the Rift


[OPEN] Stripes and wings

Graasvoel Posts: 97
World's Edge Artificier atk: 3.5 | def: 7.0 | dam: 8.0
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.0hh :: 6 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
smitty
#1
graasvoel
The roaned woman was distracted by her duties—and the vulture knew that a busy woman would not take kindly to having a single-minded male interrupt her and a attempt to whisk her away to make the afternoon’s heat more enjoyable. He'd be more likely to have a hoof solidly land in his face than to have himself solidly land anywhere.

So, marking the woman to memory for future potential escapades, once the eventful meeting was finished he turned to follow the direction in which the smaller, striped man had fled. His interest was piqued—though he was surprised that he was turning his back on a woman to follow a man. What was Helovia doing to him?

Ah well, his feathered hooves carried him into the trees once again, leaving the mass of equines behind him. He hadn’t realized how large the Edge’s herd was, nor how many Dorobians called the place its home. The Elephant King was impressive, to be certain. But how had he inspired those he led? Perhaps it was the judgmental Korofi in him that scorned the Plainsborne (or at least the men of the plains).

Hallo? Hiënajie?” His gruff voice called into the marginally cooler shadows. Pale nostrils flare, trying to take in the Doroboian’s distinct scent, but the mists weighed down the humid air, making any and all odors a sodden, mixed mess.

He sighed as his remarkably sharp eyes glared into the gloom around him, searching. For a man. A small, striped man meant to camouflage with a coat like that. What was the vulture doing? His massive wings rustled once, before tucking tightly into his sides so that his great bulk would fit more easily between the trees.



Hallo? Hiënajie? = Hello? Little hyena?
image

@Imani post meeting!

Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.



Imani Posts: 16
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 5.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: 6 HP: 62.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Rien
#2

Imani had not even though about what direction he'd fled the meeting in.  It wasn't until he'd burst from the mists and looked out on empty air that he realized he had turned towards the sea cliffs.  Only instinct threw him back on his haunches, sliding and grappling on the grass up to the very edge of the cliff.  Clumps of grass and pebbles rained over the side.  He lept back and stood, legs spread, tremblings.  His sides heaved.  His coat was near black with sweat and he could still taste the cold iron tang of fear clawing up the back of his throat.  

Gradually, his breathing slowed along with his heart rate.  His eyes lifted instinctively to the sky, squinting into the sky for the tell-tale shadow of wings.  Seeing none, he slowly turned.  With slow, careful steps the hyena-man slunk towards the shadows of the dense trees.  He wasn't truly cognizant even now of where he was going, so wrapped up in fear and memories that he couldn't get his own mind straight.  He moved as a feral thing does, seeking shelter from that which he feared.  He found himself in the denser parts of the woods, where the canopy would provide some shelter from attacks from above.  Now, as never before, he was aware of the soft clink of bones at his shoulder.  Softer and softer he attempted to step until finally he stilled, frozen in the dappled shadows of the woods.

Hallo? Hiënajie?

The voice makes him jump.  The accent is... not what he expects.  He does not, at first, even know what to make of it.  Perhaps it does not immediately cross his mind that Korofi can speak though the rational part of him knows this is true.  He does not move.  He does not know who it is that seeks him, only that it is a stranger.  Then he glimpses the bright, rufous plumage and the stark splash of white.  A black rimmed eyes.  The hot, primal scent of the winged monsters from his nightmares.

He dares not move.  He dares not speak, even if he could find the words.  He shrinks deeper back against the trunk of the forest giant that shelters him, trying to become lost in the brush and shadows.  His brain screams to flee but he does not want to alert the hunter to his location.  Carefully, ever so carefully, he takes a step to turn, to try and round the tree trunk and put it between him and the Korofi which hunts him.

Click.

The bones rock against his sweat soaked shoulders, bold patterns of black and crimson on aged ivory, as old as he is.  His muscles lock, frozen.  His odd eyes track the winged-one, more white than color with terror.  His ears are buried in the shagginess of his mane, whole body shaking with the resurgence of adrenaline that was just beginning to drain off.  He is exhausted, and yet the terror keeps him alive and alert and the two forces collide within him, as if trying to tear his vibrating muscles from his weary bones.

It would have been better to die to the teeth and hooves of his own tribe, then hunted down by a lone Korofi, far from his home.  He will die purposeless, a frightened animal.  They were right.  His amulet is broken.

Misfortune has followed him to Helovia.

Imani

@Graasvoel

Graasvoel Posts: 97
World's Edge Artificier atk: 3.5 | def: 7.0 | dam: 8.0
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.0hh :: 6 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
smitty
#3
graasvoel
It is futile, this searching in the misted woods. There is little to see and even less to scent. His ears hear the distant crash of the ocean and keen of gulls—the small man’s terrified dash must have brought them close to the cliffs. But still, having already committed to leaving the lovely roan at the meeting, his thickly feathered legs drug through the misted shrubs and his wings brushed against moist trunks as he meandered through the woods. His flared nostrils would intermittently catch a scent of the plains borne or his he would occasionally hear a rattle of bones that told him he was going in the generally right direction.

Strangely enough, the thought never crossed the vulture’s mind that the man might be running from him. His great hooves paused, bearded head rose, eyes peering through the murky evening light. They were farther from the cliffs, and the sound of running hooves had faded. Did he lose the small, striped man? Straining eyes narrow and ears tilt back; that had been a waste of time—

Click.

A grin crossed his starkly white face, pale ears perking forward out of mass of tangled, dark locks. His body shift, head craning to see around the thick trunk of a tree— and there he is. Two oddly colored eyes staring, wide in terror while his body was equally frozen in fright. The Korofi’s brows raise seeing the tremors shake the stripes, turning into a muddle of color, Kalmeer, hiënajie,” his rough voice comes out easily and calmly.

His back leg cocks, wings loosely tucked into his sides. Any and all things are non-threatening about the man. Or as non-threatening as as feral, hulking Korofi stallion could appear. Though Gaal wasn’t predisposed to violence, thousands of years of breeding for it left his body shaped and marked for it. Mentally he searched for the Swahili tongue his father had taught him so long ago. He had rebelled against anything his harsh father had taught him, and thus his Plains-language was rusty at best, Tulia fisi,” again he repeated the entreaty to calm them man, Kwa nini hofukubwa?” His skull cocked, awaiting an answer.



Kalmeer hiënajie = calm yourself, little hyena
Tulia fisi= Calm hyena
Kwa nini hofukubwa?= Why big fear?
image

@Imani

Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.



Imani Posts: 16
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 5.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: 6 HP: 62.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Rien
#4
He is being toyed with.  It's the only explanation he can think of to the gentle, coaxing words.  The accent is rough and yet hearing the plain's tongue, as always, starts a little song in his heart.  It is a musical tongue, even spoken broken by one to whom it is not native.  For a moment his ears twitch as if to rise, to catch more of those words.  Then they settle back against his skull, for the fear has not left him.  It does not ebb in response to the gentle words, only spikes, mingling with some remnants of half-hearted anger.

It is hard for Imani to be angry though, at least at others.  He is not a creature of rage by nature.  His mind buzzes with a sort of queer white noise and it takes him too long to grasp the full meaning of the spoken words and the question.  His body finally breaks free of paralysis and he turns.  He scrambles back a couple of steps, turning at the same time so he is face to face with the monster.  Small, striped hooves dig into the forest ground, ready to flee or fight, though he does not know which.  He does not know if he will be so lucky to avoid a korofi hunter by fleeing as he has done in the past.  However he is more certain that he cannot survive a fight here.

He does not expect anyone would aid him.

Imani's mouth is dry.  It takes him two tries to find the words to reply, and they still feel choked in his mouth.  His voice is tight with panic not truly controlled.  It is not his fear that has been brought to heel, it is the fact that he has been brought to bay which forces a response from him.

"Muuaji."  His teeth snap together on the heels of the word, spat like a curse and yet high with terror.  "Kuniua au kuondoka peke yangu."

It is a show of bravado and he knows it right down to his hooves.  His head hangs low, hide soaked in sweat, mane plastered to his neck.  The bones rattle with the tremors of his body, a soft, persistent click.  He does not have to ask what the Korofi wants- he knows.  What else does a monster ever want?

@Graasvoel
Translation:
muuaji = killer
kuniua au kuondoka peke yangu = kill me or leave me alone
Imani

Graasvoel Posts: 97
World's Edge Artificier atk: 3.5 | def: 7.0 | dam: 8.0
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.0hh :: 6 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
smitty
#5
graasvoel
The sharp, raptor gaze does not miss the hyena’s twitch of ears as he slipped into the Plainsborne’s tongue—and though he is rusty, he decided to try to use the language for the remainder of his conversation with the terrified little man. His, own pale ears remained loosely perked, despite the other’s pinning flush with his skull.

What was he remaining here? Everything about this little, scared man was a feral warning: leave me be! And, normally, the vulture would have happily complied with such a demand, looking elsewhere for a woman’s warm flesh. But there was something about being separated from Dorobo and all that he knew that drew him to stay and watch the hyena’s reaction; to stay and satisfy his curiosity.

And his heavy, feathered hooves move of their own accord to follow after the man as he turns to flee yet again,Kusubiri! His rough voice comes unbidden to his lips. And, it seemed that the flighty Dorobian heeded his call; or he just was not yet willing to put his back to a Korofi. Either way, the mammoth is surprised by the amount of relief that sloshes into his massive barrel.

His ears perk further forward, sharp gaze watching the mouth that struggled to make words. Was he truly so scared of Helovia? Of him? Of Korofi? He vaguely knew of the tensions between the winged and the horned, but he had removed himself to the pleasure houses of Uumalah before anything had escalated. He had no interest in such battles.

His giant skull draws up and backwards at the accusatory word thrown at him from the other’s spiteful lips, the beard swaying with the abrupt motion. “Kuua?” his rough plainspeak comes out astounded, “Zaidi kazikubwa sitaki kufanya.” And a roughish grin crossed his face, “Kutumia muda juu ya wanawake tu,” and a quiet chuckle rumbled from his barrel, inviting the tense man to join in on his appreciation of the fairer sex.

He studied watched the low head, the sweat drenched stripes, the feral fear. “Kwa nini kukimbia?” and his head cocked slightly as he waited.



Kusubiri! = wait!
Kuua? Zaidi kazikubwa sitaki kufanya = Kill? That is more big work than I want do. (spoken in very broken swahili)
kutumia muda juu ya wanawake tu = spend time on women only
kwa nini kukimbia? = why run?
image

@Imani

Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.



Imani Posts: 16
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 5.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: 6 HP: 62.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Rien
#6
There is a tiny voice in the back of his mind, a voice that rumbles with the faint growl of a lion, telling him that this is unreasonable.  It tells him that just as not all Dorobians are kind, it is doubtful that all Korofi are murderous.  It does not still his racing heart though.  His chest aches with the pounding of it.  It is hard to hear his own thoughts over the roar of blood in his ears and yet he hears the winged one's words crystal clear now that he is paying attention.  His odd eyes rove over the brightly colored form and even though he claims he is not a killer Imani can only see the height and the strength and the lines of a hunter.

The eyes of a hunter.

It's actually the eyes that truly seize his attention.  He has never been close enough to a still Korofi to study them and the eyes take him somewhat by surprise.  Still the small, striped Dorobian does not join in his laughter.  He understands what the stallion is trying to say, he thinks.  But truthfully Imani does not understand that drive.  He has never known another in such a way.  Social construct barred him from intimacy and even now he does not understand why such desires drive others above all else.  

Almost against his will, his labored breathing begins to ease.  His body cannot stay keyed to a pitch forever and the slight distraction gives his rational voice a chance to speak more loudly.  The trembling begins to ease, though his stance is still tense and wary- the fear is not gone, only momentarily abated.

The question hits him almost like a physical blow and for the first time he tears his eyes from the large winged one, head turning aside in shame.  His scruffy, black tipped tail tries to lash behind him, leaving strands of coarse hair stuck in the bark of the tree.  The bones in his mane rattle as his neck curves.

"Because I am a coward."  He cannot bear to speak the word in his mother tongue and so he switches to Helovian.  As though the foreign language would make the words less true.  He watches the Korofi from the corner of his blue eye, not really willing to make eye contact.  He does not lie.  It doesn't occur to him.  It is not as though the admission will make people think any less of him- he is used to others having a low opinion of him.  What did it matter if they think him a coward as well as unlucky?

"Why did you follow me, if not to hunt?"  The words are quiet, tired.  Whatever anger lingered has turned inward, and is absent from his voice.  It seems that at least for now he has been granted life.  Why, or for what purpose, he knows not.
Imani

@Grassvoel

Graasvoel Posts: 97
World's Edge Artificier atk: 3.5 | def: 7.0 | dam: 8.0
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.0hh :: 6 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
smitty
#7
graasvoel
The vulture’s joking, if crass, words and grin do not elicit outright mirth from the fearful, little hyena-man. But it does seem to cause an ebbing of his terror. Ever intense and alert raptor eyes (for all his contradicting lackadaisical and hedonistic temperament) catch the slowing of his labored breaths and perked ears catch the cease of clacking, trembling bones. A slice of triumph streaks though his heart; (see father? There are as many victories in words as weapons).

But the Korofi man is not left long to dwell on his triumph, for the darkly striped and well-haired man began to speak— in common tongue. An annoyed snort push harshly past his nostrils, sharp stare narrowing on the others odd-colored eyes (forgetting, for the moment, that he was trying to put this man at ease), “You speak the common tongue?” The small Dorobian spoke common this whole time, and let him blunder his way around Plainspeak? He jerkily shakes of his black-marked skull to himself: Never would he understand the strange ways of the Plainsborne. Though he, himself, was not entirely Korofi in his actions.

But it is immediately on the heels of his disbelieving annoyance that the substance of the words spoken sinks in: “Because I am a coward.” And they hit the hulking vulture strangely: both poignantly and abrasively. How often had his father accused him of being a coward? Of choosing to hide in the pleasure between mare’s thighs rather than face the punishment of the training fields with his sire? So his starkly white ears lay back slightly amid the tangle of black, tawny, and cream mane as his stare darts away from the bone-decorated stallion. They dart to the earth, covered in strange mosses and green growths that were so alien from the plateaus.

“A coward is only called as much by those who would pin their ideals of ’morality’ and ’greatness’ on others. A coward is defined by circstamce, and circumstances are forever changing. A man can be a coward one moment and a hero the next without changing a single thing about himself. The word ’coward’ is useless. Life is not about cowardice or bravery; it is about survival. And these so-called ’cowards’ almost always survive,” the usually laid-back and colloquial tone of his words fell away as his noble, learned upbringing shone through in his irritation.

And then the next, tired question fell into the man’s now-strung head. He watched closely for a moment— he did not know that Korofi had begun to outright hunt the plainsborne. Take a deep, mildly calming breath, he answered, “You, are from Dorobo,” his starkly white skull motioned over the man’s bones and markings, plainly indicative of his heritage on the Plains, “As am I,” his wings ruffled slightly, drawing attention to his feral, Korofi markings. “If one Dorobian runs, should another? And you plainsborne are better at survival than most, and I would rather be safe. Call me a coward as much as you, but I will end the day alive,” a wry grin finally found its way across his mouth once again, earlier ire melting away as he resumed his laid-back nature.

“I am Graasvoel, but I go by Gaal. Who are you, hiënajie?”
image

@Imani

Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.




Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture