Re: The Wretched Rite - Round One - The Rose Ring
08-08-2011, 05:35 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Aryogaton.
Typical. Almost disconcertingly so. In the first confrontation, the immediate thought is to produce a weapon. Despite this, M. knew that Walkers were fearful creatures, rarely attacking if unprovoked. M.’s swampy companion was already conversing with the Walker in their strange language, so it diverted its attention to the flying rodent.
It seemed to be afloat by wings similar to that of a dragonfly or damselfly. Categorizing such a combination simply as another impossibility this day has produced, M. simply observed as the rodent began strumming a wooden instrument.
She disappeared under the water and reappeared behind Taelia, peering through her tangled hair with a grimace. Taelia spun around and took a step back, attempting to maintain her air of confidence.
“Y’could start with yer damn name.”
Taelia blinked. “I am Taelia Omanguard, of the line of the Great Eluria Omanguard…”
Adelaide hardly paid any attention. Today’s feeding attempts haven’t been successful at all, but then again, maybe third time’s a charm.
“Greetings! I am Nempelio Poran kala-Sun, sixth child of the Sun clan. I don’t suppose you could enlighten me to, er… exactly what you are?”
The animal plant simply continued its eyeless stare.
“…Do you talk?”
No response.
I suppose that’s a no. But perhaps—Poran looked at his harp—the universal language might provide a suitable means of communication. He strummed a roll. Something appropriate. A jungle theme, perhaps.
For the moment, M. attempted to concern itself more with the fact that the flying rodent carried an object crafted from the flesh of a tree. Crafting objects from wood was an overwhelmingly Walker trait, but M. had seen its cache of beaver dams and nests. The look of bare, barkless wood was revolting. Like ivory, minus artisan appreciation.
Yet, there was something alluring about the instrument, a phenomenon M. had felt towards other instances of rhythmic sound as well. As if M. was supposed to be able to do something with it. Something M. was supposed to do.
The bard stopped playing, feeling defeated. He noticed the plant creature tilt its head and a vine-like tendril extended from underneath its canopy, reaching for him. Rather, reaching towards his harp.
Under any other circumstance, Poran would not have let any wild creature to touch his belongings, especially not his instrument. But the moving plant was so strange that his curiosity forced him to stay motionless. The tendril came up and strummed the harp once before retreating.
Neither noticed a patch of grass peeking through the cobble that wasn’t there before.
That was enough experimentation for one moment. The flying rodent seemed to be of no threat; it’s time to resume reclamation. M. moved towards the nearest concrete wall, and Poran followed.
All materials Walkers utilize have their weaknesses. The proper way to dispose of wood is either natural decomposition or through fire, both of which restore the material of the wood back into its natural environment and give it proper and natural death procedures. Concrete was surprisingly resilient, but had the convenient weakness of acid, which M. knew to exploit all too well.
One apple, three vines, each in a strategic location. Within minutes, the wall would crumble, taking the rest of the building with it. M. approached Adelaide, still conversing with the sword-happy Walker. It bowed its head, formed a pitcher from a tendril, obtained a sample of swampy, fertile water, and headed towards the untouched hill.
Typical. Almost disconcertingly so. In the first confrontation, the immediate thought is to produce a weapon. Despite this, M. knew that Walkers were fearful creatures, rarely attacking if unprovoked. M.’s swampy companion was already conversing with the Walker in their strange language, so it diverted its attention to the flying rodent.
It seemed to be afloat by wings similar to that of a dragonfly or damselfly. Categorizing such a combination simply as another impossibility this day has produced, M. simply observed as the rodent began strumming a wooden instrument.
-----
Adelaide brushed aside the sword. “This day’s been bad enough without people pointin’ bloody fucking swords at me at firs’ glance.”She disappeared under the water and reappeared behind Taelia, peering through her tangled hair with a grimace. Taelia spun around and took a step back, attempting to maintain her air of confidence.
“Y’could start with yer damn name.”
Taelia blinked. “I am Taelia Omanguard, of the line of the Great Eluria Omanguard…”
Adelaide hardly paid any attention. Today’s feeding attempts haven’t been successful at all, but then again, maybe third time’s a charm.
-----
Poran hardly knew what to think of the strange creature before him. It was larger than even the most fearsome of animals he knew back home, yet had the characteristics of a welcoming, fruitful apple tree. “Greetings! I am Nempelio Poran kala-Sun, sixth child of the Sun clan. I don’t suppose you could enlighten me to, er… exactly what you are?”
The animal plant simply continued its eyeless stare.
“…Do you talk?”
No response.
I suppose that’s a no. But perhaps—Poran looked at his harp—the universal language might provide a suitable means of communication. He strummed a roll. Something appropriate. A jungle theme, perhaps.
-----
With regard to the sounds that Walkers can make, there are three distinct categories. One is that which is made with seemingly-natural mechanisms, characteristically chaotic yet apparently suitable for Walkers to communicate rather cohesively. The second is noise, loud or otherwise, which is produced by the various machinery and other unnatural objects Walkers are capable of making. The third, the one with which M. finds the most intrigue and took the most deliberation in categorizing as different from noise, could only be described as rhythmic. Like noise, it was immensely varied in tone and complexity, but had a difference in that it consisted of patterns, and seemed to convey as much information to Walkers as their speech, even on M. itself. For the moment, M. attempted to concern itself more with the fact that the flying rodent carried an object crafted from the flesh of a tree. Crafting objects from wood was an overwhelmingly Walker trait, but M. had seen its cache of beaver dams and nests. The look of bare, barkless wood was revolting. Like ivory, minus artisan appreciation.
Yet, there was something alluring about the instrument, a phenomenon M. had felt towards other instances of rhythmic sound as well. As if M. was supposed to be able to do something with it. Something M. was supposed to do.
-----
Poran was baffled. Even the most ferocious of wild animals at least showed some form of emotional change with finely crafted music. Flowers and plants, even, seemed to look more beautiful in the presence of beautiful music. Could a living being be so starved of passion and emotion? Maybe it was deaf.The bard stopped playing, feeling defeated. He noticed the plant creature tilt its head and a vine-like tendril extended from underneath its canopy, reaching for him. Rather, reaching towards his harp.
Under any other circumstance, Poran would not have let any wild creature to touch his belongings, especially not his instrument. But the moving plant was so strange that his curiosity forced him to stay motionless. The tendril came up and strummed the harp once before retreating.
Neither noticed a patch of grass peeking through the cobble that wasn’t there before.
That was enough experimentation for one moment. The flying rodent seemed to be of no threat; it’s time to resume reclamation. M. moved towards the nearest concrete wall, and Poran followed.
All materials Walkers utilize have their weaknesses. The proper way to dispose of wood is either natural decomposition or through fire, both of which restore the material of the wood back into its natural environment and give it proper and natural death procedures. Concrete was surprisingly resilient, but had the convenient weakness of acid, which M. knew to exploit all too well.
One apple, three vines, each in a strategic location. Within minutes, the wall would crumble, taking the rest of the building with it. M. approached Adelaide, still conversing with the sword-happy Walker. It bowed its head, formed a pitcher from a tendril, obtained a sample of swampy, fertile water, and headed towards the untouched hill.