Ginead and the Beast Wranglers - 26/11/2019 - Caex
Dec 16, 2019 10:51:03 GMT
Wil Frozendagger and Leek Nackle like this
Post by Caex on Dec 16, 2019 10:51:03 GMT
Caex was not one to dwell on the past. You learned what you needed and moved on. As such, only flashes of his brief travel across the water interupted his otherwise knife-sharp focus as he moved silently through the peaty water.
Giant skunks, which had fallen to his sword.
The human in green armour, bleeding. As expected, even in armour humans were not as strong as lizards. They were to be pitied, really.
The ruins by the river, and the tunnels.
The large frog creature. It had attempted to swallow him, but he had swallowed it right back, biting a chunk from its disgusting tongue.
The half-giant, like the other in the hunting party, but male. It had fought and died, still making threats.
The female half-giant had required a spoken ritual before he had been allowed to remove a bone from the dead body. "I wish to take a bone from its leg." Simply stating his intention. Softskins were irrational, but she had been large, and well-armed and armoured, and he had not felt confident of victory in attack. More rational to simply follow her ritual and get what he wanted.
The only image which did more than play around the edges of his memory was that of the dream that had come to him the first night on that land over the water. A swamp, like this; a hunt, like this. A tree, but this tree spoke to him with the face and voice of one of his kind. His lip curled as the thought came back to him. Trees should not have faces. It must be a threat. When it spoke, it spoke in the language of the lizards, which he had not heard since coming to this new land.
"Season of the Fallow…”
Fallow land, land abandoned, time allowing game to repopulate… But he was here alone, he could hunt an area through day and night for a year and it would have no effect. Sometimes the shaman had dreams, visions that led the tribe to greatness, or prevented disaster. But he was not a shaman, and could not interpret this dream. Perhaps to understand it better he must go back to that land across the water.
For now though, the hunting was difficult. The swamp was strangely quiet today. In several hours nothing larger than a mouse had crossed his path. Maybe this was the fallow season from his dream… He had to find out.
Giant skunks, which had fallen to his sword.
The human in green armour, bleeding. As expected, even in armour humans were not as strong as lizards. They were to be pitied, really.
The ruins by the river, and the tunnels.
The large frog creature. It had attempted to swallow him, but he had swallowed it right back, biting a chunk from its disgusting tongue.
The half-giant, like the other in the hunting party, but male. It had fought and died, still making threats.
The female half-giant had required a spoken ritual before he had been allowed to remove a bone from the dead body. "I wish to take a bone from its leg." Simply stating his intention. Softskins were irrational, but she had been large, and well-armed and armoured, and he had not felt confident of victory in attack. More rational to simply follow her ritual and get what he wanted.
The only image which did more than play around the edges of his memory was that of the dream that had come to him the first night on that land over the water. A swamp, like this; a hunt, like this. A tree, but this tree spoke to him with the face and voice of one of his kind. His lip curled as the thought came back to him. Trees should not have faces. It must be a threat. When it spoke, it spoke in the language of the lizards, which he had not heard since coming to this new land.
"Season of the Fallow…”
Fallow land, land abandoned, time allowing game to repopulate… But he was here alone, he could hunt an area through day and night for a year and it would have no effect. Sometimes the shaman had dreams, visions that led the tribe to greatness, or prevented disaster. But he was not a shaman, and could not interpret this dream. Perhaps to understand it better he must go back to that land across the water.
For now though, the hunting was difficult. The swamp was strangely quiet today. In several hours nothing larger than a mouse had crossed his path. Maybe this was the fallow season from his dream… He had to find out.