When solid ground grows soft with emerald moss and rivulets of black mud, and coffee-colored water pours slowly around the trunks of densely carpeted trees, this marks the beginning of Laod Mor: the swamp of Blossom Forest. Time itself seems to slow to a soporific crawl . . . the humid jungle air grows stagnant, thick with the scent of rich flooded earth and an abundance of green things that can be found nowhere else—except perhaps Caidir Olc. In some areas of the swamp, water rises so high the only way to cross it is to crawl across fallen logs or massive roots arching from their liquid beds; in other places a wolf might wade easily through the mire—or find a fortunate stretch of mostly dry earth. Pieces of the great river, Glaesfaet Sceawere, also slice through from time to time: small falls that feed into surprisingly clear pools, only to terminate into tar-like pits. Of course, Laod Mor’s beauty shines brightest at night. Here, fireflies gather at all times of the year . . . suffusing the shadowy place with millions of twinkling lights.

Those looking to hunt here of course find a myriad of water prey, including caiman, turtles, fish, crayfish, otters, and toads.

Refresh/Reload

A Handmaiden's Tale
IP: 69.58.126.118


 photo PicsArt_06-25-09.26.58_zpslvhonerc.jpg


'Why not?'

Olya scoffed and shook her head. What a silly, silly question to ask - why not. Why not? Why not! Because of who this Camille was - what she was. It was not a hard concept to grasp, and it was something that was well ingrained in each and every mind within one of the clans. "Because they will tear my hide apart for talking to a mudblood, that's why. Of course. I get why you fled - really, I do - I can commiserate with you. But I ran in order to protect the Princess from another clan, and my own clan will praise my actions. For a slave to simply run away to run away.... you will wish for death when they are done!" Olya was not like most of her kind - she had nothing against the other races. it was mainly due to the fact that they were treated just as poorly as she was. The brutes were often able to gain some measure of respect if they were good fighters and could join the ranks as gladiators or warriors, but the femmes were rarely as lucky. More often than not, they ended up with the position that Olya herself had held for so long within Farant's pack. They would be mistresses for the higher-ups, they would be punching bags for the warriors, they were servants and handmaidens, and above all, they meant nothing and were worth nothing. It was common place for them to be traded or sold, and separated from their families as they were spread all over the lands and amongst the packs.

'Why would this council be searching for me?'

Olya blinked hard and cocked her head before staring hard at the opposite wolf. She could not be... be serious right? The kalak quickly shook her head and sat down before staring intently at the opposite wolf. From here she could see no obvious scars or imperfections, but it was possible that she was missing something - a cracked skull or a large laceration perhaps? Anything that would explain severe brain trauma leading to memory loss or amnesia... but then again, she knew her own name so how much memory loss could she really have had. "Why... would... the Council... be searching... for you..." Her words came slowly at first before she became incredulous - her fear was forgotten briefly and she wished that she could be so lucky so as to forget them. "Because you are a runaway slave you dimwit!" The sound of her own voice at such timbers shook her and she quivered and shook, dropping swiftly to the silt and gravel floor as the shout reverberated off of the falls and towering boulders. But as she peered back up at the stranger she blinked hard again - the wolfess truly seemed to have no idea or recollection of what the Council was. "You... are a runaway slave, are you not? Or perhaps one of the rare female warriors? By Tor's breath you are one of their spies aren't you, sent to capture Princess Lilith and myself? I will never tell you where she is!" Once again she quivered and trembled until she fell due to the thunderous echoes of her monologue. But still there was no reprimand, no threat, no sound of galloping paws racing toward her for punishment.

'I would very much like to talk to you Olya. But I cannot force you to stay dear.'

Still there were only sweet sopranos calling to her, devoid of malicious thoughts and threats. There was no accompanying sneer, and though they were far apart Olya had picked up no trace of kalak scent smeared across the other's perfume. Was it... was it possible that there were mudbloods who were not slaves of the kalaks? She had never really thought about it, and had always assumed that within the lands of the various packs were all the mudbloods. That more slaves turned up at Faraway as prisoners of war, taken from another pack or clan. That they all bred and formed new ranks as slaves to make new slaves. But here, it seemed... between Kirastasia and Siku and now Camille that that was not the case. "You... you do not know of the Council, do you?" Muddled confusion entered her now and once again curiosity filled her. It felt wrong to question the words of the Council, but even the years of torture and abuse and indoctrination could not prevent this now. "You... you haven't heard of Faraway or Lilith or... or... or Farant?"

.:. I was a gift my my mistress .:. And though she treats me well .:. It's impossible to forget I'm a slave .:.
||Olya|| ||Handmaiden Loyal to Lillith|| || No heart || || No Pack || Slave ||



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