Solo [Bronze Woods] Be Very Quiet (Solo)

[Orin Fenix]

44th of Spring, 515AV

Orin scrubbed at the stubborn stain at the table with as much vigor as he could muster, but no matter what he tried, soap, cloth, even lemon juice, it refused to let itself be removed. He growled wordlessly at it but it remained unimpressed with him. Cursing it also would do nothing, and Orin was running out of cleaning products to try on it. Sighing, he gave it up as a hopeless cause and took his cloth away. The blackened and hardened gunk seemed smug and Orin glared at it. ”You think you’re clever, don’t you.” Great. Now he was talking to inanimate objects. This job had finally driven him crazy. The worst part was, Orin didn’t even know where the substance had come from. It certainly wasn’t anything they’d served in the kitchen and none of the drinks would look this after a spill. It must’ve been something weird dragged in and left behind by a patron and now it was Orin’s problem. Of course, by all rights it shouldn’t have been, since the barmaids were supposed to be the ones cleaning up but he was getting saddled with this duty more and more often. They pleaded so many various excuses and Kevith knew Orin wouldn’t say no, so it ended up being easier, except on Orin’s nerves.

Most of the patrons had headed out but some of the regulars stuck around, and Kevith was chatting with them. These men and women had been coming to the tavern for years before Orin arrived and would probably stick around for years after Orin left. They were too ornery to die and too stubborn or lazy to move. Either that, or they had earned their place. Kind of like the man currently holding court. Intarus Molora used to be one of the most successful hunters in Syliras. Despite his bulk and his seemingly boisterous manner he was surprisingly light on his feet and moved through the forest and woods surrounding Syliras with ease. Or at least, he was rumored to do so, before the accident that had happened relatively soon after Orin had started working at The Rearing Stallion. No one really talked about it, but whatever the incident had been it had cleaved the man’s left arm off. Orin had been shocked when one day Intarus had been whole, healthy, and hearty, and the next a cripple. Still, the man didn’t seem to be suffering much. Apparently being a hunter paid much better than Orin had thought it had.

Intarus’ remaining hand slammed onto the table, bringing all eyes to his. It was heavy and meaty, as was the rest of the man. ”Kevith, his voice coming out as a bark, ”have you heard about this damned rabbit problem? Hah! These striplings out there couldn’t cut it. If I was still on the prowl we wouldn’t have this ‘problem.’ It’s laziness that’s what it is.” Kevith and the others at the table grunted a reply while Intarus swiped the mug up and took a huge gulp of ale. Orin was just turning to leave when that same rather harsh voice stopped him in his tracks. ”Take this boy, for example. Probably hasn’t done an honest day’s work in his life. When I was his age, I was my own man, not some servant who couldn’t survive one chime out of doors.” Orin very carefully refrained from any reaction. He wanted to bristle, and shout, and rage, or, alternatively, point out all the flaws in Intarus’ speech. But mouthing off to a customer was just likely to end up with Orin in trouble. Besides, he was horribly afraid that there was more than a few grains of truth in Intarus’ words. He was, comparatively, soft, and the world was a harsh place. He was woefully unprepared for the realities of it. And that didn’t seem to be changing any time soon, since Orin avoided those dangers at all costs. Some people might have called it caution, but Orin knew it was cowardice. And Orin wanted to get out there and see all the world had offered. He had even tried to prove himself by hiring Aren to make him into more of a warrior. Since then, though, he’d slipped into a sort of complacency. He did his best to keep up his training, but didn’t go the extra mile for it and hadn’t thrown himself into the fire since that last time with Aren.

So Orin had no reply for Intarus, nothing at all. The man wasn’t done yet though. ”If you gave me this lad for a day, I would cull that stupid rabbit population and put some backbone into him, I’ll stake my life on it.” There had been jeers and then a furiously hushed argument, followed by the scraping of a chair and a strong hand closing around Orin’s arm and jerking him around. He stared into Intarus’ eyes, breathing in the man’s breath which reeked of booze. Orin wanted to cough and gag, but couldn’t do either. In fact, he was paralyzed, so when Intarus dragged him forward, he went with just a wild glance at Ser Kevith. Kevith, for his part, gestured for Orin to go along, as if this wasn’t essentially a kidnapping of sort. Fire built in Orin’s belly. He wasn’t some child and he already had a job and it certainly wasn’t soothing an old bitter man’s ego.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin still somehow ended up heading outside the gates with Intarus. It sometimes felt that his time was split between legitimately working in The Rearing Stallion and being sent on errands that ranged from reasonable but annoying to the absurd. There was absolutely no reason for him of all people to be out knocking down the number of rabbits. The excuse that they were saving the crops was ludicrous, since he doubted they’d actually end up with any rabbits at the end of this excursion. Orin also found it strange that Intarus still carried his supplies with him at all times. It wasn’t like the man could actually use most of them anymore. He knew he was being a bit cruel but Intarus wasn’t exactly being kind right back to him. The man was keeping up a running commentary on how useless and weak Orin was, as if he wasn’t standing right next to him. Still the man did bring good business to The Rearing Stallion still and he was Kevith’s friend, so Orin couldn’t respond for risk of alienating him. So he let his headache build and build until it threatening to split his head in half.

Finally, not a moment too soon, they reached the outskirts of the Bronze Woods. They took a few steps into the trees, entering the woods proper. Intarus grunted and knelt down to examine the undergrowth. He pointed at a particular bush. ”See that boy?” Orin got down on his knees and looked where Intarus indicated but nothing jumped out at him as being out of the ordinary so he shrugged and shook his head. The next thing he knew, Intarus cuffed him, causing him to sway in place with the strength behind his blow. ”That’s because you’re a lily-livered city dweller.” Intarus sighed dramatically, but continued on in a slightly more neutral tone. ”Now, if you knew it, you’d see this bush has been chewed on rather extensively. And there are tracks that scream rabbit to me and they should scream rabbit to you as well.” Now that Intarus explained what he was looking for, Orin peered more closely at the bush. It was true that the lower leaves looked nibbled, somehow, although Orin couldn’t exactly figure out how Intarus was separating rabbit tooth marks from any of the thousands of other animals that probably ate plants. The tracks were muddy, since the ground looked churned up. But they were approximately in the shape of rabbit paws, he supposed. He’d need to probably see a bunny leaving them behind before he could confirm one way or another, although he supposed that Intarus didn’t have a reason to lie to him. ”So?

Intarus muttered quite a few uncharitable words under his breath. Actually, it was more like a string of expletives. Orin just waited, stewing in his own anger, for the older man to finish. ”So you brainless lout, it means that this is the perfect place for us to set up one of our traps. It made sense, to put the trap near the source of the rabbit’s food. And Intarus seemed to believe bunnies passed through here on a regular basis. He was about to ask Intarus what to do, but shut his mouth before a single word could get out. Intarus liked to hear the sound of his own voice so Orin had little doubt that the man would keep instructing Orin. And he was right. ”Now there are non-lethal traps but they’re for pansies. Unless a client specifically asked for a live one we won’t use box traps or live traps. And since we’re trying to thin the herd here we definitely won’t use them.” Despite his burning curiosity Orin knew better than to ask questions at this point. The former hunter definitely wanted to be in charge and Orin didn’t want to give him any excuse to shout at Orin again.

[Orin Fenix]

Intarus made his way over to a small hole in the brush, and gestured for Orin to come closer. As more time went on, the man was becoming more and more animated and less inclined to badger Orin, which could only be a good sign. Orin figured that it was probably because the other man was in his element. After all, being in the kitchen turned Orin from a shy and timid person into an assertive and sometimes belligerent man. The same probably held true for Intarus, the only difference being that Intarus had many fewer opportunities to show off his knowledge. ”Now this here’s what we like to call a natural rabbit trail. It’s where they’ve traveled so often that they’ve created a pathway, as it were. And that means it’s a perfect place for our noose trap.” Intarus scanned the trees around them as he started going through his pack. He growled a bit when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Though it would probably be the polite thing to do Orin had no intention of offering to help. It would probably just hurt Intarus’ pride. And besides, the man hadn’t exactly been kind. Finally Intarus pulled an axe out of his supplies and handed it to Orin. It was a simple woodsman’s axe, a tool and not a weapon unless one was very desparate. Signalling Orin to come closer, Intarus pointed at a nearby low hanging branch. ”Chop that down and come back.” Raising the axe up, Orin hammered it into the joint where the branch met the trunk. The axe was sharp and bit into the wood deeply. It took quite a bit of strength to yank it back out again. Still, despite that it still took quite of few whacks before the branch splintered and fell down. Lifting it up, Orin hefted the axe in his other hand and picked his way back to Intarus.

The man didn’t give any indication that he was pleased with Orin. Instead, he simply continued with his instructions. ”Next I’m going to need you to strip the twigs on that thing off about a foot of the middle section.” Examining the branch, Orin saw that it forked at the end, so he assumed that Intarus was talking about it before that happened. Shrugging, he started breaking off the smaller twigs. When they were too large or too stubborn to take off by hand, he used the axe. Apparently in an expository mood, Intarus gave some more information out about the trap they were building. ”Now ya need a forked branch so it’ll stand up on the trail. And it’s gotta be big enough that the stupid rabbits won’t be able to drag it along behind it. You’ll see why we’re clearing that middle section off soon enough. And when you’re done there, place the branch so the forks are on either side of the trail.” Not bothering to respond, Orin took the branch over to the trail and anchored it. When he first placed it down, it had tilted dangerously, so he made sure to correct its balance.

The hand on his shoulder came unexpectedly and unwelcomely, but Intarus didn’t seem to notice Orin’s discomfort. ”Maybe there’s hope for you yet. Now, I’m going to need ya to make some stakes for the sides of the path so the bunnies can’t slip around. Leave two left over for the very end. Sharpen both sides, mind you.” Rolling his eyes, Orin accepted the carving knife that Intarus produced, and went back to his pile of stripped twigs. They seemed as good a place to start as any. While he wasn’t necessarily that environmentally conscious, he knew that some of his friends, cared a great deal for it so Orin would do is best to respect their wishes. Besides, he had no longing to go trampling around in the woods hunting down sticks. Picking the first one up, he began making angry strokes down the tip of it. He didn’t know a lot about carving but making stakes didn’t seem all that difficult, and since there was nothing from Intarus’ corner he kept going. When one end was finally pointed enough to Orin’s satisfaction, even if the strips leading up to it were a bit uneven, he flipped it over and started at the other side. He let his frustration with Intarus out with even stroke of the knife. If Orin were being honest, he wasn’t actually upset with that man, although his manners could use some brushing up. No, Orin was upset with his bosses at The Rearing Stallion who seemed to be under the impression that his time was theirs to direct and that he would just go along blindly with whatever he was assigned to do. Of course, part of the blame was on him for not protesting these tasks, but still, his bosses should’ve been more considerate of his time and his needs. After all, he was just a lowly assistant chef, not the one who was allowed to make these decisions, and they were clearly in a position of authority over him, which they were abusing.

He let these thoughts carry him through making stakes, and sooner than he would’ve thought, he had gone through all the twigs. Remembering Intarus’ last instructions and not wanting to be prompted, Orin scooped up around half, and began sliding them into the ground. He couldn’t see how this would prevent rabbits from getting around but then again, he wasn’t the expert on this subject. When both sides were peppered with stakes, Orin still had two left, as per his orders.

[Orin Fenix]

Intarus gave no sign of anything at all, beyond a slight nod. The larger man once again started pulling objects from his bag in search of something Orin couldn’t even begin to guess. Finally, though, he tossed a loop of wire in Orin’s direction, which he barely managed to catch. Next, a set of wire cutters came out, but these Intarus held onto. ”Now, I want you to start unrolling until I tell ya to stop.” Giving Intarus an incredulous look, Orin nevertheless took the end of the bronze wire and started pulling it out. He kept waiting for Intarus to tell him to stop but the man never did. Just as he was about to pipe up, Intarus finally barked out, ”Stop!” The other man leaned over and snipped the wire, which predictably snapped towards Orin. He yelped and dropped the wire, dodging backwards. Intarus, of course, thought that was just about the funniest thing he’d ever seen and doubled over with laughter, completely ignoring the glare Orin shot his way. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Intarus was finally able to speak after what felt like chimes of chuckling. ”Wooo-eeee I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. You should’ve seen the look on your face.” Right about then Orin started wishing for some magical powers. It would be nice to be able to squish Intarus with his brain alone. Still he was about as unmagical as a rock and cold blooded murder was frowned upon and not something Orin would actually take lightly.

After a few last giggles, Intarus nodded at the fallen length of wire. ”The biggest mistake most people make there is to make it too short, y’ken? Then you’ve wasted your wire. Not that I expect you to actually ever use wire again but I’d be remiss if I didn’t try and get something through your thick skull.” Orin ground his teeth together. He just had to keep reminding himself that attacking a patron of the tavern would be wrong. ”Now, yer gonna have to tie a small loop on one end and then when you’ve managed that, you’ll feed the other end through.” Bending the wire was actually much easier than expected, and soon enough Orin had a small circle set on one end. The other end went through easily enough and he pulled it through until Intarus waved at him. ”Good enough. Now tie that off on the tree. You’re gonna wrap it around a few times then make a knot. The big loop should be about four to six inches off the ground.” To estimate Orin would just slip his fingers underneath. While it was very rough, stacking both hands together should take him approximately to the right distance. He set the loop, adjusting the height until Intarus seemed happy, then started wrapping. Once he had just the shortest amount of wire left, he knotted it, then stood up. ”Don’t forget those last two stakes! Gotta cross them underneath the trap, so the only direction the rabbits have to go is through the noose.” Orin hadn’t forgotten the last two stakes, but as he got down to set them in place, he decided against mentioning that Intarus hadn’t told Orin what to do with them.

As he stepped back he admired his handiwork. It seemed solid enough and though he only had Intarus’ word to go on Orin could see that if a rabbit tried to come through here, it would get caught. His stomach turned a little as he imagined the twitching legs, but they had to get food somehow and this was apparently one of the easiest ways. So he swallowed down his disgust as he followed Intarus deeper into the woods. Orin didn’t know how the hunter and trapper was planning to remember where he’d set the traps. Nor did he particularly care. Although he knew the Bronze Woods fairly well and did his best to note down any landmarks he might remember when he came to check on them, Orin didn’t know how real hunters did it. It wasn’t his job though, so he let it go.

[Orin Fenix]

They walked until Intarus finally stopped in a place that Orin assumed was another area frequented by rabbits. Without prompting, he knelt down and scanned the ground. Sure enough, those tracks from earlier were back, although he couldn’t see anything else that had been munched on. There was a clearly marked trail, once Orin bothered to put his eyes to work, where the grass had been worn down by the passage of many tiny feet. Suddenly, there was a shovel there, landing with a thud as Intarus tossed it down. Apparently, it was time to dig. Veiling his motions with his hair, which needed to be cut badly, Orin glared at Intarus. This felt very much like grunt work. While Orin wasn’t above such tasks, obviously, seeing as he was at the lowest rung of the ladder that was The Rearing Stallion, that didn't mean Orin enjoyed them any more than the next person. Still he had years of experience at ignoring his discomfort and hiding what he was really feeling. And while he doubted he'd ever get anything but a bad report from Intarus to Ser Kevith, Orin refused to give the man any more fuel to add to his accusations.

So without further ado Orin snatched up the shovel and shoved it point first into the earth. It gave, although there were a few stubborn roots that required some sawing. The dirt was damp from the summer rains and smelled of life and growth and health. That memory transported Orin to the years when one of his few tasks, and one he went to willingly, was to tend a garden. He'd loved the feel of the soil beneath his fingers and the idea that there was something he could point to as wholly his contribution to the world. He'd brought life into the world, nurtured it, watched it growing from seed to stalk in a cycle that repeated year after year. His next stroke was less forceful but more fluid, as he lost himself in the familiar motion.

However it quickly occurred to him that this work wasn't the same at all. Though he let none of this show, he realized that this trap was only designed to bring death. And while that didn't bother him at all, since it was important work that needed to be done, it still preyed on his thoughts even as he prepared to prey on the rabbits. He worked with dead and dying animals all the time, and their carcasses provided much of his life's work. But this was different, since he rarely actually took the life. And somehow he doubted that he would actually see these animals find their way into his kitchen, even though he could think of a thousand ways he could use rabbits in a dish. Rabbit stew always went down well, and even if he didn't use the meat in it, their bones made for a tasty stock. Rabbit pies were also a staple of The Rearing Stallion's fare. And though it was crude by Orin's standards there was nothing wrong with simple roast rabbit, especially with the proper seasoning. Strange as it sounded, Orin eliminated waste as much as possible when he worked. Some of that was simply good sense. After all, the more you got out of every ingredient, the less money you were spending. As great a part of that policy, though, was simply a personal philosophy one that he hadn't really put into words before now but which he felt in his bones. It boiled down to something along the lines of do more harm than good in the world.
It was, he admitted, not the strongest moral code, nor did he always succeed in his endeavors. He was human after all, with all the failings and mistakes that all mortals made as they funbled their way through life. But it kept him sane, helped keep the darkness inside leashed. He had to believe, had to hope, that there was still honor and beauty in the world and that people would make the right choices if they could, and maybe if they were shown a little kindness. It wasn't the easy path. And Orin was certainly riddled with doubts, especially when life seemed to prove him wrong. He was also well aware that what most people saw was a mask of sorts, the carefully cheerful image of the chef a cultivated attempt to hide his scars and ignore his woes. But still, Orin strove to make more of his life than his past, his shortcomings, and his failures. The future was always uncertain, but that meant that it also held the possibility of infinite redemption.

Perhaps that was why he felt that Priskil was a goddess he could believe in, even though he wasn't particularly religious nor had he actively sought out the rest of her worshippers. She seemed to embody his code in a way that no other diety he'd learned of did. From the hardest parts of her life and the darkest period of her history she'd emerged stronger for it. And through the long years and constant suffering she'd only grown more powerful. Going through a crucible, as Orin felt he was still struggling to do, had reforged her into something stronger, better, simply more than she was before. And through it all Priskil had never lost her faith in love. If someone who's woes made Orin's own look like the petty concerns of a child, then there had to still be hope for him.

These thoughts winding around his brain made time pass more quickly, but he eventually became aware of the world once more. He'd forgotten how difficult the steady exertion of digging was, and his arms ached. The midday sun beat down on him and sweat poured down the small of his back and beaded on his forehead. His shirt was soon sticking to his body and the rest of his clothes weren't doing much better. As he'd worked he'd steadily come to the realization that digging small holes with a spade in a garden plot was far different from creating what was essentially a pit in the center of the forest. He'd gotten the strangest feeling of being watched and even Intarus had gone silent, examining their surroundings with glittering, but discerning eyes, under his thick brows. For once the man had let up on his haranguing and Orin couldn't help but remember that beneath these trees, monsters lurked. Suddenly every shadow gained an ominous bent and the snapping of sticks in the distance, the rustling of leaves as small animals crept through the underbrush, the chittering of insects from all around, and even the chirping of birds in the bows seemed to portend doom. However Orin had fought for his life here before and knew the dangers that sometimes came even this close to the city walls.

He'd always taken special care in these woods, even as a child, and suddenly he realized in exactly what a vulnerable position he'd put himself in. Intarus, assuming he didn't simply flee in the event of a fight, wouldn't do much good with only one arm. So Orin couldn't rely on aid from that quarter. He'd crippled his maneuverability by placing himself in the pit, with its close sides. And any attacker would have a height advantage. The only good part about this situation was that the shovel would double as a weapon in a pinch. It was solid material and Orin certainly felt he could do some damage with it. But he wasn't wearing any protective gear, not that he owned it in the first place, and that was always worrying. Besides, anything that came after him, even if he could fend it off, could just trap him in the pit, and wait for him to drop from exhaustion.

[Orin Fenix]

So Orin felt a distinct sense of relief when Intarus finally barked out another command. "Alright I suppose that'll have to do." However, that statement lacked the heat of Intarus' earlier jabs at Orin. In fact, though this seemed too much to hope for, Orin felt that Intarus was more going through the motions, almost a reflexive reaction. Perhaps the man was feeling the oppression Still something undefinable in him eased slightly. He was still wary about the older abrasive man, especially given that men in positions of authority had given Orin no end of trouble in his life from his father to Rondo. So Orin wasn't nearly naive enough to believe that anything much had improved between him and Intarus, nor had Orin actually gained the man's approval. At least Intarus wasn't so focused on Orin's uselessness as a trapper anymore. Orin would take small blessings where he got them.

Climbing out of the hole, without any aid from his companion, Orin finally reached the open air. Handing Intarus back his shovel, Orin brushed the dirt that had gotten pretty much everyone on his body. Unfortunately, seeing as he was still drenched in sweat, all he succeeded in doing was smearing in everywhere. Orin sighed, realizing he'd need a thorough scrubbing when he got back to the city. Not that he wouldn't have done it anyway, but Orin hated the feel of grime on his skin, and he'd probably be forced to wash his clothes as well. Still there was nothing to be done about it now, so he crossed his arms against his chest as he awaited further instructions.

Intarus nodded towards the trees. "What I need you to do is go gather sticks." Some of Orin's control must've slipped since Intarus seemed to notice some of the incredulity that hit Orin. Or maybe the man was just good at predicting other people's reactions. "That seemed pretty clear to me although I understand you might have some trouble following directions with that tiny brain of yours." Orin dug his nails into his skin to avoid responding to that particular comment. "A few long ones to go across one way, then a bunch of smaller ones to go perpendicular on those. After that we'll cover it with leaves." Nodding cautiously Orin took a few steps, but stopped when Intarus kept going. "I ain't done yet. Yer not rid of me that easy. Now you need to head out a ways cause if we disturb this area too much the buggers will know what's up? Got it? Good." Loath as he was to admit it, even Orin had to admit that made an awful lot of sense. Moving away from Intarus, Orin scanned the nearby trees and realized that any direction was probably fine. And it would get him out from under the eye of one of the most disagreeable men he'd ever met.

Soon Intarus was out of sight, and Orin let himself sag against a trunk. Somehow, even though the amount of actual work he'd done hadn't been that much, he was feeling a bone deep exhaustion. Perhaps it was all in his head. After all he'd had no issue with the physical tasks set to him. He was feeling especially tense though, and decided that blowing off some steam would serve him well. And if it left Intarus stewing and waiting, well, Orin was having quite a bit of trouble feeling bad about that. The man already thought Orin was slow and lazy, so Orin might as well take advantage of that. It might be petty but it wasn't like Orin was above that.

He unsheathed his knives and settled his weight on the balls of his feet. He took one deep breath in and exhaled, trying to let the air leaving his body take some of his foul mood with it. Pausing his entire body for one tick, he then sprang into motion. His right arm swept out in a slash. He was planning to follow up with a stab with his left knife. But he still wasn't used to using both at the same time, and his foot wasn't planted properly. His aim went completely awry and his legs slid apart horizontally, instead of one in front of the other. He managed to catch himself before he fell completely flat on his face. Growling with annoyance, he reset his stance. But then a sound behind him startled him into motion.

He whirled, trying to bring his blades up into a defensive position. But his arms got tangled with his body and he ended up having to drop both of them to his side to avoid cutting himself on his own blades. While it was worrisome that his skills seemed to have completely atrophied, right now Orin had to take in the potential threat.

Which turned out to be no threat at all. It was a deer, who'd wandered into the same clearing as Orin, likely to get at some of the choicier leaves. It was a doe, who stared at Orin even as he stared back at her. In one of those strange moments of perfect clarity, the world froze. The deer and Orin looked into each others' eyes and something seemed to pass between them. A sort of inner peace, fleeting but poignant welled up from Orin, then passed. It seemed to be a reminder that sorrows were not all the world had to offer. There was beauty in the most unlikely places and times and there was no way to predict when serenity would come along. Then the world resumed. The doe jerked its ears forward before darting off, and Orin soon lost it in the undergrowth. But it left Orin's burdens feeling slightly lighter than before. Since it never hurt to thank the higher powers, Orin bowed his head and sent up a brief prayer. Priskil, or Caiyha, or whomever might be responsible, I appreciate even the smallest touch from you. Then he had to get back to work.

Gathering the appropriate sticks and leaves didn't take much time and all. Taking a moment to reorient himself to make sure he didn't get lost, Orin marched back to where he'd left Intarus. Without a word, Orin laid out the sticks in the pattern Intarus had explained earlier. Once he was satisfied, he spread the leaves out until not a hint of stick or hole remained. Standing up and rubbing the small of his back, Orin stepped aside for Intarus. The former trapper and current bitter old man examined Orin's handiwork, then nodded once. "Ain't hopeless, I suppose. Even if it did take you bells longer than it should. C'mon lad, we're heading back, but I expect you to come out and check these upon the morrow." Orin rolled his eyes when Intarus' back was turned, then set off to follow the man on the long trek home.

[Orin Fenix]

Morning, 45th of Spring, 515AV

Despite everything, Orin found himself out in The Bronze Woods once again. They'd stopped at the first site, but some larger animal or man had knocked down the snare and trampled it into the ground. Intarus had snarled and cursed most impressively. Orin had noted with amusement that the man knew a whole score of curse words that were completely new to Orin's vocabulary. Luckily, they hadn't stayed there that long, only taking the time to gather up the supplies. Intarus had pointed out that whatever had disturbed their trap had almost certainly also scared off any rabbits that might've showed. So now, as they came upon the second trap, Orin was incredibly happy to see that the pit was broken. They came to the edge of the hole, and saw a brown rabbit peering up at them. Intarus clapped him on his back with his free hand actually managing to stagger Orin.

While Orin was recovering, Intarus reached into the hole, and with a quick motion sliced the rabbit's neck. Orin's stomach lurched as the animal's life blood poured out. Its struggles grew weaker and weaker until finally it stilled. Intarus bared his teeth in a savage grin. "Now that's what I'm talking about. C'mere boy, and I'll show you how to skin it." Orin approached the corpse and lifted it gingerly. Intarus didn't seem to notice his hesitation and launched straight into the technique.

"Now step one is to pinch some fur on the back and make a small cut. Then get your fingers in there and pull the two halves apart, towards the head and tail." Taking up the already bloody knife Intarus proferred, Orin did as told. The contrast between the soft fur and the still warm skin below was shocking. Unfortunately for Orin the fur tore, somehow, leaving it in strips. Intarus cursed again, something under his breath but probably foul. Orin simply kept at it until he'd stripped the fur halfway, which was when Intarus stopped him. [color=#ffffff"Now pull out the feet. Once the fur's gone, snap the ankles then cut the feet off fully. Get rid of the head and tail while you're at it."[/color] The bones were almost ridiculously easy to break, and he severed the rest of the offending parts as best he could, though some sliver remained.

Intarus hunkered down and turned the rabbit over, pointing a finger at a specific part of the chest. "Now yer gonna wanna make an incision here, the kinda sorta run a finger up the skin. Basically we wanna expose the ribcage." The skin cut as easily as the fur and meat had, and Orin took a moment as he was opening up the body that it was an exceptionally well honed blade. The intestines came into sight followed quickly by the rest of the organs. Intarus, clearly not trusting Orin to do this part of the task, grabbed the long cut and essentially shoved it down towards the rabbit's spine. Orin watched as the heart, lungs, and everything else essentially fell out of the rabbit. Even with one hand the man clearly knew what he was doing. The body, heart, lungs, and liver went into the bag at Intarus' side while the intestines and the rest of the rabbit got tossed into the tree. The older man kicked some dirt over the bloodstains then beckoned for Orin to follow him. As the cook stood up, Intarus spoke, sounding very satisfied with the morning's work. "Looks like you'll be cooking me some rabbit today, lad." And Orin figured that was as close to a thank you as he was likely to get.

[Sayana]

Don't forget to edit/delete your grade request. If there's anything I may have missed, please PM me and I'll be happy to look into it.

 

Orin

Skills

• Cleaning: 1
• Tracking: 2
• Trapping: 5
• Socialization: 2
• Wilderness Survival: 3
• Carpentry: 1
• Carving: 1
• Philosophy: 3
• Observation: 1
• Digging: 1
• Bodybuilding: 2
• Tactics: 1
• Endurance: 1
• Weapon: Dagger: 1
• Dual Wield: 1
• Meditation: 1
• Prayer: 1
• Land Navigation: 1

Lores

• Cleaning: Soap and lemon juice as cleaning agents
• Intarus: Verbally abusive
• Intarus: Knowledgeable about trapping and the wilds
• Endurance: Taking verbal insults from a customer
• Tracking: Rabbit paw prints and chewed bushes
• Trapping: Set traps at animal food sources and travelled paths
• Socialization: Letting someone have the spotlight
• Carpentry: Chopping wood with an axe
• Trapping: Creating a noose trap for rabbits
• Wood carving: Creating basic stakes
• Simple bending and cutting of wire
• Philosophy: Moral code to bring more good than harm
• Trapping: Creating a dug out hole trap
• Wilderness Survival: Skinning a rabbit
• Basic rabbit anatomy: Fur, ribcage, heart, lungs, liver, intestines

Comments: Orin sure gets picked on a lot, but he certainly learned a lot during the thread. I enjoyed how much detail you put into the trapping and how even in the face of all the verbal abuse, Orin found peace and hope with that brief encounter with the deer.

Your Grader,

Sayana

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