4 Dyo 81382 Mournbringer has returned. The brutal land of Calamarha filled his nostrils with the pleasant scent of necrotic bodies and decadent flora. Entering the black market Mournbringer sneered in disgust. Although this was home he still didn't like being around civilization. He was merely here to investigate the whereabouts of a rare moss he had heard of. He knew not where to begin his search so he might as well start in the swamps of home.
<blockquote><div align=right>out of character ; hope you don't mind me jumping in. : d question, though: is mournbringer bipedal or quad? in character ;</div><div align=justify> Niley's long limbs shuddered with the smell and feel of home. She'd always had an affinity for this land, and seemed to move somehow more fluidly in the stagnate air. She might have even been seen to be smiling. Maybe. Certainly more joyful, the thill practically skipped across a thin expanse of green water, shoulders hunched downwards, eyes scanning the ground eagerly. Behind her eyes, scenarios played smooth as an old sepia movie, a happy play of what-ifs and if-only's. The unusual feeling of another presence, however, shoved her out of her dreams. Muscles tightening violently, she nearly tripped into the water. Her lips curled, her ears flicked backwards. They were nice dreams. And this new presence ... was not a friendly one. Her muscles did not relax. Warily, Niley trotted nearer, hand gripping on her pouch (which emitted an uncomfortable squeak). She stopped near a tall blond tree, its leaves drooping low, and leaned against the trunk. Perhaps she would wait for this stranger to notice her, or continue on out of her way.
Mournbringer cast about as if he heard something, but the haze of his drugs masked most sounds. Must be a swamp rat he thought. Mournbringer started as it came again, light footfalls. This time he studied the swamp horizon closely. Mournbringer lowered his brown hood and stood straight causing his bent spine to crack. Still he saw nothing. "What manner of beast would hunt an old Takula." Mournbringer spoke loud enough for his voice to carry through the din of insects humming and boiling mud. "I'm to old to be of use as a slave or a meal." He fondled a pouch of herbs as he waited for an answer or an attack.
<blockquote><div align=justify>The bony figure bent lower to the ground—risking the danger of exposure, but allowing her to see the approaching figure more clearly. Tall, she garnered. Tall and old. An amused smirk lifted the corners of her mouth. It was ever so easy to fit this man into the nice little box she had already made up, being surrounded so much of the time by the aging academics. They may have been strong, sometimes, but mostly they willingly fit behind the label she (in ignorance) gave them: useless, holding their pasts on high like relics—twisted fingers, crumbling blood-stained garments which weathered their beliefs like stone tablets. She would not mind showing herself. Straightening, Niley stepped out from underneath the tree, her footsteps falling heavy and sure. She brought her hand up to grip the strap of her pouch near her shoulder in defiance, and blew at a beetle swarming noisily around her face. «I would not hunt you,» she thought-spoke in private agreement with his second statement, though her "voice" was far louder than it need be, as if she was compensating for the space between them. Her smirk rested comfortably on her maw. «Are you lost, kiom? Old ones should be in their libraries, reading from their books. It's not often I see someone ... like you. Not here.» Through her own logic, another 'dragon might have given him some respect, but Knilah was not the respectful kind of thill—perhaps niotie, in this case.
<table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td>QUOTE </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'>«Are you lost, kiom? Old ones should be in their libraries, reading from their books. It's not often I see someone ... like you. Not here.»</td></tr></table> It was thought speak. It came from a thin whitish pendragon that had stood to reveal herself. Mournbringer laughed. "I am not lost young one merely visiting my homeland." he thought back "What of you? The hazards of the swamp are many indeed. Even when I was a young one I had trouble here." Mournbringer sniffed the air. Her scent was different, strangely dulled by something in or around her. He smirked when he thought he had the answer. "I beg your pardon." He thought as reached for a pouch. "Don't worry it's only my medicine." He pulled out a small lump of sticky brown moss and placed it in his mouth and began chewing contently. "So what brings you to my home, where there are no books just the harsh realities of life and death." Mournbringer laughed.
<blockquote><div align="justify">What of you? The hazards of the swamp are many indeed. Even when I was a young one I had trouble here. «I'm not so young,» the female sniped uncomfortably, rolling her shoulders into a tight hunch. «I know this place. Its ins and outs. Nothing much gets passed me here.» This last statement was certainly an arrogant (and mostly untrue) thing to say, but it also held some threat in it, the way her tone tightened into a forced smile. Perhaps it was her disinclination towards males, or her readiness to ascribe almost anyone as an unwanted trespasser—be it into her land or her life or her breathing space—but Niley found herself tensing against the coolness of this stranger. If she could, she might have remembered the Cyclops myth, his hostility towards would-be guests—asking questions first, never a gesture resembling hospitality, only to result in his untimely pike-in-the-eye death. The kiom's introduction as a native effectively flew in one ear and out the other. Niley did not want this man in her home. She did not want to have to offer him wine and cushions. Her smirk morphed steadily into a sneer, her gaze following the mash of his jaws. Venturing a winding step closer, her feet twisting around themselves in a manner resembling snakes or a stalking feline, she narrowed her eyes. Shivered a little at his laugh. «Nothing ... of consequence,» she said carefully. «I was feeling adventuresome, needed to ... stock up. On some things.» A pause. Was it wise to inquire more about him? Probably moreso than to not. She still didn't know his name. «And you? Who and what and why are you to be here?»
Me? Mournbringer replied. I am Mournbringer. I was born here and my tribe was effectively wiped out by a neighboring tribe. My life has been long and hard. Now I am merely passing through. The sights and smells of the swamp bring back painful memories and make me recall the reasons why I've become dissatisfied with my kind. But my history is long and boring and is a tale you would not care to hear. Mournbringer cast his eyes about staying alert for any dangers. Well if you are being adventuresome then mind yourself you wouldn't want to end up being carried off by smugglers and sold as a slave. And the tribes here don't take kindly to non-takula types. Mournbringer laughed again as he turned his back to the stranger. Aloud he said: "Good day to you stranger." and he began walking the way he had been before this interruption.
