Just give it up guys, jeez
May. 12th, 2012 12:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadow The mud stuck to their boots as they walked, trying to suck their entire leg into a dreaded, dirty oblivion. They could not find good ground to make a camp on in this place -- he had heard that swamps sucked when it came to solid ground, but the Garanee Swamps seemed to be permanently sinking, to the point that the last time they had rested, bordering on twelve hours ago, it had been in the low-hanging branches of an old, but thankfully not dying tree. His back still ached from it.
He wondered, for the one hundreth time in a few hours, why he had taken this job. And then remembered that he was piss-poor and sick of living off of stingy pay from whatever job he could pick up off of the streets. Skinning animals sucked, trying to gather wood from telepathic trees really sucked, and fucking going home with barely enough money for food and having his shitty alcoholic "friend" take most of it and drink it away made him want to shoot something. He lived for free, and also with an empty belly. At least the troops in this hellhole fed him.
The young half-soldier swore softly as a vine curled around his foot, mistaking it for some sort of rodent no doubt. He took out his knife and sliced at the plant, watching it unfurl and snap back instantly. That was one thing going for the plants in the swamps; unlike the trees along the coast, they actually responded to being attacked. The vine traps didn't want a fight, just easy food, and that was something he tried never to be. With a grunt he trudged back forward, this time watching more carefully for any signs of the plants.
No one spoke; he never did figure out why. No one's thoughts were safe on this damn continent; every inhabitant could tell what you were thinking, and a lot of the babies being born here were showing signs of it too. That was just the way Garanee worked; it was a telepath breeding ground, and he only wished it gave already living humans that gift too. His life would be so much easier if he knew which jobs would be a bust right away, rather than with careful talking. It took him months to read the words and the eyes of the men who wanted to swindle him; with a little mind reading, he probably wouldn't even be in this damn swamp at all.
And this was not really a place he wanted to be. He was desperate, not stupid, he told himself again and again. He knew the rumors about the creatures in the swamps, he knew what the vampires said about what lived here. But he was hungry and tired, and wanted to be able to escape his hellhole, live on his own, maybe have a chance to save up money and leave the damn place. Sure, Welen had deported him over that stupid Frenton Rebellion, but he was starting to miss it.
"Halt. Arms at ready."
The command came from a few dozen feet ahead and he stopped immediately, swearing softly as he began to sank. He moved his feet carefully to keep from going completely down, lifting his gun to the ready, and listened. This was the second time they had been given the command, but last time nothing had come of it; the movement had just been some fish, which had made for good dinner, but not a good bounty. He still didn't know why some idiot wanted a bounty on these things but hey, if they paid--
Five shots blasted through the swamp, cutting off his thoughts and making him wince at the noise. Loud shouts sent startled birds flying away, and he lurched forward, gun aimed forward. Ahead he saw his companions moving forward as well, but then they all paused, aimed, and started to shoot. He could not see what to fire at and paused behind them, listening, and realized his hands were shaking.
He also realized his boots were becoming oddly wet. He was standing in mud, sure, but not in the river, and so there shouldn't be--
Water was running from the direction of the shots past him. And it was rising. He looked up, eyes widening, and aimed his gun, wishing his aim wouldn't be so shaky--
And then his companions in front of him suddenly scattered, and he stared in absolute horror as a wave of muddy, murky water surged at him, and then rolled down onto them. The mud beneath him dissolved and he fell, losing his grip on his gun as the mess dragged him underwater, dirt and water spilling into his mouth and nose. He kicked frantically to try and swim back, but didn't have enough room to do so before the mess receded, leaving him and his companions coughing and choking, soaked and chilled.
Then he heard the rush of water, and before he was even finished spitted up he scrambled to get a grip on the ground, damning his gun to be abandoned and knowing he just had to move, move, run-
The wave hit him and send him sprawling a dozen feet back, getting a mouthful of mud. A few shots fired near him, and he heard a few horrified swears -- and then someone began to loudly pray. They were cut off by more water. He staggered to his feet as the water rushed over him, looking over to see a nearby tree, and frantically waded to it, almost being knocked off his feet as the murk surged again -- but he just managed to get a grip on the damp bark, and hoisted himself onto it, laying low against it, trying to stifle his coughs.
And then he saw the beasts, led by a purple one dotted with yellow. The legends made them sound bigger. Yet the scaly beast's head did not even reach the man's chest despite its lean, lanky legs. Its body was thick and solid though, and its four yellow eyes glittered as it faced a man trying frantically to get a grip on his gun and fire. Its face was just as horrifying as the rumors said -- the muzzle was long and relatively thin, but as it opened he saw nothing but two rows of needle-sharp thin teeth. The tip of its snout ended in a sharp point, with a few small horns preceding it; a set of three horns were on either side of its eyes. The frills hanging from its cheeks were fully spread -- he had no idea what it meant, but he figured anger was about accurate. "Furious" seemed a good word for everything about that beast.
He watched in horror as the water surged about the poor bastard, knocking him off of his feet. He barely kept a grip on his gun, but it definitely ruined his aim; and the front beast launched, far too steady on the muddy ground. It slammed into the man and knocked him flat, and then latched its jaws around his arm as the area around the man flooded with water, submerging them both. He watched in horror as the poor man struggled, trying to tear the Oerdum off of him; a shot went off but it went wild, missing the beast by a couple of inches. The other soldier let out a frantic cry and fired again frantically, and the half-soldier heard a distinct hissing sound; yet he still heard the Oerdum knock the man over.
The other soldiers were trying to get up, or firing randomly, and he saw one Oerdum get hit in the leg and stagger, hissing, and then a funnel of water shot up from under the gunner and he gargled frantically, dropping his gun from the blow, staggering and falling. Another man dropped his gun, turned, and fled, staggering and falling in the mud, coughing as water continued to ebb through the area. Meanwhile he squeezed himself as close to the branch as he could, counting as more Oerdum appeared -- four, five, six...
The first man had stopped struggling and the water receded from him, the Oerdum releasing him and turning to stare at one of its companions. Instead, its eyes flickered, and it looked straight at him on the tree.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." He tried not to shake as he thought of his options, and then rapidly realized he had none. "Please don't hurt me, by the Great Dragon, just spare me, I don't want a fight, please..."
The Oerdum opened its mouth and hissed at him, bloody spit spraying from its mouth. He started to slowly slide from the branch, muttering frantically under his breath, feeling tears burn in his eyes and trying to ignore them. Around him, he knew that the shots were decreasing, or all but ceased; most of the shouts were becoming either garbled in water or more distant. He didn't even know if they had gotten any of the beasts in return... One of them that was looking at him was limping, with blood leaking down its leg, but it wasn't dead.
He realized he had reached the end of the branch, and had his feet on wet, but solid, ground. The two Oerdum still stared at him, eyes glittering, hissing. He backed away slowly, holding his hands up, whimpering.
Leave.
The command was eerily familiar, he realized; perhaps he had heard it earlier in the fight and hadn't noticed. It was foreign in his mind, not even remotely human; yet as he met the yellow eyes of the Oerdum, he knew exactly who it had come from. And he realized, with a mix of horror and relief, that he was being given just one chance.
He turned and ran.
~~~
Later, when he was utterly lost in the swamps, but at least certain he wasn't anywhere near the Oerdum, he tried to figure out if he was a rare lucky one or not.
He had heard rumors that the Oerdum didn't kill everyone who crossed their territory -- snobby little biologists would say if they did, how would the species live? And come to think of it, he was pretty sure his friend came back babbling sometimes about someone in the bar saying they had survived the Oerdum swamps. He always figured they were bragging. But perhaps, it did happen.
After all, it was hard to deny that the Oerdum had left him go. He wasn't entirely sure why -- perhaps his lack of fighting? The fact that he was trying to get reabsorbed as a tree? Maybe they could read his mind and realized he was pissing his pants? He could think of no answers.
And he had no idea how to get home. Once he had calmed down, he had taken out his compass and started eastward, but after two hours of walking he saw no obvious signs of the plains, and furthermore kept having to stop himself from panicking that he may be walking into Oerdum territory. Except for the buzzing of insects and the calls of birds, the swamps were eerily silent -- yet during the fight, all he had heard from the Oerdum was hissing.
Well they weren't immortal at least. It was not much comfort. It was even less comfort having no weapon but a knife, and no supplies but a soaked through sack. Furthermore, he had not seen or hear any of his companions who had run off.
He didn't think about what may have become of them. Then he'd have to think about what may become of him.
Not much to say here. Just a little something that came into my mind and I decided to write. Will need plenty of revisions to work out the physics and stuff of it. Sorry it sucks.
He wondered, for the one hundreth time in a few hours, why he had taken this job. And then remembered that he was piss-poor and sick of living off of stingy pay from whatever job he could pick up off of the streets. Skinning animals sucked, trying to gather wood from telepathic trees really sucked, and fucking going home with barely enough money for food and having his shitty alcoholic "friend" take most of it and drink it away made him want to shoot something. He lived for free, and also with an empty belly. At least the troops in this hellhole fed him.
The young half-soldier swore softly as a vine curled around his foot, mistaking it for some sort of rodent no doubt. He took out his knife and sliced at the plant, watching it unfurl and snap back instantly. That was one thing going for the plants in the swamps; unlike the trees along the coast, they actually responded to being attacked. The vine traps didn't want a fight, just easy food, and that was something he tried never to be. With a grunt he trudged back forward, this time watching more carefully for any signs of the plants.
No one spoke; he never did figure out why. No one's thoughts were safe on this damn continent; every inhabitant could tell what you were thinking, and a lot of the babies being born here were showing signs of it too. That was just the way Garanee worked; it was a telepath breeding ground, and he only wished it gave already living humans that gift too. His life would be so much easier if he knew which jobs would be a bust right away, rather than with careful talking. It took him months to read the words and the eyes of the men who wanted to swindle him; with a little mind reading, he probably wouldn't even be in this damn swamp at all.
And this was not really a place he wanted to be. He was desperate, not stupid, he told himself again and again. He knew the rumors about the creatures in the swamps, he knew what the vampires said about what lived here. But he was hungry and tired, and wanted to be able to escape his hellhole, live on his own, maybe have a chance to save up money and leave the damn place. Sure, Welen had deported him over that stupid Frenton Rebellion, but he was starting to miss it.
"Halt. Arms at ready."
The command came from a few dozen feet ahead and he stopped immediately, swearing softly as he began to sank. He moved his feet carefully to keep from going completely down, lifting his gun to the ready, and listened. This was the second time they had been given the command, but last time nothing had come of it; the movement had just been some fish, which had made for good dinner, but not a good bounty. He still didn't know why some idiot wanted a bounty on these things but hey, if they paid--
Five shots blasted through the swamp, cutting off his thoughts and making him wince at the noise. Loud shouts sent startled birds flying away, and he lurched forward, gun aimed forward. Ahead he saw his companions moving forward as well, but then they all paused, aimed, and started to shoot. He could not see what to fire at and paused behind them, listening, and realized his hands were shaking.
He also realized his boots were becoming oddly wet. He was standing in mud, sure, but not in the river, and so there shouldn't be--
Water was running from the direction of the shots past him. And it was rising. He looked up, eyes widening, and aimed his gun, wishing his aim wouldn't be so shaky--
And then his companions in front of him suddenly scattered, and he stared in absolute horror as a wave of muddy, murky water surged at him, and then rolled down onto them. The mud beneath him dissolved and he fell, losing his grip on his gun as the mess dragged him underwater, dirt and water spilling into his mouth and nose. He kicked frantically to try and swim back, but didn't have enough room to do so before the mess receded, leaving him and his companions coughing and choking, soaked and chilled.
Then he heard the rush of water, and before he was even finished spitted up he scrambled to get a grip on the ground, damning his gun to be abandoned and knowing he just had to move, move, run-
The wave hit him and send him sprawling a dozen feet back, getting a mouthful of mud. A few shots fired near him, and he heard a few horrified swears -- and then someone began to loudly pray. They were cut off by more water. He staggered to his feet as the water rushed over him, looking over to see a nearby tree, and frantically waded to it, almost being knocked off his feet as the murk surged again -- but he just managed to get a grip on the damp bark, and hoisted himself onto it, laying low against it, trying to stifle his coughs.
And then he saw the beasts, led by a purple one dotted with yellow. The legends made them sound bigger. Yet the scaly beast's head did not even reach the man's chest despite its lean, lanky legs. Its body was thick and solid though, and its four yellow eyes glittered as it faced a man trying frantically to get a grip on his gun and fire. Its face was just as horrifying as the rumors said -- the muzzle was long and relatively thin, but as it opened he saw nothing but two rows of needle-sharp thin teeth. The tip of its snout ended in a sharp point, with a few small horns preceding it; a set of three horns were on either side of its eyes. The frills hanging from its cheeks were fully spread -- he had no idea what it meant, but he figured anger was about accurate. "Furious" seemed a good word for everything about that beast.
He watched in horror as the water surged about the poor bastard, knocking him off of his feet. He barely kept a grip on his gun, but it definitely ruined his aim; and the front beast launched, far too steady on the muddy ground. It slammed into the man and knocked him flat, and then latched its jaws around his arm as the area around the man flooded with water, submerging them both. He watched in horror as the poor man struggled, trying to tear the Oerdum off of him; a shot went off but it went wild, missing the beast by a couple of inches. The other soldier let out a frantic cry and fired again frantically, and the half-soldier heard a distinct hissing sound; yet he still heard the Oerdum knock the man over.
The other soldiers were trying to get up, or firing randomly, and he saw one Oerdum get hit in the leg and stagger, hissing, and then a funnel of water shot up from under the gunner and he gargled frantically, dropping his gun from the blow, staggering and falling. Another man dropped his gun, turned, and fled, staggering and falling in the mud, coughing as water continued to ebb through the area. Meanwhile he squeezed himself as close to the branch as he could, counting as more Oerdum appeared -- four, five, six...
The first man had stopped struggling and the water receded from him, the Oerdum releasing him and turning to stare at one of its companions. Instead, its eyes flickered, and it looked straight at him on the tree.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." He tried not to shake as he thought of his options, and then rapidly realized he had none. "Please don't hurt me, by the Great Dragon, just spare me, I don't want a fight, please..."
The Oerdum opened its mouth and hissed at him, bloody spit spraying from its mouth. He started to slowly slide from the branch, muttering frantically under his breath, feeling tears burn in his eyes and trying to ignore them. Around him, he knew that the shots were decreasing, or all but ceased; most of the shouts were becoming either garbled in water or more distant. He didn't even know if they had gotten any of the beasts in return... One of them that was looking at him was limping, with blood leaking down its leg, but it wasn't dead.
He realized he had reached the end of the branch, and had his feet on wet, but solid, ground. The two Oerdum still stared at him, eyes glittering, hissing. He backed away slowly, holding his hands up, whimpering.
Leave.
The command was eerily familiar, he realized; perhaps he had heard it earlier in the fight and hadn't noticed. It was foreign in his mind, not even remotely human; yet as he met the yellow eyes of the Oerdum, he knew exactly who it had come from. And he realized, with a mix of horror and relief, that he was being given just one chance.
He turned and ran.
~~~
Later, when he was utterly lost in the swamps, but at least certain he wasn't anywhere near the Oerdum, he tried to figure out if he was a rare lucky one or not.
He had heard rumors that the Oerdum didn't kill everyone who crossed their territory -- snobby little biologists would say if they did, how would the species live? And come to think of it, he was pretty sure his friend came back babbling sometimes about someone in the bar saying they had survived the Oerdum swamps. He always figured they were bragging. But perhaps, it did happen.
After all, it was hard to deny that the Oerdum had left him go. He wasn't entirely sure why -- perhaps his lack of fighting? The fact that he was trying to get reabsorbed as a tree? Maybe they could read his mind and realized he was pissing his pants? He could think of no answers.
And he had no idea how to get home. Once he had calmed down, he had taken out his compass and started eastward, but after two hours of walking he saw no obvious signs of the plains, and furthermore kept having to stop himself from panicking that he may be walking into Oerdum territory. Except for the buzzing of insects and the calls of birds, the swamps were eerily silent -- yet during the fight, all he had heard from the Oerdum was hissing.
Well they weren't immortal at least. It was not much comfort. It was even less comfort having no weapon but a knife, and no supplies but a soaked through sack. Furthermore, he had not seen or hear any of his companions who had run off.
He didn't think about what may have become of them. Then he'd have to think about what may become of him.
Not much to say here. Just a little something that came into my mind and I decided to write. Will need plenty of revisions to work out the physics and stuff of it. Sorry it sucks.
