spicykvnt

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Of Life, Death, and The End of the World
A collab with @Stormflyx, @Mortarion, and @Father Hank

The battle had been mostly a blur to her, she had remained at the back in the treeline, out of the action. There was no way she was putting herself closer to any of those creatures than she needed to. It’s not to say that the Breton wasn’t pulling her weight in the chaos - in fact she was rushed with injured bodies, wounds of the flesh, contusions of limbs, fractures of bones - rolling in one by one. She barely had time to treat before another ranger flocked to her.

Some of them she had to send back; “that’s naught but a bruise, get back out there and return to me with a puncture!” she would say, to the younger rangers. The volunteers, the youngest of the fighters. This wasn’t a place for them to be. She was in the middle of pulling a thread loose from her cloak when another explosion of ice and storm happened, debris from the field sprayed to the back, a streak of mud hit her cheek but now wasn’t the time to worry about it. She had a ranger losing a lot of blood, slumped against a tree. He was holding his arm and Raelynn could make out tears in his eyes, a white look on his face and his mouth was agape while he struggled to breath through the shock.

There was only one way to snap him out of it. She pulled back her right hand and flung it with force to collide with his cheek - an almighty crack that almost sounded like it could have been lightning too gave those in their vicinity a fright. “Pull yourself together soldier! I’m going to fix you up and have you back out there with two shakes of a dogs tail do you hear me?” he didn’t respond as he reacted to the slap, she barely gave him time to process it before she put her face just inches from his “DO YOU HEAR ME?!” she repeated, louder - and in his face. A far cry from the compassion she showed the orphan girl.

But this was compassion, in a way. She knew the signs of shock and she knew how to shake him out of it. She could tell that the other Mages and healers around her found her to be callous and abrupt - but lives were on the line here. She had already watched one young mage deplete her energies by not pacing herself. If any of these fighters fell, they would be the next ones to fall. She wasn’t going to die here. Not in a forest, not in such an undignified manner.

She pulled from her hair a sharp looking clip, curls of her ash blonde hair cascaded around her face as she did so. “This isn’t a needle, but in the face of emergency we have to make do. This is going to hurt boy but it will save your arm, I promise you that one.” With ease she wound the thread collected from her cloak through the hair clip. This wouldn’t be the first time she would have performed this. Perhaps a sign that she should carry a real medicinal needle around…

Jaraleet slowly but surely made his way towards where he knew that the mages had gathered in the aftermath of the battle to treat the wounded. The Saxhleel’s movements were slow and limping, the result of the wounds he had received during the course of the battle; after he had left Daro’Vasora in the hands of Gregor, the assassin had returned to the battlefield like he had said to the Imperial. The few remaining enemies hadn’t been much of a threat but, even so, they still had put up quite a fight before finally dying, it’d have been easier to handle them if the soldiers with the strange staves had been eliminated beforehand but that hadn’t been the case unfortunately.

His first wound, aside those he had accumulated at the start of the battle, had come from a stray shot from one of the strange staves which had, mercifully, hit only the left side of his abdomen and not the middle of it. This had started a cascade event as the wound slowed him down, allowing what few close range combatants that remained to score in a few hits with their weapons before they were dispatched. In spite of his accumulating wounds, Jaraleet continued to fight on, ignoring the pain, until all the Dwemeri soldiers were finally dead, albeit he was hit one last time by the Dwemeri rifles, the shot connecting fully with his left arm and leaving a gaping hole in it.

And so, with the battle now ended, Jaraleet had headed towards the mages in search of someone with knowledge in restoration magic. Unfortunately all the mages that he had come across with seemed either occupied with men and women much more gravelly wounded than him or out of magicka after their exertions in the battle and its aftermath. The Haj-Eix shook his head at the sight of the wounded men and women, a brief look of sadness and nostalgia passing through his eyes for a brief second before he steeled himself. “This is our role and the price that we must pay for it. To be wounded, to die, this is to be expected for those of us who dedicate ourselves to protect others.” The assassin thought as he continued to wander through the mages.

The sound of a loud crack reverberating throughout the, now quiet, clearing caught the attention of the assassin, who began making her way towards its source. To his surprise he found a small woman, of Breton origin if his guess was correct, with long ash blond hair that hung loosely around her face treating an injured Ranger with what seemed to be a clip used for holding hair. Intrigued, and hoping that the woman was a skilled healer, Jaraleet stood there, waiting for the blonde woman to finish treating the other Ranger while ignoring the pain and increasing feeling of dizziness that spread through his body.

“Let me take a look that,” Gregor said as he approached Jaraleet from behind, with the same disarming smile on his face as before. If it weren’t for the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the loose strands of hair that had come untucked during combat, he looked like he could have merely been out on a stroll and come across the Rangers by happenstance. Combat had been far kinder to him than many others, which was by design: Gregor refrained from heroics and risky behavior in general. After the battle was won, he had remained with the mages and the influx of wounded and made himself useful where he could. The Imperial was reasonably competent with Restoration magic (though less experienced in healing others than himself) and could heal small injuries entirely, or if the wounds were more severe at least staunch the bleeding until a real healer could tend to it.

He motioned for Jaraleet to make himself comfortable and sank down on his knees next to the Argonian. Prodding the wound with his fingers, Gregor hummed and hah’d, and his charming smile turned into a frown. “Such strange weaponry,” he mused, more to himself than to Jaraleet. He glanced up at his patient’s reptilian eyes. “I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,” Gregor said apologetically, now speaking directly to Jaraleet, and quickly dug his fingers into the wound before he could react or protest. He found purchase mercifully fast and he pulled out the bullet that had buried itself in Jaraleet’s flesh. “Aha!” he exclaimed and almost brought the small object up to his face to inspect it before remembering what he was doing; the familiar golden glow of Restoration magic lit up their faces and Gregor bit his lip in concentration.

“Hm,” Gregor grumbled as he beheld his handiwork. “Well, the good news is that it’s not bleeding anymore, but you should really let an expert finish this. I don’t have the skills to properly knit your scales back together.” He looked up at Raelynn, trying to catch her gaze so he could gesture for her to attend to Jaraleet, but she wasn’t looking at him just yet.

Jaraleet tensed instinctively as he heard Gregor speak behind him, but the Saxhleel relaxed slightly when he recognized Gregor’s voice as that of the Imperial he had left the Cathay woman with before returning to the fray. He nodded in agreement when Gregor motioned for him to make himself comfortable, sitting with his back against a nearby tree as Gregor knelt besides him.

The Saxhleel stood motionless as his wound was prodded by the Imperial man, the only indication that he was still conscious being the nod that he gave upon Gregor’s comment about the weaponry of their enemy, “Xhu, they resemble mage staves but I feel that is a poor comparison.” The assassin said, falling silent when the Imperial glanced at his eyes. He didn’t react to his words, nor when he dug his fingers into the wound to pull free the projectile that had embedded itself in his flesh. The only sign that the Argonian gave that he had felt any pain was the slight twitch in his tail but he quickly stopped doing that the second after Gregor had began searching for the bullet inside his wound.

The familiar sense of Restoration magic spread throughout his body once Gregor had retired the bullet from within his arm, but it seemed that the skills of the Imperial weren’t enough to heal him fully. “Hmmm, yes, that seems like a good idea.” The Saxhleel agreed with the Imperial man, turning to look towards Raelynn at about the same time Gregor did. “I should mention, there was no need to apologize to me, I barely felt it when you extracted that strange projectile from my arm.” Jaraleet said in an amiable tone before he shifted to get more comfortable. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of introducing each other properly, my name is Jaraleet.” The Argonian said when it became apparent that the blonde woman was still distracted with her other patient, deciding to pass the time with small talk while Raelynn continued to ply her trade.

Gregor was impressed that Jaraleet seemed so unfazed by the procedure. “You’re made of tough stuff, Jaraleet. Pleased to meet you. I’m Gregor.” He decided to take a minute’s reprieve and sat down properly, moving his cloak out of the way with the careful movements of someone who cares about his attire and tucking his loose strands of hair back where they belonged, confirming that his vanity wasn’t just restricted to his outfit. “The Khajiit you delivered to me will be fine, by the way. She regained consciousness almost immediately.” Before Jaraleet could reply, Gregor looked up to see Raelynn approaching, finally done with her last patient.

Raelynn made her way to the wounded Argonian, and her eyebrow immediately raised. On her way, she dipped her hands into a bucket of water that had been left for washing hands. It wasn’t exactly clean now - but this was the battlefield. It did it’s job of rinsing off the blood from her fingers. She truly hoped that this scaled soldier wasn’t going to expect her to stitch him up too.

Without saying a thing, she knelt down and examined the wound; “well, you’re not going to die.” She pressed two fingers to either side of the wound, feeling the heat flushing to the surface. “I can’t stitch this one up, not without a specific needle. I’m afraid that your skin is, well, it’s leather. It’s much too tough for my clip I’m afraid.” She stood back up, and looked into the Argonian’s yellow eyes. “Even if I had the needle, I don’t have the thread...”

She hadn’t noticed just yet that he wasn’t alone - she hadn’t noticed the Imperial male stood beside him, but all of a sudden she felt his presence. She let her eyes look at him from head to foot - taking in every detail of his custom armour, the pristine and untarnished condition of his cloak - the way he obviously groomed his hair and beard. He was refined - unlike the peasants throwing themselves around the battlefield.

It was like love at first sight - if it were possible to fall in love based on a purely intuitive feeling that this gentleman was a Noble or at least had some kind of ambiguous status. That said, she was good at this. She could sniff out someone who was worth her time from a mile away, and right now there was a person of interest right in front of her.

She turned her attention back to the Argonian, taking a warmer approach than she had just seconds ago - “I can fix this, it depends on whether you’re happy with a scar - or if you’d like your skin to be perfect again…” she offered him a warm smile while she tucked the strands of hair back behind her ears. “That scar would be in a nice place too… It would tell a story. It’s up to you though…”

The Saxhleel looked up at Raelynn as she made her way towards him, remaining silent as she explained to him that she didn’t have the appropriate tools to stitch up his wound after examining it with her fingers. He would have spoken then and there if it hadn’t been for the brief lapse in which the Breton healer turned her attention towards Gregor for a brief moment before once more focusing on Jaraleet.

The sudden change in demeanor to a more warmer one didn’t went unnoticed by the assassin, and it didn’t took him long to connect the dots. “She’s trying to impress Gregor, make a good first impression to try and get in his good graces.” He thought as he looked at the warm smile that Raelynn was offering him. “Clever girl, I’ll need to watch out for this one.” He concluded before speaking again. “I’m more than fine with a scar, there’s no need for you to waste extra magicka to try and make my skin perfect again.” Jaraleet said in response to what Raelynn had said.

“It’s a bit late for that anyway….” The Argonian added as he grabbed the hem of his leather armor and pulled it up slightly. While this would allow Raelynn a better look at the wound that the Dwemer rifle had inflicted on the side of his abdomen, it’d also allow her, and Gregor as well if he was paying attention, a look at some of the numerous scars that dotted the Argonian’s body. Slash scars crisscrossed across his abdomen and it was evident that, in some areas, Jaraleet had been burned with what seemed to have been a piece of hot iron, along with these, if one had seen such a thing before, scars left from magical attacks could also be seen snaking upwards. “As you can see, I’ve already have more than a few mementos engraved in my body and the stories to accompany them.” Jaraleet said, letting out a dark chuckle, his free hand touching the wound on the left side of his abdomen left by the stray shot. “With that said…” The Argonian continued, turning to look at the wound and then back towards Raelynn. “One more scar wouldn’t hurt, would it?” The Argonian said with an amiable smile, the gesture taking on an eerie quality on account of the discussion at hand. “It’d be merely another memento, the mark of yet another battle survived. It’d tell a story, as you said before.” He said, his free hand drifting from the bullet wound towards the other visible scars before Jaraleet brought it to rest on the ground as he waited for Raelynn to treat his wounds.

“Tough stuff indeed,” Gregor said and whistled appreciatively at the manifold scars Jaraleet put on display when he pulled up his armor. His gaze didn't linger on the Argonian, however, as it hasn't escaped his notice either that Raelynn seemed taken in by him. Gregor had been quite the ladies’ man in his younger years and it still happened often enough that a woman saw more than just a roaming knight in Gregor. He'd indulged a few of them in Skyrim, when the nights were particularly cold and lonely, and he'd felt guilty every time the next morning as he thought of the amazing woman he'd left behind in Cyrodiil; his wife, Briar. Still, he couldn't help but notice that Raelynn was beautiful, well-dressed and capable. Her authoritarian demeanour and calculating eyes betrayed a stronger will than her dainty appearance would suggest, not to mention that she'd kept her cool as the wounded came pouring in. Gregor returned her blue gaze with a polite smile but said nothing of it.

Of course she could have laid her healing hands and been done with it, but this wasn't life threatening - not to an Argonian. Perhaps to a man, but not to Jaraleet’s anatomy. She held back from magic at times like this. Her magicka was her own lifeblood after all. When she used her spells, she shared a piece of her own energy with her recipient. It was almost spiritual. Such a sense of pride was lost to many, who threw their healing hands around for any scratch or knick. But not Raelynn.

She had been keeping a long rod of iron in hot coals, and she could see it’s tip glowing orange. Ready to be put to use. Now wasn't the time to listen to his stories and smalltalk - she had a job to do and that was to close his wound, and to do that she would have to hurt him some more.

As she pressed the metal against the first opening, she would imagine her patient felt the skin tighten and harden, and of course get very hot. She performed it in such a way that wouldn't be overly painful to him though. She was quick, precise, and careful. In the zone. She placed the hot tip into the same water bucket she had rinsed her hands in, steam formed up around it and it hissed loudly.

“Well, I suppose if you can take the heat like that I can spare a spell or two to soothe it now…” she then placed her hands against the wounds, feeling her magicka flow through her body as she focussed it to her palms, placing the energy against the tough, leather-like skin. This time, she knew that her patient would feel an immense sense of calm that didn't just sit on his wounds, but would travel through his whole body. A gentle wave of warmth and serenity.

“All better then…”

Jaraleet looked on as Raelynn retrieved a heated rod of iron, his eyes following the orange tip as the Breton healer moved the rod towards the wound on his left side. The sensation of flesh being cauterized was one to which the Saxhleel had become accustomed a long time ago and, as such, when the heated metal made contact with his flesh, Jaraleet showed no signs of discomfort or pain as the wound was cauterized and remained perfectly still.

What came next he hadn’t expected, as he felt Raelynn press her hand against the recently closed wound followed shortly by a sensation of calm and warmth that spread throughout his body. The Saxhleel let out a soft sigh as he relaxed, smiling towards Raelynn after she had been done casting her magicka. “My thanks, miss….” Jaraleet began, only to pause when he realized that he hadn’t had the forethought of asking her name. “My apologies, it seems that it slipped my mind to ask you for your name.” The Argonian began, bowing his head slightly towards Raelynn. “My name is Jaraleet, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And, once again, let me thank you for your help.” The assassin said, letting his hand touch the freshly closed wound. “It’s certainly a boon that we have healers as skilled as you, the weapons employed by the Dwemer are unlike anything seen before in Tamriel.” He said, frowning slightly as he began thinking. “Why, I don’t think we’ve faced an enemy such as this one since the Oblivion Crisis. I’m afraid that your services will be in high demand during the coming days.”

“I think you're right about that. This situation seems only to be escalating - we will see troubles for some time yet. But now there seems to be a moment of peace for which we can all take a breath and, dare I say it, relax.” She let her icy blue eyes travel across the scene, she saw people coming together to defeat the threat of the Dwemer, many of them just normal citizens who had been forced into it. She had found though that there wasn't much a mortal man couldn't do when it came to life, death, and the end of the world.

“Ah, but of course, my name is Raelynn Hawkford. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. I wish it were in better circumstances though. When we make it back to camp, I will brew you a tonic which will help you in the coming days as you heal, and before you tell me that you are okay, believe me I insist on you taking it. I will even brew some for your friend here, a bottle of courage and vigour would not go amiss in these hard times…” She motioned to Gregor, who had been relatively quiet while she had worked on Jaraleet.

“Hmmm, yes, the situation is quite dire.” Jaraleet said in response to Raelynn’s comment that she wished they had been able to meet under better circumstances. “And I’m afraid that the situation will grow more dire as time goes on.” The Argonian said grimly, his eyes briefly darting to the battlefield. “Unless we find a way to stop the seemingly unstoppable forces of the Dwemer that is.” He continued on, letting out a sigh before he shook his head. “But that’s enough grim talk for today, we’ve survived todays battle and that’s good enough for the moment.” The Saxhleel said.

He smiled at Raelynn’s offer, bowing his head once again towards the Breton. “I offer my thanks once again Raelynn, I’m not that stubborn to not acknowledge the severity of my wound and any aid that will expedite my recovery is appreciated.” He said, smiling slightly. “After all, we all will need to be at our best for the days to come.”

“We will indeed…” she uttered softly, knowing that the trip back to the refugee camp was in order.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

<Snipped quote by Stormflyx>

Sure thing. Just so you guys know, Sett is prolly still going to be upset with Nicademus come the morning. They can bond over that, right?

@BCTheEntity

Hell yeah. Calanon has just really made her feel okay with it all so lets balance that out by making her mad about it! Haha

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Ashna has a wound from helping Piper so if anyone can spare a heal or help her back up that would be great - otherwise she is going to be a redguard lump on the floor :3

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@POOHEAD189 No worries. All is well for me, at any rate.

@BCTheEntity

Care to collab soon? Thnk our characters would have an... interesting connection

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

A Collab with @POOHEAD189 & @Stormflyx

“Fear not, friend. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”

Calanon stroked the neck of Brogach one last time, fearing the mane of the Elk’s fur run through his fingers. Brogach let out a soft grunt, indicating he was fine for the evening, and Calanon closed the door behind him as he exited and made his way toward the Inn. Outside of the doorway, Argon the Saurdraxus warrior had curled his muscled, serpentine body into a circle and slumbered. Calanon smiled, and he stepped inside, keeping to the outskirts of the common room before making his way up to one of the central rooms, now entirely sure who would wish to share boarding with him for the night. He was a bit surprised to see Aeryn already having made herself at home inside.

Calanon knew she must feel very unwelcome, and though the ranger still had some small reservations about her, she had traveled with them safely and faithfully so far, and Beren seemed to trust her. “Hello,” he said, his voice warm and cordial as he stepped in.

Aeryn had been sat against the window, staring out onto the village when she had heard footsteps wander inside. She had removed her hooded cloak and placed it on the bed closest to the window - a mark of ownership. She found it strange to be here. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in a real bed. Not that there was much she didn’t like about sleeping in the tunnels, beds were a weird luxury that she had seldom paid much mind to until now. She had half wanted to take the windowsill for a bed.

As she gazed outside, her lengths of silver hair were wound up in her fingers as she combed through them, taking out each braid slowly to reveal curls. She was trying to make herself look more human - even if she wasn’t consciously aware of it.

She turned to see the Ranger, Calanon, enter the space. Had it been anyone else - with the exception of Beren, she might have turned back to the window straight away. But with Calanon, she let her eyes take in his whole being. He had once again brought to her his calming aura which started to take effect on her nerves. His voice was warm enough, that she responded back to him quietly; “Hello to you as well…”

Calanon seemed a bit unsure of himself for a moment, though it didn’t show explicitly. He simply had expected her to send him away, or to be a bit curt. But it was at this point he realized she had never quite spoken to him at length since Beren and he had freed her from the her Dark Elven captors. He realized he quite enjoyed her voice at this moment. “I hope I’m not intruding at all.” He said, giving a small bow, a very terse yet polite one meant for friends rather than greeting royalty.

She tilted her head to the side slightly and raised an eyebrow at his bow. Nobody had ever really bowed at her, but it felt like a friendly gesture. It may have been one of his cultural customs.

He wore his traveler’s garb, and all of his gear was on his body, looking positively heavy for the comfort of an Inn. “I saw the room and felt I could spend the night here, but if you’d have me go I don’t mind.” His brows raised, the only movement keeping his smile from reaching his eyes. He earnestly seemed to be genuine.

His speech held an air of sincerity which caused a smile to slip across Aeryn’s lips too, and she returned his bow by lowering her head just enough. “You don’t have to leave. There are two beds in this room, besides I-” she stopped herself from talking, there was something about Calanon that Aeryn instantly trusted. But she knew better than to let him know she was planning to slip away in the night while the slept. To go back home.

Her fingers danced across the latch of the window and she turned her gaze once more to the village outside, bathed in the golden sunlight - a stranger to her.

“Nevermind… Sorry, please stay here.” She slid off the windowsill and picked up her cloak from the bed and began again “you, you, you… you can sleep on this bed if you want. I think at night you will see moonlight - and you will be able to see all of the stars” she smiled again and wiped off what little dust her cloak had left behind on the blankets.

She had come across all flustered, and upon noticing it, a slight tone of pink began to rise on her pale cheeks. Stupid elf, the moment she was in one of these ‘houses’ had her acting human and trusting, and warm. “But it’s your choice really…” she said in a quieter, colder voice - as if to compensate.

Calanon’s smile grew wider, still heartfelt, but there was a hint of something that seemed a mixture of amusement and pride at her. For his part, he couldn’t exactly read her inner thoughts, but Calanon knew nervousness when he saw it. For what reason, he didn’t know. But it was a nice change of pace to her previous aloof and standoffish attitude. He had to admit her trying to rein herself in was cute.

“I would love that.” He admitted. However, he sat on the opposite bed and began to place his equipment and arms down. “But I wouldn’t wish to steal the stars from you. I often see them at night as well. I imagine you don’t get the chance as much as I.” As he spoke, he reached down and lifted off the chainmail hauberk of valdium he kept on his upper body.

She listened, and watched as he took off his chainmail, a smile crept over her lips ever so at his words, “believe me, if stars could be stolen from the sky I would have done it long ago.” She sat down on the corner of her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, squeezing herself tightly. “Some things are best left as they are. I think they would be not so good if they were torn from night and kept in pockets and closed fists…”

This was really the only real conversation she had had with any of the group. Thinking about talking all of a sudden brought a knot to her stomach and she felt her face flush as her mind brought her back to the words of Nicademus. She groaned audibly and felt colour flush to her cheeks. For a moment she had been quite content but suddenly embarrassment, fear, and shame had stirred up within. It wasn't pleasant. A bitter seed had been planted by him. She went back to quiet contemplation, hoping that the sickly, painful feelings would leave soon.

He laughed when she claimed she would steal the stars. “I believe if anyone could take the stars, you could. You seem skilled,” he said, but before he had sat down, he noticed she seemed to have withdrawn into herself, looking away from him. Normally, Calanon would simply look at them with concern if it were a steadfast friend, but she seemed somewhat distraught, and he could guess the reasoning. Nicademus had been quite harsh today, even if the reputation of the Dark Elves was something to be wary of.

He looked at her, and then knelt down and opened his pack. “Even the strongest of us need help, at times.” He began, and pulled out a flask. “Beren trusts you, and you seem to have a goodness I can sense. Don’t let words trouble you. You’re already more valued than you think.” He casually tossed the flask her way. It was filled with Guarden juice, the delectable drink of the wood elves each member had received at the beginning of their journey. No alcohol, but it has a subtle magic that lifted spirits. Not to mention, it was delicious.

“I’m not as strong as I was once… Before all of this mess…” she recalled in her mind her glory days, she couldn't put a finger on when that had been. Just that she had been imprisoned and tortured more than once since. “I think that maybe I could be again… I think I’m finally where I should be.” Her mind lingered back to the feeling of steel against her bare neck as she took the flask from Calanon. A close shave indeed, if she hadn't stumbled onto their path she would just be another body by now. She took a sip from the flask, mulling over the flavour in her mouth before swallowing. It was, what someone might describe as pleasant - but to her it tasted bland, not unpleasant at all, just sweet with an amber taste to it. It wasn't a strong flavour. She did enjoy the peaceful feeling that washed through her though, so much so that she felt it bring a warmth to her cheeks.

Aeryn smiled and handed the flask back to her new friend. Listening to his words of kindness filled her with a happiness too, and a flutter through her stomach as she held eye contact with him for a moment more. “Thank you… For everything…”

She uncurled herself and moved back to the window, her fingers drumming once again on the latch as she looked out across the town once more, the sun would be setting soon, and her companions would drift to sleep. In a few hours she would be back to the caves, but there was a sense within her that something else was afoot. Some level of intuition warning her to keep the latch shut for now, to stay with them for at least a while longer.

“So… this quest?”

Calanon treated life with a calm contentment, always ready to smile and give an encouraging word, or a pat on the shoulder. But he felt very much that he enjoyed Aeryn’s company. More than he expected. He placed the flask back in his pack, and then placed himself on the bed, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knees as he breathed in, and out. Until she spoke and he opened his eyes. He let the question linger for a few moments as he thought of how to explain it to her.

“It’s a perilous journey, or it has been so far. We’re to go and halt an alliance between the Dark Elves and the Vampires. We’re to go to the city of Dal’Maroth and dismantle it by any means necessary. We have a few months left to complete the task, but it has been slow going. We’ve been tasked by Queen Melda and Princess Vanya of Riverdale however.” He gave a shrug and a smile. “You don’t deny them your service if they ask it.”

Aeryn listened as he spoke. She hadn't heard of a Queen Melda or a Princess Vanya. Maybe she had, but she couldn't recall. She thought momentarily of what it would be like to be royalty. To have people do your bidding like that. She had heard of Dal’Maroth though, and she had heard of Vampires. She felt a shiver crawl up her spine and clutch onto it for a while, making her feel a variety of emotions all at once. Fear, discomfort, anxiety. They all drew together in a cluster. “It sounds like a very dangerous quest… Two such dark forces brewing together… I, I really find it hard to believe.”

She began to pace around the room as she mulled over what Calanon had told her, wrapping her arms once more around herself. “Two factions like that cannot be an alliance, they will try to take over each other in time. Such… power hungry fiends.”

“You might die doing this, you know.” She stopped pacing and looked the Elf dead in the eyes, “in fact I’d say there is a very high chance… You would die for this Queen and the Princess?” She didn't give him a chance to respond. “Of course... It would be honourable, wouldn't it?” there was a hint of sadness and defeat in her tone again. It was a suicide mission, but they all knew that going in. They must have. That they would stake their lives on stopping this - they were all honourable people. All of them. That's why they saved even her after all - that's why they had not killed her, or handed her over to Nicademus for him to do it. She wanted to be like them, part of her did, anyway.

And she would do anything to punish the Dorcha.

She quietly contemplated it, staying with them on this quest.

“If it weren't for you I would be dead. If it weren't for all of you I…. would be dead, forgotten, just a corpse. I think that means that I owe to you my life…” She took several steps over to Calanon again, getting closer to him, inches from his face, not realising that such a move might make him uncomfortable, or impose on his personal space. “I will join you. I will fight by your side, not for royalty who I do not know, but I will do it for you! So that you can complete your quest!”

She didn't realise how intense her speech might have been, or again, that she may have made Calanon incredibly uncomfortable - but there was sincerity and gratitude in her words - and she had spoken not just to him, but with his party in mind. She stepped away and awkwardly bowed her head, like one might do before royalty, or before pledging their life to someone. She really wasn't sure - etiquette did not exactly exist to her until now…

For Calanon’s part, when she leaned forward into his face, he comically leaned back, eyes widening and face turning as red as a strawberry. He didn’t know if she was not used to above-ground social cues, so he didn’t say anything. When she backed off awkwardly and bowed, he could tell she was awaiting a response.

The Wood Elf hesitated a moment, but honor drove him forward. Without a word, he slipped off of his bed, and returned the bow formally. “And I shall aid you in yours.” he said. His voice often had a calm, soothing quality about it. After a moment, he chuckled in good faith, smiling to her. “You should thank Beren as well. If not for him we might not have found you.”

“I already did in a way” she thought back to her watching him as he slept. He was an interesting character, for sure. She felt her stomach grumble again, and she was sure that the Woof Elf had also heard it; “ahhh… I think maybe I should eat something now…” She smiled one last time at her new friend, before excusing herself from the room - not stopping to consider whether or not she should ask him to join her. Time alone would be nice, though. Just some time for quiet reflection - and so she made her way out of the Inn for a while to find a quiet spot to wind down during the last amber hours of sunlight.

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Done!

Also, if anyone would like to do a collab and bump into miss clumsy pants please let me know :)

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

"Tea, yes. That would be grand!" spoke the flustered Scholar as she took a deep breath to pull herself together. It appeared that it was really only half of the room who had noticed her entrance - the rest were too busy pouring over whatever was on the table - the reason that they were here. She opened the door and pulled her skirt out, took her glasses off and rubbed away the steam with the very corner of her skirt which had been kinked in the doorway. She took her time, she knew if she just took her time she wouldn't suffer a second faux pas.

The gentle sound of the Frenchman's voice soothed her, he seemed to not have snickered at her, and instead his attempt to catch her up on what she had missed also helped to ground her in the present, and to help her focus; "the Congo?" she began as she made her way to the table. She had just gotten it together when she noticed in her foggy peripherals someone sauntering towards her - and before she knew it she had been embraced by her.

She recognised immediately that is was Ellen, she could tell by the perfume - and the fact she had not regarded in the slightest, someone elses personal space. That said, it was nice to have someone here that she knew, at least on a surface level anyway. "Ahhh, Elle... You compliment me so again, it's nice to see you. It's been quite a while..." She followed Elle's lead to the table, and clapped her eyes on the skull in the centre of it. "Is that...?" she began, and looked around at the excited nods that followed. "But that's impossible..." and again the party around the table offered more nods of excitement. "But the Garden of Eden is but a legend, is this really real? I mean... The Congo really? I suppose if it would be anywhere that would be it - given the geographical implications of it I suppose it would be there but really the Garden of Eden? Well I never...."

She continued on, until it all became a bit of a monologue to herself than her asking anyone else any questions. She spoke so quickly to herself, drawing a finger over the tablet, glancing at the skull again as she punctuated her diatribe. "Fascinating really, isn't it?" she finished as she came back up for air - having studied both the skull and the tablet. A cup and saucer of tea had been placed beside her at some point. She took a sip and felt it warm her up inside.

It felt that she hadn't been there for too long, when soon the meeting was wrapped up. She felt a little confused over where she would be staying, but she remembered a rather quaint Inn being placed just a ways down the road. She liked places like that, they always had such character - and already she was salivating at the thought of a fresh breakfast in the morning.

___________

Morning came after a night of dreaming of adventure, the Congo, of lions and elephants and treasures and tombs! Florence woke in a good mood to the sound of the telephone in her room ringing. This must be the kitchen letting her know that her breakfast was ready - as she took the phone off the hook and sat up in the bed, she heard a different voice on the line. An accent, Australian? He sounded gruff, confident, and commanding. She recognised the voice from last night.

They wouldn't be going to the Manor this morning, they'd be heading straight to the Docks. Something was up.

Florence wasted no time in getting ready, packing her things, and leaving.

___________

Her heart fluttered away in her chest as they made their way in the cab to South Hampton. Another long drive - and they would be leaving at Noon. And she hadn't even gotten to have that delicious breakfast. Every time the cab rolled over any bumps in the road, Florence found herself jumping back in fright. Obviously something was happening, and she just didn't know quite what it was. It wasn't an exciting kind of anticipation - like childhood Christmas Eve, no, this was some kind of dread.

Eventually her cab dropped her off, suitcase and all, in a snowy South Hampton. She was very early, far earlier than she thought she might be. She supposed it was because she may have rushed her cab driver - her anxiety and incessant talk might have been a factor in him hitting the peddle with gusto. She had barely gotten out of the cab and he had booked it back off again, leaving the Scholar alone in the snow and quiet. She bit her lower lip as she looked out over the docks, clapping eyes on the S.S. Demeter. She was still early, and she was hungry. It would be unsafe of her to embark without at least tea and toast in her stomach. There had to be somewhere here that would help her...

After a few moments of exploring, she found her way into a small Cafe, relatively empty save for a couple in the corner with their two babies, and a man whose face she couldn't make out because he was hiding it behind a broadsheet, reading away, a cup of coffee in front of the newspaper. He was wearing some rather tremendous footwear that was well suited for the snow. They looked almost like military boots. She smiled at them, befoe looking at her own slightly worn brogues. Not the best shoes for this weather. Boots would have been much better.

She sat with her breakfast and gazed out at the docks again, she could still see the ship - but nobody else was here yet. The serene quiet of the morning was pleasant, and she took her time people watching out of the windows as the docks gradually got busier. It seemed like she had taken her last sip and the space of those seconds, suddenly the scene outside was bustling - filled with people at last. It was drawing close to 10:45 - she would be allowed on the ship now. It was time to head that way. As she left the cafe, she felt a presence behind her. It sent a shiver up her spine, and she felt the space around her grow dark as the domineering shadow took over. "Do not move little girl..." came the sound of a distinctly German accent behind her, and then she could feel the sharp tip of a knife poke her just enough against the spine to let her know that he was armed. He pulled the knife back, but the threat was present still. "Look, I don't have any money, I'm sorry... please just let me on my way just don't hurt me..." she whispered back, pleading. He sniggered at her. "I don't not vant your money Miss. You vill come with me right now or you vill come in pieces." His voice was a growl in her ear, and she was trapped with him, she nodded and he began to lead her in a direction away from the docks. She could hear his boots trekking through the slush on the footpath, her own shoes were not fairing as well.

As they came to a small decline, Florence began to slip down it. Like some kind of incredibly unrefined ice skater, she couldn't stop herself and she felt the gap between herself and the German grow. Someone else grabbed her, another man - this time a sailor - she could see his face and he was smiling at her. She clutched onto his arm for her life; "Woah Miss! Be careful there awright, or you'll av a nasty fall on these stones." She thanked him and went to look once more for the German. She couldn't see him anywhere - he'd gone. He had been up to something but couldn't risk drawing attention to himself.

She looked down at her shoes and smiled, the adrenaline finally kicking in until she began shaking completely. Her stupid choice of footwear had saved her, at least for now. It was time to make a rush for the boat. She couldn't risk that happening again - she might not be so lucky again.

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

I will get something done this weekend

First Contact in the Situation Room

Ooooh I'm interested.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

If there was one thing that Raelynn hated, it was to travel by foot.

Traveling by foot for more than a few hours.

Yet, here she was traveling by foot for what seemed like days. She longed for a horse, for a carriage to sit and rest in. Such luxuries would not be found in this time of tragedy and chaos. Her new cloak already looked to have seen better days. Right in the center was a line of blood, from her stomach to her neck. A reminder of her escape, a reminder that she still lived. The blood was not hers after all. Her spirit seemed in a perpetual state of misery. The outlook was foggy. She wanted to leave this party of companions who all seemed to be as silent in terror and shock as she was, or powering through it with mindless chatter to one another.

She did not see much of Alim as they trekked. He was no longer her protector, for he had to be his own. They all were, sure, safety was found in numbers - but she got the distinct sense that at any moment a lot of them would skip away. She knew that she would. In the silence she let her mind fall to fantasy. She though of a roaring fire in an inn, with a duckdown bed, and Autumn outside. Falling leaves creating a canvas of burnt orange, burgandy and yellow - like watercolour, like a painting. Picturesque romance.

She could smell lavender, honeyed mead, and game meat roasting against the flames. Her mouth watered. She had been living off of jerky and foraged goods. She imagined herself laid out on the furs and blankets seductively, naught but a silken slip to cover her curves. In the doorway she pictured a strong man, muscles rippling - he was a little sweaty, hands dirty. A beard and piercing blue eyes. He would take off his armour piece by piece, licking his lips at the sight of the Breton biting her lip at him. She was picturing him removing his trousers when she was rudely dragged from her fantasy by the abrupt sound of weeping, of screaming, and of talking - a discordant orchestra of pain and anguish. If she could put a sound to how she felt inside it would be that.

The had arrived upon a camp of refugees, and one by one her companions slipped away to find something to do. Their leader, the Khajit, and the knight seemed to go together.

She couldn't spot Judena or Alim, and so she was left to let her eyes travel over the scene. To drink in the landscape of sorrow. Something caught her eye more than anything else. It was a small child, she was stood crying against an abyss of nothing. Her eyes glazed over, filling up with tears. She watched the tears roll one by one down each cheek, leaving a red stain behind each one. An ocean of tears cascading endlessly. She noticed that the girl was bleeding too, there were clots of blood on her around her forehead, scratches and scrapes on the soft skin of each arm. She was wearing one shoe.

Raelynn choked back tears of her own. Tears she didn't know that she had in her. The child was her. Innocent, blonde curls falling to her waist, blue eyes like sapphires. Clothes made of fine silks, but torn and shredded away from her tiny body.

She then took her role in the camp, like the rest of the party had drifted away to do. She knelt down to the child - coming eye to eye with her. Immediately the girl stopped, and bit down on her lip, short sharp breaths replaced the bellowing. Raelynn took her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Shhh now princess, you're safe now. You're safe..." she offered the girl a smile and rubbed her thumbs in soothing circles on the backs of her hands. She let go of her hands to start examining her forehead. She found a cut there - luckily not too deep, but she would need to clean it which might cause the girl some pain. So she began to sing to her

"Quiet little Princess,
All will be fine,
For I am yours and you are mine.

Close your eyes and dream away
For this will soon be yesterday

One day you'll wear a crown
Upon your pretty head
So for now just dream away
And sleep inside your bed..."

As she sang, she cleansed the wound - using torn cloth soaked in warm water to wipe away the blood. She pressed gently and began to clean her arms too. Finally, she took another dry cloth and ran it softly under the girls eyes, and offered her another smile. "Now, where is your Mama and Papa?" she asked, taking her hands again. The child glanced to her right and pointed a finger at two shapes on the ground. Two shapes covered with white sheets.

Raelynn's lip began to wobble and it was all she could do to stop from crying. She picked up the girl and walked her away from the bodies, bringing her to a campfire and sitting her down beside some other adults. She explained what had happened and started to walk away. She found herself listening to the conversation with Rhea, Brynja, Daro'Vasora, and some self appointed ranger named Brutus. It was soon after that even that group seemed to split. However, she had heard elsewhere that volunteers were needed.

She wanted to get out of the camp, she didn't want to be confronted any more with this shit. With more orphans, with sick children, with dead bodies. She wanted to move, to run away from it. Staying meant dealing with it now, and she wasn't ready. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready. She took a look back at the girl, there was no fire inside of her now, she was dead behind those beautiful eyes. Raelynn couldn't stay here around that. Her heart ached enough from just the sight of her. Any longer and she would be dead behind the eyes too. She didn't want to get wrapped into caring for every single poor soul here. She didn't want anyone to see that weakness in her, any vulnerability.

She was going to help the Colovian Rangers. She was going to get out of here.