Gratia (
skeletoncity) wrote in
psychoshenanigans2017-03-17 10:30 pm
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GRATIA // PSL
The first thing he feels is the cold.
It permeates everything down here on the lower levels. What little warmth humans have made for themselves is greedily gobbled up by the stone walls that surround them on all sides. Despite the stirring of people in the streets, in their homes, and around corners, this place feels like a grave. A similar sense seems to loom over the heads of most who make their way through this deep, dark part of the world, hovering around them like a cloud of inevitability. No one has been outright sentenced to death, but they may as well be.
Upon waking, Tek will have found himself in a dark, wet alleyway. Attempts to orient himself reveal that he has been brought, somehow, to an impressively large network of tunnels that all lead, more or less, to three or four larger chambers. There is far more vibrant life above him somewhere, far, far above the layer of caves he's in now, and there is also a very deep, sluggish form of life somewhere far below his feet.
No one is coming to get him. No one follows him in his immediate vicinity--the few stragglers hanging around doorsteps and windows don't give him a second glance, or even a first one. The place is crowded, but not busy. Everyone keeps their heads down. The people are all dressed poorly, in rags and robes and bundles that suggest a certain level of consistent poverty all throughout the level. The buildings in these tunnels look man-made, either built from scrap or carved straight out of the rock of the cave, but the majority of the actual roads and cave walls seem to have been formed with very little help from human hands.
The place is lit with lanterns and dirty-looking florescents suspended high above in the cave ceiling. The air is thick and stuffy, the smell of mold and mud prevalent over even the smell of human stagnation. It would not be hard to drag someone off, and he gets the immediate feeling that if he did, it's unlikely that anyone would come looking for them.
What does he do?
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and after a few moments, some order developes out of his pawing of the fragments. he's picking his favorites--some large and some much smaller than is convenient for his giant paw--and scraping them into a pile.
once his selection has been made, he nods toward the whole collection with an insistent grunt. there. now, he presumes the one with opposable thumbs will do the carrying. and maybe the sinking of the remnants as well.]
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[the demigod looks down at his long, spindly hands, as if he's not sure what Tek expects him to do with them... he could probably come up with some sort of fancy magic to bring them with, but that immediately sounds like more trouble than it's worth. eventually, he looks down at his wet, ill-fitting shirt, shrugs, and peels it off.
this will work. he'll bundle up the good shards nicely, pausing to grab one from Tek's reject pile for himself. it's long, skinny. would look good on his desk, but it's equally likely he likes it because it's almost a perfect shape to stab someone with.
and then there's the rest. having no better ideas, he picks up one of their rejected shards, and... just... chucks it into the lake.
it makes a very satisfying "plunk" sound. he smiles, throws another one. it'll take him a minute, but it looks like he's having fun?]
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normally, he would have been more than content to just sit back and watch Robin make a fool of himself. but after a few hunks of glass land with healthy, satisfying splashes, the ripples gliding far across the surface, Tek decides that maybe a little more participation wouldn't hurt. just this once.
one big paw reaches over to scoop a few claws under several of the glass-chunks (and an inadvertent scoop of sand), carefully maneuvering them against his talons, to then be flicked out over the water.
some of them fall short and off to the side with clumsy leverage behind them, and the sand kind of sprays in a scattershot, but a couple pieces of glass get flung impressively far. it's enough for him to seem a little pleased with himself.]
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so even if the initial swing is a little startling and some of the pieces get lobbed far in the wrong direction, Robin laughs and claps his pale hands in polite applause.]
Wow, good underhand...! You really got some distance on that one.
[he picks up another piece of glass, ready to try and lob it farther... but stops, suddenly, arm half-back and holding still as if he's just spotted something.
there was movement, all the way across the lake. it could have just been branches moving, but...]
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the only real outward sign that he's giving it any consideration at all is a telltale flick of his tails against the sand.]
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Robin lowers his arm.] We should go.
[he tosses his last shard a short distance into the water, but turns to head back for the line of trees with sudden seriousness.]
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he wants to know, 'why?']
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We've been spotted. He's probably going to go run and tell his--
[he pauses, strangely.] --Friends.
[which is where Robin starts backing slowly away from the treeline, because there are at least four bows drawn on him from the underbrush, equipped with wicked-looking arrows.]
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The sound is much more hideous growl than anything else, but at least Robin will get the idea. and he finally stands up--the motion continuing out into his wings and spines and aura until he's entirely unfurled and looming before whoever it is that is daring to bother them.
the wicked snarling begins immediately. and by the low welling of power that Robin would be able to catch at the edges of his attention, he's planning on doing more than just that.]
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despite the threat of being shot, Robin turns back to Tek in an instant, putting up his hands in a very clear signal to stop.]
No, no no no-- [his nine voices all sound genuinely distressed.] Don't do that! Dooon't do that!
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still snarling (now with acidic drool beginning to pool around his teeth and drip from his jaw), the dragon begins to gather his weight in his shoulders, leaning down as if he's preparing to charge toward the fascinating little creatures in the trees.
again, he asks, 'why?']
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[well, that is.. a very sentimental statement, coming from Robin. a few more of them appear, coming forward from where they were hidden near bushes and stones, but none of them advance past the tree line. a couple of the masks turn to one another, or hesitantly let some slack into their bows as this scene unfolds...]
I don't want them as enemies. [Robin continues to explain, hands still up.] If you hurt them now, word will spread to every tribe in the forest.
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when he snarls that he 'just wanted to scare them a little bit,' it still sounds terrifying to the average listener, and he doesn't let his murderous gaze fall away from his targets for a second... but Robin will be able to distinguish the playful lilt to it. he's taking his time, but he's slowly making the progression toward backing down.]
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Well, you're doing a good job. [back to his normal language and now fully standing, he turns to regard the line of people in the forest, most of which are still holding on their position.] Just keep telling me all about it. In complete sentences.
[two of them begin talking in lowered tones, but still no movement.]
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he does eventually speak again, though he doesn't go out of his way to sound less snarly when he does. 'why? do you think they'll mistake me for your pet?']
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Don't be like that. [he didn't seem to have found the statement particularly funny.] If you're capable of speech, you aren't a monster. It's probably the only reason they haven't started shooting yet...
[one of the archers to the side perks up, suddenly, calling clearly across the shore to both inhuman creatures.]
Z'чσ írα Dєrshαk?
[it sounds like a woman's voice, low and authoritative. their cloak is draped in such a way that they look exactly like the leaves of the tree they're hiding in. their legs are exposed, but it's hard to tell with how they're painted to blend with the twisting bark. their mask looks like some kind of a jungle cat with large, gaping eyes and exaggerated spots. round ears that fan backwards, but no teeth.
Robin regards her directly, answering in his Gods' language and speaking loud enough for all of them to hear.]
Za'. E mina gryn Kalaket, yg Cl'rain Gyt'tys.
[the person speaking finally straightens a little, uncurling from their crouched position and revealing glimpses of a brown tunic, heavily embroidered with green and grey threads. it turns out that the movement is so that they can laugh--which causes several more of the hunters to lower their bows. the ones closest to the speaker, however, do not budge.]
E mчl sєlh l'hαn gчr lєnα, dσl є rαnαndαr z'чσ.
[and that's about when Tek realizes that their language not only sounds familiar, it's comprehensible to him on the same strange, innate level that Robin's language is. it's just as if the people here are speaking it with a heavy accent.]
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just to distract him, Tek makes sure that he has as many languages to juggle as possible. the phrasing isn't what he's used to, but it sounds like the dragon is maybe asking if his friends are 'fun' or 'boring.']
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in the silence where Robin isn't answering, there are whispers between the others--the word Dєrshαk gets mentioned between them an awful lot. it almost sounds familiar, like the root of it is something Tek has heard before, maybe.]
You bring a very large beast to our forest, Dєrshαk. [the person speaking finally lowers their bow, but not enough that they couldn't easily point it at the ready again.] Have you brought us an omen of destruction? Do we stare into our own deaths as I speak?
[they sound very amused by their own statement, however. not at all the sound of someone who is particularly worried about dying. Robin shakes his head, trying to explain.]
He is a creature of death, but we do not wish it upon anyone today. We would like to pass through peacefully.
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the glow of his eyes narrow to lazy slits. he fans his mane of spines. he is reveling in the attention.
and then he shifts his weight forward a little (slowly, so as to hopefully avoid startling the hunters who have not yet lowered their guard), now less hanging right beside Robin and more directly addressing the leader of the group.
he growls his own name in their direction--fully knowing that they won't understand him, but maybe it will prompt Robin to translate and bring them closer to a real conversation.]
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their leader seems to be responding to the situation well. their feline mask perks up in attention to the dragon, revealing a tall coil of beads wrapped around their neck. greys with accents of purple and green, very unlike the styles of the Underground he's seen.
Robin does not make a move or tell Tek to stop... no matter how much he may want to. this is... not going poorly, exactly, but his voices still have the slight edge of hesitance to them when he bridges the gap in language.]
This is Tehketsio. He wanders like I do.
[the speaker is silent for a moment, possibly considering something, before they fully lower their bow and return their arrow to a quiver at their side. they pick up a long, heavy-looking spear from where it was hidden beside them before hopping down from their branch. they only take a couple of steps on the ground before plunging the spearhead firmly down into the soft dirt of the shore beside them, leaving it behind as they continue walking.
this elicits some response from the others, some gasps and another wave of muttering. the archers, the good ones, still have not moved or said a single word, and do not seem phased by their leader abandoning their weapons to approach a giant manifestation of death itself.]
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this is good. he is curious and means no harm. he straightens up as the hunter crosses the sand toward him, but it's only to not look quite as lazy as he had a moment before. it's a sign of respect, and his tongue flicks to eagerly taste the air as they get close.
'name,' Tek asks, hoping Robin will continue to be so polite as to translate.]
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their clothing does not leave much to the imagination. their chest is bound with linens and what little skin isn't covered in paint seems to be marked with lines of tattooed runes that look very similar to the ones Robin draws around those magical circles of his. they look strong and healthy for a human--especially compared to the pale, withering humans living in the caves below them.
this person stops about halfway between the trees and the dragon, lifting their mask up to reveal a confident, smiling face. strong-jawed, dark skin, bright blue eyes. there's a clay-red patch of paint across their face that looks like it was applied some time ago; it has mostly worn away now. they can't be much older than their early twenties.
Robin is very hesitant to continue with introductions, because he doesn't really want Tek introducing the idea of a death dragon to an entire culture of people quite like this... but he doesn't really get a chance, because their leader speaks first, directly addressing Tek.]
Bч z'чσ fmч's n'z c'pααsh? Sєch lч єmlrч'вσsα.
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forgetting his companion entirely, he addresses the human directly with a pleasant rumble and distinct bob of his head. yeah, he understands. guess they practically don't need their translator at all...]
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the human before them nods, pleased that they can speak to this strange creature directly; their next move is to bow deeply, crossing one arm to their opposing hip in a closed-fist salute of some kind.]
I am Kaanan, of the Silent Fangs. My life is nothing to you, so I am humbled to stand before you and still live.
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however, his words are entirely for Robin, asking him whether or not his lovely mortal friends here are always so flattering.]
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