#16
|
|||||
|
|||||
Salin whistles once. Hal and Buss both look to him in time to see him circle a finger in the air once. Hal barely glances at Krik-Ket and motions back to the wagon. Buss says to Thacker, "Salin wants us closer to the wagon. This area is known for ambushes." Both Buss and Hal bring their mounts closer to the still-rolling wagon, only a couple of paces ahead and behind. Emma unshoulders her massive club. The surrounding area seems quiet, but occasional rockfalls echo against the smooth surfaces.
__________________
This space reserved. |
#17
|
|||||
|
|||||
__________________
Nothing to see here... Last edited by Quori; Jan 17th, 2013 at 11:22 PM. |
#18
|
|||||
|
|||||
Jerm is swimming in a clear blue pool of water, listening to the wind in the trees, and admiring the numerous bird varieties, when he senses from somewhere far away a need to awaken. Dark clouds begin to build in the sky above him and the pleasant summer breeze suddenly shifted into an icy gale. Groaning, he focused his conscious mind outward, away from the jungle pool, and awakened to find that the endless sand he had been staring at for days had shifted into rock! He was so surprised that he almost fell off of his perch. A change had been needed badly, and although it was a very minor change, it was still extremely welcome.
The next thing that he sensed was the foreboding in the air. Above him the wagon moved onward, but it was dead silent. No one was speaking. One of the things that he had come to count on during the journey was that someone was speaking almost always. He had not been starved of conversation on this journey, even if it was only a one way conversation. Quickly gathering his gear, he strapped everything into place leaving his hands free, save for the short bow that he carried with him on his journeys. Pulling a length of sinew from a belt pouch he braced the bow and then dropped to the ground to peer carefully out from underneath the wagon. While looking around he is careful to remain secluded, whilst also keeping pace with the still moving wagon.
__________________
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Support your local Short Story Competition!
|
#19
|
|||||
|
|||||
After a bit of self contemplating Cecelia uncurls her legs, letting them dangle from the back of the wagon, back to smiling softly to herself. Swinging her legs back and forth now, swaying gently side to side as she hummed an unknown melody ever so softly. She stopped humming when the terrain turned rocky, shaking the wagon uncomfortably. Looking up when Salin whistles she stands in the back and peeks out over the roof in time to see him waving his hand in a circle. She looked around and noticed everyone coming in closer before looking around them on all horizon, her bright green eyes now alert. She looked back as she noticed noticed felix bend down and pick up a rock, watching him curiously for a moment before looking away again, thinking nothing of it
__________________
"I Hope You Don't Screw Like You Type."
|
#20
|
|||||
|
|||||
Krik-Ket stopped where he stood and remained alert as he carefully drew his gyhtka, while he plucked a knife from his bandoleer with one of his lower arms. Then, he stopped to lean slightly on his polearm, which he set against the ground while he focused his mind. As he began to draw back to a defensive formation, Krik extended his supernatural Danger Sense -4 PSPsenses out into the rocky terrain, searching for any impending danger.
__________________
"I'm not going to be the ref! I'm a villain! Don't you see?!"
-Frank Reynolds, It's Always Sunny in Philladelphia Dim the Drowned|Telephus Lorre|Togashi Shingo Tribulations of the Stag Last edited by Grenadier; Jan 18th, 2013 at 04:34 AM. |
#21
|
|||||
|
|||||
The wood that made up the cage that housed Gardner was extremely hard. He tried to dig his fingernails into the grain, but it was like stone. Gardner could bend other woods, but he had never tried to contort anything like this. He hoped he wouldn't have to try. The barking of orders around him was unnerving. He could sense the unease in the voice of the leader.
If it’s an ambush the probably try to take control of the mekillots, or maybe make the wagon lose control. I’m not dying in this cage. Gardner rubbed his hand along a rung of the wooden bars while thinking. It has to be Agafari. Last edited by Rabid Gnome; Jan 18th, 2013 at 05:34 AM. |
#22
|
|||||
|
|||||
His steam worked off by the burning sun, Thakar Thuul is no longer quite so in a bad mood when he is told to keep to the caravan: certainly, he would not want to be ambushed without other souls near him. The kank brings him closer, alongside the cages and near enough to Ceceila to be within speaking range, though he does not initially speak to her. No, Thakar is more enthralled with the change of scenery. A life lived as a prisoner does not offer too many chances to see the world at-large, where the dust of city streets varies from the rural world, the natural world, the world formed by reckless magic and hatred. The legends are just that to him, unsubstantiated rumors and nothing more. Legends, myths, of a time long dead. What matters is the here, and these rocks: not the continents they once were, he tells himself. But he looks, and he wonders what it might look, were there green. What would be? What could be?
A question left for another life, he decides. This one is spent with a simple question, and one only he can answer. "Whence do you hail?" asks the gladiator to the young girl, looking to Cecelia. It is simple, and innocent enough. He's taken a liking to the girl. She seems.... innocent. Reminds him of specters in his mind.
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose |
#23
|
|||||
|
|||||
Cecelia stood on the back of the wagon, her head poked out on top, her arms holding her in place. It seemed such an awkward position, but actually she felt quite comfortable. Her eyes scanned the horizons again till she heard Thakar speak behind her. She hopped up on top of the back of the wagon now, and in one swift movement was now laying on the top, looking to the back her arms crossed below her and perching her up as she gave a soft smile down to Thakar before taking his question into thought and pondering it a moment before answering "I'm not sure I know" she said honestly, her voice soft and musical. she looked away into the distance before closing her eyes trying to remember "Green, lots of green. I think its a forest. I can almost remember the smell of the misty dew in the morning..." she took a deep breath as if to smell, but then opened her eyes slightly disappointed as she let out a sigh "the problem is, i don't know if its a real memory. From what I've learned so far, forests are all but gone, right?" she said with a shrug, looking back down at The Mul again. She certainly liked talking to him, but then again she just liked talking in general.
__________________
"I Hope You Don't Screw Like You Type."
|
#24
|
|||||
|
|||||
The wagon rolls into a narrow gully with high rock walls on either side extending above your heads. The path is barely wide enough for Emma to walk on one side of the cart and Thakar Thuul to ride on the other side. Salin shakes his head at Cecelia's comment about forests. "More like never were, girl. Nibenay's got their's of course, contested with Gulg. The rest of this world is what it is: sand, rock and silt." Salin snaps the reins once; surprisingly the mekillot responds and pulls a little faster. A minute later the wagon turns a blind corner and Salin pulls on the reins, willing the cart to stop, which it gradually does. The mekillot stands still, its tail swishing gently. Several dozen yards ahead, three figures stand abrest at the far end of a straight stretch in the canyon. Beyond them you can see the terrain open up to barren flatland. All three men are human sized, riding mottled black kanks. Hal eyes them for a minute, then says in a low voice, "They're not moving. Anything behind Buss?" Buss steers his kank around the bend, then returns. "Nobody back there." "We can't lose the time to go around in any case. We don't have the water." He glances at the three motionless figures. "Krik-ket, go and see if they won't move out of our way." He glanced up at the rock ledge twenty feet above his head. "The rest of you keep a sharp eye out."
__________________
This space reserved. Last edited by Zagros; Jan 22nd, 2013 at 01:01 AM. |
#25
|
|||||
|
|||||
Krik-Ket nodded silently in response to another order from Salin, and he alone began to approach the three figures that blocked the way down the rocky corridor. Taking long and deliberate strides forward on his spindly legs, Krik moved without much of a sound, except the scraping of his chitinous feet against the gritty stone. He was not bashful in his approach, moving without hesitation and coming near so that their features should be clear to him and his to them. Once he felt that he had come close enough, the thri-kreen stopped and lent against his gythka, rather than presenting it as a warning.
For a moment, Krik quietly looked the strangers over with his featureless black eyes from behind his dropping antennae, and then he broke his silence. ”Looking to pass through,” the ranger said of the caravan in a soft, even tone while gesturing beyond the strangers with one of his upper arms. No doubt that his speech seemed crude, but what would one except from a bug man? Truthfully, he spoke in such a simple manner to avoid any mention of business or Nibenay or any other unnecessary complexities. Having said his piece, Krik-Ket waited patiently for a response, his pale figure appearing brazen in contrast to the dark stone in the searing desert sunlight.
__________________
"I'm not going to be the ref! I'm a villain! Don't you see?!"
-Frank Reynolds, It's Always Sunny in Philladelphia Dim the Drowned|Telephus Lorre|Togashi Shingo Tribulations of the Stag |
#26
|
|||||
|
|||||
The mul listens to her, a silent sentinel as the girl thinks, pondering her origins. He finds that curious. What a life must be, not knowing where you came from. Thakar Thuul has no such illusions of where he came from, or no such indecisiveness: he knows the cage he was made for. But this is a life beyond the cage, and he is fairly green himself to it. "I know not, girl. I am new to this world, this strange new world beyond where I came from. But memories of green must be beautiful." His face contorts. If that is meant as a smile, Thakar had best consider never smiling again: it looks more like a grimace, revealing uneven, stocky teeth. Still, he seems more kind than not, and has little to show for it. He has little thoughts of green. They say the world was green once. It doesn't matter much. It isn't now.
But of course, Salin speaks his mind and his mind is similar in kind to Thakar's own. He backs off a bit, not wanting to seem like he is consorting too much with the passengers and not doing his job; he is still within listening distance, though he looks away, as if something were coming from in the gully. And as they turn the corner, there is something: truly magnificent, what a warrior knows of war. His hand drifts to the obsidian sword at his side, though he does not yet draw. Moving closer to the wagon, his eyes dancing for signs of other life, he whispers to Ceceila, "Keep your guard, girl. Do not let yourself be shown here." He leaves the unpleasantries unsaid. Though he thinks to ask Salin just what the chances are of bandits, he does not do so. A toll or bandits, whatever this is, Thakar is ready. And, if nothing else, expects the worst. Aldar may be here, and may be waiting. His shadow will remain forever on Thakar's back, until he can cut it off. He thinks of his tattoo, the branding on his back, and it seems to burn itself. But no more: it shall serve him not as a symbol of servitude, but a guide to freedom. And to family.
__________________
he/him\his
In Repose |
#27
|
|||||
|
|||||
Jerm has been in tense situations like these before and in his experience it never ends well. Dropping down on his stomach under the wagon, he watches as Kirk-Ket approach the strangers and speaks. This is not good, he thinks to himself. Maybe I can give him a helping hand.
Focusing intently on the strangers, he chooses the one who he guesses to be the leader, and reaches out to him with his mind. Taking deep breaths, he allows the world to fall away into shadows. The sounds around him become muffled and his vision narrows down into a tunnel that Dice Roll:
__________________
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Support your local Short Story Competition!
|
#28
|
|||||
|
|||||
The three figures appear human, each wearing a long beige poncho-like cloak that stands out in the surrounding orange rock, but would virtually disappear in sandier terrain. The central rider prods his mount forward as Krik-Ket approaches, stopping a couple of paces ahead of his companions He starts to speak, then shakes is head slightly and falls silent. After Krik-Ket's brief introduction he turns to his companions and nods.
"The bug wants to get by, how 'bout that?" The grin that is apparent in his voice fades as he turns back to face the Thri-Kreen. "Just so happens, we'd like to get by too. We're in kind of a hurry, so if you'd be so kind as to scurry back to your master and get him backed up, we can all move on our way." He jostles with the reins as his mount dances forward a couple steps. He brings it under control and waits for Krik-Ket to react. One of his companions, scratches his bald head and drops his hand to the pommel of his sword. "Davino doesn't like to back up for anyone," he adds before Krik-Ket can reply.
__________________
This space reserved. |
#29
|
|||||
|
|||||
__________________
Nothing to see here... |
#30
|
|||||
|
|||||
As Jerm feels the connection form between his mind and the stranger's, he smiles. Gotcha, he thinks to himself. The stranger, totally unaware that his mind is now like a vault door pried open, continues to converse with Krik-Ket. Now, lets see what you're really here for, Jerm thinks and switches his focus from merely contacting the stranger's mind, to now
Dice Roll:
__________________
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Support your local Short Story Competition!
|
![]() |
Thread Tools | |
|
|