Wednesday, 11 July 2012

Below is a short story I have written based on a sculpt on the

The Wanderer

Bo’tha looked out of the cragged entrance to the cave as harsh silicates flew past at speeds that would take the flesh from his bones. Wind storms like these were common place on the Me’toch plains and he pondered the last year of his life as a nomad roaming these hard and at times deadly grounds.  The mouth of the cave although offering shelter from the wind storm was still open and he had to be on his guard, other Verilians could use it, marauders not the peaceful wanderers as him, or a spine back Tru’och. Those things are nasty and the armour plate they have is ideally suited for the harsh conditions, there is a sweat spot just under the chest plate or the soft underbelly but to get a clear shot at this is unusual so tending to his hunting bow to ensure working order is a must.

The storm soon past and Bo’tha made his way into the world again squinting as he looked up at the two suns in the sky, one a distinct white ball with a yellow hue the other a dull red glow that is constant and unrelenting. It’s lucky the pigmentation of his skin can adjust for the ultraviolet rays that bombard the planet’s surface. As he steps into world that is his an eerie calm ensues and he knows that his walk will be a long one today, the hills and valleys he must traverse at times unrelenting and obscure, but he must it is the way of his people. He must endure the plains for survival. Keeping to the outcrops as much as possible to stay in cover from the suns and also bandits Bo’tha sees a herd of Dura’ these six legged beasts are good eating and feed off the spiny Thran bush, a source of salt and nutrients to these herbivorous creatures. Taking his bow in hand he watches the herd and only wants the old or infirmed, to take the strongest is to remove the bloodline needed to keep the herd healthy and strong for years to come.  He spots an older female on the outer periphery a group feeding on a small patch to his left in a sunny outcrop. As he takes aim the beast looks up at him and beckons the coming projectile and he targets the beast just under the jaw piercing it through the major artery slaying the grateful animal. The others run and an audible sound is bellowed from the gut of one of the beasts as it warns of danger to the surrounding herd. Bo’tha makes his way slowly to the slain prize and removes two of the legs, a hind and for quarter, as these are the sweetest meets. He then slits the beast open and splays the insides on the ground around the prone carcass a tradition practiced to ensure the remainder of the animal is taken back into the ground as nutrients for future generations. The smell, coppery and pungent beckons not just the land it seems, but also a lone Tru’och, this is not good and as Bo’tha gently places the meat upon the ground and retrieves his bow he knows it’s a fifty, fifty chance he will make it out of this alive, let alone with injury. He studies the deadly beast and sees it is scarred many times from battle and what looks like a wanderers bolt tip embedded in its thick neck and chest plate. He moves on backward facing legs slowly but steadily as is the reason for the three toed feet he thinks to himself almost amusingly as he takes hold of the ground with his toes to gain extra balance. He cycles around slowly feeling for his sharp bone knife at his hip and places it in his mouth, the taste of fresh blood still upon the weapon. He lines up the unwanted guest and never loses contact with its four eyes. As he slowly moved right away from danger two of the dark piercing orbs never leave his, while the other two eye up the free meal at its feet.
He can see the anticipation in the drool as it leaves the leathery lips draining through three inch tusks set out at an angle on the bottom jaw and two piercing canines of similar size in its top jaw as it snarls at him. “Now I have to shoot now” he thinks to himself and the bolt flies into the dangerous foe, a hit yes but only into the bone of the left foreleg he missed the area between armour and bone for a kill shot. The wounded attacker lunges at Bo’tha head down in a sweeping upward curve trying to impale his groin with the lower tusks but he is too agile for the beast and tho almost comedic to watch his body leaps and turns in ways only a cefinic body can the internal joints to his hollow frame although extremely tough and durable and light and agile allowing him to spin left and over danger as it raises towards him. The knife in his mouth now flashes in his left hand, bow dropped moments before the manoeuvre and the swift action allows him to thrust the six inch blade into the soft under parts between neck and limb. The sound of death not as enjoyable for the Tru’och as it screams loud before death and it was not until complete death that Bo’tha released his grip.
Looking down at the carnage he felt a stab of pain and as he looked down he saw the viscous green tell tale that he was injured, a shoulder barb embedded itself in his mid section when he clambered on the beast back. He looked around and finding a yellowish moss he jammed the fungal, vegative growth in the wound and made good his weapons and the meat to continue his trek. The rest of the light hours before the red hue of night were uneventful and his leathery skin was already healing over the wound holding the moss in his body as a natural healing agent. The meat cut into strips were dried in the sun and baked on heated rocks, a fitting feast for a normal day for a wanderer.