Pyxis - The Wayfinder - Red - Scouts, resourceful rangers and skills with the land. To my eyes they're humorless but dependable. They say a soldier in red leading the way is the surest step one can take.
1:
[[Keyta rambled on as you strode beside the armored lizard. For a woman of her age and experience, she chattered like she was some new merchant. You know better though. This being the third outpost you've escorted her to on your trade route, she seemed to change entirely when surrounded by foreigners. All business and confidence then, sharp tongue and steady arm with a weapon. You've been enjoying this guide and guard run more than most.
But it was in situations like THESE that really reminded you that the merchant was a fellow clanswoman, more than her wanderlust... Now, harassment at the border to the swamplands was certainly nothing new... but a client not asking to meekly move on was.
"Look, rules like this are to keep your kind out of here. We don't want any trouble from you Pyxis thugs." The guardsman pushes up his potbelly and hooks his thumbs in his belt with an air of bullyish self importance. Keyta glances at you, then back at the casks. You had a job to do, and this priss was right in the way. "You aint got no passport, you aint got no clearance here."
"That right?" Keyta drawled, a casual hand to the heavy leather whip coiled at her belt. You didn't have to be told the plan twice.
"That's right." The large man sneered.
You stretch, not making much of a show of it. Then it's just a simple matter: you wind back and punch the city lovin' bastard right in his paunchy face. That was one heck of a satisfying crack, only made better as the son of a squidrat rolls on the cobblestones, blubbering about a lil old broken nose.
"That's me passport," Keyta grinned, leathery skin wrinkling as she sauntered past the guard. You nudge the armored lizard forward and it trundles ahead, pulling the cart and casks through the gate even as the two other watchman rushed forward. You just get ready for the brawl, unwilling to relinquish your cargo of wine to sell for the festival.
You can't help but think, as you trip up the first sot, that [Soldier] would only approve heartily of this as a proper Third Birth celebration.]]
2:
[You can't help laughing. After all of that nose in the air, gap toothed bragging, there Cheva went again, holding on desperately to the [bearbee]. The giant thing looped and ducked, it spiraled and bobbed, trying to buck the young warrior off of it. It would have been... no it WAS dangerous... just so ridiculous, the wide expression and desperate hugging of the creature as it dove by again and again.
"Let go!" You shout between bouts of laughter.
"Are you insane?!"]
Concept: Punk school uniforms
Top piece: Button-down short-sleeved shirts (m/f)
Bottom piece: Trousers (m), pleated skirts (f)
Outer piece: Jackets
Accessory: Fingerless gloves
Footwear: Ankle boots, socks (m), high socks (f)
[There is the gentle sound of a shuttle moving through taut thread, and as the memory settles deep, your eyes open to the familiar garments of your kin on both yourself and those around you, dyed proud and bright.
City wear, for sure, but always practical. Short-sleeved collared shirts of fine threaded, plain-woven panna, closed with buttons of polished marwok bone. Trousers of good cort on the menfolk, and knee-high, pleated skirts of the same for the ladies; above the knee or not, ain't no one who'd call it indecent to a lass's face. Not one who didn't want an up-close view of the clan's favourite glove design: fingers free for delicate work, palms and knuckles guarded under the same slick leather as the jackets that covered their arms, collared v-necks more often than not hanging loose and open, for all that there's always tough wire hooks and eyes to close them.
Could always tell a Pyxis most by their feet, though. High socks on the ladyfolk, sure, short on the men. But the real sign was over those. Boots of [badgercrock] hide, always, thick-soled and lacing up their ankles. Business shoes, those—not that business never came with a bit of pleasure.]
Sprawling plains
[The sky is perhaps the first sight of note... Expansive, almost so wide and unobstructed you might fall into it and its swirl of stars and milky, glittering paths above. A single red moon waxes above, but the silver light of a larger, bluish moon casts what seems to be a false dawn in the north.
Around you, the lands are flat, dusty.. the dirt an almost ruby red that clings stubbornly to your boots and pants or skirts, but certainly not barren for being in the lee of the great mountain range. Trails of brush, deep rooted blue grasses, and even fruit trees, laden with summers gifts marks the winding paths of the many, many rushing underground rivers this land boasts of.
Your path seems to follow one of the rushing waters, you can hear it gurgling below your feet, and the healthy grass rustle beneath your footfalls, the northward path was still miles to the village but a sure route. To the west, however, as if catching the moonlight itself and spinning it around itself... a strange cloud seems to spin, and drift further to the west, towards a spring.]
Decision point one
Northward
[As you continue along the river ways, you settle into that easy rhythm that just seems to chew through miles. There’s a low hanging tree your path follows that you need to duck under to avoid the branches slapping you in the face. The green path seems to continue to the north.]
West
[As you follow the whirling dust and wind, it seems to pause, circling madly in place as you approach the spring. The spring itself doesn’t look particularly impressive, muddied, but deep water stretches out, feeding some brush without the benefit of the flowing waters below.]
[Every now and then, as you watch... you fancy you can see a form of a man in the swirling wind... the light off of a shoulder or a line of the face... There is no distinct form as much as the occasional hint.
You can still see back the way you came from here.]
Decision point two
[You are in the middle of a vast open plane. There’s a low hanging tree your path follows that you need to duck under to avoid the branches slapping you in the face. You hear water nearby.
The green paths seem to go are north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, and northwest.]
[You are in the middle of a vast open plane. There’s a low hanging tree your path follows that you need to duck under to avoid the branches slapping you in the face. You hear water to the east.
The green paths seem to go are north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, and northwest.]
[You are in the middle of a vast open plane. There’s a low hanging tree your path follows that you need to duck under to avoid the branches slapping you in the face. You hear water to the north.
The green paths seem to go are north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, and northwest.]
[As you head to the northeast, the uneasy feeling of going in circles seems to cease... Up ahead, you see the trading post you are seeking ahead. It is only a ]
[Riddle]
Boss
[The spirit whirls furiously. Sand stings and whips around you, and the face amidst the small tornado stretches wide, eventually filling the whole of the whirlwind until everything seems to stop and there is a black gaping hole hovering in the air............
And it begins to inhale, drawing air in and dragging you across the dirt.]
--Ikki: "a scout from Pyxis." [NEEDS MORE STALKING]
--"Well, you know how they get. 'No time for a bath! I have trails to blaze! Adventures to have!'"