Post by Shifon on Jan 19, 2010 14:30:17 GMT -5
The woods around him were quiet, just the noises of animals in the brush and the slightly distant shuffle and moan of the scourge still left in the scar. Leaves were covered over the scrawny and stringy troll body, painted in the places not covered by clothes in the manner seen by the others. Shifon had watched the ceremony given to the boys before they were set out into the wilds to hunt for the first time alone, each required to bring back some proof of his abilities to be considered a man in the village. It was a mark of pride to carry the scars of battle, the proof that one was willing to give their very lives for the village. It was expected of all men that they would be willing to go that far.
Shifon was quick with his dagger, better with a sword that might allow him to use the strength he'd been developing to his advantage. But his weapons had been taken away, considered inappropriate for his new station in the village. But he'd trained since he could walk to shoulder the responsibilities of a male only to have it taken away from him. But the rite was the final stage of what he needed to do, the stealthy troll decided it was his right to attempt it. He had painted his body in the same manner he'd seen the girls doing to the boys. It wasn't the same, he knew, the different between the acts acutely felt. It was a bonding experience to the pairs that would eventually couple. The opportunity for the boys to experience their first hints of what a female would be like.
He had missed that, left to the side to watch as his contemporaries were ushered into the next stage of their life while he was left in the purgatory of not knowing. He wasn't too young, older than a few boys. Nor was he too weak, stronger in their play-fighting than quite a few of the rest. But they had decided against him nonetheless, despite ability and what he felt was his actual born right.
The grass was cold beneath him, cooling his over warmed body. He could smell the loamy earth, the growing things beneath him skittering around underground. They created and nurtured, unseen and mostly ignored. He felt kin to the crawlies beneath him. It was as if in the bramble and brush he had found a place he could belong. The length of time he had to wait, he knew, would probably be long. He had to settle his heart and his breathing so he would seem as nothing but part of the forest floor. The dangerous part is failing to stay awake in this state. He manages for better part of a day, seven hours without moving a muscle, body alert and prepared the entire time. But in the eighth hour he sleeps.
He woke to the feeling of hands against him, struggle coming to his body immediately while he tried to fend off what he knew to be an attack. Cloth over his eyes smelled faintly reminiscent but there were too many details to pick up. The strength was equal to his own, greater because of his prone position. The sounds.. four, no five pairs of feet. Thoughts screamed across his mind. Elves, possibly. They enjoyed nothing more than harassing his people and trying to take more and more of their land for their own selfish purposes. They brought the death plague to the lands. His tusks would be no more than an ornament in their bags, a reagent in their spells while his life blood would spill useless to the forest ground. No protection to his people, forgotten and useless.
His struggle renewed, powerful legs beginning to buck up, tossing off one assailant and freeing a hand that immediately started to strike out. Pointless to waste time with the blindfold. Try to gain freedom and accept what limitations were placed. Fighting seemed to work just enough that there was a sound he could place. Laughter. Troll laughter. His body froze, wondering if it were the elders or the boys. Words spoken told him it was the boys, the voice of Nilo recognized. Eldest boy and the one who had been in direct competition with him for position as best male for their group.
The cloth was removed so he could see the leering smiles of the boys, body twisted so his chest, painted in the designs that he knew in his heart were his right to claim. They laughed at the figure he made, clothes too tight to fit, self applied war paint and a stolen weapon of poor quality.
"They told you already." Troll words spoken to act like a piercing weapon against his mind. "You're not a man and won't be." A knife was removed from Nilo's side, showing the glinting edge toward the prostrate troll's face. It was brought down toward his face, placed against a tusk, his amber eyes going wide before he could feel the pressure of his tusk being pulled against it. They were large and curved brilliantly, kept sharp and pristine with washing and care. A mark of pride along with the many that marked his body.
"You won't be needing this now that you're just a woman, Shifon." Immediately he felt the sting of his pride being wounded deeply. The council had decided. Shilo no longer existed to other trolls as he had been. He was only Shifon now. He would not be allowed more than the position of outcast in his tribe, the suffix fon added to his name as a permanent reminder of what he no longer was. An intense pain went through his body as his eyes widened, looking to the man who looked so like him, same red hair, same amber eyes reflected back at his gaze. He could hear the snap of his tusk being broken, the taste of blood that came from his mouth just from the force used. It was the blackness of unconsciousness that met him next, the sound of his brother laughing as he left with trophy in hand echoing in his ears, his tusk kept as proof that he was a hunter, and the prey left in the growth of forest and brush, nothing but the crawling things never remembered to keep him company.
Shifon was quick with his dagger, better with a sword that might allow him to use the strength he'd been developing to his advantage. But his weapons had been taken away, considered inappropriate for his new station in the village. But he'd trained since he could walk to shoulder the responsibilities of a male only to have it taken away from him. But the rite was the final stage of what he needed to do, the stealthy troll decided it was his right to attempt it. He had painted his body in the same manner he'd seen the girls doing to the boys. It wasn't the same, he knew, the different between the acts acutely felt. It was a bonding experience to the pairs that would eventually couple. The opportunity for the boys to experience their first hints of what a female would be like.
He had missed that, left to the side to watch as his contemporaries were ushered into the next stage of their life while he was left in the purgatory of not knowing. He wasn't too young, older than a few boys. Nor was he too weak, stronger in their play-fighting than quite a few of the rest. But they had decided against him nonetheless, despite ability and what he felt was his actual born right.
The grass was cold beneath him, cooling his over warmed body. He could smell the loamy earth, the growing things beneath him skittering around underground. They created and nurtured, unseen and mostly ignored. He felt kin to the crawlies beneath him. It was as if in the bramble and brush he had found a place he could belong. The length of time he had to wait, he knew, would probably be long. He had to settle his heart and his breathing so he would seem as nothing but part of the forest floor. The dangerous part is failing to stay awake in this state. He manages for better part of a day, seven hours without moving a muscle, body alert and prepared the entire time. But in the eighth hour he sleeps.
He woke to the feeling of hands against him, struggle coming to his body immediately while he tried to fend off what he knew to be an attack. Cloth over his eyes smelled faintly reminiscent but there were too many details to pick up. The strength was equal to his own, greater because of his prone position. The sounds.. four, no five pairs of feet. Thoughts screamed across his mind. Elves, possibly. They enjoyed nothing more than harassing his people and trying to take more and more of their land for their own selfish purposes. They brought the death plague to the lands. His tusks would be no more than an ornament in their bags, a reagent in their spells while his life blood would spill useless to the forest ground. No protection to his people, forgotten and useless.
His struggle renewed, powerful legs beginning to buck up, tossing off one assailant and freeing a hand that immediately started to strike out. Pointless to waste time with the blindfold. Try to gain freedom and accept what limitations were placed. Fighting seemed to work just enough that there was a sound he could place. Laughter. Troll laughter. His body froze, wondering if it were the elders or the boys. Words spoken told him it was the boys, the voice of Nilo recognized. Eldest boy and the one who had been in direct competition with him for position as best male for their group.
The cloth was removed so he could see the leering smiles of the boys, body twisted so his chest, painted in the designs that he knew in his heart were his right to claim. They laughed at the figure he made, clothes too tight to fit, self applied war paint and a stolen weapon of poor quality.
"They told you already." Troll words spoken to act like a piercing weapon against his mind. "You're not a man and won't be." A knife was removed from Nilo's side, showing the glinting edge toward the prostrate troll's face. It was brought down toward his face, placed against a tusk, his amber eyes going wide before he could feel the pressure of his tusk being pulled against it. They were large and curved brilliantly, kept sharp and pristine with washing and care. A mark of pride along with the many that marked his body.
"You won't be needing this now that you're just a woman, Shifon." Immediately he felt the sting of his pride being wounded deeply. The council had decided. Shilo no longer existed to other trolls as he had been. He was only Shifon now. He would not be allowed more than the position of outcast in his tribe, the suffix fon added to his name as a permanent reminder of what he no longer was. An intense pain went through his body as his eyes widened, looking to the man who looked so like him, same red hair, same amber eyes reflected back at his gaze. He could hear the snap of his tusk being broken, the taste of blood that came from his mouth just from the force used. It was the blackness of unconsciousness that met him next, the sound of his brother laughing as he left with trophy in hand echoing in his ears, his tusk kept as proof that he was a hunter, and the prey left in the growth of forest and brush, nothing but the crawling things never remembered to keep him company.
Founded April 26, 2005