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+---- Thread: [P] gold teeth and a curse for this town; (/showthread.php?tid=4473)
gold teeth and a curse for this town; - Sarkan - 12-30-2019
Sarkan The moral of the tale is this: whoever allows himself to be whipped, deserves to be whipped. Most of the time, Sarkan enjoyed his work. There was something meditative about it, being alone in the woods, stepping softly, reading sign of the comings and goings of wild things. It wasn’t the kind of thing that really let the mind wander, but it did quiet, and he’d always enjoyed the little puzzles of where to set a snare, or what scent to lay to coax a beast from its den. But today his mind would not settle. He was up near the northern part of the forest, and snow fell thickly through the skeletal fingers of the canopy. The winter storm was a blessing, covering his tracks and his scent, and he was warm with his cloak around his shoulders and his breath rising steady as a steam-engine from his mouth and nostrils. But his thoughts kept turning like a bird caught in a bramble patch, and his brow was furrowed as he studied the game trail before him and the snare not quite set to his satisfaction. Nor could he shake the feeling of being watched, though there was not so much as a peep of birdsong, only the wind moaning in the branches. Killer. He didn’t care for the label, and he knew it would stay with him as surely as his scars, but it was better than prisoner. Or dead, for that matter, and the unicorn hadn’t acted like he’d wanted to have a chat. Still, it felt sloppy. Seven years, and he’d never before had that kind of bad luck. Perhaps he should not have returned so soon to Delumine, but Sarkan had wondered whether the rash of activity might not be a good cover for his own work. Someone else was killing, someone more careless than himself, and when they were caught (as they inevitably must be), he ought to go as well. Until then, nobody would miss another bramblebear or white hind. A few minute adjustments, and the snare was set. Nothing too intelligent would blunder into the noose, but when he returned in a few days he would hopefully find something useful. Sarkan blew out a breath as he stepped back, shaking the tension from his shoulders and looking up - Straight into the gaze of a golden alicorn, unmissable in the otherwise white world. He was several yards away, but not nearly far enough to not see what the Percheron was doing. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath. Then he raised his voice enough for the man staring at him to hear. “Hello. Bloody fine weather today, isn’t it?” Perhaps the stranger didn’t know what he was looking at, or knew of no reason to be suspicious of a man setting a trap in the forest. Sarkan did not yet reach for his knife. @Somnus |
RE: gold teeth and a curse for this town; - Somnus - 01-18-2020
It was Alba who had found him. The barn owl, with her silent wings and grace like the wind, had trailed this fellow far longer than he had been aware, her curiosity getting the best of her in the midst of her hunting for wayward voles or careless squirrels. There were no creatures as silent a stalker as she, and so she hunted this cloaked man, watching, waiting, biding her time to be certain. She watched the expertise in which he used to set his trap. No bumbling fool could hope to mimic such intimate knowledge to how a snare might work, and only when she was certain did Alba beckon the dunalino that she was so intricately bound to.
’I found him,’ the barn owl beckoned back to Somnus, who had immediately lifted his head from fetching a cool, refreshing drink vigilant and alarmed by the tone coating his bonded’s mind-speech. Alba’s following words were poisoned with contempt. ’The poacher.’
Oh.
For weeks, Somnus had extricated himself from the world around him. It wasn’t the most noble of things to do after stepping away from the crown, but honestly, the days after his abdication and putting Ipomoea on the throne, he had felt lost. So, as he did when he was feeling particularly troubled or confused, the stallion ventured to Veneror to pray, taking with him his teapot and two cups. Due to this self-imposed exile, however, he had come back almost unaware of what was going on in the land he had once ruled. Only the whispers of ‘killings’ and a ‘poacher’ had met his ears, but he had been planning to return to the citadel and meet with Po for a formal briefing, if his brother-turned-king had the time to spare.
’Somnus.’
Alba’s harsh whisper of his name caused him to pause mid-step. His eyes scanned the area, searching, waiting, spotting the barn owl within the skeletal fingers of a nearby tree while playing sentinel… And then they paused, resting upon his unaware quarry.
Emerald eyes met this man’s vivid blue as the fellow lifted his head, presumably done with whatever it was he was tinkering with, and Somnus spotted the brief look of surprise flash across his expression before it was gone. Brows furrowed, the dunalino dared a single step closer, letting his shoulders roll back as though indifferent.
Somnus did not look to Alba. Instead, he gave her a simple command, knowing that this man would not hear her departure. ’Go.’
Although hesitant to do as he instructed and leave him alone with a would-be killer, Alba did just that, letting herself fall from the tree with outstretched wings and silently take flight to return to the capitol.
RE: gold teeth and a curse for this town; - Sarkan - 01-24-2020
Sarkan The moral of the tale is this: whoever allows himself to be whipped, deserves to be whipped. Sarkan ran an eye down the man across from him and worked to determine how screwed he was. He was irritated that he had neither seen nor heard the dunalino approaching, too absorbed in his work to glance up and listen as often as he ought. Despite the snow and the dark bars of the trees the man shone bright as polished gold. But there was time later to rebuke himself; this moment was more critical. The question was whether this could still be settled amicably. Sarkan was not at all interested in being caught or recognized, which made things distinctly trickier, but he was not much more interested doing away with another of Delumine’s unlucky citizens. They seemed nice enough. As he watched the man’s brow arch above his jewel-green eyes, Sarkan figured he had his answer. “I would say so!” It was not difficult to guide his voice into hearty cheerfulness; it was his general state. The stallion snorted and cocked a hind hoof with a shake of his head, shedding snowflakes. “Me brother and I, we’ve been out trying to find sign of that bastard poacher for a few days now. I found a trampled hollow a ways back, before the snowstorm came up, then didn’t want to drop the trail.” Sarkan huffed a laugh and glanced back down at the man, as if to suggest Lucky thing I didn’t, eh? Really he was weighing him the way he would one of his quarry, waiting for a tell, a hint as to what he would do. A man could be as dangerous as a manticore. It was very quiet in the forest. Sarkan thought he saw a flicker out the corner of his eye, but didn’t dare shift his gaze from the stranger. This could still end in a way that left no tearful women. His thoughts drifted like a hand to his side, the scabbard and the six-inch knife it cradled. “I was just about to destroy this one,” he said, and indicated the snare between them with a broad smile. “Care to help?” @Somnus |
RE: gold teeth and a curse for this town; - Somnus - 03-28-2020
Doubt cradled his mind like a warning, a gentle whisper of paranoia that had no place in such recesses. Every step he took closer to this stranger was done so with caution, curious verdant eyes narrowed in careful calculation. The wide grin and charming demeanor could be nothing more than a facade, yet Somnus wondered ever so briefly when it was that he became so distrustful.
Had he truly fallen so far to judge someone simply by happenstance? Of course he was not the same man that he had been merely months prior, a King reduced to wandering, to wondering, but surely such a fall would not cast him in the same wretched graces that wreathed the shoulders of his brooding, cruel brother? How Atreus would surely laugh now, mocking and arrogant. Perhaps they truly were cut from the same cloth.
Letting out a slow, measured breath, Somnus watched the fellow regard the set trap for a few moments longer before continuing his slow approach, his hooves crunching through the fresh cast snow. His eyes roamed down until they focused on the snare, a grimace overtaking his features at simply imagining being caught in such a terrible contraption. Terrible. Truly horrible and cruel.
As it were, there was little time to think of them. Coming to a tense stop just a few short feet of the snare, Somnus lowered his head to better examine the trap. He sneered, a look of distaste staining his handsome visage and he shook his head minutely.
RE: gold teeth and a curse for this town; - Sarkan - 04-15-2020
Sarkan The moral of the tale is this: whoever allows himself to be whipped, deserves to be whipped. If he knew what lay ahead, how similarly the two situations would play out, the fact that both confrontations involved kings of Delumine - he might have made different choices. (Knowing the end, of course, he would not have set foot into this forest at all). But of course Sarkan was no seer, no dreamer of prophetic dreams, just a man who filled a need for richer men. Caution was written plainly as daylight across the dunalino’s face, but it was the tip of his horn the Percheron watched, waiting for a waver, a clue of which direction it might point. It was winter-quiet between their words, the vapor of their breaths nearly mingling as they surveyed the snare between them, and one another over the top if it. Later, in another part of the forest, Sarkan would use his knife to cut through another of his snares; now he kept it sheathed at his side, ever aware of its presence. Why ruin his tools? Not yet, he thought; as long as this man played along, he would too, and then move south for a few weeks. Maybe explore that island he’d heard whispers of, see what new kinds of game it offered. “First I’ve seen close up,” he lied, not smiling at the compliment that was rigged rather expertly. The gray made a show of following the glinting wire to its anchor, a young oak who trunk was the width of a fist. Like the alicorn he leaned forward to study it. It would be easier, he knew, to spring the trap and disengage it from there, but he wanted to make a show of it. “You might stand back,” he said, glancing over, then turned a half-circle, his muzzle wrinkling in annoyance at undoing his own work. For a moment he measured the tree over his shoulder, then kicked out once, twice, a third time at the base of the sapling. The woods rang out with the sound of the contact, and the trunk splintered and crushed in, the bare branches falling into the dried briars and silent snow. The noose fell too, a limp circle in the grass, harmless as a dead snake. “There,” he said. “That’s one gone, anyway. I can take it home, see about destroying it.” His gaze settled again on the dunalino, blue as a winter day. @Somnus |