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One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

This is where all of the medieval Arctic Islands role-plays are archived.
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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by Larcen » Wed May 26, 2010 9:51 am

Even if Simeon had not noticed the reason for the jackal's reaction, Izquiér had. He began to chuckle a bit to himself, but stifled it, knowing it was wrong to laugh at the misfortune of another.

Deré had been preoccupied with the seal. "Once more, I thank you for it your hospitality, Simeon, and Izquiér, I am sure he would for to agree." He wanted to explain their situation further, as some impressions had been misgiven, but the question of Sibuna's circumstances piqued his interest, as well as that of his brother. "Yes, what is it that brinks you here, canine of her the desert of the west?"

The borzois relaxed in their chair to listen, leaning back. Deré brought his arm up across their chest and rested it there, looking at his brother as if expecting something from him. After a few seconds of inactivity, he cleared his throat impatiently. Izquiér, who had been occupied entirely with paying attention to the jackal, suddenly looked over at his sibling, then down at the arm. With a whispered "oh", he brought his own arm up to complete the crossing of them.
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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by LittleWing » Wed May 26, 2010 10:35 am

The world was in a bit of a haze at this point, as SIbuna normally got a good buzz from a glass of wine, and here he had just downed a glass of vodka on a nearly empty stomach, thanks to his poor judgement. He'd have to keep in mind to not try to order in such a fashion again.
All of the sounds around him kind of slowed and became distorted, as did everything he could see. It was great.
The drunken jackal glanced lazily over to the seal and nodded, unsure of what he was agreeing to, but also uncaring.
"HEEEERrrrrrrrmmmmm?" Unfortunately, was his reply when the seal asked what brought him here. He kind of lolled his head from one side to the other, looking to the brothers, then to the shaman.
"Well..." he started, resting one elbow on the table, "I lived...there..." he pointing to the left, refering to the desert, "n then.....I walked..." he used his index and middle finger, making them "walk" clumsily across the table and over a salt shaker.
"'nd I walked 'nd I walked... 'til I got....to...the....boat."
Sibuna had traveled across Kahun until he made he had stumbled upon a fshermen who was headed to Edwin. The sailor was kind enough to let him aboard. This, was what he was refering too.
"And I got sick...a lot..."
He wavered in his seat, raising a paw up in the air, as if he were a child in class.
"Nurse!" he barked, waiting for one of the waitstaff to come over.
When they arrived, he wiggled his eybrows in what he thought was a seductive manner. This, however, was unlikely, especially since he knew not whether the sever who arrived was male or female. The little glass had somehow made it;s way back into the drunk's hand, and was now being passed like a note in middleschool over to the server.
"Yaknowwhattado...." he slurred somewhat loudly, despite the fact that he thought he was whispering.
Turning back to the three, he continued his tale.
"N I got to Eddy. N I met a jackal. Not me though...a diff'r'nt one.... Uh...Basly....Basil...Backri...Backiri! Thats what his name was. And....we got in a duel! Kind of...he did....magic!"
The world "magic" was accentuated with what would in the future be known as "jazz hands".
"And the stone hippo came out...."
He paused for a moment, going very silent, as if he were sad or mourning. Though as quickly as he had paused, he started up again.
"and we were there...and there was wine and bread. And that was about it. But later there....later...I...I STOLE HIS WIFE!"
As his said this he sat upright, ears at full attention, mouth drawn in tightly as if he had said too much. But, of course, this wouldn't stop the rambling.
"Haven't seen her in a while though..."
By the time he had finished this bit of the story, the server had returned, possibly very angry, with the galss refilled.
"Thankya, lovely..." the canine said, plucking the glass from the trey and setting it on the table.
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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by JamesG » Mon May 31, 2010 3:48 am

Simeon, not quite realising how quickly Sibuna had become inebriated, tried to follow the jackal's lolling head, looking perplexed. "It is the East he is from, brother..." he muttered to Deré, whom seemed geographically disorientated, to the shaman. The canine's directions were very confusing. He had walked from Western Kahun, to the Eastern side, and caught a boat. How he had reached the Arctic Islands when Kahun was to the far East of the world, Simeon did not know. When Sibuna began ordering his next drink, the seal suddenly became aware of the effect this was having on the canine. "Oh..." he mumbled to himself, glancing worredly at the traveller's glass. Simeon jumped as the jackal shouted, and the lodge collectively gave the group a curious glance, before the general conversation resumed. Fortunately, there were not enough speakers of Sibuna's language to comprehend the content of his outburst. The seal gave the refilled glass a wide-eyed stare, and wondered to himself how much more the canine could take. One glass had really turned the jackal's brain into blaschnije poroschok, or 'wet powder-snow', as was the Arktik expression for someone whom was completely drunk.

"You... er, are you feeling well, brother Sibuna?" the shaman asked loudly. The canine appeared to have seriously offended Peter the assistant. "Er, you say you walk across Kahunian continent, some journey, yes? What was life like in Kahun?" The holy man was not unfamiliar with walking long distances. He had been inspired to do so by the Divine Lady, but Sibuna did not even acknowledge Kukik as a goddess. Simeon had walked for weeks across the islands, until he had reached the shores of Dalälvin, where he had meditated without food, for two days, the first of the spring season, the whole ocean spread before him, the sun rising in the East. The seal, used to blizzards, blinding sun glare, impenetrable fogs and almost invisible, deadly crevasses, could only imagine the rigours of walking across the Kahunian continent, a vast desert split on by a river in its middle, burning hot by day, freezing cold by night, full of inhospitable furs. If there was one thing above all that Simeon was proud of in being an Islander, it was that people were hospitable, mainly out of necessity. When complete strangers turned up on a doorstep in the Arctic, it was usual custom for the travellers to be offered shelter from the frequent blizzards and dark times of the year, when the sun never rose until spring again. It was a means of survival in a harsh environment that mutually benefited every Islander. Simeon had heard, on the other hand, that places like Kahun, furs would cut your ear off with a scimitar if you so much as looked at them the wrong way. Simeon was hesitant to ask if this rumour was true, but he still wanted to hear everything about the exotic and strange land of Kahun.
"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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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by Larcen » Mon May 31, 2010 11:14 pm

Deré cocked an ear back and tilted his head to the side. He looked at his brother for reassurance. Izquiér nodded in affirmation, before muttering back to Simeon, "He meant the west, for because the land of Kahun, she is to it the west of her the land of Maze, which is from where we two have for to come." They resumed listening.

At least, they tried to listen. Sibuna was pretty well in his cups, all right. Though, from what they caught of it, whether truth or not, it was a fascinating story. The boys themselves had little experience with Kahun, save for one of the church's assignments that had them coming across scaled traders from time to time. The refill worried them as well. Izquiér, being closest to the jackal, pondered swiping his glass while he was distracted, saving him from further inebriation. He was held back by similar rumors of violence among the Kahunians.

"Yes, how is it the life in her the other desert land?" Deré asked. "And, uh, maybe you should take it easy on them the drinks, yes? Friend, you are looking it the sauced."
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by LittleWing » Tue Jun 01, 2010 4:37 pm

Continuing his tale, the jackal began carefully sipping at the tiny cup.
"Whatapretty lady..."
This was muttered mostly to himself. Whether he was refering to the ex-wife of the other jackal or Peter, the waiter, was unknown.
Thankfully he was still somewhat coherent, for the time being at least.
"Ah, yes...yes. I'm well, thank you, sir..." Was his reply to the seal.
"Oh! Yes.... walked around there a bit...."
He absently prodded at the steak in front of him, glancing around the bar.
"I walked and walked...for a long time. Quite a journey. And there I met a sphynx! A real live one."
Obviously he was enthused by this, mainly since they were such a creature of myth. Yes, there were lion furs around, but sphynx was something else entirely.
"Strange, you know, to see something from the old days....the sphynx. 's funny, you know. Know one thinks theyre real anymore... just stories...just stories....but they're real. They really, really are..."
Again he sipped at his drink.
"And we were sitting at night and eating deer. Then we walked in the morning...and when we walked, there were arrows! Flying through the sky!"
THe jackal gestured to the air, as if they would clarify.
"They were hunting her, the sphynx. They came after her...and we stopped them. The rain came from the sky when she called out to it. And it burned them. It burned all the hunters, but it didn't even touch us. And then the ground opened up and swallowed them all whole! It was a magical thing..."
The haze that had encircled his head wasn't giving up any. Still he had the dazed look in his eyes and the swishy feeling about him. Regardless of the stupor, he continued his story.
"SHe was confused and I was confused. So we told each other riddles. Each riddle we got wrong, we had to answer a question about ourselves. It made the desert more enjoyable.... Its hot there."
He looked to the seal, then to the brothers, as if the fact that it is "hot there", was amazing and astounding. An unknown secret of the desert.
"Kahun is nice though, other than the desert and the scorpians, and the slavers, and the hunters, and the raiders, and the gangs... other than that its nice. The food...yes...the food...roasted meats and soft cheeses, sweet, delicious fruit from tall skinny trees, sometimes dried, sometimes fresh. Seeds and breads...spiced meats cooked in clay pots. Delicious. Warm and delicious...."
He trailed off for a moment, looking blankly across the room, as if remembering all of the wonderful treats he used to eat.
Eventually he snapped out of it, then looked to the other three that sat with him, unsure of what else to say.
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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by JamesG » Fri Jun 04, 2010 6:52 am

Simeon had been hanging on every word. He had heard vaguely of the legendary Sphinx, a creature known for its riddling and mystery. The very idea sounded menacing to the simple Narvik-seal. The shaman's brow furrowed at the mention of more magic; he was still under the impression that the jackal had been under the influnce of daemons, if not now, then at some point in his life. The seal was working out a theory that the daemons of the ring, the jackal's mention of yet more black magic, and the dark figure that the seal could only perceive out of the corner of his eye now, looming over Deré's shoulder, were somehow connected. Sibuna was, to Simeon's mind, some sort of channel or pawn for the evil spirits to manifest. Thankfully, the brothers had promised the shaman to cast the rings into the freezing waters of the Arktik Sea, a force more overwhelming and monolithic than the deadliest magic. The most brightly burning daemon could not conjure up any force of will nor strength of magic to overthrow the deep, black abysses of the waters of the North. Simeon was a trusting fur, and could usually be perceptive enough to know whether he could trust someone or not. The brothers most certainly he felt he could rely on. Sibuna he liked, but the poor canine's sould was in desperate need of salvation. The shaman still had no clear picture of precisely why the jackal had come to the Islands, other than Divine inspiration.

The seal realised that Sibuna was waiting for him to speak. "This is a good story, brother Sibuna. I shall remember it, and tell it to my fellow travellers to keep us warm in the depths of night and cold." Simeon grinned. It was customary for stories, real or fictitious, to be spread by word of mouth across the Islands. Talk of news from other Arctic towns, decisions or gossip from the Imperial Palace and wild tales from foreign lands were common subject of discussion around fires in lodges, or a group of fur-clad travellers huddling together in the frozen wasteland, telling tales to distract each other from the cold. It was common for story-telling to become quite competitive, as many versions of the same story are told, some more fantastic than the next. It is said that if you tell a tale to an Arktik traveller, they will reply that they have heard three versions of the same tale that are much better. Much of Northern Arktik humour is derived from the humourous re-telling of various campfire stories, in an effort to champion the the first version. Kahunian stories of scorching deserts, sphinxes and arrows would do very well. Of course, the custom tacitly suggested that Simeon would have to tell his own story in return, for Sibuna and the brothers to remember in their travels.

"I suppose I have not told you much about me, which is not very polite." Simeon began, wondering if the vodka would cause Sibuna to pass out before he finished his tale. Simeon did not mind drunkenness, he was guilty of it more often than not. But he resolved at least to return Sibuna's favour before he too had a few drinks for the night. "I am from Narvik, it is a town in the North of the Islands. Do not try to get there, you will surely get lost in the blizzards." Simeon grinned, baring his white teeth almost manically. He was more resistant to the effects of alcohol, but as he had ordered and drank a second round with the jackal, it was starting to show a little. "We mine, and we fight for our Tsar. I was trained to be a warrior, and fight Yamahan barbarians, and preserve the glory of the Empire!" Simeon chuckled a little. He still practised his martial abilities, in case the Tsar, the fur designated by the Divine Lady Herself to rule over them, called Simeon to war. The seal was a warrior of a class of warriors in the army second only to the great, hulking six foot polar bears of the Imperial Guard. The Narvik-seal had never been called up for such a duty, but he knew it was Kukik's will that he serve the Tsar, his holy father.

"And one day, I was hunting. Then... I saw her. The Divine Lady. And she told me to become a shaman!" here Simeon had left out an important detail. Just before seeing Kukik, the young hunter had been struck on the furry head by a falling piece of stalactite from a shall cave wall. Whether this had caused a hallucination, or whether the Divine Lady was really there, was anybody's guess. "I had to walk, and walk, and walk, in the middle of the Arktik Winter! Six months of no sunrise, darkness, storms. I walked until I reached the shores of the East, where i sat and meditated on the beach for two days. It was the beginning of spring when I finished. As I opened my eyes, the sun was finally rising in front of me, warm on my face. I smile, yes?" here Simeon smiled to demonstrate. "Because I had become a holy man. Then, I went into town... and had a large breakfast, after two days of no food!" The shaman chuckled again. Meditating had numbed his sensation of hunger and cold, as he had sat on the shores of Dalälvin, but as the sun had risen, the hungry seal had almost ran to the nearby port town to relieve his appetite. Simeon suddenly turned his head to the brothers, and said loudly, "Another round!", so that Peter, the very disturbed, angry and fearful Arctic Wolf assistant, could hear the shaman's next demand. The exasperated canine winced, and hurried off to Ivan the chef to inform him he was being moved on by a drunk Jackal patron, at which the big polar bear laughed at his small comrade.
"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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Only six feet for a polar bear?

Post by Larcen » Mon Jun 07, 2010 10:47 pm

Deré's drink had bubbled at his mouth when Sibuna had called Peter a nurse. With the vodka and the company, things had warmed up around the lodge, and the brothers were feeling more comfortable. They listened to the stories, laughing along as if this storytelling practice was something that had been missing from their lives.

However, the realist brother had not let his analytical guard down. Mayhap two heads really were better than one, but Izquiér suspected that there was something the shaman had left out. Something significant to his commission by this Kukik. Usually, nobody ever told everything about a story, so from what it sounded, Simeon's appeared legitimate. Not that it was either brother's place to call him out on it.

Deré had picked up on the trend established by the mildly pixilated seal. "Now, I will for to suppose it is our turn, yes? Would you like for to be tellink it, our story, or would I?" Izquiér uncrossed his arm for a moment and waved him on.

"Well, from it our birth, we have been spared by it the mercy of Dios. We should have for to died many of the times. Our parents, they were not the native Mazans, we can for to be sure." He lowered his voice and looked away from Izquiér, as if by doing so, he would not catch the words, "but I now have them my suspicions." The latter gave him a look, but let him continue. "When we were the born, mother did not look at us, and father, he wanted for to drown us for because of it our appearance. Thankink the Lord, Brother Sepulveda, the minister who helped our mother with it the delivery, he took it the pity on us, and brought us to it the monastery."

Getting into the spirit, Izquiér began. "And the first think that Ramirez, he says when he first pulled it back our swaddlink cloths? 'Dios have mercy!' " the right-side dog grinned. "He did not for to mean what he said, but Dios, he did not for to care, heh heh. Ramirez accidentally gave it to us a blessink that became for him the curse. You see it, he did not for to like us wery of the much. He tried for to get us the killed many of the times."

Deré was shocked by Izquiér's irreverance. "Reverend Father Ramirez, Izquiér. And you cannot for to pro--"
"Hey! He is the howewer many of the miles away, and I am the buzzed, so I will call him 'Ever' if I want for to!" Ever actually was a Mazan name, and obviously the Reverend Father's first name. "Any of the ways, he wanted for to get rid of us many of the times. First, he says, 'we will make the monstruo work hard around here.' From it the time we were old enough, he had us workink from the sunrise to the bedtime. Work that would break it the back of a mouse. Of course, with Dios' protection, all of the labor, it only made us the stronger than any of them the rodents." Izquiér flexed, tensing his chiseled arm. "So Ever, he gets it the angry. But this is it Deré's story as well as mine, so I will for to let him finish." He gave his brother the table.

"Thank you, Izquiér. Any of the ways, when we were the teenagers, we had it a fallink out with each other, always the fightink. And the way it is with us, he controls it the one arm and leg, and I control it the other. So if we do none of it the cooperatink, we are practically the useless. On some of the days, we could barely walk for our arguink. But at it this time, it was decided that, because of it our great strength, we should be them the warrior monk, erm, the crusader, almost."

"Yes, brilliant plannink on Ever's part," Izquiér rolled his eyes contemptuously. " 'While they are the arguink with each other, we will make them train with them the two longswords. They will be so much of it the uncoordinated, they will end up killink each other, and we will for to be rid of them.' "

"But again, Dios was there, protectink us. We learned how to put aside them our differences and become the skilled swordsfurs. We were so good--"
"--That Ever decided for to send us to the most dangerous of them the roads between Maze and Kahun. Loaded with them the brigands, marauders, and the crooked traders, she was. It was the suicide mission, so they picked us for it, naturally."

Deré snarled a little at his sibling's pessimism, refusing to continue until he was sure he had the floor. "But, we know that we are the intimidatink. The sight of a big, two-headed dog brandishink the twin blades, well - let us for to say that even them the dishonest traders changed their ways." He puffed up his side of their chest a little. "But that is where it got the most of it the dangerous. After the brigands, they were beaten, they sent after us the assassins and the hunters of the monsters. There was where it the most powerful of the protection of Dios, it came to us. We have supposed for to have been killed several times. I have been the smothered with tar over it my muzzle, Izquiér has had a blade stabbed through it his heart, but the closest we ewer have come to it the dying was when--" He trailed off with a shudder. Izquiér filled it in, his tone become sober for a moment.

"--Was when Deré had it his throat slit." A seam in the fur under the lefthand dog's neck confirmed this. "We nearly bled to it the death that time. So, how else could we for to have surwiwed? Is nobody that lucky, without Him, Dios interwenink. This is why our hearts, they are still dewoted uncompromisinkly to Dios. He has held us in them his hands all our lives. At any of the rates, our success infuriated him Ramirez so much that he for to sent us here, with them the speakink problems and all, that way he could be rid of us." He shrugged, "Ehh. We asked too many of them the questions anyway." Deré was silent, unable to contradict this particular statement.

"So that is it our story in it the most of it," Deré finished.
Last edited by Larcen on Mon Jul 05, 2010 2:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by LittleWing » Wed Jun 09, 2010 4:05 pm

The jackal listened carefully to both of the stories. Well, he listened as best as he could, at least. The alcohol had taken quite and effect on him.

He was amazed by the words of the seal. He had wondered how anyone could survive in a place such as this. How the seal managed to wander about in the wilderness here was beyond him. THe desert was a comfortable place to Sibuna, anything much cooler than the desert sands was immediately uncomfortable for him.
There was little he could say about Simeon's story. Certainly someone must have thought the seal to be crazy before, but Sibuna was in no place to pass judgement, as he had his beliefs in his own gods and others would think him to be insane for believing such things.
THe fact that the citizens were so devoted to their ruler also surprised the drunken jackal. Yes, in Kahun the ruler was admired, but the citizens usually milled around on their own accord, not to please their ruler. Though, this is partially why Sibuna traveled: to learn of other cultures.
His eyes followed Peter as he walked by. The poor wolf...


The jackal's head tilted toward the brothers. It was their turn to speak.
Again he listened, trying to keep track of who was saying what. THe constant flow of drinks did not make this an easy task.

Even through the alcohol, he empathized with the twins. Not and easy life for them, he noticed. Though, in the first place he didn't think it would have been easy for them. He listened to their tale, brow furrowed. Even if he could not claim to be a saint, he also could not believe the cruelty that some other showed toward those who they found different.
That was something that Sibuna learned early on, that which is not understood is often feared. And that which is feared is not understood. This was an incredibly unfair premis. It made him frown, thinking about how awful others had been.
He winced, looking at the scar on the brother's neck.
The jackal couldn't help but growl slightly.
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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by JamesG » Fri Jul 02, 2010 7:17 am

Simeon frowned, as he took another drink. Unlike Sibuna, empathetic towards the twins, the seal was losing possession of his wits as the minutes went by. Simeon had not been raised a shaman, in fact, he technically would not be a shaman if the vision had not come before him, if the shaman that he had spoken to had not fallen prostrate at his feet, declaring him Blessed. He would still be a Narvikish hunter and warrior, devoted only to family, Tsar and his own carnal desires. Being swayed by alcohol, the seal decidedly lost his more 'religious' qualities, that being sensibility and tact, and tended to speak more as the loud, boisterous creature he was and always had been. What was causing the frown, was Simeon's attempt to piece together the story. There was a lot of mention of 'Dios' in it, and it made a flame of dislike flare up in the seal's heart, as if the two-headed canine was deliberately mocking him for being a shaman. It was a crazy thought, but the shaman had not proven himself wholly sane, even at the best of times. What really was the spark of this sudden burst of resentment against Dios, was the promise of the brothers. He had been assured that the rings, which glowed and possessed the powers of an unholy daemon of the desert, would be flung into the Arktik Sea. He had trusted the brothers, believed them wholesome and honest furs, despite being different. Now Simeon was really beginning to appreciate what at first he had not wholly realised or acknowledged; The brothers were devout Trinidians, and had taken the daemon's powers for their own. Somehow, the seal's mangled thought process drove him to the conclusion that somehow, the canine was deceiving him, working in collaboration with the desert jackal. The voices in his head, spurred on by the effects of alcohol, were quickly destroying the trust that he had felt for them. Upon reaching this very drunken revelation, the black-robed seal stood, and leaned menacingly, and very awkwardly forwards, having to place his paws on the table to steady himself, as he glared, a little cross-eyed, at Deré's head. "You lied to me!" Simeon seemed to fight back a loud sob, failed, and then continued. "You work for daemons! You worship them! Now I see your true reason to take the rings! Filth! On your knees like a beggar! I can forgive you, but only you can ask forgiveness!"

Filled with a sense of outrage and anguish, the seal raised his voice even louder. He was lucky that in the past few minutes, the patrons of the lodge had dwindled to only a few tables, not counting their own, so his performance was not as intrusive as was his first speech to Peter. "I tell you truth! I tell you I saw the Divine. You then dare to defy her to me?" Here Simeon clutched at his chest, as if emphasising precisely who he was, as he staggered drunkenly back from the table, knocking over his chair. "You now dare claim your souls be devoted to the Daemon? The falsehood? I prove to you my story!" Simeon parted his dark, messy hair with both paws, revealing an old scar on the side of his head. "The mark she left, that day!" By now, the white-furred creature was slurring his words a little. The scar was the mark left by the falling chunk of ice, that had struck Simeon's head the day of the vision. "I forgive your life of false worship, my friends, thank Kukik I do! You are faced with the Truth, Deré, Izquiér, you must realise Kukik marked your path, she showed me you can yet be saved! Do not forget the shadow lurking behind you, Deré! I can see him!" Simeon was now pointing vaguely behind the canine's back, where, as usual, nothing was to be seen to anybody else. Unexpectedly, the seal hiccuped after this tirade, and mumbled, "Excuse me", as he swayed a little on the spot. He stumbled forward again to the table, and peered closely at the brothers. "I swear, in the name of our great father, the name of the Tsar, I see her. Please, I want you happy, friends. I want you to turn to the right path." The seal was now pleading with them, almost with tears, as if this was the most important thing in the whole world. To Simeon, the brothers were so close to being safe. He now was drunkenly confident that this was Kukik's real purpose, to turn them all to the only true religion. Such ideals as accepting other religions were non-existant in much of the known world, one was ever at odds with another, for it seemed only one could be the truth, and the seal knew which one was the Truth for him, and everyone else that was not a barbarian.
"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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Larcen
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Re: One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by Larcen » Mon Jul 05, 2010 3:08 pm

The dog's torso twisted as Deré tried to lean back from Simeon. While the fusion of their bodies had been fairly symmetrical, their personalities were completely polarized. Izquiér was the logical, steel-minded thinker; Deré, however, was more sensitive, letting his feelings rule his actions. Therefore, the former dismissed the harsh words as the drunken rantings of a convicted shaman, but the latter had taken it personally and taken it hard. A lump formed in the left throat as Deré realized that their mission was over. They had failed, and been rejected even here, in a place that to him, at least, had almost felt like home. Deré hung his head, while Izquiér scowled at the attack on his sibling.

Then, as per the patterns of one in his cups, the seal's tone had shifted. Izquiér noticed the scar on the seal's head, which explained a few things. Still, he was not convinced that the religion that had been spread through several nations and had saved their lives countless times, was wrong. A holy fire smoldered in the dog's eyes as he spoke, voice as cold and hard as spring steel. Only having had two drinks apiece, the alcohol's effects were beginning to fade.

"Simeon, neither I nor him my brother can claim for to understand it your experiences. But you, for all of it your drunkenness, must realize one think. We have been almost the murdered several of them the times. The only think that kept us alive is Him our Lord." From a secular standpoint, it was in fact their conjoined cardiovascular system and the ability for one to not panic when the other was in peril that had saved them. Of course, both of these characteristics could be attributed to the provision of Dios. "If you would accept our way of thinkink, or even open it your mind, you would understand. But we now know is the hopeless for us to try and conwince anyone of it our testimony. Is also impossible for to be accepted anywhere. And in order for to keep the thinks ciwil here, we will leave before it the situation worsens. Goodbye, Simeon and others."

Izquiér nudged his brother, and the two stood up, the left side a little less steady on account of emotional distress. Izquiér turned to Sibuna. "And fare of the well to you, Sibuna. Thankink you also for the hospitables." Izquiér laid twice the price of their drinks on the table. For some reason, they always seemed to be charged double for their patronage, most likely because of their appearance somehow. With that, El Monstruo de Dios, "God's Monster", or the Two-Headed Giant (to a mouse, they were enormous), as the brothers had been called, left the tavern sans another word.

Outside, the cold was definitely more bracing without their overcoat, but the Northern-based physiology of the dogs registered the weather as being moderately uncomfortable. Trudging through the snow, they came to a small cliff overlooking the sea. Frost encrusting his teary eyes, Deré reached into his pocket and produced the rings. Growling at them for ruining what they might have had here, he leanded back as far as possible. Izquiér supplemented the wind-up, supplying his part of the pose. Every muscle in the dogs' body working in sync, they hurled the enchanted rings into the sea with all their might. The metal torii glistened through the air and were nearly out of sight before they hit the water. One small splash, then another appeared near the horizon, and the rings were no more.

As he watched them go, Izquiér asked, "What you think? They have followed us?"

The answer, "It no does matter, brother. You know what I am thinkink."

"No, brother. Do not for to think that."

"What she says, the Book? Is true we would for to be damned and lose them our souls?"

"Brother, I warn you. Forget them these thoughts--"

"WHAT SHE SAYS, THE BOOK?" Deré's tone grew desperate as he fought back tears. As tender as he was when happy, he could be equally demanding when upset.

"The Book?" Izquiér sighed, "No, she does not for to say that."

Deré looked at Izquiér, streaks of ice matting the fur under his eyes. "Then why we should not for to go and meet Him, our Father in the heavens?"

Izquiér tried his best to maintain his strong, emotionless front, but his voice quavered. "Because, if we were for to do that, we would still be goink against them His wishes. You want for to have to face Him, Derecho? You want for to have to face Him and explain to Him why we no could trust?" Now his own eyes were gathering frost as the tears welling in them froze before they could be shed.

"Izquierdo, think," Deré sobbed. "We have lost it everythink. If we return to the mice and say that we have failed, that is the excuse they are lookink for, for to execute us as the heretics. Nobody, they will accept us. Nobody! What it is we have left, besides each of our other?"

For once, Izquiér had no answer. He stared off into the distance, trying to think of a reason to not follow the rings into the deadly waters.
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

You say 'fundamentalist' like it's a bad thing. X3

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