(Flashback) Lost in Translocation (Nisana)

[Wrenmae]

Wrenmae looked back at her, his eyes flat. Existence was far from perfect. Good people died all the time for reasons trite and silly. The wicked flourished and the goodly perished, it happened the other way around but for some reason it always seemed that evil was rewarded far more than goodness. What point was there in racial pride when everyone was bound by the gossamer strands of fate and brotherhood? No race was unto itself, outside the realm of the world...everything spinning forward in time.

Human, Symnestra, Jamoura, Isur...different in form and philosophy only. Did not each possess a sentience worth caring for? Did not each have a story to tell?

"I find it fortunate to be human, but no more fortunate than being a Symnestra, or a Zith," He said at last, pausing only long enough to speak and breath sharply between his words. Skinning and preparing the deer was hard work, night was falling swiftly and light escaped from the cave as though retreating from its domain. He'd need to make a fire soon.

"We all have our purposes here, and I try not to look at people as different races...just different people, different souls to know, stories to listen to, experiences to learn from...aren't we all trying to get somewhere in life? Isn't it complicated enough without adding race restraints?"

He removed the deer's heart, staring at it for a moment by the fading light. He was transfixed by the organ, still and unbeating. Once this thing was full of life, full of blind optimism and the pursuit of simply living. Almost reverently he placed it on the pile of other organs, sitting back hard to rest.

"Maybe one day I'll ask you to guide me through your home," he said at last, smile replacing the somber silence between them, "You can show me your people, your culture in a way that most could not see...if I ever pass that way of course, or ever meet you again."

He looked down at the long knife, placing it beside him.

"You can stay here the night if you want, the Unforgiving is dangerous to move around in at night. I promise I won't harm you." he held up his arms, flexing the lithe things weakly, "Not that I'd be much of a challenge if I wanted to eh?"

[Nisana Curare]

Wrenmae's lack of pride in his race was starting to irritate Nisana. If the art of hypnotism was used by others like this boy it was no wonder she had never heard of any Symenestra using the art. While she could understand his refusal to admit the supperiority of the Symenestra, it will be depressing to always dwell on your limits and weaknesses, his "can't we all get along?" attitude left her wondering how he survived in Mizahar.

When he then presumed to think of her as a friend she stared at him for a few moments in silence, and then gave a small shrug as she stood up from the stone she had been sitting upon, "Perhaps, we cannot know what the future holds."

His offer to stay the night drew a laugh from her lips, and a shake from her head, "Dangerous for a human perhaps, but Symenestra prefer to hunt in the dark," she paused a moment, and then slightly reluctantly offered, "Thank you for informing me of how you Hypnotize."

Without waiting for his response she turned and stalked off into the darkness outside, not even looking back over her shoulder as she called out, "Farewell, Wrenmae."

Perhaps his pathetic words were some form of defense. Even if he had been the most beautiful woman Nisana had ever seen she would not dare bring someone with such a lackluster spirit to provide a child for Serena. Regardless of the reason, Nisana would not be displeased if she never crossed paths with him again.

OOCHope ya don't take Nisana's grumpiness personally, I really enjoyed the thread! Should we turn it in after your next post?

[Wrenmae]

Her words were all the understanding Wrenmae needed. People lived their lives, regardless of race, immune to their own expressions. It was rare when a living being looked upon their own face and unless possessed with unreasonable vanity, most quivered at the sight of it. There was something disconcerting about looking into ones own eyes...ones own face, there was a lack of control there, as though you were looking out at yourself, and much the more frightened for the experience.

She had no intention of leading a human through her home in Kalinor, that much was certain.

He watched her depart, eyes on her back and the movement of her legs. There was grace there and a certain expectant poise, but nothing that seemed to indicate any latent superiority. Traveling by night may be her fancy, but perhaps it was her instinct that caused her to rescind the invitation.

Wrenmae was disease, and perhaps she sensed that.

As she vanished into the darkness, Wrenmae nodded quietly, soaking in her words and the entirety of the encounter.

Turning back to the deer, he dug his blade into it's leg and worked to send the knife scissoring up its expanse, carving red ribbons along the brown fur. There was a certain grace to cutting with a weapon, an understanding of form that he still had not quite grasped. He moved it in jagged motion, pulling at the edges of muscles. In a way, he was training himself, feeling the pressure of tendons against a tested edge. No master in its art, he no less pushed himself to feel the way a dagger slid through skin, cut muscles, violated body continuity. The Symenestra was gone, a farcry short of welcoming in the otherwise black of night experience. Viciously he stabbed the dagger back into the meat, cutting and pulling with vicious abandon.

With care and a bit of hack and slash tactics, Wrenmae finally managed to extricate a leg bone from the deer he had killed. It glistened with blood, a mute testament to the violence it had endured. Several scrapes and chips dotted its expanse, a sign Wrenmae was not yet as trained with his long knife than he wanted to be.

Bone removed, Wrenmae cleaned it with a bit from his water skin, careful to maximize its effect without losing too much water. Idly he kept his eyes near the entrance, wary should the woman return. He doubted she would, but she had a bow and spoke easily of hunting...it just might be that Wrenmae would make suitable prey, as he had not made the best conversational partner.

Breaking the bone was easy, enough, snapping it under foot like dry tinder. In the coming darkness, Wrenmae focused on his eyes and let the change come to them, remembering how cat eyes worked, how they saw, what they saw. The shadows in the cave receded as the young storyteller focused on his eyes, on the pupil and how he should push it together, lengthen it, change it.

Blinking new vision, the human turned back to his task, sawing away at the edges of the bone till only a small long piece remained, circular and gleaming in the moonlight filtering from outside the cave.

It was with care that he hollowed out the inside of the bone, scraping marrow from the wall and trying to maintain the rigidity of the item without compromising what he wanted. Of the long piece, his first four tries were failures, cracked bone with useless application tossed upon the ground.

The final piece was a success, an awkward looking ring of bone. Staring at it, in awe of its simple potential, Wrenmae bent himself to carving, practicing first on the discarded pieces of bone to perfect what he wanted. The circle, as always, was the hardest. Etching the trace was difficult, especially in not creating angles. Squares and misshapen polygons filled the remains of the deer bones, awkwardly scratched symbols only shadows of what he wanted.

It was on the ring that he bent his progress, straining his shaking hands to produce something passable for Malediction, a circle on the ring itself with the ridged etching of 'speed' written in. The deer danced so quickly among the rocks, Wrenmae just wanted a portion of that grace, that speed.

Focusing his own Djed into the object, exhaustion swept the storyteller like vertigo, sending him spinning to the cave floor.

The deer meat was cut, drying now to be taken care of later...the ring, newly made, was clutched in Wrenmae's right hand.

Under the watchful eye of Weaver, he slept...his mind spinning with images of massive webs, glittering caverns, and the pale people he may never meet.

[Tabarnac]

XP Award! Wrenmae XP Award: Riding +1; Land Navigation +1; Wilderness Survival +1; Morphing +3; Hypnotism +2; Knife +1; Body Building +1; Negotiation +1; Teaching +1; Animal Husbandry +1; Philosophy +1; Skinning +3; Butchery +3; Malediction +1 Booty: Bone Ring : This rough, unpretty ring of deer bone makes the wearer half again as fast as normal, but with this speed comes blindness in one eye and the overpowering need to flee from danger, real or perceived. Lore: Kalinor (basic); Symenestra (basci) Nisana XP Award: Hunting +1; Stealth +1; Observation +5; Tracking +1; Intimidation +2; Interrogation +2; Negotiation +1; Teaching +1; Storytelling +2 Lore: Hypnotism (basic) Additional Notes: Interesting interaction! Wrenmae, remember, you cannot reach Denval by land! Your first lines made it seem like this was a misunderstanding. No roads lead there. One can arrive by boat or by air. I’d also like to see more description of your magic use, the way you do with many other things. I can award you more XP that way and it ends up more interesting to read. You got the body building because you hauled a deer back to camp. Those things are heavy. He must be buff. Nisana, in any future interactions with Wrenmae, you won’t be impervious to Hypnotic effects, but you will have an edge knowing that he is capable of Hypnotism and due to increased vigilance. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or concerns. Keep writing!