A flash of steel in the swamp

(( if this is not where there is a good swamp, let me know I shall move this ))


His foot falls were almost silent on the stones and wood floating about in the murky water as he sped through the twisting labyrinth of trees fast enough that life was a multicolored blur whipping past him. The only sound besides the wind was the faint rustle of the expanse of cloth covering his hands. Leaping, his powerful legs carried him easily into the tree limbs and down again, this time with the flash of silver metal spinning in an arch and through the thick bark of the tree branch closest to his landing area.

Another fluid movement, blades up, one leg bent up to his chest, then down leg stretched, his body close to the ground. It was like a dance, every movement perfectly planned out an executed, a dance of death and metal with the sky above as his only audience, the large skull of a bird hid his face from the world and what it did not cover, the hood pulled up over his head did, the only thing left to see were burnt orange colored tendrils, hanging from under the deep brown hood. His legs were the only thing visible other then a small pair of fingerless and handless arm like appendages, which like his legs were a dark mossy gray-green color. The green bandages covering his lower legs were about the only color on his slender body.

With every movement the small ornaments decorating the hilts of his swords swayed, and the tiny wooden beads made small clicking sounds, like wooden chimes.

He moved on a small patch of solid earth within the thick, dense bog like swamp, where the sun hung low and hardly kissed the trees at all, this place seemed cast into a constant state of dusk, smooth light, never harsh on the eyes.

A slow, noisy breath is heard before the water burbles it's incessant song of movement. A slight splash, a bubble or two there; effect, always the effect. Yes, yes... Breath released in a slow, measured exhale of carbon-dioxide; coursing up to burst at the surface several feet from where he is. He can hear the touches of feet; the cut of metal, the pain of the tree even before it happens. A gurgling growl of anger, nay, rage rises in his body even as his smooth movements propel him through the water at an incredible pace; bind eyes not seeing; though powerful sense attune for more than mere swimming.

He was a Predator, a vicious creature who's blood lust was for those who dared call themselves the owners of the trees, the Arachin bastards....

Though, the movements of the one above are too measured to be natural; the one above also seems to lack the perfectness of body that many Arachin had as well; at least, so the eight legged freaks would think. But, the old man was hungry; thick muscles force a reaction from his body; a loud splash of his thorax breaking the surface before he dives down; only to launch from the bottom of the swampy pool and into the air; muck flying free of his body even as eyes finally open. Opalescent orbs stare in near fury at the one who prances so. Scything talonsout to the side even as massive lower hands catch the branch; the dribbling muck and plant mess gleaming on his armored hide in the bitter light of the sun. Those eyes, they just stare; narrowed as ragged breaths heave vomitous water from his lips.

That's when he begins to laugh, a crackling, coughing sputter before truly mad laughter begins to fill the air. His body adjusts once more; smooth, quick, then, with a sudden flash of steel-like claws his strikes; his body flung from the tree with Hurricane Force; the claws not in play for now; but, carapace clad foot that is obviously tough enough to deliver a exo-skeletal shattering blow; not to mention breaking of the internal bones as well!

He was testing the young, foolish, warrior... He would not die this day, but should the warrior fail... mmm, delicious.... And that makes his teeth salivate even more! Sick, sick freak!

(( Yay you came XD Ooo it's Caliban (hope I spelled that right) -clings-))

The sounds of the bubbling swamp are natural to him, a long loved lullaby, murky water running through his viens, but this, this sound was off. This was not simply the sound of gasses expelled from the waters below, no this was the sound of something lurking beneith the glassy, dark surface.

The thunderous break of water causes him to turn and see his attacker, his body is detached from his mind, which is screaming at him to freeze in terror from the bohemuth form crashing down on him, but his training kicks in and he leaps backwards. Powerful locun legs allowing him the height and momentum needed to landed inches back from the steel like leg that could have spelled disastor for him, if not at least some broken bones.

He slides to a stop, blade in hand but pressed flat to the ground, he crouches, bird mask watching his gaint foe as he stands slowly, sliding his feet apart to widen his stance. He poises the weapon out to his side, one hand completly covered in bandages is seen from under torn sleeves as he reached up to his back, fingers ghosting across the hilt of his second blade, but he does not draw down on the giant. He bends his legs some, lowering his center of gravity, but still he points the tip of his only drawn weapon down.

He is no fool, he has more then likely wondered into this one's territory.

"Why do you attack me?" He whispered, smooth voice, low, but not overly deep.

A single milky eye is tured on him; teeth bare in a snarl as he turns, "-Hisshahaha-", the voice is warped, and, from behind it's obvious the creature was a flying bug of sorts; although he turns his body just a bit more; moving himself into a stance before making himself in the; rather apty named, 'Angry Water King' pose. Oily muck dribbles down along the scarred natural armor of his body, "Die...", the voice itself is unable to speak much more than anything than a single, one syllable word. He chooses not to speak normally; but on being asked, he begins to laugh again, his powerfu body whirling into motion and again he laughs, body whirling into a maelstrom of fury; easily an encompassing movement meant to be more for show than anything; though even to the trained it would appear a deadly assault.

Although spinning into a forceable attack; the mind behind the beast was working quietly; the legs, body, and over all shape appeared female; he liked females, but the voice was male, he didn't like males... Or, well, maybe he did, not sure. Though those milky eyes show nothing on that rank; they do show how easily he can see; motions tracks just fine, even standing still the grizzly death bringer could see. Not blind, like many assumed. But, all the thoughts seem to be making momentum lose itself; fingers clech around boney saws and, with a quick jabbing motion he's stopped... though his bladed finger keeps moving...

But, even so his hands, the bladed fingers that is, stop just millimeters from the smaller male's face; easily the most intimidating thing he'll ever see, the naturally armored assassin just grinning, his tongue probing through what appeared to be a hole in his throat... pink, wriggling mass hiding what could be; well, anything really. Though he now doesn't move, it's obvious from just looking that he was restraining himself on something; something else, those eyes glare down with near silent rage; apparently he does want the male to leave.

He's confusing the giant and that being said, the giant isn't liking it much.

Perhaps he's the Mad Master the locals near the shops spoke of; or, maybe just another monster.... a Dark Legend either way.

Who knew in these times eh?

((Insert witness/bystander/audience. She's not doin' anything or drawing attention to herself, though. XD))

She shouldn't have been in a place like this--it was dirty, little more than muck and mire and plants far different from the clear blue and white where she's from. But here she was, and here she kept returning. It was a secondary home, the swamp, and for one reason alone. And that reason was being watched by deep, dark blue eyes, pale lips forming a split-faced grin on her pretty face. Bright blue fingers pressed tight against the mossy trunk of the tree she took shelter behind, body equally pressed and armour catching bits of moss and natural grime. And though she should have stood out, she kept herself well-hidden behind that tree, secondary arms tucking themselves back almost under her carapace, the sensitive lining of those legs sending a slight chill down her spine. She knew what caused it, but that didn't make it any easier to ignore out of water, really.

The Scarabin female kept her focus on the pair of males, gaze habitually lingering on the larger one. Not that she minded it, particularly; she just didn't want to get dragged into the mess about to be made. The ridiculously dressed, strange male posed little threat to her, was her thought. She tended to be fairly confident in her assessments, too; no concern for her, that one. He'd not dare try to drag her into this, and she didn't want to spoil the darling giant's fun. Whether or not the assumption was foolish or unwarranted, she didn't care. She wasn't afraid, after all; she feared nothing, but the world ought to fear her. Such was her fancy. Although that would cut down significantly on conversational partners.

Oh well. Can't have it both ways.

Such was irrelevant now, and her attention returned to the pair in full.

To fast... He didn't have time to recoil out of the way this time so instead he drew his weapon up in a sweeping arch but found only its tip brushed the monsters thick armor as he exhaled and opened his eyes only to stare death in the face, bladed talons meger inches from the skull covering his face, which would have never offered any protection from the attack. Before he could stop it a small whispered gasp escapes his lips and his body recats again, leaping backwards and sliding to a stop, the muck under foot making for easy momentum. He stops at the waters edge, spinning his weapon back and sheething it, so that it was once more on his back next to its twin, he knew he was outmatched by this giant, he was not so arrogant as to asume he could fight and win against such a foe, so he did the only thing he could fathom when stareing down so a beast as this.

Thoes milky eyes sent chills rocketing through his body, eyes that should have been blind, but tracked him so easily.

In that instant he dropped down onto one knee, head bowed, features hidden by skull and cloth, he spoke again. "Elder, Master, I meant no offense."
It was an odd, old way of speaking, but it was as he head been taught, and he recognized the skill this beast possesed, and respected it. If the great creature still bared down on him then he would fight, and die with honor, but he would try this, he would show his respect.

He drew in breath slowly, his shoulders hardly moveing with the effort, he kept his eyes down, though it was difficult not to gaze upon such a perfect weapon.

The Beast, while a mad thing; was not often able to do anything without honor; well; mostly anything. The bastards who'd taken his wings and thus his liberty; they would -all- pay. But, his scything talon folds back along his arm; easily concealed even though it is a massive, frightening part of his anatomy; the near perfect assassin's blade. But, instead those large upper arms fold across one another and a low, gurgling growl is heard; an acknowledgment at least. Before the beastly male's eyes turn themselves quietly about; as if tracking something; he can hear well enough. However the breathing elsewhere is... Strange...

His own box lungs exhale; murky water is exhumed from his carapace even as he begins to gasp to breathe in the normal air; thick body heaving even as he vomits up what appears to be blackish water; he's changing his breathing from... Water to Air? He's not incapacitated; no, far from it; he's attempting to keep himself on even footing with the strangely dressed warrior; for one who breathes in Water Cannot survive on land long. But, even so those eyes don't move now from the warrior; even as his hacking coughs subside, and ten, it's obvious that his body was, well, built to survive far worse climates than a swamp...

The new kick on his armor was a badge of pride; he'd always enjoyed frightening those who could not use their natural bodies as a weapon. It made him feel vindicated. But; upo being caled 'Elder, Master' his entire attitude changes, he strides forward not in rage; but in cold, calculating wordless silence; those milky eyes are indeed perfectly able to see; they blink, slowly even as a lengthy blade extends, but; unlike most bugs without honor; he merely uses it as an instrument to tilt the smaller male's head this way and that, only to snort derisively at the bird skull over his head and the hood; it looked silly.

But, instead of attacking, that massive hand witdraws, only to have a vicious looking webbed and offered instead; the boy had honored him; he would not fight, for now. Who knew with such mad beasts right?

Well, at least, apparently mad men....

He fights to keep his breath even as he feels the razor's edge of a blade press against his face, tilting his head about, which causes the hood to fall back around his neck, ocher tendrils falling around his shoulders. The mask remains held in place by leather straps. His mind reels, the very presence of the other is both awe inspiring and utterly terrifying at once, it rocks him to his core. He'd never before encountered one such as this, let alone had the honor of even such a breife combat.

He stands slowly, head down still once he notices the hand offered, pulling back one of his over sized sleeves to expose his bandaged hand and arm, his movements are slow, cautious, carefull. He turns his hand to the side as if prepairing to shake the other males, much larger hand but instead, burshes his long fingers across the male's wrist, leaving his thusly exposed to the giant's blades. It's in odd sort of greating, and so very formal.

He tilts his head to the side then, slightly up, as if listening to something, but seems that he cannot hear anything but the sounds of the swamp, and the odd sounds coming from the other male. His eyes flick from the male's chest, given his hieght compaired to the other, and the black substance emitting from him.

A disappointed sound--just loud enough to maybe catch someone's attention. The Scarabin clasped a hand over her mouth, the soft click of fingertips meeting armour soon following. Oh, well. She hadn't wanted to be spotted, but things really didn't look like they'd be following the same pattern as before. No fight, no problem. At least the silly stranger had sense about him, even though that rarely made for a good show. It was never a true personal offense, but those who looked down upon the giant usually met with cold rage from the female when she was allowed to lash out. She wasn't as strong as he, though, so unless the setting was to her advantage, she merely seethed. At the moment, she thought it best to remain in the background to see just what this stranger would do, bowed and regarded by the greater form. She had tensed at the hacking sounds of transition, carapace lifting to expose her secondary legs and wings for just a moment before closing in a hidden sympathetic gesture, but now? Back to bearing silent witness of the scene before her.

She didn't doubt that Caliban would realize she was there; he was bright for all his lumbering, hulking frame might have suggested. Age didn't lead him into senility, so far as she had discovered. Which was good--very, very good. Naias pressed her cheek to the mossy tree again, lowering her hand to grip at the bark. Hips swayed as she resettled, large blue eyes flitting between the two males, though now lingering on the kneeling foreigner. She was curious, now; what brought him out this far, anyway? She'd let that to Caliban to ask, though. Who better than the one dwelling deep within this place?

...Aside from Zetula, but Naias rather thought the old bag could go off and nap for a few years and things wouldn't change in the least. Never would she voice that sentiment around Caliban, though. Oooh, she was a little short-sighted at times, but not there. But enough of that and back to watching.

As her head tilts, blue fringed antennae sway to one side and she closes an eye. Formal and almost in a manner she doesn't approve of (but perhaps that's all in her head). Fingertips tighten against the bark and she has to force herself not to puncture the ancient tree. She pushes possession back down and sets her jaw, making herself look at the pair again, and she calms after reassessing things. Her hand relaxes and she purses her lips together, pouting slightly. Behind those lips, though, her tongue ran across a long, sharp tooth, reminding herself just how powerful her jaw is and just how much damage she can inflict.

Small comfort.

The massive beastial male just grunts lowly, obviously he finds the gesture silly; but, fingers wrap around the wrist; pulling the other insectoid closer even as his masked face is closed in toward the other male's false mask, a low, huffing snort; derisive at best. Most of all he seems to be 'smelling' the smaller creature in his grasp before huffing; not displeased, but; for the most part, just, curious. He does however leave slime along the smaller male's arms where his hands hadn't sloughed off on his explosive exodus from the water. But, the looming figure was meant to intimidate all those of lesser body and ability; below all the surfaces of grime, thick shell, and muscle; was a keen, sharp, mind. Though, through lack of speech and action oriented philosophy made him look all the duller.

His upper body lifts up, increasing his already imposing height even as he nearly twists about; showing a rather vulnerable; if stretchy, area of flesh between his upper and mid carapace; an interesting weakness, but more so a deadly surprise; his head quirks, eyes glance about even as he growls; that semi-fused faceplate separating where the tips of lips would be. His voice a low husky, warble of restrained vocals, "Why, here, tell. Now."

that voice was tough sounding if there was a choice in the matter it'd be best to not attempt to lie; or, run. Teeth bare as he begins to chuckle; those milky eyes twisting about almost like worms had them attached; easily looking behind him as he grumbles and gurgling purr of pleased tone; obviously he knew who was watching, the sigh... So cute; he wished his younger 'sister' was more kindly toward those he wouldn't eat. Though, he only murmurs a quiet grunt to himself. Apparently he wasn't enjoying the thoughts he was having, though; a little movement causes his eyes to focus once again on the younger creature he held within those massive; gritty, palms. His mouth moving as he gurgles a question, though, after a moment he begins to speak in that overly pressured voice he held as a truism to his strange body.

"I... Am... Caliban; who... are... you?"

[Don't wanna break posting order, so just noting. Since Jacko's post didn't nudge the thread up. XD I'll delete this one or something when things resume.]

The masked male faulters faintly, as he is pulled forward unexpectantly, focusing so as not to stumble against the other, vice like grip tight on his wrist, thick ichor coating his bandages. His body freezes rock steady as he is 'inspected' only his eyes ever moving along the massive form of the titan before him. One flick of that powerful wrist could easily snap his arm in two, but what else could he do but remain in that grasp.

His feet slid in the muck faintly as the other male moved and finally spoke, issuing a question in that eerie voice. A simple enough one to answer honestly. He flicked his head up faintly, watching the other's face, and the movements of his mask and teeth. " Master, Great One, I was seeking a place to hone my skills that was...familiar to me, this was the best place I found." It was exactly as he said, and he continued to use the honored title because he knew not what else to call the monsterous form, with now obvious cunning and skill.

He watched those milky eyes as the scanned about, his own following suit but he could find nothing within the swamp, so his eyes turned back to those teeth. He feels calmer now but he would never underestimate such a being as this and asume his saftey was absolute.
At the introduction he bows his head again before raising it once more along with his free hand.

He pushes the tip of the skull mask up, enough to expose the bottom half of his face, thin scars on his gray jaw. " I was once known as Sparrow, and would be honored for you to call me such....Caliban" He spoke the name slowly, so as to pronouce it correctly, and feld odd using it for he was much more accustomed to using titles with people he respected.

While such pleasantries were exchanged, the diver walked quietly out from behind the tree she'd been using as cover. Her body and amour, stark against the dark palette of the swamp, would make her a prime target for attack in a place like this, but she wasn't the least bit nervous about that. For one, the only threat currently was caught in Caliban's grip--something he wouldn't be escaping any time soon. A sharp-clawed hand lifted to brush at any moss that clung to her, soft body a myriad of light blue hues while her armouring was deeper in shade. Her secondary arms relaxed, bright blue tufts also on her legs and arms she used normally in swimming swaying faintly as she walked.

Naias focused initially on the stranger, expression cheery but with an odd amusement, as though keeping something very well restrained. Or simply, she kept something hidden and subdued. If the stranger had felt calm before, she hoped to send his heart racing with uncertainty again. That was one of the greatest things to witness--fear slowly traveling through the body and settling into the brain. It was something she hadn't seen lately, having been diverted to the Isle of Blue; it was so nice to see it again, even if it wasn't brought on by her own hands. Caliban was everything to her, so it might as well have been.

She stopped shy of Caliban's side, watching in silence until addressed. She didn't want to interrupt anything, after all. Naias was sure to catch sight of those scars, and while she was desperately tempted to trace them over, she didn't. She kept her hands at her hips and her secondary arms folded as she ought to. She'd behave for now... Unless an allowance was given. Though, considering the way the stranger spoke and the way Caliban had been responding to it in the past moments, she doubted any such thing would be given. Shame~

"Ng, come then... Respect... Discipline... Honor. Hone skills, then seek. I teach.", that coarse, burbling chuckle is low and dull; though he does allow his hands to let go; that creature slowly turning it's attention to the small, blue, female with a light smile upon it's coarse and ruddy features.

He does however think a moment before looking down to Naias, he gurgling in 'low speech' to her with a light motion, "<I would ask of you lovely sister if you would mind alerting the enjoyable Zetula to our guest; I would like her to prepare something... It is rare I find such a respecting being. I wish not to eat him; though, you may speak...>", he then slowly moves his body about, "We give food, drink, you respect, I give meal... Also, bath, you stink.", one to talk Muck Monster....

But, as he turns, the almost horrendously scarred back is shown; the very carapace the wings were in was gone; torn out in ragged, bluish black scars; thick, pulsing welts run along much of his body; too scars, but also vestimates of a disease suffered as a child. He was a resilient fuck, that's for certain.

But, as he turns, one of his middle arms extends down; and, with a light purr his fingertips glide over the front of the smaller, female, predatory beetle with a fondness that one does not extend to one's sister. Before he leans his head down; and gently nudges her forehead with his own. Not a warning, but fondness; his humanity showing for once past his grimey self. He'd missed her so, even if it was a scant few hours. And this affection is shown with eyes closed; after all, he had little to fear of the would be swordsman; plus, the female's scent was almost driving him into a frenzied hunger...

[Yeah, so, turns out I suck at time management skills ]

And not for the blood of her beautiful form....

The moment he was freed he felt as if his entire body might collaps into a heap in the muck, sheer force of will kept his legs from giving out under him. At the giant's words he snaps back from his thoughts and bows his head, the action better at showing his gratitude then words alone, however, at the implication of his smell he does rais on arm to snif at, his lips forming a confused from. He smelt fine to himself, the comment was a little embarassing, but he had no idea of the workings of the other's sense of smell and knew he could very well smell awful to him.

"As you bid"

he whispered, such was his way of speaking, bowed head once more. His eyes did flicker across the female, now standing there, making her a swift bow. He snapped his gaze aside when Caliban moved towards her, expressing affection, out of politness, one should never stare at such things. However, when the giant gave him his back, he could not force his gaze to remain averted, twisted scars and remniants of wings, forgetting himself for a moment he found himself lifting the mask slightly, to improve his vision but caught himself and shoved the skull back over his face, but his lips silently mouthed the question /what happened/
He knew scars all to well, this one stronger then him to show his freely.

He prepaired to follow Calbian's massive form, trusting blindly that this one kept his word, was this the master he had been searching for, was his hunt over, not the place he had expected to find it, but then again how could it not have been. It was so utterly pefect, raised in a swamp and to the swamp he must return.

Her eyes all but lit up when Caliban's attention turned to her. Naias gently cooed, despite the request; she didn't mind the old hag, but... This whole division of attention thing. But she'd agree because it was his decision. That and, or so she'd demand later, his attentions would be only hers at some point today. She laughed quietly, pleasantly under her breath at the quip to the stranger's smell, though; even she wasn't yet accustomed to the swamp, but she'd grown to be able to both tolerate and ignore. She smiled only slightly to the poor confused stranger, fairly sure she knew what must be running through his head.

Again, the Scarabin cooed but more audibly this time, her much smaller hands moving to rest over the giant's and bring it to her chest to cradle. Dark eyes closed at the gentle nudge and she lifted a hand from Caliban's to his chest. She was, at this point, fairly certain her demand would be acquiesced; for now, however, she'd let him stew. She spared her brother's pupil a one-eyed glance, curious about him. What had brought him here, anyway? The knowledge or rumours of an Old Blood and Caliban himself ought to have been warning enough for people to stay away... Then again, people always ventured in here only to find themselves more than a little overcome.

Her attention returning to Caliban, Naias placed both hands against his chest and nodded, drawing away and slowly letting her hands leave him. It was purely intentional, accompanied by a difficult-to-miss smirk. She lifted a hand just above her head, thumb and all three fingers lightly curled. A lazy sort of wave, just without movement.

"I'll let her know you're coming with a living guest. You boys take your time~"

The massive creature only rumbled a little in discomfort; though; as with most male insects it was hard to miss the latch casing attempting to open; though, with obvious effort on the large male's part it remains closed. However, he does growls lowly, the burbling gargle of his natural voice being one that's a wee bit miffed; though it's affectionate in sound if not in 'words' to any but the translated language of our little Scarabin and her larger counterpart. Those milky eyes turn toward the smaller male with a slow shrug of shoulders, he just chuckling now; the sound much like the crunch of bones from a zombie or even the sound of a Babboon-Dog dying. It was a strange sound of amusement; even if it was the scariest damn thing people could get out of the creature.

However; he notes the shocked look in the eyes of his pupil; even before offering the same 'lazy' wave back to his so called sister. Before tilting his head to the side; grunting a bit as he notes he'd turned to the smaller bug with his back; it's not something he often did unless one was either not a threat or he didn't care. But; he only offers a light clutching motion; as if to request he be followed, "Ask... what you wish...", the first sentence that was complete; more of a statement than anyone would give; if he was to teach this boy how to be a weapon; he might wish to know what bothered him...

Given his kind's already violent nature; the species they were, was... often times seen as brutal or even primitive; their cousins the Scarabin didn't appreciate them being so close to their kind in strength, size, or even looks. But, then again; the scarabin females, and those males submissive enough, were fun because they wouldn't break; they were tough, strong, creatures and he enjoyed them so.

His head turns a bit while he waits for the question...

After all he had all day.

Sparrow paid little mind to the obvious reactions and exchanges between the massive male and the smaller female, most would assume it was out of polite embarrassment, but really, had little clue as to what was going on beyond the basics, and did feel the need to shy his gaze. He paused a little before falling into step beside, and a little behind the behemoth he would now call master, teacher. Unsure of the words to use to voice his question, he was never one for many words and the ones he chose were seldom eloquent. Besides who was he to inquire when he hid his own scars behind cloth and bone, but he’d been given permission so …
“What happened, to your back?”

He questioned, in that whispered voice of his, violet eyes flashing beyond the eyes of the skull, something about the hulking form of this elder dredged up memories from the murky depths of his mind, flashes and feelings of crimson eyes, large hands, and a home he hadn’t known for a long time.
He gave his head a shake, as subtly as he could manage and picked up his pace to contend with the male’s larger strides.
He was curious about where he was being led, and all to trusting, for all he knew he could be walking into his own death, but his own honor held firm and so he assumed it did too for this beast of a creature. One’s word is one’s bond.
Though he did ask, “Where are we going...Caliban?” Again the falter on the name, honorifics deeply engrained in him, proving hard to over come.

The smaller insect's words cause the giant to turn, his eyes reguarding the little creature with little more than a wavering calm. Though, he only laughs, that sputtering, coughing hack being heard once more. He found it amusing with such tentivity in a voice of one who he knew would be able to kill without mercy, if ordered to. His already bared teeth open as he speaks; that flexible section of chitin that was covering the more vicious pairs of his fangs moves with the effort of speaking, "Torture. Spiders... Decided... I should... Learn a... Lesson.", the pauses between words are hoarse enough as he begins to chuckle in that deathly miasma of coughing once more; his lungs adjusting to enar fullness as he nods; moving without speaking until... Once again the question causes him to pause.

If one were to consider it, this beast of a creature was not un-intelligent; he, with a shrug, answers the simplest way he can. With one word the question would be put to rest. But for the moment he lets it pause as if stewing in possibility; as if, stewing in a pot. Though, with a wry grunt and a dull sounding huff; the four armed beast indeed answers. "Home.", and even though the little man was a fret of worry and he could damn well smell the fear; his body continues to move even though he would normally consume such beings, respect was giving, respect was returned; it was the way of Honor, the Wild, and of the Old Codes... and, with a huffing breath he mutters the law to himself.

"Duty is the word... And the word is the Duty. Never go back ... on your word, even if it can kill you child. For after death, is glory.", strange for the old master to say; though, turth be told; he would be spoken about as a legend for years to come...

Especially if it was an elaborate job like he had done...

Sparrow eyed the ground when the origin of the old one's wounds was given to him, sucking in breath as silently as he could. He knew little of spiders beyond flashing childhood memories, and that was no spider like any other... still it pained him to know that they had been the cause of such a thing, pained, but not surprised.
They were heading home...such a word Sparrow had not known in ages, and was unsure of when he'd know it again, the word seemed almost like another language to him, just beyond his scope of reasoning.

With a swift nod the young warrior picked up the pace, his long legs carrying him with enough ease across the muck, to fall in step just behind the massive beast, about an arm's width away. Peering around him when he wished to see more of where they were heading, but for the most part content to keep his gaze level with about the hip section of the other male, halfway between craning his neck and keeping his head down. Though he was not used to his eyes in such a place, he chalked it up to the fact that Caliban was so very much taller then him, walking in this elder's shadow as he was.

The next words out of Caliban's odd mouth caused sparrrow's head to snap up, eyes flashing like violet fire behind the bone mask . " My word is my oath, I am honor bound to it, not even in death would I break it. Honor, duty, this is blood, life, death, there is no glory in anything else..." He trailed off as the heat of his conviction left his voice and he fell silently into step once more. Drawing a small thin spider's silk cord out from under the neck of his top and fiddling with the tiny bone carved into the shape of a canine skull as he walked. He had been taught well.. his word, his honor, was all he had.

Naias had done as she said she would, alerting the old hag to the approaching visitors. She, meantime, contented herself with brushing off the muck and mire that had clung to her when she'd been eavesdropping earlier. It had been a very brief alert, no doubt to Zetula's annoyance; little more than "Caliban's brought a guest", in fact. She hummed to herself as she thought back on that. She'd felt her chest tighten, unsure of what was going on, when the stranger first showed up and wasn't immediately ripped to shreds. Naias rolled her shoulders, letting her head fall back; silly worries, they were. Caliban knew well what he did and he could gauge himself just as well. Appropriate reaction for every action. She grinned, full blue lips parting slightly. Her brother was a wise man in a beast's body. If he could speak more clearly, people would be amazed at what the guardian knew. As it was, she understood him well enough to know what was what.

Another swat at muddied blue shell, and Naias found herself a perch, drawing her legs up partly, secondary arms folded neatly under her carapace. She'd wait, now; not at all discomforted by the witch's strange home, she made herself comfortable a little further. It was still so different from where she'd grown up--the trees had even held shades of blue--but this dirty-coloured world wasn't so bad. Strange, yes, but not bad.