Flashback Time and Chance...

[Razkar]

11th of Spring, 499AV

He did not kill the deer immediately; thus was was punished by his mother. He knew the bow. He had used it before, fired arrow after arrow into targets with accuracy. She had taught her son the skills that her mother taught her, just as she had taught her daughters and would teach her other children. The breathing technique to still ones hands. The relaxing of one's muscles. The way to draw the bowstring in such a manner that one could keep it drawn for the long moments sometimes necessary for shots, and then release.

All this she had taught him. But when it mattered, Razkar was still wanting, and their prey had escaped.

Bleeding.

The teenager thudded hard onto the ground, body scattering twigs and leaves as he fell. Something hard and sharp dug into his chest. Probably a rock. A shadow fell over him, and Yurta was standing there, face twisted in disgust.

"A perfect shot." She growled. "And you wasted it. Now you must chase it down." She turned and began to walk away, back to the village. "Do not return without dinner."

He sat there until her footsteps had receded to nothing. She had left him a bow and two arrows. His ax was at his hip, of course, but that was it. He did not know what time it was but night could fall in the jungle quickly and without warning. But... he would say he had a few hours of daylight left.

Razkar stood up. Situations like this... clarified his thinking. No way back. No retreat, no acceptance of failure. Leaving him with only one option.

He found the blood trail, and started after his wounded prey.

[Razkar]

Kandukta had not yet fully shrunk for the season. By Fall the sprawling waters would have receded all the way back to the traditional shores that the mapmakers have given it. But for now, the ground was marshy and thick and every footstep Razkar took sunk his foot in mud past his ankles.

Oddly enough, the young Myrian was grateful for it. The mud slowed him, true, but it aided him. The moist, sopping ground muffled and silenced his footfalls. The stink of the rotting plant matter his his own scent. He waded through the muck, eyes fixed on the blood trail he'd been following for over an hour.

And he marched on.

The soaking ground was eating at his trail, but the blood was getting thicker. The deer was bleeding more and more, and over this ground its agility would be nullified, but unless he laid eyes on it soon, he was going to lose it.

Razkar grunted and hauled his foot clear of the muck. He had an arrow notched and ready. He swept his gaze across the jungle in front of him... and saw nothing.

He cursed low and started moving again. He cursed his mother. Cursed her unyielding rubbish. Cursed his people and this jungle and that petching deer and even...

Razkar cursed everyone. And once he was finished, he saw the deer.

"Stay..." he whispered, so softly it was barely audible, "Right there..."

The slash of scarlet oozing out of its flank was what gave it away. Its knees buckled under the strain, weak from blood loss. Its throat undulated and rippled, hardly able to force air down its windpipe. Its eyes... they were in so much pain...

Razkar smirked to himself and slowly raised his bow. He took careful aim, just like last time, lined up the head of the arrow with the neck of the deer. Thirty yards. Maybe forty. No problem...

He loosed.

[Razkar]

"Skurak!"

The arrow went low and smacked into the deer's leg. It reared up and screamed in that high, alien way that deer do, then exploded into motion again. The oath exploded out of Razkar's mouth and he started running, or trying to, knees jerking up almost to his chin as they pistoned out of the muck.

And the deer kept going.

Swearing non-stop under his beath, Razkar had to admire it. Wounded twice, almost bloodless, tired, and it still ran. It still wanted to live. White tail flashing as it ran, Razkar saw it finally misstep, crashing into a patch of mud that immobilized it.

He grinned, slid his bow over his shoulder, and looked up. Plenty of foliage here. Branches and trees low-hanging enough to make this much easier. He reached to one and hauled himself up a low branch, jumping and swinging from tree to tree as best he could, staying off that sucking mud. It took five minutes, but soon he was above the deer, struggling pitifully in the thick, dark mud, eyes glazing over in fear...

Razkar looked down and tried to feel more anger. But he could not. Not when the pain he saw was that which he had inflicted, and not out of intent, out of a warrior's desire to cause an opponent pain.

This was a hunter's incompetence that caused undue agony.

"Forgive me," he whispered, then drew his ax and dropped down-

-burying the ax into the deer's skull before the rest of his body crashed down onto it.

[Razkar]

A quick death. The two creatures - one on hooves, another on toed feet - sunk even further into the mud as Razkar dropped onto the stricken deer. Before they'd stopped moving, it was dead.

Razkar lay there for a long time. Panting. Gripping the dead, warm deer. Feeling its body stiffen, smelling the coppery blood oozing out of it. His nostrils recoiled at the scent of brain matter... and he decided to move.

That took time. Just getting to his feet again took a few chimes. The arrows were broken off in the deer's side, and he had to cut around them to get them out. He had to brace his foot against the deer's head before the ax could be ripped clear, wiped off, re-sheathed...

Those dead, black eyes still looking at him. He tried to ignore it.

Then came the really fun part: hefting the deer onto his back. That took all of ten chimes. Ten chimes of grunting, straining, slipping, falling and scratching before the two hundred pound corpse was across both his shoulders.

Razkar panted, shifted it a little... then turned... and began his long walk home...

[Razkar]

There were always things to do in the village, and Yurta was responsible for overseeing much of it...

"Ouch!"

"Stop being a baby."

... and cleaning up when something went wrong.

Case in point: her daughter Jeenu seated in front of her, splinters sticking out of her arm. She gritted her teeth, lips pressed together in front of them, brows slammed down hard on her eyes as another one is yanked out. She makes a tiny, agonized noise and Yurta's grey eyes snap to hers.

"Pardon?"

"N-Nothing."

"Good. We have plenty to go..."

The village bustled and flowed around them. Males and females with fish or meat returned from the jungle surrounding it, or headed off with spear or bow in hand to find more. Others sewed and cut wood, built shelters and made weapons. Cooked and cleaned, weaned babies and cared for the handful of animals kept in the village. Children were everwyehre adults were, scurrying around their elders to help out. None of them play. Not yet. Daylight was for work. Nightfall was for stories and relaxation.

Mostly, Yurta thoughtwith a sigh. As an elder, she got little of the latter.

Her eyes flitted again to the latest arrival from the jungle. T'Umka, by the looks of it. Younger than Razkar by a couple of years, not quite as harshly-featured, but close enough for her heartbeat to skip when she saw him.

But then slow in disappointment and growing concern when she realized it was not her son.

The sun was already dipping below the treeline. Shadows long and deep were etched across the ground, growing taller by the hour. The jungles of Falyndar were dangerous by day, but that risk paled in comparison to what crawled and prowled in the darkness of its night. And her son would be out there soon...

Yurta pulled another splinter and forced her mind to the present. She taught him plenty. Now he can use it.

"Raz will be fine, mother." Jeenu said quietly, also staring at the treeline. "He's an idiot sometimes, but he's getting better."

"And you know this for sure?"

"Yes."

Yurta smiled and shook her head. Children. So confident and trusting. Tell a child that they could fly and they wouldn't be able to find a cliff fast enough. But the world was so much more brutal than one believed as a child. And that time ended the moment you saw death for the first time. What if-

"Raz!"

By the time Yurta's head jerked up Jeenu was already running, wooden needles in her arm forgotten, pelting towards the figure staggering from the treeline. At first she thought it was some mutated monster, some demon from the deep jungle... and then she saw her son's head under the deer carcass.

Razkar's footsteps were measured and slow, sweat pouring off his body. Teeth gritted he bent down and patted his little sisters' head, then frowned at her arm.

"Get... Get those out."

"Oh, they're OK."

"Now, girl!"

Muttering but obedient, she scurried back to her mother. Yurta was still seated when Razkar's shadow loomed over her, and the deer was dumped next to his sister. Jeenu crinkled up her nose in disgust. Yurta's eyes flickered to the carcass, then to Razkar, and finally to the splinters in her daughter's arm.

"The arrows?"

"I... I only bought back one. The other two were broken."

Yurta finished her work in silence, spreading a salve on Jeenu's arm before sending her away. Then she got to her feet and looked properly at her son. He was a mess. Scratched and bruised by the branches, vines and bugs of the jungle. Sweating and panting and exhausted, eyes already misty with fatigue.

"You will make two replacements before final meal." She said simply, and finally. Her son nodded. "But first you will aid me gutting, jointing and boning this one."

Another nod. Many would assume it to be weakness. Razkar knew better: arguing would only result in a beating, and at this point, even a slap might knock him over. The rest of the village seemed to ignore them, but there were eyes, always...

Yurta looked him over and reached out, almost gingerly... and gripped her son's shoulder.

"We'll get some water first."

"Thank you... mother."

Yurta and Razkar turned their backs on the setting sun, just as it winked out above the trees, each grabbing a stiff hoof, and dragged his kill to the butcher's lodge together.

[Schism]

Your Evaluation Mr. Razkar Razkar Skill(s): Body Building +1 Climbing +1 Hunting +2 Investigation +1 Observation +1 Running +1 Tracking +1 Weapon: Hand axe +1 Weapon: Short Bow +1 Lore(s): Do Not Waste the Perfect Shot Blood Leads to Prey Honor of a Clean Death They Watch You, Even in Death Note(s): Some grammar error’s with the possessive. I’m not a fan of fragments, personally… I appreciate the effect on a forum though. Some grammar, stuff, with commas. And, beginning sentences with a conjunction is frowned upon. Conjunctions are useful, only if used right. Yurta throwing her son to the ground is a bit much. I like the scorn, but something about that doesn’t feel right, Myrian culture-wise even. Depending on the arrow, the deer would probably bleed less. The bodily response is to clot a wound, anyway. Cursing his mother and people seems strong. Is that really the best word to use there? He loosed, vs., he loosed the arrow…. Careful. I liked the honesty of Razkar holding the deer. That was a nice scene, classic and effective. The setting with the scene between Yurta and Jeenu is very wrong. Taloba is entirely walled in. Secondly, Razkar down talking Jeenu in any case would get him smacked across the face. I don’t totally like Yurta’s speech being broken at some parts. Myrian is an entirely comprehensive language for its fluent speakers, there’s no need to compensate for an outside understanding of it. Yurta encouraging Raz at the end –with water - is much more flattering and true to a mother-son relation in Myrian culture. Let me know, PM, etc. if there’s anything to comment or discuss. Proofread. I can point out errors, but you need to learn to spot them too. Inconsistencies aside, well done. I like Yurta’s character very much.