A growing hunter.
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 8:42 pm
Naga. They attacked in mass, often by starlight when the hunters were asleep. The natives could always tell when the snake-men had been around, as they could still hear the hisses and scraping of scales, still feel the moist, heavy air even hours after. The savages had a way of imprinting themselves so even the land and the air could not forget their presence. This, combined with the fact that they stunk like rotten fish and bitter salt, made them the perfect barbarians, the perfect storybook monsters. Younglings learned to fear the telltale signs, be it waving tracks in the sand or bits of sea salt on the grass.
In south-eastern Stranglethorn, the reek of dead fish sopping with mold and salt weighed down the air until it sagged like fog. The sound of grit-covered scales grinding against one another bounced off the hills and trees, making the world into a giant seashell. In the heavy air, crowned by the blood-red light of a falling sun, stood a group of lanky, slouched silhouettes, armed with all manner of weapon - spear, axe, dagger, sword, entire trees worth of bows and quivers bursting with arrows. Beside some of them sat lazy felines, licking their paws and paying less then no attention to the world. Waves crashed softly on the shore, the hills echoed with jungle sounds, and sand was shuffled under restless feet.
Behind the assorted trolls, nestled in the tree line, was a smaller figure. Although not spectacularly tiny, the silent troll was obviously young, blue fur soft with youth. He watched, rapt, crouched in the undergrowth beneath a large jungle tree. Pale blue hair was kept in a messy knot, tossed over his back where a mini-sized quiver and bow where held. On his hip was a small but sharp dagger, showing few signs of real use. As for armor, the youngling wore nothing but a ragged tunic and pants, otherwise unadorned. Red eyes matched the glow of the sky as they scanned impatiently across the shore, muscles twitching as each red-topped wave was mistaken as the enemy.
Nothing seemed to happen until the sun had sunk into the ocean, shrouding the world in its overwhelming absence. The young troll in the background fidgeted as his pupils expanded, an uncomfortable experience that he never enjoyed.
It started with a hiss. Not the sound of a sea-born Naga, however, but the warning cry of an alert feline. The dark shape of one such beast slid across the sand and settled by the water's edge, gazing resolutely into the vast expanses before it. The muscles of each waiting troll bunched, hands moving to touch weapons. The troll in the background jumped, eyes opened wide, waiting the next move. But nothing happened. The feline heaved a sigh and slipped back to the line of trolls, sitting and beginning to give itself a nice wash. Muscles loosened and hands dropped. The rest of the night - long, silent, and dark - was calm. The young troll amused himself by counting the stars as they came out, eventually giving up and simply staring out into the dark until the blackness of the horizon seemed to consume what light the stars provided.
The small village of Zan'Granna was quiet as the young troll blinked awake. He was laying on a tiger skin, surrounded by green and brown splotches that seemed to swim before his eyes. In a sleep-induced daze he blinked several more times and turned his head, finally recognizing his surroundings. Wooden posts holding up a circular thatch roof, decorated with trinkets and relics - his hut. Letting out a hybrid of a yawn and a sigh, he slowly got to his feet, swaying from side to side as he tried to remember how to walk. A quick breath told him that there had been no Naga attack, to his disappointment. Being allowed to tail the Hunters was an honor, but when nothing happened, it wasn't very exciting. When he had first heard that he would be able to follow them, he had nearly jumped out of his fur. However, they hadn't done any fighting yet. The only thing they did was hunt and stand out in the dark, waiting for an impending attack that was not to be.
His mother said it was a blessing that they didn't have to fight. He couldn't even guess why.
In south-eastern Stranglethorn, the reek of dead fish sopping with mold and salt weighed down the air until it sagged like fog. The sound of grit-covered scales grinding against one another bounced off the hills and trees, making the world into a giant seashell. In the heavy air, crowned by the blood-red light of a falling sun, stood a group of lanky, slouched silhouettes, armed with all manner of weapon - spear, axe, dagger, sword, entire trees worth of bows and quivers bursting with arrows. Beside some of them sat lazy felines, licking their paws and paying less then no attention to the world. Waves crashed softly on the shore, the hills echoed with jungle sounds, and sand was shuffled under restless feet.
Behind the assorted trolls, nestled in the tree line, was a smaller figure. Although not spectacularly tiny, the silent troll was obviously young, blue fur soft with youth. He watched, rapt, crouched in the undergrowth beneath a large jungle tree. Pale blue hair was kept in a messy knot, tossed over his back where a mini-sized quiver and bow where held. On his hip was a small but sharp dagger, showing few signs of real use. As for armor, the youngling wore nothing but a ragged tunic and pants, otherwise unadorned. Red eyes matched the glow of the sky as they scanned impatiently across the shore, muscles twitching as each red-topped wave was mistaken as the enemy.
Nothing seemed to happen until the sun had sunk into the ocean, shrouding the world in its overwhelming absence. The young troll in the background fidgeted as his pupils expanded, an uncomfortable experience that he never enjoyed.
It started with a hiss. Not the sound of a sea-born Naga, however, but the warning cry of an alert feline. The dark shape of one such beast slid across the sand and settled by the water's edge, gazing resolutely into the vast expanses before it. The muscles of each waiting troll bunched, hands moving to touch weapons. The troll in the background jumped, eyes opened wide, waiting the next move. But nothing happened. The feline heaved a sigh and slipped back to the line of trolls, sitting and beginning to give itself a nice wash. Muscles loosened and hands dropped. The rest of the night - long, silent, and dark - was calm. The young troll amused himself by counting the stars as they came out, eventually giving up and simply staring out into the dark until the blackness of the horizon seemed to consume what light the stars provided.
The small village of Zan'Granna was quiet as the young troll blinked awake. He was laying on a tiger skin, surrounded by green and brown splotches that seemed to swim before his eyes. In a sleep-induced daze he blinked several more times and turned his head, finally recognizing his surroundings. Wooden posts holding up a circular thatch roof, decorated with trinkets and relics - his hut. Letting out a hybrid of a yawn and a sigh, he slowly got to his feet, swaying from side to side as he tried to remember how to walk. A quick breath told him that there had been no Naga attack, to his disappointment. Being allowed to tail the Hunters was an honor, but when nothing happened, it wasn't very exciting. When he had first heard that he would be able to follow them, he had nearly jumped out of his fur. However, they hadn't done any fighting yet. The only thing they did was hunt and stand out in the dark, waiting for an impending attack that was not to be.
His mother said it was a blessing that they didn't have to fight. He couldn't even guess why.