Destination (Closed)

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Kas Katta
 

Destination (Closed)

Unread postby Kas Katta » Thu Feb 27, 2003 5:24 pm

(OOC: Closed to Xilen and I for now.)




Dusty, dirty, hot. The thought of thirst flickered faintly across the minds all the beings in the wagon train. Water was not something taken lightly, or something given to, the others.

Twelve wagons rumbled down a stretch of road, headed for a hell that normal people didn’t go to willingly. Twelve wagons, twenty-four oxen, one hundred and twenty men, and ten water skins; dire straits for a healthy wagon train.

Each wagon was fairly small, and consisted of a six foot high cage. Two-inch wooden bars stood vertical, keeping the occupants from leaving.

Obviously, this wasn’t a standard migration wagon train. Only twenty of the humanoid members of this bedraggled caravan were free to wander as they pleased. Each was equipped well.


Wagon five. Second breakdown of the day and the guards weren’t happy about it, at all. As two enormous men struggled to hold the wagon up for a third to put the newly fixed wheel on, all five occupancy huddled in the opposite corner; almost desperate to avoid the whip that had burned permanent scars in the backs of each. The look of utter defeat, and surrender was etched in the faces of all.

Most had been running for most of their adult lives. Running from the law, wives, “holy avengers”, or simply from themselves. They were tired of running, tired of the constant tension, the stress, and the narrow escapes with their lives.

“Water…” One of them managed to force out of his parched, and cracked lips. “Please, water…”
A whip across his unprotected left arm was all he received. Water was not given to the prisoners, not until both the guards and the oxen had had their fill. And with water as scarse as it was now, the prisoners could die before they got any.

It was the caravan from hell, on its return trip.


Edited by: Kas Katta at: 2/28/03 9:21:43 am

Talis Zerran
 

Re: Destination

Unread postby Talis Zerran » Thu Feb 27, 2003 5:41 pm

An Eerie silence settled over the crowd of five as the wagon continued onward through the mountain slopes north of Valth. He wrapped his soiled cloak tightly around his masculine body as he looked out over the desolate horizon in the distance, the sun setting against the rocky mountain slopes. It had been years since he had tasted freedom; years since he had felt the tender touch of a woman.

But those years had come at an advantage. He was merely a boy when he had entered this deadly chess game, and he had grown into a man, fearless, and stong. Years in the mines of Sarnia would do that to any man.

His dark eyes remained in envy to those that looked at him, as harsh and as coarse as his fingers had become. A faint grin crept over his cracked lips as he stared out over the scenic view through the pig-skin wagon covers.

He would taste freedom....

He arose slowly, a cloud of yellow dust gathering at the base of his black leather boots. Only two bothered to look up at him as he stood, grabbing the thick wooden poles with his iron-fist grip. His face turned red with frusteration as he shifted his body weight, pushing harder as the wagon started uphill.

"It's no good boy..." an elderly man said as he tended his lash wound. His face slumped with age, and sadness as he shook his head, a few locks of his light grey hair falling forward against his forehead. "We're done for."


Kas Katta
 

Re: Destination

Unread postby Kas Katta » Fri Feb 28, 2003 10:25 am

Black eyes watched the young man strain against the well-worn cage. This one had some spirit left, a rare thing amongst those coming out of the mines.

…The time approaches…

With a lurch the wagon began its endless creaking and moaning. The young man who had tested the bars sat back down, his face taught.

…when the time comes, you cannot do it alone…

The Being stood, and moved over to the bars that the young man had been pushing. He was covered in the usual prisoner garb; dirty shredded shirt, ragged pants, and worn leather shoes. He would have blended in fine, but for the solid black eyes, and flat grey skin.

His left hand reached out, and began to caress one of the cage bars.

“Done for?”

The voice was harsh, raspy like dried leaves. It came out in a whisper from lack of water. Only two of the four others in the wagon glanced up.

“One is only finished when he gives up hope. Hope… hope carries you; keeps you alive.”

The voice cracked, catching. His hand moved to the next bar, and began to move up and down, as if looking for something.

“Give up hope, and they have you where they want you…[/i]

His hand appeared to find what it was looking for. Only the young man was watching now, the old man had gone back to attending his injury.

The Being’s hand moved lightly over a small knot, only a quarter inch across.

“You can never give up. Never.”

His voice caught again, and a rasping cough followed. His lungs desperately sought air, and only received the same dry poison they had been taking in for the last two days.
The eyes of both the Being, and the young man locked for a brief moment, something seemed to pass between them.



Multiple curses erupted ahead of them, and the driver of their wagon began to emit profanities. Glancing up, the Being saw it coming two seconds before it happened.

A wagon wheel, in the road; there was no avoiding it.

As the cart hit the wheel, the Being moved. His left hand came away from the poll, and his right moved in. A little bit of leverage from the lurch, a sharp punch; it was done. The expression on his face never changed, and the Being went to sit next to the young man.

…tonight perhaps, perhaps tonight, under the mountains…

The two gazed at the bar, gazing at their salvation.



Talis Zerran
 

Re: Destination

Unread postby Talis Zerran » Sat Mar 01, 2003 6:03 pm

Even in high summer, the northern mountains were a haunted place; haunted by the eerie sound of crickets, and wild animals that lurked in the darkness, there glowing eyes lit by the dim lights of the caravan as it headed south toward the country of Valth from the northern wildlands. The cold night air blew gently against the thin pigskin caravan that harnessed the prisoners, bringing with it a brisk chilled breeze. Talis wrapped his cloak tightly around his exposed muscular arms, for even the strongest men were chilled by the cold night air of the mountains. The warm island country of Sarnia, home to the wreched Sarnian mines was not fortunate enough to experience the colder drafts that the mountains stood so firmly against.

A thick grey mist had settled over the desolate mountain road, it's dampness felt throughout the train of wagons. Oxen, and Horses groaned after a long days travel, protesting the reigns that whipped at there fiery brown fur coats. The wagon rocked from side to side as the slopes grew more intense; more rocky, and hazardous. Talis shuttered as the cold night air whipped against his skin. He had come from a warm climate... an almost tropical climate. This new weather would take some getting used to.

A few mutters among the soldiers riding on horseback brought the wagon train to a hault moments later, Talis sitting up against the cold wooden bars to listen in on what was going on. Three of the five members of his wagon had long since dozed off, tired from a days travel. Only the dark eyed stranger remained awake, and nearly in the same position he had been in all day.

"We'll camp in that valley." one of the horsemen said as he pointed off into the distance, a faint green ocean of trees visible as Talis looked through the flapping pigskin wagon cover; and once again the wagon train continued onward, headed south east into the lush valley spotted by the scouts.

Talis closed his eyes, memories of his freedom, his youth, returning to him; flooding his mind. A spiritual warmth cloaked the physical cold that he had felt for weeks.... a cold that had lowered his high spirits on more than one occasion. A faint smile crossed his cracked lips shortly before he opened his eyes, staring at the cloaked figure that remained awake on the far side of the cage.

The time had come...

He arose, tieing a knot in the soiled cloak to keep it from falling off of his body as the swift kick of his hard leather boot met with the cracked wooden pole. One.... Two.... Three. The wooden pole continued to splinter, it's polished exterior giving way to a more jagged interior, bright and fresh against the rough exterior, dyed a dark brown by the sands of time. With one final swift stroke, the pole cracked in half, opening a n area large enough to escape from, large enough to offer a taste of freedom. He crawled out, giving the stranger in the distant corner a questioning glance, his haunting black eyes seeming almost invisible against the dark recesses of the wagon.


Kas Katta
 

Re: Destination

Unread postby Kas Katta » Sat Mar 01, 2003 6:47 pm

Hasty, that one… too hasty…

The Being stood, and crept toward the splintered pole. The fog not only felt good after the days of constant dryness, but it aided in masking his movements. He eased his way out, using the other bars for support. Turning as his feet hit the ground, the Being looked at the other occupants of the cage. They were all awake now, and stared silently at him.

Nothing was said, and for a few brief seconds the trio stared at both the Being, and the escape rout. Slowly, the old man stood, and moved over to the hole. The Being began to move back, but the old man grabbed his hair,

Wrenching the grey head painfully close, the old man put his mouth next to the Beings ear. The old man’s voice rasped painfully in an attempt to whisper.

“Stay here, and you live. Escape, and die.”

The old man moved his head away, and glared the Being straight in the black eyes.

Slowly the Being reached for the skewed upper half of the split bar, still hanging from the top of the cage. Eyes locked with the old man’s, the Being wrenched the bar loose.

“Stay here, I die. Leave, I fight.”

The old man snorted, and went back to his corner. He sat down with the other two prisioners, and looked back at the Being.

Or, where the Being had been.




Three guards, and what appeared to be the caravan leader approached wagon five. Four other guards were already working on repairing the broken cage, another guard inside screaming at the three prisoners.

The caravan leader walked about the cage, looking at the ground, the wood shards, and the three remaining prisoners.

“Headed north… anyone on their trail?”

A minion hastily ran up, eager to gain favor by appearing halfway competent. “Yes your lordship, two guards on horseback left two minutes ago.”

“Any casualties?”

The minion balked at answering.

“Any casualties?” No tonal change, but the voice sounded far more deadly, far more threatening.

The minion hesitated, but answered. “Yes your lordship, one guard. His neck was broken, and he had a… a… shaft of wood through his … his… groin…”

“Oh?” The left eyebrow rose. “A shaft of wood like this?” The caravan leader bent over, and picked up the bottom half of the shattered bar.

“Yes, yes your lordship, much like that.”

“And this dead guard… did he have his weapons? Or clothing?”

“He… he… he was stripped naked sir… nothing was found near him.”

“Ah…” The caravan leader turned, and left; the bottom half of the cage bar clenched in his hand.

His voice floated back to the guard inside the cage. “Kill them, they aided the escaped.”

If he had but glanced up, and looked south, he would have perhaps seen two ghostly shapes move away, and fade into the darkness. One carrying a bow, and full quiver; the other an over large ax.



Talis Zerran
 

Re: Destination (Closed)

Unread postby Talis Zerran » Tue Mar 04, 2003 11:01 am

For three days the two figures braved the wilderness of the northern wilds, and for three days they had gone without food, or water, comforted only by the warmth of the mourning, and the chilled air of late afternoon. Talis gripped his newly aquired bow, and a small sachel of arrows tightly to his chest as they continued forward, now nearing the borders of the country of Valth, and escaping the dangerous wrath of the mountains. On the horizon, a thick cloud of black smoke shadowed the warmth of the sun, and the smell of freshly cooked meat purfumed the crisp morning air.

Talis paused in his tracks, looking back at the stranger. Neither of them had spoken more than two words to one another in the three days of travel. They had nothing to say to one another. After all, what could the damned really have to say to the damned? He squinted his eyes, letting the bow's hilt rest against the cracked dirt road. He lifted his hand, pointing to the thached roof of a small farm house, no doubt within the borders of Valth, only a few meters away.

The intoxicating smell of fresh meat continued to grow as he continued forward, the stranger behind him gaining ground as they approached the rotted wooden fence that surrounded the farmhouse. Talis could feel his stomach growl with anticipation as he looked back at the stranger behind him.

"Smells good..." he muttered as he looked through the pain glass window, a man in his early thirties hovering over a large pot of stew on a small iron stove. He stepped forward into the yard, approaching the door, never once taking the caution enough to look around. His large soiled hand came forward, banging on the front door of the cottage anxiously as he gripped the bow in his hands tighter.


Kas Katta
 

Re: Destination (Closed)

Unread postby Kas Katta » Tue Mar 04, 2003 12:21 pm

The Being followed his companion to the house, but paused several times to glance around, and listen. Three days without food had left him just as hungry as the young man, but experience had taught him that it was better to be free and hungry, than a prisoner and full.

Catching up with they young man, the Being placed his over-sized Ax against the house wall, out of sight. No need to frighten these people more than they would probably be already.

The sound of his companion banging on the door made one of the occupants of the house squeak. Silence reigned for a moment, as the Being imagined the farmer lifting down from above the fireplace his grandfather’s sword. Visitors were not a common occurrence this far out.

Footsteps were heard, and a face peeked out of the low window next to the door. The Being purposely avoided looking at the window, allowing the person to feel secure in their anonymity. The door opened slightly, and a voice asked, “Yes?”

The young man cleared his throat before answering.

“We are lost, and haven’t eaten for several days… The smell of your food lured us here, and we were wondering… … perhaps we could trade some labor for a meal?”

The voice was dry, and halting. It was obvious he had not had any food or water for sometime.

No one answered for a while, and whisperings were heard inside. The Being almost made out several words, but the thick door and walls kept him from comprehending fully the communication that was taking place.

The door opened all the way, and a voice replied. “Please, come in. I’m very sorry for the cautiousness, but we have had troubles in this neck of the woods lately… and visitors are not common. Please, come in, sit down”

The two strangers stooped to enter. The building was warm, and cozy. Two children sat at the table, their mouths open. Spoons hung from their hands, both sat in almost identical positions. They were staring, and not bothering to hide it. The farmer was, indeed, holding a very old sword, and the wife was holding a large pot full of some… scintillating aroma generating food.

The cabin was small, but not too small. The roof was low, probably because of a second story for storage. A fire crackled in the large stone fireplace. The fireplace was the one thing in the entire building that spoke of extravagancy. It was huge, and very well made. Tight, and deep, there were three hanging rods and a built in spit.
The rest of the house was tight as well; the Being felt not a draft. Between each log was tightly packed mud. The floor was well worn in places, showing the regularity of these good peoples schedule. The farmwife was obviously a woman who did her cooking well, for every utensil was polished to perfection, and the floor in front of the fire, and counters was worn even more than anywhere else.

The farmer spoke, in a halting way. “Please, take a seat, plenty to go around” He made no move to replace the sword to where ever it had come from though; obviously he wished to defend his family if anything happened.




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