A dense jungle full of surprises and new places to explore! Scientists are still trying to document species found here, while travelers flock here for a sense of adventure. Be sure to make lots of preparations though, as it can be quite dangerous! (+3 Precision, +2 Offense)

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River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:30 PM

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The sunlight beats down on Arthfael’s back, but he barely feels it.

His skin, taut and weathered and stretched over the jut of his shoulder-blades, is accustomed to the harsh heat of the jungle. His home. The rays glint on the surface of the river, silver tinged, and he must squint and adjust his crouch to ensure he can see through the glare towards his target. Slivers of scales headed upstream, with quick flicks of thin tails. The village’s feast.
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:30 PM

His fingers twitch and curl around the handle of his spear. A tense breath. A sudden flick of the wrist, a splash, the satisfying thunk of the tip hitting the stony riverbed. Arthfael smiles to himself and drags the fish back towards him to dump it in the wicker basket at his side, atop the rest of his catch. There can never be too much. No one can be sure if, or when, the supply will dry up – the gods decide what they will, and their people must survive, one way or another.
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:31 PM

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Aranyani has said nothing, received no visions. No news is good news.

The birds sing in the branches above him as he sheathes the spear in the holster strapped around his chest, and with a satisfied hum, he dumps the lid atop the aquatic haul.

“Shei luir.”

A familiar voice. He turns his head – the hair gathered at the nape of his neck in a bun quivers with the motion. The priestess is standing there, in her day gown, holding onto her staff. That sweet, coy smile he has come to appreciate is curving her lip, as always.
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:33 PM

“Priestess, you shouldn’t walk alone,” He murmurs, forcing himself to be stern. No matter how much he enjoys her company and her friendship, he recognises himself as responsible for her safety. One does not come to be a warrior captain at little cost. “It is dangerous. You know this.”

“What danger do you think will befall me?” Aranyani’s voice is teasing, musical. It jingles in its melodic way. Quiet, but somehow crystal clear. He supposes it’s a trait unique to her and her kind. “You think a jungle cat will pounce and tear me to shreds, luir?”

“Don’t dare speak of such things.”
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:33 PM

Gentle laughter, and Aranyani crouches by the riverside, the tails of her dress swept up by the lazy current. Arthfael’s fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and assist. The slender toes of one foot test the waters. He watches as the ripples crawl along her body in sparkling mint hues, up towards her golden eyes, curling around her delicate features like the tendrils of a sea beast. She appears refreshed, rejuvenated – even more radiant than she had been before.

“I was born here,” She says. Arthfael nods.
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:33 PM

“You have told us the story many times, priestess.”

“Are you saying you have tired of it?”

Never, he wants to retort, but the teasing edge to her tone suggests that she’s already aware. She stirs her fingers over the surface; the quiver of fish on their way upstream do not shy away from her, but wriggle past her hands, bump against her palm, cat-like. Like her friends. This is the only time Arthfael ever feels guilt for hunting. She tells him, though – she tells him that everything has its place in the grand cycle of things, and that the animals forgive him, and understand. He doesn’t see how that is possible, but it’s impossible not to trust her.
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:34 PM

“I emerged from an egg, down towards the fork in the river,” Aranyani continues with ease. She wades in deeper, unconcerned, the fabric of her gown sticking to her skin. He tries to avert his eyes from the swell of her breasts and the jut of her hips beneath the now-sheer material. “The only one born. That hasn’t happened in centuries, you know. Many moons have passed since such an event. I arrived, and I fought no trials to become priestess. I simply am.”

“You are the best we could ask for,” Arthfael insists. She smiles at him, a dazzling smile.
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:34 PM

“You had no choice. Everyone was forced to adapt.”

Aranyani lays back, spreading her arms, and floats effortlessly on the water, still in place despite the current. Her staff is equally motionless beside her other than the occasional bob. Arthfael can see, even from his position on the banks, the gills raised along the side of her neck, and the fins extending from her elbows, her shoulders; her adaptions to returning to the river, her home. He knows that if she could shed her clothes and her responsibilities with equal abandon, and swim with the schools of fish, she would do so, and be far happier than she is. She can’t. It is almost distressing to watch, and yet she seems unaffected.
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:35 PM

“Could you leave me, luir?” His heart throbs in his chest. Brother, she calls him. “I would like to be left alone to my reflections.”

“Priestess, I can’t leave you alone to danger—”

“Do not fret, Arthfael.” Her eyes slip shut, and she takes in a deep breath, blissful. “There is nowhere safer for me.”
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Re: River [Self]

Postby Isalynne » 01/10/2018 3:35 PM

Arthfael believes it. He turns from her, allowing himself one last self-indulgent sweep of her prone form before tearing his gaze away. The basket is hoisted into his arms with ease, like it’s nothing. It has been years. This is his calling. The leaf litter is soft beneath his feet as he begins the walk back to the village – sun-warmed, crispy, sheltering the baked and cracked earth. It smells rich and comforting. He relates to this as the priestess must relate to the water; like he could become one with it, melt into the ground and join the world in its circle of life and death.

He is barely a few metres away when she begins to sing. It is a cliché, a dreadful cliché that makes his skin crawl, but he believes that all the birds stop to listen.
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