Of Water, Scales and Claw
07-15-07, 11:00 AM
Solo/Closed/etc. Taken me long enough to finally put something up.. anywho.
“By word of the Lady Ma’dath.
To all those of capable skill and ability she bequeaths-”
The crier’s call causes an ear to flicker. Spiny fin protrusions irritated by the insistent rabble of a voice not enjoyed by the listener.
“Must they warble so much as to best the beasts around them? Are their little fleshy hides so pathetic that they must roar to prove themselves something?”
The hissed words are lost upon the supposed listener as one head turns to watch the gathering of the crowd around the man.
“The louder they cry the more likely they are to be heard.” Blunt words from an even blunter mind.
Skeedara sighs to her mate and gives him an idle swat. Claws brushing to scale in a movement that gains no more than a flinch from the slightly larger male. “As ever, you miss the point,” this time a snarl within the hisses of her words.
Still, there is quite a crowd gathered now within the main square of the sizable town. The crier having accomplished his goal of gathering those to him who are willing listen. Perhaps it is the mark of his dress, cleaner, sharper, better fitted than most nearby. He continues to ply his trade, calling in a voice that carries the request of the fair Lady Ma’dath above and beyond the heads of those surrounding the overturned box that has become his current pedestal.
“-The urgency must not be lost upon those who wish to tempt the spirits and make the claim of this request. The risk to one’s life and limb can not be mistaken. But the Lady is fair and kind, she has faith in those who wish to-“ and he goes on, saying little with his words, yet the crowd remains interested.
To the side of the crowd the two Skuugra stand, a wide berth between them and those who stand nearby. The large reptilian creatures are not often seen this far north, but that is not so infrequent that none know of them. The Sea Queen’s kin are best left alone, especially by the likes of superstitious town folk with no more skill to monster hunting than your average farmer with his pitchfork.
“Is it not bad enough that it must rattle on so loudly, that it must also rattle so pointlessly? Why are we standing here? It is unimportant. Let us move on. This salt puddle has nothing more of use to us than the last.”
Skeedara’s words continue to be lost upon her companion as the white faced male remains stoic, feet firmly planted and tail lazed upon the ground. He has no intention of moving until he has heard all he will. Just because she has not the patience to heard the end of the crier’s call does mean he does not. A higher tolerance of man and his impractical tendencies helping Whitecap to push past that of his mate’s impatience and wait out the babble.
A sudden burst of laughter has the female turning her head back to the gathered crowd, a crowd now beginning to disperse despite the crier’s best efforts. Her own complaints of the matter and inattentive ear mean she has missed the reasoning behind such actions and she snaps at Whitecap.
A returned hiss and baring of teeth in the typical nature of the two has one large blue scaled creature faced against the other with all appearances of beginning a fight. Those few who had been dispersing the crowd closest to the larger beasts quickly move themselves that bit further away, though eyes do keep themselves attentive. A fight is an excuse to stop one’s daily chores and witness a free form of entertainment, something to tell of the day upon the eve among friends or family or at the very least an to pass money around and perhaps wager a little more.
Disappointment awaits those who anticipate a fight as the two Skuugra stand down from each other, claws scraping to the heavy packed earth of the town’s main street. There’s still irritation between the two, or at the least upon the smaller creature’s behalf as a twitching tail fin swats side to side much like a restless cat’s.
“The people think the man request is stupid.” Ear fins fan, the bleached face of Whitecap observing the bodies that the crier yet still manages to hold as he listens to the words bantered about. “They do not believe it is possible to capture the water spirits that the man calls for. They think he is foolish and are telling him so.”
Now finally Skeedara is called to pause, her tail’s insistent twitching stopped as she takes her gaze to the man and looks upon him properly.
He does wear the hallmarks of one with more money, the finger clothes, the cleaner cut. He does not seem so mud and dust drenched as the majority of the folk about them. So he is a human better. Not the best, evident by the laughter of those who tattle to his presence or as they walk away. Previous evidence of human behaviour tells Skeedara that though this particular fleshbag holds some standing it is not so much as to scare those around him.
“So the human is foolish. I could speak the same words for all their kind. That they do not believe the Sesska are able to be captured is their own stupidity.”
The obvious disdain for all soft skin kind never seems able to leave the tongue of Skeedara, “We have seen more than enough evidence of such things at other places that we do not need to stand here and watch another. We shall go. Now.”
And yet her demands are not met as Whitecap remains his place that little longer, his own eyes upon the crier as he tries for the last vestiges of the remaining crowd to cry his ware. It really is to little avail. The townsfolk have no interest in wetting their toes for some rich woman’s fancy, no matter the reward offered. They’ve more productive things to put their time to, things that will get them real money and real food.
“Grarrshk!”
Another snap and this time a tail lash upon the large male’s legs has him stancing back, neck arched and tail whipped around defensively as if to fight back. From the people around there is more of a reaction, a muffled chorus of interest as things seem more likely this time.
“He offers moneys for a reward. More moneys than we have or are likely to get for long time. I am hungry and tired of the dryrot we have eaten these last moons. The humans do not believe the Sesska capturable, they will not take the man’s offer. We can, with ease, and gain upon human’s inability to tame water. It will be easy work. We will be able to buy suitable meat, real meat and feed better.”
With each line he bares down upon the slightly smaller female, his teeth baring as hisses and growls emit from his throat and out past those lovely serrated ivories. The two dance together, gaining and giving ground as they converse in words that none within the audience understands more than that of hissing snakes.
Finally they stop, Skeedara having manoeuvred herself into a position of power over Whitecap she turns her head to once the crier had stood. It is too late, with the prospect of two beasts fighting within the main square and with no one listening any longer the man has taken himself elsewhere. He had no wish of being caught up in the grievances of two monsters. Let the useless townsfolk deal with it themselves.
“I will think on it.”
Red and wine coloured eyes meet each other again, staring for a long time into each other’s until finally the darker shade give in and look away.
The two part and step aside from each other, untangling limb and tails from each other with practiced ease so that once more they stand two separate figures. The gathered crowd’s disappointment is not long lasting, people have things to do, places to be and thusly they disperse to them. That a fight did not ensure is not so much of a disappointment, by eve’s end it is unlikely the story will remain so bloodless in it’s many retellings from one to another. Monsters have visited the town. Monsters spoken in story or by those few old and travelled enough to of seen such beasts within their own lifetimes. More than enough fodder for boastful talk for some time to come, even if neither creature remains any longer within the town than this afternoon.
“By word of the Lady Ma’dath.
To all those of capable skill and ability she bequeaths-”
The crier’s call causes an ear to flicker. Spiny fin protrusions irritated by the insistent rabble of a voice not enjoyed by the listener.
“Must they warble so much as to best the beasts around them? Are their little fleshy hides so pathetic that they must roar to prove themselves something?”
The hissed words are lost upon the supposed listener as one head turns to watch the gathering of the crowd around the man.
“The louder they cry the more likely they are to be heard.” Blunt words from an even blunter mind.
Skeedara sighs to her mate and gives him an idle swat. Claws brushing to scale in a movement that gains no more than a flinch from the slightly larger male. “As ever, you miss the point,” this time a snarl within the hisses of her words.
Still, there is quite a crowd gathered now within the main square of the sizable town. The crier having accomplished his goal of gathering those to him who are willing listen. Perhaps it is the mark of his dress, cleaner, sharper, better fitted than most nearby. He continues to ply his trade, calling in a voice that carries the request of the fair Lady Ma’dath above and beyond the heads of those surrounding the overturned box that has become his current pedestal.
“-The urgency must not be lost upon those who wish to tempt the spirits and make the claim of this request. The risk to one’s life and limb can not be mistaken. But the Lady is fair and kind, she has faith in those who wish to-“ and he goes on, saying little with his words, yet the crowd remains interested.
To the side of the crowd the two Skuugra stand, a wide berth between them and those who stand nearby. The large reptilian creatures are not often seen this far north, but that is not so infrequent that none know of them. The Sea Queen’s kin are best left alone, especially by the likes of superstitious town folk with no more skill to monster hunting than your average farmer with his pitchfork.
“Is it not bad enough that it must rattle on so loudly, that it must also rattle so pointlessly? Why are we standing here? It is unimportant. Let us move on. This salt puddle has nothing more of use to us than the last.”
Skeedara’s words continue to be lost upon her companion as the white faced male remains stoic, feet firmly planted and tail lazed upon the ground. He has no intention of moving until he has heard all he will. Just because she has not the patience to heard the end of the crier’s call does mean he does not. A higher tolerance of man and his impractical tendencies helping Whitecap to push past that of his mate’s impatience and wait out the babble.
A sudden burst of laughter has the female turning her head back to the gathered crowd, a crowd now beginning to disperse despite the crier’s best efforts. Her own complaints of the matter and inattentive ear mean she has missed the reasoning behind such actions and she snaps at Whitecap.
A returned hiss and baring of teeth in the typical nature of the two has one large blue scaled creature faced against the other with all appearances of beginning a fight. Those few who had been dispersing the crowd closest to the larger beasts quickly move themselves that bit further away, though eyes do keep themselves attentive. A fight is an excuse to stop one’s daily chores and witness a free form of entertainment, something to tell of the day upon the eve among friends or family or at the very least an to pass money around and perhaps wager a little more.
Disappointment awaits those who anticipate a fight as the two Skuugra stand down from each other, claws scraping to the heavy packed earth of the town’s main street. There’s still irritation between the two, or at the least upon the smaller creature’s behalf as a twitching tail fin swats side to side much like a restless cat’s.
“The people think the man request is stupid.” Ear fins fan, the bleached face of Whitecap observing the bodies that the crier yet still manages to hold as he listens to the words bantered about. “They do not believe it is possible to capture the water spirits that the man calls for. They think he is foolish and are telling him so.”
Now finally Skeedara is called to pause, her tail’s insistent twitching stopped as she takes her gaze to the man and looks upon him properly.
He does wear the hallmarks of one with more money, the finger clothes, the cleaner cut. He does not seem so mud and dust drenched as the majority of the folk about them. So he is a human better. Not the best, evident by the laughter of those who tattle to his presence or as they walk away. Previous evidence of human behaviour tells Skeedara that though this particular fleshbag holds some standing it is not so much as to scare those around him.
“So the human is foolish. I could speak the same words for all their kind. That they do not believe the Sesska are able to be captured is their own stupidity.”
The obvious disdain for all soft skin kind never seems able to leave the tongue of Skeedara, “We have seen more than enough evidence of such things at other places that we do not need to stand here and watch another. We shall go. Now.”
And yet her demands are not met as Whitecap remains his place that little longer, his own eyes upon the crier as he tries for the last vestiges of the remaining crowd to cry his ware. It really is to little avail. The townsfolk have no interest in wetting their toes for some rich woman’s fancy, no matter the reward offered. They’ve more productive things to put their time to, things that will get them real money and real food.
“Grarrshk!”
Another snap and this time a tail lash upon the large male’s legs has him stancing back, neck arched and tail whipped around defensively as if to fight back. From the people around there is more of a reaction, a muffled chorus of interest as things seem more likely this time.
“He offers moneys for a reward. More moneys than we have or are likely to get for long time. I am hungry and tired of the dryrot we have eaten these last moons. The humans do not believe the Sesska capturable, they will not take the man’s offer. We can, with ease, and gain upon human’s inability to tame water. It will be easy work. We will be able to buy suitable meat, real meat and feed better.”
With each line he bares down upon the slightly smaller female, his teeth baring as hisses and growls emit from his throat and out past those lovely serrated ivories. The two dance together, gaining and giving ground as they converse in words that none within the audience understands more than that of hissing snakes.
Finally they stop, Skeedara having manoeuvred herself into a position of power over Whitecap she turns her head to once the crier had stood. It is too late, with the prospect of two beasts fighting within the main square and with no one listening any longer the man has taken himself elsewhere. He had no wish of being caught up in the grievances of two monsters. Let the useless townsfolk deal with it themselves.
“I will think on it.”
Red and wine coloured eyes meet each other again, staring for a long time into each other’s until finally the darker shade give in and look away.
The two part and step aside from each other, untangling limb and tails from each other with practiced ease so that once more they stand two separate figures. The gathered crowd’s disappointment is not long lasting, people have things to do, places to be and thusly they disperse to them. That a fight did not ensure is not so much of a disappointment, by eve’s end it is unlikely the story will remain so bloodless in it’s many retellings from one to another. Monsters have visited the town. Monsters spoken in story or by those few old and travelled enough to of seen such beasts within their own lifetimes. More than enough fodder for boastful talk for some time to come, even if neither creature remains any longer within the town than this afternoon.