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| Topic Started: Mar 24 2017, 05:17 PM (68 Views) | |
| Yada'nok | Mar 24 2017, 05:17 PM Post #1 |
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Yada'nok had always harboured a general dislike towards cities. The way they were busy, noisy and bumping into him in every turn. Most of the summers he was able to stay clear of them, but the winters -two so far- made it near impossible to survive outside. Mainly because he couldn't find anything to eat, no berries, fruit or anything tasty really. Sometimes he swore going back to the jungle and staying there, but so far his sister had been able to persuade him against it. She loved the grass in these Southern parts, along with the sunny days that weren't too hot nor humid, just all around pleasant. He had chosen then that he HATED pleasant things. They kept him from doing what he wanted. The South had caused an aimless wander to envelop him, sending him to crisscross between settlements, as if looking for something. A few had offered him shelter and maybe even a well-paying job on his travels, but he refused promising to stay for longer than a day at a time. The weald kept drawing him back to itself, even though mouths had suddenly begun telling him that the forest was no longer safe and that he shoudn't meddle within it's darkening nature. A fact he had dismissed as just a thing people said of things they didn't know enough about. He had lived in forests, the rawest and most primal form of the wilderness, ever since the day he had been born and thus could not feel belonging to any other environment. No matter what anyone said. He hadn't been able to help noticing the slight change in the surrounding though, during the time he lived in his makeshift treehouse all those months ago. The grove around him had begun feeling... hostile, maybe, and as an entity the woodland had slowly gained this abyssal depth and sentience that both terrified and intrigued him. As the land shivered under his feet and the air stirred, awakened by a force unbeknownst to him, he had staid hidden - or so he thought -, tucked into a yet another thicket or brush, sometimes even a beast's abandoned burrow. Beyond his hideouts had soon resided the voices of distress and death, louder and louder screams that infiltrated even his dreams. He kept asking, whispering into the chilly night's wind when the howls finally paused -- Why? Why was it so angry? Only Ada spoke to him anymore, the rest too frightened to utter a single thought, writhing inside their furry skins. Mother might have, but she had gone missing a fortnight ago, unreturning from her regular evening stroll. Had the Wood not wailed and been an utter shambles, he might've gone looking for her. It had been quiet for a few days, unnaturally still, when he finally had the courage to poke his head outside the burrow and enbark on a mission of retrieving Mother, be it from a monster's belly or some yokel that thought her theirs. He scouted for half a week, slinking from bush to bush, still cautious of the terrors that somewhere might've lurked, just waiting to snatch him and turn him into one of the fox children. A sound of cheerful chatter had piqued his interest whilst he roamed the edge of Lake Navale - as Ada informed him- and he had quickly taken to investigate, crouching into the vicinity of an unfamiliar camp. And Oeh! There had Mother been, letting some small child ride on her back, horned head held high like out of pride and glee. Naturally, his reaction had been to burst forth with his spear, shrieking akin to the loudest jungle banshee. But, unlike the responses he mostly got for such an entrance, none of the goatnappers were even slightly afeared. Even the children, who he now noticed there being an abundance of, just stared at him blankly, as if he was some foreign visitor whose jokes they didn't quite get yet. Which supposably was quite accurate. After he had stopped squrrying around and pointing the blade in paranoia at everyone whom wished to approach, it turned out they were quite nice folk. Druids, they called themselves, and amongst them were the orphans and abandoned of the ongoing War. They presumed him as one of such kin, which he wouldn't object to though it wasn't entirely true. Unlike those kids, he had been sort of abandoned for years now. Divine Persons forgive him for leaving out that little detail. *** Well, this New Madrid really had made him reconsider that whole ordeal of finding cities unsatisfactory, if anything. It had changed a lot of the last time he saw it, and even to say so was an understatement. The Capital still had the same recognizable foundation, certainly, but atop such bones an entirely new skin and other decorations had emerged, making the entirety a lot more attractive to his wild-dwelling being. What was more, the population wasn't as intense, quite manageable actually and much more to his liking by quality. None shoved him on the streets, nor did anyone call him a Little Shite or Brat in a daily basis. And atop all, the smell had turned into a scent. Though Camp Navale remained, compelled to stay due the ongoing strife, a couple of the Druids had migrated to the Capital, bringing the youngsters with themselves and relocating the bunch off the harm's way. Yada'nok hadn't seen a reason not to join up, for he quite enjoyed this strange community and it's lifestyle, maybe even having some curiousity over their crafts and ideologies. Theirs was a house of two floors, facade of stone covered by vine and ever abloom with flowers that were so vibrant they seemed to glow in the prevailing twilight veil that kept the city captive. The atmosphere within had a constant magical quality to it and a timelessness that made it seem more like a neverending adventure than ever before, though he could sense a certain disturbance -- a severity and darkness that flickered in the corners of gazes and smiles of others, empty in a way he couldn't describe. He had counted it best not to dwell on the remark, shrugging it off and redirecting his efforts to much greater things. Like sprouting all kinds of trouble within his inhabitance, for example. It wasn't that he had personally done anything, but somehow Old Mister Jeor always knew it was his idea that he had shared with the rest of the children, thus indirectly coercing them to taking action in his behalf. Heck, what was he to do about the fact that he had all this inspiration and everything he thought of was just so amazing in the eyes of the rest. By the time he picked up a fruit from the table with his foot, yet again, the host was done with him. He had to give it to the man though, they had endured quite a bit along with whatever harmless mischief he had instilled within his agegroup. A dozen goats and the reek they had emitted across the house -because he had once brought them in for a tour- and a couple occasions of climing on roofbeams and using the chandelier as a swing sprang to mind topmost. Otherwise he thought himself having been quite good, for a savage, as was the substantive some head-in-their-majestic-arse noble had assigned to him back at Morrim. They hadn't kicked him out, of course, not in the infinite and exact meaning of it. Instead he noticed himself being sent outside the house on errands and the like, for he had miraculously spoken himself into a freeform and inconsistent apprenticeship upon the druidic path. And apparently that involved a lot of running, fetching things and asking a ton of stupid questions. All of which he was more than naturally talented in. Today was one of those days he got to seek out something new -- a treasure hunt in a way, but with less map and a no actual treasure. It took him a couple hours to find the place, some apothecary with a difficult name that reminded him of grasshoppers, if only because he couldn't remember the directions nor visual description after stopping to stare the display of a bakery for just a tad too long. Nothing quite emptied one's Mind like a billowy tart. When finally the doorchime jingled, followed by a slamming of the door in rapid succession, he was darn out of breath. Although that he blamed upon that man who had chased him the last few blocks, only because they had seen him speaking to their daughter. He had tried to tell them he was only asking for direction, for the girl had been holding a bundle of sage, but none of that had been taken to consideration. All that there had been for them was some sleazy foreign boy hitting on their twelve-year-old offspring. Speaking of misjudgements. Like he would've had time for that what with the task at hand. To his luck, Ada had managed to slow the man down by headbutting them in the crotch the moment the shouting had started. Now safe, he adjusted the eccentric cloakbundle around his figure and smoothed his ponytail, giving his sister a little calming stroke upon her head. " Umrhm, is this the... this? " He pulled out a piece of paper upon which stood the name of the establishment and whatever the druid had required of them. Or so he hoped. Being illiterate was a real bummer at times. |
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