In The Eyes Of A Young Girl

[Tarren Evenpath]

((And intro that is open for a couple people who want to go a'Goblin Huntin' with me :)))

Tarren stepped off the boat, nodding his thanks to the captain and winking at his daughter when the large man turned away. The girl giggled and blushed, as girls often do, returning the wave shyly. Then she hurried away, likely to tell her friends of the handsome black-haired stranger who had boarded her father’s ship.

The young wanderer stepped onto the docks, observing the hustle and bustle as goods and people were transported on and off ships. After spending so long in solitude the movement of people felt so foreign and claustrophobic. For one brief instant he longed for the mountain sanctuary he had called home for so long…

That place is gone. Burned to the ground. The reminder was sharp and curt in his mind, the voice of his father. He nodded and began to walk down the dock. His walking stick made a thumping noise every time it hit the wooden boards, the only noise that came from his person. His feet slid silently across the ground, almost appearing to glide rather than walk, and while the soft cotton of his loose garments made a gentle whisper when they rubbed together, it was far too soft for any human ears to hear.

Movement through the town was simple enough; No one questioned him as he walked down the main road, although he drew quite a few young girls’ gazes. One or two of them he graced with a charming smile. Once they realized he’d spotted the, they looked away. The bold ones would hold his gaze until he passed, sometimes giving flirtatious smiles of their own.

He paused only once, when he saw a young teenage boy holding a doll over a young girl’s head. The girl was jumping and crying, begging the boy for the doll back. She pleaded with the bully, telling him that her mother, who had since passed on, had given her the doll. Still the cruel child held it above the girl’s head laughing.

Tarren strode over with powerful stride. He grabbed the doll from the boy, giving him a frigid glare. The boy stopped his taunting and looked up at Tarren’s muscled form. He looked for an instant like he was going to make trouble but decided against it last moment. With a snide remark, the boy rolled his eyes and left. Tarren let him go.

He crouched down in the dirt and offered the girl her doll. It was small and well-made. He smiled at the girl and she cocked her head.

“Thanks mister!” She exclaimed, breaking into a smile and throwing her arms around Tarren in a strong hug. “Thanks a lot!” She released him from her grip. “What’s your name?”

Tarren reached into the dirt and traced his name into the dust with one finger. The girl stared at it for a moment.

“T…Ta…ren. Tarren!” Her forehead scrunched up in concentration as she gazed at the letters. When she finally figured it out, she beamed a smile at him. Tarren returned it, ruffling her hair gently. “What’s the matter? You can’t talk?”

Tarren shook his head.

“Well why not?”

He smiled, shrugging, and opened his mouth in a silent laugh that he had become accustomed to in his years of silence. Apparently the girl thought it was funny because she laughed right along with him.

“Lyssa?” The voice cut through the laughter like a knife.

The little girl looked up at the man who stood in a doorway of a nearby house. He had a haunted look to him, a look Tarren recognized. It was the look of someone who had lost themselves in an addiction.

“Yes pa-pa?” The girl responded hesitantly, fear slinking into her voice as a cat slips discretely into a room.

“Get away from that man. Come here.” There was a drawl in his voice and to Tarren he seemed drunk.

“Yes pa-pa.” She got up and shuffled meekly to the man’s side, looking over her shoulder only once to whisper “’Bye” in a sad tone to her new friend. In the scared eyes of that young girl he saw a flicker that made something inside him squirm. The flicker was forgiveness. She forgave him for not doing something to save her from the monster who had once been her father.

Tarren watched her go and turned walking toward the Zirden. He needed a drink. His imagination played tricks on him and he could see the man beating the poor girl as she begged for him to stop. He needed a stiff drink.

When he reached the arena area he approached the man who sold drinks. He pointed to a bottle of the stuff and slapped some money onto the table. The bartender, who had seen far stranger things, didn’t ask questions. He gave the wandering monk the drink and returned to his business.

Tarren knew he stuck out with his loose airy clothing, the traditional garb of his people, his bare feet and carved walking stick. His shaggy dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, and handsome face drew the lady’s eyes, but he didn’t want them at the moment. Instead he took his drink and moved to a shadowed corner.

The men in front of him were discussing a recent goblin raid in the town. Apparently his younger daughter had been taken. Tarren listened intently, the alcohol burning in his throat as he drank it down.

He couldn't save young Lyssa. That thought burned in his mind. Maybe he could save this other young girl...

[Tarren Evenpath]

The young man’s face was downcast as he mulled over his troubles. If he went after the little girl, that would mean finding this goblin compound and then assaulting it single-handedly. While he did think that he was accomplished and could handle himself very well, the though of infiltrating a goblin nest with no back-up wasn’t promising. In fact, it sounded more like suicide than anything else. He had plans for the remained of his life. Dying for the sake of clearing his guilt was not one of them.

Unbidden, Lyssa’s young eyes rose in his mind. The startling green orbs filled with fear and that disturbing sense of forgiveness. The look that had assured him that this was the way of the world. Fathers could beat their daughters and no one would think twice of it. With all the heroes in the world, not one would spare a passing glance. They were too filled with thoughts of glory and honor to see the common folk who suffered in silence, since silence is all they would ever know.

Tarren had no delusions about the state of the world. He knew of darkness first hand. He knew of power and corruption, and he accepted it. There was no such thing as a utopian society, and there never would be. He should just let it go. People were hurt, even killed, every day. This girl was no different.

But she’s just a girl! No more than eight years old if looks tell the tale. Part of him argued. This wasn’t an old merchant sea-man getting raided after entering into a trade he new was dangerous. This was a child who was being beaten by the hands of the man who was supposed to care for her, nurture her. The man she was supposed to be able to trust. The man who was betraying the word fatherhood. It wasn’t right.

But there was nothing the wanderer could do. He was outsider who couldn’t just burst into someone’s home, especially since he couldn’t explain himself. There was nothing he could do.

But the other girl… The one lost to the goblins.

So you’ll throw your life away for the sake of a guilty conscious?

But it was more than that. It was more than Lyssa. It was deeper. She wasn’t the only picture in his mind. The bodies of dead children, dead children littered across the dead ground. Children who had died defending their home… his home. The children he had been too corrupted to help protect. He had known them all, been friends with more than half of them. And they were dead, their bodies left unburied as carrion food. Lyssa was not the first child he had let down. She was not the first toll on his guilt.

“Hey buddy, you’re in my seat.” A gruff voice invaded thoughts, drawing him from his mental struggle. Tarren raised his bright blue eyes to the intruder, eyes narrowing. The monk could smell alcohol on the man’s breath. He lowered his eyes and scanned the table, as if to show he didn’t see the big drunk’s name on it

“That means move it, or I’ll make you move it.” The drunk continued. Tarren stood slowly, his face a mask of icy courtesy. He nodded obligingly, stepping from the table. He felt fury rise in his veins, his temper rising furiously.

The man went to move into the booth when suddenly there was a blur of robes and fists. Tarren first struck his gut, and then spun and slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest. The man grunted, flailing backwards and crashing into a table.

“Hey, let’s keep the fighting in the ring, boys! Take it outside!” The barkeep shouted. Tarren looked around with his sharp eyes. He spied three men who stood as the large drunk man fell to the ground. Tarren thought that maybe it was wise to take the barkeep’s advice. He glanced at the door. One of his new “friends” was between him and it. Still… that shouldn’t be much of a problem.

Tarren turned and sprinted toward the man blocking his path. The man grunted and grabbed for him but Tarren sprung lightly into the air, pushing off with his staff to gain more air. He tucked into a ball, feeling his knees touch his forehead as he did. He flipped twice before landing on the ground behind the man who had been between him and the door. With a smirk he turned and ran out of the building.

“He’s runnin’ boys! Don’ lett’em get away!” Someone shouted. Tarren smiled to himself and readied his carved quarterstaff.

Come and get me boys. He thought to himself.

And they did. The first that rushed through the door was met with the tip of Tarren’s staff crashing into his nose. He reeled backwards cursing and screaming as blood poured from his nose.

Soon his two buddies arrived. They circled Tarren warily, who watched both intently and calmly, feeling his temper bubble and boil inside of him. They dove at once, one going for his legs while the other tried to tackle him. He jumped over the strike of the one who was trying to take his legs out, smashed the heel of his bare left foot into the man’s skull. The man grunted and his eyes fluttered close.

Tarren blinked his eyes as the remaining foe jumped at him. He reeled and spun, launching his foot at the man’s chest. As his foot flew, it was surrounded by a fiery black aura. The man screeched in surprise as it connected, searing a hole through his shirt and leaving a slight burn beneath. As he flew backwards from the blow, Tarren twisted, shooting his staff out. The wooden beam connected solidly with the man’s side, like a bat hitting a baseball.

The last man was sent flying sideways, landing with a thud on the ground where he lay groaning.

Tarren looked at the small audience he had drawn and shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the shoulder of his shirt, which had slipped down in the brawl.

A thought struck him as he stared at the men and women now staring at him. Maybe some of them would join him to help rescue the girl from the goblins. Hope bloomed in his heart and the haunting picture of Lyssa’s eyes faded a little in his memory.

[Blackwhisker]

<<OOC: Well here's me dipping a claw in. >>


It's not been too much of a day here for this little beastie. Blackwhisker's mostly kept herself out of the way, under a neglected cart just off a main street, watching the world pass by. She had enough fuss the previous day when she's 'investigated' a cartload of fish.. An event that didn't have the fishmonger the least bit impressed and well, common sense told the young Skuugra that it would be best to keep herself scarce until things blew over. So here she is as she has been the last few hours squeezed in and just watching the many two foots go about their buisness.

Boy are they dull.. This has to be one of the least eventful days of her life (just a slight exageration, but you know) and some sort of liveliness would not go amiss, not by a long shot. Maybe if the seadragon beastie was of a mind for contemplation, deep and meaningful thought processing and what not, well, maybe it would not of been so bad. That's not Blackwhisker though and not just as a general thing, that's a species trait. Skuugra aren't big thinkers, they're just brutes and for the most part are quite happy to be so. This little one isn't any different to her kin. Thoughts past the immediate have no place in her head and the idle ones that have been going by these past hours are most definately not welcome.
Really, what's the point in mulling over the death of her human. It's not like she can't do anything about it now, it's been some months since the whole thing happened. Sure, she'd like it if he was still around and all, her human had been a two foot she could actually look up to, someone worth think something of, unlike near on every other two foot she's come across ever.

A whisker twitch and the Skuugra's got a long razor claw scratching at her short muzzle in annoyance as more of the same sort of thoughts continue to pass through her head. Really, she doesn't need it right now. She hates mulling.. it makes her queasy in her gut and gives her headaches, those really aren't any fun and with both feelings at the same time it's worse!

Commotion out in the street from the doorway of a tavern has Blackwhisker turning her head too quickly and without care. The resulting thud and hisses confirmation she really needs to remember certain things better, namely in this case that when laying under a cart one must remember the roof is low.

Dropping her head back down to a lower position and rubbing the side of it with the back of a hand the seadragon beastie peers out towards the commotion going on. Oh lookie, something actually interesting happening. A fight! Now that's got her interest alot more than anything else has the entire day and all senses come on alert, eyes widening, nostrils flaring and earfins fanning out to get a better grasp of what's going on.

Sooo.. we have one fighting many? Fun! Blackwhisker's got no care to who wins, just that they fight. The Skuugra enjoys fights, watching or participating doesn't really matter, just so long as one's happening she's more than happy. Sad to say this isn't really much of one, not that the other two foots who are gathering around to watch are helping matters. They're standing in her way!

A grumble hiss and she pulls herself out from under the cart, somewhat more scrambling and squeezing required than she's originally thought but what you gonna do? Out in the relative open she takes a half moment to stretch cramped body parts before bounding closer to the commotion. Not really much of a distance or anything as the street isn't too wide and there's people in the way, then there's the whole cleared area where the fight's going on and all but you get the point. Pausing on the edge of a group of two foots Blackwhisker gets to watch the last couple of thunks and thuds, a wide toothy grin spreading across her reptillian features. Woo! Come on, get up again! That wasn't much effort or nothin, they can do better than that! Come on, the two foot with the stick doesn't look too tough or nothing, he's just fast, someone else try and brain him!

Sadly she's left disappointed as it seems no more are up for a challenge to contest the stick weilding two footer. Bother.. and she just got a good spot to watch too. Backside drops to the dirt, tail spread out behind her carelessly and she looks over those gathered nearby, earfins flickering to listen to grasps of conversation going on. Nothing of real importance or interest there. Blah blah about the man and the drunks, something about stupid foreigners, unwanted violence, then various town gossip.. of which we have goblin talking again.

Blackwhisker can't honestly say she likes goblins, nasty things that fight as dirty as she does and who quite simply taste foul beyond any good reason. So for those reasons and more she makes point of avoiding the creatons, leaving them to their own devices as far from herself as possible.

Anyway, we want something to happen here.. come on, someone do something interesting! Stick man, go bash another two foot with your stick! Go on! You know you want to! Make the day more exciting again.. or something. Anything's gotta be better than what she'd been doing before, just sitting under the cart avoiding much in the way of everything.



"Goblins! Goblins! Goblin Raid!"

Cries start up from further down the street hollaring for the town to rally against well.. a raid that's just been or is coming? Can't tell just now. Oh well, likely this'll get something happening again either way.

With all the noise Blackwhisker's turned to look off in the direction where it's coming from before slinking off to the side of the street more out of the way. Really, she doesn't want to be part of any sort of fuss, not when her hide might be in trouble and previous experience tells her that paniced two foots tend to attack anything non-two foot like when stressed and well, she is quite distinctly not standard two foot material.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.