The "imprisoned" huntsman, to use such a term quite lightly in the context of the ploy they lived through and with in this moment, found himself in the company of other chain-bound bodies. Some seemed to be those of Greenest, though the man knew nothing of them that rubg familiar short of that, and some outsider from a place he had even less knowledge of given it was only their dialect and accent that exposed them as an obvious foil to the rural, scared folk he knew well now. It was no less mundane the work they had them doing, but what was odd about it was the sheer amount of armed guard who kept watch on the camp over them, as though their task held some higher importance.
That or there were just many where he was, but the speechless warrior did not bother to debate it any further when, upon one of his many trips as a bearer of their burdens, did the crate he seemed to carry feel almost alive. It was almost as if an animal was sealed within the box, but the man knew otherwise from the start - no beast would be so calm or content normally. Something else had to be at work here, especially as they trusted to and fro from the mouth of a cave and back.
On one such journey, as the silent warden worked in plain sight, his eyes drifted to a strange gathering of poles in the camp. They seemed ritualistic at first, almost totems or a standing of some sort of symbolic structure, but as he focused on them, oddly two figures seemed bound to them. Immediately the thought of their purpose being more mythical and mystic disappeared and a more reasonable recognition settled in thought. This was not to say his hunches were correct or even apt, but they struck him as nothing short of a place of punishment.
Why else would people be tied to such things like beasts of the herd right before their slaughter? Nothing else seemed sacrificial in this sense, not that he had any luck or any attempt in evading his work thrust on him, but it seemed reasonable. They were either examples to be made public, those that failed the cult or something else.
Such musings and thoughts were not allowed a long period of maturation for as his tasks moved him elsewhere in time. Now he found himself working among the common men, the captives yet, in their shantytown of twiggy, filthy tents and muddy paths. This elicted a reasonable perception from the woodsman, who was so tied to nature at its eternal and inexplicable roots, of contempt which welled up from within him; nothing seemed to be redeemable about this cult. The only credible, reasonable answer in time was righteous rage...
All he could do now in this moment was to hope his companions in hiding would find out more than what he managed, as the most he could relay was his suspicions their missing monk laid either in the land of the tents or among the odd poles. Until then, he busied himself with ears and eyes wide open to whatever else came his way. The "hard labor" was more tedious than strenuous as it were anyway, the sort of thing that laid to rest any sort of mental exercise.
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Irredeemable
That or there were just many where he was, but the speechless warrior did not bother to debate it any further when, upon one of his many trips as a bearer of their burdens, did the crate he seemed to carry feel almost alive. It was almost as if an animal was sealed within the box, but the man knew otherwise from the start - no beast would be so calm or content normally. Something else had to be at work here, especially as they trusted to and fro from the mouth of a cave and back.
On one such journey, as the silent warden worked in plain sight, his eyes drifted to a strange gathering of poles in the camp. They seemed ritualistic at first, almost totems or a standing of some sort of symbolic structure, but as he focused on them, oddly two figures seemed bound to them. Immediately the thought of their purpose being more mythical and mystic disappeared and a more reasonable recognition settled in thought. This was not to say his hunches were correct or even apt, but they struck him as nothing short of a place of punishment.
Why else would people be tied to such things like beasts of the herd right before their slaughter? Nothing else seemed sacrificial in this sense, not that he had any luck or any attempt in evading his work thrust on him, but it seemed reasonable. They were either examples to be made public, those that failed the cult or something else.
Such musings and thoughts were not allowed a long period of maturation for as his tasks moved him elsewhere in time. Now he found himself working among the common men, the captives yet, in their shantytown of twiggy, filthy tents and muddy paths. This elicted a reasonable perception from the woodsman, who was so tied to nature at its eternal and inexplicable roots, of contempt which welled up from within him; nothing seemed to be redeemable about this cult. The only credible, reasonable answer in time was righteous rage...
All he could do now in this moment was to hope his companions in hiding would find out more than what he managed, as the most he could relay was his suspicions their missing monk laid either in the land of the tents or among the odd poles. Until then, he busied himself with ears and eyes wide open to whatever else came his way. The "hard labor" was more tedious than strenuous as it were anyway, the sort of thing that laid to rest any sort of mental exercise.
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Irredeemable
