Post by HEKALIS TALITAI on Jan 23, 2011 17:49:58 GMT -6
Wind rustles the lush leaves on the trees, rain lightly patters the untrodden twigs under their sloaping arches and through the few cracks we can see the grey clouds cast far and wide engulfing the nights sky. Over this little can be heard. Birds chirping, rodents scurrying, then we hear dashed foot steps and breathing; tempered to a low tone, taking in only enough air as required before releasing it and waiting. A moment passes before again we hear air sucked in and spat out in the same quiet breach. In the brush, a man, could not be less than six foot standing but as he crouches he blends easily into the back end of a withered tree pressing the front of his body and the left of his face against it and peering round into the watery haze. Ill fitting rags barely cover his ripped physique and his bare feet bleed through the toes as he presses them into thorned discard from the woodland but he doesn't shout out, he can't, not now. In the distance nustles a deer, burying its head into the sparce floor and arching its rear as it searches the ground desperately for food, knowing all the time that it's to become the meal if it sticks around too long in one place with all manner of beast and hazard lurking around every bend of this forest. Mouthing the words, not letting a sound escape, the man instructs himself: "Easy. Quiet. Not too fast."
The picture remains vastly the same for the next fifteen minutes as the deer moves back and forth, staying within a fifteen foot radius and rarely lifting its head to look for danger as it's taught itself over the years. No, this game is tired, hungry, weak. Like all who dwell in this forest it can be days or weeks between feeds as edible materials are few and far between, it's especially difficult for herbivore species. Finally, the deer looking directly at him but for a bowing of the neck, our man reaches for an expertly crafted bow hung over his shoulder with handmade twine, made as it is from several different wooden shoots slit at the ends, connected and bound to give it an arch allowing the ends to be joined with a tight stretched sap. With his other hand he has retrieved a speared stick from a set of three strapped to his waist. Nocking it through a space in the middle shoot and lining the cracked back end along the sap our man takes prestine care to line it perfectly down the center, resting above the three fingers from the pinky, with the thumb and index each outstretched just above. Lifting it within inches of his face the young hunter visualises the direct route from himself to the target and pointing the bow in that direction and pulling back the cord with such haste and ease that one would be forgiven for believing he was rushing matters. In his head a count starts: "3...2...1." Gone.
The 'arrow' cuts through the air effortlessly, raising an ear of the deer but it looks up too late and its eyes continue to stare into the distance as the spiked batton glides under its vision and slams into its slender neck, immediately cutting function to the skinny legs which give out from underneath. As quickly as the blood pours to the floor the rain splits and clears it though a red tinge stains the floor under the animal as it labours to breath its last breath, not closing its glassy eyes before passing so the haunting lifelike seated deer continues to stare at the hunter as he collects his kill. Plucking the weapon and sliding it back in its holster he lifts the animal onto one of his burly shoulders with little effort, in its current condition the deer is not baring much meat but he cares little of this as this one singular kill contains more than enough meat to give him the sustanance he needs to catch another. This is the life of Hekalis Talitai. Living from one meal to the next is the way it has always been for him, it's all that he has ever known. Travelling on foot for, at times, up to six hours from his home in the center of Buttersage Forest in search of the kill though it's not uncommon for him to return dirty, bloody, tired, more hungry than when he set off and most importantly empty handed. His whole life has been spent in this world and not once has he wished for more. Never.
Born some 29 years earlier, though not even his blessed mother is sure of the exact number, Hekalis was the unfortunate outcome of a fleeting romance between a barely teenage mother Corda Talitai and her twenty-something lover who knew little more about each other than their first names so when she was to fall pregnant from this encounter there was no sign of a man whos face she has long since forgot. Shameful, regretting her actions and worried as much for what would happen with her family as she was for the future of an at-the-time unstable Altin she fled into the forest of Buttersage where few dare to wander and miraculously managed to give birth to and raise two twin-boys, keep them fed and tend to their every need though life was tough. Like Hekalis she had to grow up fast and taught her self to hunt, first on small inoffensive animals before moving onto bigger catches; it was these skills she would then teach both her children at the age of nine. The boys wanted for nothing and were, atleast in her eyes, the best of friends but in reality the two battled for her affection like wild animals, as their only source of love and care they saw each other as intruders into an otherwise perfect world. No-one shall ever truly know what happened to Keldyn Talitai.
Aged eleven Corda sent her boys into the night with orders to return with food and water. Only Hekalis would return alive. He brought back, much like the deer he now carries over his shoulder, the limp body of his brother with the tale of how he took a tumble over the edge of a ditch and just never woke up. His mother had questions but ofcourse they all went unanswered, many of which even went unasked, not least those regarding the bruising on Keldyns chest or the compression marks around his neck. No accusations were ever made but from that day on there was a clear change in both the remaining Talitai. Hekalis was no longer a playful boy: he became increasingly closed off, quiet, quick to temper and no more tears were shed over the animals mother made him kill. He was a man. Corda? Well, Corda just never got over the grief. She didn't let her remaining son see it but it was a rare occassion that she would go an entire day without shedding atleast a few tears for her loss or marking her boys life in some way. It became common for her to spend days inside their makeshift camp out of the sunlight and she never again accompanied Hekalis on the hunts or showered him with the affection to which he was so used. She would never admit but she knew Keldyns fate was no accident.
By the time Hekalis arrived back at camp with his deer the sun was rising, the rain had stopped and the clouds had began to part to let the rays through. The droplets of water hanging on the branches and leaves magnified the beams and sent shots of it off in every direction so bright that they temporarily blur the hunters vision as he drops the deer on two wooden stumps outside the camp and ducks inside. The inside is basic as one would imagine, little to furnish the dank surroundings but the skin of previous conquests draped over branch supports for the wooden roof. Hekalis finds his mother in bed, as usual, staring up at him. He greets her with a smile but her expression fails to change to match his, infact little changes as he stares into her pasty face. An image appears in his head as he feels his mothers cold stares burn through him, the image is of the deer laying outside with the same blank look greeting him as he approached. His blood runs cold. Dropping to his knees beside her the very fact she didn't flinch as his massive body rattled the ground around her should have given him an indication to her state but still, he holds the back end of his hand against the underside of her jaw before cupping his palm around her cheek. A cold shiver runs up his spine.
A whole gambit of emotion overcomes him in this moment: anger, sadness, hatred, fear, guilt. The most predominant of them, anger, attempts to drown out the sadness which scares him so badly by driving his body to overturn every movable object in sight and tear down the canapy protecting them from the elements but in the end, when there is little left for him to break, our man collapses back infront of his mother and buries his face into her stomach and cries like a baby. Saturating her dirty, ragged clothing with his tears the palms of his hands begin to bleed he's pressing his nails in so tightly. Struggling for breath he can't bring himself to look at her face as he draws her eyelids closed over her tired pupils. Wrapping her arms around his mother her small frame becomes enveloped by his as he turns from full fledged crying to a soft whimper as he lays there, struggling to process any coherent thought until he drifts into slumber. Hours later he awakes, his dreams of mother in her prime have comforted him to the point he is able to look at her face and choke back tears long enough to gently press his lips against her forehead and whisper "Goodbye" to his life giver before he has to take off into the woods for a measure of calm. As calm as one can be in this situation.
Alone he makes his way to a small clearing playing host to a stream he and his mother had visited so many times throughout his childhood. Sun rays bouncing off the water he breaks the calm surface with stones dropped from a ledge bridging one side to the other but pivotally it returns to its original state seconds later, it's in that moment he makes the most grand of realisations. His mother is gone, never to return, but he is still alive and that should be appreciated to it's fullest and though it may not seem it at the moment his life--just like the waters below--will one day again be calm. For so long he has lived sheltered in the world his mother had created for him, now that she was gone his world had been torn down around him and it was time for him to rebuild. It would be counterproductive for him to stay in the forest and fester, to rebuild the life she had made, one to die alone in your bed in the middle of an uncaring forest. He would have to rebuild his way. Live the rest of his life his way. Die his way. Staring off to the distance he sees smoke rising from what he will soon come to find to be the town of Urdlog, the place he will soon come to call home and the place where he will truly start to live. He may have been alive for the last twenty nine years but for the very first time he is going to leave the forest and live.
End Of Segment (Comments Welcome)
The picture remains vastly the same for the next fifteen minutes as the deer moves back and forth, staying within a fifteen foot radius and rarely lifting its head to look for danger as it's taught itself over the years. No, this game is tired, hungry, weak. Like all who dwell in this forest it can be days or weeks between feeds as edible materials are few and far between, it's especially difficult for herbivore species. Finally, the deer looking directly at him but for a bowing of the neck, our man reaches for an expertly crafted bow hung over his shoulder with handmade twine, made as it is from several different wooden shoots slit at the ends, connected and bound to give it an arch allowing the ends to be joined with a tight stretched sap. With his other hand he has retrieved a speared stick from a set of three strapped to his waist. Nocking it through a space in the middle shoot and lining the cracked back end along the sap our man takes prestine care to line it perfectly down the center, resting above the three fingers from the pinky, with the thumb and index each outstretched just above. Lifting it within inches of his face the young hunter visualises the direct route from himself to the target and pointing the bow in that direction and pulling back the cord with such haste and ease that one would be forgiven for believing he was rushing matters. In his head a count starts: "3...2...1." Gone.
The 'arrow' cuts through the air effortlessly, raising an ear of the deer but it looks up too late and its eyes continue to stare into the distance as the spiked batton glides under its vision and slams into its slender neck, immediately cutting function to the skinny legs which give out from underneath. As quickly as the blood pours to the floor the rain splits and clears it though a red tinge stains the floor under the animal as it labours to breath its last breath, not closing its glassy eyes before passing so the haunting lifelike seated deer continues to stare at the hunter as he collects his kill. Plucking the weapon and sliding it back in its holster he lifts the animal onto one of his burly shoulders with little effort, in its current condition the deer is not baring much meat but he cares little of this as this one singular kill contains more than enough meat to give him the sustanance he needs to catch another. This is the life of Hekalis Talitai. Living from one meal to the next is the way it has always been for him, it's all that he has ever known. Travelling on foot for, at times, up to six hours from his home in the center of Buttersage Forest in search of the kill though it's not uncommon for him to return dirty, bloody, tired, more hungry than when he set off and most importantly empty handed. His whole life has been spent in this world and not once has he wished for more. Never.
Born some 29 years earlier, though not even his blessed mother is sure of the exact number, Hekalis was the unfortunate outcome of a fleeting romance between a barely teenage mother Corda Talitai and her twenty-something lover who knew little more about each other than their first names so when she was to fall pregnant from this encounter there was no sign of a man whos face she has long since forgot. Shameful, regretting her actions and worried as much for what would happen with her family as she was for the future of an at-the-time unstable Altin she fled into the forest of Buttersage where few dare to wander and miraculously managed to give birth to and raise two twin-boys, keep them fed and tend to their every need though life was tough. Like Hekalis she had to grow up fast and taught her self to hunt, first on small inoffensive animals before moving onto bigger catches; it was these skills she would then teach both her children at the age of nine. The boys wanted for nothing and were, atleast in her eyes, the best of friends but in reality the two battled for her affection like wild animals, as their only source of love and care they saw each other as intruders into an otherwise perfect world. No-one shall ever truly know what happened to Keldyn Talitai.
Aged eleven Corda sent her boys into the night with orders to return with food and water. Only Hekalis would return alive. He brought back, much like the deer he now carries over his shoulder, the limp body of his brother with the tale of how he took a tumble over the edge of a ditch and just never woke up. His mother had questions but ofcourse they all went unanswered, many of which even went unasked, not least those regarding the bruising on Keldyns chest or the compression marks around his neck. No accusations were ever made but from that day on there was a clear change in both the remaining Talitai. Hekalis was no longer a playful boy: he became increasingly closed off, quiet, quick to temper and no more tears were shed over the animals mother made him kill. He was a man. Corda? Well, Corda just never got over the grief. She didn't let her remaining son see it but it was a rare occassion that she would go an entire day without shedding atleast a few tears for her loss or marking her boys life in some way. It became common for her to spend days inside their makeshift camp out of the sunlight and she never again accompanied Hekalis on the hunts or showered him with the affection to which he was so used. She would never admit but she knew Keldyns fate was no accident.
By the time Hekalis arrived back at camp with his deer the sun was rising, the rain had stopped and the clouds had began to part to let the rays through. The droplets of water hanging on the branches and leaves magnified the beams and sent shots of it off in every direction so bright that they temporarily blur the hunters vision as he drops the deer on two wooden stumps outside the camp and ducks inside. The inside is basic as one would imagine, little to furnish the dank surroundings but the skin of previous conquests draped over branch supports for the wooden roof. Hekalis finds his mother in bed, as usual, staring up at him. He greets her with a smile but her expression fails to change to match his, infact little changes as he stares into her pasty face. An image appears in his head as he feels his mothers cold stares burn through him, the image is of the deer laying outside with the same blank look greeting him as he approached. His blood runs cold. Dropping to his knees beside her the very fact she didn't flinch as his massive body rattled the ground around her should have given him an indication to her state but still, he holds the back end of his hand against the underside of her jaw before cupping his palm around her cheek. A cold shiver runs up his spine.
A whole gambit of emotion overcomes him in this moment: anger, sadness, hatred, fear, guilt. The most predominant of them, anger, attempts to drown out the sadness which scares him so badly by driving his body to overturn every movable object in sight and tear down the canapy protecting them from the elements but in the end, when there is little left for him to break, our man collapses back infront of his mother and buries his face into her stomach and cries like a baby. Saturating her dirty, ragged clothing with his tears the palms of his hands begin to bleed he's pressing his nails in so tightly. Struggling for breath he can't bring himself to look at her face as he draws her eyelids closed over her tired pupils. Wrapping her arms around his mother her small frame becomes enveloped by his as he turns from full fledged crying to a soft whimper as he lays there, struggling to process any coherent thought until he drifts into slumber. Hours later he awakes, his dreams of mother in her prime have comforted him to the point he is able to look at her face and choke back tears long enough to gently press his lips against her forehead and whisper "Goodbye" to his life giver before he has to take off into the woods for a measure of calm. As calm as one can be in this situation.
Alone he makes his way to a small clearing playing host to a stream he and his mother had visited so many times throughout his childhood. Sun rays bouncing off the water he breaks the calm surface with stones dropped from a ledge bridging one side to the other but pivotally it returns to its original state seconds later, it's in that moment he makes the most grand of realisations. His mother is gone, never to return, but he is still alive and that should be appreciated to it's fullest and though it may not seem it at the moment his life--just like the waters below--will one day again be calm. For so long he has lived sheltered in the world his mother had created for him, now that she was gone his world had been torn down around him and it was time for him to rebuild. It would be counterproductive for him to stay in the forest and fester, to rebuild the life she had made, one to die alone in your bed in the middle of an uncaring forest. He would have to rebuild his way. Live the rest of his life his way. Die his way. Staring off to the distance he sees smoke rising from what he will soon come to find to be the town of Urdlog, the place he will soon come to call home and the place where he will truly start to live. He may have been alive for the last twenty nine years but for the very first time he is going to leave the forest and live.
End Of Segment (Comments Welcome)
