Closed [The Farmlands] Sharknado

[Imass]

Winter 29, 515 AV, Dawn

Imass stood on the edge of the southern wall with his arms folded. It was a cold and cloudy, but not much precipitation. There was a serious look on his face, despite his inner excitement to get back to work. He could barely sleep the night before. Now his mind was totally bent on the task at hand.

As far as the eye could see there were fields of wheat. Deep in the horizon their were shades of other types of plants growing, but Imass could not make them out. Canals for irrigation had been dug in vertical rows between the plots of land; Imass wandered where the water source came from. Structures dotted the landscape too, they seemed to be farm houses. Directly under the wall, stood clusters of structures such as stables and cattle rings. The tree line had been cleared several hundred feet from the fields. Hills surrounded the area in somewhat of a shallow valley. It was too cloudy to see any further than that. People were out working all over too.

"The landscape seems pretty flat," Imass said to Palaren, "There are wooded areas and those hills around there. It gets steeper as it curves northwest, but I cannot make that out for certain from here. Without building our own defenses, we could use structures as cover or lure it into the wooded hills...Regardless, I don't plan on fighting it toe to toe on flat ground, especially with the wheat being not fully grown. We would be sitting ducks,"

[Pulren Marsh]

Sitting on a stump next to the great towering blue Knight, Pulren looked out over the fields and the structures as Ser Imass pointed out the various structures. There was much he had missed in his initial charge into the fields. It was stupid, his impetuous way that he had approached the creature. He was fortunate to be alive. He would not make the same mistake twice. Dressed in his leather pants and high boots, clad in studded leather armor and draped with his recently purchased cloak lined with black rabbit fur, he felt that this job would be dangerous but now would be possible.

He wished he had something to chew on, maybe a root. Nothing at his feet looked particularly edible or tasty. It just seemed like an appropriate time to chew on something. Shrugging to himself, he nodded in agreement with Imass. "Yeah, it still has the advantage with things being flat. Higher ground would be good to spot it in the wheat but becomes a liability when it takes to flight." His trident was in his hand, his large wooden shield resting behind him on the stump. "It's a tricky situation for sure. My main concern is where it is now. All of this land and the fields and there is no sign of it. Either it is lying in wait in the fields or woods or something much worse has happened."

He looked up at Imass. "Someone could have bagged our bounty." Standing and taking up his shield and weapon, he began scanning the fields diligently for any sign of the creature. It was petching flying shark. How hard could it be to find? That very thought put his eyes to the skies as well. " Maybe fire a few shots into the various quadrants of the fields. See if you rile it up."

[Adem]

Adem was working in the fields, shoveling composted manure onto the soil. The pile from the wheelbarrow didn’t stink as much as one would expect. It was still a shit job. His linen leggings were rolled up to his knees despite the chill wind; in Winter, the fields were almost constantly wet, and he despised the feeling of damp fingers crawling through his clothes, latching onto his skin like ghost breath. It was worst, he thought, when it slid around his ankles. His shins would brave the cold. He trudged back to the wheelbarrow and stuck the shovel into the pile, pulling out another load. He had worked on the fields for years, shouldering his family’s burdens on his back in rain, sleet, and--praise be unto She--Syna’s unwavering, heat-hazing gaze in Summer. He was a man who put bread on the table, and he still could not reconcile with the shit he had to deal with. He almost dropped the shovel entirely when he stumbled over loose soil. The stuff had jumped up at his face like a startled weasel. It was in this frame of mind that he simultaneously realized: a second Valterrian was beginning at the base of his spine, and he hated his job. He moved farther into the field, emptied the manure onto a spread of soil, careful not to disturb the stalks of growing wheat, and stuck the blade into the ground. Stretching toward the sky, he adjusted the crick in his back and took in a deep breath of sharp Winter air, tinged faintly with animal droppings and loathing. Anything would be better than this. Unknown to Adem, the nearby wheat stalks were rustling with malice. OOCI apologize for the vulgarity! Being a farmer is a tough job Also, I wasn't sure when you wanted to start the action, so I was purposefully vague; I can drop out for a while if you wish to do more tactics in-character.

[Imass]

Imass listened to Palaren intently. The man was right, the animal was no where to be seen at all.

In silence, the Akalak stringed up the bow. He had to grip the line so hard that it cut into his hand. Imass had bought his supplies the moment the stalls opened, but had yet to apply any oil to the string. Opening up the small wooden container he greased the string generously. It was not ideal to leave the weapon so slippery, but nothing could be done about it.

"Verily," wiping the excess off with his shirt, "I am ready," Closing one eye, he held his thumb up in a fist to try to gauge the distances he could shoot, "If you hold your hand up as such, you can determine how far your arrow will fly. For a shortbow, it is but a single length of a fistmeile, so I can hit only the second row of plowshare from here,"

Drawing the bow with a standard arrow in place, he aimed the weapon at a 45 degree angle and shot it off. Squinting he watched it fall in the first plot of wheat. He tried to watch for any movement, but nothing. It felt good to hear the twang of the bow and feel the kinetic energy vibrate through his arm. Imass was finally back to work. Watching arrows fly started to bring back some of the basics of using the bow to his mind.

Drawing the bow again, he shot another arrow into the next plot. Still nothing. Four more arrows later, Imass sighed, "I do not wish to use all my ammo shooting blindly, do you see anything moving down there?" His hand was already numb from the cold use of the bow, but it was a manageable pain. He had 14 arrows left, "We should go retrieve those arrows if it is not down there,"

oocnice post bro! No worries on the vulgarity. The word "shit" gets translated to "shyke" in Mizahar though, so that might be good to know for the future I didn't RP out the purchase of Imass' supplies but it is all updated on my ledger. I believe Palaren and Imass have a couple more posts before the action start.

[Pulren Marsh]

Pulren watched intently as Imass applied oil to the bowstring, listening to his lesson of how to gauge distance before taking his shot toward the fields. The mercenary couldn't really figure out why Imass felt like teaching people all of the time, but maybe that was how the Knights generally behaved. He could remember hearing Markus explain things often, though that guy did more explaining of how he was going to inflict violence on someone. Knights were strange birds, alright. His attention turned blankly to the swaying wheat stalks, definitely more interested in detecting the movement of the shark.

His head would move in an arc as he followed the flight of each arrow as it would land in each plot. No swishing, no roaring. Just the two men watching arrows fly into the wheat rows. Hearing the Knight complain about his arrows, he nodded and shrugged. "Of course we'll gather up all of the arrows. Or you will. If I see any when I'm dodging the flying shark, I'll be happy to grab them up for you. Deal?" Seeing that he was exhausted in his efforts, he felt he might try something of his own.

"Well, let's try something else." He jammed the end of the trident into the dirt, hanging his shield handle on the tines as he stepped out on to the precipice of the small hill they stood on. Concentrating on his Djed, he rubbed his hands together, the green gas of Earth essence traveling from his chest and spreading out into a spread of earthen energy before him. The green energy spread and flattened between his palms, flying up and out into the air above the fields as Pulren concentrated on all of it turning into pebbles.With a strong clap, the energy flew out in all directions up into the air and out over the fields before falling as a rain of pebbles all over the place. He turned and smiled to Imass, smacking his lips as he tasted the coppery metallic flavor that the casting brought.

"I guess I should have mentioned that ability, My bad." A burning and tingling sensation danced on his palms, forcing him to rub his hands against the rough edges of his shield as he looked out into the fields. The telltale roar trumpeted out from the fields. He tried to focus in and pay specific attention to the source to pinpoint its location. the distraction of the Djed draw was too much to focus for the moment, however. He could only take up his arms and armor and prepare mentally as best as he could.

[Imass]

Imass stared at Palaren in disbelief when he crudely shoved his trident in the soft dirt and proceeded to cast a magical spell. A grim, harsh face of disapproval swept over the Knight. Pretentious ideas of disgust towards mages filled his mind. The Order had their own mages, but they were thoroughly checked by a righteous system to ensure no evil entered their ranks. Inherent caution and suspicion filled Imass' mind while Garonn laughed at his brother's naivety once again.

More than anything, the blue man was very annoyed at wasting four arrows and could not forgive his comrade just yet, "That was very important information Palaren, but no matter, let us proceed," Imass said coldly, choosing to remain totally focused on business. Imass was not ready to count out Palaren as an ally. Garonn on the other hand was actually very interested in the Mage.

Peering out into the fields, Imass finally laid on eyes on the massive beast. It flew up in the air above and trashed all around, before retreating back to the cover of the wheat. It was roughly two hundred yards away. The knight was afraid for his life, for he didn't have the familiar protection of a suit of armor, but he did not make this vocal.

Drawing his bow with an arrow ready to fire, Imass began to creep forward into the wheat field. Very deliberately, the Knight stepped one foot in front of the other; This would allow him to pivot at any angle and fire. Crouching low enough to remain hidden by the stalks of wheat, Imass whispered, "Take point Palaren, we will flee for cover in the hills yonder to regroup if it is impossible to slay the beast out right... I'll cover you,"

Holding the bow drawn out was too strenuous for Imass, so he let the tension off after a minute of stalking. Imass followed Palaren at a stone-throws distance as he pointed towards the noise of the roaring, flying shark. The ground was soft, but not very sticky. Th

[Pulren Marsh]

It seemed like Ser Imass had some kind of problem with the display of magic. Maybe Knights didn't use magic, relying purely on swords and armor. As he thought it, the words flowed from his lips like water. "Brother, it's just another tool." Grabbing the trident from the dirt and rolling it around the back of his hand to grip it firmly, he shook it toward the blue beast."Tool." Picking his shield up in his left hand, he clapped the shaft of the trident against it. "Tool."

Maybe Knights could rely on concepts like honor and brotherhood. Mercenaries did what needed to be done to get the job and the mizas. It was that simple. It probably lacked romanticism but in Pulren's opinion, romantics generally had little to eat other than the paper they wrote their love poems on. He liked good food and wine. He shrugged it off for the most part as the great beast thrashed up out of the fields as if it leaped from the depths of Laviku's bosom, praised be His name. The Zeltivan relished in the joy of the hunt coming as the pair descended into the battlefields of wheat.

Nodding over to the Knight, he rolled his head on his shoulders, sliding into Uncle mode. It was time to kill or be killed. He had a much better chance to take the creature down with Imass aboard but it would still require pure focus and energy to see the bounty come to fruition. "Petch fleeing now. There's nowhere to run. Just make sure you put some arrows into it." A grim kind of chuckle leaked from his lips as he stalked through the stalks with his shield up and his sharpened tines gleaming in the sunlight. he moved toward the sounds of roaring, sure, but mostly he listened for stalks breaking and rushing past the body of the beast. He would have to claim an eye or a mouth shot. He guessed the gills were useless. He was high on the euphoria of the thrill of the hunt.

[Adem]

Idling in a bubble of his own woe, Adem was unaware of the arrows that arced through the sky. He might have also paid the pebbles zero heed had he not been struck between the eyes. He was too surprised to swear. Instead, unsteady on his feet and blinking away soft-focus stars of indeterminate colour, he was notified of a more pressing concern. A trumpet-roar burst upward from the Farmlands. He could feel it run down the back of his neck, a thin vibration that snapped his hairs to attention like guilty guards. His joints seized. At once, he was aware of his hands which held on to the shovel, stone-cold inside the fur-lined gloves he’d taken from his father. He could have been knocked over by a whisper in his ear; he was so, so still. The noise--whatever it had come from--had sounded uncomfortably close. Adem’s first instinct was to scamper the petch away, but good sense spared him an early death: he didn’t know what manner of creature had produced the sound or how they operated. For all he knew, it was a blind piece of shyke that survived purely by sensing vibrations in the air. There was barely any wind present, bar the occasional stiff breeze, and he wouldn’t have been too hard a spot if he was gallivanting like a love-mad deer.

[Balderdash]

It was strange to think of wheat as claustrophobic, but that's what it felt like as the party plunged into an endless expanse of rustling yellow stalks that seemed to tease uncountable horrors just beyond their thin partition. As they penetrated deeper, they became aware of a distant sound of snapping stalks of grain that drew inexorably closer as they ventured deeper into the fields. Suddenly, the wheat parted, and the gentlemen were confronted with... Each other. A tick later, they were joined by a sweaty bald monk of Skerr, wheatwhip in hand. "Ah! So it was you lot." he said between pants. "Thought you were the shark. You citizens really shouldn't be here." he admonished with a stern look, stretching his arm out to point at each of them in turn. "That thing is dangerous, you should really leave it to the professionals like myse-" The monk was cut off by a massive rush of blue-grey that completely cut him off from the party's vision for a moment. When it passed, where once there was forearm there now was a bleeding stump. The monk stared at it with an expression of perfect bemusement for a good two ticks. "Well. Good luck, kids. I'm gonna go find something to burn this shut with." he deadpanned before shuffling off. The newly formed party now had a convenient lead: they could see drops of blood on the ground forming a handy trail, though the monk didn't exactly seem to be in the best condition. Whether they chose to help the involuntary amputee or to chase the marine monster from the Void was a choice they'd need to make.

[Pulren Marsh]

The descent into the golden sea of wheat came easy, Pulren's breaths measured but quick, his attention sharp in every way. He was as much predator as prey having entered a proper battlefield. His quarry had many advantages but so did he. While it could fly and bite and swim through the air, it had no prior dealings with battle, as far as Pulren knew. Of course, it stood to reason that it could as easily come from a realm of gnashing teeth and glorious war. He hoped not. Better a quiet pond or some shyke. He knew he had the great blue Knight at his rear with an extra pair of practiced eyes and arrows to fire, which undoubtedly gave him some measure of comfort.

A sudden stop came to the momentum as a clear series of cracking wheat stalks seemed to move in their direction. Stopping, he held his trident up, crouching and putting his shield up. He could nearly hear his own heartbeat thumping away within his own ribs as he waited to see what was going to come from the approaching sound. He could hear the string of Imass' bow behind him. When the wheat parted, his trident rose as if he might strike, the tines rising in a manner as if they were sentient and rising to meet a foe.A bald monk came from the wheat, which brought Pulren's senses back to their heightened war mode. Just because there was a supposed friendly present didn't mean that the beast wasn't near.

The monk had words. Plenty, though he sounded more like a cross librarian or schoolmarm then a monk. A look of varied disgust and irritation came from the Zeltivan, who was busy looking past the stern talking man rather than at him. It seemed like his desire to cut the monk off was a common feeling, the beast making its presence known as it flashed through the wheat stalks, taking a piece of the monk with him.Pulren raised his shield to catch some of the blood that was shooting at regular intervals from the man's stump, as much an action of tactic as hygiene. Even the cool demeanor and need for aid of the monk meant little to him. The predator had struck and the monk had graduated from mild annoyance to blood soaked bait. He didn't swim in chum in the sea. Nor would he linger with this chum.

He probably should have asked his companion about his thoughts when it cam to the injured monk, but hopefully the Knight knew where the money was. The bounty wasn't for a talkative one armed monk. It was for a flying shark. Pulren's head craned forward and his boots dug into the soil as he set off in the wake of the bounty, his thoughts oblivious to the monk.