With the drama of the morning out of the way, we began our preparation for the second mission, unfortunately, we did not share the same one as we did with silo. We had two separate missions that I could see were given to us based on our style of combat.
“Are you sure about this?” asked a worried Safi who was still unsure about my plan.
“Of course, the missions are simple and we will save a lot of time this way.” We were all ready to go, with our errander kit and masks. I had my bow strapped over my shoulder and was standing next to Chit and Itzcoatl. Safi and Eleb stood opposite.
“I’m starting to feel like you don’t trust me…” said Eleb with crossed arms.
“It’s not that!” exclaimed Safi, hurriedly. “It just feels odd, packing up and going somewhere without Sen’o…”
“You’ll be back before dark, you can see your boyfriend then,” said Eleb as she turned to leave. Safi followed after a hasty wave to me.
“Right, we had better make our move as well,” I said.
Itzcoatl, to his credit, was still humouring our humble little team. He was even slightly impressed by at least one of the two new members.
“How’d you get Eleb?” he asked me as we walked down an unfamiliar, smaller mountain path that at points, required us to scramble.
“I beat her in a fight,” I answered. “Oh, and her brother.” I felt some rocks give way under me and I adjusted my weight before it could affect my balance. Chit was having a little more trouble than us because of her lost cultivation. By the time we reached the bottom her robe was dirty from sliding down most of the way.
As she patted herself down the best she could, I scanned the dense jungle. Despite descending from a completely different side of the mountain, the jungle looked eerily similar. The same trees, the same overwhelming sounds. It was clear to see why there were so many rules about it, the ease at which you could get lost in there; it was a frightening prospect, even for me.
Apparently not for Itzcoatl though, he waltzed in with experienced indifference.
Chit stayed at the bottom of the mountain, it was too dangerous for her to enter the jungle without any qi but she wanted to get outside anyway. She sat on a rock and began to cultivate, once again stepping on the immortal path.
Every day of being in Gutura I began to question my resolve in redeeming myself, redeeming Sen’o. How easy it would be to forget all about it and never return to Fel Maer.
One look at Safi was all it took to quell such thoughts. My road to redemption had led me to her, how could it be the wrong way?
Itzcoatl and I had discussed the plan in advance. So no words were shared as he propelled himself into a tree and disappeared from my sight. It was not long before a bird squawked and panickingly flapped into the open, I shot it with my bow. It was an easier shot than the trinks as the bird was bigger and less agile.
My mission was a rather simple one. Prepare ten Inka birds. Preparation of course meant killing, depluming then gutting. I was expecting a twist, and yet the final bird dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, sinking into the deep snow where I fished it out and strung it to my belt. No twist.
With five birds each, tied to our belts and weighing us down considerably, we were ready to leave. Itzcoatl sat out for the next part, admittedly it was not a pleasant job. Stripping the feathers was easy, although the corpse was still warm and once I had the arrow out it felt like the bird could suddenly take off with every feather I pulled.
Then, the nasty part. First, drain the blood. I brought the knife to its neck and pulled. I expected blood to immediately come seeping out so when I looked at my hands and found them significantly less red, I was a little confused.
I tried again, slicing across the bird's neck, I watched the knife slide across as if it were blunt, creating nothing more than a subtle indent.
“Ah, the twist,” I said with a grin. I wasn’t expecting it to come after the combat.
“The twist,” confirmed Itzcoatl who was relaxing on a rock next to Chit, watching me with amusement.
“Sharpening the knife is a fool’s errand?” I offered a prediction hoping Itzcoatl would grace me with a nod or shake of the head. Unfortunately, he shrugged.
“Not telling,” he said. His smile got a bit wider. I decided to trust my gut; the knife was useless. I sheathed it and sent my qi into the bird instead. Inside was an otherwise normal bird, it did not help me around the tough skin.
The difficulty lay in completing the task without damaging the bird’s skin. Of course, I could use something otherworldly to get around the issue but that would not only defeat the purpose of the exercise but also draw some unwanted attention.
They may have had hard skin, but my arrow got in. I looked at my arrow wound for answers. It appeared to have gone right in without trouble, but I know I was not shooting my arrows with enough strength to pierce the skin I was attempting to cut with my knife, which could only mean it had changed.
I recalled what I had done that could have affected the bird’s skin. I narrowed it down to two things. The temperature changes from dropping into the snow, and the stripping of its feather.
“Itzcoatl, I’m going to need a hand again.”
“I know,” he said with a laugh as he pushed himself up.
We ventured back into the jungle, still using what little I had managed to comprehend of imaginary arrow to form my arrows, I shot another bird. I let it fall to the snowy ground and after pulling the arrow, I attempted another throat cut. It slid through the bird effortlessly. The blood stained the snow a wicked red that reminded me of my difficult start to this life.
“It’s the feathers?” I asked Itzcoatl, having to shout to be heard above the sound of the jungle.
“Yep,” he said in a normal volume as he landed behind me, giving me a mild fright. “But, there is a way of gutting the ones you’ve already got.
“By making the skin feel like it’s got feathers in it?”
“That’s exactly it.”
“But, what's the point in this rock-hard skin?” I asked.
“A couple of reasons, Inka birds don’t have many natural predators thanks to this ability, and, if they ever lose feathers in a scuffle or an accident, their exposed bare skin is not a liability.”
“That’s why there are so many of them, what’s the point in killing it if you can’t eat it?” I concluded.
“You’ve got it.”
“Lovely, now I need to figure out how to fake a feather.” I started with a massage, usually the best way of loosening something up, was to heat it up and move it around. After I worked on a particular bird for a good while, I attempted another throat cut with no success.
I tried another tactic, stimulating the skin with my qi, I could feel that it was not going to respond to my proddings from the inside either. I had an idea, at that moment, to check the feathers. Considering my failures with the body of the Inka bird, I considered it a quick distraction before continuing my investigation. However, my more thorough scan of the feather revealed something I’d missed.
The base of the feather was wet, I wiped some onto my finger and licked it. Instantly I lost the feeling in my tongue.
I smeared the liquid covered feather across the bird's neck and, sure enough, my knife slid straight through its throat, a clean cut that blood instantly came pouring out of.
“I did it!” I yelled triumphantly.
“Well done,” said Itzcoatl, not quite as pleased as I was. He had the good grace to clap but it was slow and slightly sarcastic.
Casualperv Click the
With the drama of the morning out of the way, we began our preparation for the second mission, unfortunately, we did not share the same one as we did with silo. We had two separate missions that I could see were given to us based on our style of combat.
“Are you sure about this?” asked a worried Safi who was still unsure about my plan.
“Of course, the missions are simple and we will save a lot of time this way.” We were all ready to go, with our errander kit and masks. I had my bow strapped over my shoulder and was standing next to Chit and Itzcoatl. Safi and Eleb stood opposite.
“I’m starting to feel like you don’t trust me…” said Eleb with crossed arms.
“It’s not that!” exclaimed Safi, hurriedly. “It just feels odd, packing up and going somewhere without Sen’o…”
“You’ll be back before dark, you can see your boyfriend then,” said Eleb as she turned to leave. Safi followed after a hasty wave to me.
“Right, we had better make our move as well,” I said.
Itzcoatl, to his credit, was still humouring our humble little team. He was even slightly impressed by at least one of the two new members.
“How’d you get Eleb?” he asked me as we walked down an unfamiliar, smaller mountain path that at points, required us to scramble.
“I beat her in a fight,” I answered. “Oh, and her brother.” I felt some rocks give way under me and I adjusted my weight before it could affect my balance. Chit was having a little more trouble than us because of her lost cultivation. By the time we reached the bottom her robe was dirty from sliding down most of the way.
As she patted herself down the best she could, I scanned the dense jungle. Despite descending from a completely different side of the mountain, the jungle looked eerily similar. The same trees, the same overwhelming sounds. It was clear to see why there were so many rules about it, the ease at which you could get lost in there; it was a frightening prospect, even for me.
Apparently not for Itzcoatl though, he waltzed in with experienced indifference.
Chit stayed at the bottom of the mountain, it was too dangerous for her to enter the jungle without any qi but she wanted to get outside anyway. She sat on a rock and began to cultivate, once again stepping on the immortal path.
Every day of being in Gutura I began to question my resolve in redeeming myself, redeeming Sen’o. How easy it would be to forget all about it and never return to Fel Maer.
One look at Safi was all it took to quell such thoughts. My road to redemption had led me to her, how could it be the wrong way?
Itzcoatl and I had discussed the plan in advance. So no words were shared as he propelled himself into a tree and disappeared from my sight. It was not long before a bird squawked and panickingly flapped into the open, I shot it with my bow. It was an easier shot than the trinks as the bird was bigger and less agile.
My mission was a rather simple one. Prepare ten Inka birds. Preparation of course meant killing, depluming then gutting. I was expecting a twist, and yet the final bird dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, sinking into the deep snow where I fished it out and strung it to my belt. No twist.
With five birds each, tied to our belts and weighing us down considerably, we were ready to leave. Itzcoatl sat out for the next part, admittedly it was not a pleasant job. Stripping the feathers was easy, although the corpse was still warm and once I had the arrow out it felt like the bird could suddenly take off with every feather I pulled.
Then, the nasty part. First, drain the blood. I brought the knife to its neck and pulled. I expected blood to immediately come seeping out so when I looked at my hands and found them significantly less red, I was a little confused.
I tried again, slicing across the bird's neck, I watched the knife slide across as if it were blunt, creating nothing more than a subtle indent.
“Ah, the twist,” I said with a grin. I wasn’t expecting it to come after the combat.
“The twist,” confirmed Itzcoatl who was relaxing on a rock next to Chit, watching me with amusement.
“Sharpening the knife is a fool’s errand?” I offered a prediction hoping Itzcoatl would grace me with a nod or shake of the head. Unfortunately, he shrugged.
“Not telling,” he said. His smile got a bit wider. I decided to trust my gut; the knife was useless. I sheathed it and sent my qi into the bird instead. Inside was an otherwise normal bird, it did not help me around the tough skin.
The difficulty lay in completing the task without damaging the bird’s skin. Of course, I could use something otherworldly to get around the issue but that would not only defeat the purpose of the exercise but also draw some unwanted attention.
They may have had hard skin, but my arrow got in. I looked at my arrow wound for answers. It appeared to have gone right in without trouble, but I know I was not shooting my arrows with enough strength to pierce the skin I was attempting to cut with my knife, which could only mean it had changed.
I recalled what I had done that could have affected the bird’s skin. I narrowed it down to two things. The temperature changes from dropping into the snow, and the stripping of its feather.
“Itzcoatl, I’m going to need a hand again.”
“I know,” he said with a laugh as he pushed himself up.
We ventured back into the jungle, still using what little I had managed to comprehend of imaginary arrow to form my arrows, I shot another bird. I let it fall to the snowy ground and after pulling the arrow, I attempted another throat cut. It slid through the bird effortlessly. The blood stained the snow a wicked red that reminded me of my difficult start to this life.
“It’s the feathers?” I asked Itzcoatl, having to shout to be heard above the sound of the jungle.
“Yep,” he said in a normal volume as he landed behind me, giving me a mild fright. “But, there is a way of gutting the ones you’ve already got.
“By making the skin feel like it’s got feathers in it?”
“That’s exactly it.”
“But, what's the point in this rock-hard skin?” I asked.
“A couple of reasons, Inka birds don’t have many natural predators thanks to this ability, and, if they ever lose feathers in a scuffle or an accident, their exposed bare skin is not a liability.”
“That’s why there are so many of them, what’s the point in killing it if you can’t eat it?” I concluded.
“You’ve got it.”
“Lovely, now I need to figure out how to fake a feather.” I started with a massage, usually the best way of loosening something up, was to heat it up and move it around. After I worked on a particular bird for a good while, I attempted another throat cut with no success.
I tried another tactic, stimulating the skin with my qi, I could feel that it was not going to respond to my proddings from the inside either. I had an idea, at that moment, to check the feathers. Considering my failures with the body of the Inka bird, I considered it a quick distraction before continuing my investigation. However, my more thorough scan of the feather revealed something I’d missed.
The base of the feather was wet, I wiped some onto my finger and licked it. Instantly I lost the feeling in my tongue.
I smeared the liquid covered feather across the bird's neck and, sure enough, my knife slid straight through its throat, a clean cut that blood instantly came pouring out of.
“I did it!” I yelled triumphantly.
“Well done,” said Itzcoatl, not quite as pleased as I was. He had the good grace to clap but it was slow and slightly sarcastic.
Casualperv Click the
