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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 5, 2010 15:44:50 GMT -5
The screams went off again, once again breaking off and beginning immediately miles off to the opposite side of where it was first heard, as if the crier was teleporting. The scream still sounded agonized and terrified, but now there was a deep burn of anger embedded in it, a need to lash out and share that agony.
Otherwise, the little pond containing two travelers was quite calm. So calm, in fact, that all of the swamp sounds had ceased. Not a frog croaked, not a bug chirped. The birds were gone. Every now and then there was a splashing from some animal or the faint bubbling of fish, leech, and turtle devouring the lady's stuffing, but the silence was unnatural.
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Post by Arual on Nov 5, 2010 16:05:34 GMT -5
Silence. This put Raegan on his guard, and he heard something in the distance besides the shrieking; something off. Not that far away he was filled with the harmony of the swamp dwellers, and now something- or someone- stopped the peace. He too managed to feel it in his bones, that unease of something predatory gazing from all sides. It wasn't pleasant. Then the man spoke back. Someone is out there, setting up a plan. Maybe thats why I was able to come this way.... Raegan sighed. "You know, it's polite to at least explain the situation when someone is about to help you." He saw the rope around the man's foot. Then splashing. The water. Was that 'something' inside the water? No, a trick. It had to be, same as the screams. It was all to quick, too well planned.
The ground was close enough, he could get out of the water easily enough, though it held a lot of problems of its own. Leeches, diseases, fish that went for flesh, even. Raegan knew it would be wrong to try something off land, not use an an arrow and then try to pull him out as quick as he could. Then they'd both be in trouble, and that would get nothing accomplished, besides.......whoever was out there knew that this meeting would happen. They'd planned well enough for this much. When you think about it, the grass was wild when you step into the swamp. But, when I left a few minutes ago it had a trail. Trails just don't appear....Not to mention the otters placed around me- otters aren't in swamps. It's the wrong habitat. I could be over thinking this, but I'm not too sure I can be confident in such a statement. Better to be safe than sorry, right? The silence that still continued if but a few splashes weren't helping his idea of it being his imagination. Nature gave clues to danger, this was one of them.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 5, 2010 16:19:55 GMT -5
"Last I checked, life or death situations didn't call for the courtesy of polite manners." he rolled the words into the air, "Though if you insist, I'd gladly lend you the moments for a good faregiving as soon as we finish up here and get some solid ground under our feet." This man. He wasn't fond of him too overmuch but admittedly there was a preference to company over isolation. "Get me down so we can leave."
'We' was lashed onto the sentence like ropes to a mule, keeping him from running off and implying some sort of kinship. He didn't want to wander alone and even less did he want to be left upside down from a tree for too long. Him and Muleboy had to get out of here... as the descending notice of the quiet nature of the swamp came with the noticing of 'Oh... a fish.' and then realizing that he had heard the fish before he had seen it... something unusual due to the meaning that all the noise of life was sucked dry.
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 5, 2010 16:26:21 GMT -5
Around them, all around the pond, pale faces rose out of the night. Their eyes were large, gaping hollows, as big as a fist, as if something had dug them out. Only blackness was there, but from it darker smears came, looking black or red in the star-struggling darkness around them, a dried paste of gore that poured into a too-large mouth, grinning or moaning in a fixed expression that showed dagger-sharp teeth. About a dozen appeared, all on the edges of vision around the two, hovering at different heights, just faces.
They did not move, and they did not blink. They stood still in the silence, watching the two men.
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Post by Arual on Nov 6, 2010 14:59:56 GMT -5
What was happening now? The faces.....no. Raegan had pulled the string to his bow back, arrow in place as he calculated the respective place between the man and his target. No, it wasn't for the mysterious faces.
The arrow hit the tree and and it made a small track between him and the man. "If you can, grab onto the rope with your hands. I'll cut the knot around your foot and you can swing down to some sturdy ground."
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 6, 2010 22:13:44 GMT -5
"Swing down... aye." he grabbed firmly to the rope adjacent to himself and began hoisting himself. "And if you'd pardon my asking, since you're all about your hoity-toity manners in the middle of crisis... who are you?" any good slave trader would bind his arms and cut him loose, generally not giving much of a damn about drowning all too much. He wasn't a khartash, and therefor not all to special or valuable... then again he didn't know if they had khartash here.... or if they valued them overmuch... then again... "An' what exactly is commonplace treatment of slaves? Good and well, I hope." he muttered the last portion. He wasn't entirely over the suspicion that he'd be sent off in a clinker to be auctioned off. Not a pleasant thing but reality seldom was.
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 6, 2010 22:26:43 GMT -5
Suddenly voices started up around the clearing, each carved face swaying slightly as its owner talked, almost comically. Though of course, the mouths didn’t move. The voices echoed hollowly with each word, and the vowels of their words seemed slurred with some strange accent.
“Something we would like to know. What a predicament to be ensnared in. What do you think?” someone asked in a flat tone. Many others followed soon after, taunting relentlessly.
“It was a good man that runs to save a woman...”
“If that’s what it was....”
“Maybe he heard the celebration and did not want to miss it.”
Laughter.
“Good men don’t exist. If they do, well look. Backwards they are, don’t know up from down.”
More laughter, and then suddenly a quiet.
“Do you see the Old Woman upon his shoulders?” one asked, feigning alarm.
“I do, I do, I do now. He should be more respectful of his elders.”
Laughter.
“He should be more respectful of the Lady.”
“Careful! She raises his bow!”
“Someone tell her to leave the poor man be.”
“You can tell her. While she holds his bow, I stay here.” A deep voice, that one. Laughter, then quiet. Then it started again, a little more maliciously.
“I hope they’re cowards. The brave are so infuriating,” said another, giggling quietly. A male voice, but light. A few added their few words of approval, and there was some chuckling.
“I hope they’re brave. Cowards are so easy to deal with,” the deeper one said quietly. There were murmurs of agreement and taunting support.
“Respect must be earned, after all,” a female one said, letting the sentence steep in irony and anticipation. The other girl laughed.
“Travelers, it seems my people are split,” said the same, flatter voice that had begun their ‘conversation’. The mocking inflection was still there, but very subtle. It would be hard to pick it up without the situation to back it. “Take care in choosing who to please.” The others softly encouraged the two to be either one or the other, like an audience begging an actor to take on a certain role. A cruel audience, who felt the actor had no talent and just wanted to laugh at the failure of the charade. “Where do you hail from, where are you aiming to go? What are your names and what do you do to live? Keep your answers short,” the man continued briskly, the seriousness a strange contrast to the others.
“And for your Dryland accent, speak slowly,” he added. “We have done the same favor for you, or likely you would not be able to understand us. Return that favor. It was given.”
“We want it back,” the rest said in unison. “We don’t appreciate thieves.” He finished with steel in his words.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 6, 2010 23:59:27 GMT -5
Cautiously, quietly the man began to speak between grunts of labor which resulted from his hoisting himself up with the new rope lent to him by the stranger archer. He seemed a bit unsure at the start of his composed dialogue, his eyes moving over the masks as if they'd lend him some sort of reaction.
"From Virisea, my lords- a land quite far away I come with to find a land not quite so dull and gray. I am named Dodger, known as a bard to some degree, Now without question I've told you all who I be As for returning favors, how might you repay?"
He hoped turning the expectation of 'returning what was taken' would work if turned back around, it would be nice if this would make some sense. However, b the end of his dialogue he seemed to gain some confidence as he came to a conclusion, seeming rather excited to have something at least partially comprehensive as a limerick. Crazy floating masks liked limericks, right? Weird things generally seemed to.
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Post by Arual on Nov 7, 2010 0:20:16 GMT -5
The young man waited until the other more odd one got off the rope and onto land to answer, pulling the arrow and rope back into his hand. "My name is Whitte (white). I come from a place called Hawthrone about a two weeks travel on foot from here. I'm only planning to pass through the land so I can get to the city farther west from your borders." His grip on the bow tightened, not by the words, but out of assurance of protection for himself. "However, your courtesy is somewhat one sided, for you haven't given your own names nor why we pose a threat."
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 7, 2010 1:03:48 GMT -5
"Here it is," said the deep voiced one in triumph; obviously the ones of the 'brave prisoners' side of the argument thought themselves winners.
"A bard."
"From Virisea. Now where is that?"
"Maybe from a story."
"A strange thing, this teller. Maybe the Lady tangles his head."
"He looks less of a killer than dead. His name may be Dodger but he does not dodge traps well, An hour and his stories would be for leeches to tell," remarked one of the girls in an attempt to copy the rhyming, causing a quiet murmur of laughing. But the group was more serious than before, becoming so. Whatever game they played, it obviously was not meant for outsiders to participate in.
"Dodger, but then Whitte."
"He seems dark to me. Two weeks from here?"
"His feet must carry him far indeed."
"To the north, I am thinking. He does not wear a cloth mask."
"So Sarn, not Nhezcautlra, but is his hair a bit short? Or maybe he enjoys to flaunt his face?"
"No, the hair is not so unlikely. He was in mourning, obviously, and cut it for respect some time ago."
"Why does he mourn?"
"Well I have a feeling," the light-voiced man said, gaining the lead. "That if he came from the north, he was forced south here to avoid the desert to the west. This is why he mourned." They agreed with good humor. "He'll soon be gone, to the city of the West. And what city that is not desert is west of here, if a bit south still?"
"IreDahlin," the deep-voiced one spat, full of venom.
"Not necessarily his destination," the serious one broke in. "I am sorry if you Drylanders mistook this for courtesy. It is nothing of the sort. You pose a threat because you're alive. It is a danger to all those around you."
"A malady that no one wants to cure."
"The Lady can. The Old Woman guides the hand that clenches."
"But you can hurt no one dead," the steely one finished.
"Now...!" the high-voiced man spoke sharply, getting attention. "He just wants a name, now. Can there be any harm in that? Give him yours, at least. Heh, a favor owed once given?"
After a small pause, there was an answer. "I am Devshivavihsved."(("Can you remember that?" light-voice laughed)) "Welcome to the country of Floht. Wherever you were hoping to arrive, your journey will now take you east."
(And so, after that scary-as-hell culture-dump... XD)
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 7, 2010 1:23:08 GMT -5
While it was good not to look like a killer, looking dead seemed rather much worse in his opinion. "Well this is good..." he muttered low, "It looks like you're their favorite..." whether or not there was sarcasm in his tone was hard to catch due to the manner of whispering. 'And now on an important note...' he began reaching his hand into the wretched water, searching for the knife dropped when he was pulled up into the air. "On the subject of fitting names." he crooned to the floating masks (an act that made him question his sanity to some niggling extent), "Fittingly enough for someone with such a balefully queer name, you're doing well to make little next to no sense and with the foot not crammed in your logic, you seem to be bootin' us on our asses or atleast threatening to it. Your mum named you pretty well from what I see." he looked around, 'at least before she dumped you out here...' as far as he could tell there wasn't a town anywhere about... he hadn't seen signs of civilization, at least.
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Post by Arual on Nov 7, 2010 9:33:00 GMT -5
So they were deciding if they should kill them or not. Perfect. Just perfect. So he was right about that gut feeling since he walked into this place. It wasn't a friendly hello, that was now certain. Raegan looked at all the faces. All these names......all those places, all so familiar, but never traveled to. Inside his mind he could have kicked himself for ending up in Fhlot of all places- knowing the danger, but East? The East was worse than the desert! He'd die the moment he stepped out of that swamp land and onto a path! "You're right, I'm not planning to stay in IreDahlin. One city further."
This wasn't good at all. However, the challenge was not to die, and not to be too open. Fhlot people could see much about you, or so it's told. That's why he was a bit uneasy giving his name. He didn't want to lose all his advantages....but this didn't change the situation. "Dodger, I'd shut up if I were you. Insults won't help either of us right now." Brown eyes captured the look to each mask, the more they talked, the more easily he could put a voice to a face even with a bunch speaking at once.
Devshivavihsved. He would not forget this name, not for a second.
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Post by Ladd Russo of the Russo Family on Nov 7, 2010 10:21:05 GMT -5
The swamp was silent still, as if it sensed a fierce storm coming. Even stranger, their so-far passive aggressors had joined in its muteness. One of the masks lowered, and the swish-wish, swish-wish of the thick grasses could be heard. Appearing out of the night in a very thick, reed-armored cloth that fit like a second skin, there was Devshivavishved. He was of average height with a lean runner's build, one gloved hand supporting a reed on which his mask rested.
He laughed faintly, a brief, churning chuckle that was eerie in the fact that it did not all match his face. His lips did not move from their normal lines, not even a twitch of smile, and his eyes, a pale indigo sharp enough to draw blood, had not a hint of laughing warm. It was difficult to discern age with Flohtians: his white hair was about shoulder length, but his pale face seemed in the range of twenty to thirty. One or two leech scars could be seen on it, lines that ended in a gouged wedge.
Moving through the bog with a learned skill, he stopped before them, face dead and glaring. Another laugh rolled, still not touching anything but a tightening of his mouth and a tremor of his chest. His eyes were on Dodger.
"Your tongue is straying," he said flatly. "Take care not to let it out of your sight, it is Adrarda's habit to saw it out. She needs little prompting." The Border Guard brought the mask to his face and secured it, walking past the two of them. "I suggest you follow. It is a long way to the capitol. Don't appear so alarmed, Whitte. You will probably find your city one day. If your friend stops begging for the Lady take me."
As he walked, the other masks followed in a wide ring, still unseen. An effective guard if one was ever seen. It was difficult to plan against an enemy one knew nothing about besides a floating mask.
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Post by Señor Sunday Friday on Nov 7, 2010 12:21:51 GMT -5
"Very little said is unintentional. I simply don't intend to lose a joust of words as being run through isn't very much in my nature, you see." that last bit about being run through had two meanings, he meant both of them. He didn't intend to be killed anytime soon, "Though if you'd be willing to set down your shinterns and stop raving like a lunatic on blades, I would be more than pleased to do the same. Blow for blow, I've only been acting on the mercy self defense."
He looped one arm to the shoulders of his stranger cousin, locked in the same situation as he and somehow not entirely set in the same attitude from the sounds of it and having gotten what he needed to say out, he had time to reassure his new found travelling mate. "Well as far as I can see here, we're charged with bein' threats." his free arm moved in a swathe of a gesture, to indicate the masks and the newly discovered man amongst them. "An' I don't figure I'm ever much of one. A threat would carry more weapons aside from a lonely half dull daggerspiece... an' even if they did, they'd probably know how to use it. You seem mighty skilled with that bow'n arrow, you're lordship. If you don't mind me saying about it." and in some way, that was a threat or a warning, depending on how hostile one took Dodger to be. He wasn't a fool, despite whatever visage was painted for him at this moment, it was simply a matter of bravado and a thinking mind, meaning that where he was going with this was much to anyone's speculation though he was sure to lead it somewhere, his actions, nor his words ever strayed. He was a very intentional man, this Dodger.
Of course he followed, as finding out what happens to those who left the ring of masks, though the knowledge that there were people supporting them was in a way quite comforting. He patted the back of the less threatening of his traveling partners as he released him from the conspiratorial embrace and in a jaunty walk he set about following along the road, and of all things... he was whistling a rather jaunty tune to match his pace.
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Post by Arual on Nov 7, 2010 14:28:54 GMT -5
Whitte wasn't exactly the touchy kind of person; friendly, yes, but not until he knew the person well enough to think that it was okay and the other party didn't mind it either. "I'm skilled, yes, but I don't use it unless I find myself in need to." It wasn't so much of being alarmed as surprised, the Border Guard was in the same age range as he was- or so it appeared, and he wasn't sure what to expect.....Fhlot had very ruthless people. But he was not scared, not yet.
Even as he followed, silent after his few words, he still heard a silent forest; the danger in no ways gone. He had intended to go around the dessert because of the time of year and the constant dangers that it showered you in as one traveled through its sand. Each step he measured, his surroundings observed in as much detail as he could bring himself to engrave in his mind. The heart was getting worse the further inside they had traveled, and his vest was back on him whether he found it more comfortable on or off. If they had thrown his pack of food and other items out of his disposal, he wanted more than a thin shirt on his back. At least he'd have his archery tools ready and willing- even now- and he had no intention of letting the white-knuckled grip he had on the bow relax. The grass grew high and the air became thicker as they trudged on, the young man thinking, analyzing, remembering what he'd been told about the land he had come to. This bard, or whatever he wanted to consider himself, could possibly be the death of them both if he didn't figure out that these people weren't just cold to strangers, but they meant business. The warnings weren't just jokes. Right now, no matter how serious he was acting, the carelessness the other 'prisoner' held as he whistled on his walk was the opposite of how it should be. If you don't know the culture, or the people, it's best to learn and be silent otherwise. That way they can't blame you for any more than walking onto the land. Besides that, there's no law broken. Here, the young man knew getting ahead of himself was pointless, he needed to just focus on what was happening now.
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