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 Posted: Thu Feb 28, 2008 6:54 pm
Merlin's eyes widened at the mention of the hunter. Oh, he so loved to "embellish" himself, and his sizable-ego inflated at the thought of hearing another story. Perhaps if the hunter was Merlin, he'd be prudent to have a large territory...though sharing with a Gatherer wasn't a bad idea...Starting to drift off, thinking about territory tactics, Merlin blinked....He quickly snapped back to attention, habitually straightening up and folding his wings neatly at his side. He admonished himself. Bad form, it was, to not have complete focus on the speaker and proper listening posture- Ah...but there he went again, parroting his...parents' manners...And mind wandering once more, for that matter!
Shaking his head to clear his mind, Merlin once again refocused on the bard, eager to hear the story.
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Posted: Fri Feb 29, 2008 8:37 am
"It was a honest mistake, that is how the story goes," Birch said gravely, "The oldest chick fell from a tree while fledging, but wasn’t harmed by the fall. The hunter heard the rustling in the bushes and, mistaking the chick for prey, readied himself for the strike."
Birch shifted on his perch and paused for effect.
"The fledgling was killed instantly."
This wasn’t a traditional hunting story, and Birch hoped Merlin would appreciate it. From his experience many hunters preferred their own hunting stories to any bard's. It was good practice for him to get to tell the ancient cautionary tales once in a while too. Char had made sure he knew them by heart.
“As the gatherer went out to search for his missing chick he found the other standing over his lifeless child," he continued and leaned forward with slightly parted wings, mimicing a Sentinel standing over their fresh kill.
"The hunter tried to explain but the gatherer struck out in anger, taking the other’s eye,” he paused briefly to give Westwind and Merlin time to take in the horrific situation - a life with only one eye, and for a hunter. "As the gatherer returned to his nest he started to realise what he had done, and he sleeked his feathers back in fear. What if the hunter would come after him and the rest of his family in revenge?”
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Posted: Fri Feb 29, 2008 2:50 pm
Three pairs of eyes were intent on the bard as he told his tale. Wes's body was relaxed, and his face showed the same mellow expression it nearly always held, but his focus was completely centered on the speaking owl. He was indeed startled by the story. One eye, and a dead offspring. It certainly wasn't a happy tale.
From the hole in the tree, Fir and Oak were also enraptured with the tale, their chores temporarily put aside. The three of them waited patiently for the bard to finish his story.
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Posted: Fri Feb 29, 2008 4:09 pm
One eye...Merlin was horrified at the thought. One eye...only one, to spy both prey and predator alike...What would he have done in the Hunter’s place?
Relying on hearing alone, he supposed that a half-blinded Sentinel could still have a fair chance. With friends, certainly he would survive…Yet it was a loss, and what a great loss it was. Cursed to never again function to your full capability! Merlin fidgeted, unsettled by the thought. He felt sympathy towards the Hunter in the story, which, though Birch's telling, had taken on a life-like quality.
But the tawny male fluffed up his feathers. Such a chain of mistakes was highly unlikely to happen, and far too amatuer for the great Merlin to make. One his father's many teachings came to mind. "Look before you lacerate...", admonishing Merlin's childhood habit of eagerly slashing anything that moved in the slightest. Ah, yes. It was too bad his parent's couldn't teach him with a story, instead of the usual...punishment...
Ah. But this tale was different. Thought-provoking, too. Merlin had heard many of the traditional hunting stories, but nothing of this nature. Due to its unusual plot, it promised to be good…Indeed, the bard must be skillful and well-practiced to dare deviate from the norm.
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Posted: Sun Mar 02, 2008 11:48 am
Birch continued his tale from a submissive stance, taking on the role as the frightened gatherer.
“The gatherer brought a fat Skurri and some dried fruit to the hunter’s territory to beg his forgiveness. But the injured Sentinel did not accept the peace offerings.”
At this Birch fluffed up, nearly doubling in size, and opened his beak threateningly and making a mock attack.
"Take your Skurri and your sweet words", Birch hissed, imitating the injured hunter, "we have both wronged each other, it is true, but there can never be peace between us. Whenever we meet I will remember my lost eye, and you will think of the death of your chick."
The acting had only been brief, and Birch once again stepped back into his role as an objective storyteller. He tilted his head sideways and delivered the conclusion to his story.
"You can forgive those that do you wrong, but it is difficult to forget their acts in their presence," he declared and marked the end of the story with a brief bow.
Birch liked the old tales since they tended to take on different meanings depending on the audience. A skilled storyteller could even twist them to reflect his own purpose. In fact, Birch had recently heard this particular tale told to further the idea that the Spectres’ terrible acts during the Great War should never be forgotten, and preferably never forgiven either.
Birch had yet to see more than a few glimpses of the elusive fledgling that had caused so much controversy, and tonight the story was simply intended as a piece of entertainment. Just three Sentinels sharing a story and a 'possum.
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Posted: Tue Mar 04, 2008 4:30 pm
Wes stood quietly for several moments, digesting the story. It had certainly been an odd one, not what he had expected. And the morale of the tale was certainly one to ponder over. He slowly shook away the thoughts, however, returning to the present.
He turned a quick eye to the mouth of his home. Two squeaks, and the four eyes disappeared back into the tree, the sound of wood being moved quickly and quietly resuming.
He turned back to the bard.
"That was some tale, man. You're very talented. Definitely worth the repair of your noisemaker. I look forward to working on it."
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Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2008 4:30 pm
Whoa...Merlin took a figurative step back, as it would have been rather difficult to do so while still perched. Birch had certainly told an interesting tale...The message seemed to linger in his mind, haunting his thoughts. Forgiveness...why was that simple thing so hard to obtain?
Could he have forgiven the Hunter in the Gatherer's place?
He knew his innately selfish answer: No.
No he would not, could not, have done so. Merlin's eartufts drooped despairingly. If he couldn't do as much for others, how was he to expect them to forgive him? He would have to be less self-centered, and more generous after all...But it was so hard, when all he wanted to talk about was himself...
Bowing rather humbly, Merlin, too, praised the bard for his wonderful story.
"Ah, yes! I also thank you for the delightful story; 'twas the best I've heard in a long while!" Coming from this story-loving Hunter, it was a rather impressive compliment.
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Posted: Wed Mar 12, 2008 1:57 pm
Birch bowed again, deeper and with more flourish this time.
"Thank you," he said, glad that the story was well received. He had picked his task for the chance to work with music, but under Char's supervision he had grown to appreciate the fine art of telling a tale. Telling a story that was appreciated by the audience was almost as good as playing a song perfectly, and he couldn't help but to feel proud.
"Now then," he continued, grinning, "I guess we should see to that opossum."
(Sorry it's short. Should we wrap it up after your turns?)
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Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2008 3:04 pm
((Oh my god, sorry it took so long. I've been a total space case recently.))
Westwind nodded, a grin spreading across his own face. He eyed the opossum, his stomach gurgling at the sight. Thinking back, he hadn't eaten for several hours, a bad habit of his when he was deeply concentrating on his work.
"Alright, I can agree to that," he said, his slightly mismatched eyes glimmering. He stayed where he was, however. He may be hungry, but Wes knew his manners, and as he had told the story, Birch should have the first bite.
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Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2008 5:39 pm
Merlin puffed up proudly; he could tell that the others were looking forward to the possum, and what a fine catch it had been. Frankly, he was astonished that the area from whence it came from had not already been claimed; it certainly had been rich in prey, if a little lacking in cover. He pondered telling the location to the Crafter, but thought against it. It was likely that he already knew.
“Well, dear fellows, here be the opossum I promised! A fine reward for a fine performance, I must say.” Merlin nodded at Birch, pushing the furry body forward. Blue eyes twinkled, as he turned to face Westwind. “And of course, for an equally commendable show of hospitality, to the host!”
Bowing once more, a quick bob of the head this time, Merlin made his way to the end of the branch. “This has been a wonderful night of revelry and cheer! Yet as the Noctus makes his way back into the sky, I, too, must return to my own roost. Farewell, my friends; may we meet again.” And with those parting words, the Hunter sprang aloft, beating his great wings. He circled the area twice, before melting into the darkness of the trees.
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Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 2:17 pm
Birch hooted a farewell to the crafter and set to work butchering the opossum.
"Do you need some of the pelt?" he asked. For all he knew the wood crafter could work with bones or tendons or fur too. "Perhaps I could..."
Birch really tried, but after struggling for a good while he only managed to rip off a few scraps of fur. Birch was not a hunter and skinning a prey animal was beyond him. Most of the time the prey he caught was small enough to swallow whole and then he didn't need to think about it. Giving up on salvaging useful parts he simply divided the opossum as evenly as possible. One back leg each, liver for you, the heart for me... Birch ended up with one pile of not-very-neatly butchered pieces for Westwind and a smaller pile together with the rest of the manhandled carcass for himself.
"I'll… uh… I'll take the least pretty part," he said, stuffing the smaller pieces into his bag and grabbing the exposed spine of the opossum-half with his talons, readying himself for leaving. "I'll let you eat in peace then. When did you want me to come back for the noisemaker?"
Come to think of it... Tousled might want the spine. He had seen vertebrae used in jewellery before.
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