Savage Consequences [Thor & Confrazzled]

[Confrazzled]

Star Bird approached the camp carefully, cloaked in the lavender of twilight. The stars of her namesake were just beginning to wink to life in the sky above her, as the Skywomen unfurled their beautiful weavings, strung with beads of quartz, to fall in the places where they always did. So proud of their work, they displayed it every night, so all the world might see. In the morning they would roll them up, gathering bit by bit as the Star Birds, flitting invisibly between them unless you knew just where to look, play and watch. And snatch one away, if the Skywomen did not keep a careful eye. Snatch it and store it away, or eat it; some Star Birds craved only a full belly.

Star Bird herself was hungry, but not for stars. Hungry for something other than dried deermeat and dug-up tuber roots. And even these, aside from a small hide pouchful that she carried at her hip, she had left with her dugout canoe half-a-stoneâ??s hike away, on the bank of the river when it grew too shallow. Her bare feet strode onwards, their soles hard as clay balls treading among the lush tangle of roots that matted and seemed to bind the rather solid earth together, holding it fast to the mountainsides. Here was not a place where stones threatened to tumble loose. Nearly on the cusp of the wildforests it was, rather out of the range of her own tribe, the People of the Cedar Veil. But now she was on the cusp of the lands of another, this pale, new-rival tribe. They wore the Moon Ladyâ??s face, but not her heart, a blasphemy beyond reproach. A bloodsworn enemy but . . . Star Bird knew as the highest Star shamanness of her tribe, though both the visions she received in guidance and from the hungry bellies and fears that drove her people, this was the only option left to her, if they wished to survive.

So Star Bird marched forwards, quietly but not too quietly, for she did not wish to alarm the firm-campâ??s exceptional scouts. Clad in the ceremonial and nearly stark-white cream hide robes, decorated borders along the edges with painstakingly-picked out dot and line patterns, emblazoned in red berry-ink and the darkest berry-charcoal, she would not likely blend into the brush. Her mane of raven hair, flowing nearly to her hips, she braided through with all manners of colourful feathers and two full tens of bone, clay, and carved stone beads. Though she held it bound back in a series of leather thongs, the distinctive style and colours only made her stand out from the lush, mossy trees further. A woman of average height, neither short nor tall, but striding forth with an implacable regality to her posture, even as the locuts called her welcome. Each step, she knew, brought her closer to the camp, and to her discovery by one of its scout-warriors, with their strangely-cold thunder rods. Every one, nearer to the impending wrath and ill-welcome.

Each step brought her closer to the unity of their peoples. Their unity, or their separate, agonizing deaths.

 

[Thor]

Captain Bartholomew Weeds was the current captain at Fort Plains. the fort had not been up for too long of a time; in fact it had only recently finished being constructed but that did not mean the presence of the Union had not been in that area. Men would go out riding in their uniforms with their rifles and try to hunt down a buffalo or a deer; some would try to even hunt down a savage but the Captain would severely punish any one person who would try to hunt down an injun. The men would still try though and so once a week the Captain would need to have someone whipped until they were useless at the fort site for a few weeks and so send them back to the closest town. Just last week a Private by the name of Johnathan had been whipped to the point of crying like a little baby and sent on home with out the ability to even walk due to the amount of searing pain he had been objected to.

Voices yelled out, "Injun coming!" "I bet you I can shoot her first!" The Captain had been looking over maps and stock reports and fearing that they might not be able to keep the fort operating if the supply wagons could not even get to the next town without being ambushed by something. He heard the yells of the men talking about the Injun and so he arose, crumples smoothing out of his blue uniform. He strode out of his cabin, pointing his finger at the various people. "You, stay that rifle! Lieutenant, I want the name of that man." His face had the look of a tired and exasperated man and so he was just that. "Open the gates!" yelled out Batholomew. He bore a Colt Revolver on the left side of his belt with a saber on the right side. The gates swung open in front of Bartholomew, just in time for him to walk through without walking into the heavy wood.

In a little time, the Captain had managed to cross the distance between the Indian and the Fort. He was a little worried about it being an ambush or something of the sort but he realized that if he died or his men saw horses coming towards him; they would open up fire with rifles and cannons so even if he died it would not have been a useless death. He stopped a few feet short of Star Bird and gave her a weak smile, "I am Captain Bartholomew Weeds, I run this fort. Why do you approach us?"

 

[Confrazzled]

Starbird continued to stride forward, passing through the trees like a ground-skimming cloud, unearthly in her white robes. Surely she had passed through the scoutsâ?? outer circle by now. But why had they not halted her? Surely they would not allow her to approach directly into camp?

She inclined her head, turning it towards a gap in the trees. Nothing had rustled, nor sounded there but . . . she sensed eyes on her. An electric, air-crackling force binding together the two individuals. â??Who is there?â? she called, tilting her head so that the beads knotted there clinked together, like raindrops. But he emerged, before she could question him further, in the chiming, flowing-water tones of his tribeâ??s unfamiliar tongue. A tongue that the Moon Lady had mostly gifted her with, revealing it in snatches through the course of her last moon-passingâ??s dreams. Still, the unfamiliar words fell slowly from her unaccustomed tongue, and it was with some little surprise that she interpreted the meanings to his uttered string of syllables.

â??I do not come in attack. Neither your tribe nor mine has the warriors to spare for such an assault, not in the face of the French and their Iroquois, and all but the smallest children well know that. I have come alone, thefting nothing, bringing even my own provisions,â? she patted the little bag hanging securely at her side. â??Our only chance is an alliance, to face what is coming. So indeed, I bear friendshipâ??s greeting.â?

Starbird stood regally, regarding him. She did not blame him for his suspicions, not in the least. Had another one of his pale people come to hers in similar circumstance, and unannounced . . . the general reaction would have been just the same.

 

[Thor]

The Captain looked her over as she started to talk, explaining why she had decided to come to the camp. "That does make it easier to trust you though, knowing that we both don't have the resources or men to last long against each other; especially since the French and the Iroquois became allies. The God forsaken bastards won't leave our supply wagons alone long enough to get back into our camp." Bartholomew turned around and started walking back towards the camp, "Do come along and join me in my cabin. We can talk more there." His saber would hit his lap softly with every step he took. A scout saw him advancing back towards the camp and gave out the order to start opening the gates again.

Bartholomew lead her through the camp, his men calling out insults to her "Savage!" "Injun!" and the such. At one point, a soldier had grabbed her ass, laughing. It only caused Bartholomew to turn around, brandish his revolver and shoot the man in the upper thigh. "This woman has come here under peaceful terms! She is not a savage, she is not an injun, but she is one way that we may be able to survive! If anyone touches her again, or insults her, I will not shoot you in the leg next time but rather I will give you to her people tied up so that they can teach you how to treat a woman with proper respect!" The men had become silent now and backed away, allowing Bartholomew and Starbird to pass through unchallenged the rest of the way to his cabin. Bartholomew held the door open for her and ushered her into his messy quarters.

"I'm sorry for the mess, but I've been trying to figure out ways of how we can survive and if there are other routes to bypass the current ambush sites." He tossed some maps off a chair, a bottle breaking that was hidden under them, and offered her the chair. He himself sat down at another chair. "So, does your tribe have any terms?"

 

[Confrazzled]

((Had some trouble with this one. Metaphors felt kinda weird, and came slowly.))

The jeers did not trouble Starbird; and so she glided onwards, like a figure formed of mist, ethereal and fresh-stepped from the Spirit Plains. Haughty chin raised high, she made scarce a sound to distinguish her as one of the living. Her bare feet did not scuffle upon the dusty streets between their strange squared camphuts, her breath did not flow rushed or ragged. The only sound was the tinkling of those ever-present beads as they clapped together, slapping against her back and each other.

It was little enough wonder, then, that these pale-faced people wished to affirm her presence, or else drive it from them. One even went so far as to clutch at her hindquarters, feeling the soft-fleshed curves through the voluminous canopy of her robes. Too far. This manâ??because for all that he was pale-faced and disrespectful to the highest spirit-level, he was yet a manâ??had ventured too far into dangerous territories that he knew little of. She was not a clay vessel through which he could release his knotted and burled mass of dammed-up sanguineous frustrations. Was not a vessel at all, save for her Moon Lady. Swiftly Starbird pivoted, eyes flashing vivid for a moment before fading again. She took no action. But yet her sprucepitch-black eyes seemed to absorb everything, unfazed. Even the thunder-stick bolting, driving a wormâ??s burrow into his thigh, spurting it with a well of blood. Her eyes did not flick downwards, but she turned instead to follow the first man, the one and who now defended her. Perhaps the Lady had chosen aright, after all. And the one who had lead her.

Into his squared camphut, where she carefully weighed and stowed his words, before adding a few of her own. â??It is not my peopleâ??s terms that you must face, Bhar-toh-mew,â? she stated, though he had not yet mentioned his name. â??But those of the Moon Lady. I am come by her guidance, and no other. With the backing of my tribe, the People of the Cedar Veil. We are five tens of warriors strong,â? she offered, â??with perhaps another two tens of scouts. Though some of these women will be reluctant to leave their little ones undefended.â? She siddled about the discussion of terms for now, wily and slippery as a river otter. Star Bird well knew about the ligatures of the pale-tribeâ??s promises, set to the â??termsâ?? scrawled across spun-wood sheafs and bound in square books. Square, like everything else they clustered and strove to order.

 

[Thor]

The Captain had overlooked her knowing his name without her telling him, he was too tired to look over the details. "I can understand, and I share your loss of warriors. However, I am not so small on warriors but rather ammunition. With the attacks constant on my supply routes, I haven't been able to get food or guns or bullets in for a very long time. We are coming down onto our last cache of food and our last rounds for the rifles." He sighed softly, "And I can't keep shooting or whipping the soldiers for hunting your people, I'll run out of people soon enough." He sighed once more. "We need each other to survive right now, I think your Moon Lady would agree with that."

He stood up to stretch his back some, "I have an idea of what we can do to survive. We bring your tribe into our fort and have everyone work together. Our men can go out hunting and skirmishing together while the ones who are too sick or weak or young can stay at the protection of the fort. If we could get the french and the Iroqouis to leave my supply routes alone long enough to get just one wagon through we should have enough supplies to be able to last for another month or so. If we can protect the route long enough to get full shipments through, then we would both be able to sustain the winter and be able to fight back successfully against the French and Iroqouis."

He sat back into his chair, looking at her. "What do you think? While you are here, we could work on expanding the size of the fort so we could more readily house everyone when it is needed for us to join forces again. And if you tell me one single complaint of one of my soldier's acting out or disrespecting your people some how, I will tie the man up and allow your... braves are they called... to have their way with him and teach him how to properly respect your tribe."