Wild Explorations (Closed for siobhancan99)

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

For the first few weeks of their journey west, the sea had been relatively calm. The voyage had been conservatively planned to take thirty-three days, and it wasn’t until the nineteenth day that the sailors expected anything but.

As it happened, the passengers had heard boasts about a supposed two day lead. But then dark, ominous clouds were spotted in the distance, and strong, uncaring winds took them off course-and the storm closer.

It finally overtook them on the twenty-first day in their journey. Torrents of rain fell upon the ship as wave after wave crashed into the hull, more than one man swept overboard as thunder drowned out their cries and the roared orders of their captain. The white streaks of lightning illuminated the scene in flashes as it struck hatefully at the ocean-and then the ship herself.

A bolt of white hot heat lashed out at the ship’s rigging, struck for the mast-and tore a mortal wound through the sturdy support with a crack of fire and light, a cursed second through the structure of the ship.

Time seemed to stand still as flames erupted, the licking tendrils sputtering in the rain-and then DOWN came the mast to expedite the ship’s demise, crashing through the timbers of the weakened deck and killing three men on impact, captain included.

The ship was lost, and the tempest merciless.

There had been land spotted earlier in the day, they had been attempting to make for it when the storm hit. The sailors had little hope of their cutters and lifeboats doing much better, but a glimmer of hope, a chance was better than nothing-their halved and sinking ship was the ocean’s, now.


The next morning:

Arian picked her way through the downed branches and broad leaves currently littering the forest floor, idly noted the groupings of tiny paw prints here and there. Small pools of water had formed on the waxy surfaces of the leaves where they’d grouped up in dips and divots of the land or in tree roots, heightening the activity of creatures that normally remained in the topiary.

The storm had been surprisingly strong, what little she’d had to weather it-but the aftermath of such things were always beneficial. The fishing would be good in the next few days, for instance. That clean water restorative, the flowering trees a bit brighter, their fruit fatter and plumper than it might have been otherwise. And the noise of the angry storm would mean clearer shores than usual-most of the predators had been chased inland.

Yes, rain was good.

Given the preparations she’d taken in the days before it, she was in no particular hurry today. If anything, she’d over-prepared-she could laze about all day if she wanted.

Arian glanced overhead at the skittering chatter of a sleek furred, bob tailed creature. Its beady eyes stared back, the animal frozen a moment-and then darting off in a spooked blur. She smiled a bit to herself as her gaze dropped back-before continuing on her way to the ocean.

 

[siobhancan99]

Lucy woke to a too bright sun and a feeling of pain all over. Squinting, her eyes slowly adjusted to the light and she took an opportunity to survey the carnage.

The night before, she and the other few passengers had huddled in the hold of the Providential Journey. The, as it turned out, improvidently named ship had pitched and tossed on the waves like a toy in the hand of an excited toddler. The reverend MacGuillicudy had led the others in prayer, hoping that God would steer them to calmer waters. Alas it was not to be. instead they were frantically packed into dinghys, not meant to take the full complement of the crew let alone passengers. As they rowed away from the burning hulk of their ship, the reverend stood and began screaming something about leviathan and repentance. the other passengers wailed and the few men of the crew tried to settle them, but the reverend's gesticulations and pronouncements of the end only riled them up further.

During all this, the boat with the majority of the crew pulled away from them. As Lucy was about to point this out, a great and terrible wave had swamped them, overturning the overloaded boat and spilling its contents into the angry sea. For an eternity it seemed, she was buffeted about by the currents and waves. Finally her bruised body, half drowned, was flung fairly far ashore. As the tide threatened to rip her back out to sea, she slammed into a bent tree, and wedged against it by the force of the water, managed to escape being sent to the depths.

Now, in the blazing tropical sun, she took stock of her situation. Flotsam and jetsam littered the white sand beach. The detritus of the ship mingled with a few bodies from the overturned lifeboat. for an eternity she just sat. The realization that she was alone hung on her like a weight, pushing her into inaction. She sighed, feeling like nothing would change her situation and she would starve on this beach.

After an hour, depression gave way to mania. The feeling that she had to act took over. Up the beach, above the normal high tide line, was the ruin of the prow of the ship. she stumbled over to it, an began organizing all of the items washed up on the beach. rope with rope, wood with wood. she spent the morning in a frenzy, baking in the sun. in the back of her exhausted mind she thinks "water. fresh water" finding a cask of it from the ship she takes an axe from her collection of items and tries to break it open, but in her weakened state she simply can't.

She sinks to her knees, exhaustion and dehydration robbing her slowly of consciousness. As she sinks to her knees shes sees a figure, or maybe figures on the beach. sailors? natives? she doesn't get the chance to find out before she passes out.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Wooden planks, crates, a clear and obvious sunken ship in the distance-nearly two decades since she had seen a craft so large, and this one wasn’t even intact. A seafaring ship, far from home.

Standing on one side of another partial piece-planks and part of a hull, she thinks-Arian reached out to run her fingers over the wood, marveled over the uniform widths and interlaced design. It’s been ages since she’s seen or even thought about this sort of craftsmanship.

She circled around the bit of wreckage-and immediately spotted the figure sprawled face down in the sand. She wore a long tunic of some sort caked with salt and sand-and a blue color she’s not really seen on cloth before.

The woman was pale. Paler than any mainlander she’s yet to come across, Sylvians included-for a brief moment, she thought the woman might be dead-but no, there’s a rise and fall to her back, the breath of life still present. There’s a flush of color too, but Arian suspects that has more to do with the hot sun than anything else.

Arian gave a more cautious, suspicious glance around. She can see a good distance in the direction of the sun, but in the opposite direction-not so much. The trees and greenery ran right into the sea, and the pale woman’s people could tromp through and easily spot her.

Arian supposed it did not matter much. There was lead enough she could retreat back into the protection of the forest long before she’d be in range of arrows or spears.

Arian crouched down, loosening the water skin from her belt as she gripped the woman’s shoulder and pulled her partially up, cradling her shoulders in one toned arm. The strangers that had been on the ship might prove dangerous, but probably not this one. Entirely too delicate, all told.

With careful patience, Arian poured some of the freshwater over the woman’s lips, guessing at the cause of her exhaustion.

Should Lucy wake, she’d be looking at blue, blue eyes set in a russet skinned face, full lips and defined cheekbones of a rather beautiful (if wild haired) woman.

 

[siobhancan99]

Lucy sputters a moment as the liquid hits her mouth, but her body instinctively craves the water and her weak hand reaches for the vessel, pulling it to her greedy lips a bit. she gulps it down, swallowing mouthful after mouthful, then groans. her head pounds from the exertion and dehydration. she doesnt open her eyes yet, everything hurts and she's a little nauseous. she takes a moment and relaxes, feeling the gentle cradling. she sighs, then opens her eyes to find herself looking into strikingly blue eyes, made all the more lovely by the contrast with the dark skin. she blinks a moment, trying to remember if any of the crew looked like that, then realizes she's in the hands of a woman, and perhaps a native.

"well I suppose I'm saved then. or at least not going to die on this beach of starvation." she doesnt move, oddly comforted by being slightly held for a moment. Finally, she sits up and regards the woman, her wild hair and her striking eyes. "I'm Lucille Dorchester. Lucy to my intimates." she starts to babble a bit, not really knowing how to approach the situation "from Oxfordshire. Not that i expect you know where that is." she sits up a bit more "But thank you for the water. " she moans and rubs her temples, feeling a pounding headache from dehydration. "I don't suppose you've seen a boat full of Englishmen and colonists about have you? I rather expect you haven't." she sighs "so perhaps I am here alone after all" she continues to monologue then looks over at the woman "I'm terribly sorry I just realized I'm babbling. It's a nervous habit. You probably don't even speak English. God, I almost hope you don't so you don't know I've been carrying on like a ninny." She winces, both terribly much hoping the woman does speak English so she can communicate with her, but also partially hoping she doesnt to spare herself the embarrassment.

She looks the woman up and down, taking stock of her clothing and such "I suppose i don't need a bonnet around here for modesty purposes, though it would keep the sun off"

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

The woman sits up, water skin still in her fingers-and Arian surrenders it with a gesture. She’s known thirst-terrible thirst. It’s nothing she would wish on anyone, stranger or not, and she’s content enough to have helped. Rather than go however, she places her hands flat against the sand and slides a respectful foot or two back to rest on her haunches, tilts her head while the other woman babbles.

Saved. Die. Starve.

The stranger delivers the grave words in a tone that lacks weight or severity, and continues on to things Arian’s not entirely sure are relevant. But she listens, lets the words wash over and through her while she studies the sunburned woman.

Her hair is a lighter shade than she’s seen before, and her eyes…those are different too. They remind her of an ice topped stream, or maybe storm clouds-she can’t decide which. From what she tell in that funny tunic, the woman’s delicate like the Sylvians, but lacks their serenity. She says a lot of words like the Nakat, but her demeanor couldn’t be further from theirs. No terseness, no punch-there’s an uncertain sort of nervousness in its place, an utter lack of hostility.

If the woman truly is alone, the sole survivor of the seafaring ship’s wreck-Arian already knows which people to take her to.

“You probably don’t even speak English-”

Arian’s eyes flick back to hers, the ‘native’ mildly amused. Every other sentence the stranger ‘didn’t expect her to know’ something. She’s not sure what a ninny is, but it must be rather talkative. And a bonnet…? Well, if it was something that would give the pale woman shade, Arian agreed about her need for it.

The woman stops speaking. Arian waits a beat for more, then stands. “No.” She begins, answering the only question the stranger had actually asked of her. “Saw no others.”

Her voice was feminine but low, the words enunciated with care and finality. There was a long pause between the first utterance and the second, as if the words formed slowly in her mind as well as on her lips, derived from some long ago lessons rather than daily use. She offers a hand down to the smaller woman, plants her feet in the sand in order to pull the stranger up on hers.

“You lived.” The darker skinned woman notes, an easily translated shrug. “Maybe others, too?”

In her own study of the dark haired, russet skinned ‘native’, Lucy might note how very little of the woman’s attire was familiar to her, neither the style nor material.

Arian wore a loose, rough looking kapa tunic, essentially a rectangle of cloth with a slit cut in the middle for her head, belted around her waist to hold it in place. Some sort of binding around her chest and stomach would be visible through the sides of the garment, neither leather nor cloth but scales. Her arms were free and mostly bare, toned upper arms strong and even scarred in places. The kapa tunic was unevenly dyed in various shades of green-distinct powder patterns were visible where crushed, ground plants had been beaten into it to transfer their color. It was long enough and paired with a wrapped woven skirt to offer modesty...of a sort. Strong, currently flexed thighs were bare, as were most of her calves-the soft wraps she wore as shoes only came up an inch or two past her ankle, twisted cords of some plant material securing them in place.

“You are…” Arian’s eyes narrow, speech slowing as she tried to replicate the...very many sounds in the woman’s given name. “...Lucille...Dorchester Lucy Tomahenteemints?” Long name. If there was nothing shorter to use, Arian supposed her name was about to be ‘you’.

Providing the answer to an unasked question, she gestured to herself as she took a step back now that the stranger was righted. “Arian.”

The gesture to herself caused a faint glimmer-harder materials protected her bare forearms and right shoulder, an interesting scaly texture with a dark yellow and brown pattern and sheen. A braided belt was stitched to the tunic on one side of her waist and allowed to hang off her opposite hip, and it was there she carried a stone hand axe, a sheathed knife, and a simple satchel of some kind with bright, colorful feathers sewn along the bottom.

If Lucy glanced just over Arian’s shoulder, she’d see what looked to be an intricately carved bow, the grass and leaf fletched arrows sticking out of some sort of quiver. Sideways across her lower back, a likewise carved stick was hanging, braided line wrapped around it. A fishing pole, perhaps?

 

[siobhancan99]

Lucy scratches at her face, itchy from the sand and the sunburn. She worries her lip, already starting to peel a little, then settles in again on her haunches. The sand has made its way somewhat into the thin leather slippers she wears on her feet. For a moment, she looks down at the other woman's footwear admiring its practicality for the environment. She tamps down the moment of shoe jealousy, concentrating on the things that matter.

"Lucille" she gestures at herself "not the whole..." she waves her hand and points at herself again "Lucille" to drive home, hopefully, that that's her name. She regards the woman a moment "thank you, for the water Arian." now comfortable that the woman speaks English she's slightly less out of sorts, and also more careful about her babbling since it can be understood. She takes a deep breath, then considers "I suspect you are correct about others living. There was another boat, with more practiced seamen." she runs her fingers through her matted salty hair, brushing it back from her face. Her gray eyes cloud a moment, as she considers the unsavory nature of a few of the crew, but on the whole she relaxes a little further "It would be good if they... if they found thsi beach" Gesturing along the beach she looks over the ruin of the ship and the assembled detritus of the wreck. "There seems to be some things from the hold here. and the ... front... part of the boat. the uh...." she looks at the girl for help for a moment "prow." she nods "the prow."

She turns her attention back to Arian, intensely curious about her strange garb, but focusing on the survival and escape parts of her curiousity "So how is it you speak English? do many of our boats come here?" she was hopeful that they were close to a trade route, where they might be easily discovered. "Or missionaries perhaps?" her tone gets hopeful, as either might present an opportunity to get home, or to get on to her designation. "Do many of your people speak English?" if that was the case, she might at least make a life for herself for a time, even if it was months between visits of the ships. She hadn't considered the girl might be English herself, her garb and demeanor so alien.

Ultimately, she cant help herself though , and returns her attention to the odd clothing. she tries to not linger on the lengths of exposed skin, though she's never met a woman so toned she's polite about her scrutiny. "what manner of material is that?" she gestures at the scales "is it from some sort of lizard? or is it some cloth or something?" she leans in a bit, then hmmms "i apologize i ... I've just never seen anything like it" she returns her attention to the strange woman's face, tugging at her own tunic a bit making sure to cover her pert breasts a little better, cognizant of the extent to which they might be getting sun.

"and where am i anyway?"

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Lucille.” Arian repeats with a nod of affirmation before her head tilts a little on her thanks-her left hand gestures, waves the gratitude away in much the same way she had originally surrendered the water. That business was long concluded in her mind, and no longer bore thinking about.

She’s quiet as Lucille draws in a deep breath, curious to see how many words would follow it this time. A good many, as it turns out.

Her eyes flicked to the partially intact portion of the ship and then back, Lucille’s brief look of askance answered with a faint curve of her lips and idle amusement. Now the stranger expected her to know things, but unfortunately-she doesn’t know the words to translate for her, and she doubts she’s looking for Sylvian ones.

Arian files that away, a more appreciative look at the ship piece, so named. “Prow.”

There’s a quiet satisfaction following the formation of the word-careful and weighing, a little slow on the beginning syllable. The ‘native’s’ accent wasn’t clunky or incompatible with English-if anything, it added a melodic cadence to her words. Hard sounds were softened, a light enough touch to still be easily understood-but clearly a bit foreign to her and thus the careful enunciation.

Her head doesn’t turn back from the prow immediately-just her eyes in a sideways glance, a raised brow at the first, then second question-and then a third she doesn’t understand.

She rocks on her heels just a moment as more follow, turning her attention back in full as Lucille seems to do the same to her. The other woman’s eyes move over her attire as she leans in, and Arian makes a minute adjustment to the armor piece on her shoulder, then lowers her arms to make a surreptitious check that the vambraces were even. Vanity, but it couldn’t entirely be helped-she hasn’t had cause to care in a great many days, having been alone.

She decides to start at the last question, and work her way back.

“Different names, this place.” Arian informs as she indicates the trees behind her. “Nakat call her Kiyan.” The hard k’s in both names sounded very intentional on her part, but also practiced. “The Sylvians call her Heşil.” She thinks for a long moment, then continues. “English means..*****. Colour…” She frowns, then gestures to a little higher than she had moments earlier, pointing specifically at the leafy topiary. She doesn’t know the English word for the color, but hoped Lucille would understand the somewhat loose translations for the landmass.

After a moment’s hesitation, she bends her left arm and holds it up for Lucille’s inspection. “DaYik.” Lizard…

Arian considers the term, then dismisses it. “Mother creature.”

Arm still raised the woman twists, gives the stranger a better glimpse of the purplish blue scales binding tight around her torso. “Mwindaji. Hunter creature.”
She drops her arm and faces forward again to consider the yet unanswered questions.

“My people-” Arian shrugs again, unbothered. “-not here. Survived sea like you, Lucille.” She nods in acknowledgement of their shared experience. “Sylvian priestesses learn English, pass it down, down. Maybe strangers before.” A dismissive shrug, seemingly finding the distant past inconsequential.

The Sylvians cherish their history and therefore Arian supposed there must be some worth in it-but she personally found it rather impractical, as did the Nakat.

She makes a gesture to herself. “Learned in the Sharing.” On such a note- “What...MiSh...shhh.” She mulls over the word, mildly amused with her own struggle to form it. “Mishaw-NN-arie?”

So far there were three peoples the stranger had named. Englishmen, colonists, and now this new word, this word that was perhaps not a people at all, but a thing, a sort of ship, a…

She isn’t sure, and she wishes to know. It was only fair, a question in return for many questions. Without waiting she asks a second. “And this?”

She gestures to Lucille’s dress, something she thought was just a very strange, overly long tunic. It was a wonder she had survived at all, if she had to swim in such a thing-or that it hadn’t weighed her down in the waves, dragged her into the Under. She dares to reach for a bit of it at the other woman’s hip-sand and salt crusted as it was, it remained fairly pliable. That said, she probably wouldn’t want to wear it here.

Arian glanced down to her woven skirt, the much shorter length of it. Yes, much easier to move in.

Hm.

 

[siobhancan99]

Lucille listens, entranced by the difference in the accent, though England has a ton of regional accents this is nicer than any, save perhaps the Welsh. She considers a moment, at the questions "a missionary?" She thinks for a while "a priest" she shifts "who goes around, trying to spread his religion" she hopes the words make sense, assuming the girl's culture has something analogous. she searches her face for some sort of recognition, but goes on regardless

"what is my dress?" she gestures at the cloth "it's cotton." she rubs the material between her fingers to distinguish what she's talking about "Cotton" then gestures at the whole, in case thats what the girl was asking the word for "Dress."

She hmmms, then looks over the woods "colour you said? we call that Colour green. if you mean the leaves" she gestures again "and not the sky" she points straight up. "Though i suppose you would mean the leaves, if describing your home eh?"

She looks thoughtful "so your parents were English like me then?" she looks the girl over, wondering if she will become as tanned by the sun herself. scratches where the salt irritates her skin a bit "and the two tribes you mentioned, you don't live with either of them? that seems incredibly lonely" she looks sad for the girl for a moment "how do you get by?"