A Land Far Away

The fire burned low as the breeze shifted the smoke towards Tunlan's face. He sat away from the warmth...warmth was good, but the scent of smoke, any animal would recognize. The smell of rabbit was good. Not as good as waterfowl perhaps. His stomach roared as if a bear in its death throws. A growl rose in his throat slowly. Hunger.

The ragged man sat across the fire from him. Cold dead eyes, staring. Half his face gone, shreds of meat hanging limply. He never moved, just sat, staring at Tunlan, as if expectant. Tunlan removed the spit, and began eating in silence. The ragged man spoke.

"You will join these...unsavages...on their hunt?"

Tunlan grunted. The grease ran down his chin. The heart had done little to sate him, and his hunger was growing.

"I will join them."

The ragged man began to sway slowly in the breeze, closing his eyes just once, before opening them again.

"They do not know the hunt."

Tunlan shrugged, cracking into a small bone, sucking at the marrow of life.

"Their prey is unworthy. Tunlan will not draw blood. But he will be their nose."

The ragged man grunted once, and gave a breif nod.

"Teach them then."

And with that, Tunlan's brother slowly vanished from sight. Had any been walking the road, their pace would have quickened...they would see "Mad" Tunlan talking and muttering to himself. But none passed on this night. He ate in silence, and then doused the flames.

Tunlan still did not understand these foreigners. They made great claims of honor and contracts and coin. Things the foolish, and the weak, concerned themselves with. Still...the She-Wolf did not have the look of weakness. Tunlans mind raced back to the dagger she deftly rocked between her knuckles...and to the six fingered mate. It was not often a Bitch ran the pack...but it was obvious this one did....though the pack was small. Tunlan stared out toward the gurgling river as it flowed, unblinking, remembering....

The two sat at the crusty, uncleaned bar, the mate a look of unconcern as the She Wolf glowered.
"You must have been hunting."
"No luck. If he is here....he is using another name"

Hunting. Hunting what? Would it be a test? A great test? Would he once again use his hands to wring the life slowly? A hunt....this surely was a sign. He slid coins over the counter, paying for a tankard...and for one for each of them as well. The She Wolf looked him over a moment, then spoke.

That's quite a hat you have there.

The mate spoke as well, raising his tankard.

To well mannered and useful savages

Tunlan replied to the She Wolf...
My first kill. Many seasons gone, now.

Tunlan scratched at his head, underneath the wolfshead hood he wore. The She Wolf grinned Dangerously as she replied.

I should have thought of that, I wonder what I'd look like wearing a man's head for a hat?

The two looked at each other with grins....Tunlan suspected they were making light of Bayonar. He growled low in his throat. A man. A man was nothing. He replied.

A man? A weak kill.

Men do make the best game, don't you think?

Did you use your bare hands?

no... this

From somewhere the She Wolf removed an iron blade, with a hilt made from the bonetusk. Walrus, perhaps. He simply shoke his head as he replied.

Metal.

The She Wolf then slightly impressed Tunlan, as the blade began to weave a beatiful dance of death between her fingers, before she slid it away again. He grunted, and offered a respectful reply to one who has long years.

At least the she-wolf can handle her claw.

my manners, not polite to show your claws i suppose

You use this for your man killing?

The She Wolf began introducing him to her other fineries, including a spear (certain death in close fighting) as well as a blunt metalball on stick, and a bolt thrower.

you fight with your hands?

The discussion went about....to wolves, to hunts. Until Tunlan asked of his own interest. What was the Hunt?

What is your prey?

a merchant

So he will be where there is coin.

you know this place well do you?
him, not much like as not
if I get his bounty ...
that's where the coins will be

The she-wolf kills for coin, then.

the law requires a body alive or dead

Unsavages....and your laws. This place is known to Tunlan, yes. I have spent many upon many seasons.

the man i seek, he'd have dark skin, like mine and a thick accent a fat fuck too, doubt his disguise will hide that

He will be here. Or Gwynnyth. Those of the Iron Ilse, and beyond....do not welcome unsavages. Perhaps...Snowdown.

his tastes are specific, he'll want the best wine and cunt that can be bought

I would seek him then...here...or Corwell...or Snowdown.
If he is hiding.....
There are more places.
Blackstone...Whitestone.... King's Landing, Dunlann.
Many hiding holes upon Gwynneth, and Alaron.

this fat merchant 'll be dragging me through every muck hole in the damed reaches

Why is this man hunted?

he stole from a powerful mechant house

Tunlan barked a laugh with his reply, shaking his head with a grin.
This is all?

The mate spoke.
If you've ever been to Amn you'd not think it such a laughing matter good Tunlan.

We are not in Amn. So it is a laughing matter.

the Athkatlan General Kezeem Al' farat has signed the warrent himself

If they were not strong enough to prevent the taking, it is there own folly.

I would not expect you to understand... still, I thought you might understand the universal language

Tunlan does not disuade the she-wolf from her kill.

when the fat man cheats on his contract in our lands, he must be held to account if he is not, others then believe they too can cheat

If you are taken from, then you are weak.
No amount of killing changes this.

if a man chooses to cheat, and you do not hold to account, then you are weak

Tunlan agin laughed.
If one does not see that he will be cheated, then he is weak.
If all were killed for taking here.... There would be many empty islands.

oh, there is a difference my savage friend
cheating in business is far worse then stealing
surely even you can see that?

No?
To take is to take. It is not difficult to understand this truth.


His eyes swept over the river as the light faded. Foreigners. They always made things more than what they really were. Perhaps it makes them feel important. Invulnerable.

Fools. The great Hunters are great because they do not ignore their own weaknesses.

Still....A hunt is a hunt. Though the prey was...unfit for his own hands. Perhaps it would yeild a new experience, as almost every hunt did. Something to be remembered, for the next hunt.

Tunlan slowly closed his eyes, and drifted into the beyond as the moon rose...and a wolf howled somewhere near at hand....and he dreamed of ripping the heart of a fat merchant from his chest, and eating it.

There are simply not enough "ALL CAP" rants in that story for me to believe it was really Tunlan. I mean, if this was the real Tunlan, shouldn't he have been looking off to the left at some imaginary bear spirit who was telling him to go shoot taxi-cab drivers.

Oh wait, that was Son of Sam, right? Something like that.

Anyway, fun to read about Tunlan. And though I may be wrong, I think I ran into the "she-wolf" at Greengrass. She kind of scared me.

Cool story Dan, nice perspective.

M.

Too late, the boy caught sight of the grizzly scene. The flies buzzed around the entrails of the body, itself so decayed and eaten Tunlan couldn't be sure if what had been the person strewn all over the ground in a bloody mess had been a man or woman. Farmer Tergot, neighbor to Tunlan and his father, grinned with a queer expression as Tunlan emptied the apple of what had been lunch.

"Nay worry boy. That one ain't gonna cause you no troubles. Dead be dead, for certain."

How wrong Tergot was. The dead never leave.

His father took him in firm grip by both shoulders as he kneeled, squaring him off and looking him in the eye.

"Now look here, boy. We're going into that blackness, and nay you worry on it. You stay here, and keep this fire a goin. Ifn we ain't back by sundown, you go an fetch August. You tells em to come down here with some malitia. But we be back, for certain."

But his father was wrong too. There was nothing that was ever certain.

Tunlan watched the five light the torches from the fire, the heavy smell of oil in the air. Watched each man sharpen their blades. And watch each dissappear, never to be seen alive again.

The rain came in mid-afternoon, the flames sputtering, then going out. Tunlan huddled, cold and wet, staring at the corpse. He overcame the smell, overcame the horror, and picked up a stick. Slowly, he edged over, poking at the entrails, almost in wonderment. He looked to his own belly, and wondered if the same resided within himself. It seemed almost impossible that the stringy bits strewn across the ground all came from one person.

Tunlan rose to his feet, watching the cave fretfully as the world slowly darkened, the sun going down behind the clouds, the greyness slowly fading to black.

As he turned to steel away, to find August, he caught sight of floating orbs within the cavern, and came to a hault. Hoping against hopes they were returning. But no. Those were not flames. The enormous beast slowly lumbered forward from the cave. Tunlan had only seen bears from afar....this one... stood mightily, seemingly to stare Tunlan down with its golden orbs. It released a mighty roar and snort, before the old man strood from the cave to stand beside the bear. The Beast let out another roar, whereupon the old man wacked the beast on the nose with his stick. The bear grunted, growled, and turned, striding back into the cave. The man then grinned an almost toothless grin, the few strands of white hair on his head blowing in the wind before he spake.

"It will only get worse, this squall. Get ye in here, afore Talos emself comes walkin."

Tunlan hesitantly strode forward.

"Where's my Pa?"

The old man looked to his side a long moment, then back to the boy.

"Tunlan, is it? Well, yer Pa an me has an arrangement, see? Says to tell you to get inside, with the others."

Tunlan, still hesitant, followed the old man, into the mouth of madness.

Well this explains a lot. Stoopid bears.

M.

Tunlan sat quietly under the old oak, staring across the flames, and the road, toward the smallish settlement. It had always amused him, how these people erected the sharpened logs around their settlements, to keep the wild out. It reminded him of the grazing fields, and how one would put up a fence to keep the sheep in. He laughed quietly to himself, watching the sheep go about their daily tasks, one cutting wood, another scrubbing clothes.

Tunlan had learned long ago, if one wanted to evade that which roams the wild, one did not build huts and fences and towers. One stayed in constant motion. Staying in one place meant drawing the attention of that which you would avoid. Certainly, the logs would keep out the beasts of the wild...but what of the beasts of man? Killers, thieves, brigands? He shook his head with a sad smile, watching a child at play. How quickly childhood could fade...how quickly things can change. All it takes is a spark.....

Within a tome kept on one Tunlan entitled "Treatise on Spirits" under the heading of "Detached bodily spirits" this entry can be found.

What has been referred to as Banshee, also known amongst the Isles as Wailer, both concerning observation, and previous writing, which may or may not be conjecture.

Candlekeep provided two instances of written information, both of which short, on the subject. The first being found in the records of history of the Isles themselves, the second writings of a Lathanderite. The first gave little information, save that the spirit was of elven in nature, and retreated when pressed in combat under the waves of the ocean. The means of the spirits defeat are unknown, though it did involve some local legend of a pirate lord, and an Umberleant Preistess. Further knowledge was given that Wailers originate from the isles themselves, though all is a point of conjecture. Further investigation into such will be attempted on return to the isles. It does not appear that any attempt to pacify the spirit, other than violence, was recorded in this instance. The second appears to be general information upon which a few key facts, also points of conjecture, were given...that the spirit will avoid sunlight whenever possible, and that the key signature of the spirit, namely the Wail of Death, is apparently not accessable to the spirit during the daylight hours.

Further writings accessed provide a slightly broader picture. The Ghost of Conyberry details a local Banshee of some acclaim, also elven, female. It would appear, if the writings are accurate, that a Banshee can view some living as allies when it suits their purpose. Purportedly, this particular Banshee used the residents of Conyberry as guards and trapmakers through the use of enchantment spells. Weather these spells were transferred upon death, or learned after, is unknown. However, this does lend hope to the view that Wailers can at the least, view some of the living as nonhostile.

The Tome of the Dead, penned by one Haras Venturs, while not specifically dealing with Banshees, does give a broader view of spirits, and negative energy, as well as Necromancy. Given that the current Banshee might, and that is stressed until known for fact, have been created by Necromancers (intentionally or unintentionally), the writings prove, on a broad scale, useful...particularly in what appears to be its ability to feed on positive energy, or lifeforce, and create negative energy. It is still uncertain at this point if the death, both sentient and plant matter, is necessary to sustain the spirit itself, or if it is merely a by-product of the spirits location and motivation.

End of page one