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Kunoichi26 wrote:

A Profile of Smára as Described by Ryan Ford in his Journal

The details and information disclosed in this profile are taken from the writings of Dr. Ryan Ford, PhD. in Artificial Biology and former head of the Biosynthetic Research Department, and the journal he had written during his captivity in Africa. As he was not aware that his journal would one day be published, it has been difficult to sort through the meandering thoughts and post a concise profile of the native he befriended. The profile below has been arranged by Dr. Sarah Ford, PhD. in Biosynthetic Anthropology.



Name:

The name Smára is pronounced first with a slight smacking of the lips, like the “sma” in smack. But then the voice suddenly lowers in pitch to growl the “r” before pronouncing the final “a” gently. The stress lies in the first syllable. I have tried time and time again to pronounce it correctly, but human vocal chords are not made for such bestial sounds as a growl.

Ryan went through great effort to learn the language of the natives during his captivity, and according to his notes it was Smára who took the time to teach him. He was never content with his mastery over the language, and he always tells me that a native would never mistaken the word growmr (anger) for growmrr (hatred).



Gender:

Female, an unfortunate position to be in this primitive society.

Soon after Ryan consented to publishing his journal he told me many of his regrets. In the beginning he had often considered the people he lived with as primitive, or barbaric, an opinion that was only fueled by his anger at seeing the women treated so poorly and the ownership of slaves so rampant. In later writing, however; he admits that they are far more sophisticated than he had at first believed, and women’s power to bear children gives them many more privileges than he had first thought.



Species:

It is difficult to determine the species, as there are no records of such a creature, but I have dubbed them the name vampyre, or Nosferatu wampyrus, for the heavy symbolism with blood in their culture and their nocturnal nature. They call themselves the Shadow People, or Shagrassi.

As a scientist, Ryan always had pride on knowing every species on the African continent, so it was a disappointment to him that he didn’t know this one.



Description:

Her body is smooth and agile as a cat in the moonlight, her enormous, bat like wings hang like folded shadows that cling underneath the scraggly trees of her savannah home. She has skin rich and deep as ripe charcoal, save for the symbol that scars her shoulder and binds her freedom as surely as steel chains- primitive lines that represent claws tearing deep into the face of the full moon like the name of her master, Moon Scratcher. But her body is poised and smooth, like a house cat sitting on a fence, never betraying her humble fate of servitude. Even the way she dips the bag into the river is like the movements of water itself. Her feline eyes are like golden honey, the thin, catlike pupils large and almost round in the darkness. Her large ears swivel this way and that like a fox, attentive to every sound, every rustle in the dry grass behind her. She curls her long, sinuous tail around her leg as she crouches at the moist river bank, and the fleshy, spaded tip flicks away an irritating insect. The thin claws on her toes grip the moist earth, then retract again into the smooth skin like those of a cat.

The woman straightens, the many beads at her neck jangling against the thick leather collar embroidered with carved bone. It ties her to her fate, just as the thick leather bands around her wrists, and the scars that crisscross her back and overlap scars of another time, a happier age when she was free. They are beautiful scars, these echoes of her freedom, intricate tattoos like patterned alligator skin on her back, her stomach, her breasts…symbols of her fertility and motherhood. The family she once had. But that is all in the past, and she twists closed the neck of the bag made from a cow’s stomach with thin, clawed fingers. Her work here is done, and it is a long journey home.

Ryan always told me that Smára was particularly beautiful for her species, and the evidence of this is littered all over his journal in the form of rough and nearly completed sketches. It is a habit of his to draw whatever creature he is studying, and his journal is filled with hurried ink drawings of the people, their jewelry, the hoshgr, the surrounding land and the creatures he saw, even a detailed self portrait, though he has never liked artists that did such things. But when I asked he waved away the comment and simply told me he had his reasons, the sketch wasn’t very good anyway, and all I had to do was read the journal and find out for myself.



Personality:

Smára is resilient, stubborn, and willing to risk any and all to return to her family. She has taught me, an utter stranger and fellow slave, a human no less, her language and her culture. She is even willing to learn my language. She doesn’t look at me with disgust or pity. In fact, it is perhaps because of her that the thirst for freedom still burns within me. Even though it is difficult to admit this to myself, I must say that if it weren’t for her insistence, her enthusiasm and passion, I would have the same hollow gaze in my eyes as the other slaves. She is understanding, willing to listen to my problems (when I finally gather the courage to tell them), and she resists the bonds of slavery. She refuses to be broken, and even in the presence of the chieftain there is a fire in her eyes though she keeps her head respectfully bent. She is no fool.

Ryan does not talk about his captivity or the people he met during that time very often, but when he does, his admiration for the native is evident in his voice and his eyes. He tries very hard to show me that he loves me and he never thought of her in a romantic light, and his journal is proof that all he wanted was to come home, but sometimes I cannot help but feel jealous of her.



History: Not much is known about her past, but Ryan retells a conversation in his journal.

…It suddenly occurred to me that I had never asked her about her past life before slavery. We had always talked about me.

“What are they like?”

“My family? I have good husband who cares for me, and two strong sons. Big rains have passed six times since their birth, and they starting to fly when I was taken.” A pained expression passed her face, but it was gone so suddenly that I thought maybe I was imagining it.

“What happened?” I picked up some dry grass and starting ripping it. She sighed, her accent thick with emotion as she smiled.

“It was beautiful night. Grahair played with little Kigrr and Shagrow, and I watched.” She slipped into her own language as her eyes grew bright and wet with tears. “The stars were out, the night as dark and smooth as my husband’s black skin. But then Grahair heard hunters in the rustling grass, and he left the children to investigate. A monster with crimson markings of blood painted on his body and a long, silver scar slashed over his face pounced on Grahair with a mighty roar that paralyzed the children with fear.” I let the pieces of grass fall through my fingers, my throat tight when Smára described Kramptr.

“I could not stay to watch my husband fight,” she continued. “I took the children and flew with them to a secret place. I left them there, they knew to stay hidden, and I returned to where my husband was. The raiders were everywhere, taking women, children, cattle, destroying what they couldn’t take, and before I reached my love the monster Grouthrr took me.” My gut twisted as I pictured the scene. The village shrouded with darkness as monsters decorated with grisly war paint wreaked havoc in the peaceful village. Men dying as they tried to protect their homes and their families, and the women, children, and animals are taken as prizes for the victors to do with as they will. Terror runs like blood through the panicked chaos that reigns in the village, and fire sides with the enemy as homes are burnt down and destroyed. Families are rent apart, and many are lost to the wicked dagger claws and teeth of the victors. How terrible must it be not to know if a loved one is alive or dead. The ache in the heart that never leaves, was it worse than knowing their grisly fate?

Ryan identified with Smára very well in this light, and she managed to form a connection with him that I could probably never achieve. They both lost someone upon their abduction, they both experienced the terrors of slavery, and they both planned their escape. That two complete strangers with different backgrounds, different cultures…two entirely different species could learn to trust each other under such circumstances is simply wonderful, and it shows the wonders of human nature. Humans are social creatures, and even in situations that a person is left with no one they will be drawn to nurture, to speech, to a gentle touch. Ryan and Smára’s behavior proves that species means nothing as long as there is understanding.

But I too, can understand the terror of losing someone. The search had long since been called off when Ryan returned after nearly ten years. Ten long years he had been missing, and he reappeared as if death itself had released its dark hold on him. He’s a changed man, so different than the one I married, yet so similar. He tells me that his experience was for the best, and his only regret is that it took so many years lost in the wilderness to realize that he should have been home with his wife instead of chasing after monsters.



Vampyre:

The creatures I have dubbed vampyres are given many names…The Cold Ones, the [naga] serpents call them. The elves- Lostha, or Shadow People. Wherever one goes on this vast continent, their names are whispered with a mixture of revulsion and fear, and a trading caravan may never cross the plains without weapons and goods to exchange for safe passage.

Vampyres are nomadic creatures, roaming from one area to the next as food and green pastures are in good supply. They herd cattle, a sturdy, nimble giant of a breed which they call Grrha. The Grrha are an essential part of Vampyre life and culture, and the vampyre never wastes any part of the beast. The men drink the animal’s blood mixed with its milk for strength, eat the meat during times of scarcity, trade the animals for wives. The more cattle a man has, the wealthier and more prestigious he is in society, because then he can afford more wives and slaves. The hides of the cattle are used for the tentlike huts known as hoshgr, clothing, and even the cow’s stomachs are used as water skins. Even the skeleton, bleached white in the sun, never goes to waste. The bones are carved for use in jewelry, needles, tools, and instruments, and they form the all important symbol of eternity in the bone beads that are sewn into the collars of slaves.

While vampyre scrimshaw is highly valued amongst traders in markets such as the one in Marrakesh, vampyres are also known for their eclectic way of life. They have no weapons, for they have lethal fangs, claws like needles, and the men have two barbs hidden in the fleshy tips of their spaded tails that can flick out like the claws of a cat with deadly accuracy. They are creatures built for killing, shadows in the darkness that can strike a fatal blow before their prey had even realized what happened. Their great wings are powerful tools, and a favorite strategy is gliding like a giant bat in the night sky to suddenly freefall onto the unsuspecting prey like a hawk. When first I saw such a feat I was breathless with wonder, for it is truly amazing to see such a large creature suspended in the air on such delicate membranes. Who would have thought that it was possible to have a creature that stands at little over five feet on its hind legs, almost sixty pounds, with the ability to fly?

A vampyre’s feline nature gives them other abilities as well…The large, almost batlike ears are excellent for capturing sound, and they have an acute sense of smell like that of a cat. They are incredibly flexible and agile, and far stronger than they appear because of the pure, wiry muscle. They can easily lift me, a two-hundred pound man, and throw me against the ground with hardly any more effort than if I were a child, though their small size complicates this somewhat. Lifting me during flight, however, is impossible, for not only would they never get off the ground, they may very well strain their muscles and even break the fragile wing digits.

A vampyre’s main weaknesses are its sensitive hearing, the delicate wings, and the nocturnal eyes, which are highly sensitive to light. Pulling on the prehensile tail is also painful, though touching it holds no more embarrassment to them than holding a hand. The tail is in fact as necessary to a vampyre as their hands, and they use it for balance as well as everyday use such as holding objects. In fact, since slaves and those of lesser status walk on all four limbs when someone of higher status is present (a problem I encounter often since the human body is not built that way), a vampyre will use its tail as often as its hands, and it is not uncommon to see the flexible appendage coiled around a bowl, a bag, or some other item like that of a monkey.

Though it is not directly mentioned here, Ryan also describes how vampyres use their tails and even their wings in a fight. In his notes, Ryan recounts several occasions that he has either witnessed a fight or had personally taken part in physical combat (due to a need for self preservation), and he observed that vampyres rely more on agility and speed in battle instead of brute strength. They dart and twist around their opponent, using their wings, tails, feet, and even their fangs to weaken an opponent before dealing the final blow, which is usually a strike at the throat or the stomach. Ryan tells me that he would often have small sparring matches with Smára and his master’s children so that he could learn to defend himself from attack. Even though he had some protection as a slave, being human in the midst of a species so much stronger and deadlier than he posed a very dangerous problem if he didn’t know how to fight.

The following is an excerpt from Ryan’s journal detailing the structure of a hoshgr:

Blodrekka rolled out the walls onto the ground near the edge of what the village would be, and the children inspected the thin, crisscrossed slats for any cracks or weaknesses. Seeing none, Blodrekka, Bein, and I carefully lifted the walls so they stood upright and I walked until they formed a circular shape. Bein lashed the doorframe to the two edges of the wall, and I watched as she tightened the leather thongs so that wide strips of leather were firmly secured around the wooden skeleton of wall. It wouldn’t do to have the wall expanding with the weight of the roof, so the wide bands wrapped tightly around the top and middle of the dwelling.

My master ordered me to hold a support for the wooden ring that would be the center of the roof, the smoke hole, and I held the support pole firmly while Blodrekka and Bein lashed down the thin strips of wood that made the roof. Occasionally one would fall, and I bit back a growl as the pole hit my shoulder as it fell. Once the roof had been set in place and the support pole was no longer needed, I helped my masters drag the heavy, tent like covering over the skeleton of the hoshgr.

“Don’t let it snag on the poles,” Blodrekka warned, and I was particularly careful when I coaxed the hide’s edge over the center hole with an extra shaft of wood.

Ryan writes details on vampyre clothing and beauty.

Vampyres have little use for clothing in the heat of the African plains, for it would only hamper their movement and freedom necessary for flight. Clothing is limited and simple, often made with treated animal hides and embellished with bone. Men wear little else other than a sort of skirt made from animal hide stretched over their hips called a hishki, often heavily decorated with carved beads of bone, some even died varying hues of red, blue, or yellow. Women wear the hishki as well, and those who are married also wear a hide to cover their breasts, which is attached to something like a bone necklace. There are no ties to support the back of the crude top, for that would limit the movement of their wings.

Jewelry is popular among the women, especially younger generations, and the more carved necklaces one has jangling around her slender neck the better. Each necklace often represents something such as a particular skill or role in society, how many children, her loyalty to her husband, etc…Smára has quite a few necklaces of carved bone from her past: one representing her skill as a seamstress, another with bone dyed red to show her love for her husband and the two sons she bore him. Other necklaces show her birth and how many seasons have passed, and another was one her husband had made for her and gave her during the marriage ceremony.

Other forms of jewelry are arm bands, wrappings for their tails, and even bone piercings. The males usually participate in the latter more often than the females, and it is common to see carved bone pierced through an ear or wing membrane, sometimes through the skin on the male’s chest. But far more common than bone piercings is scarification. It is used most often as a test of strength or rite of passage. When a young male reaches maturity there is a special ceremony in which varying tests of strength are performed. One of those tests is to cut patterns into the skin, and the more numerous and intricate the patterns the stronger he is considered to be. Depending on how the wounds are scratched out, they may heal as small, nearly inconspicuous scars for detailed work, or large, protruding blemishes that advertise a male’s strength and daring. The scars are rather similar in appearance to crocodile skin or dragon’s scales, and the small, raised bumps may align together like scales on a man’s back, coil around a shoulder, and twist in intricate patterns along the torso, arms, and legs.

Women also participate in this practice, but for them the scars are more a symbol of luck and good fortune, a means of aiding their fertility and blessing them with sons for their husband. During the marriage ceremony, a woman will receive patterned scars along her back, her breasts, and her stomach, and when the woman is about to give birth to a child white mud will be painted over these scars to give them [the scars] power and ease her suffering (though medicinal herbs are also used for the same purpose).

For slaves such as Smára and myself scars hold another meaning. They are like a branding, a sign of ownership…and my master carved the symbol of his name on my shoulder with his own claws, a scar that shows me and everyone who sees it that I belong to him. Each symbol is different depending on the master- mine is reminiscent of a drop of blood, for Blood Drinker, and the scar on Smára’s shoulder represents the full moon with three claws rending through it. The lines are simple and primitive, only limited circles and straight lines, but their meaning is all too clear…

I can only imagine how painful it must have been to have such a symbol carved into his skin. Ryan has never told me anything about the time he received it, and all I know are the thoughts he has written in his journal. Sometimes I catch him tracing the mark with his fingers, or rubbing his neck where the collar used to be as if he could still feel its ghost at his throat. What has become of the native I wonder? I have asked him, but he says he doesn’t know, only that they were separated during their final escape. He is certain that she was successful, but I am afraid that he clings to a fool’s hope.