05-30-2010, 12:55 PM
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Sitting on the edge of the stream Mkhai cleaned his blades, ensuring the bone-knives were devoid of any blood or decaying matter caught in the intricate designs he’d slowly begun to carve into the handles. They were incomplete, but they were his prize for the time being, belonging to a monster native to a land half a world away that invoked instinctual terror into those of his kind. Tiny and delicate, the smaller canines were easily killed by the African lion, though they were vicious in numbers and audacious to the point of suicide. Jackals were not above defending their scavenged prey from lions and hyenas, though the far more powerful beasts could easily tear them apart within seconds. Now, they were the royalty within Alexandria in the far north of Egypt, having gained the ability to shift into monsters of their own sort, bearing weapons and rocks and bodies built to outsmart and overcome. It would be the lion now that feared the tiny jackal, as the lions once feared the human tribes of the Maasai, learning inherently to fear the tall men in their blood-red robes that walked so elegantly and fearlessly across the savannah.
Something moved at the edge of his vision, and immediately his head turned—his blade already half raised into a defensive position. But it was nothing more than a young bird—a mangy, mottled gray and black chick with bulging eyes and an awkward, gangly form. It hopped toward him, tilting its head and parting its grotesquely disproportionate beak to utter a series of shrill cheeping sounds. The fearlessness of the bird astounded him, for within an instant he could crush the small animal beneath his hand, shattering its tiny, fragile bones and smearing its entrails across the ground. Either it was too stupid to realize this, or it simply didn’t care. Either way, it hopped closer, peering up at him with beady eyes and parting its mouth to utter another series of peeps. He picked it up, allowing the tiny clawed feet to rest on the palm of his hand and the other to cup its form, ensuring it wouldn’t tumble from his grasp. It looked right back at him, nibbling gently on his finger as though hoping to find some insect hidden there.
Suddenly, a scent reached his nose and he shoved the bird into his bag without thinking, intending to explore its being later. He removed his bag to keep it from cheeping and giving away his presence before he slunk along the stream, searching for the source. Within minutes he saw a fiery-pelted woman, with peculiar markings that lured his eyes to follow them as though they held a life of their own. Elegant, she held herself in a manner that reminded him of home, and he almost smiled. How long it’d been since he’d seen another not feral and animalistic as those that resided here. “It’s almost like fire. With a coat like that you simply cannot be related to the common trash that frequents this area,” he said aloud, addressing the strange woman.
He may have been a fallen prince, thrown from his kingdom like a banished heretic, but that didn’t mean that he would hold himself below his standard, simply gawking at the woman from the shadows like a commoner rather than addressing her as an equal—for in his eyes, she was surely that and nothing would convince him otherwise. He held himself tall, his movements fluid and serpentine, eternally elegant with a coy half smiled aimed at the female as he moved closer, allowing himself a better view of the woman.
Sitting on the edge of the stream Mkhai cleaned his blades, ensuring the bone-knives were devoid of any blood or decaying matter caught in the intricate designs he’d slowly begun to carve into the handles. They were incomplete, but they were his prize for the time being, belonging to a monster native to a land half a world away that invoked instinctual terror into those of his kind. Tiny and delicate, the smaller canines were easily killed by the African lion, though they were vicious in numbers and audacious to the point of suicide. Jackals were not above defending their scavenged prey from lions and hyenas, though the far more powerful beasts could easily tear them apart within seconds. Now, they were the royalty within Alexandria in the far north of Egypt, having gained the ability to shift into monsters of their own sort, bearing weapons and rocks and bodies built to outsmart and overcome. It would be the lion now that feared the tiny jackal, as the lions once feared the human tribes of the Maasai, learning inherently to fear the tall men in their blood-red robes that walked so elegantly and fearlessly across the savannah.
Something moved at the edge of his vision, and immediately his head turned—his blade already half raised into a defensive position. But it was nothing more than a young bird—a mangy, mottled gray and black chick with bulging eyes and an awkward, gangly form. It hopped toward him, tilting its head and parting its grotesquely disproportionate beak to utter a series of shrill cheeping sounds. The fearlessness of the bird astounded him, for within an instant he could crush the small animal beneath his hand, shattering its tiny, fragile bones and smearing its entrails across the ground. Either it was too stupid to realize this, or it simply didn’t care. Either way, it hopped closer, peering up at him with beady eyes and parting its mouth to utter another series of peeps. He picked it up, allowing the tiny clawed feet to rest on the palm of his hand and the other to cup its form, ensuring it wouldn’t tumble from his grasp. It looked right back at him, nibbling gently on his finger as though hoping to find some insect hidden there.
Suddenly, a scent reached his nose and he shoved the bird into his bag without thinking, intending to explore its being later. He removed his bag to keep it from cheeping and giving away his presence before he slunk along the stream, searching for the source. Within minutes he saw a fiery-pelted woman, with peculiar markings that lured his eyes to follow them as though they held a life of their own. Elegant, she held herself in a manner that reminded him of home, and he almost smiled. How long it’d been since he’d seen another not feral and animalistic as those that resided here. “It’s almost like fire. With a coat like that you simply cannot be related to the common trash that frequents this area,” he said aloud, addressing the strange woman.
He may have been a fallen prince, thrown from his kingdom like a banished heretic, but that didn’t mean that he would hold himself below his standard, simply gawking at the woman from the shadows like a commoner rather than addressing her as an equal—for in his eyes, she was surely that and nothing would convince him otherwise. He held himself tall, his movements fluid and serpentine, eternally elegant with a coy half smiled aimed at the female as he moved closer, allowing himself a better view of the woman.