The Retroprogression

The floor of the dense forest was like a natural mosaic, painted elaborately with the colors of nature. Grasses and leaves provided a pretty plethora of light and dark greens, the infinite range of hue here and there penetrated by a burst of something more exotic. Orange flowers sprouted out of moss on tree trunks where they saw fit. Yellow shrubs and red berries intertwined in a scattered dance across whatever lay on the ground. From the heavens there came light; at least, it came where it could. Slipping in between the many leaves and branches of the dense canopy seemed near impossible, but the light did managed; it pecked and kissed the floor here and there, adding occasional relief to what was mostly shade. Up above monsters friendly and best left alone called out what they may, swinging through the trees. There was abundance, relief, and danger everywhere the eye set its gaze. It was a marvelous territory.

It was the largest, richest territory on Kuztec. It was Jeiji territory.

It was his territory.

A boy slid in between a pair of trees, easily slipping through a space that seemed near impossible. He did almost stumble upon coming out, but the fault made no sound. He was clearly used to the area; that or used to the feel of slipping along through the trees as a whole. His hair came down low over his brows, snagged here and there with a twig or a leaf. His bare feet were like a jaguar's paws as he covered ground; silent, smooth, agile. A wicked smile seemed to have taken up temporary residence on his face. Paired with the pair of horns coming from his head, he might have been a particularly lusty demon. However, the gold hue of his eyes were a dead giveaway as to his identity. He was of Golden Lineage. He was none other than the Chief's son.

His name was Musi.

~~~~

A small distance away from the wilderness Musi was currently trekking through was the site of a Jeiji village; it was the largest of them all, primarily because the Chief lived here and secondarily because of the wonderful location. The heart of the forest. It was perfect.

Huts were expertly positioned on the ground, ladders and steps intertwined with vines and branches to lead up to the trees. Up in the trees there were more huts, and as one looked up they could only see more of the Jeiji dwelling places; it truly was an amazing tribe. One of the larger ground huts had a few fires going on in the windows, door slightly ajar. Inside was a rather spacious room and hallway, along which another door lay minimally open. The Council room.
A voice floated out of it. Apparently there was a session going on....

"He is in no way fit to rule".

A man of tall and rather scrawny stature spit the words out onto the table, voice gravelly but passionate.

"He hasn't even touched on the basics of magic, for one. Not even touched on. Not touched".

"Yurden, I'm surprised you'd even mention something so trivial".

A more burly Jeijin laid back, rather bored, in his chair. His eyes were fixed upon the thin Yurden with something akin to disappointment.

"There's an endless river of more substantial reasons. Need I even touch on the most recently added? The boy led a stampede of monsters to one of the nearby villages. Seven buildings were completely destroyed. A few people had to relocated here, should I recall it all correctly".

"And his views," chirped a short guy in the corner of the room, "are atrocious. Why, it's as if he isn't even Golden. He spends more time with the women and simpletons than he does any person of ranked status. He dresses like them. The way his education and tastes have gone, I'd say he's one of them. There's nothing wrong with that, but a person of any status cannot rule those who are the same status. It just doesn't work."

"Tradition followed, Musi would reduce the great Jeiji to nothing but skeleton...."

"Speaking of which, there is a young man by the name of Telvren....."
~~~

A twig snapped under Musi's foot, but that was the only sound he'd made in about half an hour on his journey back from a forbidden patch of forest. The boy tugged on a leaf in his hair, taking a deep breath as he stepped from out of the trees and into the midst of the lower village. A few people saw him and either gawked or glanced and quickly headed in the opposite direction, ushering their children along with them.

He had a reputation.

It wasn't a very good one....


(Just post a little something; do some Character Development, I suppose. There'll be a little bit of setup before things really get going. o3o)

Ponds. Every village worth it's food needs a few ponds. They are useful for all sorts of things. They have water, they have dragonflies, moss grows around them, you can even grow fish in them. And the best of all: ponds have croakers.

Now bear with me for a moment, for not every croaker is a frog, and not every frog is a croaker. This one is both, a frog and a croaker, but one must not take this combination for granted. A good croaker, worth his flies, must croak loud and long. It can be a thin or a grave sound, it can be continuous or broken in many small croaks, but it has to be a good, healthy croak. If it's not, it's not a croaker. The difference between a frog and a toad is a little bit more complicated, so we will leave that for later. Or maybe just forget this. But I tell you this croaker aint a toad, but a frog, so just believe me.

And boy, is it important that this croaker is a frog. Or that this frog is a croaker. Sitting there by the pond, blissfully unaware of chiefs' sons and village councils as only a frog or a croaker can be, it just croaked and croaked. Croaked and stared. An sitting in front of him, yes him, for that frog is a he, and so is the croaker, what makes sense, since they both are one and the same, is a boy unched over in deep concentration, as only a healthy, limping boy with dreadlocks can be. Hunching and staring. The croaker stared at the boy, and the boy stared at the frog, that was the croaker. And that went on for several minutes. And when I say several, I mean a little over an hour.

At the end of that time, little Musi, who was the chief's son, not that the croaker was aware of it, nor the frog for that matter, passed by, and at that precise time, the boy croaked. And as the boy croaked, the croaker yelled "Hi!", which is very ironic, given that he is a croaker, not a speaker, or at least wasn't. Nobody seemed surprised. Not that this in particular was common, but the boy, who now could pretty much be considered a croaker, given the healthy, loud croaking he gave, which was pretty long too, was none else than Jiji, the Limp, and weird things were always happening around him.

One way or another, he expected to have gotten Musi's attention. He, the boy, now a croaker, who actually kept staring at the frog, now a speaker. The boy and the speaker, the croaker and the frog.

And the ponds.

Another day just like any other, save the important talk of who would become the next leader of the tribe. One of the spirits had been kind enough to tell a young man that his name had come up in the discussion of the council regarding that very topic. The fellow, Telvren Na'thal-ix, was a shaman capable of communicating and channeling spirits of the elements, and they provided him with much valuable information. This day he found himself outside his hut sitting beneath a shade tree after working in his garden a bit. There was a lot of contemplating to be done. It was true that he was determined to take charge of the tribe, even if it meant throwing the trouble-making Musi under the bus to achieve the position. Musi was the chief's son, and he had wasted his position, instead choosing to roam the wilds doing forbidden things and just causing everyone agony. His actions and thoughtlessness would bring naught but terror upon the tribe, and as such, he'd never be chief. That was something of which Telvren was sure.

A floating white wisp danced around in front of his face, sharing with him the small talk it picked up aside from the important discussion. He hadn't asked it to do any of it, but it seemed insistent...all the damn time, for that matter. Before enhancing his abilities as a shaman, he never thought a spirit would be so fond of gossip, but here it was--perfect proof. Some things he learned interested, while other things were things he was better off not knowing. Embarrassing tidbits that people would pay him kezal to keep to himself. As the information kept getting spewed out at him, he eventually waved the spirit off, sending it back to its own plane so he could gaze at the huts opposite his with a stoic gaze on his young, flawless face. The crimson markings down upon his visage were perfectly done--it was something at which he had grown to excel. His olive complexion wasn't particularly startling--most of the tribe members had darker skin, some a lighter shade than his own, and others darker. His skin was a sort of perfect in-between. In short, he was very happy with his appearance.

Telvren's manner of dress, however, was a bit more unorthodox. His torso and thighs were wrapped in dark green cloth with silver belts strapped over that holding many of his goods like vials and booklets. Atop it all he wore a cloak of an earthen brown hue. It was all worn as a means of helping him connect more with nature and it had always helped. He had befriended many spirits, though many were menial and couldn't be used in battle. The only spirit he had contacted that had agreed to join him was his initial spirit--Vuur. Vuur had a wild personality that reminded him of Musi's, but Vuur was far more reckless and absolutely destructive. Telvren was actually still focusing on honing Vuur's immense power, for it was always taxing using the mighty spirit's abilities. There was a time when he thought he might set fire to the forest, or even the village. He had a secret spot in an underground cavern outside of the village where he could practice. One of the elders had led him to the spot when he had shown interested in garnering the favor of the spirits. And so he had.

The shade was so refreshing today, but he could feel something disconcerting in the air, something that made him grimace more than usual. Something was wrong. From out of one of his cloak pockets, he produced a round piece of metal that he had found outside the village--a relic of the ancient past, or so it was presumed. He held the object in his hand--it had the ability to pull scraps of metal to it. As such, he had deigned to name it "metal attractor" since that was what it did. There was so simple, but mysterious about it. He had poured over the lore of the past, and yet nothing connected. Back to a certain point, there was nothing, but he knew there was more. There had to be more.

Standing up, he stretched a bit, making a cute sigh-like sound before pacing through his garden and making back on the main dirt road of the village, though it couldn't really be called a road. It was more of just...an area. Flattened. Decent enough for walking upon. Better than navigating through bushes and other hazards that litter the forest floor. Regardless, it was here that Telvren remained standing, thinking. He wondered what he should do next. If the council called upon him for any reason, it would be best if he remained at home. However, he had grown somewhat restless and endeavored to leave the village for a bit.

Decisions, decisions.

It would be best to remain in place. Sighing, Telvren stood on one leg and jumped on the other, crossing his legs in mid-air only to find himself levitating in place. He closed his eyes and felt the spirits gather around him, invisible to most people, for they inhabited a plane that co-exists with the physical and their own. Those that served him entered the physical plane. Those who came and went stayed in-between, and in the spiritual plane, there were many who he had yet to contact. There was so much he was missing out on as a shaman, and it was on that thought that he meditated.

A flutter of cold, venomous blood trickled down the paled woman's left pointer finger, dripping viscously and unenthusiastically from a prick atop her skin as she wafted leftover cabbage wads and crumbly tomatoes from the upside of the paneled table and into a small bin, its contents hastily disposed of through the hut's tarp doorway as she toppled to a nearby roll of cloth. "Damned nail," The young woman cursed as she encompassed her bloodied finger into a woolen embrace of white tailoring, "damned blood, damned..." Her growling, acetic tongue halted as the blood ceased its lethargic flow. With a slight breath of anxiety, and a second exhalation of icy discomfort, the woman (whose skin shone a luminescent, pale white against the streaks of light which seeped through the hut's roof like water through a sieve) cracked her swollen neck and gazed half-grayed half-disinterested at the sleeping man sprawled across rug and plank.

"Grandfather," She whimpered with a bloodstained voice decorated with fine lips and fair skin and teeth, "grandfather, the sun has risen." Arm stretched haphazardly toward the bearded man's grayed and bruised and work-trodden skin, the woman hesitated to give him a light shove, "I'll begin to prepare your meal. Please try to wake soon." From her knees aside the man's countenance, the paled woman, draped in none but a crimson sarong and a measly sash which topped over her bosom, stood and situated herself aside the bloodied, prick-planked table of crumbled tomatoes and meat stains.

There was no food to prepare.

A groan, and a diseased cough of malignant breath and eye, "I'm going." The grayed man spat, rising from his mat groggy and uneasy and unbalanced to one side.

"You need to eat before you leave, perhaps I could find some leftover boar, or maybe some cabbage or even a ferret." The paled woman in the sarong remarked, scuffling around the plank-blood-and-crumb table and a small box which toppled against the hut's circular exterior - the only furniture in the room - in hopes of finding a single edible delicacy of month-old vegetation.

"Why," The elder cursed at the mud-trodden ground, "if it hadn't been for you..." His eyes narrowed and his dirt-brown gaze roared at the young woman, "I wouldn't have to worry about cabbage or boar or your sodding finger." He pulled the tarp doorway over his shoulder, and into the glaring sun he went.

A villager of the Jeiji, one of the most prosperous territories of the Kuztec, Hadaka lay in her paled state with her bloody palm, and with her hoarse and beaten and worn and superstitious grandfather. "I didn't do anything." She muttered, and counted on her good hand to five - five steps it had been since her grandfather trotted-hobbled from the tent and went off to hunt, or to do whatever a half-disabled sociopathic villager did during his daytime. Another five, and another. Fifteen, and then the footsteps faded.

The council room wasn't anything extravagant, truth be told. In fact, it had been modeled to look like any other meeting room in the Central hallway. Simple. Not too extravagant, nor too marvelous. Under attack, the enemy would likely pass over the important places in search of something much more impressive. The concept was one the Chief had thought of himself, and one of the first changes he’d made to the Jeiji tribe. It was not at all hard to believe how quickly he’d brought the small civilization from garbage to greatness, though some of the elder's claims that he'd done it in half a month were certainly exaggerated.

The room itself was of circular shape, not a corner to be seen. The walls were made of a sturdy mixture of earth and woven magic, doomed ceiling above tightly packed with mud and various glues. The smell was rather sharp and certainly not too pleasant, but it got the job done. No disaster had ever managed to bring any sort of damage to the room.
Except for Musi a couple of times, but that was a different matter entirely.

There were several egg shaped windows in the walls, each holding a small, orange-casting candle. The elders enjoyed keeping them lit; one of the many things the elders enjoyed doing. Small favors here and there really, but they kept the tribe going.

In the center of the room was a round table, around which were mismatched stools of different heights and lengths. It was from the shortest one of these chairs that a man of medium stature now stood, his long black hair and tanned skin seeming to glow in the light. His presence alone seemed dominating and leaderly. Any fool could know who he was without having to look at the color of his eyes.

Despite the bravery and strength of his appearance though, his voice was rather melancholy. Discussion of his son was one of the only things that could bring the powerful Chief to his knees.

A few seconds ago though a new proposal had been brought up, and he was willing, by now, to try anything.

"The influence could only be beneficial. I trust in Telvren Nasalth-ix as if he were...my own son. My own son, on the other hand, could stand to learn a thing or two".

There was a small moment of silence as the chief gathered his voice once more. The effect made it seem as if he were picking heavy weights off of the ground, then attempting to swallow each.

"Yorun, please impart to Telvren this most recent task. He is to fetch Museilekai who is...sadly...god knows where...probably in the lower parts of town...and return to meet me in my hut. They both know very well where it is. Closer to the canopy...."

~~~~

"Hello, sir. Nice to meet you".

Honestly, it sounded more like "Ello, sah. Noice tah met yah".

Musi smirked, turning promptly on his heels as if he'd been yanked around by a cane. The boy offered a deep bow to the frog who had spoken and seemed to notice Juji only after, giving up a displeased wave. To anyone else that may have been rather rude, but he knew Juji pretty well, and Juji should know him well enough now to know that he was only joking.

In turn, Musi knew Juji well enough to know better than to wonder what in the world was going on.

"If anybody asks, tell 'em I was down by the market or somethin, mkay?"

The young man flashed a wicked smile, tugging a few more leaves out of his messy black hair. They seemed darker than those that grew in thy average tree. More than likely he'd been wandering about forbidden territory again.

The boy who was the chief's son talked to the speaker, who now could pretty much be a listener, but the speaker did not turn to look at him. Instead he just kept staring deeply at the croaker boy. Truth be told, that was understandable, as in the moment the frog turned his eyes away, he would cease to be a speaker, and the boy to be a croaker. Fortunately, it is not like he had any choice, really.

-Ahoy, young Musi. Smell da wind, will'ya? I's can smell tings comin fer ya. Tings und bacon. Mostly tings, though.

And all the while, the boy just kept "Croak croak croooooooaaak".

Now, you are probably wondering about the accent. Ok, the boy did not really have an accent, when he was being a speaker instead of a croaker, of course, even though he enjoyed faking one at time, but it sure was not that strong. The problem is: speaking is pretty difficult when one's voice has to go into the astral, through the umbral, back into the astral and into a frog's tongue, all the while the frog's voice is making the same path, only reverse. Funny enough, the croaking translates rather easily.

The boy turned his head to the horizontal position, movement the frog imitated perfectly, making his dreadlocks change position and reveal a good deal of tribal tattoos around his face. The boy's face, not the frog. An attentious observer, like Musi sure was, could have noticed how his eyes were blood red with weird pupils, while the frog bore one green eye and a yellow one.

-I's tossed sum boune linkses and da skulls yapped ta moi, dey did. Dey yapped und yapped und dey yapping ya gon be getting yesolf a visitings. Nat sumone ya gon leike.

And

-Croak croak crooaaak. Crooooooooaaaaak. Ribbit.

Well, croakers can ribbit at times, can't they?

She stalked silently between round-trunked trees and exotic ferns, bow and arrow gripped in one hand. Her pale eyes tracked the subtle signs of her prey's movement - depressed moss here and a lightly moving branch there. The jaguar shouldn't be more than ten minutes' worth of moving through the thick brush ahead of her. Ryder pushed back her hood and moved like a breeze does between blades of grass, quickly and with only a moment's disturbance. Within her allotted time, she saw the great cat not thirty feet from her and crouched.

The hunter drew her arrow, sighting down its shaft. The jaguar had stopped to drink from a small stream. Its head was extended to the water, exposed and unaware. It was the perfect time to strike but Ryder took her time with the shot. It had to be precise. One inch off from the jaguar's pulse point, and it would be on her in seconds, then she would be the one serving as a meal.

The jaguar settled, seeming to accept that it was the biggest predator around and sure there was nothing to worry about. If Ryder were a less somber person, she might've smiled but such was not the case. She drew the arrow back a bit more for a straighter arc and then let it fly. With an unmistakable zip! through the air it landed exactly where she needed it, tearing through the jaguar's jugular with an impressive gush of blood. It flailed as she rose and approached but she had her hunting knife on her, and gutted its heart with ruthless efficiency.

For a moment, she appreciated the challenge the great predator had presented, and laid her hand on its still warm head. But the moment passed and now was the time to skin it and claim the edible parts. She wasn't much for trophies, though she kept the claws off its right front paw as proof of her prowess. After removing her arrow and flaying its skin off (someone would probably like a coat out of that), she quickly cut out all the edible meat and drained the useful organs. Sometimes she couldn't believe all the things that could be made from an empty stomach or intestines, or even a boiled and tanned bladder. Ryder wondered if someone would pay more for something made out of jaguar parts than, say, a pig's. Maybe. For now though, she stored everything in her large, lined pack, and left the rest for the forest to take care of.

The journey back to the Chief's village took longer than before, as now to move quietly with the added weight Ryder had to move slower. Granted, she was still basically running, it didn't stop her from feeling irritated she had to take less precarious routes on the way back home. As she neared the village, the hairs on the back of her neck raised with the feeling of being watched. It was an instinct long cultivated and it served her well. And she never liked feeling it. Ryder pressed on, sticking to the high underbrush and dappled shadows near the main road.

Soon enough, she was within the actual village. Though she was loathe to step out of the safety of the forest's many hiding places, the meat wasn't for her. What stopped her progress however was a rather young-looking man floating in the air, as if there was an invisible seat he was sitting on up there. She had proper goosebumps now, the feeling of eyes on her intensified here. There didn't seem to be anyone else but this man. Ryder guessed he was using magic of some kind. She wasn't a complete fool when it came to such things, nor was she starstruck by them as others unversed in its practice tended to be. Whether or not she should disturb him, however, was something else entirely.

One would think that meditation would be boring, or pointless for that matter, however, people don't tend to realize what peace it can bring. In Telvren's case, peace isn't even a factor; it is a boosted sense of awareness. Floating in the air with his eyes closed, he could sense what each of the spirits sensed. He knew what they saw, heard what they heard. He was everywhere that they were taking in tons of information. Before, he typically spoke with one spirit at a time--at least to those spirits that were receptive to conversation. But in this way, he would know all, using the inner peace of his mind to rifle through the information, picking out the relevant tidbits, such as Yorun being sent by the council to collect him and give him a rather detestable task. The spirits also made him aware of an onlooker who had just entered the village, burdened by the spoils of a successful hunt, it seemed.

Telvren remained in his position, ignoring the...apparent female. It wasn't unheard of for women to be hunters, but to take down a jaguar like that must have meant she had particular skill. Regardless, that was unimportant. He was awaiting a distraction, but that distraction would take time to reach him. Sighing, he opened his eyes, the feeling of awareness dissipating suddenly causing him to gasp for breath as if he had been drowning. It was always an odd feeling. When meditating, he was practically in all three planes that the spirits dwelt, yet he could never experience the spiritual plane. No sight. No sound. No feeling. It always intrigued him as to why that was, and it was one of the topics of shamanism that he studied the most. Who knew what was waiting just beyond the in-between plane.

Spirits like Vuur. That is exactly what.

Feeling his feet touch the ground, Telvren looked around. He felt a bit disoriented, trying to pinpoint where exactly the spirits had spotted the female hunter, and sure enough, near the entrance of the village, there she stood with her rewards. He blinked a few times, but didn't make to approach her. The load she carried looked rather heavy; there was a pretty hefty chance that she was in a hurry. Not one for taking on physical tasks himself, Telvren couldn't even imagine. He briefly wondered if he was depending on the spirits for too much as he found himself leaning against the outside of his hut, waiting for Yuron to reach him.

Ryder averted her gaze as the man's alighted on her. He was one of the shamans, she recognized him now. If she was correct that was Telvren, who by what talk she cared to hear around town said that he held great promise. She didn't much care for politics, or anything besides the forest and hunting for that matter, but it wasn't hard to see that this man was likely on the fast track upwards. She shifted her bow where it lay strung against her back and continued onward.

The women who cooked and did things like sewing and cleaning didn't think much of her, and she discovered that that opinion hadn't changed as she approached one of them. It didn't bother her what they thought, only that they would often stiff her on pay out of spite. "Jaguar." Ryder stated simply, unloading her heavy pack in a businesslike manner.

The woman opposite her raised a dark eyebrow, silently questioning the veracity of such a claim until the hunter had also laid out the cat's skin. "Right. And you're not keeping any for yourself this time?"

She hadn't ever kept any of the meat before. "No." The woman didn't say anything else and paid her about two thirds of what the kill was actually worth, precisely why she'd gone for something so big. Bringing in a pig or several pheasants wouldn't cut it. Ryder turned away and left without a farewell. Walking the main road again, she considered just leaving the village. She might be better off just hunting and providing for herself, away from the rest of Jeiji's population. It would be more dangerous of course, without the village's protection around her at night, but . . perhaps she would be happier. If such a thing were possible.

At this point she noticed the shaman again and her steps slowed. Shamans were supposed to be wisemen. Ryder decided it would be best to ask for some advice at least, loathe as she was to speak to the man. She approached him as quietly as she did everything and pondered how best to ask this.

Telvren's eyes were gazing up at the sky, watching a few wispy spirits float around as he admired the azure expanse above, partly blocked by some of the trees, but the sky could always best be seen from the village, for the forest canopy was not so understanding. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the hunter making her way down the street, most likely either taking her spoils home or off to the market to sell them for kezal. That was the life of a hunter. Braving the wilds in order to face down dangerous animals and monsters in order to gain something they could eat upon themselves or sell. That was how they made their living, risking life and limb, but that was something that didn't particularly appeal to Telvren. He preferred his quiet life, studying in his hut or meandering away from the village to meditate in his secret cavern. His thoughts unpleasantly alighted upon Musi once more, thinking about how the chief's son wasn't even a hunter and yet deigned to roam the wilds. He seemed happy doing what he did, but for a reason Telvren couldn't understand.

I need to stop thinking about him so much. I might lose brain cells, Telvren thought simply and sighed, closing his eyes. He stayed like that, eyes closed with his body leaning against the hut, wondering how long Yuron would be. He could garner such information from the spirits, but his worry of dependency upon the spirits persuaded him to just let things run their course. Besides, as time passed, he noticed footsteps getting closer and closer. What he thought was most likely Yuron actually turned out to be someone completely different. Opening his eyes, Telvren took note of the female hunter from not too long ago standing in his vicinity. She seemed to be thinking about something.

Straightening himself up, he approached her, lithe form quietly reaching hers in mere moments. He gazed upon her inquisitively, crossing his arms over his flat chest. "I can see the questions practically forming upon your tongue," Telvren stated rather flatly, his expression growing more stoic, but still welcoming--inviting, even. "Is there something I can assist you with?"

OOooooohhhhhhhh-

The slender gold eyes that sat atop Musi's equally slender face widened with sudden understanding, and he stuck his tongue out at the frog, who was apparently Jiji, who was apparently the frog, in some shape or form. Actually, it all made perfect sense.

Just about everything made sense when Jiji explained it to him. He was quite handy, really, for taking the rubbish that his father often tossed at him and turning it back into something understandable.
The boy twirled, urgently, though the urgency was quite lost to any onlookers nearby. He twirled, and then he faced Jiji again.

"Pshta...Telvren Nasalth-....Twelvemen Nasty-Licks. I love the guy".

His voice was laced with a sort of venom, eyes narrowed. What did Telly want from him? Nothing good ever happened when he was around...
Musi absently patted Jiji-Frog on the head, slender fingers playing with his hair.

"Dyah think ya' could tell me when he's comin'?"

He shuffled his feet, though it was more out of an eternal restlessness than any sort of anxiety. A bit of the dust kicked up around him, clinging to the dirty cloth of his tattered pants. Were it not for his eyes one would certainly think he was more of a peasant; and his hair had grown so unkempt and low that now, those were almost hidden. The Golden blue and purple tribal markings that danced along the skin of his back were, too, by now, nearly covered in dust and forest stuffs. Should he wander into a crowd of lower tribesmen he'd fit in just right. It would be truly, truly hard to find him.

And, perhaps at a later time, that was exactly what he planned to do. That and one of those pesky spirit repellent plant things from...from who knows where; most likely from Jiji. After a while , he'd developed quite a few ways to keep Nasty Licks away.

As the croaker was patted in the head, his gaze deviated from the speaker, who immediately became a croaker again and jumped away, revealing his nature as a born jumper. The croaker boy, however, was now again a speaker, turned his head at Musi and shone a broad smile. Not the most pleasant smile in the world for most people, given it's insane flame, but the chief's son didn't seem to care. It is fair to say Jiji's eyes were his again.

-Oh, well, my croaker is gone. Was interesting while it lasted.

Using his staff to hold his weight, avoiding keeping it on his bad(?) leg, the promissing, even though kind of insane, tribe's Medicine Man rose, his sleeveless robe of untanned hides dirty with the mud from the pont, his bare feet even dirtier, and his arms and what could be seen of his chest covered in the same tattoos from his face. Not that they were not all around his body, only that the rest was covered in either hide or mud. He cast a gaze at the rat skull fetish dangling from his staff by a rope and the green smoke coming from it's eyes ceased.

-Silly Music, the bones cackle about many things, but they don't care for time. There is no such thing as time to the Graveyard King, why should they care? By the way, I'll call you Music today. It just fits you really well.

Showing his tongue, Jiji turned and leaped into the pond, swimming on his back, curisously not having any problem using his bad leg for swimming. His staff remained on the ground, though Music didn't recall seeing the caster stick it to the ground. Jiji kept his ears keen, of course, for he knew Music's visit wouldn't take long.

-Asante sana! Squash Banana! We we nugu! Mi mi apana!

Drifting softly, breathing deeply.

A lone stick of a herbal scent seared almost non-existentially in front of a rather small figure, almost diminutive enough to be a child, who's eyes remained lightly shut. Inhalation followed by exhalation in constant cycle: this was a calming moment; a time for thought, a time for mediation, a time for peace. The lone boy sat in a very relaxed manner continuing to breathe in a gentle rhythm as he ignored the outside forces surrounding him. Already he had foreseen conflict among what had become a common topic during his recent reflections; the future of village–the standings of the future chief. Each time the boy deemed to open himself up to this for hope that the conflict would settle, he found himself utterly disappointed. But today was different, different in that there was a strange note to the mediation. Perhaps his foresight betrayed him in how far off this conflict seemed, but he could not say for sure. Powerful though he was, the future remained a constant changing vortex of uncertainty; he was powerless to change that fact.

The boy opened his eyes, the silver-blue irises remaining quietly distant as he silenced the incense. Today, it seemed, was not the day to prolong his meditation. No difference of course, nor change of destiny presented itself before him, and having been at his craft since long before the early hours of the morn, the boy felt it unnecessary to continue. What would not change in minutes would not change in longer spans of time–not for the moment. Removing himself from the small chamber, he exited fully from his hut and drifted out into the village. Despite the feelings of dread hanging around the boy, he did not appear troubled. What the day held for him, nay, what the day held for everyone would present itself in time; he would spectate and react accordingly.

Garruk dashed between the thick trunks of the trees in pursuit of his prey, a bear which was surprisingly large even for its own species. He had hoped to close the distance and take the beast out without it noticing his presence, but it never works out. Though Garruk was by no means incapable of stealth many animals, such as this one, would pick up the scent left by the hundreds of times blood had been stained on the pelts he wore as clothing. The scent seemed to have been permanently embedded itself within the pelts as a slight taint would always remain no matter how many times it had been washed in the river. But Garruk didn't quite mind the chase, in fact he preferred it this way. It's only fun if they run!

It didn't take long for the beast to come into Garruk's sight, despite the head start the Pridestalker gave it to make the chase a bit more interesting. For someone of his massive stature Garruk was surprisingly quick and agile. A single bola was enough to stop the bear completely, entangling its hind legs and allowing it to fall flat on the ground. With the beast crippled and unable to move Garruk slowed to a walking pace as he approached his prize and drove the claw on his right hand into the body of the bear. It let out a roar, the last sound it would ever make before the hunter, with no hesitation, swung a hatchet down at the head.

Before anything else Garruk made sure to remove a tooth from the bear's maw, his trophy for taking it down. The worth of a hunter was usually measured by the number and value of the trophies he had gathered. As Garruk proceeded to then skin and gut the beast his visage portrayed a look of utter disappointment. This hunt, like countless others before, was too easy. Not only did the prey not put up a fight it gave him far too quick of a chase. It seemed that he had become too experienced in his trade that beasts like these no longer provided him a challenge. Hoisting the bear along with its pelt over his shoulder Garruk made his way back to the village. Such a large bear would fetch a good price.

Returning to the village Garruk paid little attention to most of the villagers. He wasn't a very talkative person unless it came to speaking with other hunters and warriors, and around this time during the day most of the hunters would still be out in the jungle looking for game. However as he went to turn his kill in for his payment he noticed the body of another large animal, a jaguar. "A damn good catch, whoever that hunter is." Garruk spoke out loud to himself before taking his payment and heading off.

The Pridestalker stopped however, when he caught sight of another hunter, or rather huntress. The bow-woman, Ryder was her name. He did not remember the names of most women in the village; however Ryder was an exception for she was a fellow hunter and to a fellow hunter Garruk should show enough respect to at least remember her name. She was the only other hunter that Garruk had seen so far today, which would mean that the jaguar was hers. An interesting one, she was, being a woman yet just as able as any other man. He stopped and stood there and observed the intriguing huntress, thinking perhaps some day they could find time to engage in a test of skill.

Ryder tilted her head in respect. " . . I face a dilemma." Her face hardened. She was loathe to speak of personal matters with anyone, but she had already decided to ask and the shaman was standing before her, expecting. "Should I leave the village? Or continue as I am?" To the point, that was how she liked it. No pleasant words spared or dallying about the issue. It mattered little though, as she was still uncomfortable with how much she'd said. So much time spent alone in the dark reaches of the forest taught that silence was best if you wanted to live, more than survive. It was a philosophy Ryder readily took to. But standing here, simply asking a wiseman a question, she was out of her element completely. She only hoped it didn't show in her face, or whatever else the shaman could see.

Questions...were something that Telvren had been expecting, but for this huntress to ask such a thing either portrayed her naivety or her immense trust in the spirits and the power of the shamans. The future was something he could not know, but the spirits had told him much about the past. As such, it was true he claimed a higher knowledge than most in the village at the time. It was his duty as a shaman to guide this soul down the best possible path for her. Telvren contemplated what he should tell her, placing a dainty hand upon his chin. "Such a decision is a very heavy one, huntress," he put very carefully, his tone slow and steady. "Think about the pros and cons of both. Should you deign leave, you are on your own to fend yourself against the wilderness which can be harsher than anything in this world. Nature is an unrelenting force; it shows no mercy to no one. Granted you gain isolation if that is what you so desire, and freedom along with it, but is that worth the cost of risking your life?" He shook his head solemnly. "That isn't to say that you do not already risk your life, brave huntress. But you will be exposed to so much more. As such, it is my advice that you stay with the village unless you find it truly trying to stay here. Though it may not be expressed often, we are proud of those who dare venture into the wilds, picking off smaller prey and even engaging in a battle of wits with the larger predators. They show a strength and resolve much stronger than any normal tribesman or woman." It was here that he paused in order to take a breath. He didn't realize how much he had been speaking, but his piece had to have been said.

In truth, the spirits had told him that leaving the village was unwise. As beings existing outside of the mortal plane of existence, they were way more in tune with nature. Right now, they seemed to quiver in fear at something...but what that something was lied just beneath the surface--completely out of reach for the time being. However, the time for it to be hiding was drawing to an end. This unsettled Telvren greatly, but he did not allow it to breach the stoicism he wore like a mask upon his visage. He was calm. And he had a moral responsibility to help keep this woman safe as she was a member of the tribe that one day, he might be the chief of. If she was still undecided, he would be forced to mention the spirits; they were not beings to be ignored. When they sensed something was wrong; something was very wrong.

I might even need to bring that up with the Chief and the council, Telvren mused vacantly in his mind as the thought occurred to him. Granted they are most likely already aware of the situation, being in-tune with the spirits far more than myself. As he tucked the thought away for the time being, he awaited the response of the huntress standing before him.

So, the shaman said to stay. Ryder had been prepared to wave away any concerns for her safety - the wilderness was more home to her than anything else. But he had reminded her of a duty to the rest of the village. It wouldn't be prideful of her to admit she was one of the best hunters the village had, simply the truth. There were others that depended on her for food and materials for clothing. It would be an evil on her soul for her to leave for her own gain. "I understand." Came the hunter's solemn voice as she touched the edge of her bow, something of a comfort to her. "I will stay." She said, to reassure him of her decision.

For now, it would probably be best if she set out again. But later, when the sun began to set. Most animals out now were wary of predators and stayed in groups at protected areas in order to deter them. Later they would venture out once more to watering holes and places where food was plenty. Ryder placed a hand on her chest and tipped her head to Telvren in farewell and left for the time being. However, she didn't get very far as she spotted a much larger man ahead. Garruk, she recognized, the Pridestalker. The man had a reputation as a hunter, and not one of stealth. The two of them couldn't be any different from one another if they tried. "Garruk." She stated in greeting, thinking what a day this was turning out to be. Already she'd spoken to more people than she normally did in a week, and here she was saying hello to another.

The boy had come to circle within the immediate area around his hut twice in the sort time he had stepped outside. Finding something else to do while he awaited the day's task proved nigh impossible; as a mere student with no purpose than to use his gifts for the betterment of the village, while he had not been called upon by the elders or his master, he was left at an impasse. But it was not necessarily a terrible position to be found in–moments of uneventful, peaceful tranquility were indispensable every now and again. Coming to a halt, Silver looked out towards the path that would lead to another section of the village. "I wonder what Telvren makes of today..." he thought, already moving down the road that would take him to the shaman.

It was not often that he visited the other mage, but that was more due to his own avoidance of the general public; surrounding one's self with the public made everything dreamsight harder to accomplish. But today, when the bubbles of fantasy would not yield a single drop of future knowledge, was quite different. Silver came to another pause as he drew nearer to the shaman's dwelling, stopping only to watch the huntress, known as Ryder, stop to talk to another hunter by the name of Garruk. It was a curious sight to behold, one that made him almost consider looking into her fantasies to determine the the inner workings of her need to speak with him. After all, she was not one who commonly conversed with others and to see such an unnatural occurrence happen definitely interested the seer. But he quickly discarded the thought and continued on his way–breaking into the minds of others was much different than entering with permission or necessity; he did not wish to harm her or invade what truly was her business and her's alone.

Taking note of the shaman none too far off, the seer allowed a small smile to replace his typical stoic and approached in general manner. "How now, shaman? Have the spirits comments to share?" he asked, his voice just a little louder than his normal volume so that the other mage could hear him. "The future is unfortunately foggy at the moment."

Graveyard king didn't have a thing for time, hm? Reminded Musi of himself. The young man and soon-to-be chief folded his arms across his bare chest, wild grin upon his face. Water leapt into the air as Jiji dove backwards into the pond, licking at his hair and visage. Musi sort of squinted at that; he didn't much like having pond water in his eyes. But that couldn't be helped, mmm? There was a small pause, golden gaze currently on his childhood friend, and then a question asked in a rather bored tone.

"You wannacome with me?"

He knew that he didn't have to say where he was going. It never really seemed to have mattered, to Jiji at least. That and he himself hadn't a clue.
Musi shuffled his bare feet against the ground, almond eyes staring devilishly out from under his hair, awaiting a reply. The bangs usually came down just past the boy's eyebrows, but lately he'd been trying to see if he couldn't hide the tell-tale color of his irises. There was still a bit of growing to be done, but he was close enough for now.

Each ripple of water seemed to catch Musi's attention, sparking wild curiosity or otherwise stilled wonder, as did the trees, the creatures in them, and the people around him. There wasn't a moment where the heir's golden orbs were at rest. They were, in short, the epitome of perpetual movement.

Telvren nodded slightly to the huntress as she bid her leave allowing him peace once again, granted it was no trouble to aid one of the tribespeople--it was his duty. He felt somewhat relieved that this woman was reassured of her path in life. That was the reward of being a shaman, wise and powerful. Blinking a couple of times, Telvren became aware of another presence nearby--one he was familiar with. It was another magical being of the tribe, Silver. He had the ability to see the future, but only through the medium of dreams. It was an interesting art, but the future was something Telvren preferred to be uncertain. At the fellow's mention of a foggy future, Telvren was forced to suppress a smirk. That couldn't have been better news...if only the situation weren't so trying. There was something on the brink of emerging just behind the horizon of the future, and whatever it was, it was going to hit them hard--no one would see it coming. Not Telvren. Not Silver. No one.

"The spirits share many things, seer, some of which I care not to hear," Telvren stated formally, a light and rare trace of amusement tinting his voice. His expression became rather serious rather quickly. "However, the spirits quake in anticipation of something. With their harmony with nature comes a certain knowledge. What that knowledge is...remains a mystery to both them and myself. Whatever it happens to be, I believe it to be unsettling." He paused for a moment and took in a breath. Some idle spirits watched from above, unseen to everyone but Telvren, for there were no other shamans around. "If ever there was a time for the future to be unclear, this may be the best or worst opportunity, given your outlook. To know what is to come that could shake the spirits so much is frightening almost." Crossing his arms over his chest, he felt his expression soften to its normally stoic state. Would this news unsettle or surprise Silver at all? He wondered...

Jiji raised his head above the water. Well, that COULD be interesting. The Medicine Man made his way to the ground, raised from the water and started heading to Musi. A few steps into dry land, he remembered his leg and started limping again, seeking support in his trusty staff.

-Oh, well, let's go. What's a poor tribesman to do without his medicine, uh?

Jiji took to follow Musi wherever he was planning to go, knowing fate would guide him to his meeting. Fate and the fact that the village was not all that big, so there was really nowhere else to go.

Musi shoved his hands into his pants pockets, fingertips showing through the bottom of one. They truly were ratty lil things. Quite often even members of the lower class had the decency to wear nicer clothes than did the Chief's son. But Musi cared not for appearance; the cloth was airy, soft worn; his body was lean, sculpted, muscular; there was nothing for him to hide, save his eyes. And even those weren't too bad given the length of his black hair, which was, as a collective, just as unruly as he was.

The huts in the distance began to near, more and more seeming to pop up as the two, the Heir and his Medicine Man, made their way down the slope to the lower village. Musi glanced back at Jiji, his expression devilish, though this never necessarily meant that he planned on doing devilish things. That aside, he always ended up doing devilish things, planned or not. His friend was limping, but he wasn't too worried about his keeping up. By now he'd figured out the the limp was mostly fake; probably.

"Eh, J; whaddya thunk Tel'd do tah me if I shot a pebble at his ass, hm?"

There was a slight silence, mainly full of Musi rolling his uncooperative tongue around in his mouth, and then:

"What dya think Tel'd do to me, I mean".

Jiji was following Musi. That's a statement. But before being a statement, that's a state. The subject Jiji is in the state of being following Musi. Before being a state, this is an action. The subject Jiji is curretly performing the action of following another subject, this subject being Musi. Before being an action, it is a concept. Jiji follows. Musi is followed. But before anything, it's an idea. Follow. Trace the steps. Or is follow "to let oneself be guided by-"? Or maybe "to guide oneself through the actions of other"? There are many interpretations, all under a word, all under a simple concept. Jiji followed Musi, this is certain and we can't deny. But on how many levels did he?

-Heh, I think he is going to want to hit you, but he is not that foolish, and that's not what you asked. I think he will try to scold you, but if you were vulnerable to scolding at all, you would probably be more chiefly by now, and that also not what you asked. What you asked is what he is going to do. An action. More than that, you asked what I think he will do. An idea depicting an action. It's a deep question. And it has a deep answer. He is going to flail around like a baboon. What else can he do about it?

Some place among the explanation Jiji changed his weak leg, and kept the pace. And these are two actions, or one action and one state, depending on how you look at it. But before anything else, those are two ideas.

And yet, Jiji followed.

"It's a perplexing circumstance." The boy replied calmly, not really bothered by this news. Though it was true that having the future be uncertain when the spirits were in such a state wasn't the best of news, the Dream Reader knew better than to worry. There was nothing they could do about what was to come; the future would open itself to them all in time. Until then the village would have to deal. "Here's to good fortune." he answered after a moment with a nod.

The bow-woman speaking to him was a surprise. She was very much like Garruk when it came to socializing with others, they just didn't do it much, if at all any. Even though Garruk had not planned on engaging in conversation with her now that she gave a greeting it would be disrespectful to just ignore her and pass on by. "Ryder," Garruk returned her greeting, "Your kill today, it was impressive. It takes some skill to score a clean kill on such a vicious beast."

Her hunt was definitely quicker and cleaner than his. When he was turning in his kill he had noticed there was nary a scratch on the pelt of the jaguar as opposed to the gash on the back of his bear and the deep mark made by his hatchet on the beast's head. Just went to show her hunting style, silent and unnoticed by the prey until it was too late. It was the exact opposite of his own. Garruk treated hunting like a game, enjoying the thrill of the chase and the kill much more than the prize from the hunt itself.