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 Posted: Sun Jul 20, 2014 2:52 pm
The Last Egg
1325 Words
Maike nudged an egg gently with his claw, marvelling at just how many color combinations there were on each shell. "Sorai, check this out. This one has stripes." he called to his sister, "Any of us have stripes?"
"No." she commented, glancing vaguely over from her roost by the entrance to the family's lair, "Does it matter?"
"I think it matters." said Maike, "These are going to be our siblings. Aren't you curious about what they're going to look like? Even a little?"
"No." said the Diabi, shrugging vaguely with her wings, "Its just not that interesting."
"Oh come on." said Maike, smirking, "Tell me. You've thought about them. Eggs, babies, that sort of thing? Doesn't every female wonder what their children are going to be?"
"Nope. Don't want Orakoi, don't ever want Orakoi." she said, "I've told you. I'm just not interested."
"Oh come on." said Maike, wheedling, "not even a little?"
"Nope." she waved her tail tolerantly. Sorai was used to her brother's teasing. They were close, as close as siblings could get. She knew he meant nothing by it, and he knew she meant nothing by the whaps to the face he sometimes got from her. "Also, this is boring. I'm going to get something to eat. Want me to bring you back something?"
"Nah, I'm fine, sis." said Maike, curling around the eggs, watching them.
"Suit yourself." she said with mock-curtness, stepping out of the lair.
Maike grinned at the eggs. "That was your big sis. She's kind of an arse, but she's really very nice. You should come out and meet her soon..." he cuddled the eggs, feeling how oddly heavy they were, "But not too soon, right. Take your time, you darling little babies..." he purred, taking it upon himself to rearrange the eggs. He liked to do that - it helped to pass the time while babysitting, and it turned out pretty. "I can't wait, personally! I love Orakoi. I don't know what Sorai is talking about - I'd do anything for some of my own, but you know what? Sitting for you all will do just fine..." he squealed with delight, "Ohhhh, I bet you'll be cute."
He nudged them again.
Click
He frowned. What had that sound been? Not him - his claws clicked but the floor of their shady lair was covered in leftover hay, softening it and keeping it insulated.
Krak!
He gently shifted an egg to reveal, in the formerly pristine patterned shell, a crack! "Oh no! I'm sorry babies! I must have rolled you wrong!" he crooned, concerned, "I'll just... fix that right up..." he reached for his Ysali magic - it was living material, right? It should work!
Krackcracktapatapcrack!
Another crack, and one of the eggs seemed to almost hop from its nestled seat, tapping against its neighbors.
Maike stared at it. "So its not my fault." he said slowly. He grinned widely as he understood. "Eeee, babies! You're hatching, hatching hatching!" he squealed, hopping about the lair in excitement before dashing to the entrance.
He peered out, seeing a familiar dark shape returning. "Sorai! Sorai!" he called, "Get Mother and Father! Get any of the others you can! They're hatching, Sorai! Hatching, Oh my gosh!!!" he did a little wiggling dance and scampered into the lair, not wanting to miss a thing.
~~~
Maike was not happy at the family turnout as the first hatchling broke his shell and demanded food. Maike was happy to offer some meat for the little one, provided from the animal carcass that Sorai had brought back with her. She'd relayed the message to Mother, Father, and whoever of their clutchmates she could find, but thus far, only a few had arrived to watch the event. Maike didn't understand them – this was amazing, this was momentous. These babies would only be born once, and everybody should be there for it!
Paraphel the hunter dropped by (finally) as two of the eggs - who Maike had always thought looked like they were plotting together - began to slowly break their shell. She came bearing gifts, and Maike was pleasantly surprised to see his ego-rich rarely-seen sister.
Soki, his warrior brother stood, silently watching, at the lair, moving only when Raichi the teacher came tumbling through. "I heard that they were... Oh goodness!" he said, giving Maike an affecitonate headbutt, "They really are!" Raichi crooned as the two colluding eggs burst forth into wet scales ad snouts, "Aaaaahhhh new students!" he chirped, "I get to teach my own siblings!"
"What." said Maike, grinning, "So they don't end up as ignorant as us?"
"Precisely!" said Raichi, "Better luck with batch two!"
Soki and Sorai did not laugh at his joke.
~
Most of the family had arrived, one way or another: the newborns that had hatched were long fed. Only one egg remained, as Maike peered out into the darkening night. Still no sign of Mother - no surprise there - but he could see their Father running as fast as he could up the hill. He turned to Raichi, the only other one of the siblings who hadn't lain somewhere to the side and busied themselves with either feeding, playing, or ignoring the three newborns.
Raichi sniffed it. "Theres definitely one in here, a live one" he said. The egg shivered, then was still, as if to prove his point. "I think its having trouble, though..."
"Should we help it?" asked Maike, walking over concerned, to sniff at the egg. He could hear an almost desperately faint peeping coming from inside.
"No idea... Ask Father?"
Their father, Ikormi, bustled in, sweating from exertion. "Sorry I'm late! How many?"
"Three of four, Pops." said Maike, "Fourth one's having some trouble. What should we do?"
"Wah!" Ikormi nudged at the egg, "We should help them!" he said, settling the argument.
Raichi tapped gently at the shell with his claw. "Ah! Heres a crack! If we widen it..." he tapped at it again, "Yes! Got a purchase..."
"Stop that right now." They all turned to the thunderous growl. Katangi stood in the doorway, an imposing shadow, "If it can't hatch on its own, its not worthy of life." she snarled, shoving Raichi and Maike hard with her shoulder, "Get away from it, and let nature take its course."
"But, Kata..." protested Ikormi.
"Do you want soft children? Do you want to destroy our kind with laziness and stupidity and weakness?!" she snarled at him, "I wouldn't be surprised if you did! But no child of mine will be born too weak to break their own shell!"
Ikormi cowered beneath his mate's gaze, and Maike quietly took the ooppurtunity to roll the egg away. As he left, he saw Soki slink over with his usual morose unreadablness, blocking him from Katangi's view. "Thanks." hissed Maike.
Outside, under the stars, Maike began to seek that crack that Raichi had been worrying at. He tapped at the shell until he found it, working his claw in and wiggling it a little. He felt it give, and felt renewed struggles from the egg's inhabitant. "Don't worry, little one." said Maike, as he pried the crack open wider, "We'll get you out of there... Look at your cute little face!" A little muzzle poked out, wiggling the crack wider and, “Now for the rest of you!” said Maike, deciding to end what had to be a miserable experience for the little one. With a single jerk of his claws, he split the shell in two. The little green-mottled chubby Orakoi tumbled to the ground, blinked exhaustedly, and whimpered.
He nuzzled her reassuringly, before he picked her up carefully and brought her inside. He set her down with her siblings to the surprised gaze of all but Soki, who nodded with what Maike could swear was approval.
"She hatched." he said mildly, staring right into his mother's glowing eyes with an amused defiance, "She hatched."
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Posted: Sun Jul 20, 2014 2:56 pm
Little Green Shadow
750 Words
Maike always looked forward to coming back home from his travels. It had been a profitable trading excursion, and he had been able to bring back a lot of goods to his tribe. He was starting to make a name for himself as a real silver-tongued trader, well - him and his sister - and that was always good – a big reputation meant more lady khehora dropping hopefully by him (and his sister, since it was known that was her preference.)
It was the first trip he had taken since his baby siblings had hatched, and he was excited to see how they had grown in that time. He was not sure what to expect: would they be talking, eating, hunting, moving around? Or would they be as helpless and awkward as when their eggs had hatched mere months ago? He doubted it: Khehora grew up fast.
He flew in on the evening breeze, gliding home and leaving his sister to bring the goods to the Khehorians herself – he was going to see his family and tell them that they were back and get a sneak peek at its newest members. He landed just outside the small cavern lair and trotted inside.
He was glad he hadn't shouted a greeting and announced his presence, and he bit back a jovial hello as he saw Raichi napping in the back, four small bodies pressed to him in sleep - Maike thought it was adorable. He observed them for a few moments before he quietly snuck out.
He would come back later and say hi, and leave his brother and the little ones to their naps. Int he meantime, he began to wander down the little settlement, taking stock of all the things that had changed while he had been gone. He stopped to admire a new ornament on a nearby family's lair when he heard a labored 'oof' from behind him. Maike turned to see a small, round, green little orakoi trying to right herself from where she had fallen from a small stone ledge.
Maike crooned. “Hello there.” he said, nosing at her, “What are you doing here?” he inspected her briefly for injuries, catching her scent in the process. Ah! It was one of his siblings! “I'm sorry, little green sugar baby, did I wake you from your nap?” She stared at him with wide blue-glowing eyes, struggling to stay upright on her stubby little legs. He waited, but she said nothing, just stared at him. “What was your name, dear... I forgot.” he admitted after a while, looking her over. She was the runt egg, wasn't she, the one he'd helped to hatch. What was her name, though? He couldn't remember. She remained quiet, her head lowering shyly. “If you can't talk,” said Maike, nuzzling her, “That's fine. Come along, lets get you home.” She was so round, he almost thought he could roll her back to the lair, but he resisted the urge and instead walked languidly back. He could hear her claws clatter against the stone of the mountain path, and he looked back to see her bounding awkwardly behind him.
“Ummm...” she said, opening her mouth to reveal nubby little teeth. “Malta.”
“Hmm?” crooned Maike, stopping to wait for her, “I'm not mama.” he corrected, his tail twitching in amusement. “I'm your brother, Maike.”
The orakoi shook her head rapidly, almost unbalancing herself. “I Malta.” she said, “My name Malta.” her eyes pleading, “I not bad?”
So she could talk. And her name was Malta – he remembered now. Their father had named her – a sweet name for a sweet orakoi. “No, no, you are very good.” he purred, pleased at how his siblings had grown up. “You are a very good girl.”
The little Orakoi yipped in delight and wiggled, pouncing towards him with obvious glee before unbalancing and falling over. She whimpered, upset.
Maike was soon at her side. “Oh, baby... you adorable little thing...” he nudged her chubby body upright, “You're so cute and roly poly! I can hardly believe it.” She murred miserably, curling her tail around her newly upright self, and Maike laughed at the look of uptmost dejection on her face. “Awww, don't worry about it. Let your big brother carry you home?” she squeaked as he scooped her up in his mouth.
He carried her home, feeling a deep sense of delight as he walked into the lair again.
Gods, he loved kids.
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Posted: Fri Aug 01, 2014 1:08 pm
Meta: Soldulan Wars
336 Words
Malta being absent from her tribe at dusk was not unusual. The Diabi khehora had become used to the Ysali's daytime habits, and they understood that it took a little while for the chubby, out of shape alchemist to come home. Dusk was still fairly safe in Soldul, even with the Mara about, and so they didn't worry.
It wasn't until dusk had turned into the oppressive darkness of Soldulan night that the elders of the tribe began to worry, and when she hadn't returned by midnight and their joints cried out for her medicine, they began to talk about finding her and making sure she was all right.
She'd pulled a stunt like this before, that time during the rainstorm when, the next morning, she had come home wet, tired, and smelling of Oblivionite, and some argued to just leave her be. Who knew what the little witch was up to, they grumbled, it was best not to get involved.
Others argued that she was still pathetically unable to take care of herself, and with the forest full of more than its usual threats, she may be in danger.
Or, more dour voices commented, she may already be dead.
It was eventually decided that a small search party be sent out. Unfortunately, they were low o population – most of their warriors attempting to join the Oblivionites in the battle against the Mara – and it was only the old and the clutching that remained in the tribal lands.
Still, they made an effort to find Malta, returning when the Mara patrols offered resistance. It was not heartening. If even in their remote lands, the mara were strong, there was little hope for a lone wandering wimp of a Ysali crafter in the wilderness. They returned to guard their territory and eggs, and hoped that news would come back from the lands nearer to Obsidian City.
They didn't hold out much hope for the young Ysali, though. Not much at all.
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Posted: Sun Aug 10, 2014 8:13 am
Malta's Garden
Mastery Solo: Growth
533 Words
Malta loved plants; how could she not? She was a Ysali: her magic, her soul, her very essence was plants and the raw, unfettered life that they represented, free of morals or constraints. A plant could grow forever if allowed, and so too could Ysali magic. Life could not be stopped: Burn it, bash it, slash it, or crush it– it found a way to return, stronger than ever.
No place proved the point as beautifully as Malta's garden. By the side of her lair, on a patch of loamy forest soil, she had planted a cluster of plants. They were of various types and species, many of use in her potions and medicines, but others just for the sheer pleasure of being seen and smelled, their aromas wafting into her lair and perfuming it pleasantly.
Malta loved her garden. Every day, just before she started whatever tasks were in store for her that day, she would infuse the small patch of land with her magic and often went into it's thick tangles to pick away weeds. During times of dryness, she would bring containers of water to dampen the ground, awkwardly dragged all the way from the river in a bowl.
The plants, in turn, grew stronger, larger, and more vibrant than their wild fellows as they absorbed the magic from the soil, along with nutrients and water.
Malta's cousins in her mothers tribe, mostly the younger ones (but some of the older ones as well) saw this hobby as yet another sign of her weakness, and its danger to the strength of the tribe. Gardening was not a honorable warriorly occupation, nor was it a hobby that showed any degree of mental or physical strength. Gardening allowed her to stay fat and lazy and at home. At least, they mumbled, gathering set her out into the dangerous world, even if it was just picking flowers.
Some just grumbled irately about it, among other things, in and out of Malta's earshot, giving her the odd sidelong look but otherwise leaving her be. Some, however, took it upon themselves to make their point in more direct ways.
But no matter how her cousins crashed through her plants, or dug them up, or chewed reluctantly at them, or even polluted the little patch of land with oozing, dark Diabi magic, the garden remained. The plants would grow again from their remains, strong or – perhaps – stronger than ever, pulling together the verdant, tangled mass and healing the wounds that the rampagers caused.
Malta would come and, with her magic, purify the soil once again. The plants would grow, renewing themselves, and creaking under their own increasing weight. They would wrap tendrils around whatever was available, crawling over any handy surface. By the next day, they would show no sign of their destruction, as healthy as they had been before.
They grew so well that sometimes Malta had to keep them in check. Some days, she just sat in her garden, managing the growth of her plants, nudging some to grow and others to not grow, so that all the plants were happy.
And the garden, in it's vibrant invicibility, made her happy too.
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Posted: Tue Aug 26, 2014 11:44 am
Lunchtime in the Dark City
Response to Tracking a ball of Fluff and Used to Fangs
436 Words
Malta was very aware of the odd looks she got from across the table as she munched her way through a concoction of cooked grains, meats, and vegetables that her nice hosts had called a sandwich. She was sitting at a table, on the floor of course, enjoying the meal.
Often, she didn't have things together like this – in the woods, the meat, berries, grains, and plants were all apart and separated, and she would eat them one at a time as she found them.
This was different, though. This was tasty. She purred as she pushed a piece into her mouth with a claw. “This is very good!” she said happily: Truly magescans were amazing if they could come up with the idea of combining food.
“I'm... glad you think so.” said the woman, who watched her warily with her third eye. None of the Oblivionites had said much during the meal, but Malta was used to it – her family was quiet at mealtimes and a little bit wary too – there was always a risk someone would want to steal your portion of food.
An idea occurred to her. “Is this... cooking?” she asked, trying to make a little bit of conversation.
“No.” said the little boy, the woman's son. He mostly ignored her and played with a little sewn warrior dolly. His father, however, watched Malta's every move.
“... In a way.” said the woman, smiling slightly.
Malta finished her sandwich. “I've only heard about it, but never tasted it for myself... I like it! Did you... cook it?”
“I put it together. I bought the meat and the bread and the vegetables...” the woman explained.
“Ooo!” Malta said. She finished her sandwich and gave the woman a khehora smile, “Could you show me? This cooking thing?”
“Uhm... well, I do have to make dinner... I suppose you could help with that...?” The woman looked at her mate and, reluctantly, he nodded. “Yes.” she said, more surely than before, “you may help.”
“Oh excellent!” said Malta, her tail wagging happily and nearly missing a collision with a broom, “I would love to help you!”
The man sighed. “This had better be good...” he mumbled as he took his son by the arm and dragged him out, “And you'd better be right about this khehora.”
“I am...” said the woman. “Well, want to help me clean up?” she said to Malta before Malta could process what the man had meant.
“Oh! Yes! Of course!” said Malta, and she went to attempt to help.
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Posted: Wed Aug 27, 2014 4:45 pm
Can't Bathe without a Weapon
Detraeus and Malta
488 Words
Jik'ri watched the Oblivionite leave, half tempted to pounce on him and bite him anyway just for the hell of it. She resisted the urge, though, and let him pass. When he was safely out of range of sight, scent, and magic, Jik'ri turned to the two hiding in the bushes.
“Well?!” she snapped, “What are you two waiting for? Bolarn got your tails?”
Vorkin and Kumog stalked out, irritated. “Why didn't you kill him, Elder?” growled Kumog, “He should be dead.”
“I decided not to.” said Jik'ri. She didn't need to explain herself to these whelps. “And what do you care?” she lashed her tail, “Obviously you need to be re taught...” the word had the taste of blood to it: the two young warriors truly were in for it. “the meaning of family.”
“He was on our land without our permission...”
“We passed our borders long ago. This is probably some Peisio tribe's land. He's their problem.” she shrugged, “Our problem is her. We're going to carry her back home. Or...” she narrowed her eyes, “You two will.”
“But... Elder,” Vorkin whined, “she's fat...”
“Yes, even between the two of us...”
“Shut up and do it.” she snapped at them, “Or I'll beat you to an inch of your lives and do it myself.” Jik'ri was satisfied to see that they believed her. She watched them intensely as they shifted the unconcious Ysali onto their backs. “If she gets even one more little bruise, it's on you and I do mean on you.” she growled as they struggled under her weight. Personally, Jik'ri saw no issue with the pudge – padding was good, and Malta was still growing. She'd have a good size one day. “I'll pay you back ten fold” She smiled at the groan she got in response. “Now, lets go.”
They headed home. From the silence and lack of bitching she thought her plan was working – they would learn empathy towards their kin, and responsibility, and discipline. She thought that maybe she had finally drilled good warrior behavior into their thick skulls.
She was wrong. Kumog and Vorkin were angry, but they were too tired to voice it and knew that Jik'ri probably would kick their asses. They eventually got their burden – then stirring just enough to curl up amidst her plants - back to her lair and went for a soak in the river to ease their aches. They knew their punishment was not done, but instead of remorse, they felt hate: hate for Jik'ri, who they felt was unfair, hate for that Oblivionite – who did he even think he was, tramping through their lands like he owned them, and hate for Malta – that sniveling worthless barely-not-a-bonded flowerclaws who had nearly gotten herself killed – and them in trouble – because she was weak. They would not forgive her for that.
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Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 3:25 pm
What Khehora do in the Woods
(Learning solo, Hiding)
1123 Words
Malta didn't feel too embarrassed about what she did when nature called. When one ate, eventually that had to come out the other end, and to Malta there was nothing wrong with it at all, and it was nothing of note and never really worth discussing. She just waddled behind a bush, did the activities that went along with being alive, and went on with whatever she was doing, which was usually just wandering around in the woods looking for herbs to pick.
She was doing exactly this – her business – behind a bush one fine, uneventful Soldul twilight, as a brief stop over on her way back to the Shadows Maw tribal grounds. She was already thinking ahead to her nighttime tasks, which - that night - would involve crafting potions and tending to her garden. In other words, a normal evening.
That was how it started, anyway.
She was just about to leave the bush to its business of growing in the sparse light of the Endeldarthan understory when she heard a sound that was not the normal background dusk sounds of the birds and insects of the forest.
Cautiously, she peered into the shadows, trying to locate the sound.
Snap.
It came again, the woody, faint, but suddenly announced and very definite snap of a twig against a foot or paw of some sort. Malta started towards the tribal lands again, moving with a great deal more hurry than she had before. Though she was quite large (more than she would like), she was not a fighter and the prospect of predators still frightened her, Oblivionites too. Though her Oblivionite acquaintances and her stay in their city meant that she no longer feared them all, she knew there was reason to fear at least some of them. She preferred to interact with them after she had observed them and assured herself that they were safe. In other words, she didn't want to find out what had snapped that twig, and she didn't want it to find her: she wanted to be home.
Her trot became a jog which became a canter just short of a gallop as her glowing blue eyes scanned the shadows that danced among the familiar gnarled roots and myceaum of the trees and shrubs. Nothing met her gaze, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Her well padded guts quivered in fear as she moved as quickly as she was able and she prayed that it was all in her head.
Suddenly, there was a pain in her side, blossoming powerfully just above her right hindquarter. She stumbled and cried out, turning to behold a black-fletched arrow stung neatly into her flesh.
Before she could fully comprehend what that meant, another arrow hissed into her side, it's stinger far too deep for comfort, and Malta knew, with horrible certainty, that she was being hunted. Panicked, and aided by the blood that now dripped onto the ground, Malta shielded herself with roots and, limping slightly from her wounds, charged into the brush.
She crashed into the thickets of the forest as far as she dared, biting back a whimper as she crouched down to hide amidst the thorny brambles, her magic regrowing the plants she had damaged as she broke away the arrow shafts. She tried to focus her frantic mind on stemming the flow of blood from her body: she wasn't bleeding much, but she did not like bleeding at all, and the blood would give her away.
Malta shivered in the muddy thicket, her mind reeling wildly with the certainty that she was still being hunted, and with the desperate, frantic need to hide. So, she tried to hide. I'm not here... she thought, I'm not here. There is nothing interesting here. Look away, look away...
Snap.
It was coming.
She silently prayed, to Abronaxus for strength, for Soudana to hide her, and to any other spirit or entity that might be listening to preserve her in the face of this strange foe and to make them go away and chase other prey. Prey that wasn't her.
I'm not here. I was never here. Never even existed at all, really, just a mirage, just an illusion, just a pile of dirty twigs and leaves... she huddled into the wet mast, trying to still her tail before it could lash and give her away, Nothing important. Probably just smelly... move along, move along...
She glanced up and froze completely, even in her mind, as the predator came into view.
It was an Oblivionite woman, dark black of skin with silver tattoos and rusty hair the color of old blood. She held a bow in her hands, readied with a black-fletched arrow from a quiver on her back. She had no scent, or so it seemed at first, but then Malta recognized the faint smell of an herb that blocked scents. The woman stalked carefully through the thicket, scanning it with her eyeless sockets.
Malta willed herself deeper into the mud, feeling it bubble and glop around her in a gaseous, stinky mass. I'm not here, never here. I'm not here, never here. she chanted in her head, keep looking for me elsewhere – maybe I've moved on, maybe I've gone away. Go away, go away...
The woman squinted, raising her bow at where Malta lay hiding. The Ysali's heart felt as though it had migrated to her throat, just under her tongue. Go away go away go away... she whimpered mentally, shutting her eyes and trying not to shake as interminable seconds ticked by.
Snap.
Malta did not dare to tempt fate and look up to see if the threat had gone, her nerves singing as if, at any moment, a new pain would blossom in her body, or – worse – the darkness of Oblivion would take her. She waited until the waiting became unbearably thick and sticky like mud. then, cautiously, opened her eyes and raised them to where the Oblivionite had stood.
Nothing.
She listened frantically, flaring her earfins, and sniffed the air, not trusting even the slightest movement of her head to not reveal her. She nudged the root system below her with her magic to try to detect whatever was around her.
Nothing stood on the roots nearby, or on the branches. There was nothing there. She was alone, save for the inquisitive eyes of a Bouken, who soon went on with its own business.
Thank Soudana. Malta's sides heaved with relief, struggling out of the thicket and, with a shake to get off the mud that covered her, made for her tribal lands as fast as she could, She wanted to be home and safe as soon as possible.
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Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 3:37 pm
When Cornered
Learning solo, Poison
1267 words
After her encounter with the Oblivionite archer, who had sunk two arrows into her side, Malta wanted to be home and safe more than anything. She longed for her lair and the bright verdant life of her garden; She even longed for her Diabi kin and their ferocity. But, most of all, she longed for the implied safety and security that came with home.
She knew she was close: Everything was familiar – from the meadow to the trees the bouken that skittered warily along the trees roots and looked at her with its bright red eyes. She bounded forward: she had only to cross this meadow and a few craggy strands of trees before she reached the safety of the Shadows Maw tribe's lairs. She knew she would only be safe when she set foot completely in their lands, but she was close and she felt safe enough.
She took another step, only registering the tightness of the leather snare around her hindleg as it was pulled back and up. She yelped as the joint at her hip stretched, and she scrabbled with her foreclaws in the dirt against it. It was attached too strongly to her and to the tree, and as she struggled, she could hear the sound of a bell ringing high in the branches overhead.
She had always thought bells made a lovely sound, and had heard them on caravans as they passed by.
This, however, wasn't such a nice sound.
Frantically, she turned around to try to gnaw at it, but it was coated with something that made her tongue shy away. She struggled to chew at it anyway, managing to get her teeth awkwardly around it, though she winced every time she touched it.
She was doing fairly well until, with an accompanying shriek of air, an arrow – kin to the others that had struck her, buried itself in her shoulder.
Her saliva grew bitter with venom and she cried out, pained, turning to look towards its origin. She saw, just in time, the Oblivinite archer loose another arrow. It hissed through the air, digging itself into her side.
Malta gasped, and could almost feel the arrow's head tickle her lungs, warm blood beginning to trickle gently down the scales along her sides.
Malta backed up against the tree and called up the roots in a panic, encapsulating herself in shielding roots.
“You can't hide in there forever, Khehora.” the Oblivionite said.
Yes I can.
Malta certainly wanted to.
She could feel, in the springy ground, the steps of the Oblivionite approaching and she reinforced her barrier of roots, feeling – ever tighter – the snare pulling at her. “I'll set it on fire, khehora. Not a nice death for you, I wouldn't think. Ahhh, but I'd lose the pelt, too, and the blood – it sells for a lot, you know, Khehora blood. More, since you're clearly a Ysali.” Malta heard tapping at the outside of her shelter and turned to chew on the material of the snare again, whimpering as the painful metal scratched at her side.
Her venomous saliva dripped onto the snare as she struggled to chew it and, something hot and painful tasting dripped into her mouth. “Pepper juice.” explained the Oblivionite, “Only a Firani would like it. I put some on the snare, and you know what?” she paused, smugly, “I'll just drip more on right now” Malta yelped, her tongue lolling as droplets of what felt like liquid fire dripped along the leather onto it's sensitive surface. She panted, trying to offset the burning of the painful taste with cool air. She felt the skin around the snare become irritated and kicked harder, gasping as it burned with every new pain. “The more you struggle, the deeper it gets. The deeper it gets, the worse its going to be.” commented the Oblivionite. She was tapping something into the shelter, Malta realized, she could feel the roots protesting the invasion. “Make it easier on yourself, and let me end you quickly, yeah? That way I can get back to my hunting and actually get something to eat.” The tapping continued. “.. Can't eat khehora, you know. I'm not that desperate.”
A few more taps and a metal ring became visible through the summoned roots. Malta dragged herself to the back of the shelter as best she could, away from the metal object: The back of the shelter, because of the tree itself, was actually somewhat open. If I could get free from this... she thought, looking at the fraying snare that bound her, still, to the tree, I might be able to escape!
Hope filled her frantic body, and she decided to give it a try. She dashed forward as hard as she could and, miraculously, she felt the snare begin to give. She kicked at it, wiggling.
“Ahh. There we go.” Mata glanced back to see the metal object drawn back, and with it, a piece of the roots. There was now a hole in her shield, about an inch in diameter. Malta did not like it at all. “Goodbye, Khehora.” said the hunter.
A sharp thin spear stabbed swiftly into the loam where she had only moments before been cowering, and then was quickly withdrawn before Malta could process what had just happened.
“Oh damn.” muttered the hunter. Malta felt her footfalls move coming closer to her escape route, and she struggled more, ignoring the pain. She was close to escaping – she was so close. The leather was about to snap.
The hunter laughed. “I was stupid wasn't I.” she said, “I should have checked the whole structure.” Malta heard her come closer. “Could have saved myself a whole lot of trouble and just shot you from here...”
Malta felt the snare snap and ran for the exit and the safety it promised. But the hunter was there, and she tumbled into her, bearing her to the ground as something sharp pierced the scales at her breast – another arrow.
Malta panicked. Shrieking plaintively, she flailed out with her claws in a desperate struggling effort to free herself from the Oblivionite. The woman held off her clawing with a short sword, and riposting, slashed at her legs.
It hurt.
Pained and panicked, backed into a corner, Malta instinctively opened her jaws and bit down, hard, on the nearest bit of the Oblivionite she could find.
It was so instinctive that she didn't realize that she had bitten, or that her strike had hit home, until she felt her teeth sink into flesh and felt her venom pump into the Oblivionite's searing bloodstream.
She limped off of the Oblivionite before their swelling flesh tightened around her teeth, and flinched as they began to scream. She looked at them in horror as her venom took effect. Their shoulder, gouged with her bitemarks, swelled, the venom seeping into the Oblivionite's throat and making that swell too. The screams soon died out into silent, open-mouthed howls as their throat sealed. They struggled in agony, reaching for the oozing mass that had been their shoulder and throat as if they could somehow claw it away. Finally, their struggles lessened, and they went limp.
Spittle and mucus dripped from their mouth and their eyeless sockets were wide and staring. Malta waited, scared and hurting. They did not move. She nudged their femoral artery with a foreclaw.
There was no pulse.
They were dead.
Malta backed away from the corpse and began to limp home as fast as her pain and injuries would allow.
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Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 3:51 pm
Crafting Solo: First Aid
Rank 3 -> Rank 4
Created: Energizer potion x 1 (Traded for 1x Dragon Orb, Peisio)
Malta limped into the familiar confines of the Shadow's Maw tribe's land, her mother's homeland homeland. Bleeding, she slunk, exhausted, into her lair. She took a moment to catch her breath, gasping as the sharp points of the arrowheads scraped at her nerves and sent her vision dancing.
She set about to getting them out, turning back to inspect them. She knew that she shouldn't just tear them out, or they would damage far more than she, in her exhausted state, could heal. But they had to come out, simply because they did not belong in her body and she wanted them out.
She nibbled at the shafts, breaking them off one by one, trying to grab at the arrowheads and pry them from her, but she was not able to do a very good job – her magic had already started to heal the wounds around them, closing up the holes that the arrows had made and making extraction difficult. She bit at the new skin, but her teeth could not get a hold and she could not summon up the courage to bite herself in earnest.
“Malta?” she turned to see the familiar glowing eyes of Reegel, the cousin who was swiftly becoming her favorite among them (not that there was a high bar). “Vorkin and I were wondering if...” she heard him pause and she looked away before she could see his eyes widen with shock. “Fire and Darkness, Malta, what in Soudana's name happened to you?!” he said, barging into her lair, “Vorkin, Vorkin get in here right now!” He inspected one of the broken shafts, his nostrils wide and quivering.
Vorkin's narrow muzzle soon appeared in the opening to her lair. He opened his mouth and laughed, his sharp teeth striking against his dark mouth and skin. “Well, look at that. Flowerclaws got herself shot.” he crowed, sauntering in and ignoring Reegel's glare, “How'd that happen? That's gotta be a story.”
“Yes.” said Reegel, nudging one of them with a claw, “How?”
Malta told them what had happened and Reegel murmured gravely. “Are you sure the hunter is dead?”
“Mmm...” she said, wincing in pain as his claw touched the sore swolleness above a now submerged arrowhead, “Her throat was all swelled and she had no pulse.”
“All right. Vorkin, help me with this and then let the elders know so that they can set up a patrol... make sure theres no more of these hunters in the area.”
“Help you with what?” he said smoothly, sarcastically.
“Get these arrowheads out of her.”
“What, help Flowerclaws? Can't she, like, heal them or something?”
“I... I am...” she commented shyly, “but they're being sealed in...”
“Right. Vorkin, you take them out with those little needle teeth of yours when I open them up with my claws...” He flexed his paws, assessing. “The one in her chest, first.” he said, nosing towards it.
Vorkin began to hiss in protest, but backed down as Reegel glared, reminding him that he was stronger and more dominant. “Fine...” he growled.
Once he had been convinced, they worked quickly as Malta sat very still. They moved from injury to injury, starting at her chest, then moving back to her shoulder, flank, back, and tail. First, they opened the wound again, then they eased out the arrowhead, a task that made her wince and whimper in pain every time.
Finally, though they were done, and she felt her magic start to work on the wounds.
“There.” Reegel turned to Vorkin, “Go let the elders know.”
“Fine.” hissed Vorkin, glaring at him before walking out, seeming to take his time on purpose.
“And you.” he turned to Malta, “Go make something... energizing... or something. You need a boost after an ordeal like that.”
“Okay.” she nodded, scraping out some ingredients for potions – petalias and seggan, in particular.
“I'll be back – I'm going to make sure Vorkin doesn't pull any tricks... you know he would.”
She nodded, and he left her to stir her potion in peace. The boiling water seemed oddly normal, and, as it began to cool slightly, the events of the past few hours seemed unreal. She began to mix the ingredients in, thinking: For all of her fears of predators, and terror of things that lurked in the shadows, this had been the first creatures that had actually attacked her.
She stirred the mixture, watching the water change color into the usual murky golden-brown of the energizing medicine before ladling some of it into a bowl and drinking it, closing her eyes as the warm liquid seared through her, sending energy flowing through her veins...
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Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 7:36 pm
Crafting Solo: Caring
Rank 4 -> Rank 5
Created: Energizer potion x 1
Feeling better after the drink, she stocked the cauldron with more ground herbs and stirred it in, steeping it carefully into a muddy tea. She had been planning on making potions that day anyway, and she was alive to do it, so she might as well.
She left it to steep, checking on her special nut plant in its pot to make sure it would be up to it's storeage duties – it was. She was tending it with her magic when Reegel trotted back in.
“I'm back.” he said, sitting by her fire and watching her quietly, “How are you doing? Did you make something for yourself?”
“Mmm! An energy potion.” she said, turning to him, her tail waving peacefully. The feel of the cauldron and scent of the herb-tinged steam was familiar and soothing. It was like any other night. It was as if the danger had never happened
“Good, good. Have you eaten yet?”
“No.” she said, thinking, “Not really.”
“I'll go get something for you.” he said “I'd rather you stayed here, all right?”
“No problem!” she said. She had no intention of going beyond her garden tonight, and maybe not for a few days. She did feel better, but.. “Reegel?” she said, as he began to walk out again.
“Hmm?” he asked, his eyes flickering in concern.
“Thank you.”
He blinked. “You're welcome, Malta. I'll be right back.” And she was alone again.
She waddled to her cauldron and stirred at it. Reegel returned as she began to pour it into a bowl to cool before feeding it to the plant – it would hurt its roots if it was hot. She started another batch, noticing she had only enough of the rare Gold Petalia for one more potion. She figured she might as well use it.
“Malta?” he said, sitting down to watch her, “Are you sure you're okay? You're not a fighter. This isn't the sort of thing you're used to, fighting for your life...”
“I'm fine.” she said, walking over to give him a grateful snuggle, “I will be fine, anyway! Thanks for worrying, and I'm sorry for the trouble...”
“It's no trouble...” he said, watching her as she ground the new ingredients.
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Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 7:51 pm
Crafting Solo: The Talk
Rank 5 -> 6 Rank
Created: Energiser potion x 1
“Look. Malta.” said Reegel, watching her, “Have you ever fought for your life, before today?”
She thought for a moment. “Y-yes... I have.” She had fought that Diabi dragon, hadn't she. Or, rather, she had helped Detraeus fight it. “But... never alone. And I was always helping someone else...” she trailed off, grinding at the powder with embarrassed fury.
“So. That is, essentially a no. You have never fought alone before...” he rumbled meaningfully. “Maybe it's time for you to take me up on my offer. You're an adult Khehora now, and you have to learn how to defend yourself properly at some point...”
Malta stared into her powder, swallowing back the slightly bitter venom that had begun to rise in her mouth. “What offer?” she asked, pouring her mixture into the cauldron and stirring gently, refusing to meet his gaze.
“I was going to teach you how to hunt.” he said, watching her, “I really think you should do it.”
“I...” she wrapped her tail around her cauldron, as close to the fire as she dared, “I don't know.”
“I think you should think about it, and I think you should accept.” he said curtly, “You could have died out there, little cousin, and then what? Your hide would have been sold in some two legger city and Soudana only knows what would have happened to the rest of you. You were lucky, Malta, too lucky, and it won't happen again.” he stood, “I'm going to go run a few errands, but I expect an answer when I get back later tonight.” he glared at her with his stern eyes. “Is this clear.”
“Yes...” she said meekly, looking away, slumping into herself. She was quiet as he left, yet again, stirring the mixture almost absently.
“Malta.” she looked up to see Elder Surhur walk in and sit down expectantly. After a moments hesitation, Malta remembered.
“Oh! S-sorry!” she stammered, bustling off to get their medication, coming back with the arthritis potion in it's shell casing and placing it at their feet, “Here.”
Surhur crunched it in between her teeth, slurping the liquid and, turning her head to a nearby tree just outside, spat the shell fragments at it, hitting the trunk with a series of plinks.
“Have I ever told you, child, how much I like doing that?” they purred, letting themselves further inside, “It's so satisfying. I'm glad you decided to put your potions in them.”
Malta beamed at the elder, going back behind her cauldron to tend to her current potion. “Thank you!” she chirped, “I'm working on making them more convenient and sturdy.” she commented, gesturing to the plant with her tail.
“Well, just keep giving me the crunchable, spittable kind, and I'll be happy.” murmured Elder Surhur sitting down to watch the alchemist work.
“I know what happened.” said the elder. She met Malta's gaze and held it. “I think it is time we had a talk.”
“Wh-what sort of talk?” Malta asked, her mood falling. She tensed, feeling uneasy.
“You need to learn how to fight, Malta.” they said bluntly. Malta's stomach dropped. Reegel had said it, and then the elder. She didn't like where this was going. “In part...” they continued, “For defending yourself. In part also, because there are starting to be rumors about you in the tribe. Rumors I, and some of the other elders, would like to stop before they start to cause trouble.”
“Rumors?”
“Yes. As of now, it has been accepted that you do not fight, and thus need protection and support from the tribe in return for your services as a healer and medicine-shaman. However, you have stayed out past dusk several times now – for a whole day sometimes – and you have come back with various hunt-gathered materials, and even dragon orbs. You disappeared during the Mara attack as well, only to return safe and unharmed after several days with various mara – gathered materials.” The elder's eyes narrowed, and Malta quailed beneath their gaze. “Some are starting to wonder if you are just lazy, leeching off of the tribe and making others do your fighting for you, even though you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”
“But...”
The elder stopped her with a thump of her tail. “And today's incident will arouse their suspicions further. The tribe will likely not be willing to grant you bodyguards and protection anymore. Not now, perhaps, but soon, they may withdraw it, and my fellow elders will send your cousins elsewhere, where they are needed. “
Malta hung her head, feeling guilty and not knowing why. “What... But...” she swallowed, “I can't fight... I don't fight... I was really lucky today and... and I had help with the Mara...” she managed to protest.
“Shh. I believe you.” said Surhur soothingly, “and you had help with the dragon orbs as well. We've all heard about the Oblivionite that saved you. However, the others will not believe that you did not have a claw in that as well. That is why we have to make you able to fight, on your own.”
Malta stirred her potion quietly, ladling it into it's own bowl to cool and taking the other bowl to the plant, her earfins sagging dejectedly.
“What... do I do?”
“I'll train you.” said the elder, walking over and giving her a nuzzle when the bowl was safely out of the way, “Me and others who agree with the direction I'm taking. And, on the next night of the new moon, you will participate in the Ritual Battle.”
Malta stared at her, her heart rabbiting in fear. “What?! But...”
“Hush. By then, hopefully, you'll at least be able to give your opponent a suitable fight. We will begin tomorrow and...” the elder narrowed her eyes, “You will take your cousin up on his offer.”
“But, Elder I...”
“No more arguments, child.” snapped the elder, moving away, “This has to happen. And it will happen. You had best prepare for it.”
Malta watched her go, her earfins drooping. Despondently, she poured the first bowl into the pot, and set the plant to absorbing it into a new seedpod with her magic. She retrieved the other bowl and poured it in, too, shoving all of her magic into the plant's growth before it could drown in the excess of fluid in it's soil. Soon, she had two solid bulbs of sloshing energizing liquid. She picked them and set them aside. She looked around her, at her lair, at her cauldron, at her potions, and – more metaphorically -at her life.
She knew she didn't want to fight.
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Posted: Tue Sep 23, 2014 8:24 am
A Frantic Return
Castor and Malta
263 Words
Malta knew she would sleep well that night, which was unusual because her surroundings were so unfamiliar. Where there should have been walls of stone and clay, the smells of warm herbs, and the sounds of Endeldarth's raucous summer creatures, she found walls of cut stone, the smells of Oblivionites and blood and filth, and strange quiet sounds and creaks.
She had had a long day. The mara had chased her and she had cast spell after spell to hold them back, and finally had been rescued and had, in turn, saved her rescuer's life. She had even fought, but she was all right. She was fine. She was safe behind the city walls. She was just so tired. Her magic and body were not used to such activity.
Castors family had been so kind – they'd let her stay here with them. They had given her a comfortable bed made of folded cloth, and they had even offered her food, which she had been happy to take.
She didn't think she would be returning home for a while, not while the Mara lurked in the woods. She was too far from the Shadows Maw lands to make the trip feasable for a wimpy noncombatant like herself to do alone.
That meant that she would be here, in Obsidian city, surrounded by the monstrous two leggers called Magescans, for a while. Maybe she had thought, uncertain, as she set her head down on her paws, It won't be so bad., but then she had fallen asleep, and worried no more for that day.
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Posted: Wed Sep 24, 2014 5:05 pm
Grace or Lack Thereof
Malta and Detraeus
218 Words
Malta padded through the trees towards the nearby lairs, and was not surprised when, as smoothly and silently as a shadow, her cousin Reegel appeared at her side.
“What was that all about?” he asked, his expression neutral.
“Oh, um...” she looked at him sidelong, feeling almost guilty, “What was... what all about?”
“You.” He said, his voice amused, “Prancing around the meadow with a hastar and an Oblivionite.”
“Detraeus wasn't prancing...” she corrected, before slumping in embarrassment, her earfins flushed in a blush. “S-sorry...”
“For what?” asked Reegel, puzzled.
“Er...” she thought, “Nothing.” she said. “We were just playing... Thats all.”
“Normally,” he said conversationally, “You eat baby hastars, not play with them. You are a strange one, Malta. Very strange...” he was quiet for a moment. “You know, I can't figure it out. Why do you apologize for nothing all the time?” he asked musedly, “It doesn't make any sense.”
“I'm sorry.” she said, looking away.
“And there you go again!” he said, laughing softly, and – if Malta dared to believe it of any of her cousins – fondly. “You really are a strange one...”
Malta found herself more upset by him than she had expected, and was silent all the way back to her lair.
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Posted: Wed Sep 24, 2014 5:48 pm
Strange Tastes
TAMING: Bouken
178 Words“So, your just going to stay here all day, then?” asked Reegel, amused. Malta nudged another seed at the bouken. “Yes.” she said, “I am.” “With... that.” “Yes. With my Bouken.” “Oh, it's your bouken now.” he sighed, “Well, suits me fine. I can nap. I don't know how you wake up when it's light out... Don't worry.” he said, “I won't eat 'your' bouken.” He lay down, resting his head on his paws. “I'll just be right here. Resting. If you need me...” Malta looked at him, feeling guilty. “I'm sorry...” she said, apologetically, “I shouldn't have gotten so angry... I'm sorry.” “You don't need to be.” he said, yawning, “It was nice to see you show some backbone. Anything else?” She thought for a moment. “No.” she wanted to ask him about his intended mate, but she felt to bad to speak up. “No? Go play with the bouken.” he said, closing his eyes. Ah well. she'd ask him when things were better. For now, she would do just that.
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Posted: Wed Oct 08, 2014 4:04 pm
Playing with Ingredients
Learning solo – Infusion (and recipes)
1151 Words
Malta had found a bit of home amidst the alien and noisy city of magescans. The cauldron, herbs and bubbling concoctions soothed her because she knew them well, and so she spent a lot of her time with the local alchemist.
The local alchemist disliked her, unfortunately, but she could understand why: it wasn't hard, even for her, to see that she was far more adept at their craft than he was. Still, he had deigned to allow her to use his lab, and even gave her a cut of the proceeds from the sale of her items. Since most of the items he sold were made by her claws, this ended up being a very kind and generous gesture.
Malta wasn't sure what to do with the money, other than collect the shiny disks of coin and enjoy the way they clinked and glittered, but she appreciated it one the less.
Today, she was alone; The alchemist was out trying to woo his mate with ridiculous things like love incense, which she supposed would work if he burned it, but as a gift? He was going at it in such a strange way, and refused to take advice from her khehoran experience, so she let him be. Why shouldn't she? Being alone in the lab meant complete freedom for the khehora – no frustrating Magescan looming at her shoulder, alternatively terrified and critical of her. She could do whatever she wanted in here, and she intended to do so.
She didn't feel like slaving over a boiling cauldron that day, so she instead turned to the storeroom. It was a wonderful place, full of ingredients that she had only heard about from her mentor long ago, and some wondrous items she hadn't realized existed. She was a Ysali in a room of plants, and loved to go through the inventory and see what she did and did not recognize, and how much of what the man had.
She walked into the room, taking in the oily, scented feel of the air, and went straight to her favorite shelf – the dried flowers. She sniffed it, inhaling their woody, earthy, floral scent. There were exotic flowers here; lovely things with bushels of white buds, or pink tongue-like dips. They were dried, of course, to keep them 'fresh', but it was a shame to see them so lifeless and dead so she sent a little magic to perk them up. A fresher floral scent came up from the rejuvinated petals, inciting a happy little squeak from her.
Done for the time being with the flowers, she moved on to the herbs, enjoying the aggressive sting of their scents. They filled her nose with airborne oils and she chuffed to clear it, shaking her head and she purring softly to herself. They smelled good, delicious even, and she had seen the Magescans use some of these herbs in their food to give it flavor. Experimentally, she nibbled a frond of onionleaf and recoiled at the sharp flavor.
”Maybe it's better when in food. Or cooked...” she murmured to herself. She gave the dry stems and withered leaves a nudge of magic and left them, slightly plumped.
Next was the mushroom section. All of the mushrooms were dried, here, and when dried they both gained and lost some of their qualities. Some were actually better dried, but – to Malta's sorrow – most of the ones the alchemist had in store were better when fresh. She could fix it, though! Sitting on her hind legs, she brought her claws to the nearest shelf, gathering her magic into them. She focused on the dead and desiccated myceum, trying to force life into it. Slowly, reluctantly, it drew up her magic, and she watched the mushrooms begin to expand, some of its colors returning. Retreating, she sniffed it again: it wasn't perfect, but it was better.
Pleased with herself, she moved on to the animal ingredients section, with all its oozes and shells and body parts. To her it was the oddest section, connected with her craft but not so much with her magic. Yet she could use her magic here too, quickening the ingredients briefly into a more lively state.
Her explorations done for the time being, she moved quickly past the mineral shelves and back into the main store.
She nosed at the potions waiting to be sold: They were so smooth and hard in their vials, the liquid inside sloshing like vital organs. The idea of using glass as a container was strange to her; back home, in the settlement, it was expensive and so only used for pretty things. But here, the Magescians had the secret to making them cheap and useful. Malta wished she could find out how: perhaps it was because they didn't have claws.
All the potions were ones that the alchemist made, and even from a glance Malta knew that they were not very good. The man liked to mix ingredients in that did little to help the potion, and some that diluted or negated the effect. She felt sorry for the man, so, she decided to help him out.
Bringing up her magic again, she let it flow like a stand of ivy into the various vials and bottles, infusing the dull potions with life and vigor. She looked on, pleased, as they began to glow.
Using magic always put her in a good mood, and she bounded up and down the store, bursting with playful energy. She pounced on a stray leaf, batting it around the room until, in the back, she noticed a book. It was on the alchemist's desk and open and, full of energy, she bounded up to it.
She put her front claws on the table and peeked inside. The book was a delight to smell; a cornucopia of herbs and age and chemical spills that tickled her nose. Curious, she read the open page and squeaked with delight.
It was a recipe book!
Malta nudged it to a more comfortable spot on the floor and began to happily read it, trying to commit the recipes to memory so that she could play with them later. Eventually, though, her spare energy became too much to allow her to sit still.
Putting the book carefully back on the desk, she bounded unnecessarily to the door and out onto the street, looking for something new and interesting to do that day.
Maybe... she thought, I'll see if there is a park... she'd heard of such things – places in Magescian cities reserved for nature and recreation. Having been in the city long enough to know that it was mostly a forest of stone and dirt, and being a creature of plant and life, she needed some nature.
Debating and then deciding, she headed towards the main street, hoping to find her way from there...
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