literature

Biter and Creep: Deadly Owl Monster (feat. Draug)

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The way was longer than advertised, but there was no complaining about the view. The first sign indicating “Deadly Owl Monster: For Sale or Trade” had been posted on a rain-damaged meadow post. It was both clear and confusing, but at the other, far edge of the field was another piece of paper, guiding the way. Isabella, the interested party whose curiosity had outweighed the descriptor of ‘deadly’, would find a litany of such brief advertisements guiding her way. She would cross the glorious expanse of grass and meadow flowers. Tall blades bending and waving gently in the rolling breeze. Beyond the meadows’s other edge was a small woods and a narrow brook, flowing though it was choked with weeds. Tall water-mint with pale lilac flowers, like dozens of tiny bells were growing at the edge of the brook. The way seemed welcoming enough, and encouraged she went on.
The trip was perhaps five days of walking, including the time it took to set and take down camp for one each night. Each night as the day grew old and the hearth called, as the sun sank down beneath the tree tops, Isabella was given ample reason and opportunity to turn around. There was always either the sight or sound of another flapping advertisement. The light streaking through the boughs in both brilliant and shadowy beams illuminating the inspiring words ‘Deadly Owl Monster’ and those crude words continued to bring her hope.
By the time she’d trudged through the first uphill forest, on through a few more fields, and around a large, marsh, Isabella found herself in the valley beneath the mountains. Broad day illuminating the greens into virescent riots. Even on the rolling hills Summer’s sun had summoned flowers into bloom alongside their tall, weedy cousins. There were birds above, calling as they retreated from the distant forest that skirted the roots of the mountains.There was very little movement in the area. Small mammals mostly, accidently seen and then quickly hidden. There was yet another stream here, rolling down from the grey stones at the peak. It rolled quietly down from the sharp rocky scree slopes and formed a few waterfalls that were visible from here. It wound into a thick river that rolled onto towards the wet moor lands, but there was no sign. No additional advertisement stood posted anywhere around here. The only hint that this place knew even the slightest human habitation was an almost hidden, narrow path that wound around the valley and dove into the woods.
By the time Isabella had gotten there, the forest was chilled. Despite the day’s notable heat, the shelter of the forests’ high, spreading canopy of green provided a distinct and unfriendly chill.
The further she went, the more the sky vanished. By the time night actually fell, it was almost completely gone. Only a few fragments of dark blue remained -- like scattered pieces of an impossible jigsaw puzzle. The air was rich with the fragrance of leaves and loam. Damp too. Even without any signs of a recently passing rain, the soil remained wet and rich. The movements and cries of distant birds had ceased, but the sound of running water remained. It had the same, hypnotic quality as the bird music. Colder though. Devoid of life, lending to the entire areas air of isolation.
Isabella was gathering firewood, fretting about the potential that her owl mongers meant for her to climb the mountain, when she caught sight of a distant fire. The light flickered in the distance, and as her curiosity drew her nearer to the only signs of habitation she had seen in days the sounds of horses would indicate to her that she indeed had travelling company.
Two dopey draft horses and a big, jet black charger.
They were tied  to a tree not far from a living wagon. The wagon was highly decorated. Intricately carved, brightly painted, and even gilded on some of the ginger breading that coiled around the driver’s seat. It depicted very little of note, but was larger than most other wagons of its kind.
The fire was coming from around the far side of the wagon and Isabella could not see the people that she was approaching. Prudence dictated that she should investigate the campsite and potential owners before announcing her presence but, prudence would have kept the broken winged halfbreed far from this adventure in the very first place. Besides, Isabella was a bard and a bard’s bread and butter was traded in presence. So she called out to the camp before the firelight reached her, “Hallo’ camp! May I approach?”
There was no immediate reply to Isabella’s exclamation at first. The crackle of the campfire drowned out the distant creek and defined the darkness. Punctuated the vacancy of the world around her, and then was suddenly cut through by an alien bird sound.
A trilling but a rumble, like an avian growl. It was followed by several startling ‘eee-yuk, eee-yuk’ exclamations before the wagon shook violently side to side. Startled Isabella took a step back, not sure what manner of beast she had disturbed from it’s slumber or what sort of havoc it was about to reek.  
On either end of the colourful wagon, large white wings dipped in a faded black appeared. They flapped aggressively, and combined with a hop to bring the big bird up onto the roof and into view. An eagle, the size of a small horse. It looked around the forest’s edge a moment and then caught her with its yellow, serpent like eyes. He sounded another screeching alarm.
“Who approaches?” A voice suddenly demanded from the front of the wagon.
A tattooed, armored giant approached her, sword drawn. He was stepping over the wagon’s tree and despite his slow pace was making easy time in her direction.
“State your business.”
Now, assumptions usually only led to one thing in Isabella’s experience. She smiled brightly, in spite of the flash of naked steel and the brief nervous flutter of her own wings that she couldn’t quite suppress.
“Hail! I was traveling not too far from here, and I saw your fire, sir.”
She looked up toward the towering eagle, who was even now shifting his mottled toes along the near edge of the wagon to her. He levelled her with the same stare he might have given a small deer or rabbit, and clicked his beak. Isabella was sure she saw teeth glinting in his maw as the firelight illuminated sections of the monster’s feathers face. Yes. It could certainly be a monster! Though it was clearly not the correct type of bird for her mission.  Could this tall, steely gentleman be who she was looking for that was advertising sale of a fantastic flying creature? If he has one such creature, perhaps there was more?  
“There were signs pointing this way about an owl beast for sale. I was wondering, perhaps, if you have seen them and know if they lead up the mountain?”
As she mentioned the advertisements, Gneiss stopped his advance. The wulflund he had raised to point at her belly slowly lowered, and with incredulity the giant finally gave a moment’s assessment to the woman in front of him.
Some sort of fair-skinned, green eyed, silver haired being. She had that in common with Gneiss, whose crown of cold winter was all shades of greys and blacks but whose eyes were almost luminescent. Isabella’s human appearance broke down under examination, however. She carried behind her grey wings, barred with dark-dark grey. Her left wing was visibly damaged. Tattered in appearance, it drug behind her even while the other one was positioned more naturally.
Their differing attire denoted a lot of the differences between them as well. While Gneiss stood before her a gargantuan in full banded mail and black covering, Isabella stood in a plain, travelled green dress. It had been neatly patched a few times over and matched her cloak, but was nothing a person of minimal means couldn’t put together. She also carried a viola, which was her hilarious counterpart to the small armory visible on Gneiss. Knives, his sword, throwing axes, a bow.
Isabella wore something else of note, however. A blue stone, wrapped in gold, on a chain around her neck. Gneiss took quiet note of even more so than her wings.
With suddenly, Isabella’s potential owl-dealer came to a decision. Standing up straighter he let out a high pitched whistle, which instantly drew the attention of the white and black eagle.
“As you were!” he insisted sharply.
Biter, gargling out a protest, looked to Isabella again as he backed slowly across the roof of the wagon and eventually hopped down. Behind her, something unseen and previously unheard skittered back into the undergrowth before she could catch sight of anything more than a couple potential feathers.
“You’re looking for Aster,” Gneiss rasped quietly as he put his sword away. Without further explanation, the tall, lank stranger turned back towards the fire and strode leisurely back towards the fire.
The bard started forward at the rustling sound of something large moving behind her. With the steel sheathed neatly and a dismissal of her as a possible threat with his back turned to her, Isabella took his manner for a warm invitation. She hurriedly approached, mindful to give the wagon and the guard-eagle a wide berth. She did not want to give the beast an excuse to take a snap at her if it had been set to guard the wagon. She picked her way over the wagon tree, a task that took her longer than her spindly guide.
She advanced on the fire, speaking as she went.
“Thank you, sir,” she said before the heat of the fire reached her or the parties were fully in view, “Would you perhaps know where to find Aster?”
“I am here.”
As Isabella rounded the corner, she would find herself in an utterly different scene. The entirety of her journey had been an exercise in isolation, introspection and nature awareness. Suddenly, as she stepped to the other side of the wagon, she would find herself in a highly populated clearing.
There was the eagle to her right. He seemed even larger now that he was on the ground at eye level with her, and it purposely lifted its wings out to the side and puffed up imposingly as she passed. Just past him were the first people that Isabella had come across in quite a long time. One was obviously Gneiss, in the process of sitting himself back down at the fire. Beyond him was Hemlock, a still quite tall man who was barely licked by firelight as he attended several tanning racks and treating the hides strung there. He was fair skinned, but in the orange of the firelight and his tawny natural hair color he was nearly camouflaged with the skins he was tending. Not knowing Hemlock, he still did not seem like he was probably ‘Aster’. Aster looked like Aster.
Aster was a behemoth, even sitting down. Despite the absence of anyone, for days, but Isabella and these fellows both Aster and Gneiss apparently saw fit to sit around the fire in full armor wearing all weapons and looking grave.
Gneiss clearly had say over the eagle crouching by the cart, but he was not the only one to possess a bird. As Isabella approached Aster stood to receive her, and on his broad shoulder bobbed an oversized raven. It gripped the back rim of Aster’s armor with one foot, and the other gripped the curled horn of his snarling, inhuman pauldron. Like the white and black eagle this bird bore a supernatural quality to it. It watched Isabella with the same bright blue eyes as its master, and carried an unusual white patterning.
“You’ve come to inquire about my monster?”
Aster’s presence commanded attention. He was an impressive figure towering over her, dressed as he was for war like some god of old with his familiar perched on his shoulder, “Yes, sir.”
Her manner was easy going and light, a genuine smile on her features. The bard now was closer to being in her element than she had the entire isolated expedition to this point. She spoke with her hands and body as well as her words and painting a picture of her journey with flowing gestures to accent her speech, “I followed signs this way, for sale or trade. Before those I had heard some stories in my traveling about Stryx’s, giant dragons in the shapes of birds, big enough to ride! I have to admit, sirs it made me curious and I would like to do business with you. I see the eagle, and the crow, is the owl nearby?”
She wanted to paint enough of a picture to show that she was interested, but not too interested. Some sellers drive the price of a creature up the more that someone shows an interest in it and it can be hard work to bring such a price back down to a reasonable agreement.  
Aster nodded and walked to the back of the wagon. Opening the door and disappearing inside momentarily he, emerged again in a flurry of frantic wing flapping and a chorus of peeping as his carefully balancing crow communicated with a small owl whose feet were both gripped in the armored giant’s hand.
The owl was smaller than any of the other bird’s present. It was deep black with minimal marks of white on a few of its feathers. Furthermore, it did not seem particularly pleased to be held in such a way.
“This is the beast,” he explained as he turned and extended the owl towards Isabella.
Gneiss had been listening intently from the background, his eyes glued primarily to the soft, adaptive movements and expressions of Isabella. The trio had grasped that these were less birds than monsters, and Gneiss had known that they would grow large enough to ride on, but the notion of them being an avian form of dragon was news to everyone here. Also the name, stryx, was a new concept.
The bard’s eyes widened and she blinked. She was not expecting to be offered to hold the beast right away! This one, smaller than its companions as it might be, was still the size of the largest of the rat catching cats she’d seen before.  
Not quite knowing what to do, her wings tucked themselves as tightly as they could to her figure as she stepped forward. To do nothing, might insult the sellers and she was at the disadvantage all truth be told.  Before she reached out to young dragon, she twisted a length of her cloak around her non-dominant hand and offered it as a steady perch for the green eyed, squawking, flustered puff of feathers.
“How old is it, sir?”
Perhaps the stories of being large enough to ride were not so true at all, as large as this bird was, he still did not rival the size of a dog, let alone the horse he would have to be to be big enough to ride. Still, there was the oddness of the teeth in the beak and the long thin whipping tail underneath what looked to be a normal avian set of feathers. Just odd enough to be a monster but maybe just a small one currently.  
“Do you breed them?”
“Recently hatched,” Aster assured her, reaching up to brush the chest feathers of his own bespeckled corva as he kept close watch on the bird-winged bard and her interactions with the simpering little owl, “only a few weeks old.”
“That one--” Aster redirected her attention to the leering eagle crouched not far from their current interaction, “is a number of months. They grow quickly...when fed gross amounts.”
Gneiss’ eyes drifted to Aster, contemplating his leader’s assertion of pseudo-facts with a completely internalized chuckle that died in the venom of Aster’s previous distaste for the entire idea of bringing the birdgons on in the first place.
“We purchased them,” Gneiss told her from his seated position, “as eggs.”
“From a gentleman passing through,” Aster added. He continued Gneiss’ reshaping of the truth without fault, despite their not having agreed to any such story. Gneiss had taken irritating initiative, but that was not nearly enough to throw Aster off, “But this one is...extra and lacks the viciousness we’re looking for in our stock.”
There was the unfamiliar feeling of Isabella’s arm being gripped in a vice as the smallest stryx found his footing and was released from the giant’s hands. For the first few moments the vice was nearly unbearable and the claws pricked her even between the layers of cloth she used.  The bird fluttered its wings, shuffling feathers back into place and shedding a few pieces of down.  Then it relaxed and focused its eyes on the new perch. With a head bob it adjusted its sight and took stock of the bard.
Isabella, to her credit, only briefly grimaced at the feeling of its claws on her arm. With her attention divided as it was between the bird and Aster she almost missed the nuances of the speech that painted a completely different picture than what they wanted to portray. She knew better than to ask how they managed to keep an egg warm without the mother, but certainly did believe that they did not wish to keep the owl by how it was handled alone. Now the owl stryx was actively investigating the bard, and her wings. It reached over with a tentative gesture and nibbled at a feather on her shoulder. Curious.
She looked up at Aster as he continued to talk, and with practiced ease stilled the urge to twitch the corners of her mouth. She was not here to be rude. A good lie took practice. She would commend them on the effort alone. Still, it was exceedingly difficult to pull the wool over on someone who made trade in songs and stories.
Isabella had to make several choices very quickly. The only easy one was that she was going to make an offer to take the little dragon with her.  Morals dictated that she searched for the rightful owner, and hopefully find a decent ending to what clearly is a case of ‘more to the story’. If no harm was brought to pass, she’d not throw a word of suspicion in the direction of Aster and his cohorts.  She grew up on the less manicured areas of town, where sleight-of-hand had more value than a singing voice.  Everyone had to make a living in some way. Sometimes being less than honest- put bread in the belly.
She ventured with a tentative finger to touch the owl on the chest. The stryx nibbled at her finger before allowing her to touch him and she stroke him gently as she spoke, “ So you are looking to be rid of him?”
There was a curious lit to her voice, in the  world of barter and bargain she had scored a clear point in her favor. If they were looking to just ‘get rid’ of something of lesser value.
“As said, he is too good natured for our purposes,” Aster explained, continuing to watch the small black owl’s interactions with the Isabella, It was eerily similar to the assessing eye she’d been given by the eagle before, and made no more ominous by the raven shifting around his shoulders and croaking provocations at the owl on her arm.
“We don’t have no use for him,” he added, lifting his eyes from the bird to make strong eye contact with the girl before him, “we considered using him as a training tool. Grow him up. Let the other birds practice on him. Gneiss would have liked very much to let Biter over there learn about tearing apart an airborne opponent, but I am of the opinion that someone may put greater value in him than we do.”
Aster waited for a couple moments, hushing his shoulder-mounted partner by pressing a finger on the bottom of the black bird’s beak. It quietly hissed before allowing its master to continue uninterrupted, “Am I mistaken?”
The bard knew by the hard look in Aster’s eyes that he was serious about his statements. He had no use for the owl but could make a use for it if needed. She had the good graces to know when she had been boxed neatly, though she had not counted on being cornered so efficiently and effectively. She smiled at Aster, he got her good.  He figured her nature out before she had fully grasped his.
“You would not be.”
The owl sidled up Isabella’s arm to nibble at her hair, and continued to ignore the insults of his brother on the giant’s shoulder.  “So it has come to compensation then. What value for your owl monster were you considering as adequate payment, sir?”
She raised one silvered eyebrow. The little stryx was clearly not the product advertised for days on end as it preened the ends of her hair and offered a quiet chirrup. She suspected that it was attempting to charm her, working more in favor for Aster than herself at the current moment. She did not look to have anything of value upon her person besides the bright blue stone wrapped in gold, and the musical instrument case still strapped to her back but her manner of speech and how she held her body spoke that she was willing to trade seriously but unwilling to show payment until she knew where his starting point was.
This was the first stryx she had ever attempted to own afterall. What’s the value of a monster that isn’t monstrous?  
It was Aster’s turn to give Isabella a moment of silent assessment. Folding his arms, Isabella’s adversary took a moment to consider what the winged woman before him had of value about her. Unlike Gneiss, who had defined her very much by her wings, clothing, lack of armor or arms and few possessions of value, Aster sought much different information. Whatever it was, and however he found it, his eyes halted on her travelling viola. Only then did the spark of interest ignite behind those walls of glacial indifference he’d been strolling across her for longer than was necessarily polite.
“What do you do?” he requested, “as a profession.”
She noted his look and though she was used to crowds of people staring at her, or her wings, the intensity of his stare made her uncomfortable and her wings shifted behind her. The stryx noticed her distress and bobbed his head several times peeping at her curiously.
Her demeanor changed and her mood lightened considerably just as soon as Aster spoke the last word. The question he asked sparked Isabella into animation, much to the little owl’s chagrin as he fluttered his wings to keep balance. She bowed in a modified gesture of the court mindful of the owl hanging from one arm. “ A bard, sir! A player, a minstrel. My trade is in song and music, sometimes with a trick or two.”
And she emphasized trick with a flash of silver that appeared only as quickly as it had disappeared. So she advertised payment and hopefully distracted enough to keep whatever thought that had prompted such an unnerving stare in the first place away.
“Interesting,” Aster considered with a nod.
He turned his eyes askance to the soldier seated fireside, and the least, armored member of their party who had only recently returned from his drying racks to park himself in the dirt. The three shared a wordless exchange before he turned to face her again.
“Are we to understand that you travel from settlement to settlement spinning tales? Speaking to all sorts, about all manner of things, is that right?”
The crow on Aster’s shoulder made a low, murmuring noise in his master’s ear, and Aster smiled, “You may be in luck, in that I maybe willing to take a decreased payment in exchange for the use of your tongue.”
She took note of the silent communication which only piqued her curiosity. Her curiosity was one of her more dangerous weaknesses.
The bard tilted her head curiously much like the young stryx would on her shoulder, “What tales would you have me weave?”  
It would have to be something interesting indeed.
“We would require two things of you,” Aster explained, “the first relates directly to our profession. Gneiss, Hemlock and I are mercenaries. We are swords for hire, of the highest calibre. Descended from a war-like civilization as old as the mountains’ routes. Our people know no equal on the field of battle, and we yearn to prove our prowess to the world at large once more. You could serve as an advertisement. It is difficult for us to get much word our from our current position, so for you to travel telling of us would be of significant benefit.
“The second request is much like the first. Though our people are ancient, proud and capable...you are currently in the presence of the remaining members it has. That we know of. We have good reason to believe that any others of our kind who still lived would know to return here, but if you sought them by name. Told them where to rejoin us...that would be of great use to us.”
It was a hard thing to restrain her interest and in fact she failed to do so in many ways. She leaned forward a bit, her green eyes brightened and her attention was completely focused. If it wasn’t for the second part, she would have wrote the first as grandeur but have been willing to trade advertisement in exchange for a ‘discount’ on the black owl dragon. The second part of the request lent credence to the first and if it was any other day in any other place, she likely would have offered her services for free. Good stories bring coin in for her as well. The stryx on her arm seemed perturbed by these serious goings-ons about him and his head swiveled comically between the two speakers.
The bard leaned back and shifted from foot to foot. There was something else to consider, and she certainly was bold enough to ask about it now.
“This, I can do. And would do. You knew that.” It was not an accusation she leveled against Aster but a statement of fact and a wry smile softened the declaration further. “I would have a single condition upon my acceptance of this bargain, and it requires the simplest truth to a solitary question.”
She searched his face and held his gaze. Her presence could not and would not compete with his but she had a good idea about body language and lies. She was seeking the facts that his face could give away.
“Was the gentleman who sold you these stryx harmed in their liberation?”
Aster did not hesitate, and might not have even if her concerns had been founded. There was no reason to delay giving Isabella the information that she wanted.
“Their breeder was unharmed, and will hardly miss their presence.”
“We’ve never needed to partner with anyone to obtain work before,” Gneiss muttered to the fire, mostly because he had known Aster long enough to anticipate the look that was levied against him, “Take her money, Aster, and let’s be done with her.”
“We cannot afford to be short sighted,” Aster informed the side of Gneiss’ head before turning back to Isabella, “We have no trouble surviving out here, and armies with whom we have found employ in the past remember the devastation we offer...but if we are to thrive we cannot remain utterly isolated.”
“We have the birds--” Gneiss began to protest before Hemlock looking at him and shaking his head brought the soldier’s protests to an abrupt if frustrated stop,
“People need to know who we are, where we come from and what we are capable of,” Aster explained, “We require some payment as reimbursement for the care already given your bird, and the rest of his purchase can be considered owed in words. Much as I knew you would accept the offer...I am certain we can trust you to hold up your end of such a deal.”
The wings on her back fluttered and a smile grew on Isabella’s face. There was little to lose in this grand adventure that was only going to prove even more magnificent than she could have imagined in the first place. Who could guess that she would be the central storyteller for such a grand scale saga? It was all she could do to keep a measure of dignity about her and not let the excitement of such a prospect completely cloud judgement.
She stepped forward to the towering battle-scarred man and stuck out her right hand unoccupied as it was by a clinging stryx, “A bargain well struck, sirs. I am Isabella. I will not disappoint.”
She would not strike such a bargain if there was a chance that she would. She was too visible, too easily noticed and spotted to give false assurances of her word.  
“To the question of compensation, I do hope that this will be enough?”
She pulled out a small drawstring coin bag that had to have been hidden somewhere on her person. Weighing it in her hand for a moment, she presented it to Aster directly. It was heavy enough to have a couple of gold pieces in it and no small amount of silver. She had been prepared to deal legitimately when the time had arrived.
Aster took the purse from her and opened it to briefly examine the contents. Squinting, he tossed it through the fire’s highest jumping flames to be caught by the sure and heavily tattooed hands of Hemlock. He quickly stood up and shuffled towards the wagon with it, mouthing nonsensically as he went.
“This is suitable. The deal is made,” Aster asserted as he watched Hemlock disappear into the wagon, which clamored upon his entry in a way that had been lost before to Biter’s violent shrieking. The living space certainly wasn’t large enough for all three of them to actually be living in, and the chime of metal-on-metal may give Isabella the correct impression that their living wagon was as much a mobile homestead as it was a rolling armory.
Gneiss sneered, and his hostility was mirrored by eagle across the camp from him who continued to leer menacingly at the woman who had so agitated his handler. He sunk his talons into the dirt, both knew the danger as well as the ineffectiveness of protesting Aster’s decision too far.
“Pleasure to have you as part of the business,” Aster finalized. The final word on the arrangement, “I am Aster. These are Gneiss, my man-at-arms, and Hemlock, and inventor and my advisor in all things. Now...come sit. Let me tell you about us.”
A combination of efforts between myself and cloudstar-wolf in her acquisition of her first little stryx. 

AP breakdown:

Biter: Lit 5201wc (26) + Rider (2) + Member Stryx (2) = 30
Creep: Lit 5201wc (26) + Rider (2) + Member Stryx (2) = 30
Draug [owner cloudstar-wolf ]: Lit 5201wc (26) + Rider (2) = 28
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