| Welcome to Imythess, the border between dreams and reality. We hope you enjoy your visit. Imythess is a creative writing board where you narrate the story of a character in the medieval land of Imythess, on the planet Chaon. Each topic is an opportunity for your character to interact with the world and its peoples by cooperatively writing pieces of a story with other members, one post at a time. We call this role-playing, because you assume the identity of your character as if it were your own. In order to play, you must register an account for each character you would like to write about, and begin their tale by filling out their basic profile information: Race (human, elf, demon, etc.), class (warrior, mage, etc.), physical appearance, and any other personal details you would like to describe. You are also encouraged to come up with some background history information for what your character's life has been like up to the point at which their story in Imythess begins. There is no approval process or application required to join, so long as you follow the rules then you are free to write whatever character details you choose. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Create a character now! If you're already a member, you can log into your account below: |
| Stampede; (Open) | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Fri Jul 30, 2010 3:42 pm (300 Views) | |
| Taiaka | Fri Jul 30, 2010 3:42 pm Post #1 |
 
|
He screamed until his lungs hurt and his throat became raw. He screamed until his head throbbed and his vision clouded. Even then he screamed some more, his rough warbling chant left to linger, heard only by the desert sand. It was a drug, a song of contempt injected with bitterness; an herb smoked casually that made his soft palate swell and his eyes change color. This was not the rutting season when paper-thin silk and oily cologne soothed the intellectual blisters of his psyche, swathing him with bravado laden indifference. Taiaka yearned for the hunt yet his scream, echoing like a lover's whisper across the strand of hardpan, caused only the wind to stir. He remained in his muscle memory moment, dark hands balled into tight fists at his sides, and saw the location of tendons and ligaments on the backs of his eyes. This was not the rutting season, but Taiaka's blade meant to mate: cold steel entering time and time again into soft, virgin flesh. The dreadlocked man standing in the morning shadows screamed again. He sung until he swore he saw the suns flinch. He sung until he could smell blood on his clothes. The illusion he was weaving was almost complete. * * * The gypsies, the insects of the sand, were awake at dawn. Their camp smelled like red tea and camel dung but they did not notice. Ancestral patterns and low thread counts covered their heads and hips; dye from rare roots lined their eyes and the backs of their rough hands were stained orange. The women tamped out the fires while the men readied the camels. They would be on the move within the hour. A moonfaced wife was the last to wake. She lay flat on her back beneath gauzy curtains and rubbed her growing belly until the babe inside stirred. Her husband would help her to her camel soon enough she knew, and so she let the scent of the morning rouse her gently and yearned for her breakfast of oat cake and salted snake. Her stomach growled. Her hand shot out for the water skin next to her gritty mattress but she hesitated: she was suddenly afraid. The scream from the desert came a moment later. At first the gypsies stood quiet, pausing their duties as they wildly scanned the horizon. When the wind picked up in their camp they all thought that perhaps the scream was a warning, that the clear skies had sent an invisible tempest to drive them towards the oasis. Yet, their eyes filled with bloodshot panic as they all distinctly heard a new sound: The sound of thunder. But no, not thunder. It was too steady, mad percussion growing ever louder and stronger until the ground shook beneath their feet. Men barked commands to their fellows while the women screamed. The moonfaced wife was taken from her tent by her husband and the couple stood frightened as their camels threw their harnesses and awkwardly trotted towards the north. She took her husband's hand into her own and squeezed it tightly. Her brown eyes sought him, "The night comes." She whispered. None could speak when they saw the herd of wild horses swarm their camp. * * * Taiaka commanded the stampede in a stupor. Black horses with blue eyes and dreadlocked manes galloped past him wild and fierce, the sentience of the illusions held together with silvery threads of will and violent intentions. He watched the gypsies scatter like wood lice across a bar top and urged his magic forward with a great push of centered emotion. They screamed for him. When he entered the camp his dagger was already in his hand and it found satisfaction in the furor very quickly. The horses, kohl dreams, whinnied and reared, chasing away stragglers with menacing hoof beats. Bodies fell but for the man that looked so much like the beasts he called. Yet, in his lust, through the addiction, Taiaka did not see the moonfaced wife's husband lift his longbow and knock an arrow. Smears of colors and faces swam across Taiaka's pale eyes; a fire grew in his belly, a fire so fierce and feral that it spread to his hips and crotch and began to slither down his legs. He did not see the shaft of the arrow protruding from beside his navel but reveled in the scent of blood- so much stronger now, so metallic, so unique. The horses galloped away into nothingness, leaving motes of ash in their wake. The husband and his ripe, moonfaced wife trembled as they fled, spitting a sliver of fingernail over their shoulders. When Taiaka collapsed, the blade was still clutched in his hand. |
 |
 
|
| swordhunter | Wed Aug 4, 2010 11:22 pm Post #2 |
|
Aiden leaned heavily against the neck of his steed as they crossed the unforgiving desert sands. The elf was truly out of his element out here...but he didn't have the option of waiting idly by at the edge of the wastelands. "You'd think I would have had desert gear by now, considering how many times I've traveled to this bloody place. But nooooo, I just had to have another sword!" The elf glanced down at his new blade with a hateful look, though he knew it was more for show than anything else...especially considering that no one else could see the false contempt. Sighing, Aiden looked forward across the shimmering sands, hoping beyond hope that eventually, he'd begin to see the outline of the lone city of the wastelands...or at least an oasis. I'll have to walk soon, the elf thought, noting how his horse was already struggling to make it through the sandy dunes. Although there were a few worn paths through some of the permanent dunes, these were few and far between. And magical beast or not, no horse could walk endlessly through the desert. Taking a deep breath, Aiden reigned himself to another sigh when, unbelievably, something caught his eye. "Great, just when I thought I didn't have enough fun," the elf muttered, "I start seeing things. Just what I needed to make this day more enjoyable." Aiden pointedly averted his eyes, knowing full well that the illusion would soon pass. However, the elf couldn't keep his curiosity--and his hope--at bay for very long. After a few long seconds of looking away from the sight, Aiden looked back from the corner of his eye. "A person?" the elf muttered, now abandoning all self-restraint and peering into the distance. He watched silently as the shape eventually molded itself into a person...a running person, no less. They must have the stamina of a horse to move through a desert that fast. Aiden looked at his own tired mount and grimaced at the comparison before stopping altogether. Lifting his leg, Aiden swiftly dismounted and rubbed his horse's flank as the lone figure ran in their direction. "He's scared senseless," Aiden muttered as the lone man came closer and closer. Even at his distance, the elf knew that the wild hair and the raving eyes meant that something terrifying must be relatively close by. "HELP!" came a shout as the man finally drew within hearing distance. Abandoning caution, Aiden charged forward, his left hand already on the hilt of his blade as he came close. "Must be a sandwinder or something," he said to himself, waving the running man down. Soon, both parties came to a stop about a meter apart, where the man abruptly collapsed, panting and sweating profusely. "Help," he sputtered again, his chest heaving as he fought to control his breath. Aiden moved forward, kneeling beside the frightened man and urging him to calm down as the elf looked for wounds. Odd, he thought, Not a tear on him. Much less a cut. "What are you running from?" the elf asked quickly, hoping for a straight answer. "Horses!" the man shouted in response, "Tens of them! Ran through camp...moved...too fast!" The elf sighed, thinking the man was obviously mad...but then something caught his attention. "Tens of them?" Aiden asked slowly, "In the desert?" The raving man nodded wildly as he pointed back in the direction he'd come. Aiden squinted, but gave up when he decided that nothing could be seen at this distance. "Guess the horse isn't getting a break now after all," Aiden muttered, turning in the direction of his mount and whistling loudly. The action brought his faithful steed galloping towards them before slowing to a stop nearby. "We're going back there," the elf commanded, turning towards the frightened man, "And you're leading. . ." OOC: I didn't know what you wanted to do next, so I left the camp arrival for later haha.. Hope that's not a problem |
|
|
|
| Taiaka | Thu Aug 5, 2010 3:27 pm Post #3 |
|
Three brothers spent the good part of an hour digging a hole with long-handled spades. They were quiet as they worked under the stern-faced guidance of Emile, the moonfaced woman’s husband, and their chief. Many of their kin had simply disappeared into the shimmering sands like vestal mirages, returning to their nomadic ways without looking over their shoulders. The ones that chose to remain dug holes for they did not believe in burning the bodies of their brothers. The interment came first but was forgotten the moment their prayers to the salt god finished; mortal shells in the sand, husks without spirit. The last hole was somehow most important. Grief had a funny way of metabolizing into uncultured anger and so the brothers’ hole was wider and deeper and excavated in half the time. Upon completion, the men cast wary glances at their chief. He stood with his jaw set, one hand curled around his ceremonial long bow, the other curled in his wife’s hand. The brother’s nodded in unison and stalked over to where the wounded infidel lay motionless. One stooped down and pulled the arrow from his belly; the others found his ankles and began dragging him towards the mouth of the hole. The brothers, their shoulder tensed beneath gauzy indigo robes, rocked back on the balls of their feet and pushed the dreadlocked demon into the waiting mouth of the hole. The brother’s made a move for their spades but Emile shook his head. “Let the vultures come.” He had a velvety voice when he spoke but his eyes were lucid shards of obsidian set deeply into his skull. For a long time no one spoke. The five of them stared down at the crumpled body of the stranger, angry and confused. Finally, Emile disengaged from his inner musings and looked at the soft faces of his three eldest sons. “Find the camels,” was all he said, but it was enough. The boys once again nodded in unison, blinked away the raw thoughts of sorrow and bewilderment and threaded their way out to the hardpan. They found it odd that the camel’s prints in the sand were not muddled by the stallions’ tracks: There were no hoof prints at all. The epiphany did not register with the brothers. Once his sons were out of sight, Emile turned to his wife, Eva. He kissed her soft cheek and draped a rough hand on her swollen belly. “You must rest,” he said gently to her. She frowned deeply and rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, trembling. “When the boys return we will be rid of this place and the memory of it,” Emile whispered, his lips barely moving beneath his thick moustache. “Go lie down. I will stand watch.” Eva drifted into the only standing tent in the camp and sat daintily upon on her padded mattress. She could see Emile’s back through the sheer curtain; sitting outside with his bow propped across his knees. She knew she would have to sob silently if she intended to sob at all. Meanwhile, the creature in the hole stirred. Edited by Taiaka, Thu Aug 5, 2010 3:31 pm.
|
|
|
|
| swordhunter | Thu Aug 5, 2010 10:25 pm Post #4 |
|
Aiden refused to acknowledge the sweat not dripping freely from the tips of his chin and nose. He ignored the heat, the shimmering waves of air above the hot sands, even the increasingly uncomfortable saddle. Instead, the elf focused on the hundreds of hoofprints that lay on the sands before him from the frantic stampede that the man riding just behind him had recounted. Or rather, that's what the elf should have seen. Instead, nothing seemed to disturb the sands, besides the incessant, hot wind from the south. "You're absolutely sure we're getting close?" "Yes," Aiden's passenger replied, with a not too reassuring voice. Something's clearly off here, the elf thought, It's either the situation or this guy. And from what I've seen so far....I'm thinking the former might be more and more of a hope than a reality. Still, Aiden pushed his mount forward in the sweltering desert heat, the guilt of the action threatening to overcome him with every step of his faithful horse. Whatever plane he belongs to, I'll give him a well deserved rest when this is over. Assuming this hasn't put me hopelessly off course. The trio pressed ahead for a few more minutes before Aiden's despair of finding anything caused him to round to the man behind him, preparing a long and well thought out series of choice, angry words. However, to his surprise, Aiden found the man pointing just ahead and to the left. Following the line of the man's arm, the elf spotted a group of forms huddled in the desert sand, the glint of metal showing around them as they moved. "Well about bloody time," Aiden muttered, clicking his tongue softly as he urged his mount to the left of their current path. The horse began a slow trot across the sand as Aiden squinted against the light to make out what they were approaching. Aiden counted three before stopping, noting that three of them were moving away from a remaining pair. The elf turned his head quickly as he felt a movement behind him. The formerly frightened man-turned-guide dismounted as quickly as he could before scrambling across the sands, waving his hands wildly as he did so. "Great," the elf muttered, swiftly dismounting as well. Once his feet were set in the sands, he pulled a small wooden horse from the folds of his cloak. "Return, my friend," he said soothingly, watching as the horse gradually faded away, traveling back to its home plane through the magical object. The animal neighed softly just before winking from sight, a sound which brought a brief grin to Aiden's face as he tucked the summoning piece back into his cloak. Making sure his equipment was secure, he bounded after the man, hurrying to figure out just what was going on...and what he'd managed to get himself into. . . |
|
|
|
| Taiaka | Sat Aug 7, 2010 4:38 pm Post #5 |
|
The last thing Taiaka remembered was following the salt currents down into a wide valley where a school of Toli fish swam. He had walked behind them, humming loudly, smiling when they knocked him about with their lacy fins. They were as big as hogs yet they drifted gracefully in the hot winds, wriggling their scaly bodies like painted dancers. Taiaka played with them by calling up tiny rings of air that they would ride over the sand. They nipped at his clothes and hair with blunt teeth and stared at him with their huge golden eyes. It was just before dawn and he had his pockets stuffed with oasis rocks (hardened Toli fish poo) when he remembered turning his eyes to the horizon, feeling content, humming loudly… So when Taiaka regained consciousness in the bottom of a sand pit, needless to say he was more than a little confused. Pain, in sharp contrast to addled buzz in his brain, quickened his senses and filled his veins with white hot adrenaline. He had no recollection of a skirmish, yet the wound in his belly would tell him otherwise as he inspected it with his fingers. Pale eyes shot to the sun drenched sky as if sudden panic had besieged Taiaka in a fit of zealot lunacy; his mouth was slightly open, his nostrils flared, his body bent at an odd angle as he sat propped against the sandy wall. He repeated four words over and over again at a breathless pace, grimacing as threads of silvery healing magic burrowed deep into his guts. It was perhaps enough to keep Papi Gothi from swallowing his soul but not enough for his limbs to find strength or to change away from his current skin. The hot noon suns reminded him of Toli fish eyes bearing down on him with ill-intent. Taiaka already ran hot but now he felt like a piece of tanned boot leather. His throat was beguilingly sore as if he had swallowed a handful of glass yet no matter how hard his tried to cough or croak, or to swallow away the grit, he uttered no more than slight sputtering sound. Water, he thought. Water, his cracked lips and swollen tongue begged. “Water.” His voice sounded like someone crumpling a sheet of parchment. “Water.” This time louder, the syllables said slowly. “Water,” in but a whisper. Emile had heard the second call from the hole and had stood slowly from his post at his wife’s tent. He took three determined steps towards Taiaka when Eva darted out from behind the curtains. “Emile, Look!” Two men, one she recognized instantly as her kin, approached. “Is that Hithem?” Emile asked. The chief’s body was tense, the hand wrapped around his longbow white at the knuckles. “I think so. But who is that with him?” Eva’s voice was riddled with doubt and fear. Emile picked up on her nuances instantly but did not look at her. “Maybe he found help?” She said idly, knowing how naïve she must have sounded. “I would not think so, Eva.” Emile licked his lips, “Back inside with you, do not come out until I say so.” Eva rolled her eyes stubbornly at her husband but tottered back inside her tent without complaint. “Don’t worry, the boys will bring the camels soon.” Emile yelled after her, sighing only when she was out of sight. |
|
|
|
| swordhunter | Sat Aug 7, 2010 10:08 pm Post #6 |
|
Aiden followed after his former passenger at a slow pace, taking in the scene around him in a cautious, yet curious manner. The elf spotted a number of tents, however only one remained standing, from what he could see. The rest seemed to be flattened, as if by some great wind. For a moment, the thought of a stampede crushing the tents crossed the elf's mind, but he quickly put away the thought, refusing to believe the dribbling nonsense of a delirious stranger. The fellow was probably warped from the heat anyway. Aiden thought bitterly, already regretting the distance he'd traveled away from his original path. Then again, he continued with a sigh, it's not like I knew where I was going to begin with. That thought caused the elf's head to droop as he drew closer to the camp. Now he could overhear voices, at least three, drifting across the desert sands. Is that Hithem? a woman's voice called out. Aiden shut the rest of the conversation as he noticed rather large dimples in the sand around the lone tent. "Strange formations," he muttered, "Must be deeper than the other areas around it...could be holes...or maybe it's just my eyes." He took mental note of the fact as he stopped a respectful distance away from what remained of the campsite. He watched as the man--Hithem, Aiden reminded himself--embraced the people around as if they were long lost family. The elf only looked on as they began talking in soft voices pointing in various directions....and at Aiden himself. "Oh this should be just plain wonderful," the elf muttered, waving his hand in a short introduction. He was fully prepared to simply see Hithem off and return on his way. But there was still the mystery of this campsite to solve, not to mention the fact that he hadn't seen hide or hair of a 'stampede.' "Unless it was a stampede of sand Hithem was referring to," Aiden muttered with a snort, "That one I could believe." He began walking towards the camp, careful to keep his hands in sight and a cheerful, friendly smile on his face as he moved. . . |
|
|
|
| Taiaka | Tue Aug 10, 2010 5:18 pm Post #7 |
|
For the majority of her life, Eva trained to be a priestess of the singing sands. As such, and as per the spoken history of her nuclear family, she did not believe in coincidence. It was too simple a concept, a dismissal of the occult and the residual influence of the gods. Emile was as stubborn as an old mule though and often pontificated to his wife about divinity long lost and the vacuous apathy of a thankless faith. Nonetheless, she clung firmly to her ancient, and sometimes convoluted, beliefs. The chief of their clan was, of course, much more pragmatic. Emile sought the laws for moral comfort; he liked to think that he walked hand in hand with his elders, focusing on survival more than stories and superstitions. He kept to their nomadic ways and carried with him the bigotry and xenophobia that kept his ancestors alive. Emile was a good chief in this way. But with his wife’s humped dowry trotting wildly through the dunes, he feared not only his kin, but his legacy would be buried in the sand. Eva was standing quietly with her pale moonface pointed towards the elf, her expression full of vindication. Emile, as Hithem talked at him, was standing with his elbow bent, longbow in hand slowly leveling with the horizon. “As surely as night, comes day.” Eva said dreamily, snootily as if hammering in a long forgotten point about the duality of man. Hithem nodded madly at his pretty cousin. He opened his mouth to speak but Emile stepped forward. The chief studied the elf for too awkward a moment. Steely eyes showed nothing of the emotions swimming beneath their dark surfaces; crow’s feet and mouth were pitched perfectly horizontal. “Hithem says you come as a friend. If that is the truth than you will take the demon to the city.” The chief, without taking his eyes from the stranger, removed a blood stained dagger that was tucked into his belt and tossed it at the elf’s feet. Eva waddled over to her husband, placed her hand on the small of his back and smiled with genuine sweetness at the elf. * * * Hithem resented Emile since he was a child. Now, with his brother as chief and his reputation as that of clan drunk, his resentment curdled into indifference. But, as unwashed and sloppy as Hithem was, no one could doubt that he had done well in finding and bringing the elf back to camp. Yet regaling the tale of his heroics would not include the part about running cowardly into the desert at the first hint of a threat. But who could blame him? He was not skilled with a blade, he could not cook, he could barely piss without falling down. Was he to make a stand against…against a demon? Emile had clearly said demon and Hithem, shaken sober, had clearly heard him. So as the chief approached the elf, Hithem curiously approached the hole at the far end of the camp. * * * The sound of voices rose Taiaka’s ire. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying but he instantly recognized the paper-thin slur of their desert dialect. Gypsies. Taiaka was a friend to the gypsies, a fact that didn’t quite correspond with his current predicament. He had made trades for scavenged goods as recently as last month, fair trades, so he was confused as to their motives. Perhaps they had found him wounded and brought him back to their camp out of concern, or general, witless kindness. Still though, if such had been the case Taiaka assumed he would not have been thrown in a grave to bleed out. The anger lengthened his resolve and in turn, gave him the will to claw at the sides of his sandy cage. “You are a demon?” Taiaka stopped and quickly lifted his eyes to the man above him, “Help me out of here.” Hithem studied the dreadlocked creature in the pit. He pictured demons to be more…Scary. The old man cocked his head at Taiaka. “Please. What have I done? Help me.” Taiaka once again began clawing at the wall, the sand raining down to fill in any progress he thought he was making. “Demons lie. You want me to help you so can drink my blood like you did the others! I’m wise to you.” Hithem smiled. “What!?” Taiaka barked incredulously. The smell of blood down in the hole became overwhelming. Edited by Taiaka, Tue Aug 10, 2010 6:42 pm.
|
|
|
|
| swordhunter | Thu Aug 12, 2010 9:30 pm Post #8 |
|
Aiden had barely entered the camp and he already didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. That one must be the leader, the elf surmised, looking in the direction of the broad shouldered man standing between Hithem and the unknown older woman. Aiden stared at the longbow in the man's hands warily, but he wasn't particularly concerned. An arrow could be blocked. But the intentions behind that arrow...well, that might signal far more trouble ahead than Aiden felt like dealing with. Aiden's thoughts quieted as the man began to speak, his strong voice easily heard across the desert sands. “Hithem says you come as a friend. If that is the truth than you will take the demon to the city.” With that, a bloody dagger was tossed at the elf's feet, but Aiden hardly gave the blade a glance. "I'm sorry if you thought that you could simply lay a task at my feet without objection," the elf replied gruffly. "I came here because that man"--pointing at Hithem--"looked like he needed help. He said there was a stampede...that's the only reason I'm here. If you have an errand to run, assign it to one of your own, not a random stranger who you haven't actually asked for help." Aiden's annoyed glare shot back across the sands, but the elf couldn't help but toe the light blade at his feet. Demon? Out here? Pretty odd occurrence, I'd say. They normally appear near populated areas, not the middle of nowhere. And I'd hardly call a travelling tribe 'civilization.' I wonder what's going on here....perhaps they aren't telling...or perhaps they simply don't know either. Waiting patiently for a reply, the elf looked over as Hithem walked to the edge of what appeared to be a large, freshly dug hole in the desert sands. Shrugging off the sight, Aiden paid little attention...until he heard the sound of another voice drifting through the air. . . |
|
|
|
| Taiaka | Wed Aug 18, 2010 4:06 pm Post #9 |
|
Eva took three encumbered steps towards the elf, stopped, and bent to retrieve the dagger in the sand. She admired it as if it was an uncut gem, running the side of her thumb against its copper edge, dark eyes sweetly tracing the well-worn scrimshaw on its hilt. Her features did not sour at the elf’s flat out denial of her husband’s request; in fact, the color in her cheeks brightened into a healthy glow. It was Emile, with the slightest of a tremble in his limbs, which spoke. “A simple errand you say?” The chief chuckled darkly. “Perhaps I should send my pregnant wife or my brother the drunk. Or maybe I’ll send the spirits of the dead. For they are much more abundant than the living.” Emile’s gaze shifted ever so slightly over the elf shoulder as if the chief was purposefully trying to look through the man. Yet the jingle and chime of tiny bells coupled with the regal grunt of his family’s camels had completely consumed his attention. His sons had returned. And none too soon. Emile bought his pensive stare back to the elf. “Do what you wish with the demon, stranger. But if you expect to be paid then you are sorely mistaken.” Emile snatched the dagger out of his wife’s hands, drawing a fine line of blood on her palm. She did not yelp or glare at her husband; she simply tottered off towards her eldest sons and embraced them. Emile once again dropped the dagger in the sand as it its very presence vexed him to his wounded core. He followed his wife over to his sons. “Hithem! We’re leaving!” The chief shouted at his brother. Over at the hole, Hithem turned his head, held up a hand to block his eyes from the harsh sun and smiled. He wasn’t smiling at the camels or because he would be away from this dark trouble. No, he was smiling because his skin of beer was tied to the saddle of his sister-in-law’s shambling dromedary. He clambered to rise to his feet and once he did, he tossed a faux sympathetic look down at the demon in the hole. “I would love to be there when you tell your master that you have failed.” Hithem’s voice was proud and sarcastic. The sandy-eyed demon squinted up at the man, his mouth agape. When Hithem stood, he cast a cool shadow that framed Taiaka’s body. The demon felt small and impotent as he watched Hithem chew a sliver of nail from his thumb, spit it down at him and walk away. Taiaka’s toes curled in the sand but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes open from the sky. A brief lapse of reason told him that he was dreaming: he was in Balefire under an oversized surcoat of wool while Ronnie practiced his letters on the kitchen table with a stick of charcoal. But even his most lucid dream, gifted from the stars themselves, had never touched his senses as his current predicament. Sobriety. Reality. A sore belly and a growing chill emanating from his fingertips. Taiaka’s decision was momentarily made and hastily executed. He closed his eyes and visualized a web of golden thread surrounding him. The thread wrapped around his bare arms and legs and slithered up over his chest until they entered his nostrils with each inhale. He felt the strands fill his lungs, slide into his stomach and wriggle down into his bowels where they sat like ethereal asps. Invigorated, Taiaka poured every ounce of will into exchanging his smooth black skin for a fleece of even smoother, blacker, feathers. He transformed into the pelican during a long exhalation and flapped his wings as he held his breath. A panicked melee of flight feathers and sheer determination lifted him into the air long enough for him to pitch himself to the side and breech the top of the hole. The pelican tumbled and skittered to a graceless stop just a few feet from the lip of the grave, and laid there with his beak in the sand. |
|
|
|
| swordhunter | Thu Aug 19, 2010 12:20 pm Post #10 |
|
Aiden's eyes followed the woman as she approached with a mix of wariness and interest. She moved silently, almost in reverence, as she approached the dagger at his feet. Her eyes danced along the edges of the fine blade, seeming to admire its workmanship in blatant disregard of her husband's distrust of the weapon. “A simple errand you say? Perhaps I should send my pregnant wife or my brother the drunk. Or maybe I’ll send the spirits of the dead. For they are much more abundant than the living.” The elf's features softened at the news, suddenly sorry that he had been so angry in denying the request. But for now, the answer would not change. It was difficult enough to cross the desert alone, much less with a demon to worry about. “Do what you wish with the demon, stranger. But if you expect to be paid then you are sorely mistaken.” With that, the chief angrily snatched the blade from his wife, seemingly unaware of the blood he had drawn, and moved towards the newcomers at Aiden's back. The elf didn't turn as the chief and his wife walked away, neither did he respond when Hithem moved past him without so much as a thank you. Instead, Aiden's eyes became riveted to the sandy hole where Hithem had been standing. Approaching the sight slowly, Aiden felt unease grip his stomach. A heavy weight seemed to perch on his shoulder, almost announcing that danger lay just beyond the rim of shifting sand. Then suddenly, a black feathered pelican launched itself from the hole, landing awkwardly in the sand as the elf approached. Aiden's eyes narrowed as he stopped, unsure of what to do next. The pelican lay unmoving, almost drawing Aiden closer simply through the power of curiosity. "This is the famous demon I've been hearing about?" the elf muttered, kneeling to the sand. "I stand corrected...apparently there were demons in this desert. . ." |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
 |
|
| « Previous Topic · Istan Desert · Next Topic » |
1:09 AM Feb 10
