Sure I am this day we are masters of our fate, that the task which has been set before us is not above our strength; that its pangs and toils are not beyond our endurance. As long as we have faith in our own cause and an unconquerable will to win, victory will not be denied us.
[RIGHT]- Winston Churchhill
[/RIGHT]
Year of Jena 2535, Winter, 20th day. On the Path through the Dead Lands.
Kass scar suddenly tingled, and silently motioned for Enon to stop. The mektoubs behind them hooted softly, but Enon gripped their necks firmly to quiet them. Down on the ridgeline below them, the trees parted with a speed that belied the size of the creature that emerged. The Kipucka that had been laying in wait, lashed out at a very sturdy looking Raspal, striking its head from the rest of the body in one quick cut. The now leaderless body convulsed, transfixed by the Kips razor tail which had spiked into the ground beneath the Raspal.
With no sense of glee or sorrow, the Kipucka waited until the body had exhausted its remaining neural impulses before dragging it back into the shade of the trees. Kas had blinked once, in the amount of time this entire combat had lasted.
Lovely specimens out here, but far too advanced for us to study in safety. Enon noted, in a soft voice. They were only a day into the Old lands, and many days away from their mysterious destination.
Kas nodded slowly, keeping his eye on the tree line below. Back up the trail til you come to that forked tree that was marked. I will scout deeper from this point. Very quietly, Kas buckled his helmet securely, his face completely covered.
Enon nodded, moving back to protect the convoy of packers as Kass whispered footsteps left the trail and into the thick brambles that surrounded the mountainside.
It took another ten minutes to retrace his route, all the while listening for the tell-tale sounds of Kass discovery and ensuing combat. No such sounds reached him as he secured the packers, who were whining in protest, to the tree. It was a small glade, some sixty feet wide, where a staggered root formation jutted out overhead.
There were no immediate dangers to be sensed in the area at the moment, but the Kipucka they spotted earlier could have been either an advanced harvester, or a guardian to an offshoot tunnel or nest. That was the theory, anyhow.
I will never find his body in all those thorns.Enon muttered to himself at the recklessness of his servant, as he carefully detached his set of picks from his larger packer.
Eyes scanning the local area with a practiced diligence, noting flora patterns, water courses, and varying dips and humps that are rarely naturally occurring. Something warbled in a soft but insistent way as Enon moved over to a group of small humps, covered with grass.
Marshalling a honed skill, light flashed into being between his hands, gathering and pulling at his focused mind in its intensity. As the small glowing orb grew, information about the surrounding area; things that are not necessarily visible to the naked eye, began to form in his consciousness.
With a soft grunt and correct timing, he hurled the energy to splatter against the grass before him. Almost instantly Atys moved, pushing up that which was once covered by dirt and time, to a location much closer to the surface. Glowing green gas, impotent in its stable state, hissed up into the noon sun; filling the small glade with the unique smell of Sap, earth, and magic.
Times before, be so again reveal your secrets to me.Enon slowly began reciting an ancient Etchmarc chant, his hand squeezing the leather wrapped handle of his pick, and began to pierce the hide of Atys itself.
*****
The fire was small under the jutting roots. Its size was more for actual comfort than need for heat or cooking. Enon had already eaten his share of their evening meal, but Kas, as usual, had hardly touched his. It was a small wonder how he kept going every day, considering how little he consumed.
Are you going to wash that off?Enon inquired, waving his hand at the gore that splattered Kass armor. His scouting mission had been, in part, a failure to find a way through the glade that was not overly-infested with Kitin, but a success, at least, in the terms of personal survival.
Kas looked up from the fire and smiled. I can if you like. The pond we passed yesterday would probably suffice. He rose and began gathering his things, then stopped when Enon dismissed the idea.
Enon could not tell if his servant was being intentionally difficult or just brutally honest sometimes. The Ojin family had always served the Etchmarcs with a fanaticism that had landed all but three of them dead. But they were also sneaky, and often had more of an effect on things than anyone would care to admit. Never mind wine? Enon raised the modest dandelion wine flask towards Kas.
He smiled, but shook his head in reply. It will make me sleepy, but thank you sire. Having abandoned the personal plan of packing his equipment into one pack for travel, Kas returned to sit by the fire. With a soft scraping sound, he began to stroke a chunk of rosin to the side of his axe blade in a sharpening motion.
Enon was silent for a moment, and then sat up from his reclining position. Why do you do that? Will it not corrode the edge away?
Kas shrugged, not looking up from his work. It makes the blade less likely to catch on Kitin shell; instead it slides easier when passing through it. Much like those hrmm. Kas stopped rubbing for a moment, looking down at the ground between his feet. Ah, those Tryker bow-harps. The ones they put on their shoulder and play with the stick?
Enon chuckled for a moment, and then took a small draw from the flask. You are a strange one.
Kas nodded, as if that was a perfectly normal obvservation. I do try.
Mumbling something in a humorous tone, Enon laid back on the bed that Kas had prepared for him on the other side of the fire. Tomorrow we will have to leave the trail, you understand. We cannot press on through that area, not without both of us ending up in the most permanent state of rest...
Fine by me either way, sire. But if you are insistent on that idea, I would suggest we go into the valley. The Goo might be safer than the Kitin.
There is Goo down there?Enon queried, looking up at the root formation above them.
you cant smell it?Kas asked with a smidgen of incredulity in his voice.
Enon shot Kas a swift sideways glance, at which point it was most evident that someone should go check the scent pots at the perimeter. Kas rose without a word, but meek in posture, and retreated into the darkness beyond the firelight.
Prick.Enon laughed to himself before he found a comfortable position, and drifted slowly away into the ethers of dreamscapes.
“A heart to resolve, a head to contrive, and a hand to execute.”
[RIGHT]- Edward Gibbon
[/RIGHT]
Year of Jena 2535, Winter, 27th day. Off the Path, Somewhat Lost in the Dead Lands.
The slow-burning ember-like liquid sensation had long since leaked into his boots. It rasped in and out of his lungs as they trudged through the purplish haze. The deep hood Kas wore did not seem to block out the burning gas, nor the damp face cloth. No matter, he thought. His job right now was to walk, to trudge, though the Goo with sheer corroded root walls stifling them on either side.
Outside of the corridor, he could feel massive Kitin presence, the burning throb of his scar the only discordant contrast to the pain of moving through the virulent muck.
Behind him walked Enon, his face also shrouded in a weather hood. Though Kas moved as one in toil, he moved as one almost at home. He did not seem to be outwardly discomforted by the effects of the terrain, though his armor was slowly tarnishing.
The Mektoubs were another matter. They did not look healthy in the slightest. Kas’s own mektoub seemed almost ready to drop when Enon called for a halt.
“Hold Kas, our beasts will not last much longer under these conditions.”
Kas turned, standing in a small bubbling pool. “We do not exactly have anywhere we can go at the moment; the lands above us are filled with Kitin.”
Visibly, Enon’s shoulders moved with his sigh, though his face was covered. “Go scout ahead for any openings.” Enon said, pointing over Kas’s shoulder.
Kas bowed his head and turned to move further ahead of them, down the winding Goo filled corridor. He went for several hundred meters before his scouting became disheartened; there were no exits, just bone hard walls of Atys’s root.
Heading back, something caused him to become suddenly alert. For a moment, it was not clear what it was exactly, and the voice associated with his Axe gibbered in the mental background. He could feel the twins fight or flight confusion as they rose to their seats of attention, endorphins flushing momentarily the fatigue from his muscles. Then he spotted it.
The goo was rippling outwards towards him. Something of significance must have happened, because goo simply doesn't act like a liquid, rather more like the viscid gel it is normally associated with.
Kas slammed his foot into a crack in the wall and pushed off, running up on the side of the corridor. Hot blood rushed into his face as the Discipline of Speed mantra coursed through his mind, pushing his body to velocity that was otherwise impossible. The words of power and focus thundered in his head as he ran against the wall, leaping to clear turns, ever conscious of the careful balance he must keep or tumble headlong into something undoubtedly hard.
Sloshing around the last bend in the corridor as his burst of speed began to pale; Kas spied Enon and the packers through the purple haze. It was much thicker here than before, but even through that he could not see any other creatures about, and none could be sensed within close proximity.
Kas noted motion around Enon's feet, his heart gradually slowing as his body went from threat response to a more painfully real version of life. "Sire, are you alright?" Asked Kas, panting in the hurtful gas, each lungful was like agony.
"Indeed I am, Kas. Are you overly distressed?"Enon spoke, shrouded behind his face cloth, only his dark eyes glinting out from beneath the hood. It was a very alert glitter, at that.
"I… nothing, my lord. There is no passage up, our packers are doomed."Leaning his hands on his knees, Kas continued drawing in these exhausting breaths. While catching his breath, he took this opportunity to briefly survey the area around Enon's feet. There was a black scarred hump that ran a few inches high, all around him in what looked like an exact circle. Possibly, it could have been dried goo resin, Kas thought, though he did not have any experience with which to confirm his suspicion...
Enon shook his head slowly, looking over his shoulder at the Packers. They stood in a row, oddly glossy eyed and completely silent. Which, in of itself was odd enough for anyone to notice. "They will be fine for now, see how they do not complain?" As if making a joke to himself, Enon laughed as he pulled something from beneath his shroud. "Here Kas, it is time to take your medicine. I do not like the color of your face."
Kas nodded from his doubled over position. His stamina should have returned at least, though his life was surely being sapped by the Goo, but it had not. "Yes Lord." In the raised hand, Enon placed the pliant, soft pink tissue globe that Kas knew so well.
He straightened with a grunt, and removed his helmet. "Thank you."
Enon probably smiled, though the statement was only readable through posture and the lifetime they had spent together. With a snapping hiss, blue light burst into being as Enon began to lift off from his feet, the amplifiers at his wrists crackling with healthy Atys energy.
Kas bit into the bulb, trapping the bitter juice in his mouth as it began to pour out. This, coupled with the healing spell woven around him by Enon, restored much of his vigor and sought, with success, to clear the fog from his mind.
“Come, we must push on. No rest for us."Enon spoke as he stepped past, into the darkening Goo soaked corridor.
Oddly enough, Kas could have sworn there was a third set of prints, small ones, burned into the dried patch of Goo. His imagination was strange some days… it could have been the medicine.
-----
“Every man who rises above the common level has received two educations: the first from his teachers; the second, more personal and important, from himself.”
[RIGHT]- Edward Gibbon
[/RIGHT]
Last edited by etchmarc on Mon Oct 16, 2006 8:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
“Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!”
[RIGHT]- William Shakespeare (Hamlet, at IV, iv)
[/RIGHT]
Year of Jena 2535, Spring, 36th day. Off the Path, not quite so lost in the Dead Lands.
"Move!"
At Enon's shout, Kas dived down underneath the Kipesta, the lightning fast motion of its wings kicking up fragments of grass and a haze of dirt. He hissed, frost suddenly covering the back of his armor as he continued to roll across the ground. Axe held to his chest until he was clear from underneath the hovering beast.
Enon's blast of ice had struck it in the side, partially freezing one of the two wings in that area. Spinning with the agility indicative of the airborne menace, the Kipesta lashed out in response with a blast of flame, induced by the reactive pollen that was converted and stored within a gland that was carefully manipulated by thin appendages stemming from just below its thorax.
Using the pole of his Axe to throw himself into stance, Kas lashed out at the rear of the organ filled abdomen, which was curled underneath the beast's body so as to better present its stinging weapon.
Blue ooze and pieces of chitin erupted from the cut as the Fyros made axe bit deep, howling in silent pleasure in Kas's mind, much to the agitation of his other selves. The beast itself shivered from the contact, slewing to the side and releasing the axe from its trauma.
The stinger flashed red in the light as it burst forth from its hidden sheath, missing Kas's head as he moved just in a blink of time's notice. The second strike in rapid succession punched through his heavy armor, tearing into his left lung and snapping his sternum. With speed, it was withdrawn as Enon's bow-rifle roared, the beast again shifting its notice.
Kas gasped liquidly at the air through the breathing holes in his helmet's mask, blood thickening in his throat as his mind wrapped itself around the mantras and sap powering the healing ability within. Still on his feet though staggered, Kas took two steps foreword, raising his axe high in the air to strike.
At that moment, the Kipesta whirled about, and speared him in the gut with its stinger, the tip punching with force out the back of him, near the spine. A blood flecked grin curled Kas's mouth as he screamed, and brought his axe down to punch the Kipesta from the air, bisecting the insectoid skull.
Blackness, sweet and cool, followed him on his fall to the ground.
[CENTER]*****
[/CENTER]
The sounds of spells being cast, one vastly powerful and three quite under what was required to rouse him, gradually pulled him back to consciousness. His chest hurt, but his lungs no longer bubbled with blood leaking inwards to disturb the delicate tissue within.
A firm hand gripped his helmet, removing it with ease that indicated experience. A strange face loomed over Kas's own, radiant in its alien gratitude. Crusted vitae in his esophagus however, did not allow Kas to study the face, though an impression of white hair lingered somewhere in the back of his mind as his body was wracked with coughs. The spells were slowly restoring him, but magic did not typically soothe simple annoyance such as a tickled throat.
A shadow passed over him as he stilled, thankfully blotting the sun for the moment. Enon smiled down at him, the blue glow of his spells fading from the aura about him. "Good work, cousin. And look... we have... fans." Enon waved his hand about, as Kas tentatively tried to stand. Successfully, even if a bit weak still.
It had to be a small family group. All Matis in birth, as Kas rubbed his eyes… yes, all Matis. Not as many as he had first thought, perhaps fifteen or so... a few children... and three very elderly. Kas's brow furrowed slightly as he looked over their heads, then about from side to side. Speaking through his Seed, his mind reached out to contact the cool consciousness of Enon.
Where are their men? I don't see anyone older than... 12 years perhaps. Well... other than those three. I have no idea how old they might be.
Enon's reply was tense, belying his easy stance. I do not know... I will find out while you rest. Something is amiss. There is not a single good weapon or piece of armor between them all.
At the unseen words traveling at the speed of thought between them, Kas nodded as if making a decision. The group of refugees was gathered near the corpse of the Kipesta, gathering from it what they could. Crude tools but skilled fingers scavenged the parts quickly, the weary and wary posture from them all was hinting at a few things.
Another group began to move out of the woods slowly, and this lot was no better than the others. A few Trykers… there was a pair of Fyros, but the rest were Matis. Maybe... ten all together as Kas made a quick count; mostly women and another gaggle of children. These looked more scared than the others, but both groups seemed to mesh immediately, speaking of their association. Perhaps they had thought the Matis men who had killed the Kipesta would be more apt to react better if met just by Matis.
Kas shrugged inwardly. It was not his concern. He made his way to his axe, its Kitin blood drenched length being a sure attraction to some of the younger of the crowd.
[CENTER]*****
[/CENTER]
Over the fire that Kas had produced, much to the trepidation of the refugees, Enon slowly stirred the broth that was being cooked inside a scavenged piece of the Kipesta's shell. Several of Kas's secretly tested herbs made up the mix, along with a good deal of the fibrous muscle that is found inside the lower appendages, the glands that produce the explosive pollen thrown in for a spicy kick to the after taste. "So, these are all of the survivors?" Enon asked idly, as he laid the gingo bone ladle to the side.
The old man who had removed Kas's helm nodded in response, tired eyes lost in the flicker and dance of the fire. His name was apparently, Ustus Beraamho. "We had some warning. The Kitin have been migrating lately, over the past few months. Some of the hives are shifting, though no idea as to why. Who can guess at their reasons?"
The man's story had been told with a sense of weariness, but also with no tone of surprise, as if all of this had been seen before. As much used to depression or defeat perhaps as breathing; yet lacking the will to stop being.
At one time, to the west and north by a couple of weeks, there had been an old refugee camp. Since the Swarming, most had moved on with the rest of the population, the others following in suit however they could. However, there were occasionally settlements of people who wished to somehow make a new life for themselves out here, having never even seen the New Lands.
The Kitin however, sometimes decided it was time for the homins to move on, whether they liked it or not.
[CENTER]*****
[/CENTER]
The broth was hot, and filling, even if no one else seemed to like it as much as Kas did. The mushy meat cooked to perfection, was devoured with a certain amount of delicate haste. He hummed softly to himself as he ate, pretending not to notice the stares and wide eyes of the children just beyond the fire light. Some had come up to him throughout the day, but their respective parent had quickly shooed them away. Everywhere he looked, he saw the gaze and impact of fear, dark and heavy, in their eyes.
The bowl of his helmet clinked softly against the side of his axe as he set it down, beginning to clean his impromptu soup bowl with water from carved dorotea containers that he had made many years ago, and had faithfully served him since. He continued his labor, even as his mind felt the presence of several small ones gathering behind him, now that he was beyond the firelight.
Mektoubs, still embraced in their eerie calmed state, however, did not stir as the children approached him. From the corner of his eye he could tell the eldest was the twelve year old that he had spotted before.
"Skulking about the front ends of Mektoubs will gain you a kick in the face, most nights, little ones. Come away from them."Kas said in a slow, steady voice, kind in nature though teasing.
They started slightly, their scents changing from purely afraid to a slight hint of tangy surprise. "Come…" He turned from his crouched position, instead to face them as they began drifting his way in postures that said they knew they shouldn't, but curiosity is a tempting monster to face, at best.
They all stopped, fanning out in a small semi-circle in front of him as he took a seat, moving his helmet to the side. Each one was curious, though they all seemed reluctant to speak. Significantly, every eye was straying to his axe as it rested beside him. After a few moments of humored silence, Kas reached over with a gauntleted hand, pulling the axe out onto his lap. "This... my little friends is, a Fyros war axe."
A few of them nodded uncertainly as he continued, pointing to the triangular point of the blade. "This is the prime area to strike something with, as even strong armor will tend to split under such a fine point. But the blade and the force of the arm that wields it will follow into the gap. Perhaps some of you witnessed such earlier today with the Kipesta?"
More nodded, though the scent of fear elevated to a heady degree as he mentioned the word for the Kitin. "See here?" Kas tapped a spiraled Fyros glyph on the back side of the blade-head. "This is the symbol of the maker."
Several had moved closer, to see the symbol clearly in the moon shine, though they were now suddenly trapped by their own curiosity. Kas continued speaking, and soon he had a small ring of fans as he told stories of some of the battles that he had been in personally, rapt faces drawn to his in attention and fascination.
[CENTER]*****
[/CENTER]
Enon nodded slowly, the curling smoke from the dying fire weaving a sinuous dance above them through the trees. The aspects of it suddenly feminine, a cord struck within him of longing. Lost for a few moments inremembrance of red hair, coy scent, and smooth flesh; all taking his attention away from the hushed discussions at hand. The three elders were rambling somewhat aimlessly, and the woman of the three seemed to be quite senile in both mind and age.
He looked back to the fire, and then at the three elders, who were suddenly looking at him expectantly – as if he had something to say. "…Seems as if you all have been through some trying times." He replied, guessing.
This response seemed to please the people.
"Yes, though we should thank you. That Kipesta has been trailing us for weeks now; we were just out of its reach when it found you."The older man, Ustus, nodded with vigor that belied his age as he spoke.
"Well, it was the least we could do." Enon waved his hand slowly in the moon light, a glint sparkling from his ring. "Either way, it was looking for trouble when it found us anyhow."
Ustus suddenly nodded curtly, sitting back slightly. Odd.
The second elder male, Borvan, however took up the slack. "We… we have nothing to offer you, Lord. We do not even know your names, though you travel as princes." He lifted a liver spotted hand to gesture towards the Mektoubs, and Kas now playfully wrestling with the gaggle of boys – mock roars and laughter young and old rising from the pile.
"We are explorers, from the New Lands."Enon nodded slightly, watching his servant so amused. "I am Lord Etchmarc, accompanied by my faithful retainer Ojin."
A slow blink from the elderly woman, attention dragged from the flames. "Etchmarc… Ramasa Etchmarc?" Her voice was soft, suddenly... chill.
Enon blinked as well, swiftly thinking along the possibilities. Then he shook his head. "No... The name is from an old cube. We have no idea where it came from..." he lied. He turned his gaze back to her and the trio, now quietly suspicious but trying not to show it. "The night calls, we could all use some sleep."
The woman seemed mollified, but the men were suddenly suspicious. They silently agreed, moving back from the firelight, all but carrying the senile witch between them. Enon frowned as he pulled his hood over his face, a gesture that often accompanied thinking.
Kas in the background, made all the ruckus in the world, playing with the children.
[CENTER]*****
[/CENTER]
"Beraamho…. Beraamho.. Ahh…. Ulri Beraamho.Damn." Enon reined in his mount with a firm press of his knees on both sides, breaking the connection to the damaged Amber Cube by looking up at the very first hints of daylight on the horizon. In front, Kas rode a few more steps, then slowed when he no longer heard the jingle of Enon's mount's barding.
Kas turned in his saddle, looking back through the eye slits of his helmet. "Something amiss, master?"
Enon sighed slowly, then nodded, bringing his Mektoub up to Kas's own. "Yes... very amiss, as you put it. The Beraamho family was one of the many families that bartered to the King to have our family banished and destroyed."
Kas tilted his head slightly to the side, not having heard the discussion around the fire, ending shortly before they left the temporary encampment. "… I do not... see how that is important, sire."
Enon raised his hand slowly from the pommel, waving it in a dismissive fashion. "It matters, because they..." Pointing back the way they had come over the old rivercourse, "Were Beraamho. They know of us. They know what our family is capable of, or at least, that we are called traitor. If they make it back to any refugee camps... they will likely talk."
Kas's shoulders rose and fell once, his hand slipping down to begin un-strapping the Axe that called for his attention much more fervently. "Ahh... I see."
Enon nodded slightly, silent as Kas slid from the back of his mount, taking up his weapons of choice. Kas's helmet rotated as he studied the way that they had come, counting down numbers in his head.
"I will be up the way a bit. Probably asleep."Enon said, quietly in the growing morning.
Kas shrugged lightly, not turning as his feet set him on the course of his duty. "I will not be gone long." Then, with grace that most Ojins do not have, the shadows swallowed him.
Enon did not spare a backwards glance as he guided the train of Mektoubs to somewhere the screams would not be audible.
There were no survivors.
-----
"I didn't want to hurt them, I only wanted to kill them."
[RIGHT]- David Berkowitz
[/RIGHT]
Last edited by etchmarc on Mon Oct 16, 2006 9:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin', and death be all that we can rightly depend on.
[RIGHT]- Bram Stoker, Dracula
[/RIGHT]
Year of Jena 2535, Spring, 49th day. On the Path, nearing the edges of Old Matia.
They were sifting through the fallen, solid-cocoon structure walls. All of that remained had been haphazardly piled, as if pushed aside by a flood many years ago. A definitively Tryker skull was discovered, most of the back half had been crushed inwards, but the indicative eye cavities were a telltale giveaway.
"You owe me some Dappers, I believe " Enon said, as they both looked down at the skull, where is rested in the shroud dust. Kas grumbled softly as he handed over the soft green baubles. "The Zorai must have changed their head shape in the last twenty years."
This platitude did not seem to please Kas as he turned, heading back to their group of still oddly-silent packers. He had found that there was little need to tie or secure them, and their glazed eyes did not even wander. Enon had said little about it, other than he had made things easier for them.
The ruined temporary settlement was decades old, and probably some refuge of fleeing Homins from the Kitin horde. No clues were gleaned really, other than they were heading too far towards the east. This bearing, at just a guess, needed to be counterweighted by many days of northward travel. Hopefully, they would see Matisian ruins soon.
Kas glanced back at Enon, who was fretting about their packers for a few moments to each, feeding them something unseen from his hand, probably seeds or grain of some sort. Their reserves were low; the lowest they had been in more than a month. Game was hard to find throughout this ravaged land, made desolate by the Kitin. It was not as if a casual predator had driven off the animals, but that there were simply not any great herds left to come back into the region itself.
Swinging up into the saddle in unison, Kas taking point by about forty meters, they gradually began to wind down onto the wide plain below the cliff line that they had been struggling to get over these past few days. The grass moved in the wind beneath them, and Kas tried to ignore the menace in its almost-living dance.
