(Flashback) Lost in Translocation (Nisana)

[Wrenmae]

Hands up, Wrenmae smiled disarmingly. So, a bit too heavy on the suggestion then...well, he was still getting the hang of it. He made no move for a weapon, nor rose to stab her or cast other thoughts in her head. It was pointless now. Instead he remained seated, calm as he had begun. She was amused, maybe even intrigued by the human and in that small window of interest was a rope of salvation.

"Yes," he admitted, lowering his hands and crossing his arms, "You have pretty good control over your own will, although to be fair...I'm just a novice hypnotist at best."

The arrow traced a path to the bow, a gentle if not expressed reminder that at this distance, Wrenmae had the disadvantage. He raised his hands again, flat out and waving back and forth...as though, by some miracle, he could propel enough wind to dislodge the arrow entirely.

"No, no, no...I don't want to steal from you, never that!" the expression on his face was embarrassed, and he chuckled despite himself. "You travel alone with not much more than your clothes and a bow...I can't shoot any arrows so stealing from you would be a pointless risk...I err...I just wanted to ease our conversation a bit., break the ice a bit better and get you to...eh...trust me a little more. People tend to tell the best stories when the audience is both not a threat and friendly. I apologize, I won't do it again."

Ket leaped from the saddlebag, landing on the cave floor and sashaying to Wrenmae. Eying Nisana with both a distinct lack of judgment and a sort of haughty indifference, she settled into the storyteller's lap.

"I didn't mean any insult by it, really."

[Nisana Curare]

Nisana continued to smirk as Wrenmae admitted to his attempt at hypnotism. He had underestimated her, and she had prevailed even though she had been unprepared. Of course it was natural, as she was not only a Symenestra, but the daughter of Valvessa Curare.

Her smirk shifted to a slightly confused frown however when Wrenmae declared his reason for such a foolish action was... to hear stories? Watching the feline move over and sit in Wrenmae's lap Nisana tried to make sense of this. Why would he try so hard to simply hear a story. No one would, and so he must be lying.

"Hah," Nisana said with a grin, "Such lies will not fool me. You expect me to believe that out here in The Unforgiving your only thought upon meeting a stranger is to hear stories from them? You are lucky you at least have the claim to intelligence. I will not dishonor Viratas by spilling your blood needlessly, but I will hear the truth."

[Wrenmae]

"Is it so strange?" Wrenmae asked with a frown, concern embedding wrinkles in his face, "We are all collections of stories, from our first remembered experience to the last. How can anyone know each other without first hearing their story?" Pulling his knees up to his chest, he banished the cat from his lap. Ket slunk away from Wrenmae, finding solace near Weaver who watched Nisana with vague interest.

"I don't need your bow, nor your clothes, nor anything you probably have on you." spreading his fingers wide, Wrenmae withdrew them to his lap. He emanated charm, a natural sort of ease and cordiality of manner. He had no reason to lie, at least personally, and so he told the truth. "I'm a storyteller, stories are my trade...you're the first individual I've encountered in months that could actually speak."

"So," he continued, a smile on his face, "Have you a story to share?" In a moment or two he'd stand and take his knife again, intent on cutting into the deer before the meat grew too cold or stiff. His strength was slowly recovering from his arduous trek over, but now that he felt better...especially to spend time with another speaking individual, perhaps he could spin a tale tonight...entertain her.

And perhaps, fate allowing, he'd hear her tale as well.

[Nisana Curare]

Nisana had to admit that Wrenmae seemed genuine in all that he said. It was possible that he could be very skilled at lying, but she quickly dismissed that thought. There was no way a human boy could so easily outwit her. So the only possible conclusion was that he had to be telling the truth.

"I suppose," she said slowly as she returned her arrow back to the quiver at her side, "What you say does make some sense," she returned her bow to her side and took a seat on the rock once more, "What kind of stories do you like? I have some that I might not mind sharing."

Now that she was sure he was being sincire, this might prove to be a good test of her skills at conversation. She wanted to make sure she was ready when Serena called on her to go out on Harvest, and surely a boy would prove easy to charm.

[Wrenmae]

"Excellent!" Both hands clapped together and he rose, gripping and drawing his long knife from its sheath. Holding it down by his waist, Wrenmae stepped around Nisana and knelt near the deer. It wasn't his first time skinning and preparing meat, but he still wasn't all that skilled. Placing the dagger at the shoulder, he dug the blade into fur and flesh, watching the welling blood with an almost morbid fascination.

"Any story really," he called over his shoulder as he worked, slight muscles straining to hack through hide, "Whatever you find most compelling, most interesting."

Blood pulsed up into his hands, it moved sluggishly, only pushed out by pressure. In the absence of a heartbeat and with a throat wound, the deer was somehow lacking the vibrant spray of ruby color it might have ordinarily given. "I was not born in Alvadas, but most of my early memories are pretty foggy." That was a lie, he remembered them perfectly. Vayt, the smell of his cigar, the brightness of his eyes...the coughing of his siblings. He paused only briefly in cutting, surveying his work with a frown, back to Nisana. Yes, his early stories were not ones to enjoy, but to abhor.

And now he belonged to the plague.

"Tell me about your life in Kalinor, your people...you speak of your home so proudly...I'm sure you have other words for it as well." He looked up, straining to widen the crimson tear across the deer's side. It was getting dark and he'd have to make a fire soon...cold deer was hardly what he called appetizing.

[Nisana Curare]

Nisana's amethyst eyes followed Wrenmae as he pulled his knife, her muscles tensing for a moment, and moved to begin cut up the dear. It was a skill she had never really practiced thanks to the way Symenestra ate. The skin usually provided for a good container of the predigested meat.

Nisana was silent as Wrenmae spoke. She did not care much about his past, he couldn't have done anything of interest, but she was not sure what story to share with him. She had stories, both her own and her Mother's, but was this boy worthy to hear such tales? He was certainly not a hunter, and so could not possibly appreciate those stories properly. She also had no doubt in her mind that a human could not possibly appreciate the honor and sacrifice of a Harvest.

Finally Wrenmae suggested he tell him of Nisana's people, and she gave a small nod. That she could certainly share, and perhaps at least one human would then show the Symenestra the proper respect.

"I have told you of Kalinor some, though it is a place that is best seen for oneself, and so I shall tell you of the Symenestra," she gave the boy a toothy grin, revealing her pointed canines, "There are many fools who fear or despise the Symenestra because of our similarity to spiders. We eat much like them, and are able to scale most any surface with ease. This is foolishness as the Symenestra are an elegant and artful people. Even a young child among the Symenestra has a natural agility that would take any other race years to develop. Our craftsmen weave the softest and smoothest silk, and others are skilled at more arcane crafts such as Animation," she gave a soft, fond smile as she thought of Velarian.

"Webs, what you might call families, are extremely important to the Symenestra. We take great pride in our ancestors, and families are valued as highly as oneself," she paused a moment to consider whether to share her next thought or not, but decided to in the end, "Also valued highly is Viratas, The Blood Catcher, and our worship of him. He teaches us that the blood of all who possess intelligence is holy, even if they are not fortunate enough to be Symenestra."

She paused, looking Wrenmae over to gauge his reaction to what she had said. Of course she had spoken the truth, but she would not be surprised if he refused to believe her out of blindness.

[Wrenmae]

His back to her, Wrenmae placed the dagger on the deer's flank, listening. He nodded as she spoke, concentrating on the hand closest to the open cut he had made. His fingers twitched, growing scaly in the musty light as long black claws, similar to Nisana's slid from his finger tips. He concentrated, letting the scales fall away and only pale white skin to remain. His hand was like hers, similar in most ways. Of course the claws were a little crooked, likely more brittle as well, but using the hand to pierce into the deer's side and begin removing the entrails gave him better ability to cut through the interconnecting muscles and organs. His hand burned, the rough nature of the morph unfamiliar to him, but something he was working on. If he could grow better at the art, perhaps he would be able to fly.

Maybe.

She spoke of webbing, of families in the caves of Kalinor, of the blood god Viratas and his worship. All of it was interesting, enrapturing, but Wrenmae had to divide his attention between listening to her and cutting through the meat of the dear with his newly morphed hand. Covered in blood it withdrew from the creature's abdomen and deposited guts and stomach onto the ground of the cave. Already his skin was shifting back, the nails retracting with the strange feeling of elasticity, like his skin was stretching back into place.

Flexing the hand after, he picked up the knife and continued cutting.

"Viratas," He said, "I haven't heard much about that God...but before I hear more on him, could you answer me one question?" He looked across to her, over his shoulder from the kill with a sheepish smile, "Has anyone ever visited Kalinor that...ya know, wasn't one of your people?"

[Nisana Curare]

As Nisana spoke she occasionally glanced over her shoulder to watch as Wrenmae worked. While she didn't doubt that he was being honest with his words she still didn't trust him completely. He was a human after all. Most of what he was doing seemed normal enough, but just before he asked his question she caught a glimpse of his hand looking... different. Almost like a poor copy of a Symenestra's hand, but when Nisana blinked her eyes his hand was back to the same as it had been before.

Giving a small shake of her head, attributing the oddness to a trick of the light, she gave a small nod in response to Wrenmae's question, "Yes, there are other visitors to Kalinor who are not Symenestra. Some merchants come and trade their goods in the Orchard Market, and there are others who will visit for their own reasons. If they are traveling further than the market they will usually need a Symenestra guide to make sure they do not fall off the strands. There is even the Meadows Public House, which is made to accommodate those who are not fortunate enough to be Symenestra," as always when she spoke of her people there was a great amount of pride in Nisana's voice.

Watching Wrenmae work on the animal some more Nisana asked after a few moments, "Why are you wasting so much of the the dear, or do humans normally dump their food on the ground before eating it," she gestured with a hand towards the recently removed internal organs on the cave floor.

[Wrenmae]

Focused on the task at hand, he almost didn't hear her. The deer stared up at him with one glassy eye, an expression in parody of how it had looked at him before. Even in death the deer trusted him...it was a disturbing thought. Turning his gaze from the corpse, he piled more internal organs on the cave floor, reviling from the stink of guts and blood. One would think he'd get used to all this, the smell of death and decay. But even with Vayt's presence itching at his neck, he could never truly understand nor enjoyed the smell of death.

He wondered if others like him did.

Sitting back from the corpse, hands slick red with blood, Wrenmae took a break.

He regarded the girl without comment at first, simply drinking in her image, the shape of her form and the paleness of her skin. The residents of Kalinor were a curious bunch, and now that she spoke of it, he remembered a bit from Alvadas. Spider people, the common man feared their bite for only by starvation did it become stronger, deadlier.

"I don't eat the internal organs," he said at last, wiping his hands on the rock "Just the meat...I guess we have different habits considering how we like our food prepared..."

Retrieving his knife and beginning again on cutting swathes of the deerflesh open, Wrenmae groaned with the exertion. "I would-oomph- like to visit-urgh- Kalinor someday" he grunted, tearing the deer apart as best he could, "Is it hard to find a guide? I wouldn't want to fall of the...web you said?"

Sighing, defeated by a particularly dense patch of muscle, the boy sat back and planted the dagger near the open wound.

"Your people take a lot of pride in being what they are, even to the extent of criticizing other races...are your kind without fault then?"

[Nisana Curare]

"The difference most likely comes from the different ways we must eat food," Nisana's amethyst eyes lingered on the dear's mutilated corpse for a moment, "You humans must prepare and remove the meat before cooking it, yes? Symenestra simply must bite and wait for our venom to prepare our food before we eat it."

A shrug was the initial response to Wrenmae's next question, "I would imagine it would be best if you had a friend among the Symenestra to guide you, or some goods to offer in the market. Otherwise there would probably be little chance of you finding a guide. Outsiders are not very common in Kalinor."

Turning around on the rock to more fully face Wrenmae, as it seemed he would be working on the dear for a while, Nisana gave a small shake of her head at the mangled corpse. It was almost enough to make her offer to help the boy, but she had no desire to dirty her claws for a human. Especially after his last question, which drew a small glare from her, "It is not criticism if it is true. It is a very fortunate position to be one of the Symenestra, but there are some downsides. Not faults, but you cannot have good without bad. Eating as we must can be a bit of an inconvenience, and our grace and agility comes partially from the fact that our bones are light and rather frail. Much more fragile than human bones I hear. The good things my people enjoy far outweigh any downsides."

She did not mention births, and obvious downside, because that could lead to the subject of the Harvest. That was not a subject she was willing to bring up, knowing that plenty of humans looked down on it. Not that any of them would do any different. Nisana would certainly rather see some random human die for her Sister's child than have Serena sacrifice herself.