|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Apr 29, 2014 10:20 am
Zidel and X'i - 428 words
Nua had never been emotionally floored before. Zidel was huge, grander than any village or settlement he had ever experienced. Nuawahn was used to strange wonders – he had been wandering Tendaji for his whole life – but this place was like no other in sheer scale. So many buildings! So many people! So many places and things to do! He danced through the streets, garnering many odd looks.
With his blonde hair, rounded ears, pink crystals, and warm pale skin, he was obviously wind tribe. That itself wasn't too unusual in the city of the council, but he had many oddities: some that did match up with wind tribe, or even a wind/ice child, and some that did not. His attitude was excusably childish – he was clearly a young prentice, though he was perhaps 'on something'. His blue palms and lips, though uncommon, spoke to ice tribe heritage that they could understand, but the crystals on his face were freakish and strange, even if they were the proper color for a wind tribesman. It was his garb, though, gathered haphazardly on his journeys, that gained the most notice as it flowed and swished and jangled around him. He wore a bit of Jahuar, the Tale, and Sauti with him wherever he went, memories of journeys past and friends of before. This, especially, got him many stares and whispers, none of which he cared about as he skipped through the city, delighting in all the newness of urbanity.
He had never experienced the wonders of a city, neither had he experienced its pains. It was baffling to him why there were people with no families, who starved in the streets. It was anathaema to him. Everybody had a family they could turn to, and not even the meanest person would leave someone out in the cold. Not in his world.
Eventually, he spent all of his money and goods on a map and some random items and left the city, confusion and wonder and awe in his heart.
His next stop was Mt. X'i, or as close as he could get being a mere tourist. He looked up and up, from the base to the top, and wondered what it would be like to be up there, looking down. Was it really a place of death? Did Bergchi herself reside there? He could believe it! It looked cold and severe and, maybe, a little sad. He gave the mountain a wave and hoped it would cheer up a bit.
And then, he was off for the wilds.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 29, 2014 10:23 am
Secer - 421 words
Nuawahn had wanted to see Raptri, and he got to. Getting to Secer had been a long and arduous trip, through cold and barren land. In fact, he'd run out of food nearly halfway there, and he wasn't very good at hunting. He had survived the Tale, managing to conserve his water and to find it where the savannah hid it, and he had survived Jahuar, which was so rich with abundance that it devoured itself, and he had survived harsh Sauti, which provided little at all. But he hadn't done it alone, and Zena Winter was too much for him.
Fortunately, a kind Ice-tribe scout had helped him out, given him food, taught him how to survive in the wilderness. He had even guided him to Secer alive. Nuawahn didn't plan on leaving Secer without a partner or a guide this time – even he knew when he was outmatched – but he also wasn't leaving without exploring this place. It was so far away from everything, nestling in tall mountains and jagged rocks. But it had Raptri.
He was happily playing with the fluffy pups and exploring as far as he dared into the village and wilds around, when he realized he was broke – out of money and tradeable goods – and he wanted to get back to Sauti eventually. He wasn't very good at helping with raptri, but he tried anyway until someone thought he would do better looking after children. Being a child himself, he related well with them, and the little ice children loved the stories he told of Jahuar and the Tale and his adventures. He was terrible at supervising, and he and the children got into all sorts of trouble. His capramel would try her damndest to get them out, but being a capramel, couldn't do much.
The villagers of Secer found him amusing in a way and arranged for the kind scout to travel with him when he did leave, as thanks for his attempts to help out. Some were happy to see the annoying wind tribe boy go, others were dissappointed. All were in agreement, though, that he had been new and, somewhat, refreshing.
As he and the scout travelled back to Sauti, the village soon returned to its normal harsh life... except the children now played a new game of tag: Nua and the Alkidikes. As the 'Alkidikes' ran and screamed and chased the 'Nua', Nuawahn said goodbye to his guide in Coeld as he crossed the border once again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 29, 2014 10:24 am
Returning to Further Adventures - 353 words
Returning to Sauti after Zena was pleasant. He loved how his homeland seemed to change with every journey, in part because of time and in part because of his own experiences. The purple peaks and hazy air were alive now and brimming with color after the white expanse of Zena, and the air did not sting with cold – singing instead, in the harmony of echoes. Resting in Mez, his thoughts turned to family.
He'd forgotten his mother entirely in his travels. She simply hadn't come up. But now he remembered her clearly, a rare moment of clarity, and he remembered the pain she had felt when he'd returned alive, and the pain she must have felt during the years she had thought him dead, and the pain she must be going through now, after he had left the family's troupe. He snuggled La'amu, and wished he couldn't remember her pain, or his pain, or any pain at all. He didn't like pain. Pain was bad, and he wanted it to go away.
He heard someone talking nearby and listened in, wanting to bury the pain and sadness away again, like a heirloom in a drawer. The villagers of Mez spoke of war, and of invaders, and of preparations, and Nuawahn latched onto what they were saying.
He thought he knew of war – war was the stuff of grand tales and adventure. The thought struck excitement within him, banishing thoughts of his mother to where she could bother him no more.
He wanted adventure. He lived for adventure. And war sounded like fun. He stood up and started walking again, making his way for the foothills, then the Tale, and eventually for Jahuar, where this thing called 'war' promised adventure and excitement and fun.
If he had listened to La'amu, he would have known better. The Capramel had not known war, but she had known death, and she would have advised her notcalf to go on this adventure. But the capramel knew not war nor earthlings, and could not speak. So, she had no choice but to follow him to his fate.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2014 12:49 pm
Crossing the Border
Nuawahn and Ruelash - 314 words
Nuawahn didn't believe in borders. One place didn't just end where another began, it was constantly beginning and ending.
Or, rather, everything was connected! No matter where he was, he was connected to someplace else. Maybe it was a place he'd been. Maybe it was a place he had yet to be. It didn't matter! No matter where he was, he was home, and he was everywhere!
However, he would admit, he was excited for the end of the pass. It would be like, he thought, a present, a gift that was enclosed with the pretty purple Sauti stone and that would be unwrapped into Zena at the other end of the pass. He was the sort of child who would unwrap his presents in a flurry of shredding and enthusiastic glee. Patient he could be, but at the same time, patient he was not.
"Wasn't that fun, Amma?" he said to his companion, "Meeting that guy? We were going in opposite directions!" he grinned at the parallelness of it all. He liked it when things were in parallel - they felt so right. "His pet was funny too! Did you see how she tried to bite me?" he giggled, "Aaaahhh, so much fun!" he skipped for a few steps, before stopping to wait for the capramel to catch up. "He was sort of odd, though! Or at least, his advice was!"he remarked as the Capramel labored on, "Who yells at mountains, anyway? Mountains can't hear you, so its silly to shout at them. Besides, they aren't bad, so you don't need to shout." he nodded, "But still! I bet it was good advice." So, he wouldn't be yelling at the mountains.
he moved forward again, smiling a passively warm smile. "Anyway, he was nice..." if only Nuawahn knew... "I hope we meet him again!"
He continued on into Zena, to adventure and beyond.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 5:25 am
Suffering - True Healer Class Affinity
1216 words
Nuawahn had only just recently been allowed to walk around unsupervised. His head was still fuzzy, more at some times than at others, but he didn't feel dizzy so often, wasn't nauseous whenever he moved, and didn't fall down randomly anymore. He was happy about this because this meant that, despite his arm (Which was also getting better) he could help out around the healers tents.
He wasn't allowed to use too much magic – he was told that it would hurt his head, which was kind of strange to say because magic wasn't in his head, but it was fine. Nuawahn was happy if he was even able to take away a little bit of another person's pain and help them a small amount. That was all he had wanted. Even when he had been out there, in that screaming, bloody, smelly forest of people. That was all he had wanted.
He hadn't wanted the rest of it. He'd seen all the things that they don't tell you in stories – the blood, the guts, the death, the grief... He'd had to see it and it had been so clear – it was still clear for him, even when other things were pleasantly softened and misted over in his mind. Nuawahn had seen a lot of pain, and had only wanted to take it away.
He washed his face in a trough and walked into the tent, smiling at his patient: a wind/ice mix with a bandaged belly. They were alive, and Nuawahn was always happy to see someone alive. They had to struggle hard to stay alive, though, and that was bad: He wanted to help.
Nuawahn set his good hand – the one not in the sling – on the man's belly bandages, letting his magic wisp out and touch the flesh beneath, just to check. He'd have to change the bandages anyway, but he wanted to make sure he knew what was under them. And – he flicked out with his magic, nudging the echoing wrongness of the man's wound – make sure it wasn't worse when he took it off. That could happen. ”Hi!” he chirped, rubbing sweet-smelling salve on his hands. He didn't know why he needed to do that, but he'd seen the healers do that, so Nua supposed they had a good reason. He watched and learned because he loved them and wanted to do what they did, and be what they were. One day, he would understand. For now, he was a very good mimic.
He started, carefully, to lift up the bandages, his expression focused and almost childish, as if this was a game. It was a game to Nuawahn - A good game, one where everybody came out better and happier. His kind of game, like tag where he played with friends and they ran around and around and then collapsed in soft grass, laughing with joy. A good game. He didn't like thinking about what else his job was. He didn't like thinking about how the bandage, salve, and magic were the only thing keeping this man from death. He didn't like thinking about how the wound might have happened, or how much pain the man must have went through, or how much pain the man was in right now. Thinking about those things made Nuawahn upset and sad, sometimes even sick. Nua didn't want to know. He just wanted to make him better.
He took off the bandages and set them aside to be washed, looking puzzledly at the revealed wound. It looked the same as the day before, though there was fresh, vibrant pink where his preliminary spell had nudged the wound into healing. Not bad pink, where it was warm and swollen, good pink, like a blush on a cool day. That was a good sign. But it was still raw and red and bad everywhere else and that was not a good sign.
Nuawahn began to clean away the worst of it, putting a numbing salve onto the wound before he began. Cleaning it didn't help it much, but when he poked it with his magic again, it felt less wrong, so he knew he'd done good. He began putting on the other things he'd been told to put on, applying salves with the same care he had observed, not understanding what each one did. He knew one was to make sure the cleaning stayed clean, and another was to make it healthy again, but he didn't know how or why. He wanted to try to learn, though.
When he was done, he let his magic trickle in, feeling it pool in the wound. He liked this part, when his magic glowed and the skin glowed, and then things began to grow and be alive. He was only allowed to use a little bit – he wasn't healed yet and other patients would need his magic too - But even little bit was enough. Once the really bad things were healed, then the body could heal on its own, and that was very very good. He felt the wrongness of the injury subside as he nudged it together with his magic, knitting together bit by bit as it healed.
He felt himself grow woozy and knew he had to stop and rest for a little. It was so hard to stop healing once he'd started, though. Healing felt so good – he just wanted to keep going until the man was all better. But he had been told that if he felt woozy he needed to stop, and Nuawahn was obedient – he reluctantly pulled his magic away and started bandaging the man again.
He finished and, with a somewhat tired smile, he stood up and staggered back to bed, waving with exhausted cheer at the healer in the tent before lying back down on his cot. He hoped he wouldn't stay tired, and that he wouldn't be like this forever. It wasn't fun.
But he'd been told that he would get better, that his head had been hurt and it would make everything difficult, and it would take a while for everything to get better, but that it would soon if he was careful. So, Nua was careful.
But he wanted to get better now.
He had seen so much pain, and when he closed his eyes sometimes he saw it again. The battle was still scary, but he had learned not to be scared of it as he'd worked through his nightmares. The trick was realizing that he could take all that pain away. Someday, he could do it. Someday, he would do it. He had done it now, with his magic and his salve, and he would do it more when his head healed and he had grown up a bit and learned more. He would be able to take away a lot of pain, and without pain, people would be happy.
And he wanted to make people happy. That was all he wanted out of his life.
The thought sent him into a light, pleasant doze. When he woke again he would be ready to help more people and do more things. He liked that thought. He smiled, and drifted off into a not-unpleasant half sleep.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 29, 2014 7:40 am
Things I see
Nuawahn and Mella - 77 words
Nuawahn had had occasion to return to the Tale more than once. Normally, he did nothing the same way twice. However, these other times, he always passed by a certain rock, one with a painting of a capramel. It always made him grin, and La'amu snort in tired annoyance.
He wasn't going to forget the painter Mella, or her 'Amma Rock', and it helped him remember the events of that day...
And the horrors that came after...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 10, 2014 5:16 pm
The Old Goat
Class Quest - 568 words Nuawahn sat there, holding La'amu's limp head, unbelieving. Her eyes were closed and her massive horns touched the ground as he stroked her fur, again and again, unwilling to believe that there was no life left in her bulky, aged body.
He rested his head on her ribcage, listening for the beat of her heart, so familiar and omnipresent. How often had he listened to it while trying to fall asleep? How often had its rhythm chased away his nightmares? Now he was met only with silence and the fading traces of warmth.
“Here, boy.” he looked up at the old woman, his normally sparkling eyes dulled and reddened with grief. She held a bowl of steaming vegetable broth in her hands. “Eat this.” He stared at her, uncomprehending, unwilling to try to comprehend the world as it was now. “You have to eat something, boy.” She waited, but he did nothing, but look at her.
He could feel the fog in his mind, swirling at the background and he willed it to come and take him away from this lonely reality.
La'amu was gone. His Amma was gone. There had not been a time without her, and now...
Now there was, and it was horrible.
The woman set the bowl down and sat next to him, taking his hand in hers. “I'm sorry, boy.” she said, “For what happened, and also for yelling at you like that. You and her... you were close?”
Nuawahn nodded. He looked down at La'amu's bristly fur, and how it framed her face.
“La'amu, you said her name was?”
Nuawahn nodded.
“Aye, yes... I knew her dam. Helped this one out of the womb myself, I think...” the old woman stroked the capramels' fur gently. “She was a fine young calf.” she said, reminiscing, “Had a good strong voice.”
Nuawahn sniffled, remembering his capramel's voice – how she would bellow at him to wake up, and grumble at him to slow down. He would hear that voice no more.
“Aye. A fine young calf... And now she's gone... It's sad.” Nuawahn barely moved as the woman's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “But thats how life goes. You're born, and you die. She lived a good life, eh?”
Nuawahn nodded.
“That's all one can ask for.” she said, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Now come on, boy. Put her down and have yourself something to eat – she'd want that, right?”
Nuwahn hesitated, tracing the curve of her horn. He wanted to stay here with her, as if nothing had happened, as if that brilliant, flickering candle of her life had not gone out beneath his own hands. If he left, he felt, she would die – she would be completely and truly dead and gone. Eventually, though, the woman's logic got through.
He nodded, reluctantly, and set La'amu's head down on the cavern floor gently.
“Good boy.” she said, helping him to his feet, the bowl cradled in her hands, “Lets get you to the fire, where it's warm and bright and we can tell stories and such. You look like a lad that likes stories. And we can plan the funeral.”
”Funeral?” he asked, blinking.
“Aye. To see the old girl off right.” she said, smiling softly.
”That sounds... nice.” said Nuawahn, his voice dull as he numbly took his place by the fire.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 6:24 am
On the Road to Recovery
Nuawahn and Uquin- 120 words
If Nuawahn understood how concussions worked and how they were dangerous and affected everything, he would be extremely grateful to Uquin for his fast action and help.
But Nuawahn didn't entirely understand, and – for many reasons including his head trauma – didn't really remember Uquin most of the time.
When he did remember, however, he knew he was grateful to him for something, and he really liked the Leaf man. He'd been nice, very nice, and Nuawahn would wonder how he was doing.
And then he would forget again, Uquin's face (and the comforting feel of his shoulder) receding, like many memories, into the fog that clouded Nuawahn's brain, and the wind teenager would go on with his life.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Nov 09, 2014 8:54 am
Endless Confusion
Meta Ch. 6 Response - 233 words
The Battle was over, that much Nuawahn knew as beaten Oban troops walked by him into the Oban camp. His 'supervisor' had forced him back to the camp and left him to fend for himself, and so Nuawahn had, so much as sitting on a tree stump and helplessly watching as people moved around him. His headache was subsiding slightly, but as the pain receded the fog returned, bringing forgetfulness with it.
There were things, though, that the wind healer could not forget: Blood and death, terror and despair, the screaming of the people, the screaming of Ogbonna... and the hate he had seen in the eyes of the others.
Nuawahn had never been hated before, and he didn't know what to do about it, besides cringe and cry. The battle was over, and he heard the whispers of the Obans, saying that they had lost, that they had surrendered. Their voices were angry, or neutral, or simply tired... Nuawahn could feel that pain, but he didn't know what the loss of the Obans meant, not for him.
In that not knowing, that painful uncertainty, Nuawahn felt isolated, alone, and ill. He held his knees to his chest and waited for the fog to bring back what he knew he had: calm, cheer, life, and love. But all that came on it's silver blankness was fear.
Only Fear.
Nuawahn wanted to go home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 17, 2014 5:56 am
Captured - 556 words
Nuawahn Neued Solo pt 1 – Captured
In Nuawahn's short life, he had learned that there was good pain and bad pain. Good pain meant you were doing something right – it was the pain he felt when he was climbing, or running, or jumping into a cold lake. Good pain led to fun. Bad pain meant injuries and unpleasant things. It was bad.
He hurt all over, from his flesh to his soul, and as he stared at the walls of the tent, afraid, he knew this was not good pain.
His captors had not been gentle. Ogbonna had tried to help him, but in the end it had made things worse. Nuawahn was battered when they had bound his wrists, bruised when they had shoved him in the prisoner tents, and beaten when they wrenched him from the relative comfort of his fellow prisoners and dragged him, struggling and frightened, to a more solitary tent.
He was alone, tied to a chair so that he could not escape, away from his friends and his lover. Alone. Not even Jelta, his Moracker, was with him – she had escaped from his pocket, and he found himself missing her warm presence. What he really missed was La'amu the warm presence that was there no longer.
He wanted Ogbonna too. Ogbonna had promised to keep the bad people away: Nuawahn had forgotten much, but he had remembered that promise.Ogbonna had failed. The bad people had hurt Ogbonna, and had hurt Nuawahn, and had taken them away from each other. The promise had been broken, but Nuawahn couldn't blame Ogbonna for it: it had happened so fast, and Ogbonna wasn't perfect.
He wondered what the Obans would do with him, now that they had him apart from the others. He wondered and wondered, but he had no idea. He just knew he was scared. Having no other choice, Nuawahn waited there for a long time. He knew it was a long time because the light changed, the shadows shimmering across the tent as the day passed before fading into a dusky hue. He wondered , because there was nothing else to do, why nothing had happened yet and why he was still alone. He was hungry – he hadn't eaten since they had given him a ration of gruel and taken him away from the group.
Dusk darkened into night, and still he was alone. His stomach growled against his restraints. Nothing, still nothing. The tent became impossibly dark, and he felt fear uncoil sinuously inside of him. Nuawahn had always been afraid of the dark – it was solid and real in a way that the fog in his head was not, and it hid things that he dared not think about. Fortunately, he could do something about it.
He summoned a light, a brilliant bubble of luminescence and hope, and sighed in relief as the darkness retreated from it, his mind easing.
The tent flap suddenly opened, and a fist cracked against his jaw. He – in his chair - toppled down, the light in his hand vanishing as he cried out in pain and surprise. “No lights.” growled the Oban, roughly lifting the chair with Nuawahn in it back upright, “No magic.” Nuawahn nodded, his jaw hurting, but the Oban had already walked away, leaving him in the dark again, all alone.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 17, 2014 5:58 am
An Offer Refused - 684 words
Nua knew he must have fallen asleep, but he didn't know how. Last he'd remembered, he'd been wide awake, staring at the darkness around him in terror. He knew there was nothing in the darkness, but darkness itself frightened him, its shadows seeming to seek him out, crawling along the ground to hunt him. That it had no teeth meant nothing: He had wanted to make a light to drive it away, but he didn't want to face the Oban's wrath again.
He opened his eyes, his jaw aching, not to total darkness but to dim light. He wondered why they were doing this to him. He'd been a good prisoner, not like Ogbonna. Ogbonna fought the Obans at every step, and in return they had hurt Ogbonna. Nua hadn't fought. Why were they hurting him?
The day passed by, bit by bit, the sun's rays moving through the tent slowly. Nuawahn, though, kept time by his stomach more than the sun, and his stomach was empty. He was hungry, very hungry, but the pain eventually receded into a sullen ache..
He barely noticed the arrival of noon until the tent opened and the smell of food touched his nose and stomach and perked him up, hopeful. A spoonful of something – gruel, porridge, Nuawahn didn't care – was shoved in front of his mouth and he took it, hungrily. A table of sorts was brought in, and another chair, and one of the Obans untied Nuawahn's hands and passed him a piece of bread. As Nua lifted it to his mouth, an Oban man, decorated and clearly respected by the rest, sat across from him, watching him.
“Hello.” they said.
“Hi...” Nuawahn said warily through a mouthful.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“No.”
“I am in charge of the... volunteers... here.”
“Volunteers?” The word confused Nuawahn.
“Peoplewho have seen that a better path lies in aiding us. We are here to civilize the people of your land, and volunteers want to help.” the man smiled, feline-like. “They get to go around the camp as they like, and they get food and water and fair treatment in return for their assistance. We think you should be a volunteer, too.” his smile grew, “You would be freed and fed, not kept in a cage. Not like your friend... Oh yes, your friend. The young bezerker with the spined shoulders...” he tapped at the table, and Nuawahn did not question how the man knew about Ogbonna. It was clear to nuawahn that the man knew everything. He was omnicient and, the food attested, omnipotent. A cup of water was pressed into his hands and Nuawahn drank, greedily.
“Is Oggie okay?” he asked, after he had his fill of the drink.
“Mmm... He had to be punished... but, if you volunteer, you can help him...” his eyes drifted to Nuawahn's hands, “You would be so... useful... to us. As a healer. And if you volunteered, you could heal him too.” he held out a hand. “What do you say?”
Nuawahn thought for a moment. Something about the offer didn't sit well with him. The man seemed nice, but Nuawahn, in a rare moment of clarity, could sense a snake. Ogbonna was fighting them... he wouldn't want Nuawahn to help them.
“No...” he said, his voice small and frightened. The man's face did not change.
“I see.” Suddenly, he lashed out with a cane, knocking the water and the remains of the bread from Nuawahn's hands. He struck again, knocking Nuawahn to the ground. “I hope you reconsider.” he said, shoving him with his foot.
“What do we do with him?” asked one of the Obans.
“Let him sit for a little while longer.” Nuawahn could hear the smirk in the man's voice, “We'll see if he changes his tune when I come back. I think he'll turn...” he laughed, “He's a simple one, after all. He won't be hard.” he gave Nuawahn's chair another shove, and left him there. Alone. Again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 17, 2014 6:06 am
Turned to Darkness - 574 words
The light in the tent was fading, dusk stealing it away into night. Nuawahn pleaded, whimpering, for the light to come back, but to no avail. Scared, he cast his spell again.
But then the Oban came, slamming a hand into his shoulder this time. “No lights, No magic.” he growled again, and then left. They returned a moment later, and Nuawahn squirmed as a rough, stinking cloth was wrapped around his face. “This'll keep ya.” they said smugly, pleased with themselves, before they left Nuawahn there, in a darkness greater than night.
~~~
The blindfold did it's fell duty and morning never came for Nuawhan. The day was an endless, timeless darkness. He sat very still, afraid of what he could not see, without even the hope of his magic.
No kindly Shifter healer came to save him this time. No Amma comforted him with her musky, familiar scent. No warm, spiny body lay next to him to snuggle against. He was alone, he was bound, he was hungry, and he was scared.
He heard one of the men – not the man – come in again. The hand they placed on his shoulder was rough and threatening, and their voice in Nuawahn's ear was course – ground and dried by the desert sand. “Enjoy your night?” the man whispered in his ear, “I heard you whimpering the whole time” he laughed, quietly, “I just wanted you to know, boy, that if you don't help us, if you give us any reason to do it, we'll hurt your friend...” the man's hand was tight on Nuawahn's shoulder, the fingers digging into the bruises. “We'll hurt all of your friends.” he hissed, “And we will make you watch us hurt them.” he released the pressure, and left, laughing.
Nuawahn felt him leave, and shuddered in his wake, afraid. He believed the Obans. He knew that they meant what they said. If he was bad, people would be hurt. He had been hurt, so it made sense that they would hurt others.
It felt like an eternity before Nuawahn heard the voice of the catlike man, and he was grateful to hear it, despite it's cruel tone.
“Well? Your decision, boy.” said the man, “Have you made one?”
Nuawahn nodded.
“Take off the blindfold.” Nuawahn blinked gratefully at the light. “So?” The man asked, “What is it?”
“Yes. Yes, please.” said Nuawahn, eagerly, “I'm... I'm gonna help you!”
The man grinned. “Good.” he said, turning to guards that lurked behind them, “We have ourselves a volunteer.”
The Obans behind him snickered.
“Untie him and take him to the mess for a meal.” he ordered. Nuawahn felt – with a surge of relief – the bindings on his wrists slip away, “And then to the quartermaster for his sash. And then put him to work in the healer's tent.” He smirked, “Welcome to your new life, boy. You will make a good...” he paused, “Volunteer.”
“And you... won't hurt my friends?” Nuawahn asked, quietly.
“Mmm...” the man said. Nuawahn took it, hopefully, as a yes. As he was bustled off, he decided he'd made the right choice. For himself. For everybody. For Ogbonna. And, as the blessed sunlight stroked his face and his eyes, he was – for a moment – happy.
That moment, though justified, was brief, for he would soon learn the true consequences of being a traitor...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2015 8:02 am
Snowball Fight - 166 words
Nuawahn built himself a snow village. That was all. No deep philosophical thoughts, no terrible ironies...
Just snow.
There was a lot of snow around.
Nuawahn liked snow. Snow was cold and wet and clumped together to his will, and he could build all sorts of things with it. All the snowballs packed and crushed around the 'battleground' made excellent building blocks for snow people and buildings. He worked tirelessly and joyfully, piecing together a whole scene, his blocky people interacting with blocky structures and doing blocky, cold things. It was fake, it was happy, and he was happy. Memoryless, lost, he was happy. He had found Mella, after all.
Soon, though, it was time to leave his scene to be buried by the storm. As he headed to the temporary encampment on the Sauti side, built for the travellers who had come to play in the annual game, he looked back at his scene, and smiled, something good half remembered.
And then he skipped away.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2015 9:28 am
Ephemeral Clarity - 72 words
Nuawahn slept peacefully, free of the nightmares that troubled him so often. Sometimes, he half woke, his head wobbling and spinning and feeling sick. But he would turn, and smell Ogbonna's rich warm scent and things would be better and he would sleep again.
He slept and slept: there was much healing for his body to do, and sleep was the only way to do it. And Ogbonna was the best pillow.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Feb 21, 2015 10:45 pm
Out in the Market - 250 words
Nua was so sad that he could barely sleep on the hard, sand-smelling floor, even wrapped as he was with the cloth that he liked to take with him. The origins of the cloth were shrouded in mystery, but he liked them. They smelled of places past – and the past was so precious and rare to him. It flitted like butterflies just beyond where he could see it, but when he lay on his fabric, he was... almost... there. Normally, that reassurance that the past existed was enough to put him into a blissful slumber, but tonight it failed for longer than usual.
He had met a nice girl, and the nice girl was sad because she couldn't go on an adventure. They had been happy, and now she was sad and Nua was sad. He had wanted to go and play with someone – he hadn't realized how alone he had been, or how long... it had to have been for a long time, though. A time full of eerie silence and nothingness that drifted like a nightmare, waiting to strike.
Was Khalel all alone too? Did she, like Nuawahn, linger away from sleep? He didn't know. He couldn't tell. And he had a sinking and terrible feeling that he would never see her again... or, worse, that he would forget her. That he would see her and never remember.
He cuddled into his pile of fabrics forgotten, and cried until sleep came to claim him at last.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
