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Post by Hyperion on Aug 12, 2008 18:49:01 GMT -5
MOAR!
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Post by Darth Grievi on Aug 13, 2008 13:11:58 GMT -5
Seventeenth Entry: Year 7, Month 2, Day 7?
"They're all gone... As far as I know I'm the only survivor... or at least the only one captured... But I must start from the beginning...
Not long after I wrote about the torchlight, perhaps not even an hour, we were set apon by raiders of some sort, presumably the natives. I saw little in the chaos, other than the facts that the raiders had approached us on foot, and they were deadly quick. They caught us off guard and decimated our numbers, perhaps killing them all. We got in a few good shots, serriously wounded at least three of them, but what looked like hundreds more took their place. I can only hope that there were other survivors, though I've given up hope for a rescue. They're probably setting sail for Fraslemi as I write this...
...
As of now, I am sitting in what looks like a domed tent of some sort. The shape is held by animal bones, presumably ribs, while the fabric itself is sand colored, probably an animal hide. The outer edge of the interrior is lined with rocks, save for a flap-covered enterance at the front, and a simmilar one at the back.
I find it odd that they have returned my journal to me, and even untied whatever bounds they had put me in to allow me to write. But then, it would be foolish to make a run for it, for even if I get past these raiders, there is still the desert to contend with...
...
I'm going to attempt communication, perhaps find out what happened to the rest of the expedition...
No luck. The two guards outside the tent speak no language I've heard, and after my various attempts, looked rather annoyed at me...
However, I did get a good look at our raiders. They stand what looks like around seven feet tall, a good portion of it their legs, whose feet are tipped with six blunt talons, arranged two to the front, two to the sides, and two to the back. The legs have an extra joint below the knee, bending backwards like a bird's.
The rest of the body is relatively human, lean, but moderately muscled. Their hands also have six digits, the extra being another thumb opposite the first. These too are tipped with claws, and I can see that they are covered in plate-like scales, red-brown in color.
I have not seen their faces, for each and every one wears a mask made from the skull of some large, fanged animal, varriously marked with what looks like blood. I can glimpse the jawline occasionally, but I can't tell much from it. Below the jaw are two short tusks, for what purpose is unknown, as they hug the lower jaw closely. Their eyes peer out from the skull's former eye sockets, golden and slitted like a cat's eye, but with the intellegent spark of a human's. The only hair they have is black and arranged in a rough fan on either side of the head, almost like the bristles of a brush.
I can see no more, for these people are far from lowly savages. They keep their body covered with vest and pants-like articles of clothing, and wrap their limbs tightly in what looks like a long burlap strip of all things. They also wear flat, sandal-like shoes, and the occasional piece of gold and gemstone. One particular fellow seems to have a particular liking of either jet or obsidian, with the black stones adorning bracelets and necklaces of all sizes, even inlaid into his mask..."
Only one entry right now, since this one is huge.
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Post by Hyperion on Aug 13, 2008 14:03:11 GMT -5
NOOO! Poor nameless journal dude  |
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Post by Darth Grievi on Aug 13, 2008 16:27:09 GMT -5
He goes through worse... when I drop shoe #2... later...
Eighteenth Entry: Year 7, Month 2, Day 16?
"I've had more sucess with communication over the last several days. Abstract concepts are beyond us at this point, but the guards outside were able to tell me that someone would be comming for me soon. I assume it is one of my own, come to bargain with the raiders for my release.
I have also conveyed my name, though the guards refused to tell me theirs. Of course, there is allways the question of whether they think it is my name, or the name of my people.
From the food they've given me, and the ammount of water, I've inferred that these raiders are farming animals around a nearby spring. Obviously, there must be plants to feed the animals, but I have yet to see any. Whatever these animals are, they could quite possibly have a use to the homeland for food and hide----
*The author's pen must have jerked here, for there is a quick, upward slash at the end of the "e"*
Terribly sorry for that. If anyone happens to read this journal, they probably thought I was taken again. While that was not the case, I was indeed shocked.
The person the raiders had mentioned coming was another of their kind. His mask was unmarked by blood, and instead was studded with small bits of obsidian, scrawling intricate patterns across the white bone. He reagarded me with an odd mixture of humored pity, contempt, and curiosity. Squatting down to my level, he spoke to me in lightly accented Latin, of all languages, saying simply, "Hello, stranger. You're far from home."
He left the tent shortly, after telling me his name, Nehkal Sah Koonam. I've most likely butchered the spelling, but those were the phonetics of it.
Now, I hear him discussing something with the guards. Other voices are joining in, some obviously female, and the conversation is growing heated. I assume he is negotiating my release...
...
The debate ended several hours ago, after winding down slowly to a halt. Nehkal has not come to see me since, and the outcome remains a mystery.
In that time, I have wondered how one of these raiders, so seperated from the outside world, could speak Latin so fluently. I believe Nehkal is a Shevir, and in one or more his past lives roamed my homeland. This worries me deeply.
One thing of note, though. If this raider is indeed a Shevir, why has it not vied for more political power. Whatever happened outside the tent, it did not have the final word, nor did it use any of its mental abilities. If it had, the debate would have been over much sooner. It is puzzling..."
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Post by Darth Grievi on Aug 15, 2008 14:02:24 GMT -5
Bam, Hogparrot  Bam, that freaky obelisk  Bam, the raiders.  Though I suppose you now know their real name... |
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Post by Hyperion on Aug 15, 2008 14:03:24 GMT -5
Awesome!
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Post by Darth Grievi on Aug 15, 2008 15:44:08 GMT -5
Ninteenth Entry: Year 7, Month 7? Day 15?
"In the days following my meeting with Nekal Sa Kuma (that's the proper spelling, according to him), I was released from my tent and allowed to roam the camp, provided that I stuck to my own business. I've learned this race's name, Kayshan, and bits and pieces of their way of life.
Thanks to the daily language sessions with Kuma, I now understand enough of their language to get by. It's a deep-throated dialect, with clicks and vowels made not with the toungue, but with the very muscles of the throat, unlike any I've encountered. Gramaricaly, it is superficially simmilar to the homeland's toungue, though pronouns are glaringly absent.
As for the daily Kayshan life, it is nothing particularly unusual. They wake, say a simple prayer, dress themselves, and get on with the work of the day.
Society is split into three, equally important groups; the workers, who are tasked with farming, trading, and construction; the warriors, who take care of war, security, and foreign affairs; and finally the intellects, who are in charge of religion, education, and keeping their history. The government is equally divided, consisting of a Noble, a General, and a Priest, respectively, each with their own small counsel.
Aparently, this camp is but one of many under this particular government's rule. Mentions have been made of other "countries", but not much that I could understand..."
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Post by Darth Grievi on Oct 9, 2009 21:18:23 GMT -5
((N-N-N-Necromancy!))
Twentieth Entry: Year 7, Month 10? Day 3?
"I have looked back at my words in these last few months. How wrong they were. Sometimes, in my musings, I concider the fate of this journal once its pages are filled. If its pages are ever filled... I sincerely hope I can have it shipped back home, or at least to Fraslemi. It will do no more than sit and gather sand in some nomad's rucksack if it remains here...
Through Nekal's teachings, I've begun to understand the life of the Kayshan... at least this group. They are a religious people, that is certain. I have personally been witness to a yearly blood-letting ceremony. Those who farmed annointed their masks with the blood of slaughtered livestock (a close cousin of our Hogparrots), the warriors with that of a pair of captured enemies (I managed to escape this fate thanks to Nekal's intervention), and finally the intellectuals with their own. It was a gruesome sight, and not one I'd like to view again... but somehow the steady gutural chanting, the throbbing drumbeats, and the firelit shadows playing against the tent walls stayed with me...
As far as I can tell, Nekal's position in this hierarchial society is something of an oddity. He is obviously of the intellectual class, but partakes in none of their religious ceremonies or meetings, simply standing away from the group and listening intently. He supposedly has a single text in their nation's library, simply an edit of an older work...
His fellows know he is different, but it doesn't seem to progress much farther than the fact that he is capable of speaking a language none of them had ever heard. They accept him, though, and respond to his meager authority, but that is all. There is no fear that he may suddenly collapse their skulls inward in a fit of rage, that he is communicating mentally with an enemy, that he may at any time begin to work his dark power on their minds. It is puzzling, to say the least. I can not ask them directly if Nekal is indeed a Shevir, for they have no word for the state. According to them, he is indeed unique, "But", as they said, "then so is everything else posessing siak", roughly translating to "soul". Very helpful indeed...
I fear I will have to ask Nekal himself if I am to ever know the truth."
Twenty-First entry: Year 7, Month 10? Day 12?
"I'm going to write down everything we say in here. Whoever reads this will get a much better understanding of your personality and character."
"And why ever will that matter?"
...
"By the gods you write slowly!"
"Be patient. The conversation will go slowly, yes. Now, to start, what is your name?"
"I'll go along... Nekal Sa Kuma. Please don't corrupt the spelling any further than you language forces you to."
"Just how you taught me... You are of a race of beings known as Kayshan, correct?"
"Correct. Why could you not just tell them this? Or are you simply striving to fill up your kaasakha?" (Little book)
"Your reaction to my simple questions helps probe into your character. Why did you take pity on me and negotiate for my release?"
"You are unique, stranger. Much like myself in a way. Besides, I couldn't let your blood contaminate some hapless warrior's face."
"But you also use livestock in the ritual. Are you saying I'm lower than a mere cow?"
*he thingys his head at the mention of the foreign animal*
"No. It is a matter of origin. Born of the desert, raised by the desert, taken by the desert. *grunt* Much more poetic in the native tongue. Translate it if you must, but tread lightly. I'd not have my people's oasis dirtied."
"I notice you have some authority in the camp. Can you explain your position?"
"Mildly important. 'Twas much more so centuries ago, but alas... times change, monuments crumble, and traditions slowly wither away."
"It's a ceremonial post?"
"Tell me, do you know of a man by the name of Martin Giles?"
"Yes, but what does that eccentric have to do..." (Am quite suprised that he knows of that madman. But he knows Latin, not suprised)
"Reincarnation..."
"..."
"... You are begining to understand somewhat, yes?"
"The other Kayshan think you're a god?"
"Not quite. But close enough, at least a few centuries ago..."
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Post by Hyperion on Oct 9, 2009 22:36:13 GMT -5
What is he? A reincarnated madman? A Shevir? Some desert god? Please continue with your updates!  |
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Post by Darth Grievi on Oct 10, 2009 18:57:55 GMT -5
Twenty-second entry: Year 8?, Month 1?, Day 15?
*the handwriting changes abuptly, from the author's sprawling script to a blocky, angular writing. The following is in Latin*
"Yes, you are not mistaken. Your good friend is no longer present. The fool was captured in the raid... and of course I am to be the one to save him, again...
Do not be worried for him... not even Segal will harm him, evne if he is a stranger. I have nearly a year to find him, to add to that...
Poor fool... I hope he doesn't try to escape: I'm still hoping his people have adopted a form of life-debt. Knowing him, I may just have enough favors stored up to last an eternety once he finally dies. Let us hope that his relatives aren't as utterly useless."
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