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Mistress Dizzy,
Drache,
wistfulwords
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Is it alright if, since I'm mainly handling environmental stuff, I go ahead and write Kijani on to the city and lay out the features?
"Impressive," Telaris remarked with actual sincerity, and stepped into the small grotto. True, it was ill-suited to more than two or three, but this little enclave would be a more than suitable for the pair of them for the night. Underfoot, the moss was spongy, a bit unbalancing, but he made his way over to the stream-fed pool without much difficulty, and knelt, cupping his hands and gathering some of the pure spring water. It was cold, and he sipped it from his palms silently, mind already tracing the possible paths his prey had taken. Once he'd drunk as much as he wanted, he filled an empty flask with it, stoppering the vessel and slipping it back into the bag he wore.
"I suppose we'll rest a while and then move out in the early morning.. With any luck, we can track her to wherever she may be hiding by daylight before many more days pass." Moving back over to a particular spot, he settled in, using his travelling staff to help him make a small indentation in the grasses, and began setting up for some sleep. "Somehow I suspect we may have to dismay some overzealous fellow seekers, but your bow and a few suitable spells should keep all but the most persistent from following us too closely." Perhaps he was being a bit overzealous now himself, speaking so freely with the stranger. But there was nothing of immense value in his words, and perhaps it would lead the archer more readily to believe him a trustworthy companion.
Or maybe it was worthless, just empty, useless words escaping out into the night air, heated from their stay in his hot-blooded body. Only time would tell - for now, he genuinely relished the idea of sleep, even if these mosses and grasses were far more humble a bed than he preferred. "Wake me in the morning," he said with an air of finality as he got comfortable, and bedded down. "And don't sleep too heavily. We don't know who else could find this little hiding spot."
This statement was met with an expression of unimpressed annoyance, and the sellsword simply turned back and returned to the fire, adding the torch to the vigorous blaze already going. For a moment it seemed as if the witch's presence was not even going to be further acknowledged, but finally, they motioned for her to sit, and pulled out a pair of hardtack biscuits and tossed one to her. "I'm on a rather serious sort of journey," came the next statement, after a long pause. What that was, was left unspecified, but it was easy enough to guess - it was hardly as if there weren't dozens of others on this same quest. But it seemed they preferred to let her make her guesses.
In fact, it seemed the traveller was not much of one for discussion at all, instead choosing to tend the fire and idly chew on the very dry and flavorless hardtack, more out of a necessary need for some kind of sustenance than any real desire to eat the plain and unappetizing food. Around them, night had finally fallen in earnest, and in the distance other fires could be seen, here and there through the barred forest tree-trunks. Huddled around them were other seekers - everyone from royal soldiers to common peasants vying for this rare and unrivalled opportunity. Some were out there this night in pursuit of the fortune that awaited the successful ones, others out of a sense of duty or under command of another. Others were out for fame or glory. Some were just taking this chance to leave on an excuse, though they never intended to return.
Looking back to the witch, her newfound and stoic companion seemed to survey her a moment, taking in the small-statured spellcaster's robes and plaited hair and the strange, gilded eyes that seemed at once suited and yet strange in her human face. Whether or not the other had any thoughts on Mela's appearance, they didn't say, only moved to bank the fire a bit to keep it from getting too high, and finally comment, "I don't care if you follow me, but don't get in my way. Understood?"
"I suppose we'll rest a while and then move out in the early morning.. With any luck, we can track her to wherever she may be hiding by daylight before many more days pass." Moving back over to a particular spot, he settled in, using his travelling staff to help him make a small indentation in the grasses, and began setting up for some sleep. "Somehow I suspect we may have to dismay some overzealous fellow seekers, but your bow and a few suitable spells should keep all but the most persistent from following us too closely." Perhaps he was being a bit overzealous now himself, speaking so freely with the stranger. But there was nothing of immense value in his words, and perhaps it would lead the archer more readily to believe him a trustworthy companion.
Or maybe it was worthless, just empty, useless words escaping out into the night air, heated from their stay in his hot-blooded body. Only time would tell - for now, he genuinely relished the idea of sleep, even if these mosses and grasses were far more humble a bed than he preferred. "Wake me in the morning," he said with an air of finality as he got comfortable, and bedded down. "And don't sleep too heavily. We don't know who else could find this little hiding spot."
This statement was met with an expression of unimpressed annoyance, and the sellsword simply turned back and returned to the fire, adding the torch to the vigorous blaze already going. For a moment it seemed as if the witch's presence was not even going to be further acknowledged, but finally, they motioned for her to sit, and pulled out a pair of hardtack biscuits and tossed one to her. "I'm on a rather serious sort of journey," came the next statement, after a long pause. What that was, was left unspecified, but it was easy enough to guess - it was hardly as if there weren't dozens of others on this same quest. But it seemed they preferred to let her make her guesses.
In fact, it seemed the traveller was not much of one for discussion at all, instead choosing to tend the fire and idly chew on the very dry and flavorless hardtack, more out of a necessary need for some kind of sustenance than any real desire to eat the plain and unappetizing food. Around them, night had finally fallen in earnest, and in the distance other fires could be seen, here and there through the barred forest tree-trunks. Huddled around them were other seekers - everyone from royal soldiers to common peasants vying for this rare and unrivalled opportunity. Some were out there this night in pursuit of the fortune that awaited the successful ones, others out of a sense of duty or under command of another. Others were out for fame or glory. Some were just taking this chance to leave on an excuse, though they never intended to return.
Looking back to the witch, her newfound and stoic companion seemed to survey her a moment, taking in the small-statured spellcaster's robes and plaited hair and the strange, gilded eyes that seemed at once suited and yet strange in her human face. Whether or not the other had any thoughts on Mela's appearance, they didn't say, only moved to bank the fire a bit to keep it from getting too high, and finally comment, "I don't care if you follow me, but don't get in my way. Understood?"
Yeah, I may be going in on Saturday to make up some hours, which is a-okay with me.
(it's already come back to bite me. rest assured.)
Anyway, I'm gonna shut up and deal with my other stuff, then get back and post.
(it's already come back to bite me. rest assured.)
Anyway, I'm gonna shut up and deal with my other stuff, then get back and post.
Yeah! Being sick is noooo fun. I missed 2 days of work for it, too! Augh..
But I'm doing a lot better. So much so that, for no explicable reason, I stayed up until 3 am last night. And got up at 7. Wheeeee!
But anyway. Post coming your way sometime in the next 3-4 hours tops, just gotta handle some other things first.
But I'm doing a lot better. So much so that, for no explicable reason, I stayed up until 3 am last night. And got up at 7. Wheeeee!
But anyway. Post coming your way sometime in the next 3-4 hours tops, just gotta handle some other things first.
Did so. Much better now. Will post sometime tonight!
That's fine? No big rush, haha. Actually, really, no rush.. I've got the flu so chances are I'll be slow to respond anyway.. *sigh*
It's been going around the office for about a week and a half now and I guess it's finally my turn. Joy, oh joy.
It's been going around the office for about a week and a half now and I guess it's finally my turn. Joy, oh joy.
Huzzah!
Sounds good to me!
Okay! Post is up! Also, to clarify, the sellsword is a petty magician who can do some elemental magic. As I mentioned, magical ability is distributed in a bell curve, so the overwhelming majority of people have some level of magic - those who are totally devoid of it are as rare as those who have incredibly high amounts of inborn magical ability. Whether Devon is one of those unlucky few who really can't do an ounce of magic is up to you - or his could be some kind of esoteric and basically useless magic, like minor illusions, extremely weak teleportation, or the ability to telepathically talk to songbirds.
I just figured that the divide between our two physical-based fighters and our two magic-users would be significant enough even if the former two do have some level of magical ability - to be readily called a 'magic user' would imply one has enough magical energy to actually use a significant number of spells on a daily or near-daily basis, as a wix or mage or warlock would, whereas a petty magician wouldn't.
Also, I figured your witch might be tromping through the forest and happen too close to the sellsword's camp, or she might've been trying to make an approach - that's up to you. Let me know if you had something specific in mind, I can always edit.
I just figured that the divide between our two physical-based fighters and our two magic-users would be significant enough even if the former two do have some level of magical ability - to be readily called a 'magic user' would imply one has enough magical energy to actually use a significant number of spells on a daily or near-daily basis, as a wix or mage or warlock would, whereas a petty magician wouldn't.
Also, I figured your witch might be tromping through the forest and happen too close to the sellsword's camp, or she might've been trying to make an approach - that's up to you. Let me know if you had something specific in mind, I can always edit.
Stop to rest? What a fool.. No doubt the princess would move exclusively by night - a werewolf was hardly unnoticable, even crossing rural lands. It helped that she was doubtlessly unsure of where to go, for even if she knew her kingdom by a map, the real terrain was surely foreign to her. Still, he could track her far more easily than even the most skilled hunter, it was far more an issue of swiftness. Not that he doubted some reward would be given no matter what, if she was returned safe and cured, but the offered reward had a time-limit.
On the other hand, if he insisted on pushing through the night, it might give away to Devon that he had some means other than ordinary sight by which to follow her trail. Later he might reveal the magic-blindness spell, but not this soon. All he could assure himself was that if she travelled by night and hid by day, they could perhaps cover enough ground to catch up with her. Horses would possibly help, though if she was moving through wilderness and staying away from roads, they would be less useful. Truly, there was a lot to consider, a lot of unknown factors, and he would have to simply change and adapt his plan as often as needed in order to ensure success.
"I concede you may have a point," he said at last, and gave a well-feigned yawn. "It has been a long and difficult day after all.. No doubt the princess will take her rest soon, too. And we will see better by day's dawning than my humble light, to be certain." Looking around them for a moment, he turned back to the archer and gave a tired smile. "I suppose you know a good few places where one might set up a little camp? I find herbalists tend to be some of the most knowledgeable about their surroundings, and as I can't claim nearly such familiarity with these woods, I'd gladly let you take the lead."
It was annoying to have to stand down like this, but better to let the archer trust him falsely than to give him reason right away to question their alliance. Showing some level of complicity would make him far more trustworthy to the stranger, he expected. After all, one who was too headstrong wasn't a good ally, and one who was too overbearing made for a poor travelling companion. Nodding down the rough-hewn path, he brightened the sphere a bit, allowing the light to shine further. "After you, sir Relven."
By this time, the road through the woods was almost deserted, those on actual travelling business having already pulled their carts and wagons off to the side in order to make camp. Likewise, those without some ordinary mercantile task had also largely come to a stop for the night. One such individual, a tall, leather armor-clad sellsword, had set up a small fire right at the edge of the road with no consideration for being seen or not. Along with a full sword and a handful of daggers for purposes both lethal and practical, they had only their armor and a roll and pack. Travelling lightly was hardly unknown to sellswords, though, so there was nothing about them exceptionally strange. Like most of their ilk, they advertised their skills and weapons openly - sensible thieves tended to avoid such battle-worn types and those in need of a hired blade tended to recognize the intent behind such brazenness.
For the moment, they were alone with their tepid and low-burning fire, reading a map by it as much as the wan light of the waxing moon. For all appearances they were allowing the implied reputation to guard them, but if one watched closely, at every sudden noise in the undergrowth their eyes would dart to the source, and the free hand that held a half-eaten hardtack biscuit would move for one of the daggers sheathed at their side. Though there was no reason yet for any of the many competitors to turn on each other, it wasn't infeasible that some over-zealous or just vicious types might seek to eliminate some of said competition.
Silently watching a particular area of the nearby woods, they folded and tucked away the map, and removed the glove from their left hand, and picked up a short length of wood, suitable for a torch. Holding two fingers to the tip of the torch, they snapped once, twice, and finally, on the third time, a small flame sprung up from their fingers and immediately took to the wood. Rising, they moved towards the patch in question, readying a dagger, they addressed the darkness in a harsh, demanding voice. "Show yourself, you coward."
On the other hand, if he insisted on pushing through the night, it might give away to Devon that he had some means other than ordinary sight by which to follow her trail. Later he might reveal the magic-blindness spell, but not this soon. All he could assure himself was that if she travelled by night and hid by day, they could perhaps cover enough ground to catch up with her. Horses would possibly help, though if she was moving through wilderness and staying away from roads, they would be less useful. Truly, there was a lot to consider, a lot of unknown factors, and he would have to simply change and adapt his plan as often as needed in order to ensure success.
"I concede you may have a point," he said at last, and gave a well-feigned yawn. "It has been a long and difficult day after all.. No doubt the princess will take her rest soon, too. And we will see better by day's dawning than my humble light, to be certain." Looking around them for a moment, he turned back to the archer and gave a tired smile. "I suppose you know a good few places where one might set up a little camp? I find herbalists tend to be some of the most knowledgeable about their surroundings, and as I can't claim nearly such familiarity with these woods, I'd gladly let you take the lead."
It was annoying to have to stand down like this, but better to let the archer trust him falsely than to give him reason right away to question their alliance. Showing some level of complicity would make him far more trustworthy to the stranger, he expected. After all, one who was too headstrong wasn't a good ally, and one who was too overbearing made for a poor travelling companion. Nodding down the rough-hewn path, he brightened the sphere a bit, allowing the light to shine further. "After you, sir Relven."
By this time, the road through the woods was almost deserted, those on actual travelling business having already pulled their carts and wagons off to the side in order to make camp. Likewise, those without some ordinary mercantile task had also largely come to a stop for the night. One such individual, a tall, leather armor-clad sellsword, had set up a small fire right at the edge of the road with no consideration for being seen or not. Along with a full sword and a handful of daggers for purposes both lethal and practical, they had only their armor and a roll and pack. Travelling lightly was hardly unknown to sellswords, though, so there was nothing about them exceptionally strange. Like most of their ilk, they advertised their skills and weapons openly - sensible thieves tended to avoid such battle-worn types and those in need of a hired blade tended to recognize the intent behind such brazenness.
For the moment, they were alone with their tepid and low-burning fire, reading a map by it as much as the wan light of the waxing moon. For all appearances they were allowing the implied reputation to guard them, but if one watched closely, at every sudden noise in the undergrowth their eyes would dart to the source, and the free hand that held a half-eaten hardtack biscuit would move for one of the daggers sheathed at their side. Though there was no reason yet for any of the many competitors to turn on each other, it wasn't infeasible that some over-zealous or just vicious types might seek to eliminate some of said competition.
Silently watching a particular area of the nearby woods, they folded and tucked away the map, and removed the glove from their left hand, and picked up a short length of wood, suitable for a torch. Holding two fingers to the tip of the torch, they snapped once, twice, and finally, on the third time, a small flame sprung up from their fingers and immediately took to the wood. Rising, they moved towards the patch in question, readying a dagger, they addressed the darkness in a harsh, demanding voice. "Show yourself, you coward."
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