by Matza on October 1st, 2010, 10:45 pm
Fall 1, 510 AV
It had been said that Taloba was the fortress which ruled the jungle, but going by appearances it seemed that it was the city that had been conquered. It was not so much a city overrun with vegetation as a jungle strewn with stone. Only the great walls managed to stand against the trees, however even these were strangled with twisted vines. Still, it was not the look of the place which was responsible for the impressions instilled in those who saw it. Taloba seemed to radiate a dark foreboding. It was a primitive place, constructed of hunks of rough cut stone and brittle, weathered bone; there was nothing soft about it. The skulls mounted on the walls stared out with silent screams; the warnings could send a shiver down the spine of some of the most hardened humans, and even some wandering Myrians. It seemed almost deserted from the outside, however there was that feeling of being watched. It gave the impression not so much that the jungle had overrun it as that the two lived in mutuality, both as wild and dangerous as one another. They had found a strange understanding, trees that threatened valued architecture were dismembered without mercy, and buildings untended were pulled apart by root and vine. It was a language they could share.
All creatures that came upon the city were met by the powerful hostility it projected that formed almost a physical barrier. They skirted round the edges not daring to broach it for fear that those invisible, watching eyes would reveal themselves to be far more dangerous than prickles on the back of your neck. Those few who dared come near could not help but scan every inch of parapet, every shadow in the undergrowth, for good reason as fewer made it inside. It commanded a respect that forced all from the tiniest beetle (who was used to such necessities) to the proudest of emergents (who were not) to look up at the thing of rock, bone and terrible, untamed beauty. All, that was, except one.
Matza’s wary gaze was determinedly fixed on the ground, a particular patch of ground right beside the fallen tree on which he was perched. Perched would be the proper word for it, seated sounded far too comfortable for the position he had adopted. He was crouched low on the balls of his bare feet with his knees up near his ears, his bum hovering but a few inches from the bark, and his hands poised by his sides, flexing slowly. Either he was very flexible else he was experiencing a rather unfortunate amount of pain right now, perhaps a mix of both considering he had held this pose for what was close approaching 540 of his heartbeats (10 minutes to you and me). Contrary to this he seemed happy enough, at least the smile he wasn’t wearing wasn’t a grimace. He held a fixated stare, one which pierced into the darkness of a small, deep hole.
Up on the walls this odd behaviour had earned him a spectator, not just the parrot which perched far more comfortably on top of a skull, but the hidden watchman carrying out his job with dedication… by watching. He watched the filthy Myrian with more than a little curiosity; even out in these wild parts in wasn’t so common to find a gangly youth, near black with dirt, in tattered shorts, crouching on a log and staring at the ground. Even by savage terms this could be considered eccentric, even a little mad. It made the guard uneasy, fortunately he knew the solution for this and he had decided that if the creature hadn’t shifted soon he was going to fix it, with an arrow through its throat.
Just as this thought was taking hold of the guard a flash of movement caught his eye.
Zaza’s quick hand struck out almost as quickly as his dark eyes picked out the movement in the dark of the burrow. Wicked long fingers wrapped round the small, furry body of the already squealing rodent, plucking it from the ground. The rat like creature struggled desperately, no doubt if it had been more sentient and less terrified it would have been considering the unfairness of life – after all he had been given no clues that the darting giant was still there, he smelt of jungle, whereas the attacker had the scuffle of paws to warn him of the rodent’s return – however as it was he thought of nothing but how to bite the thing that gripped him, and in a few moments he thought nothing at all.
Damp tresses of dark hair hung swung a curtain of vines as Mat tilted his head, considering his kill with a sort of childlike curiosity. It was a fat thing, no doubt it snuck into the city for food, however as with all rat things it was repulsively dirty, more so than the hunter himself. With a wrinkle of his nose he slowly pried one finger after another from the body till he held it between only his first finger and his thumb. A flash of silver seem to appear from nowhere and vanish equal as improbably, leaving the carcass glistening crimson, dripping blood. Two heartbeats passed as if delaying the horrific before he seized the creature in both hands and sunk his teeth into red flesh. A nightmarish tearing noise. Chew. Swallow. Finally the filthy boy raised his head, his eyes travelling slowly up the wall to fix upon a seemingly random spot on the parapet with a vicious, scarlet tinged grin, warm rubies trickling down his chin. The guard broke first, averting his gaze, though he couldn’t think how the boy had found his to hold. When he looked back the creature was gone, its prey left as an insult on the sodden ground.
Shouldering his pack retrieved from the undergrowth Matza trotted swiftly through the dappled lights at the edge of the canopy. Running was his natural pace, he had never walked where he could run, running got you there quicker, before the thing behind you had caught up. He watched the wall out of the corner of his eye, following it round the corner where his eyes refocused on the gate and those who flanked it. They were tall and dark skinned, armed and armoured. However he could sight of that orange and black they were all but forgotten, Mat’s world compacted into that powerful, feline shape.
He slowed to a stalk as he approached, moving through the scrub near silently. It was enough for the guards to continue looking over his head however the tiger was not so easily deceived. He watched it raised its majestic head, those glowing eyes locking on to him, declaring the game was up. The Myrians spotted him suddenly as he stepped out into the path, however he did not spare them so much as a wary glance. His bold eyes were locked with the tiger’s, his expression intense in its emptiness. As he approached the creature lazily raised half a lip at the cub, giving him a casual growl too relaxed to be a warning. To the beast’s surprise the boy cub raised half a lip back and let out a little growl of his own, twisting it into a devilish smile.
”Boy! Move yourself or be moved.” A harsh voice spoke out to him, one of the warriors raising her axe in encouragement. The wretch’s gaze passed over them with wary guardedness, his lips pulled back from his teeth in something resembling a snarl.
”I would hate to return you to your mother in pieces.” She prompted; taking his noncompliant silence to mark him simple, after all no normal unarmed kid disobeyed the one with the axe. Slowly he stalked between the two, moving with something that resembled the gait of a feline, his dark, penetrating eyes returned to the tiger. The two watched one another out of sight.
