Karavyis, Koa


Two wildlings converge in the woods by Caspian Lake.


It is noon of the twenty-fifth day of the third month of the fourth turn of the 12th pass.
It is the twenty-fifth day of Autumn and 81 degrees. Rain pours down in hard, biting sheets. The wind tears through any open space, biting just as hard. Thunder booms and lightning flashes in the dark clouds above.


Lake Shore

OOC Date 03 Mar 2015 06:00


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"They are past all boundaries of contempt."


Lake Shore

A small, pebbled beach clings to the side of the cliff face at the eastern most edge of the lake itself. Formed from the long ago erosion of part of the cliff wall, the little beach is bordered by impassible cliffs on one side, and the waters of the vast lake on the other sides, jutting out as a half-moon formation before the lake bed sharply drops away. The cliffs are choked with greenery, making it impossible to see the hints of grey and beige stone beneath. In the summer time, the pebbled sand formed of small rocks and broken shells is only delightfully warm against bare feet, making it a favored place to relax and sunbathe.

It is the twenty-fifth day of Autumn and 81 degrees. Rain pours down in hard, biting sheets. The wind tears through any open space, biting just as hard. Thunder booms and lightning flashes in the dark clouds above.

Timor: moon1.jpg
Belior: moon6.jpg

The long sweep of lake shore rides the curve of the Caspian lake, the jungled rise of mountains bounding every inch of the water's edge but for this vulnerable beach held in the open. The Southern rains are falling, their driving forces replenishing the jungles and the land for springs new growth as the winter season threatens soon to hold the rainforest in her grasp. A lone man, shaded dark in the shadows of mossy vegetation, holds still beneath the canopy that protects the shaved head from the worst of the chilly rain. As summer has fallen into autumn, drapes of furs and skins replace the bare-chested preference due, mostly, to the inner continent's heat. "Summer has gone to sleep. Autumn has awakened and soon she will awaken her sister, Winter." His voice is soft, thoughtful. Maybe he speaks to no one, maybe he speaks to himself.

There is a rustle in the undergrowth nearby the copse that Koa holds himself in. A wildling would know it sounds approximate to the sound of a fledgling wherry, if one made the type of noise an unafraid feline would do: that is to say, it is a sound made by a human, but a small one. This resolves to be a correct assumption, as the young woman who eventually unfolds herself out of the brush stands slender and short, perhaps half the mass of Koa executed in lean muscle and brown hair braided close to the curve of her head in tiny rows. She doesn't seem surprised to see him here (which makes at least one of them), and with little regard to the question of personal space pushes in to stand beneath the canopy. "It does a heart good to see the rains come," is what she says, simply enough, in greeting-of-sorts. It marks her as wildling as much as the state of her attire, as the braids in her hair, as the half-feral glance she finally sends coolly upwards at the big man.

Koa isn't surprised, no. The sounds the jungle makes are as attuned to his ears as the heart that beats in his chest. In his entire life, he has never seen so much flat land as what's swept before them in the gritty curve of sandy shore. The Kalimpura live so deep in the jungles that even the perfect view of Rukbat is a treasured glimpse when caught. Despite not being surprised, the wildling man is held at a readiness when her appearance is first passed through the leaves and branches that speak of her arrival, the muscles of his arms tightening in arrested preparation. The wicked blade of the knife is not immediately reached for though; Koa has the restraint of a lifetime of holding patient before an enemy is shown. The girl is deemed as 'ally', a recognition of like to like glimmering in those dark eyes of his before his attention is arrested once more on the shore. "They hate it," he murmurs, pointing to the small figures he watches. Small figures running chaotic in the rains. "Yet, they are persistent these sky people. Hunting for the cause of what was done." Rebuke is not in his tone, but a certain wariness is. "They are too stupid to understand." It comes out as a tired argument; as one that's come many times before. And perhaps why Koa is here and not with the gathering of men deeper up the mountain.

"They are past all boundaries of contempt." Karavyis' voice is as colorless as the rain that falls, as inflected - or as lacking, for it is as pretty as the windchime tinkling of rain on the leaves above them, but barren of emotion, dead of any glimpses of her thoughts, her soul. Her eyes follow the scurrying with selfsame clinical detachment. "Not that smart at all. But they do their… industry," she tastes the word as if foreign - and it probably is - and not quite to her exacting standards. "Without thought for those they affect." Her face spasms, once, the first emotion to cut through that blank facade one of pain and anger commingled.

"They take without thought," Koa agrees, his quiet baritone echoing the other's words with a slanted look in Karavyis's direction before his attention is pulled back to the view before them. He takes a deep breath, filling the barrel of his chest before slowly letting it go and pulling back into the shadows of the jungles to prevent the sky people from seeing him. Not that his dark skin doesn't effectively hide him, but the white face paint that signifies the birth and death of conflict could easily give him away. The darkly stained skin where he soaks the dye into his flesh is bright from being freshly washed, but they disappear beneath the weight of skins and fur. The sinew wound around his neck and wrist gleam in the light that penetrates the jungle, highlighting the bone bits so they stand out. "The beasts too? Food left to rot to Autumn, without even harvesting the meat. Nature will not be kind." A hint of rebuke does exist for this. "We care for the jungles as she has cared for us. The people are invaders and they stir up the dusts of the curse, but the animals. That is beyond contempt." Again, the weary echo of a drawn out fight in which Koa, the voice of his people, was drowned out by the blood-thirsty others that have to live so close to these folk. Perhaps that is a line drawn: he of the far-off jungles that never has to see such tragedy.

"It is difficult to think we were once one people," Karavyis states - her voice isn't as neutral as it once was, the taste of disbelief left in the single broad stroke the statement implies. She shakes her head, then. "I am not so young as to not remember the meeting of the clans, and I know that we suffered at the hands of the silver death there, but I cannot help but wonder if they made the right decision." She references, of course, the willing re-situation of the majority of the wildlings to Southern Barrier, safe in the ice and the freezing temperatures. For a radicalist, she expresses a momentary doubt, worrying her lower lip between her teeth in long-held, unconscious habit.

"We are what's left that fled to the jungles when the cursed insanity took hold," Koa muses, his voice flattening into the cadence of neutrality, the accent much more similar to Karavyis and yet not the same. "It is hard to believe that we were once a single people before the rivers and the trees and the expansion broke the lines into the clans we have now." He turns to consider the girl for a long moment, feeling the aged weight of his turns in the face of her youthful fervor and even that momentary doubt. "It bodes ill to live on cursed land and to take from the people that bled into this soil. Do they know the stories? Of the people, driven insane, that did unspeakable things to those that lie listless and unable to move? I do not think so. I think that these people see only land to claim." Koa leans over to reach under the leafy shelf of a bush and pulls out a long stick. Sitting back on his haunches, he pulls a small knife from where he has strapped it to his calf with leather cord and bracing straps. Wittling the end into a spear, he finally answers, "Those that fled to the ice…" The lips tighten, the eyes narrow. The man of the Kalimpura shows hints of disgust. "To give up claim is cowardice." He shares a dark look with Karavyis, "To be their guard dogs. Nature does not hold dignity in that."

"I could care little about where they make their settling," Karavyis frankly replies to Koa. "The dragonmen and their sky-wings were the ones who cursed it in the first place." Serene and cutting in turns: she does not mind them settling in a doomed location, because it does not bother her or hers. "I do not care that they eat that which is around them. It would die one way or the other, as no respectful person would live there." Her lip curls, a smile that shows simply enough her thoughts on the weyr and the residents thereof. "But I do care," her voice hardens, "That they set our younger brothers out to die for the stomachs of the north." Her scorn crackles harshly, burning hotter for those far north than for those close at home: "How stupid must you be to not be able to feed yourself?"

"You should care," Koa's response is calm, the effect of whittling causing curls of wood to fall to the ground between his feet where he sits on his haunches. "The thing with these people is that they take. They come, and they fill their weyrs and then they start claiming land. Look to the north. Look at what they have constructed." Onyx eyes briefly lift to Karavyis, holding her gaze steady. Not an emotional man, is Koa, but there's a resevoir of power that hints that he is more than mere 'voice' of the Kalimpura, but the secretive nature of his clan is the whole reason why only one representative from them have dared to cross the boundaries that they have set out and kept to for two hundred turns. Neither shrinking nor growing their territory; all who enter - whether beast or animal - enter at their own risk. "They claim, girl. They come, they claim, and they will cut down the jungles and build their stone casings to hide from the sky death. And when they outgrow that? Where will they go? What will they take?" Quietly, Koa turns and bends back over the spear, the shaved head - but for the strip that runs down the center of his head - catching what light seeps into their spot in the jungles. "You should care. Stupid creatures that cannot feed themselves," disgust rides his tone, "grab for the bounty of others. Your people," hers? Or the wildlings at the edge of the jungle that bound the weyr? "Are the people of my people's people's people."

"I've never been," Karavyis blithely responds to his comment on the north, turning her eyes now directly to him: her attitude rakes through the expression, sarcastic and teenaged-prickly in a smugly satisfied way: "Have you?" She is defiant to more than just the impressively entitled way of living of those in the north, that much becomes evident. "And you have not claimed, yourself, the land in which you live?" Maybe she just perversely enjoys playing devil's advocate. "It will take much time for the dragonmen to gobble up your lands, bit by little bit. My people are not worried. We live at the edge, westernmost, and my father finds me foolish to even think of the concerns of you and your central people." She toys the last statement as if twining it around her little pinkie, eyebrows lifting with just the faintest sense of mockery. "Surely you will find a way to prevent the onslaught of their conquering before they gobble up your lands," she reaches out and flicks a hand at the nearest expanse of dyed-skin, "Kalimpura." There is derision on the air, and this teenaged hot-head smirks uncaring up at a man twice her weight.

"I am not of the central people. My people live where the river that pours from the two-faced mountain spills into the uninhabited eastern jungles. We are untouched." Koa is calm in the face of teen-aged prickliness, though humor glitters in the dark, dark eyes. Humor for the youth so cleanly evident in Karavyis's ruffled feathers. "The two-faced mountain marks the line that starts where my people have settled, and further east we sprawl. Even the central people are wise to not tread where they shouldn't." A hint of a smile, curled in the upward sweep of the corner of his lips, "Your people and mine are not so different." The strength of his hands is shown in the control he has in carving the spear-point end. "Your derision of what goes on in the fraught lands," Koa's tone implies the Fraught Lands are here, in this cursed place, "shows your youth." He hesitates, favors her with a searching look for he has nothing to call her. "For what happens here sets the dancing stories of what will happen everywhere. They are not bound by travel, girl. They built that curse of ice and stone by claiming land. Just claiming it. Just because we are far from this place does not mean that we are safe. Your people should know that, unless an untried girl is the sum of their representation." Dark brow quirks. Perhaps Karavyis's teenagery has dug claws into the man's quiet.

Karavyis shrugs at Koa's explanations. "Still far closer to them than my own people," she replies. If it is factual or not doesn't seem to really… seem problematic to Karavyis, with all the headlong irrational tendencies of a young woman in the latter edge of puberty. And by the gauging look she tosses him for his casual arrogance, her own people would be happy to wage friendly conflict (or not-so-friendly) just to take a jab at the settled confidence of another people. "You do not know everything, Kalimpura," she matter-of-factly states, "And your arms do not go so far as to show you as a wizened elder." Her look is supremely self-confident, as she reaches out and touches him along the line of one bicep, her touch as impersonal as one would show a runner. "If you're into your fourth decade I would eat my braids," she states after that, matter-of-fact, challenging. "You claim your own land without curse, but these dragonmen can't do the same? You speak in circles, Kalimpura." Her shoulders lift and fall, idly. "I do not come here to represent," with a touch of scorn: "I do not come here just to speak. I come here to act, on my own behalf, because I am more than just the whipping child of my clan." Her chin lifts proudly, the pretty lines of her face as fierce as any wildling could have want to see.

Koa does not need to challenge a girl on the matter of geography, confident in where his land lies nor does he need to get into a battle of who is farthest away when space is irrelevant to dragonmen. "Never did I claim to know all of nature's mysteries," he answers simply, his attention focused once more on the spear he's making. He pauses when she touches him, but doesn't look at her. "I would like to see you eat your braids," the murmured response carries a thread of humor, but he resumes his spear making when she's done challenging his turns. "These dragonmen come from the north. They are invaders." The simplicity of his statement is etched into the accented tones with their strange cadences. "To act. To destroy nature's bounty in wanton disregard for the blood curse?" The end of the spear is whittled to a dangerous point and the wildling man leans forward to blow the wood dust off of the end. "You have come to claim land of your own?" Hefting the weight of the spear, checking the balance. "At least I have given you a name," neutral is the tone as are the eyes that lift to find hers. The muscles of his body tense, readying to stand but he does not yet.

"Have you? I thought I plucked your name from a meeting, not from your lips, Kalimpura." That's probably at least faintly unsettling, this mostly-feral child of the Southern jungles admitting easily that she knew of him before she came to stand next to him under the cover of the sheltering trees. "I'm afraid people don't quite take me as seriously as they would take you." There is nothing but heated dislike - not Koa-directed, but for those who would disparage her points as being trivial and dismissive due to her gender and her age. (Nevermind they probably have a point…) "I do not mean to claim land. I…" She shakes her head and falls silent, leaving that statement unvoiced, for now. Her eyes drop to the spear he's crafted, her eyes calculating the artistry in it, lips screwing to the side as she thinks.

Koa gives her a side-long look for her knowledge, eyes narrowing, "Where you pluck it from, gives that statement no less meaning. You know the name I have given." The point of the spear is jabbed into the ground, testing the weight and effectiveness. "And yet," a sigh is drawn out for the youthful behavior of teenagers, "You stand without the same courtesy." Despite the smoothness of his skin, Koa carries the aged weight of enforced maturity. "Of course they don't. You act like a teenager barely able to contain the bloodlust," finally, another hint of a smile. Nostalgic. Remembrances of his own youth pulling a softness to his features. "You mean to exert your independance from your clan," he guesses, finally standing to once more tower over the wildling girl. "Speak with less heat," the cadence of his voice is neutral, "And people will listen. Contain the fires of retaliation or lust and people will listen. If you are quiet, your prey will not hear you when you come to them from behind." Jabbing the spear into the ground, it is Koa's turn to enact something possibly unsettling as to stalk closer. "Being the apex of the hunt isn't about how brave you are or how you will swat the face of the Feline, but in the quiet of your approach. In the shadows of the stalk. When you march on the night," the voice drops to a whisper, "It is the quiet ones you worry about. Be soft. Be silent. Be deadly." An attempt to instruct, this.

Karavyis bristles in the manner of a teenager at Koa's dismissal - but he does it to her face, and perhaps that framing causes her to slowly frown, in thought, as he offers her advice. Her eyebrows come together, slowly, and she listens - truly listens - to what he has to say. As he draws closer, she doesn't give ground, merely looking up (and up): it's not the first time in her life someone has towered over her, but for all of that, there is no fear to her expression. "Then I have little to worry about from you, then," she impulsively states, her teeth very suddenly white in the grin she breaks into. It's one of those nonsensical jokes in the middle of a tense situation that brings with it irrational laughter - for laugh she does, breaking eye contact to drop her head forwards, obscuring her eyes from view. Her braids sway and slender shoulders shake in time with the force of her laugh, which lightly issues from her in a quiet-but-mildly-uncontrollable way.

Koa stares at the girl, and lifts a brow at her statement. At her continued lack of self-identification. Consternation etches across his features before he pushes it away and turns from Karavyis to pick up his spear, Karavyis's laughter bringing the flash of teeth — more a bearing of them than a smile. Hefting the weapon, the wildling man then leans into the bushes to pluck up his carrysack to sling across his shoulder. "Hmmm," is his only response to the girl, and while he spares the weyr people fighting the rain in a fruitless search for clues that would lead them to who destroyed their northern food trap. "Beware the poisoned meat," he murmurs and it could be to Karavyis or to himself, for Koa's brows are drawn downward, the frown barely seen as a ghost on his expression. Pushing away from the tree he uses to lean, he glances at Karavyis for a long moment before ducking his head and turning to step into the jungles. Readying for a hunt. Already, the smile of anticipation stretches his lips and puts a gleam in onyx eyes.

As he steps away, Karavyis stands where she is, watching him go. Mirth still traces a fingerprint-of-sorts onto her expression, and her eyes wander freely: as so frequently commented, she is a girl, a teenaged girl, and Koa is not an unattractive man. "It is Karavyis," she calls to him, impulsively, allowing her name to hang in the air. "My name. My full name." There is a challenge in her eyes, as if she's scented some evasion from this 'Kalimpura', but it flares and dies momentarily, leaving her just watching as he moves off towards the jungle. "Good hunting," is far more quietly said, her expression introspective.

Koa pauses where the jungles enclose for deeper shielding, where Rukbat's sunrays do not so easily penetrate. With a face cast in shadow, the white streaks painted across his cheek and arms, and the lines of paint that traverse across his shoulders - someone, somewhere had to have helped him paint his body - are caught in shadow. A menacing feel clings to the tense stance of a male that is a warrior (and possibly more) of his people, though that menace doesn't seem to include her, who is categorized as 'same' and not 'other' to the Kalimpura man. "Koa." His face-name, but it is too short to be a heart-name - assuming she would know of the differing names of the Kalimpura. A fierce smile is given and then man turns back into the jungle, passing through it as silently as only a true native can. Not even the best of the best of the sky people could affect what those people who were bred of jungle-land can. Just like those who are bred of the jungle will never rest so easily outside of it. It is the balance of nature.

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