Open Chop them plants, Pycon! [Job Thread]

[Planter]

61st Day, Spring Season, 516. Mid-Morning. The River Flower


The little clay pot man stood attentive and alert as the Drykasian herbalist, Sadara or as he liked to call her in Pavi, 'Teacher'. Sadara had made it a point in her a couple task to the little Pycon to gather local herbs in her effort to show the outsider of not only the bounty that the Sea of Grass had to offer, but the dangers of trekking across the grassland alone. What was supposed to be a test of survival skills in the wild grassland gathering vital herbs, turned into ' How do I find my way back?' Simply put, Harameus must’ve had his hand into. When it came to completing his task, Planter was fortunate, partly due to how plentiful the herbs were, but a small portion was from him being able to identify the plants themselves based off the books he took to reading when he was in Riverfall.

Most outsiders that came to Endrykas were human or something close to humanoid, Planter on the other hand was neither one of those things. The little clay pot man, in all intent and purpose, was a artificial representation of a humanoid. His appendages were stacks of clay pots that ran down to his three clay digits, while his head was an up turned pot with a minimalist approach to facial features. Meaning the wildlife took no interest in nabbing a juicy, succulent clay pot, which Planter thanked the Ever Changing One for.

His hollow eyes stared blankly as Sadara began chopping up stocks of white sage on the table with a antique looking knife. In his best Pavi he could muster, the words spilling out of a mouth that was formed with the look of a constant surprise, "Inquiry. Knife. Special?" Sadara not pausing for a chime as she chopped, and knowing the Pyconian was attempting to speak to her in her language she replied,"Agreement. Family. Gift. Knife. Strong." "

Planter stopped to think of what she had said and how it translated. Though Planter had a rudimentary knowledge of the Pavi language, he had a difficult time translating it into a context he would understand. The words themselves were easy enough, since they were relatively simple, but when he attempted to apply them with gestures and how that related to the subject of conversation, well Planter would get a little lost. This time, Planter was lucky he understood the context in which the conversation was headed, so Planter merely nodded and focused back to his study of the Master Herbalist's work.

" Now, if you're done with the language classes, could you be a dear and finish this for me, while I got check on one of the Watchmen that came in last night." the petite herbalist said, as she offered her student another knife. Planter took the knife in his clay digits and adjusted his grip of the knife to accommodate his tiny stature. Using his body he slice through the stocks of white sage, slowly and methodically.

He wanted to ensure he wasn't what they call totally ...what was the word that the Drykas used, Horzpah? Which, Planter roughly translated into poop, though cutting up plants hardly proved his worth. On top of his desire to learn all that he could from Sadara and her husband (though, he didn't seem to be keen on teach him directly.), he wanted to learn how the Drykasian people interacted together, when the shells were open and vulnerable, to see the true selves of the proud people. From what he gathered, white sage wasn't only used for it medicinal uses, but for spiritual uses as well, which Planter still didn't quite understand how. Further inquiry would be need to figure out that quandary out later. For the time being, the little clay man focused on cutting.

Chopping these sage stocks took much longer than an average human, due to the size of the knife and effort needed to use said knife properly, After a couple bells, Planter had finished his last batch of white sage, when one of Sadara's assistants brought him a a new batch of herbs, ' Time....No...Dime...That's not it. Oh yeah, Thyme! ' The auburn haired Drykasian assistant, who took the board of finished freshly chopped batch of white sage under her arm and in a voice that bordered on song bird Pavi," Dry. Hang. Tent outside." Planter shrugged his clay shoulders, the meaning of the words spoken lost on him, though he wasn't sure if it was due to him not knowing the words, or how musical she made the words sound. The assistant sighed and spoke in a slower tone, slowing her gestures to accommodate this simpleton," Dry. Hang. Tent outside."/ She finished her sentence with a final gesture toward the back entrance flap. Planter nodded, and laughed at himself, switching to Common, " Ahh, this one understand now. This one thanks you! " or at least he hoped he understood what she meant, for the most part he knew she wanted him to hang the herbs to dry, but where was the question.
He really needed to practice Pavi with someone when it came Directional Verbs. Taking the bundle of thyme in a bear hug, Planter hopped down from the table. The impact shortened his form a bit, but with a little concentration, he reverted back to his original self. Lugging the small bundle of thyme outside made it difficult navigating his way out of the River Flower, but after a couple pauses and course changes, he made it without being stepped on.

[Planter]

61st Day, Spring Season, 516. 12th Bell. The River Flower

The diminutive clay man heaved the bundle of thyme through the back entrance of the tent, grateful to get out of the oppressive heat that had begun to build up. His clay form felt like it was baking, till he realized he actually was. He stopped to set down his burden and concentrated as hard as he could, willing the outer layer of his clay-form to harden. A little tricked he learn on the way to Endrykas. The clay that was his body was essentially that, clay. Meaning, it had all the properties of the same inanimate material that he consumed on a weekly basis. Forcing his ‘skin’ to harden allowed his insides to maintain moisture that was still in his body at a decreased rate. Unfortunately, it also made walking very difficult. He leaned over to pick up his bundle of thyme, as creases in his skin were made to accommodate his movement. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it’d get the job done.
As Planter walked, his movement were quite stiff, and with the Noon Sun hanging, for what felt, like it was bearing down on the little Pycon most of all. The traffic along the foot paths had trickled to almost nothing. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who was feeling the heat, but Planter took no solace in that fact. As he rounded the corner of the River Flower, he spotted what the assistant was talking about. About two stone throws away from the River Flower, were drying racks, and from the looks of it, specifically for herbs. Grinning on the inside, he hurriedly walked toward the racks, eager to unload his burden.
One matter that had always irked Planter about being a Pycon was the fact that not everyone else was less than a foot tall either. As Planter gazed up at the drying rack, he realized that in order to successfully hang these thyme bundles, he was either going to have to incredibly ingenious or he was going to have to climb up. Being that Planter wasn’t known for his physical prowess, he decided it would be much easier on himself if he former course of action. Setting the thyme bundles back down, Planter rummaged through his backpack, and produced two key items in order to accomplish his task: rope and a razor.
Guestimating the height of the drying rack to be roughly five feet tall, he cut eight feet from his rope with his razor. He began tying off one end of the rope into a loose knot, enough to hold the plant as he lifted it, but loose enough he could whip the rope to release the thyme onto the hooks of the drying rack. It took Planter several tries, roughly about 20 chimes worth of tries, before he successfully hooked one of the stocks of thyme. The little clay man was about to wrangle up his next stock of thyme, when someone began giggling from behind him, though it wasn’t lost on him that it must’ve been pretty entertaining watching a Pycon try to hang sprigs of plants on a drying rack. The giggling continued, but this only spurned Planter even more to complete this task. An elder from back home would always say,’ I maybe small, but I dream big… or something like that. The elder were quite kooky.’ As he flung the rope over one side of the drying rack, he began pulling the thyme up on to the rack, this time he hooked it, first try. The giggling had stopped, but he guessed it was due to it being hot outside than his excellent rope skills.

After a ten chimes, Planter had successfully racked the whole bundle of thyme. He stood back and admired his work, “ Yup, this one did that! Haha!” Planter gathered up his things and walked back toward the River Flower to find out what other tasks were set for him.

[Kaitanu]

After many days of uncertain weather, it seemed that the world was shifting into its proper orbit. The sun was high and warm, but not too oppressive, and the new grass was soft and green around Kaitanu’s legs. In spite of the tension about thefts the atmosphere about the city was more relaxed. Many a Drykas man and woman were going about with bare skins so the sun’s rays could fully embrace them. After such a bitter Winter it could hardly be wondered at. Even Kaitanu, with his sensitive white flesh, had left his black shirt behind at The Guided Horse, neatly folded, along with his boots. The kelvic kept his trousers on not out of personal modesty. There were still foreigners in the tent city and, being an outsider himself, Kaitanu was more aware of their attitudes toward dress than the Drykas, who didn’t care if they shocked anyone by being nude. Kaitanu, as always, was anxious not to cause offense.

Thankfully, little notice was taken of his short trek to the River Flower. A few suspicious looks, some muttering about walakh- outsider, non-Drykas, a word he knew well- but that was about it. Most people were about their business and had seen his lanky white form in the past. They knew he was no longer quite an outsider. Around his neck the kelvic wore his pavilion’s mark of belonging; the silver wolfs-head torc Dravite had given him. Kaitanu had found that offered more protection than keeping a low profile. Even carrying a small purse of coins, also around his neck, no one bothered him. They probably knew the money was Kelna Nightrider’s, and as usual he was running errands for her.

Today she needed fennel seeds for a few of the mares who had just foaled, and some fresh mint. Kaitanu was familiar with the River Flower, but he still couldn’t reconcile the strangeness of not seeing Pearl there. In his own vague way the kelvic missed her, but his broken mind could barely recall her face, or her voice. The fact that he remembered her at all was something of a miracle. Anything not before him day after day seemed to vanish like mist in the sun, only to come back later in pieces at odd times. As he entered the main tent, Kaitanu could almost see Pearl’s slim figure coming to greet him, but it was only for a moment, and the empty space left behind a bitter but unclear feeling in his stomach, and the cries of children in his mind.

No one would have known this by looking at his expression or posture. Neither changed very much no matter what was going on, and his voice was soft as ever while asking, with the utmost politeness, for what was needed. His Pavi was not more than basic, but he could at least remember the words for fennel[color] and [color=#00ae46]mint, which Kelna had just told him not five chimes ago. Repeating them over and over in his head on the way had helped. All that remained now was to wait for a bag of fennel to be brought out, which he did in his peculiar sort of humble silence, standing near one wall of the tent so as not to be in the way. In the dim shade he looked almost like a scarred ghost, more thoughtful than cowed as he had been when he first came to the Sea of Grass. Wary eyes kept watch on every movement, but they were not at all prepared to see such a thing as a small, ambulatory pot plant with a face.

[Planter]

61st Day, Spring Season, 516. 12th Bell, 50th-ish Chime. The River Flower
As the little clay man walked back inside the main tent, humming to himself, smiling inwardly at a job well done. He slipped inside the tent, surveying the River Flower for Sadara. The main area that had the wooden folding chairs sat unusually empty, besides a handful of Drykas waiting to get looked at. Sadara’s assistant was busy making a bandage of some kind at one of the work stations. When Planter walked up to her, she was collecting up an armful of medical supplies to be on stand-by, in case of emergency. She looked down,”Complete? Task. Seed. Fennel. Shelf.” The assistant pointed to a shelf by the back entrance of the tent. The shelf, in question was a weave of hickory branches tied together with a strand of leather, stood not more than chest height. Burlap bags of various other contents were lined carefully under and around the shelf, and from what he saw they weren’t labeled. The assistant stood there as Planter eyed the shelf, as if waiting for him to acknowledge her order,” Task. Go. Fast. Outsider. Buy” She sighed exasperatedly, and walked toward one of the many medical chests, placing a handful of the bandages inside each medical chest.

Planter looked back toward the shelf then around the tent, unsure of who she was referring to as outsider, his hollow eyes missing Kaitanu’s pale form against the white canvas wall. Was it him? It was obvious that he was an outsider, yes but he didn’t need fennel seed nor did he want to buy it either. Though, he did occur to him Shrugging his clay shoulders, he clopped towards the shelf, narrowly dodging a passing Drykas man’s foot. “ This one requests you watch where you are walking. ” Planter said meekly. The Drykas man, who’s red knotted sash around his waist, signified him being a member of the Ruby Clan, stared down at the little clay pot man and snarled,” Outsider...” The rest of what the Drykas man said was lost on Planter as he barely dodged another foot from the man. Planter quickly scampered towards the shelf of seed, poking his head out only to see the wind marked back of the man as he left. “ This one needs to be more careful. This one didn’t read about Drykas tempers. This one must write this down, when the time comes. ” Brushing off himself off, he set to identifying the bag of fennel that he was tasked to do.

Looking from bag to bag was a task itself. Unfortunately, for Planter this was his first day and he hadn’t gotten to the portion of orientation. Though it was simple enough to find the bag of fennel seed or what he identified as fennel. As Planter bear hugged the two pound burlap bag of dill and lifted it above his head. Smiling inwardly, Planter scanned the tent again, this time spotting the ‘outsider’ and understood at that moment why they referred to him as such. Though he was equally human in shape and size as the Drykas. This particular human was unusually pale comparatively so to his Drykas cousins, pale enough to blend in with the tent walls, that is. Planter shimmed toward the pale, blonde human, and dropped the burlap bag of dill next to him, Semekhe-blessings,“ Fennel. You? Uhhh. “, Planter attempted to try to translate the word for ‘cooking’ but it came out jumbled, nonsensical.

[Kaitanu]

Instinctively, the kelvic went very still against the tent wall, almost to the point of not breathing. At the same time his mind began to cry rebellion at the possibility of what he was seeing. Perhaps it was only a little machine, he told himself. That had to be it...a machine, a little toy. But he had never seen one so smooth in movement, so profoundly lifelike as to be almost human. Its little fingers moved in that free manner of which only human fingers were capable. The toy, or creature, or whatever it was responded to Sadara’s commands as though it was thinking about them. And out of its preposterous mouth came not just noises but coherent sentences.

If Kaitanu had ever heard of the tiny earthen people to which Planter belonged he would not have been so at a loss, but he had never encountered such a thing in his short life. At least, not that he could remember. His mind had never been too intact to begin with. Yet here was a sight which had no familiarity, and nothing which his mind could grasp onto for support. Though the kelvic’s expression betrayed nothing beyond stillness, his eyes watched every movement of the Pycon with utter fascination. Kaitanu believed in no gods, and had little experience with magic, so he could not divine how a potted plant had life in it, or a semblance of life. Then again, having little faith in his own small store of knowledge, there were too many things about this world that he neither knew nor understood.

What was more, as Kaitanu watched the tiny form move about in such a large and dangerous world, incredulity gave way to a vague sort of kinship. Whatever the thing was it attracted the same sort of mistrust as the pale kelvic, who earned a glare from the Ruby clan Drykas as though he and the Pycon were in conspiracy to overwhelm the natives. Kaitanu had some protection through belonging to the Blackwaters as their equal. Equal…. a frightening, wonderful word the former slave still couldn’t quite internalize properly. But then he wondered, as the Pycon trotted over to him, with the oversized bag, if it had anyone. It was so small, so easily broken outside. Yet, unlike Kaitanu, it seemed to have a fire in itself. Perhaps it was not a slave here, or had never been a slave. That little inward fire would keep the Pycon intact in such a huge world, especially if it had a safe place to turn to at night.

Bending down, Kaitanu took the bag in one hand, murmuring "thanks" automatically. However, as he lifted it up again his keen nose caught a whiff of strong, bitter dill. On closer inspection he found that his nose wasn’t mistaken, and the kelvic paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. On the one hand it was not his nature to correct anyone, even so humble and tiny a being as Planter. Never did the kelvic speak up for himself. On the other hand, this was not his business but his employer’s. Kelna Nightrider was not a cruel woman, but Kaitanu didn’t wish to displease her in anything, and she had sent him for fennel and mint.

Glancing quickly at the other employees, and finding them distracted, Kaitanu knelt down to Planter’s level and held the bag out in the crook of his pale, scarred arm. As he couldn’t remember the word for dill, he said quietly, “Not fennel….”, hoping the little creature would understand. “Fennel, please.”

The next moment, as such realizations often occurred to his fractured mind, Kaitanu caught a fleeting glimpse of truth. The little creature had spoken Pavi in as halting a manner as the kelvic did himself. Of course it would, being an outsider. But what of the many, many languages did it speak? If Kaitanu had been more aware of averages, his next move would not have seemed quite so daring.

Almost furtively, and in a soft and humble tone, Kaitanu said in Common, “If you please, this is dill. My employer requires fennel and mint for her horses.”

The former slave had no personal pride, and so no embarrassment over talking to a pot. Self-consciousness came rather from acting on his own intuition. What if the creature did not speak Common, either? Would it be offended? Could it be offended?

“I beg you would forgive me for troubling you.” the kelvic went on, hoping he had been understood. Beyond Common and a little Pavi he knew no other means of getting his point across. They might end up gesticulating to one another fruitlessly until the others caught on, and then both would be in trouble. Kaitanu didn't want that, either for himself or the impossible walking, talking pot thing at his feet.