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| The Trouble at Mica Rock; [OTA] | |
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| Topic Started: Wed Dec 2, 2009 7:33 pm (87 Views) | |
| Taiaka | Wed Dec 2, 2009 7:33 pm Post #1 |
 
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The lead horse was a pretty chestnut mare with long black fetlocks. She, along with all the other horses, wore a braided hackamore for the weather had turned cold and the riders did not want frozen bits in their mounts’ mouths. The morning sky, a fertile verdigris pall that threatened snow, showed no signs of clearing and the gloomy overcast left the riders with moody expressions on their puckered faces. They were elves, all of them, some exotic breed from beyond the mountains; they looked like kin, each with the same shallow almond shaped eyes and silken auburn hair. As they rode across the frosted plains, they casually chatted in a guttural language, lilting and tonal, and Taiaka did not understand a single word they said. The shape shifter knew they spoke Common, he had heard their practiced accents in the tap room of the Green Gryphon when they hired him. Now though, the elves talked amongst themselves, often sending wary looks at the wiry skin walker that trotted beside them. When they made camp for the night, they did so in a thicket of aspen pine trees with wide boughs. The pale smoke from their fire curled lazily into the still night air and before midnight, it had started snowing. By the next morning, their thick buck and bearskin sleeping hides were iced white by these early flurries but the elves made no comment on the cold as they broke camp, saddled their horses, and set off once more. Taiaka made no comment either and instead busied himself with gnawing on a rather dry and tasteless hunk of corn cake. The shape shifter did not ride a horse. The elves had generously offered to procure one for him from the livery in Debon, but Taiaka had refused. They were doubtful at first if the dreadlocked skin walker could keep up with their mounts but learned quickly that it made little difference. The rough, sloughing terrain kept their horses at an excruciatingly slow pace as they climbed up into the gravelly foothills. The elves did not sneer nor smile when they witnessed Taiaka change his form and slink ahead of them as a tawny mountain cat or stringy wolf. For a week straight they traveled with the morning sun always on their left. They took turns hunting for quarry; the elves were especially adept with their bows but often set snares before they bedded down. At dawn they would check the traps and come back with sorrel or, one time, a large old coon which was promptly skinned and made into a pair of gloves. They would stop at streams to let their horses drink and would scout ahead for clearings in which to allow them to graze on sweet grasses. Taiaka would take these opportunities to scrounge around for starchy roots, brambles of winter berries or clumps of salty lichen not yet taken by the roaming elks. The six of them ate in silence, drew sticks to see who would pull first watch, and then stared into the fire with thoughtful eyes until sleep claimed them. Taiaka had never felt more alone. Of the five elves the shifter traveled with, two of them were female. Weedy and limber, Taiaka thought them to be fine specimens with all the right curves in the right places. Yet, he never let his stare linger too long; he knew little to nothing of their culture but did not want to chance causing some unspoken offense to his employers’ lot. Still, when these females spoke in the common patios between them, their softly accented words caused the hollow places within Taiaka to hum. The other elves, three tall men with long arms and legs were equally as unique. Their lime colored eyes auxiliary to their flame colored hair reminded the shifter of long forgotten legends of these pointy eared creatures; beings of arcane prowess and lore. So far, Taiaka had seen nothing from them in the way of sorcery but did see one of the men burn a piece of his own hair when they had stopped at a small forest shrine to some missing Imythess god. The shifter could appreciate the gesture, appraising the elf with an undercurrent of reverence and superstition, but suspicious of his intentions. On the tenth day of travel, a blizzard blew in from the north and swept down the sloping granite mountains like a raging windigo. They battled icy fingers of stinging sleet and heavy, wet snow before Taiaka led the party to a sheer outcropping of rock. It jutted from the slick ground like a compound fracture but formed an alcove where they could hunker down inside, horse and all, buffered from the howling winds. They sparked a small fire and cooked the bodies of two small snakes over the flames. Taiaka opted for a yam he had pulled from the earth a week earlier. “How long will we have to wait?” The question was directed at Taiaka and voiced by the shortest of the elvin males, their band’s leader. The shifter shrugged his shoulders. “Ask your gods. I control the weather as much as you.” He answered back without looking up from his yam. “I made an offering earlier on the trail. Asked for clear and mild skies.” Taiaka shrugged again, his pale eyes lifting to meet the questioning stare of the elf, “Perhaps it was not enough. Tomorrow I will beseech the aid of the High Minded Man. If your quest is worthy, he will watch over us and clear the path.” “What foolery is that, skin walker?” This was one of the females. She sat nestled in an oily bear skin blanket and cast Taiaka an angry glare. “Of course our quest is worthy. It would befit you to curb your tongue and not speak such blasphemy.” Taiaka nodded his head respectfully at the woman, “I meant no offence. I am simply your guide. I promised you we would reach Mica Rock and we will. An offering to one of my gods surely would not hurt the cause, yah?” The female opened her mouth to make a retort, but her leader held up his hand and shook his head. He turned his attention on Taiaka, “And how long until we reach Mica Rock?” The shifter pursed his lips and thought for a moment before responding. “If the storm breaks tonight, which it should by the looks of it, we should find the path up to the ruins by nightfall tomorrow. The snow will be thick, but your horses should be up to the task. It is not a difficult climb.” “Good,” said the man as if putting the issue to rest. “I will hold you to your word, skin walker.” Taiaka said nothing, nodding somberly. By morning, warm sunlight filled their alcove, the sky a brilliant hue of pure blue. Taiaka did as he promised and dedicated one of the many talismans he wore on his person to the High Minded Man as the party waited for his escort. It was still before noon when they turned onto the path that led to the ruins of Mica Rock. The elvin leader gave Taiaka a flinty grin when he saw the beaded totems and feathered fetishes, both untouched by the heavy snow, lining the pathway that wound up the side of the cliff face. The shifter suggested they continue on foot and leave the horses tethered at the bottom. Begrudgingly, the elves agreed and secured feedbags filled with oats to their mounts’ muzzles before shouldering their packs and snagging their longbows. Taiaka walked at the front of the precession and the elves followed, making quips in their native tongue behind him. After an hour, they were all huffing and puffing from the steep uphill climb and silence fell over them. The mid-afternoon sun caused them to shed their thick fur cloaks, allowing sweat to dry on the napes of their necks and the small of their backs by the crisp, cool wind. They rested for a moment where the path widened and the ground leveled out, sharing a bladder of bitter wine and a chunk of tasteless, white cheese. In the distance, bulbous clouds the color of shale began to accumulate, obscuring the horizon line. Taiaka pointed them out to the band of elves but was met with shrugs and clicks of their tongues. They did not care: Mica Rock was too important for them to worry about an approaching ice storm. Perhaps the High Minded Man had judged them as unworthy of his mercy. Taiaka swallowed his ration of cheese with a grimace, feeling the wind pick up at his back. A short time later, the party crested the last ridge and stood in front of the fabled Mica Rock ruins. The elves shared looks of anxious excitement with each other as they squinted at the crumbling masonry. Glittering haughtily in the slanting sunlight, six proud obelisks covered in mica scales protected a flat, square courtyard in the center, approached by a set of six steps. Statues of milky jade were strewn about the courtyard, broken and covered in hardy mountain mosses, forgotten. A stone fountain with tiled sides sat empty and quiet near dry irrigation channels that flowed into large engraved basins where a murder of crows was now nesting. It was not difficult to image the beauty and tranquility of the place in its heyday; at one time it was a hidden bastion, safely tucked up high in the mountains, a sacred sanctuary. Now, it was for pilfer and profit. They walked through the courtyard like mourners at a wake until they reached the temple at the far end of the square. It was a modest edifice suggesting that its construction extended deep into the cliff face it was cut from. On both sides of the temple was a sheer drop off, but a tongue of mica flicked from its sealed doors and rolled into the center of the sprawling courtyard. Taiaka offered the leader of the elves a nod of his head as they approached the temple as if to signify that his tour of duty had expired. The man glowered and sent the others on ahead. They returned stymied. “We can’t get in!” One of the females barked, looking at Taiaka as pure malice made her features ugly. “The door is a sheet of solid rock. Not even a seam or a crack.” The shifter felt the leader’s head hand on his shoulder, “How do we get in?” Taiaka’s eyes widened and he gave a noncommittal shake of his head, “No idea. It was never part of the deal.” The female closed the distance between them until the shifter could smell the wine on her breath. The leader’s grip tightened. “Tell us!” “I don’t know!” Taiaka shot back and squared his shoulders. The female showed him her teeth, “Then you are useless.” The woman said something in her foul language to the other men and threw her head back and laughed. The two males grabbed Taiaka by his arms, their leader drifting away towards the women with rueful eyes. He spoke a phrase to the female and she stopped laughing. “We’ll do it the old fashioned way then. You two,” she inclined her chin to the males, “Throw that thing over the edge.” The men yanked on Taiaka, dragging him towards the drop off obediently. But Taiaka was not in agreement. He twisted from their grasp and changed his body into a small white jackrabbit and began to run. He heard shouts behind him, but they did not give chase. Instead, they lifted their bows and began firing at the quick hare. While their aim was exceptional, Taiaka was too fast, his coat blending into the snow drifts until he seemed to have simply disappeared. The elves offered up frustrated grunts, satisfied that their guide was too busy running for his life to care about the desecration of the sacred ruins. Taiaka watched from behind an outcropping as the two female elves began to chant, their arms folded beneath their breasts. The earth began to rumble, the smell of ozone lit his senses, and all at once a great blast of arcane energy blew away the temple’s stone door. The white hare watched the elves stroll into the temple and vanish inside its darkened innards before bolting down the path. At the bottom, Taiaka untied the elves’ horses, slapped them hard on their rumps, and watched them scatter. It would give him enough time to find help. |
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6:57 PM Feb 11
