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Twilit Refuge ~ (Shiya, Rike Arktik) [JamesG, PM to Join]

This is where all of the Age of Cyborgs role-plays are archived.
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Justin
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Posts: 1530
Joined: Mon Sep 29, 2008 9:41 pm

Twilit Refuge ~ (Shiya, Rike Arktik) [JamesG, PM to Join]

Post by Justin » Thu Dec 31, 2009 12:31 am

((( This thread is in continuation in part to a previous roleplay: The Start of Something Grand. (Which is actually the first roleplay in the Age of Cyborgs.) It will continue to tell the adventures of Ellyll Cysgood... though derailment for a better plot is not only allowed, it is welcomed. ... Those who were involved in the original thread may join freely. Others may PM me to join, but only after reading the original thread. That is all. )))



One Week, Three Days later...

The stars and moon were blotted out by the swirling curtains of high, black clouds - a inky canvas across the north. There was no light from anywhere above the city of Shiya, which was blanketed in an almost unnatural darkness - and an unnatural light. The rather aged - by the standards of the rest of Feila - sodium-vapour lamps lit the entire, sprawling concrete city with an orange glow borne from the masses of lights used to substitute for the sun in these dark months up north. The surrounding hills and even the clouds above reflected this mass of light dimly... all the world appeared as if it were encased by these clouds, and lit from the centre by this city's lights.

All the world might have been a snowglobe, to the airliner barrelling in from the south.

The slight flurries - slight, at least, for this time of year - rushed past the windows as the craft, which was really about the size of a corporate jet, continued its long descent from its flight ceiling, toward the rather unkempt airport of Shiya.

Air travel was somewhat uncommon this time of year. It was dark, stormy, and dangerous. Not many attempted it - but those who did realised the profits that were to be made. Several companies, in any case, ran regular flights into and out of Shiya, as much as they could given local weather conditions - which was, admittedly, not more than a few times a month.

This aircraft was one of those fearless craft that forayed into the Arctic night when the weather was clear, making a mad dash to Shiya with whatever it was paid to carry - usually passengers, and a few foreign supplies of some sort.

And this one did indeed have some passengers...
Two passengers in particular, who had been fortunate enough to arrive in time for this rather fortuitous flight north.

These sorts of flights didn't really ask as many questions as larger airlines, and that was perfectly all right with them...

[center]~[/center]

The aircraft hovered slowly into placed above the landing pad, landing lights on its lower fuselage and wingtips flashing a bright white in the night - illuminating all the flakes in the air for just a blink of an eye.

The aircraft rotated slightly as it centred itself over the lighted X on the pad, over which snow had already begun to drift. The red lights in the pavement shone up at the bottom of the craft, casting its hue at the roof of the cabin inside and the wings, engines, and fuselage of the otherwise white-grey jet.

The flakes that flew around in the rising winds and aircraft's exhaust we coloured dull orange by the city's lights or a sharp red by the lights on the tarmac as they dipped under the roaring aircraft.

A single caribou stood off to the side, waving two green light sticks in circles and lines, directing the craft to exactly the right position, however halfheartedly it was accomplished. It was winter - it was dark, and it was colder. A storm was kicking in, and this plane was intent on landing here. Despite being covered from head to toe in efficient, modern clothing, the caribou was still cold, and still somewhat annoyed at this aircraft. Why couldn't they all just stay inside?



Soon enough, the aircraft's engines were whining to a stop, their pitch decreasing as they slowed down.

The lights on the aircraft still flashed as the hatch opened on the side, lowering down to the ground as a step for those who would disembark.

The caribou stood there, light sticks stuck in his large parka's pocket. He burly arms were crossed across his chest as he watched those inside the plane step out and get blasted by the unearthly cold wind... he directed them to a halftrack that was off to the side, running dutifully in the storm, the door to the rear passenger compartment looking quite inviting to the unsuitably clothed newcomers.

They moved out of the plane, and, holding each other against the wind and snow, or simply dashing with what little luggage they might have, moved over to the halftrack as fast as possible as they exited the jet.

The last two furs to exit the jet were clothed rather correctly for the weather, at least - their faces were wrapped in fleece, and they had on multiple layers. This all might have seemed suspicious elsewhere, but here, it seemed like good planning and was certainly evidence for a sound mind and experience.

One of the figures - the shorter one - was evidently the reason why they were the last. He moving slowly, as if his back pained him greatly. He took the first step down the stairs rather stiffly, and grabbed the railing. The other fur placed a hand on the other's shoulders, but quickly withdrew his arm at a snarl that even the caribou could hear.

They made their way off the aircraft and across the tarmac as fast as could be expected, but the carbidou - even understanding that the one fur was injured or crippled in some way - was getting impatient. He had to be the last to leave this airstrip, after all the guests. Even he was getting cold by now.

[center]~[/center]

The two furs entered the lobby at the rear of the three other groups of guests who checking in this stormy evening. And what a lobby it was. It was perhaps two full stories high, with wood pillars, ceilings, and floors. Vertical boards lined the first two-and-a-half or so meters of the walls from the floor, before the normal, horizontal boarding was visible. The walls were lined with all sorts of things you might expect to see in a kitschy lodge-based hotel - the obligatory moosehead over the fireplace, the paintings of the local Shiyan countryside, the smaller trophies of feral animals... the bric-a-brac was far too numerous and vapid to bear much note or detail, at least to the two guests in the lobby.

They were certainly glad to be inside, but looked as if they were having second thoughts about how bad the cold exactly as their eyes fell upon this site, the "best hotel in Shiya." They had to remind themselves that they were indeed in a foreign country before they decided within their minds not to go try their luck someplace different - if they did not get frozen by the cold.

The fur that walked as if he were injured unbuttoned the two buttons on the collar of his maroon outer jacket's shell, pulling the flaps to the sides. He then pulled the fleece wrapping from his muzzle and let out a sort of gasp for air that was not obscured by the wet, warm fabric that was now hanging about his neck.

It was immediately apparent that he, now easily seen as a young male, was definitely some sort of a hyrbid - rather looked down on by the purebreds who made up the rest of the furs in the lobby, including his companion. As a second thought, however, he was staying at this hotel - and anyone staying here was either bound to have money or to be very special and paid for by someone else, with money. That fact may have erased the peculiarity of his being a hybrid in the mind of anyone who had noticed his strange pointed head and long, pointed ears indicative of no species per se.

His companion was a very well-built German Shepherd who had a distinctive militarism to his body and movements, which was further displayed by his choice of jacket - a surplus piece of clothing from the Royal Rike Arktik Navy. His combat boots, heels adding a fraction of an inch to his already near two-meter-height, were also of some army unit, although they certainly looked much more well worn than his coat.

This canine whispered something to the hybrid, who shot a glare straight back, and said something, jerking his head toward the counter quickly, and then leaned toward the dog to growl something lower. The hybrid was given a disapproving look but didn't seem to mind. His ears were pulled back against his skull, back behind his head.

Neither looked happy to be here at the moment.

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JamesG
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Post by JamesG » Mon Jan 04, 2010 6:33 am

Simeon Krasnov had returned. After so many months of travel, visiting Maze, Domus, Gawain and the Territory in a round trip of bringing love and blessings to the Arktik shaman missionaries across the globe, as well as bringing love and blessings to various ladies across the globe, the Harp Seal was back home. Well, nearly home. He was originally from the town of Narvik, but he often stayed in Shiya when not on a wander. Simeon had come by a ship that usually ran from Shiya to the Territory, more specifically the town of Ferdinand, an area reminiscent of the Mazan colony it had once been. Simeon had walked across many lands in his travels, preferring to take his time, seeing no reason to rush himself to any particular destination. It had often been so warm further South, to the seal, that he had virtually gone without his usual greatcoat and gloves, though staying to the traditional dark garments of the Shamans. He had seen many things abroad, some that made him glad to be alive, some that made him cry and pray to Kukik above. Maze was the poorest of nations he had visited, and he had certainly been busy with healings there.

Simeon was accustomed to giving healings, he believed it was a power of his that had been given to him by the Divine. Some people across his travels had rejected his attempts to help, others had allowed him to lend his assistance. Other times, Simeon had been required to defend the helpless. The seal believed wholeheartedly that any fur willing to listen, to believe and to treat him with kindness was part of his 'flock', and a huge global flock it was becoming. So when certain furs, such as Kahunian raiders, had tried to kill furs of Simeon's flock, he sent them to make their final peace with the gods, by way of desintegration lance rifle, or even his jewel-encrusted shashka, a short traditional blade of Narvikish origin that had belonged to his father, and probably to his grandfather before him. The seal was still a warrior in his heart, though he only used his skills against those whom had wandered too far down the path of evil.

Now, adventures finished for the year, the shaman was home in Shiya. He did not own a property in Shiya, the only land he had was back in Narvik, the house he had inherited. Simeon was accustomed to living in an improvised manner, from hunting his own food, and camping, to spending a great deal of time in hotels. And so it was this night, when he finally left the airport, after a short hold-up whilst his licences for his weapons were examined, and his passport checked. Some people had their details and licences electronically on their implants, but Simeon could only afford a radio implant, as he quite liked speaking over the airwaves, from religious talk stations to emergency weather services which accepted reports of blizzards from furs in the area. He was now expected to meet a certain friend of his at the hotel they had arranged for. Simeon knew that the hotel was not far from the airport and, smiling as he stepped out into the freezing night, returned to wearing his warmer clothes, set off briskly down the road.

It was dark, and the wind not quite enough to warrant the use of Simeon's dark tinted goggles, so he left them on his fur hat, though kept his black facemask on, which was a specially designed cloth that covered from just below his eyes to his neck. On his back was his travelling backpack, which contained his papers, a few food and drink items, his rifle in a few detached pieces, and several of the free matches that were provided in various hotel rooms across the world, which he found useful when camping out. The bag also contained a sleeping bag, but no tent. Simeon had found that sleeping rough in Maze and the Territory was too warm for such a shelter, and so was not bothered at all by sleeping under the stars. There were also two ice-picks that Simeon had not needed, as well as a small bag of amenities, and a few travel brochures. Simeon was quite a strong seal, and so had no difficulty in carrying these items in between hotels, motels, and invitations into other people's homes, which were more common than he had expected, as the shaman's reputation had spread.

Simeon came to the hotel in good spirits, his grey-blue eyes lit up in delight at the sight of familiar old snow again. He was also looking forward to meeting his dear lady friend in the hotel, whom had promised him that he had an expensive room to wlecome him back to the nation, after all his travels. Grinning at the thought, Simeon unintentionally made the most dramatic entrance he could have under the circumstances, as he opened the heavy doors to the hotel, which were reinforced to take on the severest of blizzards. They made a loud creaking noise, and the wind blew a little snow in, which was not preventable in the Arctic. At once, he saw Tatyana, a seal like himself lounging on one of the sofas next to the fireplace installed in the lobby. He called out across the quiet room, "Ey, Tatyana mi sladkye! Tvoy shämän naeyed ti!", a phrase in Arktik which roughly translates to "Hey, Tatyana my love! Your shaman is back!" with that, Simeon laughed, and strode towards the other seal, whom rose, now fully alert, and ran to greet him, by wrapping her arms around his neck, and replying back in Arktik with similar words of adoration.

Having greeted each other, Tatyana revealed to Simeon exactly why she was down here. Apparently, the management of the hotel had the room reserved under Simeon's name, and therefore would not allow Tatyana in. The shaman thought this was a load of nonsense, and realised he would have to get the key if they had refused Tatyana. He got in line with her behind two Inostranniyelander, or foreigners, the former word being an Arktik term. Simeon was used to seeing all sorts of people having just finished his tour of the modern world, and thought little of it, except that they both looked peculiarly miserable. Simeon, whose primary emotions at the moment were love, joy and relief at being home again, was not too put off by this. Instead, he said in a slightly lower tone to Tatyana, still in Arktik, "Tatyana, once we get the keys, we must have a drink, yes?" The seal could hold an inordinate amount of drink, and enjoyed foreign varieties as well as his own home traditional drinks. He had no doubt the hotel served either option in copious quantities.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Justin
King
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Joined: Mon Sep 29, 2008 9:41 pm

Post by Justin » Fri Jan 15, 2010 12:12 am

The hybrid looked vexed with the rather boisterous seal behind him, and glanced at the German Shepherd beside him. Their glances met, and it seemed a council of assassins, each eyeball weighing in on the question of whether or not certain punitive action should be taken to ensure the silence of the furs behind the bodies which contained said eyeballs. The votes were taken, and evidently it ended in a three to one landslide against killing them. The sole eyeball to vote for the termination of the seal's life was the hybrid's left eyeball, affectionately known as "Twitchy" for obvious reasons.

This council having been concluded in the space of three seconds, the furs again looked forward, away from each other, watching the furs ahead of them do their business at the front desk. Most luckily for Twitchy, the line was moving along rather quickly. Already, two groups were going off to their rooms with a bellhop, and a third was almost completed, it appeared.

"You're getting us a suite, right?" the hybrid asked the canine in a low voice.

The canine shook his head.

"I want a suite, I want to be in another room when I'm sleeping."

The canine smirked. "What's wrong with me?"

"You know very well." the hybrid growled, his ears flattening against his skull a little more. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his woollen greatcoat. "So we're getting a suite."

"We're getting a single room. Two beds. Like Quincy said," the canine explained roughly. "All right, princess?" he asked, in a caring and mocking voice.

The hybrid pulled his right paw from his pocket, but stopped as the canine raised a finger. "Ah, ah, ah... we can't do that sort of thing here. Maybe once we're in the room, but not out here in public." The canine smiled sweetly, derisively.

The hybrid growled again, and Twitchy sought audience with the right eye.


The line moved forward.

JamesG
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Post by JamesG » Fri Jan 15, 2010 1:07 am

Simeon by this time had comfortably adjusted his face mask to hang loosely around his neck, and took off his fur hat to shake out his black hair, which had grown well past his collar in his travels. Grinning, and brushing his hair from his eyes, he began to speak to Tatyana again, still in Arktik, but loud enough to be audible across the room. "Tatyana, have you been at your prayers every day, as I asked?" Tatyana nodded slowly, and said guiltily, "Yes... but Simeon, how have you been? Did you go far?" Simeon just laughed aloud, a big hearty chuckle as he realised what the seal was trying to do, "Do not try and change the subject, my love! I can tell when you are doing that! Now then, it looks like once again, I must bring you back on to the path of the Divine, from which I suspect you have strayed." Tatyana grinned sheepishly, but the male seal was not done speaking. He would pray for her soul later on, no doubt. Tatyana was not as religious as Simeon, and thus felt little compulsion to pray as much as the shaman did. It concerned Simeon, but overall he knew that his friend would come to no harm under Kukik's guidance.

"As to your question, yes! I saw the Mazan conflict with the anarchists of Kahun, I saw the Domish Imperial Palace, I saw the heart of the Territory of the Ravens, all the wonders of this world. You know, I even saw some Edwinlanders! They had run to Domus before the coast off Scarborough was finally sealed off by those awful turret things their government puts at sea. They told me all about Edwin, and we spent many nights drinking crazily together. They taught me this very silly old Edwinish folk song, it goes, er, let me see..." Here Simeon switched from his native Diktion Arktik to the Edwinish language, which he had a good grasp on. He sang with a heavy Arktik accent, and whilst he had fairly good pitch, he sang quite loudly, and nobody in the room seemed keen on telling the holy man who carried around a huge knife that he should be quiet. Besides, several of them were religious themselves, and had no problems being in the presence of a shaman, no matter how boisterous he was. Simeon was not as strictly disciplined, perhaps, as other shamans of the Arctic, but he was a special case. This particular song was quite old, but it was still remembered by those that lived in the North of the country.
"Where have you been since I last saw you, last saw you?
On Ilkley Moor without a hat,
Where have you been since I last saw you, last saw you?
Where have you been since I last saw you?
On Ilkley Moor without a hat,
On Ilkley Moor without a hat,
On Ilkley Moor without a hat,
You have been courting Mary Jane,
You are bound to catch your death of cold,
Then we will have to bury you,
Then the worms will come and eat you up,
Then the ducks will come and eat up the worms,
Then we will go and eat up the ducks,
Then we will have eaten you,
That's where we get our own back!
"

At the end of this song, Simeon burst out laughing again, Tatyana joining him. He said, back in Diktion Arktik again, "You don't know what it means, eh, do you? Here, let me try and translate it back!" The two of them were nearly hysterical with laughter now as the seal attempted a haphazard translation of the song into Arktik. Simeon had not seen any of his friends from the Islands in such a long time, he could not help be excited and loud when he finally met Tatyana again. The seals' translation sounded very peculiar in Arktik, and a few native speakers of the language turned their heads, confused and curious as to the commotion. The queue was moving ahead, and the two of them, still trying to control their laughter, moved up, closer behind the two men in front, as Simeon tried to get his breath to finish the last line. Tatyana clapped mockingly, as Simeon grinned. "They were wonderful people! But still, so very difficult to understand! I speak good Edwinish, and I still had trouble following them!" Simeon, still smiling inanely, stretched himself, realising just how long he had been on his plane. Despite feeling great at being home again, the singing had taken it out of him a bit, and he looked ahead to see how far he was from getting into his room.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Justin
King
Posts: 1530
Joined: Mon Sep 29, 2008 9:41 pm

Post by Justin » Fri Jan 15, 2010 1:50 am

The hybrid brought a hand up to his face from his pocket, covering his twitching eye. His ears drooped lower, less rigid with anger than limp with resignation. "Tell me he's not trying to sing Ilkley Moor Bart'at, Howard. Just tell me that," he muttered quietly enough so that the canine could hear him, but not the bellowing seal.

Howard glanced back a little and gave a bit of a whine as the seal sang away, as if oblivious to the fact that there were people in the room. "I, er, wish I could," he replied just as quietly. He placed an arm around the hybrid's shoulders. "It's all right," he began in a normal volume, "I - " he was cut off as the hybrid snarled at him and pushed him away. "What, El," he smiled, amused, "you-"

"My BACK!" he snapped as quietly as possible, pushing the German Shepherd away as the canine understood.

Certainly, at least the guests immediately in front of them instinctively turned as El said this, but very quickly recovered their composure, and moved forward up to the front desk.

Howard looked apologetically at the hybrid, who now had his face screwed up in a mask of pain, teeth gritted and fists clenched. His back was still very painful, scabs having replaced the blisters after a week and a half since he had been injured. It was agonising, especially given that he was phobic about taking any medications - any that he had to take were slipped to him by Howard.

He knew this was going to be a long while.
His eye began twitching again as the seal started singing in the local language.
Howard's eyes were in agreement this time as well.

JamesG
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Joined: Sat Feb 24, 2007 1:43 am
Gender: Male

Post by JamesG » Tue Jan 19, 2010 2:26 am

The seal was jerked from his thoughts of his warm hotel room by the fur in front of him shouting. Simeon had been almost shouting at the top of his voice for the past few minutes, but he as quite suprised at the man's sudden outburst. He was not sure exactly what species the fur was, it was a hybrid of some kind that the old-fashioned seal could not identify. What Simeon could do, however, was offer his assistance. he was, after all, a holy healer, and what better way to start his healing in the Arctic again than right here? Simeon could tell from the man's expression that he was in pain, and knew that it was his shamanic duty to lend assistance. He held up his silver shaman insignia, a six-pointed cross, with four points perpendicular to each other, the fifth and sixth bent diagonally across the lower point. With his other paw he made a few complicated signs over his chest, and spoke in a deeper, serious voice to the hybrid. His blue-gray eyes had some sort of quality to them, in which when someone looked at them, they found it very difficult to look away. Simeon was that sort of a man, and used his apparent gifts in the help of others. Provided, of course, they were totally willing. Simeon was as of yet unaware he had caused the hybrid discomfort with his singing.

"Come, brother. I can see you are in much pain. I can relieve you of your torment. It is not difficult. It is the least I can do, to welcome you to Rike Arktik" the seal looked somberly into the hybrid's eyes, as if transfixed. His laughing and silly grin were gone now. The shaman took his work seriously, and knew that calling upon the power of Kukik was not something to laugh about. He spoke aloud, as if to himself, though still in the Edwinish tongue, so the hybrid knew what holy force the seal called upon. "O Kukik the Divine, what ails him? What may be done?" He nodded as if talking and listening to an invisible person in the room. A few people were looking with interest at this weird example of local culture. "Yes... the doctors would just upset him. Quite right, my Lady." He fixed the hybrid with another stare, and said, almost hypnotically, "My brother... the receptionist is waiting." The seal was right. The guests in front had moved off, and it was now just Simeon and his newfound companions. "You, brother," he said to Howard, now in a more commanding voice. "I must help this soul. If you would deal with your own affairs?" The seal was a fairly good speaker of Edwinish, and was confident that Howard would understand this thickly accented sentence. He was suggesting that the canine deal with the receptionist, whilst Simeon gave his holy respite to the hybrid's pain. Nobody was quite sure if Simeon was mad, or really speaking to the Divine, but he was quite often scarily powerful when it came to his healings.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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