The small canyon was still burning. But all of the flammable fuel was almost gone, leaving just smoking ruin in its wake. Machine parts littered the ravaged campsite, along with several human corpses, each one sporting feathered hafts and a few deep lacerations, making it nearly impossible to decipher the cause of death. Supplies had been scattered, canisters of blaze glowing a sickening green beneath a no-color tarp. Shadow Carja weapons, discarded, many broken and useless.
Nothing moved. Nothing seemed alive.
Odd tracks led away from the battle, however, rough scrapes over stone, the dirt-hued rock stained with dark red. Up into the hills, away from the eyes and ears of preying machines, and well out of sight of any humans which might stumble across this small grotto. Traps had been set, half-camouflaged by the scrub, but there was no sound behind them, as if whoever might have placed them had gone on.
But no tracks led away from the small hiding place, although the scent of blood lingered, should anyone venture close enough to notice.
Bucky is a scavenger. All of the parts for his left arm have come from the ruins of machines he's killed or found killed along the way and when he comes across the burning camp, he can't figure out what's happened at first. There's clearly been a fight with humans involved; machines don't use arrows and blaze. The machines had come in at some point, though, and he doesn't know if some had been overridden and used as weapons or if it was an ambush to a skirmish already in progress.
He does notice the blood, though, and while the tracks are faint he is a good enough tracker to follow them to their source. His Focus keeps him from stepping into traps set along the way, too, and it's a good thing - any one of them could have injured him badly and left him easy prey for the next thing that came along.
The blood ends up on the hillside where the scrub covers things and Bucky calls out in a low voice.
"I know you're hiding. I can patch you up if you come out."
The only answer to the Oseram's voice was the sough of the wind, chillier now that the sun was beginning to set. Only the wind answered because the last survivor of the wild battle down below had finally lost consciousness about an hour ago, after she'd managed to drag herself away from the carnage, place at least two traps near the entrance of her burrow, and collapse into it, bleeding from too many places that she could successfully staunch.
But all of her quarry was dead, so at least it was a job well done. And she'd learned enough to know where to strike next, provided she survived long enough to make the trek. Her King was adamant to wipe out the Shadow Carja, and he'd sent his best and most lethal agent to see it happen. But the defilers were a force with which to be reckoned, hence their little surprise at this bloody skirmish.
She'd disabled the insane machines, nearly losing her life in the process. But she was a fighter, even lingering at death's very door.
When he doesn't get a response, Bucky moves forward and finds two more traps. They're good ones, too, better than the ones most of the hunters use and he wonders what kind of person has gone and set this many obstacles in the path of any would-be rescuer.
Or assailant, his mind supplies.
It takes time to disarm them but once he does, he's able to come closer and see that it's a woman who has snuck off into this scrub and she's still bleeding. She must be very clever to have set so many traps to keep herself safe and Bucky admires that. He kneels beside her and touches her shoulder lightly.
A curved Carja blade came streaking towards his head, but before it could hit, bloody fingers lost their grip and the dagger clattered to the rocky floor. Unfocused green eyes peered out from beneath a riot of tangled red curls, then rolled upwards as that final burst of strength cost her everything she had.
Mismatched but functional armor had come undone in several places, metal plates missing, laces broken, and skin streaked with red, red blood glared beneath Carja silks and Nora beading. She'd managed to haul her weapons with her; bow, bladed batons, and several satchels heavy with traps and resources.
But the woman herself could give no assent or protest; she lay in the dirt limp and unconscious, completely at the mercy of the one who'd discovered her hideaway.
Bucky has traded with enough Carja to know the look of their blades and their silks so it's evident where the woman is from soon enough. He pushes the the blade aside before pawing through the satchels to see if there was anything he could use for bandages.
To his surprise, there were not only bandages but healing herbs in one of them and he sets to work. Whatever fight she'd been in was a bad one and washing her wounds with water wouldn't be the best but it would have to do for now; he thinks he has enough supply to spare for this and then move her somewhere more safe.
"I'm just going to clean these and bandage them," he says softly. "Don't worry, all right? I don't mean you any harm."
She wasn't aware of being pulled from her burrow, nor was she aware of her wounds being washed, dressed, and bandaged. She didn't feel the fire's welcome warmth, nor the softness of furs beneath her bare skin. She didn't hear the crackle of machinery or whine of gears nearby. She'd pushed her body to the limit and beyond of exhaustion; blood loss only assisted in bringing her to the brink of nothingness.
When she finally did stir, several days later, the first thing she realized was pain. It tore through her like the cracking of the earth, like the sun's blinding rays slicing her all over again. She moaned, a weak sound, though inside it was a scream. Trying with all of her strength, she managed to open her eyes, but nothing focused. Yet, she was...warm, though terribly thirsty, as if she'd swallowed a sandstorm whole.
Bucky has been trying to get water into the woman as she's lain ill but now that she's stirring, he's hopeful that the worst of the infection has passed. He'd worried, with her wounds so deep and numerous, but if she's stirring now she has to be better.
He kneels beside her with water. "Don't try to sit up. I have a water bottle you can drink from," he says softly. "You have a lot of injuries. I treated them for you and I've been tending you in this cave for a few days. I made sure to cover our tracks."
She grabbed for it, spilling some on her wrist, but eventually managed to get the bottle's lip to her mouth, swallowing gustily. She had no idea where she currently was, only that she ached, she was dying of thirst, and she needed to heal as soon as possible.
The words were dim, but she gradually understood; someone had found her, brought her to safety, and had tended her wounds, which explained the bandages she'd discovered a few moments ago. But now was for getting as much water as possible to soothe her parched throat.
Her eyesight gradually focused, revealing a male figure, dark haired, kneeling at her...bedside, for lack of better, and Talia tried to sit up, but was resigned to simply a single elbow. And even that hurt. It took a few tries, but she finally managed to get some intelligible words out.
"My name is James," he offers gently. "And I want to make sure you're healed before you go anywhere, all right? You're not a prisoner. I found that decimated camp and saw the blood. You hid yourself well but I'm a very good tracker."
He doesn't think now is the time to mention he has a Focus that had aided greatly in the tracking because they're rare and if she knows what they are, she might feel threatened and try to lash out or, worse, try to steal it and make a run for it.
"Do you think you could take any broth or soup? I could make some for you."
Now that she could see him a little clearer, she realized that her savior was an Oseram; dark hair, bright eyes, swarthy, and...oddly kind. She was still hurt, and knew she needed to rest, and if this "James" had wanted to kill her, she'd be dead already.
Talia licked dry lips, falling back atop the furs. "...please," was all she said, closing her eyes in absolute exhaustion. She wanted to ask about her weapons, but didn't have the energy; she doubted she could even lift her bow right now, anyway.
Had she asked, James would have been happy to say that her weapons were there in the cave with them and he was ready to give them back as soon as she felt better. It's just safekeeping for now, that's all.
"It'll take a little bit to make something but I went hunting so I have something to make, at least, and don't have to go out yet. I'm assuming you had something to do with that decimated camp I found? I tried to make my own conclusions about it but I imagine the only person who knows the truth is you."
Even if she hadn't been so exhausted, she wouldn't have divulged the specifics of the campsite to an outsider. It was Carja business, and her king had been explicit. No survivors, no witnesses, and no explanations. Whatever this Oseram wanted to think was his own business.
Without opening her eyes, she said quietly, wooden. "It doesn't matter know. It's done and over." Although the horrors of what she'd seen wouldn't be fading any time soon. Shadow Priests invoking demonic rituals to corrupt machines. Feeding them human blood in sacrifice.
Her only regret was that those priests had met their end far too quickly.
"No, I guess it doesn't. I'm just sorry that you were hurt in it. It looks like it was a fierce fight." James cannot help but think that if he'd been there, he could have overridden the machines and at least have kept them from attacking the people there. If there was another fight, that was between the people involved, but machines can always be stopped.
"I could have stopped the machines if I came earlier," he says. He doesn't offer anything else on the matter, though, since the Carja woman doesn't seem to want to say anything further on it.
She didn't reply for a long moment, preferring to let the sounds of their surroundings speak instead. What she wasn't going to do was elaborate on the details about the campsite, or what had happened there. Finally, she spoke again, voice low and coarse.
"I don't have a home." Flat, matter-of-fact. "I go where the Sun sends me." As if that were all there was to it.
A shiver coursed over her, and for the first time, Talia realized that she was naked beneath the fur blankets. She abruptly opened her eyes and frowned over at her savior. "--where are my clothes?"
"I brought them with me," James says, going to retrieve them. "I had to take them off to bind your wounds but if you think you're well enough to put them back on, I can give them to you."
He'd kept them in a little bundle and it's easy to fetch them and bring them back to the Carja. He puts them next to her bedside.
"I can get water for you to bathe off a little if you think you're up to it?"
Upon further reflection, Talia realized that this Oseram had bathed her relatively well before tending her wounds, and getting his bandages wet wouldn't do either of them any kindness. Despite her fever, she was still a bit chilly, and opted to pull on her undertunic and leggings, at the least. The metal armor could wait, by the Sun.
"...thank you," she finally told him, all but exhausted by the effort of simply getting dressed. Her wounds throbbed, her head ached, and she wanted little more than to cuddle back into the furs and sleep until everything felt right again. But it would be rude, and dangerous, to simply languish, wouldn't it? Besides, she didn't know this Oseram, or what he might think of a Carja assassin being so close.
"--is this your bed? I didn't mean to turn you out of it. I'll...manage on my own, now." Even if the effort of just sitting upright made her head swim.
"No, you won't. You're still too injured to get up and out of here on your own. Sleep there until you're healed and then you can be on your way," James says, voice kind but a little firm.
"I won't keep you here against your will but you're very injured. It took me a long time to wash and bandage all those wounds and some of them I had to stitch. At least stay long enough for me to get those stitches out in a few days?"
"...fine," she groused, but in reality, she knew he was right. Her head was swimming, dizzy from just sitting upright. There was no way under the Sun she'd be able to survive on her own, in this state. Vision unfocused, knees weak, arms shaky; not to mention the aches and pains from her wounds, now awake and deciding to throb in sync with each other.
So rather than argue about it further, Talia simply lay back over, drawing her knees up as much as she could, and nestling down beneath the furs with a long, weary sigh. She closed her eyes, but her ears were working just fine; she could hear gears softly whirring, the small tink, tink of other machinery working away. Along with the smell of ozone, damp earth, and hot tin; all signs of an Oseram tinkerer's workspace.
James has several projects going but he's mostly put them on hold in order to take care of the Carja woman. Now that she seems out of the woods, he feels comfortable enough going back to some things and he is working on his Focus currently, trying to calibrate it. It's something he has to do from time to time and it's fiddly work.
"I never asked your name. It's going to be difficult to have a conversation if I don't know your name and I think it's rude to just call you Carja or Woman."
He smiles as he says it though, trying to keep it light.
"Talia," was her flat response. A few minutes later, she opened her eyes and watched him curiously, fiddling with some small piece of silver metal. Natural curiosity wanted her to ask about it, but she really wasn't up for a technical discussion right at the moment.
There were actually several interesting things scattered around his lair; she'd automatically catalogued a few during her initial glance about. Perhaps there was something else she could segue... Ah.
"Do you live alone?" She hadn't noticed any evidence of other humans in this particular space.
"I do live alone. Even if I didn't, I wouldn't have brought you somewhere unsafe. You were injured," James says, voice soft and even. "If I woke up in a room full of people after being injured, I would be terrified. I didn't want to do the same to you. I thought once you were healed, you could make your way back to where you needed to be."
He looks over at her. "But I'm afraid it's going to take you a little while before you heal up enough to be able to travel anywhere. I don't mind having you here. You aren't bothering me."
Well, that was something, at least. Apparently this Oseram didn't cahort with the rest of his tribe, although after seeing the clutter littering his lair, she could understand why. Delicate hands were required, here. There were half-finished projects scattered about, hot metal and sharp edges galore.
She wanted to disagree about her wounds, but deep down, Talia knew better. She knew she was hurt, and she knew that the best thing was to give her body time to heal, despite how frustrating that was going to actually be. The tracker in her knew she needed to get up and moving, lest she lose the trail of her quarry entirely, but there didn't seem to be much help for it, now.
"...thank you." A little ungracious, and entirely grudging, but give her the effort, at least. She wasn't used to owing others. "I owe you. James."
James doesn't spend time with his tribe for the most part because his work is something he likes to keep his own. He sells his wares like any Oseram does, yes, but because of his arm and the looks he gets because of it, he just would rather spend time on his own. While his people are comfortable with technology, they're not so comfortable when his entire arm is made of metal recovered from a Ravager.
"You don't owe me anything, Talia. I would do this for you regardless. You were injured and someone or something could have killed you even though you hid very well. It took my Focus to find you."
He has questions about how well she's able to hide but he thinks that's prying.
She had many questions of her own, but she wasn't really strong enough to ask them, right now. And she wanted to argue, given his response, because debts weren't things she took at all lightly. But later, yes. Then he mentioned something strange, a Focus, and her curiosity perked its ears again. She'd never heard of such a thing.
"A...Focus?" Dark brows lowered over glass-green eyes. "What sort of weapon is that?"
Although questions about that particular trinket definitely would not have been her first, if she'd seen his left arm, still covered by a forgemaster's vestment.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Horizon 0 AU
Nothing moved. Nothing seemed alive.
Odd tracks led away from the battle, however, rough scrapes over stone, the dirt-hued rock stained with dark red. Up into the hills, away from the eyes and ears of preying machines, and well out of sight of any humans which might stumble across this small grotto. Traps had been set, half-camouflaged by the scrub, but there was no sound behind them, as if whoever might have placed them had gone on.
But no tracks led away from the small hiding place, although the scent of blood lingered, should anyone venture close enough to notice.
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He does notice the blood, though, and while the tracks are faint he is a good enough tracker to follow them to their source. His Focus keeps him from stepping into traps set along the way, too, and it's a good thing - any one of them could have injured him badly and left him easy prey for the next thing that came along.
The blood ends up on the hillside where the scrub covers things and Bucky calls out in a low voice.
"I know you're hiding. I can patch you up if you come out."
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But all of her quarry was dead, so at least it was a job well done. And she'd learned enough to know where to strike next, provided she survived long enough to make the trek. Her King was adamant to wipe out the Shadow Carja, and he'd sent his best and most lethal agent to see it happen. But the defilers were a force with which to be reckoned, hence their little surprise at this bloody skirmish.
She'd disabled the insane machines, nearly losing her life in the process. But she was a fighter, even lingering at death's very door.
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Or assailant, his mind supplies.
It takes time to disarm them but once he does, he's able to come closer and see that it's a woman who has snuck off into this scrub and she's still bleeding. She must be very clever to have set so many traps to keep herself safe and Bucky admires that. He kneels beside her and touches her shoulder lightly.
"Let me help you. Can you hear me?"
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Mismatched but functional armor had come undone in several places, metal plates missing, laces broken, and skin streaked with red, red blood glared beneath Carja silks and Nora beading. She'd managed to haul her weapons with her; bow, bladed batons, and several satchels heavy with traps and resources.
But the woman herself could give no assent or protest; she lay in the dirt limp and unconscious, completely at the mercy of the one who'd discovered her hideaway.
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To his surprise, there were not only bandages but healing herbs in one of them and he sets to work. Whatever fight she'd been in was a bad one and washing her wounds with water wouldn't be the best but it would have to do for now; he thinks he has enough supply to spare for this and then move her somewhere more safe.
"I'm just going to clean these and bandage them," he says softly. "Don't worry, all right? I don't mean you any harm."
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When she finally did stir, several days later, the first thing she realized was pain. It tore through her like the cracking of the earth, like the sun's blinding rays slicing her all over again. She moaned, a weak sound, though inside it was a scream. Trying with all of her strength, she managed to open her eyes, but nothing focused. Yet, she was...warm, though terribly thirsty, as if she'd swallowed a sandstorm whole.
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He kneels beside her with water. "Don't try to sit up. I have a water bottle you can drink from," he says softly. "You have a lot of injuries. I treated them for you and I've been tending you in this cave for a few days. I made sure to cover our tracks."
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The words were dim, but she gradually understood; someone had found her, brought her to safety, and had tended her wounds, which explained the bandages she'd discovered a few moments ago. But now was for getting as much water as possible to soothe her parched throat.
Her eyesight gradually focused, revealing a male figure, dark haired, kneeling at her...bedside, for lack of better, and Talia tried to sit up, but was resigned to simply a single elbow. And even that hurt. It took a few tries, but she finally managed to get some intelligible words out.
"...w-who...you?"
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He doesn't think now is the time to mention he has a Focus that had aided greatly in the tracking because they're rare and if she knows what they are, she might feel threatened and try to lash out or, worse, try to steal it and make a run for it.
"Do you think you could take any broth or soup? I could make some for you."
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Talia licked dry lips, falling back atop the furs. "...please," was all she said, closing her eyes in absolute exhaustion. She wanted to ask about her weapons, but didn't have the energy; she doubted she could even lift her bow right now, anyway.
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"It'll take a little bit to make something but I went hunting so I have something to make, at least, and don't have to go out yet. I'm assuming you had something to do with that decimated camp I found? I tried to make my own conclusions about it but I imagine the only person who knows the truth is you."
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Without opening her eyes, she said quietly, wooden. "It doesn't matter know. It's done and over." Although the horrors of what she'd seen wouldn't be fading any time soon. Shadow Priests invoking demonic rituals to corrupt machines. Feeding them human blood in sacrifice.
Her only regret was that those priests had met their end far too quickly.
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"I could have stopped the machines if I came earlier," he says. He doesn't offer anything else on the matter, though, since the Carja woman doesn't seem to want to say anything further on it.
"You're a ways away from home, aren't you?"
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"I don't have a home." Flat, matter-of-fact. "I go where the Sun sends me." As if that were all there was to it.
A shiver coursed over her, and for the first time, Talia realized that she was naked beneath the fur blankets. She abruptly opened her eyes and frowned over at her savior. "--where are my clothes?"
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He'd kept them in a little bundle and it's easy to fetch them and bring them back to the Carja. He puts them next to her bedside.
"I can get water for you to bathe off a little if you think you're up to it?"
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"...thank you," she finally told him, all but exhausted by the effort of simply getting dressed. Her wounds throbbed, her head ached, and she wanted little more than to cuddle back into the furs and sleep until everything felt right again. But it would be rude, and dangerous, to simply languish, wouldn't it? Besides, she didn't know this Oseram, or what he might think of a Carja assassin being so close.
"--is this your bed? I didn't mean to turn you out of it. I'll...manage on my own, now." Even if the effort of just sitting upright made her head swim.
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"I won't keep you here against your will but you're very injured. It took me a long time to wash and bandage all those wounds and some of them I had to stitch. At least stay long enough for me to get those stitches out in a few days?"
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So rather than argue about it further, Talia simply lay back over, drawing her knees up as much as she could, and nestling down beneath the furs with a long, weary sigh. She closed her eyes, but her ears were working just fine; she could hear gears softly whirring, the small tink, tink of other machinery working away. Along with the smell of ozone, damp earth, and hot tin; all signs of an Oseram tinkerer's workspace.
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"I never asked your name. It's going to be difficult to have a conversation if I don't know your name and I think it's rude to just call you Carja or Woman."
He smiles as he says it though, trying to keep it light.
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There were actually several interesting things scattered around his lair; she'd automatically catalogued a few during her initial glance about. Perhaps there was something else she could segue... Ah.
"Do you live alone?" She hadn't noticed any evidence of other humans in this particular space.
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He looks over at her. "But I'm afraid it's going to take you a little while before you heal up enough to be able to travel anywhere. I don't mind having you here. You aren't bothering me."
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She wanted to disagree about her wounds, but deep down, Talia knew better. She knew she was hurt, and she knew that the best thing was to give her body time to heal, despite how frustrating that was going to actually be. The tracker in her knew she needed to get up and moving, lest she lose the trail of her quarry entirely, but there didn't seem to be much help for it, now.
"...thank you." A little ungracious, and entirely grudging, but give her the effort, at least. She wasn't used to owing others. "I owe you. James."
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"You don't owe me anything, Talia. I would do this for you regardless. You were injured and someone or something could have killed you even though you hid very well. It took my Focus to find you."
He has questions about how well she's able to hide but he thinks that's prying.
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"A...Focus?" Dark brows lowered over glass-green eyes. "What sort of weapon is that?"
Although questions about that particular trinket definitely would not have been her first, if she'd seen his left arm, still covered by a forgemaster's vestment.
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