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 Today had to be perfect. The priestess- Lesley was her name, when she cared to remember- stood in front of the mirror going through the motions of a morning ritual long since committed to memory. Every day for the last forty years, she'd stood in front of her little bed, with her little shabby mirror of polished bronze, and tied her hair in the Approved Manner of a pair of braids around the sides of her head, twined together at the back. Once those braids had been brown- now they were a deep silver, and sparser than they had been when she was a young priestess. Fingers gnarled but with perfect muscle memory of the way knotted and wove hair as she glared at her own reflection. She didn't mind the loss of beauty; she'd never been a beauty fit to awe men. Rather, she resented the way her aging sapped her wits, made men treat her with solicitousness instead of obsequiousness, the way her mind had begun to slip over details and stutter. The last was how she knew she had to put her plan into motion- prayers and pleas, hunts and feasts and service after service and Caria had allowed her to grow weak. Lesley knew what the huntress thought of those wolves in the pack that had grown too weak to hunt. She did not intend to follow the path fate had set her. "Mother Caria," she said, almost in a whisper; "I pray and beseech thee to be gracious and merciful to me, my temple, and my flock; for this in return I have this day to be spent in thy service, to be led by thy example in all things, and that thou keep away and ward me from sickness, injury, and misfortune." She deviated from the formula, altering her morning prayer for the first time since she'd become a woman with all the cares that entailed. "I have lived my life adoring thee, and have given thou service for longer than many men ever live; I have led many to thy service and to thy worship, shown the blind the light of the Great Hunt, and shown mercy to all my victims in thy name and for thy glory. Thou I have helped raise to be no less great than any prouder god, and in thy name I have done all I have ever done, and sought all I have ever sought." She looked at the mirror steadily, knowing she would see nobody but herself, hear nothing but her own words in her head this time as she hadn't for thirty years. "In return, I beseech and pray that thou show me mercy and favor befitting thy best qualities, and bestow on me the ability and heart to continue in thy service for as long as thou wish my service to continue as it has." Another long pause. "If thou scorns my service as thou have scorned me for these last few decades, I pray thou do not hate me for what I must do to redress the balance. Mother Caria, hear my words; mother Caria, give thy servant her due; mother Caria, or I have no future but what I make for myself. Amen." Lesley waited long minutes, wondering if this time, if her blunt words would startle the indolent goddess from whatever deific indifference had kept her from responding for thousands of prior prayers where she'd kept her heart's words in her heart. Long minutes passed- at last, footsteps in the marble hallway outside roused her from her blurry stare at the mirror. Lesley wiped her eyes dry, and straightened; she was still the high priestess and she would still by drat act the part and not like a simpering maiden. "High Priestess?" The acolyte a third her age said, his voice breaking. "You have morning service, and Lord Lieserl wishes to course the stags this afternoon with your blessing..." "Yes." Her voice held an iron snap of command- she'd gained her position by being ruthless and always seeming to know exactly what to do, even when she didn't. Of such things were leaders made. "Tell Priestess Shuren to conduct the services this morning. I have matters to attend to in my private library. See that I'm not disturbed, but tell his lordship he has my blessing but that I will be indisposed." The acolyte, eyes wide, bowed in his gray tunic and beat a hasty retreat. If the goddess would not respond, Lesley knew now how to force her. She'd done everything she could think of, but there was no rank higher than high priestess she could aspire to; she'd done all the gods were minded to let brilliant mortals aspire to, but it was not enough. Lesley knew she had something more in her, if only Caria would allow her to let it flourish rather than force it to choke and die in a slowly withering body. Now the priestess would hunt- and her quarry was her goddess. It would not be a long hunt, and Lesley knew she would find her mark. She'd laid the groundwork with painstaking care for years, funding adventurers to find unrelated objects with the only combination in her own mind and the secrets of her own heart. She'd given up much to be a priestess, and done much to further her aims after; whatever dignity and honor she'd ever had was long gone in the service of an absentee goddess, and Lesley had no qualms at all about having used wicked people with wicked ways to bring her to the cusp of one last leap. She barred the doors to her library, thick oaken planks that would muffle any sound. There would be no interruption. There would be no reprieve, no way to change her mind at the last minute. Her search for the books of ancient wisdom, of the artifacts. It was the work of a moment to open her grimoire to the final page, words written in a shaky, disbelieving hand above a few lines of music. She took deep breaths, steeling her resolve- there was no other recourse for her but to die, and Lesley did not intend that fate for herself. With a strong, high tenor voice, the high priestess stared at a stained glass mural of the gray she-wolf mid pounce, the hunter goddess's sigil. "I summon thee, goddess," she began. "In the names of the spirits above and below, in the names of the chaos that came before and the chaos that will come after, in the name of the creator who made us both as sisters, I summon thee." The air hung heavy, and Lesley could hear a faint hum as the old words dug into their furrowed paths through roads of arcane power. Lifting her precious artifact, a simple, bone-white flute, she played a melody older than the world- the notes hung in midair as though crystallized clouds of magic, each one raising the pressure in the room until the priestess heard her ears pop. There was a form in front of her, an inchoate, gray mass. No time to lose- "I bind thee, Caria!" She shouted, sternly subduing her own qualms. "In the name of all, I bind thee fast, and by this flute and by this song I bind thee to this room!" The wolf howled, an earsplitting, achingly familiar sound, but Lesley had already begun to play; books flew around the room as in a tornado, passing through the mist harmlessly and spinning around the priestess in the center of the room.  Dispossession Blue-white sparks of raw magic flowed from ceiling to floor, from wall to wall, and between flute and mist. Another howl from the wolf as it solidified, blue chains of energy keeping it where it was. Lesley continued to play, a variation on the theme; the notes became sharper, each movement of her fingers a dagger into the priestess's prey and patron. She finished her song, the wolf shrieking in terror, and Lesley approached on shaking legs. The magic was a tangible thing in the air, choking her from breath but keeping her upright despite that. Her body was crumbling, but the priestess's will was a thing of iron. She knelt before the wolf, and shrieked her words; "Goddess, I usurp thee! By my will and by my power, I cast thee aside and claim your power as mine, and deem thee unfit to rule in heaven!" She choked back a sob. "Caria, I claim thy power, thy domains, and thy name for my own, and swear before all things that live and dream that I will never forsake those who love me as thou forsook me!" She placed a trembling hand, aging rapidly in the storm of magic, on the wolf's head and felt the pins and needles travel up her arm as a spellbook flew by in flames; the pounding on the door... no longer mattered. "Delinquent spirit, thou hast no power here, no standing, no form- Spirit, I renounce thee as unworthy, and-" She choked on the words in her throat; she couldn't. Departing from formula, she screamed, "I loved you once!" The wolf howled in anguish, and she continued, "Did you care? Did you notice how much I dreamed of our meeting? How fervently I sought your presence, how desperate my urge to serve you was? Did you even think twice before throwing me away and moving to some fresher worshipper?" She sniffed, choking. "Did you even consider making me your chosen champion? Talking to me, caring for me as I always cared for you?" Voice raising to a shriek to be heard over the maelstrom, a flash of lightning hit the priestess's head. She didn't notice; raw power flowed into her arm through the wolf, keening in terror. "I can't kill you. Part of me loves- I can't-" She snarled, and finished, "Faithless spirit, careless lord, I sunder you- I cast you apart into a hundred different forms, to never rejoin while I draw breath and wield power in your place. By this oath-" She took a deep breath, and finished, "-This oath I swear as Caria, the goddess of the hunt, to uphold until the worlds are no more. LET IT BE DONE!" The wolf dissolved, shattering like a broken pane of stained glass; a reddish shard flew one way, a brown and tan one another, a black one straight up. And then Caria was alone, for Caria she was and Lesley no more. She had taken the goddess's power, her form, and identity; she could feel the rush of worshippers' prayers entering her blood (though her physical body had dissolved in the acid bath of magic, her form now entirely spirit) and building a heady crescendo. She could see them all, hear them all. They were her children now, the children she'd given up the chance of for the love of a goddess that had cared for her no more than for a not particularly prize hound. She would never ignore them, no matter what barrier were placed in her way- she would rip apart anyone who tried to stop her. Caria had been mortal. Now she was a goddess and soon queen of goddesses, because she had the ability, and she had the will. Such things were precious, and such ambitions had to be nurtured and cared for. What was ambition, but a hunt of immaterial prey? There was no reason she could not be what she was and what she wished to be at once, and all those who looked up from the gutter and dreamed themselves a lord... those people she would wrap in her embrace, and nurture, and give every chance to make their own fate as she had made hers. They wouldn't be ignored. Nobody would be ignored, anymore. Caria, goddess of the hunt, was- not dead, but put down. Long live Caria, goddess of the hunt, and the ambition that made her. Happy Post 2,000! As a reward, it seems a fine time to donate another 10 CP apiece to your respective growth funds; onward and upward!
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Jun 22, 2012 04:45
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Martin de Mignolet He watches Asha leap through the brush. There is only a second's hesitation for the Baron. "To death or glory," he says, with a hint of melodrama; then he follows the knight, and can only hope his friends follow him.
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Jun 22, 2012 08:00
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Lo'el "Asha." He repeats her name a while later as he looks around the area for a possible way through. "Your name sings to me, my lady. A knight as well? Wonderful! Although, I suppose the armor would have given it away. I do not think I have met a knight before, if I have then it has been without my knowing. It is truly a blessing to have you with us." He ceases in his ramblings and his admiration of the lady as his search comes up short of finding a way ahead. How had Alec slipped past? He jumps on the spot as the armored centaur exclaims her discovery on the tangles of vine and flower. "An illusion? Are you sure, my lady? I cannot see through it's appearance myself. Still, perhaps we should work out a plaAAaAn!" The last word escapes his mouth in a broken tone as he feels Asha lift him almost effortlessly onto her back. He sprawls out over the lady's armor and scrambles desperately for some sort of grip as she kicks off into a charge. "Wait, my lady! What if it's real!?" He shuts his eyes and clings on for dear life as Asha carries him through what he very much hopes is just an illusion.
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Jun 22, 2012 10:47
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Alec "Riesenbär" Cherusci He manages to crawl to his feet, Alec looks at the Fairy Queen. He did not hate her, the moments of pure ecstasy of rage has been at the true betrayers of life. Alec looked at her and smiled "You don't know what is coming. I've seen the ice fields and my people have died on them. The rainbow tears in the sky shimmering off the plain of ice. I cannot serve you as a slave and I refuse to bow to you as a man to stop them. You will have to fight them if you want to live. You can force me with your magic, but I have but one thing to do." Alec put his hand in his chain and pulled a black feather, it was time now. He held it in his hand and looked at the sky "VUOSKI, I ASK YOU, NAY, BEG YOUR BOON NOW." The crow feather shimmered in the sky as he looked at it. It was quite lovely, it was a pretty day and a beautiful land. The thought stuck him as ironic as he held the feather. Alec takes the feather and rams it like a sword into his chest, unsure what it would do to him. He no longer cared. Axe-man fucked around with this message at 15:11 on Jun 22, 2012 |
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Jun 22, 2012 15:04
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For a long few seconds, awkwardly, nothing happens; the fine black feather bends against Alec's armor, and the fairies seem to wait expectantly. At last, the Queen grins. "Well, that was amusing. Now..." reaching a hand out to Alec, she starts, "Would it be so terrible if-" Northman. The goddess's harsh tone rolls out over the ridgeline, sounding in the heads of all present without sound. You know there is only one boon I can give you. The Queen looks up briefly, and then pales. "Oh, poo poo." Is her response, and said with deep and heartfelt feeling; her wings flutter and she hovers a few inches off the ground, ready to bolt. You gave me hospitality in return for a gift; allow me to repay the favor. Alec's stomach lurches. Allow me to offer you hospitality in my own home. The sky darkens; a flock of ravens thick and numerous enough to blot out the sky swarms from out of nowhere, a horde visible in the high distance even as Asha and Lo'el burst through the illusory wall with Martin hot on their heels. The fairies quickly regroup together, firing off searing lightning bolts. Only, though, at the birds that come too close to them, instead of too close to Alec- preservation of selves, and not of their prize. The flock envelopes Alec, rushing around him in a cyclone of soft feathers in eerie silence and lack of cawing cries. Sadly, Vuoksi's voice faintly sounds- But there is one path from my home, and it does not lead backward. There's a feeling of dissolution, of peacefully coming apart as Alec's body dissolves into dust, but the man's spirit rises with the ravens as they flap for altitude leaving no trace of the man behind. For a brief moment, he's airborne- no wyrm anywhere nearby, just another fairy trap. And then darkness falls, and he flips over to the other side and Vuoksi's domain. And that brings Alec's role in the story to a close, with at least a clean 'death' rather than servitude to a wee fairy; applause to Axe-man for his posting, and be aware this is likely not the first death that will occur from non-combat character decisions. 
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Jun 22, 2012 15:20
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Lo'el He opens his eyes after a brief moment of sheer panic to find that they have thankfully made it through what is now fully proven to be a mere illusion. He releases his tight grip on the armor of the centaur who carries him and gives her a rather shaky nod "P-perhaps more warning next time, my lady." Not wishing to demean Asha by resting on her back for too long, the faun squirms for a moment and then hops down to the ground. He steadies himself for a moment before his eyes are inevitably drawn to the darkened sky ahead and without a second thought, he takes off at a run. Alec must be ahead, he can feel it to be true and he knows that the man would not hesitate if he were in the faun's place. Closing the distance, he doesn't stop in his mad dash until he is close enough to see just what sort of madness lies ahead of him. He doesn't quite know what to make of it all at first. Fairies firing off bright lightning at, what appears to be, a massive flock of silent ravens that eclipse the very sky itself with their numbers. He can only stand and search desperately for Alec, hoping there may still be some time to save him if the fairies now hold him. He sees him then, briefly in the center of chaos as the descending flock swirls around the northerner. Despite his naivety and confusion, the faun only has to look and see the body of Alec rapidly disintegrate within the cyclone of birds to simply know that the man is gone. They were too late and now the very man he had spoken to only a short while ago was... Words and thoughts fail him in this moment and he simply sinks to his knees on the soft ground below as he looks helplessly up to the numerous ravens that seem to carry the very spirit of Alec away from this world.
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Jun 22, 2012 16:16
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Asha With a rush of adrenaline and a surge of strength she powers through the illusory barrier, heart pounding as she gallops to forge a path for her new companions. Beyond the threshold the silver-tongued Lo'el slips free from her back, taking to the terrain ahead of her--yet soon thereafter Asha can naught but slow to a halt, eyes wide and mouth agape at what she witnesses upon the horizon. "Stars..." She gasps, a gauntlet-clad fist moving to lift her helm aside; the centaur steps almost dazedly to come to a halt beside the faun, ears canted as she stares awestruck...
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Jun 22, 2012 21:01
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Lette Rushing ahead, the scene before her is unlike anything she could have imagined. The wretched fairies are there, it is true, but they are huddled on the sideline, merely defending themselves from the main event, such as it is. The tornado of dark feathers touches down and, seconds later, begins to rise. And even as it rises but an inch from the ground, it is clear that her friend — her ex-husband, for what that is worth — is no longer of this world. Her breath catches, but she uses the time well, pressing Eclipse forward "Wait!" Lette manages, rushing the scene. *** Seven years ago, in the eastern province, they lived in an expanse of fallow fields south of Scay's Hill. Lette stood beside a pond, skipping stones. She had gotten good at it in the last hour. "Oh Letto!" Adam called. She did not answer. This was a dumb joke. "Letta!" Her father tried again. "Lettoo!" He never knew when to just cut his losses. He was getting closer, though. Fair enough; if he wanted to tease, then he could drat well wait until he got within eyeshot to speak to her. "Oh Lettoir," he said, adding a poor twist of the regional accent as he emerged from the path. She shook her head at him, sighing, then wordlessly skipped another stone. "How," he began, hunkering down nearby and hunting for a flat stone, "would you like to join Mr. Kessler and me?" "The one with the messy beard?" she answered finally. "Yes," he said patiently, playing along. The girl had, of course, known Horace for months by this point. "About my height. Voice like this," he said, moving to the back of his throat. Lette giggled. "Does playing with birds sound fun?" he asked. "Well, sure." "Good. He's taking us falconing." "Um. You mean falcon hunting?" "Hunting with a falcon." "I meant that, that's what I mean." "Well, then, yes. You've seen the cages. That's where he keeps them," he explained, only managing one skip from the stone he found. "Um. He has enough for all of us?" "He said he did. And for your ma, even. But she's with Gilbert right now. Best they stay back; can't have hunting birds getting any ideas about babies. Especially not mine," he added dutifully. "But hey, I figured, Lettum's no baby." "Please? Please stop that?" "Sorry, sweetie. So, what do you say?" "Okay." "Good. Here. This glove'll be a bit big," he said, taking his daughter's hand and depositing the leather sheath on it. "We can pinch it with a clothespin. Like so." Rising, he offered her his own gloved hand. "Let's go." --- Horace cleared his throat. "Got it?" "Sure did," Adam answered, swinging the lure. Lette looked at the meat hanging from the rope in her hand. "Um. I guess?" She swung it, smacking herself in the hip. "Keep it further from your body, let it try to escape from you. But loose movements, right?" The scraggly man urged. "See?" "I thought this was going to be, um, different," Lette muttered, trying again. "Easier." "Nothing worth doing is," Adam said helpfully. "Except for all the things that are." She sighed, but smiled a little. Horace blinked uncomprehendingly at Adam before guiding Lette's hand. "See? Let it go where it wants to go. Then switch sides, so it keeps moving. Can't have it starting and stopping, right? No, we can't." "I thought it was, um, more like taking off a bird's hood and then pointing it at things." Horace laughed knowingly. "Yes. That is the part everyone sees. Makes for good showmanship, right? But that's only the barest bit of it. Tip of the iceberg. The rest is training. Training never stops, and you're always doing it — even when you're doing the thing you've been training for, like pointing." "Oh." "I think I've got it," Adam said, switching the lure over to his other side. "...Nope." "So," Horace continued, "knowing how to do that means knowing how to train. Gotta keep them in shape. Exercise them. And, before anything, you should know how to catch one. This part teaches you all the basics." "So, um, I swing the lure until it takes it? Then I guess I catch it?" "Oh, gods, no! That's how you lose an eye. Or worse. This is just the part that gets their attention. If it takes the lure, you let it eat a bit, and see how close you can get — slowly. The point is to get them comfortable with your presence, right?" "And then catch them when they're comfortable?" "Not yet, no. Then you hold up food in your gloved hand, and get them comfortable eating out of your hand. It's a process, right? Takes some people months, some people weeks. With the young ones it's a bit safer." "So when do you put the thing on its leg?" "The 'jess,'" he corrected. "And pretty much when it lets you. And they're not usually happy about it, but them's the breaks." "Oh." "So don't be upset if you don't get it right away." "I think I got it," Adam insisted. "You trying to convince me, or yourself?" Lette giggled. "Once you get the hang of it with Gloria — she's a sweetheart — maybe we can try catching you two birds of your own," he nodded. "Well, that's real nice," Adam said, wincing, "but I don't think we ought to have them around young Gilbert." "Nonsense, you can leave them with me, right?" "...Right?" "Right? Right." Horace nodded. "Well... I don't think I'd feel right imposing. But if Lette wants to," he said, emphasizing his correct pronunciation of his daughter's name, "that's up to her." The girl beamed. "You bet!" "Right you are, then. Anyway, let's get started." *** Lette rides forward without so much as the first idea of how to respond to the situation. The fairies' presence is vexing to no end, but whereas the birds appear to be the more immediate problem, she spurs the horse in their direction. No birds move like that. No birds sing that song that she hears in her ears as clearly as her heart: ancient bells of brass, struck once and left ringing. This is more than a mere unkindness — or is it 'conspiracy'? — of ravens. It's more than magic. This is Vuoksi. The birds continue to ascend as she approaches. Alec is gone. There is no trace of him left. So why is she carrying on? She has no hope of undoing what has been wrought here. And yet she knows something of communing with birds. She had alarmed Mr. Kessler by fixing the jess on her second day with a young falcon. Her secret had been to speak to it. It had seemed obvious enough. And now she is learning something of magic. Something of speaking to gods. In the channels of sound she now recognized as something beyond the mundane, Lette listens. With an aching heart, she tries to speak in that same vein. "Vuoksi!" She holds up a gloved hand. Clenched within it is the necklace Alec had bestowed upon her. She has barely any sense of what she is trying to say. Tears bite fresh trails through the road dust on her face. "Will you... is this all... we're..." She cannot finish. "Please..." but it is too late. "Please," she whispers, "leave us more than just this." Buying Spirit Empathy. IQ 13, Spirit Empathy, Animal Empathy, Animal Handling: Raptors 13, Falconry 13, Animal Friend 1, Diplomacy 11. Aeolius fucked around with this message at 16:25 on Nov 12, 2012 |
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Jun 22, 2012 22:02
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Isit The elf laughs, before starting back on the water. "Damaged? Maybe. But good wishes and hope don't get things done. People with stars in thier eyes might be good for inspiration, but wilt the moment things go south usually. You need people who can make hard choices, and know how the world works. Pragmatists. Besides, some tasks need to be done, even if they have costs." She shrugs. Things were as they were. "To think I was raised to cook pastries. My parents wouldn't recognize me now." NoControl fucked around with this message at 00:10 on Jun 23, 2012 |
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Jun 22, 2012 23:10
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Martin de Mignolet They pass through the illusion perhaps only seconds late in what was becoming an all too familiar refrain of bad luck for Martin. He sees the lightning, hears the thunder...but sees and hears the crows as well. It is all he can do to pull his horse to a stop, and then he stares wordlessly, eyes wide as wagon wheels. For there, ahead of him, is Alec - and then, ahead of him, Alec ceases to be. He stares, almost as if unable to process what he has seen. Certainly the 'Baron' has seen people die before, some of them at his own hands. But this is not a death of a sort he had ever seen before. A darkly comic thought, unbidden, surfaces in his mind: Many crows is a 'murder.' Do many ravens have such a fitting name for this? It was not appropriate - but then neither was such a death, and Martin's mind simply could not cope correctly. At the end Alec was perhaps not Martin's favorite person; he could be difficult and without manners like only a northerner could. And yet, Martin always found himself respecting the man's courage and commitment. He had been difficult, but he was still a comrade and a friend. Now, though, that man no longer was anything at all. In the morning he had been alive; now he was dead. Dimly, he is aware of the others - Lo'el kneeling in despair, Lette pleading (what exactly she says he is not sure, such is his shock), Asha in stunned silence not unlike his own. He tries to find words, something comforting or brave, but no words come. It is all he can do to slowly get down from the saddle, his shock slowly turning to anger. He walks to the treeline, and with a mighty kick he smites one of the trees in rage and pain, seething without words or sound. There he stands, lost in his thoughts - This didn't have to happen. They had one job, one job and that was to keep him safe, and they...they... Another part of his mind knows it's hard to blame them; had he not said only moments ago that they had not meant for harm to come to Alec, that it was only a well-meaning mistake? But that had been when there was hope. Now all there would be is a funeral, and there is not even a body to bury. Edit: might as well do my points spending now! Raising IQ by 1 (20), and buying a bunch of skills at 1 point apiece: Politics, Pickpocket, Area Knowledge (Wallin County), Heraldry, History (Empire). Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at 06:29 on Jun 23, 2012 |
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Jun 22, 2012 23:46
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In the aftermath, with a few fairies- including a slightly larger, extremely (and somewhat disturbingly) beautiful butterfly-like fae shoot a few more desultory bolts of lightning at the flock. Looking down and seeing the obviously bereft adventurers, they quickly make the internal calculation that this is not something they're liable to be able to talk their way out of and fighting a group of grieving and possibly berserker-mad people was not how they were hoping to spend their evening. They scatter, flying away at high speed and hugging the earth to keep themselves from being visually tracked with ease. And that, it seems, is that; nothing beside remains. Or almost. One raven splits from the flock, flapping madly before landing on Lette's shoulder and softly cawing. Words form from the caw in everyone's ears; They wished part of him as well, though for less noble reasons. The raven preens. He called me for aid, and there was only one thing I could do for him. He is gone; he is safe from the troubles he would have suffered, and beyond pain. That is all I may do; once the boundary is crossed it cannot be uncrossed. I am sorry for the loss of your husband. Despite having had to have said such words uncountable millions of times, they still sound sincere. --- Back in the camp, the satyr doctor ambles back towards Isit and Dolan. "You know they'll probably tie you up now, right?" She says with a sigh. "drat foolishness. You know not to trust anything your senses tell you until you're clear of the poison. Never saw the fairies able to energize a man from afar, though. That one's new by me, but if he'd shook off the poison enough to move that fast why would he have moved?" She grumbles. "Maladies of the spirit. Can't predict 'em, can rarely cure 'em, can never understand 'em."
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Jun 23, 2012 14:39
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Lo'el He had only known the man for a handful of days. Barely a week ago had been when he had first laid eyes on him in Noah. But in that brief time, the faun had come to learn much of Alec; of the man's way of life, his people and the fighting skills he had shown him only a few hours earlier. And now the man was gone. Taken from this world at an age no older then the faun himself. He had learned much, but there was still so much more Alec could have offered them and the world. All those stories, lessons and goals the man held. All gone from this world without even a body to send back to the earth. He could have been saved. If I had only acted sooner... He cuts that thought off short. To think in such a way would do no good for himself or others. Rising from his knees, he watches the fairies fly from the scene, wondering if he should give chase. But to do so would only bring more pain and likely death. As the goddess's words ring through his head, he turns and blinks away tears with a sullen look at the place where Alec had stood only moments before. I am sorry, Alec... "T-thank you, goddess." he says to the perched raven. "To know that he is at peace... It is a small comfort. But possibly it is enough." He lets his head drop then to look at the ground before him, lost in grief and despair over their fallen friend. A Velociraptor! fucked around with this message at 15:25 on Jun 23, 2012 |
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Jun 23, 2012 15:08
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Isit Isit nods at the doctor. "Fine by me, better safe than sorry, right doc? Not like it would be the first time I've spent the night tied up." Realizing how that sounds, she pre-emptively elbows Dolan in the ribs, but in her state it's quite weak. "In the army, I was captured once. Ain't no bother." She shakes her head as the satyr talks of Alec. "Well the poor man was half mad, and honestly probably should have been left in the city. He had strange beliefs, and at one point thought his dead wife was following him. Might have been a legitimate malady, might have been for attention. Either way no one listens to the elf when they suggest he stays in the city." Frowning, she looks at Dolan again. "He was liable to get violent if we tried to stop him leaving. He always was angry. Honestly I didn't think him so mad that he'd decide to leave the forest when he was in that state. drat foolish man."
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Jun 23, 2012 18:18
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Martin de Mignolet He hears words in his ear, in his head, but is only barely concerned with them. He gives no response aside from giving the tree another anguished kick, foolishly, like a child having a tantrum. Then finally he speaks, softly, barely above a whisper: "...one." Martin knows he can't stay like this forever. There was work to be done. Far too much work, in truth, for one man. None of those gathered here would honor the memory of a man like Alec by sobbing and carrying on; whatever else Alec had been, he was a man of action like Martin, and his memory needed to be remembered in deeds and not tears. A count of five: five seconds to be angry, to be horrified, to be mournful, and no more than that. "...two..." His whispering voice cracks ever so slightly. Here he was, a grown man, on the verge of a complete breakdown like a child. Hasn't he seen death before? But that was before, then it was almost like a game, a child's game, with him playing the hero. But out here in the real world there were gods and monsters and you just can't save everyone, can you? You can't save everyone and you can't traipse about fixing the world with swordplay alone. Certainly he could not save the Northerner that way; he never could have. "...three." The others had said that Alec had been raving about monsters to the north. Had he perhaps been right? Yet even if not, were there not still so many threats to the old realm? So many that he could not merely defeat with fancy footwork and a good blade? He was beginning to understand now - what he was, and what he needed to be. "...four..." His father, in the end, had been right - he always had been, and Martin was too much of a child to see. He'd always been a child, really, playing games and refusing to see the world as it was. And perhaps he always would be that, in some ways - the jokes, the cheeriness, the bravado. His friends needed him to be that, even if it was childish. But he needed to be something else too; a leader, a man who could marshal others to do the good that he could not. Maybe if he'd been more of a leader for these people, Alec would still be alive. There was no time to dwell on that though, because... "...five." The Baron takes a deep breath, sighs mightily, and turns around. Walking briskly to his horse, trying to look calm and in control, but his eyes betray his worry and his feeling of loss. He saddles up with authority and a flourish. Understanding the others' feelings, he gives them another moment. Then finally he manages to speak again, calmly, like steel. "He was a good man, but he is gone, and there is nothing more any of us can do. We should go; tonight we can feast and drink to Alec the Northman, and then tomorrow we have work to do," he declares, beginning to wheel his steed around to head back into the forest. Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at 20:35 on Jun 23, 2012 |
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Jun 23, 2012 20:32
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Lette Lette spares no more than the barest of glances in the fairies' direction. Very well; anger had given way to sorrow, anyway. When Vuoksi speaks through the bird, she listens, nodding. Her comrades had met her in a dream, and now she has spared time to speak to her, as well. It began to dawn on Lette that Vuoksi's poor reputation did not stem from the goddess in and of herself, but rather from the work by which even she seemed upset. "I understand," she mumbles before the lump once more asserts itself in her throat. Instinctively, she reaches up and pats the bird's head. Coming to her senses, she halts immediately. Dare one condescend to pat a goddess's avatar so? "S- sorry. It's... a cute... bir-" her voice cuts out again as she shakes with a single, silent sob. A thought asserts itself in her mind: I want to go home. Her home and her family are gone, and her quest to reclaim either has been a long, steady trail of disappointment. And yet, in this moment, she had the ear of one impossibly sympathetic goddess — one who can answer one question for sure. "Vuoksi. Th- thank you. For answering him." She sniffles, wiping her eyes with her other glove. "Have you... helped my family? In the same way? If it's not... presumptuous to ask." All other sounds in the periphery fade in anticipation of an answer that could change everything.
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Jun 23, 2012 20:43
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The bird caws once. No.
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Jun 23, 2012 20:44
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Lette In that simple answer, more is contained than Lette's grief-addled mind had originally considered. There is no hedging, no qualifying or distinguishing parents from brother. They are all still alive. In whatever state that might entail. She nods in understanding and thanks. Down in her hand, she turns over her necklace, looking at Alec's carving: simple, yet elegant in its own way. Now Alec is gone. But her family yet lives — as do people in a city, a forest hold and an army. She has work yet to do. This all cannot be for naught. "Thank you. That Alec is in your most able care is... comforting. We'll honor his memory, secure in this knowledge." Now it is her turn to regard with sympathy the goddess's bird-form. "I pray this night is quiet for you, that you can get some rest. We'll do what we can to lighten your load in the days ahead." Taking note of Martin's initiative, Lette looks back at the bird, managing a wan smile. This time with slightly more presence of mind, she tickles the raven's cheek. She hadn't seemed to mind the other time. "I guess we're off. Be well." Is that an odd way to speak to a goddess? But then, they've been surprisingly approachable so far. Which is also a hell of a thing. Aeolius fucked around with this message at 01:55 on Jun 24, 2012 |
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Jun 23, 2012 21:03
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Lo'el Fighting away further tears, the faun wipes his eyes again and sniffs in an attempt to compose himself. He tells himself that Alec would not want tears over his death. The man had often viewed death as a glorious path after all. Still, the thoughts do nothing much for the young faun and he simply stands there, blurred eyes fixed on the ground for a good while before Martin's sudden, commanding words break him from his grief temporarily. "Y-yes. We should leave..." he says, sniffing again as he clutches his spear for protection. For what exactly, he is not too sure. "Isit still needs our help and...there is nothing to be done here anymore." Releasing his grip on the spear for now, he brings his hands together and raises his head to the evening sky as he whispers his goodbyes to his fallen friend. "A great man he was." he says after a moment of silence as he opens his hands to the air. "Farewell Alec. May your spirit forever know nothing but peace." With a deep breath and a final wipe of his eyes, he dusts off the dirt from his knees and speaks to the others, still with a tremble in his voice; "I am ready to return to the village."
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Jun 24, 2012 01:49
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Asha A stranger until only hours ago, Asha feels wholly at a loss once the startling spectacle of spirits has rescinded; in its stead, the centaur's new companions are left with powerful emotion--and it is all that she can do but to offer respectful silence as she observes. Lette's tears stir a tightness within Asha's throat--her jaw grimly set, brow knit as she quietly listens; despite herself, Asha cannot help but shift somewhat restlessly--a hoof kicking up a plume of dust as she looks from Lette to Lo'el. It is Lette's last words to the raven that strike a strange chord within the centaur; during her travels with Xavega, she had come to regard the gods and their servants in a different light than before--yet now, was she truly witness to the very avatar of Vuoksi? Martin had done much to reign in calm despite what had transpired before their very eyes; it becomes clearer to Asha that he was of strong heart and countenance--befitting traits for he who would be 'Baron' again someday. Nodding curtly, the centaur steps smoothly to Lo'el before offering the faun a hand; once more dismissing her typical avoidance of such, Asha gestures towards her back before favoring the faun a tight-lipped smile. "You've carried enough this day." She murmurs softly. Ahead, Asha expected, they would all have much more to carry yet...
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Jun 24, 2012 06:17
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After the activity, the silence is eerie. With one more caw, the last raven takes off, flying southward at speed; soon after it's gone, leaving where Alec and the fairies had been completely and with finality bare. There seems to be little to do but turn around and head back to the village, a job easier with the frantic hoofmarks of Asha to follow back (a trail trackers far less keen-eyed than Lo'el could follow quickly). The illusion warding the path is gone, though the entrance itself is still difficult to spot from afar. Only up close does the random knotting and tangling of branches and foliage reveal a hole large enough for people to thread through, and on reflection it actually seems to Martin to be similar to a sally port in a castle's construction. Such random details are... easier for a mind to latch onto than it is to think about the events of importance that had just happened. After a somber, quiet walk back, they emerge into Gela's village once more; the satyr doctor looks up from administering to Isit and her goaty face twists. "Fairies." She spits, and then adds a few more hopeless profanities in a language older than any present know. "Did they take him, or did he at least get a clean death?"
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Jun 24, 2012 06:26
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Dolan The first thing he notices is that there are only the four of them returning. Alec is not with them, which leaves two distinct possibilities. Either the northman was so incensed that he chose not to return, or they were unable to retrieve them. What Dolan knew of his companions led him to believe that they would likely not let Alec leave without a thorough discussion. That, and the expression on their faces told him all he needed to know. "I'm sorry," he says. "I underestimated the fairies. I never thought the northman could get far enough from the village for them to take him. By the time I learned that he had travelled so far, it was too late." In some ways, it was sincere. Perhaps sincere enough. Most likely, Dolan could have saved him. That was not in question. The question was not could, the question was should. He did not know if he had an answer.
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Jun 24, 2012 07:06
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Lette "The cleanest," the girl responds softly to the satyr. "He escaped with his soul, at least." Whatever details, if any, that Alec had given about his culture's expectation for the afterlife are hazy. At least his first wife is waiting for him. Gods help that man. She dismounts, patting Eclipse. The horse had served her well. "Lo'el," she calls without looking, tone wooden. "You're going to have to learn. Hear me?" There were only two who need further instruction, now. The biggest challenge would be to figure out why she should bother making it any easier for them. At the sound of Dolan's voice, her immediate, visceral reaction is not quite what she expects. There is no tensing in anger, no fire behind her eyes — which is not to say she's not angry. But at the forefront of it all, Lette just feels tired. Not physically, not mentally. Emotionally, yes. But moreover, existentially. She brings this weariness to bear in the look she gives the dwarf. "Don't know if I'm the one owed an apology. Don't think so, anyway. Could be that road is closed for good. Don't know what else there is to say." Walking over to Isit, Lette regards the elf with the same expression. "Do you feel any better?"
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Jun 24, 2012 07:19
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Isit The others return, and Alec is not with them. The elf might have disliked him a great deal, but she was sort of gratified he died well. But Isit was even happier he hadnt taken others with him. She had learned long ago to mimic emotions not felt, and could act the part if called for. First she looks down and away. That was grief. Then relief upon seing the others safe. That was a real emotion. Then she raises her head after Dolan speaks. She at least had loyalty to the dwarf, and Lo'el for that matter. "It is unfortunate Alec died. But no one could have predicted this string of events Dolan. If we had tried to stop him in the state that he was in, there might have been more than one to mourn. In fact I would bet on that being he case. Poor man was half mad already...." Sighing she looks down again. That was false regret. It was the right decision wih the wrong outcome, even if the others did not agree. She tilts her head and looks at Lette. She seemed resigned. A few more and she would have tough enough skin to not let a death bother her like this. "I feel like poo poo and probably should be tied up."
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Jun 24, 2012 07:42
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Martin de Mignolet By the time they arrived back in the village, Martin seemed outwardly even-keeled. After the others speak, he shakes his head and sighs. "I don't understand how he made it so far, either," he begins solemnly. "Seems we are all doomed to ill luck. He had it worst of all." Dismounting, he makes a wide gesture, indicating the group. "We could blame. If we wanted to, we could find fault with what any of us did. I could blame myself - I left knowing not one, but two of us were in that sort of danger," he notes, and the others, for a brief second, likely could not be sure if his temper would be lost or not. But he instead merely stands still for a second and closes his eyes, almost serenely. He could not tell how sincere Isit or Dolan were; he also decided it did not matter. In the end, Martin believed all of them wanted more or less the same thing: to do good, after a fashion. What happened to Alec was terrible, but it certainly was not murder either, and he could not take it out on anyone. He had his moment of grief, the one moment he would allow, and then it was time to move forward as best as was possible. "It serves nothing; Vukosi took him directly and that is that. Tonight, we should drink to his life; in the morning, we can begin honoring that life by setting back out on the work ahead of us." He looks to the doctor, and smiles with an eerie, grim sort of grin, like a man laughing on the gallows. "I don't suppose there is any wine?"
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Jun 24, 2012 08:31
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Lette Lette nods when the elf suggests being tied up; that much is a foregone conclusion. "Actually, I think the doctor predicted it. When she was telling us about what fairies do when people are poisoned. Maybe you were thrown off by meeting one in a toxic dream. Maybe you expected something else to happen. Well, you have your answer. "Whatever antidote they've offered, don't take it. Unless you think Vuoksi will answer you as promptly as she just did Alec; the ten thousand ravens seemed to scare them off well enough. "Noah is better off without their lot. And so are we. Even if we have to figure out a cure right here and now." Only as Lette reaches for her lyre does she realize her hand is balled up. She wiggles her fingers, loosening up. "Maybe I have an idea. I'll need your help, though." She holds the elf's gaze as she moves the instrument into position. "I don't know you very well," she says, the statement seeming to hang in the air for a reflective moment more than necessary. "For all I know, what I'm going to ask of you may be embarrassing. Will you go along with it, regardless?" She glances over at Martin. "Some for me also, please." Aeolius fucked around with this message at 13:39 on Jun 24, 2012 |
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Jun 24, 2012 08:37
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Lo'el Taking the centaur up on her offer, the faun willingly climbs onto her back and slides around on her armor as she trots along. He finds his balance steady enough after a while but quickly slides forward to wrap his arms around Asha's armored waist as she hops over a small ditch. His focus on the ride helps a great deal in keeping his whole thoughts on the passing of Alec. Still, his ears stayed dropped and contribute to the sullen look that remains on his face as they eventually enter the village. Not being entirely sure if he is embarrassing or demeaning Asha by remaining on her back, the faun slips off as they pass through the entrance of the village with slightly red cheeks as he gives her the best smile he can manage. "Thank you, m- Asha. I shall try not to make a habit of it." Although, the centaur herself had been the one to offer him a ride on both occasions. He wonders what to think of such things before he shakes his head and lowers it as Dolan and Isit are informed of Alec's demise. They both sound as sincere as his own words to his ears and he gives them a downcast look along with a comforting smile. "Wine would be...nice." he mutters along to Martin. "Given the man's beliefs and traditions, I can think of no better way to honor him." After all, deaths in the herd were both mourned and celebrated, with stories and songs of the deceased shared and sung around their fires deep into the night. A toast to the memory of Alec sounds like a fine idea indeed for tonight, as the coming days may not bless them with another chance to do so.
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Jun 24, 2012 11:01
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Dolan There is still some wine left in the skin, enough for the others to share. He and Isit had made some work on it, but had not finished it. Dolan tosses the skin to martin. "So I guess we need to bring news of Roland's response, and of the queen's movements. Now or in the morning, do you think?"
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Jun 24, 2012 17:35
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Isit Isit shrugs. She was betting they didn't want to remember Alec as violent, or mad. That was okay, since they considered him thier friend. People were wierd like that. "All of us could have heeded certian advice better I guess." No one had tied up Alec when she had suggested it that morning, but she wouldn't bring that up unless this became a heated argument. The mention of fairies gets a shrug as well. She'd not take the antidote of course, but the offer..... Well they needed allies, savory or not. But that was for after tempers cooled. When Lette sits down, she arches an eyebrow. "Most wouldn't want to know me very well. But I'll go along with it."
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Jun 24, 2012 18:33
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Martin de Mignolet Martin catches the skin, and raises it solemnly. "To Alec," is all he manages to say. He takes a long pull from the wineskin, savoring it little, but needing a little of what it would bring him later. Finally he tosses it back without much delay, and wipes his face. He would need the wine to have any chance of sleep tonight, he figured. Otherwise he was entirely sure there would be nightmares. He considers Dolan's question carefully. "Hm. It may be best not to leave Naantali waiting. But if any of us go, it should be sooner rather than later, lest any of us drink a little too much. Such as myself," he adds nonchalantly.
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Jun 24, 2012 19:53
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Lette Lette nodded. "I know what your poison does, but not what it is or what it feels like. That's why I need your help. If I had a way to grab hold of it... to learn its song, maybe I could pick it apart. So... I need you to sing it to me. "It doesn't need to be pretty. Doesn't need to have a key or a melody or a rhythm that you can tell. It just needs to be real. Just raw essence." Recalling times she had used music to bring about calm — putting Gil to sleep, easing the minds of the animals during a storm, and one time even, she liked to believe, quelling an argument between her parents — Lette began to pluck out something simple and easy, but nevertheless minor and faintly dark in color. The key was to relax, but still fix the mind on what was wrong. She took a breath, relaxing herself as well, then spoke over the musical texture. If Lette was playing right, her voice might have even sounded a little distant to the elf: "Close your eyes. Let your arms rest in your lap. Take a deep breath and hold it. "When you release it, it's going to slowly drag out any tension in your legs, moving up from the toes. Breathe in. This time, when you release, it's going to continue up your lower back to your shoulders, everything going limp. Now one more. Relax your neck, let your head hang. Your face, everything. And your mind. Shutting out thoughts is hard; do the best you can. Sit in a dark room in your mind. There is nothing but you. But something in you is wrong. You can feel it. Focus on that. Pull it into the room and when you take your next breath, breathe it in. Think about how you feel without it, how you feel with it. The difference is the poison. Can you feel it? Can you hear it? Listen to it, long as you need to. And when you think you hear it well, let that sound leave with your breath." With that, she went silent, but continued to provide the musical backdrop. Aced musical instrument roll, succeeded on musical influence by a margin of 5. Going for relaxation, so in this case I am looking to translate that into an easing of the default on a Meditation roll, bringing it to a modest Will-1. As long as Lette plays, Isit can attempt the skill roll every 9 seconds until she succeeds. Once she gets it out, I want to cast a spell to analyze it (last WT for the day), but I can't for the life of me find such a thing. There's Detect Poison, which spots it and gives a bonus to Poison rolls to identify it, but I am hoping to finagle something a little more to the point with all this prepwork, since any dope can Detect stuff! Plus I am as much working with a song as a poison, in theory. In fact, the rules for PC-created spells strike as ill suited to this, since they seem to be assuming a scholarly approach to magic on the whole. So, sorry if this is a headache. Aeolius fucked around with this message at 21:20 on Jun 24, 2012 |
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Jun 24, 2012 20:00
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Lo'el He politely asks for some wine himself and mimics martin's toast to the fallen northerner. "To the man he was and all he could have possibly been. May our future actions further bless Alec's spirit and one day bring about the peace that he fought for so selflessly." He drinks only a little himself, not wishing to deprive others of a drink if they should want it, before he passes it back. As much as he would like to simply rest, gather his thoughts and properly overcome the death of their lost companion, the faun listens to the talk around him and fully remembers just how many urgent matters still require attention. A night of tales and songs of Alec may just have to wait after all, for more lives depend on their immediate actions. His ears perk up suddenly and immediately bring his attention to Lette as the girl lets loose a song for Isit. The girl's magic through music is a subject he finds nothing but purely amazing. He cannot help but be mesmerized as she plays, finding his own mind becoming clear and free as he focuses on nothing but the music. Just what she intends to do through her music remains a mystery to him for now and he wants nothing but to stay and admire what may come, but Dolan and Martin's conversation tears him away for a moment. "Naantali should be talked with at once, I agree. To leave her waiting may be an unwise move. Although, I am sure she will understand, given..." His words trail off and he stares off, half listening to the music before he focuses again. "I will go with you. Even though I did not hear Lord Roland's words myself, I would like to accompany you. It may just help me take my mind away from recent events." He almost gazes off again before he shakes his head. "If you are ready, let us go now."
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Jun 24, 2012 20:25
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Martin de Mignolet He nods to Lo'el. "Might as well go now, yes. I think at least one person should stay with Lette and Isit, no telling how long it will take. The rest of us should go," states Martin calmly, but it is clear he intends to let the others decide that for themselves, as he is already walking towards his horse.
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Jun 24, 2012 20:31
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Lo'el He turns to the satyr doctor, still finding the best way to overcome who he used to be only a short while ago is to simply talk to the woman. "Umm, if you would not mind, could you stay with them and help keep them safe? I have...failed in keeping a companion safe already, I am sure you and Lette will have better luck then I." He focuses again on Lette and Isit for a brief moment, before he digs some cord from his pack and hands it to the doctor. "Just in case she does require restraining." As Martin moves to mount his horse again, the faun walks over to Lette's poisoned horse and examines it as best as he can. The poor thing has been in just as bad a condition as the others. Worse so maybe, in that it can't voice it's current state aside from gut-wrenching whinnies that make him feel terrible for having little knowledge in which to help the creature. His analysis may prove useless, but he lays comforting hands on the mount all the same as he whispers gentle encouragement and promises before he moves to join Martin.
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Jun 24, 2012 20:49
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Isit Lette was right. As part of herself is carried along with the music, another realizes singing would be embarrassing. But what else was there? She sure as hell didn't know what else to do, so she sung. It was an old song, a story really, and might have been elven at some point long ago. Her mother had sung it to her daughter while baking the morning loaves, and it was mournful and quiet as some dawns were. It was about gifts. No gift should be taken unless freely given, and very few were. The maiden in he song had been given a ring by a man she thought was a friend, but he took the gift as an oath. To escape marrying him, she threw herself from a cliff into a river, where the icy waters changed her. Then she was a maiden no more, but gave gifts freely herself. When men heard her song, they threw themselves into the water as well, payment for hearing such music. She didn't know why that song was what came to her lips, but it fit somehow.
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Jun 24, 2012 20:55
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Even as she plays, Lette can feel her gambit both succeeding and not; the song works, and Isit is clearly going into a near trance. She can- they both can- see the poison, an invisibly faint trace of darkness winding through her veins. She can even see it with her eyes once they adjust, a whisper-thin tracery under the elf's skin. From here, she can't see, but slowly Lette becomes aware of other hands, intangible ones. Those can probe the poison directly, studying it, turning bits over in her hand to see how they tick. It's a malady of the body and soul at once, that much is readily clear- there's barely any in Isit's actual body, but once the elf's more spiritual half can be discerned almost the entire thing is tainted black with the spread of toxin throughout it. It seems to be mainly acting on the elf's soul, leeching energy from it and keeping her in a state of constant exhaustion without letting her rest- that it hasn't spread to her physical body explains why she's not suffering physical harm instead of mere exhaustion. If the toxin made the jump from spirit to body, the results would likely be decidedly unpleasant- though without a healing mage's education, she can't pin it down further than that. Analysis duly performed, Lette pulls her senses away, only... the poison is a tarry, sticky mess, and seems to move with a primitive intelligence all its own. It flows back along the channel Lette opened up to study it, and with a sickening lurch Lette can feel the taint lodging securely inside her own spirit... though thankfully, like Isit, not her body. "That was pretty impressive," the satyr volunteers. "What was it?" [15:07] <Mukbot> Mukaikubo, 2#3d6: 12 [3d6=4,3,5], 18 [3d6=6,6,6] Dice are cursed forever. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ Critical failure on a made-up-on-the-spur-of-the-moment "Analyze Poison" roll, combined with the supernatural and frankly Utter Bastard nature of fairy poison, have led to Lette being infected. Lette takes 4 FP damage. I'm calling this a mixture of Detect Poison, Analyze Magic, and Body Reading; the average for all those spells is a healthy 4 FP, so let's say the spell cost 4 FP.
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Jun 24, 2012 23:26
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Lette To her relief, Isit really did invest herself in the process. What's more, the nature of the poison unfolds before her in a display that she can only compare to when her vision had been altered in dreams. The relief is short lived; when the inky tendrils take note of her interest, they show themselves unwilling to let go of a new friend. The music ends abruptly as tremors rock Lette's hands. She hugs the instrument, doubling forward with the sensation of having run a mile in half a minute. The dizziness and nausea fade almost as quickly as they had come, but the exhaustion remains. The gutpunched sensation also lingers. Her eyes move up to the satyr. "That was... foolish of me, maybe. "...I'm sorry, I may need your help," she says dryly. "I think I've been poisoned."
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Jun 24, 2012 23:57
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The satyr stares, then cocks her head to one side. "...how?"
Mukaikubo fucked around with this message at 00:06 on Jun 25, 2012 |
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Jun 24, 2012 23:58
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Lo'el His ears shoot up once more and he pivots on the spot. "P-poisoned!? Yourself!?" If the girl had hoped to keep it somewhat quiet, the faun denies her such a privilege as he practically shouts the words in surprise. Taking an instinctive step towards her with a worried look in his eyes, he repeats the doctor's words in a more hurried and panicked tone. "H-how? What happened? The same poison? How is that possible?"
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Jun 25, 2012 00:06
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Isit Isit starts, and grabs Lette's hand. "Goddamn it Lette. gently caress....Well we have to deal with this as best we can. I'll not let you die too. Thank gently caress you aren't crazy." She looks around wildly for a moment. "It'll be fine..just...okay, the queen may visit you but you'll be alone a long, long, time before then. Hold it together, because it'll end. Then she'll find you....I need to coach you. You might not like me right now, but I need you to trust me. I won't let her have you."
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Jun 25, 2012 00:07
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Lette "By magic. By music. Both. I was trying to learn its song, to figure out how to fix it. It mostly worked, too. It's not just a substance in the body; it's mostly in the spirit. But then it kind of... noticed me. And spread." She shakes her head, looking down at the instrument her grandmother had carved. "I wasn't prepared for-... ah, who am I kidding, I never know what I'm doing anymore," she finishes miserably. Rising to her feet, she nodded at the satyr. "But I got something out of it. Maybe it's enough to cure it. I'll need your help. I know a little of herbal remedies, but I'm sure you know more. Also, maybe Naantali has a book that can help, now that we actually know what we're dealing with." To Lo'el: "I'd appreciate your help, too. You know herbs, right?" The faun had seemed to know what to look for at the first poisoning. Lette casts a conflicted look in Isit's direction. She seems sincere, but... does Lette dislike the elf? She's angry, sure; hurting, no doubt. She decides that there'll be time enough to figure out exactly how she feels about the lot of them after this new crisis-of-the-gods-damned-minute is resolved. "Maybe I won't need it, if we can hammer this thing out before we're all done for the night. We'll see."
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Jun 25, 2012 00:20
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