"I LOVE mass hallucinations. "
-.Praetor
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| The Woodsman Legacy Part 1 | | | Author: | | | IP: | 104-168.XXXX | | Date: | 11/20/03 09:11 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 4, Min: 4
Lifetime Rating for The Wise One: 3.6667 |  |
The Woodsman Legacy Part 1
Night´s dark, gloomy presence slowly disappeared into the horizon as day swallowed it up into a whirlpool of nothingness and stepped up to take its place. This transformation removed the white, shimmering spots of stars from their placement in the black, opaque blanket known as the night sky. A change in color tone then began. Black lightened and lost its emptiness. Sunlight erupted and flowed out of its dormant fountain, spreading and showering the night sky with its brilliant color blends of yellow, orange, and gold.
Ronan Pikesbor was delirious to the opening events of this new day, however. He was caught up in a web of dismissal delusion, as he slept unaware of his surroundings. Finally, a solid ray of sunlight rested directly on his closed eyelids long enough to draw him out of his slumber, breaking him free of his prison of self-withdrawal that held him fast asleep. He then shook his head till the drowsiness left him and began to blink letting his eyes adjust to the light around him. The cool draft brushed against his face and soon he was revived.
He dressed swiftly, throwing on his shirt, with leather lace stitched down its middle. Followed by his cloth pants, leather hide leggings strapped over them. Then, he struggled his stiff iron toed, boots on. He finished by strapping a light brown cloak over his back for additional warmth. While very uncomfortable and resistant to your movement, these clothes proved to be a complete necessity for the woodsman life in this area of the globe.
***
"Woodsman" was the name given to Ronan and his people. Many found it peculiar for one to make their lodgings so far away from civilization. But, contrary to common belief, the woodsmen were not loners. In actuality, they lived in packs of several dozen with their families. Their homes were generally constructed of bamboo and fastened securely atop the sturdy branches of trees with strong vines. The lower canopy of the jungle was the idea location for such settlements. The presence of constant mild weather allowed a warmth full but somewhat cool sleep. It could almost be considered a paradise, if it weren´t for the dangerous jungle creatures, and dense, entangling vegetation and uneasiness of the general idea of living off the land.
From the description of their homesteads, it may seem that woodsmen are barbaric savages. But, this conclusion would prove very wrong. The Village Head Master and his advisors governed each woodsman village. The Head Master, in this village´s case, happened to be Ronan´s father, Lars Pikesbor. Every woodsmen village shared a common document known as the Woodsman Code of Conduct. It was a list of moral laws and guidelines that all woodsmen were expected to follow. Other than that each Village Head Master and his advisors made laws individually.
This style of governing while strong in many ways had some weaknesses. It caused the woodsmen to develop a sort of arrogance, believing that their village was superior to the other woodsmen villages. They strove on uniqueness, each Head Master attempted to out-do the others in their methods of control over their village. Some even managed to twist things into a sort of dictatorship, using the members of their village as tools to make their life as carefree and luxurious as possible. But, most remained honorable to customs and traditions, holding true to the moral values that had made up the foundation of the lives of their ancestors.
Ronan Pikesbor cherished his lifestyle. It was a life that gave him a wild, sensational sense of freedom. He could enjoy solitude and relaxation from the masses of people who inhabited the city, and at the same time never feel a sense of loneliness. He had the same friends he had known and enjoyed treacherous adventures with since the beginning of his childhood. It was a life those in cities could only dream of.
***
After getting dressed, Ronan left his small sleeping quarters and stumbled into the kitchen area, still sleepy to a certain extent. But, he was soon wide-awake after getting a swig of the rich, herbal scent of the meat his mom was preparing. No one could beat his mom´s cooking. Roasted meat fresh out of the flame rolled in various jungle herbs.
"Did you was your hands?" his mom asked as she lifted a chunk of meat with her wooden tongs, placing it on the block of wood which served as a plate.
"Yes," Ronan lied, taking his place on the uncomfortable bamboo chair. Scanning the room, Ronan realized his father was absent.
"Oh he´s at some meeting with his advisors as usual," his mom explained as if reading his mind.
"I see," Ronan muttered with disgust. His father seemed more interested in the common villager than his own family.
"Your father is a good man and takes great pride in making this village what it is," his mom snapped after noticing his disgust.
"If only he could reserve some of his good intentions for his own family," Ronan replied softly as he took a sip of ale to wash down the meat. He then, drained his ale, slammed his mug on the table, and stamped out of the room.
"Bye," he said, a hint of irritation in his voice. Before stepping out of the small rectangular doorway, he grabbed his sturdy ash bow and strapped on a worn out belt, which held a small iron dagger in its hilt. One couldn´t be too careful in this jungle country. The bamboo door slammed shut as he prepared for a day of enjoyment in the outdoors.
***
The make up of the village was an interesting, architectural maze of bamboo. All dwellings hung on tree limbs, airborne. They were adjoined by bamboo catwalks, which were suspended from the limbs with the support of vines. All catwalks converged into a main catwalk, which stretched straight down the center of the village; its length and width made others appear miniature. It led to a winding bamboo staircase, this staircase leading to the peak of a tree that stood far higher and more majestic than any other trees in this area of the jungle. Mounted on this tree was the pride of the village. The Village Hall was where Head Master, Lars Pikesbor and his personal advisors spent the majority of the typical day. Here all business transactions, village meetings, law making, and so on were conducted.
***
But, on this particular day, The Village Hall wasn´t Ronan´s intended destination. He and two friends had plans to spend the day outside the village, which they did frequently, when they became bored or disgusted with the usual routine. Ronan made his way to the end of the Pikesbor catwalk, past the sign, which read Pikesbor Residence. He trudged onto the main catwalk and steered left. He kept walking until he came to the next smaller catwalk. The sign read Blakeston Residence. He turned onto this one and kept going till he came to the settlement. After, rapping noisily on the door he waited. A moment later the door was answered. A young man about Ronan´s height except much heavier built, with more broadness in the shoulders stood before him. He wore a grin and extended a large hand. Ronan clasped it firmly, gritting his teeth in slight agony from the bigger man´s grip.
"Well met Ronan, is everything set?"
"Yes, Brad, as soon as we pick up Mary, we´ll be on our way."
Ronan had known Brad Blakeston and Mary Roghesburg all his life and these day-long-treks out of the village were just a routine for them. Ronan and Brad made their way down the main catwalk. They passed three turnoffs before finally taking the fourth.
The settlement here was much smaller, and of poor construction. Bamboo was loosely thrown together, much of it hanging astray in excess. Weak vines, which looked near breaking point, held the bundles together. It was clear that its inhabitants came up short financially.
Mary seemed to have been watching for them. For, she threw the door open and rushed out to meet them as they made their approach.
"What took you two so long?" she demanded mockingly.
"Ronan overslept," Brad explained, bluntly with a glare in Ronan´s direction.
"I didn´t oversleep," Ronan defended, "Mom was still preparing breakfast when I came awake."
Mary greeted them each with a hug as well as a swift but effective kiss on the cheek for Ronan, which caused Brad to give him an envious look. Ronan and Brad had always had a fondness for Mary. Mary, however, seemed to only be interested in Ronan. Brad had always insisted that this be only because Ronan was the son of the Village Head Master. But, Ronan knew there was much more to it than that.
They made their way back to the main catwalk and made their descent to the edge of the village. The main catwalk had already begun to slope toward ground level. After awhile, the smaller intersecting catwalks disappeared and were replaced with the lower trunks of trees on both sides. They had walked a good two miles from Mary´s house when they finally reached the edge of the village. The main catwalk came to an end; stairs led to the jungle floor. Ronan stepped on solid ground for the first time in a few days. They made their way through a clearing where trees had been downed and vegetation hacked away several years earlier when the village had been founded.
***
Coming to the end of the clearing, a massive bamboo gate stood before them. A fence wrapped itself around the whole of the village, marking this area as a possession of the woodsmen. Small-serrated edges were carved into the sides of the Bamboo logs making up the fence. The tops were hewed into sharp points, which had been dipped into herbal poisons prior to the construction of the fence. This had been done as a precaution against invaders. Vines and smaller pieces of bamboo covered all cracks in the fence except for a few designed specifically to fit arrows that could be fired upon attackers from the safety of the inside.
Also designed for safety were nests of bamboo dipped in poisons, which would pierce the feet of any would be invaders. Small strips of leather that could be triggered by a simple nudge of the foot, releasing a poison dart that would initiate instant death for the victim were also present. Hundreds of these and many other variations of traps were concealed about the perimeter of the village in spots only the woodsmen knew of. And, if the adversaries continued to advance past the traps, large artillery bows armed with multiple arrows, which would be released in showers cutting them down to size, could be used. Catapults were also present for hurling things such as flaming logs or large boulders. And, if the wall by some misfortune was ever penetrated, a stand could be made in the Village Hall. The catwalks contained trap doors that could be released with a simple pull of a lever sending its occupants plummeting to the forest floor. These defenses gave the woodsmen a sense of seemingly invincibility to the possible invasions of the outside world.
***
After the gate guards gave them the ok to leave the village, Ronan and his friends did just that intent on enjoying every moment of the day. They intended to hold a competition on who could successfully obtain the most hunting game. All three had their ash bow and dagger the common armament of the woodsman. The plan was to split up, then meet again at noon and compare their kills. Then, they would split up again and meet up at dark to determine the winner. After this, they would return to the village.
Ronan had left the others for about half an hour, when he saw the black rider. Ronan was taking a bead on possibly his first kill and about the release his bowstring. He had two arrows tucked under his bowing hand for quick reloading. It would take several of these to drop this beast effectively. This is when he heard the heavy pounding and scraping of hooves against the ground. His heart pounding, he dove behind the cover of a nearby tree and peered out. It was very unusual for a horseman to pass through this area. It couldn´t be a woodsman, for they only traveled on foot. He strained his eyes in the direction of the noise, sweat from his forehead rolled down into his eyes causing them to burn excessively. A fly lit on his nose and he felt the dying urge to sneeze, but somehow he didn´t succomb. At first, all he saw was the normal vegetation and everything seemed right. But, the trampling sound was growing increasingly louder.
Then, bushes scattered in all directions and the rider burst free. His body was lowered onto the saddle, his head barely above the mane to allow greater speed against the wind. But, the rash movement didn´t hinder Ronan from seeing him clearly.
He was clad in black, all the way up to his straw hat. His boots came to a point, a wicked blade coming out of their tip. He wore tight leather pants that seemed to glow with a smooth, silky, black color. A wide belt was wrapped about his waste, several holsters hung down. They contained a unique collection of blades, which Ronan could tell were made specifically for fast, silent kills. A long whip also hung from his side. His shirt was tucked into the pants, the sleeves going all the way down to his stiff leather arm guards. But, what scared Ronan the most though, were the blade talons strapped over the man´s wrists. These three pointed claws were the common weapons of the assassin.
Ronan recognized him immediately as a member of the Black Riders Guild. He had never actually seen one but his dad had gave him plenty descriptions. They were a group of deadly assassins who offered their "services" to whoever had the biggest pocket book. They didn´t go anywhere unless they were hired. Ronan knew that this one was only a scout and there would be several others nearby. He also knew that whatever their intentions be, they weren´t good ones. Most likely they intended to cause trouble for his people.
Ronan ignored everything around him except this potential threat and his own survival. He struggled to stay completely still. Even the slightest movement would give his location away to this man´s keen senses. At first it appeared he had not been discovered; the horse continued and didn´t slow. Then, without warning, the horse whined shrilly as his rider jerked its reins around changing its directional course. He was now headed directly toward Ronan´s spot of concealment. Ronan quickly left, dropping to his belly and began slithering his way toward a denser area. But, it was now clear the black rider had caught sight of him, for he was rapidly approaching, his gaze fixed on Ronan.
Ronan gave up all attempts at stealth and began to run. Briars scraped his legs causing them to bleed and branches slapped him in the face mercilessly. But, still he did not slow. He developed tunnel vision, seeing only what was ahead of him. He dare not look back. Death would not come to him this way. Too much depended on his escape. He had to warn his people of the presence of Black Riders Guild members in the area. And, what of Brad and Mary, they were wandering around carefree, unaware of the danger. He had to find them and get them back to the safety of the village. It couldn´t end like this···
Ronan used every ounce of his strength, lowering his body to increase his speed against the wind, running at a rate he had never reached in his entire lifetime. He tore through the natural obstacles of growth as if they didn´t exist. He was swept forward by the frantic exhilaration of survival. He was a wild, free, unmatchable, untamable, beast for these few seconds of his life.
It was then that the blow struck him in the back of the head. He lost his footing and tumbled, landing face down in a briar patch. His last thoughts were of all the friends he had failed. Then, he lost consciousness.
The Wise One has spoken. |
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