.
The day's heat had set in, and Keene found the muggy heat a familiar sensation as he scrabbled over a steep rise. His sweat mixed with the dust he kicked up, coating his hands in mud as he hoisted himself to the top to sit and rest for a couple dozen pants as he caught his breath. He stared out over the small valley the peak look out over, wiping sweat from his forehead before unlatching his flask from his belt. Twisting that cap off, Keene took a few refreshing swigs of the liquid, swishing it around in his mouth before replacing cap and flask. Minus a few hiccups, his patrols around the mountain had been fairly uneventful. He used the time mostly for foraging and staking about good places to fetch firewood. Gazing over the scraggly trees and bits of underbrush, he noticed movement. Squinting, Keene moved forward, despite his distance his breath slowing to hide the sound as he followed the shadow. There were two people, though one lagged behind the other. Any other details were lost to the haze of the day.
Sliding down the slope towards the figures, Keene made his way across the uneven ground, keeping a close eye on them to make sure he was not noticed as he moved. They seemed to be focused on the mountain ahead of them, paying little heed to anything else as they traveled; something Keene was grateful for as his abilities to traverse what was his domain with ease and stealth were lacking. Fortunately, they moved slowly, and Keene was able to gain ground at a comfortable rate, more and more details becoming available to him as he drew closer. The one behind was not lagging so much as being pulled along on a rope, and judging from his clothes and the collar around his neck, Keene imagined him to be a slave. He wondered if the slave was also one of the shape shifting Kelvics, and if that were the case, what animal he might turn into. He sincerely hoped it was something small and harmless, like a rabbit. His gut, however, pointed towards something a bit more dangerous.
The man in the lead, a blond haired, flamboyant sort of man who took large, garish steps that were incredibly impractical for travel over long distances had been chatting for what seemed like a good while before Keene came within earshot. From the look on the slave's face, Keene imagined the endless deluge of words was a common, and unwanted, occurrence. Continuing to follow the pair, keeping to the trees, Keene watched and listened. The blonde man had started to sing some raucous tune, waving his arms with a theatrical pompadour, flicking the slave in the face with the rope at set intervals. His voice was light, airy, and littered his huffing wheezes as he moved. "I asked my mother, 'How fare ye, m'dear?' And she slapped me with butter and said, 'Listen here! There's a fire needs stoking and shirts that need folding, and your poor sodding hand isn't worth holding!'" The tune continued, with more words spouting nonsense following. Keene shared the scowl worn by the slave, the two of them of the same impression that the man's talent was not to be found in the art of song.
As he moved, Keene fumbled over a fallen branch, the rustling of the dead wood against the ground giving the slave pause as his dark green eyes flicked in Keene's direction. Both stood still, one with a searching stare while the other froze even breath. Keene wanted to avoid confrontation until he knew more about them. While he was well aware it was his task to keep intruders off and away from the mountain, rushing into an uneven fight without a second thought was a good way to get himself killed. The green gaze was jerked back to the front as the man ahead drew too far, pulling his quarry behind him. A small sigh of relief washed over Keene, taking a few ticks to let the two move onwards before following once more. It seemed the slave was much more attentive than the master, a small observation that Keene did not take lightly. As they continued on, little else happened, though the man's movements became more and more hampered by fatigue until he called for a break, his grandiose facade giving way his sweaty weariness. "Scipio, sit with me!" The blonde man patted a patch of earth beside him, a large grin on his dripping face. "Is not the island more beautiful than you could have imagined?"
The slave, Scipio, obeyed, slumping down beside the man with a frown before turning to gaze back they way they'd come. "I sup-"
Smack. The sound of the slap was incredibly loud in the otherwise still atmosphere at the base of the mountain. Save for a few breezes that drifted about, Keene raised a brow at the blonde man's quick actions. He was not nearly as sluggish as he had thought him to be. "That was a rhetorical question, Scipio. Do you know what 'rhetorical' means?" Scipio moved to speak again, but the hand flew back, its knuckles connecting with the dark-haired slave's chin with another crack. "It means I'm not expecting you to answer, so you shouldn't." Scipio's skin had turned a bright red where he'd been struck, but his eyes burned a steady hatred as he nodded. "Good, good! Now give us a kiss." Scipio leaned forward, his grimace nearing a state of pain as he placed his lips upon those of his master. Keene's frowned deepened as the blonde man pressed against his slave in a manner that was shameful even in the wildness of the mountain. Whatever their relationship, Keene was beginning to feel as though they didn't belong. What he was going to do about it, however, he wasn't sure. While Scipio seemed to detest his master, he still did everything the man asked of him. It was disconcerting, and also meant that while he may not have possessed the strange irrationality of the other man, he was subject to it.
Drawing back from the kiss with a sickening slap of his lips, the blond haired man let out a chuckle. "Now, do you think he'll come out, or is the little Tom going to keep watching us? Hm?" He turned, his blue-grey eyes peering in Keene's direction. "Shall I have him remove his clothing? Is this the sort of thing you're interested in, Keeper?" Keene glared back, unsure whether he'd truly been made or not. "No? Yes?" The man grabbed at Scipio's shirt, tearing it off of him with a few swift motions. "Exquisite, isn't he?" He chuckled, running a tongue across the slave's chest while still keeping his eyes fixed on the tree line. "I don't mind putting on a show for you, but I'd rather get this business all sorted out sooner rather than later." Another chuckle was followed with a casual, "Though I do admit my loins are a bit anxious. What say you, Scipio?" The slave merely shot a look towards the trees that Keene was unable to refuse. Stepping out from between the concealing trunks, he stood with arms cross and brows knit.
"What business do you have here?"
.
The eleventh day of winter, 514 AV
The day's heat had set in, and Keene found the muggy heat a familiar sensation as he scrabbled over a steep rise. His sweat mixed with the dust he kicked up, coating his hands in mud as he hoisted himself to the top to sit and rest for a couple dozen pants as he caught his breath. He stared out over the small valley the peak look out over, wiping sweat from his forehead before unlatching his flask from his belt. Twisting that cap off, Keene took a few refreshing swigs of the liquid, swishing it around in his mouth before replacing cap and flask. Minus a few hiccups, his patrols around the mountain had been fairly uneventful. He used the time mostly for foraging and staking about good places to fetch firewood. Gazing over the scraggly trees and bits of underbrush, he noticed movement. Squinting, Keene moved forward, despite his distance his breath slowing to hide the sound as he followed the shadow. There were two people, though one lagged behind the other. Any other details were lost to the haze of the day.
Sliding down the slope towards the figures, Keene made his way across the uneven ground, keeping a close eye on them to make sure he was not noticed as he moved. They seemed to be focused on the mountain ahead of them, paying little heed to anything else as they traveled; something Keene was grateful for as his abilities to traverse what was his domain with ease and stealth were lacking. Fortunately, they moved slowly, and Keene was able to gain ground at a comfortable rate, more and more details becoming available to him as he drew closer. The one behind was not lagging so much as being pulled along on a rope, and judging from his clothes and the collar around his neck, Keene imagined him to be a slave. He wondered if the slave was also one of the shape shifting Kelvics, and if that were the case, what animal he might turn into. He sincerely hoped it was something small and harmless, like a rabbit. His gut, however, pointed towards something a bit more dangerous.
The man in the lead, a blond haired, flamboyant sort of man who took large, garish steps that were incredibly impractical for travel over long distances had been chatting for what seemed like a good while before Keene came within earshot. From the look on the slave's face, Keene imagined the endless deluge of words was a common, and unwanted, occurrence. Continuing to follow the pair, keeping to the trees, Keene watched and listened. The blonde man had started to sing some raucous tune, waving his arms with a theatrical pompadour, flicking the slave in the face with the rope at set intervals. His voice was light, airy, and littered his huffing wheezes as he moved. "I asked my mother, 'How fare ye, m'dear?' And she slapped me with butter and said, 'Listen here! There's a fire needs stoking and shirts that need folding, and your poor sodding hand isn't worth holding!'" The tune continued, with more words spouting nonsense following. Keene shared the scowl worn by the slave, the two of them of the same impression that the man's talent was not to be found in the art of song.
As he moved, Keene fumbled over a fallen branch, the rustling of the dead wood against the ground giving the slave pause as his dark green eyes flicked in Keene's direction. Both stood still, one with a searching stare while the other froze even breath. Keene wanted to avoid confrontation until he knew more about them. While he was well aware it was his task to keep intruders off and away from the mountain, rushing into an uneven fight without a second thought was a good way to get himself killed. The green gaze was jerked back to the front as the man ahead drew too far, pulling his quarry behind him. A small sigh of relief washed over Keene, taking a few ticks to let the two move onwards before following once more. It seemed the slave was much more attentive than the master, a small observation that Keene did not take lightly. As they continued on, little else happened, though the man's movements became more and more hampered by fatigue until he called for a break, his grandiose facade giving way his sweaty weariness. "Scipio, sit with me!" The blonde man patted a patch of earth beside him, a large grin on his dripping face. "Is not the island more beautiful than you could have imagined?"
The slave, Scipio, obeyed, slumping down beside the man with a frown before turning to gaze back they way they'd come. "I sup-"
Smack. The sound of the slap was incredibly loud in the otherwise still atmosphere at the base of the mountain. Save for a few breezes that drifted about, Keene raised a brow at the blonde man's quick actions. He was not nearly as sluggish as he had thought him to be. "That was a rhetorical question, Scipio. Do you know what 'rhetorical' means?" Scipio moved to speak again, but the hand flew back, its knuckles connecting with the dark-haired slave's chin with another crack. "It means I'm not expecting you to answer, so you shouldn't." Scipio's skin had turned a bright red where he'd been struck, but his eyes burned a steady hatred as he nodded. "Good, good! Now give us a kiss." Scipio leaned forward, his grimace nearing a state of pain as he placed his lips upon those of his master. Keene's frowned deepened as the blonde man pressed against his slave in a manner that was shameful even in the wildness of the mountain. Whatever their relationship, Keene was beginning to feel as though they didn't belong. What he was going to do about it, however, he wasn't sure. While Scipio seemed to detest his master, he still did everything the man asked of him. It was disconcerting, and also meant that while he may not have possessed the strange irrationality of the other man, he was subject to it.
Drawing back from the kiss with a sickening slap of his lips, the blond haired man let out a chuckle. "Now, do you think he'll come out, or is the little Tom going to keep watching us? Hm?" He turned, his blue-grey eyes peering in Keene's direction. "Shall I have him remove his clothing? Is this the sort of thing you're interested in, Keeper?" Keene glared back, unsure whether he'd truly been made or not. "No? Yes?" The man grabbed at Scipio's shirt, tearing it off of him with a few swift motions. "Exquisite, isn't he?" He chuckled, running a tongue across the slave's chest while still keeping his eyes fixed on the tree line. "I don't mind putting on a show for you, but I'd rather get this business all sorted out sooner rather than later." Another chuckle was followed with a casual, "Though I do admit my loins are a bit anxious. What say you, Scipio?" The slave merely shot a look towards the trees that Keene was unable to refuse. Stepping out from between the concealing trunks, he stood with arms cross and brows knit.
"What business do you have here?"
.
