The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

I present continued fragments and memories. Everything here has an IC purpose and is not intended to be accepted however as fact persay. Perception sadly is a one sided event, so I can only based this off of what she saw and how she interpreted others reactions. As well as in combat or romance I think things over the top and pulp-fictionish, make for better reading. I mention other characters to that effect based off of their dialog not after any of their true personal aspiriations.

The Joys of Life

“Day 6: Went to Hall of Sages as I found out was the place to lern to reed proply. Many venreable greybeards ther and full to the mugtop with knowlidge. Gave me a book, written for chilluns to lrn to read and write. First assingmint, make list of favorite things to do and lrn to spell them. So he alsa shows me is this “'” Called an apostrphee. I am suppost to use it and this “,” comma and disperse them around my writing like dandelion seeds. Showed my work to passin' Greybeard wise man and he pawses to correct my written.

Trapper Winds List of Things I Likes Like To Do
1.Reed Books Read Books
2.Git Drunk / Imbibe Good Spirits
3.Git Drunk and Skrew/ Imbibe Good Spirits and Make New Friends
4.Skrew Make New Friends
5.Kill Big Fat Boor /Kill a fat boar
6.Eat Big Fat Boor /Eat and cook a big fat boar
7.Polesh Bow
8.Polesh Someone Eilses Bow
*scribbled in the margin*:Master said is this a eupeemisim? Not shure what tha means but he turned all red while he was readin anyway. I told him I like seein other people's bows, admirin them, and getting to know 'em while given 'em a good polish. He seem to think that was funny. Everyone around her thinks this funny. Not sure why?
9.Go To Market and Buy Fancy Clothes
10.Sleepin in Fancy Inns / Sleeping in fine Inns
11.Sleepin in Tree Hummuk /Sleeping in Tree HAMMOCK.
* “Looks like Ham Hock. Writin' makes no sense.
12.Skinnin Good Theck Firs .Skinning a quality thick fur.”


A slow amused smile crossed the dark-skinned woman's face as she read back the entry from her first days coming down into the mainland Marches. It was few weeks after the arrival of the influx of Elven repatriates and her lean hand turned to the back page and scribbled a few more notes in black ink as an errant drop of ink splashed on the page. She frowned and tried to blot it out to no avail. Then as the image dried she leaned back in her chair, tip of the stylus in her soft lips. It was done. Ever since her her first teacher of writing, had given her this shabby journal she had filled it with notes, crudely written words, diagrams, and rough sketches of human, elven, hin, half-orc, and dwarven bodies done roughly but in excessive detail.

Notes littered the pages mostly mispelled and ink-smeared, but one could easily see what the purpose was. Described were points of entry, hits that subdued, blows to render foes unconscious, and areas where kills could be made most easily. The words were short, to the point, and it most cases strangely anatomically intimate, discussing options for exposure of said physical vulnerabilities, ruses to distract, and then a detailed list of traps that could be used to catch any two-legged sentient being.

Trapper Wind ran her careful fingers over the shabby beaten cover, wrapped it up slowly, and tucked it into her pocket. She took a short sip from the flask to the right of her hand, snuffed out the candle, and muttered to herself, “Shandakul's Blade, now tha' real hunt begins.”
Last edited by CloudDancing on Thu Feb 25, 2010 1:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Sparring

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vz__wHVC ... re=related
Her red tongue, bright against her lips, licked at a bead of blood that welled brightly from their first encounter. Sweat beading on her brow, the lank brown woman stood poised, his breath rose quickly, and the anticipation rushed through her veins. She swung out her perfectly balanced great sword with smooth flourish and charged.

The sword tip dragged heavily along the grass as she built up momentum, swung it up, and over her shoulder with a measured cross-cut designed to catch her opponent across the flat of his single blade. This was supposed to force the grinning Elven to his knees, but the lithe swordsman caught it head-on, bracing himself confidently, and absorbed most of the blow at the hilt.

Yet as she spun and knocked him firmly with the flat of the blade, reddening his bare skin with her ringing slaps with the flat of the heavy blade, his smile faded to a look of slight worry. As he stared brightly, his emerald eyes straight into her clear stormy eyes, she raised the blade up above her head, and jammed the heavy pommel into the center of his lean muscled chest adorned with pale scars a plenty, knocked the wind from his lungs, and drove him down. There he lay prone in the grassy field just outside the Moorgate of Silverymoon. Tossing the favored weapon of Shandakul aside, she fell down to her knees in horror.
“I kilt him!”
Laque's index finger raised up slowly, signifying that he had indeed lived.

Many weeks later, she stood in the same field, her blade out yet again, swinging in a bold arch, and grinning at another handsome male hungrily. Stripped down to their leathers for the sake of freedom, she wore simply the soft sooty doeskin leather bindings and leggings that kept her tightly restrained in her armor. With the same practiced charge, she came at him, the spectators betting wildly at the display, flipping the flat blade toward the scruffy male's bare shoulder. With a ring of metal on metal he swiftly blocked the fast but clumsy blade and knocked her to the side. She redoubled her efforts, watching how his muscles guided his longsword with skill and precision, and anticipating his next move.

It was to no avail, though she slammed a few hard hits to him, even nearly pushed him to his knees, he finally blocked her assault and shoved his hilt directly under her chin, knocking her up and on to her back. Her head hit the ground and suddenly everything was black. The familiar tingle of magic through her bones awoke her, her tongue jammed in the back of her throat, and she could only manage an angry gagging sound as the Lady of Silver looked her over gently. Then recovering herself, a stream of curses flew forth as she was lifted up and led from the field.

Crouched down and breathing hard by the wagon, Laque sidled up beside her smirking and patted her softly on the shoulder. Trapper covered her eyes with her hand and dryly spoke to him, “Go an' defend my honor, mighty champion.”

Laque spoke loudly as usual, drawing all the attention to himself, “I believe the fallen have requested their honor restored by a Champion. I may need a few minutes to go and find said Champion.”
Trapper Wind flipped her bangs up at him and grinned meanly, “Puss.” Laque promptly folded his cloak neatly and removed his tunic, stripping to his leggings, his taut bare chest shining in the sun, and approached Leif. Shortly the tall lithe Elven and the strong muscled northerner strode out into the field, swords drawn.

The many assembled watched with great anticipation as the two, warrior and swordsman, circled each other. Laque swung out with his elegant elven blade, while Leif came cleverly at him, his longsword in a defensive position. As the fight progressed it was quickly apparent while Laque took his share of hits, his careful grace out-maneuvered Leif's technical proficiency and sheer strength. And in a move to quick for anyone to quite see clearly, Leif the Wyvernslayer was laid flat. She stared, her eyes glazed over, by the sheer power of the the lithe swordman and knew he had improved beyond her prior bought to some degree.

Laque turned and wipe the sweat from his tanned skin and turned to the road with a friendly grin, “Berendil! And you have arrived for the title match.” As she helped Leif up and over to the wagons, Trapper's mouth fell open and spread to a grin, she immediately sat down and focused all her attention at the two males. She muttered to the pale Zalanthe who was distractedly moon-gazing, she huskily spoke, “You know Zala, days like this I think I died an' gone to heaven.” The Wood Elven ranger of many titles raised a bemused brow at his Sun Elven friend of many long years. Brashly Laque strode over to him grinning and tapped Berendil on the shoulder cop, “Off with it warrior.”

The two Elves faced each other, swords drawn, and many were wondering exactly if famed archer had similar skill with his swordplay. Berendil stood lean and darkly handsome in his rough long tunic, wild hair, eyes oddly distant, the soft brown doeskin most obviously of Elven make, and only accentuating the sedate grace he carried himself with. Laque strode forward him arrogantly and swung out his blade in a figure eight and charged him. What happened next, Trapper could not really wrap her mind around but in just a few hard hits nearly too fast for the human eye to catch, the lovely Sun Elf was thrown to the ground with a surprised grunt. Berendil smiled tightly and flipped his blade back into the sheath with a flourish and then strode to see to his prone friend.

Zalanthe watched Trapper's eyes go wide as Laque's head hit the grass and her restrained expression. The lovely moon elf walked up behind her and gave her a light shove with a whisper. The sparse woman then idly strolled over and feigned interest in the tent pegs whilst the men talked over the match and then faded to leave Laque, Leif, and Berendil musing over his remaining bruises. She strode over with a tight face and nodded

Traps black brows knit for a brief moment, “Hold still. I normally don' do this.” Laque flipped his gaze up to her with emerald eyes, as did the other two males. Trapper's shaded face twisted to a pained expression, she shuddered, and her hair barely raised up as if lightly teased by some unseen wind. The Elf's remaining bruises faded as the familiar flow of the weave came over him. Berendil nodded slowly. Without a word she turned and walked off, her arm twitching slightly. Laque slowly sat up straighter and turned to watch her go sliding off into the night.
Last edited by CloudDancing on Wed Mar 03, 2010 8:00 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Hunting
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ny7NZPfl ... re=related
A pair of lanky shapely legs swung back and forth against the steep parapet and smooth stone of the senty post of Fourthpeak in the mountains wilds beyond Rivermoot. A bottle of rosy fire wine swung in her drunken hand merrily, the winds catching up her hair in a messy aura of black under the evening stars. She laughed and looked over he shoulder to her companions, who in her opinion were the perfect match to each other's skills, and grinned humming to herself. They currently were in the middle of cutting a swath through the hostile populations of the hills and dales, and they were unstoppable.

She took a slow drink, her face darkened. The wine had hit her bare nerves hard after weeks of sobriety but it seemed natural to celebrate when he had gifted her with such a fine vintage. Shades of pain slipped quickly to her addled mind as it flew to recall why she was sitting there alone unattended.

The shadows of all their secrets, dozens of them now, curled around in smoky clouds. She thought of each convoluted angle and each natural course of action. Then her frame of mind, flowed naturally to her own horrible terrifying truth, the one that caused her to seek solace away from the fire and the lilting sounds of Berendil and Laque's voices mingled with rough punctuations of Garlus, and the sweet tenor of Leif.

Berendil strode over to where she foundered, “Trapper? Time to sort yourself out and suit up" Trapper raised up the bottle in a mock toast to her favorite teacher. She rolled her neck sensuously, “Fuck and I was havin' so much fun. I'm fine." She grinned madly,"Better than fine.” He crossed his arms with a tired expression, “We're prepping to move on. Gods.”

He shot out a deft hand and grabbed to remove the bottle. She yanked at it fiercely matching his strength. “You wan' some, handsome?” she grinned and leaned close to him, “Go on take it!” He released the bottle and firmly spoke, “I want you to put it down when we're in enemy lands.” Then he strode off toward the others cooly. She followed quickly, brushing past him, to tug on her chain and grab her bow. Across from her near th steps he continued exasperated, “You can't fight if you're blind drunk. Have some sense, this isn't a tap house.” As she strapped the last buckle on her gorget on, she turned and stared at him angrily, “I..am..not..drunk.”

Nonplused Garlus Ironbeard sat puffing on his pipe by the fire, watching with glittering eyes. Laque silenced his chat with Leif and looked between Trapper and Berendil. Berendil shrugged and growled, “We'll see when a giant club comes your way. Let's go lads.” Garlus Ironbeard rose up in his elaborate armor with a clank. Then Trapper angrily threw herself down on one hand, perfectly flipped over forward and rolled gracefully to sit at Berendil's feet bow drawn and two arrows nocked. As she looked up at him with a barking laugh, he turned unimpressed, shaking his head then headed downward leading the crew towards their next hunt.

She had observed while firing with clear accuracy and a cool mind, as Leif, Garlus, and Laque attacked the huge Giant. Leaping lightly up gracefully Laque, leapt at the beast, using it's knee as a launch point, and came down with his blade deep into the beast's huge chest, his weight then used to drag the blade down through the meat of its shoulder to the rib cage. He did this as Leif stunned the beast with a shield bash and gutted it with strong thrust to it's vulnerable underbelly. Garlus in turn shattered it shin with one or two forceful blows as Berendil took out vital nerve points with carefully placed arrows, crippling it. In the heat of it all, she had wished that the hunt would never end.
Last edited by CloudDancing on Thu Feb 25, 2010 2:33 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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I make no bones about my love of Dragon Age & it' s exquisite graphics and combat animations. As of late I have been trying to wrap my mind aroud the arts of combat and how to function under that constant.BTW sorry for early typos.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njPWBTIv9qw
The Dance

As if the dogs of the Hells were nipping at his heels, Laque the Lazy aka the Luckless raced through the alpine village Auvendall past her, reeking of brandywine. Trapper laughed brightly,tugged at her wolf furs over her corded shoulders, and flipped on her cloak to follow. He paused at the gates panting and grinned, the mountain wind catching his bright hair. He swayed a little rubbing at his own face, then helped her with her sack she was carrying toward Sundabar.

As they distractedly trotted down the mountain path, the promise of privacy all ready agreed upon with a grin and a nod, a full grown mountain troll rounded the corner snarling as they set one foot onto the road. Throwing the sack to the side, Trapper looked to Laque who promptly reached in his pack, and tossed her a handfull of acid arrows as the troll bore down upon them. In perfect cadence the event happened in moments; the dark-skinned woman caught the arrows in her hand, nocked two, and fired them point blank as the troll grabbed at her lanky form first.

Laque then spun around to the charging troll, shoved it hard from the sparse woman, and danced forward, leaping up to shove his sword into the troll's eye. Trapper stumbled back, catching the hard blow to her whole body and continued firing the green arrows into vital points of weakness. She was then distracted as the troll grabbed at Laque and tossed him to the side, then charged again in pain at Trapper. The Sun Elf fell to the snowy ground and rolled gracefully to his feet, sword in hand, then sprung up to finish the snarling green beast with a flashing slash to it's vulnerable gut. It collapsed to the snowy frozen earth in a steaming mass of guts studded with arrows.

Gasping for breath, both stood face to face. Laque lightly swung a figure eight with his blade, then cut hard through the air to his right to fling green blood from the blade, He walked straight up to the gasping woman and laid his hand across her chest speaking words in Elven she did not understand. Her eyes flew up surprised but there was no time for words as the second troll bore down upon him.

This time, she lept back focused and fired from a far range, crippling it before it even reached Laque as he shot forward toward it, blade out at the ready. The troll tripped over its' ruined legs and fell to the ground then swung its long arm out and grabbed onto Laque by his leg in a desperation. His face twisted in pain, and brought the sword down severing the Troll's arm, but not before it did it's damage. Trapper moved forward, firing straight into it's slobbering face and Laque rolled to slash it's exposed throat.

Much later in this glorious and scenic walk, she lay cold and bright in morning air watching the light play across the waterfall's soft mist. She lay claspsed closely, her ear against another heartbeat, the quiet hollow wind whipping through the passages above them. Exhausted, she rested, as did he quietly, their curled forms wrapped in wolf skins forehead to forehead. Her mind wandered extremely as it was known to.

For Trapper, a hunter, being hunted is always a disconcerting experience. The minute you feel those eyes upon you, you are suddenly the prey and the hairs start to rise up on the back of your neck. Your eyes widen, your breath comes faster, and suddenly you are faced with the choice to run or fight.

Everywhere she had traveled as of late, he found her. She had nearly made it a game as her work with as a scout took her from one end of the map to the next. Mornings she would slip silently from the bed covered in the most expensive silks or from her own bedroll elaborately trimmed in wolf fur, slip into her new armor, and rifle at his soft silken hair IF he happened to be there at the time. More times than not, he was. More times than not, as she sat mired in some other pressing business, unwittingly he appeared on her trail.

And so the dance began very slowly, each hunter mysterious and veiled, their fey forms slipping in and out of dark hidden places. A hand offered as if it was to the finest high-born lady. Quiet whispers visited like ghosts and she reveled in their brief intellectual trysts. The rouge and the ranger, the two unstoppable forces they were, fell into step in perfect cadence with the road before them, a secret held quietly between them, fragile as their careful and precise personas they presented to the rest of the world.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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“Then what happened?” one of the children in the group on the grass piped up loudly. “Yea ,what is that last part supposed to mean?” said another. “This is boring; more fighting trolls!”, yelled a fifth grade boy.

The teacher, her long hair blowing in the early spring breeze, the storm clouds parting for one rare afternoon in the soft glowing sun, raised her hand for silence. Nonplussed she smiled wearily, used to their constant questions and listened with a nod, “What do you think it means?” “They were in love?”, one small blonde kindergartner piped up. The woman pursued her lips and held back her response stifling her harshness on the subject, "So why do you think that?"

Her older sister shook her dark head, “No silly, she can't love him, she is in love with Ani-all!” and went back to scribbling her picture, copying the illustration in the book of the tall dark Elven ranger. The teacher smiled regretfully and looked to the drawing, examining a very marked representation of said Elven Aniall. She admired the child's work, “Look how hard your worked on that and so much attention to detail!” The child grinned under her precise praise.

Then turning gracefully in her soft black boots, she returned to her spot on the grass hill overlooking the playground, she reached down with a pale hand and flipped the page forward idly. With a frown, her green eyes darkened, and spoke softly, “Huh. Did'nt see that coming.” The children gathered closer as she pointed to the illustration of a human male with a serious face and the words written below it and began to read again.
Syd's Picture of Ani
Syd's Picture of Ani
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

I removed the last story because I hated it. It seems insipid and meta and unexciting to me. The first draft I posted was even worse, and seemed more like a spew of emotions than ideas. I decided to write this to add to a critical moment in time, a slow moment where everything seemed to slow down and so much was said in so few words and actions. Typos will be edited out as I read it, so refresh if it annoys you at first.

On the Subject of Elves

Trapper sat curled up with her closest friend, light and dark shadows of each other, one inconstant and earthy, the other light and eternal. From her point of view, she watched the two male Elves practice at their sword masteries with interest, whispering short tips to Zalanthe on her own ideas of training and how Zalanthe could learn from observing Laque's lesson to the sweating Rhothomir, his lithe body and ruddy locks flashing like his new sword, outside the Moorgate of Silverymoon.

From one perspective she really did'nt understand why this absolutely exquisite young male, fire haired, and fair of countenance as he was, did not just focus on his arcane art. Her months in the realms had taught her quite a few things and one of course was a continual reminder that her Mee-Maw was correct in many of her stories on the Elven and their ways as well as her own conclusions drawn.

Here they all were assembled, steady ranger, waiting, listening, and learning; the rouge swordsman, long-lived, confident but still ready to learn. Then there was Zalanthe, the chick loosed of her fluff and growing into a force to be reckoned with on the field, and finally there was this lean, young male mage bristling with the power of the arcane arts and hell bent on learning the sword.

Trapper knew of his raven-haired pale master, Veneril and had seen firsthand what inevitably could be the young Elven's full potential if he continued his studies. She had seen the destruction that the elegant mage could wreck upon a countryside and the abilities he had over the minds of even the strongest of the Marches. Her brow furrowed and she asked the shimmering Moon elf, why he sought out to be something he was not.

“Zala, sweet. There is only one Laque ya know.” She curled her arms around the girl's waist in the fading evening light and wrapped her cloaks around them both for warmth.
“Thank the Gods, I do not think we could handle two.” Zalanthe's eyes followed Laque flicking Rhoth's blade to the side annoyed and talking rapidly. She let out an encouraging cheer.
“Excatly. If you had all them magical hoo-ba-joo powers flowin' through you; I mean the command of the verra weave itself, why you go out and try ta pick up a sword?”
She paused, “I think he just wants to be able to protect me.”
“Oh and incineratin' someone to a greasy smear ain't enough?”
“Well I love him and I will support him whatever he does.”


Trapper smiled, “He reallah is a fine male. I don' mean in the pretty sense either, tho' he is waay too pretty for any male I ever seen. But any how, tha' boy and you got a balance startin' as it is.”
“Balance, Trapper?”
“We'll I can see someday, with my eye in my mind, that you gonna be workin' for the good of the Elven right? Even ol' Lazy can see tha' potential in ya. And you gonna need strong friends to keep you on tha' path, a strong mate who can back you up, when all else fails.”
Zalanthe nodded, her silken hair shaking, pale cheeks blushing.
“A Mage would be much more of use than any swordsman, and I don' even like magic. They always in short supply,”she ticked off her fingers, “they can do things that the rest of us have no idea ovah, they think about the world as a different place, and they ain't got the same boundaries.”

The lovely moon-elf hunched over slightly her cheeks blushing roses on snow, “I am sure he will find his way. He is so faithful and true. No one has moved me this much, not since Celendur. It's like my first love is nearly happening all over again. Is that balance?” her sweet voice caught in her throat.
“Mee-maw says, the balance is the movement between the empty of a cup and tha' which fills it up. See real simple, when I and Laque go out on our hunts, alone or with others even, we got a flow. Even if there is more tha' two workin' together, tha' balance can be easily made evident. Mage fits inta that picture like bread on butter. For example, strong heavy armor in the front with the shield, good strong mage in the back, perfect balance. No need to dwell on the how and why.”

Trapper sighed to the listening elf female as she started off distantly toward where the two sported and danced at their work, “I honestly wonder sometimes if that is even possible without being intimately aware of the male, but to tha' degree still move as one truly in battle. But wetter it moves us or no, we move like water and river just in those moments, when things realah count. And it counts for both lifemakin' or deathmakin' if you get my words here?" She sighed, her brows knitting in utter defeat, “Pity it ain't fated to last.”

Trapper's normally calm face clouded, and she buried her face into Zala's shoulder, into the wool of the cloak that covered them both. Trapper's calm acceptance of her and Rhotomir, came first with some cautionary warnings. Then just as suddenly Trapper had come up from a drunken stupor with an angry scream and went right for her throat, trying to embarrass her into being truthful, to get the young mage to realize the gravity of Zalanthe's own choices since she ran away from Evermeet.

But that was easily resolved and once the yelling and breaking things was over, Trapper promised to let things be as long as Zala promised not to lie to the young Mage. Zalanthe curled back against the lank form of the ranger and grew mischievous, seeking to distract her from this serious line of conversation, joking and teasing her terribly. Trapper's moment of deep sadness was lightened and they sat laughing into the night until the males rejoined them there. The time among the Elven would no doubt prove to be a great lesson for Trapper, a brief look into a slower world, where life was valued in graceful thought and purposeful lives.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Blindhamsterman »

Enjoyed that very much :)
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by johnlewismcleod »

Wonderful stuff, Cloud...thanks! :D
I seek plunder....and succulent greens


[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*


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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Image
One Shot

Trapper Wind spoke roughly to all assembled at the Golden Oak,the soft silk velvet dress, flashing bright scarlet against her coffee skin, “ As of late it has been verra peaceful, like I said, jus' a few fights, a troll maulin' me good; the usual.”
The Easternling newcomer Darjin Asadi spoke eagerly “Perhaps you are looking for something interesting to do?”
“I suppose or somethin' interestin' to find me?” She stared at Darjin with calculating eyes, “You interestin'?”

The easterner halted and looked taken aback for a few moments. The Moon-Elf Bard, Myoro smirked, “Why do I feel like you have a story to tell, Trapper?” The ranger Berendil sipped his tea quietly, observing the scene; the huge oak, the leaves shifting down in the soft breeze that seemed to come nowhere, and those that gathered there. Trapper smoothed her oil black bangs and laughed, “Mayhap I do haf' a story?”

Myoro smiled to Darjin. “You'll learn Trapper soon enough. She's more honest than me sometimes." The lanky ranger coughed from her perch on the carved wooden bench, “Honest. Gods, yes. So I was goin' on patrol with Berendil and Leif and Laque was there and tha' Zala.” Kyoro floated over and set a tray of tea on the table and uncovered a plate with a summer sausage, cheese wedges, and a brown mustard to her sitting sister, “Your dinner madame.”

Trapper continued, “We waitin' outside the Silverguard office to gather up and Leif he does this thing. Turns himself to stone skin. Somethin' like what Lanaria did to you,” She pointed to the twins vaugely.
Kyo leaned over and whacked her sister with a large loaf of bread at this point, but no one seemed to care or notice as Trapper plowed on with her story. A rare smile slowly crept across Berendil's face as he sipped his tea. Myoro then started slicing all things slice-able on the table.

“So I take the chance to poke at him a bit, get to know the way it works. Because it is vital to know when ya face an opponent with magics. So I poke at him and he tells me to shove him. So I shove him. And like a rock, he don' budge.” Trapper's face danced for a moment mischievous as a naughty child, “So..I get this thot in my head, "Well is he all made of stone? He must be, right? And Leif is grinnin' away all proud of himself right in front of me. So I hauled off and kicked him real hard in the jewels to test it.” Trapper then paused and covered her mouth, her dark cheeks reddening.

Kyoro winced with a groan, falling backward on the grass while Myo barked a little laugh. Berendil started chuckling and covered his mouth. Trapper gulped at her drink festively, “See IF the stone spell would've stayed up, it would've been fine But the spell wore oft right that second.”

Myoro covered her mouth as Darjin chuckled a bit. Kyoro curled up in a ball on her side in empathetic pain.
“After that I think Laque nearly busted a brisket laughing, but poor Leif.” Trap spoke mournfully, laughing a little. Kyo shook her head, began arranging a sausage/cheese sandwich. “I did manage a good heal out of ol' Shandakul but I paid in kind.” Berendil nodded with a wink, and shook his head of tangled locks, “That's alright, I taught Trapper a lesson.” A bemused awkward look passed Trapper's dark face, “I paid in kind.”
Last edited by CloudDancing on Tue Mar 09, 2010 3:04 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Blindhamsterman »

again a good read :)
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by johnlewismcleod »

Great stuff, Cloud...thanks :D

Very nice avatar, btw...looks just like the tramp I imagined :wink:
I seek plunder....and succulent greens


[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*


Retired PC's: Torquil, Gwenevere
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Lucifer »

Just Love Trapper, thanks Cloud..she's a real treasha..Rellah:)
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

(sorry for the typos in advance)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__0QZTI6W5A

Return to the Moonwood

A rangy, aged woman sat outside an enormous stump, sorting through piles of fresh herbs where they lay across a makeshift table made of a rough-hewn board and two stumps. She grumpily screwed up her lined face and twisted the rope of her silvered hair up and around her head securing it with a sliver pin, then wrapping a red wool band around it and her ears tightly. The meadow she lived in was lined with trees, a short distance from the southern edge of the Moonwood, and flying inscets clustered in profusion around the deep artisan spring near-by.

Sniffing suddenly, the green-robed woman stood and turned with a light smile, her emerald eyes twinkling in the late afternoon sunlight as a familiar shadow faded up quietly from the southern woods. She dropped her herbs held in hand and strode up to the girl, looking down at her still with a relieved gentle smile, then hugged the lanky armored woman closely,“Peanut-girl, you have returned at long last! I a-feared I would never see you come hence to this place again! Let me look at ya?”

Trapper Wind, smiled brightly and held her great-grandmother closely, feeling the lightness of spirit and yet the strength that exuded from the old woman, “Mee-Maw. I thot' it was time I came back. I wanted to see ya before...Oh there is so much I want to tell you!” She hugged her again and the two woman, the taller rangy ancient, and the smaller dark-skinned muscled woman moved toward the stump-house and passed through the soft bit of leather that served as a door.

Many hours later, the stumphouse now full of laughter and even some tears, Trap's Auntie Mee-Maw looked at her changed grand-daughter with deep compassion. The girl seemed to have grown much stronger, her body corded with taut flexible muscle yet filled out from fine living, her brown skin even darker, her gray eyes brighter, and yet certain laxness about her soft lips that could only have been bred from a little too much time spent in the lap of luxury.

“Now that is your tangled web to think on.! Peanut-girl, do you think it is wise to carry so many secrets for so many folk? If anything unlike the city, you can trust most wood-folk to tell-it-like-it lays. I am not so sure about your “friends.”

“Oh Mee-Maw. It is a wonderful tangled life livin' part in the city. I got luxuries like I always wanted. I past' my time with only the best and most beautiful that dwell in the city. I can pick and chose from so many thins' of wondering beauty there. Fine leathers, furs, silks, and baths in the most loveliest places. The secrets, even my own, seem like a small price ta pay.”

She opened her pack and drew out a fine green silk robe and handed to her great-grandmother, “This is for you. Lady said the fabric is so fine, you can run it through a ring easily.” Her grandmother smiled and stroked the fabric, “I have'nt seen something this lovely, in well, a long time. Not since I last lived in the city at least. I have to say Peanut-girl, my adventures there were not quite the same as yours. I am very wondering at how you, my little-peanut-child-found-by-the-road has engendered so many friends, especially when you left the Holla' with your Ma's dirty mouth?” Auntie's eyes twinkled and she sipped at her tea again.

The dark-haired woman's eyes softened at her great-grandmother and wrapped a thick dire bearskin around her shoulders in the cool of the stump-house. She briefly mulled over the many days she had spent as child here. She had run away from her Ma's tavern every chance she got when the stale air and bar fights got too much for her or when her rougish Pa had lurched off into the woods for some unknown amount of time and little Peanut was desperate for some non-alcoholic affection.

Trapper waved her hand idly with a slight look of pained aloofness, “Mee-Maw, they realah all jus' want to gawk at the whore-who-fights-like-a-male. Any fondness I suppose is from me savin' their asses, followin' the path of Shandakul, and nevah faltering when it comes to keepin' the roads safe. At my core I am a no-good drunken fighter like my Pa, sadly.”

Her grandmother leaned forward onto the rough-hewn table, rubbed smooth by a thousand hand-rubs of beeswax and bear grease. “Peanut-girl, hush. It ain't that simple. You sound like many of the ones you encountered are friends, but you got a few that have become close as kin. I see you figured out how quick to do that too. And then there is that one, the one you can't touch. Remind you of anyone else?”

The rough ranger's face grew ashen as Mee-Maw, as always, went straight for her throat.“Trapper Wind was somethin'...” she halted in her usual way, a signal she was twisting something around, “special Mee-Maw. I suppose Maw told you what I done to him for lying to me? Well. This one does not lie to me. He tells the truth. But honestly it's gotten to the point where every time I see him, I feel like I did, back when I was a girl, stripped bare of my armor, green-eyed, and weepy as lonely pup. So am stayin' away. I wish it was as before when I thot' of him jus' as piece of meat ta be used at my whims.”

Her grandmother regarded her with clear green eyes, elegant and slanted against the pale folds of her age. Her forehead bore a nearly faded mark, as she told Peanut once, was the mark of the crescent moon. From her regard, her great-granddaughter was strong, fierce, and lovely. But she had seen this so many times from all her most cherished girl-children.

“Peanut. No..Trapper. I raised up seven daughters and four husbands, since I lost my first mate. I tell ya, no male ever afta lived up to him or the times we had together. We were so strong. And we were so stupid to think that our worlds would ever allow us to be together. Do you remember Richart?”

Trapper's dark-face face twisted, then she looked away from her grandmother and moved to stoke the fire. For a moment, not unlike her friend Zalanthe and her painful distractions, she remembered, the room fading to the sparkling, perilous shaded paths of the southern Moonwood.

The warm sun of late spring shimmering through the woods that day, the slanting light caught upon budded leaf and growing moss in emerald illuminate. A lanky girl-child threaded her way through the overgrown deer paths, over thickets of fallen branches. She paused, hooded, and threaded her brown fingers quickly under tufts of thick moss, lining bark and branches. Her teeth flashed white from her patched brown hood, a crisp green rhizome dangling delicate with lacy fronds.

The dark-haired girl paused and nipped the tip of the root with her strong teeth, a sunbeam catching her light gray eyes as she savored it's liquorice flavor. She turned absently, then froze suddenly, her eyes tracing a narrow creek bed to a clearing ahead. There a slim silhouette, dark against the sunlight, stood poised, a slender longbow aimed at her. The lank figure moved forward, the light fading around him. It revealed a male form, skin hued of light bluish, dressed in very finely crafted grey-green leathers, two pale peridot-colored eyes slanted high and a catlike boyish face. His black-blue hair was tightly braided against his skull and beaded with animal teeth and red cardinal feathers she knew well.

He stepped forward and lowered his bow, laying one hand across his chest. The boy's voice rang out, startlingly in the woods, light but gruff. She dropped her own short-bow and her basket of roots still frozen.
“<e> Hail, Wood-Elven Kin?”

The girl-child pursed her soft lips and her words squeaked out dryly, strangled with fear and wonder.
“I don' talk no elf-talk,” which was quite true. In fact this was the first full elf she had ever seen. The elven of the Moonwod rarely came down south near the human settlements and NEVER entered the filthy premises of her mother's Bleedin' Badger Inn.

She sniffed at him and her stare from the moon-elf boy never faltered. Inhalling quickly, preparing to run away, she suddenly sneezed, her hood falling back to reveal two round little ears and her thick black fetlocks. His eyes widened, he stepped back, then started to laugh lightly.

“<e>Oh. You are one of the filthy humans!”

Confused the brown girl-child lifted up a translucent jade-green root as an explanation. The elf boy nodded, spread his hands out gesturing the woods around him, then touching his outward pointed ears, then nodded a slight stern smile.

The human girl-child frowned and looked around, “Oh. I wa' so busy grabbin' fern-roots, I passed the borders! Auntie Mee-Maw is gonna tan mah hide!” She looked around worriedly. The Moonwood was no safe place as it is, but this deep in, she has made herself very open to being preyed upon, by the elven or by the Malar or even by just the wild creatures that lived this deep in. She shivered and looked to find her return path worriedly.

“Mee-mawh?” he pointed at her curiously. She shook her tangled black locks and placed a hand to her nearly-flat chest, “Peanut.” The moon-elf boy, seeming to be barely 12 or 13 in human years, tightened his lips, then tried to chew out the word in his light voice, “Peh-nua?” Then he grinned and touched his chest, “Richart.”

Peanut smiled friendly-like and held out her arm out-thrust. The boy eyed her and swung out his own bandy arm and tapped her fingers with his, unsure of the gesture. She smiled shyly, even at that age, her light eyes disarming, gathered up her bow and carrying basket, then turned to go with a backward glance.

As she walked down the path and tried to find her way back, she noticed him darting near-by, leaping from branch to branch in an very obvious way. She turned her head with a small smile and stopped. He swung up, then around a thick branch and perched lightly there, then did a deep jump to roll into the dirt and land at her feet, showing off. Peanut jumped back and laughed, clapping her hands in delight despite herself.

As it is with most children such a display results in fast friends. Peanut offered the boy a green root and he popped it in his mouth savoring the rare sweetness. Then with one brow raised he pointed to the root and to his stomach, rubbing at it, then waved at her to follow him. She looked back worriedly, the sun was high in the sky, but her curiosity of this boy overcame her common-sense. She followed him and tried her best to keep up with his lank acrobatics.

With in a short time they arrived in a small clearing and Peanut could hear the thick hum of bees. Richart crouched low and smiled, pointing to a hollow stump, swarming with bees, the yellow combs of wax poking out at all sides. Peanut stepped back shaking her head. He grinned, whispered some strange words in elven, and very slowly moved toward the honey tree, his movements oddly fading into the moment. As Peanut watched, he slid his hand very carefully up to a comb, gently broke off a bit, and drew it back as it dripped it's golden ichor down his pale arm.

He drew back to her, his presence not alerting the humming bees in the least, and broke off a piece of the comb for her with a shy smile then leaned his own head back to suck the honey from the comb as it leaked out. Delighted with the rare treat, she took the comb into her mouth, and sucked at the wildly flavored honey, tinged with the deep scents of the woods itself. The day had begun to fade, but they did not notice as they ate, wildling-drunk on the sweet treat.

Then with a loud huffing grunt, a large shaggy dire bear crashed through the woods, charging straight at them both. Richart grabbed her arm with a sticky startled hand then dragged her to her feet, then moved to toss her up into the crotch of the nearest tree limb. Steel-eyed he grabbed up his long bow and aimed for the creature, letting loose a futile arrow that glanced off the hulking beast's immense skull.

He tried to dodge the charge but instead caught a mighty paw slashing across one side of his body, piercing his chest and lung in a bloody spray. The elf boy was tossed to the side like a dead branch and the bear rose up to snap at Peanut's feet where she clung too the tree.

Then just as suddenly two huge brown bears burst through the woods, both leaping upon the dire bear. The first tore out its foe's throat with intelligent accuracy as the other pinned it flat down and knocked it from reaching the terrified girl. Peanut clung sickly to the tree, blood spray dripping from her feet.

The bear with blood on it's muzzle hunkered down to the wounded elf boy and then nudged at it's mate. With a shift too fast for Peanut's tear-streaked eyes, the bulky bear reshaped itself into the form of her Auntie Mee-Maw. Peanut yelped and clung to the tree as her great-grandmother lifted her from the tree, into her tall arms and whispered soothingly to her.

The other bear also shifted up to stand before the fallen boy, a blue-skinned male moon-elf, clothed in elaborately scrolled green-grey leather robes, raven haired, tall and sedate. He knelt quickly to the gasping boy, laid his long pale hands over the gasping chest wound, and a deep blue light illuminated them both. The boy sat up gasping and threw himself into the older males arms, sobbing, his tough facade fading.

Auntie Mee-Maw gathered up Peanut and nodded to the other druid, “<e>Thank you, my old friend. I had no idea our two little ones would bring us together again.” The sedate elf nodded, “<e>See that your strange mud-skinned girl does not stray into the lands of our people again, woods-woman.” The two parted ways, south for the two woods-folk and north for the elven.

Trapper's eyes shifted curiously to her Mee-Maw, “Does he ever come here Mee-Maw, the elven elder druid?” Auntie Mee-Maw smiled softly. “Well Peanut, he used to come quite a bit, years and years ago when I first came to settle in this place. These days from time to time we pass, yes it is true. It is hard to forget such ardent affections, even for an old old woman.”

“Why did you nevah let me go back to see tha' boy again?”

“Peanut, you know why. The Elder's grandson is barely hitting his manhood even after all these years.
And look at you, you are flowin' into the summer of your life, ripe and ready. Most females your age are not out ranging around trying to learn to kill things harder and better or trying to live toe to toe with the male-folk. They are looking and letting themselves to the matters of breeding. You will not have the time as I did to wait for my childbearing. You think on that for a moment. If you keep on like this, you may nevah have one of your own.”

The lanky woman's face twisted angrily, “Mee-Maw, I can't think on those things. You know it ain't gonna happen. Not like this, not now. I want to be the best at everythin' I do. Be on the top. No one above me. I got to see this through. If Shandakul guides me elsewhere, let him.” Mee-maw's face wrinkled up, “You know “nary-a-baby” root ain't a cure-all, it is just a preventative. It can fail. You think on that if you keep sporting about. Think wise on who you spend your affections on and what it would mean otherwise.”

Trapper's dark face winced, “You know Mee-Maw, I have shared tha' woman-knowledge with quite a few of those like me, the women-who-fight, as I do. I nevah did imply it was fool-proof. But I may have given that impression.”

The older woman reached to stroke at Trapper's brown hand gently, “I suspect you still did good in sharing what little control we do have over our urns of creation. And if you want to be the strongest you can, you could always come and train with me. If you could just get over this fear you have of the weave? It's been with you since we found you, but I think you could easily pick it up, if you just let go my Peanut, my Trapper-girl?”

Trapper's light eyes narrowed, tugging at the huge skin they had tanned together around her tighter, “Mee-Maw, I think I know the path of the power I must seek. I've been reading up on it quite a bit in the Vault of Sages. And this is not the path of the mother and child. This is the path of the warrior, the road walker, and I can not pause to worry on it anymore. Come what may.”
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Lucifer »

Very Good!
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by johnlewismcleod »

Brilliant stuff, Cloud...thanks very much :D
I seek plunder....and succulent greens


[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*


Retired PC's: Torquil, Gwenevere
Former PC's: Rugo, Flora, Rory Mor
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