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 Post subject: Tuigan-un
Unread postPosted: Wed May 10, 2017 3:21 pm 
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Music: Tadayoshi Makino - "Bluemoon Tower"
(Note: The Tuigan language spoken in this depiction of the past has been given a cipher to obscure its true meaning.)

Life in Taan, the Endless Wastes, the Hordelands: it was hard and unforgiving. Its native folk considered it their holy land, full of great history and a thriving spiritual presence, but it was difficult for the outsider looking in to see more than its desolate badland. For its very inhabitants was it difficult too, at times.

The soil was rocky and stripped of nutrients, not that it really made a difference; the Tuigan had limited knowledge of agriculture. They subsisted almost entirely off herding animals that could digest the minimal vegetation growing there, or from fishing when northern ice floes melted for two months in the entire year.

They often had no food, no shelter, no soles for their boots or clothes for their backs. Their elderly risked freezing to death in their sleep during the colder season, and children rarely got the full nutritional benefits that they needed. Many of them grew up too sickly or too thin or too lame, or they didn't grow up at all.

There was no magic or medicine to improve their lives, unlike in the West. There was nothing, except what they could accomplish with their calloused hands. For a certain elfin's schism of these steppelanders, banditry was something they could accomplish.

Some distance up a crumbling hill, the lone woman of a ragtag band of--- well, bandits, sat upon her speckled grey mare.

"Borte-Suul," a raider called to her when he chanced to ride closer, and the elfin turned her knife ear in his direction. He seized up before the other rehearsed words flew as freely. "Ukq wjz Osokhbayar sehh oaran pda ukga. Pda dahioiaj sehh jaaz pk xa gehhaz wo sahh, pdaj ukq ywj fkej qo wp pda xwyg."

That he needed to rehearse at all made her angular eyes become moreso.

She was young and fair and still wore her bachelorette's sash about her waist --- a long cut of pilfered silk dipped thrice in evergreen dye --- but her availability was more from lack of choice on her part.

Her new duties as a raider came with intolerance she never experienced in earnest before, for her fellow man could easily avoid her when sequestered to a hut. Afield, however, she was given a wide berth like a malignant boil with the potential to spread through shared air alone. Most swallowed back their expletives for fear of drawing some disenchantment with her ire.

The elfin entertained the thought that she were indeed capable of slinging curses to give such pause to a man's heart, but these things did not exist. Tuigan were just simple people, made yellow-bellied and thin-skinned by their superstitions.

She dusted off the surface of her helmet, which served as an inaudible affirmation that she understood. She knew better than to speak. An older man rode up beside her on his ill-tempered stallion, grown irritable by burden and more irritable still by the closeness of Suul's uninterested mare, to speak on her behalf.

"Sa sehh lkoepekj kqnoahrao bqnpdan ql pda lwpd wjz bqjjah pdai pk sdana pda dehho iaap," this one, Osokhbayar, informed their superior while fighting his horse at the reins. The wiry whiskers of his beard moved expressively for how patchy they grew in. "Pdau sehh jkp nawyd pda swpydpksan kj pda kpdan oeza."

Borte-Suul turned her helmet in her hands and affixed it firmly to her head, smoothing the aventail against her slender neck, and her fingers untangled what long dark hair protested its placement. There was a tense moment of silence between the three. The presumed leader of this rabble chewed on his bottom lip to yank free some chapped skin, then licked wet the now raw and reddened wound.

It was a mild distraction. He still had deep-seated concerns about the nonhuman, but it would have to do on such short notice.

"Sa wppwyg kj ukqn wnnks," served as punctuation before he kicked his horse to action, and he cantered astride some twenty others to spread over the southwestward steppes. She watched them depart in a lonesome silence; men were quick to avert their judging gaze when she met it, but none dared to speak up. The elfin's chest deflated to bid them farewell.

"Xa wp pda nawzu, Borte-Suul," her one remaining companion, his voice embittered by her presence, ushered her to their intended destination. She let him take the lead before riding in step.

They were to separate on opposite sides of the Golden Way, awaiting travelers that funneled between the sunbaked cliffs and likewise between watchtowers. The majority of the raiders would come from behind to tackle the largest of the caravans, but the nonhuman --- under a veteran's suspicious lack of guidance --- had to claim the fore alone.

"Ukq sehh bena pda oecjwh wnnks benop," Osokhbayar spoke through clenched teeth that she could hear but couldn't see. "Kjya ep eo mqeapaz, ukq wna naolkjoexha bkn gehhejc pda iaj. Pdeo eo ukqn zqpu whkja." The duo had stalled only long enough for his commands before he departed for his post.

Borte-Suul crested the hill above the causeway alone, the red sun lengthening her shadow until it stood in the to-be caravan's path. Here she sat upon her mild-mannered horse, who grazed among the dead grass dotting the steppe, and remained patient for the better part of an hour.

Ah, and there they finally tread. Two fat and lazy men sat in the first oncoming wain, steering two equally fat and lazy horses. Perhaps only one was doing the steering, though, for a dripping bead of saliva served the sole evidence of life in his snoring companion. They were sleeping in shifts on their journey east, and the alert man's bloodshot eyes made it obvious that he was restless for his turn.

She watched them draw closer and closer still until her presence was not so easily ignored. He looked up at her higher elevation, blotting at the sweat and the dirt that encased his oily brow, and offered a friendly smile. What was initially thought to be a curious foreigner observing the passing travelers in peace became something less so.

The redness of her eyes fixated on the duo to spite the airborn dirt and the wind. Her bow was unholstered and at the ready. Why? The southern Wastes were practically devoid of any real threat. A deep, inexplicable distress brought goosebumps to the helmsman's skin and a turn to his stomach. Something was amiss and so he wished to rouse his partner, but nausea had crept high to choke his very words with bile.

When sound couldn't avail him, he was pressed to action instead, and his free hand attempted to stir the slumbering man. The slow Tethyrian bastard didn't wake. He was a deep sleeper somehow, even under this hot and bothersome sun.

Panic started to set in and he tore his partner's death grip off the reins. For all his attempts to spur the horses into a gallop or a canter or anything, however, they refused to listen to him.

The woman gently steered her horse askew. She reached for the quiver previously tied to the saddle, and her fingers plucked an old arrow whose dyed fletching had long since begun to fray. It was set, the nock steadied above her thumb ring, and her firing arm drew back upon the sinew.

The composite wood groaned under the monumental strain --- a slow but certain crackling that heralded her grisly intentions --- and her thick muscles trembled in protest. Once the hardwood had wed her bow's riser and no sooner, it was released!
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_________________
Once-strong and proud strangeling, now broken upon realization's back!
-----------------------------------[Biography] [History] [Imagination]


Last edited by Nyssis on Mon Jun 19, 2017 10:40 am, edited 5 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Tuigan-un
Unread postPosted: Wed May 10, 2017 4:05 pm 
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Music: Adam Skorupa & Krzysztof Wierzynkiewicz - "School of the Viper"

A shrill whistle sliced through the air long before her projectile had even hit its mark.

The caravaneer retreated under the safety of his arms to avoid it, but he was never the intended target. The perforated signaling arrow smacked against the fore of the cart, and the lopsided force of its trajectory snapped it into many, many fragile pieces. He flinched when the wood bounced harmlessly against his tunic, and fragments spiraled somewhere beneath the wheels of the carriage and into the many folds of his clothes.

By the time he recovered from the shock, Borte-Suul had nocked a second arrow. This one flew mercilessly with no sound to alert him of his impending demise, and it neatly threaded between his ribs on one side. His lung punctured with unsurprising ease.

Ah, and there he was: to die. He thought of his little dark-haired wife at their dilapidated home, the last stop on a dead end in Velprintalar. The building was tilting on its foundation and he wanted to move because he was so very tired of ink bottles tipping off his drawing desk. Everything about the place had become a nuisance over the years.

There was a teal, plastered house further up the coast that she thought was cute and cozy, but the color was far too obnoxious for him. He wanted a son, she wanted a daughter and much more than he could provide on his meager wage. They couldn't agree on anything. How petty their arguments were, in that moment.

The Aglarondan knocked into his dozing partner as he tried to pull the arrowhead free in a panic, but the deluge of blood made his trembling fingers too slick for grasping. It drained endlessly into his lungs and made them too full for gasping. His stirring cohort barely saw the man's desperate tears before he tumbled, red-faced and dying, off the side of the wain.

As soon as realization struck the Tethyrian, he brought his riding crop to bear against the twin horses pulling the cart, and they jerked into a trot. A trot, not the gallop he so dearly wanted. To his disadvantage, horses that were intimately familiar with the trade route only recognized danger at the desert nearest Kara-Tur. To the Tuigan's advantage, this meant that lighter wayfarers were easy pickings between outposts.

Theirs was a largely docile region that didn't warrant excess of armed guards. At least, not until now.

With the cart in more significant motion, Borte-Suul threw her veteran raider a tentative glance at the opposite side of the ridge, and she noted his inaction. She would seriously have to do this by herself, then? The woman stowed her bow as line-of-sight had since been broken with the remaining helmsman, and clicked her tongue to ease the mare into pursuit.

It would have been simple to catch up to him at the rate they were going, but desperation can make even a simpleton clever. He realized that his snapping of the reins wasn't accomplishing anything, so he braced against the wain and kicked one of the stubborn horse's flanks. Good thing he stabilized himself too, for they hurried into an alarmed and noisy gallop that would have sent him to meet his partner.

A soft-spoken nicety was all that was necessary to spur the Tuigan's well-trained horse to match their pace, by comparison. She moved to intercept the helmsman from his closest side. It was here that they met, face-to-face, for the first but not the last time.

The shaken man desperately swung at her with his crop, which she easily avoided thanks to the distance and his terrible aim. The second time he tried to swing, however, the elfin tore the crop from his sweaty hands and instead claimed a fistful of his collar. The firmness of her grip threatened to choke him unconscious.

A woman amongst their riders? To see a Tuigan woman so close with red-brown eyes that looked akin a drow, though with far less abject unkindness to them... He was more startled by their vibrancy and by the allure of an unknown, foreign mien than by the certainty of his demise.

He was an aspiring painter. He wanted to paint her for his first formal piece: in warm tones of red and brown and orange, with starcluster flowers tucked behind her ear to compliment her eyes. His heart leapt into his constricted throat. The accolades he'd surely receive!

Their gaze met briefly before he was unceremoniously dumped under the weight of the suspension, likely to be crushed to death. Osokhbayar looked on from the opposite side of the ridge as the one man raid claimed the forward cart without incident, but not without ruining premeditated plans.

The elfin easily soothed the horses to a halt with her whispered niceties. Such was her special gift: not as a Tuigan, but as a nonhuman. Perhaps because of her Tuigan blood too, though no one would ever admit it. They had been trying to get rid of her, to get her killed, simply because of the shape of her knife ears. It was a shame that they happened upon such a weakly defended cart to carry out this duty.

A test to break her against the Dragonwall of the Shou was in order. Incensed, the older man stirred his stallion to motion, and he trot down the slope to help her pick apart the supplies before the watchtower's guard paid them a visit.
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_________________
Once-strong and proud strangeling, now broken upon realization's back!
-----------------------------------[Biography] [History] [Imagination]


Last edited by Nyssis on Mon Jun 19, 2017 10:37 am, edited 2 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Tuigan-un
Unread postPosted: Wed May 10, 2017 4:09 pm 
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Music: Rei Kondo - "Farewell"

Far down the Golden Way she rode, a fatigue from a few days' work upon her back, until she returned to a body that was sprawled off-center the thoroughfare. Here the fair-haired painter lay, now red-haired; covered in his own blood and dirt and piss, but not yet dead. For how long he had been there, it was uncertain. He just wanted to die.

In his peripheral, he noticed an overburdened horse stall near him, and his chest expanded with a labored, hopeful breath. His muse had come all this way to see him again? The Tuigan woman removed her capeline as she dismounted, and his lopsided hazel eyes strained to look upon her from under the weight of his eyelids.

Her long hair was a sweaty, tangled and invasive mess without the helm to keep it contained, but it couldn't hide her stony countenance. Borte-Suul did not shy away from meeting his gaze. She balanced her hat upon the mare's back, where now rest multiple blankets and provisions that once belonged to him, and squat down to get a better look.

The bottom hem of her deel draped into his lost blood, and he drew in another toilsome breath at her closing proximity. Here, she scanned his body to ascertain the severity of his wounds, but the tensing muscle in her cheek made it obvious she held no hope for his survival.

His busted and swollen lips tried in vain to give noise to his thoughts. She silently watched him make the attempt, even though he gave her nothing. The fact that she was willing to listen at all made him feel very strange.

After mulling over the circumstance, her softly-spoken words proffered him a small comfort in his final moments. "E sehh jkp hkkp ukq," assured the elfin to the Tethyrian, and she stood to withdraw her saber from its humble leather scabbard. He didn't understand what she said. Was that to be a kindness?

He couldn't express his gratitude before she had put him out of his misery.
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_________________
Once-strong and proud strangeling, now broken upon realization's back!
-----------------------------------[Biography] [History] [Imagination]


Last edited by Nyssis on Mon Jun 19, 2017 10:37 am, edited 2 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Tuigan-un
Unread postPosted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 7:37 pm 
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Music: Tadayoshi Makino - "The Arisen's Refuge"

"Ywj E ck ej pda swpan?" her nephew projected his little voice up at her. He was so polite of timbre that his spoken word was more than enough to coax a smile out of the woman. Like clockwork, Borte-Suul acknowledged his hopeful expression before turning a scrutinizing eye towards the nearby lagoon. A crosswind was scattering its surface on this warm day, and every gust was made especially audible by the reeds dotting its perimeter.

It looked shallow, harmless; almost disarmingly so. Despite the concerns lingering in the back of her mind, she permitted his request with a subtle tip of her chin. His expectant look bloomed into one of sincere mirth, and it found a relatable twin on her older features.

He ambled towards the water for a single step and immediately thought the better of it, returning to her side to claim her closest free hand in his two. The youngling tried to pull her weight to follow, but no great effort of his would ever hope to budge her.

He was weak, even for a child. It was written on his gaunt face, in his sunken eyes, and upon every atrophied muscle that strained in unison to yank her along. This skeletal appearance was only further reinforced by the oversized, threadbare clothes that draped awkwardly from his frame.

"Ukq ywj ck xu ukqnoahb," Suul dissuaded his futile attempt before he could hurt himself, but he didn't know how to take denial gracefully. The boy's half-shaved head shook 'no' in vehement disobedience that soured his aunt's once-charming expression. "Munh, ukq wna wj wzkhaoyajp jks. Ukq iqop hawnj pk zk pdaoa pdejco kj ukqn ksj, kn ukq sehh jaran xaykia w iwj."

"E swjp ukq pk ykia sepd ia," whined Manduul while gritting his uneven, yellowed teeth, "fqop ej ywoa okiapdejc dwllajo!" Her fading smile turned to ice before he could finish. Careful not to apply too much pressure, she wrest her hand from his grasp and folded both arms to more concretely deny him.

He would normally prove receptive to the lesson she was trying to teach, but the boy wore an indignance on his face today. When did he become such a brat? Qutlughal's coddling had evidently turned her mild-mannered first child into a snake.

He oh-so-badly wanted to argue. Deep down, however, he knew that he'd never get anywhere with his aunt. His venom was potent enough to change the tune of most people, but Suul knew the antidote. She was akin the spirit of the earth underfoot: not necessarily without weakness, yet these weaknesses were a secret that made manipulating her stone heart no easy task.

Manduul colluded against her when he stomped to the silt bank, alone and very much embittered by her rebuke. As the boy fumed at the bobbing edge of the water and steeled himself for entry, a previously calm Oyuna whinnied to get the elfin's attention from her flank.

The horse was a quiet sort that had been trained to only make noise when she disliked something --- a dismounted stranger's close proximity and hostility towards her master were the most common triggers --- so sound in and of itself was cause for concern. Suul shot a hesitant glance in the mare's direction, but she was grazing in ... peace.

Everything became more unlike itself, little by little; inch by inch. It had always been this way, and she was just now realizing it.

The calm wind struck her clothed skin like needles in an unskilled medic's hand, and she felt the lingering itch of sewn wounds in its place when it died down. Her horse continued to emit panicked noises that she didn't orchestrate, wed now to the shuffling of uncertain hooves disturbing the packed soil.

Her arms loosened just long enough for a hand to ply uncomfortably at her slender neck, and an unease bid her watch Manduul wade into the water. The nonexistent force behind its laps sent his frail body jerking hither and thither, for he proved incapable of guiding his advance in any one direction. He was caught up in this merciful tide: an unwitting victim of its whims.

Yet the boy did not call for help despite his growing inability to stay grounded. He found himself sodden to his constricted throat and the peaceful water threatened to swallow him whole beneath its glittering surface. Manduul turned his head until he could look across the knee-deep lagoon at its far shore, perhaps in silent debate of going there, but alack for strength he couldn't move.

Suul considered his reluctance to go alone oddly preternatural, like a soothsayer's predictions. In this moment of clarity, consciousness and control returned to her.

Oyuna neighed with renewed vigor and stomped her hooves until the woman felt the vibrations where she had lay her head for the night. Her horse was intentionally trying to wake her up! This realization climbed into her surface thoughts, and she was unceremoniously stirred from her brief respite before her dream could get any less telling.
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_________________
Once-strong and proud strangeling, now broken upon realization's back!
-----------------------------------[Biography] [History] [Imagination]


Last edited by Nyssis on Mon Aug 06, 2018 6:28 am, edited 3 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Tuigan-un
Unread postPosted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 7:52 pm 
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Music: Adam Skorupa & Krzysztof Wierzynkiewicz - "Cave Theme"

The mare snorted her displeasure as a figure attempted to lift yet another bag from her saddle, but she repositioned herself to disable the thief's endeavor until her master awoke. He had chosen to hide on the far side of a shadow to prevent firelight from cresting on his unsavory deeds.

As soon as Borte-Suul sat up from her bedroll, alarm accidentally thrust him into view. He stumbled off-center and gripped what little he'd managed to loose in his desperate, white knuckles.

She was believed to be a heavy sleeper whose dreams carried her soul without, making her an able target for theft ... or at least that's what he had been assured. She journeyed under the rocks every night to lay a kiss on the slumbering king of the land, her only beloved, and clawed her way back up before dawn revealed her affair to the envious sun.

Beads of sweat moistened his broad brow and he visibly struggled against his overeager bladder. Did a spirit alert her before she could complete her pilgrimage? The thief became slightly convinced of it when she oppressed him with her knowing, dark-eyed glare, and his chest heaved for air what seemed to have been torn from him with her gaze alone.

"Ukq ydwjya qlkj w zwjcankqo cnaaz," said she when she ascended, mindful to tuck her sword under her hastily fastened belt for reassurance and insurance. Her softly-spoken words may have lacked all the bite of an accusation, but that didn't stop the man from tensing his body in anticipation of its damage.

"E-Ep eo jkp cnaaz," served as a pathetic attempt at justifying his behavior, and Borte-Suul's vapid look insisted otherwise. He momentarily gagged on his clammy tongue before trying again. "Iu seba cwra xenpd pk w pdenz ydehz sdeha E swo ckja. E jaaz ikna pdwj kpdano."

"Eb ukqn seba zez dan zqpu haoo kbpaj, ukq skqhz jkp xa ok gaaj kj opawhejc bnki ukqn yhwjoiaj," her harsh words insulted him, made significantly harsher by her dismissive expression.

"Ukq wna jk yhwjoiwj kb ieja!" he insulted back just as easily. Where fear had previously held his courage hostage, it was emboldened and turned violent when the elfin chose more than a few ugly words meant to demean his wife. His enshadowed figure jerked towards the fire to intimidate her, and it sent innumerable bags in both hands twirling against the force.

The elfin tried hard to keep her offense hidden; she knew that losing her temper wouldn't set her in a positive light. She inhaled a calming breath and it hissed out of her nostrils before she added, "Sa wna whh kb qo oqbbanejc. Ukqn zena jaaz zkao jkp zapan iu sehhejcjaoo pk gehh ukq."

He didn't take her threat to heart, and why would he? The thief coughed up some phlegm and spewed it straight onto her face in his own act of rebellion. She visibly seized up right before it hit, and settled into an uncomfortable silence as it dribbled down the length of her cheek.

She knew to let this grievance pass, but she was young and hot-blooded at the time. The rage boiled into her head and set her cheeks awash with scarlet, and soon too it welled into her brain to cloud her very thoughts. A man's outline became a victim, an animal, and then finally a thing. In time, all that remained before her was this slight, and a very cruel intention of exacting her vengeance.

Sanity had been robbed from her, unbeknownst to the man that took it.

She reached for the saber at her hip and yanked it free so hard that its scabbard was rent from the fixings keeping it secure. It was then that the thief realized the likelihood that he would suffer consequences for his actions, and the pomposity that named him victor only moments prior left him as surely as piss did.

"E sehh lqp ep xwyg!" he persuaded--- no, he pleaded with the woman. Her mare whinnied its annoyance when he tried to retie the bagged goods to the cantle, but his hands proved inept the longer the attempt took. Weakness conspired against his intentions with a sword at the ready to cut him down if he made a mistake.

As was inevitable, the waxed strings slipped free from his sweaty fingertips. He was too slow to react, and provisions spilled and were sullied upon the wet dirt.

A pause choked the breath within his lungs. He held his tongue just long enough to meet her infuriated gaze, upon which words flew quickly in a desperate bid to spare his hide. "Ukq dwra ckja iwz! Ukq skqhz jkp gehh w iwj xabkna pda naop kb deo qjep!"

It was not immediately evident, but his inane yelling drew the attention of their superior and his clique on the far side of camp. Their alert eyes were turned onto the engagement, which only meant that someone would inevitably suffer the consequences that come with making a scene in the middle of the night.

"Skqhz E jkp?" she responded delicately, her icy voice lacking the furor that colored her features, and she advanced towards the thief with misintent. He ripped a knife from its concealed holster in defense, but it would find no flesh before it was scattered from his hands.
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_________________
Once-strong and proud strangeling, now broken upon realization's back!
-----------------------------------[Biography] [History] [Imagination]


Last edited by Nyssis on Tue Aug 07, 2018 8:16 pm, edited 4 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Tuigan-un
Unread postPosted: Mon Jun 12, 2017 9:55 am 
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Music: Marcin Przybyłowicz & Mikolai Stroinski - "Scoia'tael 4"

In her wisdom, Borte-Suul drove her saber in an arc poised to cripple rather than kill. She aimed for the tendon behind his knee, and sliced through half its thickness before withdrawing her assault. It snapped on its own and the man instantly lost the ability to stand upright.

He would live, surely, but he would never ride again. Unable to ride, he couldn't provide for his family. They would starve, and he would watch them perish with the corrupting knowledge that it was because of his own mistakes. Perhaps killing him would have been a kindness by comparison.

He rolled about the dirt and howled as he felt at this unwanted new wound, his slickened skin defying all desperate attempt to fit the muscles back into their respective places. This noisemaking was cause for commotion now, to be sure, and the thief's closest peers filtered in to gape at what had transpired.

Some preoccupied themselves with trying to calm him and administering medical attention before he bled out, but the majority chose to turn accusatory glances upon the enraged woman. They needed no context to levy their blame; unsurprisingly, that did not shake her. A calm had drained the blood out of her face now, and she wiped the scarce amount decorating her sword onto her sash in the peace that followed.

Ah, but her scabbard had fallen previously, didn't it? She bent down to claim the thing and sheathed her sword in the same effortless motion. Before she could erect to a stand, however, a blow from her peripheral nearly knocked her into the ground to join her ancestors!

The woman collapsed with a demure whimper that made a handful of sadists explode with laughter, further shaming her on the way down. She thudded gracelessly against the soil and lost her grip on her blade, and her panicked mare instantly leapt to her defense when it was flung from her.

Someone was shoved aside by the horse in the process: a stocky man, if his shadow were any indication. Borte-Suul's vision was a swirling mess that couldn't focus on his features. He had seemingly used the pommel of his weapon to beat her about the skull; though most of the force was diffused by a hand, she was sufficiently wounded from the trauma alone.

Blood matted her long hair as ample evidence of the gash now splitting her scalp. "Ukq odkqhz gjks xappan pdwj pk pwga fqopeya ejpk ukqn ksj dwjzo, Borte-Suul," a harsh voice chided over the height of the manic neighing, and his now idle hands returned the Shou blade to its scabbard. Despite her deadened senses, she knew it was Osokhbayar from timbre alone.

He had barely entertained what blood of hers stained his knuckles too before the mob made their demands for recompense. They bickered among themselves, each vying for the officer's attention, and the din of their collective voice elevated to drown out reason itself. The louder they clamored, the more obviously irritable the veteran became.

"Da ckp sdwp da zaoanraz!" was firmly shouted to shut the lot of them up once he'd had enough, and a stillness washed over the group in lieu of offering argument. Osokhbayar leveled his glare on their apprehensive looks before adding, "Pdwp zkao jkp iawj oda sehh aoywla zqa zehecajya," with a more even temperament to convince them of his prudence.

"...Oda ywjjkp xa whhksaz pk swhg wswu bnki pdeo," one of the folk nervously pierced the silence after swallowing back on his words. He implied that being beaten about the head wasn't punishment enough for willfully crippling a man. By their barbaric standards, at least, he was very much correct.

Osokhbayar glanced down at the reeling woman where she lay prone. His eyes bore into her with an uncertainty, plying the corners of her un-Tuigan face for his answer, and he drew a hand across his wrinkles. Were they intending to do the same to her?

"Sa dwra whnawzu hkop kja nwezan," affirmed the veteran with a finality after he disturbed his patchy whiskers. This decision to show mercy embarrassed her, in a way. "Sa sehh yhwei w lknpekj kb dan lnkreoekjo wjz olhep pdai wikjc kqnoahrao. Oda ywj hawnj bnki dan opqlezepu pda dwnz swu."

She managed an apprehensive groan, but it flew unheard and ignored. Unable to petition for her innocence, the elfin was forced to watch them surround her agitated horse, and they perhaps too eagerly stripped its load of provisions.
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_________________
Once-strong and proud strangeling, now broken upon realization's back!
-----------------------------------[Biography] [History] [Imagination]


Last edited by Nyssis on Mon Jun 19, 2017 10:37 am, edited 2 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Tuigan-un
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Location: MA
Music: Kow Otani - "Hope"

The un-Tuigan struggled to sit upright more than once throughout the evening until she surrendered to her weakness. Not a soul offered their aid in her recovery, and why should they? She had so thoroughly ruined a good man's life that they were thrilled in many, many dark ways by her suffering.

A less burdened Oyuna lingered nearby the whole time, snorting at the back of her head to periodically check for her master's consciousness. The beast's noble effort helped dry the blood coursing from the wound overnight, and at the very least let her weary bones rest in the security their companionship offered.

The woman stirred noiselessly and her horse shuffled its hooves about, sometime nearing dawn. A quick inspection revealed that although the lesion clotted a long time ago, it was severe enough to require stitches. She reached towards the animal for assistance, and it offered its stirrups as a crutch to help her climb to her feet.

Unfortunately, the slow, arduous change in elevation had her head spinning with nausea halfway up. She recognized this fatigue --- it was an old and familiar friend after being afield for two summers --- and claimed her medical supplies before any rising bile could wring the contents from her belly. Her retreat earthward was far less graceful than her ascent, if that were possible.

It was not readily apparent, but the elfin's eyes, previously stone cold to the shed blood of innocents, were made to feeling. A wrongness settled in their light, for the extent of the consequences she'd suffered clearly polluted her thoughts. She poured water down the back of her head, threaded a sterilized needle, and her able fingertips parted her hair to sew through sense of touch alone.

Someone would have to suffer, now that she'd lost at least a third of her share in reparations for her misdeeds. With a reluctance and in the private confidence of her head, she made a choice as to who wouldn't eat or would eat more meagerly despite their very dire need.

Her slivered eyes damned a few tears when she pierced another hole to sew the gash shut, and her wrist jerked the needle back to render it taut. She was irresponsible, lacked forethought, and was beside herself with an inconsolable shame. Perhaps this woman finally understood the lesson she arrogantly thought to teach a thief.

Borte-Suul was humbled by this realization; so humbled that a self-deprecating grimace creased her young, stupid face. She wore it unabashedly for everyone to see her mistake, and to learn from it as she did.

She took a knife and trimmed excess off the stitching, though in her haste the blade cut closer than anticipated. The back of her head felt significantly lighter for it, and her recoiling fist revealed multiple tangles of hair had been nicked in the process. Her fingers considered the severity of her split ends before she tossed them into the breeze, now alerted to the fact that she probably needed a haircut to even it out.

Her tools and possessions were stowed in silence before she heaved her feeble weight into the saddle. She kept a hand steadied on the horn until she was comfortable, and once repositioned her elevated view scanned the illuminated camp with ease. It stopped moving when she met the lingering stare of Osokhbayar on its opposite side.

Something she'd never seen before --- something she didn't quite understand --- was scriven in the lines and in the shadows of his aged face. He consciously hid it when he turned to spit against the wind, preferring to overtighten the saddle on his stallion instead.
Image

_________________
Once-strong and proud strangeling, now broken upon realization's back!
-----------------------------------[Biography] [History] [Imagination]


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