A Trip to Mosshold
Fourth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC
"So... winged horses." Artaryon sighs as he looks on the barbarian with exasperation. "Weren't we here to see the living puddings?" he whined piteously.
"Later
yer jalan atthirari anni," Django said grinning like a loon. Not that had made any difference. "I have to see what these horses are made of!" he said as he scampered off to meet the handlers and the horses themselves.
A mite dejected, Artaryon Damaris proceeded to his destination anyway. His struggle with his muse has been a constant irritant this past moon turns. His Community, a quarter to be done but it still lack the spark. The climax. The pivotal point of his play that defines the story. This trip is to stir his muse again so that he may finally finish it before the Festival.
He stared at the quivering forms. Nope! Not the inspiration he was looking for. In fact, he was grossed out by their sheen. Like globs of dry fat ready to burst in gushy-
He was unable to complete his thought as he rushed away from the enclosure with a retch.
The sunning lizards were too ugly.
The fright fiends, more so. A pup? kitten? rushed at him, skin peeled of from its skull, yowling. He did not yell back and run away. Nope. Nothing of that sort happened.
The giant bugs that didn't bother appearing. Though the handlers swear they are in the ground... somewhere.
Visiting the tatooed lizards, who are in fact, feathered, "Toothy chickens, that's what they are..." he watched as
Bloodfeast was having his dagger sized teeth brushed,
Siegebreaker getting a mud bath, and
Dirgehorn lazily eating through a pile of apples. "The Three Terrors of Mosshold were nothing but pampered pets..."
Now truly dejected, he wandered about, walking towards Irony's herd, deeply contemplating what is it that he needs to complete the soul of his play? So deep are his musings, that Artaryon found himself almost colliding with a wall of flesh.
He blinked staring at the ugliest creature he has seen so far for the past year.
The beast snorted at him while huffing with a short hop, engulfing him with a strange scent. Not unpleasant, but something earthy and spicy?
Then he saw
her, a half-blood. An immigrant from Mantarys? The woman fussed at him and her beast, speaking in a tongue that sounded like gravel breaking apart. He tried talking to her in High Valyrian, but she shook her head and helplessly gestured. A few minutes pantomiming with each other and he managed to convey his apologies for startling Tilqua's? beast.
She looked lost. Like a newcomer in port, looking for a new life, knowing not a single person, not even the language-
Artaryon froze. His thoughts firing rapidly. He opened his mouth to speak, when a whoop of glee came from the sky as Django drops beside him astride a winged horse... Of course, dothraki!
"There you are,
yer jalan atthirari anni!" the barbarian managed to agitate the beasts again. And poor Tilqua sought to soothe her beasts. "Who's your new friend?"
Although a bit annoyed, Artaryon met his grin with his own. "My main character."
OOC Notes: yer jalan atthirari anni = dothraki for "moon of my life"
I hope you don't mind me borrowing Tilqua, @DragonParadox. I'd say it's logical for her to go to Mosshold to find feed for her beasts, would'nt she?