Impulse knows that there is a following referred to as the "Burning Mammoths," and the icon here would fit the group, but they have heard little else about the group.
Those who grew up as part of the Broken Tusk following have never heard of the Burning Mammoths.
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Impulse flips through and finds a page far back full of different following of the region that they've been told about by various elders and through some early research and stop to point at "Καίγοντας μαμούθ".
"Burning Mammoths... That would certainly... fit this heraldry. But I don't know anything else about them. Though, it does worry me that, looking at this charred hand here the name might be more literal than I was hoping."
For a moment Impulse appears to actually shiver at the thought, before quickly returning to their usual muted show of any kind of expression. Then they stand there in thought for a while before turning back to Kala. "Oh right, the spear. Well I guess we both won it off Pakano but I'm rather... attached to this weapon I carry on my back already. So feel free to keep it if you'd like. I've got no strong need for it, and I think you deserve it more than I, anyway."
They turn back to their notes, deep in thought. "What kind of following could the Burning Mammoths possibly be and what in the world happened to this person who carried this spear."
Eirthgim strokes their chin. "Burning Mammoths?" They look down to exchange glances with Agn; the cat twitches an ear as if in apology. "Mm. Not seen them at Hillcross, not heard of them in the stories. It is unusual for an entire following to be unheard of; steps in the Realms tend to ripple."
Kala Dja watches Impulse take their turn at beating Pakano with an increasing sense of disquiet. Maybe she had overreacted, even acted childishly, in her frustration and her desire to prove a point. The Kellid princess sighs. Too late to regret it now. Maybe she could make it up to Pakano later... as if her attempts had ever gotten her anything but the frustration she’d so recently expressed. Still... Kala thinks of that sly smile, and of the context that elicited it. Hiding a thoughtful little smile of her own, she dons her cloak and begins belting her sash back on.
Kala is just about to ask if Iskra needs any assistance when Impulse draws her attention back to the matter of the spear, and she holds the weapon as Impulse checks their notes. The sight of the curious little book sends a tingle through the spirit-remnant of the young animist’s missing limb; it seems like only yesterday that she’d made off with those very notes and the storm spirit’s esoterica, hoping to turn her hunting bow into an equally mighty weapon. Still, she keeps her moody feeling to herself... she’s still trying to work out her fellow scout’s feelings about the incident, and doesn’t want to disrupt things until she fully understands the situation.
Kala has only started to turn her attention to the spear when Impulse speaks up again. “Burning Mammoths...” A thoughtful look crosses her face, the spear’s banner fluttering softly as her remaining wrist thumps rhythmically against her hip. After a few moments, she shakes her head. “No idea.” Seeing Eirthgim and Agn indicate the same heartens the Kellid princess a little; if her grandfather-sibling knows nothing of it—and, not for nothing, if Agn the hearth-spirit knows nothing of it—then she certainly wouldn’t know. Her respect for Impulse rises another notch; clearly they are knowledgeable indeed. Kala is just considering calling out to Asha for insight when Impulse speaks again, addressing her directly.
“Are...?” Are you sure? she is about to say. But Kala Dja knows how dear Impulse’s own spirit-blade is to them. Not that she’s any less attached to her own, of course, and she very nearly says so; but then her thoughts return to her bow, and to the foolish error in judgment that had made it irreplaceable. Kala hefts the spear, feeling its weight and balance... perfect for throwing. Ash, too, the spirit-wood of her mother’s people. The young animist nods, shallowly bowing to Impulse with reverent gratitude. “I accept this weapon gratefully.”
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As you start following the trail, Pakano clears his throat. He dips two baskets into the river, gives you all a significant look, and turns on his heel. (The slippery, mossy-covered rocks of the stream slightly spoil the effect.) Without another word, he starts trudging back toward camp.
The winding river flows through a series of smooth, low-lying hills for less than a mile before something of note appears: a small, stony island in the river across from an old, dead stump. The river is still shallow enough to wade through. The water is a bit murkey, clouded by bits of what appears to be ashes floating on its surface, as though from a large fire upstream.
“Why? Why have you come?” intones a gurgling voice emanating from the river water. The ashy water splashes to and fro, partially pulling itself from the river’s gentle current. “Are you here to help me? I’ve been so polluted, and I feel so weak!”
Impulse blinks, not sure if the voice is coming from inside their own mind or not, but quickly turns to see their companions all with equally confused looks.
Impulse stares at the river. "Um... are you another one of these 'nature spirits' I've been told about? Well, we helped out a raven spirit yesterday, I think... is this whole saving spirits thing usually an every day tasks for scouts?"
They dip their hand into the water, draping some of the ashy film onto their gloves and slowly rubbing it between their fingers while taking a long look at it.
"Jeez, I haven't seen a river run this murky since I left Numeria, though I suppose back there there's not much you can do, the strange chemically acidic rivers in the old land are far past any help. But I'd like to see if there's anything I can do for this one here before it gets that far as well."
"Yes, I am a water spirit! You are wise to recognize me. My waters have been polluted by great fires from a human encampement far upriver. The fires are so far away that you can only see them in the darkest part of the night." There is a swirling and bubbling of the stream. "If you want to purify my area of the river, all you must do is retrieve the magic flower that is on the far side of that stump."
The ripple in the water points at a stump in the muddy island center of the river. You see the flower, you might get stuck in the mud if you go over there.
Iskra pauses. "This feels funny to me. Like, all of it."
She sticks out a hand to halt her comrades, main gauche still firmly gripped. "The movement of the water- that's magic, not a spirit! Explain yourself, strange being!"
Kala Dja spent most of her time along the river worrying about things with Pakano; she’s still trying to figure out what to do about the situation when Iskra speaks up. Giving her fellow huntress a nod of thanks and recognition, Kala peers at the rippling waters, hoping to figure out what’s going on.
But nothing presents itself to the young animist. She can barely even pick out a ripple. Kala turns her face away from the river—and the other scouts—and clenches her fist until her knuckles whiten, trying not to let her frustration and disappointment in herself show. The last thing the others need is to be distracted by a childish display from completely useless princess, after all. At least it’s (probably) not a spirit at work... that’d be just what she needs, to show herself completely incapable of dealing with the Realm’s spirits, again.
"Wait... I know what this is!" Iskra's face belies her shock as she turns to her comrades, her voice a whisper. "It's a loblobi; I've heard some of the old hunter's tales about them. They're tricksters who play mean pranks on people to amuse themselves. Mean pranks that end badly for the pranked. They hold grudges worse than Pakano. Real troublemakers."
After Pakano's abrupt departure, Iskra's in a mood; it's obvious she's spoiling for a fight, if only to burn off some steam. Her twin main gauches are white-knuckle gripped and she's slightly crouched in a ready position. "Don't let that snotty brat get to you, Iskra," she thinks to herself. "Even this horrid thing is part of nature; no reason to punish it for Pakano's sins."
She glances over at the reedy island shore, and her face sets with determination. "We're probably wise to simply leave, but it's likely to attack us for being poor sports. If our princess or our Spirit Caller have clever words that can get us out of here without a fight, now's a good time."
Eirthgim gifts Iskra a small nod, dampened slightly by their dour expression. They look down at Agn. The hearth-spirit snorts and rolls his eyes. "Come now, stoneface. You've seasons of wisdom in there. More magic with words. And you know that spirits often make poor hunting partners for one-another."
It's Eirthgim's turn to snort. "Hrmph. Fair enough."
The hearth-tender steps forward and raises a hand. "Spirit of water, life-giver, soul-cleanser. Thanks and respect from myself and my following," they say, bowing their head. "It brings me great sorrow to learn of your plight, and I wish that we could offer you more aid. But we are weighed down with sacred water of our own and would make poor green-gatherers today."
"However!" A wide smile splits Eirthgim's face, like an earthquaking mountain or a bolt from a blue sky.
Or a mammoth trying to be an elk.
"Another water-gathering party is close by, and they come to gather from this part of the river. There," they point off to the horizon, where the wind has blown a bit of glittering snow and dust into the air, "you can see them coming. We will speak to them as we cross paths and direct them to you with all haste."
They bow deeply. "Our apologies, thanks, and respect, life-giver. I hope that deferred aid will see you well. We would not want to crush this sacred flower, slow and clumsy as we are, unable to bear water as gracefully as yourself."
"I know everything that happens on the river; don't try your fibs with me! I'm normally a very mighty spirit, when I'm not so polluted...cough, cough" The weird little guy isn't buying Erthgim's story, but he doesn't realize that you're on to him.
Kala Dja nods thoughtfully as Eirthgim prevaricates, though her mind is far afield; now that she has a name, the young animist reaches out to Asha, trying to know what might be known of this being.
Hmm... pranksters, but sometimes harmless ones. It doesn’t quite line up with Iskra’s description, but one thing at a time. Kala thumps her wrist against her hip as she ponders. Maybe best to start slow. After all, this creature might be able to provide other useful information. Clearing her throat, the young animist speaks up. “Honored water-spirit, please, a question first. How long has your water been polluted from upstream?” Giving her most innocent smile—though Eirthgim might have a different opinion of the mischievous princess’s favorite get-out-of-trouble look—Kala adds, “After all, if we cure you now, without halting the corruption from upstream, you will only suffer once more. And I see but one flower there.”
Unfortunately, despite her cute little plan, Kala Dja has had quite a day. Between Pakano’s pervasive provocations, her own frustrations and inner turmoil, curiosity about the mystery following and the source of the ash, and just plain spoiling for a fight, the Kellid princess’s honeyed words sound painfully insincere and condescending, even to her own ears. With a sigh, the Kellid princess draws her spirit-blade. “Boring conversation anyway.”
"What?! Oh, crap!"
The fey senses that the situation has changed from lightheaded fun, perhaps with a whimsical side of drowning, to full-on attempted rotisserie.
~+~Combat Round 1~+~
Iska
Impulse
Eirthgim
Red
Blue
Kala Dja
Impulse rolls their eyes listening to this thing. "There's a fire going and this thing would rather sit here and delay us with pretending to be a spirit. I don't understand what goes through the heads of creatures like this. I should smash it just for wasting our time."
They put their hand back on their axe, step forward and... immediately step back as Eirthgim and Kala Dja try to talk it down. Though as soon as Kala reaches for her blade they almost smirk.
"Sometimes the right answer really is the simple one, isn't it?"
They immediately reach around to their wrists, trying to push down and flip the switch on them to activate the gravity influencing actuators that help their weapons swing with extra power.
With those turning on with a loud alien whirr, Impulse then makes a rush out of the river around past Kala and Eirthgim to take a violent swing at the back of the creature's neck.
Iskra was waiting for this moment, though a bit of her is loath to admit it; fey are part of the natural world, and so is drowning, she supposes, but drowning people with dirty tricks for fun? How many had died so this thing could have a chuckle?
Iskra slides effortlessly onto Tomi's saddle, prodding her into motion with her heels and charging forth through the water, maneuvering into flanking position opposite Impulse's expected point of impact, twin blades jabbing with practiced synchronicity.
Impulse's ax whirls, but the attack misses the strange poultry. Iska rides up on Tomi and scores two hits, since the creature's attention is distracted.
~+~Combat Round 1~+~
Iska
Impulse
Eirthgim
Red (-16)
Blue
Kala Dja
"A sound deception, true intent." Agn dips his head apologetically at Eirthgim. "And then, the pack."
Agn bounds through the freezing water, throwing up liquid crystals that shine in the boreal sun, and leaps atop the log. Eirthgim extends a slender hand to Call the Solstice Sun, and the crystals' fire dulls. In sync, Agn's fangs flicker red-gold as they drive toward the meddlesome fey.
The fey's goose heron is cooked. He won't be a danger to anyone else.
Speaking of danger, a little blue guy wings his way out of the bushes and launches an burst of acid at Ang.
"Hey! That was my friend. I mean...a powerful water spirit!" The creature shrieks with conviction, if not much intelligence.
for
The sizzling bolt just misses!
~+~Combat Round 1~+~
Iska
Impulse
Eirthgim
Red
Blue
Kala Dja
~+~Combat Round 2~+~
Iska
Impulse
Eirthgim
Kala barely has her blade drawn when things erupt into motion. By the time she’s regained her focus, the birdlike creature has fallen to the flashing blades and fiery fangs of her fellow scouts. The Kellid princess feels a pang of guilty regret; she’d started this fight by drawing her blade, impatient and expecting a fight, and now the prankster lies dead upon the island. Do you fight for life? Gazing at the corpse, Kala Dja whispers a prayer of sorts to the fallen one, honoring their spirit and offering up her regrets.
The malevolent sizzle of acid draws Kala from her reverie. She can honor the spirits around her later; for now, her spirit-blade requires her focus. “Asha!” she calls out to the blade, and it wakes in her hand, flexing its cables as the young animist charges through the stream, putting her powerful legs to work for a more noble purpose than trying to get through to Pakano. She’s onto the island and over it in a couple of hard pushes—keeping her blade high to protect it from the river’s water, for metal’s spirit-foe ever hungers—finally coming into reach of the acidic creature.
The water has held her up, though, and there’s no time for Kala Dja to focus her spirit-sight on the foe, to find the bonds that tie its spirit to its corporeal form. But that’s all right; her spirit-blade is more than capable. Whirling the blade around her head, Kala Dja sweeps it out to its full length, slashing at the curious little blue person.
The slight feeling of relief that Impulse feels upon the fey's defeat is immediately cast aside as this second creature speaks from the far end of the river. The exasperation is further compacted in realizing they have to barrel back through the ash filled river, caking their already battered clothing in damp soot.
"If I wasn't sure you were going to go the way of your little friend here, I'd make you help me get a new set of boots. You know leather like this can start to lose its insulating abilities when it soaks in too much moisture, so you'll just have to do as my grounding line here, instead."
And audible hiss goes off from their axe as they swing it down on the strange acid throwing creature.
The fey creature falls to the muddy banks with a gurgle, and Iskra looks towards the babbling little blue creature. "Points for dedication to the bluff, I s'pose," Iskra muses. "Best friend dying in the reeds and they still stick with the water spirit lie. Oh well."
Iskra makes a clicking noise and redirects toward the creature, allowing Tomi to take a leisurely predatory stroll around the thing. "I'll offer my prayers to the river in a moment," Iskra drawls, wiping her blades clean in quick motions. "Just gotta take care of one... small... problem first," and with that, her blades fly into action, lunging forth in a double strike.
The bevy of attacks takes down the second dangerous prankster.
Poking around, you find the fey's lairs in a hollow log on the island, among the trampled reeds. Inside the log is a grim sight—the crumpled corpse of a Kellid woman in hide armor. The corpse’s face bears distinctive burn scars.
There is a hunter’s bane talisman attached to the hide armor.
Your spiritual connection also tells you that the flower in the middle of the mud patch actually is magical--it is a mudlily.
Impulse shrugs, and puts their axe back on its magnetic back clip.
"Huh. Guess she got burned. Used to get scars like that on my arms when I made the first couple prototypes of this thing. Star machine propulsion fluids are extremely efficient when it comes to how long they burn but also... incredibly hard to get rid of by any means other than burning. I eventually gave up on that fuel source and went back to the drawing board after it got on clothing far too often and then would ignite on my own skin when I turned the device on."
Their attention quickly changes over from the woman's face to the woman's bulky armor. They stare at the talisman on the woman's hide, studying its means of attachment, before pulling it off her unceremoniously and digging through their own bag for a similar piece of leather to fashion into a small loop to rivet the very same piece on their own piece of armor.
Iskra looks the body over. "Hmm..."
"See the traces of healing on the burns? These were recent, but the skin's had some time to try to mend itself- she was still alive after getting these scars. Judging by the bloat- and our dead fey friend's proclivities- I'd wager she died by drowning, likely only a handful of days ago." Iskra's face is a jumbled mess of pride at her deductive skills and sadness that someone fell prey to such a senseless death. "How many more would you have taken from us, had we not put an end to your games?" she mutters aloud.
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The second prankster’s fall doesn’t seem to improve Kala Dja’s melancholy mood. Letting her focus flow out of her spirit-blade, Kala gathers a few feathers from the first foe and steps away from the others, bowing her head and trying to open herself to Asha. Trickster spirits... The young animist pauses halfway through her attempt at communion. Something about the act, about her regret and contrition, feels wrong, and Kala tentatively expands her senses. There’s a shimmer from the pretty flower. And, there on the island...
Kala looks up as the others discover the hollow log and its occupant. She doesn’t move in, letting the others lead this exploration. But as the corpse is fished out and inspected, a feeling of relief passes over Kala... followed quickly by a surge of guilt at her relief. At least their deaths were not undeserved after all. But... Returning her focus to the spiritual realms, Kala Dja whispers, “Asha.” This time it does feel right, and to the spirit of the fallen warrior, the young animist offers assurance that her death has been avenged and thanks her for the talisman claimed by Impulse.
The flower still beckons to her, shimmering in her spirit-sight, but—having only just narrowly avoided tragedy due to untoward haste—the dutiful girl holds back a little longer. With all the excitement of late, she’s been neglecting to honor her spirit-blade after her battles. Settling down cross-legged, Kala Dja reverently sets the weapon in her lap, reaching into her sash for the small vessel of fat rendered to tallow-oil. Quietly chanting in her native tongues, the young animist begins gently rubbing oil into the spirit-blade, wiping away the leavings of her foes and lubricating the irreplaceable weapon’s blades and cables against the ravages of daily use. Only when the spirit-blade glistens darkly with oil does Kala tuck it into her sash.
Turning her attention to the enchanting golden flower, Kala Dja looks at the muddy hole dubiously. If there’s one thing in all the Realm that she despises, it’s getting her pretty hair and pristine skin all muddy and soiled. Not that it’s mere vanity, either; the sensation of being dirty is the worst part, and the Kellid princess has spent many hours obsessively gathering saltfern, lye, and fragrant flowers to make cleaning salve. Instinctively, her fingers sift through her sash, finding the vessel of salve and drawing confidence from it.
Taking a deep breath, Kala Dja presses forward into and through the mud, claiming the flower and retreating from the quagmire with all haste. Back on shore, the young animist inspects the flower, tentatively opening herself to its spirit. Her eyes widen. A mudlily! She’d only heard of them before, and in all honesty, didn’t fully believe they existed at all. Whispering a thank-you to the flower’s spirit, Kala lowers it into the mud just enough to dirty the petals, then tucks it daintily into her hair, a sunny smile dawning on her face as she hurries to rejoin the others.
With the fey menace removed from the river, the area should be safer for later visitors and anyone from the following who needs to return here for camp.
When you return from camp, the elders are happy to take the water and prepare it for the Green Sun ceremony.
After you have a chance to settle in and make dinner, Wipa approaches your fire. "Time and energy for a late lesson today?" she asks.
You see that she cares a bundle of supplies on her back, which she sets down and spreads in the light of the fire.
"I haven't been able to range as far as I normally do lately, but it's given me time to experiment with some snares. Care to try out some of my new designs?"
Wipa demonstrates to you how to make three interesting traps: a snare that drops a double handful of sharp stones, a snare that balances a heavy rock on a springy branch, and a snare that uses sharp stakes treated with toxins.
"Oh, I should probably not- I'd just waste precious supplies." But Iskra brightens. "I'll cheer you on, though! Be nice to work off that tasty meal." Iskra settles down on a nearby log, a main gauche almost subconsciously drawn to clean out some errant dirt under her nails.
It's clear she's genuinely enthusiastic to see what her fellow scouts produce, as she watches with great concentration while the supplies are unpacked.
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Impulse stares over at the batch of materials, waiting to see if anyone else moves for anything in particular before reaching out towards the most familiar materials, the heavy rock and spring branch. and sits down with them. Their hands casually move in experienced motions that look strangely effortless as their thoughts seem to wander.
"You know, Wipa. This reminds me of the old country. I doubt I've ever mentioned it but back home I was born in a more typical creche for my people, and I had a body like this with longer nimble fingers and a slightly smaller size so I could get into places and do precise repairs or something, I guess. But there really wasn't much around that needed doing, I suspect our society had gotten well past those days. You know, I wanted to learn more artistry, I wanted to really make something impressive and with meaning, so that's how I ended up in that city. And this honestly reminds me of lessons back at the academy. Although, most of that was sculpting, ceramic work and weaving. What I really like was making and working with tools and weapons, and sometimes I wonder if I should have gone into working the Black Sovereign's armory stuff but I guess I was too much of loose cannon to really gain much favor out there. But so far I've liked things simpler out here, anyway. I may not be the most trusted here, either but at least the Broken Tusks understand that tools of destruction, when held properly in check can be just as useful to any given society as just walls and artistry as well."
They put the last pieces of the snare together with a flourish
[ooc]THERE WE GO
They hold the strange contraption up to Wipa and look towards her with a tiny grin. "I think this looks about right? Thanks for the lesson, Wipa."
After a long day, including hauling back as much water as she could, if for no other reason than not being outdone by Pakano, and doing her customary dinner preparation, Kala Dja is not in much of a mood for anything but her place in the sleeping tent. The opportunity to craft something more interesting than her experimental egg-and-vinegar sauce makes the Kellid princess perk up... and then pull back, suddenly hesitant at the thought of being trusted with another such attempt. Even though she knows that things are different this time—she’s working under expert supervision, with known materials, and to a specific design—Kala Dja uncharacteristically holds back, waiting for the others to make the first moves.
When it becomes clear that it’s only her and Impulse taking part, Kala Dja edges forward uncertainly. “I am very interested, Wipa. Though... I do not know if I’ll be any good at it...” Under the scout leader’s encouraging gaze, though, she settles down amidst the materials, reaching for the components of a poison-fanged snare. It’s something of a struggle working one-handed, with a lot of wedging things under her feet to bend them into shape, but the young animist makes do as she has for the last few seasons.
The angles of the piercing barbs, the camouflage material, the directing of force... the design, in its entirety, just seems to come naturally to Kala Dja. Even the young animist herself seems rather surprised, even awed, by the ease with which she assembles and readies the snare. Once it’s prepared in its compacted form, Kala Dja looks at it rather warily for a few moments, as if waiting for it to explode. When it refuses to do so, the Kellid princess looks up at the others with an absolutely radiant smile. “It... it worked! I did it!”
"Excellent work. You are fast studies, and have some natural talent. Now..." Wipa pauses for a moment and looks at you in turn. "We have a responsibility when we set a snare, just as we do when we wield a weapon. Would you do this for me? Trigger your snare. You should not leave these in the wild without knowing how they affect the wildlife."
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Impulse can't help but breathe a very obvious sigh of relief at Kala's snare building success. Their trust in the young animist is quite strong in most cases but they hold little faith in most members of the following when it comes to cases of fine building work, and (much as they hate to say it) for Kala especially so when it pertains to the dangerously explosive sort.
They look up at Wipa and nod. "Of course. Any creation should have its mettle tested, and I fully agree it'd be good sense to feel the effects of such a thing. After all, I wouldn't know how much I could get out of my own great weapon designs if I didn't get myself hurt a few times."
Impulse very slowly stands up and carries the snare as carefully as possible, making sure not to move it enough to set it off, then very lightly places it on the ground 15 ft away from the others. Their touch on the placement is light and calculated, in a way that is atypical for someone usually so impatient and aggressive.
They turn back to Wipa and take a deep breath, mentally preparing and adjusting all their armor to brace themself against the trap's propulsion. Then, after many more silent seconds, they step forward onto the snare's trigger.
Impulse intends to roll out of the way, but their thoughts are still too full trying to analyze the design and think up improvements to its placement that they hesitate, and fail to react to the loud crack of the small branch completely snapping in two. The flattened rock connects directly with the side of their head, smacking against their temple as they stand completely frozen in place for several seconds. They instinctively move their hands up to their head and grunt in pain as their vision spins before them, flooding their visual processors with useless information.
Eventually, they finally breathe again, as their vision stabilizes and the dizziness subsides. Completely winded, Impulse first sits themself down on the ground next to the former snare, then lays down on their back. They spend some time getting the breath back into their lungs.
...Before breaking out in a loud and manic cackle of joy that goes on for close to a minute.
Between laughing and tears they manage to choke out "Incredible! The snare did everything I could have ever asked for!"
You're not sure if the concussion is playing any part in their reaction, but they do seem genuinely thrilled and entertained by the result.
The joy drains from Kala Dja’s face as Wipa’s words sink in. But... but I did it. I made it, almost all by myself. I don’t know if I could make another, even if I had all the materials in the Realm. And... you want me to... These thoughts pass through the young animist’s mind—and across her face—in a flash. But she knows what she must do. Dutifully, the Kellid princess rises to her feet, squaring her shoulders and lifting her head proudly to meet Wipa’s eye. “I will take responsibility. How would I battle for life without tasting the pain of death?”
As Kala Dja kneels to set the snare, her mind travels back to her last, catastrophic, attempt at crafting. Her precious hunting bow, the one she’d been given in recognition of her first solo hunt, destroyed by her own foolish overreach. And now she’s going to destroy her first-ever creation. But for all her sentiment, Kala Dja is not one to shirk her duty. Rising to her feet, trying not to sniffle like a baby, the Kellid girl squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath. And steps forward.
Kala Dja’s sense of balance is not what it once was, between her shifting weight and her animistic awakening. But her connection to Asha aids her here, telling her when to move, and she is in and out of the snare before its fangs snap shut. Meeting Wipa’s eye again—she can’t quite bear to look back at her snare, or what remains of it—the young animist fidgets a little. “Um... I hope that’s all right,” she mumbles sheepishly. “Hunter’s reflexes and all.”
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"More than fine. You have both done excellently. The following is lucky to have such fast studies among our trackers." Wipa beams at Impulse and Kala Dja.
"Here, a small gift for you. I like to make these as a reminder to steady myself. They can serve you as well."
Wipa hands each of you a smooth "worry stone" made of beautiful malachite. She also lets you take the other snare materials with you.
Impulse and Kala Dja receive healing from their encounters with the snares and everyone settles in for the night.
The scout leader’s praise seems to put Kala Dja more at ease, returning the sunny smile to her face. Her smile turns to wonder as Wipa holds out the vibrantly polished stone, which the Kellid princess takes with an awed expression. “Th... thank you, Wipa.” She squeezes it in her hand, feeling the smooth stone between her fingers, before fishing around in her sash. Finding a little leather pouch to tuck it into, which she proudly strings around her neck with the gold pendant. (Throughout the rest of the evening, others might see her pulling it out to admire it.)
Kala Dja looks at the assembled materials, then over at Impulse. “Um...” The young animist thoughtfully thumps her wrist against her hip. “Maybe... two fang-traps for me, one for you. Two rock-traps for you, one for me. And then... two spiky-traps each? Maybe?” She offers the storm spirit a hopeful smile.
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Impulse stands up from the ground, and carefully staggers back over to the hearth, trying not to draw attention to the bruises now forming on their face underneath the lengths of long blue hair.
They accept the small piece of malachite, with probably one of the most genuine smiles you've ever seen portrayed on their face. "Why thank you, Wipa. This is a finer reward than any plaque from the old academy. I'll make sure I take care of it."
Their expression immediately turns pensive, as they sit down and start rummaging through their bag again, pulling out a long ball of linen twine and begins to wrap a lattice of twine around the edge of the stone, seemingly tying it into some small wearable item, sized to be something like a bracelet, held around the arm by a loop and a knot.
While they work through the string project they do address Kala's question. "That seems fine to me. I might need a bit more practice before I can execute any of these snares on the regular, though. So the supplies might sit around in my bag for a while so I don't burn through the real stuff before I fully know what I'm doing."
They look up briefly and pause the string weaving to help split the supplies. "Nice job with that poison trap, by the way. Let me know if you ever want to practice together or something. That way hopefully at least one of us is able to get help if something blows up."
For a moment Kala Dja just sits there blinking in shock. Did... did they just...? Finally remembering to respond, the young animist nods eagerly, her radiant smile returning. “Yes! That would be amazing.” The idea of practicing crafting with Impulse finally, after another couple of moments, shakes something loose in Kala Dja’s sleep-deprived brain. Reaching over her shoulder—not without some effort, as the only good place to stow her new weapon was across her left shoulder—she draws forth the rune-etched spear. “Perhaps you could... show me how runic transference between weapons works?” the Kellid girl asks, a little shyly, nodding at Impulse’s own prized weapon for clarity’s sake.
Impulse shrugs. "Oh that? Sure, let me finish this weave work up and you can watch me transfer those, I guess. I have to warn you though, it's not really the most interesting work out there. It's like a very common baseline requirement to learn but like most of the job is making sure your salt solvent is applied right so you only break the bonds between the item and the runes and don't dissolve the bonds between the lettering itself. Then it's just a matter of tracing down a spot for it on the new piece and turning the magic's resonance back on. It's not a super exciting process just tedious and precise. Takes a lot of time more than anything else."
They finish one side of the woven bracelet piece and finish off the knot, putting the rest away to finish later. Then they take the spear from Kala and look it over again, slowly pulling their invention off their back and up next to it. "You can still keep the spear afterwards if you'd like by the way. Despite my attachments, it is a finely crafted little thing. Well, if you're still wanting to see the process despite all that, take a seat. Firelight isn't really the best medium for picking out details, especially so for most humans like yourself, so you'll have pay really close attention at this hour."
Impulse and Kala Dja toil companionability in the firelight, making good use of the time and materials that they managed to recover.
~+~The Next Morning~+~
As you gather yourselves for your final task, you're met by Imek, a quiet girl of 9 summers who whispers to you, "I hear you are looking for tapirs?" and leds you toward one edge of camp.
As soon as you are out of earshot of the main following, Imek's manner changes completely. She bursts into conversation, sharing the finer details about the Broken Tusk's herd with you. From the details she includes as you walk, it's clear that she is very knowledgable.
"...And Geoffrey is Letsua's mammoth. He has an unusual name because Letsua says he looks like 'a long-faced Taldan.' Letsua always says that he, 'smells better than one,though,' whatever that means."
She continues a rapid-fire monologue as you walk, referring to each critter by name and describing their individual histories, personalities, and relationships with one another. She talks about how she met each animal and befriended them one by one until she had earned the trust of the entire herd.
"And that's why Soursnout loves fireweed, but you should never give it to Grunter. Oh, and he'd never admit it, but Longtail is afraid of bracken! Can you imagine?"
Imek seems to have a bit of trouble picking up on social graces, so the whirling conversation is a bit one sided.
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It's an early morning for Kala Dja—though for her, all mornings are entirely too early—who may have stayed up a wee bit too late watching Impulse work, admiring Wipa's gift, and pondering her feelings about her fellow scouts. She'd meant to talk to the elders about her curious experiences at Rockloom, but the hectic schedule of preparation hasn't left much opportunity.
In spite of her rather grumpy awakening, Kala Dja does little to dissuade the little one; if anything, she finds the girl's passion for her interest rather endearing. Perhaps this is what having a little sister is like, the young animist muses, not unkindly. She keeps one ear on Imek's nonstop monologue, hoping to perhaps glean some knowledge of the animal speech; her thoughts, however, are on the other scouts.
She thinks of her newfound rapport with Impulse, surprising and very welcome, and all the crafting they might yet practice together; the two of them had put Pakano in his place together and had learned snarecrafting together, and it was hard not to feel closer after all that. She thinks of Iskra, her best friend since childhood; the other night, on an impulse fueled by the beguiling and delicious maple mead, she'd very nearly dared the huntress to kiss her—just to see what it'd be like, really, or at least so she tells herself—with only an inopportune interruption averting the dare. She thinks of Eirthgim, grandfather-sibling, and of Agn; the closest thing she'd had to parents since nearly before she could remember. And...
Surreptitiously, Kala Dja sneaks a little glance at Pakano, hoping to get an idea of how the bratty (but admittedly beautiful) boy is getting along. Feeling a little pang of regret for her actions the past few days—and a little pang of something else too, perhaps; she'd thought about their rough wrestling match several times last night, and is still trying to figure out how she feels about it—the Kellid princess watches a little longer before letting her gaze wander away innocently. No need to make a big deal of things; she's just checking up on a fellow scout. Perfectly natural behavior for a hunting party's leader.
Pakano grunts at the young girl. "Imek, you look like a porcupine and smell like a bear's den, but you chatter like a ground squirrel."
"Well, you look like the south side of a northbound aurochs!" Imek punctuates her comment by sticking out her tongue.
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"Oh, shove it, Pakano, and grow up," Iskra snorts. "You just got punked by someone half your age."
She turns to the rest of the group. "Imek's the only one outside of mom and me who Tomi likes. Kid's a natural talent when it comes to animals. Ain't that right, scamp?" And with that she offers Imek a fist bump. Tomi, for her part, lets out a burbling warble at seeing the young animal handler and nudges the child's shoulder affectionately with her beak.
Sadly, to Impulse's more mechanically inclined mind a lot of Imek's more relevant advice does kind of gloss over them running in one ear and out the other. Who knew there would be so much nuance in being an animal whisperer prodigy. Though they're happy to just let the child rattle on as they see fit, they prefer not having to say too much in a given conversation, anyway.
"I'm glad you're going with us, Imek. Beyond hunting, animals have never really been an expertise of mine. And it's good to see the following making space for one of their most promising get to stretch out their training in a less familiar environment."
Now that the conversation has grown a bit less one-sided, Kala Dja can’t help but join in. “Agreed,” the emberhaired girl says cheerfully. “It’s nice to have some company on this curious little hunt. In addition to Pakano, of course.” She flashes the aggravating young man a little smile, doing her best to make sure he feels included. (Even if she knows, on some level, that she’d have better luck lifting a mammoth with her mind alone.) “And another... well, pair of hands,” Kala Dja adds, tilting her head toward her left arm with a sheepish smile.
Kala Dja is quiet for a moment. I wonder if it’s rude to ask about this sort of thing. Then again, even if it is, Imek doesn’t seem likely to notice. “How do you know so much about the members of the herd, Imek?” the young animist inquires, somewhat cautiously. “Can you speak their tongue? Because I would love to learn such a thing.” The young animist, although she has no intention of admitting it, has actually fantasized about such a possibility for quite a while now. To be able to talk to the animals of the Realm, and the insights one might discover in the process... it’d be wondrous for one such as she.
Imek considers Kala Dja's question. "Most animals don't talk, but that doesn't mean they can't let you know what they like. You just have to pay close attention. Animals are actually better at it than people--they don't usually lie about how they feel or tell you one thing, but mean another. I'd rather spend time with them than idiots."
She doesn't exactly gesture at Pakano, but...you catch her drift.
Imek leads you to the edge of a wooded glade. With a quick, "I think the tapirs are in here. Bye!" she points into the grove, then turns on a heel and takes off, back toward the camp.
Pakano, cries out after here: "Hey, wait, you little brat!"
He unleashes a flurry of colorful curses, then rounds on the group, grumbling mightily: "Look, you lot can handle those tapirs, I'm sure. We'll all catch hell if anything happens to Imek--I'll follow her back to camp and make sure she doesn't get eaten by anything. No matter how much she deserves it."
Iskram, Impulse, and Eirthgim, you can track 2 tapirs in the grove. From the tracks, both seem young and strong.
Kala Dja also detects the tracks.
When you enter the grove, you easily spot the two tapirs. The animals seem
obviously scared and skittish, though the reason for their discomfort is not immediately obvious.
"That Pakano, I don't trust him further than I can throw him," Iskra says under her breath. "Anyways! We got ourselves a couple scared tapirs, huh? I'm willing to try to calm 'em down."
Iskra steps forward slowly, hands out and palms forward, trying to mimic Imek's body language from her lessons earlier.
An hour passes, and the tapirs still remain scared, though no worse for Iskra's actions. "Let's... try that again," she says.
Another hour goes by, and Iskra's eyes go wide as a grin crosses her face. "It worked!" she whispers.