07-27-2020, 09:27 PM
HIGHER BEINGS, THESE WORDS ARE FOR YOU ALONE
ghostwhisper - group - mantis-awahondo hybrid - they/them
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]//this is mostly a oneshot but I figured to leave it open if anyone wanted to reply! absolutely no need to match!
Ghost had been made aware of the ritual at the recent meeting, which were apparently common in these lands. How odd. They were used to never having one sole ruler, wandering through lands that had long since succumbed to chaos and descended beyond recognition other than their unique landscapes. Scrutiny was saved to remain within their shell, never once parting from it. Those thoughts were neatly tucked away, simply because those thoughts had no use to them.
While they were on the topic of thinking, Ghost wasn't all that sure what this ritual sought to show. Fighting prowess? Survival skills? Ghost liked to think they were adept in both categories. They had been on their own and survived for this long, and they would continue long after the fall of this current lands rule. They had to get lost and find their way back, which Ghost found absolutely absurd. Mapping was as close to joy as they could achieve. They could and would map the wilderness that they trekked, and they would keep it tucked away in their cloak until enough time had passed that they could patch the hole it left on their precious maps.
The goals of their nights of solitude were attached to combat. They needed bones and a skull and a tooth to be brought back to the Pitt so that they could be used for weaponry and armor. Multiples? Ghost would assume that it would be fine to play it safe and return home with multiples. They already had weapons, and they already had a firm shell around their head. Perhaps they could hang it within their home, or shop, whenever they fully settled. Even though they never fully settled anywhere. New places to map, new faces to meet, new people to sell to. Their life had potential, and they wanted to see it through to the fullest extent. They were young yet, and the world would find itself plastered to their canvas.
Their first day had been spent mapping, of course. The dense forest was nice, allowing them plenty of perches to rest upon. Ghost had pulled out a second piece of paper. It was another map, but of a different sort to be used in their later part of isolation. They mapped out trails where they caught the scuffmarks of deer against trees, their hooves in the mud. The dens of larger beasts, all marked with precision on their paper. This was what happened to be familiar to them, recognizable. Alone, working for their own causes - somewhat. This current cause was not exactly their own, but it was imperative to it. If they wanted to stay within these lands, they would have to uphold customs. It reminded them of a certain troupe. Burning fathers, feeding the children.
Ghost settled within the crook of a few branches, their shell turning upwards to face the setting sun. First day, basically complete with little issue. They had small stones in place to keep their paper from flying around, and their quill grasped in claw. The last few marks for today. Tomorrow they would act on hunting and gathering the bones they would bring back to the group. It wasn't as if they needed to eat every single day. Their large stature allowed them to go far longer than a mere bug would without food. Sustenance for them meant quite little in the grand scheme of things. Slowly their legs crossed, tucking their quill and essential maps back into their cloak for safe keeping. Ghost settled back into the branches, wings shifting on their back. Slumber was easy to come by.
Ascend higher. Grab onto this ledge, that ledge. Flap your wings once, land, twist, next platform, next ledge, next foe. Slash here, the splash of orange against the ground.
Do not think, do not speak, do not hope, do not, do not, do not.
Ghostwhisper didn't hunt too often. They certainly didn't go charging down big prey. They wanted something worthy to bring back. Only bringing out bones would mean that they would likely have to stay out for quite a while longer than anticipated so that the meat could be drained from the bones with ease. They collected their papers into their cloak and clambered up higher into the branches. Skittering between the branches, a singular sheet within claw. Ghost did not want to hunt out of their league and wind up injured. They simply needed something worthwhile. That something happened to be a jaguar's den. There weren't kids, no kits (no extra causalities, the thought flickering into their head with very little resistance).
There were two, Ghost had noted. Two targets, which meant getting one away from the other. They only needed one, did they not? One skull, a few teeth - Ghost was not certain how many teeth they were required to bring back to the group. More would be better than too few. The penalty for failure they knew not, and would like to keep it that way. Failure had never been an option for Ghost. Sharp claws hooked into the bark beneath them. Watching, waiting, poised to strike. One of the jaguars left the safety of the den, scampering off. Shell turned to watch, before their form lowered down the safety of the tree's branches. Feet lightly skittered against the dirt.
A jaguar was somewhat a decent size smaller than them. Not so much that it would be as easy as waltzing in and obtaining a near immediate victory. Their horned head ducked down as they shuffled through the narrow entrance. Their sturdy foreclaws allowed them to pull themself through. Perhaps this den had belonged to a bigger creature at some point, and had been taken over by the jaguar duo? Ghost did not have the time to deeply consider.
When the cavern opened, they heard the sharp hiss of the prey they sought. "Who are you? This is MY house! Get out! Get out right now!" A reasonable reaction, Ghost figured. It was still quite the cramped area, and Ghost did not fancy small areas of combat.
Dirtcarvers surging forth from the dirt. Greedy mandibles sinking into their legs. The safety of a ledge was momentary, as they dug into the cliffside to reach them once more.
The jaguar launched forward. Teeth met their exoskeleton, and Ghost's legs scrunched down. They swung their head around as if it were a mallet, knocking the jaguar off from where their teeth had found purchase. A swing of their own claws went without making their mark, and they felt claws meet one of their legs, the legs they used for writing. Ghost collapsed onto the ground, momentarily crushing the jaguar beneath their slightly larger weight. Their legs curled, wrapping around their prey. If Ghost did not have their shell, perhaps they would be able to sink supposed teeth into their prey at the moment of opportunity. They could not, and the jaguar wriggled out of their grasp instead.
Ghost was aware that one of their horns was being bitten. They could feel the extra weight present on their head as they stood up with a blaze of strength. The jaguar's head was pierced by their horn and the sturdy roof. They saw crimson blood fall and dribble from their shell. They looked between their two sturdy claws, and a shrug was passed through their cloak. They pried the corpse from their horn and left the den with the jaguar's body held in the crux of their arm.
The other jaguar returned to find his mate's den empty, a single blazing white flower left at the entrance.
It had taken some time to cleanse the body of flesh. Ghostwhisper had gotten their own fill of the meal before returning to the Pitt's lands. Strapped onto their back in a loosely constructed bag of leaves were the bones that they were to bring back. They were reminded that they had no home to stay in. There was no where to keep their prize at the time being. Nor did the ritual as it was explained to them tell where they were to take it. The solution was simple, producing more spare paper from their cloak.
'I have completed this 'blooding tradition'. I have a skull, ribs, and a multitude of teeth. I do not know where to take these to do the final portion of carving or turning it to armor or things of the like.' Ghost scribbled down, and settled to patiently wait. If not, well, they'd go and find some place to keep them for the time being.
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]//this is mostly a oneshot but I figured to leave it open if anyone wanted to reply! absolutely no need to match!
Ghost had been made aware of the ritual at the recent meeting, which were apparently common in these lands. How odd. They were used to never having one sole ruler, wandering through lands that had long since succumbed to chaos and descended beyond recognition other than their unique landscapes. Scrutiny was saved to remain within their shell, never once parting from it. Those thoughts were neatly tucked away, simply because those thoughts had no use to them.
While they were on the topic of thinking, Ghost wasn't all that sure what this ritual sought to show. Fighting prowess? Survival skills? Ghost liked to think they were adept in both categories. They had been on their own and survived for this long, and they would continue long after the fall of this current lands rule. They had to get lost and find their way back, which Ghost found absolutely absurd. Mapping was as close to joy as they could achieve. They could and would map the wilderness that they trekked, and they would keep it tucked away in their cloak until enough time had passed that they could patch the hole it left on their precious maps.
The goals of their nights of solitude were attached to combat. They needed bones and a skull and a tooth to be brought back to the Pitt so that they could be used for weaponry and armor. Multiples? Ghost would assume that it would be fine to play it safe and return home with multiples. They already had weapons, and they already had a firm shell around their head. Perhaps they could hang it within their home, or shop, whenever they fully settled. Even though they never fully settled anywhere. New places to map, new faces to meet, new people to sell to. Their life had potential, and they wanted to see it through to the fullest extent. They were young yet, and the world would find itself plastered to their canvas.
Their first day had been spent mapping, of course. The dense forest was nice, allowing them plenty of perches to rest upon. Ghost had pulled out a second piece of paper. It was another map, but of a different sort to be used in their later part of isolation. They mapped out trails where they caught the scuffmarks of deer against trees, their hooves in the mud. The dens of larger beasts, all marked with precision on their paper. This was what happened to be familiar to them, recognizable. Alone, working for their own causes - somewhat. This current cause was not exactly their own, but it was imperative to it. If they wanted to stay within these lands, they would have to uphold customs. It reminded them of a certain troupe. Burning fathers, feeding the children.
Ghost settled within the crook of a few branches, their shell turning upwards to face the setting sun. First day, basically complete with little issue. They had small stones in place to keep their paper from flying around, and their quill grasped in claw. The last few marks for today. Tomorrow they would act on hunting and gathering the bones they would bring back to the group. It wasn't as if they needed to eat every single day. Their large stature allowed them to go far longer than a mere bug would without food. Sustenance for them meant quite little in the grand scheme of things. Slowly their legs crossed, tucking their quill and essential maps back into their cloak for safe keeping. Ghost settled back into the branches, wings shifting on their back. Slumber was easy to come by.
Ascend higher. Grab onto this ledge, that ledge. Flap your wings once, land, twist, next platform, next ledge, next foe. Slash here, the splash of orange against the ground.
Do not think, do not speak, do not hope, do not, do not, do not.
Ghostwhisper didn't hunt too often. They certainly didn't go charging down big prey. They wanted something worthy to bring back. Only bringing out bones would mean that they would likely have to stay out for quite a while longer than anticipated so that the meat could be drained from the bones with ease. They collected their papers into their cloak and clambered up higher into the branches. Skittering between the branches, a singular sheet within claw. Ghost did not want to hunt out of their league and wind up injured. They simply needed something worthwhile. That something happened to be a jaguar's den. There weren't kids, no kits (no extra causalities, the thought flickering into their head with very little resistance).
There were two, Ghost had noted. Two targets, which meant getting one away from the other. They only needed one, did they not? One skull, a few teeth - Ghost was not certain how many teeth they were required to bring back to the group. More would be better than too few. The penalty for failure they knew not, and would like to keep it that way. Failure had never been an option for Ghost. Sharp claws hooked into the bark beneath them. Watching, waiting, poised to strike. One of the jaguars left the safety of the den, scampering off. Shell turned to watch, before their form lowered down the safety of the tree's branches. Feet lightly skittered against the dirt.
A jaguar was somewhat a decent size smaller than them. Not so much that it would be as easy as waltzing in and obtaining a near immediate victory. Their horned head ducked down as they shuffled through the narrow entrance. Their sturdy foreclaws allowed them to pull themself through. Perhaps this den had belonged to a bigger creature at some point, and had been taken over by the jaguar duo? Ghost did not have the time to deeply consider.
When the cavern opened, they heard the sharp hiss of the prey they sought. "Who are you? This is MY house! Get out! Get out right now!" A reasonable reaction, Ghost figured. It was still quite the cramped area, and Ghost did not fancy small areas of combat.
Dirtcarvers surging forth from the dirt. Greedy mandibles sinking into their legs. The safety of a ledge was momentary, as they dug into the cliffside to reach them once more.
The jaguar launched forward. Teeth met their exoskeleton, and Ghost's legs scrunched down. They swung their head around as if it were a mallet, knocking the jaguar off from where their teeth had found purchase. A swing of their own claws went without making their mark, and they felt claws meet one of their legs, the legs they used for writing. Ghost collapsed onto the ground, momentarily crushing the jaguar beneath their slightly larger weight. Their legs curled, wrapping around their prey. If Ghost did not have their shell, perhaps they would be able to sink supposed teeth into their prey at the moment of opportunity. They could not, and the jaguar wriggled out of their grasp instead.
Ghost was aware that one of their horns was being bitten. They could feel the extra weight present on their head as they stood up with a blaze of strength. The jaguar's head was pierced by their horn and the sturdy roof. They saw crimson blood fall and dribble from their shell. They looked between their two sturdy claws, and a shrug was passed through their cloak. They pried the corpse from their horn and left the den with the jaguar's body held in the crux of their arm.
The other jaguar returned to find his mate's den empty, a single blazing white flower left at the entrance.
It had taken some time to cleanse the body of flesh. Ghostwhisper had gotten their own fill of the meal before returning to the Pitt's lands. Strapped onto their back in a loosely constructed bag of leaves were the bones that they were to bring back. They were reminded that they had no home to stay in. There was no where to keep their prize at the time being. Nor did the ritual as it was explained to them tell where they were to take it. The solution was simple, producing more spare paper from their cloak.
'I have completed this 'blooding tradition'. I have a skull, ribs, and a multitude of teeth. I do not know where to take these to do the final portion of carving or turning it to armor or things of the like.' Ghost scribbled down, and settled to patiently wait. If not, well, they'd go and find some place to keep them for the time being.
TAGS 7/22/20:
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FULZANIN is a 19 year old content creator. Currently roleplaying as Beezlebub in the Pitt and Jotunhel in the Typhoon. Time spent outside of work and writing is typically done in Creatures of Sonaria. FULZANIN is also in a happy relationship, and is aegosexual/asexual herself.
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