Tethran stared through the forest. It was one of those days. He searched
through his mind for an appropriate word, and the best he could come up
with was “cloying”. It was misty, cold, and foggy. Walking through the
forest had coated his leathers with a thin sheen of moisture that clung
to the surface like conditioning oil. It had been six weeks since he
left Lebaunt and all his family behind him, not that he was at all
disappointed about that. He was what was affectionately referred to as a
“sort of unfortunate squit of a father’s youthful indiscretion” in
short, he was a bastard. He knew it, and he owned it. He gripped the
handles of his paired kukri and stared into the mist.
He was sure he had seen a flash of light up this way, even for only a moment. Silently, he gave thanks that his father had been drinking that night he decided to lay with a human merchant’s daughter, even if the worthless being he was supposed to call his father had insisted on bringing his mother to Se’tu’faan and doomed the both of them to living among the leaf-eaters. At least keen eyesight and the ability to see in the dark came with the unwanted part of his parentage.
He crept further along through the woods, keeping his ears open and weapons ready. Humans had been absent from the lands for a while, and whatever was up here was likely to be less than pleasant. Six weeks of living in holes and the hollows of trees reminded him that whatever it was might have food as well. A twinge in his leg made him look down, at the stained bandage wrapped around his thigh. It was a souvenir from the band of orcs he had met a few days ago. Tethran was fast, but fast only meant the orc’s blade hadn’t chopped his leg clean off. He had managed to steal a few healing draughts from the temple before he left, and the last two had done for most of the gash in his leg, but it shouldn’t be going pain-free this soon. Unfortunately, there was little that was clean and sanitary about sleeping on the forest floor.
Tethran smelled something cooking before he smelled the smoke. Wood fire. A long-forgotten, pointy-eared part of him muttered “The smoke smells sweet. Oak fire.” in the back of his head. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts as he followed the scent. Cook fire probably meant something more civilized than the orcs that seemed to be all he kept meeting. Something was moving up ahead. Something big, by the sound of it. He slid one kukri back into his belt and slid a throwing blade into his hand.
He could hear the crackling of the fire now. It was still a ways off, but he could see a humanoid shape moving through the mist. Whatever it was, it was big. Tethran stared down again at the bandage on his leg. Nothing else for it. If he was getting any nearer to whatever it was, he was going to do so from above eye level. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg and hoisted himself up to a low-hanging branch, wincing as he wrapped his leg around the branch and pulled himself up to the higher branches.
Jumping from one tree to the next was easier in the denser part of the woods, but as he approached the fitfully flickering orange light, the trees started thinning. At the edge of the clearing, Tethran could see the makeshift campsite. What in the hells WAS that thing? A massive, filthy, hulking creature was puttering about a campsite, feeding a fire. There was a disturbingly human-sized bundle of… something under some kind of lean-to, next to a crackling fire. He glanced back at the upright creature. “Oh, gods. Is that an ARM?”
The creature was gnawing on an ARM. Tethran could see the stub of bone protruding from the end, and see the blood dripping onto the earth. The smell of something cooking came from another arm that was… roasting. On a stick. In the fire. Choking back the bile that rose in his throat, Tethran moved a bit closer around the bole of the tree. The bundle moved, and Tethran saw a girl. Kind of cute one, too. Cursing himself even in the act, he decided this girl wasn’t about to get eaten while he watched from a tree. One short leap, and then he’d be nearly above the creature directly. He lept from one tree branch to another, and then it happened. The wet bark was too slippery. And coupled with the wound suddenly deciding this was the extent of what it was willing to bear, abuse-wise. His leg buckled beneath him, and he was falling.
Branches whipped his face as he fell, and Tethran found himself thinking that “eaten by something after falling out of a tree on a rainy day” was not in his list of ways he had expected it to end. With a crash, he cleared the last of the branches, and there was a few feet of smooth trunk, and then the unforgiving ground. He twisted, jamming a kukri into the tree bole, arresting his fall and sending a jolt of pain through his arm when the kukri brought him up short, about 10 feet from the ground. The creature looked up, it’s strangely hang-dog eyes fixing on him as he dangled from one severely strained arm from a knife jammed into a tree trunk, suspended in the air. The creature seemed to be trying to make up its mind about him. Tethran did the only thing he could think of, under the circumstances. He fixed the thing with what he hoped was a winning smile.
“Hello.” he said.
He was sure he had seen a flash of light up this way, even for only a moment. Silently, he gave thanks that his father had been drinking that night he decided to lay with a human merchant’s daughter, even if the worthless being he was supposed to call his father had insisted on bringing his mother to Se’tu’faan and doomed the both of them to living among the leaf-eaters. At least keen eyesight and the ability to see in the dark came with the unwanted part of his parentage.
He crept further along through the woods, keeping his ears open and weapons ready. Humans had been absent from the lands for a while, and whatever was up here was likely to be less than pleasant. Six weeks of living in holes and the hollows of trees reminded him that whatever it was might have food as well. A twinge in his leg made him look down, at the stained bandage wrapped around his thigh. It was a souvenir from the band of orcs he had met a few days ago. Tethran was fast, but fast only meant the orc’s blade hadn’t chopped his leg clean off. He had managed to steal a few healing draughts from the temple before he left, and the last two had done for most of the gash in his leg, but it shouldn’t be going pain-free this soon. Unfortunately, there was little that was clean and sanitary about sleeping on the forest floor.
Tethran smelled something cooking before he smelled the smoke. Wood fire. A long-forgotten, pointy-eared part of him muttered “The smoke smells sweet. Oak fire.” in the back of his head. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts as he followed the scent. Cook fire probably meant something more civilized than the orcs that seemed to be all he kept meeting. Something was moving up ahead. Something big, by the sound of it. He slid one kukri back into his belt and slid a throwing blade into his hand.
He could hear the crackling of the fire now. It was still a ways off, but he could see a humanoid shape moving through the mist. Whatever it was, it was big. Tethran stared down again at the bandage on his leg. Nothing else for it. If he was getting any nearer to whatever it was, he was going to do so from above eye level. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg and hoisted himself up to a low-hanging branch, wincing as he wrapped his leg around the branch and pulled himself up to the higher branches.
Jumping from one tree to the next was easier in the denser part of the woods, but as he approached the fitfully flickering orange light, the trees started thinning. At the edge of the clearing, Tethran could see the makeshift campsite. What in the hells WAS that thing? A massive, filthy, hulking creature was puttering about a campsite, feeding a fire. There was a disturbingly human-sized bundle of… something under some kind of lean-to, next to a crackling fire. He glanced back at the upright creature. “Oh, gods. Is that an ARM?”
The creature was gnawing on an ARM. Tethran could see the stub of bone protruding from the end, and see the blood dripping onto the earth. The smell of something cooking came from another arm that was… roasting. On a stick. In the fire. Choking back the bile that rose in his throat, Tethran moved a bit closer around the bole of the tree. The bundle moved, and Tethran saw a girl. Kind of cute one, too. Cursing himself even in the act, he decided this girl wasn’t about to get eaten while he watched from a tree. One short leap, and then he’d be nearly above the creature directly. He lept from one tree branch to another, and then it happened. The wet bark was too slippery. And coupled with the wound suddenly deciding this was the extent of what it was willing to bear, abuse-wise. His leg buckled beneath him, and he was falling.
Branches whipped his face as he fell, and Tethran found himself thinking that “eaten by something after falling out of a tree on a rainy day” was not in his list of ways he had expected it to end. With a crash, he cleared the last of the branches, and there was a few feet of smooth trunk, and then the unforgiving ground. He twisted, jamming a kukri into the tree bole, arresting his fall and sending a jolt of pain through his arm when the kukri brought him up short, about 10 feet from the ground. The creature looked up, it’s strangely hang-dog eyes fixing on him as he dangled from one severely strained arm from a knife jammed into a tree trunk, suspended in the air. The creature seemed to be trying to make up its mind about him. Tethran did the only thing he could think of, under the circumstances. He fixed the thing with what he hoped was a winning smile.
“Hello.” he said.
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