Closed [GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

The testing of a Drykas.

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Not found on any map, Endrykas is a large migrating tent city wherein the horseclans of Cyphrus gather to trade and exchange information. [Lore]

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Karin on January 12th, 2016, 12:19 pm

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Rotten
16th Winter, 515 AV
7th Bell


The Introduction.

The light of Syna spun across the early morning sky, lacing the underside of the clouds with cool, bright light. The day promised to be a pleasant one, despite the mud-entrenched grass and the promise of rain in the darkened belly of the weather in the distance. At least, it was pleasant for the moment.

Endrykas, like the grass it lived amongst, stirred and rustled itself awake in different stages, and whichever stage Azmere was at he would soon receive a message. A few days ago, the thunderstorms had echoed and boomed across the land, causing some livestock to go missing.

The message, relayed via a friendly neighbour, was in regards to this. However, as Azmere was to find out, it could not be because of thunder, nor lightening, or rain or shine. Nevertheless, for the time being, the man of the Stormblood Pavilion and Diamond Clan was unaware of events to come.

The man delivering the message was a tall one, with a mop of sandy coloured hair and a flowing Windmark was etched into the skin of his arm. To anyone looking, he would seem to be unhurried but purposeful. He wore a shimmer of silver at his throat, like a torque. Besides his feet an off-white hunting hound trod, her paws and forelegs splattered with mud, as were the legs and feet of the unidentified Diamond Clan member.

The story of this man is unimportant and his part is a small one. He will deliver his friendly message, and then depart on his way further in to Endrykas, the city of grass.

Upon reaching the Stormblood Pavilion, the man will stop and search for the nearest person who looks like a good recipient. When such a person is found, the message will be relayed, and it goes as such:

“A few of your livestock is missing, a Zibri and another from what I’ve gathered. Best if you fetched them back. There are clear trails, but I don’t know what happened to them. Check the mud maybe and if you can, the Web. Good luck to you!”

The message would be interspersed with signs indicating possible danger?, and easy and busy and friend. The man seems to be helpful, but soon he is gone, merely leaving the message behind.

All that is left is to secure the animals. Once the place where the animals are kept is reached, one would find the remaining animals in one corner of the enclosure, seemingly content. The missing livestock has left clear trails in the trampled mud, although others have obscured it with trampled footwork. All in all, it is a mess, but seems to be easily solved by following the marks left in the earth, and the trail of broken grass and branches.

If the Web is searched, the livestock seem to be stopped a full two shallow valleys away, about a bell’s walk, or half a bell’s horse ride. The tracks left by the animals grow fainter and fainter the further they get from Endrykas.

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Azmere on January 16th, 2016, 7:43 pm

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The air was chilly but not too cold. The weather had gotten a bit milder in the last few days which was nice for several reasons. The extra energy required to keep one’s self warm often lead to a higher consumption of food and the mini-thaw caused the smaller game to scamper out and look for more food; either way, this was going to be a good day to bulk up the winter stores. Azmere had been up early thanks in large part to the shuffling of Hephiestian outside his tent. The horse was often restless in the mud. The Drykas just assumed the beast was more of a summer stallion than anything else. Azmere didn’t mind one way or the other so long as there was something to do and food to eat once he was finished. Still inside his pavilion, he was just slipping into all of his warmer clothes. Before he went to bed last night, the hunter had laid out his traps in some key areas that he believed would yield a rabbit or two. There was a melting stream about a mile away with a few choke points that still had lush grasses and clover which the man figured would be highly attractive to a hungry little bunny.

Once he was dressed, Azmere moved towards the front of his tent pausing only to grab his weapons and cloak then out he stepped into the morning. Syna was out with enough presence to indicate that this morning would be nice. The ominous sky in the distance said otherwise for the afternoon. The archer began to strap up setting cloak about his shoulder and securing it then dropping the quiver onto his back. He attached the club to his belt, tucked in his dagger and simply held his bow for now. He was going to use the web to check on his snares but figured his strider could use some exercise. Not only that, Azmere loved to ride. If he webbed and found the snares empty, he would have to find something else to do that may not involve taking a nice winter ride. He took several strides around his horse stopping to check each hoof. There was nothing wrong with the ones on the front. The back right hoof had a wedge of fungus caked in the left third. This would not do. Azmere set his bow atop the yvas which was on the ground next to the tent. The man squatted down and lifted the big horse hoof using his knee to prop up Hephiestian’s leg. Azmere would never do this to another man’s horse lest he receive a kick square in the teeth but he and his strider didn’t mind having one’s will imposed on the other. It wasn’t always easy but it worked.

Azmere took out his dagger from his belt and used the duller side of the blade to dig at the growth. Winter always had a way of mucking up the animals. Azmere had heard several trainers tell him so over the years. This mundane task of removing the fungus, using the dagger as both file and pick, was absolutely necessary. A Drykas was not whole without his strider and a horse can’t run on three legs. This process was not fast and Azmere soon found himself getting anxious. Being sidetracked was a fact of life but it didn’t mean that one had to lend himself to be happy with the diversion. After almost half of a bell, Azmere was satisfied with the service he had performed. It should last through the rest of winter without any further attention barring something crazy happening. He moved to the last hoof and inspected it as well. It was well enough but was showing signs that in another week or so, he would have to spend some time eliminating the build-up.

Azmere replaced his dagger after wiping both sides of it across his pant leg. He got into the yvas and tossed the finely woven black and white blanket across his mount. The symbol of a hurricane with a rune indicating an eye and three arrows decorated the piece. No one ever say it but it had been a gift from Azmere’s pavilion when he had come back from his rebellious wondering. He bent at the knees and hoisted the yvas up above his center of gravity using his arms then he stood feeling the medium but expected strain. He took a few steps while turning and hefted the load above his shoulders then dropped the yvas squarely onto the horse’s back. Repetition creates muscle memory which leads to easy tasks. Azmere gave a few tugs at the corners to make sure the yvas was seated how he wanted it and then stopped to grab his bow. He paused within grasp of the horn as the approach of a man caught his eye.

The dirty dog and her master walked up as calm as a fog and paused amidst the site. Azmere straightened his back, leaving the bow on the ground, and moved to square with this man. Drykas had a way of socializing that was equal parts open, suspicious, intimidating and loving. The multi-colored eyes pointed their starburst gaze to the newcomer. After a moment to inspect one another, the man spoke. Azmere listened carefully and took note of the torque and windmark. He had seen this man before and recognized him as a messenger of the clan. His news was not terrible but it was inconvenient. Azmere nodded and signed a thank you to the man who simply turned and left. With a quick glance around, he shook his head. Laituk, their old bull, had wandered off again and this time he wasn’t alone. Stormblood was small as far as pavilions go and not overly wealthy but they made due. The young man soon realized that Laituk was followed by a young heifer named Ruulah. She had taken a liking to the bull since the other cows preferred to push her around.

Azmere looked to Hephiestian and nodded. He would forgo the web just the same as if his plans hadn't been altered. It was still going to be a good day for a ride and Azmere’s tracking could use a bit of work. He moved with quick but smooth actions that found him next to his bow which was perfectly slid over his head and shoulder as he mounted his steed. The archer turned his mount and gently coaxed him forward with a double click of his tongue against the back of his teeth. The strider responded and walked in the direction that his rider led. Once they were clear of the city’s trampled streets, Azmere caught sight of the heavy prints of the bull and the softer, smaller marks left behind by Ruulah. Not in any particular hurry, Azmere took his time and followed the trail. Three times in the first fifteen chimes he had to dismount and sort out a slick patch or sift through some trampled grass to regain the path.

The duo had been moving at a steady trot for a few chimes when the trail went dead over some rocky terrain. Azmere dismounted once more and stooped near the last set of prints. As his eyes paced forward trying to match the gait and find the next set, he found there was simply nothing to do but guess. He closed his eyes while resting his elbows on his knees. The soft wind whispering through the grass calmed him and the regular breathing of his strider reminded him of the present. Mixed with the beating of his own heart, Azmere found the tune to be both motivating and relaxing. After a handful of ticks, he opened his eyes. In his surprise, he almost fell back but used his left hand to prevent himself from doing so. There, across the rocks, was a tandem mark of color floating in the air. It suddenly clicked in Azmere’s brain. He took a deep breath and stood while exhaling slowly to regain his tranquil state. He watched the suspended ribbons as if he expected the apparitions to move or disappear for several ticks then mounted Hephiestian.

Azmere nudged the horse with his knees and guided them over the rocks to the trails of color. As they drew nearer, Azmere saw a few more fragments of the same hues further ahead. He felt a slight elation from the experience of using this skill. He also wrestled with the guilt and questions that came with its possession. There was a definite advantage to having it as he was finding out but he had never found justice for the elder’s family. Pushing such things from his mind, the hunter moved the horse around a strange looking spot of grass, perhaps a sinkhole. When his eyes lifted back up, there were several more traces of this interesting magic. It was showing him the way his Zibri had gone.

Azmere quickened the pace of his ride with a gentle squeezing of his knees. He guided the big stallion from one track of color to the next while still checking the ground. He used the hoof prints to verify that the waves of color that hung from the wind were, in fact, leading him to his lost cattle. After another twenty chimes, Azmere came over a rise and looking into the shallow valley below. There, amidst a confusing swirl of color, were the two animals simply eating some grass. Now that he had found them, Azmere closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the color was still present. He did a dance with his eyelids; open, closed, open closed, in an attempt to ‘turn off’ the vision afforded him by the assassin. This took several more chimes to accomplish. With things back to normal, Azmere clicked to his horse and they walked forward slowly not wanting to spook the beef.


Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Karin on January 20th, 2016, 9:24 am

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The swirling colours faded into the background of soft grasses and the rustling colours associated with the grassland; greens, muted browns, tans amongst others. Here and there the grass was soggy with mud from recent rain, but out from the main part of Endrykas there was a sense of freeness and cleanliness that only the wild could bring.

As Azmere approached the zibri, the animals would look up confused for a second, unsure as to whether this person was a threat or not. The wild was a dangerous place after all, and it was perhaps a miracle that the cattle had lasted as long as they did without any protection, although the animals of this land were hardy and strong. Upon recognising Azmere though, they would simply resume eating the lush grass. However, something would be clearly wrong, despite the apparent peacefulness of the scene.

Lying in the grass, with her belly cut open and the insides hanging where they shouldn't, was a Strider. The Strider was a palomino, before she died, with a lightly tanned body and a creamy mane now horribly muddied and streaked with darkly dried blood. Kneeling in the trampled earth next to the Strider was a man, who looked so hopelessly and utterly lost. His dour face hung slack and his grey eyes darted over the landscape, not ever staying still. He was dressed in a jerkin, one that was covered in blood, so much so that the original colour wasn't clearly visible anymore.

The only sounds the man made, in the stillness and silent hush of the grasslands were a silent, hacking sobbing, only barely audible, as man's tears sometimes are. Ruulah gave a soft 'moo' at Azmere's approach, and the man's face could clearly be seen for the first time as he responded to the noise of the zibri. As he turned with a look of hope in his eyes, it quickly died to become desperation, perhaps, at seeing simply a man standing there.

"I..." The man could only sign, but even this was tainted as he signed loss, accident, help, alone with trembling hands. From first sight with the peaceful cattle and the anguished man and his dead companion, the meaning and reason of it couldn't be distinguished. Whether it be simply the grasslands taking their toll in a horrible way, or some other, unexplainable reason.

The man stood up, and turned away from the dead horse, facing Azmere properly. The other man would see him for a hunter, a man of the Drykas just the same as he. "Please... I need help." He had an apologetic tone, as if he didn't want to ask. His voice was plain, but taught with a kind of grief that is unexplainable. For a Strider to a Drykas is not simply a horse, but a friend and companion all in one, and this man had lost his.

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Azmere on January 27th, 2016, 1:27 am

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Azmere clutched the mane of Hephiestian for when they came near enough to see the slaughtered horse, Azmere’s strider reared up on his hind legs and jostled against the fighting strength of his rider in an attempt to make an escape. This startled the cattle but they didn’t run. They simply shuffled a bit further on into the valley then resumed grazing. Azmere wrestled with Hephiestian using a mix of soft cooing, pats on the neck and a constant firm vice applied by his legs. The squeezing of his thighs not only helped to keep him on the stallion but it also gave a vibe of dominance to Hephiestian. After nearly a chime of this, Azmere was able to get his mount to be still, though his ears were pinned back and he stomped at the ground restlessly.

Azmere watched the man now and was overwhelmed at the thought of what emotions he must certainly be feeling in this dire circumstance. The archer dropped from the back of his strider and held up his hand to try and calm the man. There was nothing in the man’s face that led Azmere to this conclusion. In fact, here was nothing in his face at all. That is why Azmere was being so careful. The hand outstretched was nonthreatening and open; a subconscious trigger used for children and animals to make them feel secure. His other hand idly found its way to his club though he did not grip or draw it but rather rested his hand there just in case.

“What happened?” Azmere’s gaze met the man’s and again he found nothing behind the eyes but a vacant mask. His mind was racing as he took several glances between the Drykas before him and the gashed belly of the horse. It was hard to say transpired since the deed was obviously done during or right before the rain had fallen. The way the blood and mud mixed and dried into the palomino’s mane. Azmere was a few feet out of arm’s reach from the stranger. He stared at the carcass as its grisly remains stared back at him. This was not the work of a predator. There were no bite marks or signs of feeding. A word, a sign flashed into his mind from a moment ago; accident. What kind of accident leaves a horse with its guts splayed across the plains? Azmere instantly went into high alert and focused entirely on the man before him.

He signed Accident, Question, quickly then How help but kept his hands low. This was non-threatening but also gave him quick access to his club or dagger should he need them. Azmere felt disturbed by the scene but there was an uneasiness growing in him that made him more wary of what he was not seeing. Something was definitely wrong.


Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Karin on February 20th, 2016, 12:47 am

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The grey lines of the man's face grew taught, and a momentary flicker of shadow darkened his gaze, gone in an instant before it was even noticeable. He was a touch shorter than Azmere, and looked up at him as he answered.

"I... there was an attack, bandits I suppose, or raiders. They... they did this." The man blinked, slowly and with deliberation,and gathered himself. "I need to get home to my wife. I need to... take care of Tailey." Nervously,the man crouched in the dirt and stroked his horses mane, smoothing it flat with a genuine care as he lost himself.

It wasn't clear whether Tailey was his horse or his wife, but despite the overall shabbiness of the man,one thing was clear. He had a genuine love for his slain horse,and a clear heartbreak over her loss.

With a deep breath,the man stood again. Some resolve seemed to creep into him, and he signed a short meaning, follow , before walking back towards the way Azmere had come from. His gait was irregular, and he didn't come across as as strong man. Nevertheless, there was certainly something about the man that hinted at something... that lingered on the tip of the tongue.

A brief glance over his shoulder,and the man would come to a halt. As if realising for the first time, he would say,"It's dangerous to stay." The remark hung on the air, and the surroundings that had seemed so peaceful now were tainted.

OOC :
I apologise, I know it's an incredibly short post after so long waiting, but I've been incredibly pressed for time. I will try to get this moving again though!

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Azmere on February 25th, 2016, 12:26 am

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The watchman listened as the brief explanation was regaled. Without knowing, his head twisted on his neck a bit in a questioning manner. This is often and action accompanied by ‘prove it’ or something of the sort. Unsure as to why, Azmere just didn’t believe what he was being told. There were too many gaps in the story and too many details that were left unattended. The man mentioned a name and it was not one that the archer had ever heard before. Already off of his strider, Azmere formulated a few ideas of how this day could go and found he didn’t like his mind in situations like this. He watched this fellow stroke the hair of his dead strider. The wrenching feeling held the watchman’s insides in a tight knot for quite some time. He knew that one day, Hephiestian would pass on and that day was growing nigh but to have your strider disemboweled made Azmere feel worse than he already did.

The Zibri made some noise and it brought the archer back from his thoughts. The man was moving towards the city but Azmere wasn’t sure how to handle all of this. As a dutiful member of his pavilion, his priority was to return the Zibri back to their rightful place. The watchman in Azmere told him to help this man locate his family. Azmere has recently found the rewards of helping others but the uneasiness growing from his core would not allow itself to be ignored. The man turned back to tell Azmere that they weren’t safe. What? The archer looked around for moment wondering what could be so ominous especially this close to Endrykas.

Azmere called out to the man. “Hold, sir.” He looked to the cattle and then back to the other Drykas. “I have an obligation to return these Zibri.” Azmere motioned with arm at the grazing animals. His eyes never left the stranger. “If you help me lead them back to Endrykas, I will accompany you on whatever errands that you require.” Azmere made signs for honor and oath. He watched the man, curious of his reply. There was a bit of anxiety on the younger man’s face as this stranger was moving closer to Hephiestian. There was no sign of any danger yet the overall circumstance and the added warning of the strange man left Azmere wondering about many things. What started out as a simple task was shaping up to be an ordeal that might make the watchman rethink getting out of bed.


Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Karin on March 9th, 2016, 5:12 pm

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The man turned back, startled. His head moved with a quick, jerky movement to turn and look at Azmere. "Oh. The zibri..." He nodded, and looked at them. His simplistic manner seemed almost child-like, but he moved forwards, business-like, herding the zibri with Azmere.

"You help me after, okay? Yes, my family is close to Endrykas, so it will be on the way. I help you, you help me." The two moved forwards, herding the zibri, who seemed calm enough to keep in a straight line, at least. After the initial burst of conversation, the other man seemed quiet, not motioning to speak unless Azmere prompted him.

The ground they moved over grew more churned the closer they got to Endrykas. As the man didn't know where the zibri were from, he kept glancing across at Azmere, not so subtly. As the sounds and colours of the moving city greeted them, the man grew more anxious.

Suddenly he gestured, violently pointing at himself. "I'm Rourg." He inclined his head towards Azmere, hoping for an answer in reply. As he spoke, one of the zibri moved, as if to wander off in a different direction. The man's quick, violent hand gesture slapping it back into place resounded, uncomfortably. Of course, if you couldn't look after the livestock, you weren't much of a Drykas, but the look on his face was one that again hinted at an underlying darkness.

Once the two had once again secured the zibri, the man would turn to Azmere, gazing into his colourful eyes. Whether the man trusted him or not didn't seem to matter, Rourg may have picked up on Azmere's wariness, but apparently trust wasn't an issue for him, and so the silent plea he directed with his gaze.

If Azmere chose to follow, despite misgivings and despite the uncertain nature of the whole thing, Rourg would lead them away from the city of tents and people, back once again into the Sea of Grass, but skirting close by Endrykas the entire time.

There was a lot that Azmere didn't know about his fellow Drykas, but whether he chose to follow or not, he would soon find out a great deal more...

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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Azmere on March 14th, 2016, 1:28 am

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The watchman never took his eyes from the strange man. When he agreed to the terms Azmere had offered, the archer climbed back up onto his strider and took hold of the yvas handle. He steered the horse so they could guide the cattle but did so at a slow pace since the helping hands were walking. Azmere was thankful for the quiet. He had always preferred silence and the sounds of the world to those of someone else talking. That’s hard to say, truthfully, since using a term like always or never is almost a guaranteed lie. Azmere tends to prefer less talk unless it’s something worth hearing like a story from Asmodeus of the soft cooing songs of his mother. Though at one point in his life, the only voice he would enjoy hearing was that of the outcast. One day, brother…one day.

Azmere’s thoughts were interrupted by the man introducing himself. The rider nodded his head in acknowledgement. He repeated the name aloud, “Rourg,” then placed a hand to his chest and spoke again, “Azmere.” They guided the cattle a ways more and the watchman was comforted by the site of Endrykas. Patrols were riding about helping people prepare for another move, folks were out and about in the mud and muck making last minute trades and praying for better weather or chasing down errant children. The Stormblood pavilion was near the end of the Diamond’s spoke so they didn’t venture very far into the mess. Once the two Zirbi were back under the watchful eyes of family, Azmere turned and looked to Rourg. The man had no horse so should Azmere leave his behind? The question only lent itself to the space of time to repeat before becoming a wisp of smoke blown to sky in the breeze.

With practiced ease, Azmere turned Hephiestian with his legs and used the yvas handle to follow the man along the fringes of the Tent City. He could not shake the feeling of growing dread that surrounded this strange, eerily strange man. Almost involuntarily, he blurted after Rourg who was roughly ten feet ahead of the horse and rider. “I’m Ra’athi. If we need more help, I can gather some of my fellow watchmen.” It wasn’t that he expected the man to agree with the idea. Azmere decided the words escaped his lips to let the stranger know his companion wasn’t a bee keeper but a warrior. Somewhere in his mind, the archer felt better for having voiced his profession. Somewhere deep inside his gut, that uneasy feeling told his brain that the statement didn’t change a thing.


Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

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Azmere
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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Karin on March 23rd, 2016, 12:35 pm

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Azmere's words caused Rourg to start suddenly, turning to look at him with an impressed stare. Then seemed to snap out of a reverie and spoke up, "No, we won't need more help. It's my wife and my family." He shook his head and continued walking, his feet churning up mud.

They skirted around the outside of Endrykas, moving further and further from where they'd started. The strange man's feet started to pull them a little out, into the grasslands. He seemed to be following a softly pattered down footpath in the grass. It didn't look well-travelled, but it was clear as they drew closer that a pavilion resided at the end of the path.

It was a shabby looking place, well-patched up and stained with weather. Judging from the outside, it could only house two or three people, and the quietness that surrounded it would seem to prove that. Snickering and placidly chewing grass a stone's throw from the tent was a strider, with light brown socks and dark flecked ears.

And standing next to the horse was a woman, tall and slim, with long, chestnut hair plaited into an intricate braid, flowing down her back. Rourg walked over to her quickly, and quickly pulled her around, grabbing her hand and whispering something to her. Her dark eyes would flash with pity, and a soft smile spread across her face as she walked towards Azmere.

Her slender hands signed thanks, kindness, hospitality and she said, "My name is Ailych. Raventail, I don't know what my husband has told you." She very carefully picked over her words, delicately and quietly. "Thank you for helping him from his.. situation."

"He might seem a little strange, but he's suffering... and to have lost his strider... With your help if you wound be willing to offer, we could take care of Taily, the horse, later. But for now, would you care to come in?"

The woman gestured at the tent, smiling, welcoming. She didn't look old, but the laughter lines in her face gave her a certain kind of poised sharpness that accented her almost as black as Chaktawe eyes. Rourg slipped in behind her, and moved aside the flap of the tent, his shoulders slumped and his face turned away.

OOC :
Feel free to describe the inside of the tent as you see fit. It's only small, and has a feeling of neatness with the occasional untidiness peeking from underneath. Ailych is a weaver, so there will also be tapestries or whatever lying around.

Also, because I couldn't find a way to write it in, the tent is a short distance out from the main body of Endrykas, on the very tip of the Amythyst part. I'd say about 3 or 4 good stones throws away, so still in view but a little out of the way. If that makes sense?

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Karin
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[GST Approved by Gossamer] Rotten (Azmere)

Postby Azmere on April 1st, 2016, 1:53 am

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The day was dragging on and it felt a bit like being pulled behind a strider. The watchman wasn’t exactly sure what was going on and still couldn’t bring himself to release the feeling of discomfort the man, Rourg, had raised. The path was weak but the rain made things noticeable like the same set of boots coming and going; Rourg. Azmere tracked the footfalls of his companion for a while trying to avoid the loud thoughts of boredom. He had given his word to help and help he would.

It didn’t take long for the two men to reach their destination. The peculiar behavior continued as Rourg grabbed his wife and shared something privately with her. Azmere’s face darkened and his mind went to an old saying his mother always used. ‘Secrets don’t make friends.’ She would say it whenever he would come back from spending time with Wikus. The outcast, the blighter, as he has come to be known had a way of encouraging a young Azmere to do just about anything violent or destructive. Knowing this as a mother would, Analia would always ask about Azmere’s day and would always be met with that look of quiet joy and a devious pleasure. How things had changed.

With the shoe being on the other foot, Azmere was thinking about saying something when the woman came over and introduced herself. The watchman was glad to see her straight forward approach but then her words dripped with deception. Why the off tones? Why the weird pauses? Azmere tried to not narrow his eyes but wasn’t sure how effective his attempt had been. He nodded at the invitation and reluctantly followed behind. His hand quietly made its way to the dagger in his belt. The club was too long for a quick draw. His eyes took in the simple home and its furnishings. It was standard Drykas apparel. The rundown pavilion, the dead strider and the weird man were all unsettling in their own right. These things, even combined were not overwhelming. However, for the archer, the dark eyes of calculating scrutiny which played at being polite gave him a deep sense of dread. He didn’t know it but his hand was white-knuckled over the dagger’s hilt. The silence of the world compounded the sensation; the calm before the storm.


Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

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Azmere
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