Flashback Frogs, Monkeys And Probing Questions

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Frogs, Monkeys And Probing Questions

Postby Razkar on December 14th, 2013, 6:43 pm

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35th of Summer, 508AV
Village of the Shorn Skulls
11th Bell


"And what do you think gives you this right... boy?"

The last word was like a dagger thrust to the young male kneeling before the War Mistress. Seat next to her, Draksyl's lips spasmed for a moment as he crushed a sneer, but the youth ignored it. Surrounded by the bones and trophies of his family, both parents and his uncle arrayed before him in doubting scrutiny, he wasn't in any position to take anything.

Which was why he was trying to ask.

"My steel pierced the beast." His words were slow and measured, as if he'd rehearsed them (which he had). "My ax on its leg and my gladius through its back. Twas a mortal wound, mother."

"Mortal does not equate to dead in the whirl of battle, boy,"
Yurta rumbled back, eyes flinty and unforgiving, even and especially to her own son. "Draksyl reports that you were a breath away from her jaws before the rest of the fang saved you. That is what happened, correct?"

Razkar's jaw tightened but he dared not show any more displeasure. Draksyl's lips quirked again; Goddess, what he'd give to beat the enjoyment off that cyclopean visage. But...

"... yes. That is true."

"They saved you. He saved you."

"Yes."

"Then I ask again..."
She pointed at the mass of bones in the middle of them. Actually, "mass" is rather an unworthy term. It was a complete tiger skeleton, the bones still raw with ripped off muscle and flesh. Some bones were broken or fractured, but none were missing. Even then, Razkar felt the cruel, contemptuous power of the beast, how close it had come to ending him... how hard she had died. "... why should you, and not Draksyl, had the honor of this prize?"

Razkar had no answer, and all present knew it. His father's face was stony, impenetrable. Yurta's was more animated, but hard, unforgiving. Even if she'd wanted her son to share in the victory, she knew it would have been wrong. Draksyl - casual, contented, silent - knew how this would go. His remaining eye danced and twinkled with triumph and Razkar's fists balled-

"Answer me, boy, or-"

"Am I not worthy? Fighting the beast, surviving where others did not, to earn even-"


She moved fast and without hesitation. Though well into her fifth decade, Yurta had left nothing of her speed and power behind to the march of Tanroa... and she spared nothing, even for her own flesh. Before Zek had even finished his gasp of outrage and Draksyl's lips had fully formed into a growl, she had lunged forward, arm sweeping-

-and the crack of her knuckles against Razkar's cheek knocked him down to the ground in a flurry of pain and flaring red before his eyes.

"Do not interrupt me, boy!" She stood over him like Myri's own wrath, and he couldn't keep the tremble from him as he straightened back up, eyes downcast as she snarled. "Survival? You think that worthy of greater merit that victory?" Again there was a long pause and now she was in no mood to wait. "SPEAK!"

"I... I think-"


Again she lashed out and now the boy yelped with pain and spat blood onto the woven floor. Zek winced but did not speak up; he just cast a quick glance at his one-eyed brother and the sheer, cold anger in his eyes wiped the smirk off his face. The hunting master focused forward, instead... and enjoyed the show.

"You think to steal the honor of one who saved your life." She ground out the words with disgust. "Were you not my blood, I would have you flogged in the square for such a thing... but you are."

She stalked away from him, feet adroitly avoiding the skeleton as she resumed her position, nodding to her brother-in-law.

"The right of the skeleton is yours, Draksyl, for your victory and your skill. I only regret this... pointless diversion had to be played out before that was settled."

"War Mistress, I thank you, and-"

"You may go, male."


Even Razkar looked up that that. The words were simple, even formal, but only a fool would have missed the simmering anger behind them. Draksyl blinked his one beady eye and his mouth froze in mid-word, triumph of the moment soured by the realization that Razkar was slowly coming to.

She resents him for this. She knows she shouldn't, but...

But a mother is still a mother, even a Myrian one. Yurta accepted the hunter's low bow with a curt nod of her own and Zek didn't even give him that. Draksyl walked away with his shoulders square and head high, determined not to be robbed of his victory over the little pup.

If only she knew, he thought with an ugly smirk at Razkar as he passed, that her little male let loose that fishy cunt. Three of our clan dead, and still she coddles him. If he were my lad...

"See to his face," Yurta said lowly to her husband after Draksyl had left, voice a shade softer, and only for the male that had been her constant reassurance for over thirty years, "Then have him deliver your brother's prize."

Zek blinked; the closest a male could come to questioning her. But for him, there was no slap or snarl, nor fury. Yurta just sighed and shook her head.

"The boy has to learn."

"... yes... my love. He must. And he will."


Razkar looked down as his mother marched past him, but he felt her pace slow, just for a moment. He did not look up, and then she was gone.
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Last edited by Razkar on January 14th, 2014, 1:05 am, edited 2 times in total.
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My Words | Your Words | Myrian | Fratavan | My Thoughts
Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
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The Power Of Bones

Postby Razkar on December 29th, 2013, 7:55 pm

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"Why did you want it, anyway?"

It was three days before Zek spoke to his son about his... well, humiliation would be the most accurate word. His son had been walking around like a whipped dog since then, almost afraid to meet the eyes of anyone else. Little stayed secret in a Myrian clan: people talk, whispered, gossiped. Within a bell, all knew the source of the fresh bruises on Razkar's face, and while no-one would talk directly to him about it, the mingled pity and scorn in their eyes told enough.

And was harder to bear. Pity... how Razkar hated it. He'd rather have their disdain.

Zek had endured three nights and then decided to do something about it. His son was carving arrows outside their family longhouse with his sisters when the thin rays of Syna were blocked. He looked up and found his father, face hard, bow in one hand... and a long, worn blowpipe in the other, resting on his shoulder.

"We're going on a hunt."

Razkar did not ask what or why; the clan always needed meat, and Summer was the most fertile time for the jungle. Deer, tapir, monkeys, fish, birds, even larger rodents and rabbits, all were teeming in the undergrowth and the canopy. More than that, of course, it gave him a chance to get away from the petching monotony of carving arrows.

"Father!" Karvu whined, lip protruding petulantly. "We need the extra hands!"

"Then have Sheema help you,
" Zek rumbled, already looping a quiver of darts over his shoulder and a little leather purse with some additional equipment, "Razkar comes with me today."

"I thought he was being-"


The words never came; Zek's hard glare aborted them before they were born. She and Thrax exchanged a quick glance of mutual sisterly annoyance for their petch-up younger brother, but finally replied morosely with: "Yes, Father..."

"Mmmhmm..."
Zek said as he turned his back, roughly handing his son a bow, quiver and similar pouch. "Keep up."

There was no answering quip; no snarky comment that would have earned the lad a clip around the ear or a growl of disapproval. No cheeky grin following it. That worried Zek. The boy didn't even emote as he took the gear and started to follow his father, eyes sullen and resigned...

No. That won't do at all.

They were a bell into the jungle when he asked his question, and Razkar hadn't even asked what they were hunting. But when the moved closer to the Kandaktu Basin, he started to get an inkling, or at least narrow down their options... to a degree.

The Basin was, after all, the focal point for all life around it. Animals, Myrians, even Dhani, all relied on it. But while Zek hadn't spoken, per se, as they breached the undergrowth and saw the vast, flat expanse of shimmering water spread to the horizon and beyond, he did-

Ribbit-ribbit... ribbit-ribbit...

His melancholy may have run deep, but Razkar couldn't keep the admiring smile from his face. Zek's lined and hardened face hardly moved as his lips opened, but a sound completely alien to Myrian vocal chords croaked (well, ribbited) from them. The mimicry was almost perfect, but Razkar wasn't too shocked. He'd heard it before, and a dozen more besides.

Monkeys? Pah, just ask him for a breed and Zek could nail it. Tapir? Male or female: he could do both. Akila hounds? He could do half a pack, if pushed. Even snorting deer, roaring crocodiles, toads, frogs... his father was a living depository of animals sounds.

"A little help here, son?"

No smile, perhaps, but Zek did see a little light enter the lad's eyes at the last word, and the request. Razkar pursed his lips and took a deep breath and... botched it. Badly. Zek winced and swayed with mock pain, and... and... ah, yes. Just the ghost of a smile and a blush.

"Try to let it out gradually. Don't burst it all out, like-"

He did as his son did: like a toad being sat on, basically. Then he did it as he could, vocal chords and lips and throat all moving together as he ribbited like something tiny, multicolored and amphibian. After a few tries, his son was getting the hang of it, but by then-

... ribbit-ribbit... ribbit-ribbit...

Father and son snapped a look at each other, grinning in triumph. They'd caught some bait. Some desperate or just plain amorous male had heard the call and was sending out a reply. They looked around furtively from their crouched position by the water, ears strained to try and pinpoint it...

"There!" Razkar rasped, pointing to a down log, half-submerged by the water. "Behind that!"

Zek licked his lips and the two started to skirt the bank, moving low and slow, occasionally keeping the unseen amphibian interested with more ribbits. Zek dug in his bag as they moved and came up with... a pair of wooden tongs. He'd bought them years ago on a trip to Taloba, figuring they'd be more useful for this work than the leaves he'd used before.

But still... he felt that queasiness. Even as he and his son approached, grown warriors and proven killers both, he felt his heart race. He bid his son stay back and Razkar obeyed, even if he did scowl his resentment. He watched as his father got closer... peered over the log...

Exhaled slowly and took a deep breath, lips pursed into an almost perfect "O" as he reached down with his tongs. A tiny, startled "ribbit!" answered him as he clamped onto something, sweat shining on his forehead as he straightened up and revealed the most lethal animal on the Kandukta Basin, Dhani and Myrians and crocodiles be damned.

It was the size of his thumb, and looked petching terrified.
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My Words | Your Words | Myrian | Fratavan | My Thoughts
Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
User avatar
Razkar
War Is The Answer
 
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Joined roleplay: October 8th, 2012, 12:04 am
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The Power Of Bones

Postby Razkar on December 30th, 2013, 12:31 pm

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"Don't be fooled."

Razkar did his best to believe his father, but... it was so... cute? Well, that would be one word for it, if you like things with massive eyes, slimy purple skin and a mouth bigger than its head. No... "harmless" would be the better word. But that was only the obvious, as Zek had taught him. Myrian Tigers, vast and cruel and proud, could decimate entire Fangs of Myri's Children without a problem, and yet they would steer clear of these creatures in mating season. They wouldn't eat them even if all other life and prey had fled; what lay within the tiny frog's veins and flesh was more potent than any blade.

"Now..." His father said, a little more relaxed as he sat on the log, only having to worry about keeping the tongs tight on the squirming little creature. "What do we do next?"

Razkar frowned for a moment as he remembered. "Um... we put a flame under it, to make it sweat the poison." His father opened his mouth but Rakar hurriedly plowed on. "But, since we don't have fire... we... poke it with a blade?"

Zek dragged it out. With the birds chirping and distant monkeys barking in the canopy, Razkar squirmed like the frog as his father weighed and measured him with his eyes... before finally nodding, lips stretching to a smile.

"Very good. Anything to make it afraid and sweat its venom, but..." He regarded the little creature closer, its struggles and bulging eyes, and most of all the sickening sheen all over it that was not just water. "... I think it's ready. Arrows and darts, boy."

Razkar blinked a few time. "... me?"

"Yes, you. How else are you supposed to learn, hmm?"


How was the boy supposed to argue with that? He steeled himself and crept towards his father and wriggling frog both like they were one massive, forbidding creature. Zek flinched when he froze as he extended the tongs, eyes rolling.

"Goddess, boy, just keep a good firm grip on the wood and make sure its back and belly are plain. You can hold it with one hand and use your other to treat the arrows and darts." He held it a little further, and his son didn't flinch that time. "Now... take it."

Razkar did as he was told, and like most things in life, once the momentous and unknown First Time was out the way, he wondered what the petch he'd been worrying about. He folded his fingers around his father's a Zek smoothly transferred the tongs... then there he stood. On his own, holding a lethal little specimen of amphibian wriggling a arm's length. The boy moved slowly - more so than he perhaps needed to, but he wasn't about to rush this - and reached over his shoulder, withdrawing one of his father's needle-like wooden darts with one hand.

He held it by the end and poked the frog's belly, eliciting a little ribbit of panic, and... yes... his eyes shone with morbid fascination as slime oozed from its pores. Licking his lips in what was fast-becoming a facial tic with him, Razkar coated the tip of the dart with it... then twisted it around in his fingertips, spreading the poison over the whole last quarter of the dart, on every surface... holding it up to the light and his father's scrutiny.

"Very good..." Zek said judiciously, taking the dart carefully from his son, turning it this way and that before replacing it in the much smaller quiver next to the larger one for his son's arrows. "Now the rest."

He let the boy get through four more, watching as he drew each dart and spread the poison over their tips, waited until Razkar was reaching for the sixth and then asked-

The Question.

Razkar froze, frog still squirming and ribbiting pitifully. Zek noted his grip didn't fade nor tighten; he was still focused on the task at hand. But his weathered and lined face didn't twitch, either, and he crossed his arms, cocked his eyebrow... and asked again.

"... well?"

"I just... did. I thought-"

"Lie to me again and you'll regret it, boy. You're not a fool, Razkar, and I could see more in your eyes than glory-lust. Believe me, I know what it looks like. You had a plan for those bones. Are you going to make me guess what that was?"


Razkar studied his father with what he assumed was a neutral mask. Zek had to suppress the urge to smile. Ah, the boy had so much to learn... but was he any different at that age? Young, cocky and thinking he knew better than anyone. Even among the Children of Myri, actual children were still the same.

"I thought... I could work the Power of Bones."

There. Out in the open. Dice on the table. Zek blinked a few times and Razkar could tell in a tick the old man didn't approve. The older male respected Mayla as a good clansman should, but such power... in the hands of so dark a mind... it unnerved him. Then his eyes flickered down to the gladius at his son's hip, hilt crafted from a slain female's thigh. That had served him well, and he knew Razkar had not only watched Mayla work her djed, but also helped do it.

She gave him a taste, and now he wants to bite off some more.

"Son... you know that you feel the mind, the spirit still left in those bones. The last echoes of that life. Mayla was right to take over when it came to doing... whatever she did with Elanosa's thigh. A thinking being, like you or me, is enough of a strain-"

"Yes, so an animal, I could do that-"

"A tiger, Razkar? By yourself?"


Zek's tone was just the kind of incredulity that would stoke the boy's anger, but - ribbit - no, he wouldn't allow that to distract him. Danit... which was exactly why his bloody father had chosen that moment! Focus him on the task, but leave his mind clear. Cunning old jackal...

"It... wouldn't have been hard, just..."

The words died and his confidence went with them. The more he pondered it, the more it seemed... reckless. Rushing blindly and greedily into a situation he did not have total control over. Oh, he'd planned it well enough, but only up to a point. Get some inks and files, find a nice quiet spot in the jungle, make the circles, the marks, the words, fill them... but then what? All alone, with no-one to help if the raging, bitter anger of that long-dead beast returned?

"Let's just say I am not convinced." Zek said, voice dripping sarcastic sinceriy. He shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow, steam from the river starting to roll over them. "But you were intent on this, weren't you?"

"Yes."
Now there was no hesitation; with a mingled weariness and resignation, Zek saw his son was determined to learn more of this strange but powerful wyrd. "But you need to start smaller. Something... manageable."

"Like what?"


A distant cackle seemed to answer him right on cue, high in pitch and distance, barking and whining from the canopy. Razkar's eyes snapped to it, immediately placing it as one of the Tufted Howlers. Then he looked back to his face... and found a grin waiting for him.

"You... planned for this, didn't you?"

"Finish your work, boy. More than hunting to do today..."


"Speech in Myrian."
"Speech in Fratavan."
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My Words | Your Words | Myrian | Fratavan | My Thoughts
Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
User avatar
Razkar
War Is The Answer
 
Posts: 1795
Words: 2242619
Joined roleplay: October 8th, 2012, 12:04 am
Location: Sunberth
Race: Myrian
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Medals: 9
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Frogs, Monkeys And Probing Question

Postby Razkar on January 12th, 2014, 10:39 pm

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The big male was ready for love, that was for sure. Branches trembled and creaked as his hefty form danced over them, hands and feet swift and sure despite his bulbous size. The two watchers assumed he was head of the family; his size and the vast, tall mane of red hair he sported marked him as the dominant male. All others would be either subservient, run off or dead.

And still eager to sow his oats, by the look of it.

Again the harsh, grating call screeched out into the night, and Papa didn't seem to sense anything unusual in it. He loped closer across vines and branches, finally pausing, squatting, high in the canopy.

He'd heard it; he knew he had. But there was no female, and he squinted around in doe-eyed confusion, wondering where-

FWUP!

Something buzzed passed him, like a fat, angry gnat, but even his quick animal eyes missed it. What was that stink? Almost like... those squishy things that croaked so badly from the jungle floor he never set foot on, but all other animals avoided. And what was that noise? Where was the fem-

FWUP!

"Got you!"

Papa screeched as Zek's second dart was on target, blown across seventy feet with accuracy born from decades stalking that canopy and the floor beneath it. Razkar's eyes were fixed on the flailing, fleeing creature now, shafts of Syna blinding him as he tracked its progress, but he'd already seen his father set up.

Croaking that monotonous call for half a bell or close to it. Nothing moving but his lips and his eyes. Waiting for something to come looking for a free piece of ass... and along came Papa... and the Myrian had raised his blowpipe little by little, resting it on a log and angling it just right...

Loading a poison-coated dart into one end, it's rear wrapped it cotton swabbing, pressed his lips around it, inhaled through his nose and-

"Fwup". Razkar would never forget that sound. It almost reminded him of blowing into an empty jug, but one made of wood. He never even saw the darts, flying across the sky so fast even the Howler was confused.

"Get moving, boy!"

Razkar did as he was told, taking off across the debris covering the ground. The poison wouldn't take long to work its will, but the Howler could cover half a league in that time, and prey they couldn't eat was no prey at all to a hungry Myrian. He leaped over fallen logs and dodged under low branches, twisting through close trunks and bulling his way through tangles of vines, always flicking his eyes upward-

-fixed on the flash of red and black running, shrieking through the canopy, tiny spike embedded in its chest... slowing... slowing...

Until it stopped just above and in front of Razkar. The younger male stared, hands moving by themselves to draw an arrow and notch it on his bow's string. The Howler was swaying, confused, limbs no longer obeying the commands of the mind, sluggish and pained. Razkar could only imagine its terror: to feel your body rebel and ignore you, to be trapped in your own tiny mind with no way to make it obey you.

Leaves rustled and the branch creaked as the Howler collapsed onto its haunches. Razkar raised his bow, squinting down the arrow at the spasming creature maybe fifty feet beyond it.

Breath slow... steady... feel your heartbeat in your chest... hold a breath... fire between the-

The Howler toppled from the canopy and fell like a rock.

-beats.

He muttered a curse as the Howler crashed down, limbs flopping limply before laying still.

The shadow crossed him. Huge and looming, dark and pierced by bone. The Howler wanted to scream, but had no voice; he wanted to flee, but had no legs. All he could do was scare as that fur-less face leaned closer to his, and something cold and shiny was pressed to his throat-

Blood arced urgently as Razkar ended the creature's suffering. A jerk of his wrist, a red line that pulsed and oozed, and then those black eyes went even blacker, reflecting all and revealing nothing. The Myrian wiped his blade clean on its fur and carefully examined where the dart had impacted.

"Shyke..."

It had broken inside the furry flesh of the Howler. He could just see it, a thin trickle of blood and the barb inside. Razkar breathed out slowly... took his hunting knife... and made a little cross just above it. Then he gripped the broken end and pulled... slowly... gently...

A sucking sigh came from the wound as the tip finally came free. If Razkar looked hard, perhaps used his imagination, he could still see the evil coating of venom on it. But more importantly... yes... there was nothing else in there. No splinter of venomous wood that his kin or clan could swallow.

He scraped a shallow hole in the rick black dirt and buried it. Then he picked the dead Howler up by the back legs and jogged back to his father, the monkey's sightless open eyes staring at the place it had died, arms flopping crazily like it was waving goodbye.
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My Words | Your Words | Myrian | Fratavan | My Thoughts
Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
User avatar
Razkar
War Is The Answer
 
Posts: 1795
Words: 2242619
Joined roleplay: October 8th, 2012, 12:04 am
Location: Sunberth
Race: Myrian
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 9
Featured Character (1) Featured Thread (2)
Trailblazer (1) Overlored (1)
Donor (1) One Thousand Posts! (1)
One Million Words! (1) 2013 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

Frogs, Monkeys And Probing Question

Postby Razkar on January 13th, 2014, 1:52 am

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"Your turn, boy."

Those were Zek's words to him when their next target came into view. First it was just a patch of trembling branches that they could spy from the ground, but as they got closer... a quartet of Howlers were the cause of it. Grooming each other, nibbling on nuts... two younglings playing with each other...

"You see a male?"

Razkar frowned, focused on the Howler with a budding tuft of red on his head, and nodded.

"Take him. Leave the female and the younglings."

Razkar nodded again, not needing to be told why. The Myrians were, of course, devoted to their Goddess-Queen, but they were surrounded at all times by the grace, splendor and danger that Caiyha represented. Hunting and slaughtering her smaller children to extinction just because they could was... a barbarian trait. They killed what they needed, and left the next generation to grow. Some would argue that simply prolonged the cycle; Razkar preferred to see it as prudent planning, and showing bloody respect.

So, instead of philosophy, he concentrated on his own task. As he raised his bow, he opened his mouth and a strange barking call erupted from it. He wasn't even close to his father yet, but the noise was enough to make all four of the family freeze, looking around curiously...

Razkar raised the bow nearly vertical, pulling the string back, feeling it creak and whine softly under his fingers. The end of the arrow gleamed with the frog's venom: they were even easier to coat than arrows. Just rub each side of the barbed head on the frog's belly until it had a good coating, then slide it back into the quiver. The poison would dry on but not leave the metal. Moreover, it would be just as potent.

So now Zek watched his son, a fine young male, compose himself in those last few ticks. Sweat rolled gently down his nearly-naked body, but his arms didn't waver as they held the bow taut. The boy breathed steadily... then slower... until he held it.

Between the beats, lad... between the beats-

He didn't blink as Razkar's fingers snapped straight and released the arrow into the canopy, whizzing toward its target fifty feet away. Instead his head snapped up like he'd been punched in the jaw, zooming in on the male-

-as he and the arrow became one in a screaming, shrieking mass, impact of the arrow knocking the monkey off its perch-

"Good boy!"

Razkar let out a shuddering breath that was half-laugh, half-groan and all relief. His smile is almost disbelieving as he watched the Howler tumble from the branch, grasping desperately at the others whipping past him, sons and mate already scattering among the canopy.

"Between the beats."

He grinned at his father's words. The tremble of a single heartbeat could be felt over one's entire body if you were in a relaxed, focused position... like when you were aiming an arrow. So Razkar had waited until his hands were still, his arms steady... and then waited further until he was in that still canyon between the shuddering beats of his heart. Then he fired.

The male crashed down hard on the jungle floor, but this one didn't have just a tiny dart pricking his flesh; he was impaled by a three-foot arrow. He tried to stand, flailing, screeching like knives clashing over and over, insistent, merciless to the ears-

-Razkar raised his bow again, but he didn't need to. The frog's poison could kill a Myrian in a matter of chimes. Used on something a quarter of the size and with a much faster metabolism, it worked much faster. Before he'd even strung the second arrow the Howler's flailing downgraded to shuddering, and then twitching, and then...

"Finish it."

Razkar did as he was bid, gladius biting down on dying flesh a second time. His father knelt by his side, dropping the leafy package he had strapped across his back with vines. It was a wide palm frond, used as makeshift wrapper for the dead Howler inside. He watched calmly as his son used his knife to make the T-cut, then started working the bard out of the wound, ripping it larger, fresh but already-stiffening blood vomited out the ragged hole-

-until with a grunt, it was released, fat gobs of gore choking the head of it. Zek pulled the cork of his water skin and washed the most of it off. When they got home, they'd soak them overnight in warm Leth-shine, the most potent palm-liquor his clan could brew. Sterilize the poison, clean the weapon, all at once.

"Give it here, lad."

"I can do it."


Zek cocked an eyebrow as his son grabbed a palm frond, cutting it free from the shrub near it. Above them the distant chorus of the outraged, grieving Howler family washed over them both and was ignored.

"Sure you remember how?"

"Trust me, will you?"

"Mmmhmm..."


Razkar didn't rise to it: actions would convince his father more than words would. So he placed the monkey in the center of the leaf and folded its arms and legs into its torso. It was so odd, this hairy, pug-nosed little... Myrian. It almost looked like one. He folded the frond to the left and right over it... then folded the upper and lower parts over them, until it was one package, but not really a tight one-

"Here."

"I remembered!"
Razkar said in the outraged toned of a juvenile whose having an adult try and help him (the audacity!), taking the offered vine. "Just getting the leaf right, first."

"Mmhmm... well, you remember your knots, anyway."


Within a few ticks the monkey was bundled up tight and Razkar tied another vine through it, looping it over his shoulder where it would slap against his back when they walked. The hunt wasn't over; plenty of light left and the jungles teemed with game. But it was a good start... and he knew that the night, or the morning after, would promise him even more.

Continued here
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My Words | Your Words | Myrian | Fratavan | My Thoughts
Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
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Razkar
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Frogs, Monkeys And Probing Questions

Postby Traverse on January 27th, 2014, 11:46 pm

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Razkar


Experience:

  • Acting 1 XP
  • Hunting 3 XP
  • Poison 1 XP
  • Running 1 XP
  • Short bow 2 XP
  • Vocal Mimicry 2 XP
  • Wilderness Survival 1 XP

Lore:

  • Hunting for Poisonous Frogs
  • Properly Wrapping Your Kill

Additional Notes :
Nice thread! I really enjoyed the first introductory post that really laid everything out, and the Father Son hunting trip was an awesome read!

I would ask that you submit Raz's family/ any important clan members into the HD as Stationary NPC's so we can have them all official like as soon as possible, that way all their skills and whatnot are laid out for future threads,

thanks!


If you have any questions, concerns, accolades, complaints, etc about your grade, drop me a PM and we can most certainly talk it out.

As always, Safe Travels!
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