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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 4, 2010 21:32:05 GMT -5
The nation of Floht was considered a myth by some, a wonder by others, and a nuisance to some. Cradled by two mountain ranges to the west and east, the isolated country was home to the largest expanse of swamplands in the world, home to mere, marsh, and mire in everlasting amounts. If it were not for the handful seaports on the ocean side of the soggy Crags of the Fen, the world might have not known of Floht's resilient people within. It was said that whole cities were hidden in the neverending bogs, filled with rare ivories and porcelains and rich dyes, strange medicine, and exotic crafts. But these cities were said to be haunted, cursed by demons so that only half-living, laughing shadows filled the streets. Those who wandered into Floht were half again as likely not to return; they went at the cost of their body and soul.
The people that lived there were instantly recognizable in any land, and very seldom trusted. The people there were of all of watered-down shades, few of them considered natural. Eyes came in all the pale shades of jade, hair seen as white as a birch tree and rarely darker than beige, skin rarely more pigmented than khaki. They hid their faces in ghostly visages, to hide what was underneath. Somewhere in the center there lived the Witch-King Sotren who had always lived and would never die, pulling the strings of the nation with his unholy craft. And that was all that rumor could tell you.
Despite the distrust felt in other states and the wide knowledge of the riches within, Floht has been left mostly unmolested in recent decades. Few have forgotten the legendary Holy Army of western nation IreDahlin that rode in 40000 men strong, and not a man nor corpse was ever seen again. Also, Nhezcuatlra has recently passed a mandate that any nations inciting war with Floht would face a full economic embargo from their own ports, something few nations could afford. And so, rumors echoed but few ventured into the shadowy, tangled marshes. Some for greed, some for curiosity, and some entirely by chance's fell hand.
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Post by Arual on Nov 4, 2010 21:50:09 GMT -5
Raegan pulled off the light vest he had on as he reached the swamp; sweating from the summer heat and the long travels through what felt like two continents. He wiped the sweat from his brow beneath dark brown bangs (He had hair kinda like Caspian) above his deep chocolate eyes, now only in a white, long sleeved shirt made of a light material. Around his chest was a strap for his arrows, the matching bow in his hand. How much hotter will it get....or is it me? The young man thought.
As he approached, the trees that led to the swamps, Raegan had an eerie feeling that something bad would happen, something in the air.....it didn't seem quite right. Even so, he pressed on in hopes his gut was wrong and in fact it was just a small fever from the temperature.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 4, 2010 21:57:25 GMT -5
Trompsing through the rather... damp wood was a fellow who seemed rather unused to such terrain. It seemed to be there was no discernable path and the air smelled of mold and rotting life as was common with swamps, he believed. His papers were all moist and to an extent largely halfway desecrated with filth which rather put the fellow out of a fond mood. Grumbling as he trompsed about, strands of ashen brown hair hanging in his face as he pulled his hat down lower over his face in an annoyed fashion.
Damned mud, damned mold, damned swamp. How did this even work anyways? His clothing was more or less soiled from the elements and he was sure any day now he'd develop a frightful rash up and down his legs and his arms itched with bugbites. It was a frightful wonder that anyone would want to live in a swamp.
Then again, he'd heard people say similar things about Virisea, which overall he found to be a rather agreeable place to some extent. He missed home... well, sorta. He liked home a lot, but he loved travel a lot more. A man with his heart on the horizon.
Unfortunately it was hard to make out swampland from that kind of distance.
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 4, 2010 22:10:05 GMT -5
"Two, one from the Herigi Heights coming east and another to the south. They'll soon intercept if their course is uninterrupted," said a man who appeared from the reeds as if he had grown naturally from them, only the white, streaked circle of his mask defining him. His name was Eliaile, but that was not important.
"Arrange the hummocks and cut a path for them so that they won't stray. A group is always more entertaining," he replied, a thin smile coming to his lips. There were things he did not need to say, such as 'do not be seen yet' or 'do not make it too obvious'. This was not a new thing for any of them. Their uniforms were all the same, a thick dark fabric with an armoring of reeds sewn onto them in mats, separated only where it was necessary for flexibility. More for disguise than for actual protection. Battles were rare, massacres were more accepted.
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Post by Arual on Nov 4, 2010 22:14:42 GMT -5
After a little over a day's straight travel, Raegan decided it was time to rest, finding a place suitable near a tree to rest his head for a while. He knew the dangers of land like this, for life near the moors was similar with the swamp nearby. Granted, it wasn't as big, but all the same. The sun had set, and he was alone, something dangerous, but he wasn't as concern as he should have been. Something was waiting for him.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 4, 2010 22:22:45 GMT -5
Slipping on a slime he might have rather left unidentified, Dodger fell into the muck, a frown on his face as he looked at the darkened sky, "By Vir's holy knickers..." he muttered under his breath, scraping himself up and looking mournfully to his now rather soiled papers. They weren't anything overly precious to many people and he kept his stories and lore in his head so the paper wasn't necessarily useful... though on occasion he was capable of selling them for some profit when gathering business for inns wasn't good enough... or when he needed new clothing. Now he'd need to get money for more paper... and ink... And maybe soap. Lots of it.
Still, the determined fellow pressed onward, his tall and twiggish build making him rather prone to sinking into the mire so while most men might be in up to their calves in some portions, his thin legs, like spears plunged down to his knees and while most were to their knees, he was balls deep in mud and it was very unpleasant. His eyes looked towards the trees and he let out a long, agitated moan only to have that agonized sound be lifted when he saw, of all the great things he could imagine- another person.
And not to be the whiny bitch of the RP, he found himself rather elated at the sight and began making his merry own little way over, wading through whatever unsightly horror made up this muck.
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 4, 2010 23:29:06 GMT -5
The area was a good place to lay down, a hummock that rose nearly a foot above the water for a few square yards, almost dry if one squinted or maybe folded some reeds, home to its own willow and a thick maze of plush-tipped phragmites, they're tops fanning out in a brown hairyness held four or five feet in the air by strong young green stalks. They were a drier grass, detesting open water. The willow gave a small roof a yard or so away, if they wanted to use it. Already the swamp was filling with a cacophony of sound, frogs croaking as if they were twice their size and clicking bugs making their nighttime calls.
On Raegan's little island, all was well, and maybe Dodger would be welcome as well. The air was thick, humidity mixing with the last pollens of the season and, above all, ripe and rotting vegetation to clog the nose. And darkness fell quickly in the great swamp, plunging them into a blackness that the new moon did nothing to alleviate, though stars attempted wearily from their hazy heavens. Clouds were starting to roll in though, seen only as patches of black where stars had drowned.
It was a blanket on the senses. Around, reeds and grasses swayed in the breeze, sometimes revealing a treecap, Floht's thin, tree-sized mushrooms. The head-sized caps were a pale white, standing out among dark reeds and its own dark stems, making it seem as if they floated. It was easy to see how such a place could be pegged as haunted.
A shrill wailing, like a woman in the most dire of pain, came from far off to their right, only to be cut off and begin sharply far off to their left, before everything was swallowed up in nature's song. If one could smell beyond the rot, they would only smell blood.
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Post by Arual on Nov 5, 2010 14:12:25 GMT -5
Raegan slept lightly. It may have been a swamp, but it wasnt the same as the swamp by the moors back home. Thus, he kept himself at rest and as prepared for danger as he could be if, indeed, it came. It was like a lullaby having the natural sounds of the wildlife, if one could even call it that, echoing in his ears. As the sun came down, it wasn't much more than an hour or so that Raegan had woken up again to shifting in the tall grasses. It wasn't particularly close to him, he knew that, but farther off. Maybe a few yards into the heavy vegetation of the swamplands. The young man held in his yawn as best he could, keeping his seat against the tree as he tried to hone in on the sound and think of what it could possibly be.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 5, 2010 14:20:40 GMT -5
Dodger stopped, looking at the grimy pool, then back to his bare foot. He didn't remember loosing his shoe... and as far as he was aware it was just like this for quite some time and he rather hoped he'd find something more appropriate for the-
He stopped, squinting at his leg and with revulsion saw that the black smear he saw was more or less alive, his fingers reaching and pulling the little wretch free of his flesh he made a disgusted noise that preceded his noticing of more of the fiends on his legs... feeding off of him. Damned creatures in the damned swamp eating his damned flesh and doing what other damned things they decided to do. Damn them. It was then when he caught sound of... women, was it? He frowned, looking about, moments from charging off to help the lost/hurt/scared/something woman, but when it immediately came from the other direction, he whipped about to make a move over there, pulling a small (and rather unintimidating) knife from his belt. He didn't like carrying weapons, but something with an edge was needed on occasion and he didn't imagine fisticuffs would get him far when he couldn't even walk much of a distance.... and whatever unholy beast that had attacked a woman would likely not have much thought necessary for skinning another, assuredly.
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 5, 2010 14:37:31 GMT -5
Now in this bog there was a tree, a rare tree, a willow tree, and the tree in the bog and the bog down in the valley-o. Hey. Ho. The rattlin' bog, the bog down in the valley-o. Now round this tree there sat a circle, a rare circle, a rattlin' circle. It was made of otters, all split down the middle. One was split from jaw to tail down the belly, blistered organs blotted out by glutting, spastically crawling flies. Another was split down the spine from skull to base, red-smeared bone similarly afflicted. They alternated after that, arranged nose-to-tail so that about twenty of them surrounded Raegan and his trees, dead and buzzing. Every now and then a breeze would blow, dispersing the flies long enough to catch glimpses of red-swelled, popped eyes. The tide had come up a little since night, but a sharp stick, speared through each head into the moist ground, kept them where they belonged.
As Dodger went splashing through the swamp, he would soon see a clearing of water from which an old, rotting snatch of tree clawed up. In that tree was a figure, hanging upside down from a branch so that her black hair splayed across the water like fingers. The end of her dark dress was knotted roughly to the branch, holding her there, and a blood-soaked brown blanket bound her body. Her face had only a mask.
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Post by Arual on Nov 5, 2010 14:48:48 GMT -5
Raegan was a bit taken back by the scene, but it didn't engulf him in fear. He'd seen worse cases, and heard of worse than the ones before them. What happened? His mind raced through possibilities, analyzing the dead animals with sharp eyes. Very slowly, very cautiously, the archer moved for an an arrow just in case, ready to strike. The animals were slain by people. No creature could be so precise in their cuts, or as smooth. It was time to press on, the waters were getting high and that wasn't good for travel or health. Swamps weren't the most sterile of environments. What are you..... and what are you doing.... Raegan thought, eyes searching everything around him as stepped over the tiny bodies and began the continuation of his trek. It was dark, but before him he knew was much more solid ground than where he was now, especially if the tide was moving in. He needed higher ground as quick as he could get to it.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 5, 2010 14:58:20 GMT -5
A flat expression came upon his face when he saw the woman, though his sense of being alert only sharpened, his dulled senses trying to scrabble back to being workable once more as he moved to cut the body down from the tree, "You know, it's not very thoughtful of you to just die like that. It would just figure, since the first woman I've seen in weeks happens to be strung up ass over eyeballs in a tree and about as full of life as a revolutionary! Okay... that's not really fair. I doubt it's your fault, so I guess I could forgive you. But don't do this again, okay? Damn. I'm talking to a corpse..." he laughed in a nervous fashion, reaching up with every intent to pull her down or something useful, "Poor little guttershite." he muttered, shaking his head. "If I had anything that would burn, I'd send you off good and proper, though I don't figure you very well do that here, do ya?" He figured a flame would die of fright from all the water here, or more likely than not just stay safely lodged up in the wick of whatever was intended for burning.
He made sure to keep a wary hand on the knife though, making sure not to drop it and have it ready in case something decided to string him up in a tree.
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 5, 2010 15:12:50 GMT -5
As Dodger approached the hanging woman, swaying the the breeze like some giant, grotesque cocoon, his foot snapped through a taught vine in the brakish water. The release made, another vine suddenly tightened viper-fast around his ankle. A vine that had seemed to be hanging innocently from the dead tree, along with countless other fellow creepers and plants hanging down into the water, straightened up in response, pulling the lanky man up into the air until he was staring at the water. Because he was somewhat taller than the woman, the pond actually lapped at his forehead, gnawing but not yet deciding to consume.
During this upheaval he whacked into the woman once, and there was a wet tearing sound, followed by a horrible sliding as mounds and mounds of bowels slithered out of her, falling in wet splashes and clumps, sinking and floating selectively. Though the majority fell out immediately, for a very uncomfortable thirty seconds other bits dislodged and slowly fell in pursuit.
The hair and mask, a dark knot and a white ceramic, were stuck against a root. The neck of the dress was gaping now, a sickly mouth that had given all its vomit already. A girl had never been in there.
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Post by Arual on Nov 5, 2010 15:25:41 GMT -5
Raegan had come across a man pulled up in the vines of the swamp, creepers charging all around as he hung there. He wanted to help, but it was a problem if the creepers caught him, or if another trap was still a sleeper. What was that thing beside him? His eyes widened slightly, trying to pinpoint what in particular this thing was. How did he get the man out of the trap if he could?
Not losing his perceptive eye as he trudged forward a few more feet, Raegan decided to put his idea into motion. "It looks like you got into a bit of a mess there, friend." he said to Dodger. He had to admit, without the creepers that spilled out, it was extremely comical. There was a slight smile on his face, but he wiped it off after a few seconds.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 5, 2010 15:33:03 GMT -5
Clutching his hat to his head, the man looked up(...down?) at the stranger, "And I you look like a murderous, connivin' bastard." Dodger remarked, "Though I doubt flattery will get me too far, will it?" Into his hat he stuffed sheets of paper as they fell from his satchel, though overall they were quite thoroughly ruined. Shame... all that lore destroyed just like that. At the least it was an annoyance, at the most is was a murderously strong aggrivation and where he fell in the scale he wasn't quite sure at this moment. "To Vundarst in a chain-linked pleasure cruise, I take it?" he spoke in an assuming tone, his eyes consumed by his task of collecting his things before the dissapeared into the murk forever.
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