Wanderer [I'ka] [GoblinFae]

[Nightcrawler]

The days grew shorter. The nights were colder. He remembered it from before, somehow: that autumn fell harsh and bitter upon the ridges of mountains. He would not survive a winter up there, exposed to the elements. He knew he must descend to the lands that sprawled out below and take his chances there.

If...he wished to survive. If.

It was against his very nature to consider such an end. And yet, were he to find a village kind enough to take him in until spring, he feared he would be a burden to them. The gnawing frost reminded him daily of his years. Memories surfaced of a time long ago: a winter spent alone in the wilderness. He had survived it then with the vigor of youth at his side. He was not certain that he could do so now, as a man in his twilight, with dulling eyes and stiff knuckles and knees that cracked.

The old man who stared back at him from beneath still waters was wrinkled by sun and scarred by war. What use was an old man to a village? He was but another mouth to feed. Like dirt over a threshold, he would drag in with him the curse of his own haunted mind. His lapsing sanity. Waking nightmares that broke only when he bruised his hands in his blinding rage, or fell gasping and weeping to the ground. He was shackled to that raw wound of memory that bled anew each and every day. It became worse by the week.

What use was such an invalid?

Yet, by cowardice or stubbornness of will, he was not ready to die. Not in such an unfamiliar place. Not alone. So he would descend into the lowlands, and he would seek a village. And he would be useful — as useful as an old man could.

The chill air softened to the north, and further still to the east, and he followed that path for as far as he could. Mountains gave way to valleys and foothills, and those gave way yet again to a flat, rolling landscape. The forests changed. The trees were...comforting, somehow. Like...home. The earth smelled of it, too, and the mosses underfoot were a welcome change from harsh rock and gravel. The mountains had not been kind to him. He had not known it until the ache went away. Until his lungs felt satisfied by the breaths he took.

The night he made camp up on a little knoll, the easterly winds carried with them some indescribable scent. The next day, he found a set of footprints in the mud near a stream. By the time he made camp again, he was certain of it: he was being tracked. Watched. He kept an ear to the wilds, now, and his hand upon his ax. If they were friend, he would ask what he needed. If they were not...he would be ready.

That night, beside a smokey fire, with a belly full of cattail root, Eln slipped once more into a fitful sleep. His fingers gripped the ax head. His tired muscles twitched and spasmed. The memory-wound split open. He fell through it into grief.

[GoblinFae]

The weather was turning colder, the wind more biting now as it swept off the sea and downriver. Soon Waquin'i would be pulled off the river patrols and relegated back to village patrol duties, a job he did not relish in the slightest. Out in the wild was far more interesting than listening to the brides gossip and complain over their husbands' shortcomings. Here there were trees and the river, animals and the occasional trapper or fisher. If you were truly lucky, a riverboat caravan might drift through the area but they were more than likely to be further inland at this time of year.

Waquin'i had been idly floating with the current in his canoe when movement caught his eye on the far shore. With the sun at his back he was hard to spot himself but had a clear view of...a devil? Was that a Taluvan coming up north to steal more children from their beds?

Perhaps not, those were no feathered tufts but horns upon the humanoid's head. Best to keep a quiet eye on the figure and see where they went before revealing himself to them. And so for two days, Waquin'i followed the ambling stranger. On the second day he was almost sure that his presence had been recognized even if he had not been located. The tension and manner in which the stranger carried themself had shifted like a deer suddenly suspicious of the huntsman's arrow. 

Nightfall arrived, camp was made, food consumed, and sleep was apparently forthcoming. Waquin'i considered it no better a time than now to join the stranger for camp. Either he would be accepted as weary traveler or hopefully have the advantage of being fully conscious and alert in order to defend himself against an attack from the rather weighty looking axe he had seen the sun glinting off of a few times throughout the day.

With practiced ease, the young man slipped out of the canoe, gritting his teeth on slightly at the icy chill of the water as it soaked his clothes up to his chest. Maybe he wasn't nearly as close to the shore as he originally thought. At least there was a warm fire where he was headed!

The canoe was quickly tucked away and anchored among the brush before extra quiet feet padded up the embankment, a fishing spear in one hand and a pair of caught fish in the other.

There was no sign that he had been noticed as he approached, his hands still raised in a pacifying manner just in case all the way up until he was kneeling close by the fire. There  stoked the flames, his spear placed perpendicular in front of him as he readied the fish and began to cook them. Waste not, want not; another man's fire was going to serve him just fine. 

He rubbed his legs hoping to bring warmth back into them even as he stared across the fire at the sleeping stranger. It was the face of many stories and many hardships etched into every pore. Hopefully sleep would be comforting to them then. He could tell they needed it, whoever they were.

[Nightcrawler]

Smoke wound its way into his nostrils, and his dreams turned once more to fire and death and the prison of his own mind. Against his will, yet by his bloodied hands, he struck his people down one by one until he stood upon a mountain of their bones. Over and over again, he tried to cry out — to stop this madness. But it did not end. Year after year, decade after decade, that waking nightmare stretched to the horizon. He could not escape. He was shackled here for an eternity.

By the light of what little sanity he had left, he clung to his fragmented memories. Faces. A woman: horned and stubborn. Another: yellow-eyed and strange, and yet his heart swelled at the thought of her. A boy: so impatient to be a man. An infant girl, safe in his arms. He could not recall the sound of their names, yet he knew their warmth. And now...

Dead. All dead. Burnt and sent to the earth and sky.

His fault.

He tried to go back. To find those yellow eyes and cling to that shred of memory. But the woman had turned strange, and now she bore his features. His skin. His horns. She faded in the ash-choked dark. He tried to call her name, but it was not hers. He called for her again, and again, and again, until his voice was hoarse and the smoke tore at his throat.

He jolted from his sleep with her name on the tip of his tongue. He coughed, his lungs burning from the wood smoke. It was still dark. The fire had not yet settled into coals. Or had it been freshly stoked? And was that the smell of cooked fish? Eln blinked. Squinted. Tried to shake the dreams and make sense of what he saw.

He sat up and drew a sharp breath. A figure sat across from him. Watching him. The man was small. By the softness of his face, he looked quite young. Even so, he stared across the flames with the quiet, keen-eyed confidence of a practiced warrior. He was unafraid. Perhaps that self-assurance had something to do with the wicked spear that lay in front of him. Yet the man had not attacked him with it, and seemed more curious than anything.

Eln held his hands up, palms out, to signal that he was not a threat. "Nai fuvi yakso heru," he said. He hoped to the gods that the man understood him.

[GoblinFae]

The gods were not with Eln though. Waquin'i smiled softly and warmly over the flames, both hands raised and splayed in a friendly gesture. 

"I mean you no harm," he spoke calmly, and slowly in slightly accented common. 

With smooth but slow movements he plucked at his still damn clothes to show how they clung to him and then gave an over-exaggerated shiver.

"Your fire is warm and I am soaked and freezing. I brought fish though!" He beamed brightly, the grin reaching his eyes as he carefully pointed to the fish and then his mouth before lifting one of the sticks off the fire and turning it handle side towards the stranger in offering. 

[Nightcrawler]

The man echoed his movements, but his words were foreign. Eln slumped and sighed, his disappointment plain. He coughed. His throat was raw. Had he cried out aloud? Had this stranger heard him? Whose name had he been calling into the darkness?

The stranger moved carefully and pantomimed his reasons for joining Eln at his fire. It was cold. His clothes were wet. If Eln let him stay, he would share his fish. And this seemed reasonable. It was a familiar way of conducting these situations — a meeting of two men of very different clans. Both had to give something to the other before words of any substance could be exchanged. Was his fire enough of a gift? The stranger seemed to think as much. Eln inclined his head out of respect and accepted the cooked fish.

"Voni nuhi teho, fa vihu tiya," he said. It was futile to try, of course. But the man across the fire must know, somehow, that Eln did not speak the tongues of this land.

He broke free a piece of fish, raised it, nodded his thanks, and ate it. At the very least, he could speak the language of actions.

[GoblinFae]

Waquin'i beamed at the stranger and made quick but polite work of his own food. He continued to keep his movements slow and gentle while offering small glances and smiles. It did not seem at least thus far that the stranger was a threat, just a tired and likely lost foreigner doing a bit worse for wear.

A cool breeze blew through their makeshift camp and the younger man hissed as his drenched clothes made him shiver and scrunch up more on himself while rubbing at his legs. With his fish cooking stick finished its purpose, he poked the flames with it hoping to stoke them a bit more before tossing it in to join them.

"It is a cold night tonight," he commented aloud, exaggerating the body language of a freezing man. "Thank you for your fire." Waquin'i sighed heavily and rolled his neck lazily, just enjoying the quiet peace of the fire popping and cracking in the crisp night air.

After some time though when it proved that his clothes were not going to dry any time soon, he impatiently rubbed his hands together before yanking his tunic off, tossing it onto the grass with a wet plap and rubbing at his arms and torso in a further effort to warm up. Across his upper chest were fresh, clean, bandages that wound around and round him while a faint scant few scars littered his torso and sides.

The shirt was collected carefully and placed in the spot where he had been sitting, laid out nicely so as to try and dry more quickly and evenly. A heartbeat later, the young I'kanan was abandoning his spear to instead come and sit directly beside the stranger, pressing his side in close against his while actively clutching his own torso closely in a bid to get warm.

[Nightcrawler]

The young man spoke again. He seemed to understand, now, that Eln did not know his words, for he gestured broadly like one might to a child or one hard of hearing. Eln chose not to take offense to this. His unexpected guest was barely a man, after all. And he was trying. So Eln would try, too.

The stranger indicated that he was cold. Yes. One would be cold if one were soaked to the bone on a night like this. Worn as they were, he was grateful for the clothes on his back, and for his heavy wool cloak. It had been a nuisance on warm days. Now, it was a blessing. The young man, though he seemed to call these parts home, was unequipped for them. Eln wondered why. It seemed foolish. Perhaps this stranger was short of horn enough that this was his first lesson in it.

Shortly, the young man decided he'd had enough of the cold, and did away with his tunic. Beneath it, he bore heavy bandages, and the firelight cast strange shadows in the pits of old scars. He seemed to be no stranger to a fight. Had he recently been injured? It was not Eln's business, except to note that his companion was not weak.

Foolish, perhaps. And small. But formidable, nonetheless.

Eln startled as, without any warning, the man approached and sat beside him. And...leaned...on him. He stared, dumbfounded for a moment. It became clear that that moment sapped all of his tolerance for such bizarre behavior. His expression darkened. He abruptly stood, yanked his cloak out from beneath the stranger, and glowered down at him. He strode around to the opposite side of the fire. He shook his head.

He did not know what the local customs were, but in this particular one, he had no interest in partaking.

[GoblinFae]

Ah, there it was. It was always telling and a bit amusing for Waquin'i, the moment when a man showed his truer, baser self. While yes it was a gamble that a strange man who did not speak the same languages as he might indeed react less than welcoming to being sidled up to for warmth, it also showed that he was not a pushover and was unwilling to share more than fire and fish. However, he had not taken on the pose of the aggressor. Even with the fire now between them and this stranger now closer to the young man's abandoned spear than likely wise, he had simply chosen retreat over attack.

Waquin'i shivered again deeply, the cold truly was biting but also was manageable enough. His own mother walked barefoot come snowfall without flinching. This was nothing in comparison to his attempts to follow her literal footsteps in his youth. He raised his hands open palmed and placating before closing them against each other in the prayer fashion he had seen some of the Serenian priests do in the past as means of apology.

His interest however was piqued, and as such it was only some minutes after they had both comfortably settled before he was very slowly trying to butt-scoot himself inch by slow inch at a time around the fire to get closer again. 

[Nightcrawler]

The man held his hands up. This much, Eln understood. It was a likely way to express again that he meant no harm. Then he put them together in some unfamiliar gesture. Eln watched him, expression still set halfway between stoicism and ire. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms in his best attempt at a stern warning. This stranger had interrupted his sleep, after all, and Eln's weariness now robbed him of his patience. He hoped this was the last of it. He had little interest in being on guard until dawn.

After a while, it became clear that the stranger was not going to try it again. Good. Eln gave him one more look of warning before lifting a few pieces of dry wood from the pile that he'd gathered and laying them over the fire. Then he settled opposite the man, tugged his cloak around himself, and waited.

And scowled again. It wasn't long at all before his odd companion began to move towards him, scooting slowly, like Eln was some game animal with poor eyesight. Eln grumbled and stood again. He briefly considered raising the man's own spear against him. He decided against it. He still needed help. It wouldn't do to be rash. So instead, he simply held up a hand. "Yese," he snapped.

[GoblinFae]

Years of ingrained training took over and in the moment Eln clambered to his feet, Waquin'i was also moving. In seconds he went from sitting cross-legged to crouched defensively on his hands and knees, chin tucked into his shoulder protectively and eyes trained on the man before him honed for the slightest of movements. His fingers dug deep into the earth, gripping a fistful in preparation to toss it as a blinding distraction at a moment's notice.

But it was no weapon that he drew, but a hand firmly thrust towards him and a word barked sharply. "...yes?~" Waquin'i returned in confusion, his head lifting some and tilting as if trying to understand. Had the stranger finally attempted to speak in Common? "Yes, what?"

[Nightcrawler]

It appeared Eln had frightened the man, for he braced himself for attack. The maneuver in turn startled Eln, whose keen eyes did not miss the handful of soil that the stranger scooped up. He backed away a step and his hand shot, finally, to his ax head, but he didn't draw it. He squinted, confused. This stranger bore the scars of what appeared to be blade wounds, and had brought with him a spear, and yet he seemed trained in the women's style. Perhaps the people of this land fought differently.

He released the ax, and with it, a frustrated huff. Annoyed though he was, he still had no intention of fighting. His opponent would easily lose a scuffle, and he didn't wish to offend the man's clan — not when they might mean the difference between survival and death. He glanced down at the spear. He would, however, remain close to it. His companion had proven unpredictable. Eln was uninterested in giving him back such an advantage. He set a foot on top of the haft: another warning.

The man attempted to communicate again. "Yeswut," he said. He seemed confused. Had he misheard Eln? It seemed futile that either of them speak at this point. So Eln simply held his hand out again to bid him to stop, and gave him that same stern look. He slid his boot further over the haft and lowered his full weight on it. He tilted his head and raised his brow, as if to say, "don't try it again."

[GoblinFae]

His lips fell open in a small teeth baring of warning the moment his hand touched the axe head. Of the two of them he was the younger and more knowledgable fighter when it came to terrain. Waquin'i had little doubt he would eventually win if it came down to it. He was usually underestimated for his smaller size and bubbly personality. He could scrap with the best of them though and more importantly, win.

While he could blink at his words being repeated, his sharp focus was far more concentrated on the foot standing on his spear. Waquin'i stood quickly, expression fierce and stance wide with slightly bent knees, ready to spring if needed.

"EY!" he cried, pointing with two fingers at the stranger's foot before flicking his wrist, motioning him back and away. "No!"

[Nightcrawler]

He expected that reaching for his own weapon would upset the stranger. What he didn't anticipate was that a boot to the spear would cause such offense. The man stood, clearly outraged, and said a word that, for the first time, Eln understood: "No."

Eln froze. He considered his options carefully. If he gave the man his spear back, he'd be at a grave disadvantage. If he simply removed his boot, it might not do enough to quell the man's anger. To pick it up would be an act of clear aggression. Well. He would try one thing at a time.

He raised his hands as he'd done before. He lifted his boot from the spear. And he took one single step away — far enough to show good faith, but not far enough that he couldn't react if the stranger chose to attack him.

[GoblinFae]

As the older man stepped off the spear and took one step back, Waquin'i surged a step forward, shoulders tensed and brow still furrowed. "More!" He barked, flicking his wrist twice more, demanding further space. How dare he step on his spear! What kind of barbaric people did he come from to step on someone's property who has been helping them all along and even provided food?!

[Nightcrawler]

That motion — the lunge — told Eln everything he needed to know. The stranger had taken his sign of faith as a sign of weakness. Negotiations, such that they were, had failed. The situation had shifted from a simple greeting to a struggle for dominance, and now this small man would attempt to take over Eln's fire and push him out into the cold of night.

But Eln was tired — too tired for children's games. If the stranger was so intent on starting a fight, then a fight he would have, and Eln would simply have to find another clan to overwinter with. After all, if this man's people were anything like him, the chances of Eln making peaceful contact with them were slim. He stood his ground and took in his friend-turned-opponent. All the man had, that Eln could see, was a fistful of dirt and a mouth full of sharpened teeth. He would not need the spear. Did he dare lift it, even if simply to keep it out of the stranger's reach?

He stepped forward again, returning the man's glare with his own steady, unblinking gaze. In one fluid motion, he wedged his boot under the spear haft, flipped the weapon up into the air, and caught it with his shield hand. He rammed the butt of the spear on the ground with a firm thud and set his right hand upon his ax head. He raised his brow again. It was his last warning.

[GoblinFae]

Waquin'i squawked in displeasure at his spear being kicked and slammed into the dirt. It had certainly faired about the same in his own care but it was the principle of the matter! The moment Eln stepped towards him, he too barreled forward refusing to back down from the challenge. In fact by the time the other man was threatening him, the younger one was puffing with agitation and throwing all manner of obscene gestures at him that needed no shared language to be understood.

He shouted and pointed at the spear demanding answers to the poor treatment and sudden hostility while alternating with beating his bound chest and baring his sharpened teeth. Waquin'i became so animated in fact that he forgot that the other man likely couldn't even understand a single word of what he was saying if he spoke slowly let alone the speed at which he was talking. Yet, still he continued to stamp his feet and loudly proclaim his displeasure all while knowingly or perhaps unknowingly inching closer to Eln.

[Nightcrawler]

Predictably, the stranger took offense, and now his behavior devolved into the kind of tantrum Eln would expect of an ill-raised toddler. By the many angry words and pointed gestures the man made, he knew now that anything he did with this spear would be considered an affront. He was not about to give it up, however. So he stood as calmly as he could, though his patience wore thin, and waited, as one might of such a toddler, for the tantrum to run its course. Perhaps it was his fatigue getting the better of him, but in a way, the animated flailing and rude gestures were almost humorous. His expression softened. He cracked the slightest smile. He chuckled. It was a strange feeling.

How long had it been since he laughed?

But then the man drew closer, and Eln's focus snapped to those dancing feet. He watched and waited and didn't give up any more ground than he had. The man inched closer. Closer. Closer. Eln sighed. He'd had enough, now. He lifted the spear, flipped it on end, and aimed a strike right across his opponent's nose.

[GoblinFae]

The laughter gave him slight pause and he had begun to smile back when it finally registered in his mind what he had heard and seen. Moments later though he was completely caught off guard as his own spearbutt popped him in the face. Waquin'i saw white as fire exploded from his nose into his sinuses. 

The young man stumbled backwards some, touching his face and staring at his fingers as they came away wet and glimmering red in the firelight. Blood. The stranger had drawn blood with Waquin'i's own weapon. Now that just wouldn't do. 

Grinning toothily for the first time since encountering this man, the I'kanan made a point to lick the blood off his hand before smearing what still leaked from his nose down over his chin and throat. He was still and quiet as he assessed the other man. Up until now had been pushing buttons to garner the temperament and make of him. Now however was to discern the strength of him. He looked tired and older. But the speed with which he had struck out at the younger man belied his fighting days were likely not so far behind him yet.

He smoothed his hands down his sides indicating there was no weapon before pulling a small knife from his boot. Waquin'i made a point to show it in the palm of his hand before tossing it aside. With a jerk of his chin he challenge Eln to do the same. No weapons. Fight like a man.   

[Nightcrawler]

The young man did not seem to grasp the meaning of the strike. In fact, it was the opposite: he took it as yet another challenge. He smeared blood the way Eln's people smeared grease and charcoal: as a mark of his own fierceness. And yet, this stranger had done nothing more than bluster and flail. The only signs Eln saw of his prowess were his spear and his scars, and he had unwisely relinquished that magnificent weapon. And now he relinquished his belt knife, too.

Ah.

In his surprise at the young man's audacity, Eln did not react to the gesture at first. It was clear that the man wished him to disarm and wrestle, like women did when settling their disputes. But there was no dispute. Eln had built this fire. He did not owe this brave little mosquito any such a thing.

Eln tutted. He released a long, irritated sigh through his nostrils. "Ei," he growled. He set the butt of the spear to the man's chest and shoved. "Luho vefa."

[GoblinFae]

"Coward!" he crowed into the night air as the stranger refused to relinquish weapons and instead shoved him with his own spear. Waquin'i latched onto the spear with a double overhanded grip right before suddenly surging forward at the older man. He used the strength of his legs and lower center of gravity to hopefully off-balance the other man and claim the upper hand. For an added measure, he used the leading leg to attempt to wrap around inside of Eln's knee to further send him tumbling to the ground.

Waquin'i was determined now. Adrenaline and the thrill of the scuffle was coursing through his veins and he would not quit until one of them surrendered. This was the way. Everything had been fun and games until his spear, abandoned out of respect was taken possession of. What kind of dishonorable people did this man come from? It did not matter. Waquin'i would show him the strength of the I'kanans and while he was at it, claim that worn cloak as his own for the night. Perhaps if the man gave up now, he'd even be kind and share it.