Open Unusual Behaviors

[Khida]

Spring 3, 513 AV morning He was acting strange, and the falcon was perplexed. Yesterday, yesterday had been almost normal. They had gone hunting, as they usually did; in truth, it had seemed that far more of the city went hunting than was typical, and that had posed some hassle. But they had made a kill, and he had brought it back to the city, which was also usual. But he had not taken anything for himself from it, only for her -- that was not usual. And while he hadn't been in her view all day, Khida suspected he hadn't eaten anything later on, either. But he didn't otherwise act sick. He just... didn't eat. The falcon had left the tent city slightly before Syna crested the horizon, searching for prey in the undisturbed grasses beyond. Pickings were leaner than ever now, with the whole of winter behind them and the litters and clutches of the new year not yet out unwarily roaming the land. The songbirds kept to the grasses in the wan light of dawn, singing claims against their rivals; the peregrine couldn't readily get them from there. But as she went on, she finally found a rabbit drinking at a rill not so protected, a place where larger creatures had flattened the old grasses and spring growth had yet to restore their cover. Khida took advantage of its preoccupation without a moment's hesitation, swooping down to catch the rabbit in her talons. The initial strike didn't kill it, but a quick snap of her beak made up for that lack, dispatching it neatly. It was rather skinny for its size, no doubt rendered stringy by the deprivations of winter; she would've preferred a newly-fledged pheasant, by far. But she'd take what she could get. The falcon adjusted her grip until she felt it was secure, then labored back up into the air and turned her course towards the encampment, now limned in the golden light of morning. Endrykas itself was bustling and active, lively with people going about their morning tasks. There were people out with the horses, and people repairing tents, and people milling around down the lanes between pavilions on errands inscrutable to the Kelvic. There were also a lot of people just setting themselves out in the morning light, with leather or grass or cloth or any number of other things in their hands. More than Khida was accustomed to seeing, and the burdened falcon took a turn around through the air above the city just to get a confirmatory sense of their numbers. Yesterday, the city hunted. Today, the city seemed to be making. But... what?

[Colt]

The morning had dawned crisp and clear. Winter’s chill still clung stubbornly to the rattling grasses, but it was slowly losing its grip and spring was hovering above the plains. The air smelled damp, the damp of a world getting ready for new growth.

The hunger in his stomach had settled. Yesterday he had been plagued by incessant rumblings, but now they had resigned themselves to a feeling of hollowness. The hunger was always there, but he was no stranger to hunger. He could ignore it. Nevertheless, he could feel the slight lightness of his limbs, a precursor to the sapped strength that the fasting would ensure.

Participation in the Festival of Life was more ceremonial than practical; he had no family, nor even any close friends to share it with. If he wished, he could eat without any witnesses, but that was not how Drykas did things. And he would adhere to the Drykas way.

Sometimes it seemed as if partaking of such things was pointless; he tried his best to be a member of society, but it was often fruitless. He would skirt along the outer fringes, hiding in the shadow of the tent city and occasionally wandering into its streets, but despite all efforts he could never force himself to belong there. No matter how much he told himself I am a Drykas, and this is Endrykas, and this is where I belong, the tents and the people and the smells and the sounds crushed him from all sides. As much as he tried to deny it, each excursion was a self-inflicted torture, almost physically painful if he remained for too long. He did not belong there.

But did that mean he was not a Drykas? Clanless, kinless, nameless, but still bonded to a strider; where was it he belonged? He could step into one world as often as he wished, but he could never leave the other; memories of the crater, of the silence and simplicity of a time now passed continued to haunt him, reminding him of something that had felt much better, much more right. And though he knew where it was, he did not return; the obligation of his blood-roots held him under the wing of Endrykas. It was where he belonged, and it was also where he did not belong, and the conflict between the two was constant.

So he had opted to take a different route to society. The Feast of Life and its fast was a much easier, less-stressful way to relate to his people, even if none of them would know about it. He had participated in the hunt, and, according to custom, had not eaten. He would not eat for days to come.

It was now a new day, and a day for new things. Now was the time to craft offerings for the gods, a custom that, for all his troubles, he agreed with wholeheartedly. He had thought long and hard about which gods to offer what, and after much cataloguing and deliberation he had come to a conclusion.

As a Drykas, he held special respect for Semele and Zulrav. Without a family, they were the closest thing he could think of as mother and father. He would certainly make things for them. But looking back on his short history, shorter than even a child’s, through the seasons and their happenings, he knew that if there was any god that had looked after him, it would doubtless be Caiyha. Living alone for half a year was no small feat, and there were many things that could have ended his existence in a heartbeat. But he had survived, and in with nothing around him but the things of the grasslands, he had, for a short while, been nothing but one of her predators. Yes, she would be the first he gave offering to.

Then, of course, there was one small hiccup: he knew nothing of crafting.

Of the unexplained skills of his forgotten past, he would have expected something to make an appearance; carving, weaving, sculpting, even basket-weaving would have been acceptable. But it seemed that he knew none of these things, no matter how deep he dug, and so he had been left with a grudging conclusion: he would just have to learn something.

So here he sat, cross-legged in his camp. Before him was a branch as tall as he was that he had picked up from beneath a tree the day before, and beside him was his knife. He was at the base of a hill in the outermost border of Endrykas, and he could still see a large number of tents not too far away. Here and there other people left the thick of the city with various materials, looking for quiet places to work. Thankfully none of them came his way.

He took a deep breath and picked up his knife. There was no time like the present to start learning.

[Aarias]

Aarias is slow to come to terms with the sounds of a blissful morning, the birds happily chirping and his clansmen conversing outside his tent. Today had a long awaited aura around it, something sinking into him. A small revelation dawns on him as the sun illuminates the dirty white folds of the ceiling. It’s been nearly forty days since Aarias had let the cradled words in that folded envelope leave his sight. She had to have responded by now, she always does.

She never waits, always returning his message within three days from Zeltiva. He always admired her for her efficiency. But their correspondence has been slowed to a crawl, stories of sickness also hitting her homeland as well as his. It seems no one was safe in the harsh winter days.

The plague of the Pox is retreating over the hills now, the thick stink that came along with the dying and deceased fading as the days pass. There is always something unique about the Endrykas in springtime. A new year to start anew along with celebration, dancing, crafts, and his personal favorite, sparring along with physical trials. Not to mention, love is emphasized deeply, something Aarias has never been a “straight a” shooter with.

But then again, from a young age, his uncle has told him his first love is his weapons and physical power. As the years progressed, Aarias found himself marrying his profession, just as he had been instructed. Nothing could give him more of a thrill then feeling his own pulse throbbing in his head, the sound of steel crashing against steel. Every single lesson he learns only throws more logs on the fire; his desire to become a member of The Watch.

Tomorrow’s sacrifice of vigor will quench his thirst for a fight. That much, Aarias is sure of. Today, the third day of the Festival of Life, will be filled with prayer and thanks, presentation of gifts as well as forgiveness. This Warrior will smile with his mouth but not with his sharp blue eyes. For he respects the tradition of the third day and believes strongly in giving back to nature what the Drykas have taken. But what he rejects is the belief that Gods answer his or anyone’s prayers. His devotion is dearth, in great quantity but he makes up for it in his iron will. He knows he must smile and pray, showing respect to his fellow clansmen as well as the Gods and Goddesses.

Terrasar, his uncle, tells him to pray to Myri, the Goddess of victory and battle, if he must be seen praying along with the other Drykas. “You have integrity,” He pats Aarias on his right shoulder as they stand outside the Stormshadow tent, “But not all of us believe in the antediluvian of faith. You –should- in order to be a true Drykas but you were always one to question, Aarias. In time you will find your place.”

“I’m already twenty, Tack.” Aarias whispers spitefully, “When will I find my place?”

“Springtime is here, Aarias. You can always change your ways because it’s never too late. Only twenty? Stop complaining and start innovating.” He wags a finger at Aarias before clapping his hands together, “But come my son, let’s find supplies to give back to the Gods.”

There is a large pause before Terrasar plucks a letter from his belt pouch, "You better not be courting Cellia, Aarias. She is pretty and talented but -not- a Drykas. Not to mention, I don't think her family would be too keen on a Drykas male taking their daughter away from them. You're a part of our clan and we need you. The Watch won't let you leave once you join, they're counting on you to complete your training." Aarias couldn't tell with the mysterious tone his uncle is using if he is lying and just trying to lift Aarias' spirits or is accurate.

"I'm not courting her, Tack. I know that you want me to find a nice Drykas girl to wed but," Aarias shrugs as they start to walk, trying to grab the letter as Tack pulls it away, "I just haven't been looking in the right places it would seem. I'm married to my training. You told me yourself when I was younger that my first-"

"Oh, no, no, no. You need a wife, Aarias. Don't you want a legacy? Children? Grandchildren?" There is a pause and Tack starts to grin, "And you actually believed me? Aarias my dear boy, I was just trying to get you to follow in my footsteps. You can be married to your profession but only if that is the path you wish to choose."

He slaps the letter against Aarias' chest, sending a jolt throughout the Warrior's body. Rough fingers touch the smooth creases of Cellia's letter, his mind starting to wonder about how she and her family had survived the winter months. When will he be seeing her again? The only thing stopping him from opening the letter right here is his uncle's wondering eyes. Nothing can be kept a secret from his gossiping uncle for long. And so the two start weaving through the city of Endrykas, looking for supplies in order to make their unique gifts. Sooner or later, Aarias feels the presence of his guarding uncle leave his side. The Warrior keeps his eyes open for anything he can use to craft an item for the Gods.

[Khida]

The laden falcon passed above the tents, flying not directly towards her destination, but in a casual survey of the city. Just because she had last seen him by the tent he seemed to now call home didn't mean he would still be there. It gave her a chance to get a better look at the doings of the Drykas, as well. She found no rhyme or reason to the activities that the Kelvic could discern; the only commonality seemed to be making. Here, one wove grasses into mats; there, another beat copper into a thin sheet of metal; a third seemed to be checking long pieces of wood for straightness. Catching a glimpse of feathers also at that one's side, Khida realized he was most likely making arrows. No more enlightened than before, the peregrine left off observing and set a final course for the little hill where he had set his camp. Stretching her wings wide, she glided above an avenue of the city, briefly noting two men below her who first traveled together, then separated and each went on alone. But they weren't hers, and she hadn't seen him in the city, so she kept on. And indeed, she soon saw that he sat a little ways out from his tent, something in his hands, and she thought a slightly discontented expression on his face. Or maybe he was just concentrating. As the falcon closed, she realized the thing he held was no more than a piece of wood. That, and a knife. It seemed he was caught up in the making frenzy, too. Khida wondered a moment if that should concern her. Then she decided it probably should. Could making be infectious, like a disease? Already one disease had burned through the city; why not another? Probably that wasn't so. But she would continue to watch, just in case. Khida called down to her partner, then released her burden. As she went on to backwing and land on the tent, the rabbit's carcass landed with a solid thunk on the earth, not too far away from him. Turning around to face him, her present to him, and the city beyond, the peregrine cocked her head and blinked bright amber eyes. She called again, a single insistent chiit demanding his attention -- and action.

[Fox Starseer]

Fox walked past the tent that formed the main area of his family's pavilion. His father was busy inspecting the yvas he used for the ride to Endrykas. Fox had noticed it had almost slipped off during the last bit of the ride, and he was right, the buckle seemed to have broken. "I'll pick up what we'll need for the buckle from the traders" he said to his father, who nodded in reply. He walked over to his backpack and grabbed the sword he had received as a gift from his father, it would need to be sharpened again, unfortunately he didn't have a whetstone or the oil to sharpen it himself, so he'd have to pay a blacksmith to do this.

As he walked his memories went to his twin sister, lost a few years back to the slavers that had caught the hunters by surprise. How he wished he had made it to her sooner, maybe he could have saved her and they'd both be here to walk together as they always had, or he would have died defending her and the other hunters, which would have been acceptable too. He sighed softly, knowing he would soon leave to hunt these slavers and exact revenge for his sister's kidnapping and bring her home, alive preferably, but if he had to let her die with dignity then he would. For he knew she would do no less for him.

As he walked he caught sight of his reflection in a polished bit of metal, he smiled as he saw his most distinctive feature, his red tinted hair. His mother and sister had the signature red hair that came from their mother's side, the Inatra side of their family, granted his sister's hair was also tinted black. This detail had made them both distinctive among the Drykas, although he admitted his sister had most of the looks, even though he knew she'd say otherwise. He looked to the sky to see a bird, possibly a falcon from what he could tell, landing a bit away at another pavilion. Not to uncommon as some hunters possibly used birds of prey, especially since his mother would have bred them and taught some of the younger hunters, especially those from his twins old hunting party, how to use them.

[Colt]

First, he needed to get rid of the branches; those would simply not do. He made small incisions at the elbows where the branches joined with the body of the limb, and so when he snapped them away the jagged remnants were rarely longer than his little finger. They would be easily removable, and a rough stone would make short work of smoothing them over. Leaving them for later, the hunter-turned-carver turned his attention to the mass of the stave.

His blade slid smoothly under bark, and it took little effort to lever the thumbnail-sized chip away and an arm-length strip along with it. The hunter tightened his grip on the handle; the ease of the bark’s removal was quite encouraging. He knew how to use his knife, and it was not a hard task he was setting his mind to. Another strip was taken. Then another. Within minutes the outer bark of half of the stave had been discarded, though a reddish-brown layer of inner bark still remained. He could work on that next.

His attention was broken by a call from above. He looked up in pleased surprise at the unexpected arrival of the she-falcon, then paused in his work to return a greeting call of his own. He hadn’t seen her in the morning and had wondered where she had gone off to.

Something was clasped in her talons, and he tilted his head curiously as she let it fall. It landed on the other side of his tent with a thunk. Intrigued, the hunter set aside his work for a moment, stood, and trotted over to see what she had brought him.

He picked up the hare and looked at the falcon as she chirped insistently at him from her perch on the tent. He examined the hare, unsure what to make of it. It did not appear to be eaten in any way, which perplexed him; why would she hunt if she did not wish to eat? Perhaps she wanted a special piece of the hare…?

It wasn’t very likely, but he could imagine nothing else. He returned to his carving spot and hefted his knife, but it was not wood that the blade bit into. He kept the hare on its back as he slit its stomach, taking care that all the entrails remained within. He stuck in a finger and fished around a bit, and within moments he had found the heart. Was that what she wanted? He pulled out the little organ and held within easy reach of her beak, and with his other hand he signed confusion.

[Aramenta]

In a city full of clever hands and talented craftspeople, Ara was a mere adjunct to the making-day of Spring. She could make nothing, really, not anything worth offering. Instead, as her Father's wife spun at a skein of yarn with a long, heavy spindle-drop, Ara simply took the children out of her hair. She walked with Livvy into the the thin grass near the edge of the camp - leading a gaggle of two younger sisters, a brother, and even a neighbor child behind her. She sat in the long grass, and leaned close to whisper to Livvy, who said, "Missy Ara say sit on down, we gone make some'in' for the festival. Find some grass, nice and sweet and fresh, now, and pull it all the way from the bottom, hmm? Not the roots, min' you childers, jus' the stalks, we don't wanna take no good grass from the good earth if we don't need to."

The children, none of them terribly old, for the old and competent were home, helping, of course fell into a general chaos at these instructions. Ara had expected no less - there is, in the instruction of a child, the word, and then there is the hand. She scoot beside her youngest sister, only six, now, with the plumpness of a baby still around her belly, who is grabbing great handfuls of immature grain-heads, and snapping them off the tops of stalks. Ara wraps her own arms around the girl's back softly and leans in to whisper in her air, taking the child's hands in her own.

"Slow, Diza. Slow... like this, down low... Ara will show you, hmm?"

She took child's young clumsy fingers and traced them to the roots of the grass stalk, down to the smooth, waxy origins of a long blade of grass, where, just at the heart, one could feel the damp core of the plant, then pinched it, and tugged gently. The blade squeaked just slightly, and made little Diza giggle. Ara laughed a slow hissing exhalation into the child's ear, and her hand laughed through the air before her, the hand-laugh melting into a tickle against the girl's ribs. Diza leaned in close now - the squeaking! This was a grand game! - and Ara guided her less this time. She found the root, and pulled - it squeaked again! Ara would stay another try, but she saw out of the corner of her eye that Livvy was redirecting the other girls, and Ara's little brother was wandering off the side to poke at some horse droppings with a stiff grass-cane. She stumbled over, leaving the giggling Diza at her collection work.

[Aarias]

Gray smoke swirls up into the sky in a thick cloud, the itchy sensation coating the back of Aarias' neck. It's true that he did love the smell of a burning fire but the coal that is burning in Endrykas makes him feel sick to his stomach. For the smoke is cruel when it comes from the entity of blackness itself. Having to remind himself what he will be making, Aarias quietly going to a long and narrow table filled with all sorts of items. Horseshoes, belt buckles, swords, knives, pots, pans, hooks, chains and so much more are laid out for his careful selection.

I wouldn't dare buy my gift. He reminds himself, chewing on his lip before moving along one of the many tables. Supplies is what I need. Right then and there, his eye catches the far away stalls of silk. Some fabric hangs up for display, intricate knotted patterns seen flapping in the breeze. An idea forming in his head, Aarias weaves through the crowed. Those blue eyes are on his prize the whole time, not registering where he is walking.

Seeing a cart bustling through, Aarias quickly shifts over to his left, his shoulder makes contact with some mass, a ripple of tingles radiating from that one spot. Wide eyed, he freezes up and looks to his left to try and help up the person whom he had crashed into. Firstly he apologizes aloud, cursing to himself internally for not paying better attention. Studying the fallen red haired individual, he can't help but open his mouth but his words are stuck in his throat. Offering a hand down to the fallen member. "You'll have to excuse me - I am so very sorry!" Aarias humbly announces before staring daggers over his shoulder at the wild man with the cart.

((I apologize for the shortness in length - things have been very busy. I'll post more next time for sure! ))

[Khida]

He picked up the hare beneath the falcon's watchful eyes, then settled back in to cut through the skin in much the way that he usually did. Pleased that he had accepted her offering, Khida chirped approvingly and turned her regard beyond their immediate vicinity. A gaggle of children was settling in nearby, inasmuch as creatures of that age settled anywhere -- in a disorganized, ever-active mob, no two seeming to take interest in quite the same preoccupation. The falcon particularly kept an eye on one boy who was wandering towards her partner's camp, and the older girl who belatedly followed after him. They stopped at something the boy found in the grasses -- but before Khida could quite get an angle on what, he straightened up and turned towards the peregrine, recapturing her attention. He held out a small and damp and brownish-red lump, clearly removed from the innards of her kill. The kill she had given him. The falcon shifted her grip on her perch, wings shrugging up but not yet unfurling, and rejected the offering with a single sharp cry. She didn't want it back, not at all -- he was the one who needed to eat! To make clear that she was absolutely not going to accept any part of the carcass back, Khida shoved off from the tent, stretching her wings out to catch the air, flapping up with a scolding chi-chi-chi. A few feet above the level of the tent's apex, she swooped in an arc partway encompassing her partner's camp, then glided out over boy and teen and the minor horde of children, continuing her scolding calls all the while. Another turn brought Khida back towards the tents at the edge of Endrykas, where she came to rest on a supporting pole of an open tent screened by fabrics in all manner of shades and styles. Finally going quiet as she landed -- no doubt to the relief of the Drykas in the vicinity -- the peregrine glanced briefly at a knot of people nearby, one of them familiar from earlier -- the man she'd seen walking out from deeper in the city. The red-haired one now with him, she didn't recognize. Any curiosity at his change in company, however, was forestalled as she turned around to peer towards her partner's camp in the near distance. She wanted to be sure he kept that rabbit, like he was supposed to.

[Fox Starseer]

Fox looked up and took the man's hand and pulled himself up. "Apology accepted, it was that cart drivers fault from what I could tell" he said. He had looked around to see what the comotion was about, with the falcon flying noisily above the tents, so he had caught a glimps of the cart nearly taking down this other Drykus who had accidently bumped into him.

"My name is Fox, and you are?" he asked. He quickly patted himself down to check everything was still where he had it. His sword was still in it's scabbard, his coinpurse was still attached to his belt. Everything seemed fine.

His eyes darted around, and landed on the falcon, perched nearby. That is a well looked after falcon, I wonder if it's from one of mothers brood he thought, before his eyes went back to the man who he was talking to.