06-30-2013, 05:59 AM
Meanwhile in Sholazar...
Peaceful silence once hung over the great glades of the Sholazar basin, only the slight echo of wildlife to ring across it’s pristine streams. Such would not last, however, as thrashing limbs and vicious snarls tore into one another. On one end of the lake sat one of the basin’s own native species- the dominative crocolisk with it’s sizable mace-like tail and powerful jaw. On the contrary it’s opponent was not one familiar to the land, or most of the northern climates for that matter. From head to toe he was clad in green and gold, his chest bearing the only recognizable symbol: The Anchor of Kul Tiras. For but a few more moments the two slowly circled one another, each eyeing every little subtle twitch and twirl of the others though before long they were once again at each other's throats. Propelled by six petite limbs the crocolisk neared, snapping it’s massive maw at the sailor’s steel boots. Before it could connect, however, the sailor danced out of it’s direction, just barely keeping balance as he trekked up more and more sand. With the serpentine beast still distracted he lunged after, wrapping the both of his muscled arms around it’s neck.
While the two struggled about on the river’s shore the world around them drew to gray. The final rays of the evening sun were swallowed by billowing clouds swept in by the cold seas. Before long the jungle quieted. Chirping birds took to the cover of grandiose trees while the hum and buzz of lively-colored bugs died away when they retreated to their deep-rooted hives. In the end of all things there was nothing left to the jungle other than the sailor and his scaled foe.
Around and around the crocolisk thrashed about the shallow waters, crushing the back-latched sailor beneath it’s sizable weight. Beneath the waves his teeth grit, eyes clamped shut, muscles tightened, conjured every ounce of strength he could in order not to howl in pain. Try as it may, the crocolisk was unable to break his grasp. Along with that the odd position put it at a lack of air, leaving its hide desperately thrashing as the last glimpse of life left its beady eye. By the time the sailor turned up above the waves, victorious as he was, there was only more water to greet him as the skies opened up.
Despite the conquest, a defeated huff of all things escaped the sailor’s gasping lungs. Two hands bound at the wrist with plate reached around, grasping onto the croc’s twitching tail to pull it along to the tree-guarded shore.
“Sons’a bitches are gettin’ heavier by th’ day, I swear. Nearly got me that time but-... naaah. An’t anythin’ that’s takin’ me down. An’t anythin’ now.” Even with the lack of an audience the sailor spoke freely, his gruff words jumbled by years of uncouth service to the seas. “You’re gon’a make a good dinner... Thank’y for that at least, beastie.”
Without an ounce of hesitation he drew his knife, making quick work of the scaled hide and further into the entrails within, soon severing them and setting them aside for the time. “Pro’lly should do somethin’ with this hide... Got it and three more.” He announced out to the rain-soaked world once more. “Could make m’self a nice lil’ hat. Or one’a them whips... Would help me strangle th’ bastards that-...” He pauses for a moment, taking a strong draw of the humid air. “Nah... Wanna do that with m’bare hands. An’t needin’ anythin’ to help me do that.”
In due time the croc was skinned, gutted, and fit above a roasting hearth with the aid of a few carved stakes. Roasting flesh wafted through the air, bringing curious critters to sift through the misty darkness just beyond the flame’s warming reach. Brushing his own worries of the unfamiliar landscape aside the sailor brought his eyes upon the one thing he dared not touch since the beginning of his venture. Daintily draped over the simplistic bag was a dress of white linen, accented by the black sash that settled beneath it’s bust. A hint of temptation, a trickle of contemplation, and moments later he would be wrist-deep into the contents, desperately rifling about.
“Maybe... I mean, maybe I been on th’ wrong path. Maybe it an’t all so bad. Mayb-” The rather desperate rambles of the sailor were quieted as his meaty digits brushed along the leather binding of a dairy, it’s pages crinkled under the unforgiving humidity. In what could almost be desperation he drew the book back and onto his lap, desperately scouring it’s inked pages.
Silence hung over the vale as frantic eyes ran to and fro along the inked words, though they were nothing as to what he hoped. Back and forth they washed over, desperately unraveling a hint that didn’t exist, searching for a secret that was never planted. By the song’s final verse petite stains of water pressed into the pages, falling from where there was no rain.
“Hiyah! Get over here y’lil’ sonnova-!”
Peaceful silence once hung over the great glades of the Sholazar basin, only the slight echo of wildlife to ring across it’s pristine streams. Such would not last, however, as thrashing limbs and vicious snarls tore into one another. On one end of the lake sat one of the basin’s own native species- the dominative crocolisk with it’s sizable mace-like tail and powerful jaw. On the contrary it’s opponent was not one familiar to the land, or most of the northern climates for that matter. From head to toe he was clad in green and gold, his chest bearing the only recognizable symbol: The Anchor of Kul Tiras. For but a few more moments the two slowly circled one another, each eyeing every little subtle twitch and twirl of the others though before long they were once again at each other's throats. Propelled by six petite limbs the crocolisk neared, snapping it’s massive maw at the sailor’s steel boots. Before it could connect, however, the sailor danced out of it’s direction, just barely keeping balance as he trekked up more and more sand. With the serpentine beast still distracted he lunged after, wrapping the both of his muscled arms around it’s neck.
While the two struggled about on the river’s shore the world around them drew to gray. The final rays of the evening sun were swallowed by billowing clouds swept in by the cold seas. Before long the jungle quieted. Chirping birds took to the cover of grandiose trees while the hum and buzz of lively-colored bugs died away when they retreated to their deep-rooted hives. In the end of all things there was nothing left to the jungle other than the sailor and his scaled foe.
Around and around the crocolisk thrashed about the shallow waters, crushing the back-latched sailor beneath it’s sizable weight. Beneath the waves his teeth grit, eyes clamped shut, muscles tightened, conjured every ounce of strength he could in order not to howl in pain. Try as it may, the crocolisk was unable to break his grasp. Along with that the odd position put it at a lack of air, leaving its hide desperately thrashing as the last glimpse of life left its beady eye. By the time the sailor turned up above the waves, victorious as he was, there was only more water to greet him as the skies opened up.
Despite the conquest, a defeated huff of all things escaped the sailor’s gasping lungs. Two hands bound at the wrist with plate reached around, grasping onto the croc’s twitching tail to pull it along to the tree-guarded shore.
“Sons’a bitches are gettin’ heavier by th’ day, I swear. Nearly got me that time but-... naaah. An’t anythin’ that’s takin’ me down. An’t anythin’ now.” Even with the lack of an audience the sailor spoke freely, his gruff words jumbled by years of uncouth service to the seas. “You’re gon’a make a good dinner... Thank’y for that at least, beastie.”
Without an ounce of hesitation he drew his knife, making quick work of the scaled hide and further into the entrails within, soon severing them and setting them aside for the time. “Pro’lly should do somethin’ with this hide... Got it and three more.” He announced out to the rain-soaked world once more. “Could make m’self a nice lil’ hat. Or one’a them whips... Would help me strangle th’ bastards that-...” He pauses for a moment, taking a strong draw of the humid air. “Nah... Wanna do that with m’bare hands. An’t needin’ anythin’ to help me do that.”
In due time the croc was skinned, gutted, and fit above a roasting hearth with the aid of a few carved stakes. Roasting flesh wafted through the air, bringing curious critters to sift through the misty darkness just beyond the flame’s warming reach. Brushing his own worries of the unfamiliar landscape aside the sailor brought his eyes upon the one thing he dared not touch since the beginning of his venture. Daintily draped over the simplistic bag was a dress of white linen, accented by the black sash that settled beneath it’s bust. A hint of temptation, a trickle of contemplation, and moments later he would be wrist-deep into the contents, desperately rifling about.
“Maybe... I mean, maybe I been on th’ wrong path. Maybe it an’t all so bad. Mayb-” The rather desperate rambles of the sailor were quieted as his meaty digits brushed along the leather binding of a dairy, it’s pages crinkled under the unforgiving humidity. In what could almost be desperation he drew the book back and onto his lap, desperately scouring it’s inked pages.
Spoiler:
Songbook Wrote:All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very, very
Mad world, mad world
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday, happy birthday
And I feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me, what's my lesson?
Look right through me, look right through me
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very, very
Mad world, mad world, enlarging your world
Mad world
Silence hung over the vale as frantic eyes ran to and fro along the inked words, though they were nothing as to what he hoped. Back and forth they washed over, desperately unraveling a hint that didn’t exist, searching for a secret that was never planted. By the song’s final verse petite stains of water pressed into the pages, falling from where there was no rain.