Househunters Le'ranna: Id-Êssir

[Magyar]

Leaning over the edge of the red stained canyon walls, Bol knew that his decisions here would determine so much in his future, that if he messed up, he might not get another chance this big.

Bol shook his head, and muttered, "No, no, alright. Breath. Let's do this." After balancing his breath and heartbeat, he took a few steps back, ran headfirst over the cliff, and jumped. Twisting in mid air, he threw a javelin that had a ring on the end into the dirt and sand from where he'd jumped, and pulled taut the rope that connected him to it. Swinging dangerously fast towards the sandstone wall, he pulled his knees close to his chest and hit the wall. Pushing off at the moment of impact, he softened the blow sightly, but still felt the shock in his teeth.

"Son of a bitch!" He grunted through clenched teeth. Twisting around and surveying the path down the wall, Bol chose one, and began spelunking down towards what looked like a central square, with small huts cut from stone surrounding it.

After about twenty feet, with ten or so more to go, Bolion stopped, and pulled a shortsword from a sheath on his thigh. Sawing through the thick rope took a few minutes, but he finally cut through, and found himself falling backwards. Pushing off from the wall, he leaned back, and letting gravity do his work for him, concentrated on landing. Flipping backwards in the air, he stuck out his arms and landed on his left foot, then took a step back with his right. Upon turning around, he saw the previously empty square and huts had residents, now peeking out at him from their shadows.

(OOC: @Klezmer Gryphon)

[Klezmer Gryphon]

A long, deep breath flowed into Rashid's lungs as the Khaghan of the Söl-Ruhtin lifted a cup of grass tea to his lips, taking in the aroma of the freshly brewed mixture. It was early in the afternoon and the majority of the clan's residents were in their homes, staying out of the hot, Moraki sun. Rashid couldn't blame them; with no games, disputes or business going on in the town center, there wasn't much reason to be outside, even with the shadow of the cliff cooling the village down slightly.

Days like this made him wish his mother had not passed so soon; as assertive and pushy as she was known to be, she knew how to get the community roused and about the town with some sort of game or competition. Setting his tea down, Rashid adjusted his position on the floor, looking out the window of his hut only for his eyes to widen... They had an intruder.

Springing to his feet, the Khaghan quickly grabbed his bow and quiver, slinging the latter over his shoulder as he started yelling for guards in both Essyrni and Mohraza, the native Morrahlique dialect. Within minutes, there was a group of twenty or so armed warriors surrounding the fellow, waiting for further orders.

The Khaghan's eyes narrowed into a glare as he got a better look at the interloper, the fur on the back his neck standing at attention. He appeared to be an orc, but Rashid couldn't quite place where from... His features were refined, yet brutal, and his graceful appearance threw off any attempt at figuring out the fellow's origins. Regardless, this... thing... was considered an enemy in his mind until he could figure out what intentions lie behind his pale gaze.

"Unos djàro qu'arrahzop tchàui! Madjani!"  he barked rapidly to the orc as he pulled an arrow from his quiver. He was in no mood to use Common with the newcomer.

((Rashid is speaking Mohraza. The only two words you need to know are "arrahzop" which is a command to kneel, and "madjani", which means "now"))

[Magyar]

Seeing the immediate danger, Bol knelt and unslung his longsword and shortsword, and placed them onto the ground in front of him. Lifting his hands in a sign of submission, he took a knee and stepped back from his blades. He quickly counted the Morrahlique coming from the huts and crevices, numbering them to be more than twenty.

The one who had spoken had an arrow trained on him, and seemed to be in control of the situation. Perhaps he could lead him to the Khagan.

"I come in peace! I look for the Khagan of the Söl-Ruhtin!" his voice echoed against the canyon walls, the tension of the moment thick in the air.

[Klezmer Gryphon]

Rashid kept his hand steady on the bow string, scrutinizing every word that had come out of the orc's mouth. Turning to the warrior on his right, a tall, breaded Essyrni human, he muttered a few words in the man's native tongue. Easing his bow from full draw, the Khaghan looked back at the clan's guest with a grimace.

"Perhaps you are true to your word, and mean us no harm... Or perhaps you are a spy, sent to find our weaknesses," Rashid said firmly, walking up to the kneeling orc before kicking his dropped weapons towards one of the other warriors, who scooped them up and disappeared into the village, "We'll keep your weapons locked up for now. When... or if... you leave, you can go and pick them up from our quartermaster. Now, you said you were looking for the Khaghan.... What is it you want of me?"

[Magyar]

Confusion knotted Bolion's brow, but left his face as soon as it had come, and he spoke clearly in common, "You are Khagan? I heard of a great woman war chief who led this clan. Where is she?"

"And I am no spy, Khagan. My clan was destroyed years ago, and so I seek a new one. The Morrahlique taught me the value of community in this place. Besides, spies do not have these," he bared his forearms, tattoos of his former makeshift clan emblazoned near his wrists. The tattoos were the outcast markings of the clan his companions had come from, intermixed with elvish and orcis have symbols, stating his family names, "I come to join the Söl-Ruhtin, not attack them."

He kept his eyes level with the Jackal man, remarking to himself how very similar they were to the desert dogs. He suddenly was cautious, remembering the jackal he had eaten earlier that day. Best not to mention that.

[Klezmer Gryphon]

A painful expression hung on Rashid's visage as the newcomer's question sank in. He was fighting a strong urge to storm back to his hut, a single tear rolling down his face as he looked at the orc, examining the marks on his arms.

"My mother... passed away a few scant months ago. I would rather not discuss the nature of her passing here with a complete stranger," he said, still looking over the marks on the orc's arm. They seemed suspicious, as the primary element were the markings of an outcast in Morrahlique society, but Rashid was not going to let tradition cloud his judgment, "however, if you are not here to destroy us, why do you wish to join us?"

[Magyar]

"I have lived a life befitting a beggar, Khagan, and my symbols show this. However, the ones who gave them to me were just as much family as my blood relatives. They were slain," Bolion's expression darkened unconsciously at this,"but alone I cannot exact revenge. I am here to gain your trust, and companionship in hopes that you will help me. Even if you will not come, a tribe at your back has other benefits."

He knelt, knowing that his chances of success were decreasing rapidly. He hoped no desperation shone through in his words. It had been a month past a year since the slaughter of his farm. This was his break, and he needed to pull it off.

Meanwhile, he also noticed the tear at the mention of the woman, falling from the Khagan's eye. It vanished into the fur on his face as quickly as it came, but he noticed. A wife, perhaps? Mother? Sister? He knew admittedly very little about the inheritance traditions of the Morrahlique, and didn't know to whom in the family a position might go to. Despite that, this woman obviously meant somethings to him, and Bolion made a mental note to steer away from the subject.