The flakes began to fall more heavily as Aguta trudged on through the blanket of snow across the land. While the cold tundra did have a relatively short growing season some stubborn form of grass tended to find a way to survive the cold and could be seen where the snow was thinnest. A sort of shallow-rooted thorny bush could be seen here and there but seldom did any trees break up the landscape.
He looked up but could see little sky, only an increasingly foreboding cloud cover - especially in the direction from which the breeze was blowing. Not good.
Still, he could regret his circumstances, no matter what the weather might be bringing his way. The air was crisp and fresh and all around him there was stillness. Not so much as the sound of a bird broke up the utter peacefulness of his surroundings for the present. Here he could forget humanity and all of its deceptions, its shortsightedness and violence. Here there was only the timelessness of all the ages of life that had passed by on these peaceful plains.
Well that and -he noticed suddenly- something up ahead on the tundra. Something he had at first dismissed as a boulder but now he could see was not. He thought about summoning Sol to investigate but being out on the tundra again for a while he found he had regained a bit of confidence (or foolishness - he never seemed to be able to tell the difference until it was too late) and he did not. Instead he continued to approach until he could make out that it was in fact someone's camp.
Assuming it abandoned he continued but then stopped when he realized he was wrong yet again. A figure was lying prone near what was left of the campfire, their belongings scattered about the area.
Now his concern was growing. After all, what kind of fool would still be camped at mid-day in the middle of the open tundra with the weather threatening to bring a storm down on top of them? The person had to either be injured or had seriously overslept, he decided.
Or, he concluded as he finally reached the encampment, they might just be dead.
The dead person appeared to be middle-aged, Aguta decided, and appeared to have bled to death from some fairly severe looking and hastily bandaged injuries to his midsection -and arms -and everywhere really. Whatever had this man been doing, fighting against a whole army all by himself? He didn't care to get a better description, or for that matter to look at the body at all more than he had to. The man hadn't been dead long enough to look truly gruesome but corpses just weren't his thing to begin with. It struck him as odd that predators hadn't found the body already, it really was a slow day on the tundra apparently.
"Well my friend," he said casually as if the poor soul could have replied, "mind if I borrow one or two things from you? Don't suppose it will make much difference to you at this point eh?"
Finding the man's pack he began to go through it in case there was something in it worth acquiring. Or perhaps some sign of who the man had been and if he had any family to bring the news home to. Not that he hoped for that opportunity. 'Oh by the way, I found your dead family member out on the tundra, well met!'
Most of what he found turned out to be pretty boring however. Some cooking utensils, a few days worth of dried food (which he was happy to integrate into his own meager stores) and other standard traveler's fare. All that stood out was a primitive notebook, quill, and a small supply of ink.
Deciding this was as good a place as any for a noon-day snack he opened up a few rations and filled his stomach while he read, skipping to the last entry first.
So it is here that I shall meet my end. On this desolate wasteland. I have barely the strength to hold this quill now and I know I shall not see another day. At least I die knowing I wasted my life in the pursuit of worthy goals. -Unattainable ones I grant you, but all the more worthy for their ambition.
I spent the first half of my life trying to be a poet. Looking through that dizzying kaleidoscope of youth it seemed a surety that I could change the world but with the right melody of words and wisdom. It would take me many years of singing of dreams and a better world into ears deaf to all but greed and selfishness to learn the error of my ways. All men in the end become who they choose to be, and the world shapes itself around them. Few choose wisely.
Of all the years subsequent, I can only say that if violence was to be the deity before which all men would most assuredly bow then I decided I would become the living incarnation of their God. I would be the greatest warrior of them all, and like the legends of old of whom poets are made famous writing about I would-
Aguta leaned back and yawned, taking another bite of hard jerky and a swig from his water skin. "Can barely hold the quill up eh?" He spoke to the body a few feet to his right. "Looks like you were having trouble putting it down to me..."
He almost put the journal aside, knowing he couldn't waste too much time here, but found himself skimming past a few more entries instead, hoping to find something more useful. A few pages previous one caught his eye.
I think now I may have made a mistake in tracking my enemy this far North. He is indeed every bit the warrior I hoped him to be, a true beast. But now I fear I may not have adequately prepared myself. The cold tundra works to his favor while it curses me more each day. Yet I cannot turn back now, I must see this through. If I am to become the greatest warrior of our time I cannot renege on my greatest test. I have the Sword of Kings (for that is what I have decided to call it) at my command, and a fine weapon it is! A weapon of destiny. I see in its shining runes the answer. When I bring back the pelt of this beast I will know at last -as will everyone- that this is truly my destiny and that a warlord I have become who will make this world of corruption and filth clean again!
I am close now, the evidence of his passing is only hours old! Tomorrow I go to confront him. Tomorrow destiny unfolds.
With a sigh Aguta flipped through the rest of the book without bothering to read further. There was no sign of anything so straightforward as a simple name or signature. He tossed it aside. "You," he declared as he put away his rations, "were one deluded crazy person, you know that?"
The corpse didn't answer.
With another sigh he took stock of his options. It didn't seem right to just leave the man there, but on the other hand he had no means by which to dig a hole in the frozen ground of the tundra nor were there enough stones nearby to make a decent cairn. There was the ritual of passage that his father had taught him many years ago, but he decided against it as appropriate as it might be for the situation. It had been that very ritual which had led to his discovery of his own abilities and his father's fakery. He didn't feel like dredging up the past.
Besides which part of him was afraid he would actually make contact with the crazed warrior poet's spirit. While having Sol following him around was a true gift he didn't think some psycho egomaniac would make quite as pleasant a companion.
"I wish you good fortune on your next journey my friend," he said finally before continuing on his own. He was walking through the fading tracks of the dead man, he noted, wondering absently just what adversary the guy had been referring to. Obviously it had been a brutal fight. For that matter, he wondered what all that nonsense concerning swords and runes was about. Certainly there hadn't been any such sword in the man's belongings.
Perhaps the man had been another victim of the beast, but something seemed increasingly wrong about the situation. If the bear he saw in town was the beast as he assumed, why did it show no sign of injury? Was the fight that one-sided? Besides which, how did the bear get to Hyoite so quickly after their fight? After all, the tracks he was following only led deeper into the tundra.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the bear in town was just some grumpy shifter. Or there might be a whole tribe of bear people like him somewhere. It occurred to him for the first time in fact, that the bear might not have been the beast at all and that he might have just made one giant, dangerously wrong, assumption. In which case he, and anyone else out on the naked openness of the tundra, might be anything but safe...
He stopped in his tracks for a moment at the realization. The breeze seemed colder than it had before, and the clouds suddenly more threatening. He picked up his pace amid the increasing snow flakes.
((OOC: Let me know if I the dead warrior poet guy was a good plot drop or not. I'm not sure what plans everyone else has as to where things are going, so please tell me if I'm heading in a direction you don't like! Trying not to step on any toes here. Thanks!))
