Post by drBabylon on Aug 21, 2013 17:20:34 GMT -5
(Repeated here for the sake of completeness.)
Cormac pensively observed the peculiar customer sitting at the bar as he calculated the night's earnings. Something about her put him on edge and he was hard-pressed to discern a source for his unease. He was a man of middle years and burly frame, craggy as the highlands surrounding his lonesome inn. He had weathered many a drunken brawl and had even boarded the occasional infamous fugitive or two at his roadhouse and still this spry wisp of a girl made him distinctly uncomfortable.
The girl sat and sipped her tea, apparently unconcerned with being the point of focus. She was small in stature upon her barstool, her fur-booted feet hanging free of the floor by a considerable margin. About her slim shoulders hung a cloak that looked like deerskin but from a thicker-furred species than those with which Cormac was familiar. Tanned hide fashioned into armor with stitching both elaborate and crude completed her garb. Her unruly mass of raven-black hair was cropped boyishly short and her pale, delicate countenance would have been quite lovely if not for the severity of her expression. She bore a curved blade of exotic design in a plain wooden scabbard at her right hip. The impression she gave was a curious mix of unsophisticated audacity and subdued grace. Fortunately, Cormac's few respectable lodgers had retired for the night and this strange girl was the only occupant of the common area.
Aside from the the dark and lanky wolf that had come in with her. Inexplicably, the hard-nosed innkeeper had found himself incapable of voicing any protest upon their entry and now the beast lay contentedly with its chin upon the hard-packed earth of the floor near the hearth. Relaxed though it seemed, Cormac suspected the wolf was monitoring his behavior in its master's presence.
His barmaid Teasag dutifully remained to tidy around the taproom but took pains to work as far from these two guests as possible. She was careful not to meet her employer's eye, the tension in the air putting her on the defensive. As a fellow native of rural Aerimar, Cormac knew that the typically sensible wench privately prided herself on identifying suspiciously fey elements when they were presented.
"Can man who crosses river without getting wet truly appreciate accomplishment?" the waif inquired suddenly. Her voice had a rich, almost throaty maturity that belied her apparent youth. The accent was unfamiliar, rolling out the girl's pronunciation of "river" slightly and making "wet" sound closer to "vet". Her clear gray eyes were almost forceful in their focus but a vague humor played about her lips.
"This land is quite different from steppes and forests to which I am accustomed but perhaps this is good thing," she continued when Cormac only gaped at her in response. "I did not detect it at first but I am certain Golod is here."
He nodded dumbly at her, wondering if his complete lack of comprehension would dissuade her.
"You are unaware of it, of course," she reassured Cormac and he actually felt relief as she took on a sly, almost teasing smile. "You are not attuned to world as am I." She sat up straighter and took on the bearing of a lecturer before explaining further. She furrowed her brow as if in concentration, considering her words carefully. "Golod is formless essence or...spirit. Golod is what drives voracious urge and impulse but more than that. It is hunger, true, but is also..." She trailed off, gesturing with one small hand before her as though attempting to conjure a clearer image out of the air.
"Appetite?" Cormac asked, surprising himself with his cooperation.
"Da," the girl confirmed with a pleased nod. "Hungry wolf on prowl for prey is certainly succinct symbol of this force, but is also present in whirlwind and wild fire. Wherever something is taken by need or yearning of something else. When winter's chill seeps inexorably past fur and flame into skin and bone or dark of night eats sunlit land each new dusk, that is Golod. In living creatures, is aspect that trades misery and turmoil dearly for chance to survive. This is why rose grows thorns and why fish plucked from water finds strength to struggle so fiercely without breath."
She paused and took a long, thoughtful sip of her tea. Cormac waited patiently for her to continue but she only stared impassively at him, as though her enigmatic point had been made.
"I am called Pchelka," she told Cormac, staring intently up at him as if to better imprint her identity upon the aging innkeeper's senses. Pchelka nodded at the wolf by the hearth and, with a grin, added, "He is Demyan." The animal lifted its head and its startlingly intelligent gaze met Cormac's for several heartbeats and he could not help but notice that its eyes matched the gray of its master's.
"I am originally from Rhakier, as is Demyan, but we have been away from there for some time." Pchelka hesitated again as though trying to decide how best to provide further details. "I was not always...understanding of Golod. I was born Mavra Pastukhova which, of course, seems quite funny in retrospect." She uttered a little chuckle of amusement but the humor was lost on Cormac so she continued. "As child I lived with family in small village on border with Vos lands. Was simple life and most villagers were farmers and shepherds. One day this changed."
Pchelka looked to the wolf on the floor and Cormac could have sworn that some unspoken communication passed between them, as though the animal were silently encouraging the girl. She gave Demyan an almost imperceptible nod and turned back to her audience of one.
"This was more than decade ago now and I was only little girl so memory is not complete. Some say childhood is like strange dream, over too quickly and impossible to hold onto all experiences. Looking back as adult, this was much more like nightmare, I think. I have been told that dangerous man was hiding in plain sight among villagers. He pretended to be...herbalist and scholar. Many knew him as trusted neighbor. In truth, he was volshebnik, what you would call wizard. None can understand his motives for secret life but he had come to attention of ambitious rival. They quarreled within village square and peasants were powerless to contain their ire. None can know if either survived but result of selfish use of aberrant energies had dreadful consequences. Dark magic destroyed homes at center of village, killing outright those lucky few who had not sought refuge. Grotesque affront was not ended there."
Pchelka lifted her cup to her lips to finish the last dregs of her tea. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, the only sign of her emotional ties to her story.
"Perhaps unnatural conflict had left terrible stain upon region and as...perversion of Golod, earth sought to cleanse or to heal by taking whatever it could from any within reach. But some wounds never close." The girl bit her lower lip, her gray eyes very distant. "First vibrant color was drained away, as though world was seen through dismal veil. Meat and crops lost taste and even drinking water became murky and stale. Then animals simply began to lie down and die, turning to dust one by one. It was not long before people followed. Some may have talked of escape but where would they go taking nothing with them? Last memory of family was inside tiny cabin, belongings shriveling and peeling without benefit of fire. Beloved faces...slowly turning to ash, voices maddened by wretched suffering. Wandered alone away from village some time after."
Pchelka sighed and toyed with her empty cup.
"I met Burya not long after, living as liberated recluse in taiga," she said, her tone becoming markedly less somber. "Fortunate thing as five-year-old devotchka is poor match for winter season spent in Rhakieri forest. I remember he took me to icy stream and I bit him hard on hand. Such was my terror and confusion." She smiles fondly at the memory. "Was then he first called me Pchelka. He had heard of village's accursed fate and was certain that I too would soon be dead. I would not speak and was covered in...residue from final days spent in ruined home. He only wished to bathe me as comforting, futile gesture and I fought him. Burya does not give up easily and he won me over in time but from then on I became Pchelka, or "Little Bee", because, he said, I would sting him even if it killed me. When I did not die, he began teaching me of life in forest and of Golod. It is truly what I was meant for."
A subtle resolve took over her pale countenance as Pchelka's tale drew to a close.
"At Burya's side I learned of others who walk similar path, others who understand Golod. That is how I came to travel with Demyan. We look for places where world is...stained by wrong actions and try to stop those who would scar it. And we wait for Golod to tell us how best it can be fed."
Cormac pensively observed the peculiar customer sitting at the bar as he calculated the night's earnings. Something about her put him on edge and he was hard-pressed to discern a source for his unease. He was a man of middle years and burly frame, craggy as the highlands surrounding his lonesome inn. He had weathered many a drunken brawl and had even boarded the occasional infamous fugitive or two at his roadhouse and still this spry wisp of a girl made him distinctly uncomfortable.
The girl sat and sipped her tea, apparently unconcerned with being the point of focus. She was small in stature upon her barstool, her fur-booted feet hanging free of the floor by a considerable margin. About her slim shoulders hung a cloak that looked like deerskin but from a thicker-furred species than those with which Cormac was familiar. Tanned hide fashioned into armor with stitching both elaborate and crude completed her garb. Her unruly mass of raven-black hair was cropped boyishly short and her pale, delicate countenance would have been quite lovely if not for the severity of her expression. She bore a curved blade of exotic design in a plain wooden scabbard at her right hip. The impression she gave was a curious mix of unsophisticated audacity and subdued grace. Fortunately, Cormac's few respectable lodgers had retired for the night and this strange girl was the only occupant of the common area.
Aside from the the dark and lanky wolf that had come in with her. Inexplicably, the hard-nosed innkeeper had found himself incapable of voicing any protest upon their entry and now the beast lay contentedly with its chin upon the hard-packed earth of the floor near the hearth. Relaxed though it seemed, Cormac suspected the wolf was monitoring his behavior in its master's presence.
His barmaid Teasag dutifully remained to tidy around the taproom but took pains to work as far from these two guests as possible. She was careful not to meet her employer's eye, the tension in the air putting her on the defensive. As a fellow native of rural Aerimar, Cormac knew that the typically sensible wench privately prided herself on identifying suspiciously fey elements when they were presented.
"Can man who crosses river without getting wet truly appreciate accomplishment?" the waif inquired suddenly. Her voice had a rich, almost throaty maturity that belied her apparent youth. The accent was unfamiliar, rolling out the girl's pronunciation of "river" slightly and making "wet" sound closer to "vet". Her clear gray eyes were almost forceful in their focus but a vague humor played about her lips.
"This land is quite different from steppes and forests to which I am accustomed but perhaps this is good thing," she continued when Cormac only gaped at her in response. "I did not detect it at first but I am certain Golod is here."
He nodded dumbly at her, wondering if his complete lack of comprehension would dissuade her.
"You are unaware of it, of course," she reassured Cormac and he actually felt relief as she took on a sly, almost teasing smile. "You are not attuned to world as am I." She sat up straighter and took on the bearing of a lecturer before explaining further. She furrowed her brow as if in concentration, considering her words carefully. "Golod is formless essence or...spirit. Golod is what drives voracious urge and impulse but more than that. It is hunger, true, but is also..." She trailed off, gesturing with one small hand before her as though attempting to conjure a clearer image out of the air.
"Appetite?" Cormac asked, surprising himself with his cooperation.
"Da," the girl confirmed with a pleased nod. "Hungry wolf on prowl for prey is certainly succinct symbol of this force, but is also present in whirlwind and wild fire. Wherever something is taken by need or yearning of something else. When winter's chill seeps inexorably past fur and flame into skin and bone or dark of night eats sunlit land each new dusk, that is Golod. In living creatures, is aspect that trades misery and turmoil dearly for chance to survive. This is why rose grows thorns and why fish plucked from water finds strength to struggle so fiercely without breath."
She paused and took a long, thoughtful sip of her tea. Cormac waited patiently for her to continue but she only stared impassively at him, as though her enigmatic point had been made.
"I am called Pchelka," she told Cormac, staring intently up at him as if to better imprint her identity upon the aging innkeeper's senses. Pchelka nodded at the wolf by the hearth and, with a grin, added, "He is Demyan." The animal lifted its head and its startlingly intelligent gaze met Cormac's for several heartbeats and he could not help but notice that its eyes matched the gray of its master's.
"I am originally from Rhakier, as is Demyan, but we have been away from there for some time." Pchelka hesitated again as though trying to decide how best to provide further details. "I was not always...understanding of Golod. I was born Mavra Pastukhova which, of course, seems quite funny in retrospect." She uttered a little chuckle of amusement but the humor was lost on Cormac so she continued. "As child I lived with family in small village on border with Vos lands. Was simple life and most villagers were farmers and shepherds. One day this changed."
Pchelka looked to the wolf on the floor and Cormac could have sworn that some unspoken communication passed between them, as though the animal were silently encouraging the girl. She gave Demyan an almost imperceptible nod and turned back to her audience of one.
"This was more than decade ago now and I was only little girl so memory is not complete. Some say childhood is like strange dream, over too quickly and impossible to hold onto all experiences. Looking back as adult, this was much more like nightmare, I think. I have been told that dangerous man was hiding in plain sight among villagers. He pretended to be...herbalist and scholar. Many knew him as trusted neighbor. In truth, he was volshebnik, what you would call wizard. None can understand his motives for secret life but he had come to attention of ambitious rival. They quarreled within village square and peasants were powerless to contain their ire. None can know if either survived but result of selfish use of aberrant energies had dreadful consequences. Dark magic destroyed homes at center of village, killing outright those lucky few who had not sought refuge. Grotesque affront was not ended there."
Pchelka lifted her cup to her lips to finish the last dregs of her tea. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, the only sign of her emotional ties to her story.
"Perhaps unnatural conflict had left terrible stain upon region and as...perversion of Golod, earth sought to cleanse or to heal by taking whatever it could from any within reach. But some wounds never close." The girl bit her lower lip, her gray eyes very distant. "First vibrant color was drained away, as though world was seen through dismal veil. Meat and crops lost taste and even drinking water became murky and stale. Then animals simply began to lie down and die, turning to dust one by one. It was not long before people followed. Some may have talked of escape but where would they go taking nothing with them? Last memory of family was inside tiny cabin, belongings shriveling and peeling without benefit of fire. Beloved faces...slowly turning to ash, voices maddened by wretched suffering. Wandered alone away from village some time after."
Pchelka sighed and toyed with her empty cup.
"I met Burya not long after, living as liberated recluse in taiga," she said, her tone becoming markedly less somber. "Fortunate thing as five-year-old devotchka is poor match for winter season spent in Rhakieri forest. I remember he took me to icy stream and I bit him hard on hand. Such was my terror and confusion." She smiles fondly at the memory. "Was then he first called me Pchelka. He had heard of village's accursed fate and was certain that I too would soon be dead. I would not speak and was covered in...residue from final days spent in ruined home. He only wished to bathe me as comforting, futile gesture and I fought him. Burya does not give up easily and he won me over in time but from then on I became Pchelka, or "Little Bee", because, he said, I would sting him even if it killed me. When I did not die, he began teaching me of life in forest and of Golod. It is truly what I was meant for."
A subtle resolve took over her pale countenance as Pchelka's tale drew to a close.
"At Burya's side I learned of others who walk similar path, others who understand Golod. That is how I came to travel with Demyan. We look for places where world is...stained by wrong actions and try to stop those who would scar it. And we wait for Golod to tell us how best it can be fed."