The Archer and The Bowyer

[Ixzo]

Word Count: 907

61st of Autumn, 515AV
Once the meat of the kill had been given to the Spit Fire. She was quite glad with the kill. For a sixty pound bird, they had gotten nearly thirty-five pounds of meat from it. Which she gladly pocketed the seventeen gold and one silver, And of course, a whole bag of feathers. She had been pointed in the direction of the whetstone, where they would pay her for the feathers.

So it was with the burlap sack slung over her shoulder that the long Kelvic stepped into the whetstone. Almost immediately, someone approached her, a man. Greetings. The sign was informal and he jabbered something in Pavi, which Ixzo didn't catch in time to concentrate on to understand. Shouldering the light bag of feathers from her back, she opened the top to the man. "Spire Fire. They told me, come here." She said, shrugging and then twisting the top of the sack back closed.

"Right, we needed some good feathers. What bird, may I ask?" You hunt? He asked and signed. Ixzo only nodded at the sign.

"Turkey." She answered, following his gesture to walk further into the tent. A few people were mingling, although it looked mostly as if people were working. Curious silver eyes flitted around the room as she realized what the strange words she was told in Pavi meant. She had thought the strange words were just the name of the family, but she now realized it was in reference to a Whet Stone, and she simply hadn't picked up the words.

He stopped at a counter and she stopped beside him. Here. He signed, motioning for her to dump the feathers don the table. Ixzo did so, and he immediately dug in. She wasn't the best pluck-er but she had been careful to not pull skin or blood from the turkey. That, added with the fact that she was only aiding the more skilled person at the Spit Fire, the feathers were actually a fairly good quality for being so fresh. Although she hadn't separated the down from the flight feathers, or anything in between. She would have, if she realized where she was taking it.

"I'll give you one gold for all of it." He signed something, probably in reference to the work. She shook her head. Perhaps, if the Drykas at the Spit Fire hadn't told her how much she could get for the feathers, she would have easily complied. But one gold was only half of what she was told she could get.

"All bird." She picked up a wad of down, pulling a good flight feather from it and brushing off the fine hairs. "All good." She twirled the feather for him, and he nodded. "Two gold." The man looked at her skeptically.

"One and five silver." He stated, clearly he knew he had started low. Ixzo shook her head again, pulling out one more good flight feather.

"Two." She said once more.

"One and eight silver." He upped his price. Ixzo paused, it wasn't quite the two that she was told, but the cat decided to take it. She wasn't going to get stuck with a bag of feathers if she could help it.

"One and eight silver." Sher repeated, nodding to the man. A grin split his face. Deal. He signed, reaching a hand in his pocket, and pulling out he money. Ixzo was quick to pocket it afterwards, ready to return to her tent and take a nap before she had to show up at the Wind Skins that evening.

Wait. The sign caught her eye just before she could turn away from him. Ixzo glanced at the man, hiking an eyebrow up.

Yes?[/color] She asked, watching him reach to the side of his desk. He pulled a bundle of feathers from the side, already groomed and prepared, and handed it to her. She must have looked very confused because the Drykas laughed.

Favor, please. "Take this to Azmere." He motioned behind her and she turned to see where he was pointing. The tent was fairly quiet, the lone figure hunched over his work, so there was no mistaking who this Azmere was. "Now that we have your feathers, he can use these." Thank you. Good day. He signed before turning back to the feathers. Expert fingers plucking the good ones from the down, and she shrugged. It was on her way out the door anyway. Slipping her coins into her pocket, the small bundle of metal from her day's kill feeling heavy against where her hatchet lay secured on her belt, Ixzo strode to the other side of the tent. Switching the bundle of feathers between her hands, she slowly approached the man.

"Azmere?" She asked, a thickly accented voice hoping to call his attention from where his work. It was only as the lioness got closer to the man, that she realized why he needed the feathers. He was a bowyer. Interest sparked into her eyes, and as easily distracted as ever, the Kelvic slowed to a halt beside him instead of simply setting the bundle down and being on her way as she had planned.

"You make… bows?" Curious. She signed, leaning farther into his space that most humans would have liked, not giving him a chance to reply to her earlier question. A spark of nostalgia seized her finger tips, tingling with excitement as she thought of her favorite weapon.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Azmere]

Azmere had been shaving down bow shafts for several hours and was about due for a break. The piece of wood in front of him was being particularly troublesome in that he didn’t quite feel that it was up to par. He set down the blade he’d been using and lifted the bow to inspect it for the fourth time. He closed his left eye and turned the thing at eye level while carefully running his fingers along the bow. A tiny bump near the tip caused a hike in his right eyebrow. Azmere gave a ‘harumph’ and put the bow back down. He picked up the razor and began to very slowly and deliberately shave the bump away. Azmere would stop between every few strokes to run his fingers over the area until finally he was satisfied with his work. One might mistake this attention to detail and dedication as a sign of one who has mastered his craft. Azmere was a mere apprentice and the bows he made were for young hunters, training exercises and spares. He was in awe of the beautiful crafts made by his betters and longed to one day have that kind of artistry.

Azmere rose and grabbed the latch tool and bow string and set about tying the knot and looping it around itself as he had been shown. He attached it to the bottom of the shaft and then placed that on the ground between his boots. He slid a small dowel through the knot on the other end of the string and then took the dowel into his left hand. With his right hand, he took the bow and using great control of force, Azmere began to bring his hands together. Slowly, the arc began to form as the knot came closer to the tip. Azmere’s muscles in his arms and back rippled from the exertion. Many could bend a bow but to do so without control may cause it to snap. It required just the right amount of force and an understanding of physics to apply the correct angle of torque which Azmere was learning. He nearly had it when an unfamiliar voice called his name. Azmere lost his concentration and had to relax his muscles as the strain was too much on his hands. He set the bow and string on the table before him in an ungentle manner and turned with an exasperated look on his face.

“Ye-“ His reply was cut short as she asked another question and then signed some Pavi. She was different than any woman he had ever seen before and she was absolutely in his personal space. Azmere was a bit uncomfortable around people in general and women in particular. He couldn’t even see her features clearly because she was so close. Azmere looked into her eyes and saw the fierce gaze of a lion and looked up to the left then down to the right. He then saw the feathers and found his tongue.

“Make bows.” He nodded and moved his tools to the side of his work table. He patted it wanting her to place the feathers there. He moved along the table almost subconsciously putting more space between them. He pointed to the bows he had made and made a sign for cheap. He then pointed to the bows made by Ercere and made the sign for quality. He smiled a polite smile as Caloke had instructed him and waited for the feathers to be placed where he could inspect them. This woman was his equal in height. She had windmarks littered across her lithe and lean form. Azmere studied each one but couldn’t pinpoint the artwork indicating she had not received them in Cyphrus. She was scarred but not like he. No, these scars were intentional as if drawn to resemble something. Without even knowing, Azmere reached out towards her left clavicle to touch the raised skin but when his hands entered his field of vision, he lowered it and looked away towards the front.

Awkwardly, Azmere stood at arm’s length and looking anywhere but at the exotic woman. These social encounters were the only instances in which he was jealous of Cassander. The step-brother turned Ankal had a silver tongue and a charming smile with a pointed wit to match. Azmere was smart enough but not in conversation and certainly lacked the confidence of his lineage. His lack of attaining recognition from Zulrav at this stage in his line furthered this meek attribute.

Word Count755

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Ixzo]

She set the feathers on the table where he showed her, and immediately took the seat next to him, only to frown when he scooted away. She supposed most humans didn't appreciate immediate proximity. She watched for a moment, as the man seemed to lose his words. She had quickly learned that the painful scarring process was not common, or even heard of, in Endrykas, so she was not surprised to find him motion towards the slug heart across her chest. She let a short, booming, laugh loose into the air between them. "I see!"

She turned away from him, plucking a finished bow from his work desk and inspecting it. She didn't actually know much about bows, other than how to use them, but found it interesting.

"You make it?" She asked, keeping her thickly accented Pavi short and clipped as she tickled the feather on the end of the shot, before placing it back down. It looked a little more fragile than the arrows she was used to, and she didn't want to break his work.

Once she had placed it down, she swiveled towards him once more. Like most cats, her curiosity was sparked with his animosity. It wasn't quit fear, but simply an uncomfortable feeling that shook from his frame. She swung her right leg across the bench, scooting forward and leaning into her palms. She moved until he was forced to either stay put on what was left of his end, or to stand to avoid her.

If he stayed put she would lean into his face. She'd give a soft pat on her own chest, in a familiar greeting between Myrians, and give him her name. But if he stood, she would lean back, taking over the bench. But she would still pat her chest and say her name, and then remove herself from the bench to stand as well, not wanting to take his seat if he was not willing to share.

"I use bows, how do you say… for hunting." She offered the information, trying to goad a conversation out of the man now that she was interested. If they were still sitting the words would be received, laced with the sultry voice of a close conversation, although if they were standing she would have taken on a more innocent tone, as to not provoke further distancing. "You use? Or… work only?"

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Azmere]

Azmere wasn’t put off by her scars. Quite the contrary, he was fascinated by them. He subconsciously touched his own scarred cheek as his amber and cerulean irises scanned quickly over the brand that crossed the woman’s chest. He shook his head once and followed the bag of feathers. He rose but did not leave the bench, he slid closer to her and began to rummage around and inspect what she had brought to aid his work. Her booming laughter gave him pause but he did not jump. Azmere was not a nervous person and loud noises didn’t bother him so much as being so close to this exotic woman that her body heat was crackling with his own and creating a bit of electricity that was making the hairs on his arm stand up.

“You make it?” Azmere rolled his eyes a little but only to not chuckle. He had already said that but then again, she wasn’t Drykas so how good her Pavi really be? He looked into her eyes once more and nodded in response to her question. He sat back down and began to sort through the feathers by type; tail, tip, down, and then by size. He made a very subtle slid that was long and drawn out which created a bit more space between them once more. She made a move with her body that was normally something one might consider suggestive but again, Azmere didn’t expect or anticipate anything from her. Her strange ways are foreign to him but may very well be normal for her homeland. He tipped his head to the side just slightly as if to hide from her in some small way but it wasn’t much compared to her shift across the bench. The warmth of her breath tickled at his skin and it might actually have tickled had she been on his right but she was on his left and the scar tissue had a strange way of dispersing sensations.

She tapped her chest and whispered her name making a point to flick her tongue against her teeth the way he had seen many-a-woman do in the arts of flirting and seduction. Make no mistake, most of those sightings came from watching the interactions of others.

“Ixzo.”

Azmere felt that this woman had a crazy method in her approach to life but it was different and refreshing. She certainly didn’t act Drykas. Azmere also had an impression that she wouldn’t respect his shyness for long so he decided to return her gesture in kind and turned his head to face her. Twisting his waist, he squared his chest at her and met her dark gaze with his contrasting stare. Chimes went by before he raised his left hand to his chest and at the touch of fingers to skin, he voiced just above a whisper, “Azmere.”

“I use bows, how you say…for hunting.” Again with the soft words. Azmere allowed a grin to cross his countenance which was not really seen by people outside of his family or his strider. He watched her for a moment and allowed her game to continue but he had to resume his work so he went back to sorting the feathers though his mood had certainly improved from casual boredom to chipper. He ran over the concept of hunting with a woman like this. From the way she was seated upon the bench, he would guess tht she could look him in the eyes without any trouble at all. “You use? Or…work only?”

The way that words formed on her mouth was fundamentally different from everyone Azmere had ever known and it was exciting to hear the sounds in a new way. He finished sorting the feathers in front of him but was far from finished with the bag. Deciding it best to finish later, he set the sorted feathers into Caloke’s tray and tied the bag shut once more. Having finished this he turned on the bench in an act of grace and power that saw his hands match hers. His bottom lifted from bench while he diverted his weight to his right leg and arms allowing his left to swing back around to the other side of the bench. The swing caused his face to dip very close to hers though only momentarily. He swung forward with his hips and sat back down with everything seemingly seamless leaving him in a position to mirror that of Ixzo. “I use my bow more than I make bows.” He smiled politely. “What is your favorite hunt?”

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Ixzo]

She followed the man's movements with her eyes, but did not move but to lean back slightly when he got too close to her face. He was asking about her hunts? She had meant to ask more, but like a cat, she was easily distracted. Silver eyes immediately caught the scars that lined the half of his face that had been hidden from her. She didn't attempt to hide her sudden reaction. Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened as she took in the discolored eye and skin. For only an instant, the pang of the common number '12' that remained burned into her thigh reminded her of the pain, a pain she hadn't gelt at the time, and she tried to imagine that same scar across her face.

She didn't know what this human skin had gone through, but she doubted she'd ever know what a scar like that truly could be.

"You been hurt?" She whispered, lifting a hand from the bench to bring cold fingers to the scar. She knew it wouldn't hurt him, but she remained tentative to touch the flaky dry skin. Yet she was far too curious to refrain from touching him, self-control rarely came to the lioness' mind. Unless he shoved her away, she wouldn't stop. Remembering to be gently, she would have tenderly spread her palm over his discolored cheek. She thought for a moment, to use the gift Priskil had given her, but she paused. She wanted to give this man the light because she thought he was still hurt by this scar. But perhaps he had grown used to it? Perhaps the man hardly noticed his past wound?

"You still hurt?" Scars, pain, remember. She asked, softly, probing for answers to questions she hadn't asked.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Azmere]

Azmere would have to be blind to not see her reaction to his scars. Sometimes he forgot how dim the inside of the tent truly was and was constantly amazed that he ever got any work done in such a place. A child of the wind, he craved endless skies and an unreachable horizon. Still, this strange woman from nowhere was amidst his workspace and sitting eye level with his deformity yet unmoved.

“You been hurt?”

She didn’t need to be loud and she wasn’t. Their proximity to each other was about the size of one of the tail feathers Ixzo had just sold to Ercere. Azmere signed a simple no in reply to her delicate question. Her face betrayed her emotions though he was fairly certain she wasn’t trying to hide them. Her fingers were smooth and cool but the scars muted much of the sensation. The surface of the scar tissue was actually smooth. Certainly, there were pocks and divots but the raised and beaded portions were solid and smooth like a complex maze of pebbles tht had been washed over for years by a slow moving trickle of water. This was not too far of an exaggeration since Azmere had spent countless bells riding with the breath of Zulrav brushing past his face. He allowed her a chime to explore his face with her fingers and palms. The normal reaction to his scars was that of pity or polite distaste. There was occasional rude outburst or intimidated gasp but these had become few and far between. It was nice for the misshapen skin to attract some affection, thus the reason Azmere allowed the contact to continue.

“You still hurt?” She followed this question with a string of Pavi signals that let him know why she reacted the way she had. Azmere gleaned that she had some painful experience which gave her a connection to his traumatic appearance. He permitted a curl in the corner of his mouth to show his appreciation for her concern. Azmere slowly lifted his hand to her wrist and lowered Ixzo’s hand back to the bench. Azmere held her gaze for a moment. He couldn’t place the exact thing about her stare but Ixzo was more than she appeared. Perhaps she could wield magic or had a terrible secret or both. He patted his fingers against the back of her hand and then pushed himself up from the bench. He walked to a dark corner of the tent and began to strap up his gear. Slinging on his backpack, he turned to face her once more.

“No pain. Not for years.” The truth was more along the lines of something so awful happened to him that his mind blocked him from remembering much about the experience. He wrapped his left hand around his bow and went to stand next to the tent’s rear flap. The stamp of impatient hooves travelled softly from outside. Azmere motioned for her to join him. It was time to go check in on some things and he wouldn’t mind the company. Besides, he had far more questions than answers at this point.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Ixzo]

When he stood, Ixzo leaned back to cross her legs. Silver eyes watched the man walk towards the front of the tent, although she made no move to follow him. Not, at least, until he turned back to her. Did the human expect her to follow? The lioness grimaced. Instinct told her to do so, and with almost autonomic moves, she stood, gliding forward to follow the strange horse man.

Yet she caught herself, frowning at how easy instinct told her to listen to the words of another, despite what her own thoughts may think. Rather than allow her thoughts to follow the stream which may lead to thoughts of the past, she shook her head at the man. Quickly, and taking care not to touch him as she did so, the long kelvic shouldered the canvas of the tent aside, stepping out into the chilly air. Immediately she took two light steps back, watching what he would do.

Goodbye. She nodded, focusing on the signs, because she did not really want to wave to the stranger. Without giving it much of a second thought, she turned on her heels, heading in the opposite direction. Surely she could find something more interesting to do with her time than follow a scarred human around like a kitten. Especially with her new pocket of gold. Perhaps she would try her hand at her aunt's bean bread. Her stomach growled at the thought of it, and the Kelvic couldn't help but walk a little faster at the thought of a loaf of the tasty treat.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Azmere]

Azmere left the tent and headed for Hephiestian. He heard the tent flap open and then the soft pat as it closed once more. The area was quiet for now and it was refreshing. Azmere stroked the mane of his strider and looked back to see what the exotic woman would do. She had frozen as if afraid to come any closer to the horse or to Azmere. He furrowed his brow and was about to sign a question when she signed good bye. Azmere straightened and turned to face her. He was signing so soon but she had turned abruptly and was walking way.

In the quiet, he heard the rumble of her stomach. He smirked. Food was always a good way to connect. He wondered what someone like her enjoyed. Would she share the same tastes as common Drykas? Azmere spun on his heel and leapt onto Hephiestian. He grasped the yvas and urged his companion to turn and head after the strange woman. The stallion shook his mane and back in the opposite direction. Azmere grumbled and leaned close whispering the promise of sour grass which promptly allowed him to regain control of their destination.

With ease, Azmere lead the horse after Ixzo. He brought his mount in a wide arc away from Ixzo and then crossed in front of her where Azmere had Hephiestian stop. He peered into those deep eyes of night. They were something predatory in them like a demon hiding in plain sight but the Drykas had a feeling of ease about this woman. He wanted to talk to her to delve into the mysteries surrounding her odd behavior. She was curious to a point of being intimate and then instantly standoffish which was confusing but consuming for a man of antisocial standards. He’d never been treated in the way that she had with her affectionate reaction to his scars. Then Ixzo was simply done and ready to go.

Azmere was confounded. He sat astride Hephiestian and waited for her to get a bit closer. The horse seemed a bit uneasy which was rare but Azmere paid little mind for the time being. He used a mixture of words and signs to relate his thoughts. “Hungry?” He signed growl and pointed to her stomach. “Are you afraid of me?” Azmere motioned to his scars then made a reference about her disappearing. He steadied his horse who shook out his mane as Ixzo got a bit closer. Azmere’s eyes of sun and sky pierced the thick night of her own. He felt a bit strange doing this from the back of his horse but she had walked off so fast, he would’ve had to run to catch her. Let’s face it; why run when you can ride? He kept his focus on the woman waiting for her response.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Ixzo]

The lioness had stopped when the horse crossed her path. Travelling on foot was far less frequent in this city as riding a horse, so it was only once the strider paused that Ixzo bothered to look up. She couldn't help but grimace at Azmere. She had been up all night, and now she wanted to retire to her tent with a full belly, a rare treat, and her warm blankets. Other than that the kelvic was so easily distracted, she had forgotten what their conversation might've consisted of already. Yet when he asked if she was afraid, Ixzo's grimace broke into a grin.

The deep bellowing laugh that followed might've been compared to a cackle, but was not near the cute giggle that girls used to allure boys. She was genuinely amused. A glint of a challenge flashed in her eyes and when she showed her teeth it was more of a snarl for a challenge than her previous grin of amusement. She was hungry, and he was getting in the way, and to her, she very much considered him prey. "I welcome you to see who is truly afraid." She muttered in her mother's tongue.

"Hungry, yes." She stepped forward, carefully offering a hand for the horse to sniff. She liked these beasts, for they didn't spook from her presence. She had once been able to pet horses, riding along with her mother as a child. But that was a time when she was a mere kitten and not yet old enough to scare the livestock, although once she had grown the horses at home rarely let her get near. This breed, the Striders, seemed more at ease around her. As if they saw past her animalistic nature to see the human side of her. When the horse didn't react, she gently smoothed a hand behind it's ears. She was careful of its face and neck, those sensitive places seemed far too prey like for her instincts, yet she liked to pet these creatures. She got along with them, and that attracted her.

"But hungry alone." She finally continued her thought, flashing eyes back up to the man in warning. She was done socializing.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Azmere]

Azmere watched the woman as she calmed Hephiestian enough to stroke his ears. The boy did like that kind of touch and rolled his head down so Ixzo could have a bit more access. The Drykas watched with the careful eyes of a caretaker as this stranger interacted with his strider. He caught the grimace and thought it interesting how animalistic her expressions were. Thoughts began to build in his mind and Azmere was plugging information into equations trying to sort out the details. The laugh was almost insulting to Azmere who had grown a bit tired of this person. He was fine in the back of the Whet Stone by himself. All she had to do was drop off the feathers but she insisted on inserting herself into his space, his mind and his life. Now that he wanted to engage in more conversation, she was quick to dismiss him like the world revolved around her. That notion had to die. In the Sea of Grass, the horse lords ruled under the watchful eye of the gods. It is why the Drykas are gifted with striders and why web mages can traverse the hundreds of miles with a sheer thought.

He almost rumbled in protest to her challenge but a twinkle of competitive nature shown through the gold eye. The blue eye remained cold and unmoved by the words she unleased. Though he couldn’t understand what she had said, her stance and expression spoke clearly enough. She switched back to Pavi to express her hunger and also that she wished to be alone. Azmere understood solidarity and the occasional need for it. He waited a moment longer and then responded in Pavi. He signed that he understood she did not fear him and then immediately after he signed that it was a mutual feeling. He lead Hephiestian back out of her way with several slight tugs making the horse step back. “Anytime you want a lesson, Ixzo, I shall make time for you.” Azmere loosed his crooked smile as he patted Vihar, his longbow. His expression was a bit haughty from his position atop the steed. Truly, he did wish to see her again but her attitude did not afford a more polite invitation. He signed a goodbye that was common in his clan that was simply; Peace through Strength. With that, he turned Hephiestian and used his legs to goad the horse into a quick trot out of the city and out of sight.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze