An unusual encounter (Mok)

[Kit]

26th Winter, 511

A small, black-and-white striped animal was sniffing around the massive collection of tents within Sunberth. He had not been here many times before, but the places he usually went to scavenge for food had gotten better at chasing him out. He wandered the sea of tents, looking for any scraps of food someone might have carelessly dropped or left unguarded. Unfortunately, the big people were everywhere; he could hear them stomping around. He scuttled from tent to tent, trying to stay out of the paths where the big people might accidentally step on him.

All of a sudden, he found himself in a place where the big stompers were not stomping. It seemed that whichever beasts lived in these tents were either absent or sleeping. Taking an experimental sniff, he waddled in glee toward the nearby smell of edible things. As he approached the smell, a bag or backpack of some sort came into view. The food-smell was coming from there. Following his nose, he climbed into the bag, seeking the food. To his delight, he also found some soft-things in the bag as well. Once he had finished eating the food, he could take these back to his den to make his bed more comfy.

Just as he was about to eat the food-things, he felt the unsettling sensation of the ground beneath him moving. The bottom of the bag sagged, taking away any sense of solid ground beneath him. He wasn't sure what to do. He somehow felt he was being threatened, but he could not see an enemy. He decided to wait for now, and try to escape when solid ground was beneath him again. With luck, he would be able to take the soft-things with him. Satisfied with this plan, he began munching on the food things. They were right there, and whatever happened next it would be a shame to waste this opportunity.

[Mok]

What was Mok looking for again? That's right. He had misplaced his shadow silk cloak. Rummaging through the garbage pile known as his tent, the myrian came up with nothing. He didn't have many possessions, but somehow the tent was still messy. Once again, Mok realized that he needed to organize all his belongings. It was key to being prepared and he never did a good job at it. Taking all his survival gear and winter clothing, the myrian started to arrange it in neat piles in his tent. After a few minutes of cleaning up, the tent was back into order. That wasn't hard at all, but still no cloak. That meant that it had to be outside.

Opening his tent the bright gray light momentarily blinded him. Looking around the Crimson Camp, Mok spotted his pack next to a log stool. That's when he remembered that he had left it in his pack the night before. Grabbing some bread and cheese, Mok threw some lunch in his pack for later and went off to get ready for the morning.

A few minutes later, exited his tent with his dark, winter cloths and gladius on belt and some rope over his shoulder. Slinging the pack on his shoulder and taking his ax in hand, the half-blood finally started his morning routine.

The myrian didn't have a routine, so to say, but he always got work done every day. Jogging briskly westward towards the extreme edge of the city, the myrian was to get some fire wood for the camp. They had run out the night before and it was time for a refill. Mok was always happy to do it too. He was strong and willing. It was no big deal.

After about half an hour of walking, Mok would the fattest tree to cut. It was at the bottom of a short hill, but it was good enough for him. Tossing his bag down the hill, Mok sprinted down the slope after it. He didn't know why he threw it. Just a random action. It was not like it mattered. It was not there was anything in his bag that would break.

CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!

The myrian immediately began to chop away at the dried out pine tree. He was careful to hold the woodsman's ax properly to get the fullest and mightiest swing. Starting with his right hand on the butt of the ax and his left on the handle, the half-blood turned woodsman used all the power in his hip and torso to transfer energy through each swing. Each time he swung, he would slide his right hand down the handle to get extra motion in the ax's arc.

He had learned a thing or two on his trip through the wilds as well. Every time he swung the ax he was careful to chop the tree and a good angle in order to get it down easily. He would swing three or four time direction horizontal to the trunk, then at a forty-five degree angle in order to buck the log.

CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!

The myrian continued to swing away and it would only be a matter of time before it was fall. He must have been working hard because his armpits were already starting to smell.

... or maybe it was something else...

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Kit]

Kit stopped eating when the bouncing started. It made his stomach feel queasy, and he was afraid again. He wished it would just stop. But what came after the bouncing was worse. There was falling and then there was hurting, lots of hurting and crushing and pain. He squealed in pain and terror, and involuntarily released some of his musk.

When the bouncing and the falling and the crushing finally stopped, Kit lay still for a long time. Everything hurt, and he wasn't sure, but he might have been knocked out for a while. He awoke to loud, ominous sounds, that sounded like THOCK THOCK THOCK. He did not know what was going on, but something that loud could not be good. He struggled to bring his bruised and squished body to its feet, wanting to escape. This food-hunting trip had become a complete disaster.

He decided to abandon the soft-things. He was in no condition to drag them back to his den (if he could even find his way back), and he couldn't help but think that this was somehow all their fault. He tried to back out of the pack, but he got tangled in the treacherous fabrics. Trapped, he screeched and hissed in fear and anger. In his struggles to free himself, all he managed was to make the pack roll over.

[Mok]

The myrian continued to chop away. Already he was beginning to sweat. Chopping wood was a full body exercise he realized. In order to get the strongest swing, one needed to use almost all the muscles in the body. Transferring the power from ones hips and legs were important to get the biggest impact. Mok kept in mind to work as fast as possible and has hard as he could. He needed to get the best workout that he could. He needed to keep his mind sharp and he needed to keep improving the quality of his body.

Mok's rhythm was flowing on the log and it eventually fell over. Skirting backwards, the myrian watched happily as the tree fell. However, Mok didn't spend anytime resting. He sprinted straight towards the fallen tree to buck the branches off. Standing vertically over the trunk, the myrian held the ax in the standard position (top hand under the head and bottom hand on the butt of the ax). He immediately began to work.

Thunk! Chop! Clunk!

Each time he successfully cut off a branch he threw it all in one pile. There had to be at least ten branches on this tree. The myrian wasn't tired yet, but he could feel his muscles working hard. Finally, he had finished bucking the log. He couldn't stop yet though. Sprinting towards his bag, Mok looked for his rope. He needed to get some hitches on the logs and branches so he could drag it back to the camp.

The sweaty woodsman noticed something peculiar though. His bag moved. This made him stop dead in his tracks. He was slightly confused. Mok figured he must have been tripping out, but to his astonishment the bag moved again! What the hell was going on? Silently, the myrian edged closer to his bag. There it went again! It WAS definitely moving.

Reaching the bag, the half-blood leaned over and slowly untied the clasp. Then he mentally counted to three and opened the bag...

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Kit]

A patch of light appeared behind Kit, signalling the exit. He struggled to back out of the tiny prison, but the soft-things refused to release him. He managed to worm his way free of the bag itself, but the softest dark soft-thing still surrounded him, covering his eyes and muffling his ears so that he could not detect the potential threat nearby.

The more Kit tried to struggle out of the soft fabric, the more hopelessly tangled he got. It was starting to get difficult to breath, and his panicked state wasn't helping matters. Small, terrified squeaks escaped, and he wished his mother were here to save him. He tried chewing his way through, but he couldn't get a good grip on the fabric covering his face. In the end, he was too hurt and exhausted to struggle anymore, so he just flopped over, trying to recover his strength for a second attempt.

[Mok]

Mok looked curiously at his struggling shadow silk cloak. Something was caught in it and it was desperation trying to escape the dark and lightless grasps of the smooth material. Mok let out a laugh. It was certainly a comic scene in his mind. Some unsuspecting creature walked into his bag and was no too rattled to get free. It was pure comic genius. The myrian erupted in laughter. It was funny. Pure, natural humor. It was the best. But wait, the funniest part was yet to come. Who could be under this rifled blanket? Mok had a few things in mind. It could be a rabbit, a gopher, squirrel, and fox. Wait what he was even thinking. Of course it wasn't any of those! He knew exactly what it was. It was a rat! A big stinking, Sunberthian rat. He knew the kind too. They big, ugly, and hard to kill. Sneaky too.

When his bag stopped moving, Mok made his approach. Slowly he lifted the edge of the pack and in one sweeping jolt he pulled the bag up, dropping the cloak and animal on the floor. Next, Mok grabbed the shadow silk and threw it over his shoulder, revealing what was under it.

But it wasn't a bloody rat, but a smelly skunk. It was small, with an expertly painted white stripe. Its nose was small and wet. Its mouth was sharp and hungry. Its eyes were beady and panicked.

The half-blood took a bounce backwards. Then he was one hundred percent still. No movement. He could only think of one thing: and that was the skunk's deadly spray. If the animal were to spray its odor on Mok it would be over for weeks to come. It would just put a damper on his life. He rather just plays it cool then gets sprayed.

He watched and waited.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Kit]

Very suddenly, Kit was free and the world had returned. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frightened. Had someone rescued him from that terrible trap, or had a predator come to finish him off? There was a stomper over there! Kit started to hiss in warning, getting ready to defend himself if necessary. After a few moments, he realized that the stomper was not moving. In fact, it was acting appropriately cautious. Good, it knows not to mess with me, Kit thought in satisfaction. Trusting his reputation to protect him, Kit turned around to begin contemplating the puzzle of getting back home (though he kept his ears open for any sound of treachery from the stomper).

Kit took stock of his surroundings: there was the stomper, some trees, that terrible evil bag that nearly killed him...and he seemed to be at the bottom of a big slope. That was probably the way Kit had fallen down, so maybe home was that way? He waddled slowly toward the hill, his body still feeling bruised all over. He started climbing the hill, or tried to. A few steps up and Kit was panting for breath. He wanted to keep going but he just couldn't; it hurt too much, and he was too tired. With a pitiful cry, he flopped over, not even having the energy to defend himself.

But wait, what was that smell? It smelled like...food smell, but better! And it was right under his nose! He squinted, trying to pinpoint the food's location, and he saw a big, fat beetle, right in front of him! Temporarily forgetting his pain and misery, he snapped up the beetle in one bite, crunching happily and enjoying the tickle of the beetle's legs as it tried to escape.

When he'd finished the beetle off, he closed his eyes again, thinking that, maybe if he rested, he'd be able to get up this hill. And maybe there would be more grubs on the way!

[Mok]

Mok watched humoriously as the skunk simply ignored Mok completely and began to waddle back up the hill. He seemed to be addled and confused. Of course he was! He had just been tossed down a hill and souffocated in the half-bloods bag.

That's when it hit him. The myrian suddenly had the bright idea of capturing the little critter. A laugh escaped his mouth, but he faught hard to keep it in. Imagess of what he could do with the animal began to pop in his head like wildfire. He could play so many pranks on his friends. It was be amazing if he could get the skunk to spray Cade. It would be petching hilarious. He could train the critter to fight in pit matches as well. If he could train to skunk to spray his enemies on command it would be a wrap!

But the animal was getting away and he needed to respond fast. Watching the animal, Mok noticed that the skunk had eaten on a big juicy beetle. It was hungry! A plan started to formulate in the myrian's mind. He knew what he would do! He would lure the dazed creature with some food, then pounce on him like a true myrian tiger.

Slowly, the myrian tippy-toed to his bag so that the skunk wouldn't hear him. Leaning over, Mok picked up his cheese and his shadow silk cloak. Rubbing a piece of cheese on his fingers Mok tossed bits of cheese around the resting animal in hopes of luring it on a mad chase for food.

As soon as the opportunity arised, Mok would throw his cloak over the skunk for the capture.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Kit]

Kit dozed off for a bit, but was soon woken by the stomper's heavy footsteps. Surprisingly, they were slightly quieter than usual, so instead of being induced to panic, he lifted his head curiously to look at the source of the noise. Then his nose noticed the stomper holding a food-thing that Kit had somehow missed in his initial ransack of the...sack.

Rather than try to chase Kit away, the stomper generously broke the food-thing into bite-sized pieces and tossed them to Kit, showing an unprecedented sensitivity to Kit's fear of being stepped on. Perhaps the stomper was trying to make amends for throwing him down a hill earlier? Kit got up and slowly walked around, eating the food-pieces. He noticed the stomper getting closer, but since it had offered food and was not making any sudden, threatening movements, Kit thought that maybe, like his human, it just wanted to pet and cuddle and lavish affection upon the cute animal.

Just as the stomper got close, Kit suddenly had a bad feeling. Before he could react though, the world suddenly got dark as the soft-thing fell over him once again. He screeched in terror and anger, flailing wildly, but still helpless against the smooth fabric. He thought about spraying, but... if he did, he'd smell too, and then the stompers would notice him even more, and probably try to kill him. No, it was better to save that for a last-resort. He still didn't know what the stomper intended, but if he was as clever a skunk as he claimed to be, Kit could find a way out.

[Mok]

Success! Mok had been able to toss his cloak over the skunk with very little trouble. Immediately, Mok pounced into action. Grabbing the edges of the black cloth, the myrian picked up the animal in a make shift sack. What was next though? How could he return to camp with both the wood and the creature? He got it! He would just put him in the bag again. He didn't want to hurt it though. The skunk needed to be prize worth condition.

Bringing the make kicking sack back to his bag, Mok emptied out his pack leaving only the food inside. Next, he put his shadow silk into the bag and quickly removed the cloak with one single movement of his arm. For a single second Mok saw the skunk's eyes before closing the bag. At least now the skunk would have a good amount of food to hold it off until they reached the camp.

Mok left the bag on the floor and sprinted back to the tree. Taking the rope Mok tied some clove hitches around the cut up branches and trunk. Circling the rope twice around one edge of the bundle, the warrior looped the rope long ways and tied a hitch half way between the bundle and at the other end. Pulling the ropes with all his strength, the myrian made sure that nothing was loose. Tying off the excess rope and wedging his ax into the faggot, the myrian was ready to roll.

Running back to towards his bag, Mok gingerly slung it over his back and got ready for the journey back. He would carry the log across his shoulders on his back. The tree wasn't too heavy either, maybe sixty or seventy pounds at the most. It would be uncomfortable, but Mok would put up with the discomfort and run.

Situating the trunk in a position that would keep it out his bag's way, Mok began to jog back up the hill. This would be the hardest part. Bounding with each step, the warrior gripped the trunk as hard as he could. At first the weight was a little awkward, but he eventually got it. However, by the time he reached the top he was already winded. He would push through it and keep running.

If Mok was going to go through all this trouble he might as well strengthen his body while he was at it. Every time Mok had a chance to push himself to the limits he did it. It was a mentality that he learned in Taloba. Immediately it became apparent that Mok wasn't going to be able to stride at such a pace any longer. Carrying the tree was a lot harder than he anticipated. But that was his body protesting. Mind over body, he was always taught. If he could produce enough mental courage he would be able to continue even when his body said no.

To help him run, the myrian counted to four in his mind over and over. One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! His legs began to his. His back and shoulders were aching. His hands were hot red from all the friction. But he would give up. His body had enough strength to do it. He could feel that deep inside. Right now he was having a battle was his mind. One, two, three, four!

Finally, Mok reached the camp. By now he had lost all control of his breath and his whole body was drained of energy. He needed to sit. Dropping the log off to his side, it crashed loudly and bounced towards a tent. Mok dropped to the floor and slung his pack to the floor.

Lying on the floor, the myrian opened his mouth and poured some spring water from the trip down his throat, letting it splash on his face as well. After ten minutes, the myrian was able to breath normally again. That's when the skunk came back to his mind.

Springing to his feet, Mok ran to his tent and threw everything that was inside, outside. He cared not if it was messy. Grabbing some provisions and a flagon of ale, Mok left them open in his tent. Next he grabbed his bag and opened it into his tent, letting the skunk exit on its own terms. The offering of food and drink were right in front of it.

Mok watched and waited patiently for the animal to make its move.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common