Truth in Blood, Chapter Two: Tix
After the first tenday, he was out of food. Two days following that, his waterskins were empty. Ruk-Ruk had followed the path marked out for him by hawk's wing, heading east, then east-by-southeast along the River Ashaba. He set a swift pace for himself, eager to reach the unknown destination ahead. They had travelled first through the wooded areas surrounding the Dale, then over a large open stretch of terrain separating it from Cormanthor Forest. Shortly after entering the once-great elven woods was when his provisions had run out. He would not starve, he had sufficient lessons in woodsmanship to ensure that, but having to spend time hunting, or digging under rocks when game was sparse, plus search for water was slowing his progress for a crawl. He was lucky to cover five miles in a day's hike.
The demon-orc shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. Better to focus on the task at hand, he thought to himself. He peered upward through the boughs of the trees, once again awed at the sheer immensity of the shadowtops surrounding him. Their trunks' massive girth easily made some of the great towers of gleaming Silverymoon look like peasants' huts. Before the past few days he had taken tales of such things as mere exaggeration. Now he certainly knew better!
Above him, he glimpsed once more the soaring form of his travelling companion, circling now just north of due east. From tales he had listened to in the Old Skull, and before that in Yulash by the Moonsea, he had an inkling of where his friend was taking him: Myth Drannor, fallen capital of the old elven nation of Cormanthyr. The legends spoke of its once-magnificent beauty, swept away by an invading army of fiends. It was said to this day to be infested by tanar'ri, baatezu, and worse. The thought quickened his heart, but whether through fear or anticipation he was unsure. If that was indeed their destination, the task before them would be much more difficult than he had ever suspected.
Not one to hesitate, he quickened his pace once more.
* * * * *
Four more days passed, and now he was certain of their path. His companion was leading him without fail through increasingly demon-occupied territory. So far he hadn't found himself engaged in anything more than light skirmishing, but he had taken a handful of cuts and gouges from the pack of babaus he fought earlier that day. He had bandaged himself as best he could, but the exertion of continuing his march had probably reopened his wounds. Wearily, Ruk-Ruk halted and shrugged his pack off his shoulders, setting it at the base of a nearby tree, then planted his axe in the ground, leaving his arms free for a much-needed stretch. After working some of the kinks out of his back, he took a look around and decided it was as good a place as any to make camp for the night. He was tiring, and the extra hours of marching each day were taking their toll.
Ruk-Ruk whistled shrilly once to signal to the hawk her dismissal from service for the evening. She would tend to her needs as he would tend to his, and in the morning she would be waiting for him as always. He whispered a brief thanks to the gods for bringing him such a faithful partner, and not for the first time. How Sironus had managed to call this particular creature out of all of nature's children, he would never know. Who had trained her, and so well? Sironus insisted she had not known the bird prior to asking for its help. It was just another question lacking any answer, but it occupied his mind while his hands prepared an impromptu tent against the tree from an oiled-cloth tarp and a thin rope. Some iron stakes to hold it down made it a serviceable shelter should the weather turn ugly.
The weather turned ugly. The enormous shadowtops should have kept the forest floor comparatively dry, yet the cold rain was still coming down in great splatters as it weighed down, then poured from, the great boughs above. Ruk-Ruk did not bother contemplating what it was like outside that cover, and was once again glad he had let that merchant in Uthmere talk him into the doubly-thick canvas, even if it had cost a bit more on top of the already-raised prices he was used to being offered by traders. Still he was getting dripped on occasionally, and now nature was calling.
He was still debating between the twin miseries of getting drenched and holding his overfull bladder when he heard the first crack, some distance away. With the pounding of the rain it was hard to tell from which direction it came, but he was certain he heard it. With a silent sigh of resignation, he slid out from under his tent, grabbing his axe as he climbed to his feet, then looked around warily.
It was impossible to see any more than a few yards through the sheets of water obscuring even his trained sight. Where could that sound have come from? Cautiously Ruk-Ruk walked a few paces around his camp, one hand shielding his face from the blinding precipitation. Still nothing, but then another noise, faint and distinctly inhuman. It increased steadily in volume, and he realised it was the rasping scream of some strange being shortly before its form slammed face-down into the mud with a large splash a few feet from Ruk-Ruk's position.
"Uhkk," croaked the creature, its voice reminiscent of the chirruping of crickets.
Wiping the splattered muck from his face, Ruk-Ruk tried to get a closer look at the thing in front of him. Shaped only vaguely like a humanoid it was possessed of six limbs, two legs and four arms, but there the resemblance ended. A smooth dun carapace covered its mantid body from mandibled head to elongated abdomen. A large travelling pack and four sheathed scimitars with gleaming golden pommels and leather-wrapped hilts were strapped to its thorax, which also bore what appeared to be an unusually-shaped breastplate of a silver metal, probably quite striking when not covered in liquified dirt. As it pushed itself up from the puddle, he could see covering its huge eyes were a strange pair of goggles with dark crystaline lenses, and upon one set of forearms it bore a set of bronze bracers. Rising to its feet, he could see he had misjudged its size at first. Its slender limbs carried it to a height slightly above Ruk-Ruk's own prodigious size (which in itself was greater than that of most humans), despite its slightly crouched shape.
The mantis-man shook its head violently and swayed dizzily for a moment then steadied itself and looked around, its eyes quickly settling on Ruk-Ruk. He half-raised his axe in a guard before realizing that this insectoid, from its alarmed and frozen stance, seemed as surprised to see someone else here as he must have. If this creature intended to attack him, it didn't show.
He lowered his axe and cleared his throat uncertainly. "Uh, well met?" He addressed it in the trade language of Faerun, hoping but not expecting the creature to be versed in it.
"Eh? Oh, greetings," replied the creature, laboriously working a complex jaw not well-suited to the sounds of the common tongue. "And atologies. Dranches slittery ut there." It pointed into the trees above.
"'Dranches'? Ruk-Ruk not get--oh, branches! All understood now." Clearly, this bug-person couldn't use certain sounds that a being with lips could. Given a mouth like that it was quite an accomplishment to pronounce what it could. In a way, it was a comfort to meet someone who also had troubles with Common.
The creature nodded. "That's 'at I said. Dranches. I thell. Hey, did you just say your nane is Ruk-Ruk?"
"Aye. Why you ask, bug-man?" He had no need to hide who he was, but the hint of recognition in that question had his attention.
"I ha' heard o' you. Ny thriends told ne stories o' an orc-nan called Ruk-Ruk. He thit your descrichun, and you carry his nane. Do you kno' Sironus? Or her thriends, Thalstathh and Qari? They say Ruk-Ruk is a strong and accontlished 'arrior." The mantoid's attempt at Falstaff's name caused Ruk-Ruk to chuckle to himself, but he felt he might be getting the hang of its speech. So, it knew his friends somehow, did it?
"Ruk-Ruk knows them well. But he wonders, how you know them? And just who is this bug-person who drops in on Ruk-Ruk so suddenly? Indeed, Ruk-Ruk have many questions for you, including, 'why we still standing in rain?'" He grinned at his own joke and gestured to his lean-to "tent".
The mantid studied it warily, as if it were an aging animal ready to die at any moment. It held up a clawed, three-fingered hand in a gesture of refusal as it reached into its pack with two more hands, withdrawing a large cloak. Before Ruk-Ruk could ask its intentions the creature had spoken an unintelligible command word and the cloak began transforming into a small tent, magically staking itself to the ground. "Nuch detter," it announced proudly, and climbed in.
* * * * *
Tix was its name as Ruk-Ruk soon discovered, or at least that was the pronounceable portion of its name, and it was a he. Frankly, he was unable to discern any features one way or the other, but if he insisted he was male, Ruk-Ruk was not about to argue it.
It seemed Tix had met Ruk-Ruk's ex-travelling companions, the Fellowship of the Firebrand, during one of his many demon-hunting forays into the heart of Myth Drannor (his rapid departure from the latest of these being what brought him so suddenly crashing down). There, he had helped them discover the location of a hidden grove with a golden tree secreted deep inside one of the old schools of wizardry in the ruins. By his recounting of events, it was requested of them by a drow mage of no small skill. Ruk-Ruk was sure he didn't like the sound of that, but he put the thought off for another day and focused on the moment at hand. It was difficult sometimes to understand this strange person, and he needed his full attention.
"I an a thri-kreen," Tix was explaining in response to Ruk-Ruk's query as to why he so passionately hunted the demons residing in the remains of the city. "Not so long ago, I lithed in a tride anong others like nyselth in the great desert 'est o' here. Sintle hunters 'ere 'e, unused to the outside lands. Only I renained athter the denons cane.
"So I trained long and hard anong the derthishes of the Dedine hoonans, (setheral years in thact, a longer tine anong ny kind than ethen hoonans or orcs, thor 'e not lith long at all), al'ays going 'erether I heard o' denons hurting innocents. My trathels took ne near and thar, and 'en I heard o' a whole city o' ny thoes, it'd'a caused the stirits o' ny drothers and sisters great ang'ish to do anything other than go here. 'Two denon deaths to ethery thri-kreen killed' I s'ore, and to ny oath I hold, and a thew dozen nore ith I can nanage it." He punctuated this last with a wink of one large, faceted eye.
Ruk-Ruk nodded half understandingly and half in confirmation of his own assumptions. He heard similar tales nearly everywhere he went, of course. The spirit of vengeance travelled swiftly, and with similar results no matter where it settled. It was probably best, then, to keep his own heritage to himself. He liked this strange bug-man; the more the talked, the more they seemed to have in common. Rather than tempt an irrational response, he would be better served just keep quiet on the matter. Not all had had the benefit of a teacher of understanding as he had. In fact, this gave him an idea...
"Ruk-Ruk sees a common goal for himself and bug-man. He thinks Tix and he should maybe travel together, since Tix intends to head back to Myth Drannor anyway. He searches for fiends too, and could use guidance though yon ruins. And extra hands to hammer justice into skulls of enemies never hurt, either. What say you?"
Tix blinked his compound eyes once. "Oth course. I took that as githen, ny tusky acq'aintance. Dy the dy, any'ne ether tell you you talk a dit thunny?"
Ruk-Ruk stared blankly for a moment, then groaned and smacked his hand to his face. He added "sense of humor" to the list of things he would have to get used to with Tix. The "keekeekee!" of the mantid's laughter chirped, echoing, into the night.
The demon-orc shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. Better to focus on the task at hand, he thought to himself. He peered upward through the boughs of the trees, once again awed at the sheer immensity of the shadowtops surrounding him. Their trunks' massive girth easily made some of the great towers of gleaming Silverymoon look like peasants' huts. Before the past few days he had taken tales of such things as mere exaggeration. Now he certainly knew better!
Above him, he glimpsed once more the soaring form of his travelling companion, circling now just north of due east. From tales he had listened to in the Old Skull, and before that in Yulash by the Moonsea, he had an inkling of where his friend was taking him: Myth Drannor, fallen capital of the old elven nation of Cormanthyr. The legends spoke of its once-magnificent beauty, swept away by an invading army of fiends. It was said to this day to be infested by tanar'ri, baatezu, and worse. The thought quickened his heart, but whether through fear or anticipation he was unsure. If that was indeed their destination, the task before them would be much more difficult than he had ever suspected.
Not one to hesitate, he quickened his pace once more.
* * * * *
Four more days passed, and now he was certain of their path. His companion was leading him without fail through increasingly demon-occupied territory. So far he hadn't found himself engaged in anything more than light skirmishing, but he had taken a handful of cuts and gouges from the pack of babaus he fought earlier that day. He had bandaged himself as best he could, but the exertion of continuing his march had probably reopened his wounds. Wearily, Ruk-Ruk halted and shrugged his pack off his shoulders, setting it at the base of a nearby tree, then planted his axe in the ground, leaving his arms free for a much-needed stretch. After working some of the kinks out of his back, he took a look around and decided it was as good a place as any to make camp for the night. He was tiring, and the extra hours of marching each day were taking their toll.
Ruk-Ruk whistled shrilly once to signal to the hawk her dismissal from service for the evening. She would tend to her needs as he would tend to his, and in the morning she would be waiting for him as always. He whispered a brief thanks to the gods for bringing him such a faithful partner, and not for the first time. How Sironus had managed to call this particular creature out of all of nature's children, he would never know. Who had trained her, and so well? Sironus insisted she had not known the bird prior to asking for its help. It was just another question lacking any answer, but it occupied his mind while his hands prepared an impromptu tent against the tree from an oiled-cloth tarp and a thin rope. Some iron stakes to hold it down made it a serviceable shelter should the weather turn ugly.
The weather turned ugly. The enormous shadowtops should have kept the forest floor comparatively dry, yet the cold rain was still coming down in great splatters as it weighed down, then poured from, the great boughs above. Ruk-Ruk did not bother contemplating what it was like outside that cover, and was once again glad he had let that merchant in Uthmere talk him into the doubly-thick canvas, even if it had cost a bit more on top of the already-raised prices he was used to being offered by traders. Still he was getting dripped on occasionally, and now nature was calling.
He was still debating between the twin miseries of getting drenched and holding his overfull bladder when he heard the first crack, some distance away. With the pounding of the rain it was hard to tell from which direction it came, but he was certain he heard it. With a silent sigh of resignation, he slid out from under his tent, grabbing his axe as he climbed to his feet, then looked around warily.
It was impossible to see any more than a few yards through the sheets of water obscuring even his trained sight. Where could that sound have come from? Cautiously Ruk-Ruk walked a few paces around his camp, one hand shielding his face from the blinding precipitation. Still nothing, but then another noise, faint and distinctly inhuman. It increased steadily in volume, and he realised it was the rasping scream of some strange being shortly before its form slammed face-down into the mud with a large splash a few feet from Ruk-Ruk's position.
"Uhkk," croaked the creature, its voice reminiscent of the chirruping of crickets.
Wiping the splattered muck from his face, Ruk-Ruk tried to get a closer look at the thing in front of him. Shaped only vaguely like a humanoid it was possessed of six limbs, two legs and four arms, but there the resemblance ended. A smooth dun carapace covered its mantid body from mandibled head to elongated abdomen. A large travelling pack and four sheathed scimitars with gleaming golden pommels and leather-wrapped hilts were strapped to its thorax, which also bore what appeared to be an unusually-shaped breastplate of a silver metal, probably quite striking when not covered in liquified dirt. As it pushed itself up from the puddle, he could see covering its huge eyes were a strange pair of goggles with dark crystaline lenses, and upon one set of forearms it bore a set of bronze bracers. Rising to its feet, he could see he had misjudged its size at first. Its slender limbs carried it to a height slightly above Ruk-Ruk's own prodigious size (which in itself was greater than that of most humans), despite its slightly crouched shape.
The mantis-man shook its head violently and swayed dizzily for a moment then steadied itself and looked around, its eyes quickly settling on Ruk-Ruk. He half-raised his axe in a guard before realizing that this insectoid, from its alarmed and frozen stance, seemed as surprised to see someone else here as he must have. If this creature intended to attack him, it didn't show.
He lowered his axe and cleared his throat uncertainly. "Uh, well met?" He addressed it in the trade language of Faerun, hoping but not expecting the creature to be versed in it.
"Eh? Oh, greetings," replied the creature, laboriously working a complex jaw not well-suited to the sounds of the common tongue. "And atologies. Dranches slittery ut there." It pointed into the trees above.
"'Dranches'? Ruk-Ruk not get--oh, branches! All understood now." Clearly, this bug-person couldn't use certain sounds that a being with lips could. Given a mouth like that it was quite an accomplishment to pronounce what it could. In a way, it was a comfort to meet someone who also had troubles with Common.
The creature nodded. "That's 'at I said. Dranches. I thell. Hey, did you just say your nane is Ruk-Ruk?"
"Aye. Why you ask, bug-man?" He had no need to hide who he was, but the hint of recognition in that question had his attention.
"I ha' heard o' you. Ny thriends told ne stories o' an orc-nan called Ruk-Ruk. He thit your descrichun, and you carry his nane. Do you kno' Sironus? Or her thriends, Thalstathh and Qari? They say Ruk-Ruk is a strong and accontlished 'arrior." The mantoid's attempt at Falstaff's name caused Ruk-Ruk to chuckle to himself, but he felt he might be getting the hang of its speech. So, it knew his friends somehow, did it?
"Ruk-Ruk knows them well. But he wonders, how you know them? And just who is this bug-person who drops in on Ruk-Ruk so suddenly? Indeed, Ruk-Ruk have many questions for you, including, 'why we still standing in rain?'" He grinned at his own joke and gestured to his lean-to "tent".
The mantid studied it warily, as if it were an aging animal ready to die at any moment. It held up a clawed, three-fingered hand in a gesture of refusal as it reached into its pack with two more hands, withdrawing a large cloak. Before Ruk-Ruk could ask its intentions the creature had spoken an unintelligible command word and the cloak began transforming into a small tent, magically staking itself to the ground. "Nuch detter," it announced proudly, and climbed in.
* * * * *
Tix was its name as Ruk-Ruk soon discovered, or at least that was the pronounceable portion of its name, and it was a he. Frankly, he was unable to discern any features one way or the other, but if he insisted he was male, Ruk-Ruk was not about to argue it.
It seemed Tix had met Ruk-Ruk's ex-travelling companions, the Fellowship of the Firebrand, during one of his many demon-hunting forays into the heart of Myth Drannor (his rapid departure from the latest of these being what brought him so suddenly crashing down). There, he had helped them discover the location of a hidden grove with a golden tree secreted deep inside one of the old schools of wizardry in the ruins. By his recounting of events, it was requested of them by a drow mage of no small skill. Ruk-Ruk was sure he didn't like the sound of that, but he put the thought off for another day and focused on the moment at hand. It was difficult sometimes to understand this strange person, and he needed his full attention.
"I an a thri-kreen," Tix was explaining in response to Ruk-Ruk's query as to why he so passionately hunted the demons residing in the remains of the city. "Not so long ago, I lithed in a tride anong others like nyselth in the great desert 'est o' here. Sintle hunters 'ere 'e, unused to the outside lands. Only I renained athter the denons cane.
"So I trained long and hard anong the derthishes of the Dedine hoonans, (setheral years in thact, a longer tine anong ny kind than ethen hoonans or orcs, thor 'e not lith long at all), al'ays going 'erether I heard o' denons hurting innocents. My trathels took ne near and thar, and 'en I heard o' a whole city o' ny thoes, it'd'a caused the stirits o' ny drothers and sisters great ang'ish to do anything other than go here. 'Two denon deaths to ethery thri-kreen killed' I s'ore, and to ny oath I hold, and a thew dozen nore ith I can nanage it." He punctuated this last with a wink of one large, faceted eye.
Ruk-Ruk nodded half understandingly and half in confirmation of his own assumptions. He heard similar tales nearly everywhere he went, of course. The spirit of vengeance travelled swiftly, and with similar results no matter where it settled. It was probably best, then, to keep his own heritage to himself. He liked this strange bug-man; the more the talked, the more they seemed to have in common. Rather than tempt an irrational response, he would be better served just keep quiet on the matter. Not all had had the benefit of a teacher of understanding as he had. In fact, this gave him an idea...
"Ruk-Ruk sees a common goal for himself and bug-man. He thinks Tix and he should maybe travel together, since Tix intends to head back to Myth Drannor anyway. He searches for fiends too, and could use guidance though yon ruins. And extra hands to hammer justice into skulls of enemies never hurt, either. What say you?"
Tix blinked his compound eyes once. "Oth course. I took that as githen, ny tusky acq'aintance. Dy the dy, any'ne ether tell you you talk a dit thunny?"
Ruk-Ruk stared blankly for a moment, then groaned and smacked his hand to his face. He added "sense of humor" to the list of things he would have to get used to with Tix. The "keekeekee!" of the mantid's laughter chirped, echoing, into the night.