echoed silhouettes deliver to an early dream

POSTED: Mon Jul 11, 2016 11:52 pm

(300) Dated for the morning after this thread.

She washed her hands of the Mongolian woman's blood in the river and drank; she gorged herself on rainwater until she felt as if she might burst and then dreamed; she dreamed of blood and smoke and slept peacefully through the rest of the evening, sprawled beneath a great pine.

While she slept, her scalp bled — head wounds bled a lot, she found — and upon waking, a red line of blood marked her face. Washing again in the dark before dawn, the young luperci gingerly touched the place where the slave had managed to graze her with an arrow. It was clotted and dry; flaky where she rubbed at it, so she stopped and dusted her hands off.

Assessment of her health complete, she took stock of what she had, which was limited. The Cleric's gift to her remained about her neck, a pendant of the Khalif's symbol for their bow goddess, the moon phase necklace that reminded her of a home she had not yet seen, and the small horn earrings in her ears. The rest, she hadn't intended to wear to the Supper — they were all pomp and circumstance anyway, and she did not see the point of standing upon another's shoulders — and therefore she was missing nothing.

Within the Throne Room, in a small chest that smelled deeply of sandalwood and warm, exotic lands, existed a painted scarf, a vivid blood orange and sky blue in coloration.

She enjoyed the way those two colors looked together, but abhorred how bright it was, and so wore it seldom if at all. One day, her mother said sometimes, you will enjoy the patronage of your elders. Indra doubted this very much, but said nothing, as was customary. She was not terribly fond of being given things simply for the sake of it, but rather, she enjoyed taking things, earning things.

Leaving the waterlogged bank, her open palms skirted the tops of cat o' nine tails until there were no more marsh plants to touch. This pattern continued with everything she encountered until the apple orchard rose beyond a hill and she frowned, perplexed by her own aimless wanderings, perturbed by the presence of bees.

Salsola
The Tradesman (NPC)
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Lorraine
Luperci Milite The Stag is Reborn
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bad blood
archimedes' lever

POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 12:24 am

úlfhéðinn

The Orchard was just a stone's throw from the house he'd built himself and so it was a popular haunt for the bear of a man. Most of the time he sat out to watch the birds and bees fly among the trees, picking apples for himself every once in a while so as to not hog them all by himself. Most of the Family lived south on the coast, inside the ruins of the village and stone structures.

However, Urho liked to devote himself to his practices, not to mention wanted to finish building the home he set for himself out in the center of the pack lands. It felt like home more than anything and he was damn proud of it.

Today, he took a break from his work to enjoy himself with his bow in the orchard. The ground was starting to become littered with apples pierced with arrows, already ripened to the point where they would start to decay and fall off if not picked. Around him, Sten munched on the fallen apples, intent on claiming some snacks for himself. The hefty Percheron wasn't ridden as much as many of the other horses of Salsola, but Urho was starting to get the hang of riding somewhat ‐ even if some of the children in the pack still rode better than him.

Thud.

Another apple fell with an embedded arrow, Urho picking it up and ripping it in half to pluck his arrow from the core. He turned around, gnawing at one of the halves with his teeth before spotting a figure heading towards the Orchard, one that was familiar but he hadn't seen in quite some time. His grin turned wide, leaking some of the chewed apple before licking it up and swallowing. "Pieni!" he smiled with a greeting tone, before correcting himself. "Well, not so pieni anymore, huh?" He took another crisp chomp of the apple, speaking again with his mouth full. "I didn't see you at the Last Supper with your family." It was more of an observation than an accusation of anything — he knew she was the daughter of the Lord Commander and granddaughter of the Boss, so she was likely going to get away with a lot. At least, that was his experience with these sort of situations.

Loading another arrow, he took aim at a particularly rotten apple on the tree. "I hope you still had fun..." he continued, releasing the arrow. "...doing... mitä se on, että olit jopa."

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POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 12:42 am

(300)

L'uomo orso, She recalled, having vague memories of one such man as this from her moments of earliest recollection. Her mother had laughed at the time, but there was some truth to the odd-eyed girl's description of him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and more muscular than any luperci she'd ever seen... even her great-Uncle, Basilaris, who was a monstrosity for other reasons.

Indra had changed drastically in the months since the bear man had come to visit, but he hadn't changed at all. Her thoughts escaped every time she considered opening her mouth to say something, to show that she was friendly too, and so she temporized, deciding that saying nothing was better than the wrong thing. He spoke of the Last Supper, however, and her mismatched gaze met his luminous gold eyes daringly, unafraid of jests or reprimands.

She owned every action, every decision.

a slave escaped. Or, would have, had she not intervened. What she hadn't told her mother last night was that she'd weighed every option, considered every avenue until arriving at dead ends. For the time being, she wasn't strong enough to force anyone so strong as the deceased archer anywhere they didn't want to be... and so her choice had been obvious. Nergui knew things, things that Outsiders would like to know.

She knew how many lived in the Ruins, how many horses they kept in the stables. This information alone was priceless, though she was certain that the Mongol would have accepted just enough to get her away from this place. These were things she understood, but did not take into consideration when making the choice to kill. Tilting her head, she showed the over-tall man her scabbed-over wound.

I thought that was more important, the gesture said, but her eyes were bright.

Is that your horse?

Salsola
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Lorraine
Luperci Milite The Stag is Reborn
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POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 1:00 am

úlfhéðinn

His grin grew even wider at her response, remembering her observation of him as a child. He still didn't know what the words meant, but he sure did remember her saying them, as well as the reaction of her mother. "That's right," he nodded. She was still a very quiet girl, with her sister being much more talkative, despite seeing her even less than the girl in front of him. Still, it paid to see the investment of the weapons he'd made for the sisters at the request of the Equinest, even if they'd outgrown the weapons by now. He wondered whether they kept an interest in those weapons or maybe found something new that caught their eyes. Still, he was there to satisfy any weaponry needs they had — after all, that was his life's passion, was it not? Besides food, anyway.

Indra gave her reasoning for being absent, to which Urho raised a brow. "Oh? I suppose if you had duties to attend to. That does not sound as fun." Maybe Indra was the dutiful type nowadays, though Urho couldn't say he was that dutiful when it came to good food to be eaten. "I trust that situation has been solved." Urho was not someone to strike another down without a reason like self defense, but he was the more forgiving sort compared to many in the Thistle Kingdom.

Once he saw the scabbed wound on the smaller girl's head, he gave a slightly concerned look before the subject was immediately changed. "Oh!" he gasped slightly, nearly forgetting about the pudgy horse. "Yes it is! In fact, your mother was the one that got him for me." He grinned again at the thought, his eyes squinting with the smile as they normally did. He was still plenty thankful for Osrath doing that, even if he paid her back for it. He walked over to the horse and patted it on the neck, causing the Percheron to raise its head and look at him with a mouth full of apples. "His name is Sten. He's still in training when it comes to riding — as am I, but we'll get there eventually."

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POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 1:19 am

(300)

Solved, yes. Agreed the youth, nodding curtly. There was no longer a woman running headlong for the borders with a head full of secrets and numbers that she had no right to share, but new problems sprung forth from that well. A disappointed parent remained, and there was nothing she could — or would — do to remediate the issue. Utterly unapologetic, the stagchild would wait and see what unfolded; surely something would happen, as things so often did when you acted.

Equal and opposite reactions, she thought.

Indra watched the horse’s ungainly movements with the shuttered gaze of a predator, the blossoming knowledge of a young hunter causing her eyes to touch upon the places where the animal was most susceptible to harm.

Jarred from these thoughts by the foreign man’s accented words, she nodded approvingly, as if needing encouragement.

He seems friendly. Commented the Associate without enthusiasm, noting only that the horse’s temperament seemed to match the burly Confidant’s. In an absent manner, she wondered if this had been a conscious decision on her mother’s part, and decided that it must have been. Watching the stallion crane his head down toward another fallen apple, she imagined that the slack-jawed chewing might also resemble his master’s.

If he lacks training, She began, brows slanting. I’m sure the Equinist could work with him. Something about the way she said this distanced their blood relation to each other, for a ravine twice as deep as the Ediling had opened up between them, but it would be foolish to assume that it was one single event that’d caused this rift.

Her decision to give her grandmother nothing in response to her riddle had begun it, followed by the secret shared between sisters.

Did you enjoy the Supper? She asked unobtrusively, folding her arms into the small of her back.

Salsola
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Lorraine
Luperci Milite The Stag is Reborn
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POSTED: Tue Jul 12, 2016 1:38 am

úlfhéðinn

"I would hope he's friendly," the Finn laughed. "I had mentioned to Osrath before that my family and I are... 'cursed', in way, with animals." It was a joke more than anything, even if it rang unbearably true in some cases. "No one in my family ever really rode a horse, save for some of my smaller, female cousins, but they were less gifted and more physically able compared to the rest." He slapped his belly with a laugh. "There were not many large horses like him, if any horses at all, so it never became a thing. To be honest, I'm more scared of horses than they are of me."

The offer of seeing the Equinest for training was met with a nod from him. "Oh of course, I've already spoken with her about that. I'd be utterly incompetent if it weren't for her help." He hadn't even noticed the way she regarded her own mother in the midst of his talking, but that wasn't all that unusual for him once he started talking. Urho seemed to speak plenty for the both of them in the end.

"Did I?" he grinned once more when the topic turned back to the feast, his full set of teeth showing with his excitement. "Well, of course! How could a man like me pass up such an event?" His voice boomed in a guffaw, not even eliciting a reaction from Sten next to him, in a true testament of his steady nature. "It was unlike anything I have seen before. I certainly look forward to more of them in the future." He didn't say much about the presence of slaves, which was still an aspect of the Thistle Kingdom he wasn't used to, but it would be incriminating for him to say anything of it. After all, most of the elite within the Family owned their own slaves.

"It was a good break from all the work I've been doing, too. Swords don't make themselves, you know!" Swords, axes, daggers — pretty much anything he could think of was something he had been drawing up and working on as of late. The scrap metal he'd collected made a few good daggers, but he was still looking for better metal to make some solid creations.

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POSTED: Thu Jul 21, 2016 3:37 am

(300)

You believe in curses, Urho? Investigated the youth before momentarily lapsing into a pensive state. Her father spoke of the Revlis sometimes, but not with words so concrete as to summon thoughts of malediction.

Time and again she brought herself to the brink of contemplating religion as a whole, and every time she returned from her inward thoughts without so much as a sliver of knowledge gleaned. She saw power in the mystical forces their pious members looked to for aid, but saw more in those who claimed an ability to harness it, or at the very least channel it. Belief was powerful only for the recipient; it made fools of the ordinary.

And still she dreamed of places she had never seen, played with a brother believed to be dead and buried.

She had never imagined that swords would make themselves, but she'd never given much thought to how they were made or who might dedicate their lives to such pursuits. In mentioning his trade, however, he opened up more interest in the Revlis than she'd felt since waking by the river. She wandered too often, or so her mother claimed, and yet if she had not... well.

I did not know you made weapons, Or perhaps she had, once, and forgotten. Much of her time in the last few months had been spent lurching about, drunk on her growing independence. Had the girls' youth ceremonies gone as expected, they may have begun looking for homes outside the castle, though this seemed increasingly unlikely, now.

have you seen the Boreas spoils? She inquired, an uncommonly neutral expression sliding into place across her face. They are très magnifique.

Corinne said this often when invited to speak of her homeland, and so Indra had taken it for herself, using the woman's vigorous excitement as an example.

Salsola
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Lorraine
Luperci Milite The Stag is Reborn
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bad blood
archimedes' lever

POSTED: Thu Aug 11, 2016 12:07 am

úlfhéðinn

You believe in curses, Urho?

The thought almost had him chuckling — except he had given a real curse some thought when it came to his family. Not particularly, he grinned. My family jokes about curses for the most part, even if some of them are quite religious and take the idea more seriously than others. Even then, it was a rare thing, for a Rask to be scared of a simple curse. Mysticism and religion were strong factors in Salsola, however, and Urho was more careful to accept it than openly joke in front of others.

It was still odd to find others who had not heard about his weapon-making yet, but Urho had to remember that there were quite a few members of the Thistle Kingdom whom he had not spoken with privately. He met a few of them at the Supper, but that was a fleeting moment between stuffing his mouth full of food and wine. Now you do! he laughed. I am slowly spreading the word so the others know they have someone to go to when they need something done.

Indra spoke of the Boreas Spoils, something that came of a war Salsola had long ago, before Urho was even born. I have, he replied with a squinted grin, pleased to have a conversation about his specialty. They're interesting as a piece of history, though I doubt I'll ever use them over any weapons I've made myself. This felt more like a respect issue than a quality issue, but Urho was also a picky man when it came to things he would bet his life on.

Still, it was very interesting to see something from the past. Salsola has been around for quite a long time compared to you or me. Even Urho would be considered an old man compared to the much younger Indra, but he was still young yet compared to many others within the Family.

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