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 Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2015 10:44 am
Crafting: Home at Last
Rank 12-> Rank 13
Created: Potion of Elemental Poison (Dark) x 2
Home at Last (Elemental Poison)
Malta had been pointed in the right direction, indeed. Soon, she began to smell the smells of farms and animals, of hot glass and khehora. With each drawing of breath, memories revealed themselves – old ones, from long ago. She relaxed in the familiarity of it all as the lairs and mounds of the Settlement came into view.
She hadn't been here since she was an Orakoi, but it was as marvellous – if slightly smaller – than she had remembered. More so, even, since things had changed in the time she had been gone. There were new ornaments on the doors, for instance, and what looked like a market appeared to have grown up in the nearby valley. But so much was the same.
There was no physical line between the Terra Expanse and the rest of the town, but crossing into the Settlement felt like she had passed over some barrier, some physical, mental, and spiritual line.
Home...
Suddenly and incredibly eager to see her family, she trotted towards their lair. It looked much the same on the outside, and was not much more than an artificially extended cave. But it was here she had hatched, here she had taken her first tremulous steps, here she had chirped her first unintelligible words. As she entered, she felt a sudden easing of her muscles. She was safe. She was home. She wept at that realization, at that feeling that had so long eluded her.
She was home
At last she was home.
~~~
It was only months later that Malta realized that she hadn't kept her promise to the young Orakovan. Settled in at a point where she was comfortable with leaving briefly, she set out to find him and right her wrong. She found his tribe, but not knowing his name, it was difficult to find him. Eventually, with a description, she learned that a similar young khehora had left his tribe not long after she had arrived. No one knew what had become of him, or the clutchmate that had gone with him.
“I'm worried about him.” she commented to her old teacher. Now his peer (to her surprise), she helped him in his apothecary often. It was good to see him, and wonderful to be respected and appreciated for her work.
“No need to be.” he huffed, “Males wander off for whatever reason, and then they come back just fine. Thats what they do. I'm sure he's forgotten about that promise thing anyway. Again, that's what they do. Now help me with this...” he squinted at a recipe list, “What do I add to make it elemental, again?”
“A dragon orb.” Malta handed the dragon orb – with its oily preparation to suck out its magical power – to the old Peisio khehora.
“Excellent.” he plopped it into his mixture – one of mushrooms and dragon blood. “Anyway, you have better things to worry about than bratty lower-mountain tribe orakoi.” he smirked slyly, stirring, “Like suitors.”
“Suitors?!” It was a strange thought, still, that she could be wanted. Or have a mate.
“Oh yes. I can guarentee you that within the next week, they will be lining up to make their case to you. You're quite a catch, you know... a crafter and a healer with powerful magic., and pretty besides. And you know about Oblivionites – knowledge of the world is the most attractive of all. So you have ability, brains, and beauty. Not bad. Lovely young males and females from all over the settlement are thinking about trying for your paw within the week, and I've heard rumors from the forest tribes in our land that they might send suitors too. You, my dear...” he grinned, “Are one respected lady. Aren't you glad you decided to leave that grody old warrior tribe?”
“Uh... gosh.” Malta blinked, turning to the potion and stirring nervously. “I didn't realize.” She was respected. She was desirable. It was a lot to take in, after being called a runt for most of her life.
He laughed, but his face turned serious again – an expression it was well suited for. “It's going to be overwhelming.” he said, “If you ever just need to talk, and you don't want to worry your siblings about it... I'm here.” his gleeful grin returned, “... or if none of your suitors are good enough for you. I'm here too.”
Malta squeaked, staring at him in shock. “Wh... what?!” she exclaimed.
He moved the potion off the heat to cool – it had turned a murky, swirling ink-black. “I'm kidding.” he said, “Mostly.” he sighed, “Don't worry about it. Anyway, I'm here for you if you need me.” he huffed, “That's all.”
“O-okay.” she said, uncertain, getting the bottles ready. It was a lot to think about. Too much for her. She focused on potions, something she could understand. "Wh-what next?" she asked, preparing for the next recipe...
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Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2015 12:04 pm
Broken Promises
Kekeovonnai and Malta
199 Words
Malta huddled in the cavern next to the other two khehora, shivering to warm both herself and them as she tucked her head between her forelegs. That had been an interesting meeting – certainly she'd never thought to see a khehora with an Ikri on his back – but also a disturbing one.
While it was nice that the young khehora was safe and sound and inquisitive, she could see, already, that his inquisitiveness would get him into terrible trouble. It was worrying, but she barely knew who she was. Was it good to worry about someone one barely knew?
She thought it might be. She thought it was.
Funny, though, that he should be going to Soldul. She did not question his need to go to the dark land, though his homeland was the mountains. She had no right to.
But she was on her way, soon, to Serenia. How ironic – two travellers from the mountains going to very different lands. Serenia, though, frightened her. What would the land of light be like to one so used to shadow?
But she knew: Criani, at least, would protect her. And perhaps Kekeovonnai's sister would protect him in kind.
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Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2015 9:03 pm
Mark of a Man
Malta and Castor
211 WordsThe moment that Castor walked out of the door Malta knew, deep in her soul, that it was time to go. He had done – and been marked with - a great deed already, and would be meeting with Lord Draco, the leader of his people, soon. Malta wanted to meet Lord Draco – the Shadows Maw tribe held a deep appreciation for the voice and hands of their goddess – but she knew where her place was. Like it or not, she had a duty to the tribe. Like it or not, she had to go back to them and make a name for herself. Too long she had coasted on her talent and tried to stay out of their perception. Too long had she let herself be undermined and unappreciated. She had to go back. She had to do her job. She had to, like her friend, grow up. And so, after staying to talk to the tattoo artists a while longer, she began to pack away her things and talk to people she knew could help her arrange an escort out of the city. She would miss this place, for all of its walls and stone. She would miss its people. But it was, still, time to go.
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Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2015 3:51 pm
Crafting: Overwhelmed
Rank 13-> Rank 14
Created: Basic Energizer -> Traded for 1x Pearl
841 Words
Malta set her brew - a mixture of restorative herbs, analgesics, and astringents that would keep a wound from being infected - to boil. It was nearing the beginning of the hunting season, when many fights against beasts, Magescians, and other Khehora would, invariably, occur. The Settlement would need what poultices and potions their alchemists could provide, and there was never enough. There were, currently, four alchemists in the settlement, including Malta and her teacher, and nine full-time healers, all of them working as hard as they could to prepare for the onslaught of injuries.
Malta still thought of the gruff, older Peisio she worked with as her teacher, though she had long since become his equal in talent and ability. Sometimes – because of the array of recipes she had learned in her travels and from the books that Ataya had helped her read – she was the one teaching him. He was at least half a century older than her, though, and she had known him since she was an Orakoi. He exuded an aura of authority that made it easy to think of him as her superior, even when he himself protested. The gruff and offhand manner that he protested made it that much harder to believe them, and accept him as her equal. Eventually he gave up, grumbling occasionally about stubbornness and foolishness. This was just fine with her.
She removed the leaves that had steeped with the other ingredients, setting them aside to assess them for other uses. She added a small portion of animal fat to the potion's tannin-rich brew, and reduced it to a paste with the addition of a harmless, starchy root dust. The mixture congealed as she stirred it with a claw, and she used her magic to force it to stay smooth, so that it would apply evenly when put on a wound.
“Looks good.” commented the Peisio, his sulfurous yellow eyes gleaming in the dimming sunlight. He nudged the enchanted glows of his lair and workshop into brightness, flooding the steam-filled space with colored light.
“I think it will work.” said Malta, carefully ladling the muck into a jar and sealing it with wax.
The Peisio scoffed. “It probably will.” he added the jar to the pile. “Thats a full batch, and we're out of herbs.” he commented.
Malta gazed rapidly about her, startled. “Oh! So we are! I'll have to get more from my garden...” she glanced towards the door, trepidation seizing her paws.
“Well? What's keeping you?” he snarled halfheartedly. His snarls and growls and snaps did not seem to have an effect on the young Ysali. They were all noise and no bite anyway, but few realized that fact save her, something that had always both frustrated and comforted him.
Malta slunk warily to the opening of the lair and peered out into the mountainous Settlement around them. Clusters of Khehora, young and old, male and female sat around the area. They could have simply been resting, but the various gifts – pearls, gems, orbs, and other finery - at their feet said otherwise.
They were waiting for her.
Malta retreated back into the safety of the lair as she caught the eye of one of them, and she grimaced. “Suitors...” she said, apologetically, “There's just so many of them... I don't know what to do.”
“Be flattered, that's what.” said her teacher, moving to stand next to her. He peered out himself and treated all of the suitors to an irritable glower, “You're desirable. Enjoy it.”
“But! I don't know how to deal with all this attention...”
He sighed. “Give me a moment.” He stomped out of his lair, his wings flared. “All right, all of you! You have better things to do than to stalk my student like she was prey in the forest! Get off my road!” he snarled, “Get!” he said, when they hesitated, “We're busy, you lazy, scale-trodden worms, go do things!” he snapped at them, exaggeratedly, “Go on!”
Grumbling, hesitatingly, the group – really only ten or so – began to disperse, save for the most determined among them.
“There.” the Peisio said, returning smugly to his lair, “That got most of them. But you're only going to stop getting so much attention when you favor one for a while...” he shook his head, “So pick one already.”
Malta crooned gratefully and gazed out on the much thinned crowd. This, she could handle. “I just don't know who to choose...”
“Well, I don't know either.” he snapped, “Don't worry too much, brat. They have others to choose from – if you don't like them, they eventually won't come by.”
“But I don't know what I want...”
“I don't know either.” he repeated, giving her a nudge, “Go, get those ingredients.” he said, smirking despite his sour tone, “We've lots more of those poultices to do.”
“Allright.” Malta said, giving him a closed-mouth khehoran smile as she stode out towards her garden.
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Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2015 3:56 pm
Decision
937 Words
Serenia had been a hell of light and Orderites and dragons, but it was finally over: Malta had somehow made it back alive. The caves of the Settlement, artificial and otherwise, eased the stress of her long and harrowing journey with their reassuring familiarity. She breathed a sigh of relief as she padded among them.
Among the Khehora who had been her haven on Serenia – Criani and the young Honoka – Malta had realized something, a long-wordless desire that had been aching deep inside her. Honoka had been so young, a mere teenage Khehora learning about her world. Malta chose to ignore the odd fact that Honoka was the 'daughter' of a terrifying Orderite – made unpredictable by her kindness and her khehora-friendly ways. The main point was that she was someone's daughter, and someone's student, and would soon enough be an Orakovan, out to take on the world and explore. Maybe, someday, she would have a family of her own.
That was what Malta wanted, she had realized. A family: lots of little orakoi wiggling happily around her, protected from harm by her wings. They would grow up to be strong and satisfied among her brothers and sisters and maybe go on amazing and incredible adventures. Or, perhaps better yet, stay home and safe with her, supporting her and – if she was fortunate - following in her clawprints and becoming respected alchemists of the Settlement.
She could feel the need already blossomed inside her to produce the next generation of Khehora, a potent flower that had sustained in her kind since the first Khehora had run feral. It was the path to the future, the drive to continue her species, and she could not resist its call. Her body had finally matured. Her instincts were ready, standing at attention. In the past few years, she had aided with other Khehora nests. She had watched over them and cared for the eggs of her friends while they stretched their legs and wings. She had practiced. Now she was ready, and – with the end of her adventure all about her – she knew that she was ready with great certainty.
The problem was, she had no mate, and none of her suitors felt right in that special way that a mate was to feel. She wished she could create eggs on her own, without having to choose and be 'chosen,' but that was impossible. She also did not simply want to take the eggs of another and raise them as her own. No. She wanted to feel the eggs within her; She wanted to grow gravid and, finally, lay her eggs in the soft construction of a nest, to brood over and speculate on the little ones that would come.
That left only one option, and it was not a bad option.
She stalked into her teacher's tent and strode up to him without introduction or greeting. He was working late into the evening, as he often did, and before he could do more than blink in surprise at her arrival, she spoke.
“I accept your offer.” she expelled forcefully before he could greet her.
“Welcome back yourself.” he grumbled at her, huffing in annoyance, “What offer?”
“When I came back, you said that if I grew tired of my suitors, I could choose you instead.” She stared at him levelly, “Well, I am taking your offer.”
“You want to court me.” he said, incredulously, “Me.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her for a long moment, sulfurous yellow eyes intent on her face. Finally, he sighed. “I was joking.” he muttered, looking away.
“You were mostly joking.” she corrected, “But you were serious enough. I choose you.” she turned to her bag, dragging a large chunk of Serenian moonstone out and dropping it at his feet. “There, that is my courting gift.” she said.
He stared at the stone, at a loss for words. “Child...” he murmured, after a time, “How far... do you want to go with this...” he hesitated, “I'll do it. But... how far?”
She flared her fins aggressively, as if daring him to say no. “At least until I clutch.” she said. It was odd. She knew what she was asking. She knew the process that would result in a clutch. But suddenly, at the stunned widening of his eyes, she realized what that would mean personally. She would have to breed with him. The thought scared her. She could not, however, back down now – she had never been more certain of a decision in her life, not even when she had decided to leave her mother's tribe and return to the lands of her birth.
“You're serious.” he murmured. Malta thought she caught a flash of sadness or, perhaps, uncertainty in the Peisio's eyes. “Well...” he tapped the rock, as if to solidify his own decision. “Very well. All right then. Fine. Yes.” he hissed softly, “Now get out. Go home.”
Malta blinked.
“Go.” He growled irately, “I said yes, didn't I? Be here tomorrow. Don't be late.” he shooed her out of his lair, “Now go see your damn family, and leave me to my thoughts.”
Malta was hustled outside and turned, frowning, her tail lashing as she contemplated going back in and doing... something. She did not know what. After a few moments, though, she realized that it was, indeed, to family she needed to go. And so, she began to trot off in the direction of the family's lair, eager to see her siblings and tell them the news...
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Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2015 3:58 pm
 Walking with Roshon
1140 WordsRoshon growled irately at the Ysali. “For the last time, child, stop calling me 'Teacher.'” he muttered, “My name is Roshon... Roshon, you little sap.” They were walking along a mountain stream, a crystal-clear seasonal trickling that fed the gardens and farmlands of the Settlement, a beautiful spot in any season. At this time of year, it was lined with rows of colorful mountain flowers. Roshon had picked this spot for the usual getting-to-know-you activities of courting because it was comprised of both of their elements – water and plant – and they would both be comfortable. He wasn't entirely sure about the couple they made, and he certainly did not love her in that way couples were supposed to. They were masterful alchemists both, and he felt a professional regard for her. Beyond that, he might dare to call the young Ysali his friend, or at least his ally. He did like her – or, more accurately, he did not dislike her. But he did not love her. He knew, though, that she wasn't doing this for love anyway. For some Khehora, there came a time when the need to breed came long before there was anybody to do it with. Others never felt the need at all. He had been the former himself. In his case, he had simply been too much of an a** – a trait he admitted to willingly - to find a mate of any sort, and it had eventually subsided into a loneliness, only broken by a vague attempt with a female long ago. That dalliance had resulted in a clutch, though the eggs never hatched, and were revealed, when help was attempted, to be duds – dead goo inside a shell. The female had blamed his bad attitude, and he had had no suitors since. He had decided that was just fine. But he remembered the loneliness and stress of that time and, though Malta's problem was opposite his own, he had offered himself up to help her. “Listen.” he said, looking over her rounded body, “You call me Roshon, I call you Malta, and that's how it will be until the clutch hatches, all right?” Hatching was a very optimistic word. Roshon honestly expected little out of Malta's clutch – mainly because it was her first clutch. Those rarely turned out as well as anyone hoped. He was a pessimist, and considering how his only clutch had turned out, and that she herself had needed assistance to hatch, he thought that a dud clutch would be a reasonable outcome. He was sure, though, that she would make up for the loss in her second or third clutches with a more virile male than he. A first clutch, especially one like that, would be better experienced with someone who was more worldly and sympathetic. He supposed he was, in this way, her teacher still, teaching her the ways of an adult Khehora... despite knowing little to nothing about it. “No more 'Teacher' or 'Child' or 'Brat'.” “All right.” said Malta. She could agree to something where she was no longer called a 'brat'. She didn't mind the nickname – he'd called her it all of her life – but she did like the respect that came with her first name. “So, Roshon...” using his name felt alien and strange in her mouth, but she was used to the strange names of the Magescians, and her tongue adapted quickly, “May I ask you a question?” “Ask away.” “Where are you from, Roshon?” Roshon blinked at the query. “Uh.” he had been expecting different, more along the lines of scholarly or technical questions, though he did not know why. He was courting her – these questions were bound to come up. “Well, I wasn't born here. I'm from a tribe by the coast, in Settlement territory. My sister and I moved here so we could better practice our crafts – its hard to make potions or, in her case, art, when all you have is surf and sand and sometimes stones. Anyway, we came here as Orakoir.” “And your sister? Is she still an artisan here?” “Nope.” he said distantly. “She passed away – got very sick and died just about... oh, about a few years before you were born.” he shrugged, “A while ago now.” “I'm sorry.” Malta said politely, “And your tribe? Do you still visit them?” “Nope. I heard the Mara got them. Could have been another tribe, though. They fight all the time, by the coast.” he said, his voice sneering, “Thats part of the reason why I left.” he glanced at her, “You got a taste of it, I hear, in Soldul.” “Not so much warring.” she admitted, “But they were always ready for it.” “Pretty much the same.” he said, glancing up as birds flittered and chimed in the trees. Malta took the opportunity afforded by his looking away to look at him – to really look at him. He was, structurally, a very ordinary khehora, lean with muscle and powerful of wing. His scales were the clear sky-blue of the cloudless desert days. His wing membrane and belly was streaked with dark peridot greens like hardy grasses, but most of his body – indeed, from his head to his tail – shimmered in the sunlight. Much like how Detraeus's friend Lithian's scales were ridged with blue, all of the smaller scales of this khehora's body were ridged with an iridescent silver. As Roshon walked, they moved and slid against each other, an almost mesmerizing display of light and flow that reminded Malta of the ocean in the moonlight. “Did you know...” she said, her fins fluttering slightly as she revealed her thoughts, “That you have beautiful scales?” “Hmm?” Roshon twisted his neck to glance at his back, the movement of his scales pausing along with him. “No?” “Well you do.” she said shyly, “I like them.” “Good for you...” Roshon said, huffing in annoyance and turning to hide the slight flushing of his nose. “Yours aren't so bad themselves.” he said, “Even if it's painfully obvious that you are a Ysali, green and all.” From anybody else, such a comment would have sent Malta into a string of awkwardness, but not him. Somehow, for her teacher, she was used to it. “And blue isn't obvious?” she teased back at him, grinning. “Hey, brat, I have green in me. I could have been a Ysali all along, and you'd never know” he grimaced, “Sorry. Malta.” Malta laughed, feeling slightly eased of the stress her decision had brought. “It's all right... Roshon.” she said, moving closer to him. This she thought to herself, feeling his nearby heartbeat with her magic, is really very nice.
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Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2015 4:02 pm
Crafting: What Naarhiji Meant All Along
Rank 14-> Rank 15
Created: Basic Healing Potion x2 -> Trade for 2x Amber
Courting continued for a long time, and the suitors had dribbled away bit by bit until even the most hopeful (or desperate) of them had finally given up on her until she was next ready to chose a mate. With this relief, life went on, as did their job. Malta and Roshon still crafted together, two of the four creators of medicines and salves and potions for their village.
Injury season had long passed, and they had done well. There had been injuries, yes, but only a few deaths from dragons, thanks to the quick-acting medicines of the apothecaries, alchemists, and healers. It was now, as Malta termed it, the end of “Recovery season”, when they attempted to replenish all of the healing items that had been used and restore them to the appropriate stocks for their village. The first harvest was on its way, and, in general, it had been a good year thus far and the mood of the Settlement followed suit.
Malta mixed her potion, very aware of her Teacher... of Roshon... watching her. She had developed new recipes over her travels, and, he claimed, he learned a lot about his own craft by watching her. Malta doubted it – with the decades of experience he had over her, she was sure that what she was doing was nothing new. She wasn't sure if his scrutiny made her nervous or pleased, but she was glad when the delicate work of heating this honey solution – which had to be done just right to keep from ruining it – was done and she could begin to apportion it into its containers.
“Is there anything you need?” he said quietly, “I'm going into the market soon, and I know we have commissions from the warriors...”
“Amber.” she said, turning to look at him. He was very close to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her headfins. “I need amber for a potion of speed.” She nudged him softly, unable to resist the contact.
To her surprise, he – not usually so willing to touch her – returned the contact. “You know...” he murmured, “I don't have to go yet. There is no one around. There are only a few more orders to fill. and those... those can wait.” He nudged her, looking into her eyes. They blazed with a heat that Malta did not recognize, though she felt an answering heat stir inside of her. “It has been several months since we began this... whatever it is.” he continued, “Do you think you're ready to actually try the... breeding... part?”
“I...” she said, surprised, “I think I am?”
“We're not likely to get another chance.” he said softly. He was behaving oddly, and as he drew back and brought out, from under a blanket, two vials, Malta could see why.
“Are those...” she began.
“Yes. Medicine, to help with... desire.” he said.
“And that one...”
“I drank half.” he admitted, nudging the full dose to her, “Drink it. It will help you be sure.” He opened his own vial, half empty, with his claw and, awkwardly, drank the rest. “Go on.” he said, impatiently, “Drink.” Malta stared at the vial and its oily, rose and plum tinted contents. “Otherwise” he said with a heated huff, “I will be uncomfortably randy for no good reason.”
I might as well... she thought to herself, undoing the cork and swallowing it with a single gulp. She could feel the herbs and magic in the medicine begin their speedy work. She understood the potion in an intimate way, her magic trained to track and enhance the heart-quickening effects, the way it meddled with her mind and body to make her feel... Different.
The heat she had felt before grew quickly, sprouting and blossoming into something she was no longer so sure she could control. “I...”
“Don't be frightened...” he said, moving close again, nuzzling her between her wings gently. He had never been so gentle before, “Its natural. Its how things are supposed to be, without all the nerves and foolishness we let get in the way.” he began to purr, a startling sound, as he gently rubbed his horns along her neck, “Neither of us would do this of our own accord, you know? We're too busy, too absorbed in our own worlds... Its sad, but we need the drug to turn us off, to break the barriers between us, so we can do what we want to do. What you want to do.” his horns clinked against hers and he drew away, briefly, before nuzzling her face. “Do you? Want to?”
She shivered, her skin feeling more sensitive than scale-armored flesh had any right to be. She knew her answer. “Yes...” she said, her voice becoming a breathy gasp as his muzzle moved to the back of her neck and she arched, yelping, as he gently, playfully, nipped the fin that ran along her spine.
“All right then.” he said, his claws skittering tantalizingly, almost dancing, along her sides until they found a comfortable position. “Let us begin.”
Malta arched into his embrace and closed her eyes...
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Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2015 4:04 pm
Nesting Behavior
830 Words
Malta scooped the dry, clean-smelling grasses into a pile and nudged them around, here and there, until they formed a circle. She scrutinized it, and then nudged it around again. Not good enough.
“Ugh.” said the pale-scaled female, brooding over her single egg on the other side of the family's shared lair, “Just build the gods-damned thing already.”
Malta glared at the Aedaun, her Father's current mate. “I'll nest as I like.” she growled. Na'hari, the Aedaun, had an unusual talent for getting under her skin.
“Well, by the time you have it finished, you'll not only be ready to lay, but whatever wimp-spawn you produce will have their own mates.”
“I am not a wimp.” anymore Malta retorted, “And they will not be either.”
“They won't be anything if you take forever.”
“I will take as long as I like.” Malta rearranged the straw and herbs and plants again, looking it over and shaking her head. “Still not it...” she murmured.
“Just... sit on it, you stupid, plant-addled commoner.” snapped Na'hari.
Malta snarled and turned to face the Aedaun. “Here, there are no 'commoners'. Remember it, Aedaun.” she growled, her wings flaring with her wrath. She wanted to claw the female's obnoxiously beautiful nose, to bite her with her venomous bite and make her scream in pain... But she had to resist, for the sake of the egg nestled by her nemesis's side. “I am a crafter, of a high rank. You have no occupation.” Like her lazy brother, Baayo. “You are a layabout, an unproductive waste of the settlement's resources.” she advanced threateningly. She didn't know why the female made her so angry. She didn't know why her father had mated with the prissy horror in the first place. But she did, and he had, and there was little she could do about it. “If there was such a distinction, that would make you the commoner. Not me.”
Na'hari's nostril's flared. “How dare you!” she shrieked in indignation, half standing.
“Does it matter how?” came a syruppy voice from the entrance to the lair. A Kiandri stood, tail lashing in amusement before, with a confident stride, she walked in. One of her own offspring, a bouncy gold-and-green young orakovan, followed behind her and gave Malta a cheery nod. “Seems like she dared.”
“Lorii.” Na'hari said stiffly, glaring suspiciously at her mate's previous choice, with whom he had had his previous clutch. “What do you want.”
“Oh nothing.” the Kiandri said, “I just figured I would check in on the new mothers...” She smirked slyly at Malta, “Or the soon to be mother. And I see I was right to do so.” she positioned herself between the two – a risky prospect, as Malta's teeth glittered with oily venom, the kind that caused intense pain and infection with its strike. “See, we have a problem.”
“Oh?” Malta asked, backing away and getting her poison under control. She liked Lorii, and wished that she had known her when the Kiandri had been nesting. But Lorii's time with Malta's father had been during the years Malta had spent among her mother's tribe in Soldul.
“Oh yes. Its not good for mothers to get so agitated. Causes problems, you see.”
“How can I not be agitated” Na'hari said, “When she insists on building and rebuilding and rebuilding her nest?”
“You?! What about me!” hissed Malta, “You spend all day criticizing what I do, and none of it taking your own advice!”
“What is that supposed to mean, whelp?” snapped Na'hari, a glimmer of magic appearing at her mouth.
“Settle down.” said Lorii forcefully, “I have a solution. So, this family lair? Its gotten kind of small, hasn't it. See, what I was thinking, was that I have my brother build you all another neighboring lair, right next door. Malta could nest there, and you two would stop fighting...” she hesitated, “On your nests, anyway.”
Malta glared at her. “This is my family's lair. If anyone should nest outside of it...” she glared at Lorii and Na'hari in turn, “It should be her.”
“But don't you want your own lair, Malta?” said Lorii soothingly, “You could decorate it however you liked, and even grow a garden...”
Malta thought for a moment. “It does... sound nice.” she murmured.
“Come on.” Lorii nudged her, “Lets go to my brother and get this started, all right?” she nudged her again, this time to the exit. Na'hari growled, and Malta almost turned to growl back, but Lorii's gentle shoving forced her out. Away from Na'hari, she relaxed. “See?” said Lorii, “Much better.”
“Yes.” rationality returned to Malta's mind, and she felt both enraged and ashamed at her behavior. “I...”
“Don't worry about it. Lets get your own lair built.” said Lorii, as they headed to the lairbuilder's guild, “And you won't have to worry about that harpy anymore.”
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Posted: Sat Apr 04, 2015 11:16 am
Breath of Winter
ORP
210 Words
Malta wasn't sure what had convinced her to follow the two khehora to Serenia. She thought it might have something to do with the protection they offered – as a group, they were less likely to fall prey to the savage beasts of the light – and their companionship. They were, after all, very nice khehora, and the people she had hoped to spend some time with on this trip were... well, they were otherwise occupied.
She had to admit, too, to a sort of terrified curiosity about the land of light. Surely, if gold petalias originated from there, it must not be as bad as its inhabitants? At the very least, she could see it for herself and, moreover, find some of the rare and hard to get herbs that came from that land.
As long as Criani and little Honoka were with her, Malta did not think she would need to be afraid. Surely they had a clan who had somehow survived in those lands, and thus would be able to protect her.
So, though it scared her, she would go. And, most of all, she would think. She would have plenty of time to think, over on the lighted land. She just hoped she would return alive.
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Posted: Sat Apr 18, 2015 12:23 pm
Step on a Crack
Malta, Kekeovonnai, Xenosa
344 Words
Malta breathed in the sweetness of her garden, its living smells easing her discomfort. She had not wanted to heal the Orderite. Their kind were monsters, beasts of war made by Seren to combat the Oblivionites, weapons to fight weapons. She had heard how some of them acted – only concerned with pleasure and selfish pursuits. Never mind, of course, that Oblivionites, Dovaa, and khehora also pursued pleasure and selfish activities. Never mind that she had met an Orderite who had been kindly and half mad. That did not matter – she knew, in her heart, that their race was dangerous. She had only healed the pink feathered creature because of Kekeovonnai – her morals, as well, drove her to ease the suffering even of such a dangerous beast. But, mostly, it was Kekeovonnai that had saved the Orderite's life, and she hoped that the youngster knew what he was getting into.
She settled into her garden, letting its life envelop her. The lives inside her, too, comforted her – though they were mere sparks yet. She nuzzled them mentally, taking solace in their existence.
The sound of flapping wings made her look up and, through the canopy of her garden, she caught the sight of pink orderite wings and, soon after, black khehora wings. Good. They were leaving.
She wanted no more to do with the people of light. She wanted little more to do with Kekeovonnai. She just wanted to be left alone.
Of course, that sentiment was short lived. Eventually, as she soaked in the life around and inside of her, she cheered up and returned to work. She created potions, fiddled with her nest, cuddled with Roshon, and forgot about the harrowing visit from the injured Orderite.
The day, thus, was spared.
But later, while brooding, she revisted the events of that day and wondered at it. No matter how she thought of it, no matter what she told herself, she knew she could not have done anything other than what she had done, and she did not regret it.
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Posted: Wed Apr 29, 2015 6:25 am
Four Little Lives, Curled in their Shells
892 Words
Malta's labored breathing subsided as she lay on her side by her new eggs. She was thinner and paler than she had ever been, and every muscle in her body either ached or was numb. The eggs glittered with drying fluid, sparkling in the morning light that seeped into her lair. Exhaustedly, she looked over the brightly colored eggs – four of them - that had been laid on the soft, fresh-smelling grass of her nest, nosing them gently and lovingly. She could feel small sparks of life within them, too young yet to have a heartbeat but pulsing anyway with a tiny, steady, growing force. She smiled weakly at them.
It had taken her hours of concentration and exertion to lay the eggs. Malta had been gravid for weeks, her body swelling and heavying with the lives beginning inside of her and with the provisions that would last them their time in the egg. She had felt them begin – quietly, for their lives had been mere sparks amidst the great beating blaze that was her own life energy, but definitely, as four sparks not her own.
Malta had been consumed with anticipation and excitement, ignoring Roshon's worry that the clutch would be a failure, that they would all be duds or, worse, that she would be harmed in the process, etc. Malta knew that Magescian births – fitting for such potent creatures - could be quite dangerous, but such dangers were not often faced by khehora. There was danger, though, especially for a new, young mother such laying a large clutch. If possible, Malta knew she should have found a healer (or, in this case, her mate) to assist her in the rare complication. For most khehora – “sensible khehora” as Roshon had grumbled in his unease – they laid such small clutches that such issues rarely ever happened.
Not Malta. With the size she had grown – an ever greater expansion of girth – she had known that she would lay a large clutch. Oddly, considering her usual reaction to danger, she hadn't been concerned. Instead, she had been overjoyed to know that she would soon be such a mother. She had, uncharacteristically perhaps, lorded it over her rival - her father's newest mate - whose clutch was only one egg in size. She had stopped doing so out loud, of course, when that single egg had hatched into an absolutely darling little alikhora who she adored. But Malta still felt that smugness, that sense of superiority that came with her own potent fertility.
She would have appreciated company, however, during her ordeal. It was hard to do these things alone... but events such as laying, however, did not happen at convenient times. She had been fortunate to be near her nest when the contractions began. She had laid her eggs, one after the other in a state of ecstatic delight which had evolved into a joyous exhaustion.
Tiredly, she curled around her eggs and covered the nest protectively with her wing. “I love you.” she murmured to the eggs, as she slipped off to a well deserved rest.
~~~
Roshon, coming in to check on her, was the first to discover his clutch. He told others that checking in was an 'obligation' to his mate, as if it was an annoyance he could not avoid, but he was honestly – and anxiously - concerned for her and her well being. The Alchemist/healer had seen enough large clutches in the settlement – which was prone to larger, on average, clutches due to the ready availability of food – to know its dangers and difficulties (which were greatly magnified in his head where it regarded his clutch and his mate). He felt that, if anything should happen, it would be he who was ultimately responsible. After all, his last clutch had been duds, and Malta was healthy and young and full of life. He had been expecting most of Malta's weight gain to be just that – weight gain, on top of her usual large body. That, or an exceptionally provisioned enormous egg. He had no doubt that she was fertile – her family certainly was prolific - but him? Again, he had fathered a dud clutch.
Suffice to say, he was not expecting four large, shining, brilliant eggs to greet him. The paleness of the new mother worried him somewhat, but she was breathing, there was no blood, and there were four healthy eggs.
Four.
All hers.
All his.
After waking her up briefly and being assured of her health, he proceeded to dote on her by bringing her water and food until she told him to stop moving around. He was then assured, repeatedly, that the eggs were not duds until he finally believed it.
Roshon wondered at the lives that had started inside of the gleaming shells and, despite his general cynicism towards life, he couldn't help feeling a little bit of pride towards the clutch. Malta had done all the hard work, to be sure, but in the end the four large and beautiful eggs had been partially his doing.
Well. he thought, settling beside his student, mate, and (dare he say) friend as the day grew brighter, I am to be a father. he smiled at the eggs, slightly incredulous, Who would have thought it.
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Posted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 3:41 pm
They Hatch
Little Impatient One, The Warmth of the Morning, The Swimmer's Start ,
A Healer born to Healers
By the end of the day, Malta was exhausted, and she didn't have to give birth like Magescian females did. Instead, she'd had to wrangle an entire brace of newborn khehora – all hungry, all awkward, all eager to see the world outside their shell. Some more so than others. Malta curled around their sleeping forms, closing her eyes as Roshon cleaned the lair for her. It was covered in plant matter and shell, scattered in the frenzy of hatching, and with offal from the frenzy of feeding. She was grateful that he was there to clean the mess.
Not that her children were messes. Messy, apparently, but they were perfect. Her little perfect jewel-colored darlings. Her treasures. It was amazing to her that they would be there tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, growing up under her own nose. One day, they would be adults, too, maybe with orakoi of their own.
For now, though, they were Orakoi themselves, and they had a whole future ahead of them... a future Malta knew she would do anything to protect and assist them with. She would make sure they knew it too. She snuggled them once before lapsing into an exhausted sleep, preparing for whatever new adventures her treasures would bring in the morrow.
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Posted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 4:35 pm
Fed in a Fool's PalaceAfter the whole... Altercation... dinner with Naarhiji was actually quite nice once they got around to it. It was simple – clearly Naar's unpleasant male aquaintence was not going to exert himself – but it was nice: rice with meat and vegetables with some wine to wash it down. Malta, of course, didn't have to worry about inebriation, and so it was merely a not-unpleasant fermented drink that went well with the food. It would help her digest, and it helped her relax, though she wished that she could become inebriated when others in this place came over. Some were curious, some were pleasantly hostile, all were threatening to Malta. Thankfully, Naar was there to deflect the others and to protect her, if it should come to that. It didn't, and Malta felt much improved afterwards, enough so that despite all the frightening things around her, she determined that she wouldn't mind if she came back again... But only if Naar was there. The others she didn't want to deal with.
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Posted: Wed Dec 30, 2015 3:32 pm
Bubbles and Pretty Things
Malta and Kuasu
Next time I'll be ready Malta thought as she settled her orakoi in for bed. Taking Kuasu to the lake had been wonderful, and she was excited to have him help her, but... she was scared. He was a peisio, yes, but he had gone under the water. He had nearly choked on it. His element or no, it was still dangerous for him. Perhaps that danger would decrease as he grew into his magic, but even still... did she want her baby in any danger at all? Her instincts were split. On the one hand, she wanted to protect him from everything – she wanted to protect her whole clutch from all danger and harm. With her body, if necessary. On the other hand, her instincts also drove her to let her children stretch their limits and learn their magic. She knew, too, that letting Orakoi take chances, make mistakes, and get messy was healthy for them, and that getting hurt on occasion was a natural part of growing up. Malta didn't know how to balance it. She was going to have to take Kuasu back to the lake (he had promised he would help, after all, and she didn't want to disappoint him), but she would have to somehow protect him from the dangers of the water, to swim with him despite her lack of aptitude in swimming. Somehow, she would have to.
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Posted: Fri Jan 29, 2016 9:24 pm
TThe Marketplace
Adventure: Marketplace
As Malta rested on her new leather hides, she wondered, idly, about what the twins had said. She'd been hearing the rumor for a while – that the leaders of the settlement had their eyes on her to become a khehorian. It was an honor, a mark of respect and power that was not taken lightly. Not all khehora attained khehorian form. Not all who were tapped for it survived the ritual.
It was not something Malta wanted to think about, with her children and her craft occupying so much of her time. But one day, she knew, she would have to answer the call. She would have to decide whether to become a khehorian or remain as she was.
It wasn't really a choice. Couched in terms of serving her community and tribe, she could do so much more as a khehorian. But the risks... the terrible power of that ritual...
Well, Malta wouldn't have to think about it for a while yet.
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