Apparently, Kasrjin's haphazard response--and he was all too aware of its inadequate nature, given his poor command of the western continent's language--was enough to satisfy the criteria of the transaction, for that seemed to satiate Edda's curiosity. He watched her curiously as she pulled out a sheet of material and laid it over the bird that accompanied her before stepping forward to bring the lantern closer to him.
“If you would like to put it out, you may do so,†she offered. “I am going to rest for the night. We have a full sun’s worth of travel tomorrow, so I suggest you do the same. If we make good time, we should reach Dragonhead by nightfall. You may query me as much as you like tomorrow.†With that, his guide pulled out another peculiar coloured bottle and drank its contents before settling into her personal shelter, leaving the Xaela to his thoughts. He adjusted his position against the rock and sighed again. Now that he thought of it, this was the first moment since his landing upon the western continent that he'd had a chance to meditate. A small part of him still throbbed with a vague feeling of homesickness and for Tsanai's guidance, but Kasrjin knew of the reasons why he had been selected. He'd originally objected, but once Tsanai had explained her reasoning, the Khadai warrior had agreed quite readily.
So much of this land was confusing. While the road was still visible in the forest, he'd eavesdropped on travelers in order to build upon his rough foundations of the language, and while he could understand the definitions of some words, that did not necessarily mean that Kasrjin understood the meaning. It was a land of paradoxes; sometimes it was practical and efficient, other times it was circuitous and filled with needless complexities. Diversity flourished for both good and ill, and while lip service was paid often as such, rarely did the individual lend thoughts to their neighbours.
The Xaela inhaled deeply, the familiar sting of the frigid air filling his nostrils before he exhaled again, his breath coming forth as a smoky puff. It did not seem that the temperature would drop much lower, meaning that the climate at this altitude was much milder than what was present around Kaarad-El. His emerald eyes, scintillating in the dark, stared at the indignant ember flickering inside the lantern. Already, he was nearing the region containing his objective. The Correspondence could be cryptic, but it was not intentionally vague so much as it was monumentally difficult to interpret the thoughts of the one who used such an esoteric medium to communicate. A conflict of sword and wings. Blood upon the slopes of snow and mountains. The sea of mist shrouds the timeless testament upon which the eternal march shall be impaled.
It was needlessly vague and worded in a loquacious fashion that only an Aljai would have bothered with, but then the original ideas conveyed to the Tsenkhai were downright unintelligible; it was only through their efforts that they managed to make the interpretation comprehensible, much less as specific as it was, and even then the interpretation he'd been given numbered out to something around ninety-seven sentences which was remarkably laconic in comparison with past interpretations. Kasrjin was retrospectively grateful that they managed to pick out useful landmarks to narrow down his search, lest he be lost upon the western continent for years to fulfill his task.
The Xaela adjusted his sword again to rest against him and pinched the ember of the lantern to douse it before closing his eyes. It was the first time he had rested in the presence--or near presence, at least--of company in...who knew how long. It was an odd sensation, that feeling of security that was provided by the presence of another. As he drifted off, Kasrjin only hoped that he would not awaken with a start.
--
He awoke with a start.
Kasrjin heard the first sound before opening his eyes; it was too artificial and deliberate to be an animal. The crunching sound of boots stamping onto snow and frozen soil, the aural gradient of dirt collapsing as one's foot made contact with the ground from heel to toe. A shot of adrenaline surged itself through his veins, his eyes widening rapidly and a hand on his sword, though he did not change his posture. A quick glance noted that the sleepy personal settlement that Edda had erected the night before had at some point collapsed, if the bundle of cloth and leather was to be believed. It was likely that she was still slumbering.
The Xaela twisted his head to the side; it was still dark. If he had to guess, it was close to dawn, but there was no way of knowing for sure. There was a tingling sensation in his horns as he attempted to focus on the source of the sound. The steps were getting louder, and accompanying them were voices.
"...never 'ave told 'em we's were dragon 'unters!"
"We ain't been caught yet! And them knights pay a pretty penny fer our kind o' help. Let's just find one o' the little ones an' bring the tail back. The rest of the patrol will take care o' everything else."
The first voice was gruff, almost guttural. The second one was of a higher pitch; not quite feminine, but a bit too lilting to be properly masculine. Kasrjin placed both hands on his sword and was now crouching behind the boulder, which was rather difficult given the Au Ra's height. It was unlikely that the pair of voices were a threat, but it was not as if he could risk alerting the pair by awakening Edda to ask for an assessment on the situation. Thus, it would be best to assume a worst case scenario and prepare for hostilities. His grip on the leather-wrapped handle of the greatsword tightened and loosened.
"Bloody 'ell, I'm freezin' me jewels off. Can't we 'ave a rest?"
"Fine, you big baby. The sun should come up soon anyway, so we can just hide out somewhere before returning to the main group." A pause. "There. That looks like a nice, warm area, doesn't it?
An audible shudder and chattering of teeth. "Better 'an out 'ere, definitely."
The boot steps were getting louder. Kasrjin's anxiety grew as he was unaware of how to respond. Should he strike first? Should he wait? Should he shout for Edda, or would that provoke an attack? Damn this uncertainty to the hells! The Xaela stood up to his full height and, in one long stride, stepped around the boulder, bringing him face to face with the two intruders.
One was a man. He was wide and tall, of a height reaching Kasrjin's chin, with a ruddy complexion and suntanned skin, dressed in chainmail and casually carrying an axe of considerable size. The other...thing...was much shorter, barely reaching up to to the Xaela's shins. It had narrow, elfin features, and would barely qualify as a stepstool in most respectable circumstances.
All three froze.
They stared.
Kasrjin wasn't sure what to say. He would have hardly been surprised if Edda later told him that he should have asked the pair as to the status of their mothers before cutting off their heads.
The short man and the gruff man both bounded backwards a step, their weapons coming to hand, though they did not strike immediately. The tall man pointed a meaty finger forward.
"Look! One o' 'em dragon peoples!"
The Xaela eyed both of them in the same way that a coeurl might eye a pair of jackals looking to steal its kill.
"That'll do," said the short man, licking his lips while spinning a pair of knives in elaborate manoeuvres. He flashed a toothy grin before pointing one of the knives at Kasrjin. "We only need one o' the smaller ones--comparatively speaking--anyway for our next moon of pay. He's got a nice tail, so this shouldn't be too ha--"
The sentence was interrupted by a pained yelp. In one leaping stride, the Au Ra had bounded forward with a forceful upward swing that promptly sent the small man into a state that was not conducive to intelligible speech, that state being described by most leading experts in the respected field of dismemberment as "missing an arm". He followed up with a wide swing aimed at the gruff man, whose instincts kicked in just in time to deflect the blade with the haft of the axe. The gruff man was clearly taken aback by the savagery with which the greatsword followed his movements, and took a step back for every blow that was sloppily parried. The ring of steel echoed for a short while, though eventually naught was heard but the biting of steel deep into the neck and chest, followed by a gurgle.
The short man was still yelling, a frightfully prevalent illness which, in the land of the Xaela, was often cured quite effectively with heavy metal implements forcefully placed into their chest.
Thus having prescribed medication and enacted proper medical procedure to cure the short man of his incessant screaming, Kasrjin made another wide swing into the snow to attempt to whip off some of the blood before it froze on the blade.
It was certainly not Kasrjin's intention to react violently, but the Xaela felt he made the appropriate judgment call; he, and by extension his companion, were threatened by a pair of armed interlopers who made gestures that implied intentions of inflicting harmful action. Therefore, following principles of self-defence, he made a pre-emptive strike in order to minimize the chances of damage befalling Edda and himself.
The adrenaline began to wear away from his body as the Au Ra began to look for something to wipe his sword with. The entire encounter took roughly fifteen seconds, though it felt like five minutes. He could not help but frown at the dismembered bodies. The short man was neatly separated into several pieces that were, remarkably, larger than when they had been put together into a single being, and the tall man had a wide gash extending from the side of his neck into the chest cavity. The blood rapidly began to pool in the dirt.
Even so, he could not help but feel rather pleased. Not because of the violence, no; such fighting was woefully inefficient. The Xaela was lacking in enough knowledge about customs and practices to be comfortable with any other option he might have had, especially with the gestures the pair were making towards him. But that did not mean that the brief spurt of exercise would have to go to waste, and Kasrjin felt that his muscles were rather refreshed from exerting themselves so early.
Though, this theme of interlopers stumbling upon him and ending up in pieces was hopefully not a common occurrence past this point. The Xaela winced imagining Tsanai's glare of furious indignation.
Maybe the snow would hide the blood?
“If you would like to put it out, you may do so,†she offered. “I am going to rest for the night. We have a full sun’s worth of travel tomorrow, so I suggest you do the same. If we make good time, we should reach Dragonhead by nightfall. You may query me as much as you like tomorrow.†With that, his guide pulled out another peculiar coloured bottle and drank its contents before settling into her personal shelter, leaving the Xaela to his thoughts. He adjusted his position against the rock and sighed again. Now that he thought of it, this was the first moment since his landing upon the western continent that he'd had a chance to meditate. A small part of him still throbbed with a vague feeling of homesickness and for Tsanai's guidance, but Kasrjin knew of the reasons why he had been selected. He'd originally objected, but once Tsanai had explained her reasoning, the Khadai warrior had agreed quite readily.
So much of this land was confusing. While the road was still visible in the forest, he'd eavesdropped on travelers in order to build upon his rough foundations of the language, and while he could understand the definitions of some words, that did not necessarily mean that Kasrjin understood the meaning. It was a land of paradoxes; sometimes it was practical and efficient, other times it was circuitous and filled with needless complexities. Diversity flourished for both good and ill, and while lip service was paid often as such, rarely did the individual lend thoughts to their neighbours.
The Xaela inhaled deeply, the familiar sting of the frigid air filling his nostrils before he exhaled again, his breath coming forth as a smoky puff. It did not seem that the temperature would drop much lower, meaning that the climate at this altitude was much milder than what was present around Kaarad-El. His emerald eyes, scintillating in the dark, stared at the indignant ember flickering inside the lantern. Already, he was nearing the region containing his objective. The Correspondence could be cryptic, but it was not intentionally vague so much as it was monumentally difficult to interpret the thoughts of the one who used such an esoteric medium to communicate. A conflict of sword and wings. Blood upon the slopes of snow and mountains. The sea of mist shrouds the timeless testament upon which the eternal march shall be impaled.
It was needlessly vague and worded in a loquacious fashion that only an Aljai would have bothered with, but then the original ideas conveyed to the Tsenkhai were downright unintelligible; it was only through their efforts that they managed to make the interpretation comprehensible, much less as specific as it was, and even then the interpretation he'd been given numbered out to something around ninety-seven sentences which was remarkably laconic in comparison with past interpretations. Kasrjin was retrospectively grateful that they managed to pick out useful landmarks to narrow down his search, lest he be lost upon the western continent for years to fulfill his task.
The Xaela adjusted his sword again to rest against him and pinched the ember of the lantern to douse it before closing his eyes. It was the first time he had rested in the presence--or near presence, at least--of company in...who knew how long. It was an odd sensation, that feeling of security that was provided by the presence of another. As he drifted off, Kasrjin only hoped that he would not awaken with a start.
--
He awoke with a start.
Kasrjin heard the first sound before opening his eyes; it was too artificial and deliberate to be an animal. The crunching sound of boots stamping onto snow and frozen soil, the aural gradient of dirt collapsing as one's foot made contact with the ground from heel to toe. A shot of adrenaline surged itself through his veins, his eyes widening rapidly and a hand on his sword, though he did not change his posture. A quick glance noted that the sleepy personal settlement that Edda had erected the night before had at some point collapsed, if the bundle of cloth and leather was to be believed. It was likely that she was still slumbering.
The Xaela twisted his head to the side; it was still dark. If he had to guess, it was close to dawn, but there was no way of knowing for sure. There was a tingling sensation in his horns as he attempted to focus on the source of the sound. The steps were getting louder, and accompanying them were voices.
"...never 'ave told 'em we's were dragon 'unters!"
"We ain't been caught yet! And them knights pay a pretty penny fer our kind o' help. Let's just find one o' the little ones an' bring the tail back. The rest of the patrol will take care o' everything else."
The first voice was gruff, almost guttural. The second one was of a higher pitch; not quite feminine, but a bit too lilting to be properly masculine. Kasrjin placed both hands on his sword and was now crouching behind the boulder, which was rather difficult given the Au Ra's height. It was unlikely that the pair of voices were a threat, but it was not as if he could risk alerting the pair by awakening Edda to ask for an assessment on the situation. Thus, it would be best to assume a worst case scenario and prepare for hostilities. His grip on the leather-wrapped handle of the greatsword tightened and loosened.
"Bloody 'ell, I'm freezin' me jewels off. Can't we 'ave a rest?"
"Fine, you big baby. The sun should come up soon anyway, so we can just hide out somewhere before returning to the main group." A pause. "There. That looks like a nice, warm area, doesn't it?
An audible shudder and chattering of teeth. "Better 'an out 'ere, definitely."
The boot steps were getting louder. Kasrjin's anxiety grew as he was unaware of how to respond. Should he strike first? Should he wait? Should he shout for Edda, or would that provoke an attack? Damn this uncertainty to the hells! The Xaela stood up to his full height and, in one long stride, stepped around the boulder, bringing him face to face with the two intruders.
One was a man. He was wide and tall, of a height reaching Kasrjin's chin, with a ruddy complexion and suntanned skin, dressed in chainmail and casually carrying an axe of considerable size. The other...thing...was much shorter, barely reaching up to to the Xaela's shins. It had narrow, elfin features, and would barely qualify as a stepstool in most respectable circumstances.
All three froze.
They stared.
Kasrjin wasn't sure what to say. He would have hardly been surprised if Edda later told him that he should have asked the pair as to the status of their mothers before cutting off their heads.
The short man and the gruff man both bounded backwards a step, their weapons coming to hand, though they did not strike immediately. The tall man pointed a meaty finger forward.
"Look! One o' 'em dragon peoples!"
The Xaela eyed both of them in the same way that a coeurl might eye a pair of jackals looking to steal its kill.
"That'll do," said the short man, licking his lips while spinning a pair of knives in elaborate manoeuvres. He flashed a toothy grin before pointing one of the knives at Kasrjin. "We only need one o' the smaller ones--comparatively speaking--anyway for our next moon of pay. He's got a nice tail, so this shouldn't be too ha--"
The sentence was interrupted by a pained yelp. In one leaping stride, the Au Ra had bounded forward with a forceful upward swing that promptly sent the small man into a state that was not conducive to intelligible speech, that state being described by most leading experts in the respected field of dismemberment as "missing an arm". He followed up with a wide swing aimed at the gruff man, whose instincts kicked in just in time to deflect the blade with the haft of the axe. The gruff man was clearly taken aback by the savagery with which the greatsword followed his movements, and took a step back for every blow that was sloppily parried. The ring of steel echoed for a short while, though eventually naught was heard but the biting of steel deep into the neck and chest, followed by a gurgle.
The short man was still yelling, a frightfully prevalent illness which, in the land of the Xaela, was often cured quite effectively with heavy metal implements forcefully placed into their chest.
Thus having prescribed medication and enacted proper medical procedure to cure the short man of his incessant screaming, Kasrjin made another wide swing into the snow to attempt to whip off some of the blood before it froze on the blade.
It was certainly not Kasrjin's intention to react violently, but the Xaela felt he made the appropriate judgment call; he, and by extension his companion, were threatened by a pair of armed interlopers who made gestures that implied intentions of inflicting harmful action. Therefore, following principles of self-defence, he made a pre-emptive strike in order to minimize the chances of damage befalling Edda and himself.
The adrenaline began to wear away from his body as the Au Ra began to look for something to wipe his sword with. The entire encounter took roughly fifteen seconds, though it felt like five minutes. He could not help but frown at the dismembered bodies. The short man was neatly separated into several pieces that were, remarkably, larger than when they had been put together into a single being, and the tall man had a wide gash extending from the side of his neck into the chest cavity. The blood rapidly began to pool in the dirt.
Even so, he could not help but feel rather pleased. Not because of the violence, no; such fighting was woefully inefficient. The Xaela was lacking in enough knowledge about customs and practices to be comfortable with any other option he might have had, especially with the gestures the pair were making towards him. But that did not mean that the brief spurt of exercise would have to go to waste, and Kasrjin felt that his muscles were rather refreshed from exerting themselves so early.
Though, this theme of interlopers stumbling upon him and ending up in pieces was hopefully not a common occurrence past this point. The Xaela winced imagining Tsanai's glare of furious indignation.
Maybe the snow would hide the blood?
