The blurry outline of a lean, blue warrior looks back at him from the dark glass. He can almost imagine the elegant braids and clean-shaven sides of a grown man’s head, the warpaint of a true member of the tribe.
Too bad the scattered bands haven’t had anything like a guide to the proper ways of the People in a very long time. Too bad the true People argue amongst themselves about the true Way, and in the meanwhile those who’ve lost who they were but haven’t yet been obliterated struggle along as best they can. One hundred years after Jakesooli started a war he couldn’t finish, Jhet likes to think a proper tribe would take him and his fellow warriors in, having won many victories against the Sky People and proven their valor- but some have looked at his scrounged armor and weapons, his half-length queue and shuddered at the mutilation of what should be. Others (he grinds his teeth and wishes he could join with them, make them see) others talk of peace and trade and protecting what they can and he knows them to be traitors, who don’t deserve the sacrifice of his better nature even as he gives his all to protect them from themselves. Even the new Turok Makto, young as he was-
But enough of that- Eywa’s breath blows swift and cool, and he knows the metal eyes will be sweeping this way soon. A moment’s thought and he’s gone, the thick jungle that grows right up to the foot of the compound enfolding him as he spirits through the night.
The alarms haven’t rung out yet- but that’s about to change.
The Sky People have tribes themselves, different clans who rule different colonies. Their spread is unchecked by anything but their own whims, and different clans use different methods to tame their own patch of jungle. The only reason he can get so close to Ahg-nee-corp’s walls is because his injured queue leaves him invulnerable to the subsonics that protect their compound from any sort of large assault. The air is dead here, all the living things scared away by the vicious jangle on the edge of their nerves.
He just gets a headache at the back of his teeth, and grits them as he moves in on his target.
The medical wing of the compound is large and dark and quiet. Ahg-nee-corp soldiers are the fastest and the fiercest and the most well-equipped, and that is why they’ve almost covered the world as Jhet knows it, and why their healers are not very busy at this time of night.
Ahg-nee is also the most devious of the Sky tribes, awakening the old stories of the dreamwalkers and making them live again. Demons in false bodies, walking the surface of the world, seeing with false eyes and digging out secrets, spreading lies and disease.
stealing hearts
Well, after tonight, they will never be able to do that again.
He finds the window, knows the way from careful counting, the pattern described to him by his warriors who took it from a walking dreamer, his false body falling into their hands. They’d made him talk before his spirit escaped, and made sure he could never retake his flesh again.
Focus.
It doesn’t take a great effort- the glass pops out with some digging, air-pressure working for him and not against as he leaps in before the jets can start filling the breach with masses of sticky foam.
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timeasmymeasure
Part 2! (and out of order)
Date: 2010-05-05 09:41 am (UTC)8. Pick your poison- Cameron!Avatar!
The blurry outline of a lean, blue warrior looks back at him from the dark glass. He can almost imagine the elegant braids and clean-shaven sides of a grown man’s head, the warpaint of a true member of the tribe.
Too bad the scattered bands haven’t had anything like a guide to the proper ways of the People in a very long time. Too bad the true People argue amongst themselves about the true Way, and in the meanwhile those who’ve lost who they were but haven’t yet been obliterated struggle along as best they can. One hundred years after Jakesooli started a war he couldn’t finish, Jhet likes to think a proper tribe would take him and his fellow warriors in, having won many victories against the Sky People and proven their valor- but some have looked at his scrounged armor and weapons, his half-length queue and shuddered at the mutilation of what should be. Others (he grinds his teeth and wishes he could join with them, make them see) others talk of peace and trade and protecting what they can and he knows them to be traitors, who don’t deserve the sacrifice of his better nature even as he gives his all to protect them from themselves. Even the new Turok Makto, young as he was-
But enough of that- Eywa’s breath blows swift and cool, and he knows the metal eyes will be sweeping this way soon. A moment’s thought and he’s gone, the thick jungle that grows right up to the foot of the compound enfolding him as he spirits through the night.
The alarms haven’t rung out yet- but that’s about to change.
The Sky People have tribes themselves, different clans who rule different colonies. Their spread is unchecked by anything but their own whims, and different clans use different methods to tame their own patch of jungle. The only reason he can get so close to Ahg-nee-corp’s walls is because his injured queue leaves him invulnerable to the subsonics that protect their compound from any sort of large assault. The air is dead here, all the living things scared away by the vicious jangle on the edge of their nerves.
He just gets a headache at the back of his teeth, and grits them as he moves in on his target.
The medical wing of the compound is large and dark and quiet. Ahg-nee-corp soldiers are the fastest and the fiercest and the most well-equipped, and that is why they’ve almost covered the world as Jhet knows it, and why their healers are not very busy at this time of night.
Ahg-nee is also the most devious of the Sky tribes, awakening the old stories of the dreamwalkers and making them live again. Demons in false bodies, walking the surface of the world, seeing with false eyes and digging out secrets, spreading lies and disease.
stealing hearts
Well, after tonight, they will never be able to do that again.
He finds the window, knows the way from careful counting, the pattern described to him by his warriors who took it from a walking dreamer, his false body falling into their hands. They’d made him talk before his spirit escaped, and made sure he could never retake his flesh again.
Focus.
It doesn’t take a great effort- the glass pops out with some digging, air-pressure working for him and not against as he leaps in before the jets can start filling the breach with masses of sticky foam.
…