first go

[mfl.livejournal.com]

Though i'd have a go

This is some stuff for a roleplay group that didn't get used.. nothing Ic here just some fiction i started writing.. jimfer should recognise it.
Oh and written before backgrounds were clear




“It never seems still, not like the goodly woods of home. These seem accursed, alive, always watching us”

Gardia nodded at his friend’s words, glancing as he did so at the forest surrounding the small village.
A dozen or so small wooden and thatch huts, with the only stone dwelling squatting at one end. Also the church of St Marcos was the only other European dwelling beside the tavern they sat it the shade of.

He shifted back as one of the lizard natives brought their food to the table, while Sanchez instinctively clutched at his crucifix as his plate of maize mash was placed in front of him.
He watched the native as the lizard left, not taking his eyes off it until it disappeared from sight. He then relaxed turning to see Gardia tucking into his assortment of meats with gusto.

“How is it that you can eat such things? The holy granddame has yet to issue the writ that the otherlanders food is not tainted by Mana.

Gardia chewed. “Friend, I, as you know, don’t hold with your prefect’s views that Mana is the source of all our problems.
Which means, while I may condemn my soul to the hands of the rebel daemons in the next life, in this one I get to eat fine food like this, while you sup gruel like some weaning child.”

Brother Sanchez frowned at his friend’s casual blasphemy.

“ While you work for this commune you should be more cautious with your tone. While I truly believe that within you lies a soul bound for the gleaming cities, there are others who would measure your use here against the not inconsiderable bounty upon a heretic in these times.
Especially a heretic who has wormed his way into a position of trust in one of the Prefect’s fledgling communes here”

He raised his hands to show he meant no offence, in the process allowing clumps of gruel to fly from his spoon to splatter his grey robe.
He began to wipe them off, dropping his spoon into his bowl.

“I only say these things because I am your friend, and because I have heard men as good as you accused of worse things, with no proof. You look at me and see a naïve man, sent here to preach the word. And perhaps I am naïve, but not so much that I do not see venal men in high position in this church, and greedy men selling their brethren to the inquisitor’s flames."


He looked down, picked up the spoon, and began pushing his gruel around, embarrassed.

Gardia chewed and swallowed, feeling perspiration break out on his brow, the usual response to him trying a new native dish. He looked over at his young friend and leant forward, pushing his plate to one side.

“While its comforting to know that, as always, my soul is under careful watch, and I am reassured that you are aware of the shadows that lurk within holy orders, we have more pressuring concerns here.
I have heard rumour that more rebels are banding out in the forest you trust so little. The traders at Freeport claim that a caravan was sacked on route to ships heading home, with the bodies of the dead swollen fat with poison.”

“When was that?”

“Last week, according to the Militia stationed at the port. They are trying to keep it under wraps, but the word is heard at every tavern.”

“So why lay the blame at the natives?” The spoon clattered in the dish as the priest made an exasperated face.

“ From what I see there are many of those who travelled with us to this land who are more than proficient with poisons and would have greater reason to make piratical attacks upon merchants.
And from what I have observed of the natives themselves, they may have issues with some of the actions of the colonists, but most believe that we bring benefits to them and we will ensure they are treated well.”

Gardia looked closely at his young friend, could he be that naïve, he wondered.

“Sanchez, you see what you want.
No,” he paused,
“ You see what you hope to see in these creatures. You want them to come to the prayer meetings for more than just the food because you want them to believe in the white Christ.
You want them to believe that we can all co-exist happily because we have both seen what happens to those who don’t embrace the doctrine. You want them to change to our ways because the alternative is bloody.

He reached a hand out to rest gently on Sanchez’s arm

“And you my friend have too much compassion for these creatures, to brook that happening. The problem is, have you even considered that these things aren’t showing us everything.
You look at them and they’re like the damn forests. They look bit familiar, but still strange and alien. And they’re deep, they show nothing but the slightest surface layer and we have no idea what lies in their depths.”

He turned his head and cast a worried glance at the surrounding jungle
“Just like this damned forest”


Mor-Dai-Xian

A hundred yards travelled into the jungle is as miles outside of it’s depths. Within a dozen paces into the woods you turn around and you see nothing of the outside world.

Another dozen and you may never find your way out again perhaps wandering for days enthralled or terrified until the jungle finally decides your fate.
Death can come in a dozen ways, insidious poison by bite, sting or merely poor choice in fruit, slow starvation until you fall and become sustenance for the carrion eaters.
Or you can fall prey to jaguar or snake, the larger predators who use the jungle as a hunting ground.

And then there are other servants of the jungle, those that wage a quiet war against the invaders, a war that for now, must be fought on the invaders terms.

After listening to what the apes-that-talk had to say to each other Kirikkarra left the village and disappeared into the jungle to report.
Within an hour he was within the ruins of the oldest temple he had been allowed to visit. On the way he had passed a dozen sentries or safeguards of one form or another. He had perhaps spotted half of them, and that was far more than even the most skilled talking-ape tracker would ever see.

Kirik-karra picked his way through the ruins until he came across the low walls where he had met Gikalen on prior occasions. The elder saurian had advised Kirikkarra to go to the talking-ape gatherings of food and talk and to work for them for the pointless weak metal circles they prized so highly.
By now he had quite a collection.
He had offered to use some of them to exchange for one of fire-driven-knife-throwers that the talking-apes used in their attempts to hunt game, but Gikalen warned him against acquiring too many talking-ape-made things as there were many who would see it as disloyal.

Gikalen would occasionally talk of others outside of the nesting that Kirikkarra had been brought up in.
Up to half a dozen families together to each nesting and at least another 5 nests in the part of the jungle that he knew of. And of all these only Gikalen had contact with the warriors against the ape-invaders.

The Muer-dai-xian, direct descendents of the Tyrant-lizards that lie sleeping in rivers, forests and hills, working towards the ending of the invasion by any means necessary.
Kirikkarra often dreamt of the stories he was taught as a hatchling, of the days when the Tyrant-Lords brought order to the land. He could still remember the days that the apes arrived, long after the last Tyrant-Lord had surrendered to sleep.

Their Wind-boats arriving in small numbers at first, and then in huge, fleets as the talking-apes gained in arrogance.

“You’re away with the dryads young lizardling. A dozen talking-apes could have walked straight past you while I’ve been sat here”

Kirikkarra whirled around to see Gikalen basking on the wall behind him, picking his teeth with his long foreclaw, his head-crest risen with wry amusement.

“I would hate to think that having spent so long with the jabbering-apes, you forget how we never drop guard within our brothers lands.”

Subdued, Kirikkarra sat in front of the elder, his limbs splayed out as was the saurian way. Gikalen inclined his head in approval and focused upon his pupil.

“You will listen to any news of the ape-hole known as Freeport, and of any meetings of the invaders due to take place there. You are to listen to chatterings about apes known as Norse, and what other apes say of them. You are to listen to those apes who chatter of attacks upon their plunder, and find what they think they know. Which ones have eyes that can see the danger around them and those others who wallow in the warm bloods arrogance. And you will bring more word of the murderers known by the apes as slavers“

Kirikkarra held his nerves in check as he watched his mentor flex his killing talon as he spoke of the invaders.
It was always best to be cautious when Gikalen spoke like this, there were parts of his past that he spoke of little, but had clearly fashioned his burning fire-rage against the apes of all the invaders who plundered the Truelands.
He occasionally wondered if it was the apes that had scarred Gikalen’s muzzle with 4 angry, red cuts, livid against his green-gray scales, but had always feared to ask.

Kirikkarra knew that there were a number of his nest-mates who had the same view of the chattering ones, whilst only a few had curiosity as he did. He believed that this curiosity and ease in the company of the talking-apes was the main reason he had been approached by Gikalen, as he knew he had few other gifts to aid the resistance.

As Gikalen talked on, the young saurian took note of the plans forming against the invaders, and of his singular role in them