boom shakalacka
Good morning sirs and madams.
I have poked this spot in the name of me! And I managed to do so with the wrong avatar. Please remove Kamala Nayar from the list. I will try to avoid doing that again.
This is the place at which I will make my presence known!
As the day slowly creeps toward night, Volcano's light fades from boisterous yellows and oranges to a more subdued crimson. The impossibly high three-mile peak seems to grow with each day of travel toward Hearth, the famous capital city. A chill wind that carries no memory of a long-dead summer blows across the unending fields of wheat that surround the temple-road. The faintest kiss of campfire smoke dances upon the air.
The smooth, featureless brown-yellow road that connects all the southern seats of ifrit power does not care who travels upon it; indeed, the motley caravan that has just finished its travels for the day seems to contain precious few followers of Volcano. Most of the travelers are farmers or merchants with wagons full of one thing or another needed for the war: grain for soldiers; ore for weapons; medicine for the wounded. The small clearing off the road is crammed with wooden carts, sleeping pogonas, and ifrits of various shades of flame and ash.
And yet, as with all large groups, there are those that stand out, whether they intend to or not. A smart-mouthed undine has earned the ire of several merchants, and the smiles of several wives. A strange oread who is approached by none of the self-important ifrit merchants. A pair of sylphs: one, a tall gaunt specter, the other surprisingly solid for a child of Sky. And, of course...the chicken. Though none of them have started any trouble, they are all obviously outsiders. Even the more gregarious farmers have given these four their space, whether they want it or not.
The caravan master, a gruff gray ifrit with a paunch, a beard, and a surly disposition, yells out, to no one in particular, "Don't slack just 'cause we'll be in the city by tomorra. I'll still charge extra for those I catch slacking. Maybe throw you on your ear and if the bandits are kinder to ya! For Volc's sake, ya fat oaf! Gather some wood! Make some meals!"
Aware of the status her kind holds in society, she promptly begins doing her part. "Yes sir." She mumbles, making sure to avoid eye contact. Inam spends a few minutes looking around for suitable firewood, depositing her findings in the growing pile.
Surely these people don't expect Volcano to protect them for free. We must all do our part in this war...even if we don't yet know what part we are to play...
Shaking her head, Inam notes others have begun collecting wood. Feeling she'd be of more help elsewhere, she heads to the group of wagons. "Need any help unloading supplies for the night?"
As the evenings preparations conclude, Inam finds herself near the other outsiders. Glancing up to see a fellow sylph, a timid smile spreads across her face. Petting the companion perched on her shoulder she says
Kallik is more than willing to help settle the caravan for the evening, something she has been willing to do since they found her wondering down the road alone. Grateful for the company even if they do not talk to her often. Solitude is something she is used to and she can more than keep herself occupied within her own mind. Much of her time is spent watching the elen in the caravan. Trying to discern if the things the tribe said about others was true.
Moving to fine wood for the cooking firers Only speaking up to ask where they want something to be placed. Once done with her tasks she moves back to where her things are. Quietly sitting and watching them.
Brinn's excitement at being this close to his destination is undimmed, even with the caravan master's constant and unchanging bluster,
every night the same thing...maybe change your threats now and again...perhaps it is bears instead of bandits tonight, and we are
moronic buffoons instead of fat oafs... He had not even been able to lighten the master's mood with a funny story about a traveler passing two oread digging on the side of the road.
Well, perhaps all in the group were a bit anxious. His fireside tale about a travelling scholar and a cuckholded merchant had not gone been taken too well by most. He had received the most favorable reactions in the evenings simply by playing gentle tunes on his Mer-flute.
But tomorrow is the day! Brinn moves to do "as ordered", helping to prepare the camp for the night. As he does so, he notices the mannerisms of the unusually large-looking female sylph. He has been watching her, or more precisely, her amazing companion, over the past few days, but has yet to really speak with her. Now seems as good a time as any...
"Say my lady, don't let that old grump chase away your good spirits! We are almost there, so let me assist you and your fine-feathered friend. Once this chore is done we can relax, and prepare for new beginnings tomorrow!"
Shaking her head and keeping her place on the outskirts of the camp. Lost in thought as she mindlessly watches the elen move about. Moving both hands to lay flat on the ground. Great Forest please say I did not make a mistake leaving. Let the city be better than this. I do not want to be alone forever.
With a slight nob to the merchant, Inam responds "Yes ma'am. Although, one must know their place. It is the way of things. Glad to be of service. May Volcano keep you and yours from harm." Inam maintains her averted gaze and with a respectful bow heads back into the camp.
At the sound of Brinn's voice, she looks into his violet eyes. "He lacks the capacity to sway me. I may not know my future path, but the way will be shown. I need just keep the faith. I'm but an outsider. The ifrits are kind to allow us among them." My are his eyes bright. "I'm Inam by the way. I didn't catch your name, but have enjoyed your skills with that device of yours."
Pleased at not getting shoo-ed away, Brinn replies with a wide grin,"I am happy to hear that my lady! Although 'kind' is a not a word I would use to describe any ifrit I have known." Brinn subtley gestures toward the caravan master before continuing.
"So, coming from a trade village, I must pay the name-price. You have given me your name, Inam, now I must give you mine. Brinn is what my friends call me, but I shall not tell you what my enemies call me until we know each other much better." Brinn finishes the latter with an exaggerated wink.
"And I thank you for your compliment on my meager skills." Brinn pulls his Mer-flute from his pack, and deftly twirls it in his fingers before playing a rapid set of scales. " This, Inam, is a Mer-flute. Easy to learn, and probably easy to master as well. If you would like I could teach you how to play a song or three."
I left my tribe, I do not claim them.Grinning at the lack of tradition, despite the oddness of it. I am S.. Please call me Kallik.
Nodding to him and gesturing for him to sit, I am lonely among all of these unknown faces.
"Ibinu was it? This, this is my first time away from home. Please don't misunderstand; it was time for me to leave. Volcano has willed it. However, it is pleasing to have a fellow sky-folk to travel with. I trust Etrah to show me my path."
A slight bow of Ibinu's head acknowledges his fellow slyph. I am Ibinu and once work many things in glass. Now my travels and lack of stability leave me know where to practice creating. Hopefully the city will offer some opportunities.
You I believe are Inam? What brings you from the people to the world? I understand but do not agree with your deference to the common ifrits. I will not make judgement though.I came with Kaliik Ibinu motions to the Oread.
As Brinn shows Inam a relatively simple run of notes that make up a traditional undine folk song, something catches his eye. He notices the strange loner oread talking to one of the guards, another of her kind. ... Interesting, this is the first time I have seen her speak more than one or two words to anyone here, even that odd sylph whose company she keeps at times. I am sure that one has a story worth hearing..
"You must be meeting the wrong ifrit Brinn." Grinning she continues, "Our master here for example. He may be gruff, but it is a kindness in his way. I caution you in any attempt to teach me a trade...my own took much effort to learn."
Tilting her head to catch the music the chatty Undine is making. A small smile forms as she listens for just a moment before speaking softly to Antonio , May I ask why you were so reluctant to speak with me?
Brinn sets down his flute, smiling at Inam, Perhaps you are right, I could count the ifrit I have spoken with on one hand, so perhaps I should give the rest an opportunity to redeem themselves."
He gives Inam an encouraging pat on the arm,"and if you can learn one thing, you can learn another!"
At the arrival of the odd sylph, Brinn listens carefully, he has not heard this one speak much either. "Ahh, so Master Ibinu, as a craftsman yourself, perhaps you can appreciate this..."
Brinn pours a small amount of water into his hand from his waterskin, and take his flute into the other. He begins playing a slow melody, and the water in his hand rapidly forms into a sphere, then elongates and a pattern appears so that it looks something like a chrysalis. The beat of the melody increases gradually, and the cocoon shape rapidly transforms into the shape of a butterfly, slowly moving its wings, much as one newly emerged does in preparation for its first flight. Then, suddenly, the butterfly collapses. The water runs through Brinn's fingers, and a slightly sad look passes across Brinn's face.
"Alas, much as in life, they only last a short time. Master Ibinu I could do well to learn some of your trade. Perhaps I could make one more permanent."
As Brinn shows Inam a relatively simple run of notes that make up a traditional undine folk song, something catches his eye. He notices the strange loner oread talking to one of the guards, another of her kind. ... Interesting, this is the first time I have seen her speak more than one or two words to anyone here, even that odd sylph whose company she keeps at times. I am sure that one has a story worth hearing..
As Inam, Ibuni, and Brinn continue to converse, several members of the caravan look over at the bard's performance. There is scattered applause, and a merchant's young daughter gives a delighted "Oooooh!" at the butterfly.
The caravan master approaches the three of you, with a shadow of a suppressed smile tugging on his lips. "A pretty tune! I've heard 'a the water-singers or whatever ya call 'em, but that's the first I seen of such a thing. I know a few taverns in town'd fancy a show like that to draw the crowds." He looks at Ibinu and Inam. "Don't know yer plans for Hearth and frankly don't care, but any of you lookin' for work in the city, and I'll point you in the right direction."
He sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. "Ah, Hearth is a long way from Forest." He shakes his head. "I mean, not just the travel distance, right? It's not easy sticking out as an oread, and I was," he looks at you with an apologetic smile, "well, I was afraid of the boys giving me merda for talking to you." He seems to realize who he is talking to and coughs, embarrassed. You can guess from the context what the Ifrit word means.
Quickly, he says, "And, truth be told, you can be a little intimidating, keeping to yourself so much as you do."
Somethings never change. Pressing her palm back onto the ground and gripping the grass tightly at when he mentions his fears about what his companions would say to him. That irritation vanishes as he finishes speaking.
Trying to keep a giggle in and not really succeeding as a giggle rolls out of her lips. Glancing over at Antonio with mirth in her eyes and voice, I have been called many things but never intimidating.
Waving a hand to gesture to the caravan and the people moving about. They made it easy to stay alone.
Letting her grin fade away but making sure to catch his gaze, I do not wish to cause you any issues and I am certainly not staying with this caravan. You do not have to sit with me if you do not want to. I would hate for you to be given Marda.
Scowling when she realizes the word does not sound right, How did you say it?
Brinn nods appreciatively toward his audience, with a broad smile for the girl.
At the caravan master's words, Brinn blinks in mild surprise, and after a quick glance at Inam with a hint of amusement in his eyes, he presents the master with a respectful bow. "Your kind words are well taken Master, and I shall most certainly investigate the possibilities."
"Well, it's close to my time to take watch. Have a pleasant evening, Kallik." He gives a clumsy attempt at a formal bow, and walks away.
The master nods curtly to Brinn, and departs for his wagon without another word.
The merchants, farmers, and off-duty guards ready for sleep quickly, with the efficiency of those well-familiar with travel. Volcano's crimson peaklight slumbers, soft and unchanging save the occasional short flare, like moths burning in a candle. The wind is no kinder at night than it was during the day, but the fires, hot--if tasteless--soup, and companionship hold some of the cold at bay. One of the guards, walking a patrol unseen, tunelessly whistles the last song Brinn was playing earlier.
After the master has gone, Inam reminds Brinn, "As I said. We are outsiders here. There is a way of things. I hope the morning finds you well."
Inam turns to the glow of the Volcano and bowing her head whispering winds escape her mouth, "Go raibh maith agat do gach duine Bolcán agat bheannaigh dúinn . Coinnigh dúinn slán agus cabhrú linn a thabhairt faoi deara an cosán tú a leagan ós ár gcomhair."
"Good night Brinn, Ibinu" Nodding to both, Inam retires.
Drawing away from he main light of the fire,after a brief but friendly nod to Inam, Ibinu draws his weapon.After cleaning it thoroughly, he stands and starts the mantra like forms he has picked up from others. After working up a sweat that leaves his eyes glistening, his breathe dancing, and his hair matted, Ibinu sits once more. With a clean dry cloth he begins to clean his weapon once more.
Drawing to the edges of the group, Ibinu notes the location of Kallik before rolling into his bedroll under a wagon.
Brinn nods at Inam and Ibinu, "Pleasant dreams my lady, and good sir. The morning cannot arrive soon enough for me!"
Brinn sets his pack as a pillow near enough to others in the caravan to sense their company, and stretches out. While the chill does not bother him, the fire and the people around it impart a friendly presence. With hands behind his head, he stares up at the stars, wondering what he and the other "outsiders" will find in Hearth on the new day, and wondering if he will even be able to fall asleep this night.
Smiling, Forest's bounty to you and yours. Thank you for the company
Content to remain sitting with her fingers dancing though the grass as she watches everyone settle in for the night. Watching Ibinu dance with his blade before cleaning it. When he looks her way she nods her head in acknowledgment.
Desiring the contact with the ground she foregoes her bed roll and stretches out on the ground. Staring at the sky lost in thought until sleep pulls her under. Promising to be different, everything is new and different after all, when the sun has returned.
As you all crawl, struggle, or drift toward sleep, you hear the sharp crack of breaking wood, too loud to be a twig or branch, come from a wagon on the very edge of the camp's border.
Brinn sits up, fully alert...something is not right... For a reason he cannot quite explain, a feeling makes him grab the spear he has been using as a walking stick, and move swiftly and quietly to where Inam has camped. He nudges her softly, and in a low but urgent voice he asks "Inam, did you hear that?" His next thought is one of mild concern that she may startle awake and punch him in the nose...
Grumbling at the noise and sitting up. The only thing she notes is the Undine getting up to bother the Slyph. Growling softly and reaching over to grab her Guisarme, which she uses to get up and then as a walking stick. Rubbing her eyes and stumbling over. Keeping her sleep rough voice low, Is there a problem? You do not usually seem so tense.
Inam jerks awake at Brinn's prodding. Reaching for her sword, she rolls towards the violet-headed creature.
Groggily, "Ugh...Hear?...What?"
Struggling to her feet, she looks around to see what's going on.
"Why'd you wake me up? Is it already morning?"
All other members of the caravan seem to be fast asleep. Of the guards, there is no sign, save the ones that are on patrol (who could be anywhere)
There is a thump, and a quiet exclamation of pain from within the wagon.
somewhat relived his face is still intact, Brinn continues in a hurried whisper "Apologies my lady, something sounds out of sorts by that wagon over there. Someone may be in trouble or hurt, but if it is something worse, I think we should discover it together."
More alert now, Inam replies "Sounds like a good idea. Follow me?"
Inam starts towards the wagon, keeping her weapon ready. The chicken perched on her shoulder licks her cheek.
Good! I am doing as Volcano desires. Is an innocent in trouble? Is it just a broken wagon? ...Either way, we must make The Warrior proud.
The wagon huddles far from the snores of the camp, like a sibling troubled by nightmares. It possesses neither the pompous gleam of the merchants' wagons, nor the unrefined competence of the farmers' carts. In truth, it looks run-down; the peeling red paint and bent nails reek of desperation. Strangely, none of you can remember who owns this wagon.
All other members of the caravan seem to be fast asleep. Of the guards, there is no sign, save the ones that are on patrol (who could be anywhere)
There is a thump, and a quiet exclamation of pain from within the wagon.
"You there, leave that poor soul alone and come out peacefully, lest we get involved!" exclaims Inam.
It is possible nothing bad is happening...
"We mean you no ill will. Step out and explain yourself." she says more gently.
Ibinu approaches the wagon slowly. When he is near enough to be heard without waking the rest of the camp he says Excuse the interruption but whatever is going on is disturbing the sleepers here. Stop and we can all get a good night sleep. He chuckles mirthlessly as he realizes that Inam and he are speaking in unison.
He turns slightly to acknowledge her and winks audaciously.
Indifferent to the brush off, it was a thing that happened in the caravan. Silently following the the short Undine and the strange Sylph with her ever present chicken.
Keeping silent as both Sylphs start talking simultaneously. Shifting on her feet while tightening her grip on her weapon.
Inam's face turns scarlet as she hears Ibinu. Oops. Perhaps I should have let him speak
Catching his eye, she cautiously creeps to the back of the wagon. Anxious as to what will emerge. Inam takes in her armored companions, her gaze settling on Brinn.
Looks like most of us could handle a fight. That river-folk may be a tad soft though...
The back-door of the covered wagon opens a fraction. One of the guards peers out and says, "Go back to bed. Just a couple...rats found their way in." Without waiting for a response, he shuts the door again.
Growling low in her throat and stepping forward. As she does so she turns her weapon so that she can bang on the door with the wooden end and still keep some distance between her and the door. Open the door or the whole caravan will be woken.
After a moment, the door is cracked open with no comment.
Feeling the need to speak up with all these large elen asserting themselves, Brinn grips his spear tightly, looking at Kallik and exclaims nervously, "Yes...um...what she said!"
Pulling her weapon back so that it is held in the proper way. Keeping the growl in her voice, Come out now.
Inam looks to her companions for guidance and receives a beak to the neck.
"Ouch! OK! Cac!", cursing in her native tongue.
She proceeds to shove the door the rest of the way open and peak inside.
Raising a green eyebrow when the Sylph tries to shove the door open. Stepping though the others and up to the opened door to look inside.