[Cobalt Mountians] Heart of the Depths (Murmur)

[Seth]

Fall in the Year 510 AV On the edge of the Cobalt Mountains, directly west of Ravok. "Infinite forest. Great. Love it. Trees. So many petching trees." The other apprentice mumbled under his breath, a whisper barely heard by anyone but Murmur. While the man might not like the fact that his fellow apprentice was grumbling, he would certainly be able to relate to the grumble. It had been endless forest and look-alike trees for the past two days. Nothing more, nothing less, and the lack of any real action or change in scenery was certainly a test in patience to any kind of soldier. They had each been supplied with rations and tents, along with a few other odds and ends needed for camping. The first day of walking had taken them through rolling plains with a few sparse patches of thin forest here and there. The Commander led the way, glancing at a few bundled pieces of paper every now and then that apparently included directions. It has been easy going, and even though it was nearly winter, it hadn't really been all that cold. They had made their first camp out in the open, with a campfire and everything, and had managed to enjoy themselves. The commander had retired to his tent early that night, and he had just given the gruff order to keep watch. After that, some of the soldiers had whipped out some ale, and proceeded to share as much as the apprentices would allow themselves to intake. The other apprentice, a man by the name of 'Gar', had managed to drink himself into quite the happy stupor. A few songs and dances later (all personally performed by the intoxicated Gar), then everyone decided to call it a night. The commander woke them up early the next day, and just like that, they were on their way. They had hit the forests that signaled the start of the Bronze Wood, right near the Cobalt Mountains, and the mood had instantly turned sour. They were within Sylirian territories now, and no one liked it. The commander seemed to be the only one who's mood didn't sour, although one could argue that the man was always a bit sour. The entire second day was a quiet hike, and the camp was even quieter. No fire was lit, and a guard was posted. They were still far from the Sylirian Castle, but it never hurt to be cautious. A patrolling band of Knights would be a pain. Now it was early in the third day, and their destination had come in to view, in a way. Several footprints and abandoned campfires were found, signaling that there was someone else here. A little deeper in, the Commander stumbled upon a bear trap, which harmlessly snapped closed around the ankle of one of his steel boots. In hindsight, this would be another testament to the strength of their commander. Everyone else was in light chainmail, or leather, or wore no armor at all. The Commander had made this trek with chunks of platemail all over him. "Petching traps." The commander swore, and knelt down, grabbing at the teeth of the trap with bare hands, and roughly pried it apart. Removing his foot, he let the steel mouth snapped closed, eyeballing it with contempt. The soldiers simply looked on, one or two of them glancing around for more traps. Gar was once again the most nervous one, taking a deep breath and hurriedly glancing around his own feet, backing up a bit to bump into Murmur. The Commander glanced at them all, then rested his eyes upon Murmur and Gur, his eyes swirling with thought. "The scouts didn't record any such traps, so let us assume these were set for the return party. They must have realized that they were from Ravok, and that we wouldn't let the matter settle. This either makes them very confident, or very stupid. Perhaps both." The commander crossed his arms, armor clanking, unsheathing the greatsword that was held across his back. He let the tip fall to the ground, simply getting it out just in case it was to be used. The rest of the men followed suit, yanking forth steel short swords, while Gur yanked out two, swinging them in a bit of a show. The Commander shot him a look, then motioned at both Murmur and Gur, cocking a thumb in the direction that they had been heading. "The ruins are said to be no more than about ten minutes up. Let's assume that since they have these traps out here, they are confident that they will injure any incoming groups, and have only set scouts to guard their immediate vicinity. Perhaps some of these traps are even set to alert them. You two will scout ahead, and see what you can make of the ruins. Perhaps my guess is wrong, and the bandits aren't still occupying them. Maybe they left a long time ago, and these traps are just a leftover safety precaution. Who knows. Scout out the situation, then return to us within thirty. Get a petching move on." Gur instantly snapped into a foolish-looking salute, and motioned for Murmur, taking the role of leader almost immediately. He headed deeper into the forest, swinging his swords in that same flashy show.

[Murmur]

As much as Murmur enjoyed working by himself in the shadows of the romantic yet dark city, he was enjoying the occasional and rather humorous displays by Gar. Life as a soldier or an apprentice for any faction was not easy, this was fact, but the Ebonstryfe seemed to be far more into the extreme. Traveling for three days on the road and in the direct vicinity of Syliran territory did put a hamper on Murmur’s mood, but he rarely showed it. He smiled his charming smile, he laughed with fellow soldiers, he gladly spoke of the glory that was Rhysol and the honor they’d receive for simply working to achieve the great Lord’s goals. He knew his place as a pawn on the chessboard. He was utterly disposable; this was ingrained to him from the first day he stepped foot in the Vitrax. We can replace you just like that. You die? We toss your corpse in the lake. He’d heard those words uttered too many times to ignore. He understood his ultimate fate. It was either live for Rhysol, or die in battle. What more humiliating way than in the lands of those filthy Syliran Knights? The commander spoke about the bandits and the possibility of an ambush, all whilst Gar earned himself a death stare from Murmur who was more than fed up with his anxiety. When the commander assigned himself and the dipshyke to scout out the area, he had to contain his nearly audible sigh of resentment. Instead, Murmur simply nodded and followed Gar almost grudgingly into the heart of the forest. After several chimes, he paused. “Sorry mate,” He said, as Murmur began to unbutton the black leather he wore so snuggly around his frame, “You can go ahead and walk your ass there, I’ll take to the air. Do me a favor and carry my armor, and try to keep out of sight.” He went off into a secluded section of the woods, undressing completely until he stood exposed to the slightly chill breeze that swept through the foliage. And after several chimes, Murmur concentrated the djed in his core and released it into the streams of his body, contorting and twisting his bones and skin until plumage erupted and grew, his arms transformed into wings and his body shrunk. Several more chimes came and went, and the end result was an eagle larger than normal, with plumage of gray and white and a beak of solid dark gray. He was larger than average, but it should suffice for the scouting expedition. Murmur only hoped that the lard was still where he’d left him as he gathered up his armor by the strings and flapped his wings soundlessly until he was aloft. One thing was certain, the months spent studying the eagle was well worth it in the end. Murmur soon found that leaving his belongings somewhere closer to where the actual action took place would be far more advisable than leaving it with a less than trustworthy individuals, so with a kick and a flap, he settled his gear in a small bush beside the waypoint, and immediately flew out into the bitter skies, soaring straight toward the direction pinpointed by the commander. He wasn’t sure if he would like what he was about to see, if he saw anything at all.

[Seth]

When Murmur went looking back for the "tard", he wouldn't be surprised to find that the guy was gone. He had almost immediately dumped Murmur's belongings with a snort, and had quickly set off to scout on his own. When Murmur came back, he would easily be able to find his stuff, sitting there on a messy pile in the floor. With a quick relocation of the items, Murmur took off, and was on his way. Murmur was managed to get up above the tree line, and would be able to see a curl of smoke in the distance. It was straight in the direction that he had been originally pointed in, so one would only be able to guess that it was where the bandits were. Looking around, Murmur would be able to get a glance at the surrounding landscape as he quickly headed toward his destination. they were right on the edge of the Cobalt Mountains, in a area of thick forest that was pushed up against the side of the cliffs. Only a few more miles, and they would easily step foot into rocky terrain. The curling wisp of smoke was about two miles out, roughly a couple of minutes of flying. They appeared to be right on the edge of the forest, on a little plot of land that quickly turned to rock. Also, Murmur would be delighted to find out that the trees were thick enough to hide the rather large bird flapping above them. Twitch. Murmur glanced over to the source of the tremor that had just ran through his body, and realized the wing was spasming and twitching. Something was wrong here. Upon noticing that one problem, Murmur would definitely notice something else. His flight path was crooked, and he was about to run into the tops of some of the trees. The twitching wing was messing with the flying enough to drive him off course. He had been barely been in the air for a minute now, and already something was going wrong. What was it? He was a giant eagle, and the form was somewhat unfamiliar to him... But all in all, he had managed to get into the form, right? So what was the problem? His wings should be plenty big enough to help him fly- Fly. Shyke. He had spent all those times studying the Eagle, but he had never actually learned to fly. This was actually his very first time in the air. Suddenly, both wings started shuddering, the magics in them starting to feel as if they were coming undone. With this sudden realization, the simple confidence that Murmur had managed to possess earlier was quickly draining. He was an eagle that didn't really know how to fly, and he was pretty good bit above the ground. His path became even more haphazard as he tried to stay on path, almost angrily refusing just to land and transform back into his own self. Damn the fact he couldn't fly. He would petching learn in mid-air. About a minute and a half in, the twitching became too much, and he realized he had over-exerted himself. His wings were shuddering angrily, and he was having to devote a good amount of focus to actually keeping them morphed. That, and his flying hadn't actually been at a consistent height for awhile now, nor had it been anything close to a straight line. His Morphing was about to give out. He had three options here. One, land in the forest directly behind or beneath him, using his remaining energy to try and land safely. Two, use his remaining energy to hopefully get him just a little farther. His eagle eyes had just managed to make out what looked to be a bandit, on the highest branch of a nearby tree, oddly aiming a rather large bow down at the ground. Three, go even further than that. If he dared it, that curl of smoke was a mere thirty seconds away.

[Murmur]

He hadn’t taken into account the difficulties flying would have on his physique and his concentration. He couldn’t keep it up for long, he could feel it, even before his wings began to tremble. Brilliant. But he could afford just a little more flight time before he ultimately tumbled out of the air. Then there it was, the bandit perched atop a branch not too far ahead. He flapped once, attempting to elevate himself above the wind currents that were buffeting him. Just a bit more… He willed, but even with his trembling wings, he tucked them in and dived. Faster and faster he went; this larger-than-average eagle piercing the air with a beak and claws that were aimed straight at this oblivious grunt. The collision sent the bandit flying through the air, and bird and man collapsed in a flurry of feathers and dirt and dry leaves in a spray atop them. But Murmur had screeched and stumbled upright with a flap of his wings. Focus, attack. Focus. His body trembled, but eagle-Murmur’s sharp beak penetrated flesh and ripped at the bandit’s face. His cries were deafening, but his death was swift. Talons tore into the jugular, and he bled a pool of blood before finally silenced. Murmur breathed heavily, beak dripping blood and feathers tarnished, but slowly, he churned the djed throughout his body and rearranged it into his man form once more. For several chimes he sat and gulped down air, and steadied his mind to renew his concentration. If there was a bandit scout here, then he was close to their camp. A man had a better chance of getting shot than a woman if they were as savage and primitive as he had witnessed many times before, but his experience was in cunning. So as the Ebonstryfe stood to assess the situation, he recalled the model of a female courtesan and began his retransformation, bones realigned, face reshaped, lips became fuller, skin became more olive, and his hair grew into a rich chocolate hue. He was now a she, with breasts full and waist, slender, and he could not help but smile at the recollection of events he had whilst using this very body. Slender hands began stripping the dead bandit and utilizing the oversized shirt and breeches for his own. This body was better able to be handled, it was human, it was familiar, all it took now was to find this camp, scout it, then return. He moved silently through the brush, pushing stray, thin branches, away as he stepped, carefully, across dry leaves and scattered rocks. Soon, the camp came into view.

[Seth]

The trees soon gave way into something of a clearing, which was really only a thin patch of the forest. There weren't that many trees in the area at all, perhaps only a dozen spread throughout the entire area. All of the ones that stood were majestic trunks with many gnarled branches and vines. Only the strong trees had managed to survive in this little private world. It really was almost a different world. While the rest of the forest had been the same boring landscape, for miles and miles... this place was unique and special. It looked as if some ancient stone building had sat here at one point, but had been shattered into a hundred little pieces. Chunks of stone jutted from the ground, turned every which way, existing in all kinds of different sizes. It really defined the term "ruins". This entire place was in ruins. It made sense why there were only massive trees here. They had survived because they were strong, and they had survived for an extremely long time. A little deeper in the camp, Murmur would be able to make out a small collection of roughly pitched tents. They had been positioned in the middle of a rough ring of small ruined walls, which managed to make something of a makeshift barrier for anything that might attack from the outside. There wasn't any sign of any kind of person hovering about, though. The camp looked abandoned. The entire area looked rather abandoned. But the smell of blood was in the air. It was thick and heavy, and to Murmur, would be all too familiar. It was blood and... something that was almost rotting. Almost at the same time that Murmur would realize this, a distant shrill sound would strike at his ear. It sounded almost like a bird, but it was incredibly high-pitched. It came from across the camp, deeper into the thick wood. Was this enough scouting, or would this minor amount of information be frowned upon?

[Persona]

Thread Award! Murmur: Skills: Morphing +1 Brawling +1 Lores: Ebonstryfe Apprentices Are Expendable Extras: Your arms feel like you’ve pulled every muscle ever in them. Carrying anything will be almost unbearably painful, and it will be difficult to disguise their soreness if you move them at all. This effect will last for three days, with the pain becoming less severe each day, unless you strain your arms again. Notes: Turning into an eagle, especially one that can take flight, is a bit beyond your abilities. A competent morpher cannot stray greatly from their original mass, and while eagles are very large in terms of size, they still have to be light in order to fly (even if you were slightly larger than a regular eagle, 40 lbs would be stretching it). Also, if you want to use models for morphing, I’d like to see threads that show you studying the model, rather than just hearing you say you studied it. Ideally, you’d get a lore for each model you’re comfortable enough to use easily. If you feel this grade was unfair in any way, please feel free to PM me and we can discuss it.