Logfile from Two Moons - Savith.
Field before Blue Mountain
A single mountain stands almost unnaturally into the air before you, grand and solid. Boulders and uneven, sheer rock faces threaten those who wander too close. Huge cracks split the mountain's roots, down to the assortment of rubble at its feet and up, hundreds of heights toward the mountain's spindly peak. In either the brightness of day or under the light of twin moons, the entire mountain and all the rocks about it have a definite blue tint.
The field, dotted with boulders, seems to end at the mountain itself. One of the larger cracks obviously delves in deeper, forming a short, narrowing cave.
A few hours ago, a large hawk did a flyby of the area, its rider not stopping. Now, however, the hawk has returned, and drops off an elf. The Chosen, now, emerges from one of the Raft Holt tents, brow a bit furrowed and lips pressed tightly together. He stands for a moment in the open clearing in the middle of the campsite, as if composing himself for a nasty meeting mountainside.
Azil was tending to the fawns when she heard the high pitched whistle indicating an arrival. She turns on her heel, grabs her spear and pokes her head out of the tent. She can see a vague outline in the distance and she looks around to see who else is there for support. Not suprised to find anybody she creeps out of the tent, spear held at ready. She says nothing.
Savith stands still, head bowed against the gusts at the base of the mountain. The gleam of metal can be seen in his hands as he fiddles with the talonwhip that marks him as Chosen.
Azil's eyes widen then narrow again as she notices the weapon.She isn't sure if he's noticed her yet as she slinks behind a tree. She whistles for backup, doubting anyone will come as they are probably too busy eating, sleeping or furring. She calls out "What do you want pale one, a fight?"
The voice catches Savith's attention, and he turns to look in the direction of the sound. Green eyes narrow faintly as he scans the treeline searching for the voice's owner. "No," he replies a loud, continuing to coil the silvery rope attached to the butt-end of his weapon.
Azil's lips curl into a sneer as her eyes narrow. "Then go back into yer stinking hole and return our cheiftess to us!" She barks out. Its been a while since Kahvi and Kintae left to the mountain, she doesn't know what is going on, or if they will see her again... alive.
Savith rolls his eyes, moving to clip the weapon to his belt. "Your chieftess is free to return when her business is done," he replies coolly. "Perhaps you should send to her and see how much longer she'll be."
Azil blinks a bit then scratches her head. Sending.. that kinda.. hurts. She snorts and silently mocks him. She steps out from behind the tree and takes 3 paces forward. "I have no need for "magics" (she almost spits the word out). Just old fashioned troll metal and a target" She sizes you up with her eyes quickly, then narrows them.
Typical. Barbaric, brainless gobacks. Savith seems highly unimpressed, and his expression sours slightly. "So I see," he quips softly. "Well, your target is still being tracked, but if you like, I can deliever a message to your chieftess."
Azil isn't going to be thrown off guard by his courtesy. "Tell her we're wasting time here. We don't need your kind's help. Goback business, is goback business alone"
That makes Savith quirk a brow. "Goback business," he repeats. "After My Lord has extended Her hand to you and your tribe in this, the hunting of the Destroyers of your home?" Really, doesn't that Kahvi tell her peons /anything/?
A low, choked moan drifts from the tent behind Savith. It's a stifled sound, as if whoever is in pain is trying to hold back, and dies away quickly, only to be heard again within heartbeats, this time at a more intense pitch before being muffled.
Azil narrows her eyes almost as if she could read what he was thinking "Its our business!" She growls, threateningly "What do you care that..." She stops as she hears the moan, notices its in the seaelf encampment. "Maybe you should go finish, what you started" She indicates.
Savith glances back at the tent, and his expression shifts faintly. It's a bit of a frown. The motion, however, brings the talonwhip into view more, and it's silver rope is darkened by a red substance, one that stains his hands faintly. To the battle-hardened goback, it's clearly blood. Probably the same blood that darkens the trim of his uniform, now coming into view as Azil draws near. "There is little more I can do," he states.
Azil does notice the blood and readies her stance again. "Is this a game to you glider? Do you enjoy letting us "lowly" suffer?" Her eyes nearly shine in the night with anger.
The moaning does not fade this time, but instead builds to a full-throated, masculine scream in short order. The agonized scream that dies away in wet gurgle before very long. Sharp ears might catch sounds of violence from within the tent...thrashing and faint thumps.
Azil lets out a growl, then quickly glances around her. Her mind churns at the thought of an ambush. This one placed out for distraction while his kin finished the others off "Barbarians" She yells, her chest heaving with disgust and anger. Her sense of control fading to fury, she makes ready to charge him.
Annoyance flashes in Savith's eyes a moment, before he stamps it out with an iron fist. Turning from Azil and the tent, Savith faces the mountain, lifting his chin toward the summon and bringing a hand to his lips. But the motion is stopped short as he hears the goback scream and charge him. Quickly he glancing back to confirm, then launches himself up into the air.
Azil waves her double tipped spear around twice in the air before calling to arms all that can hear her voice. The dust benieth her feet whirls like a dust devil as she charges. Her eyes intent on her target, her aim is marked in her mind. She swings..
Chosen are expert flyers. This one is no different, and he skims through the air like a bug on water, pulling his body one way then the other as he ducks away from the swinging spear all while drifting higher and higher into the air. "Enough of this," he calls down to the goback. "I am not here to cause harm! End your thoughtless actions."
Azil's knuckles white as she grips her spear, angered largely at her inablility to strike him. She looks up, her ashen hair tangled about her face, her amathyst eyes burn with hatered "Liar!" she shouts and spits on the ground. She is near to the tent now and she strains her ears for any sound of movement within... perhaps she can catch his accomplice off guard.
Pained gasps for breath, barely audible above the harsh breathing of the snow-hardened warrioress, can be heard from beyond the canvas. The sounds of scuffling have not ceased, but are somewhat fainter now. A choked whimper drifts out in a momentary lull between bouts of thrashing before it begins again.
Savith watches Azil from above. **In sends there is only truth,** he sends to the goback, eyes narrowing faintly. **I am not here to cause harm to you, and am under explicit orders for such, but I will defend myself if needed.** And his own mind will bear witness that Azil swung first.
Azil turns towards the scuffling and takes a step towards the entrance of the tent as the Glider sends. She squeezes her eyes shut and staggers backward a few steps clutching her head. A sharp pain followed by dull aching. "Knock it off!" She hollars and shakes her head clear. Her eyes dart between him and the tent, still mistrusting, as all gobacks are, and sneaks to the entrance, preparing to throw back the flap and stab at anything that rushes towards her menacingly.
Savith falls silent then, watching the goback. His hands flex as he steadies himself in midair. If she moves to attack the injuried rafter inside, she better believe he's going to dive bomb her.
There's a golden-haired elf on the floor of the tent. He's almost as tall as a Glider himself, though broader shouldered. At the moment, he's arched up in a convulsion of exsquisate agony, foam from his mouth streaking his face and chest, eyes rolled back in his head. The bedding he was laying upon is tousled and blood-stained, while the elf himself lies half-on, half-off of it, twitching like a half-crushed bug as he goes into another convulsion. Blood mingles wih the foam on his body where he has already bitten through his lower lip. More blood flows from his heel, and his right leg is swollen and discolored, dark and far from healthy-looking.
Azil takes quite a few steps back as she clutches the scruff of her shirt "The mad sickness" She states in a voice mingled with awe and fear. Only a handful of times in her life has she seen this horrifying illness. She stares at the tent, wide eyed, the glider forgotten for the moment.
"No, it's not," Savith states from up above, starting to make a slow descent to the ground. "It's snake poison."
Azil continues to stare at the tent for a while, then her eyes flick to his.A rumor filters through her head, then to her lips without her being able to consiously think about it "The black snake...."
Landing, Savith overhears and sighs. "No. My Lord had nothing to do with this," the Chosen replies. "This was a simple mud-snake from the lake we were hunting at. It's not lethal, but he shold be watched."
Azil twitches her head as words which seem inconcievable to her, flutter in her brain "We?" She blinks, the fight all but torn out of her at the horid sight. "Why don't you do something about it!" She turns to him as blame. "Cannot you see he's in pain and suffering! Don't you have medicines that will help, or a ... " She opens her hand and closes it, grasping for the correct word "Healer" She finishes.
And that makes Savith's eyes lower to the ground, the frown return, and brow furrow. "I see the pain he is in, but I am no healer, and My Lord... is busy with the guests and visitors. I can not disturb her for this." YOu know, if he weren't a self-serving Chosen, he might actually sound sad about this.
Azil looks at you incredulously, before anger seeps into her features "What good are your magics then?" She walks away back to her tent wondering where she might be able to find a healer or a herbalist this time of night.
Inside the tent, the blond elf rolls onto his side, curling around himself, only semi-conscious and mewling like a newborn.
Savith watches Azil move away with a sigh. But hearing Sandspur's gurgles, he glances in. The foaming has begun. But unable to do any more, and having fresh fish to deliever, Savith turns and heads back to his bird.
