robot
Whippersnapper
Posts: 6 
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Post by robot on Jul 8, 2013 10:08:51 GMT
Year 2478 After Spirits
I am called Tikka, but that name is still a child's. This is the night of my womanhood ceremony. When I leave this hut, I am leaving my tribe, the Chasa, for the first time. I will return to a new name, and if I am proved worthy, with a spirit as my companion.
I am Samari. I have ridden the steppe since birth. I held my first bow in my fourth summer, killed my first rabbit in my sixth. At fifteen, I ride with the rest of the tribe, protecting our herds from the wolves and raiders that threaten them. I am a creature of the steppe, hewn from stone by the wolf-lord himself with each of my brothers and sisters. I dance the histories of the Chasa tribe with the elders, and when my people sing my voice joins theirs as the song of our lives rolls on and on across the plains.
Now I stand in the meeting tent, wreathed in the herb-smoke with the elders. I am fifteen years old, and tonight I begin my trials. As the chant begins, Ki Tanta, our record-keeper, is beginning to glow with a slow, red pulse, the light of the spirit in her blood. The hawk on her shoulder glows red as well, and as I watch in the silence, the other elders and their companions begin to do the same. Ko Elota's eyes billow black-green smoke as the snake twined around his staff seems to shimmer with dancing lights. Ki Alia's companion, Nohai, is a thick-furred wolf. He seems to melt into shadow, two eyes like stars all that mark his gaze as he stands at her side, and Alia fades with him, her eyes matching his.
I make the sign of Preica over myself, crossing my arms and then slashing downward with one hand. In respect for the spirits, I bow low, and meld my voices with the chant of my elders. The herb-smoke is in my head, filling me, lifting me up into the world of the spirits. Their energy fills me as well, and in a trance I dance and sing the histories, from the ancient times: the birth of the wolf-lord, his fight with his brother-gods, the creation of our people, the gifts of knowledge given to us. I dance the story of our tribe, the battles and deaths and triumphs. I dance the story of my grandfather, who died with the great city of Tikong. I dance the death of Preica, slain by cowards who hide behind armor of steel and strangle our cities. I dance Preica's triumphant return and the destruction of our enemies.
When the dance is done my body is exhausted, but my blood still pulses with borrowed energy. I can see the thrum and pulse of the world around me, feel the voices of the spirits that whisper on the winds. I am going into the steppe to seek them on my own. I am taking no food or bedroll. I am granted only the bow in my hand, the armor and clothing on my back, a pouch of the herbs to guide me, and the waterskins on my belt.
I will return in one week, and if my hands are sure and my soul is strong, I shall bring a spirit-companion to my tribe. I will no longer be Tikka. And then, spirit or none, I am going to leave the steppe, and see the world beyond.
(Anchala's character sheet)
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robot
Whippersnapper
Posts: 6
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Post by robot on Jul 9, 2013 8:51:52 GMT
Year 2481 AS, three years later.
As I hitch up the leather armor and sling my bow across my back, I can feel the eyes of the tribe on me. I take my waterskins and lash them to Sehk's saddle, and behind me a few of my tribesmen murmur just under my hearing. I do not wish to turn and face them, but it is the proper and respectful thing to do. Koya's disapproval of the whole ceremony feels like cold wind in my mind. I can feel the familiar weight of his hawk-form sitting on my shoulder as he ruffles his feathers and turns his head back and forth.
You're not making this any easier by leaving this way. Why not just ride off in the middle of the night? He speaks into my mind, words of a familiar friend, always there, always ready to help. Right now, though, he is more a petulant child than a partner.
I shrug mentally at him. I owe them this. If I'm going to leave them, I am going to do it right. Besides, Konari is here, and I want to say goodbye to him most of all.
Koya sighs, and his shimmering hawk-body takes flight from my shoulder. I shall rejoin you on the trail. Until then, I refuse to take part in such an emotional display.
I watch Koya rise with the wind and disappear into the sky, and then I turn to my tribe. It is time to face them as equals. The whole of the tribe is gathered to see me off, my father and mother at the front, next to the elders and my companion, Konari. I will miss all of them, Konari perhaps the most. Even now I still question my decision to leave him. We are a good pair, and the nights will be cold without him by my side. But then I remember the stories of the world outside the steppe, and the Dominion menace that squats amongst our cities in the east, and I know that I must go. I need to see it with my own eyes. The stories will never be enough.
I embrace my mother and my father, and present to them the bow they gave me as a child. My father has tears in his eyes, but both of them remain strong and proud as they accept my gift with firm hands. My mother hands me a bracelet, a beautiful thing of carved bone and inlaid stones. I slip it on my wrist and kiss her and my father on the cheek before I move to the elders.
Ki Tanta is as stiff and formal as ever, and simply bows once before beckoning me onward. Ko Elota, keeper of our knowledge, hands me a beautiful gift: a tiny carved snake, etched with spirit-words of protection. It narrows at the top of its looped body, to be worn as an earring. I insert it carefully, feeling the reassuring weight of it against my hair and face. After I bow formally to Elota, I move on to Ki Alia, my teacher and the guardian of our tribe. She embraces me as a sister, and smiles as she holds me at arm's length. Alia hands me her gift, three arrows with carved heads and spirit-words painted in fine golden lettering along the slender shafts. I bow to her once more and slide the shafts into the quiver that rests against my thigh.
Finally I stand in front of Konari. He has been my companion through the nights and on the long rides across the steppe. We haven't parted since we became companions two years ago. I may truthfully say that I love him, but I cannot remain here solely on his account. We take each others' hands and lean together, our foreheads meeting as we embrace once more.
“Are you certain you will not stay, Tikka?” He uses my child-name, but he knows what my answer will be. His voice cracks, and my eyes begin to sting.
“I am. Are you certain you will not join me?” I know his answer as well, and I am both sorrowful and proud that my companion is loyal to his chihk.
“I am, as well.” He kisses me briefly, embarrassed by so many watching eyes, and then we hold hands once more. “May your ride be swift and your bow strong, and may the wind follow you always."
“And you as well, Juti. Keep the people and the flocks safe. And look after my parents, if you can.” I feel my own voice crack as I use his child-name, and the sting in my eyes bubbles over into wetness as tears begin to run down my cheeks. I want to say something more to him, but the moment is gone and the entire tribe is watching. Instead I squeeze his hands a final time, and then we both let go.
I turn from the tribe for the last time until my return, and mount my horse. As I ride, the wind stings my eyes for a few moments before they are dry once more, and Koya circles down from above.
On our way, then? To where do you plan to ride? He rests at the familiar place on my shoulder, leaning into the wind and Sehk's easy rhythmic trot.
South. And east, too, I think. I wish to see the cities that were once ours. From there, I shall join others. Perhaps a mercenary company, like Tavilsh did. He claimed it was good and honest work. There are stories of cities that roam the barren sands, as well, and wondrous cities built into great towering rocks. We shall see where Preica leads us.
Koya broods for a moment, and I can feel his distaste for the ceremony still lingering. Perhaps it is the link between our minds that makes him so uncomfortable with my emotional moments. Perhaps he simply disapproves. He has refused to share such things with me so far. By the time he speaks again, though, his ill humor has faded and he is once more in his natural playful mood.
Perhaps you shall end up on a ship in the ocean, rocking up and down and up and down and--
Bah, enough with that foolishness! A smile twitches at the corner of my lips, but I make efforts to hide it. This is a part of our game; I am stern when he is playful. I will not be corralled into such great waters, or onto some wooden monstrosity with nothing to keep me steady. What kind of Samari would I be to leave the open ground behind? How would I ride anywhere?
He chuckles in my mind, a light and gentle sound. Ah, is that what bothers you? Where is the spirit of adventure you were just so eagerly spouting on about? Wondrous cities only interest you if there is no ocean between here and there?
I playfully ruffle his breast-feathers with one hand. Ah, you have convinced me. Great cities we shall seek, be they across the water or across the desert. But first, to the ruined cities of Samar.
His wings beat the sky once more, and soars above as he gathers the winds behind me, shifting the world around us to speed my ride. We laugh together in joy at the open freedom of the steppe before us.
The city of Tikong is a great burnt corpse, picked clean by scavengers long ago. We make a silent camp behind a low ridge for the night, and Koya spends his time in watch as I sleep, reassuring me when I wake that nothing is approaching us in the night. That morning, before the sun has risen, we ride into the bones of the city. As we reach the outskirts the smell of burnt brick teases my nose, seeming to linger even this many years after the great burning. Spirits of fire are said to still wander this place, and I make the sign of Preica for protection before continuing. Koya watches from the air with sharp eyes and spirit-senses.
We travel through the city for four hours before reaching the river. Along the way we see many skeletons, and the occasional ruined suit of metal armor, patched with rust. Most of the city is overgrown by the short scrub-weeds of the steppe. Several places are nothing but wide fields, with long straight lines dug into the ground. Koya tells me that this is for growing crops, a system to keep the ground wet and the plants ready for harvest.
As we approach the river, I dismount and tie Sehk to the remains of a low wall. As the sounds of the river grow, I pull one of my quilts over my head, like a hood. When the river comes into sight, I bow and make the sign of Preica before continuing.
The river itself is barely a stream, but the banks on each side still rise high, a memory of when Preica's great power surged through it and nourished the surrounding land. I kneel at the edge of the riverbank, laying out my quilts in neatly folded piles, and pray once more. Then I part the reeds and step into the holy water, submerging myself completely.
When I return to the banks, Koya is waiting. Without a word we ride out of the city, heading south and east, heading for the deserts.
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robot
Whippersnapper
Posts: 6
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Post by robot on Jul 9, 2013 11:57:58 GMT
Early 2482 AS
The steppe grows warmer as we travel south. Before long we meet the trail of another chihk's travels, a wide swath of grasses that have been trampled flat by hundreds of feet. I do not know which way they were headed, and we choose to travel on instead of tracking them. Koya keeps to the skies most of the time, claiming that they are cooler and more suited for travel. Before long I have abandoned many of my quilts, wrapping only a few around me in the heat of the summer season.
After two and a half months of travel, wandering slowly on the empty steppe, we reach a small stopping point for trade caravans. The outpost is little more than a few huts in the sandy soil, hunched around a small fire-pit in the center. Our ride into the camp is greeted by armored men, but they do not bear the insignias of the enemy to the East, and so I keep my lance in its holster and my bow on my back. I ride up to the camp with a hand raised in greeting, and stop short before the two men.
"Halt, nomad." The men in armor speak with thick accents and place hands on weapons, but do not draw them just yet. I leave my hand raised in greeting, but Koya whispers in my mind, telling me that he is ready to speed my hands to my bow as soon as I might need him.
"I am Anchala Pi-Chasa, and I come peacefully seeking rest or employment." I answer in Samari as I bow slightly to both men. "I have heard stories of great caravans that ride the sands and the steppes, and I would join them to see the world."
One of the men says something to another in a language I do not understand. Neither seems to have understood me, but both relax slightly, hands leaving the weapons at their sides. I smile in return. One of them motions for me to stay, and then disappears into one of the small huts. In a few moments, he returns with an old man of the steppes, who squints in my direction and speaks in the Samari tongue.
"Who is it that seeks entry to the camp?" he asks. I answer him in the Samari tongue, telling him what I told the other men. He speaks to them in their unintelligible language, and both armored men relax and grin before motioning to a post where I may tie Sehk. I dismount and do so, leaving him there for the time being, and as I enter the camp I call Koya from the skies. The men look at each other and seem to remark on his landing, but what they are saying I cannot determine.
Is this one of those mercenary outposts you've been talking about? Caravan guards of the desert people and the mountain folk? He preens on my shoulder as we make our way through the rows of huts, following the men.
I believe so. Where they will send us, I am unsure, but either way we shall see the world. It is hard to restrain my curiosity, but I keep my dignity and silence as I walk through the camp.
The men lead us to a large hut in the middle of the settlement, near the fire-pit. Inside is dark and smoky, not the herb-smoke of the elders but a sharper, more pungent smell that stings in my nose and chest. In the center of the tent sits a man, slender and narrow-faced, pale of skin and hair. The old Samari man follows me into the tent, his beard tinkling with trinkets, and sits next to the pale man, speaking his language and motioning at me. I bow slightly and sit cross-legged on the floor.
The pale man grins, showing two rows of glaring white teeth. Koya ruffles nervously on my shoulder, shifting nearer to the spirit-words branded on my upper arms, hidden under my undergarments. The pale man bows slightly and speaks in his language, and I wait patiently for the old Samari to translate.
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Post by Timeon on Jul 9, 2013 13:16:04 GMT
"He says this company goes to Shaho."
Shaho - that was a city on the border of both the Dominion and Sali. It was the southernmost of Samari cities. Unless you counted Anankim, long since cut off from the Samari motherland. It was also the biggest Samari city, since the fall of Tikong.
"They go to Shaho, to serve the prince."
The old Samari gave Tikka a very specific look, a look that only the elderly can give.
"You are going to have to learn Faloran, maybe even Sali."
"I will sign up."
Then the old Samari muttered something to the mercenary commander, who grunted and rose to his feet. The man offered his giant hand in a sweaty handshake. He stated something in either Faloran or Sali, Tikka was not sure.
"There's a contract." the old Samari said with a helpful smile. "Master Napada here works for a very large and powerful guild. The guild ensures discipline, and that merc companies earn their gold, and don't desert in the face of defeat. The same applies to individuals. Desertion will mean you will be hunted down. Do you understand?"
Tikka glared at the old one.
"Of course I understand."
"Good." the old Samari said apologetically. "My name is Nezzeru. I will be your teacher in the Faloran and Sali tongues. You will need both with this company. We work wherever the Dominion is not wanted."
For the first time since entering the camp, Tikka allowed herself the faintest of smiles.
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At the end of the fifth day on the road to Shaho, the company set up camp and Tikka was called to her usual lessons in the foreign tongues of the world by Nezzeru. For the first time, she caught a glimpse of the old man's familiar. Much to her pleasant surprise, it was an otter. Nezzeru caught her staring.
"Yes, my familiar is of Preica." he said with his usual pleasant and innocent grin, like a witty child's.
"Just how old are you, Nezzeru?"
"What year is it?" he asked jovially, and Tikka was not sure if he was serious or not. "Well, I am surely over seventy by now. I remember Preica."
Her breath caught in her throat. He seemed to find her expression amusing, for he laughed, then turned his attentions to the wagon behind him. By the light of the campfires, he rummaged through his belongings.
"What was he like?" Tikka asked.
Nezzeru paused and pointed at his familiar.
"Like that. Preica fell, but his children did not all die. They were scattered to the winds, the strong and weak ones alike. Preica lives on. Always. In our hearts, but in our midst also. I worked with this company for forty years against the Dominion. Now we go to Shaho, to stop the Dominion from taking it."
Tikka sat down, and Nezzeru produced his books on the Faloran and Sali tongues. And so their lesson began, as it always did, with the alphabet.
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robot
Whippersnapper
Posts: 6
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Post by robot on Jul 10, 2013 23:37:09 GMT
I have always felt the rhythm of the bow in my hands, but this is different. The wagon is on fire behind me, wide wheels still trundling along as the driver screams and fans at the flames on his arms. Another raider comes over the ridge, bottle and flaming rag in hand, but he's too fast for my arrow to reach him in time before he ducks back and the flame arcs towards the caravan once more. Its arc is leading it directly for the strange horses ("cam-els," the Sali word intrudes on my mind with perfect clarity in the midst of the chaos) and if they are lost, so are we. I send a desperate cry out to Koya.
Absolutely no faith in my abilities, I swear. He sounds calm, almost disconnected, and his voice is a cool refresher from the heat of the wagon-fire and the shouting voices around me. The flaming rag seems to suddenly dart sideways and ascend, spiraling up and away from the caravan. Koya carries it a bit higher before releasing, and I can feel his satisfaction as it shatters behind the dune to screams. The remaining raiders, wearing tattered Dominion uniforms that seem blood-red in the fire-light, pile over the side of the dune, lying prone and helpless as I ride closer. My bow sings in rapid succession, working down the line, the targets far easier than when I spent my time following running wolves in a pack. But then the rest of the bottles ignite behind the dune, and a hot fierce wind knocks me almost from the saddle, leaving me half-canted and dangling by one stirrup.
In the resulting brief silence, a low shriek sounds in my ears, drowning out the shouts that quickly resume. A figure approaches, silhouetted by the wagon-fire, sword in hand. The hunting knife in my belt is stuck in its sheath and I cannot pull it free. The figure reaches me and crouches to see my face, and I weakly push him away, kicking at Sehk to run, turn, kick, anything. The approaching figure pulls me up, and the hands are rough but familiar. Cool relief washes over me, and as the ringing subsides I hear Catol's familiar voice, chattering reassuringly in Faloran. I relax and allow him to help me up into the saddle once more.
"Easy now, lass. Happens with these explosions, it's just a brief shock. Here, now, here's your bow, back in your saddle, let's keep you seated proper. Can you hear me?" He motions to one ear, but under the imposing helmet, the gesture just looks like he's pointing at the symbol over his face marking him as our commander.
"Yes, I can hear you." I reply in my slightly-broken Faloran, and my own voice sounds strange in my ears with the ringing. "Thank you, Catol. How many left?"
He rolls his shoulders, hefting the long straight sword and adjusting the armor on his torso. "We've got them on the run, thankfully. Might want to have that bird of yours tell you what's what. We're staying here to watch for stragglers. Tal, get a wet blanket on that wagon! Where's Nezzeru?" Catol wanders off, picking up the company standard and waving it high to signal that we are to return to the caravan.
Well, that was interesting. I can't say I expected such a reaction to the flames. Koya lands nonchalantly on my shoulder as I circle the wagons, watching the hills as my companions beat the flames with wet blankets.
Imbecile. You nearly got me killed!
He ruffles defensively. I do believe you were the one who decided to ride closer, not me. Besides, as I said, how should I have known that the bottles would burst so?
I shake my head and let the matter rest. The hills remain silent as the flames die out, and as my heart thrums with the leftover battle, the mercenaries re-assemble near the wagon train.
Catol addresses us as our commander, helmet under one arm, reading names from the scroll he keeps in his belt. Most of us have survived. Kri and Kro, a pair of dark-skinned twins whose nation I do not know, are as garrulous and apparently unkillable as ever. Kro has a spearhead lodged in his arm, but still his bright teeth flash in the darkness and his eyes shimmer with laughter. Next to him, the squad of Faloran soldiers mutter to each other and inspect their own wounds, casting distrustful glances at the rest of us, which we ignore as always. The Catarian magician and his spirit-companion, a shifting shape of sand and grit, sit patiently in the clay, drawing in it quietly with one finger. The other Samari, an older man named Kalto who hails from a tribe I do not know, nods to me and makes the sign of Preica before he holds up a Dominion breastplate. The metal is cracked and parted where the Samari's lance drove home. I smile and make the sign in return.
"Where are Derian and Aidol?" Catol's voice rings out as he scans our assembled crowd. "All others are present. Find your companions." He waves us off and turns toward the caravan leader and his burned wagon. He kicks at a fallen Dominion soldier on his way. "Oh--while you're at it, strip these vagabonds and pile the bodies on one of the dunes. We'll leave them for the scavengers."
Before long we find Derian, the Catarian swordsman, on the other side of one of the dunes. He is pale and lifeless, one hand loosely wrapped around a lance in his side. His companion Aidol lies within his reach, surrounded by a half-dozen dead Dominion who bear the mark of his strange thin sword. Aidol has a lance through his leg, and his throat is slit. The sand under both of them is gritty with dried blood, and sticks to our hands as my companions and I carry the pair back to the caravan.
Kri spits on the ground as we lay them before Catol, swearing in heavily accented Faloran. "Dominion bastards surrounded them, drove 'em down from the top of one of the dunes. Derian bought it first, cocky bastard, and near as we can tell Aidol fought like a tiger, to the death over his body before they did him the same."
Catol sighs wearily and motions to the two. "All right, we'll bury them in Shaho. It's just a couple days away, should be time to bury them proper before the rot sets in."
The camp breaks and we move on into the night, riding cautiously once more. I send a prayer to Preica to keep us safe.
The city of Shaho is not what I expected. The first we encounter of it seems to be a large sprawl of open merchant-stalls, full of smells and languages and sights that are unfamiliar. I recognize the bustle from my visits to Kanleng, the meeting-place on the steppes, but this is multiplied a hundredfold. The bustling crowds part to let our company pass through.
We reach the walls, tall brown-mud constructions that are sheer and flat on the outside but slope up on the inside, making them strong and allowing defenders to climb easily. They stand taller than twice my height, and the gates are a curious sight: flat bars of metal hold together large, thick slabs of wood, which Nezzeru says are taken from full-grown trees that were cut down and then brought here for just such a purpose.
Our mercenary company makes its way inside the walls after the caravan leader pays Catol, who splits the pay equally among us before dismissing us to find our lodgings and explore the markets. When I count the small metal coins in the tiny room, my share is larger than I expected. Then I remember Derian and Aidol. I set aside the extra money from their unused pay for a small offering of green plants to lay on their graves, then head to the market.
The bazaar is full of chattering languages, but my Faloran and Sali are passable enough to make barter possible, if not easy. I spend most of my pay to have a leather-worker fit my armor and shield with small metal studs. As I watch the man work, I notice some of the folk nearby muttering and pointing at Koya. Their faces do not say anything friendly, and as I watch, three of them stride toward me, the leader bearing a wicked grin. Koya tenses on my shoulder and then takes flight, and I can feel his blood thrumming through mine as he pushes my body faster, slowing down the world around me, giving me ample time to react to each of the blows in turn. I dodge and back away, keeping my distance and staying defensive as long as I can, cautiously making ground toward where I last saw Kri and her brother. The leader of the thugs manages to grasp the upper sleeve of my undergarment and yanks it hard, tearing away the sleeve and revealing the spirit-words branded into my upper arms. He points and shouts triumphantly, and his wicked grin grows wider.
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Post by Timeon on Jul 11, 2013 23:49:56 GMT
It was like a pack of wolves having discovered an opening. As simple a gesture as the tearing of a sleeve had proven to the thugs that Tikka was fair game, and that they could press their advantage.
I'll find Catol, and get help. Outrun them! Koya communicated hastily, flying off over the rooftops of Shaho.
Tikka was not about to give them her back, not even for a second. Some of the villains brandished knives, held downward like mantis claws. Two of them came at her at once. She landed a kick into the knee of one, toppling him, but metal bit into her shoulder. It did not bite deep. Tikka spun, a knife of her own appearing between her fingers.
"Go! Or I use terrible power!" she grunted in Faloran. They did not react, and she swore in Sali for good measure.
A crowd had gathered, including a couple of guards, but nobody dared to help her. Or perhaps they did not care.
The thugs were encircling her.
"Hold!" someone commanded, in a voice rich and authoritative. The crowd parted, and a horsemen galloped in atop a grey horse. His garb might have been a noble's once, but it was dirtied and uncared for. Immediately, the thugs backed off from Tikka.
"Who started this?" the man asked.
Several in the crowd hooted and pointed at Tikka.
"Witch!" someone cried. "Death to all spirit-lovers!"
"What are we?" the proud man bellowed, his horse rearing slightly. "Falorans? I think not. We are Samari! We are the children of Preica!"
Some merchants from Sali, easily distinguishable by their garb, offered the man their vociferous disapproval.
"Guards." And at the proud man's command, the guards finally acted, grabbing hold of the thugs. Once they had been taken away, the man dismounted. He strode up to Tikka, bowed ever so slightly, and introduced himself as Prince Aranar of Shaho, speaking in Samari. "Apologies for the lack of hospitality, mistress. What chihk do you hail from?"
Tikka was taken aback by the sudden display of kindness, and almost bowed, but half-decided against it. This led her to making an awkward sort of bend with her back, and a muscle at the corner of her eye twitched nervously at her display.
"I am of the Chasa tribe, actually."
Koya chose that time to land on her shoulder, blessing her with a fright.
You didn't run, you fool?
"The Chasa." Prince Aranar remarked, looking thoughtful. He bit his cheek as if to prove that he was pondering. "I believe I have Chasa blood in me. What brings you to Shaho, traveller?"
"I am a mercenary." Tikka shot back. "With Master Catol Napada."
"I would not have assumed. Shaho is grateful to you for your service, mistress. I would be honoured to entertain you and your company in my keep tonight, if you would be so gracious as to come. Then you can learn more about what it is that you defend, and what it is that we stand for here."
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robot
Whippersnapper
Posts: 6
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Post by robot on Jul 15, 2013 22:59:57 GMT
The Prince leaned back on the ragged pile of furs, chewing absently in the torch-glow. "Yes, and then, when my father died, my uncle tried to steal my birthright! A dozen horses and thirteen goats and two slaves, both women cooks! Can you imagine?"
I am far out of my depth. The Prince is nothing like the Samari of my tribe. His voice is loud and boastful, and the rings on his fingers flash with gold and silver. His cups are hammered silver and full of wine that is too sweet for my tastes. Perhaps most strange is his spirit-companion, a large cat with bright white and black stripes. Its eyes keep appearing in the shadows in the corners of the room, roaming and watching.
"A dozen horses is quite a birthright, I'm sure." I'm not familiar with such things as birthrights. Sehk is the only horse I have ever had, and our entire tribe only had twenty head of horses when I left. "Is this city, Shaho, is this where he had them?"
"Ah, here? No, no, I had them in Sali, when I lived there for a while. This place, it is what I have built myself, just a small home and a place for merchants." He motions around the room, which seems opulent--large, smoothed trees, whole trees, hold up a ceiling made of more trees. These people are obsessed with wood, it seems. With so many walls, the space around me is close and confining. I am still unaccustomed to the feeling of brick walls that block the wind so completely.
His voice startles me, and I realize that I have been staring at the walls and ignoring him. He doesn't seem to mind over-much, though, leaning in to speak once more."So, you are a mercenary, yes?" He sets the goblet down and leans forward, making a pyramid with his fingers. His great cat prowls in the shadows behind me.
"With Catol's company, yes." I nod politely and sip at my wine. "He tells me we are here to fight the Dominion."
"Ah, yes, the Dominion, those terrible bastards." He shakes his head and purses his lips, making a tsk-tsk-tsk sound. "The oh-so-civilized folk are coming to rob us like common bandits. It's a shame, really. I mean, we could've been such excellent business partners."
I try to smile along, but it is difficult. He seems so casual about the death the Dominion have brought with them. Koya, beak buried in a bowl of chicken's hearts, senses my apprehension and looks up at me, one eye glittering from beneath the bloodied feathers. Do not speak too harshly. He stands against your enemies, does he not? He is the leader of the town, and he has called you and your friends for aid. Are you not loyal to those who ask for your help? Not everyone has such fervor as yours, little hawk.
I pick at my roast bird, eating the small pieces of flesh from its carcass in silence. Perhaps not, but his loyalties seem bound more to coin than kinship. Maybe I am mistaken, but still. This place is strange, and I shall keep my eyes wide and my bow strung until I am sure.
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Post by Timeon on Jul 17, 2013 23:21:21 GMT
Spring 2483
May
Shaho
After a lifetime on the move, never in one place for more than a few months, Tikka found herself in a world she barely understood. Shaho, Nezzeru said, was a small town compared to the grand cities of Sali and the Dominion. She could not imagine such places. There were already too many people in Shaho for her liking. Yet Koya encouraged her to stay, and loyalty to her fellow mercenaries removed any second-thoughts of running away. Where could she run to, anyway? Perhaps if she ever did escape, it would be back into the vast emptiness of the steppes. There, the plains could swallow her up, and give her back her anonymity. Yet that was the easy way out, and in escape, there was no learning.
Since when did you become a philosopher, Tikka? Smile for me.
The sun had bronzed itself for the evening, and was dipping towards the horizon. From the walls of Shaho, Tikka allowed herself the enjoyment of the sunset, standing under a tower where she could always rely on some measure of privacy - except for Koya, of course. One thing Ko Elota had never warned her about was that having a spirit would mean endless bickering in her mind. At least, until one learned to block it out. Tikka had not yet mastered that.
Oh please. Koya huffed, pretending to be offended. When I was a younger spirit, my master never tired of speaking with me. He told me I was very wise.
Tikka let a tinge of jealousy slip through her bond.
It's easy for you to mock my impatience, Koya, when you take the form of a bird and fly freely through the skies.
Oh, now you're suddenly jealous of the connection I shared with your predecessors? Oh Tikka, you are indeed amusing. I chose well when I let you pact me.
It was I who pacted you.
The link between them softening with affection, Tikka closed her eyes. She let the wind ripple past her. When she opened her eyes, a dark triangle zoomed past the sun, and then glided down towards her on the wind. Koya landed on the battlements beside her. A dead rabbit dropped at Tikka's feet.
I will be eating most of that.
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Several hours later, Tikka ambled into the corner of Shaho where her fellow mercenaries lodged. Some of them chose to live in tents under the walls. Others, like Master Catol Napada, had found a room in a guest house beside the encampment, appreciating the so-called comforts of civilization. Tikka dropped down beside Nezzeru, who was stirring his broth and staring into the fire. His otter companion, Teishpa, lay on her back beside him.
"Tikka." Nezzeru said with a flourish. "It is good to see you. Would you provide company to an old man?"
She sat down beside him, staring into the whirling fire before them. It was a moment only a Samari could appreciate.
"You seem thoughtful, elder."
Nezzeru pursed his lips and knotted his eyebrows in a frown of wisdom.
"I am sad, Tikka. You know what is coming."
She had tried to avoid thinking of it, but she knew. The lifespan of Shaho was drawing to a close. Two months ago, word had arrived of a grand host from Bhakhtar, slowly drawing towards Shaho. It was a legion in no great hurry, without any remarkable measure of organization. Yet in the mind of Nezzeru, it was a repeat of the fall of Cutho, and Nisa, and Tikong before them. Many had fled into the steppes already, and others had left in caravans to gates of Lashuff, and Sali beyond. Yet Prince Aranar was sure that Shaho would hold, for Sali had promised them aid, and the doddering ranks of Bhakhtar could be worn down by courage. Or so he said.
"I know." Tikka answered.
"But then why is it that you do not run?"
Yet Nezzeru was following her gaze, to the other tents and campfires just out of ear-shot. There were the twins, Kri and Kro. Beside them, the pacter from Catar and his familiar of sand and grit. Kalto, cradling his lance, paced by the edge of camp a stone's throw away, no doubt thinking of the children that he had lost. And though she had never gotten to know them well before their deaths, the absence of Derian and Aidol was felt by those who had known them over the years, Nezzeru included. It was a family, a family for those who had none.
Within two weeks, the host of Bhakhtar would be at Shaho's gates. With any luck, the reinforcements from Lashuff would materialize in time, though they were already overdue.
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robot
Whippersnapper
Posts: 6
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Post by robot on Sept 21, 2013 4:27:54 GMT
2483 AS
The Battle of Shaho
"Where the hell are our reinforcements?!" Catol bellows in the Prince's face, his distinctive helmet cocked aside and dangling by a strap. "You told us they were coming! You said we would be saved!" He shakes the bloodied, broken man who used to run this city, heaving him up by his fine woven garments. For a moment one hand dips down and rests on the hilt of his sword, and I am sure that he will kill the Prince. Then he pushes the man aside and turns and kicks the body of a nearby Dominion soldier instead. "Bloody half-witted worthless spirit-shagging waste of a man!" Catol bellows and spits on the prone Prince, who hurries off to the fleeing caravans, glancing back over his shoulder wide-eyed the whole way as if he thinks Catol will change his mind.
For his part, Catol turns to the rest of us, a small half-circle standing in the courtyard of the Prince's house and watching him with a mixture of battle-restlessness, shock, and mild amusement. "Well, now. What do you think? Stay or go?" He puts his helmet back on and crosses his arms, inscrutable. We share glances between us, silently acknowledging that he is asking if we wish to die forgotten in the ruins, or live on in shame as cowards. Not an ideal choice.
Just outside the walls, terrible explosions from the hills are still flinging death and tearing great gouts of earth up from the Dominion army's direction of advance, in the low rolling plains to the east. Archers and spearmen on the walls cry back and forth, and the great wooden gate is shuddering under the force of the mob that have pressed against it. I have but two quivers of arrows left, and our company is battered but mostly whole. The only ones missing from our band are the squadron of Faloran soldiers. Last I saw them, they went down during the skirmishing outside the walls, crushed beneath a press of marching men, torn from their armor like hares before so many wolves. I do not need Koya's constant stream of laconic commentary from above to tell me that we are losing this city.
"We stay." The Catarian pacter and his small familiar bow to Catol respectfully. "Whether you leave or stay with us, we have decided that we shall hold here to slow the advance and allow the people of the city more time to flee." He sidles to one side, standing between Catol and the gate.
"We are staying, also." Kri and Kro move together to join him. They have become unusually quiet and hard-edged as the Dominion forces have approached, and their blades have become far faster than any I've seen. Their fury is apparent.
I move to join them, as does Kalto, and then and the rest of the company soon follows our lead. I cannot see his face beneath his helmet's mask, but I am sure Catol is smiling, and I'm sure it's a smile blacker than pitch. "Alright, you pack of wastrels and degenerates. Let's make 'em remember the ones we tear apart, eh?"
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