Jivvins!
"Let me tell you a story..."
Updates
So, I’ve come to the realization that maybe (i.e. probably) a lot of this lack of RP has something to do with a general lack of update. As a result, I’ve written up this brief little overview to give you an idea of what may have been going on around the Center and the Village. This will come in a few bits and pieces, and will incorporate short OOC explanations and brief IC scenes.
To begin, I’m sure many of you are curious about what exactly happened with the plot in the guild. (Yeah, sorry about that.) To recap for those who aren’t familiar with the plot, two Usts, while playing in the library, happened upon a ghostly figure who convinced them to go in search of a special book. This figure, called ‘The Dragon’ by the Usts, supplied an ancient map through the forest to the location of this book. The Usts, excited at the prospect of an adventure, gathered up a group of similarly-aged Jivvins and went off in search of the book. After a few days of following the map to the best of their abilities, the group of youngsters lucked out and stumbled across the book’s location—a massive oak tree, a true forest giant. Unfortunately for the Usts and Drada, the caverns beneath the tree were home to more than the book they sought; Ssan nested in every nook and cranny, sleeping communally for the cold winter months. Usts are by no means stealthy and, as could have been predicted, the Ssan awoke—but slowly. The cold dulled their senses and slowed their movements, and the youngsters were able to keep steps ahead of their snapping jaws and powerful coils. In their hurry to escape the tree, a misplaced step carried two of the young Jivvins down a steep tunnel in the floor...
Harley's shriek echoed back up the passage as she sped down the tunnel, sliding on through the darkness on a slick bed of leaves. The sound changed to a grunt, then a giggle as she collided with a furry form sliding along before her; it smelled like Rhenus, and it seemed scared stiff. How silly--and it was, she suddenly realized. She couldn't see a thing and there were surely giant snakes about to eat them, but it was easily the most exciting moment of her life.
Her giggles followed them down the long tunnel, until suddenly there was nothing solid beneath them and they were falling straight down through the darkness. Rhenus screamed, Harley whooped in delight--and both landed with a dull thud on the soft earthen floor. The room in which they had landed was dimly lit by luminescent fungi growing along the walls, which glowed in dull shades of blue and green. Rhenus was the first to climb to his feet and have a look around. It was a vast hallway, unusually warm and dry for such a depth beneath the ground. Towering pillars of rock supported the vaulted ceiling, each pillar elaborately carved with massive, exaggerated likenesses of the Ba'rra Ssan, their features stretched and distorted. There was a heavy scent of reptile in the air that had Rhenus's fur standing on end, and in the low light Rhenus could see several sweeping patterns on the dirt floor where massive serpentine bodies had undoubtedly moved only a short time before. But where were they now?
"They must have all gone up to eat our friends," Harley matter-of-factly quipped as she looked about, unintentionally answering his unvoiced question. Her voice bounced around the room and back up the tunnel from which they had come, amplified by the smooth rock walls and ceiling.
Rhenus went rigid; if anyone heard them so far beneath the ground, the would never see the surface again. He quickly hushed her, and continued in a whisper. "Keep quiet and stay with me, Harley. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible. Hurry up."
The young Afya started across the room at a quiet trot, with the Uuthli following without complaint close behind. They had only gone a few steps, however, when Harley slowed to a walk, then stopped altogether, distracted. "Rhenus," she hissed, making a determined effort to keep quiet.
The Afya ignored her.
"Rhenus," she repeated, in a distinctly too-loud pseudowhisper. "Look, that's got to be it!" On the far end of the hall was a long, low stone altar. The area was lit only by the dim fungi-born light reflected from the smoothly polished stone. Four tall, decorative beeswax candles stood at even intervals along the altar; all were presently unlit, but thick rolls of wax drippings suggested their frequent use. The candles aside, the altar was home to only three other items: a long, curved blade of blackened steel, a delicately wrought silver tiara that was most certainly not of Ssan origin, and, nestled between the two, a rather plain tome of no impressive size and incredible age.
Without any proper reverence or formality, Harley hurried over to the altar and hopped up, placing her forepaws over the edge and peeking on top at the book. With some effort, she reached forward and gently grasped a corner of the book in her teeth.
Rhenus, absolutely frozen stiff with terror, saw the entire scene as if in slow motion. It was like something out of one of those fantasy adventure movies on the television, he reflected as seconds stretched into hours. Harley would swipe the book, and a boulder would fall from the ceiling and chase them from the room, or a pit full of crocodiles would open up beneath her, or poisonous darts would shoot from every corner of the room to the precise point at which she stood. He stood, holding his breath, as Harley swept the book from the altar and a low rumbling sounded... But no, that was his stomach, and there were no boulders or crocodiles or darts. It was all rather anticlimactic, and Rhenus said a little prayer in thanks as he remembered to breathe again.
Harley, oblivious to the danger of their present situation, proudly trotted over with the book held firmly between her jaws. "Mrf grmmmmht," she explained, and passed Rhenus to head for a large tunnel at the opposite end of the hall. Rhenus shook his head, but followed close behind. One way was as good as another to get out, he supposed; all of the tunnels went up from here, and up was where they wanted to be. As long as they stayed alert and continued going uphill, they would see the sun again...right?
Sheer luck led them out of the tunnels and back to the surface, though they emerged a considerable distance from the tree where they had entered. Picking what they thought to be the most likely direction, the two young Jivvins set off for home; after several hours of walking, they intercepted the rest of the group. All of the youngsters had miraculously escaped the Ssan nest and were being guided home by three adults. Two of them, Lee and Kama, had gone in search of the children when their bonds had complained that they were missing; Silthran had joined them once in the forest, and had flown ahead, spotting the group of children from above. Silthran, well familiar with the Ssan, distracted those pursuing the group while Lee and Kama hurried away with the children. They made it home safe and sound--only to have Kama confiscate the stolen book once they neared the Center. After the children were returned to their homes, the book was carefully stored away in the great library of the House. Presumably, it is still there, forgotten on some high shelf.
The unplanned raid on their nest sparked the Ba’rra Ssan to a fury. The year that followed was one of the worst in the Village's history for relations between the two races. In good times, a tense peace existed between the Jivvins and Ba'rra Ssan. Occasionally an exceptionally hungry or territorial Ssan would cause problems, but for the most part Jivvin patrols were meant only as a defensive method of monitoring the movements of the reptiles. They were not to provoke or attack unless first assaulted, and the Ssan seemed to follow suit. But as the weather warmed throughout spring and summer, the angry Ssan, furious over the raid and stolen property, began a haphazard, unpredictable guerrilla war against the Villagers.
A gurgled cry diverted his attention for just a split second too long; Cade gritted his teeth against a cry of his own as the short, curved blade so favored by the Ssan left a deep tear in his shoulder, and immediately returned his focus to the present adversary. He ducked a second swipe, and in the same swift movement had taken his four-legged form and lunged at the towering Ssan, landing a solid head-butt that rewarded him with a shriek from the Ssan and a spray of purple-green blood, near blinding him. His forepaws shoved solidly against the Ssan, propelling himself backwards, where he returned to two feet and wiped the sticky blood from his eyes. His horn had pierced its stomach, he knew, but the Ssan were not the types to lie idly by and bleed out. “Who’s still up?” he called out, and risked a brief glance from the recovering creature, who was working itself towards another attack.
“That was Gedwin,” a familiar voice called back from off to his left, accompanied by the grating sound of metal meeting metal. A grunt of effort, then a crash as the Ssan Marc was dealing with toppled through a bush. “They got him from behind with one of those long spears, poor lad. It’s just you and me now, sir.”
“Formalities, Marc? There’s a first.” His Ssan lunged with a broad, low sweep of that curved blade, but Cade sidestepped with relative ease; the butt of his javelin met the back of the Ssan’s head with a resounding crack as it passed, and the beast dropped like a rock. “What happened to ‘Oh handsome leader’, and ‘you dashing brute’?”
“There’s a time and a place, sir,” the voice quipped in response, but he could tell Marc was grinning. Good. Mind off the slaughter until after it was over—which admittedly should be soon. Talking and banter meant that Marc was not too hard pressed, and he was not being rushed from all sides anymore. Cade spared a quick glance towards his last standing soldier, assured himself that Marc could cope, then carefully scanned the surrounding woodlands for signs of additional Ssan. He had lost three good men in the surprise attack and, though an Uuthli had gone for help, if another such attack occurred, they would not make it back to the Village. Cadenor sighed, shook his head, then placed his javelin tip at the base of the fallen Ssan’s skull and, with a sharp thrust, ensured that they would not be followed home.
The groan that resulted surprised him; he fully had time to tug his javelin from the carcass and wipe it clean on a pants leg before he registered that the sound had not come from the fallen Ssan. “Marc?” he shouted, whipping around and into the attack from the oncoming Ssan. He blocked a sword thrust with his javelin shaft and shoved the beast away, stepping back to regroup—and catching a glimpse of his fallen comrade. He charged the Ssan with a furious yell, battering the confused creature with the javelin butt. A strike to the jaw, the stomach, the small of his back; the Ssan fell against a tree and stayed there, pinned to the trunk by a javelin through his neck.
Cadenor fell back in disgust, wiping his hands clean on his jerkin. He looked around—no Ssan—and hurried to the crumpled figure, sliding to the ground beside her and gently shifting her head to his lap. “Marc?” Alive, but only just, she gave a mad giggle in response and coughed, blood dripping from her lips. The solid bite to her shoulder would be the end of her, Cade noted; the Ssan had abandoned his blades in favor of the tried and true instinctual method. Already her arm was almost completely severed by decaying flesh, and the necrosis was rapidly spreading down her chest. “Marc? Marcella...?”
Cade closed his eyes tightly, then slowly exhaled and dipped his head in defeat. “Ah Marcella, you silly thing... Call for help when you need it...”
There was little that could be done in the face of such attacks. With war on the tip of every tongue, the Villagers were split on how to counter the menace. Defense was the leading opinion, one firmly adhered to by the majority of Afya, Olplyn, Vhaid and Daewl. There was no known reason for these attacks, they argued, and they should not give cause for additional attacks. The priority should be determining why the Ssan were so upset with them and setting it to right. If, as so many Sargtlins argued, there was not a reason and the Ssan were merely mindless beasts, well, perhaps by the following summer the vipers would have forgotten them again.
But this opinion was far from unanimous. As the summer wore on and the death toll rose, tensions among the Sargtlins and Uuthli escalated with it. Their ranks were the hardest hit by the violence, and both were quick to voice their frustrations over the Council's strategy of defense. There was considerable talk of replacing both Lysius and Aleda in office, though no one took this too seriously; everyone knew that their rank heads were as furious over the Council's decision as they were, and were doing all that they could with the leeway they were allowed. Several fights broke out in the streets that summer, upping the statistics from the occasional tavern brawl. All-out rioting was prevented only by a swift and hard frost, which settled over the forest in mid-autumn and ushered in an early winter.
A stony silence settled over the Council chamber. Outside of the Vhaid's home, it was a perfect winter day: crisp and bright, and just cold enough that the fresh dusting of snow would not melt. The Village's inhabitants were taking advantage of the unusually fine weather; occasionally the chatter of duos or trios heading to or from the market carried through the wood-paneled walls of the room. He envied them. The market was an indulgence forbidden to him of late, simple pleasure though it was. He would have liked to have joined them. But no, there was work to be done, he remembered as someone--probably Lysius--cleared his throat, and he drew his attention back to the four other figures seated about the room.
"I'm just...not entirely convinced," Kyros reluctantly admitted with a small shrug of his shoulders. He sighed as, in the same instant, both the Afya and the Sargtlin angrily rose to their feet, Raechel speaking as she did so to ensure that she had the first word in.
"And more's the better, Kyros! I still can't believe you're actually entertaining these notions--You're speaking of slaughter, Lysius," she snapped, distressed, and whirled on the Sargetlin.
Lysius, for his part, seemed more irritated than troubled by the accusation. "Now is not the time for mercy, Afya. We've tried maintaining a defensive stance. In one summer, eighteen of my Sargtlins have vanished without a trace, twenty-four have been carried home to be buried, thirteen have died in the arms of their healers, and every other who I send out is damned lucky if they return home unscathed. I haven't been able to risk a long-range patrol since midsummer, and you know as well as I do that the Ssan are only pressing closer. Do I really have to remind you of Conlin's farm?"
The biting words had the desired effect, and a brief silence settled over the room. Kyros's frowned deepened. Conlin and his family had managed a large farm on the far northern outskirts of the Village, where they raised a small, shaggy deer variety of their own breeding for meat and milk. The family--Conlin, his mate, two strapping adult sons and a young daughter--had been abducted some time in the early fall, with many bits and pieces left behind as a testament that they had not gone quietly. It was several days before their absence was discovered, but the heavy stench of reptile had lingered in the ransacked home; the identity of the culprits was unmistakable.
The disappearance of Conlin's family had sparked an influx of Villagers from many of the outlying homes into the town proper. A few had managed to find available homes for rent, but most were taking refuge with friends or family and trusting that their own homes and farms would still be there when they returned. Many, however, had stubbornly remained on their farms, causing any number of headaches for the Council members--particularly the Sargtlin, whose duty it was to ensure that they did not meet the same end as Conlin and kin.
"We're out of options," Lysius went on after only a beat. "Our village is already overcrowded. We're lucky the fall harvest was in before the Conlin incident; we've got the food to support everyone right now. But if the attacks pick up again in the spring, the outlying farms will remain empty, and by midsummer we'll be rationing food. If the attacks continue into next winter, our people will starve." He shook his head. "This village cannot outlast a siege."
"Kyros." Aleda spoke from where she sat, legs crossed at her knees, hands on the arms of her chair. "What we are proposing is not genocide," she began, eyes flickering briefly to a clearly-furious Raechel. "Not an extermination. It is a cull." Jatin snorted. Aleda ignored him and went on. "We believe that we have documented the location of every Ssan nest possessing more than five occupants, in addition to many of the smaller nests. Of these, we shall selectively," she emphasized, "enter and remove potential threats. Come spring, there will still be Ssan in the forest, but their numbers will be too few to actively challenge us. And, if we plan well and cover our tracks, they will not even know that we are to blame."
Table of Contents
.01. Events, News and Updates
.02. Rules and FAQ
.03. The Story
.04. Settings
.05. Jivvin Rankings
.06. Stages of Growth
.07. Bonded Jivvins
.08. Nonbonded and Wild Jivvins
.09. Non-Jivvin Forest Dwellers
.10. The Wilds Society
.11. The Council and Historics: NPCs
.12. Breeding
.13. Applications and Customs
.14. Staff
.15. Affiliates
.02. Rules and FAQ
.03. The Story
.04. Settings
.05. Jivvin Rankings
.06. Stages of Growth
.07. Bonded Jivvins
.08. Nonbonded and Wild Jivvins
.09. Non-Jivvin Forest Dwellers
.10. The Wilds Society
.11. The Council and Historics: NPCs
.12. Breeding
.13. Applications and Customs
.14. Staff
.15. Affiliates
