Tales of Legendia
It started with a Nightmare
Gathering his private doom and gloom around him, he faded into the shadows with nary a sound. After being badgered day in and out with cheery well wishers, smiling fuzzy faces and offers of scallop stew the young ninja had had his limits pushed to breaking.
Lips pressed into a thin line, the shadow clinging figure recalled his first encounter. The town herald was disappointed that this newest –or rather first- visitor to his village was too ill to hear his blessing. So the herald had considerately taken a seat right by the young boy's bed, and the second violet eyes had cracked open the outsider been assaulted by raw cheer.
"Firstly, we hope you'll like it here." Extending a paw the furry creature had smiled up at him. "My name's Ippo. Oh, and secondly, welcome to the Oresoren Village."
Self control slipped a little at that moment. He could –and did- blame his loss of composure to the fever delirium he'd just shaken off. In that world of pain hazed illness cheery voices had become scraping claws in his brain. Hands meant to pull the covers over him for warmth seemed wicked things that were out to smother him. He dreamed of long dark places, riding a brown sea, where eyes, burning fire hued eyes that never winked, leered at him from the darkness.
Coming from that, he shuddered at the greeting, and his saviors had taken that shudder as another sign of sickness. A quest to fetch blankets was declared, and the sheer quantity that had been brought in for him was mind staggering. Only the most frantic of head persuaded them not to accidentally smother him in an attempt to warm him up.
A few days of limited observation –there was only so much one could do when bound to one's bed after all- had garnered him little information. As a whole the Oresoren were a dull brown color, with wide black eyes that sparkled wetly. Beyond that, and the fact that they ate fish, there wasn't much more to say.
Add to that he had to endure day after day of gleaming white teeth, glittering black eyes, and high pitched voices...
He was drained, for the whole of Oresoen seemed to be extrovert, and it seemed that they could never understand the needs of an introvert.
The concepts of personal space and distance were alien to the happy-go-luck otters he'd been rescued by. Even while concerned with his health they laughed and danced. They totally accepted the oddity (a human) that was thrust upon their world with the aplomb of the carefree.
Which was, of course, no aplomb at all.
The final straw that had broken the pack mule's back was their concern that he' lost his voice. While their concern was no major thing –emotions were irrelevant after all-, their antidote for his "sickness" was. Instead of the mildly acceptable half scorched pool of fish bits in water they'd been feeding him his normal repast had been replaced with a bowl of raw something…
The child hadn't even waited to hear what it was. He'd nodded and taken the bowl then slipped off to bury its contents.
Sadly –or perhaps fortunately- none of the Oresoen had questioned the food's prompt disappearance.
Paws had patted his back –clearly a custom to encourage go health-, more toothy smiles passed between the otters, and the child had heard a few comments about eel intestine.
Needlessly to say, the silent boy forcibly toned that part out. Then, nose all a-twitch, the creature who the others called Kuppo had squinted up at him.
"I don't know I he's better yet, he's awful big. Maybe he needs another dose…"
Forget secrecy, forget clan honor, the promise of more medicine was the final straw. Day's of being fed eel something loomed before him, and made his normally iron stomach writhe. He had no resources, therefore he had no plan.
Improvization was the best thrill of all, so he hardly minded. The pain in his side was minimal, the agony of his foot insignificant. So sprain and all he crept from the small room that had been dubbed his own and slipped from shadow to shadow making plans all the while. Guards? A knife to the throat handled those well enough. Traps? Even in this weak state he would be a sham of a ninja if he couldn't tell what was safe and what was not.
Almost out of the Oresoren village the human let out a quiet sigh. There were no traps, there were no guards. Why? Well that was easy enough to deduce. There were no protections because the Oresoren were trusting half wits.
Blinking, the human turned on his heel, and froze in shock. One of the otter creatures was following him. Furry face obscurd in the cavern's gloom, the creature's sight was hindered by the dark. It passed under a dimly glowing pool, and for half a second the human could see a wrinkled nose. A few steps and "ors'" later and the creature was clear of the light. Yet motion in the dark, or rather the height and slow pace of something half precieved, indicated to the observant that the creature swung it's head left, then right. Clearly the little thing had looked right through the ninja, else it would have exploded into a loud cry of "ORS!" and would have approuched with a gleaming white fanged smile.
Letting out a sigh of relief, the ninja waited, his eyes thined in response to the impatience that seethed in his soul. He wanted out, right now, and this creature wasn't going to move. With an exaperated -and deliberatly loud- sigh, the ninja drew his sole poession from the nape of his shirt. Winking with macabe mirth, the knife's edge caught the scant light offered by the glowing pool. It seemed golden, in his hands.
Turning the weapon over in his hands, he smiled, and stepped from shadow to light. Silent and efficent, death incarnet if so need be. Those wre the lessons drilled into him since his youngest days. Those words had replaced that should have been chanted over the edge of his cradle, a blow had taken the place of the loving embrace.
He smiled as he approuched openly, a weapon in hand, his intent clear to any who could read expressions.
A surprised "ors!" met his approuch, then, with a shy smile of it's own, the otter shaped creature shuffled out from the dark.
A paw was offered in greeting.
A knife cut was offered in reply.