A Guileless Fable
A Reality Outside Your Own
If you're not this Giraffe (A Guileless Fable) or @Pretzel Heart then please don't post. Feel free, to read along. Thank you 
-
This section is for roleplays only.
ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.
Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Tangled Strings
- Thread starter A Guileless Fable
- Start date
Pretzel Heart
Afterimage of Broad Daylight
Nearly a full moon cycle had passed since he had left the village.
Well, Absolon could scarcely call it a village, anymore. Contrary to his expectations, the desolate gathering of tattered buildings where he had been born had raised itself up into a small and proper town during his long absence.
But even against the silhouette of those nostalgic buildings as he had bid farewell to them yet again, with the same bittersweet thoughts that he may never return, it wasn't the village that stood out most in his mind. Nor his waving friends and family as they watched him go, peering with the faded, lost eyes of sepia photographs as from each other's viewpoints both began to disappear into the darkness of night and future unknown.
No. What Absolon remembered best about that moment was the moon.
Strange how, at the height of his confusion, anger, sorrow, and terror, the luminescent pearled globe had shined in the full of its splendor, wearing the stars like so many dangles woven into the few swirling clouds of the night, as if purposefully showing off its grandeur in the face of the defeat of man.
Every night he had continued to watch its gleeful performance, whirling itself into that star-covered scarf until it had been completely masked, shyly teasing him as, week by week, it had returned to revealing its full glory.
Tonight the scarf hung just a little off of the moon dancer's shoulder. In a few days, she would be laughing at him once more.
From where he currently sat, however, Absolon could note little of this.
The elegant dappled legs of his steed walked just within the frame of the mercenary's limited sight. Hunched against one of the barren trees in the anonymous and gnarled forest, he had paused in his relentless riding on the excuse of giving the poor horse a rest, but in fact, Absolon himself was the one who was now breathlessly panting, curling his legs as close to his chest as he could just to help support the weight of his weary torso. With head resting atop folded arms on his knees, the hood of his battered traveling cloak only fell further into his face, making it near impossible to see anything but the horse's steady legs.
He couldn't fathom how the beast was still standing, with Absolon riding him as hard as he was.
Poor Vikrom...to have to suffer so for man's folly. He had never used a horse to travel like thus, his Master being one who believed in 'strengthening one's legs over one's rear,' making use of a pack mule, at most. Besides, there had never been a need to hurry in that windswept life, blowing from village to village, town to town, searching without an aim but to provide the best relief they could (and, if possible, at a good price). Never before had Absolon traveled with such a sense of urgency.
It was ruining Vikrom.
It was ruining them both.
How selfish of him...to drag the innocent horse into his nightmare. If Vikrom were to die, overrun by his quest, what would Yseult say then?
Still, even now that Absolon had made no attempt to tether him, the loyal creature remained by his side, peacefully grazing on whatever shrubs were large enough to attract his gnashing teeth. The further North they went, the closer to the land of Demons, the harder it would be to feed him. And yet Absolon, regretfully, had yet to come up with a solution.
Vikrom had been his older brother, Cannus', parting gift. He was his fine running steed, giving aid to Cannus in the growing courier industry...perhaps the finest runner in all of the old human territories, being able to sprint for long distances other horses could scarcely jog.
He had been carefully bred and lovingly raised by the family of Cannus' wife. And when they had married, Vikrom was the better half of her dowry.
Absolon still could feel the startling shock roused when he had been quietly handed the horse's reins.
"Take him, bother. You'll need him."
He had tried to protest, but the answer was always the same.
"Take him."
A small reminder that, despite the long years they had spent apart, despite the changes and experiences that had shaped them both from children into men, Cannus and Absolon had come from the same place. Sheltered the same knowledge of human misery. Shared the same loss. And in that experience had risen an impenetrable bond between the members of the Abel family, as well as their neighbors, the Levionae, that had caused both lines to finally break through the cycle of unbearable poverty.
Yes, certainly it had been their love that had allowed them to persevere.
Love, and a strong sense of determination.
The will to live.
Even if the Abel brothers had worked hard to make a name for themselves, while the Levionae had bowed to foolishness.
Still, as ludicrous as it seemed, Absolon couldn't find a place in his heart to blame them. If only it hadn't been Yseult onto whom the burden had been passed...
In desperate times, being able to successfully contract with a Demon could easily seem a necessity to some. Either watch your family wither around you, or make one simple sacrifice in exchange for endless peace. After all, to acquire a Demon Lord's patronage, all one really needed was to offer up a freshly cut, succulent soul, dripping with innocence as a babe drips with placenta, but instead of dipping the newborn into the cool relief of naval waters, turning the babe over in a basin of blood.
Briefly the mercenary wondered if it was the fault of being so close to the Demon lands proper that had roused such darkness in his heart. The further onward he pushed, it seemed, the more desperate he became. No map. No aim. No one knew exactly where Lord Mamoutos' lair was hidden. Rumors that he kept countless priceless treasures had made his secrecy absolute. With so many other Demons lauding their victory over the remaining human forces, of course the one the Levionae had bound their daughter to was the one who secluded himself out in the mountains.
As if in an attempt to wash Absolon of his bitterness, the barely visible stars began to send a light rain pattering about him. A rain light enough to be enjoyed, and yet it was already so cold...
The mercenary pulled the hood of his cloak down even further.
It had been nothing but mountains for days. And the more mountains, the less human civilization. Despite having little sense of geography, Absolon was sure that this was the range that had once divided the three kingdoms in the times of stasis, before the wars. Never having learned much that his Master didn't want to talk about, Absolon's knowledge of his forefathers' battles was fuzzy, but the results were clear enough, even to this day. The humans, in their desperate attempt to win against impossible odds, had thrown themselves into the sacrificial flames. Turning out villagers to build army forts. Not realizing that by exiling their civilians they were only dooming their future ranks.
The other day he had seen black smoke rising from a spot on one of the craigs, and it had made him think of it. Of people burning through their own future lines.
Well, in any case, somehow they continued to stubbornly survive. And there were those like his Master who had sworn themselves to helping correct the wreckage their ancestors had created. So at least there was hope. The glistening hope that he, too, would continue to hang onto.
The rain thickened slightly, calling to wake a light mist around Absolon's ankles. He told himself that it would be fine, to rest just a little longer. Perhaps refill the water jugs. To walk through the forest now would be foolhardy, anyway. The growing mist was already turning the rough floor into a white carpet, ensuring any traveler would be taking steps into nothingness, having no idea where they could lead.
Maybe that is why it was said that no human ever returned from the land of the Demons.
If only the image of Yseult's face could burn as brightly where she was as it did upon his memory! Like a beacon for his exhausted body as inextolerable as she remained a beacon for his heart.
And yet...how many times had he yet betrayed that beacon, if only in his mind?
Absolon buried his head more deeply into his arms, trying not to think of the ribbon that lay heavy in his pocket.
That was something he couldn't help, after all...
His own sinful nature.
So then was this quest to be his punishment?
How unfair, for not only the horse, but also Yseult to suffer for his own daunting faults.
And yet he would drive himself mad in attempt to repay her. Aimlessly riding, day after day. Tiring out Vikrom, and then, soon enough, himself.
Even if he did locate Lord Mamoustos' lair, Absolon had no way of knowing what it would take to secure the woman's freedom. He just knew that he would offer up his every power to the Demon. He would work a thousand years, persevering beyond death if only for the chance to reprieve himself of his sins...to rekindle Yseult's blinding holiness...to preserve everything it was that she loved about her life and the beautiful world she had been snatched from.
It's was a fool's quest, and Absolon knew it.
Just a few months of his life finally becoming his own once more, and here he was, already trying to squander it.
Is that what his Master would think?
But deep in his heart, Absolon knew that he could not live a hero if he couldn't save at least this one damsel.
If her life had to end, then so should his.
Perhaps that was the fear that was driving him, relentlessly, onwards. The fear that, without Yseult to look up to, to aspire towards...he had no idea what even to make of his very existence.
Save people.
He didn't know if he had the strength to wander like his Master, fully dedicating his life to doing whatever he could to alleviate the long-term effects of the long-lost war. After just their few years of traveling together, the destitution had already worn Absolon down. Despite his inherently caring nature, he hadn't had too many qualms about retiring to a peaceful, blissful, married life.
That must be why the mercenary always enjoyed festivals. A very human testament that he somehow couldn't imagine neither the Demons nor the Beasts partaking in...It was to be human to possess that indomitable drive to exist in the best happiness they knew how, dancing against starvation. Clapping to the rhythm of the plague spiraling deeper through their lungs and veins, permeating their body till it had entirely rotted through. A smile of sheer ecstasy painted across their faces as the music allowed them to forget the worries of everyday life and death.
He recalled one such festival, from the time of his journeying back home. It had been harvest season for a particular kind of crop that only grew in the dense swampy terrain of that village's farmlands. To celebrate they had their own tradition of rituals, and yet they had showed no hesitation in inviting Absolon - a complete stranger - into their private jubilee.
Vivid images still clung to him; snapshots of that awful night. Like when the blue fire had caught the smile of a handsome young man, flickering against his teeth as he shown them towards Absolon like the night shows the moon.
The hand that had reached out to him, pulling him towards the circle.
Dancing against the tower of flames.
He stopped the memory there, while it was still safe, at the height of the tension, in the full wild rush of the harvest and the fire and the night. The song they had played then had a very peculiar melody...Absolon did his best to recall. His voice, though not exactly fine, was still capable of accurately hitting the notes as his mind searched back through its archives to locate them. He could imagine the song taking tangible form, each note melding with the falling rain and the rising mist. Unknowingly he let his voice grow louder, and for a time, felt his spirits rise like the tune.
And yet above him, somewhere out in the unseen sky, nearly a full moon cycle had passed.
Well, Absolon could scarcely call it a village, anymore. Contrary to his expectations, the desolate gathering of tattered buildings where he had been born had raised itself up into a small and proper town during his long absence.
But even against the silhouette of those nostalgic buildings as he had bid farewell to them yet again, with the same bittersweet thoughts that he may never return, it wasn't the village that stood out most in his mind. Nor his waving friends and family as they watched him go, peering with the faded, lost eyes of sepia photographs as from each other's viewpoints both began to disappear into the darkness of night and future unknown.
No. What Absolon remembered best about that moment was the moon.
Strange how, at the height of his confusion, anger, sorrow, and terror, the luminescent pearled globe had shined in the full of its splendor, wearing the stars like so many dangles woven into the few swirling clouds of the night, as if purposefully showing off its grandeur in the face of the defeat of man.
Every night he had continued to watch its gleeful performance, whirling itself into that star-covered scarf until it had been completely masked, shyly teasing him as, week by week, it had returned to revealing its full glory.
Tonight the scarf hung just a little off of the moon dancer's shoulder. In a few days, she would be laughing at him once more.
From where he currently sat, however, Absolon could note little of this.
The elegant dappled legs of his steed walked just within the frame of the mercenary's limited sight. Hunched against one of the barren trees in the anonymous and gnarled forest, he had paused in his relentless riding on the excuse of giving the poor horse a rest, but in fact, Absolon himself was the one who was now breathlessly panting, curling his legs as close to his chest as he could just to help support the weight of his weary torso. With head resting atop folded arms on his knees, the hood of his battered traveling cloak only fell further into his face, making it near impossible to see anything but the horse's steady legs.
He couldn't fathom how the beast was still standing, with Absolon riding him as hard as he was.
Poor Vikrom...to have to suffer so for man's folly. He had never used a horse to travel like thus, his Master being one who believed in 'strengthening one's legs over one's rear,' making use of a pack mule, at most. Besides, there had never been a need to hurry in that windswept life, blowing from village to village, town to town, searching without an aim but to provide the best relief they could (and, if possible, at a good price). Never before had Absolon traveled with such a sense of urgency.
It was ruining Vikrom.
It was ruining them both.
How selfish of him...to drag the innocent horse into his nightmare. If Vikrom were to die, overrun by his quest, what would Yseult say then?
Still, even now that Absolon had made no attempt to tether him, the loyal creature remained by his side, peacefully grazing on whatever shrubs were large enough to attract his gnashing teeth. The further North they went, the closer to the land of Demons, the harder it would be to feed him. And yet Absolon, regretfully, had yet to come up with a solution.
Vikrom had been his older brother, Cannus', parting gift. He was his fine running steed, giving aid to Cannus in the growing courier industry...perhaps the finest runner in all of the old human territories, being able to sprint for long distances other horses could scarcely jog.
He had been carefully bred and lovingly raised by the family of Cannus' wife. And when they had married, Vikrom was the better half of her dowry.
Absolon still could feel the startling shock roused when he had been quietly handed the horse's reins.
"Take him, bother. You'll need him."
He had tried to protest, but the answer was always the same.
"Take him."
A small reminder that, despite the long years they had spent apart, despite the changes and experiences that had shaped them both from children into men, Cannus and Absolon had come from the same place. Sheltered the same knowledge of human misery. Shared the same loss. And in that experience had risen an impenetrable bond between the members of the Abel family, as well as their neighbors, the Levionae, that had caused both lines to finally break through the cycle of unbearable poverty.
Yes, certainly it had been their love that had allowed them to persevere.
Love, and a strong sense of determination.
The will to live.
Even if the Abel brothers had worked hard to make a name for themselves, while the Levionae had bowed to foolishness.
Still, as ludicrous as it seemed, Absolon couldn't find a place in his heart to blame them. If only it hadn't been Yseult onto whom the burden had been passed...
In desperate times, being able to successfully contract with a Demon could easily seem a necessity to some. Either watch your family wither around you, or make one simple sacrifice in exchange for endless peace. After all, to acquire a Demon Lord's patronage, all one really needed was to offer up a freshly cut, succulent soul, dripping with innocence as a babe drips with placenta, but instead of dipping the newborn into the cool relief of naval waters, turning the babe over in a basin of blood.
Briefly the mercenary wondered if it was the fault of being so close to the Demon lands proper that had roused such darkness in his heart. The further onward he pushed, it seemed, the more desperate he became. No map. No aim. No one knew exactly where Lord Mamoutos' lair was hidden. Rumors that he kept countless priceless treasures had made his secrecy absolute. With so many other Demons lauding their victory over the remaining human forces, of course the one the Levionae had bound their daughter to was the one who secluded himself out in the mountains.
As if in an attempt to wash Absolon of his bitterness, the barely visible stars began to send a light rain pattering about him. A rain light enough to be enjoyed, and yet it was already so cold...
The mercenary pulled the hood of his cloak down even further.
It had been nothing but mountains for days. And the more mountains, the less human civilization. Despite having little sense of geography, Absolon was sure that this was the range that had once divided the three kingdoms in the times of stasis, before the wars. Never having learned much that his Master didn't want to talk about, Absolon's knowledge of his forefathers' battles was fuzzy, but the results were clear enough, even to this day. The humans, in their desperate attempt to win against impossible odds, had thrown themselves into the sacrificial flames. Turning out villagers to build army forts. Not realizing that by exiling their civilians they were only dooming their future ranks.
The other day he had seen black smoke rising from a spot on one of the craigs, and it had made him think of it. Of people burning through their own future lines.
Well, in any case, somehow they continued to stubbornly survive. And there were those like his Master who had sworn themselves to helping correct the wreckage their ancestors had created. So at least there was hope. The glistening hope that he, too, would continue to hang onto.
The rain thickened slightly, calling to wake a light mist around Absolon's ankles. He told himself that it would be fine, to rest just a little longer. Perhaps refill the water jugs. To walk through the forest now would be foolhardy, anyway. The growing mist was already turning the rough floor into a white carpet, ensuring any traveler would be taking steps into nothingness, having no idea where they could lead.
Maybe that is why it was said that no human ever returned from the land of the Demons.
If only the image of Yseult's face could burn as brightly where she was as it did upon his memory! Like a beacon for his exhausted body as inextolerable as she remained a beacon for his heart.
And yet...how many times had he yet betrayed that beacon, if only in his mind?
Absolon buried his head more deeply into his arms, trying not to think of the ribbon that lay heavy in his pocket.
That was something he couldn't help, after all...
His own sinful nature.
So then was this quest to be his punishment?
How unfair, for not only the horse, but also Yseult to suffer for his own daunting faults.
And yet he would drive himself mad in attempt to repay her. Aimlessly riding, day after day. Tiring out Vikrom, and then, soon enough, himself.
Even if he did locate Lord Mamoustos' lair, Absolon had no way of knowing what it would take to secure the woman's freedom. He just knew that he would offer up his every power to the Demon. He would work a thousand years, persevering beyond death if only for the chance to reprieve himself of his sins...to rekindle Yseult's blinding holiness...to preserve everything it was that she loved about her life and the beautiful world she had been snatched from.
It's was a fool's quest, and Absolon knew it.
Just a few months of his life finally becoming his own once more, and here he was, already trying to squander it.
Is that what his Master would think?
But deep in his heart, Absolon knew that he could not live a hero if he couldn't save at least this one damsel.
If her life had to end, then so should his.
Perhaps that was the fear that was driving him, relentlessly, onwards. The fear that, without Yseult to look up to, to aspire towards...he had no idea what even to make of his very existence.
Save people.
He didn't know if he had the strength to wander like his Master, fully dedicating his life to doing whatever he could to alleviate the long-term effects of the long-lost war. After just their few years of traveling together, the destitution had already worn Absolon down. Despite his inherently caring nature, he hadn't had too many qualms about retiring to a peaceful, blissful, married life.
That must be why the mercenary always enjoyed festivals. A very human testament that he somehow couldn't imagine neither the Demons nor the Beasts partaking in...It was to be human to possess that indomitable drive to exist in the best happiness they knew how, dancing against starvation. Clapping to the rhythm of the plague spiraling deeper through their lungs and veins, permeating their body till it had entirely rotted through. A smile of sheer ecstasy painted across their faces as the music allowed them to forget the worries of everyday life and death.
He recalled one such festival, from the time of his journeying back home. It had been harvest season for a particular kind of crop that only grew in the dense swampy terrain of that village's farmlands. To celebrate they had their own tradition of rituals, and yet they had showed no hesitation in inviting Absolon - a complete stranger - into their private jubilee.
Vivid images still clung to him; snapshots of that awful night. Like when the blue fire had caught the smile of a handsome young man, flickering against his teeth as he shown them towards Absolon like the night shows the moon.
The hand that had reached out to him, pulling him towards the circle.
Dancing against the tower of flames.
He stopped the memory there, while it was still safe, at the height of the tension, in the full wild rush of the harvest and the fire and the night. The song they had played then had a very peculiar melody...Absolon did his best to recall. His voice, though not exactly fine, was still capable of accurately hitting the notes as his mind searched back through its archives to locate them. He could imagine the song taking tangible form, each note melding with the falling rain and the rising mist. Unknowingly he let his voice grow louder, and for a time, felt his spirits rise like the tune.
And yet above him, somewhere out in the unseen sky, nearly a full moon cycle had passed.
Last edited by a moderator:
A Guileless Fable
A Reality Outside Your Own
The forest sang beneath the light of the full moon.
Animals slept while crickets played a soothing melody in sync with the soft croaking of frogs that danced near the water's edge. Soon nature played it's drum, the rain jumping across the lake's surface while mingling with the ground, relaxing the Earth to form their own puddles. Accompanying the cloud's tears had been a small breeze that ran through tree leaves to add it's own bit of sound to the ever growing ensemble. A smile graced his lips as he laid sprawled across the back of the huge beast of black stripes, the animal's fur hanging heavily on it's drenched body.
Chunta had came to enjoy the sounds of the night, the harmony between every living thing within the forest had something of an hypnotic effect on him. It had always took the boy away from his thoughts, a thing he could never accomplish on his own. The scene of his mother handing him a single tooth while the red dribbled down the wound from her neck turning her once beautiful gown of brown furs and green leaves into a bloodied mess of red, had plagued him day in and day out. The smile she had given him that day blurred by his own tears of rage and sadness that had made it seem as if she had been the one crying instead of him. The increasing volume of the forest had slowly turned the horrid images into distant memories, nightmares that he had hope to stay as they were now, nightmares.
It had been a continuous struggle for him ever since his forced departure from his village, now a mass of ash and decomposing bodies of fellow men he had once knew to be proud warriors, men whose wills even the God's could not bend. Maybe that had all been the factitious ideas of a child who knew nothing of what it meant to die. The lack of experience and the amazing tales told by a loving mother had clouded his view of the truth. Men weren't the strong creatures he had thought them to be. They were fragile, a butterfly whose wings could tear at even the gentlest of touches. Chunta buried his face into Kasa's fur, the memories he'd been force to carry with him on his journey slinking back into the depths of his subconscious. Being able to forget it all calmed him, even if it had been just for a moment. No painful screams resounding in his eardrums or sight of his clansmen dying at the hands of men clad in black had brought a certain peace to the boy as he crawled up along his companions neck, the beast less than please at his unnecessary movements.
"Thousands of years ago there was fighting far below. The three clans fought and destroyed the world we know. Forced into the mountains the Nekhelm found their new home. But when they looked around they knew they were not alone. The animals did not take to the human's presence and therefore the two fought and they was war here once again. Then came a man with a silver lion who ended all the fights and their was peace for beast and men. Enapay they called him Enapay the Strong, with the lion as his friend he un-did all their wrongs. Now the world has quieted for war no longer there..." he sang to the tune of the forest, his mouth mimicking the muffled whistles of the trees. Kasa purred as he sang, the tiger having grown accustomed to the old fable as his family sang it to him whenever he felt relaxed, a sensation he had thought Chunta had lost with the passage of time. It was alleviating. The words dripping from his mouth like sap from a tree.
One strong gust of wind signaled the end of the forest's lullaby. The crickets kept their legs still, the frogs wonderful croaks reverting down to lackluster ribbits, and the wind ceased it blowing. The rain had also calmed itself as it dissipated leaving behind small puddles of forgotten words and a clear mist. The only thing that kept the couple company was the loud splashes of Kasa's footsteps, and the dwindling light of the moon. What had been left to rest in his subconscious had slithered it's way back, the snake rearing it's ugly head in his mind. There was blood once again. The desperate cries of help taking refuge within his ears. Chunta no longer smiled, his hand now clutching the twelve inch fang that dangled from his neck.
Happiness and relaxation had been nothing but a dream to him. The fantastic stories that had once made him grin now remained a constant reminder of his ignorance. Those days playing and singing with his sisters seemed like an eternity ago. His brothers teasing that had once infuriated him was a welcomed alternative to the voices that tortured him now.
Patting Kasa's head, the tiger stopped, allowing for him to swiftly jump off his back that landed him in a puddle. He didn't gripe over it as he might have once done. Anger at the minor discomforts had deserted him.
Was this his life now?
Wandering the realm in search of an unknown 'treasure' that his clan had been murdered for? Chunta was not entirely sure, but if it were not for this then why else had his mother given him this pendent to carry around with him? A meager decoration? A memento of his family? It couldn't be. Were it for something such as that then why would she have told him the old riddle? He clenched the bone in his hand, the muscles popping outward each time he went to grip it. Soon a sudden growling reverberated through the trees, a vigilant Kasa turning his head at the grumble of Chunta's stomach, something that the child had forgot about himself. Kasa growled silently, attempting to remember the last time the two dined on anything of nutritional value. He had had a small rabbit a few days ago, Chunta eating the little amount of herbs and berries they had managed to come across. It was blatant that the two needed something nourishing to feast on or they would not make it another night in this wild infested jungle.
Ignoring the mud that had began solidifying on his feet, Chunta continued with his thought until he felt Kasa's body in front him. The tiger's emerald eyes stared into his own. No words were spoken, only simple paw movement that gave him all he needed to know. The tiger had referenced his stomach shaking as he pointed towards it and shook his paw. Soon he swirled his foot around, a symbol used to describe chasing or hunting. From there on the idea was quite simple. Kasa would go hunt for food for the two, plain and simple. It took him awhile to transition his thought to one of a hungry man from that of a tormented one. The bleached blonde haired boy had failed to realize his own hunger that had crept up on him and was not strangling his stomach. A single nod, and Kasa ran. Chunta followed behind, his hunger having significantly lowered his speed. The tiger felt the need to slow down, but he continued on rationalizing that the quicker he caught food the quicker they ate.
One leap. Two leaps. Four. Tenth and he found it. A slight smell of sweat coming from below him had gained his attention. A horse? From the scent of human that mingled with the the equine's, Kasa assumed that it had to be that or maybe some other pack animal such as a donkey or a mule. Well, it didn't matter anymore. Whatever it was was irrelevant. It was going to become food in a little while.
Sprinting downward he landed on a muddied path, rocks hindering his movements a bit but not to the point which he was incapable of attacking. Following the scent trail, he found himself behind an overworked horse. Stress made for tough meat, but it was sure to be better for the two then measly rabbits and leaves. However, there was something strange on it's back. An anomaly covered in a hard shell with the face of a human. What was it? It smelled like human but it appeared demon. Had it somehow replicated the head of a man? Kasa couldn't tell. All the humans he had confronted were dressed in dried out animal hides with bits and pieces of enlarged leaves. He hadn't seen anything of this nature before. Oh well. Food was food, and Kasa refused to let Chunta starve because of his indecisiveness. He growled as he stalked the pair. One second. Two. A third and he pounced, teeth bare, claws ready to strike.
Chunta felt the bile rise in his throat as he followed Kasa, the lack of food making him considerably weak. There were countless of times where he lost sight of the beast only to find him by the quick swaying of his tail. Gasping for air on a nearby tree he heard an all too familiar growl. It was Kasa, and by the sound of it he had found something to edible. Alive, but edible.
Forcing down the mixture of berries and leaves, he pushed forward. As he turned around a large boulder he saw them. Kasa pouncing on a horse carrying a metal beast of some sort. What was that? He inched closer to see what the animal was carrying, his eyes turning into slits as he squinted for a better view. Metal. It had been rare in the mountains but he was sure that it was metal that covered the thing riding on the stallion. He remembering seeing the silver thing in the hands of his father as he described it to his elder brother. The old man had talked of those who used it for armors and weapons, stronger than the bone weapons they had now. Although the lesson had not been directed at him, he was glad it was somewhat useful in this situation.
Wait. That face.
A man?
A human?
With a sudden realization of what Kasa had been attacking Chunta stepped forward his voice struggling to be loud.
"Stop!"
Pretzel Heart
Afterimage of Broad Daylight
Absolon was awakened by the damp smell of withered grass.
He seemed to have dozed off, falling to his side on the forest floor which had left behind little imprints of leaves and gravel like kisses on his face. Wiping them away, he wondered how long he had been asleep, noting that the moonlight seemed dimmer as if the coquettish dancer was preparing to take her final bow. The rain had also slackened off, leaving for its memory a thick white blanket of mist lying over the detritus.
In all this Vikrom had finally also decided to take a rest. As Absolon turned to look at him, animal and mans' stares met, and the mercenary had the uncanny sensation that the dark eyes had continuously pierced him while he had slept. There was something peaceful and yet judgemental in that gaze, and in those bottomless eyes Absolon saw a brief reflection of his own soul.
The peace that comes from knowing you fight a losing fight.
With a sharp intake of breath the mercenary drew back against the tree. A cyclone of pain, terror, and guilt reeled through him, and once more he regretted having dragged the noble horse into his hopeless quest, as necessary as his stalwart legs had proved.
Even now, while Vikrom's exposed pelt was glistening through the tree-top dappled moonlight from the drying rain, Absolon thought about how he should have brought along a blanket to warm him. But having left the village in such a hurry, in such a hazy state of mind, he hadn't really been able to think about such things. And every day it became more apparent how woefully underprepared for this vicious undertaking he really was.
At least the short rest had raised his spirits, if even just a bit. Despite that moment of looking into Vikrom's eyes, Absolon felt the warmth of positivity lifting its head once more within his chest. Just a little longer, and they would find it.
They had to.
Just a little more...
His rekindled energy must have poured into Vikrom, as the horse followed man in rising to his feet. Though his legs shook slightly at standing, as if to make up for the sign of weakness Vikrom lightly brayed in a singsong voice, tossing his head and forelegs proudly. He was ready to continue. Absolon had to smile at that.
And thus, despite the fact that dawn had not yet broken, the mercenary set about making preparations to depart. Replacing his brother's worn leather saddle on Vikrom's back, attaching the bags with their precious few belongings. Absolon also retrieved his metal breastplate from the ground, having taken it off in its heaviness to rest, thinking that the hauberk he had long worn would be enough in case of a surprise attack. Lastly he went for his sword, realizing the weapon had mimicked him in slumping towards the ground whilst he had slept, though the thickened mist obscured it, for a time.
Both plate and weapon had been given to him by his Master, on the day that he had given Absolon back his life.
And so, added with the frayed ribbon still nestled like a leaden weight inside his pocket, the three items made up the young man's greatest treasures.
Well, now including Vikrom. Though it was strange, just having the horse near felt like carrying on the spirit of his family. Of the hope he had captured for the poor, disgraced Levionaes when he had proudly, brashly, promised them to return their youngest daughter.
When he had been journeying back home, without his Master, it had been a long and lonely road, despite the bright dream that had lain before him at its end. Having the stallion along as a traveling companion sat much better with Absolon, despite his regret at having to push the horse so hard.
He secretly promised himself, just then, that he would do all in his power to keep Vikrom alive.
Even if the horse would have to return riderless to his brother.
With one last small sigh, thinking of the incessant ride ahead, Absolon holstered himself onto Vikrom's back. Though still having much to learn in the ways of proper horse handling, the time animal and rider had spent together meant that this once awkward motion was much more practiced and fluid, and he could make it atop in a single go.
But just as he was about to send the firm squeeze that would propel the readying Vikrom into action, something made Absolon freeze.
It was the sound of footfalls approaching.
Very heavy, fast-moving ones.
The mercenary was so dumbfounded by what came next that he couldn't even find it in himself to shout. With a low growl a gigantic beast the likes of which he had never seen sprang from out of the mist and darkness in attack.
Vikrom was faster than his rider to react, releasing his own terrified shriek as he reared up in panic and began to buck in an attempt to throw the creature off. Absolon, not used to horses as he was and taken completely by surprise, ended up being what was thrown off instead.
Hitting the ground he could feel a sharp pain echoing through his armor through the bone structure of his chest. Though as he fell, over the metallic rattling and the growling of the beast and the whining of the wretched horse he thought he could hear a somewhat faint human noise--- someone yelling.
But Absolon had no time to care. He hadn't spent years of training to let himself be caught so miserably unawares.
While his upper arm had luckily taken the brunt of the fall, unfortunately he had also landed upon his sword hilt, causing the wrenching pain in his side. But Absolon pushed through it, bringing himself to his feet as quickly as possible, if not a bit shaky, just as Vikrom had stood earlier. His body then went through the graceful, well-oiled mechanisms of pulling the sword from its hilt, the satisfying sound of metal scratching against metal ringing out through the once quiet forest and reminding him of the passing of his youth, endless days of skirmishes, of hearing that fulfilling sound over and over. Of being able to use such a sword in the service of someone else.
It had been a long while since he had needed to draw it.
Though Absolon prayed that his constant practicing meant that he had not lost his touch in wielding it.
Vikrom seemed to be injured badly, but was putting up a surprisingly strong fight against the monster. But as graceful and staunch an animal as his steed was, Absolon could tell that without swift intervention, he wasn't going to stand a chance. Whatever was attacking him was shorter than the horse and decorated in a luscious water-dampened pelt of orange and black stripes, under which powerful muscles shook. It looked like the sort of thing that would lurk around the Beast Kingdom, though Absolon had never been close enough to lay eyes on any of those reportedly dreadful creatures, and it made him wonder what such a one would be doing this close to the old border that had long ago separated human and Demon lines.
Still, none of these observations made the mercenary pause in his advanced, his eyes madly tracking the beast's movements to try and figure out the best place to strike. Its back, occupied on attacking Vikrom, was exposed. A well-placed jab into one of the shoulder blades would be enough to distract its attention from Vikrom, maybe give the horse a fighting chance to break away. After that...Absolon didn't know. He'd just have to be careful not to cut too deep, so as to lower the risk of his weapon getting stuck inside the monster.
But just as Absolon swiftened his movement, raising his arms up to deliver an overhand strike, he caught something moving through the corners of his sight.
He hadn't been imagining it earlier.
There...there was a human, there.
Or at least something that looked human.
This time the observation did distract the mercenary, and he hung frosted for a split second, sword hovering in the air, the quiet night also seemed caught in stasis far removed from the sickening pitches of the horse, the sounds of its defeat, and the soft patter of the dying rainfall upon the leaves.
He seemed to have dozed off, falling to his side on the forest floor which had left behind little imprints of leaves and gravel like kisses on his face. Wiping them away, he wondered how long he had been asleep, noting that the moonlight seemed dimmer as if the coquettish dancer was preparing to take her final bow. The rain had also slackened off, leaving for its memory a thick white blanket of mist lying over the detritus.
In all this Vikrom had finally also decided to take a rest. As Absolon turned to look at him, animal and mans' stares met, and the mercenary had the uncanny sensation that the dark eyes had continuously pierced him while he had slept. There was something peaceful and yet judgemental in that gaze, and in those bottomless eyes Absolon saw a brief reflection of his own soul.
The peace that comes from knowing you fight a losing fight.
With a sharp intake of breath the mercenary drew back against the tree. A cyclone of pain, terror, and guilt reeled through him, and once more he regretted having dragged the noble horse into his hopeless quest, as necessary as his stalwart legs had proved.
Even now, while Vikrom's exposed pelt was glistening through the tree-top dappled moonlight from the drying rain, Absolon thought about how he should have brought along a blanket to warm him. But having left the village in such a hurry, in such a hazy state of mind, he hadn't really been able to think about such things. And every day it became more apparent how woefully underprepared for this vicious undertaking he really was.
At least the short rest had raised his spirits, if even just a bit. Despite that moment of looking into Vikrom's eyes, Absolon felt the warmth of positivity lifting its head once more within his chest. Just a little longer, and they would find it.
They had to.
Just a little more...
His rekindled energy must have poured into Vikrom, as the horse followed man in rising to his feet. Though his legs shook slightly at standing, as if to make up for the sign of weakness Vikrom lightly brayed in a singsong voice, tossing his head and forelegs proudly. He was ready to continue. Absolon had to smile at that.
And thus, despite the fact that dawn had not yet broken, the mercenary set about making preparations to depart. Replacing his brother's worn leather saddle on Vikrom's back, attaching the bags with their precious few belongings. Absolon also retrieved his metal breastplate from the ground, having taken it off in its heaviness to rest, thinking that the hauberk he had long worn would be enough in case of a surprise attack. Lastly he went for his sword, realizing the weapon had mimicked him in slumping towards the ground whilst he had slept, though the thickened mist obscured it, for a time.
Both plate and weapon had been given to him by his Master, on the day that he had given Absolon back his life.
And so, added with the frayed ribbon still nestled like a leaden weight inside his pocket, the three items made up the young man's greatest treasures.
Well, now including Vikrom. Though it was strange, just having the horse near felt like carrying on the spirit of his family. Of the hope he had captured for the poor, disgraced Levionaes when he had proudly, brashly, promised them to return their youngest daughter.
When he had been journeying back home, without his Master, it had been a long and lonely road, despite the bright dream that had lain before him at its end. Having the stallion along as a traveling companion sat much better with Absolon, despite his regret at having to push the horse so hard.
He secretly promised himself, just then, that he would do all in his power to keep Vikrom alive.
Even if the horse would have to return riderless to his brother.
With one last small sigh, thinking of the incessant ride ahead, Absolon holstered himself onto Vikrom's back. Though still having much to learn in the ways of proper horse handling, the time animal and rider had spent together meant that this once awkward motion was much more practiced and fluid, and he could make it atop in a single go.
But just as he was about to send the firm squeeze that would propel the readying Vikrom into action, something made Absolon freeze.
It was the sound of footfalls approaching.
Very heavy, fast-moving ones.
The mercenary was so dumbfounded by what came next that he couldn't even find it in himself to shout. With a low growl a gigantic beast the likes of which he had never seen sprang from out of the mist and darkness in attack.
Vikrom was faster than his rider to react, releasing his own terrified shriek as he reared up in panic and began to buck in an attempt to throw the creature off. Absolon, not used to horses as he was and taken completely by surprise, ended up being what was thrown off instead.
Hitting the ground he could feel a sharp pain echoing through his armor through the bone structure of his chest. Though as he fell, over the metallic rattling and the growling of the beast and the whining of the wretched horse he thought he could hear a somewhat faint human noise--- someone yelling.
But Absolon had no time to care. He hadn't spent years of training to let himself be caught so miserably unawares.
While his upper arm had luckily taken the brunt of the fall, unfortunately he had also landed upon his sword hilt, causing the wrenching pain in his side. But Absolon pushed through it, bringing himself to his feet as quickly as possible, if not a bit shaky, just as Vikrom had stood earlier. His body then went through the graceful, well-oiled mechanisms of pulling the sword from its hilt, the satisfying sound of metal scratching against metal ringing out through the once quiet forest and reminding him of the passing of his youth, endless days of skirmishes, of hearing that fulfilling sound over and over. Of being able to use such a sword in the service of someone else.
It had been a long while since he had needed to draw it.
Though Absolon prayed that his constant practicing meant that he had not lost his touch in wielding it.
Vikrom seemed to be injured badly, but was putting up a surprisingly strong fight against the monster. But as graceful and staunch an animal as his steed was, Absolon could tell that without swift intervention, he wasn't going to stand a chance. Whatever was attacking him was shorter than the horse and decorated in a luscious water-dampened pelt of orange and black stripes, under which powerful muscles shook. It looked like the sort of thing that would lurk around the Beast Kingdom, though Absolon had never been close enough to lay eyes on any of those reportedly dreadful creatures, and it made him wonder what such a one would be doing this close to the old border that had long ago separated human and Demon lines.
Still, none of these observations made the mercenary pause in his advanced, his eyes madly tracking the beast's movements to try and figure out the best place to strike. Its back, occupied on attacking Vikrom, was exposed. A well-placed jab into one of the shoulder blades would be enough to distract its attention from Vikrom, maybe give the horse a fighting chance to break away. After that...Absolon didn't know. He'd just have to be careful not to cut too deep, so as to lower the risk of his weapon getting stuck inside the monster.
But just as Absolon swiftened his movement, raising his arms up to deliver an overhand strike, he caught something moving through the corners of his sight.
He hadn't been imagining it earlier.
There...there was a human, there.
Or at least something that looked human.
This time the observation did distract the mercenary, and he hung frosted for a split second, sword hovering in the air, the quiet night also seemed caught in stasis far removed from the sickening pitches of the horse, the sounds of its defeat, and the soft patter of the dying rainfall upon the leaves.
Last edited by a moderator:
Users who are viewing this thread
Similar threads
