This prompt feels like you're hinting that you're back assassinating people again. Does this mean that you've been waiting for the skies to clear to be able to travel to your next target? :)
The right tool for the job The Byakhee flew faster than Samual and Lord Derby had expected: the goggles that the riders wore (and there were no spares) were essential if you didn't want your eyes watering all flight. The riders were sat on the Byakhee's shoulders, ahead of the wings, and there was a sinuous, rippling motion from the huge muscles in the back that flapped the wings. Samual spent the first half of the flight clutching tight to the short thick fur-like feathers that covered the Byakhee's shoulders until he got used to it; Lord Derby who had ridden horses and elephants adapted far quicker. The smell, however, was a different matter: the Byakhee smelled like milk that was just starting to go off, with an occasional earthy, spicy note like fenugreek. The air rushing past as they flew helped keep the smell to manageable proportions, but when they landed and dismounted, Lord Derby realised with some dismay that the smell had transferred over to his clothing. "Leather," said Tomasz, noting the wrinkle of his nose and his cautious sniffing of his sleeves and jacket. "It doesn't stick to leather or silk, but their feathers tear silk apart in seconds. It's a fluid they secrete. We think it's to keep them free of pests." "Will it wash out?" This was Samual, and Lord Derby had to mentally chastise himself quickly for assuming that he'd have to throw the clothes away. Tomasz held his hand out and wiggled it back and forth. "Not reliably," he said. "You might have better soaps that we have access to here though. We have to make our own from wax-larvae." "How long have you been here, exactly?" asked Lord Derby. He looked around: they'd landed in what might be a garden. There were trees with more leaves and branches than they seen where they'd arrived; and small, waxy-leaved shrubs were laid out to define what might be paths. A couple of flowers -- the first he'd seen, he realised -- were sheltered by the tree, and some limestone rocks were, if you squinted, hollowed out like seats. "I've been here for about thirty-three cycles," said Tomasz. "Some of the others have been here for fifty or so." "What's that in years?" asked Samual. Tomasz cocked his head and his lips moved silently as he calculcated. "I think I've been here about 3 years," he said finally. "Nearly 4." "Don't you want to go back home?" "We're not allowed to. We were told this was a colonisation project when we volunteered to come, but then a couple of us were told a little more, and then Dignity arrived and we found out a bit more again. Then there's the Temple of King... and, well -- remember we mentioned the price of passage?" Samual nodded, his eyes bright, his gaze not leaving Tomasz's face. "That has to be repaid for us to return. We're a tool of some kind, us being here acts as an anchor for some other spell." "You can't leave?" Samual's face dropped and his shoulders rounded. He looked around him. "I mean, it's not bad, exactly, but... there must be so much you miss." "Maybe we can leave when we're not needed anymore," said Tomasz. "But... our leaders tend to discard or break things they're not using anymore." Samual looked around, as though searching for these leaders, but Lord Derby spoke. He looked grimmer than usual. "Your leaders in this case would be King Janos II and his janissaries." It was a statement, not a question, and Tomasz, brightly defiant, only nodded.
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This prompt feels like you're hinting that you're back assassinating people again. Does this mean that you've been waiting for the skies to clear to be able to travel to your next target? :)
The right tool for the job
The Byakhee flew faster than Samual and Lord Derby had expected: the goggles that the riders wore (and there were no spares) were essential if you didn't want your eyes watering all flight. The riders were sat on the Byakhee's shoulders, ahead of the wings, and there was a sinuous, rippling motion from the huge muscles in the back that flapped the wings. Samual spent the first half of the flight clutching tight to the short thick fur-like feathers that covered the Byakhee's shoulders until he got used to it; Lord Derby who had ridden horses and elephants adapted far quicker.
The smell, however, was a different matter: the Byakhee smelled like milk that was just starting to go off, with an occasional earthy, spicy note like fenugreek. The air rushing past as they flew helped keep the smell to manageable proportions, but when they landed and dismounted, Lord Derby realised with some dismay that the smell had transferred over to his clothing.
"Leather," said Tomasz, noting the wrinkle of his nose and his cautious sniffing of his sleeves and jacket. "It doesn't stick to leather or silk, but their feathers tear silk apart in seconds. It's a fluid they secrete. We think it's to keep them free of pests."
"Will it wash out?" This was Samual, and Lord Derby had to mentally chastise himself quickly for assuming that he'd have to throw the clothes away.
Tomasz held his hand out and wiggled it back and forth. "Not reliably," he said. "You might have better soaps that we have access to here though. We have to make our own from wax-larvae."
"How long have you been here, exactly?" asked Lord Derby. He looked around: they'd landed in what might be a garden. There were trees with more leaves and branches than they seen where they'd arrived; and small, waxy-leaved shrubs were laid out to define what might be paths. A couple of flowers -- the first he'd seen, he realised -- were sheltered by the tree, and some limestone rocks were, if you squinted, hollowed out like seats.
"I've been here for about thirty-three cycles," said Tomasz. "Some of the others have been here for fifty or so."
"What's that in years?" asked Samual.
Tomasz cocked his head and his lips moved silently as he calculcated. "I think I've been here about 3 years," he said finally. "Nearly 4."
"Don't you want to go back home?"
"We're not allowed to. We were told this was a colonisation project when we volunteered to come, but then a couple of us were told a little more, and then Dignity arrived and we found out a bit more again. Then there's the Temple of King... and, well -- remember we mentioned the price of passage?"
Samual nodded, his eyes bright, his gaze not leaving Tomasz's face.
"That has to be repaid for us to return. We're a tool of some kind, us being here acts as an anchor for some other spell."
"You can't leave?" Samual's face dropped and his shoulders rounded. He looked around him. "I mean, it's not bad, exactly, but... there must be so much you miss."
"Maybe we can leave when we're not needed anymore," said Tomasz. "But... our leaders tend to discard or break things they're not using anymore."
Samual looked around, as though searching for these leaders, but Lord Derby spoke. He looked grimmer than usual.
"Your leaders in this case would be King Janos II and his janissaries." It was a statement, not a question, and Tomasz, brightly defiant, only nodded.
Unknown Greg - none of your dang business :P
And on and onward the tide of your tale carries me forward...
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