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Post by vendredi on Mar 18, 2006 8:48:32 GMT -5
The beach was deserted, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. The sky was a clear crystal blue, the sea a shade deeper, capped with small white waves. The glossy green leaves of the palm trees swayed softly in the breeze, the undergrowth rippling slowly in time. Suddenly the leaves danced wildly, and a figure parted them.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, but whipcord lean, his skin darkened by the sun. He wore ragged breeches, cut off above the knee, and nothing else. He carried a crude spear and roughly woven net, and meandered to the water's edge with the air of a man who has all the time in the world to get there.
The beach was littered with broken branches and fallen leaves, and the man eyed them sourly. Another storm, just like the one that brought me here. This time, though, the only castaways are shellfish and driftwood. He hefted the spear and started for the water to bring in the day's catch, something he'd become quite expert at since the storm that had left his ship at the bottom of the sea and himself a prisoner on a little island in the middle of nowhere. Thank the Light for bananas, else I'd be growing gills myself by now....
He was standing motionless in the shallows, spear at the ready, when one of the huge palm leaves on the beach began to buckle and heave. His eyes widened, but he did not move. I'm seeing things. They say a man goes mad when he's alone for too long....A squalling sound came from beneath the leaf, and the next thing he knew, he was forging through the water toward it, all thoughts of fishing forgotten. He reached out with his spear and flicked the leaf over.
A little girl lay sprawled in the sand, a child of not more than three. She coughed, vomited water, and shuddered, curling in on herself, and his heart went out to her. She was blue from the cold, and.....wait, man. Look with the eyes the Light gave you. Her skin isn't blue from cold, it's blue. Her hair was blue too, sticking up wildly in all directions, and when she opened her eyes to squint at him, they were an unearthly reddish-gold. Memories surfaced, of battles he'd fought, sword to axe with screaming blue savages whose wounds healed as his could not, who ate the flesh of those who fell, who.....
The child cried out again, a piteous sound, and he shook himself. She's just a child. If you turn away, you're no better than the ones you fought against. He crouched down, and touched her shoulder. It was cold as ice, and her tiny blue hand reached out, found his arm, and clung. Gently, he gathered her into his arms, and she burrowed into his embrace, shivering. She doesn't even know I'm not one of her own, he thought, and rose with her in his arms, striding along the sand toward the home he had made for himself. He had prayed to the Light for company, and it had come, although not in the form he had expected. Fishing would have to wait.
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Post by demejoraia on Mar 18, 2006 16:09:04 GMT -5
((Post. More.))
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Post by Salthair on Mar 19, 2006 1:06:18 GMT -5
((Awesome! More! Haha, just doing my impression of the Rider/Talon boards, but seriously, I'm enjoying it very much and look forward to the next chapter.))
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Post by vendredi on Mar 19, 2006 14:42:43 GMT -5
The sun was barely up when the sound of steel ringing on steel sent the birds fluttering from the trees, squawking in outrage. The two figures fought, their swords weaving in practiced movements, their steps light across the still-cool sand of the beach. The man was the larger, but the other, a small, lean blue girl, was lightning-quick, her sword flashing in the first rays of sunlight.
"Keep the point up," the man said, pressing the attack. He had changed little, except that his black hair was now streaked with grey, his face more lined. She grinned wickedly at him, and responded with a fierce flurry of attacks that drove the man backwards across the sand. Her sword grazed his arm, drawing blood, and instinctively, he darted around her guard and slashed. She gave a cry and dropped to her knees, clutching her bleeding belly.
"Vendredi!" His face a mask of horror, the man dropped his own weapon and rushed to her side. "I'm sorry, I - are you alright?" She shook silently with sobs, and guilt racked him until she raised her face to look at him, and he realized that she was laughing.
"Silly man!" she said in her broken Common. "I not hurt. I be better soon." She lifted her hand, and the man could see that the cut across her midriff was already shallow, the bleeding almost stopped. She grinned mischievously at him. "You not heal like that."
The man let out a long-suffering sigh. "No, I won't." He poked at his wounded arm, and winced. "I suppose I should get you to bandage this for me." She nodded, and leapt up, running along the well-worn trail to their home.
The tree that held their hut was immense, with great spreading branches thicker than a man. The man-sized woven basket attached to a pulley far above was the quickest and easiest way to ascend, but Vendredi chose to scramble up the gnarled bark of the tree itself. The man smiled fondly at the girl, and stepped into the basket, pulling on the rope hand over hand until he reached the platform above. The hut was simple but comfortable, with woven mats for beds, and a low table made from driftwood. Woven baskets of all sizes lined the walls, and Vendredi rummaged in one filled with scraps of cloth until she held up a strip the right size for a bandage.
"You still worry you hurt me," she said as she bound his arm. He glanced sidelong at her, but said nothing. She frowned. "Silly man, you teach me how to fight, so I not get hurt. I heal fast, and grow strong. You no worry."
The man sighed, and smiled down at his little charge. "I will always worry about you. It's my job." She gave him an uncomprehending stare, and his smile widened. "Never mind," he chuckled. "Let's have some breakfast."
They had just finished their meal when a sound rolled up from the beach. The island was small, and the man and the girl knew every sound that every creature made. This was a sound not of the island, and brown eyes met gold in astonishment. As one, they ran for the door.
Breathing hard, they burst through the undergrowth onto the beach, and stared wide-eyed as two longboats dug into the sand at the shoreline. The boats were slender, each with a wooden float jutting from one side, and filled with blue-skinned figures. Vendredi stared as long-buried memories surfaced, her face full of confusion. The man watched soberly, waiting.
The trolls caught sight of the man and the girl, and froze. They babbled to each other, and another memory came to Vendredi, a memory of another tongue very different from the man's clipped speech. She listened, and began to understand.
"Human have troll prisoner!" one of the large males snarled, his axe in his hand. "Humans even kill troll children!"
"Kill him now!" another cried. "Save de child!" Before she could say a word, before she could remember how to tell them, they charged, all brandishing weapons. The man pushed her behind him, and she tumbled head over heels. He looked back just once, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, then turned to fight.
"Light send me safely home," he said hoarsely, and just had time to draw his sword before they were on him. Vendredi screamed, but her voice was lost in the sounds of battle. It was over nearly before it begun, and the man lay motionless, his blood draining into the sand. One of the troll women knelt beside her, trying to hug her, but she pushed her away, and scrambled to her feet.
"You kill him!" she cried, but it was the man's language she spoke. "Why you kill him?" Her sword sang as she yanked it from the sheath, her eyes full of angry tears. "I hate you! I kill you!" The trolls stared, astonished. The woman leaned over to the large male and muttered something, and he nodded. Suddenly he had a bow in his hands, aimed directly at her.
"Coward!" she shrieked. "Come fight me with sword! I not afraid!" The bow twanged, and pain stabbed through her thigh. It hurt, but she did not care. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the arrow, and ripped it free with a scream of pain and rage. She charged them, her heart burning with grief and hate, but she had only taken a few steps when her vision began to blur. She staggered, confused, and looked down at the hole in her leg. The wound was not large, was already healing, but she felt awareness slipping away. A stray memory drifted through her mind, the man telling her about warfare, about archers who used poison on their arrows to kill more quickly.
"Cowards," she whispered, and collapsed.
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Post by Salthair on Mar 19, 2006 19:36:36 GMT -5
((Okay I've read it....and it was good.))
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Post by vendredi on Mar 27, 2006 10:43:16 GMT -5
The arrow whistled through the air, burying itself in the tree with a muffled thunk not a finger's width from the centre of the painted bullseye. Vendredi nocked another arrow, aimed for only a moment, and loosed. The second arrow struck so closely to the first that their fletching seemed as one. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction, and was reaching for another arrow when a sharp blow on the back sent her sprawling. Wiping the dust from her mouth, she looked up to see Nanji sneering down at her.
"Look, it' de human," she spat, kicking more dust over Vendredi. The other younglings stood behind her, some grinning, some sober, but none willing to help her. "Dey painted her blue so we t'ink she's a troll, but I know better."
"Go 'way, Nanji," Vendredi growled, scrambling to her feet. The other girl, her black hair wound into tiny braids, eyed her scornfully.
"Or what? You goin' to talk human to me some more? Or maybe you stick me wit' yo' human blade?" She eyed the sword Vendredi wore at her hip, the only thing she had managed to keep from her life on the island. "Real trolls don' use human weapons. Axes is good enough fo' trolls."
Vendredi glared. "I don' give you no trouble...why you hate me so much?"
Nanji's eyes narrowed. "De humans, dey kill my fodah," she said bitterly. "You, you got a human FOR a fodah."
"Had," corrected Vendredi. "He dead now, even do he take care o' me."
"One less human is bettah fo' ever'one." Nanji bent and scooped up the bow still lying on the ground. "You use dis to make ever'one t'ink you a troll. You not a troll. You NEVAH be a troll." Eyeing Vendredi balefully, she brought the bow down over her raised leg. With a sharp crack, it broke in two.
Vendredi felt hot rage bubble up inside her. She had toiled endless hours to learn how to make the bow, and days more to craft it. The bowmaker had even given her brief grudging praise when she had presented him with it, and since then, she had practiced, day after day until she was a better shot than any of the others, but still they hated her. She had been raised by a human, and that was crime enough. She had thought that if she learned their ways, learned to hunt and fight, proved she was as fierce and as strong as any of them, that they would accept her. Now she could see clearly that it was a fool's errand, and her temper flared. They will never accept me. With a fierce cry, she charged the other girl, knocking her off her feet and sending them both rolling in the dust. The others fell upon her as they always did, but Vendredi did not care, not this time. She laid about her with all the force of her anger, holding nothing back. Ignoring the blows, she bent all her will to hurting her attackers, and one by one, they fell back with cries of pain and outrage. Some of them landed blows, but Vendredi did not feel them; her rage was a shield, was her strength, and she fought as one possessed.
"Enough!" Large hands pulled them off her, and Vendredi squinted through her blackening eyes to see Zinzal towering over them. He turned and glared at the other girls. "Go home, 'fo' I tell yo' fodahs what you been up to. Now!" They fled, and he reached out a hand to help Vendredi to her feet. She fought to catch her breath, trembling with fury, her hands still itching to hurt someone as much as she hurt inside.
The big male studied her soberly. Vendredi waited for the punishment she always received when a fight broke out, but Zinzal said nothing. She glanced up, and saw him eyeing her strangely. He stooped and picked up the pieces of her broken bow, and nodded to himself.
"Go home, Vendredi," he said, handing her the splintered bits of wood. "Go home now."
"I have no home!" she spat, her eyes blazing. "Nobody here calls me family, even t'ough I de stronges' and de fastes'!" She pulled the sword from her hip, and faced the big male as he towered over her. "Why don' you fight me too? If you kill me, dey'll all t'ank you!"
Zinzal froze, staring in consternation at the slip of a girl challenging him. A slow frown crept across his face, and he pulled his great axe from the halter on his back. Vendredi did not quail as the great blade spun in front of her; she leapt at him, sword spinning.
For a short time Zinzal simply blocked her blows, but she kept coming, her face a mask of anger and determination. He ventured a few attacks, slowly at first, then with more power and strength as she deflected his blows or danced away from them. Her sword was small, but Zinzal could see it was well made, and he doubted he could shear through it unless he used his full strength. The girl fought like a demon, unafraid, and he thought as he danced steel with her.
"Enough, Vendredi," he called, but she did not stop. "Enough!" He pivoted and swung, using the flat of his blade. She dodged like a wildcat, and kept coming. He felt the first stirrings of his own anger, and knew he had to end this quickly. He set his big jaw, and waited. When the next swing came, he blocked it with the haft of his axe, and with a savage yell, gripped the naked blade in his big hand. Blood ran down the blade, and Vendredi tried to pull it free, but Zinzal's grip was iron. With a snarl of pain, he ripped the sword from her grasp, and sent her sprawling with a slippery red fist. She tumbled head over heels, and lay still.
Panting, Zinzal crouched beside the girl, and waited, his hand open on his thigh. The cut went to the bone, his flesh mangled, but slowly, the flesh began to knit. Grinding his teeth, he carefully opened and closed the hand as it healed, to keep the flesh supple, and soon only a raw scar remained. By tomorrow it would be gone. He picked up the child, and headed for a battered red tent on the edge of the camp they called home.
Inside the tent, it was warm, but a fire burned fiercely in the centre, its smoke curling up through a hole at the peak. An old troll, his whiskers long and white, crouched by the fire, his red eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He did not look up as Zinzal entered, the girl over his shoulder.
"I knew you was comin'," the old one said, his voice deep and gravelly with age. "She speak to me, say we have anodah whose fiah burns bright."
Zinzal nodded, laying Vendredi down beside the fire. "Her heart burns wit' it, Ki' tala. You de only one who can teach her now."
The old troll laughed, slapping his knee. "Don' be stupid, Zinzal. De Undyin' One will teach her - I just say de words She puts in my mout'. Now go tell de woman who looks out fo' dis one dat her job is done. I got work to do."
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