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Post by thrythlind on Aug 11, 2012 18:34:13 GMT -7
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Post by thrythlind on Aug 11, 2012 18:36:27 GMT -7
Lost in the Dim
"Why do you serve?" - The Question of Faith
The small lake stood, clear, unbroken, pristine. It reflected the night into a glittering obsidian mirror almost darker than the night about it. The spring that fed the pool rested too deep for its continual presence to affect the surface. Only at the mouth of the pool did the eternal motion of the water become visible.
There the waters were channeled into a gently laughing brook that eventually fell off the relatively small cliff to join the vast depths hundreds of feet below. There were few signs of civilization in the area. A small collection of weapons, only what one warrior might carry with them, and wax-sealed camping supplies leaning against a rock were the only things visible.
It was not until a wet, red-maned head rose out of the water, almost seamlessly, that it was made clear who owned those tools. The breaking of the surface seemed hardly to be noticed beyond a finger's length from the bather. It was almost as if she were being formed out of the water rather than displacing it.
The traveler shook back her shoulder length hair and flicked it once as a further encouragement to dry. Even in the shrouding darkness of the mountainous trees that towered over all in the Greenwater her hair seemed to be a bright flame that caught, focused and reflected all light in its vicinity. In comparison, her athletic body, hidden from the waist down by the black water, seemed a pale light that gleamed a gold that was almost white.
She bent down reverently, arms cupped together, as she collected a large handful of water whispering a soft stream of words before washing her face in an apparent ritual. The bather's hands spread out to their span, her face remaining quiet and peaceful. Then they circled out again as she arched her back before reaching down to cup another handful of water.
It was the end of another ten days. She had spent the day seeking out this lake, or something similar that would serve the same purpose. And now she intended to spend the night in the Cleansing. Cleaning her body, calming her mind, centering her spirit, and focusing her being on the path of her duty.
She had been so long on her own that she began to fear that her Cleansing was more about an extra-long bath and time-keeping than actual prayer. It was said that everyone had their faith tested eventually. She had begun to think that, perhaps, this long exile was hers.
For all she knew, she had already failed in her duty. More than four hundred days ago, the clerics of her village had deemed that some threat was facing the Greenwater. An ancient threat that had to be stopped lest the ancient ages of tyranny and empire return.
She had been the first to volunteer. Swearing an oath before Duinluhg to defend the Ffolk, the malana and all the free peoples. She had not left alone; one brother and two sisters had traveled with her. Besides her family there had been a weaver and a blood witch. Two males of her race, ramatan, and four females, lygiel.
It had been almost funny at first. Unless war was about, lygiel usually stayed at home to defend the village. The ramatan were usually the explorers, the emissaries. The fact that this band had more lygiel than ramatan while it was meant to travel so far was bizarre. And the only information they had were the description of a few dreams and one of the old proverbs: "the threat of the future lay in the history of the present."
She hadn't considered, when she volunteered, the fact that she had never been more than a day beyond the village before in her life. And now, here she was, lost in the trackless depths of the Greenwater. Her comrades lost to misfortune and the waters. No more than a month out and they had encountered one of the Greenwater snakes, spawn of that one great Serpent that had roamed the water since the age of dragons. If even Valacir had lived, he would have found a path...
She harshly returned her thoughts back to the Cleansing. Now was not the time to think of the past, but how to forge into the future. She would mourn another day; there was a ritual for that as well.
"Man," a voice hissed disdainfully. The lygiel paused as she heard the word. It was a corruption of what the malana, the race that dominated the settled portions of the Greenwater, called the Ffolk. Or rather, it was the word a race with a related tongue used to name the same race.
"Ranida," she smiled quietly as she turned about toward the speaker.
Civilization, hopefully friendly civilization. Ranida lizard-people were sprinkled in clans about the Greenwater, the greatest number were settled in the southern realm of Ratadoni, though she hoped that she had not encountered them.
"Have I reached Malanador?" she paused to correct herself from using her people's name of the realm. "The realms of the malana?"
The malana had no name for their kingdom, claimed they had no kingdom in fact. Each house was a government of their own. Still the alliances and good will between houses were widespread, and they were mostly unified. Especially in the last forty years, since the most respected house acquired a new head.
She looked over the group that had found her. There were twelve of the ranida, each appearing like a two-legged lizard. They were large, broad shouldered, and strong. Many would be stronger than her despite her training. They were also, however, young and untrained. They probably hadn't been in more than a couple of skirmishes. Not like her fallen comrades, who had sortied out from their village to battle the invading sea demons with honor. And not like her, who had been trained since her earliest age and spent the past seasons in a state of near constant alertness.
They stood at least two heads taller than most Ffolk, with glittering, green and black scales meshing together into a reflective coat of hard armor.
The majority of the weapons were ranida craft, she could tell from where she was. They were heavy war machetes, equally useful in cutting a path or an enemy. Other than that each of the creatures bore a short bow. Only the ranida in the center bore different gear His gear was cleaner, better, the blade was slimmer, brighter in the darkness than that of the others.
She frowned at that, uncertain as to why a ranida would be using a weapon so concerned with finesse over their own favored machetes. The malana used such swords, though theirs were shorter and better suited to close fighting than the blade this ranida carried.
Over their scales they wore some sort of leather armor, shark or crocodile probably. There were few other creatures in the Greenwater with tougher skin that were still relatively easy to kill. A slim tabard was worn over the armor of the ranida. A green dragon rearing back with wings outstretched to strike. The crest of the ruling clan of Ratadoni. She frowned deeper.
Of all the civilized regions of the Greenwater she could have wondered into, Ratadoni. If anything was a leftover of the old times, the rulers of this realm were. Arrogant, intolerant, tyrannical in the extreme. They were a threat, maybe not the threat, but still a threat. It was her duty to ensure none of them passed her alive. At least she knew she was near one of the great mesas now.
"Man, die!" one of the warriors shouted in the Ffolk tongue. He was obviously the leader and making an effort to inform the "man" just what was about to happen.
"Come on then," she called out, saving her confusion for later. She frowned at allowing herself to be distracted before battle like that.
The lygiel glided backwards in the pool, moving far more smoothly than her attacker was. On the shore, the lizard like ranida were putting bows to use and taking shots at her. She dodged around the arrows, twisting and weaving in manners that her closest attacker deemed should have been impossible. Especially as he found himself having to swim as he approached her. Then he got close enough for his own night vision to pierce the nearly impenetrable water.
The ranida leader had only a brief mental flash of what he had attacked when his target glided forward with blinding speed to meet him. Then he was pulled under the water.
The archers on the shore ceased fire as their leader closed, fearful of hitting him. One of them moved forward to squint in the darkness. Something was wrong. Then their officer and the female vanished under the water in a blink. They watched the pristine surface of the lake waiting for sign of their captain coming back with the ugly man female. They were thus looking much too far out into the lake.
The "man" broke the surface of the water no more than a lazy toss away and quickly slid up the shore and into the midst of her attackers. What was hidden under the water before was now clearly apparent to the shocked ranida. The bather appeared almost as a Ffolk or moranu, the scaleless cousins to the malana, down to her waist. Below that, was the lithe, slender body of a ruby-scaled serpent.
"I am Runya Sulemar," she said, speaking in a cool, calm tone. As much a ritual as her prayers in the water, but with a definite trace of hostility. "Come with me to the razor's edge. We'll choose our fates with another dance, striding the river red."
She had no particular wish to kill a small collection of obvious conscripts that probably had little more choice in the matter of their employment than their officer had chances against her in the water. Still they were the enemy, and she had her duty.
It was a long moment before either side reacted. Before the ranida realized that she was still just one naked female with merely one sword stolen from their obviously drowned leader. The majority dropped their bows to reach for melee weapons.
The warrior burst into action, torso twisting in ways impossible when a creature had hips to consider. They outnumbered her, they out equipped her, having interrupted her prayer. It wasn't enough.
She was trained well, almost flawlessly. Deflecting attackers into each other's way, shifting about her torso as if she were merely floating and not connected to the ground at all. After a few minutes she was covered in a number of bruises, scratches and flesh wounds, and tiring, but her opponents had been reduced to three. Down to this easily manageable number she moved to end this before one of the amateurs got lucky.
She picked out what seemed to be the weakest of the three and whipped forward quickly to wrap the draconic creature in her coils. She was focusing her stolen sword, along with a dagger she had picked off an opponent earlier, to block the attacks of the other two as she crushed their comrade to death.
The two remaining ranida seemed half dazed by the act. So far she had only used that lithe and agile body to smash or trip them and move herself from place to place. They had not considered this application of the snake woman's anatomy. They were not trained to consider that doing such earlier would have left her dangerously vulnerable against so many opponents.
At the sound of a sickening crack, the woman's coils slackened, causing the dead ranida to buckle and collapse to the ground. She began to flow forward in that eerily smooth way that legged creatures, no matter how well trained, just couldn't attain.
One of the two warriors broke and ran as she freed herself up to further battle. The last ranida blinked in confusion and glanced at his companion, and so he missed seeing the strike that separated his head from his shoulders.
The fleeing warrior did not look back to see the lygiel finish off his companion and frown at him. Legs were superior to snakes in a straight run, he knew this but still refused to slow and allow himself a glance backwad. He thus did not see Runya calmly pick up one of the few unbroken bows and an arrow.
She was a lygiel, a warrior, a trained servant of the goddess Duinlhug. Her duty was her life.
She was Runya Sulemar.
She never failed in her duty.
The arrow flew.
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Post by thrythlind on Aug 11, 2012 18:40:05 GMT -7
Snippet of Prologue 2 (book 1)
Runya gritted her teeth in irritation at the helplessness of her situation. She almost missed the pressure wave that brushed past her side.
Almost.
Runya froze in the water and let her body's buoyancy carry her slowly upward for a moment as she scanned about the murk. She reached for her knife and drew it forth, afraid that her sword would not be of the best use. She coiled in on herself, lessening the amount of water she displaced and preparing herself for a quick burst of speed. Her bright red hair floated behind her in a tight braid designed to keep her vision clear while swimming.
She felt another wave of water pressure pass by on the other side, and it felt more forceful. Runya gripped the hilt of her knife tighter. After all her time alone in the Greenwater she had learned to recognize the hunting patterns of most of the creatures within it.
Her enemy was a shark.
A crocodile would have just charged at her and she wouldn't even have felt the pressure wave from the water displacement in that case. It would not have circled her, like this creature was doing. Her belief was given further credence as the creature passed by her again on the original side, getting closer.
She didn't know how big it was so she couldn't accurately judge how far the creature was. It couldn't be small, however. A small shark would have been well within her range of vision by the time she felt anything like that. If it was about her size, weighing several stones more than the average Ffolk for all her slender appearance, then she knew enough about sharks to handle it in a fight. If it was much larger than her, she could outswim it, make for the nearest tree or island and start climbing.
In any case she would learn soon, the circles were getting tighter. Then she saw a shadowed form pass by not three spearlengths away and then fade back into the dark. Runya smiled, it wasn't too large for her to take, and shark was good to eat. That was assuming she could drag it to a dry place without attracting other predators.
She waited patiently, praying to Duinlhug to watch over her in the coming fight. The shark passed her again, close enough that she could make out details about the creature. It did not have her overall length, but it was longer than a Ffolk was tall by at least two handspans. She shifted the stance of her coils ever so slightly and readied her knife.
The circling had stopped, and Runya still scanned about waiting for the final charge. She'd have maybe three breaths to spot it between when it reached the range of her vision and when it reached her.
It came from above, and she saw it almost immediately. The shark charged forward almost blindly mouth opening widely. In the last moment, the shark's eyes were covered to protect them from accidental injury from the gore likely to be spilt. It was blind.
Runya moved in, spiraling to dodge around the charge and then tightened again to catch the shark in her coils. She was already curving around, but the sudden jerk as her body tightened around the shark almost set her off balance anyway. She almost dropped her knife as the shark pulled her along in the water. The shock lessened quickly, however, as she adapted to the acceleration and the shark was slowed by it's passenger.
It would take something of far greater strength than her to actually crush a shark to death. It had no bones, and its spine was protected by layers of muscle. All she could do was hold on. It was fortunate that she was not planning to do something so foolish.
Runya's upper body turned about to grip near the head of the shark. The fish rolled about in a furious fashion to shake the 'prey' that was crippling its capability to move, but the Greenwater shark was not equipped to deal with the constricting attack, and all it could do was scrape its skin against her.
The rough skin of the shark painfully gouged into the small chinks of Runya's scales as she gripped it with all her strength. That part of her flesh unprotected by scales was shielded by the thick crocodile skin armor that she wore over her chest and the more vital parts of her serpentile anatomy were shielded by a skirt-like band of the same material. Runya ignored the pain as she stablized herself enough to do what she had to do.
The knife slashed cleanly downward into the shark's gill slits. Land or water, the prime objectives remained, if your enemy could not breathe, your enemy could not live.
The shark jerked violently, and would have thrown Runya off had she been Ffolk or malana. The lygiel remained anchored by the grip of her coils, though she was forced to watch her knife descend into the vast deeps.
Cursing her clumsiness she drew forth her sword, the blade that had been forged in her home village. It would be more difficult and awkward with the larger blade, but, it was still possible, especially with the shark already wounded. She needed to end this battle quickly, before the blood brought others.
She stabbed into the shark's side again and ripped at the vulnerable flesh, pulling her sword out as the shark twisted again. She fought the creature's desperate jerks to twist around and stab her blade into the other side of the shark's body and twisted again. This time the motion of the shark and her thrust combined to snap the blade. Not expecting the snapping of her sword, Runya was thrown back again, and, again, had to fight to achieve stability.
Runya glanced about frantically as she repeatedly stabbed the sinking creature with her snapped blade. The water was turning hot with the spilt blood, though cooling quickly, and the battle would quickly bring others. As the shark ceased struggling she unwrapped her coils and glanced about, wondering if she should risk taking the meat with her.
She didn't continue wondering motionless. She gripped the dead shark in her hands, releasing her coils so that she could swim. She swam at a brisk pace, ready to drop her load and sprint at any moment as she looked for somewhere to leave the water. A flash of white light attracted her attention and she made for it, well aware that she was dragging a beacon of another sort with her.
Runya glanced to her right just in time to see the crocodile. This was not something she could take on without help. This was something that would have taken the shark she carried in much less time than she had. It was charging toward her with silent and deadly grace, opening it's wide mouth.
The lygiel dropped the shark and dodged to the side of the crocodile as it went for the sinking meat. The wake of the huge reptile pushed her off course and she was fighting to maintain her sense of direction when the crocodile's tail slammed into her. Her breath came out in a gasp silenced by the deep water. She found herself pushed forward by the tail until it waved back, pushing the croc along in it's pursuit of easy food.
The lygiel choked as the croc disappeared. In the impact of the tail, her throat had opened, consequently shutting her gills. For a few burning seconds, she faced the alien possibility of drowning. Quickly, however, her body remembered how to breathe underwater and she again looked to her position. This only left her finding that she had no idea which direction she was facing. Thankfully that flash of light caught her eye again, closer now and she sprinted towards it.
Runya found herself before a cave in a cliff wall, wide enough to let her comfortably in, but definitely too small for the crocodile that was prowling about outside and might just remember her. A large shark she could trust to forget her, she believed reptiles had a slightly higher intelligence, however.
Runya nodded and glanced upward toward the surface and the mesas, where the rivers flowed, and gave thanks for the light and the cave.
Runya swam upward, feeling her injuries, mostly minor but irritating, as the danger of her situation faded. Then finally she broke the surface of the water, still holding the shards of her sword, into an underwater pool and slid up into the shallows to rest a moment on the curiously smooth floor of the cavern.
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Post by thrythlind on Aug 16, 2012 17:59:24 GMT -7
Snippet of Book 2
Laneku loped alongside his rider, the cramped quarters of the catacombs being much too limited to allow for riding, and kept a tight focus ahead of the path, following the slowly fading trail of the metal-wearing warriors that had fled this way. It was easy to follow the trail they left. It reeked of metal and the pungent odor of terror and sweat.
The cat’s only concern was that the prey would escape. Farther ahead of any of the invaders, came the dangerous smell of water, but not just a pool or simple spring. Below them was the great and endless depths that no cat should ever wander into. He did not know of such words as Greenwater, and if he did he would have thought the name inappropriate.
The water below was not green. It was a devouring water, a killing water. The creatures that he carried had some secret of survival out there, but these secrets did not belong to Laneku. Still, it was his purpose to slay the prey, so he pressed forward, hoping to catch the prey before they escaped his reach.
Tennel was fast for his two legs, but he was nothing to what Laneku could do given full leave. Behind him, Laneku heard hint of the hostile female cat bearing down on them, and there was little eagerness to allow the other cat to claim the kill in this contest.
When Tennel’s leather-shrouded hand slapped down upon his shoulder and waved forward in the signal that said to take the prey still living, the cat wasted no time in putting on the speed as it glided through the stone halls. Tennel Griumbeck, a hatchet joining his knife, fell back behind his rushing form virtually unmoving in comparison.
Pressing ever forward, the cat did not even need to see the turns as senses still sharper than his master’s warned him of coming shifts long before he reached them. He had the head start. He would beat the female to the goal. His would be the praise in glory when he made the catch.
So were his thoughts, but the female’s presence still pushed ahead with terrible speed. As Jiese breezed easily past him, Laneku couldn’t help but stumble momentarily in uncomprehending surprise. Even though he’d felt her coming, he could not believe that any cat could be so fast. The moment’s stumble gone, he redoubled his efforts to push ahead.
Muscles and sinews burned in near agony as the cat, moving like the wind, caused Jiese’s lead to grow gradually slower, and finally, he was gaining. No fear of the prey and their metal fangs moved him to caution. All he knew and cared was that he was being beaten to the goal by a rogue and hostile rival.
The other cat was not a pride-mate. She did not allow for friendly competition or even teamwork. She wanted everything her own way. Her contempt for him was palpable when she had passed him earlier, and then there was her way fighting. She was wild and furious, her training had either not been good, or else she had not cooperated. All in all, Jiese ruffled Laneku’s fur badly, and now she was ahead of him, almost upon their goal and barely cognizant of what followed her.
As Jiese gathered into a pounce aimed to slaughter and dismember, Laneku blazed past her, a streak of golden lightning seeking a target. His body felt every minute jar and bump as the fatigue intensified the pain and sensation, but he was far from over yet.
Laneku half-pounced the first prey in his path, barely altering stride, bringing him down and trampling the soldier underfoot, twisting his paw over the Tuashadonu’s knee in a way that elicited an agony-streaked shriek from the soldier just before his head was smashed into the ground by another heavy paw and the cat moved on to the next target.
The second warrior twisted about to protect the last, behavior that marked the furthest prey as the one that was most important to come relatively unharmed. The spear slashed forward, eliciting Laneku to leap for the wall of the catacombs to run along the sides of the passage.
The stone walls, however, gave his claws no purchase, and his graceful dodge swiftly devolved into a scittering slide that bruised the cat’s already burning body. He bounced messily off the wall, bowling into the soldier, bringing the spear-carrying two-footer to the ground in a bone-splintering mess.
As he stood, the gold cat could already hear the gurgling death sounds wafting up from his second target. What little time the cat had to contemplate this turn of events, however, was dropped by the wayside as Jiese, freshly blooded, breezed past the stalled Laneku.
The battle was on again.
Uncaring of his fatigue, Laneku commanded his body to get back into the game before the crazy cat slew all his catches.
Laneku set aside the thought of his own situation to swiftly catch up to the rampaging riding cat. Glancing momentarily toward him, the cat growled warningly. Tennel’s gold didn’t bother to return a similar verbalization. He simply crowded closer to the berserker, waiting for the inevitable flash of claw and fang from the impatient killer.
Jiese snarled only once more in warning, and that a scant breath before she reared up to strike the cat invading her space. In that moment, Laneku ducked down and slid over, Jiese’s claws passing harmlessly over him. Then, the female cat unstable on only her back legs, went flying into the wall as he pushed himself back up again.
Stunned momentarily, Jiese could only shake her head to clear it as Laneku bore down on their mutual goal, trampling the lieutenant under foot and slamming his head hard into the ground like the first soldier. This time, however, Laneku, having no more prey to pursue, moved over the catch and laid one possessive paw over it as he glared back at the stalking Jiese.
Jiese swayed forward, breath coming in easy, tireless breezes as she eyed the tuashadonu feebly struggling under Laneku. The latter could never quite understand the other’s behaviors. Since he’d first come across the cat in the bowels of that ship coming down from the cold places, she’d been something of a bother. He’d seen two-footed creatures that stood well apart of their kin and set them on edge, however. His own rider was an example of such. Perhaps Jiese, too, was simply an anomaly.
Always impatient she was, and always angry. She responded to every two-foot with contempt and poorly veiled hostility. All save her rider, at least there she was proper. Her rider she served and protected most loyally, but even here she was odd, possessive in a way that a cat should not behave toward a two-foot. And now, here she was, pacing in front of him and gauging and re-gauging the situation.
Impatient to act, but indecisive in judgment.
She should have made a decision by now, but Laneku didn’t particularly want her to. If she continued in this confused and confusing vein, his rider would arrive and take charge of the catch, then the situation would be over.
“This one’s dead too,” Tennel’s voice drifted to the ears of the two cats, and the standoff was shattered as Jiese broke away with a vaguely disturbing expression upon her face.
Laneku held strong as he watched her tread away, slumping in wrath, and then his eyes turned to Tennel as the skinner strode into view. Jiese characteristically shied away from the Rolsarni, who gave her a likewise cautionary glance before reaching Laneku.
“This one this still breathes,” he said, voice brimming with approval and satisfaction. “Let me have him, Laneku.”
Obediently, the cat stopped off the catch and let Tennel strip the half-conscious lieutenant of his bulky and heavy armor before binding him and lifting him up and over Laneku’s back.
“We’d better head back,” the blonde two-foot said seriously then.
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