Yellow river, orange flames.

[DoS Archive]

From: helthorne@aol.com (Helthorne)
Date: 06 May 1999 14:44:24 EDT

Their pilgrimage brought them into close and dangerous contact with a watery impasse better known as the Yellow river, thus named for its unique yellow tinge afforded by the large deposits of sulfur imbedded in the sediment.--If the raging waters didn't kill you, it's stench would.

Helthorne and Cevin skirted the edge of the river upstream, their two bodies dwarfed by the immense and raw rage that incensed the water just so. They would eventually die, but the river would flow on forever. Tacitly they understood this and accepted this. Their eyes stung and breathing was hard and they walked by in respectful silence.

The sun touched the horizon with a soft caress and the daylight rescinded reverently. Their joints ground protestantly and they both knew the soreness would settle in the next day. Passing a bend the two were suddenly faced with a droll wattle and daub shack that was as much a part of the surrounding shrubbery as it was hidden by it. The only indication of its artificial design came from the soft glow emanating from it and the gentle wisps of
smoke that rose and were hence recruited to night's cause. They traipsed a few circuits around the shack before finally locating the entrance: a low, twig door worn from use that was nestled behind two low-hanging branches. Helthorne swept the branches aside and drew the door open and looked inside, the tangerine blush of the hearth falling upon his face as the hearty smell of warmness arose to greet his senses. He salivated despite himself.
"Good eve--"

"Come in! Come in! And shut door behind you! Don't want to catch chills, do we?" What Helthorne had initially mistaken as a tattered lump of cloth spun around with alarming vigor. Wild grey hair fell to its bony shoulders, framing and partially concealing its hook-nosed, haggard, and grotesquely ugly face like a wedding veil. The creature ushered them in with a welcoming gesture of its gaunt, arthritic hand and directed them to a corner of the
room that was, in all respects, quite comfortable. The creature savagely identified itself. "Me Oortul."

"So who are we? Hmmm?" It spoke dizzyingly fast. Cevin and Helthorne exchanged a sideward look, nonplussed, regarding the creature as affable but reluctant to make cement that conclusion. Cevin answered.

"We're merely pilgrims enjoying a sojourn in the countryside. We came across the great river and have since walked the shore seeking shelter. The glow from your window drew our attention." The creature had meanwhile provided them with an earthenware bowl, welling with a thick substance from the kettle that drooped over the erratic flames. Helthorne dipped his finger into the proffered bowl and brought it to his lips, tasting it with his tongue.
He commenced to gradually finishing it off. Cevin did so as well and continued.

"We need to cross the river but to the extent of our knowledge there is no safe passage. And we have no inclination to travel around it. Know you a means to cross?" He raised the bowl to his lips and sipped at the saccharine stew. It soothed as it passed down his throat.

"Indeed! Indeed!" Oortul's enthusiasm was obvious. "I take you there! Yes, I take you there.." The creature seemed to have suddenly become interested in its appearance; it fumbled with its rags, making some indestinct yet obviously important order of what appeared just a chaotic mass of cloth. Helthorne observed the creature over the tilted brim of his bowl which he then discarded on the earthen floor.

The hue of Oortul's complexion was difficult to determine, though the warrior surmised it to be of a yellowish color. Its hair, too, carried the same mustard tint. Its appearance overall resembled that of a human, albeit grossly disfigured. What glimpses he could catch of the creature's body beneath the rags did little to solidify his resolve in its humanity yet the sheer mannerisms--however skewed--suggested a civilized origin. He leaned towards
the conjecture that it was, in fact, a male, simply because of its pronounced brow and jaw. The most singular facet of Oortul's appearance, however, was its teeth--long, grainy, rarefied pillars that, when brought together, resembled the bars of a cell. A prisoner of seclusion, caged by its limited communication. Helthorne reposed against the wall and extended his stiffening legs to a plethora of mild snapping sounds.

"We go in light!" Cevin started at the sudden outburst but soon found solace in the gentle roar of the flames and the cooing splash of the river outside. His lids slowly fell of their own volition and he drifted off into a well-deserved slumber.