Whatever You Find

[Ixzo]

62nd of Autumn, 515AV

To the Grader :

This thread and all items were okay-ed by Tribal.
Item collected: 4 lbs Smoke Powder, one pirate head, and a Cold Steel Cutlass.

And thanks for grading, btw!

Perhaps she wasn't prepared for the aftermath. She was in pain, that was unavoidable. And although bruises lined her body, the lioness had suffered no serious injuries; A miracle. But she hadn't slept the night before. The lioness had sat, on the beach, waiting. Did the sea-warriors dare to return? She wouldn't let them. Dravite had gotten his family back, he was happy. But the Kelvic still sought something. An answer, likely. The rational side of her, that which was raised by the Myrians, declared no answer was needed. These imbeciles had come earlier that season for the sake of war, and returned in hopes to gather more. They had been sorrowfully unprepared for the force that awaited their return, but would they come back? Would the bring more?

Silver eyes edged towards one of the ships. The black mast was all that poked out from under the waves. Smoke from the Drykas' fires still danced over the ripped fabric. Not all the ships had escaped, they would not likely come back.

Yet something nagged on her. Perhaps it was her connection with the God of hope. Her Lady who saw only the good in people, the good that Ixzo was trying to see. Were the sea-people facing a harsh year? Did another force, a greater threat, push them to take the Drykas people? She couldn't begin to answer the questions.

With a sigh, Ixzo stood, rising. The leather across her hips strained across the bruises and the Kelvic cringed at the pain that resonated deeper into the joint, and turned away from the beach. There was no return, and she would not get an answer, so it was best to leave it alone.

She hadn't wholly prepared herself for the scene before her. Tents, those closest to the shores, were utterly demolished. Bodies and bloodied items strewn across the plains. They hadn't gotten very far before they were defeated, and Ixzo could only hope most of the stiff bodies she saw were not of the Drykas people.

Limping forward, Ixzo climbed through the boulders on the beach and didn't care to brush the sharp straggly bushes out of her way when she slipped through them. The first body she came across was not Drykas. Curious, the lioness crouched, supporting her weight on her right as best she could. The shaved head of the seaman was so clearly not Drykas, she didn't bother to be gentle when she pushed into his shoulder, making the corpse look up at her.

[Ixzo]

Flat, greyed eyes looked past her, up into the sky and she grimaced. Zulrav wouldn't be terribly pleased, weren't the Drykas his people? Quickly, and without giving it much thought, her forefinger and middle finger plunged into his eyes. Nails dug into the gooey mush, and the scent of death slapped her across the face, but she wiggled her fingers anyhow, erasing the trace of humanity that remained in his dead eyes. Whoever had speared him had left his chest a complete mess, and she pulled her fingers from his eyes, wiping them on the garment, mixing the new bloody goo with the dried crust that ringed the puncturing on his chest.

Struggling to bring her balance back as she rose, she glanced at the next body a few feet away.

"Grave of the Shuraks." She muttered to herself, limping past the first and second body, until the third caught her eye. The skeletal frame of a man stood out to her. Winter had touched all of them, even the pirates, but this body was barely muscled, just skin and bones, nothing more. The braids that fell long down his back, intermingling with the strand woven into his beard told her of a prideful Drykas man.

But now, his body looked put to shame. Skinny, and while she could not see how he died, she imagined that even if he had lived through this battle, starvation would have taken him quickly after.

This time when she settled back into the painful crouch, she gently turned the man. This was harder, for his limbs were stiff with death. Unlike the last corpse, which had at least meat on his bones, she worried of snapping his arm off his shoulder. Yet when she revealed the flattened eyes of death, she found the reason for his demise. His throat had been slit. Cleanly through, covering his hairy chest with blood, all the way to his knees. She imagined him as a captured soul that had fled when the warriors left the ships, only to be mercilessly slaughtered before he returned to his people.

But this time, when he looked up to Zulrav, she didn't gauge his eyes out. She let him look, turning to try and turn his legs as well. She wanted the man to lay up, look at his God, rather than face the ground like his enemies. But she didn't have much more compassion than that. She could strive to find wood to make him a pyre, as her people would. But what songs could she sing for this stranger? What stories could she retell in his memory? And then there was the uncertainty of what the Drykas did with their dead. Would they appreciate the burning of his body or find it to be a sin?

[Ixzo]

So she left. The Kelvic didn't intend to traverse that cultural boundary, only able to collect the weight in her heart as she passed the occasional Drykas. It was when she saw the loose, sea-swept hair of a woman warrior that she stopped. Her face was deeply tanned and freckled, bright blue eyes deflated from death, but her head was fairly clean. She was no Drykas, the war paint on her face and sea-shells in her hair gave that much away. Her hip hosted a sack. It wasn't terribly big, but when Ixzo grabbed, it out of curiosity, it was heavy. No bigger than the size of her hand, the thing must be at least two pounds. Unsure of what could be so heavy, she opened the leather pouch, only to have her nostrils assaulted with a heavy scent of smoke. The thick grey powder dispersed slightly at her breathe, but it was loosely packed and heavy enough that it. But whatever it was, it was a weapon of some sort. Perhaps a poison? A fire-starter? She didn't know, for it hadn't been used. Ixzo didn't think about it when she strapped the bag onto her belt, kicking the body slightly to pick up another one which had been partially used, and collected that one as well.

She was about to walk away, make it back to see if her tent, and Iollu, were still there, but her eyes caught on a glimmer of something else. Attracted by the reflection, and the strange inscriptions in the handle, the lioness crouched beside the weapon as well. She didn't hesitate to pull the magnificent weapon from this man's hand, although he gave her a bit of a fight for it. Stiff, bloodied fingers wrapped around the handle, death sealing them in place. With her cold fingers, she couldn't quite rip his grip from her new prize, so the lioness leaned forward. Her teeth her much stronger, and once she got a grip on the bony digits, it was hardly an issue to tear the grip from the handle. She grimaced at the taste of rotten meat, but she couldn't help but lick her lips anyway. She glanced down at the pirate, a thought of a full belly crossing her mind. He wouldn't be as impossible to eat as a the damn turkeys, but she didn't like the stressed muscles and boniness of the human body.

Yet, as she looked at him, she realized why the meat had repulsed her. He had been burned. Not cooked as she ate in her human form, but truly scorched. His once olive skin was a charred and flaky black. His arms had curled upwards, which suddenly made sense why his grip was so strong. It seems as if his entire body had tensed after death, curling his hands up by his ears and his legs nearly into a ball. Yet half of his body remained soft and pungent, the majority of his form was hardly recognizable and gruesome to see.

[Ixzo]

Ixzo scowled once more, she didn't like looking at these bodies. She couldn't see them as appetizing in either form, she had no wish to look at the attackers and no knowledge of what to do with the Drykas. She struggled to stand back up once more, cringing at the pain in her hip. But this time she examined the weapon more closely. It was cold to the touch, not helping the already chilly morning, and although the blade seemed dull and there was blood crusted into the etchings along the side, it was a beautiful sword. She didn't know what to call the curved blade, but the Kelvic was interested enough in the luxury of it, she didn't dare to throw it away simply because it was foreign.

Switching her grip on the sword so she could hold it and the bags of powder in one hand, she limped past the bodies. She did her best to not look at the faces, but did not succeed. Any time her silver gaze dropped to the death below her she couldn't help but notice the different between those who came from the sea and those who came from the grass. Except at one point, near the remaining tents and the line of scorched grass caused by the sea-warriors, she did recognize a face. The salted dreads of the seaman. It wasn't hard to see the claw marks across his shoulders and chest. They told of her own claws, the wounds ringing the bloodied mangled rest of his neck.

The interesting part of it was that they were not the claws of a lion, but of a human. She had lost her arrows at that point and he had gotten too close. She had been surprised, but pleased, to find her human teeth where plenty strong enough to tear the skin from his neck, and that was how the man had met his death. It was also how she had earned her own claw marks. Clearly he hadn't expected her to come at him weaponless, and had not been prepared, but she still bore his scrapes on her arms and back, just before she used her teeth. With grim smile, she stared at her only clean kill.

She may have worshiped Priskil, but in that moment the Myrian within her took over. She set the bags of powder down, stepping over to the body with the sword. With a nearly gentle touch, she wove her fingers into the man's hair, placing her booted foot on his torn chest as well. Straining so that his neck was as exposed as possible, she brought the sword down. The dull blade did not help her, and while it sliced through the meat of his neck, it did not get very hard. Her eye twitched and she wiggled the blade out, bringing it down once more with a little more force. It dug deeper, but stopped at the bone in his neck.

[Ixzo]

With that, the lioness adjusted herself and came from the other side as well. Once, twice, and then the sword hit bone again. This time, she treated it more like the axe she was used to, wiggling it into the bone until she felt the snap of the things that kept the bone together beneath her. Struggling now, she worked the blade through and through the bone until she could nearly yank the head off.

It wasn't until she had worked herself into a small pant that, with an excruciating amount of effort, she dragged the head from the body. He was her kill, and she was going to wear it. When the head swung free, suddenly much lighter in her hand, Ixzo laughed in triumph. She glanced around to see quite a few others were picking through the bodies, none seemed to have noticed her most recent reaping. And for a small moment, she wanted to shout it to all. She wanted to raise the head of her kill and receive the yips and cheers of the other Myrians for her accomplishment, only to return them when another separated their kill as well. But the Kelvic was not with her people. These Drykas would not cheer, but perhaps gasp, at the showing, so she didn't draw attention.

Instead the Kelvic left the body with no more ceremony. She scooped up the bags as she returned to the remaining tents. She had gotten three things, and she didn't dare risk being out there longer as the other Drykas wandered back for their own loot.

[Azmere]

 

Player 1

Experience

• Observation: +5
• Philosophy: +1
• Scavenging: +1
• Endurance: +1
• Weapon – Cutlass: +2

Lore

• Priskil: Goddess of Hope
• Honoring the dead
• Scorched meat is no good
• Cutlass: Getting good grip
• Ixzo: Always a Myrian

Notes

• Great thread, Ixzo. The reverence she showed in placing the Drykas body was beautiful. I wish there was a skill I could award for that. Enjoy your rewards.