Blackfridayrule

Into the Dark

Rohaan smiled, but it faded quickly. This kid needed to know what he was in for. And Rohaan wasn't so sure he did. There was the matter of survival out in the wilderness with all the Dark creatures out there, and some that were as plain and untainted as a lamb and yet just as wicked, if not worse for knowing better. Rohaan was well acquainted with those sorts, and he had the scars to show for it. But he could help with that, Rohaan had been dealing with those sorts of problems since he was a boy. No, what bothered the shapeshifter was the fact that the kid did not know who he was, and did not seem to know what he was either. He would not have someone who wanted to destroy the darkness find out halfway through the journey that he was a grayblood. Rohaan was not of the Darkness, and neither were his people, but that didn't stop most people from believing that.

"Understand something, Xander. It's going to be dangerous. I think you know that, and that's good. Believe me when I say I sympathize with your cause and I want to help you. And I can. I will. But first you have to know who you're taking up with. If we part ways here and you learn nothing else from me, learn this: be wary of people, Xander. Not all of them are good. And not all the good ones are who you think they'll be. Protect yourself. Because very few people in this world will do it for you."

Rohaan tipped his mug all the way back and tipped his chair back a bit on its hind legs to reach over and set his empty mug on a nearby table. "My name is Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen and I'm a black-blooded shapeshifter with at least one warrant out for my arrest in almost every kingdom. I was raised by pirates, and it's entirely possible I've killed more men than you know." He shrugged casually. "Dunno how many people you know but...you get the idea. I'm a compulsive pickpocket and I have a loose moral compass. Now, I'm not a complete degenerate monster and I'm not of the Darkness, despite what people would have you believe. But if none of that bothers you, and you're willing to bring me along with the understanding that I'll bring some logistical problems, I'll see to it your sister gets that medicine, and that you live to tell the tale. You don't have to decide now. Sleep on it if you want, I'll be here. I want hot breakfast." He grinned a little and shrugged.

"I got me a bunk in the big common room. Top one next to the window, if you need to find me for any reason." He stretched out, folding his hands across his chest as he enjoyed the heat of the fire.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Post is up. Feel free to play any of the baddies and do as you like with them.

Also, some bad news, my hands (mostly the left) are not doing well--again. Some days, typing is hard, so I might not get particularly long/frequent posts for a while. I am also going to ask about surgery on Friday with my DR so that might be on the horizon too, which will make posting understandably difficult. Probably won't stop me from one-handed pecking at the keys so I can do SOMETHING with myself if that happens, but they might be significantly paired down.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne had a fierce gleam in her eyes as she looked around them, searching for any sign, any movement, any new noise. Nothing. When they had encountered Mark, she had been rather cavalier about him. At least, until he approached them and then she was downright sour. But he had not seemed so much of a monster then as Darin had said he was. Besides, there were few humans that could match her skill with a blade, as the fact was that anyone who'd held a blade for as long as she had could no longer lift one. But this was different. For one, she had seen and touched the Tree. She was Seed Chained and therefore bound to it, and that sharpened a sense in her she didn't even know she had until now. But she had it. What was more, these were possibly Eluri, and that shifted the odds a bit. While the Eluri as a whole were never known for their skills in combat, that did not mean that no individuals studied the craft.

"Yes. I remember." Her words were so soft, barely audible and yet they were harder and sharper than broken glass. "I feel it too." Differently of course, but she did feel it. There was a wrongness she could not ignore, something that made her teeth itch. "I don't think we'll get to camp tonight. We will make a stand one way or another." Ridahne sidled Tsura directly beside Darin so she could lean in close. "You may command me, Seed Bearer, but this is my territory here. If I tell you to run, you run. No questions asked. No matter what. If you can, you will take Talbot with you." It was beginning to darken in earnest, even more so under the leaves. "If that happens, and we're separated, meet back here, but be sure they've gone first. For now we--"

Something tightened in her stomach as the feeling of unease intensified. "We make our stand right here. They're coming."

It was not an immediate thing. They did not burst out of the gloom as soon as she'd spoken. Instead, the two had time to prepare themselves a little. Ridahne dismounted and removed one knife from its sheath with her left hand. The right, her sword-arm, she kept empty...for now. Timing was everything. Mitaja sat with her back facing her handler, yellow eyes shining in the darkness, tail twitching. And there was at once a breath of unbearable tension, immediately broken by the sound of approaching feet.

There were four. They were all tall and slim and light on their feet, but none had the dark skin of the Orosi or the tattoos of the Azurei. Eluri. There were three men and a woman, though the woman was taller and broader than any of the men. She had a very large broadsword across her back. One man had a strung bow in his hands; he hung near the back. The other two had curved, naked swords. Aside from their weapons, they did not look like a malevolent bunch at first glance. Like Mark and his gang, they looked relatively inconspicuous, but they were unmistakably unwholesome. One of the sword bearing men held a lantern; he held it high.

"Is this the one they call Torzinei?" The woman lifted her chin, inspecting Ridahne, then nodded. Clearly, she knew something of Azurian customs. "Ah, the Azurei traitor. We've heard news of you, murderer, but we have waited a long time to meet you. Very long. It's a pleasure to see you in the flesh."
Ridahne felt a chill. They hadn't just heard of her, they'd seen her. "You sound disappointed," she sneered. "Do I not live up to the rumors?"
The elf's eyes drifted to Darin knowingly. "No. You don't. And neither does your....friend. But I'm far from disappointed, Torzinei. You've done just as I hoped you would. Just as I saw you would."

Mitaja, who had once been by her master's side, was gone. She had slunk away out of the light and had melted into the nearby shadows. Ridahne gave her knife a twirl in her hand, letting the light catch on its surface and glint menacingly.

The man grinned. "Come now, are we savages?" He laughed, but there was no joy in it. "We have not introduced ourselves!"
"No need. You already know me."
"Yes, we do. Let me introduce myself, I am Hrendi of the Red Hand, and these are my associates. But tell me, who is this friend of yours, Torzinei?" It was a rhetorical question; by his tone, he already knew, but he just wanted to squeeze it out of them.
Ridahne sneered, showing teeth. And with disdain she said, "my associate."
Hrendi laughed mirthlessly. "How ungracious to your host. You are a a guest here, both of you, and you ought to have better manners. Though I'm not sure what I expected from the sand rat who killed her own Sol." He really was disappointed then when he didn't get a rise out of Ridahne. So he turned his attention to Darin again and smiled cloyingly. "I'm not sure what I expected from the Seed Bearer, either, but I did expect...more."

"Enough!" Ridahne's voice was a clap of thunder in the silence. "You already know how this is going to end, so why don't we finish it? Come here, if any of you are brave enough to face me. I will show you Azurei steel." Ridahne reached behind her and drew her falchion with slow relish, letting the soft whisper of the leather against the steel fill the air between them. Ridahne spared only a second to look at Darin, and to throw them off, she spoke in poorly accented Siren. "Go! NOW." Ridahne took a breath, adjusted her grip on both her blades, and dropped into a fighting stance. But as she did, a sleek arrow came forth from the darkness and struck her in the right thigh with a wet thump. Ridahne howled, but it was more a war cry than a shout of pain, and with a heavy swipe of her knife she cut the remaining shaft, leaving only a broken, bloodied nub. Furious, she charged Hrendi but he stepped back and let the other swordsman engage her first, along with the broadsword-bearing woman. His prize was not the elf.

The wood, once quiet with the emptiness of unnatural silence, was now filled with grunts and growls and the ring of steel on steel in the darkness.

Into the Dark

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Rohaan most certainly was not. For one thing, he had not been to his homeland since he’d left it as a child. But truthfully, he didn’t actually know with any certainty exactly where he was from. He had an idea, a region at least, but he’d never found it on a map or any sea charts he’d ever seen. He and Berlin once spent hours sorting out where he’d come from, and the only thing they’d settled on was that Rohaan was from an island somewhere off the southern coast. But was that south directly? Southwest? Southeast? There was a lot of coasatline down there. And he’d never tried to scope it out.

Rohaan let a slow smile spread on his lips. “No lad, I’m not. Not remotely. I can guarantee you ain’t never heard of the place I come from. Ain’t important. But for the record? South. Really south. But like you said, don’t matter. Lemmy hear this plan of yours.” As he spoke and without looking behind him, he reached up a hand and dropped his very very bare apple core onto a plate held by the resident serving lass as she passed.

Rohaan watched the boy as he explained he was going to the Capital and why. At the mention of Orthreloth he just sort of laughed as if remembering something fondly, but that mirth sort of melted off his face as Xander went on. He squinted at the parchment he was handed, slowly making out the words. Many were unfamiliar to him, and though he did learn his letters, he was never very quick with them. Rohaan handed it back when he was finished, then leaned back in his chair and gazed at the fire for a moment as if thinking. He was silent for a long time.

It was a bad idea. Rohaan was full of those, so that didn’t necessarily stop him. But it was something to consider. This lad was probably some upstanding type, liked well enough back home. And all he wanted was to save his sister. Rohaan, on the other hand, was not the sort of man one wanted to be seen with. He was not a ‘good’ man exactly, though he wasn’t the monster most made him out to be. Life had cornered him and he chose to fight—that was all.

Rohaan knew what it was to be alone. He knew what it was to be desperate. And he wondered if this kid from some little hamlet would make it alone. Judging by the fear in his eyes, he probably wouldnt. And the shifter remembered clearly being half starved, severely injured, and hiding out in an overturned barrel in a filthy shit-strewn alley. He remembered a bear of a man wearing sailor’s clothing coming towards him with an offering of bread, hard cheese, and an orange. Berlin had saved his life in more ways than one. It was time Rohaan returned the favor.

All of the casual mirth seemed to have left him as he turned his chair around to face the lad directly. He was very serious as he leaned forward and said, “I have been to Orthreloth. Now, provided you can actually survive the trip there, they won’t just let you walk into the Athenaeum—-“ he said this a little bit slower, it was a somewhat unfamiliar word to him, though he’d heard it before “—-just because you ask nice. As far as they know, you’re a dirty rotten thief. Now, I don’t think you are. But they don’t know that.”

Rohaan spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “But I am. The dirtiest and the rottenest. In fact, I have a bit of a warrant out for my arrest in Orthreloth, actually. The city guard and I go back a ways.” He chuckled a bit. “The Cloaks too. That’s a story for another time. My point is, I can get you there, and I can get you in, and back out again. No one better. But before you gimme some sad story about how you ain’t got much coin, or worse, before you start throwing it at me, I don’t want it. Money ain’t worth much to a man like me. No, what I want from you is merely an answer. It has to be honest! And you have to promise to keep things quiet.”

Rohaan glanced around for a second, then very carefully pulled up his hood—just a little. The firelight finally reached his full face, and even in the orangey firelight the chilling too-blue color of his black-ringed irises was sharp and distinct. Even if Xander had heard nothing of shifters and their infamous eyes, it was obvious the blonde stranger was not exactly human.

“Just how far are you willing to go to save your sister, Xander?”

Into the Dark

On Shapeshifters:

They are an ancient race and are found throuought Errandil in small tribes across the land. These tribal settlements are often found in areas away from other settlements and are therefore quite isolated. Deep woods, remote islands, and mountain peaks are all places one might find a shifter tribe—-the more inaccessible by humans or other races, the better. They have tight-knit communities and prefer to keep to themselves, though sometimes if two tribes are within reasonable traveling distance (for a shifter), they might have a sort of relationship with another tribe.

Each locale has their own specific customs and even a variation on the language, though both are derived from a common source that none recall now. It is often believed that there was once only one tribe, a nomadic one that as they traveled, people splintered off in groups to live in the places they loved best. None actually know anymore for sure.

The Vokurians, as they call themselves, have the unique ability to change their shape into almost any other, with some exceptions. They can alter their humanoid shapes into anything—-younger, older, taller, light or dark skinned, male, female, or even an identical copy of another person. They can also turn into most animals, however, the animal in question must have reasonable capability for sentience and must have blood (unlike a jellyfish, which has neither). Some forms are easier to do and to maintain than others—-humanoid forms are easiest, and the closer said form is to the shifter’s natural one, the easier it is. Animals are more difficult to hold in general, depending on size or type. For example, a dog would be fairly easy, while something like an elephant would be attainable but would take immense energy and concentration.

Each shifter has one animal form that is nearly effortless for them to change into an hold. What this is exactly differs from person to person. The vokurians call this an ilun-tai, or ‘true alternate’. It is the form that suits them best. Some tribes believe this is something predetermined by personality or perhaps passed down from parent to child. Others maintain it is more of a learned behavior.

There are two things the shifters cannot change, however: Eye color, and the color of their blood. Both of these are common details in folklore about them and are widely known as sure-fire identifiers of a shifter. Their eyes are an intense, too-blue cobalt ringed by a dark gray-black circle around the iris. Their blood is a nearly metallic looking graphite color. It is primarily because of this that shifters are widely associated with the Darkness and firmly shunned across Errandil.

On Folklore:

Humans especially, (though other races participate in this as well) have long feared shifters and their powerful abilities. Considered to be evil beasts of the Darkness, demons, or at best, untrustworthy, they have been exiled from society at large and this is a big part of why the tribes stay so secluded. Some extremists go by the ideology of ‘the only good shifter is a dead one’ while others simply don’t want to do business with them, will chase them out of shops, or try to force them out of town. Common slurs are also used, typically variations of ‘grayblood’, ‘nightblood’, ‘blackblood’ or sometimes just plain ‘demon’.

Most people have never actually met a shifter, however. They are increasingly rare in non-shifter settlements, so this has opened doors for many a tall tale about their wretched, depraved deeds. Some count them as mere myths, like werewolves, ghosts, or mermaids. Others acknowledge their very real existence but little truth is known about them. So naturally, people make things up. Children are told to stay out of the woods at night lest Dark beasts and shifters come to eat them. Tales are told of shifters taking the shape of a groom so that he might rape the bride. Some say that shifters have taken the shape of lords and commanders and captains and sewn chaos and depravity by giving wicked orders.

There is no love between shifters and other peoples. Some folk have throuought history attempted to capture and enslave shifters for their own purposes. It’s an extremely difficult thing to do and rarely is profitable, but it is possible. A shifter can be bound to their natural form in two notable ways: the first being bodily weakness due to starvation, sickness, or severe injury. The second being an enchantment put on iron or steel that forcibly blinds a shifter to their natural shape through arcane power. Some particularly pious individuals believe deeply that they are creatures of the Darkness and that if they are slain as sacrifices to Yggdrasil, they can gain blessings or protection.

On names:

The vokurians hold names very dear. Children are not officially named until they are a little older than infants. Some as young as toddlers, others as late as the age of six or seven. Names are given thoughtfully and with meaning and are reserved until parents feel they have a grasp on the child’s personality. In addition to their family name, they are given three. Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja’aisen, for example:

Rheoaan: The third and longest of the names is reserved for immediate family and for one’s spouse. It is the only name of the three that has meaning.

Rohaan: The second name is a shorter one derived from the third. Two children with the same third name would not likely have the same second and first names. Rheoaan, for example, might shorten to Roedan, Riahin, or Roaehi. It is given to friends or distant relatives.

Rio: The first and shortest of the names, it is the one given to strangers, enemies, or fresh aquaintanences. The use of the second name must be earned, and only the owner of said name can decide when someone may use it.

Into the Dark

Rohaan expected some kind of roundabout answer, or maybe the answer he might have given at that age, which would have gone something like an insult and a suggestion to stick to one’s own business. He would have also expected a shy answer too, but what he got was something else entirely. He got a good look at the boy, a real good one, and noticed he was clenched tighter than a crusty old clam. He was sweating and Rohaan could just see the rate at which his chest was rising and falling. Did he have something to hide...? Maybe he’d had some bad water on the road and was feeling the consequences now, and his tension was just from trying to keep it together. Maybe he—

The lad actually spoke, more like spewed words out like they had a mind of their own. Cure the darkness? Asinine! Rohaan couldn’t help it, he thought it was a good joke so he laughed out loud, heartily. He nudged the boy’s shoulder with one hand playfully as he tried to catch his breath. “Good one lad! Maybe you’ll...” And then in realization, the smile melted off the man’s face. “Oh, stars above, you’re serious...”

Rohaan shifted in his seat so that he could face the lad a little better. The man’s eyes were not visible, not so clearly in the shadows cast by the firelight, but it was clear he was looking the lad up and down. “Atr...atre..San....atrestia—blast, you’re looking for what now?” He attempted to speak the word; the attempt was slow, sticky and awkward as though he had never heard or spoken those syllables together in his life. But he seemed to have a familiarity with the practice of sounding out new words. He spoke two languages and had to painstakingly learn one of them.

“Pyre, eh? Can’t say I ever heard of it...” He took out his worn cloth map and squinted at it. “Ah! I see. Small place, innit? Huh.” He paused for a moment, obviously thinking, then added, “Well met, Xander. Rio Ja’aisen,” he said with a nod. “For starters, why don’t you keep drinkin’ that brew you got there? ‘Dras knows you need it, you’re wound up tighter than an old lord’s asshole!” He took another drink from his own mug, as if mentioning Xander’s made him thirsty.

“So uh...lemme guess, you left home specifically for this quest of yours? To uh,” he tried not to choke, “cure the darkness? I mean...don’t get me wrong kid, I admire your spirit. But you got a plan? And what’s this other stuff for? This Abyssal Shade and this...” he waved a hand, “other thing? Astre—-A-tres-tri-a-na? Right?” Rohaan had a little bit of a beard starting and he scratched it thoughtfully.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Perfectly fine! Real life always comes first! Take care of yourself mate! Looking forward to continuing to write with you :)

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

So I thought we'd get to some action. Ridahne is feeling some bad people, all of them Eluri. Same kind of vibe as Mark and his gang--bad bad bad.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne grinned. "Oh we have our fair share of gossip as well. And in case you want to know someday, a classic way to insult someone back home is to question the precision of the artwork in their ink." She laughed. "We spent a lot of time as kids whispering about others' ojih. "Did you see Teluun has a new mark? I heard his brother did it for him while drunk.." That sort of thing." She laughed again. "Silly really. And petty. Perfect for children but some adults find it just as upsetting. But there's also lots of talk about the marks themselves. Especially when someone goes away, perhaps to the capital, and comes back with a marriage mark. Oh my do people talk!" And with slightly less mirth but not quite so much pain as before she added, "they will speak of me that way. Word has already spread, and there will be more to tell when we show ourselves, even if they don't know who you are." Ridahne shrugged. She had done the crime, after all. No one knew the circumstances, but the mark was not false.

Ridahne yawned, looking around to gain her bearings a bit before answering, "I think there's a town sort of close. It's not a short distance exactly, but we could make it if we push. Never been to it, but by the map it seems sort of mid sized. I'm sure they'll have plenty of good food and real beds we could rent out."

They rode on for a few more hours, and as they did, the forest deepened. Darkness deepened too, though whether that was solely because of the approach of evening, or because the foliage was much denser as they went on, was up for debate. Perhaps both. Mitaja, who had been happily trotting off into the brush for hours had come back to them, though instead of padding ahead or looming some distance behind like a benevolent shadow, she stuck close to the two riders. Ridahne didn't notice this at first--she was accustomed to having Mitja around her all the time. But an uncomfortable feeling in her chest made her suddenly pay attention to things that might seem off, and this was the first thing she noticed. Mitaja was too close. The cat liked to range and then to snuggle up close at night. It was uncommon for her to be nearly under Tsura's feet.

She didn't want to say anything at first. It was probably nothing and she didn't want to spook her companion for no good reason. Besides, they hadn't come across anything that would give her worry. No signs of bandits, no suspiciously hewn trees across the road or overturned carts, no sets of glowing eyes in the growing gloom or any sign of other creatures, or--

"Wait." All day, her tone of voice had been amicable, casual, friendly and relaxed, if not a bit tired. But though this was spoken softly, it was a command. She halted Tsura and Mitaja stopped as well, all perfectly still. Ridahne listened but she heard nothing and yet...that was the problem. She heard nothing. No rustle of leaf, no chirp of insect and no twitter of bird. Silence. That uncomfortable feeling inside her seemed to be rioting. "Something's wrong. Do you feel it?" And as she said this, her hand reached back and checked the movement of her sword in its leather sheath. As always it came easily to her call, but she did not draw it yet. Not yet.

Into the Dark

The food was wonderful. It was hot, it was hearty, and it was good solid stuff, nothing too uppish or fancy, but the sort of thing one wants to eat at the end of a long day. Warm bread, generous pads of butter with a drizzle of honey, a hearty stew that undoubtedly had been made with a bit of ale and good tender beef, and a little sliver of cheese. Sheep cheese, if Rohaan had to guess. Goat, maybe? More than anything, it was hot, and for a man who traveled as light as he did (which was very light, and somewhat peculiarly so when one stopped to think about it) hot food was a sheer delight. And the ale! Rohaan had tasted many a draft from the larders of many lords, ladies, and other sorts with too much money for their own good. And frankly, none of it compared to a nice solid variety like this at the end of a long hard road. Not to mention, the vanilla was a nice touch. How long had it been since he'd had vanilla...?

Rohaan finished his meal with gusto, and the first mug of ale likewise. Eventually he flagged down the barkeep and asked after an apple and another mug of ale that he sipped rather than inhaled. One to wash down the food, another to enjoy. It was quite nice, not some watered-down swill that some places passed off as beer. With his stomach full, he felt he could breathe again, and he felt his muscles beginning to relax. So he munched on the apple, nursed his drink, and listened to the talk of the room. At one point a song did break out amid one table, but seeing as how the whole tavern didn't feel inclined to join in, neither did he. Or at least not at any great volume. He sang along in a soft voice one would have to be very close to hear; he did not feel like drawing too much attention to himself. Not tonight.

Except it seemed he'd done a poor job of that already. For one thing, the tavern's resident mouser-cat, a little white and black thing with yellow-green eyes, would occasionally flick its tail at him and hiss in his direction. Rohaan wasn't surprised. He learned early on that wherever he went, most animals wanted nothing to do with him. Cats would hiss and slink away, dogs would bay and howl but would not approach, and horses would all but panic. All shifters had that problem, and people said it was because they had too much of the Darkness in them, that animals knew. Fools. The animals could sense something in them, yes, but it was not the Darkness, for Rohaan had none. They sensed what his people called an ilun-tai, or in the common speech, 'true alternate'. Every shifter had their natural form, and though they had a repertoire of others at their command, each had one in particular that they felt the most comfortable in, the easiest to hold, the most like them. Animals sensed that in him.

There was another thing thing that bothered him. More than the cat, he could feel eyes on him. He couldn't explain it, but he'd gotten good over the years at honing this pseudo-sense. He had to in order to survive, so maybe that was it. Maybe he was just more perceptive than some. But he could feel without a doubt that someone was watching him. So slowly he glanced around from underneath his hood, just waiting to see some overzealous sellsword or local guardsman staring him down. But there wasn't. There was just a lad.

Rohaan hadn't really noticed him before now. He'd been quiet and kept to his own affairs, and so had Rohaan. But he'd unmistakably been looking at him, really looking. Normally this would get the shifter on edge, and perhaps prompt him to slip away. But a kid? What would he want with him? And come to think of it, he was awfully young to be traveling by himself. Especially in these parts. Curious. Rohaan knew firsthand that all kinds of scenarios threw young sprouts into the wide, cold world before they were ready. What was this one doing at a place like this?

He could almost hear Berlin's booming voice in his head. Leave it, Rheoaan. Ain't worth trouble. But then he thought, what if it was? Besides, if this kid wanted to keep to himself, he wouldn't likely be keen on grilling Rohaan for personal information. Ah, what the hell. Rohaan got up and bringing his mug and half-eaten apple, he plunked down hard in a chair beside the lad. His hood was still over his face, but his demeanor was casual as he settled into the chair and looked mostly at the fire. But he spoke eventually.

"Nice night, innit? Even nicer with a fire going." Rohaan had a slight accent but it was impossible to determine where from. Through a mouthful of apple he asked, "Where ya comin' from?" The question was asked without any real weight--he was not so much after the answer as he was after conversation. And anyway, he didn't want to grill the kid.