Day 4 - The Mudlands.

(You can find the entire saga so far (Day 1-8) by "chapter" here: http://ryukaki.com)

I am uncertain that the mud will ever come out of the small crevices and lines that have been etched into the soft leathers of my boots. Here beyond the terraces, the mud is thick and dark and oozes in such an unpleasant way, bringing up foul odors when I raise my foot to take the next step. There is a chorus of insects singing their orchestra of music, locust and cicada hanging from the far edges of single flowers and leaves still clinging desperately to the dying trees.

Everywhere around me there is a damp, uncertain rustling. I cannot tell if it is the bony, finger-like arms of the trees reaching skyward towards a sun that does not grace them with its light, or if it might be the watchful eyes of the strange new wildlife that has presented itself my challenger to accost and waylay my progress through the muck. The Rhoa are my quarry now, they have earned my respect through show of force, leaving dark blue bruises and small gashes in the unprotected chinks of my armor. Their eyes watch from gloomy distances, waiting for a moment when my back is turned and I might be off guard to charge, backs plated in thick armor, a carapace that not even my strongest, most crimson blows can break.

Their weakness is hidden underneath; the bellies of these creatures, dangerous as they are, are weak and soft. Their thick legs provide little balance, and their hunched shapes make them simple to kill. Upending them when they charge is becoming more and more easily accomplished, and my dexterity in deftness of blow has made cutting them down almost methodical despite their size and strength.

Above me, the storm that had been brewing a refreshing drizzle had died down to tumbling clouds, casting an eerie, haunting twilight over the disdainful cries of what Nessa warned me were the Rhoa. Abominations crafted by some godling, who's sanity was questionable at best. Talons sharp, beaks solid and poised to tear through flesh and armor alike, the Rhoa, while easy to kill, are terrifying all the same. For a moment I considered if they might have been the source of the questionable meats fed to the Exiles back in the Encampment, but found thoughts of the baked breads and plump fruits back at the in Evinsvale far more enticing. With a renewed eagerness to depart Wraeclast, I dug my heels into the sloppy mud, and pressed on.

The undead still roam these Mudlands. Their bodies have become fragile and weak when juxtaposed the strength I find myself possessing, not just a result of the red gemstone, but my own struggles simply to survive. I have all but fallen into the routine of chopping them down as though mere weeds popping up in my path.

I cannot be certain when it was that I felt fatigue finally crest the horizon of my adrenaline-soaked mind, nor am I entirely sure when it was my legs gave out, and I found myself panting heavily, slumped against a dying tree. Somewhere my vigor had been replaced by exhaustion, and it hit me like the Rhoa wished that they could; heavily and all at once. A strip of cloth that had once been the shirt of a sailor I had found among the wreckage of a long-forgotten ship was now soaked with my sweat and the salty air, I tossed it aside in its uselessness, and closed my eyes.

When I was startled awake I had already been disarmed, my weapon moved just slightly aside in anticipation of a panicked response, but to my surprise it was Tarkleigh who knelt before me. He held a canteen of fresh water and a loaf of mostly stale bread out to me. Before I took it from him, and thanked him, I made survey of my surroundings, unable to shake the curious sound of humming in my ears. When my eyes fell upon a huge, swirling blue mass of rippling.. something, I blinked uncertainly. Through it, I was positive that impossibly, I could see the Encampment, and Nessa treating a newly wounded arrival. The words on my lips were not there when I reached for them, and I was left with a questioning muteness. It took Tarkleigh’s powerful tone to break my silence.

"We call them Portals. We do not know how they work, they are an old magic that has existed on this island far before I did." He said it with certainty. Without looking away from the old magic, I took a long drought of water; his canteen almost entirely vacated of water by the time I was through.

"Forgot to hydrate, eh?"

I was still not hearing him, and he nudged the bread towards me. I startled once more, and nodded to him as though I had caught every word.

"Yes, I.. thank you, I'm sorry. That.. ‘Portal’.. we can..?" I was not making a large amount of sense.

"Yes. We can return to the Encampment through that. Here."

He placed two small scrolls onto my lap, and I looked down to them instinctively, admiring the scars that he carried on each of his hands; each one a sonnet, some miraculous poem of daring escape, some rescued maiden, the thought of which brought slight roses to my cheeks. The blushing was quickly offset by the thunder above and the ominous, conspiring forest around us. Part flattered, part embarrassed, entirely exhausted.

"If you are in great trouble, or need to restock on supplies, simply read the words on these scrolls and one will open for you. Be careful though." He wiggled his nose at me uncertainly, and stood up to the full of his height.

"Once in and once out. Then they vanish and you have to use a new one. So take everything you need with you both ways." His smile was exciting and charming in a comforting way. When I realized he was still watching me as though expecting something, I nodded abruptly, and he raised an eyebrow as if to question if I would even make it another day here.

Without any further reprimand, he departed my company back through the swirling portal, and it vanished behind him without any fanfare at all, leaving me and the forest, the Rhoa, and the undead, to dance our dissonant dance once more.

Great fortune smiled upon me, only a few more small encounters with the vile, armored little titans and their vicious beaks before I came across an impressive cliff, upon which, fifteen or twenty meters rising, sat a massive cavern. Inside, there were echoes of things I was most certainly not excited to meet, but I could hear the splashing of waves as I climbed the face of the craggy rock and finally planted feet on solid ground outside of the cave.

I was no more in love with the Mudlands behind me or the Rhoa and undead that populated them, than I was with the idea of moving forward into the cold, slithering sounds coming from the cave in front of me. All the same, there was no turning back; at least in the caves ahead there was no foul-smelling mud to slow me down. Once I had gathered my wits, took a deep, steadying breath, and kicked the last clotted bits of brown sludge off of my boots, I ventured inside to whatever waited.

-- Senophostria.

Very nicely written, I hope to see more :)

i love read this :)

Thanks a bunch. Lots more to come!

A revision of Day 4 is complete! I'll be going through to 8 and I should have Day 9 out.. tomorrow, probably. Sorry for vanishing!

More more!