On a leash, a student III (Graded)

88th Ashan, 710

This is a forum where you can write threads in the wilderness of the Eastern Continent.
User avatar
Pharan
Approved Character
Posts: 103
Joined: Sun Jan 20, 2019 11:41 am
Race: Avriel
Profession: Diplomatic Aide
Renown: 15
Character Sheet
Character Wiki
Templates
Wealth Tier: Tier 5

Contribution

Milestones

Miscellaneous

On a leash, a student III (Graded)

Image
88th Ashan, 710
M
orning had broken damp and gray, and with a chill unusual so late in the season. Mist filled the creaks and hollows between high council trees and twisted mangroves. Somewhere, an ape hollered its morning-call to a hidden mate. The air hummed. The droning of cicadae mixed with chirrup of crepuscular birds and the cries of beasts too elusive to make a show of themselves.

At the lower end of a narrow ravine, Pharan pushed to his feet. An owl-monkey, startled by his sudden movement, bickered at him in its shrieking voice, then scampered of into the underbrush. The Avriel stretched, the jungle’s heady breath moist against his skin and plumage. Tentatively, he spread his wings and drew a sharp breath. His whole body ached from his latest misadventures, the long time he had been bound and grounded. He knew he had been lucky. Neither of his latest falls had done any serious damage. Not that it helped his mood. There was something distinctly undignified about a bird that couldn’t haul itself into the air anymore. With a hiss, he beat first one wing, then the other. Shreds of mist rose around him like dust-devils.

A sound to the side drew his attention. His wings flared wide open as he pushed himself to his full height—but it was only Praxes who had come down the trail. The Ithecal cast him an odd look Pharan answered with a glower before sinking back down on his heels. The hunter’s ability to appear at his side without warning unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Praxes lifted his hands, all but two fingers outstretched. Eight. Pharan nodded his understanding. His eyes trailed up the gorge that cut into the slope as if someone had thrust a knife into the red earth and pulled, parting rock and vegetation both; and back to the other man. The Ithecal wore his light leather armor. Not for the first time, Pharan wondered if the beast-man even needed it— punching him would be like punching a crocodile or a large lizard. Not that he thought about it.

Ignorant to his musings, Praxes cast him an expectant look. With a sigh, Pharan turned.

The moss-covered walls of the ravine turned into a blur of green and gray as he bound down the remainder of the slope winding its way valley-wards. Cool wind rasped against the underside of his wings, but it was only when the path suddenly dropped beneath him, he had gained the momentum to climb upwards. Vines and thin branches whipped his shoulders. A flock of birds, disturbed by his swerve flight, cried havoc as they rose from their nests. They broke the ever-green canopy of century-old jungle trees at the same time. For a moment, their fragile bodies surrounded him like golden motes, then they dropped away

Freed of the trees’ oppressive weight, Pharan took a deep breath. In the east, the sky had begun to pale. The dawn was a gash of crimson along the horizon, bleeding red on the ocean below. He didn’t linger. He dipped one wing, circling around the chasm below, the rift a vague suggestion between trees. Pharan looked ahead.

To the north, the jungle gave way to a sea of tall, emerald grass. The shredded body of a river wound around the lower end of the meadow, but it was the eight figures breaking the waves of vegetation near the upper end of the ravine that caught Pharan’s attention. He crooked his wings to angle closer. One of the figures, a young buck, lifted its head. It was a small, hardy beast, all lean muscle and legs. The deer’s ears twitched in acknowledgment of his presence.

Now just do me the favor and run, Pharan thought as pulled his wings. Run!

His controlled descend became a plunge. His innards lurched with vertigo. Below, the herd scattered. All but the young buck, which had turned to charge.

Pharan spread his wings, rolled to the side. The heels of his boots connected with an antler. The splayed tips of his wings brushed long grass before he managed to propel himself upward once more, away from his cervine adversary. Again, the buck rose on his hind legs, this time only piercing the air. Pharan cursed.

Around them, most deer had fled towards the river.

With a feeling of desperation, he searched the glade. There. At the mouth of the gorge. Wide-eyed and nervous, a single hind pranced back and forth some thirty feet from him. With a bellowing shriek, Pharan sent her running down the slope. Half-flying, half-running, he followed.

Boulders slick with moisture rose to the sides. Low hanging branches and vines bared their passage, but he pushed them aside as he hurried after the escaping beast, if only to make sure it didn’t stop.

There was nowhere else it could have gone.

Something knocked him in the side. As he fell, Pharan expected to see the buck again. It was a branch the length of a man’s arm, protruding from the strip of fern that had hidden it. Somewhere below, he heard a sudden commotion, followed by Praxes triumphant voice.

With a grunt, he dropped back into the dirt.
word count: 892
| Skills used (0)
    | Knowledges being claimed (0)
      | Loot (0)
        | Losses (0)
          Injuries (0)
            Hide the claims summary
            User avatar
            Pharan
            Approved Character
            Posts: 103
            Joined: Sun Jan 20, 2019 11:41 am
            Race: Avriel
            Profession: Diplomatic Aide
            Renown: 15
            Character Sheet
            Character Wiki
            Templates
            Wealth Tier: Tier 5

            Contribution

            Milestones

            Miscellaneous

            Re: On a leash, a student III

            T
            he sternum gave way with a dry crunch and a gruesome smack that threatened to turn Pharan’s stomach. Praxes hummed to himself as he wretched the ribs apart, one hand deep in the beast’s chest.

            “See? And now ye can cut here—and here—and the membrane here… an’ if ye were careful and did no puncture anything ye can just grab it at the windpipe like so and pull it all the way back out.” The Ithecal grunted, tearing at the offal. “Might want to take a closer look,” he offered.

            “I am… seeing,” Pharan said, without looking over. The stink of blood filled the clearing, drenching the jungle soil a deeper red. Hunger and disgust both crowded his mind. For a moment he had to fight to keep his hands from shaking.

            “Sometimes I wonder how ye survived so long on ye own,” Praxes said as he dragged the innards towards the bushes and a hole he had dug there. Something about not attracting wild animals to the campsite, but Pharan had only half listened when the other man explained it.

            He looked down at his hands. The images of a rabbit flashed before his eyes, the tiny body white against the snow. The moon, hanging round and full overhead, cast the landscape in sharp contrasts of light and shadow. A cool wind touched his face, brushed along the underside of his wings. Somewhere, an owl cried. The ground rushed close. Warmth spread over his fingers as bones crunched beneath his weight. The rich metal taste of death filled his mouth and nostrils. He looked down…

            “Ye even listening?”, the other man’s voice cut through his daydream.

            “There taverns,” Pharan offered laconic, his smile thin. “No need for hunting.”

            “Aye, can remember how that last tavern trip went for ye,” Praxes grunted as he stepped around the carcass to hoister it up. Pharan cast him a dark look.

            “My da used to say that if ye have the chance to learn something new… do it.” He hauled the deer up the next tree with a rope. “Does no mean ye have to use what ye learned, eh? But if ye ever come into a situation where ye do need it… well, it’s better ye know.”

            “Situation where properly skin deer or be trouble?”, Pharan asked dryly.

            “A situation, where I have to properly skin a deer, or I am in trouble,” Praxes corrected. “Knowing how to use a sword doesn’t mean ye want to chib someone—”, he tied off the rope and gave the deer a pat on the back. “But if someone wants ta chib ye, it doesn’t hurt neither if ye do know how to defend yourself, aye?”

            “Or just waste time if it happens never,” Pharan said, eyes on the strung-up beast. The harsh midtrial sunburned in his eyes, but he refused to blink. A butterfly the size of his palm settled on the deer’s right hind leg in a flurry of gold and orange. It began to lick at the drying blood, lending a grotesque beauty to the scene.

            The Ithecal eyed him. “It’s not like ye are doing much right now…,” he observed, slapping at the insect with a broad hand.

            Pharan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He spread his fingers in a sign of quiet defeat as Praxes began to work the carcass with his knife. A group of juvenile macaques, formerly dozing high up on the treetops, raised their voices in an excited chorus as if cheering him on. Below, among the fig-strangled and moss-covered trunks of ancient trees, a gaunt figure did the inventory of nature’s lesser wonders. Leaves were turned, insects inspected and sometimes a plant found itself flattened between the pages of a heavy tome that appeared to have been dragged along just for that purpose. After half a season, Pharan had still not quite figured out the woman who considered herself, at least nominally, he suspected, his master.

            For a trill, sunlight reflected green and blue of the curved dagger hanging from her hip. Pharan leaned forward. It was only belatedly he noticed Praxes’ litany on the finer points of skinning a deer had come to a halt. When he turned around he found the man watching him. Pharan lifted his chin.

            “How long you been working together…?”, he asked to break the spreading silence than because he cared. It was moments like these when he wondered if the hunter wasn’t far more clever and observant than his beastly appearance suggested.

            Praxes shifted around to the deer. “With the lass?”, he asked. “About four arcs. Maybe five. Met her when she was just a little less green than ye.”

            In the shadow of the mangled council tree he had picked to nurse his wounds (and pride), Pharan scowl to himself. “What does she want? Of me?”, he asked, finally. Before his eyes, flesh was parted from skin by a skilled hand and the occasional good tug.

            “Why don’t ye ask her?”

            “She doesn’t talk”, Pharan said, crossing his arms.

            “Ah, aye. She likes to watch. Tis just how she is—clever that one,” Praxes said as he pried the skin away in one piece to show it to his frowning spectator. “Thought about asking her?”

            “No,” Pharan said truthfully, eyes on the blue woman scouring the distant undergrowth.

            “Might want to reconsider, then.”
            word count: 913
            | Skills used (0)
              | Knowledges being claimed (0)
                | Loot (0)
                  | Losses (0)
                    Injuries (0)
                      Hide the claims summary
                      User avatar
                      Strange
                      Prophet of Old
                      Posts: 1105
                      Joined: Wed Mar 27, 2019 1:43 pm
                      Race: Undead (Ghost)
                      Renown: 999
                      Character Sheet
                      Templates
                      Point Bank Thread
                      Wealth Tier: Tier 1

                      Contribution

                      Milestones

                      RP Medals

                      Staff

                      Re: On a leash, a student III


                      Image
                      Thread Review
                      Pharan
                      Skill Points: +10 (cannot be used for magic)
                      Magic XP: None.

                      Renown: None.

                      Injuries/Overstepping: None.
                      Wealth Points: None.
                      Loot: None.

                      Skill Knowledges:
                      • Flying: Taking a running start
                      • Flying: Gets harder with lack of practice
                      • Hunting: Flushing game for someone else
                      • Fieldcraft: How to field-dress a kill
                      • Fieldcraft: How to skin a deer
                      • Fieldcraft: Dispose waste so it doesn’t attract predators
                      Non-Skill Knowledges:
                      • none requested.
                      Notes: n/a.

                      Such an odd team, an Avriel and an Ithecal... in a way, they suit each other though. Poor Pharan having to struggle with flying like he is. Beautifully written, the description of the wildlife and the jungle were immersive and set the scene well. I'm curious about whether he'll ask the woman, and if/when he does, how she might respond... an interesting mystery.

                      Great job and enjoy your rewards!

                      PM me if you have any questions, issues or concerns.

                      Total Word Count: 1,833 words.
                      Review Request Link: viewtopic.php?p=116337#p116337
                      stampcodehere

                      word count: 172
                      | Skills used (0)
                        | Knowledges being claimed (0)
                          | Loot (0)
                            | Losses (0)
                              Injuries (0)
                                Hide the claims summary
                                Post Reply Request an XP Review Claim Wealth Thread

                                Return to “Eastern Plains”