you a coat after all, Norm.” Though he was an experienced hunter, the appointed man shook his head in modest humility as brief smiles and chuckles fumed from the group. Vai’den swiftly recovered the map and brought Jhed aside to explain further into their plan, while the others went their separate ways for the time being. Several hours later, after Vai’den returned home, he mentioned his farewell to both Auva, Alamora, and to his son, the latter whom had awoken early that morning to everyone’s surprise. He expected Laphias to have woken the previous day, but the boy didn’t even budge from his place in bed – at least, according to his wife. As he embraced everyone in the house, Vai’den gave a complementary nod as he slung his quiver and bow around either shoulder, barely smiling. “I’ll return shortly – no more than a few days. That is, if my cohort doesn’t get me lost or in trouble along the way.” “You better be careful,” Auva commented, her voice filled with worry and sternness. Vai’den manipulated his step towards her, wrapping his free arm along her back before dipping his head forward to kiss his wife on the lips. “I will be careful; you needn’t worry about me.” Though not content with the answer, she decided not to argue, instead gazing in his eyes for a moment before her husband stepped back. The hunter then shifted his sight towards Laphias, who was standing at a continuous wobble with a wooden cane made just for someone of shorter stature. The youth looked back up to his father with more of a frown than a grin, and he struggled with the thick stick to walk towards his father before dropping it, holding him tightly. “Please don’t get hurt, dad. I’ll miss you, a lot.” Though he was only eleven years old, the young Duvar’s experience with the giant beetle caused him to realistically understand the dangers within the wilderness. The older elf’s smile grew into one of bashfulness as he knelt down to meet his son at eye level. “I won’t, son; you won’t even know I’ll have been gone for that long, I promise. Just make sure you take care of your mother and Alamora for me, all right?” Laphias nodded with assuredness, and a newfound countenance of mixed emotions laid claim on his face in the form of a broader smile at his statement. The hunter picked up the walking staff before handing it to the child, who took the object with nimble fingers. Despite his injury, he supported himself on his own with the meager, inanimate shaft, resting it beneath his arm. After another series of parting gestures, Vai’den set off from the house to the Northern exit, where his companion waited patiently for the journey ahead under the dwindling sun. --- The pebble nearly broke the tall blade of grass. Laphias sighed deeply as he picked up another rock from the ground. His pile of handpicked stones had almost dwindled, and he had yet to snap the tall shaft of grass in two. He had but two weeks before found the small, grassy spot about a few minutes’ walk from his home, and almost every day since then, the boy came to this very place to pass the time. Several of them had obvious sections where the young Duvar or his friend had made a successful, damaging strike to the stalks; areas where they snapped in two, or where entire chunks had been forcibly torn from its source. Another polished mass flew through the air and struck the same mark, yet it was kept stable. The child bit his lip in mild frustration as he picked up the last two stones in his pile and threw them, one after another, at the green grass. The first completely missed, but as the next cut through the air, the stalk merely wavered around from the impact – the crease etched in the middle barely grew. It had been a day since his father’s leave, and the town had become oddly quiet. Many of the men in Icemoon and a few of the women were a good distance away by now, either delivering messages or scouting out the islands for clues concerning the Fire Beetle’s appearance. His mother filled him in on what was going on the day before, after he finally woke. And since then, the condition of his ribs forced him to use a walking stick to help support his weight. It made little difference in Laphias’ mind, however, considering it hurt either way. He only found practical use for it when he needed to stand himself up. The sun dominated the sky, warming the normally cold air to make it tolerable without any sort of insulation. The frost on the ground already melted, and even the mud had hardened enough to sit on – a relief for the child. After a few moments of internal debate, he shifted his weight towards the direction of his staff, grasping it in both hands. Using a comfortable amount of strength, he nailed the end into the soil and began hoisting himself up to his feet, moving his feet and legs underneath himself and pushing upwards to assist in his effort. He countered the pain in his ribs by clenching his teeth with a grumble, but having gotten used to the aches over the last two days, he memorized what tactics to use in order to raise his body up with minimal trouble. Only a minute passed before Laphias was finally well on his feet, using his staff as a momentary assist in relaxing his muscles. He shook his head, feeling foolish for not collecting more stones earlier that week. His breathing was heavier than usual, and though it normally wouldn’t be difficult for him to lift himself up with nothing but his arms, the agony along his lower chest caused his limbs to slightly shake. Laphias scanned the ground, and no less than three feet away from him was a thick, round pebble with a tint of red and gray along its surface. Grinning, the boy slowly squatted, making sure his legs and arms equally contributed to the lowering of his body so the grief would be nominal. With his free hand, he plucked the stone with minimal effort from its small crater in the ground before standing himself up. He gained perspective of the green blade that rested in the grass patch nearby, and locked his eyes upon it. Raising his arm, Laphias brought it to eye level for a second and then lashed out his fingers. The shaft suddenly broke in half. The boy shuddered from the event and looked behind him to view the source. A familiar voice filled his ears. “That’s how you throw a stone,” Alamora commented, giggling at her own statement as she approached. Her face became somewhat sterner as she became fully aware of what he had been doing. “I told you I’d be back soon, didn’t I? You shouldn’t try moving around that much by yourself, let alone trying to stand.” Laphias dropped his own rock into a pouch tied to his waist. “I know, but I wanted to see if I could do it again. Last time, I fell on my butt.” She acknowledged his claim, looking down at the end of her friend’s wooden cane. There, a thin layer of mud was beginning to harden under the sun’s rays. “I remember; at least you anchored that thing into the ground this time. Still, you know that the only reason Auva allowed you to come outside at all today was because I would be out here with you. And…well, I’m supposed to make sure you don’t get hurt.” Alamora’s eyes leaned sideways as she spoke her last sentence, a noticeable smile creeping back upon her lips. Laphias simply shrugged, unsure of what she was getting at. “I didn’t— I wasn’t going to bruise myself or break something. I just stood up. I think I can handle it.” As if proving it to her, he started a short sprint with his legs, using the staff as intermediary support for both legs. The warm breeze rushed over him calmly, somewhat soothing the pain along his ribs. Various sounds were hurled through the air, noticeably Alamora’s, though he still continued onwards to prove his point. As he circled back around to return to his friend’s location, a jolt of anguish seared across his upper stomach. Without warning, he tripped over himself and his head landed in the cool dirt, writhing in pain. The sensation was horrendous. He dared not move his arms, his feet, or even breathe too hard for fear of the torment it would bring. Several moments passed as his mind became fuzzy and confused amidst the enraged nerves all over his body. Before long, time itself came to a slithering halt, and he found his embodiment leaving him, or perhaps the other way around. Despite himself, all of his pain, feelings, and awareness: all aspects and connections of and to his faltered body were slowly being terminated. Laphias’ consciousness floated in a mist of vivid colors of every spectrum, like a thick, translucent fog mixed with the characteristics of a rainbow. As he gazed around, the child noted that he lacked a defined body and that in its place, a wavering, transparent form expelled from the source of his sight, amorphous as that of rising heat from a fire. All of his other senses were nonexistent, and he couldn’t manage to manipulate his form in any way. Laphias was confined and chained to this spot, it seemed, and the prospect shook the youth to the core. Even more time passed. Hours, minutes, seconds, days…even years could have, yet he couldn’t tell, even if the Duvar wished to. His state wasn’t unlike that of being half-asleep. Times occurred when he felt scarred he would be imprisoned forever, while other times, he would imagine a creature watching him, willing to consume his indescribable form at any moment. Still other times he felt himself falling downwards, up ahead, or even sideways, or even the feeling that this place was the afterlife, the realm of souls in which Akiloth was said to keep his subjects for a thousand years before being reborn in a new body, stripped of the memories of his or her past life. All the possibilities rushed through his consciousness continuously, but another never changed: his yearning for home, his family, and his friends at home. Laphias fell asleep and woke up countless times in his weariness, up to the point where he couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake at all, or even if he was sleeping at all. At certain intervals, he could have sworn that screams echoed through the misty world around him, or that slender visages were running behind the fog. A lot of his time was passed by simply viewing the patterns of the colors among the clouds without any true purpose or insight, or simply staring at his wavering form, attempting to but failing at movement of any kind. Without warning, a metallic noise suddenly rang within his ears. Laphias woke from his drawn out resting phase and peered into the realm, noting a darker shadow amongst the illuminated mist. Though the figure came closer, the bell-like sound never changed in audacity. It beheld a unique echo as the rattle vibrated, as if given a divine quality all its own. Anticipation and dread both built up within the Duvar, and as the aura of the entity became stronger, Laphias felt his existence almost suffocate from its power. Soon, the veil was lifted, and the child’s vision locked onto the revealed avatar, astonishment rivaling his surprise. Two masks, side-by-side, covered the bearer’s face: one colored blue to express happiness, and one in a tint of green with a straight expression. Oddly, the child took note of a gap with similar size underneath the two upon the figure’s face, as if there was once a third mask. Along the chest and arms, a long, well-fabricated robe was worn. It was illuminated by a single layer of coloration that glimmered like sparkles, but after a few seconds, would suddenly change into a different pigment that always rivaled the former. A simple design also outlined the ends of the cloak, changing saturation at a faster pace than the core fabric but never matching each other in tinge. After some observation, however, he noted that, even with the diverse array of colors, both black and purple were never highlighted amongst the fabric. In contrast to his outfit, the being was completely barefoot with the skin exposed from the kneecap downwards. The complexion of the epidermis wasn’t unlike that of the Duvar’s, only darker. Finally, a black cloth was noticeably tied around the stranger’s wrists, wrapping once around the back. A tear scarred the material through the middle, ending just short of where the woven cuffs began to wrap around his or her upper limbs. With great surprise, alien thoughts meandered into the youth’s mind, differentiated from his by a womanly voice that carried measures of wisdom and power behind the vocalizations. An echo was crafted after every syllable, not unlike that of the bell’s ring beforehand. “We anticipated your arrival, young tenant, for some time. You are but a young mind, we understand, and thus have no control within the Foci. Only individualistic thought can be managed by your will, but even that is impressive for an outsider.” Even the small amount of praise filled Laphias with accomplishment and glee, though he couldn’t understand why this was so. The figure continued. “It is for this reason, young tenant, that you have been called here from your home plane. Do not allow time to trouble you within our sanctum, for it is beneath us, and we manipulate it as we see fit. For now, however, we shall send you back with this information: Rhym Valas Kymbakri. Remember it well, and shall it help guide you along the path before you.” As the thoughts processed through Laphias’ mind, the divine being walked up even closer as a finger rose to grace the lesser being’s entity. An arcane sense struck the Duvar, and again his thoughts wavered into hazy confusion, and then, darkness… --- “Laphias! Laphias!” The audacity of his friend’s cries tore through the air, settling within the child’s ears. The shroud that surrounded his senses began to fade once more, and pain was once again embedded along his ribs. The sudden impulse was followed by a short shriek from Laphias’ lungs, and he quickly gripped the area containing the pain, though it was but a false sense of security. No sooner did he note another presence nearby, and Alamora’s worried face filled his narrow sense of vision. She gave comments of ease and concern while he lay there, allowing the younger of the two to adhere to his condition. An indefinite amount of time passed before he motioned his willingness to stand. The girl nodded, and using her arms along with his feet, Laphias guided himself up, occasionally halting his progress to cope with the agony. “Careful,” she mentioned several times, again reminding him just as he was placing the flat of his lower limb onto the soil. After he did so and adjusted his body to gain balance, Alamora handed him his walking stick, which had been resting on the earth but a couple feet away. “Are you all right? Why did you do that?” she asked hastily. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” Laphias told her as he firmly supported his weight upon the wooden shaft. “My chest just started hurting a lot…” The experience he had after he fell was the first thing that came to mind, and even though the youth disliked keeping secrets from her, the idea sounded too farfetched to mention – it was difficult for even him to believe the event realistically. Alamora sighed with relief. “I’m thankful that you didn’t worsen your injury, as there’s no doubt you are.” Her eyes then sparked with seriousness. “But you’re ignoring my other question.” Though they were only three years apart in age, she always managed to elicit an answer out of him, even when he was reluctant to do so. She was one of his few friends within Icemoon, and probably knew more about him than even his parents. Laphias, however, wasn’t sure he could say the same vice-versa, as it wasn’t uncommon for him to break the string that kept her subtle yet straitlaced side under check. A pause erupted after her sentence as he struggled to find the right words. “I just don’t like this at all,” he finally mumbled, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Mom told me that I’d be in this condition for over a month, and that I shouldn’t be moving around that much. But even when I can come outside, I’m still held back by the pain. I can’t even stand up without help because of it. I mean, Dad… he was able to walk around once when he hurt his rib from one of those forest pigs ‘n he didn’t even say nothing. I don’t know why, but it just makes me mad.” The boy sniffed, his lips forming a pout while his sight focused on the ground. Alamora couldn’t help but grin from his expression. “You get angry from a lot of things, Laphias. This isn’t really something to brood about, or try challenging in your case; it’ll just lengthen the time you have to wait.” She bent her legs a little to level her eyes with his. “I understand how you feel. After I broke my right toe last year, it hurt every time I made a step. I also couldn’t keep balance as well as I can now. Before I could properly move around, I had to re-teach myself how to walk, and after a couple weeks, I was able to get around with little pain.” She rested her fingers around Laphias’ support. “If you just work yourself and find a way around your disability, you will do the same, not to mention that a lot of your time will be occupied. Just expand on what you’ve done and take your time to learn and experiment.” She rose from her position and stood. Laphias erected a loose smile as the idea processed before glancing up at his friend. “I’ll try doing that; thank you, Alamora.” The girl shook her head. “No, it’s you I should be thanking. I—I’m sorry. Had I not taken so long to reach the well, or if I had just run away, you wouldn’t be in so much pain.” It was her turn to glower at herself, and as the memory evoked in her mind, a tear began to fill her eye. “Normally I’m supposed to protect and watch over you, but then you turned around at that moment and saved me long enough for your father to finish the beast off. It’ll take awhile for me to make up a life debt,” she sported, attempting to cheer herself up a little bit to avoid crashing into a series of sobs. “Don’t worry about it,” Laphias insisted enthusiastically, “I wouldn’t ever let a friend get hurt. But, if you insist, would you mind not telling my mother about what happened?” She agreed compassionately, her face clearing up due to his first reply. The boy knew that she probably wouldn’t rat out his actions, but her confirmation eased his mind. “You should also remember,” he continued, “everything that you’ve done for me over the years. You’ve saved me from pot holes in the past more so than I have.” “It’s not the same, Laphias,” Alamora interjected, “Saving you from a few beatings doesn’t amount to a life, no matter how you look at it. Some of the other kids who bullied you were a handful to negotiate with, but even had I not intervened, you would have lived to see another day. That giant beetle was about to eat me alive.” The boy sighed. “You still owe me nothing. We’re friends: close friends, and had I merely sat there, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” His statement took Alamora by surprise. “That’s how our actions compare. Yes, the consequences for our actions would be different, but our own, personal qualms would remain the same. It is for that reason, Alamora, that I cannot accept your claim. Both you and I should know; we’ve both filled each others’ roles more than once.” In light of his reply, Laphias smiled. The child drew his muddy pebble from the pouch and proceeded to toss it in the air, catching it firmly each time he threw it. The girl hesitated, a familiar but equally alien emotion emerging inside, though she attempted to ignore it. Even at such a young age, the person in front of her beheld the makings of a man in that moment of time, reflecting his decision with her and the giant beetle, and carrying that even further with his reasoning. At fourteen years of age, Alamora was already undergoing her maturity as a woman, and within the recess of her mind, a growing infatuation was being molded. Every time she viewed her friend, it seemed, a subtle thought attempted to pull her way like a silent longing that she believed to be wrong, or too early to understand or cope with. “Hey, what’s wrong?” the boy asked, catching his stone and approaching her. Alamora tilted her head to face him, unaware of her predicament. The girl’s mind froze. What am I doing? She mused to herself, snapping her thoughts back into reality. “What?” Laphias simply scratched his head. “You’ve been staring at the ground with a sad look ever since I stopped talking. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings if I did.” He stepped forward with the help of his cane, turning towards the grassy pile before letting loose his stone. One of the thinner blades was torn in two, and he mouthed a consecutive phrase to signal his satisfactory. Alamora probed deep to find a suitable excuse. “Oh, no, I was just…uhh…thinking about what you said. It makes a lot of sense, it really does. I couldn’t have argued with it even if I wanted to.” In fact, she would be hard-pressed to find anything to convince him otherwise. It didn’t completely drown out her guilt, but Laphias’ explanation soothed her mind well enough to place it outside of her primary thought pattern. She finished, “But I’m still grateful for what you did; that won’t ever change.” At that moment, a childish gasp and a smile pursued over the youth’s lips, shifting his body once more to face Alamora. “I never planned to—“ “…and you never will,” she interrupted, deliberately cutting him off before he could finish his thought. “Come on, let’s find some more rocks for us to use. That way, once you find it ‘clever’ to say something, I’ll be one step ahead.” Her stern tone made the boy lean against his staff as a burst of laughter erupted from his lungs. Alamora followed in turn, a comment rustling through the noise. “I know you too well, Laphias. It’s almost scary to think about.” “Perhaps,” he said, managing to let loose the comment in between two rumbles of laughter. “I wouldn’t have figured you to be someone who would willingly harm a poor, crippled young lad who saved your life.” Alamora slightly nudged her friend on the arm. “You’re the one who said that we’re even, if I remember correctly. As for harming a cripple, I would only try that if the ‘young lad,’ she stated bluntly, making physical quotations with her two forefingers “didn’t learn his lesson in the first place.” “I can at least protect myself, right?” the boy commented. “Even if you’re a girl, I won’t hold back if you throw one first!” He bent down, with the aid of his walking staff, to fetch a mud clump near his feet while Alamora did the same. Over the next several minutes, the area became a battlefield as cool mud permeated the surrounding air, their laughter again dominating the landscape. |
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![]() Thanks to Tifa (RPGFO) for this signature and avatar set! Tifa is also taking requests. Just PM me the following: If you want an avvy, sig, or both; the sizes; what pics you want used; any text you want added; and any other specs you have in mind. Just try not to go too overboard. :p | |
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| Post #4 Nov 17 2007, 03:45 PM | Project.Seeds |
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Words of advice from Seeds Ok, For some small things i would do, Is when you post Disable Emoticons and Signature, So it's more formal. Also- I would use a lot more dialog. I think that your using a lot a lot a lot of descriptions and stuff which is great- But not very much dialog. Spell Check: Dialog, Dialauge? |
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| Post #5 Nov 17 2007, 03:53 PM | Grunt_of_War |
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Heh, point taken. As for the 'more dialogue', I shall take that into consideration. When I was writing the first chapter, I was a bit shaky with it since I didn't know if it would be decent or suck, but for the second chapter thus far, it has been Dialogue for its majority. Thank god for Flak's assistance and all the novels I have read. And, lastly, thank you for taking a look at my works, seeds. It means a lot to me.
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| Post #6 Nov 18 2007, 08:28 PM | Flak |
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"I am Flakcannon, Master of Critisizing!" I'll post my response when valid. |
Bag 'em and Tag 'em!
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![]() -I thank Seeds for this Banner. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- RPing Information: Legend by Crimson Knight. ------ Status: Mostly Malevolent. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- | |
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| Post #7 Nov 20 2007, 11:15 PM | Taceo |
| hey, you showed me this before, how much further have you gotten since then? |
Amadare wa chi no shizuku
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| Dead like the heart that rots in my chest. | |
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| Post #8 Nov 21 2007, 09:40 AM | Grunt_of_War |
| Basically, I've just added in Part 3, and that's it. I've shown you everything else on the bus. |
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| Post #9 Nov 21 2007, 10:23 AM | Taceo |
| hmmmmmmmmm... it did loo longer than before when i was scrolling down, so awsome grat story keep it up. |
Amadare wa chi no shizuku
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| Dead like the heart that rots in my chest. | |
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| Post #10 Nov 27 2007, 08:26 PM | Flak |
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Neato’. I'll say, your dialogue has become a lot more believable, though you still pertain that ever-present trouble of repeating words and phrases within your sentences and paragraphs. Also, I'd explain all these capitalized areas as you gain ground within your Universe. But, otherwise, there were no real errors present. I applaud. -Flak |
Bag 'em and Tag 'em!
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![]() -I thank Seeds for this Banner. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- RPing Information: Legend by Crimson Knight. ------ Status: Mostly Malevolent. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- | |
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| Post #11 Nov 28 2007, 06:54 PM | Grunt_of_War |
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Thank you for the feedback, Flak. Well, I've made yet another large edit to the first part of chapter two, but simply because there were several places where I found information needed to be elaborated on. I also fixed many (probably not all, though) of the repitition issues. I would also like to announce that, beginning now, I will instead post monthly, rather than weekly. I've talked with a couple people, and found out a possible solution to my 'editing' problems, especially with repitition, but I'll need a lot more time in between posting to utilize it. So, on average, I'll post a chapter's worth of the story every month, more or less, for everyone to read and comment on. Look for anywhere from 20 to 30 pages on Word, in case you want an estimate for length. Grunt_of_War
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| Post #12 Nov 28 2007, 11:07 PM | Taceo |
Sometimes, I think you can be more insane than me. Thats a creepy thought.
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Amadare wa chi no shizuku
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| Dead like the heart that rots in my chest. | |
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| Post #13 Nov 29 2007, 08:30 AM | Grunt_of_War |
| It's all about time, inspiration, and the will to continue on - though, time may be my biggest limiting factor there. |
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| Post #14 Nov 29 2007, 09:48 AM | Taceo |
| Yes, time will take us all, but for us, we have a while. |
Amadare wa chi no shizuku
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| Dead like the heart that rots in my chest. | |
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| Post #15 Apr 21 2008, 05:28 PM | Grunt_of_War |
Righto. It's been a hell of a long time, but I've almost doubled the size of the story since I last updated this (and edited it), making it 32 pages on Word (a record for me :P). In that time, I've finished Chapter Two, and started Chapter Three; you find the first two completed chapters earlier in the thread, while the (unfinished) chapter three will be put here. I look forward to seeing some reviews, should you have the time to spare.
Chapter Three: Mordel The storm was relentless. Laphias sat nestled by the fire in the house, his body spread out over the chair to allow the heat to easily radiate across his cool skin. He wore two layers worth of animal skins to keep him warm, and with the addition of the fire, the boy finally felt a sense of content. Alamora did the same, though she folded herself into a crude ball to keep her hands and feet from the stench of the cold. Auva, meanwhile, often rotated between her own seat by the flames and simply pacing around the cabin to allow her muscles a more tepid feel. Either way, the algid atmosphere of the room induced everyone into an uneasy state. Freezing rain mixed with clumps of snow continued to batter the outside walls and roof of their abode. Past the immediate vicinity of their sanctuary, the three inhabitants often heard awry creaks and whistles that were easily audible within the home. Occasionally, a loud earth-shaking tremor would compel them to jump and shake from surprise, leaving them unsure whether the structure would stand up against the next set of falling debris. Auva tended to peer through the window at times to view the damage out across the blankets of snow, but an hour after the storm hit early that afternoon, frost already shrouded the glass with a nearly opaque coat. “Ho- how long has it been, mom?” Laphias inquired with a shaky voice, pulling a nearby blanket over his body to insulate the heat. She had been sitting near the window, attempting to peer through the crystallized glass in vain. She turned to her son at Auva’s mention with a slight pause in between. “I’m sorry, what was that, dear?” “How much time have we spent in here?” he asked again. The child sneezed after he spoke a second time, covering his nose with one hand. The mother walked over to a nearby table, fetching a paper-thin leaf that had slightly aged since it was plucked, handing it to her son. The youth blew his nose inconsistently, folded it over, and bore down on it again. “I don’t know, Laphias,” she replied, lightly gripping the end of his used foliage. “The sky’s been dark ever since the clouds built up around noon. I would imagine that it’s evening, though. The third batch of wood is already half-burned—“ she calmly sneezed in the opposite direction, “—burned out. Excuse me.” Auva rubbed her opposite arm with a free hand as she traversed the distance to the door. With a short flick of her fingers on the lock, the door rasped open menacingly. The howl of the winds blew through the small opening she made, and with some difficulty, held the door at that distance while she tossed the worn frond out to the wilderness. The flames rustled from the sudden change in air flow, and the younglings glared at it with unsure eyes as it danced furiously in several directions. Finally, the young woman managed to block the entrance and rotate the shaft of metal just in time for her to catch her breath, resting wearily against the door with her palm hovering along her forehead. The flames returned to a slow burn, and both children sighed as they turned their full attention to their mother. --- “Damn this blizzard.” Vai’den’s comment echoed through the small, dreary cave as he surveyed the conditions outside the entry way. A flurry of heavy sleet showered the environment outside while chilling clouds of vapor and particulates matted the nearby forests like fog. The hunter shuddered from the biting wind that occasionally nestled along the cavity’s opening and shifted into a walk back into the inner chamber, where a small campfire burned from what little bark they had. Jhed gave scant purchase to his cohort’s curse other than a brief smile, taking his time to carve an arrowhead from the dark stone that outlined the cavern’s walls. Unlike Vai’den, his clothing consisted of fewer layers of animal hide to keep himself warm, in fact shedding even more of them once their wood ignited. Nearby, about half a dozen woody spears were laid straight on the ground, all but two outfitted with pointed ends crafted from the attached rock. The worn Dark Elf slid both bow and arrow quiver from his shoulders and dropped them lazily on the cool crag. He sat against the barrier opposite his friend, slouching up against it as best he could, but to no avail. The hunter then scuttled closer to the flaring heat, holding out both hands and leaning his head forward to soak as much of it in as possible. He let loose a mild, relieved sigh while shutting his eyes. The other ranger tilted his perspective towards his companion. “Is the cold a bit too much for you, Vai’den?” Jhed mused. The content Duvar’s voice carried a slightly lighter but more audible voice than the Suvern’s, and the echo in the cave made the etching noise even more noticeable to Vai’den, similar to chalk barely scratching against a rough board. Still, he figured that he’d be even more miserable were he alone. The resting Dark Elf slowly opened his eyes after hearing the smart comment, noting the crude smile etched upon the speaker’s face. “How about I let you stand out in that blizzard for a few more minutes?” Jhed silently acknowledged his cohort’s comment without reply. A moment passed, him cutting away again at the arrowhead while allowing the heat of the flames to bear upon his skin, but Vai’den interrupted the other Elf’s calm tranquility with a shallow voice. “Sorry. I just can’t ever get used to being this damn cold. And being holed up in this forsaken cave… well, it’s just difficult to bear.” “Yeah, yeah…” Jhed casually replied. He kicked off one of his shoes, wiggling his toes ever closer to the flames. “Remind me never to joke around when you’re pissed. But, you know, I was only trying to lighten the mood a little.” Vai’den shook his head with restful eyelids and a smile. “Whatever. I’ll certainly remember your attempt to soothe the ill-fated Duvar companion a hundred years from now, right?” “Really?” he inquired almost half-jokingly. “Well, I’ve always wanted to help people, just as long as it didn’t involve religion or politics.” “Why’s that? You dislike the priests and councilmen, too?” The weary Dark Elf peeked an eye at Jhed, who had begun carving the end point of his projectile. Somehow, he found it difficult to fall asleep, but equally as hard to stay fully aware, either. Meanwhile, several moments passed without the younger of the two having said anything. Before long the ragged point was complete, and it was only a matter of attaching and tying it to the rest of the arrow. Every now and then Vai’den would barely open his left eye to see how things were going, finding it the only interesting thing he could focus on without too much thought. Finally, the muffled sounds ceased, and at the corner of his vision, the older elf spied upon the finished product while Jhed held it up for inspection. A deep sense of emotion took root in the Fletcher’s face. “You know,” Jhed murmured over the low roar of the fire, “I never really thought about it that much. I guess it’s… well,” he stuttered, struggling to come up with the right words. The young Duvar never ceased his gaze at the finished arrow, in fact looking at the object with such intensity that he looked suspicious to anyone who viewed him. Vai’den sat up from his relaxed position, rubbing his arms with his fingers to warm them. “You don’t have to answer that if you’d like not to. I guess that wasn’t much of a joke, either.” The slight change of mood caught Jhed’s attention, his head turning to face the older elf. Almost instinctively, he gave a friendly smile in Vai’den’s direction, one that the experienced hunter had known and memorized over the past eight years. Very rarely did Jhed ever show any other expression when casually facing others, he noticed. “Yeah, I guess,” he laughed in a low tone, “I suppose we’re both even now. Honest to Akiloth, though, I have no idea why I even mentioned that, Vai’den. I must be tired, too.” As if on cue, the Dark Elf yawned with exaggeration, stretching his arms and legs out across the cavern floor and walls. Both sat in silence once again, and before long Jhed had fallen into a comfortable slumber, much to Vai’den’s surprise. “You’re a weird kid, if I can still call you that,” he mumbled, bringing himself up to stand. “Right when I thought I had figured you out, you collapse and fall asleep.” Vai’den took his time to fetch a bundle of timber they had gathered before the storm, resting them in the cindering jumble of wood. The elf watched as each individual piece caught its own flame, each fluttering and dancing about innocently like a graceful child. Turning his attention to his sleeping cohort, the Duvar dragged one last blanket from their pile of belongings. Upon inspection, Vai’den noted several small punctures weaved into the fabric, strings of thread hanging idly from their corners. A larger hole rested near the corner, its edges uneven and threatening to break the last bit of structured wool keeping it together on one side. Did he abuse this thing or what? He silently pondered to himself while glaring at his companion’s more wholesome layers. The Duvar sighed. He peered out towards the raging storm for a brief moment, and then shook instinctively as he regained consciousness about the chill. He briefly knelt over towards the sleeping Jhed, draping the imperfect stitching upon him. The elf almost grinned at the sight of his body, for it had begun to noticeably shiver from the cold air. “Not as tolerant of the cold as you thought either, eh? I’d give you some of mine, too, but I already gave you the chance when the storm broke out. I’m just too damn cold…” Pouring another few sticks into the fire, Vai’den nestled against the wall in his usual spot, kicking off his own boots before waving his toes at the campfire. He dragged his body deep into the confines of his thick clothing, with only both legs and head peeping out in the cold air. Jhed was only fifteen when he became a hunter. Eight years… He shook his head. I wonder what’s troubling him… The warm interior of the blankets drew him in closer, and his head crept even further in. Random thoughts crossed his mind, ones that he never really thought about in great detail before. His son becoming a hunter one day like him, his wife waiting patiently and wearily at home, and other friends and neighbors going on with their usual lives were replayed over and over. Vai’den felt separated from the world he was used to; whereas he was used to being around his family and children, the cave felt surreal. The elf hated being confined in an unusual, cold environment, and it had been many, many years since he traveled more than a day’s walk from home. Vai’den was barely aware of just how dependent and accommodated he had become since settling down with Auva to have their son, Laphias. And while the Duvar didn’t dislike feeling comfortable, Jhed’s out-of-character stereotype reminded him just how fragile life could be. But now that he thought about it, the Dark Elf knew little to nothing about the young hunter’s childhood: only that the boy arrived in Icemoon from the north side of the island, alone. |
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7:17 PM Jul 10
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7:17 PM Jul 10