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Hozaar
Apr 8, 2005 16:13:48 GMT
Post by Aurac on Apr 8, 2005 16:13:48 GMT
A year ago while a wizard on AA, I began writing some stories. I have great difficulty in being creative, so writing these was a sort of mental therapy for me. This story was an idea destined to be an area, but of course, I'm not longer a wiz on AA.
Enjoy.
--Aurac
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Hozaar
Apr 8, 2005 16:14:13 GMT
Post by Aurac on Apr 8, 2005 16:14:13 GMT
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Hozaar is a huge, brutish sort of man. He has long golden hair, huge arms the size of small trees, and rough bronzed skin. He travels the North along with his massive feline companion, Kyra. Together they range through the mountains, the valleys, swim the lakes and rivers, and camp under the twinkling night sky.
In the winter, Hozaar heads south to the small town of Norton--the town of his upbringing--to sell off his pelts, stock up on supplies, and trade stories with the storyteller. The children love the white tiger, and they flock to the storyteller's hovel to play with her and to hear of Hozaar latest conquests. He tells them about the polar bear he wrestled, or the elk that he chased for ten stadia. If the children behave themselves, he even tells them the story of how he'd once challenged a yeti to a wrestling match and won. Yes, Hozaar is a hero to the little ones, and rightfully so. He is the best pelter in the North, and as strong as an ox! When spring comes around again, Hozaar loads up his packs with all of the supplies he needs-- which isn't much, really, as he lives off the land quite well. Warkall makes sure to give Hozaar some of his best booze, and Laila always insists he takes a bottle full of her "healing" water (though he suspects it really does nothing). Hozaar says his goodbyes, as does Kyra in her own special way. The pair turn toward the big open and head north to the rugged terrain, the beautiful meadows, the ancient snowy peaks, and the cold rivers.
Hozaar's mother had grown terribly sick back home on the farm in Arcadia. His father couldn't afford the medicine she needed. Father stayed by her nearly day and night, only leaving briefly each night to make Hozaar his dinner. After she had passed, Hozaar's father decided that it was time to move on. To leave the farmland and explore lands they'd only heard about. The land of the North. He wanted to find gold so that his family would never have to suffer again. When they reached Norton, they recieved a warm welcome into the community and it didn't take long for Hozaar to make friends with the other children. His father took up prospecting, while Hozaar spent most of his time in the pub listening to the tales of the frontier, or with the storyteller, listening to the tales of the south. Hozaar's father quickly became a talented gold prospector. Too talented, unfortunately. He'd struck it rich, and in a fit of paranoia, he alienated the townsfolk including his very own son. He ran from Norton only to become lost in the forest and ultimately killed by a grizzly bear. After the funeral service, Hozaar wiped his tears, whispered goodbye, and walked into the forest. He took nothing with him but his new pet tiger cub. It had been given to him by a stranger that had recently visited Norton with tales of lands far, far away. He had named her Kyra, after his mother. She was a beautiful cub with white fur and light grey stripes, and nearing a cubit in length. Hozaar planned to teach her how to hunt and live in the wild, and to teach himself as well.
Hozaar grew fond of his new friend Elinom at the ranger camp. The old dwarf was always updating him on the exploits of adventurers that had passed through the camp. He was glad to see that the poor grump had something to keep his mind off of losing his family. Those ogres would pay, one day, Hozaar told himself. He'd scalp their leading giant and bring it to Elinom to ease his suffering.
He took a lesson or two from the old wise scout in the art of living off the land. The old man was a tough one, but that is to be expected of an old owl like him. Marika was a pleasant face to see, though Hozaar didn't see her as often as he'd liked. She only came to the camp on occasion, and he himself was often off wandering the woods. The tinker was a breath of fresh air as well. He always brought new stories from Nepeth and Tantallon that never ceased to amaze Hozaar. He intended to visit the south some day, but he didn't feel he was ready yet.
He trecked off to the northern tundra that summer, this time he intended to stay up there for a year. They fished and hunted. They picked berries and dried pipeweed. They gathered herbs and bird eggs. Summer passed quickly; as did autumn. Winter, then, became harsh. Blizzards swept through violently. He and Kyra found a vacant cave in the side of a mountain and built them a bed of pelts. They kept each other warm in the cold, cold nights. Hozaar took to writing during the days that the blizzard wouldn't let them out of the cave. He began keeping a journal to keep his mind off of the numbing cold. On the clear days, he and Kyra set out to hunt for food. At first they didn't find any food for nearly a week. Hunger almost took them when finally they lucked upon a couple of snow hares. As time passed, they learned how to survive off the cold, snow-covered land of the North. But before long, spring came upon them. The snows began to melt; the animals began to emerge from hibernation, and Hozaar and Kyra left their cave behind for good.
They continued pelting what animals they could hunt down themselves --Hozaar didn't approve of using traps. Finally summer had come. It had been a year. They'd done it. Hozaar spent the night beneach the stars. He lay with his head on Kyra's belly, listening to her breath in and out. He told Kyra about the constellations; the pictures that the stars made. He told her the stories behind the heroes and events depicting in the heavens. She'd heard the stories countless times, but she didn't mind hearing him tell them again. Hozaar's mind drifted from those stories to the memory of his father telling them to him. They'd lay out on a blanket in the grass, sometimes for hours. His father would point at a group of stars and say, "You see that one there, Son?" "No," Hozaar would reply. "The one with the three stars in a line, and then two stars intersecting." "Oh, yes. I see it. I see it now, father." "That, my son, is the hunter's axe. He was the greatest ranger to ever live." "Wow," the boy replied as he gazed up at the looming image of a huge double-bladed axe. "Legend has it," his father continues, "that the ranger led a huge army in a great war long, long ago. After they'd slaughtered the enemy, the man was grief-stricken." "Oh," Hozaar stared blankly at the axe, now covered in blood in his imagination. His father breathes as he relates the woeful story, "The great man vowed to his people that he'd never lead them to shed so much blood ever again. With all of the might be could summon, he hurled his doulbe-bladed axe into the sky as a reminder of that bloody day." Hozaar's father stood, smiled down at his son who was still gazing up at the axe in the sky. He turned and walked back into the farmhouse.
Kyra growled happily as she breathed a familiar smell. It was Norton. They were so close. Hozaar patted her flank and picked up his pace. He gave an unexpected yelp as excitement filled him with joy and he began running at full speed toward the town. Kyra kept her pace slower than she was truly able, but she tried not to let Hozaar notice that. They lept over bushes and the spring's newest saplings and the town's buildings became larger and larger. Hozaar grinned and kicked in his last burst of speed, but Kyra was probably just laughing at the silly human. Her best friend and most trusted companion. She had to let him win sometimes...
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