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Post by Bunhash on Nov 17, 2010 19:05:07 GMT -8
Naf'or worked silently. No doubt the elf would be busy with the flute for a long while to come. He tossed in the dried carrots, beets, some fade beans and blue onion flakes. He tossed in a small pile of dry barley and some venison jerky pieces then placed the calderon above the fire with some careful maneuvering. Before long, the soup was bubbling away. An a half an hour or so and the soup was ready to eat. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
Naf'or withdrew some dry, but still good bread and pulled it into two pieces then called for the bard, "Frost. Please come eat. There's some bread to scoop with. It's not much, but its warm." And as a last thing, Naf'or took out a small jar with salt and crushed peppercorns mixed inside and gave the soup a sprinkle. "Better than nothing." He said and took a dip of bread into the soup, bringing back a bean, some broth and a piece of meat then took a bite. It was better than he thought...
If the elf joined him, they would be able to eat quickly and warmly. Not shortly after, Naf'or would bid the elf goodnight and curl up on the blanket close to the fire, tugging some bags around his person for extra warmth. He didn't know why he was so tired, but sleep came quickly for the Ashtel.
In the distance, the wind howled louder and carried with it a musical song, stronger than before and almost closer. It could be a trick of the mind or something else. It's pull was tender and called all things to sleep. Even the deer and mice and snakes outside curled up for the night, not quite sure why...
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 17, 2010 19:33:41 GMT -8
Eyes were heavy with the night's pounding of rain, and with warm food in his belly, and a pleasant flavor on his tongue, Frost pulled his things around him, surprised at how the Ashtel had lulled into such a deep slumber. Frost's curiosity on the other hand had his mind far to wild to rest. His eyes begged to, but his fingers busied over the flute with a great zeal. They flurried over each crevice and well designed marking as he imagined the noises it might emit if given proper care and doting that he had given to himself doing with many of his own instruments. There was a certain care and devotion that was uncommon with the dolourian race that Frost had come to embrace and yearn for when something so precious was gifted into his hands.
Gripping it tightly in his hands and taut to his chest, Frost allowed himself a moment to take in the night. A pattering of rain mingling with the soft plop of papery thin music from the leaves being assaulted by drops working their ways down the stocky trees. He could identify all the noises at length around them. No crickets or animals joined the chorus tonight and though it was a claiming and charmed sound that begged slumber to his ears, the bard was wary of it, certain that what he was hearing in between the thrumming of wooden reeds rattling against one another, was a song so very carefully sung.
The closer he gave his undivided attention to this sound, the more that sleep begged him to relinquish his hold on the consciousness, and with his great regret he felt that for this night it might be the case as thelast thing he hear being the wind tussling brush cover among itself like a soprano lily voice.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 17, 2010 19:50:29 GMT -8
Dreamless sleep. It felt the body tired and the mind weary from waking. Every soul dreamed, whether they remembered it or not, it was how the mind and body rested. But not with the song of dragons washing over them.
They would sleep until the song was over by days. It was likely to kill a man to sleep so long. But distress could wake the mind. It was the smell of blood. The rusty flavor was strong and pungent all around them. The Ashtel woke slowly, far too soon for the song to allow it. But the blood was just too near.
A sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh resounded outside the alcove. His groggy eyes could barely focus about, but it was enough to tell him it was light out. Fear began to grip his weak form and pull him more forcefully into the waking world. Panic for his friend hand him propped onto his elbows and scanning the dry floor about him. The elf was there and seemed only to be asleep. The Bump too was napping away with a small snot bubble rising and falling from his left nostril. But there was one missing. His own traveling beast.
Likely, he wouldn't have been able to stand, if not for a large, bloody claw starting to reach into the cave. It was after it's next meal. It would be the bump. Naf'or forced himself to his feet and yelled out from the cave in a voice much stronger than he felt. "How dare you steal from a cousin!!" the claw stopped, then withdrew slowly. A head lowered, then an eye of large proportions peered in. It was bright gold and curious.
Perhaps by now the Elf would wake. The words of a voice so fury filled as his would surely rouse the bard. And no doubt, the dragonsong had been a weak one. A snarling voice returned an answer to the Ashtel. It was feminine in its tone and wet sounding. It had enjoyed its first meal, "You are no cousin to me."
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 17, 2010 20:05:48 GMT -8
Had Frost not forgotten in his vigil to examine the flute, he most certainly could have at least warned them of this, with the trinkets of his trade to prevent such a sneaked attack. Once the echoing tone of Naf'or greeted his quiet well tuned ears he was to his feet, adrenaline bringing him upright despite a dizziness that would bring most to their feet. His eyes, bleary but strong, examined quickly, tucking the flute defensively beneath the blanket they had been on with his foot. "A..." He was in near disbelief before he recognized that truly it was the song of beast's that had brought him to his unintentional sleep the night before.
Such a bone crunching voice and a reek about it that made nausea rise in his throat. Blood stained the rocks around them and Frost was shocked to see his bump laying in a most contented sleep as it rolled to the place that had once held the neyhoi. "You have murdered a good life? Stolen a life from one who would have kept him a long and well, til the end of his days for a meal that could barely fill your claw?" He was reviled, but that was something that was in his own blood. Vengeance, defensive. All dolour had a duty to defend and he was no exception to the case. If he'd had had the chance to move before a certain amount of fear took his legs from him, he would have grabbed the baton form the netting and set a horror scene of its own into the beast's head.
On its own his voice was venomous and rang with the magik that laced his words like an arrow stabbing to the heart as his blue eyes steamed in the morning of blood shed. It was not wise to anger a bard, and at this point, to take such a life from Naf'or, his own friend he was beginning to call his brother, was bringing rage and hatred into him.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 17, 2010 20:18:02 GMT -8
A deep throated chuckle rolled out over the area then a gust of hot breath washed into the alcove. It seemed the dragon was no afraid of them. This was a common error among the wandering types.
Naf'or did not try to cease the bard's anger. For he too was angry at this act. His beast was a faithful companion and deserved a far better death than the one he was given. His own body was feeling solid now and he could feel his blood pumping strong.
But she spoke again, giving them all little time to grow impatient with her lack of speaking, "What do you know, creature?" there was venom in her tone. She took a thunderous step back then snapped, "Come out here if you're so brave."
Naf'or exited the alcove immediately. There wasn't a hint of worry on his face at coming face to face with a dragon, even of her size. She was full grown and even larger than some females. She was Jestic due to a strange patterning of her scales, but only just. If it wasn't for it, she would have been a high dragon. She spread wide her leathery wings then shook them down and folded them back. Her towering frame was powerful and old. There was blood on her claws and maw and the head of the knehoy lay half chewed on the ground.
"Well? What says you lay claim to this beast? How was I to know it belonged to a person. I smelled its hide and came." But what was the truth? Innocence or years of thievery and a skilled tongue?
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 17, 2010 20:33:37 GMT -8
It took a skilled tongue to charm a bard and this dragon, as cunning as it thought it was being, had little leg to stand on. "Am I to assume that your sense of smell is heightened only for neyhoi? Or are you old beyond your years and have lost that of a most important sense among your kind." Frost wasn't afraid to retort to her most alluring but ridiculous of lies. "But a humble dragon of humble origins to explain herself to one so small unless you fear just what your scales imply of you." Pulling his leathers over his chest and tying the with great emphasis before stepping out to stand beside his friend. "You are flawed." The last of his words, the as flowery as he had stated before hand, spoke images of her failing health and much more solidly, of dragons of much higher standing.
Lump snorted but the bubble popped cold against its nose before it continued its labored snore. He had enjoyed his sleep and wasn't going ot abandon it because Frost was fighting with Naf'or, or so it imagined what was happening. The dolour had long ago become grateful that the animal had an awful sense of smell and speculated it had something to do with its leaving of the marshes. At this point he cared only that Lump was safe from this great oaf.
"May it be perhaps your kind could no longer stand your incompetence and cast you away from them." Strength was returning to him and he found that Naf'or's presence not only calmed him but brought out in him a great flurry of emotion. "Am I to understand a dragon, of ill birth and obvious lax senses just happen to stumble on a neyhoi and figured she'd stop by for a snack before moving on. Or do you think we be thick enough to think you were not having an h'orderve before the main course?" Fingers laced with intent upon a small but wicked necklace, platinum around his lithe form, were he not baiting her he'd have defended himself whole heartedly with the Telenin Nephada which hung about him.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 17, 2010 20:42:35 GMT -8
His words surely hit every sore spot the dragon had. With a great fury and roar, she breathed in and blew out a terrible flood of fire. Dragon fire could melt almost anything. If it were to land over the two of them, they would surely die. But Naf'or was expecting it of her. He was, afterall, related to the dragons. His people were sometimes called dragons in humans form.
He raised his hands as she took in a breath and the magik of the wind lord became apparent with the slightest sweep of his hands. A whirl of air swirled before the two bipeds. Frost's hair would pull toward the torrent, but it wouldn't be even close enough of a pull to bring them to the wind. Instead, the fire hit the wind, curled around it and became like a disk of flame before them. Not a hint of heat touched either, then just as quickly, Naf'or returned the fire over the dragon who howled in agony. Her own fire had been used on her.
It was over swiftly though and she was left hot, in pain, but alive and standing. Dragon fire was one of the weaknesses of dragons. Naf'or said nothing however. The bard would say everything he wanted to but could not. The dragon had attacked them with the intent to kill. This he would not allow.
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 17, 2010 20:55:20 GMT -8
Awestruck, Frost found himself staring at the scene and marking every detail like a journalist or scribe recording the greatest details of their kingdom. This was a tale for the ages, for his stories of the bell no doubt. There was song in his throat already but he kept it from the dragons ears and stifled it to continue his venomous onslaught of her sense by filling her sight with with a tale that surely would bring her more agony to envision. It was in his nature to be a proud man, long had his ego been coated with security that he had long ago forgotten what compassion in the face of his enemies had meant.
"Look at yourself." He let the words settle, let her see a mangled disgusting beast of enormous proportions and exaggerated flaws upon her mangled hide. "A mockery of your race, a discredit. You are one of marring distaste for the dragons and you dare to come at a man who is at this time... searching for the Wyvern's bell? You dare to accost a man in search of the age old creation that were it in the hands of a more fierce man, would end your writhing?" Illusions of grandeur were something to say the least as the bard laced words with magik, mystifying imagines swirled behind her great scorched eyelids. Her kind, searing and burning in their own flesh, crying out with a beg for mercy on their lips.
Were Frost a colder man, he might have let her watch it for more time, but ripped it form her mind with the short cut off of his voice before he dropped to a knee. He might have been a brave elf, resolute, but this did not stop an untrained and mostly docile elf from feeling the fatigue on his body from her song. His body was aching, but it didn't stop him from insulting her further. "Your song sounded of shrill claws upon glass. If you long to hear a song which honey dew wishes its sweetness could rival, you are not the one to sing it. I felt accosted all night by that most acidic sound."
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 17, 2010 21:05:31 GMT -8
The dragon trembled then fell down onto her belly. She was beat, bruised and scared now. It was very much that the sides had changed and Naf'or allowed the elf to speak out what he felt the dragon deserved, then came to his side and rested his palm atop his shoulder. It was a calming touch. When he spoke, his own voice was soft and returned to its normal state. Unlike the other, he was almost completely unaffected by the song's effects. It was because of his blood he was sure. "Come now. We will not become what she is any further. If she survives, she will be changed forever."
He slipped the hand under Frost's elbow and helped him back to the alcove where Lump was giving a deep, smelly yawn and waking. "I do not wish to stay here any longer than her need to. Do you need to rest before we carry on? And.. do you think Lump will be able to carry two loads? I do not wish to overburden him." There was a hint of sadness in the dark skinned man's voice. Loss was always hard, not matter how emotions were felt from race to race.
He turned his back and started to pack up his belongings all the same. He was well aware that the dragon still lay outside.
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 17, 2010 21:19:37 GMT -8
Fingers began to lax around the necklace and he stood with Naf'or his naturally pleased and safe demeanor was a soft glimmer of what it had been the night before but he shared no ill tones with Naf'or and did what he thought best. A hand placed gently on his forehead and a bow. "Lump and I will most certainly pick up where neyhoi will be sadly missed." He lifted himself upright before noting Lump's own observation of the situation. He was cramming himself up against the alcove wall, making grunts of sympathy, fear, and a mixture of mourning along with accidental defecating itself.
Frost bit his lip before coming to his side without prejudice. "Oh Lump, I am so sorry. Please, Naf'or will protect you I swear to you I will sooner end my own life than allow that great bellowing beast to have you." Lump took great urging from the corner and more so to allow them to add the netting and pouches back to his grout covered body. "He would thank you greatly to allow him to carry Neyhoi's load..."
Without much more torment, he gathered his hung clothing, most of which to his most aching and pained heart throb had been singed and sorched from the very air that had been warmed to the point of buring on the part of the dragon. He yearned to shout at her, but recalled his decorum on the part of Naf'or and rested a hand on his shoulder once prepared, offering him space upon Lump's side. The large beast still quaking like a mouse in fear of the boot. Both were all ready to be on their way and swiftly. Lump was feeling embraced and heart sick for his lost friend, and frost was beginning to get antsy that this was the beginning of what would only worsen in Turmuck.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 19, 2010 14:51:12 GMT -8
Naf'or helped load his things onto Lump, as much as needed. The rest he would carry. After it was loaded on, he dressed himself with his well dried clothing, some also scorched, and gave Lump a soft pat on the head. He walked between the pained dragon and the elf and his bump. His eyes lingered on her face with a dangerous expression of warning. Should she try anything... He would kill her.
Before long, they were a distance from the beast and Lump would hopefully be feeling better. The small group walked in silence for a long while. They would camp that night far from their previous place, wake and move on. There was sorrow in the air which would lighten given enough walking.
By mid day, they neared a large farm. There were several creatures on the farm including runt pigs, Yonik Oxen and Muffletuff Sheep. There were also many horses, which was to be expected in Tirin and some chicken. With a touch to the elf's shoulder, Naf'or suggested, "Why don't we stop here and see what they have to trade. I need a mount now."
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 19, 2010 15:19:05 GMT -8
Their trek of silence was only broken up from time to time from Frost's near silent humming of a dirge for the poor lost friend. Lump had needed it, it made the frumpy beast feel more comfortable with the loss. He nodded to Naf'or and led his animal off the trail and up to the farmer's pebble path toward the barn. "Hail, friend!" Frost's voice echoed across the field as they neared, the farmer looking up at them from across the field.
He'd been grooming his sheep for the season. It was about to begin the muggy season as far down in Tirin as they were. He'd been sheering the sheep in hope that they wouldn't overheat when the next full coat. He wasn't an older man, but certainly not in his prime, waving his arm to them and allowing a lumbering muffletuff sheep to squirm free and shake it's now wool free hide in insult. "Hello... may I help you gentlemen? We don't have room in the barn if that's what this is about." He stated, not rudely, but pointing rather hastily at the ump as he neared them. Catching wind of his rather musky scent.
Nonchalance of their greeter cause Frost to agitate, but it wouldn't be uncommon, especially with all the courts he had stayed in that claimed Lump required his own private stable. It was the expectations of having a bump a your travel partner. "Nono, friend, surely not. We haven't yet finished our own trek for the night. No... we recently were unfortunate in our ways... lost my partner's neyhoi in an unfortunate event..." Wiping leather gloves on rough pants, the farmer pulled his hand free of the wool covered glove to wipe his brow of its sweet. Proof of his hard day of labor. He nodded as he listened, nodding to the barn. "We've a few horses if you are interested in them..."
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 19, 2010 15:38:02 GMT -8
The tall Ashtel bowed to the man as they neared and was about to speak when a rather hefty looking woman bumbled into the barn wearing a long dress, muddy boots and an apron covered with flour and some jam. She paused to peer at the visitors then friendly as could be, came over with a happy step, making her round belly bounce a bit, "Oh dearest me, welcome! John, you've been kind to your guests and offered them dinner and a stay, haven't you?" her girly voice was kind, but hard on her husband. There was little question who ran the house.
"Ah my dears, you look positively starved! And your poor horse is all a muck. John, there's an hour before supper, give the poor thing a wash, would you?" she waved a plump hand at her husband then ushered the two to follow, "Ah please, come in. It's warm inside and I'm makin' a roast. John! Careful with their possessions. Make sure ya use a wool blanket to set them on."
She turned on her heels and waddled herself back toward the house.
Naf'or looked at Frost in surprise, then started after her. He thanked 'John' for his hospitality, then hurried along. On his way, he passed more fenced in areas. There were several more sheep, fully sheered and grumpy. There was a little thatch of Doral Rabbits with little ones and to his surprise, they all had beautiful coats; a rarity among their breed. They would bring a fine price.
The woman must have noticed his gaze or simply enjoyed the chance to gloat about them and spoke up, "Ah finest pelts ya ever seen, no? I gots a secret recipe for keepin them clean and thick. It's what this farm runs on best if you ask me." She entered the kitchen and dropped off her boots at the door. The smell of herbs and flowers and a warm, sweet oven flowed from the door and filled the comfy room. It felt extremely homey here. She offered the travelers seats in the kitchen. Once they looked around, they would see not only food everywhere, lots of fresh vegetables and fruits, but also a rattle. It was chopping some carrots and looked at the visitors with curious eyes. He was young and had soft brown fur with pink ears and nose. There was nothing about him that looked like 'slave' but still one would wonder.
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 19, 2010 16:12:11 GMT -8
Gathering himself in the chair, Frost looked around at the little kitchen, admiring with great detail the dried herbs that hung so carefully from the ceiling. Lavender sprigs laced the windows and cast a sweet smell throughout the room, hinting with the savory meats that steamed form the pot. Oh she was indeed good at bringing in the bacon. He met eyes with the rattle and smiled at it, but didn't address it. Some people were particular about their rattles and that might have been the case. Others were trained to listen only to their masters and had nervous ticks when addressed or interrupted. Unconsciously he made a happy noise in his throat and sunk on the chair to enjoy the room's effect on him. "My lady I must say you are the epitome of pleasantry. I can not say I've met a more humble but amorous household. Thank you for the invitation."
He heard Lump grunting from the barn in a most infernal way, but let John have his way with him. After th whole matter of the dragon there were some bits that would need removing from him and even Lump would appreciate a good clean. Though it did not go unnoticed to him that the little lady must have terrible eye sight or couldn't place what Lump really was because he was sizably larger than one of her ox. He glanced around pleased at the scent surrounding them before commenting on her hospitality. "My dear woman, I apologize in the deepest degree, I feel as though I've done a great disservice." Swept from the chair, he took a bow, his foot sliding across the floor in the appropriate manner back behind him, before swooping upright again. "Frost Hazeleaf." He took the courtesy but not to announce Naf'or's name, were his friend so inclined he would introduce himself in his own manner. He had learned well that Ashtel appeared to appreciate their own methods. "May I beg the pardon of having your name?"
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 19, 2010 16:31:58 GMT -8
"Oh, my dear, aren't you the sweetest? What a lovely name as well. I'm Marcy Darnmatten. M'husband outside is John Darnmatten. He's a good man and a great farmer." with a little fluster, she blushed and turned back to her table. "This is Dirk one of our rattles. See I want to explain a bit." she seemed to be flustered as she chipped some onions.
"Not everybody understands 'cause as ya know Rattles are pretty much freeed here. No such thing as a slave n lots o'people keep thinking the wrong thing about John n I. Dirk and his family aint slaves here. They're.. well.. we helped them sorta." Every moment, she seemed more nervous. Apparently people didn't trust them or had caused them grief in the past. "Jus' seems like you two would understand. Travelers usually do. Well John in his prime, he found Dirk here with his wife. They had been free and were expecting. But soon after the baby was born, well, a nasty sorta man snatched them up and was gonna sell em. John..."
Marcy went quiet, shaking her head and working on tossing the onions and Dirk's carrots into the pot before sliding it into the oven. It seemed she was going to say no more, but a smaller, squeaky voice rose proudly, "Mister John killed the man and saved my family and others."
"Dirk! Now, darlin' you shouldnta said that!"
Naf'or could see exactly why she didn't want them saying that out loud, but aimed to settle her worries, "Fear not, good woman. Such a man is a great one. Slavery is vile and wrong. We're pleased to be guest in such a noble home. I am Naf'or, my good lady."
Obviously it wasn't the response she was expecting and blinked several times, before clearing her throat and setting some tasty looking tea biscuits out before them. "Well. Yes. So Dirk and his wife, lona, live with us as well as their daughter Swift and their newborn son John, named after my husband. There's also Tanner and his wife, Dot, who were saved with Dirk. They're older. They'll all be joining us for supper if you don't mind. We're sorta a large family here."
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