Kandosa
10-07-06, 12:20 PM
"So, what business do you and your father have in the sands?"
Ketsumeh glanced up from the muddy blue-ish waters of the river that surrounded Irrakam, and glanced blankly at the ferryman. He wasn't particularly talkative, and had kept his mind on his job, something he had appreciated of the man, until right now. He was a slight man, wearing hooded robes to keep himself safe from the harshness of the sun. Dark marks were tattooed on his face, and his head was shaved, and as the puppeteer stared he realized the severity of the puzzlement on his face increased. 'Oh yeah...I never answered. I just stared at him for...' he paused, looking at the shadows, realizing about a minute or two had passed.
"He's not my father," he finally replied, giving a sidelong glance to the tall form beside him. That was why he preferred to slip inside Anubhasa; less questions that way. "He's a traveling companion," he added with a wistful tone, leaning against the side of the boat, hanging his fingers only a few inches from the water's surface. The river, at least, felt a bit cool, decreasing the severity of the sun's heat to some degree. "What value do you have to him? You're just some kid. What could you do but be dead weight?" Ketsumeh scowled angrily at the ferryman, almost wanting to tug the strings and open the blades in Anubhasa's arm. "I'm a psychic," he said quietly, turning his attention back to the passing waters. "Oh yeah? What am I thinking of, kid?"
"That it's hot out."
~
The ruins of Aravir were just as large as the word "ruins" in that definition merited, stretching out past the sides of his hands when he pressed them side to side to block out it's sight. Ketsumeh rode on the shoulders of the tireless puppet, trudging ahead through the sands. "I hope harpies aren't the cause of trouble," he mumbled as the puppet began to descend a set of recently uncovered weathered stone stairs, the upper parts of the Ruins rising around him. He kind of doubted the feathered bitches were the cause of concern, but still, he fretted over it. He hated fighting them, hated cleaning their blood of the puppet. "Ah, whatever. This should be simple! Couldn't be anything as bad as the Arta!"
((Open to one, please))
Ketsumeh glanced up from the muddy blue-ish waters of the river that surrounded Irrakam, and glanced blankly at the ferryman. He wasn't particularly talkative, and had kept his mind on his job, something he had appreciated of the man, until right now. He was a slight man, wearing hooded robes to keep himself safe from the harshness of the sun. Dark marks were tattooed on his face, and his head was shaved, and as the puppeteer stared he realized the severity of the puzzlement on his face increased. 'Oh yeah...I never answered. I just stared at him for...' he paused, looking at the shadows, realizing about a minute or two had passed.
"He's not my father," he finally replied, giving a sidelong glance to the tall form beside him. That was why he preferred to slip inside Anubhasa; less questions that way. "He's a traveling companion," he added with a wistful tone, leaning against the side of the boat, hanging his fingers only a few inches from the water's surface. The river, at least, felt a bit cool, decreasing the severity of the sun's heat to some degree. "What value do you have to him? You're just some kid. What could you do but be dead weight?" Ketsumeh scowled angrily at the ferryman, almost wanting to tug the strings and open the blades in Anubhasa's arm. "I'm a psychic," he said quietly, turning his attention back to the passing waters. "Oh yeah? What am I thinking of, kid?"
"That it's hot out."
~
The ruins of Aravir were just as large as the word "ruins" in that definition merited, stretching out past the sides of his hands when he pressed them side to side to block out it's sight. Ketsumeh rode on the shoulders of the tireless puppet, trudging ahead through the sands. "I hope harpies aren't the cause of trouble," he mumbled as the puppet began to descend a set of recently uncovered weathered stone stairs, the upper parts of the Ruins rising around him. He kind of doubted the feathered bitches were the cause of concern, but still, he fretted over it. He hated fighting them, hated cleaning their blood of the puppet. "Ah, whatever. This should be simple! Couldn't be anything as bad as the Arta!"
((Open to one, please))