journey of journeys
#1
Yeah, the first six paragraphs are mostly just thoughts. I have posts this long for her sitting down, so I might win SSWM next year Big Grin
You don't have to match this. I can't match this. I couldn't match a post matching this.


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Medusa crept through the barren remains of what was once lush, verdant forest. She knew that the brittle blackened things standing in the ground were once trees, were living things. She couldn't wrap her mind around it, couldn't get herself to believe they were anything but twisted statues, some perverted idea of a madman's tree. A low laugh escaped her maw. She knew the business of madmen. A dark thing stirred in her mind and chuckled with an oily tinge. The woman felt it slide down her spine and drift through her body as all functions within slowed down. Heart beat, breathing - simple things that he could force to stop - him, the Narrator. That presence who never failed to leave her, touching her mind in ways both blessed and cursing. 

She didn't want him to remain in her mind, had often considered taking a rock to her skull to cut a hole and force him out. At the same time, she knew it wouldn't work. Why, though, did he exist? The snake-god lover of the Zmija Kraljica shouldn't remain inside the mind of a mere mortal practitioner, especially one who had long since left the church. She still respected the goddess, though. She prayed to the Zmija Kraljica daily. 

Of course, Medusa remembered what they said in the fortress the church was based in. She heard their whispers, the rumors that floated in her constantly twitching ears. They said she was the earthly incarnation of the goddess, there to save her followers, her nest of snakelings. The mark was the Narrator, he was the Kraljica's consort, the lover to last her all eternity. 

The very male leader of the church had decided he was the living consort, so he had every right to Medusa, in the name of religion. She shuddered. No lover of hers, predestined, god, or earthly, would take what they wanted by force. Not would they be male. 

Medusa simply  couldn't be the goddess. She was supposed to have an eternal lover in a male. If the woman was really the Kraljica, then why would she be dangerously    close to falling in love with Ksenija, a female? Medusa had always been fond of the female form, finding soft curves enticing. A male was just terrifying for her. 

Besides, even if she did like men, she would have far better taste in them then the Kraljica did. The snake-god had often whispered chaotically to her, telling her to hurt, to kill. He had wanted her to slaughter her entire family with her bare hands. All the men, women and children of the clan ad Kathari would be mice to her mighty serpent. 

So she had left and was now in this land, kicking around dirt and bits of charred whatever. Her toes were beginning to acquire a dusting of coal, the muted gold becoming a dull grey. Her hands clutched at her cloak, holding the tattered purple silk tight around her body. She left the snakes at the camp she and Ksenija had set up. Medusa decided she wanted to be alone, without even the company of her beloved pets. 

She sneezed quietly and sat down, not wanting to kick around the dirt and scuffle about pitying herself. She found a stick and  began doodling nonsensical lines and shapes in the dirt before her. 


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#2
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(510)


Ithiel is by me!

Though Ithiel knew there had been no packs in the northlands previously and suspected it would be much the same, he knew he must venture into them at least partway to ascertain his suspicion. At least now the path through to the far side of the mountain was relatively clear. He could give Anathema a wide berth, drawing close to their borders only when comfortable doing so -- which was never, really. The previous pack which had also occupied the Halcyon Mountain had made close proximity to the border impossible, however, and Ithiel had not liked the feeling of being squeezed between two wolf packs.

In contrast to the thick forests of the south, the land here was scarred and craggy. The only plants were low, hardy scrub grasses -- post-fire opportunists, though Ithiel did not know this for certain. He had seen such plants far out west in his homeland, the types which grew virulently after fire bared the land to the dirt. He could not recall the source of this information, but he remembered a soldier or scout pointing out these plants to him on an expedition, and explaining their mechanism. Fire did not kill them -- on the contrary, fire triggered something within their biology. These plants needed fire to seed as the tree needs sunlight to grow. Ithiel had been fascinated with this, and it now surfaced from somewhere in the murkiness of memory as he surveyed the grasses that reminded him so much of home.

Outside of the grasses, though, there was a distinctive dustiness to the air here. Where the southerly land was obscured by fog, dirt and dust seemed to play the same role here. The horizon was barely visible through a green-gray haze Ithiel assumed to be dust. At least, it was in his best interest for it to be so -- if it was a storm, he might need to seek shelter, and such would be difficult to find here. Lystra was soured by this land -- she seemed to dislike the fire grasses, and had been sullen since their arrival in the lands beyond the mountain. In contrast, Zedekiah seemed like he belonged here -- at least, as far as Ithiel could tell from such a distance between himself and his bird.

Zedekiah dipped lower and lower, and a loud grunt drew Ithiel's arm reflexively up. The bird came to a rather messy landing, and Ithiel waved in the saddle a moment. Lystra snorted her displeasure, but kept on with her pace. The bird muttered something about a canine in the distance. Ithiel rewarded him, and with that, he was off and into the air again. The dusky coyote picked his horse up into a slow trot, and the big liver chestnut stomped her way across the dusty earth in the direction of the figure. Pale and striking against the gray-brown landscape, Ithiel saw her a good distance off, and began to slow his horse. There was no sense charging her -- she was alone, else Zedekiah would have warned of lurking friends.

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#3
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Medusa was not the best at drawing, not even close to it. The only forms of art she succeeded at were crafting and scarifications, like the one on her leg. But as she looked at the lines and shapes she had scribbled on the ground, she realized that they resembled the Russian woman she was so terribly fond of, Ksenija. With a quiet curse and a grumble, she swept dirt and ash over the lines and stomped. It would do her no good for the Narrator to see that, or for her to admit any emotions she wasn't sure of.

The woman sighed and brushed some of the dirt from her feet, turning it from the dull grey and brown to its former muted gold and lustrous glory. ’Your fur shines so beautifully, my sweet,’ the Narrator whispered. ’You deserve better than that… Woman,’ he added. From the start, the Narrator had been opposed to Medusa spending time with anyone other than him or Tijman. The name brought forth a shiver and a small cry of fear from the female’s lips, causing the Narrator to laugh darkly.

They both broke off when she saw a bird in the distance, looking even from so far away to be large and terrifying to Medusa. She was wary of most birds, especially large ones and eagles. A hand rose up to touch the raised and ugly marks where she once had an eye, wanting to blink and flinch but merely stretching the keloids. She followed the bird's path to what appeared to be an owner, a tall man on a horse. She couldn't tell much of his appearance from so far away -- the dusty haze didn't allow for that -- but she could tell that he would almost blend in the the surrounding landscape.

He was approaching her slowly, and Medusa clutched the tattered purple cloak around her tightly, hearing a small rip to tell her that it was in worse shape now than ever, not that it was a difficult thing to achieve. Her stick was clutched so tightly she could feel the bark digging into the pads on her hands, but she didn't let go. He was a stranger, he was a man. He had a huge bird. Everything about him seemed to speak to the small part of Medusa that recognized and embraced terror. He was her fear incarnate.



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#4
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(--)


Ithiel is by me!

The bird, wary of too much closeness with strangers, landed on an outcropping of bare rock nearby. He hunched down and continued murmuring, though nothing he said was intelligible to even Ithiel, who had trained his ears to hear what the animal said. The pale creature, wrapped in something resembling cloth, and holding a poor weapon, cringed and seemed afraid. The dusky hybrid therefore stopped his horse some distance away. The leather of his reins and gear creaked, but Ithiel was -- for a moment, anyway -- quiet. His horse, too, was quiet -- Lystra did not seem to be as concerned with the presence of women. Her demeanor was one of vague indifference.

Hello, he said, regarding her scarred face with his blood-colored eyes. You live nearby? His inquiry was one of strict business -- he did not inquire because he wanted to know anything about her, but it was easier to simply speak to a local and ascertain the population -- or lack thereof, in this case -- than it was to go cavorting all the way to the northlands. Surely one of the Anathema pack, or even one who frequented the burned northlands more often than Ithiel could give him the answer he sought. He sought to ignore her fear, neither acknowledging or attempting to increase it. Fear was useless, and fear might well make her run away -- though she could plainly see his steed, and might understand the futility of such actions.

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#5
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The bird landed away from her, far enough for her to relax slightly. Her grip on the stick loosened and she doodled a little again, attempting to force the nerves out of her system. At that moment, Medusa wished Ksenija was with her, or at least her snakes. A barely audible whine sneaked out of her throat before she silenced herself.

The Narrator scoffed at her fear even as she tried to calm herself. The Man on the horse, the terribly fearsome looking Man, had stopped the horse and he was quiet and ignored the stink of terror that crept off of her. She was glad for it, the Man ignoring her fear helped her believe there was nothing to be fearful of. Medusa's heart leaped in her chest to be able to be brave, even for just a moment.

Taking a deep breath as the Man spoke, Medusa smiled. Hello, she said quietly. I live near here, yes, in the pack Anathema. She liked to wander though, despite living in the pack. It helped to clear her mind and let her talk to the Narrator without anyone to listen. They often ended screaming matches, Medusa curled on the ground clutching her head shrieking at nothingness, always just empty air.

Medusa smiled vacantly, tucking a tangled knot of hair behind one ear. It was always good to look nice to someone who might become a friend, she decided. Even if the person in question was a Man with a frightening bird.


totally assuming she's in anathema by now because.


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#6
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(304)


Ithiel is by me!

Though the woman's terror was apparent, Ithiel still did not seek to appease it, instead awaiting for her answer -- or not, if she chose to bolt away. He would not pursue, but she could not know this. He'd ridden up on her, after all, and this was a threatening enough action for some -- but Ithiel did not need to fear whether he offended a lone woman of wolf-kind, truly. The dusky coyote might have even gotten a little enjoyment out of it, had he been slightly less disciplined in his indoctrination and slightly more sadistic in his execution of it. As it was, though, Ithiel was not the sort to enjoy such sadistic pleasures -- at least, not on this level, anyway.

The dust-colored hybrid nodded, thankful to hear such information. Although his last encounter with the pack was not positive, this pale woman was not the spindly greeter at the mountain pack's borders. I am Ithiel de le Poer, a scout of Inferni, he said. There are no packs this way north? Anathema is the last along the mountain? He dared not inquire on her pack -- and anyway, having already passed near enough to have a sniff of the pack's scent, he'd ascertained all he needed to know. I do not think hunting would be easy up here, but I seek to make sure.

He wasn't particularly keen on trusting the word of a wolf, but rather than spend an extra week on his scouting journey investigating a hostile land, he preferred to trust his instinct and the word of a stranger. The land, too, bore no signs of habitation -- there were many signs pointing toward what he suspected, and this might prove to be the final piece of evidence he needed to depart this wasteland.

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#7
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Medusa slowly felt herself calming down more and more, mainly due to the man's lack of movement towards her or any indication of violence he may commit. Her cloak slipped back from her shoulders as she sat up and let go of the edges. He introduced himself -- something she was not accustomed to. Most men ignored her or were her family. She nodded to him at his name. Ithiel. It was interesting.

I am Medusa. Medusa of the Kathari clan. she stated, the words coolly elegant and oddly formal from her maw. She was calm now, no more fear lingered around her except for the remaining wisps of scent from before. She tilted her head at the question he asked. A scout would have to know these things, she realized so the thought about it for a few long moments.

At one time, there was for to be a pack of sea-pirates up along shore to north. It did not work, they left. She thought harder, wanting to make the Man happy. Ithiel would appreciate all that she knew on this subject, she knew. Also there is a pack want for to be true wolfs, they not use two-legs much as four. North along I thinks. She didn't know exactly where the pack was, but had briefly entertained the notion of joining that pack, but had later decided on Anathema.

That was all she really knew, though, and she whined inaudibly again. Medusa hoped that Ithiel would understand that was all she had, so she shrugged. All I know is that. Not much, all I have. She truly hoped she had helped him, though. He kept the Narrator away, even briefly, and that was a godsend.


sorry this is so late. I am a bad person.


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#8
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332


Ithiel is by me!

Although Ithiel had never heard of the Kathari clan, her presumed surname, the dust-colored woman nodded his respect. de le Poer was a known surname, yet he only wished to distance himself from it -- it was only his father's legacy he cared about. And yet, there were others with this surname and his father's blood, and Ithiel had no way to ascertain whether they did good or ill for his family and his name. He did not say he was pleased to meet her, or offer anything towards her other than his cool gaze. His countenance was free of aggression, for though he did not like fraternizing with wolves, Ithiel recognized the value in this interaction and others with them. He simply did not care to pander to them as Myrika did -- placating with gifts when nothing was done for Inferni, for example, irked him in a way he had not expected.

His dark-tipped ears perked at her words, and his head tilted. Ithiel did not recognize the word "pirates," but he dismissed it as relatively unimportant. Wolves along the sea, or within the sea -- it was madness, but Ithiel did not speak so for want of avoiding offense with Medusa. The second pack he recognized and gave a stiff nod toward. I did not know this first thing you've told me. That is enough. Thank you, he added, disconcerted by the whine she'd given him. You have done good service to me, he said. Although perhaps a rumor, it was something he hadn't known -- and none other in Inferni, he thought, though was not certain.

With a hesitation that was custom to his halting manner of speech, Ithiel added, more slowly. Is there something I might provide in return? The question's flatness of tone, he hoped, would dissuade any unclean desires she might have. He was certain she had them, as a woman, and yet most were capable of controlling themselves remarkably well.

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#9
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She appreciated his nod of respect towards her clan name. Virtually no one knew of who she was or who the Kathari clan was, but he respected the name. That was a large part of her culture, the acknowledgement of a family. Her father was a respected man across their lands, a well-known glass-master. She had learned her craft from him, in fact. Slowly, she had come into her own as a glassblower and then decided to quit and go to the church. The woman knew it was the worst decision of her life.

She perked up when he said she had helped him. Ithiel seemed like a nice man, for... A Man. But in any case, he wasn't yelling at her, he wasn't trying to hurt her. He had even thanked her for her information! She grinned widely and goofily, her tongue lolling out briefly. She stopped that, preferring to not look ridiculous.

He asked flatly if he could do anything for her, his tone almost seeming to discourage her from requesting a favor. She didn't know why he would do that, as anything she would request would be nothing important -- keep the bird away from her, maybe, or give her a ride back to Anathema. Or a snake! But she didn't want to impose on him, so she shook her head. Unless you carry with you legless reptile, snake, then I have no requests of you Ithiel-friend. With her accent, the name was butchered, pronounced 'Itel'. She stood up and brushed off her cloak and smiled brightly at her new friend, then beginning to make her way back to Anathema.


doo you want to end it with your reply?


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#10
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--


Ithiel is by Raze!

And suddenly, happiness blossomed across the scarred woman's face. Disappointment and apprehension flooded Ithiel, for the only thing to unnerve him was the wanton woman. He was quite certain he'd inspired some kind of maddened lust in her and was preparing to make a hasty -- albeit still polite -- exit when she shook her head and spoke simply. A more perverse canine might have taken her words for metaphor -- and perhaps accepted such an offer, but Ithiel knew only the literal "snake." He, in turn, shook his head and frowned.

I haven't. Snakes are not so common here. Not as they had been in his homeland -- there were the smaller snakes, the little ones who subsisted on tiny mice and little things. The snakes he remembered from his homeland were poisonous rattlesnakes, hissing and shaking their threats through their tails. He shifted in his saddle, considering a moment before he spoke again. Do you know the lowland forests? The thick one, just below the mountain. There are many streams and creeks -- turn over the logs and rocks there, and perhaps you'll find a snake or two?

As a scout, this was the best he could offer her. Ithiel was ignorant of Freetown and what might be found there, else he might have recommended a southward trek to trade. As it was, though, the dusky-hued hybrid thought only of the natural places where Medusa might encounter a snake, and thus sought to provide information for her in turn, as she had done with these burned and dead lands.

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#11
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A look of almost fear had crossed her friend's face for a moment before his expression resumed blankness. She giggled quietly at his expression as she left. However, as he began to speak again, she stopped and listened. A place to find more reptilian babies? She smiled brightly, a big grin on her scarred face.

She knew of the forests, had approached Anathema from those very forests, but hadn't thought to turn over logs to find more snakes. She'd never had to look for her own, as they came when she called for them, able to feel the vibrations and recognize them as her voice. Her blessed Armani and Eszter could have little friends? She clapped her hands together gaily and laughed again. I come from forests to Anathema, she said, but did not think for to find snakes there!

A damp breeze blew and she realized that in the forests not brittle-burnt, the leaves were turning colors and not green. Her grin widened as she realized that the snakes would be most active now, getting fat for a winter sleep. Ithiel-friend, you are much help! Thank you thank you! Blagoslovi! she cried. She would have run to hug him in thanks but he was still mounted on his horse, so she restrained herself.

She clapped her hands again and looked at him, her eye shining in happiness. I go home and tell mate! She be so happy my friend tell me where find snakes! She picked up her stick again and quickly scribbled out some Serbian words, thinking of new names for her snakes, then stamped on the dirt. She'd know what to name them when she found them!


WELL I GUESS NOT ;;


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#12
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-- WHOOPS. Um. XD I didn't even notice you had OOC text on that table. :CCCCC We can end it here! Archive whenever. SORRY. D:


Ithiel is by me!

Ithiel did not expect snakes to inspire such joy in the woman -- but it was good to look upon, all the same. He was discomforted by the vague feeling of pleasedness in having given her this information and thus her happiness. She was a wolf, and a wolf of a pack -- he ought not to have any positive feelings at all. Dead neutrality or negativity were his aim, yet he skirted this line time and time again, knowingly and unknowingly.

Good luck in finding them, he said, disconcerted again to hear she had a mate. Perhaps that was the cause of her lack of wantonness -- a strong man was the cure for such behavior, he thought. The dust-colored hybrid was quiet a moment and decided it might be best to depart then. He did so with a dip of his head a turn of his horse. Farewell, he added, finding it awkward to leave off there. She was nice, after all, and not so bad a wolf or a woman as they went.

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