Opening Title
09-29-07, 09:13 PM
Closeth.
An unseasoned traveller would find it nearly impossible, if he had no other outstanding means of doing so, to accurately judge the time of day. Sans the obvious answer that it wasn't night, the heavy nimbostratus occluded all except a thin, insubstantial ripple of light orphaned prematurely from it's source; an atmosphere that severed the Axe from the rest of the world. This forbidding veil of low black clouds had stretched and met tundra, carrying with them a biting and miserable wind. It could have been early morning or even dusk, for what the air and light suggested.
"Ya got what we arranged fer?"
Matsu Hayashi's fingers involuntarily tightened around the neck of the cloth sack dangling from his grip. He nodded once in silence, confirming what everybody already knew. The dark red stain slowly spreading across the bottom of the sack should have been evidence enough.
It was all together a curious party, strange location choice notwithstanding. There, in what would seem to be the approximate center of the plains, flanked on either side by mantles of distant, sprawling pine forest, stood four men, three shaggy ponies, and one very large, very hairy marmalade cat. The cat, towering a good six feet at the shoulder, was sitting behind the tallest of the men and cleaning herself. Apparently the remaining three humans had had opportunity enough to acclimate themselves to her intimidating presence (either that or they were making a convincing show of ignorance). The ponies on the other hand were leaning against their leads, frothing, stamping, and generally attempting to put as much space between themselves and the mammoth feline as possible.
The heightened state of aggravation of their mounts, combined with the chill and the assassin's moody demeanor, did not ease matters any and the three short men had allowed themselves to show a bit more impatience regarding the transaction than was usually their custom in order to expedite the process. As far as they were concerned, the sooner they were able to leave the company of this outlandish and perturbing character and his pet, the better.
Marc Geriadli thrust his pony's lead into his brother's hand and stepped forward, bundling a warm fur cloak tighter around his frame. The assassin had not uttered a single word since they had convened, which the oldest of the stout Geriadli sons, an exuberant and naturally outgoing man, had found rather off-putting. But it was not his place to pry; the assassin had arrived an hour and thirty-two minutes late, and Marc satisfied his inquiring mind with the theory that something had happened along the way to quiet the silver-haired man. He couldn't rightly say why he was so intrigued, anyway. The sack and what it contained was all that mattered.
"Gimme it, an' ya get yer money, mate." Marc had extended his open palm, finding that his feet would take him no closer to the 'hired help' and his menacing companion. The assassin surprised them by immediately thrusting the bloodied bag toward Marc without preamble or consideration. Marc managed to hesitate before gingerly taking the bag and holding it at arm's length. It was heavier than it looked. Swallowing visibly, he turned and offered it to his brother Samson, who took it bravely and, straining to simultaneously keep ahold of his mount's lead, peeked inside. Something flickered across his puckered red face before Samson looked up and nodded.
Marc returned his attention to the assassin, who was standing calmly with his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. Such a strange fellow. I wonder why he's here to begin wit'? Ain't no native, tha's fer sure. Mayhaps an elf? It was difficult to tell. The only visible portion of the man's head were his eyes from above the mask he wore, and the few strands of silvery hair drifting from beneath his hood. "Looks as if everythin's checked out ah'righ'," Marc proclaimed cheerily, slapping his palms together and rubbing them. "'Ere's yer pay, mate." A small hide pouch was produced which the silent assassin took and fluidly deposited in a pocket before turning and approaching his monster cat. Marc blinked, eventually shrugging.
---
Ugh, I'm glad that's over and done with, Mika's voice drifted through his mind. Hayashi too was admittedly relieved. But a job was a job, and he was in no position to be picky. When the rotund Salvaran had approached him in that tavern in Knife's Edge, Hayashi had accepted the offer despite the unappetizing premise. Months of hard travel had left him threadbare and starved for cash -- most employers were seeking established assassins and guards, and he, a 'newcomer' in these parts of colorless skill, had been reduced to accompanying peasant's carts through brigand-infested woodlands and occasional pet-sitting.
And then along came Marc Geriadli, a jovial man who wanted somebody dead. All the ex-shinobi had to do was bring Marc and his brothers evidence that the target had been appropriately disposed of. The actual act had been rough, but in the end a certain dwarf parted easily enough with his bearded head. "There was some...unfortunate business," Marc had explained, feeling inclined to offer an explanation as to why he wished somebody murdered, no matter how vague. "Unfortunate indeed," Hayashi mused aloud.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
The sound of retreating hoofs melted into the barren howl of the wind across the scrub and ice. The light was more dim than it was when he had arrived here at the designated meeting place, between the two forest halves. Evening was nearing. Thankful that his mask helped shield most of his face from the stinging breath of eternal winter here on the Salvar plains, Hayashi set his sights on the nearest clump of forest perhaps twenty minutes' walk from where he stood. "Mika-chan, I think you should return to your statue and rest. You carried me out here; I can walk the rest of the way."
"To those trees?"
"Yup."
"You should really spend the night on a branch or something. This area is crawling with all sorts of freaky carnivorous beasts half-mad with hunger when the sun goes."
Before he could react to her statement, Mika had dissolved in a low pulse of humming white, her body shape condensing until there was only a little stone statue of a sitting orange cat where she had been moments before. With a sigh Hayashi lent and placed his friend safely in an interior pocket, his boots soon crossing the spongy turf towards desired forest and, hopefully, shelter.
Mere seconds passed before a howl rose from the dense trees nearing him. Hayashi froze, fear clenching in his chest. There had been a day when the sound of a hunting wolf in unfamiliar country wouldn't have fazed him; he was strong then. Capable. But now he possessed nothing but a shadow of his former strength. Wolves could kill him, like they could kill any man, if they were desperate enough. He toyed with the prospect of calling Mika back out...
No, he told himself firmly, tearing himself from his self-pitying stupor and starting a brisk trot into the treeline, where his chances of surviving an attack would be best. Stop it, cowering like this. You don't need her. You're not weak. At least, not like you used to be. Just keep your cool, climb a tree. You'll be fine. Even with his breath clouding his vision, his throat raw from the continuous inhalation of frozen air and his toes numb, the new rush of determination he felt was heartening. It would take a lot to --
"Mmmph!"
He was lying on the ground. There was an immense, smothering weight pinning him down, thrashing at his pack and snarling horribly. Hayashi reacted before he knew just what it was that had attacked him, withdrawing his tanto, painfully wrenching his elbow and thrusting the blade over his shoulder. In his compromised position, the weapon could only graze, but that was enough to dislodge his assailant. Suddenly free of the pressure, the exiled nin jumped to his feet, finding...nothing.
The area was deserted. He was just within the trees, still able to see the rugged plains beyond. That's the second time this pack's saved my life... His elbow joint was throbbing vaguely. His breath was loud. The animal was nowhere to be seen. I can't get comfy yet...it's still around here. I can smell it. Temporarily abandoning his defensive pose, Hayashi reached for the nearest bough and pulled himself up --
WHAM!
The wolf had hit him from the side, huge white jaws snatching at the fabric around his neck and tearing it. Hayashi kicked in a panic, his tanto knocked from his stunned grasp. The wolf was a mighty being, more massive than he, it's slavering teeth clashing inches away from Hayashi's covered nose as he held it back with his shaking fingers sinking into it's thick, coarse ruff. Finally through the confusion he was able to get his feet under it's belly, and he pushed out in a single strong motion, throwing the wolf off. The nin took this opportunity to recollect his sword and stumble to his feet, unthinkingly slashing at a second wolf which had come at him from the left.
The blade connected with tissue, and the newest wolf, a slightly smaller, black-hued beast, retreated with a sliced muzzle. There was a whisper of movement from behind his right flank, and Hayashi pivoted and kicked. His heel met the brute's chin; there was an audible crack, and the wolf did not rise from where it had fallen. The second canine faltered, uneager to attack what had proven to be such a formidable foe by itself, leaving Hayashi to face it in a customary defensive stance, his chest heaving. Come on, he urged, despite the fear and exhaustion that was beginning to take hold. Come on...
The wolf darted and quickly disappeared into the forest. Hayashi waited a tad longer, eyeing the body of the first wolf whose neck he had broken. He had killed one and thankfully deterred another, but his problems were far from over. There had to be more. As if in agreement, a low, ominously baleful howl floated through the trees, joined by another...three...four, five. Getting louder. Damn it, the entire pack was on his trail! Hayashi broke into a sprint, the needles beneath his soles occasionally slipping. The howls had abated, signaling that the pack was serious about hunting. He ran faster.
A shape appeared from the bars of rigid pine; an old, windowless wood lodge. It was long and low, and Hayashi could have laughed out loud for joy. He ran for the door, preparing to break inside whether or not it was occupied, only to come to a sliding halt.
There was no door. The place was abandoned, the single, narrow room inside bare and carpeted with needles and the scattered feces of whatever animals had used it for a shelter in the past. Hayashi stepped inside and looked for something, anything to bar the entrance with, but there was nothing of the sort and he wasn't about to go foraging for heavy branches in the impending gloom. Still, a solid wall behind his back was better than nothing. The thought gave his tired mind some consolation, and without further adieu he shed his pack and sat, crossing his legs. The empty door frame was far enough for him to be shielded from the wind and yet close enough for him to be able to leap and defend it at a fleeting moment's notice. But there was no escaping the cold. Hayashi sheathed the tanto and pulled up the collar of his jacket around his chin, his hood rendered useless by the dead wolf's searching fangs. A fire would be good, he determined, the skin under his gloves tingling. A fire would drive the hungry predators away, too. Must have been a hard year for them to go after me like that...
An involuntary shiver wracked his spine as he stood and shuffled aside the nearest top layer of damp debris. The memory of the wolf's weight crushing him...the foul stink of it's breath and the feel of it's oily coat pressing down...he shivered again. It sucked being so weak. Within a reasonable amount of time he had accumulated a minute pile of dry leaves, twigs, bark and small branches preceding the door by three or four feet. With a balisong and a stone he had uncovered, the shinobi soon sparked a fire that swelled as he fed it from his supply of fuel untouched by the damp and frost. Soon it was of a satisfactory size, and he crouched behind it, gloves removed as he held his palms outward to the heat and, beyond, the ever watchful night.
An unseasoned traveller would find it nearly impossible, if he had no other outstanding means of doing so, to accurately judge the time of day. Sans the obvious answer that it wasn't night, the heavy nimbostratus occluded all except a thin, insubstantial ripple of light orphaned prematurely from it's source; an atmosphere that severed the Axe from the rest of the world. This forbidding veil of low black clouds had stretched and met tundra, carrying with them a biting and miserable wind. It could have been early morning or even dusk, for what the air and light suggested.
"Ya got what we arranged fer?"
Matsu Hayashi's fingers involuntarily tightened around the neck of the cloth sack dangling from his grip. He nodded once in silence, confirming what everybody already knew. The dark red stain slowly spreading across the bottom of the sack should have been evidence enough.
It was all together a curious party, strange location choice notwithstanding. There, in what would seem to be the approximate center of the plains, flanked on either side by mantles of distant, sprawling pine forest, stood four men, three shaggy ponies, and one very large, very hairy marmalade cat. The cat, towering a good six feet at the shoulder, was sitting behind the tallest of the men and cleaning herself. Apparently the remaining three humans had had opportunity enough to acclimate themselves to her intimidating presence (either that or they were making a convincing show of ignorance). The ponies on the other hand were leaning against their leads, frothing, stamping, and generally attempting to put as much space between themselves and the mammoth feline as possible.
The heightened state of aggravation of their mounts, combined with the chill and the assassin's moody demeanor, did not ease matters any and the three short men had allowed themselves to show a bit more impatience regarding the transaction than was usually their custom in order to expedite the process. As far as they were concerned, the sooner they were able to leave the company of this outlandish and perturbing character and his pet, the better.
Marc Geriadli thrust his pony's lead into his brother's hand and stepped forward, bundling a warm fur cloak tighter around his frame. The assassin had not uttered a single word since they had convened, which the oldest of the stout Geriadli sons, an exuberant and naturally outgoing man, had found rather off-putting. But it was not his place to pry; the assassin had arrived an hour and thirty-two minutes late, and Marc satisfied his inquiring mind with the theory that something had happened along the way to quiet the silver-haired man. He couldn't rightly say why he was so intrigued, anyway. The sack and what it contained was all that mattered.
"Gimme it, an' ya get yer money, mate." Marc had extended his open palm, finding that his feet would take him no closer to the 'hired help' and his menacing companion. The assassin surprised them by immediately thrusting the bloodied bag toward Marc without preamble or consideration. Marc managed to hesitate before gingerly taking the bag and holding it at arm's length. It was heavier than it looked. Swallowing visibly, he turned and offered it to his brother Samson, who took it bravely and, straining to simultaneously keep ahold of his mount's lead, peeked inside. Something flickered across his puckered red face before Samson looked up and nodded.
Marc returned his attention to the assassin, who was standing calmly with his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. Such a strange fellow. I wonder why he's here to begin wit'? Ain't no native, tha's fer sure. Mayhaps an elf? It was difficult to tell. The only visible portion of the man's head were his eyes from above the mask he wore, and the few strands of silvery hair drifting from beneath his hood. "Looks as if everythin's checked out ah'righ'," Marc proclaimed cheerily, slapping his palms together and rubbing them. "'Ere's yer pay, mate." A small hide pouch was produced which the silent assassin took and fluidly deposited in a pocket before turning and approaching his monster cat. Marc blinked, eventually shrugging.
---
Ugh, I'm glad that's over and done with, Mika's voice drifted through his mind. Hayashi too was admittedly relieved. But a job was a job, and he was in no position to be picky. When the rotund Salvaran had approached him in that tavern in Knife's Edge, Hayashi had accepted the offer despite the unappetizing premise. Months of hard travel had left him threadbare and starved for cash -- most employers were seeking established assassins and guards, and he, a 'newcomer' in these parts of colorless skill, had been reduced to accompanying peasant's carts through brigand-infested woodlands and occasional pet-sitting.
And then along came Marc Geriadli, a jovial man who wanted somebody dead. All the ex-shinobi had to do was bring Marc and his brothers evidence that the target had been appropriately disposed of. The actual act had been rough, but in the end a certain dwarf parted easily enough with his bearded head. "There was some...unfortunate business," Marc had explained, feeling inclined to offer an explanation as to why he wished somebody murdered, no matter how vague. "Unfortunate indeed," Hayashi mused aloud.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
The sound of retreating hoofs melted into the barren howl of the wind across the scrub and ice. The light was more dim than it was when he had arrived here at the designated meeting place, between the two forest halves. Evening was nearing. Thankful that his mask helped shield most of his face from the stinging breath of eternal winter here on the Salvar plains, Hayashi set his sights on the nearest clump of forest perhaps twenty minutes' walk from where he stood. "Mika-chan, I think you should return to your statue and rest. You carried me out here; I can walk the rest of the way."
"To those trees?"
"Yup."
"You should really spend the night on a branch or something. This area is crawling with all sorts of freaky carnivorous beasts half-mad with hunger when the sun goes."
Before he could react to her statement, Mika had dissolved in a low pulse of humming white, her body shape condensing until there was only a little stone statue of a sitting orange cat where she had been moments before. With a sigh Hayashi lent and placed his friend safely in an interior pocket, his boots soon crossing the spongy turf towards desired forest and, hopefully, shelter.
Mere seconds passed before a howl rose from the dense trees nearing him. Hayashi froze, fear clenching in his chest. There had been a day when the sound of a hunting wolf in unfamiliar country wouldn't have fazed him; he was strong then. Capable. But now he possessed nothing but a shadow of his former strength. Wolves could kill him, like they could kill any man, if they were desperate enough. He toyed with the prospect of calling Mika back out...
No, he told himself firmly, tearing himself from his self-pitying stupor and starting a brisk trot into the treeline, where his chances of surviving an attack would be best. Stop it, cowering like this. You don't need her. You're not weak. At least, not like you used to be. Just keep your cool, climb a tree. You'll be fine. Even with his breath clouding his vision, his throat raw from the continuous inhalation of frozen air and his toes numb, the new rush of determination he felt was heartening. It would take a lot to --
"Mmmph!"
He was lying on the ground. There was an immense, smothering weight pinning him down, thrashing at his pack and snarling horribly. Hayashi reacted before he knew just what it was that had attacked him, withdrawing his tanto, painfully wrenching his elbow and thrusting the blade over his shoulder. In his compromised position, the weapon could only graze, but that was enough to dislodge his assailant. Suddenly free of the pressure, the exiled nin jumped to his feet, finding...nothing.
The area was deserted. He was just within the trees, still able to see the rugged plains beyond. That's the second time this pack's saved my life... His elbow joint was throbbing vaguely. His breath was loud. The animal was nowhere to be seen. I can't get comfy yet...it's still around here. I can smell it. Temporarily abandoning his defensive pose, Hayashi reached for the nearest bough and pulled himself up --
WHAM!
The wolf had hit him from the side, huge white jaws snatching at the fabric around his neck and tearing it. Hayashi kicked in a panic, his tanto knocked from his stunned grasp. The wolf was a mighty being, more massive than he, it's slavering teeth clashing inches away from Hayashi's covered nose as he held it back with his shaking fingers sinking into it's thick, coarse ruff. Finally through the confusion he was able to get his feet under it's belly, and he pushed out in a single strong motion, throwing the wolf off. The nin took this opportunity to recollect his sword and stumble to his feet, unthinkingly slashing at a second wolf which had come at him from the left.
The blade connected with tissue, and the newest wolf, a slightly smaller, black-hued beast, retreated with a sliced muzzle. There was a whisper of movement from behind his right flank, and Hayashi pivoted and kicked. His heel met the brute's chin; there was an audible crack, and the wolf did not rise from where it had fallen. The second canine faltered, uneager to attack what had proven to be such a formidable foe by itself, leaving Hayashi to face it in a customary defensive stance, his chest heaving. Come on, he urged, despite the fear and exhaustion that was beginning to take hold. Come on...
The wolf darted and quickly disappeared into the forest. Hayashi waited a tad longer, eyeing the body of the first wolf whose neck he had broken. He had killed one and thankfully deterred another, but his problems were far from over. There had to be more. As if in agreement, a low, ominously baleful howl floated through the trees, joined by another...three...four, five. Getting louder. Damn it, the entire pack was on his trail! Hayashi broke into a sprint, the needles beneath his soles occasionally slipping. The howls had abated, signaling that the pack was serious about hunting. He ran faster.
A shape appeared from the bars of rigid pine; an old, windowless wood lodge. It was long and low, and Hayashi could have laughed out loud for joy. He ran for the door, preparing to break inside whether or not it was occupied, only to come to a sliding halt.
There was no door. The place was abandoned, the single, narrow room inside bare and carpeted with needles and the scattered feces of whatever animals had used it for a shelter in the past. Hayashi stepped inside and looked for something, anything to bar the entrance with, but there was nothing of the sort and he wasn't about to go foraging for heavy branches in the impending gloom. Still, a solid wall behind his back was better than nothing. The thought gave his tired mind some consolation, and without further adieu he shed his pack and sat, crossing his legs. The empty door frame was far enough for him to be shielded from the wind and yet close enough for him to be able to leap and defend it at a fleeting moment's notice. But there was no escaping the cold. Hayashi sheathed the tanto and pulled up the collar of his jacket around his chin, his hood rendered useless by the dead wolf's searching fangs. A fire would be good, he determined, the skin under his gloves tingling. A fire would drive the hungry predators away, too. Must have been a hard year for them to go after me like that...
An involuntary shiver wracked his spine as he stood and shuffled aside the nearest top layer of damp debris. The memory of the wolf's weight crushing him...the foul stink of it's breath and the feel of it's oily coat pressing down...he shivered again. It sucked being so weak. Within a reasonable amount of time he had accumulated a minute pile of dry leaves, twigs, bark and small branches preceding the door by three or four feet. With a balisong and a stone he had uncovered, the shinobi soon sparked a fire that swelled as he fed it from his supply of fuel untouched by the damp and frost. Soon it was of a satisfactory size, and he crouched behind it, gloves removed as he held his palms outward to the heat and, beyond, the ever watchful night.