Stuck in the rain and wishing for an arrow to the knee... {Open}

[Kellai]

Unlike the far off desert island that molded her, this island was all shiny, and new, and wet. Nestled safe in the downy warmth of her folded wings, golden eyes glared malevolently at the rainy landscape that bloomed so ubiquitously around her. She was in some, nameless forest--in fact, it was the same nameless forest she’d found four days ago, the same, nameless forest she’d thoughtlessly plunged into, and the same, nameless forest in which, shortly afterwards, she was forced to realize that she was hopelessly lost. She'd heard from a passing stranger (with an equally strange fascination for calipers) that there was supposed to be a city nearby, but--obviously--she hadn't found it. The rainstorm found her next, prompting her to find the nearest--and dryest--tree, but she’d been sitting on a branch of said tree for over an hour now, and the storm had only intensified. Balefully, she hooted to herself, fidgeting a little as her satchel continued to rub some of her feathers the wrong way. And yet, she didn't trust her surroundings enough to drop the damnable thing to the forest floor either.

Her satchel didn't hold much beyond some coins and another piece of cloth to wind about herself, but losing even that much would make this already stupid journey intolerable. The Anakalypsis. Just the word was enough to fill her with acerbic ire. She hadn’t wanted to go, at least not without her younger twin sister, but her mother and her “aunts” insisted. And, considering that they comprised the highest authority within her clan, the Furies, refusal wasn't an option.

“You have to do it, youngling,” she could hear them squawking inside her head.

“It’s for your own good and for that of the clan.”

“I know you want to stay with your sister, my child,” the memory of her mother chimed in, “but Anakalypsis has always been a solitary journey.”

Well, she didn’t care about what she “had to” do, or “the good of the clan”-- and she cared even less about tradition. All she could think about was Aello. Her twin sister was a lot softer than she was, a lot more timid. She’d been her sister’s protector her whole life up to this point. But now she was absent. The word burned accusingly in her mind, and she could have sworn that the amber pendant around her neck--a gift from Aello--grew heavier. She was absent, and she couldn’t return until Anakalypsis, this journey of self-actualization, was over.

Sounds easy, right? Surely, it was just a matter of putting in the time until it was safe to go back, and then telling the Furies all the BS they wanted to hear.

Wrong.

The whole point of Anakalypsis is that it ended almost on its own authority, or whenever she’d experienced enough of the rest of the world to become changed by it--and, ignoring the fact that she absolutely hated dishonesty, it was really easy for the Furies to spot a liar. Besides, they taught all fledglings that Anakalypsis engendered wisdom, and that wisdom was always the summit for which they all strove. Otherwise, they would be doomed to become like the others of their kind, those lesser harpies that lived off of vanity and wanton violence.

Their clan was different, and each one of them had to uphold that difference and cling to it.

So, there she was: stuck on a tree in a nameless forest, waiting for the rain to let up, so that she could continue with her stupid journey.

[Bard]

Spoiler:

Author’s note, permission for bunnying Mixed-blood’s character for this scene has been granted, and the bunnying of this NPC is granted to him. This character is a NPC only, and thus has not gone through the normal inclusion process for character creation. Still, profile has been modified to make interaction with said plot device easier. If there are any questions or concerns, notify me by PM at your convenience

“What in the Thayne is that.”

The oath, and the inquiry that was encapsulated in it, was delivered with the same hard chopping enunciation as every other exclamation made by the man. To those accustomed to and knowledgeable of the dialectical distinctness, then its placement of southern Coronian would be easy, and more than a little self-evident. To those that weren’t, then it would have simply sounded as unsophisticated, uncultured, and more than a little duncish. The mixed-blooded elf to whom he was communicating knew better. To anyone else, or to any human at least, Aden’s words would have been a mere whisper, but given Lothar’s superior hearing – a gift of his parental heritages – it sounded as though the human was right next to him and speaking at normal volume.

“That is a harpy, but what it is doing here, I could not begin to guess.”

Lothar did not even bother looking up from the stew pot he was stirring, and subsequently adding more water to, while replying. The youngish looking elf retort held the same affectless manner that was the trademark of all his statements.

“You think some maggy summoned the thing?”

“Possibly, but really I cannot say either way, flying here seems unlikely, but not entirely impossible, since I know not the strength of Harpies as flyers.”

The pair was well sheltered under a lean-to, set up ranger fashion, which they had taken the time to construct the prior evening, as all the signs said they should expect rain. They were in fact about thirty yards south of the harpy in question, well sheltered from the elements thanks to the combination of the construct and a ring of pine and spruce trees in which they had set camp. While the mutt of an elf had spotted the female – at least he thought it was female, as he had never read of a male harpy – hours prior, Aden apparently hadn’t noticed it until just now.

“The wind has just shifted position again, “the elf stated in his typical bland monotone, “I am going to shift the cover to block the smell.”

“Nah, don’t, it might attract the thing and bring it over.”

Lothar glanced in his companion’s direction, his face as emotionless as his speech had been just scant moments prior. “Why do you want to do that Aden?” It was not that the Elf was afraid of the Harpy, just that it seemed unnecessary to attract the thing and to make it aware of their location.

“Heard that Harpies were capable of talking, so I wanta gab at it a while and see what it has to say. Sides, we can always just shoot the thing if it turns ornery.”

“You could always walk over to it and begin communication if you are so inclined Aden.” Lothar suggested, once again returning to the fire pit and the stew that was meant for his and Aden’s supper.

“Nah, don’t want to get wet, “ the shorter man replied before laughing, as both men had already gotten somewhat wet moments before gathering more kindling for their fire. “Just leave things as they are for a bit, just wanta see what the thing does. I’ll owe you one.”

[Kellai]

Just like the as-yet-unknown observer speculated to his companion, Kel found the unexpected scent of cooking meat to be vastly appealing--especially given that she hadn’t had anything to eat since the wee hours of the morning. Her eyes dilated as she began scouring every inch of the immediately surrounding environs, trying to pinpoint from which direction the delicious smell came.

Trees… more trees… bush… there!

Cleverly hidden among the various conifers, she managed to spy a makeshift den. Her older sisters, those of her clan who had returned from their own journeys, often spoke about how they would come across such structures in forested areas such as this. Allegedly, they were used by land-dwelling hunters, to hide from their unsuspecting prey. And this one was obviously in use. Besides the tell-tale flickering of what could only be fire, another sniff was enough to confirm the origin of the smell that made her poor, empty stomach growl its discontent.

In short, she couldn’t resist the impulse that made her launch herself into the too-close air.

On (needlessly) silent wings, she glided the scant thirty yards or so, until she found a new perch that was situated far enough away from the structure that she could now, clearly see the two humanoids that inhabited it.

“That smells good,” she declared. Then, with a tilt of her head, she moved on to the crux of her imposition, “Did you build the den yourselves?”

[Mixed-blood]

Curiosity killed the rat… or was that cat.

A scowl crossed the mixed elf’s visage for a moment, both over the folly of his comrade, and over his inability to recall the proper turn of phrase. For the life of him he wasn’t sure what irked him more. It was a simple thing really, just a set of words that was supposed to convey an important message. If you couldn’t recollect how to say the message, then you wouldn’t get the meaning across, and if you couldn’t do that, then you’d end up not capitalizing on something central.

Like telling a guy named Aden how dumb his idea was.

Harpies didn’t have a particularly good reputation in Fallien, they had an even worse one outside of it, so the notion of standing around wagging your tongue at one, or letting it do the same – and that was supposing that the harpy didn’t plan on doing anything besides chewing the fat –didn’t sit particularly well with him.

“It’s on the move.”
so much for altering his compatriot’s mind before something that they would both regret happened.

They had both prepared for predators, as one never knew when one might encounter them out in the wild, so at least Aden’s statement of shooting the thing if it turned ornery was not an idle bost.

A pair of arrows, fletching’s up, were stuck in the mud half an arm’s reach to Aden’s left and another trio were less than a stride away to his right and a little behind, in case there was a flanker. The shelter was protected by four pit traps, complete with sharpened stakes, which would force anything with a lick of sense to come at them from only three directions, and if they didn’t then well most things wouldn’t survive landing on a dozen wooden spears or more. Not much defense they could throw up for something that could fly though, save being vigilant in their watching.

“Thayne’s balls, where’d she go?”

Lothar had just started scanning the area himself, and it took him a moment to locate the harpy that was the source of his immediate concern. “She’s coming around to the right Aden.” The succinct retort was followed by his gloved finger pointing in the direction where the creature was coming around towards their campsite.

A non-committal grunt from Aden was the only response he got. Aden had sharp eyes, for a human, but the ability to sense heat signatures gave Lothar a distinct advantage in this type of setting.

“For something that big she sure is a quiet flyer,” Aden said after a few silent breaths.

“Indeed,” was his only rejoinder as he loosened the strap to his crossbow for a quick draw and shoot.

Two pairs of eyes, one emerald, one black, regarded the harpy when she landed. They were garbed so close to identical as to make no matter, although there was slightly more mud on the shorter stockier man’s brown leathers than the elf’s, and the man’s coat was open, where the elf’s was closed. Both men wore hoods, which were up, both men had strange networks of belts running about them with an assortment of pouches on each – although the human’s were snug against his tunic, where the elf’s were atop his closed knee length coat, and both were clearly armed. The human’s long bow had an arrow set to string and that string was set to half draw, meaning if he thought she was a threat he could have loosed a shot the moment she landed.

The fact he hadn’t meant that apparently he didn’t, for the moment at any rate.

“It does don’t it Miss.”

Aden drawled, his speech taking on a lazy inflection, as to emphasize his simple origins. He was laying it on thick enough to walk on, without you getting your boots muddied… again.

“The elf lad here be a bang good cook, fix a stew that’ll knock yar stockings off for sure.”

she is a harpy Aden, she doesn’t have stockings.

“A regular hocus pokus with cooking he is.”

How the man managed to transform a word with only two syllables into eight was a trick he didn’t have the faintest clue to, but it always seemed like the oddest thing whenever Aden did it.

“The shelter Ma’am?” Aden parroted, “Oh aye, we built it ma’am, helps keep the rain off that it does.” Aden punctuated this with an overly hardy nod, entirely unnecessary and comical in its vigorousness.

“You would probably be more comfortable with a perch over there Ma’am,” Lothar finally interjected, gesturing with the long handled spoon at a low solid branch of an elm to the harpy’s right, which jutted out between a pair of tall slightly leaning soldier pines; the two almost making a kind of tent around the tree limb.

His voice, despite his being younger than the human to his left, was slightly deeper. It was also far less cheery and friendly. Still the crossbow he bore was still on his back, meaning that he didn’t see her as enough of a concern to remove it, at least, that’s what he wanted her to believe.

“If you will pardon my saying so Ma’am,” Lothar continued, as he once again began stirring the stew, “but you are far from your nest, and far from Fallien. What draws the children of the winds so far from home?”

[Kellai]

Again, she tilted her head, studying the scene below her. These two humanoids--these hunters--veritably bristled with weaponry. And despite the one’s friendliness, there was an edge to their conversation that Kel misliked but, nevertheless, understood. She was an interloper, first, and a harpy, second. Or maybe it’s the other way around…

Unfortunately, in any case, not many outsiders recognized the vast world of differences between her clan and Featherblood’s bloody brood.

But she stopped her mental evaluation to listen to the curious drawl of friendly one’s voice. Her ears perked up as fascination seized her. She’d never heard such a voice, and he spoke of such strange things.

“What’s may-am?” she couldn’t help but ask, “What’s stew? What’s stockings? What’s ho-kiss po-kiss?”

If the words were strange to hear, they were stranger to say. She flapped her wings against her feathered body, delighting in the new things she was already learning.

But then, before friendly one could answer, stand-offish one suggested she perch on another branch. A cursory inspection of said branch told her that it would be dryer, and--indeed--more comfortable. So, without ceremony, she fluttered over to it, listening to the second man’s question as she did so.

His name for her kind pleased her, she found, and she hooted contentedly to herself before answering. “It is the custom of my clan,” she told him proudly, “When we are old enough, we are sent away from our aerie to gain worldly experiences. We call it Anakalypsis. The name for it in your tongue is Discovery.” Sure, she hated the tradition on a personal level, but like any of her clan sisters, she was always happy to differentiate her clan from those pitiable and infamous Desert Sirens to any that asked.

“It was a long flight across the ocean,” she added for no particular reason, “and I did not know that a place could be so wet.” She shook herself then, and puffed out her feathers, trying to rid herself of as much moisture as she could. “My clan do not build shelters like yours," she recalled friendly one's earlier answer, "We re-purposed an old ruin into our aerie. There is no rain to keep off.”

[Kellai]

“Ma’am is a title, what some folks call an honorific,” he added with hefty emphasis, “that one gives to a good woman such as yerself.”

It was her turn to laugh, hearing Friendly One call her “woman.” She tried to picture herself: a small naked thing, bereft of her wings and and her glorious plumage, forced to walk everywhere--or, even worse, to ride. And she lost herself entirely to her her mirth all over again. Tumbling from her lips in cooing hiccoughs, the sound of her laughter was as owlish as his had been. Until, finally, the sound of Friendly One’s enthralling voice calmed her down enough to listen to the rest of his answers.

“Stew be the boiling stuff in this here pot, stockings be like gloves,” with this he moved his right hand from where it rested and wiggled his gloved fingers highlighting words with action, “but for the feet…”

His new explanation enthralled her completely. Golden eyes flew first to the pot in question, and the meaty smell struck her--or, more precisely, her still-empty stomach again. But, before she could surrender herself completely to her predatory instincts, Friendly One distracted her once more, with his next explanation. Accordingly, her gaze transferred back to his wiggling fingers, and she leaned over far enough to maintain her balance while she extended one of her feathered legs outward. She flexed her toes in imitation of Friendly One’s gesture, and tried to imagine what it would feel like to wear something like “gloves” over them. The thought of it made her grimace slightly in distaste.

“and as for Hocus Pokus, now that be...”

She brought her leg back while she waited, and offered the males yet another tilt of her head. Then, Standoffish One interrupted with the explanation that escaped Friendly One. She nodded at this, but she found that the whole concept of “ho-kiss po-kiss” irked her.

Why would someone need to taint their own skill with such untruth?

But, again--like a dervish--the conversation whirled ahead before she had any time at all to process this new information. Friendly One spoke of their arachnid quarries, and her empty stomach stepped to the forefront of her mind again--this time, intent on its need. Outwardly, her eyes dilated as she exposed her canines in a distinctly predatory grin. “I will help in this hunt,” she told them, simply.

In general, she wasn’t overly fond of spiders. They tasted spicy and overly acidic--certainly, nothing even close to the delicious mammalian prey she preferred--but the alleged size of these particular arachnids was too tempting for her audibly growling stomach to ignore. Just one would see her fed for the next two days, at the very least.

She began stretching and lightly flapping her wings in eager anticipation. Thanks to the damp, they were already growing a little stiff, so the movement felt good--which only made her more excited to take off. Indeed, her still-dilated eyes were already scouring the forest around them, looking for anything with eight legs. But first…

“Where in this forest are spiders most likely to nest?”

Might as well get as much information as she could, before hand...

[Mixed-blood]

“I believe,” Lothar began glancing in the pair’s direction for just a moment, before returning to his combing the woods with thermal sensitive eyes, “that Aden meant that my skill in cooking is akin to magic, which is an exaggeration, but not wholly untrue.”

“Aye that be spot on lad, exactly what I meant.”



Lothar nodded in Aden’s direction, the gesture coming simultaneously with his turning to screen the woods behind their new guest, he continued in the same detached manner,

“As for the best place to find spiders, of the kind Aden was referring to, the southern end of this wood, or about two days flight from here with the sun at your back, is quite full of them. Unfortunately, the tree cover is quite thick there and between that and the size of the webs catching them will be somewhat difficult.”

With the visual inspection the surroundings completed, Lothar returned to stirring the stew.

“There are other things there that will make hunting difficult as well, but that is not the nest that most concerns Aden and me. “

He paused in his stirring and removing a small shaker from a belt pouch, sprinkled in a pinch of pepper into the stew. That completed he took up his stirring once more as he spoke.

“Several smaller nests have sprung up as well, two to our west, and one to the north west of our current position. Having marked those, we are traveling to see if the current tracks we have been following lead to one of those nests by a roundabout way, or to a new more easterly located one. Being that the woods are sparker in that region, your eyes would be invaluable in our search.”

He stopped stirring at this, and gingerly removed the stew pot out of the fire pit in which it had been located and set it atop a small metal wrack that was situated nearby.

“At any case you are free to stay for supper, if raccoon in garlic and onions agrees with you. There is plenty for the pair of us and to spare.”

He would not forsake the rites of hospitality, given that the Harpy had done nothing as of yet to force him to withdraw them. He was duty bound after all, and his master would not approve if he did not make the offer. The fact that she made the act easier by being an intriguing companion made it all the better.

“Would you prefer a bowl, or the pot?

”

[Kellai]

Kellai swiveled her head to look south as Standoffish One began answering her, as if her eyes could make the two-day journey on their own. But, of course, the gloom of the forest was too complete. Blinking, she found that she agreed with Standoffish One’s assessment that hunting would be more difficult there, where the trees were so numerous. Heck. It was difficult even now. She recalled how long it took to find her two companions, and scowled. Back home, in the endless open space of the desert, the same search would have taken seconds. She still needed to adapt her skills to this new, cluttered--even claustrophobic--terrain.

But, then, her long, tufted ears perked up when she heard Standoffish One mention the westerly and northwesterly nests that were their true targets. Her head swiveled back around to show her two companions her renewed, eager grin. “As I said before, Nameless Ones,” she returned, “my eyes are yours.”

The “stew” became their next topic of conversation, then, and her companions made her an offer that her curiosity would not let her refuse. Again she flapped her wings, but this time she let them lift her into the air so that she could land on the ground for the first time since meeting them.

Once she landed again a few seconds later, she folded her wings snugly against herself and hunched a little to defend herself from the still-falling rain. The feel of damp soil beneath her talons was a new experience for her, and she wasn’t immediately fond of how soft and squelchy it was--nothing like the lovely, scratchy sand of her homeland. Still, she hopped over to the fire her companions shared, relishing in the warmth of it, while she tried to keep her tail feathers from dragging too much behind her.

“A bowl,” she finally answered as she came to a stop, spreading her wings slightly to emphasize her lack of hands.

Up closer to the cooking “stew,” though, she became a little dubious about it. The meat smelled delicious, yes, but it was drowned in some sort of off-color water that immediately raised her suspicions. After all, in her experience, any water that wasn’t crystal clear was never a good thing, especially if it was as strangely viscous as it appeared to be in her companions’ cooking pot. And there were plants in the pot as well, she could see them floating around with the meat as the strange water slowly disintegrated them.

Golden eyes narrowed and looked in askance at the two humanoids, “This stew… you’re sure that it’s edible?”

[Mixed-blood]

“It do be quite edible ma’am don’t you doubt.”

Aden said with his usual enthusiastic gusto, the punctuation of his comment by his lips smacking and his right hand padding his stomachs added an air of near comic bravado. “Don’t let the look fool you none, that gravy might be everyday plain in appearance, but your tongue will think its being treated like royalty.”

For his part, Lothar kept shifting his gaze between the harpy and the stewpot. For a moment that seemed like a small aternity, all that could be heard was the call of birds, and the periodic movement of squirls, and the regular pattering of the rain. Reaching some sort of decision he finally asked, his tone far more diplomatic, than anything used here-to fore,

“Do you eat live prey then?”