The Jungle (Mature) Begins

[Plantae]

Such is the start of this role-playing game. I do believe my posting this is slightly late, so help yourself to one of my many apologies, which come in a series of designer colors. In any case, the original sign-up thread is here. You do not need to repost your character form unless you feel motivated to do so.

We have certain views on escapism. For the larger part of our history, we have been dreamers. In olden times, we were music-makers. The ancient human race was one obsessed with mysticism in all its forms: monsters, magic, gods. They were enraptured by everything which we have come to call "myths."

There is no explanation as to why it happened. Suddenly, the imaginative fables our ancestors considered truth became "just stories." Some say this was due to the advent of science, but there is little actual proof of this. Belief in such things fell out of favor before the golden age of civilization. In medieval times, in poverty and with little knowledge of technology, such beliefs had already disappeared. People became persuaded of the fact that, all and all, those superstitions, those legends, that folklore, was nothing more than lies.

And if they were lies, we can see what must have occurred. Some compare many lies to a tangled web, forgetting the strength of the spider's silk. A number of lies together are nothing more than a precarious tower, hastily built, which at the right time, in the right wind, has a tendency to collapse. But bricks and mortar do not just disappear. Ruins remain; our own science tells us matter cannot be destroyed. And if matter, why not ideas? Why not deceit?

On a plane of vast mist and in an ocean of water black, through and through, there lies an island. There is a wall here, broken at the edge of the sea. Beyond here, past a small stretch of sandy, listless beach, there is only an endless wood. Like any true rainforest, it holds unmeasured biodiversity. Creatures lurk here, some of which have never been seen by human eyes, and at least a few of which are malevolently intelligent. Its existence has never been marked. You will uncover it charted on no map. But be aware, for there are many places here to trespass, that it is not, by any means, undiscovered.

No living human, or at least in the Terran sense of the word, has ever seen it. That is, perhaps, until now. At one time, the island had a lower half, a bleak wilderness, dotted with pine trees and covered in snow. It had mountains, which, despite the physical impossibility, have been completely devoured by the sea. The land was ruled by an iron-fisted mistress, Zhila of the River, who had molded the land to her purpose with her power over all things aqueous. The wall now broken once towered here, an impassable barrier, the exact function of which remains unknown.

And then they arrived. An intrepid band of humans, maybe the only ones to ever come to the island, found their way through. Instantly thrust into survival, they were visited by a nightmare and gifted powers they did not understand and whose origin was surely sinister. Using them wantonly, their fear soon gave way to curiosity. For unexplained reasons, Zhila opposed them. In attempting to murder them, she was killed by them, by the trespassers on her own lands. With her death, the fabric of the lower island weakened, and the humans were forced to flee past the crumbling wall. Zhila's domain was swallowed by the sea which she had thought she controlled, and her killers found themselves again forlorn on the sandy beach, at the edge of the jungle.

Unbeknownst to them, they have drawn the attention of many. Few who walk the island are unaware of the death of the mistress of the River world, Zhila. The arrival of man is an omen, linked to countless things. There are more cultures here than one could count. There are inklings of beings, stalking the dark. There are secrets, always, many kept from the humans themselves.

For what would they do if they knew, perhaps, that a city lay just past the jungle? That a harbor, consumed by the white man's greed, existed. It is a vast labyrinth, and within, perhaps, is a way home... however, even within civilization, things prowl the night.

The objective of the humans is simple: discover the way back to their own world. It is always these incomplex plans which go most wrong in the end. Even now, some within the group seek to deviate from that path. Home is not always where the heart is.

The motives of the island denizens vary, but there is one certainty. They cannot escape. All have become part of it. They have been swept into the irreversible change that has come, and as the plot thickens, the consequences may be dire.

If you need help with what to put in your first post, feel free to contact me via private message. The thing is, given the nature of this role-playing game, it really is up to you to start making your own story already. I dropped Rajnish and Sirin Ito-ku in my first post, so if either of you, River or Weasel Overlord, are interested in interaction, there's that opportunity. Please do me a favor and refrain from attaching your signatures in your posts here so that the thread is easier to read.

Joseph Alone
Deep within the bounds of an enormous rainforest, a single man stood, hands on his knees, out of breath. Even with his better-than-perfect eyesight, it still did not allow him to see when there was no light. The last rays of moon had disappeared minutes before underneath the thick foliage above, when he was a bit less concerned with trying to see. Now, there was more than one impediment to him going further. Besides this velvet darkness, he was exhausted; his legs, his arms, his everything ached, his scalp matted with blood. He was covered in dirt and pustules and itchy hives, having brushed up against more than one offended plant. The combination therein had splayed itself across his skin, and he was now covered in raised red splotches, which he knew only by the touch. Feeling along before him, he discovered the trunk of a tree and, defeated, he slumped to the ground, bowing his head, and beginning to succumb to sleep. The previous day's events did not so much flash through his consciousness as lurk there, a painful reminder of his own stupidity. He had left them. It had seemed a good idea at the time, when the first rays of dawn were just beginning to illuminate an illustrious plain, a woodland of verdant, lush trees and mysteriously vibrant flowers. A single foreign bird chirped in the meager dim light, a wit-wit-ee-rill-rill-wit that throbbed in his head still, nestled deep. Now, though, this original innocent imagery was corrupted by the primeval events that had come to pass.

He had forgotten his original justifications for leaving them. Perhaps he had felt listless, Sara having rejected him on her return, changed, inhuman. Or maybe, just maybe, like so many times in his former life, the weight of his duplicity had finally forced him to his knees. He knew, however, as he always did, that these were emotional reasons, which hid the truth of his dispassionate nature. He had left because, as he had sensed and as he knew they would begin to, his purpose had diverged from theirs. Despite the horrors suffered here, there was something in the air here. This world thought like him, breathed like him, moved like him. It came at you from the side, grinning the while; nothing was ever as it seemed. Now, however, a liar amongst his own kind, he was at a disadvantage. It just might get him killed.

It had all started earlier. Even as soon as the beach where he had been had disappeared, he was hopelessly lost. This did not initially bother him, as he had been aiming to go nowhere anyway. That is, until they came. There were several creatures, flitting between non-existent shadows in the terribly sunlit forest. He would get a glimpse, every now and then, of a predatory eye, or a horn, or occasionally, a seemingly human face. Once, a figure ahead, half visible behind what appeared to be a tree full of small orange mangoes, stood stock still as he approached. At first glance, he saw a cheerful, perhaps even playful, blonde-haired woman with big blue doe eyes, wearing gleaming black plate armor. As he neared, he realized this protection was seamless, and her eyes began to seem hazy, as if by cataracts. A few steps closer, and, still fascinated, he could see what appeared to be knobbed antennae, flexing occasionally, protruding through her hair, which seemed wilder up close. Finally, she stepped fully out from behind her tree, and he understood. Her eyes were as a fly's, multi-faceted, reflecting his own image within. She opened her mouth to speak and realized then, it was not a single mouth, but two with the bottom and top lips sewn together. She made a terrible sound; a high-pitched shrieking intermixed with the tinkling of glass, her dual tongues vibrating softly. The brush beneath his feet began to move, carrying him with it, flowing towards her. As he looked down, he saw himself being carried by a wave of small black beetles and many other insects, all together, all continuing to live and mate and eat one another even as they obeyed the command of the two-mouths. He jumped up once, and stomped down, temporarily slowing the wave, and he ran, as a million small bodies skittered after him through the undergrowth. He might have been swarmed there, carried off or devoured by thousands of hungry mouths, but he passed through a fast-flowing stream, leaving his pursuers to drown.

Across the stream, he found himself standing in ruins of gray stone; well, he thought so at first, but realized, perhaps, that they were only half-built. There were inscriptions on the wall and his interest was piqued, perhaps, only because some of them were in languages he recognized. Having taken time to learn a little French, he picked up one such tablet, which was simply discarded on the floor. There was nothing here in English, but that any human language would be represented at all- it was nothing less than strange. He left it though, driven on by uneasiness.

He heard the footsteps, then, and the net as it was thrown. He swept just out from under it, but a weighted end caught his foot. He cut himself free with his fan, which made a pleasantly vicious sound as it unfolded. In anger, he had spun to face the nearest; it was a short-haired brown man, appearing almost as a satyr. He was wearing buckskin and his unshod feet were hoofed, his head sporting small horns. As he took a closer look, the man changed, flowed, the horns curling and growing massive, his legs hooking and forming his body into a hunched shape, and he began to paw the ground with black beady eyes wide in rage. As the creature charge Joseph, regrettably, had let go of his fan. He told himself he had not been intending to throw it anywhere, that he had simply wanted to be left alone, but he was unable to deny the reality of it slashing almost clean through the neck of the creature, which slumped to the floor. He could hear the sound of many retreating through the brush, intimidated. Of these creatures, he could only think of one word adequate to describe them: demons.

He wondered, then, if it had been entirely him. There was other movement out there, quieter. He watched, and he swore, for the briefest of moments, he saw a... horse? An aberrant breed, surely, for what little of his coat he could see was a shimmering silver that was all too unfamiliar. There were patches of dark grey as well, which puzzled him. It was too late to think much on it, however, as perhaps knowing it had been seen, it had melted into the forest as easily as if it had never been there at all. Even then, he continued to ask himself what other predators might be just as silent and, motivated by the thought, he pressed on.

He started out at a tired walk, but his ears keener than most men; he knew something was following him. So he ran, and when he had just begun to rest and a twig broke underfoot some ten yards away, he sprinted. That was how he had found himself here, in the dark, running from some invisible assailant. Usually not so much courageous as unflinching, he felt as if the only emotion this place could bring in him was the fear. Of what was known, of what was not, and of what might be watching him, at any moment, somewhere high in the trees; or perhaps, just maybe, he felt nothing at all, and was simply using it as a reason to brood. In this world, his body was acting much faster than his brain, and it disgusted him. Leaned against the trunk where he was, he clutched the tablet, which he had somehow managed to keep hold of in his flight. As far as he knew, he had escaped whatever it had been. He always tended to. It was one of his few talents, surviving, and he had been doing it some months before he had come to this world. The thought of it revolved in his head, drawing back poor memories, and old hatred. Some months before he had come here...

He was standing in the empty street. His hands were grimy, his depressed palms, held outright, still cupping some small amount of it. He let his hands drop to his sides, and there was a splatter as the liquid fell against the ground. He had stopped here, right here, in the middle of it all, because he thought he had heard someone screaming. His hearing had always been terrible, so he had waited to hear it again, to know for certain that he could trust himself not to be imagining it all. He heard nothing but the echo of that quiet shriek kept pounding into his mind, begging him to do anything but stand still. He pushed this instinct away, but remained ensorcelled by the crackling flames before him. Eventually, after staring long into the fiery depths, as building and life crumbled, he turned around; a siren blared mere yards from his ear, and a flashing red light struck his eyes simultaneously with a flashlight. Two men stepped out and the one on the passenger's side suddenly yelled, "There he is, and he has a gun!" Wait, he had not had it, no, not then... but the pistol was cold in his hand. Neither police officer tried so much as to coax him to drop it, but judging by his unreal, steel grip on it, it was unlikely to happen anyway. They raised their own handguns, and the younger one, the one that had been riding shotgun, muttered, "This is for-" the name was lost over the crackle of the car radio, but the gunshot wasn't.

He woke almost instantaneously, knowing without confusion where he was and how. He breathed a sigh, grunted, and shifted as he realized his frantic sleepy movements had caused him to roll headlong into a patch of thorns. He was now covered in small scratches, but even so uncomfortable, he knew he would have to return. That it would replay itself again, pressing into his head, his own dreams asking again and again, "Where is your regret?" These were not nightmares borne of his own insecurities, but by the natural order, which was insecure with him in it, at least the way he was.

As his eyelids closed, as the image desperately came back, there was movement in the undergrowth. The canopy seemed different since when he had last looked there, and now, just barely, a miniscule amount of starlight was frantically pushing through. He thought he saw a shadow, with a face wreathed in a blur, as if by some amount of hair, and a face that, when it turned to the side, elongated strangely, in the semblance of a trunk. Still, he continued to doze off, letting himself fall back into the past. The shifting steps were closer this time, and before he could keep himself from doing so, he called gently, "Who is there?" In response came a soft, wavering whisper, like wind passing through, but there was no breeze. It came again, and only then did he understand what it had said.

[Vulpix.ck87]

Pleeeease feel free to hopscotch over several of the following paragraphs.. This is more to satisfy myself I think, not that I find it particularly interesting either. Oh, the weary ramble!


It starts with the right foot, always with the right foot..

Initially there were only toes to signify the presence of this man in the world, and nothing more. They reached out of the darkness - wiggling, searching stolidly for some substance - and then, alone, the foot fell into being, tugged in by some persuasion of gravity, to alight upon the rock which it called home. This right foot belonged to a Once-Man who went by the name of Pan, and the rest of his person was soon to follow, connected, and yanked into the realm like a dog upon a leash.

With a rustle of the world’s weave the universe stretched to accommodate him, and there resounded the noise of a small, contented exhalation that appeared to have originated from the very air itself. The no-longer-man took a lungful of this sea-breeze breath, his nostrils stinging familiar with the wind’s saline scent, and then he halted abruptly, for his eyes were caught, if not held, by a slender figure, a body pressed so tightly against the rock it may as well have been anchored to its core.

His regard for this particular masculine form was one of great contest, for despite his clear-cut lack of desire - a feeling he had lost so long ago and which surely now resided irretrievable somewhere within the bowels of history - there was the indestructible brothers’ bond. And so he hovered, clearly ambivalent, torn between the twin temptations of fleeing the scene and satisfying his probing curiosity; despite his disconcertion, Pantére, inevitably, chose the latter option.

“That look upon your face, brother..” Pantére mused with a quaintly self-indulgent tone, his eyes lingering upon his kin’s stricken form with no shame, “as though you’ve seen the very end itself..” And his voice lilted lightly, betraying his curiosity, “What of it?”

His question lapped softly at Seryeh’s desolate mind, encouraging it back to him as if, bit by bit, it was a body being washed back upon a shore. Seryeh lay there a dulled bronze, ground to the rock by gravity and time. His human eyes stared impossibly far into infinity -into other bodies, through to other realms- and his lips were caught half-open in a hum, his chest neither rising or falling. Altogether, a glassy sheen had come over him, and perhaps even a layer of dust - for how long had he lain there? He was crystalline, with glazed eyes and saliva strung motionless at the corners of his mouth.. He was as such until disturbed, upon whence his pupils flickered so rapidly to gaze up at his brother’s feet (planted firmly upon the rock-sky beneath and behind his head) and to fully part those lips to say, with a hoarse croak,

“‘Where am I..? Ah, how I hope I am not still stuck in that hellish quagmire..’” A furl of smoke rose with these words, as if to push them away from his lips, and the detestable concept he spoke of along with them.

Seryeh turned his face against the light and touched eyes with Pan in a wan gaze, adding: “There you are, Pantére: my thoughts, as if carved upon stone”, and he tipped with a drowsy half-smile. He had woken in his own world and, though it may have been years for these lifeless two since they had last arrived in this realm and Ser had promptly slept, Ser still found himself haunted by the many lands they had been to as of late, and he kept slipping back into them so fitfully.. Pantére understood this perfectly well.

Even now the dregs of sleep and dreaming chased him, and the surrealism of The Mire tugged Ser’s thoughts back down to that distorted plane which his dream state had inhabited: a plane where the floors twitched not from earth tremors but anxiety - the tepid, waterlogged soils enveloping his feet and bringing even Seryeh’s consciousness into the fray, down amongst the sphagnum and reed. His breath and pace increased as panic stirred his mind even now, fearing something which threatened him only in memory.

It took Pantére - standing patiently nearby and within Ser’s peripheral vision - to prompt him to recall again that he was in the waking world, and laid upon the floor Ser suddenly jerked awkwardly as if falling back into his own skin. For a moment he mentally teetered as if on the brink of a cliff (whereas, technically, he was a little further from the edge), and an irrational vertigo was induced similar to the type one experiences when stood on a beach, watching the shore drag the sand back and forth around their feet. For whilst his mind raced with the echoes of hysteria that he had experienced locked in that not-quite-real environment of the pseudo imaginary - the Mire of the God’s planes - his body remained calm and still and torpid, numb with the knowledge that its mind was practically disconnected at this moment, elsewhere racing and disparate in activity, his senses aware..

His ears gleaned a hiss of the words “River” and “Liryeldeus” from the whistle of the wind, like a prospector’s eyes glean for gold, and he knew something was stirring in that other world as his brother knew too. Yet all Ser did was roll over from his skyward lethargy to slink into the recovery position, hip pressed uncomfortably bare against the cold rock beneath him. His mind was dispassionate to the wind’s words; he did not care if they belonged to the Gods themselves, he would only consider them once he had energy worth sparing for such moonshine and pretentious musings. All he wanted to do was rest, and perhaps regain a little smidgeon of his humanity..

And so he sighed as he heard his brother speak the sentence that put these desires further from his reach, and he lifted the one eyelid so very reluctantly. The bone that hung pensile in his brother’s clutches was the portal to the River plane, one of the few devices granted to them upon this desolate stretch of rock, the plateau that suspended them over the rip-roar waves of the seemingly unending ocean.

“Why?” Ser sighed churlishly, after curling tightly into a ball.

“To hunt, why else?” Ser heard Pan answer plainly. Ser considered this lie.

“Ah yes. Of course.. Hunting.” And with this he rolled heavily to his feet, arching his back all lissome, and standing on his tiptoes to stretch his aching calf-muscles. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and then moved to survey his limited domain, the rocky precipice he stood upon - a hundred feet high and with blue waters glinting out towards every horizon. This was it, it was all they had for home, more of a retreat than a residence and yet, given to them by the gods, they knew it was all that they required. But that wasn’t where Seryeh was looking.. His nostrils flared open to tentatively sniff the air of another world - a world of mortals beneath gods who ruled not with an iron fist but instead with the false impression of granting those mortals choices.

Mortal life is nought but a joke to them.. Ser thought dispassionately. He did not wholly care, except for in his own circumstance. And he also did not realise that he would before the day was through.

Yawn, yawn, ramble, ramble.. I will conjure up somethng more substantial later, promises.

[Pichu Luver]

Rajnish

"By Leaf and Star, the wall has fallen."

Rajnish just stared at the ruined streak of pure white marble. Even broken, Rajnish would have to rear to look over their sides. The wrecked wall stretched from horizon to horizon. Or it would if it didn't end at the beach a good few miles to the west. A unicorn's vision was long and he could see where the slabs fell into the ocean. Few were left intact, many were cracked and pieces were strewn everywhere, as if a mighty explosion from within had broken it.

Rajnish leaped up on top of one of the mostly intact bricks and looked over. A few minuscule islands were all that was left of Zhila's once great realm. The ocean crashed against the rocks, a kind of breaker.

Rajnish did not linger long; there was not much to see. He took one last look around and leapt back down to the ground. He had heard rumours of course, but he never believed the ramblings of the Otherfolk. The Demons were about the only one who could be counted upon for reliable news, but of course he wanted little to do with them.
He slipped into the jungle, jogging along, carefully avoiding the things that would announce his passage with a most inconvenient rustling of a bush, snapping of a branch. He slipped from shadow to shadow, his unusual coat pattern helping in this greatly. He had long ago gained this ability, so it required little thought and he let his mind wander to the implications of the wall.

He had yet to see any of these humans but had overheard from various conversations that they were similar to the small offshoot of Savages that looked more refined and solid then their primitive counterparts.

'Of course seeing how the other rumours speak of their great height, how their magical abilities are akin to the sun at midday summer and their prowess in battle rivals that of a God, putting much faith in the truths of the rumours in circulation in perhaps . . . unwise.'

The rumours were wild and always fluid but the likeness did not change overmuch so he had some small faith in that. As he went along he paused at a spring and touched it with his horn before taking a long drink of it cool water. It glowed bright blue for a second before subsiding, the water becoming near to the air itself in its clarity.

As Rajnish drank, others came out from the bushes, but he did not flee for he had heard them long before and they were not here to harm. Fawns, tree druids and others of the small inhabitants of the Jungle came and drank their fill. A few of the larger inhabitants came as well as Rajnish lifted his head. A centauress namely, with her youngling trotting alongside, the youngster gawking at Rajnish, and he bowed his head to them.

"I See you Kendalin"

She bowed deeply and nudged her colt to do the name. He bowed as well, but almost fell in his haste, near to kissing the ground. Rajnish smiled, he had so little to be amused at these days.

"I See you Rajnish, it is good to see you in these parts again. Forgive me for my blunt speech but few Unicorns pass this way. While we post watchers . . . we can never be sure that the spring hasn't been tampered with." She shrugged, looking off into the forest.

The mare was a deep red chestnut, with a tanned vest of some animal, a light brown in colour covering her human half. Her features were not even as refined as the civilized Savages, but more blocky. Her ears were slightly tipped as well and a little overlarge for her head. To her and her son credit however, despite their slightly crude appearance, they had brushed their hair and their coats gleamed with good health. Her son was a light cream, with just one white sock on his left hind. A little settlement was not far from here and the mare had a couple jugs strapped to her equine back, obviously for water carriage.

"One is always quickly forgiven for which they can know little of. You have little use of our speech. A lily grown in water for seasons, while capable of living in dry soil, would not flourish. I will tell others I meet that the Light could be used here. We often pass for remembrance, but sorrow does not dwell upon us lightly."

Rajnish's thoughts briefly flashed to the Burial Stones not far from here. The Centauress' face briefly fell and she nodded.

"I thought that might be why, but still, my thanks." She looked down and noticed her colts open mouth stare. Rajnish had noticed this but politely ignored it. It was so very rare to come across people who were pure of heart in the Jungle. The children for the brief time they can be oblivious to the world around them, were perhaps purist.

She whacked him with her tail and he jumped, looking chagrined. "Now Jaken don't stare, but drink, we do not know when it might be safe to do so again."

"Yes mama." he said and knelt to the water. Rajnish thought to go but instead he simply moved off a little, watching until the two were done and the barrels full.

"Fare thee well Rajnish."

"May Leaf and Star be with you both." He dipped his head again and then he sprang away, the colt waving enthusiastically as he went.

He ran for a while, having no destination really. He had no notion where the humans might be and he would have to run the risk of the 'grapevine' if he wanted to find out. He heard a river not to far off and listened out of habit, as all creatures need water. It would be useful to know what was currently in this area as well.

Suddenly he lost all grace and skidded to stop, the silver part of his fur stuck straight out; like a cat that was either very frightened, or very pissed off. He sniffed the air, not wanted to believe what he felt in the very fibre of his being.

He shivered and twitched but he had caught the smell of something odd in the air as well. As much as he didn't want to, he sprang in the direction of them.

'Whatever it is, it is doubtful it knows the situation it's in. Or if it does, it probably can't get out of it. No matter how hard I try I always am drawn back to their entangling embrace. Maddening.'

He stopped on the peripheral of the group, and they all noticed his presence just as he had known of theirs. A few turned to looked but as he was not making any gestures, but watching as well, they were warily content to stay put.

The odd coppery scent mixed with earth and not quite animal musk was made clear as Rajnish watched the creature stare at the demon. Currently it was in the form of a Satyr, watching him with equal interest. Rajnish could see the appraisal and then he began to shift.

Rajnish snorted, currently the creatures around him were not too bothersome, as they were near to the half and half. Rajnish did not look at the strange being but looked to the others. That fan looked useful in a battle, it was the others he was worried about. They could become rather . . . testing if the two-legged defeated one of their number easily. He switched his long tail and gave them all a look. He paced deliberately to the nearest one and they all took the hint.

The leader, for it was always obvious who was the leader among their kind, nodded to him once. He was known among them, as much as he wished it otherwise. He had some margin of respect, but demons did not take pleasure in the company on unicorns much anyway.

The strange individual quickly dispatched the demon, and the other moved off at the direction of their leader. He turned and Rajnish just stared.

Human was all that came to mind, for there was nothing else he could be. The young male was much more solid looking then the others creatures who looked like him. Nothing else had his odd scent either. He looked strong, and in relative good health, though Rajnish had little to base it on. Definitely mortal though, Rajnish could heart the hurried rate of his heart (disregarding the exertion he had just put forth) and the quickness that was his life. Longer then some, shorter then many.

When Rajnish had gotten his look he simply melted into the background, letting the human continue on. There as no doubt he had also seen Rajnish, but judging from his expression, he seemed confused.

As he looked around and then ran, Rajnish decided to follow. Travelling alone, no matter his apparent abilities, given he might have helped in taking down Zhila, it was unwise for one so weak looking. Obviously he could defend himself, but to Rajnish's mind he looked weak. Not meant to be for something evidently intelligent.

Rajnish was surprised when the human knew he was following. With his somewhat frantic looks, he didn't know what was, but it was startling none the less. Rajnish then decided to have a bit of fun.

He stepped on a branch.

He had been resting, but to his credit he did not jump, but simply started to run again. Perhaps this was cruel, but if he was foolish enough to wander alone, better to be followed by a unicorn then many of the other creatures. Finally Rajnish, amusements over, backed off until he was out of his range of the human knowing he was following.

The sun had long since started its decent and by the time the human finally succumbed to his weakness, it was pitch black out. It was even hard for Rajnish to see, but he stayed, as the human was evidently tired and it would probably be wise to watch over him for one night, having partly been the cause of his exhaustion.

He heard a whisper of sound and looked behind him, within the shadows he could sense a spirit, Sirin Ito-ku. She had oft visited him in the past, for his dreams were not of the pleasant sort that many thought aught be only right for his species.

She ignored him, but yet not as in her mutters he was mentioned, while she drifted towards the human. He was not having a good time of it, his sleeping was quite fitful and he tossed about many times. Suddenly he woke and spoke to Sirin Ito-ku. 'Good luck with that.' thought Rajnish.


YO! Just a little note, you can have Rajnish speak in your posts all you like, but he will NEVER ask a direct question. It is considered incredibly rude among unicorns. Living as long as they do, if it can't be done now, there is always tomorrow. This is reflected in their speech as if you don't wish to speak of it now, that's quite all right, perhaps later. He'll phrase it as statements in ambiguous terms so the person he is talking to can politely ignore it and neither party will be offended. Also once the person knows the rules, he won't answer a direct question. He will ask and answer questions in a battle or critical situations, as speed is necessary. This is called 'War Manners'. Or children can ask directly as rules for them are somewhat bent.

[Cxjenious]

Samael & Lilith


It was twilight, and a girl was dancing. On the outskirts of the City, she danced, her feet bare against the cool, slightly damp earth. Sticks and stones littered the ground, scattered haphazardly. The offending objects would deter most who wished to feel the earth against their feet, but this girl was not so inclined.

She flipped, twirled and tumbled, disregarding the bruises that lined her legs and the nicks and scrapes that adorned her arms. She danced in the twilight, the hand of Inanna; her eyes shut tight, her face taught with tension. Despite this, her feet never wavered, and as she dipped and ducked over rocks and under trees, her swirling thoughts began to coalesce, to form, and she let go of her tension, her face easing into a serene smile. Soon thereafter, she stepped down sharply on a jagged rock, cutting deeply into her heel. Still she danced, with more and more reckless abandon, giving in to her desire to be free, stepping down on her heel harder and harder and harder until a soft cry escaped from her lips.

She reveled in the pain, but at the same time hated it. It signified her fake ‘humanity’, reminded her that she was weak, but still, the joys of her fake humanity, the ability to feel and think independently without punishment… it was exhilarating, even though she hated it. How could she not hate it? She remembered being so much more, and yet so much less.

Sacrifices must be made… but for what? She never questioned, yet she always doubted. It wasn’t fear that stilled he, but faith. He had never failed her before, and she had always doubted his plans, now that they were here. It was human nature… something that she hated and yet yearned to have. True humanity… but this, for now, was close enough.

“Lilitu?” a voice called out, soft, yet stern, as if afraid to disrupt the tranquility of the night, but doing so anyway. It was her beloved Samael.

“I am Lilith now, Samael.” She returned, her melodious voice infused with such unadulterated adoration that Samael was hard pressed not to smile.

She stood absolutely still now, her back towards him, head bowed, blonde ringlets falling carelessly aside her face.

“Of course, of course.” He replied, his tone indicating that he would call her whatever he pleased. “Come now, child. I would abhor losing you to some jungle denizen.” He turned and walked back towards their home.

“And why is that?” she asked, her steps stormy, if such a thing was possible. Her voice was laced with curiosity, yet it was apparent that she knew the answer, for the familiarity portrayed with the steps and the words in sync indicated this conversation happened often.

“Because then, my dear Lilitu,” and he flicked her nose as she danced around him, “I would have to burn it down to find you.” He finished, his voice sincere, riddled with certainty. “I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Lilith smiled, a self-indulgent smile, because she knew how far he would go to keep her near him, and she loved his ‘devotion’.

“Would you defy God for me?” she asked, turning to face him as she backpedaled in front of him.

“I already have.” He answered, his eyes locked on hers.

“But would you do it again?”

He paused for a second, in thought and step, startling her. She had never asked this question before, and she was afraid of the answer. Did he have regrets?

“Yes. Again and again.” He looked at her then, and in two steps, had her in his arms, her short legs wrapped around his waist, her head against his shoulder. Her soft breath tickled the side of his neck. “Enough inquiries, Lilitu. We are home now, and I require sleep.”

“Your only weakness.” She chided, giggling.

“Hn.”

[Weasel Overlord]

Poor Tryf’s all alonesome! Where’s the rest of the River crew, I ask you!? Well, no matter. I invoke the ancient rites of character usage for my own character advancement. Nyer nyer...
Enter ramble-post-where-bollocks-all-happens. Yay!

Tryfan Wen, Walker of the Forest

so what would you think of me now

so lucky, so strong, so proud

---

Zhila’s world had been destroyed, and with it, or so Tryfan of the Wen had thought, was his world. And then, they had entered this... jungle, and once more he had felt alive. As if he belonged there, every inch of him sang with the trees and the plants and the tiny, scurrying creatures as they went about their business. He revelled in the new places to explore, in the very feeling of the place. Tryfan of the Wen felt, for the first time since he had left his prison, more alive than he had ever felt before.

Even in Zhila’s world, there had been something restraining him; whether it was the swamp mistress Eleiamae, who had loved him with such fervour, or the boundaries of the River itself. But now, in this place, he felt free. Truly free. And he savoured it as he tasted the air, and felt the life of the jungle pulse beneath his bare feet.

He twirled his spear, crouched low to the ground and on the trail of one of the mysterious jungle-dwellers that lurked in the shadows. His steps made no sound, and his breaths were as silent as the gentle breeze that whispered through treetops, caressing each leaf as it went.

Tryfan had been following this particular specimen for some hours now. It moved with the speed and ease at which any creature who was born to the jungle moved, clearly as at home in and among the trees as Tryfan was. From the shadowy silhouettes he’d managed to glimpse earlier on in the day, the figure was humanoid, but you never could tell with the inhabitants of places like this, so he wasn’t taking any chances; keeping to the shadows, utilising every ounce of his forestwalking skill to its utmost – stretching himself to his limits, and rejoicing in every second of it.

Every so often, the creature would pause, tilt its head as if it scented the air, and then continue on in its journey, occasionally altering its course slightly after sniffing. There was certainly something about this creature he tailed, but Tryfan could not put his finger on it. At times, it seemed as insubstantial as the breeze at his back; a mere illusion conjured by the dim forested light, and yet at others, the creature seemed to burn with an ethereal light. The only reason he discounted it as some sort of feverish dream was the fact that, once in a while, a pure cream feather would flutter from the shadow to land silent as snow on the leaf-carpeted ground.

Tryfan backed against a tree, feeling the bark against his exposed skin. Leaning his head against the rough surface, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, reaching out for the tree’s awareness.

-Spirit... not good to follow, forestwalker. Go back to your own, go back to your own where you are not safe, but safer than here at least. Go back to your changer, go back... go back...- The warning could not be clearer. Tryfan thanked the mighty tree silently, touching its bark as he crouched, fingers to the earth, my eyes spying something out of place on the forest floor.

A creamy feather, glimmering in the sparse light; veined with purest black. Tryfan picked it up carefully, bringing it close to his eyes to examine. It bore a certain resemblance to those dropped by the creature he had followed - the spirit, and he resolved to take it back to the camp with him as a treasure for Lily. He could see it now, gracing her beautiful red hair.

Thinking of Lily made him long for the comfort of other humans, and he resolved to run all the way home; dashing through the jungle, feeling the wind on his face and the branches whip his body. Being able to sense the positions of any life in the jungle was a handy ability, Tryfan had always thought, even if he could only tell of another’s presence when they were a few feet away. It was enough to halt his mad dashes before he catapulted into the substantial bulk of a tree, and he was nimble enough on his feet to be able to change direction as soon as he sensed something dangerous.

The fact that the jungle seemed quieter than it had when they arrived was ever-so-slightly unnerving, but Tryfan was too caught up in the immediacy of the moment to be put off by this. That, and he was a dab hand with his spear, which was always good in a pinch.

His mind was so immersed in the newness of the jungle and the creatures living in it that he sensed it almost immediately when an animal began to run beside him, occasionally glancing to the side as if to check his progress. It ran at the easy lope of a lupine, and Tryfan guessed by the smell that it was, in fact, a wolf, although glimpses of russet fur made him re-evaluate his first thoughts.

Slowing to a trot and then finally to a halt, he was not surprised to see the wolf stopping also. He sank to his favourite crouch, sitting back on his haunches and pressing the slimmer blade of his spear into the soft ground.

He smiled to see the wolf following him into the sitting position, its intelligent eyes staring straight back at him insolently, tongue lolling out in the fashion of wolves everywhere.

“Hello,” said Tryfan. Where he had come from, people continuously felt the need to talk down to animals as if they were less intelligent than humans, but Tryfan knew better. And besides, this wolf near radiated a keen sense of himself, and Tryf laughed as the animal flopped down with a great sigh, resting his head upon his stretched out front paws and regarding him with an amused glint in his eye that seemed to say “hey dude, chill out. Enough with the running.”

Tryfan decided that he liked this wolf very much; even if he did feel... strangely unwolflike, somehow.

If my interaction with Mr.McWolf is unwelcome Kalah, then I can easily change it so that he's a random Jungle wolf. ^_^

[Vulpix.ck87]

Pantére & Seryeh
----------------------------
On sleepless roads the sleepless go..
----------------------------

As Pan elaborated softly upon thin air, with hands whirling as if twining some ethereal silk a twixt his first and second digits, a fist-hard pulse blipped through Ser’s mind like a finger rap against each of his respective senses, and his blood stirred and muscles shifted, and the plane he lived in seemed to dissolve around him as he took the bone from his brother’s hand. A muted roar resounded within his ears and met with the rising cacophony of the sea waves, rushing up the cliff walls to swallow the two and the rock they stood upon whole. The wind snapped against their skin and caused their hair to whip out behind them; their limbs to stubbornly rigor in defiance against the prevailing forces.

And then Seryeh would feel his human correspondences leave him, and find himself in the midst of a whole ocean with only a vague sense of his brother’s presence.. His fur would be wet and his paws would be treading a water that seemed to be too insubstantial to even be that, but nevertheless they would turn towards the brightest light and swim to the surface. And they would breathe out the stale otherworld air from the recesses of their lungs, and inhale the new support that the River-world would offer; air full of sweetbriar scent and the pungency of decaying leaves and the duck shit that lined the banks of the watery depths that they dwelled in.. At least that was how it was supposed to go.

It didn’t this time.

In place of the liquid transfusion into this new and unfamiliar universe, Ser found himself instead rolling to his paws once more, on solid ground, consequentially sending pine needles scattering and miniature eddies of leaves and dirt swirling away in his sudden wake. The lion in Ser was calm and could not be considered unnerved - he was simply surveying the new landscape and its respective features for his own enlightenment, not for reassurance.

“I’ve never been to this part of the River-world before.” Pan spoke up behind Ser, having travelled alongside of him. “Is this-?”

“The land feels engulfed, overcome by what once made it great.” Ser stated, a gold-flecked eye regarding his surroundings with confident intrigue. “Yet we have come to the River-Plane nevertheless.”

Pan nodded, though not wholly in agreement with his brother. This world was different now; the powers of the deities had waxed and waned as they were wont to do, and it wasn’t a first for the two kin. No, they had seen gods fall before.. Yet Pan’s only concern was the trouble they would have returning to their own world.

“Zhila has withdrawn from this land, and for it the earth has succumbed to the sea; we stand now in the Jungle.” Ser said softly.

Then coming to his senses he flexed his claws, impatient to move, to work. Slender, wick and most undoubtedly ruinous, his nails were already lined with the green-brown moss dirt of these woods, and the golden tufts of fur that ran down the backs of his legs to protrude wispily were likewise so; this most human of creatures was already losing himself to the wild. Pan had reclaimed his scars and limp - the burdens he carried in this world as a sacrifice for his brother’s majesty - and one could not blame him for being reluctant to go hunt and inevitably battle, even though he was the one who had suggested they come, but trained for the activity no doubt he was. The creature formerly known as Ser stalked forwards, disappearing amongst the forest understory, falling deep and undetectable within the brush.

He was impatient, and the forest was rich with game.

--------------------------------

N.B. About the last bit, of regaining his scars, blah. When the two leave the Landing (their god-created rock-midst-ocean realm) and go to other worlds they are resigned to their cursed forms: Seryeh becoming a lion and scarred and losing himself to the creature, Pan similarly bearing his scars. The curse only takes effect in mortal realms. Unfortunately for the two they have no access to any immortal planes except for the Landing, and there is little for their pure souls to indulge in there. As seen in the first post, at the Landing Seryeh is human and they do not bear the scars that result of their work, sin and curse, they are untouched and divine mortals, naked, pure creatures, born anew, and for the most part lonely, hungered, insatiable.

They move away from this rock in the midst of waters; their world is a plane of cerulean, with only a platform, a plateau for the two brothers to reside upon between worlds. The sun sets and rises here as it would within any plane of this earth. The Mire is one plane, one world; the River another, and there are many more. They use specific objects to travel from their plane to these other worlds - the bone is the key to the river world, for example. Once there, they hunt for what little sustenance their immortal bodies crave for over the years, or carry out whatever duties the gods require. The gods rarely tell them what they need to do, it is purely their presence and activity within worlds that is necessary for whatever fate is destined to come into event. Seryeh and Pantére receive their messages on the wind in their home world, upon the Landing, the rock, and they tell them where to go.

[Bulbasaur4]

Watcher
Wanderer Who Does Not Face Sky + If you wait around forever... ... you will surely drown

Days of sun go by as swift as nights of day downwards upon a spiraling hill. That particular idea easily crept into the lazing mind of Watcher as he absently thought about abstract thoughts that came into his mind as easily as a breath into his lungs. Upon the morning he was sprawled out upon the roof of one of the townspeople’s roofs. How he got up there was a mystery to anyone, but they were used to him by now and usually would only glance at him if he were perhaps a topic of conversation. To them, he was an unsightly sight- something that they desired to sweep under a rug but were unable to due to fear and their plain inability to do much of anything in regards to him.
While they were more ‘uppity’ than the Savages by far- or as Watcher called them, the Junglefolk – they lacked much ability to do anything. It was a slight mystery how they came to be who they were to Watcher- not history-wise, but by their nature.

Too complex a thought there… Watcher thought, opening his canine-jaws and releasing a rather moaning yawn as he shifted himself to lay upon his back. He certainly lacked manners, even for Wolfkin in this matter- letting his arms flop shamelessly in the air as he let his underbelly face towards the sky. He never looked at the sky however, but more so closed his eyes as he felt the warm and welcoming wind carress against his fur.

Time passed so slowly in the late years of the jungle now- ever since Watcher became as lonely as the sun during the day with no fellow skymates along with him. It was something that Watcher took an inkling not to think about the past however. He had his month of mourning- at least, that was the time he allotted himself to mourn the passing of his last pack mate. He had predetermined that was when he should move on, ready or not. Even he would not admit the pang that persistently bit at his heels or deep within the flesh of his heart at every familiar scent or trail he occasionally would cross that was flooded richly in memory.

Hours had passed… or perhaps it was only minutes- Watcher didn’t tell. He actually didn’t bother to look at the position of the sun in the sky or the length of the shadows. Time was something he paid no attention to- it didn’t matter. He ate when he was hungry, thought when they crept into his mind and continued to work in the rhythm of the beat of what could be a forsaken life. Whatever natural animalistic clock that used to reside deep within Watcher’s instincts had long ago stopped ticking and now he was left to only guide himself through his more basic alarms. One of these, being his demanding and quite troublesome stomach which rumbled like a troublesome gnome hacking away deep within his gut.

This, of all things, was enough to rouse Watcher from his laying position so that he now stood sturdy upon his four paws, upon the roof that he had been lazing upon. Effortless- as if he were a feather upon the wind- he leapt downwards and landed rather gracefully upon the firm ground below with a little grunt as he did so. His thick, silk-furred tail lashed at the air in habit- as if scorning it for not lightening his fall even more so. Then Watcher disappeared… vanishing from the town and entering the thicks of the forested jungle to look for some small meal.
Watcher valued life within the forest and he respected each creature no matter how small. They were all on equal footing, which was why he gave them equal respect when he was on the hunt. No true creature of the forest looked down upon the predators for tasting flesh- it was the way they were created, the way they had always been. Any true predator that was not tainted respected the plant eaters in return by not gorging themselves like fattened boars. It was a circle… and endless circle like a continious snake eating his own twisted tail.

Flesh was soon Watcher’s to eat when he easily sniffed out and found a sickened doe. Sensing her own doom and passing, Watcher eased the process of suffering by taking her life a tad bit earlier than planned by mother nature herself. Or perhaps it was in her plan after all… but in either case, Watcher ate and filled his belly until it no longer groaned with hunger pangs. Then Watcher had left the carcass of his meal- cleanly picked for he had a rather large appetite compared to most creatures and yet he did not show it except for the slight bust in his belly right after his meal. Such an appetite had not always been with Watcher… but it was after he had been given The Sight by perhaps some divine and unnatural chance. Yet thinking of the power made Watcher’s head hurt slightly… for it had taken him several days long ago to learn how to turn off such a strange and blinding power.

As Watcher had begun to walk back to his lazing town however, he had caught a scent upon the wind. Very faint… very hidden… as if it were the forest itself but yet there was something slightly different- a small twinge of difference that set it apart. Watcher felt an urge to discover it… his own slight curiousity or thirst for knowing getting the better of him despite his aptness to ignore what was out of his way. The world had been rather dull as of late… so the chance of something new gave him a deep and almost child-like excitement. Was there a break in these monotonous weeks?

Then Watcher was running… running like he did back in the days with his pack with the wind racing through his fur and whistling by his ears like an ancient tune. Even now upon these days the act of running gave him the most indescribable pleasure. To have the power and the endurance to feel like one could go on forever running endlessly… it was thrilling to know and to feel. To feel the power rushing through is body, coursing through his veins and into the very fibers of his core- it was a wolf’s feeling, a wolf’s true instinctual high.

Watcher had now discovered this creature and indeed the creature had discovered him as well. Watcher had to run to discover the difference in the forest… had to run to catch him, until finally the difference slowed down and stopped running but crouched and regarded Watcher with wild green eyes. Watcher swiftly stopped and promptly planted his rear upon the ground, letting his fleshy pink tongue roll lazily along the side of his mouth. The high was gone… the act of running no longer flushed his instincts with excitement. Now the adrenaline had ended and he was left with the feeling that he had only run to catch up to this creature. Why had it run to begin with? Making himself run in well out of curiosity? Almost troublesome…

The difference in the forest was humanoid- and now after a few sniffs or so, Watcher had an easier time defining him but at the same time a slightly harder time too. His hair matched his surroundings and he had a forest-presence about him- something that gave Watcher’s deep wolf heritage a bit of ease. He was not a Junglefolk nor was he a Townsfolk… he was … the difference- the difference in the forest. It was something Watcher could not exactly label but yet he just knew… he just sensed it.
Then, in plain language as simple to Watcher… he spoke. A greeting. A sense of equal footing between Watcher and himself. Watcher immediately accepted it- accepted the sense of equality. Indeed he was keen… far better off than any humanoid Watcher had met before.
Hullo… Watcher responded, his voice not really outspoken but rather spoken from within the air. Sounding slightly rogue but yet flecked with an almost unruly youthful tone. You run layke one who buhlongs… yuht you are diffuhruhnt… Watcher merely stated, not really asking a question but yet implying that he wondered what this difference was. Watcher wasn’t one to speak too much… at least, not in his calmed normal and more natural form. If he had been human… that would have been something completely and entirely different.

[Plantae]

The Land Speaks of More than Rivers
None can see the whole of the jungle, but if they could, it would look something like this. From high enough above, it is a vast nothingness. A "speck" is not an adequate description. If you moved far enough away, it simply stopped existing entirely. The ocean around it is endless, and of such startling uniform depth-trenches to miles- and surprising lack of life that it is little more than an impediment. An obstacle, but to what? For so many eons, none of them had ever known. But those below would learn soon, and even now, it would come to reflect the state of the world elsewhere. There were echoes large enough, extinction and war, which stretched across all notions of space and time. When a butterfly flaps its wings, it heralds catastrophe...

Hers, though, with gorgeous verdigris wings, as fine as a silk gown, would stir no more. As she looked on above, the high atmospheric winds, no product of natural weather, crumpled her poor insect sightling- whom she had been relying on for her view at that height- into a fine, emerald powder. At the same time, her scrying through its multi-faceted vision disintegrated. The chain was broken, the trance as well, and so it was that in moments, she was back amongst the onyx-hued, tarnished silence of the forest floor, as she felt the leviathan-pulse of the insectile forms around her.

There was no voice. There was the truth of the murmur. In one syllable was held all the heartstrings of every sound, whisper, shriek, and twitter, of those creatures who were long ago cast from the dominion of the giants and into the void; unlike those varied mammals and lesser kin, they felt the unfeeling discrimination which accompanies all animals of whose part is supposed to play no consequence in destiny. They were the true fathers, in whose brood was vested the ancestry of all other life, but in this new order, they were so easily crushed underfoot. That is, until they had found her, their vessel.

She was the two-mouthed nisse, with amber-slime yellow lip top and bottom fastened together from two different sets. When she spoke, both opened, and only in this manner could she speak in their vermin tongue. It was a dull hiss, which wavered and changed, an enormous chord of mish-mash pitches which subsided to a dull screech in the ears of those that sensed little; in the more sophisticated hearing of other beings, it throbbed, an aching ring which went on almost infinitesimally, shutting out all else in its consummate, vignitillion-fold unity. She knew the word, the only word in the language, which meant everything and nothing to them. And with it, they obeyed.

They called her and her kind "pests," all the other folk that walked here. But that was their ignorance; she had no such thing herself. For she was everywhere her kind were, and that was everywhere. Every housefly, gnat, and mosquito; if she reached far enough, she could sense them all, and through them, she could see all. Like with the butterfly, which, so high above the surface, was able to see this world of rivers thoroughly. Some oracles read bones; she was no seer, but she could sometimes read the land. She could see how, where the forest swayed, where it buckled and where it gave, and could glimpse hostility. In her vast control, in her henchmen, she had an equally vast personal territory, and she could sense disturbances at miles.

This was a biggun. It was a cresting wave, looming upon the horizon. The human had been something, had been different, having been here. But even meaning so much, he meant so little, so little in comparison to what his being here, and as her insects told, their being here, than to the consequences of the fact. Her mind gripped a gossamer-winged dragonfly, careening towards a spider's web, and she screamed into its feeble mind, which quaked and nearly collapsed for it, "She knows! She knows! You must tell Oberon! Titania knows!" And with a flit of wings, her charge, her messenger, had thus fled.

Dare to Nightmare
Or, Joseph thought he understood, at very least; the wavering tone vanished as quickly as he woke. The image, the suggestion, of a being amongst the thicket... it was gone. He shivered despite himself, and entertained the thought of wishing for the night to be shorter. Every now and then, he would doze off, and his sleep would be peacefully fitful, full of the goblins of the past manifested. But no matter how many times the events replayed themselves, he grew no more endeared to them. He did not regret what was a world away, what was insubstantial now, what meant nothing.

He was more concerned with here, with now, with what he knew, even if he could not see, was moving around him; there was definitely something here. His senses, which were not so much his anymore as the same tenfold, knew better than he. He had been followed into this empty hallow. This land was too vibrant and it seemed, now, that he would never be let properly alone. Not so much searching for company as curious for it, he inquired into the black, "And shall you be silent forever?"

He could feel those footsteps, haughty, self-possessed. A creature that thought, perhaps, that as he was a human, he needed as much as a broken twig to be certain he had heard something. To the contrary, when he kept himself completely still, he felt as if every miniscule rustling was known to him. Though there was no light, the eye of his mind began to resolve this collection of whispers and the most distant, infinitesimal breathing into a grayscale photograph; he shaped it, and he guessed, he dared to say, a quadruped. It hesitated, though, in the midnight air; perhaps, now that he understood it was there, it could no longer be amused by his ignorance. He queried again, "Surely you are not shy, my four-footed friend?"

[Drusilla]

Sara Raise
I am but a shadow of myself

During the day, there was nothing... there could be nothing, for I had finally realized that I would never see the sun again. Even the moonlight, as beautiful as it was, could make me ache with it's brilliance. He said that it would go away, that I would become used to even fire light, if there was such a thing in this place. If I lived long enough, I might even see the dawn before retreating from those deadly first rays... but that would be longer than my still partly human mind could comprehend. I trusted him, and I worshiped him, for he had become my life, my God, my everything. He said that he loved me beyond what a mere human, or any mortal for that matter, could... and I believed him. He had replaced the light with darkness, and it was good.

It mattered little to me that I was but an empty shell compared to what I once was. My mind was filled with wonder by what I saw, what I experienced. No words could do it justice. The details in every creature and physical object I encountered was astounding. My favorite activity by far was to lay out in the open and stare at the sky, watching the twinkling of those far-away orbs of light. Inevitably, he would come to me, and love me, and I would know peace then far beyond what I had dreamed possible. In the day, we would hide together, far under the earth, for even though he was strongest among them, he could not walk in the daylight. Few could, though they were the ones who were weakest.

He was every man, and yet no man, to me. Time had no meaning anymore; it had only been the equivalent of a few days, but I knew eternities while in his arms. I knew that the other, the human, thought of me from time to time, and I wondered on this... But, what was a human to a lord of shadows?

I felt whatever connections I had to my humanity slip away, one by one, until there was very little left. I could no longer imagine that I had once been one of them, with "feelings". How soft they seemed, so fragile, as I watched the remains of my former group wander about the night. I had set out to help them at first, but I could not find it in me to be more than a half-way guide to them. I simply did not care. They were other, and I was shadow. He was my lord, I his lady. Anything else was other, lesser. They did not matter.

Though I did briefly think of the human, Joseph, and a little part of me, that small bit of my remaining humanity, did care. I wondered of his well being, where he was, what he was doing, and felt a slight tinge of regret at abandoning him. He was other, but still slightly more. He was gone... I was at liberty to do as I wished. I did not know why, but I wished to see Joseph...

So I walked. I walked into the darkness surrounding me, a discernable figure one moment, and gone the next, much like the blink of an eyelid; you know that it covered your vision, but you cannot really tell when unless you pay very close attention. It was night, and everything was in shadow in this forest. I searched the darkness, searching for the one who called himself Mathias, the one who disclosed his true name only to me...

And I found him, injured and abused by the jungle. He flitted in and out of sleep, and I watched him, unseen, just another part of the darkness that surrounded him. I wanted him, wanted his flesh, wanted his blood. Wanted to use his life-force to make myself whole again. I did not know why, and wondered on this. The hunger grew inside of me, growing nearly strong enough to the point that I was tempted to leave the shadow and become solid again, when he spoke. I knew his voice, and it tugged at that small, bothersome piece of humanity left deep within me.

At first, I thought he spoke to me, and I was frightened; surely he could not know I was there. Then I opened my mind, and I could sense another being lurking in the shadows, not one with them, but hiding just the same. The hunger was great, but my curiosity greater; I would watch, and listen, and perhaps I would grow bored of them and leave.

Or, perhaps not.


She won't bother anyone for the time being... and she won't appear to anyone but Joseph at this point.

[Emotional Faun Chiko-sai]

All inappropriate capitals in the following are deliberate. I can't believe how long it took me just to turn this out... Nevertheless, the next post will contain actual interaction.

The Residents at No. 74 Cottingley Avenue.
(But only the More Interesting Ones.)

First, catch your hare.
- Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management (attrib.)

Due to extreme magical conditions, thaumaturgical reasons, the high concentration of magical energy circulating in the Jungle and its environs, and whatnot, &c., &c., the weather in the City is remarkably receptive to the wishes of the individual. In some areas, where the townspeople dislike sunshine and would indeed disintegrate into little piles of ash on contact with said source of light, the weather is obliging and limits itself to dense yellow fog and rain-laden clouds; in others, where the inhabitants are fey and - dare I say it - gay, felicitous breezes dart and skip under blue skies.

No. 74 Cottingley Avenue is a delectable example of the latter category: a Georgian townhouse on the Respectable side of town, with all the dressings of the wealthy and discerning owner, there it is a perpetual summer, of the type termed Indian, save when the Doctor wishes it to be stormy for his own purposes of drama and dearth.

The Doctor, as proclaimed by his shiny brass plaque (KCE, NIMBY, NIABY, UCI, MAAH, endorsed by the Queen and sanctioned by various anxious dons who are possibly indebted to the wonders worked by the good Doctor), is capable of curing any ailment, may it be boils, death, distressing relatives or the replacement of body parts that have come off in inconvenient places. He also offers favours, the amount and type of which are entirely negotiable. Like all reputable doctors, the Doctor has a fee, but his patients are singularly odd in that they never mention the dearness of the fee, or the preposterousness of the fee, or even the exact nature of the fee, for generally, no exchange of currency is ever seen to be made in his establishment. The Doctor is very discreet. It is a professional pride.

To upkeep his fine Georgian townhouse, with its gilt-and-plush interior, and to take care of his fluctuating roster of family members (who are added to or disposed of according to the Doctor's whim), and to polish his shiny brass plaque and silver tableware, he employs a not inconsiderable number of servants. The head of these is Ellen Brown, and it is with Ellen Brown that our narrative is concerned with, not the Doctor, contrary to existing evidence. The Doctor cannot help but be mentioned. He is far too Significant not to be.

Miss Brown is prompt and quick: Miss Brown is obedient and attentive: Miss Brown is going mad, she thinks sometimes, but she can't say for sure.

In answer to a summons from her employer, Miss Brown crosses the landing and moves upstairs. She passes the pet in its alcove as she does so. Displayed prominently in a golden cage, littered with the remnants of a golden plumage, the pet refuses to do anything except pluck and preen, pluck and preen. The pet is fond of cosmetics; it paints its face religiously, though its inherent perversity is shown in its readiness to divest itself of its feathers. Pluck, preen, pluck, preen - ach, the banality of it all drives me to positive logic: Very soon it will be nothing more than a chicken ready to be trussed up for the cooking pot, and I will enjoy the broth that it shall be made into.

Miss Brown knocks on the door of the Doctor's study, a calculated knock, subdued yet sufficiently loud so as not to go unnoticed by the occupant of the room. Miss Brown is expert in this, the art of moderation. For this reason alone she has long remained in the service of the Doctor.

Things are shortly about to change. An Experiment will be made. An Experiment? - nay, a Plan! a Plan of Grandiose Imaginings.

While she waits her gaze wanders to the portrait of the Queen that hangs over the white door. She had never wondered at it before, but now it strikes her that this portrait of the Queen is markedly different from others she has had chance to see around the City. Without a doubt, this one depicts a Queen Uncommon fair and of a Most decidedly ethereal ilk. The small spark of her unbalancing speaks to her that she must at the next opportunity compare it to other representations of the City's fair Monarch. I know this as I know everything that runs through good Miss Brown's maddening mind.

Madness can be cultivated, dear reader, pruned and fertilized and watered, if you know how...

"Enter," comes the command, that Miss Brown can no more disobey than she is able to voluntarily stop breathing.

The Doctor's study is filled with items designed to provoke amazement and wonder in the soul of the most cynical observer. Contraptions beyond the ken of many loll resplendent on every shelf and table (impractical, to be sure, but always impressive). Dismembered limbs sit in large glass pickle jars, simmering in viscous liquids of the brightest colours; some have tattoos and some do not, some are malformed and some are not. Good Ellen steps past a perfectly formed pair of legs, ending in the delicate kneecaps of a young girl, standing up by themselves in a bell jar in excellent composure. She has been in the Doctor's study often before, with her duster and pan: the Doctor cannot bear to have the slightest speck of dust in his workspaces.

"Ah, my dear Nelly," says the Doctor, unfolding himself from his high-backed chair with a theatrical flourish; "come hither, I have a present for you."

He extends long beckoning fingers, the tips of which are laced with a subtle, pulsating glow. Nelly stares at them, Mesmerised; her bovine intellect cannot resist the lure of the Doctor's fantasmagoria. The Doctor, smiling facetiously, drops the shimmering mass into the mouth of a device that can only be described, vaguely, as a long, thin trumpet.

"Turn your ear towards me, good Nelly - yes, capital - there we go-" and with a whoopf, he blows it into her right ear.

Miss Brown shivers for a moment; then her eyes uncloud, with a sentient sparkle that was never in them before.

The Doctor claps his hands and does a dapper little dance, all for the pleasure of his debonair self. "I am so very sure you will like your present, Nelly."

"Th-thank you, sir. But.. what...?"

"Come now, Nelly, you never used to ask questions. You had not the imagination to. That is all I have given you - an imagination."

"Sir?"

"Use it well, Nelly."

[Dr.McNinja]

*_Erwyne_*

She stood comfortably by the stream, gazing idly at the bubbling water with eyes the color of autumn fire. The Jungle was waking around her, waking into the new day just the way it did every day. Erywne heard the trees beginning their daily stretch for the sky, the rocks in the stream their never-ending struggle against being washed away by the water, and the water itself always impatient, always plowing ahead around the next turn in its path. And Erwyne…Erwyne continued to exist just like she did everyday. She sighed, when rocks had more purpose than she did…

There was an…unease to the Jungle. Erwyne could feel the soft murmurings of the spirits wherever she went. Something was present now that hadn’t been before, something strange, something new. Erwyne felt a chill creep up her back at that thought... something new. Newness was always exciting, always dangerous to invite into one’s comfortable world. It both repelled her and drew her inexorably to it. A faint groaning like that of a tree in the wind announced her change from flesh to wood, a subconscious desire to hide perhaps, or maybe preparation to seek out that which was new…it was hard to tell sometimes Erwyne realized, even for her.

She had not lived long, even she realized this despite having only the vaguest understanding of the passage of time. Youngling trees were ancient compared to her, the truly ancient ones beyond her comprehension. She could still be considered new to the Jungle she pondered as she turned from the water and strode absently into the trees, but could one born here such as she really be as fresh and intriguing as one from elsewhere? The others she knew certainly did not seem to regard her as curious or incredible, indeed some like The Watcher seemed almost bored of her…of course The Watcher always seemed to be bored in one way or another so perhaps that was a bad example....it was so hard to tell sometimes! A part of her wished that a fairy would just flit out of the forest and tell her what she was supposed to do with her life other than explore in the hopes of finding something interesting. Fairies only seemed to want to play in her hair however, and maybe her purpose is just to feel out of place where she felt the most welcome.

She walked lightly for a while, brambles shifting slightly to avoid her strides, logs dipping their lengths to be more easily stepped over. She sent silent thanks at the soft warmth at the edge of her consciousness that was how she felt the Jungle, like a protective hand on her back, leading her safely. It was the one to whom her trust belonged to implicitly, perhaps the only one, for no matter how hard she might try to hide from it in uncertainty of its intentions, it never left her, never guided her astray, even if she didn’t understand it.

The unease roiled in the pit of her stomach as she walked, growing stronger. She knew she was moving towards the newness, she realized with a faint unease, but she could not stop herself. The newness was making noise, words she assumed though it would be another moment before she would know what they were. Scurrying forward a few more yards, she pressed herself tightly against the side of one of the trees, her transformed state finding comfort in the like material it pressed against. The newness might see her, she realized uneasily, for she had made little attempt to hide herself despite intentions to the otherwise. She could always flee back into the forest she reasoned even as she nudged a little bit closer.

[darktyranitar]

Ka
Big city loafers

It was now almost close to dawn now, but for the residence of the alleyway of city – the beggars – this was not very noticeable, since the path was overshadowed by the houses of the richer of the society that if they stayed there for the rest of the day, they won’t be able to differentiate between day and night. Most of them were still sleeping, with the exception of Old Sykes – an old (obviously), listless Savage who was insomniac for as long as he could remember, and a sorry looking mutt that have seen better days, it’s skin full of blisters with the occasional furs.

Old Sykes, doing what he does best, begins to sing out a tune – and a terrible one at that – while the mutt whimpered at him to simply tell him to shut up (it had learned a painful lesson the other night when it had barked a tad too loud, and it ended with a bottle stuffed halfway through its throat).

Among the sleeping beggars was Ka. There was something that distinguishes Ka from the rest of them, even if he had spend long years mingling with them that he could be called one of them. For one thing, he does not have the look of a beggar. It seems that all who worked as a beggar (beggars were considered as a profession here) wore a specific kind of attire: baggy, grimy and dirt-encrusted clothes that doesn’t seems to know the definition of washing, paired with a similarly grimy, dirt-encrusted, and not baggy but tangled hair. Add in stained teeth and nails, and you’ll have a model beggar.

Instead, Ka was bald, and except for his thin eyebrow, there is barely any other trace of hair on other part of his body. Unlike the beggar, he takes good care of his hygiene, taking two baths per day, and cutting of his nail when they were long. And he always brushes his teeth while he took a bath. This was considered something quite perverted in the beggar community.

Clad with only a pair of leather trousers and a poncho covering upper body, he does not have the quality necessary for begging (Or as one beggar pointed out, it didn’t have the same quality like the beggars cloth, which was said to be able to conceal almost any object hidden. Well, almost).

Another thing was his dull crimson eyes – they weren’t radiating the shine of those who would do anything to get a little bit of something to make ends meet, even if it includes trailing a person down until the said person either beat them up or – most of the time – throw whatever they have in their pocket, screamed with frustration, and ran away as fast as possible. It was the eyes that show that whatever it was that he has in mind, begging would not be one of them.

All things considered, Ka can’t really be considered a beggar. He does however share one thing in common with the beggars – and he was real good at it – which was his skill in getting information. No, saying that he was real good at getting information would be an understatement; he has an unhealthy obsession over information that it was considered weird, even by beggar’s standard. Information do come handy for beggars, because, sooner or later, they will find their begging tactic to be a little unpractical, and they know well that information is a power, and some people are willing to pay for a fragment of information. Information such as who killed who, and where did the stolen bag of coins was stashed were considered crucial information for the beggars – and for those who were involved in the affair – but Ka has another kind of information he was interested in. Such information was either uninteresting or are unknown to most that people wouldn’t discuss about it in case their mind is overwhelmed by questions that would come along with it. Usually, it was the former.

That dawn, just like any other dawn, Ka woke up groggily, and after stretching a bit, he would reach down his waist and begin to read his jotting book, much like a religion practitioner would read a holy tome. He grunted, as he looked intently at the last written page.


A sunny, clear sky (crossed out with a line) Bland, uninteresting day.

….

Sykes killed a cat. Said to be due to his singing (the word ‘singing’ was crossed out) terrible voice. Alas. The poor creature.

Tried to go outside the city today (there was some random doodling)… decided not to. Nyx said that she saw a strange being prowling the fringe of the city. It’s a strange place out there. But then again, the city is a strange place itself.

(And under those words, a footnote): I wonder how mother is doing.

Found something stuck on someone’s shoe. It’s some sort of prescription, I think. (the said piece of paper was attached above the paragraph, the inks all smeary that it was hard to distinguish what was originally written)

(There was a lot of space between that paragraph and the last one)

Humans – why are they here? Killed Zhila – truly? Are they coming to this city? (a threat for us?) (the words in bracket underlined repeatedly)


He let his thoughts wander off for a while before he finally stood up in one amazingly fast, spring-like action, scaring the wit out of the mutt that it covered its eyes with both paws and pretended that it was actually asleep. Acknowledging the never-asleep Old Sykes and the mutt, he walked slowly – as to not disturb the other sleeping beggars – making his way for the regular spot for the daily morning ablution: a small pond just beside the house of Mason the shipbuilder. It was quite a nice pond… well, perhaps the water was a bit murky, with birds dropping covering the pond’s wall, but it would do. Ka wasn’t bothered with the fact that the pond was located just opposite of a road, as does the people around him. People would look at him, raise an eyebrow - or laugh, or just shrugged it off – before continuing their business, with the memory of just seeing a strange fellow gone from their mind. Ka was aware of this, and he doesn’t mind that his presence usually went unnoticed.


Currently, Ka was standing in the middle of the road in a rigid statue-like posture, appearing to be oblivious to the stream of people brushing past him. On close observation, however, he was actually watching every single living being that passed him – this was another thing he was good at: sharp eyesight. He has so far seen a lot of being moving in the city – the denizen of the city and the odds one from the Jungle alike. He felt that he has seen a lot, but he knew as well that there was a lot of being out there that still remains unknown to him. It does seem tempting, to go out to face the wilderness out in an unfamiliar ground…

“Alright,” Ka said to one in particular, making a mental note on a few new faces that he had seen, and was about to head to the bar when he bumped into Old Sykes. Or rather, Old Sykes bumped into him, appearing to be running away either from excitement or fear.

“Ah, there yer are now, ma boy,” he grinned, as he slowly picked himself up. He paused, as if uncertain on what it was that he was going to do, and then grinned even wider, and pointed one dirty fingernail to show that he had recently lost a tooth. Ka shook his head; Old Sykes probably had his tooth handed to a particular person who began to feel just a little annoyed of this old man that was following behind him for quite some time now. Old Sykes has stayed in this city for so long that almost all of his Savage nature was gone; the typical Savage would make sure that the said person would get more than just a mouthful of broken tooth. Well, and the fact that he was getting older and more senile. “How’s yer day? Haven’t got too much money or any stories to tell to yer. But I good some bad luck, methinks – heheh – don’t think yer want them, no?”

“No… haven’t had any luck either, Sykes, and I’ll skip the bad luck, thank you.” He reached into his pocket, and there was a brief sound of coins clinking against each other. Old Sykes edged closer to him, rubbing his hand in anticipation. “Hm. Enough money to get you a drink or two. I think?”

He patted Ka on the back so hard that Ka felt as if his hair were standing. His eyebrow’s hair, that is. “That’s ma boy! Ye sure look like ye could use a nice, drink yourself… tell me, something been bothering ye mind lately?” Only Ka called Old Sykes Sykes, and likewise, only Old Sykes called Ka boy.

When Ka didn’t replied for a long time, he knew what was up. “Aahh… it’s about them again, is it? Don’t meddle with things ye don’t understand, says they… See, we’ve been telling yer that you’ll go mad…” He spun a finger beside Ka’s temple. “…if ye continue being like this. Now, now, I know yer be thinking, ‘ack, shut this old man up, will yer’…”

Ka didn’t say anything and just carried on walking, deep in his own world, as old Sykes talked on and on. The conversation was slowly drowned by the buzz of people going about their business.

It was a bright, calm morning. Then again, it always was.


Feel free to bump into Ka while your char is strolling through the city, although people tend to forget him the moment he is out of sight. You can make your char remember him, though; the ability can be random at times. Sometimes you remember him, sometimes you don't.

[Asilynne]

~~"Young" Lily O'Keefe~~
A heart so big, God couldnt let it live...

My world was gone. The world I had always retreated to, when I needed an escape from my bustling life. The world I could hide from the electronic screams of my waking. The River had always been mine, only I knew its mists, the long stretch of the warm snowy beach, and the quiet gray waters. Only I spoke with the ancient trees, heard the music and song of the wind at night. Only I knew how to get there, until that night. I longed for a better life, a simpler time, and so for the final time I sat alone in my apartment, the lights off save for a few candles carefully positioned on the intricately carved shelving, and meditated upon my River world.

And it was then I came to realise this world was not a dream, for somehow I was there in the flesh. And I was not alone, somehow others from my world had followed me, but they did not know how, they did not recognise the Riverworld as I did. To them it was a strange place, and indeed it was, but it had been my escape for years. Now it was gone.

But then, so was the Lily who needed to hide there.



Sometimes when I slept I dreamed of her.

"Her" was one of two people; sometimes the "her" I dreamed of was Zhila, though I had never met her the others told of the former ruler of the River world. The others had killed her, and in doing so had killed the entire River world, but it had been a matter of survival. Kill or be killed, that was the simplest rule of life and while none of us knew why this mistress of the River deigned we had needed to die, the choice was a simple one. Humans were creatures of survival, when it came down to it many of us would burn the world for a chance to avoid death. And indeed we had, Zhila was gone and the River with her. Gone from everywhere but my dreams.

But always lurking in the corners of my dreams was her, the product of the world I was born in, the world I never felt I truely belonged. She never spoke in my dreams, but she had never needed to. In a way we were One, but the essence of what was her should have never been. That was not the way I was made, that was what a lifetime of mistakes, mistrust, and misdiection had molded me into. Or, more accurately, what she had allowed herself to be molded into.
But each dream with her left me waking uneasy, despite the comfort of Tryfan always being there brought. Or maybe because of it. Because in those silent stares she told me the truth that I had always known and yet never acknowledged- I was afraid. That was one thing being "Young" Lily didnt take away. I was afraid of my own feelings.

But the mists of dreams faded as the warm sultry Jungle breeze tosses the various shades and shapes of green leaves in a whispering dance as I awoke in my treetop home. While others may have felt more at home in the City's more civilised atmosphere, I stuck to what I knew, and spent a day working under the shade of the canopy making a basket-like house out of a large sprawling tree and vines that twined around it. It was this house I shared with Tryfan, he too had an intimate relationship with the forest and everything in it, and at times it seemed as though he were the forest, that he was every living thing within it. Maybe he was. The River World had changed us all in ways that we never knew, and sometimes in ways that we discover every day.

The River, that was how we got here. With it gone one could only wonder; was our only way back to the world we knew gone too? Very rarely I thought about this, because when I did I had to ask myself the question-did I want to go back? I wasnt sure I did, and I wasnt sure what that meant. But as my stomach growled it turned my attentions away from idle thought and to more pressing matters. Tryfan always left early in the morning to gather food, he wouldnt dream of hurting anything within the forest. But he had always been back before she woke, and by the sunlight filtering through the green she hadnt woken any later than usual. I wasnt worried about him, I knew he could handle anything that life threw at him, but curiousity grew. Had he found something? There was always something new to find in this new place, and when once the Lily I had been (or would be?) would find a new world as something to be afraid of, I saw it as my playground. So much to discover, so why not throw caution to the wind and dicover it? I began to run down one of the animal paths that wound their way through the Jungle, letting my instincts tell me where to go.
The sounds of the forest mingled with my pure laughter, the laughter of someone loving life and embracing it fully, heedless of malignant forces who might hear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First post! Sorry if I got anything wrong ^-^() Just a lil intro before getting some interaction going on I left it open for anyone to hear/notice the lil girl romping through the woods XD
Oh and I had to continue the hear you me trend ^-~ Hope it was ok to say that lily and tryf lived together, I wasnt sure about the Riverfolks living arrangements in the Jungle (assuming they have one)

[Plantae]

An Arbor Made Of Musings
There came no response to his agitated question. Whatever quadruped had lurked here did so no more. He heard its near-silent trotting as it withdrew, shirking him and becoming a memory as it faded into the trees. By the minute, Joseph grew more frustrated. He did not understand himself why he had left the others, but he had hoped, perhaps, that he could replace their company with that of a being more familiar with this... this place. That hope was easily dashed, as many others had been.

He let himself relax. He could see some little amount now. Whether it was his eyes adjusting to the darkness, which he doubted, or simply that it was nearly dawn, he did not know. Either way, he could almost make out the outline of vegetation in the twilight. There were ethereal monoliths, trees appearing as bearded shepherds in these insubstantial morning hours.

They were unlike those in his memory, though, as much as they were dissimilar to the ones in the land of Zhila or at the border of this enormous rainforest. Most trees, he had always thought, were emperors. In rising high above the ground, they blocked out the light and stunted the life below. In their majesty, they accidentally withered those other plants below. Those with a thick crown often left little but a ring of dirt around their trunks; dead, unmoving, soil. Here, though the trees were only smaller than some scarce few mighty sequoias, and their branches were so tangled as to make their foliage near-seamless, life still flourished in the fatalistic darkness underneath.

To this end, to the staggering indifference this jungle had to what was natural, he knew for certain he was lost; in body, in spirit: it did not matter. And as his mind wandered such subtle paths, as he fell deeper into the metaphysical, feeling as if he was sinking right into the roots of the place, Joseph snapped to attention. Though almost no time had passed as he pondered, the whispers of the coming sun had grown by a sliver. He had not seen her initially, for in her newfound nature, she was too like to a shadow. She had been no more than a cobalt blur in the midst of a thousand leagues of night.

Feeling listless, he called once more into the gloom. In the fog of his mind, he needed something solid, harsh. Like the many relationships of his life, this last one had come to an anticlimactic end, and he meant to change that. He wanted closure, he wanted... "Sara?" He waited for an answer.

No News Pleases Her
There on the walk was a figure. He wore a fanciful and filthy costume, a doublet and some trousers, etcetera. He was striped... or not. Perhaps there was the suggestion of ears, no, no, and most certainly, oh yes, there was no denying this, that of teeth. But then again, all humans had teeth... didn't they? The others always said as much; perhaps there was too much point to these. Yes, there was a man, and we will call him Riget. It is not a particularly good anagram. What self-respecting human, he entertains, would give itself such a ridiculous name? He begins to walk on all fours, but then he remembers. He shuffles up. He dusts himself off. This is amusing to watch.

He is furious. The smells about enrage him. He is tempted, oh-so-tempted! If he was a housekeeper here would be disgusting. Here would be hideous. But what does he care of cleanliness? Poor Giret, Irget, Riget, he is less concerned with how tidy it is here. He thinks in theres. A beggar, over there... and there, and there; he salivates. Surely no one would miss? He stops. He starts. No, no; bad Riget.

He has a purpose. This is new. He is not here for a beggar. His master gave him the gift, and in return for being awakened- his master convincing him this is a very pleasant thing even though he misses being simple- he is to perform a favor. He must carry a message, and also, another task which makes his blood course quickly and his heart pummel his chest.

His master had remarked, "You must take this to my lady and yours, to Titania," he had rubbed his forehead and pinched, pulling forth a gray globe which pulsed and shivered. His master had pressed it against his own, now hairless, head, and it vanished inside. It started to coalesce there, images and words, his master's face, saying... "Don't think it! It is not yours to brood on. You will face... unpleasantries from her, no doubt, if you tamper with it in any way." His master scoffed, clearing his throat and looking exacerbated, "The message is only as true as the one that carries it. These days, there isn't hide or hair of a fairy that will speak news in full." And when he thought Riget could not hear, he added, "For no news pleases her..." in a most ominous tone. He had not to fear, though, for as he was to continue, "You, however, are swine. You cannot lie in words. You are... exceptionally stupid. Your imperfection is my own victory," he chuckles at this. Giret, Irget, Riget, purrs absent-mindedly.

He walks amongst the homeless. The master's voice rings again in his poor, aching head, which is not used to hearing words, "If you get lost on your path to her, and you will I know, you must ask the crimson-eyed one; he will know the way, even if he does not think so. Yes, you must ask Ka." The name is foul on Riget's pink tongue, for some part of him recalls a Kaa. A serpent, a deceiver, a liar from one of his many past lives.

Still, he forgets. He obeys. His orders were clear. "Bring her the message, and go to Arioch. Tell him he must speak to Cameron. He will know me. I have helped him find demons before. And when the time comes, you will go with." The phrases and sentences, the arrangement, it spirals through him, or perhaps it is him, or at least his sentience, his false humanity.

And so he searches the faces, looking for irises the color of dried blood, for the information monger. He finds Ka, short and bald, shadowed by Giret, Irget, Riget's own bulk. He is distracted, at first, by Ka's hides; they remind him of chases, of hunting, of pain. Two smile, one speaks. "You are Ka. You know. You must tell me: where is the," he pauses, and raises a too-long-nailed finger to his mouth, remembering his master's phrase, "the Respectable side of town, where the Indian summers lie." He waits; he has done so before and well, albeit while crouching in brush.

Joseph obviously means to interact with Sara above, Drusilla. He wants to resolve the end of their relationship. That and, he wants a substantial, actual person to talk to.

darktyranitar, feel free to improvise for your directions for "Riget;" the particulars are unimportant. The Respectable side of town is the same one in which "The Doctor" from Emotional Faun Chiko-sai's post lives in. Also, Yi-wen, that's an opportunity for you, as he may very well get lost again and have to ask Ellen Brown or The Doctor as to how he can find her (Titania).

[Drusilla]

Tsk tsk, Mr. Plantae... you posted your siggy! Shame...

Sara Raise
Love is blindness...

He knew I was listening, watching, waiting. For what, not even I was sure, not now. My thoughts were often fleeting at best, broken and non-linear. I had sought him out on little more than a whim, and such fancies didn't appeal to me long.

However, he had called to me, and I would answer. I just didn't know how, exactly. I stepped from the shadow, becoming solid again, that body that had become but a shell for my being to reside in. I looked upon him with my dead, alien eyes, and that bothersome piece of humanity within me flared to life, bringing a light to my eyes that only Joseph could call anymore. It wasn't that I loved him, more that I remembered how my body had desired him, I thought. Love was an alien concept to me now. I could not comprehend it, if I ever had been able to. As a human, I understood lust, but I could not recall ever knowing real love. As a shadow, I couldn't even make sense of the simplest of human emotion, except for that small part of me that remained.

"Joseph...." My voice had a hollow, echoing sound to it, like it wasn't quite coming from me. There was a burning behind my eyes that irritated me, and I blinked, trying to chase it away.

"Why?" He spoke one word, and that one word overwhelmed me with images, memories, and emotions, emotions that shouldn't have been there. I looked away from him, unable to take it all at once. I felt anger, sorrow, weariness, longing, everything came crashing into me. I knew my face showed some sort of distress, but I didn't know how he reacted to it. All I knew was the pain I was feeling, the pain that should have been gone. He had promised me that I would never feel these things again, never be troubled...

I turned back to him, my eyes burning with the unshed tears. "I was promised... he told me... no, I... I... I should not have come here..."

He didn't understand. He wanted, and deserved, to know, but I couldn't explain what had happened, not here, not now. I was incomplete.

"I cannot tell you, I do not even know... HE promised me!" I whispered, my mind going in several directions at once. "Joseph... I will... one day... I will... not now..." Madness threatened at the edges of my mind. "I must go... I will return..." I melted back into the shadows, despite his attempt to reason with me.

"Sara, wait! Please, don't-"

But I was gone, gone down into the earth to hide from the approaching dawn. I knew that he would find me and demand to know what had happened, but I would not tell him until I could understand myself.

I knew hatred once again. Hatred of self, hatred of others, hatred to whatever greater power was playing this twisted game. I knew loss, I knew fear.

And, once more, I knew longing.

[Pichu Luver]

Rajnish

Sirin continued on after a while and the human passed once again into fitful dreams. It was never long and he kept waking, until finally he stayed awake, although perhaps it was his usual time for waking, as dawn was not to far off. The stars still dotted the sky, but the scent was changing and the sounds, subtly beginning to shift as the night creatures went for the hollows and the day creatures beginning their stirrings of wakefulness.

Rajnish was not tired, as he required little sleep. A Herd visiting the Burial Stones had allowed him a rest with them. He would be good for a couple more days before he required another.

Even so as he stood there watching for the strange creature called human, he lowered his head and shifted his weight as stood. No point in standing in uncomfortable alertness if it was possible to be just as aware as he relaxed. The human, though he certainly could not see him, began to seem to be aware of Rajnish. Or at least, that there was something there. Rajnish estimation of him went up a little.

The human was silent for a while before seeming to decide something and his voice spoke out into the darkness again, " "And shall you be silent forever?"

Rajnish flicked his hears, getting the sense of his strange words. 'Bah, a question. Ignorant, whatever else he is. Definitely of the young races and yet, he knew I was here. Hm.' As much as he was annoyed by the question, Rajnish had to admit that it was odd (and he was annoyed to admit slightly nervous) that a creature who seemed so limited in senses could know he was there.

The two legged now seemed slightly amused by his silence, and after a pause to wait for any answer asked again, "Surely you are not shy, my four-footed friend?"

Rajnish, rolled his eyes and decided this was just not to his taste. His duty had been discharged seeing as how the human was awake, and the questions were irritating him to no end.

He turned and trotted off, looking for some foliage that would not be hazardous to his health. Not to difficult, but if one didn't know what they were looking for, they could end up rather sick. If they were lucky, otherwise . . .

When he was nearly out of earshot he heard murmurs of conversation. He turned and looked back, frowning. He hadn't sensed anyone nearby besides the Druid and she certainly wasn't one to talk to a completely strange creature of unknown dangers.

He looked back and forth before sighing, deciding to stay where he was. He munched on a bunch of violas growing in the small patch of sunlight that was starting to creep through the trees. It was still the grey of early morning, the stars not quite gone from the sky. It didn't take long to finish the flowers, but it would hold him until later.

As he listened, he thought the girls voice sounded very odd. Like it was coming from the bottom of a well. He could not catch any of what she was saying because of the echoing, not that he really wanted to anyway. He had quite enough of his own problems. Evidently she and the one he had watched were not exactly on good terms as she disappeared after a bit of argument. Once more she was just gone like she had never had been there.

Rajnish shook himself and walked a bit closer, just able to see the young male through the trees and brush. He was standing and practically vibrated as he tried to get his emotions under control. That decided Rajnish and he walked forwards, knowing now that the human would hear him long before he might be able to see him.

He turned towards Rajish and glared into the gloom, "Oh back are you? Come to mock me some more?"

Rajnish said nothing as he got the sense of the humans' odd tongue. When he had he simply stepped close enough until he knew that the angry creature could see him clearly. A risk on his part as he didn't know if he would decide to attack, but Rajnish thought it was only fair. Each should be able to see the other in a conversation.

Rajnish, while unsure if the human could read such emotion on his long equine face, gave a sardonic smile. "I See you young human. Mockery, while entertaining, should be done with care and finesse so the recipient does not always know of the dagger beneath the silk. More such amusement can be gotten from words this way. I felt the need to leave not from lost hilarity but because I am not accustomed to questions and they irritate me."

His voice had always been unusually deep, his fellows from long ago said it was like the earth had been given voice. Rough with ill use and deep because the Earth was of great depth. The human frowned for a moment, getting the sense of the words just as Rajnish had to gain the understanding of his.

The human just stared at him for a bit, quite irritated from what Rajnish could tell, and finally asked, "Well if I can't ask you questions how am I going to talk to you at all?"

Rajnish snorted, "There are ways to say what one means without being so direct as to ask a question. Straightforwardness should be saved for need, such as in the case of danger when speed is of course, of the essence. To those of the Unicorn kin, we live long lives and so there is always tomorrow. Joy should be taken in the conversation itself, the exchange, not always it what information can be gained from it. However perhaps we should start where all such dialogue should be started. Let me become known to you, if you would. I am called Rajnish."

Once more the human was quiet, Rajnish gave a little self-satisfied smile. It was always humorous to watch another creature try and untangle just what exactly a Unicorn was saying.

"I'm Mathias Hauser. I'd offer to shake your hand but evidently you don't have any."

Rajnish rose what he could of an eyeridge. The name called to him of a lie, but Rajnish wasn't going to ask him about it. His own name wasn't what it had once been either. It had been very smooth as well, so it was well practiced. So long as Rajnish had something to call him other then 'human' or 'young male' he was quite fine with it.

"Such practices of our cultures should still be honoured, even if they are evidently not longer of any use. I am sure my hoof would do just as well. It has not recently stepped in anything of too much of a grotesque nature if that is cause for alarm."

Mathias smiled a little, "I've seen more then enough of 'grotesque' things that does not concern me." He said and Rajnish bowed in acceptance of this. There was more then one meaning in that statement but Rajnish did not care for figuring it out now.

Mathias stepped forward as Rajnish paced out of the bush. He lifted his right hoof as he watched Mathis's right hand come forward. He placed it gently in Mathias's hand and smirked, as it was shook up and down. Mathis smiled, finding just as odd.

"I'm sure that has uses among your own kind, but for my kin, we simply bow and touch horns. As it is, I will place it on your head." Mathias frowned and backed away a little. Rajnish chuckled, "You do not need to worry. If I were intending to attack you, I certainly would not have given my name. Nor follow you without causing harm when you took rest."

[Weasel Overlord]

Yeah, well, I never said it would be good...

Tryfan Wen, Walker of the Forest

And if you were with me tonight

I’d sing for you one last time

---

As Tryfan padded through the jungle to his home, he thought on the conversation he had had with Watcher. The wolf had correctly pointed out that he didn’t walk like a human, but like one who belongs, in his quaint accent, and Tryfan had agreed. He supposed that he did belong here; but then, he had originally thought that he belonged in Zhila’s world, too. Would this jungle go the same way? He didn’t know, but to even contemplate that gave him shivers.

Their conversation hadn’t lasted long, as Tryfan had sensed some sort of impatience in the wolf to move on, so he had said good day and left without any event or fuss, still clutching his feather carefully as he made his way back to his and Lily’s shared house.

Lost in thought, he almost missed picking up on the creature who was following him, but something alerted his senses to its presence, and Tryfan looked around warily.

To the left. It seemed to be a quadruped, tawny in colour from what he could tell through the dappled light of the trees, and it had an unmistakable and definite stench of lion hanging about it. Tryfan had never been stalked by a lion before. He’d never been stalked by anything save Eleiamae, actually, and he didn’t think that he would enjoy the sensation.

The lion moved, imperceptibly in the shadows, gaining ground, and Tryfan gave in to his human instincts and ran, full pelt, towards the direction he knew was home. He heard the lion scrabble into the chase, almost felt its heavy, feline breathing down his neck as he traversed fallen trunks and bushes, using his senses to the maximum to avoid the obstacles that were constantly in his way.

And all the while, he felt the lion behind him; stalking almost, as a cat plays with a mouse. Tryfan was furious to be treated so; he was the hunter, ordinarily, and he did not like this reversal of roles, but now was certainly not the time for heroics, and so he ran.

He ran so far that before he knew it, he had reached the mighty tree that held his home. Hoisting himself up into the canopy, he fell to a large branch and slouched against the trunk, trying desperately to get sparse breath back into his lungs.

[Plantae]

The Nature of Color
And as a fleeting zephyr passed over the leaves, she was no longer. Perhaps by that reluctant glance, that hesitant retreat, she had meant to explain. Perhaps, though, now nor ever, had he cared. Though he gave in to this muted indifference like a marionette to the puppeteer's slackened arm, there was the briefest, most acute, annoyance. It was no effect of rage, and neither an aching pain or melancholy. His own lapsed control had him sped. Regretting it even before the action, but feeble to resist his own nihilistic preferences, he drove his clenched hand into the loamy, moss-covered surface of an upturned rock.

As he withdrew, knuckles bloodied and befouled by lichen, he brought back several centipede-like grubs with it. In the disheveled dawn glow, they burned a vibrant kaleidoscope of orange hues, hideous in their sickly intensity. He shook them free, absent-mindedly, and snuffed out those within reach of his grimy, sandal-shod feet. Surprisingly, his action was met by a cracking of bone and an almost womanly shriek; it was so quiet, though, that perhaps he had only hallucinated. In response, he did little more than primitively lick his new wounds.

His senses were doing little more than tiring him. All of that had happened in an instant, but in his experience, it was a suspended, prolonged moment. Then it came again; the hoof beats, as before, were near-silent: the footsteps of a creature much at home with the forest. Irritated, he piped again, "Oh back are you? Come to mock me some more?"

The response and conversation that followed did not so much surprise him as it did amuse him. He was glad of some distraction, and more importantly, in being in the presence of some other intelligent mind. Unicorns, he concluded, had a strange but amiable way of communication. Despite his protest, surely it was easy enough to avoid using direct questions. He wished, briefly, that humans followed a similar policy; if so, he would find it much easier to fade into the background. The way the unicorn had supposed that he would know this, though, seemed somewhat bizarre.

He could not help but think, also, that this Rajnish- a name which was scintillating to him in its structure, so quick and pleasant to the tongue- was a considerably wise beast. As trained as others were in noticing the subtle bodily hints that one cannot help but display while lying, Joseph was as skilled in noticing when another picked up on these almost non-existent indications from him. It knew his name was false; this mattered little to him. At this point, there was no name that would ring any more true than the others (of which there were many).

Shaking his hoof was a delight, to be sure; he had scarcely done so when the unicorn brandished his horn in a similar, if slightly more poignant gesture. It spoke thus: "I'm sure that has uses among your own kind, but for my kin, we simply bow and touch horns. As it is, I will place it on your head." It began to motion to do so, and suddenly, his head was overtaken by a hideous, multicolored migraine. For a moment, the creature before him disappeared. Instead, the ebb and flow of a vast electrical tide danced before his eyelids as if he had found himself in some gumdrop hell. First, it was a pinprick: a white hue which could only be described as a reflection- though of what he was uncertain. Then, it expanded, leaving behind a cyclopean reservoir of energy which made his head spin most distressingly. He felt as if his vision was failing him, momentarily, as his surroundings became a blotch patchwork, with the occasional spot of this color elsewhere around him. As shocking as this ordeal was, he managed to suppress it into a pointed frown and a slight drawing back. He could hardly be blamed; it had appeared as if he was being charged by the psychedelic bastard child of an angry rainbow and a freight train.

"You do not need to worry. If I were intending to attack you, I certainly would not have given my name. Nor follow you without causing harm when you took rest." The words brought him out of what would not be called a "reverie" by any sane person; rather, it was something of an unwarranted drug high with none of the euphoric effects. It took him some time, or for his more grounded friends, a short half-second, to stutter towards a response.

"Of course not." It must have been the nature of his return to reality, or perhaps simply that the sunlight was now draping down upon them in full, but he could have sworn that most unicorns were whitish-silver. This one was streaked with gray. Today, surely, was meant to be some experience in the palette of modern art. He knew gray more than he knew himself. Or perhaps, rather, it was him. Though he did not understand exactly what it meant here, perhaps, it threatened to dust the cobwebs out of one of the most abyssal corners of his subconscious. He discarded it, but wondered why it was that a color could move him to such a combination of disgust and questioning awe. None of these thoughts would have any showing on the surface and, in fact, his mind barely managed to wrap its red-stained hands around it.

He nearly managed to avoid commenting on the subject; but then, the thought came to him. If that reservoir of color he had seen was what he thought it was, the being before him had some potential. It was direction, maybe, in some tiny way. He had one advantage in that he was already corrupt and had nothing to lose by such pursuits. So he remarked, "I had also expected you to be white."

The answer was a compressed silence. He felt as if he was mentally suffocating as the creature fixed him with a blank stare. It had not been a direct question, but he could see it was xenophobic: it thought, maybe, that he knew something. Truly, though, he just felt as if he had dipped into the surface of some cesspool in the creature's consciousness. Was this subject taboo? He awaited the reply.

It inhaled, "Well, color is a fickle thing human, or Mathias. One would not ask the sky if it was similarly blue or the flower why its own hues were so extravagant. Impressions are decidedly shapeable things. I would say that, it is natural, then, or I am. Your skin is a rather unremarkable beige and that is of a similar lack of consequence." Its face had an amicable twist to it, as if it had explained something simple and forthright. Still, he could not help but feel that the answer had been evasive in some way.

He had a theory that this Rajnish was less composed underneath the surface. It mattered little if he was right. Letting the subject slip feebly away, he instead stated, as if weak even as he spoke it, "I only know that I remain exhausted and have no real idea of what is edible here, or where to find drinkable water." He put on his best veneer. Mathias was almost entirely certain that though the creature would likely know he was not entirely pure, it might accept that he was down-on-his-luck and all and all, a good person. Also, it was not a lie. He might have made some way in discovering a stream or some sustenance himself, but he really did have little idea where to start. Really, though, his objective was to keep Rajnish engaged in conversation. He had been certain earlier that he had no use of an ally, but with rampant demons being only one aberration here, he might have use of the help. What other chance would he have, as well, to chat with a unicorn?

[Weasel Overlord]

Hurrah-introductory-post-that-does-nothing-to-advance-any-plot! Any confusion, feel free to heckle me like there's no tomorrow. And next: ARIOCH! Yes indeed...

Sirin Ito-ku

dreamers, huh?

:::

They are in the forest. Oh yes, I feel them, these humans. Their dreams taste... different; fresher, as if they haven’t been here long enough for the madness to set in. Which they certainly haven’t, if the dreams of the jungle are truth – which I know them to be.

Dreams can never lie to me. I taste all lies from them, they dissolve on my tongue, down my throat and into my stomach like precious poison, do dreams.

I wonder how long it will take for one of the humans to need me. Surely their minds cannot be strong, and even the natural inhabitants of the jungle need me. I take those dangerous sweet dreams that threaten to take their sanity, and make them my own. They ever taste sweet to me, though I know that eventually, they will be the death of me – if in fact one of my kind can die. A secret, hidden part of myself hopes fervently that we can; for what is this life I lead, but a shadow of reality.

At duskfall, transformation overtakes me; at dawnrise, it overtakes me again. No night leaves me free to be. I must always be there for those dreamers; I am always the one who must take their terrors into me and make them my own, for that is the natural order of things. So it has been since I can remember, and I can remember a long way back indeed back when dreams were airy and light and free from the poison of darkness for I know not when I was brought into the world, only that I was, and that I am here.

And here, at this time, the tingling newness of these humans has set me alight and I must find out more about them but they could be dangerous and I do not care if they are dangerous, for do I not walk in silence shadows invisible to all but those who call to me? And no human will know to call for me as day melts into night and night fades into day. But I can feel the potency of their dreams oh, they call to me and I long for one of them to call to me. But they will not. For they do not know how. And so I linger on the edge of light darkness simply observing.

For now, observing.

[Plantae]

So I admit to letting this essentially... fall off the face of the Earth. I won't make excuses, save to say that I had something of a personal tragedy. In any case, I might make some sort of hopeful, revival post, but I am guessing, given no one else has tried to, that you have all thoroughly forgotten as well.

[Asilynne]

Sorry to hear Plantae :< I dont have quite the excuse you do but lately Ive been trying to make myself be creative and it feels like Im trying to drag myself out of a deep pit of mud so Ill do my best to make a post using that idea I had a while back :>

[darktyranitar]

Well... I actually was thinking of posting something, but given that my end-semester exam is just around the corner... (yes, yes... excuses...)

[Pichu Luver]

*slides in and stickies it on the board*

Rajnish

Rajnish had not appreciated the statement about his colour. Perhaps Mathias did not know what he was asking, but he rather doubted that. Mathias had known something was not right, but perhaps he did not know the whole truth. Simply by stating the sentence Rajnish knew he had not much dealing with unicorns.

He had sighed and answered in a roundabout way, not really answering at all, and in essence telling him to mind his own business. He smiled though, to try and lessen it and Mathias, thankfully, let the matter drop.

Instead, drooping a little, he stated, "I only know that I remain exhausted and have no real idea of what is edible here, or where to find drinkable water."

Rajnish eyed him, and admittedly he did look rather . . . run down. However beneath the ragged clothes he was quite fit, if a trifle malnourished. He was also able to take on demons and then run almost all day without collapsing at the end. That was no mean feat. He switched his long tail as he pondered the human before him.

Rajnish knew he was not a pure person, but for him it mattered little. He would prefer a pure person to be sure, but this human would probably prefer to be warm and have a full stomach. Nice, but in a place like the Jungle, not a regular occurrence. So while what Mathias had said might not be wholly true, Rajnish didn’t mind overmuch. Rajnish had traveled alone for a very long time and having someone to travel with, even for a short time, might be enjoyable. That Mathias was also capable of caring for himself quite well, (for not many confront a demon and live to talk about it) was also a bonus as Rajnish hated ‘babysitting’.

So Rajnish nodded. “This is true, as if the rumours are correct, you are not . . . native.” He smirked a little. “But no matter, if you can stand with such ease, you can run a bit more. Follow, for I know the paths of this land as few do. Stealth is vital if you wish to live longer then half a moon. A creature of your stature would seem easy prey to many.”

Mathias frowned, probably taking offence, but Rajnish did not wait for his reply and turned into the woods. He paced along, knowing Mathias could easily follow him if his senses were as keen as they seemed to be. If not, Rajnish could go back and get him.

It was not long before Rajnish came to the stream. The Jungle abruptly ended at the waters edge with a very thin shore of rocks. It would be easy to fall in if you didn’t know it was there. Rajnish looked behind him and not a second later Mathias appeared, a trifle annoyed it seemed to him. Rajnish bared the way with his horn and Mathias stopped, raising an eyebrow as he caught his breath.

“A stream is just beyond this bush. While a sense of mine might appreciate your having a bath; I doubt you’d want an involuntary dip.”

Mathias shook his head before walking forward, “I’m never sure if you are doing me courtesy or insulting me.” He said as he parted the bushes and quickly stooped to take a drink.

“One needn’t be separated from the other.” was all Rajnish said as he stepped down into the river. Mathias smirked and let out a small chuckle before taking in more palm-fulls of water.

The water only reached up to Rajnish’s knees but it was a rocky river and so hazardous to many. It was not overly fast or wide but not to slow as to fear pollutants lingering about. Rajnish reach the center and stood stock still, waiting. Mathias, having finished his drink, watched him, a look of puzzlement on his face. Just as he opened his mouth to not-ask, Rajnish struck downwards with his horn.

Mathias raised his eyebrows when Rajnish came up with a fish speared on the end of his horn. “Unicorns don’t strike me as the carnivorous type.” was all he said, as Rajnish waded up to him.

“No, but you Mathias, have incisors for a reason. While I do not eat it myself, I know of the energy boost gotten from meat.” Rajnish noticed how Mathias seemed to wince as he took the fish off. Rajnish frowned a trifle, but left it to stew in his mind.

He turned and had gotten two more for him; in the meantime Mathias has gotten out two rocks and started a small fire on the edges of the water. There wasn’t much of a shore, but it was all rock so it would be safe enough. Rajnish waded out once more, but kept to the shallows, drinking himself before eating the cattails roots and other grasses that grew there.

It did not take long for Rajnish to have his full and he clambered back onto the shore. He stood near Mathias, dropping his head into the half doze. Mathias glanced at him, but did not say anything. Rajnish sent his thoughts out along the little eddies of power, watching for any disturbances. While he himself could not use these energies, he could certainly watch them.

Just as Mathias was starting to eat his last fish Rajnish’s head shot up and he peered into the forest.

Mathias was immediately on his feet. “What is it?’ he asked curtly, fingering his fan.

Rajnish flared his nostrils and shook his head, “I-“

Suddenly an eerie high pitched noise drifted out of the forest. It was somewhere between a wail and a keen and it sent shivers running down Rajnish’s back and Mathias seemed to fighting his down with an effort.

Rajnish cursed and swung his head to look at Mathias. “That is Wyrsa. They are similar to an extremely emancipated wolf, but covered in scales with a head like a viper. Their fangs are poison and if you wish to see tomorrow you will get on my back.”

Mathias raised his chin and looked ever so slightly arrogant “Can we not fight them?”

Rajnish snorted, "We won’t have a choice you fool! I cannot outrun them forever; I mean only to get us to some ruins so we have stone at our backs. If that does not tell you the speed and agility of these creatures, that not even I can get away . . ." he left the sentence hanging as the pack howled once more, slightly closer then before.