Domhnall McRaith and Iridiel
The white-eyes paid no heed to his words or held-out hand, opting to crawl out from underneath her on her own reserves, though not before slamming an elbow to her head and inciting a surprised exclamation from Iridiel. She had reverted back to Éireann, but the gist of her message of,
"Damn it, she was about to say something! The hell did you have to go and do that to her for?! Don't you want to hear what she has to say?!" was probably evident enough even without the words themselves being understood.
The white-eyes herself was in no better shape, though, clothes torn and arms bleeding from bites and scratches, chest no doubt hurting from the savage throwing herself back at her. The forestfolk stared after her, half-dumbfounded, even when the woman muttered something about it being okay for someone to try killing them, but scared animals being murdered.
He did not know who or what (other than Angora being spared) the statement was aimed at. He himself was a hunter, but he had never killed without a reason (and no proper humanoids, to date). He killed for the same reason a wolf, fox, bear or a tiger would - to eat. Or, in rare instances, to save himself or others... What he did not eat of those he voluntarily killed, there were other uses for - pelt for fur clothes or leather, bones for tools, fat for ointments or soap, sinew for string ... and what happened to be left over still, Iridiel's wolf usually just gobbled down. Hunters and prey were natural course of life; even herbivores like deer would not hesitate to become opportunistic scavengers or consume the contents of a bird's nest given the chance (especially in the spring, when their antlers were growing in).
Nature was brutal. If it was not predator, it was disease ... and every now and then, even if you were regarded as a peaceful herbivore, it was your own kind. If it was not real threat, it was perceived threat ... competition for resources, mates... It was rare if a game beast lived to old age, but if they did, they often lived the last stretch of their life in solitude, plagued by ailing joints and waning strength. One thing they had in abundance, though, was experience. They knew when and where to find food and water, where predators hid and which bird calls meant trouble, they knew how to fight...
Every now and then, a stag lived about double his prime; if a seven-year-old stag had a magnificent rack of many-pronged antlers, then an old thin gray beast like this usually only barely more than two prongs on their horns, leaving mostly smooth long spikes reaching back and forwards. And they knew well how to use them... Hunters called them "lancers". Experienced deer feared them, and fled at the sight of them. Young, foolish ones with blood rising to their heads occasionally answered their challenges during the mating season - and were subsequently gutted. A single "lancer" could have a devastating effect on the local deer population, and subsequently had to be hunted down, lest it endangered the very future of the next generation of its kin...
Strange woman... Even stranger happenings... The leader of the small group was once more up and about, it seemed. To be fair, one would probably have to have been dead to
not have been roused by the commotion. He saw the warrior approach the white-eyes; they appeared to be talking, as it were... At the same time, there was motion from his other side, and the forestfolk's attention was diverted. Hopefully those two over yonder were fine by themselves...
The savage was trying to stand, but got no farther than to her knees; Iridiel had foregone her offensive demeanor, and was now seemingly concerned for the well-being of the individual she had not long ago incapacitated. She spoke, though, the savage, and much like before, he could not understand a word. Her voice made the hairs on his neck stand on end - it was hollow, somehow, with a strange echo to it. Like the unearthly scream she had let loose as she charged... And on the next moment, she dropped to ground again.
Indeed. Not a threat anymore. His eyes moved to his knife, still brandished and held in a firm grip as it was, and with a measure of awkwardness, sheathed it once more. Iridiel was frowning now, crouching by the savage and muttering something under her breath, with the familiar soft cyan-blue glow emitting from her hands.
She was actually healing the savage? Admittedly, it would be mighty difficult to question a comatose person... The younger black-eyes stepped forth, still bitter at the savage for her having kicked in the crotch. The older one appeared thoughtful.
"You
were going to kill her," Domhnall idly observed. "Doesn' explain wha's her issue with us, 'ough."
What followed was a weiar interrogation, where parts were in Rodorian, parts in
all the languages, and parts in ... whatever that was. Domhnall was fairly confident Iridiel could understand what was said in
all the languages the same he did, the Rodorian bits ... not so much. In the end, he leaned closer, and quietly translated.
"The savage's name is Angora. She attacked because she thought we will ... because we want her sword or something. She has attacked people before, because it "felt natural" to kill them, well, before they killed her. There is something not mortal in her, the black-eyes thinks, that is making her so..." Meanwhile, the warrior had moved up to their little conglomeration, looking down on the savage, his face equal measures hard and weary, "
Possession?"
He really did not seem to dally around before getting to the point, it looked like.
Iridiel leaned back away from Angora and sighed, nodding her head in understanding.
"Possession by some foreign spirit. It makes sense - you heard the scream, Domhnall. It sent a chill down everyone's spine, it was certainly not human, and her voice sounds as though it is some demon from the Hells trying to communicate to us. What makes me wonder now is... how is she able to control herself? Have we weakened the possessor's hold over her? Maybe... enough to help her?" She looked inquisitively at the old man, and then at the woman in front of her. She had not enjoyed rendering this woman nearly unconscious with her blow to the head, but it had been the easiest and simplest way of sorting the situation. And her anger with the white lady? Out of irritation that she was trying to help the woman-now-patient of hers - try walking up to a doctor and stabbing their patient with a knife, and see what reaction you'd get. It wouldn't be much different.
Iridiel heard a whisper in the back of her mind.
"Help her. She is important to the journey. I will guide you." Frowning, Iridiel nodded and motioned to Domhnall and Olan to listen to her.
"Look, I need you two to hold her down in case things go nasty. I'm going to try and see what I can do about this possession - to do that I need to go into her mind and... well, figure out the pieces of the puzzle. I can't guarantee her it won't be difficult or painless, but I will try and be as quick and gentle as I can." She looked at the old man.
"Olan, I need you to tell her to try and remain as calm as possible - not easy, I know, what with now two entities rummaging around in her head, but she can't throw me off, otherwise Sulis knows what will happen to her mind... and possibly even her soul. It's... it's the only way I know to treat this. It's dangerous. But if it works, we'll see the results."
Noctis
Izurich
sandstorm
Alfhedil
Tuujaimaa