Day 5 of the Year 514 AV
The putrid smell of rotting vegetation rose up from the ground, invading the Ackina’s nostrils. Moisture hung in the air, trapped by the overhanging branches and natural humidity that was so common in the wetlands. The swamplands that were so prevalent gave the outskirts of the city a mysterious feel to it. The unknown lurked underneath the canvas of trees and in the damp foliage. Not many people ventured out into the dark, unfamiliar marsh; not unless they had a purpose. Hunters, trappers and philters were among those with a valid reason for being there. But there were others with less noble reasons.
Rujaro.
Jay crouched on the ground, brushing his gloved hand lightly against a shrub, moving it from his view. He gazed at the damp ground, squinting. An imprint of some kind sat obscured in the dirt. The man traced the outline with his a finger, trying to make out what animal could have made the mark. The wet ground made it easy to track in the swamps but it also made it equally difficult if the ground filled with water. The swamp could just as easily conceal as give away a person’s location. It was a cruel mistress at times.
The Ackina sighed and stood.
What am I doing out here. I can’t track. I can’t find an animal out here, much less an escaped slave.
He stared out into the swamp, frustration breaking through the mask he had attempted to wear over the years as a Dynasty member. It was one of his downfalls as an upper classman. He was expected to be gifted in politics and maintain a sober, yet friendly visage when interacting with other Dynasty families. But to the disproval of his family, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Sometimes he wondered if that was why Morrison had expectations of him to become a Bounty Hunter, to get him out of sight. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or offended.
But it wasn’t just his family who chided him for not being able to put up a facade to cover what he was thinking. Bael always told him his inability to hide what he felt would be his undoing. It gave away what he was thinking and feeling. In combat and intelligence work, one needed to mask what their intentions were. Otherwise it gave the opponent an advantage. One that he could rarely afford.
Jay shook the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t matter. He was alone and had no one to hide his frustration from. It was just him and the swamps; no one here to exploit him. He was tired of continually guarding his back; Dynasty politics were exhausting in his opinion. He preferred the solitude to their squabbling.
Get over yourself, Jay. Morrison had you trained since you were eight years of age for this line of work. He has faith in you. Now it’s time for you to have faith in yourself. Enough with the pity, keep practicing. You can’t go anywhere but up from here.
The Ackina carefully stepped through the foliage, his leather creaking slightly and the sound of his boots rustling through the bushes causing him to wince. His brown eyes scanned the soggy ground for more prints and broken branches. There was only three more bells until it would be too dark to see where he was going. If he wanted this evening to be a success and find whatever it was that he was tracking, he would need to speed this process up.
Sadly tracking didn’t quite work that way…
The putrid smell of rotting vegetation rose up from the ground, invading the Ackina’s nostrils. Moisture hung in the air, trapped by the overhanging branches and natural humidity that was so common in the wetlands. The swamplands that were so prevalent gave the outskirts of the city a mysterious feel to it. The unknown lurked underneath the canvas of trees and in the damp foliage. Not many people ventured out into the dark, unfamiliar marsh; not unless they had a purpose. Hunters, trappers and philters were among those with a valid reason for being there. But there were others with less noble reasons.
Rujaro.
Jay crouched on the ground, brushing his gloved hand lightly against a shrub, moving it from his view. He gazed at the damp ground, squinting. An imprint of some kind sat obscured in the dirt. The man traced the outline with his a finger, trying to make out what animal could have made the mark. The wet ground made it easy to track in the swamps but it also made it equally difficult if the ground filled with water. The swamp could just as easily conceal as give away a person’s location. It was a cruel mistress at times.
The Ackina sighed and stood.
What am I doing out here. I can’t track. I can’t find an animal out here, much less an escaped slave.
He stared out into the swamp, frustration breaking through the mask he had attempted to wear over the years as a Dynasty member. It was one of his downfalls as an upper classman. He was expected to be gifted in politics and maintain a sober, yet friendly visage when interacting with other Dynasty families. But to the disproval of his family, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Sometimes he wondered if that was why Morrison had expectations of him to become a Bounty Hunter, to get him out of sight. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or offended.
But it wasn’t just his family who chided him for not being able to put up a facade to cover what he was thinking. Bael always told him his inability to hide what he felt would be his undoing. It gave away what he was thinking and feeling. In combat and intelligence work, one needed to mask what their intentions were. Otherwise it gave the opponent an advantage. One that he could rarely afford.
Jay shook the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t matter. He was alone and had no one to hide his frustration from. It was just him and the swamps; no one here to exploit him. He was tired of continually guarding his back; Dynasty politics were exhausting in his opinion. He preferred the solitude to their squabbling.
Get over yourself, Jay. Morrison had you trained since you were eight years of age for this line of work. He has faith in you. Now it’s time for you to have faith in yourself. Enough with the pity, keep practicing. You can’t go anywhere but up from here.
The Ackina carefully stepped through the foliage, his leather creaking slightly and the sound of his boots rustling through the bushes causing him to wince. His brown eyes scanned the soggy ground for more prints and broken branches. There was only three more bells until it would be too dark to see where he was going. If he wanted this evening to be a success and find whatever it was that he was tracking, he would need to speed this process up.
Sadly tracking didn’t quite work that way…
