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Discussion in 'Rauru Village' started by Rachel Tosh, Aug 11, 2018.

  1. Gill

    Gill Misanthropic swordswoman
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    "Yeah, yeah.. I'm awake...." Gill tried to sound nonchalant as Sir Prize braced her up against the wall, "I know the.... driiiiiilllll." the last word came out as a slow groan as she tried to find where her hands had wandered off to so she could hold her head. Another protest was drowned out as a bottle was pressed against her mouth.

    She could scent the healing potion and reluctantly gulped it down. She didn't want to be relying on this guy, didn't like owing him, having some stranger worrying over her. Made her feel awkward, and useless, like she couldn't take care of herself after... well she couldn't, but this wasn't so bad, she'd been hit in the head before, she could weather this. But she did not like having strange people concerned over her like it was any of their business.

    Not that having Rachel weeping and calling her name was any better.

    "I'm fine... I'm fine..." finally her hand found her... face... And wouldn't go any higher. just... nope, put it down, open your eyes...

    She could barely make out anything, the voices were swimming and blurring from a long way off, the darkness seemed to be physically tearing at her brain, her eyes ached from the strain of keeping them open.

    "What..?" What did she say?

    Gill felt a light pushing the darkness away, ripping it back away from her aching brain.

    "...home..."

    "Home? What? No... mmm..." she knew what Rachel was doing, trying to keep her awake through talk. It was a good idea, but not home, don't talk about it... too painful.

    "It sucks... this sucks..." she tried to talk anyways, maybe dwelling on the pain a little would wake her up, "I... come from a small village...mmm.... was a tomboy... da' and the other men, all mercenaries... but we got pride, a code, no taking... dirty or suspicious jobs, yeh know. Many were in the war for a bit. Mm.... Mum was the village healer... taught me some.... wish I'd paid more attention back then, but I thought... mmm, time takes so much away from one when they aren't looking... Din's fire! I hate this... Life is so meaningless... there's no hope, no cheerr..."

    Pausing to claw at the side of her face, as if she could pull the darkness away, Gill paused in the rambling. She couldn't continue on this track, she wouldn't let a knob on the head addle her into revealing things she'd rather keep to herself.

    "There's no point, who cares..." shut up shut up! "Family's dead now.... just me... living, but... not... that's why... I want this... to find them, because otherwise I have nothing to look for, no goal to fulfill... some days I just want to sleep... and not wake up for a thousand years... I'm so tired.... all the time... and angry... at nothing... I can't see any beauty in the world anymore, can't enjoy anything.... I'm so tired of being empty."

    Where did whats-his-face go? Oh, right... Rachel said something about the healing house... he must have gone.... for help.

    "Where does he get off? "Sister" indeed. Haven't even introduced... I hate overly friendly people.... got no sense of personal space... Can't read the mood...."

    She couldn't go much further. The soft light in her mind helped, but she was feeling the exhaustion dragging her down deeper. She could barely see Rachel's face in front of her.
     
  2. Sir Prize

    Sir Prize Urban Legend
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    The potion didn't work. It had helped some, but it hadn't done what was needed. The urban legend was at a loss, but thankfully her friend had pulled herself together. She was using her own magic to keep her awake, keep her alive. and sent him for a healer.

    Like a loosed arrow, he ran. There was no subtlety to it, no fancy tricks, no art, just the shortest possible distance between two places. And he was liberal with his magic. He dove into shadows and leaped from their far side to save precious seconds as he bounded through the streets, vaulting over or rolling beneath anything in his way. It wasn't only urchins that saw him. He was seen by any and all, and the words would likely reach those with long memories. His stay in town would likely prove very interesting.

    His own legend, for once, far from his mind, he burst through the doors of the house of healing and saw pandemonium. The healers were in an uproar, scrambling over half a dozen people in a storm of potions, bandages, and magic. White cloth and red stains everywhere.
    "I need a healer!" he shouted over the din. "Quickly!"
    A volunteer peeled away from the throng, wiping red from his hands. He wasn't one of the healers, but they clearly had trusted him enough to help. Prize seized him by the wrist, and dragged him out the door before he could ask what was wrong. He thankfully fell into step quickly, following Sir Prize as they took the long way back to the secluded square.
    "I hope you can treat a head injury!" Prize huffed, not bothering to look back for a reaction.
     
  3. Rachel Tosh

    Rachel Tosh Quill's Historian of Butts
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    Sir Prize ran off. Rachel sent a quick prayer winging after him and turned her attention back to Gill. She listened to the woman recount the story of her past, and her words brought a chill to the historian's soul. Life is so meaningless... there's no hope, no cheer. "Oh, Gill," she whispered. Her concussion wasn't the only wound she suffered from. Rachel licked lips that had long since gone dry and cracked, struggling to think of something to say. If this were another time, perhaps she would've been able to voice something helpful that meant something, some speech about the beauty of life and the promise of hope, but right now she was exhausted, empty, and pained to her bones. "I'm here," is all she managed. "I'm here."

    She cast a glance over her shoulder, checking both for Sir Prize's return and to make sure no-one was sneaking up behind her. They were exposed, and the last thing they needed was to be attacked again. Maybe that would be paranoid if it came from someone else, but all things considered, Rachel didn't think it was possible for her to be too paranoid. She lifted one hand off Gill's face and waved her bloodied palm through the air around them. An alley wall shimmered into existence, shielding them from the gaze of casual passersby. She didn't worry about Sir Prize finding them, what with the dead body and the trail of blood and all, but it would keep them safe.

    She moved to place her hand back on Gill's temple and froze. Her friend's eyes had unfocused, and she wasn't talking anymore. "Gill," she said in a frightened snap, "wake up!" She opened all the taps and flooded Gill with Spirit, then wavered, her vision suddenly dimming. She eased back on the magic, afraid of passing out and leaving Gill alone to die. "Come on, Gill," she said, "tell me- tell me-" she hesitated. Gill's family was dead, and she was clearly suffering from the loss. Would talking more about that help her now or just make her want to sleep? She didn't know, and she didn't want to risk it. But Rachel knew very little about Gill except what sort of person she had shown herself to be. What was she supposed to say?

    She took a deep breath. As crazy as it sounded, it was time for an interview. She adjusted her grip on Gill's temples, kept the magic flowing, and asked the safest question that popped into her head. "Why did you choose the Three to focus on? That's your goal, it gives you purpose through the pain, but why that quest? Did your- did your family give it to you, before they- before they died?"
     
  4. Moone

    Moone Eccentric Inventor
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    'From the skillet to the fire, it seems.' Moone thought as the twili lead him through the twisting roads. The twili was forced to pause at every corner just so Moone could see which way he'd turn. He was a scholar, not an athlete. Finally, the twili stopped, dark clothes barely visible in the falling dusk. He walked through a brick wall unfooled by the illusion. Moone followed, blinking at the seen around him. His eyes glossed over the corpse and the trail of blood, falling finally on the patient. She was barely clinging to the world as a friend poured magic into her in a desperate, brute force bid to keep her alive.

    Moone knelt at her side, laying a hand on her head. He found the lump, fading under the slow ebb of a low quality or expired healing potion. To top off his power, and help his patient, he pulled a clean rag from a first aid kit, and wet it with distilled water. He flexed his hand slowly, and with the red embers often found in fire magic, the cloth frosted over as he stole the energy that kept it warm. Laying it down on her head, he conjured a precious spark of his magic into a thin line of light magic, and channeled his sense of sight down it and beyond the bone.

    Contusion, blood pooling on brain. Healing detrimental at this time. Halt Nature magic. Proceed.

    It wasn't good. Not as bad as it could have been, but the healing potion would do little good here. With the blood pooling on the surface of the brain, the potion would have sealed it in the wrong place. He placed a hand on her stomach, and found the feeble Nature magic bubbling up from the potion. With careful precision, he gathered all that power into a small, visible ember of verdant green light, and guided it back up the woman's throat, catching it in his palm as it left her mouth. Not wanting to work one handed, he held the spark gently between his teeth, as a carpenter would do with a nail, and resumed his work.

    Blood may mix with fluid, cause complications. Water found in both, can't separate with water magic. Iron found in blood, not fluid. Cast modified flow cantrip with Earth in place of Water. Proceed.

    With one hand still maintaining the light magic so he could see what he was doing, he carefully reached for earth magic. He wove the spell with great care and well honed precision. He carefully snared the flowing iron that was her blood, carefully spreading his grip through the vessels where it belonged, out through the pinprick tears, and into the growing pool. Slowly, gently, he guided the pool back from whence it came, easing the pressure.

    Hold blood back with flow cantrip, seal fissures. Use existing Nature spark to conserve energy. Proceed.

    Letting go of the light magic, he plucked the spark of Nature from his jaw, and he began to spin it. It lengthened and narrowed into a barely perceptible needle, like a frozen length of spider silk. He guided it around the lump, so its energy would not be wasted, and passed it into the deeper injury. Once it was spent, he reapplied both the compress and the light spell. He slowly eased off of the cantrip. The blood did not pool. He smiled.

    Treatment successful. Reduce swelling with compress, administer healing potion as aftercare. Complete.

    It was well and truly night when he finished. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. He couldn't quite tell. He felt drained, almost emptied, but he still had a few sparks of magic within him. He dug around in his bag, and came up with an ale bottle filled with his own bottle-brewed healing potion, its ruby contents all but thrumming with fresh Nature magic. He pulled the cork, and offered the bottle to his patient. "You should be alright, but you should take it easy for a couple of days."
     
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  5. Gill

    Gill Misanthropic swordswoman
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    Like an electric shock, she felt the light take on new vigor. Reluctantly the darkness loosed it's hold, claws digging into her brain.

    "Oof... ow..." she could see again at least. Stay awake. You almost lost it. Stay awake. Listen.

    "Wh...mmm, no... just something I wanted to do, fer a long time... I greatly admired the Hero, Link, from the stories the veterans would tell... we all did back home... always... always wanted to be like him, and I just... I can't accept people telling me their gone when no one really seems to know for certain. I wanna find the evidence, find those veterans of the war who were closest to the incident, see where it happened.... ridiculous, but I wish I could.... I mean, a flash of light is just... okay, but then what, you know? Like maybe they were pulled into another realm or somethin-ff..." she sputtered as something came up from her stomach and out her mouth.

    *The heeeeellllwe're not alone anymore! When? How? Noooo......

    Refocusing on her surroundings, she realized the Twili was back. And before her, where Rachel had been, or where she thought Rachel had been, was a new face. Conflicting emotions churned through her stomach before she found she was really too tired to let her discomfort sap any more strength. *Whatever...*

    The prodding and pushing of magics within her was most discomforting, much like having an open wound stitched back together with only weak pain killers, but the pain and darkness subsided bit by bit.

    The suggestion of rest at the end of the treatment elicited a very fowl swear from her.

    "Sorry.... I just... rhh, not an ideal time to be taking it easy...." she groaned, taking the bottle carefully. She found her hands were shaking horribly and she had to be helped to drink. Several more choice phrases passed through her now very clear, but very tired mind.

    It was a damn good potion. Reminded her of one of mum's.... maybe even better then one of hers. But there was a familiarity to it. Tilting her head back, closing her eye at last for a few moments, she let out a long frustrated sigh, before looking to Rachel and the Twili.

    "What about... what about you two?" she asked apprehensively, "Either of you hurt?"
     
  6. Sir Prize

    Sir Prize Urban Legend
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    The healer he'd found worked diligently, weaving strange magic that Sir Prize could not understand. He paced relentlessly while the healer worked, eyes scanning the shadows. He glared into the falling dusk, as if daring anyone, anything, to intervene. He didn't know how long he stood sentinel while the magi worked to keep his little sister- no, his savior alive. Twice someone would have joined them on the square. The first turned around with only a glare. The other began to draw steel, only to pale as the steel vanished from his hand, fleeing as he lost his nerve. He would not fail again. He would protect them if it cost him his last breath.

    She began to speak, words flowing as words should. No stutters, no slurs, no forgotten words. The legend let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I'm unharmed," Sir Prize said, eyes downcast. "You spared me a knife in the back." His voice still wavering from its long disuse. "After I failed to keep you safe." He knelt before her, head bowed. "I chose to watch from your shadow... a moment of distraction, and I did not see... did not prevent..." He stopped speaking, laying his hands on the ground and bowing low enough to lift his hat slightly from his head. "I owe you my life, and in this life in the next I will atone for my failure. To the both of you." He did not rise, waiting for one of them to speak.
     
  7. Rachel Tosh

    Rachel Tosh Quill's Historian of Butts
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    "You're right," Rachel said, relieved to see that Gill had (for now) regained focus and started talking again. "There's got to be more. You're drawn to know, to find answers, just like I am. We can find them, we can- can track down the veterans, ask them questions, I'll help, I promise, just hold on, Gill."

    Footsteps pounded behind them, and two people crossed through her veil of magic. Rachel let the illusion fall, glad she no longer had to spend any attention or power on it, and concentrated on keeping Gill alert. Sir Prize had brought a healer, thank the Goddesses. Rachel shuffled to make room as the newcomer knelt down, all too eager to let the healer take charge, but she did not release Gill. The adrenaline from the mugging had worn off, and between the stress and the magic Rachel was quickly growing tired. But her Spirit was keeping Gill from slipping into unconsciousness, so despite her weariness and fear and self-loathing, she held on and kept the magic flowing. This was something- the only thing- she could do for Gill, and she would not stop.

    With her Spirit pouring from her hands and into Gill's temples, she was able to feel the healer's magic as it worked through her. There was barely any magic at all to his workings. Rachel glared at the healer, rage temporarily sweeping aside her fatigue. "Why are you holding back? She needs you, this isn't the time to save power!" He was barely even giving her a trickle of magic, barely enough to make the smallest of changes. What good would that do her friend?

    Then the healer used his power to gather up the potion's Forest magic. There was no mistaking that vibrant thrum of power that pulsed against her Spirit- the healer was stealing the power the potion was using to keep Gill alive. Rachel roared. "What are you doing to her?" She wanted to punch him, to throw herself onto him and push him away from Gill, but she couldn't take her hands off of Gill's head. She struggled to get one foot out from under her to kick the man with her boot, but by the time she extracted a leg it was too late. His threads of power, thin though they were, were spiked all through Gill's brain, and Rachel was terrified that if she attacked him, he would lose control and hurt her friend. She gnashed her teeth and just watched, holding her tongue for fear of distracting him, ruining his spell, and damaging Gill's brain.

    She watched him work, every muscle tense, ready to act, even if she didn't know what she could do. She kept a close watch over his workings as she poured more of her Spirit into Gill, keeping her awake and as lucid as she could. Suspicion was quickly replaced by understanding as he worked his web through the blood in her brain, and understanding was followed by a mixture of awe and shame. "Oh," she said and swallowed. Idiot. Not just useless but stupid, of course the healer knows what he's doing.

    When his work was complete and Gill had drank the potion, Rachel released Gill at last and leaned back on her heels. Her knees hurt from how long she'd been pressing them into the cobblestones, and her back ached from bending over Gill so long. She smiled weakly at Gill's cursing and closed her eyes. Her throat wasn't working right, so instead of speaking she just shook her head to indicate she was fine.

    Sir Prize knelt and bowed down to the ground, and Rachel recognized that, if she had been more rested, she would have been shocked to see the proud legend lower himself so. As it was, she felt only mild interest and a crazy sense of amusement. So dramatic... but then, he is a folk hero. I suppose it comes with the territory. Sir Prize was clearly waiting for one of them to speak, but Rachel did not. She wasn't the one who had suffered this night. She wasn't the one whose head had been bashed so hard her brains had busted. She wasn't the one who had been stabbed to death or swallowed by the earth. There was nothing wrong with her. And yet, her spirit wept, and she had come to know herself well enough to recognize when she was beaten. In her mind, she saw herself as a small, scared girl huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, not even trying to stem the blood that flowed from a dozen gaping wounds. She was broken, and she knew it, but that came second to near-fatal wounds. She should know. She had been where Gill was before- on the brink of death, only to be saved at the last moment by magical intervention. Rachel's plight was nothing compared to that.

    And so, Rachel kept her silence and averted her eyes from her friend and the folk hero. It was Gill's place to answer him, not hers. She reached up to brush some hair from her face and stopped, staring at her hand. It was covered in blood. Her eyes flicked over to the dead man. His blood. Then she glanced over at the cobblestones under which she knew the man's body was still trapped. Bile rose up in her throat, but she swallowed it down and looked away. The blood on the ground was getting on her dress. That would be a nightmare to clean. She drew her knees up against her chest to keep the fabric from being stained any more. Her hands- her bloody hands- were trembling. That would be the shock and the adrenaline and... all that. She clasped them together to keep them still, then focused her eyes on the unremarkable cobblestones between the toes of her shoes. They were about the only safe place to look at right now.
     
  8. Moone

    Moone Eccentric Inventor
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    Caring little for the twili's theatrics, Moone moved on to his second patient. She wasn't in medical shock, but whatever happened had not been kind to her. He was saddened, and more than a little frustrated. As precise as his magic was, even he couldn't mend mental scarring. That kind of wound was deeper than magic could ever hope to reach. He knelt at her side, gently laying his hand on her shoulder.

    "Your turn, ma'am." He began going through the motions of checking a person for injury. He conjured a spark of light magic on his fingertip, checking her pupils, then moving it lazily from side to side to check their tracking. "You aren't concussed," he said, his voice soothing. "I'm going to use a cantrip to try to help you calm down, to help you deal with the adrenaline crash." He prepared the spell, a gossamer weave of Spirit magic before her eyes. It had been built off the trick he'd once used to snatch a lizalfos from death's door, and would allow him to alter the signals her heart and lungs were getting from her brain. With his influence, they would slow, to match his own calm state. Reflexively, of course, the brain would match it on its own. It would be a few moments of disorientation, but the quick shallow breaths would turn to calm and normal ones.

    That is, if she allowed it. Even if he could muster the power to force this spell on someone, he wouldn't. The violation would be terrible enough on its own, but the potential consequences would be dire. Lethal, even. Its why he used Spirit rather than light or forest. It would respond to will and intent, making it far safer, even if he could rarely find external sources to help him sustain it.

    "Just relax, and breathe..." he said, slowly and gently laying his hands on both shoulders.
     
    #28 Moone, Nov 1, 2018
    Last edited: Nov 2, 2018
  9. Gill

    Gill Misanthropic swordswoman
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    His voice... the Twili's, it was a lot like hers, rarely used, scratched, rusty, maybe even more so, she'd had some exercise one and off recently. She unconsciously felt a small connection for a moment because of their shared rusty voices. It lasted only a moment.

    As the apple thief... king... She was still puzzled as to what he was, and the drum on the head made the morning so long ago hurt to think about, much as it was healed. But as he knelt and spoke so brokenly of having failed to keep her safe she began to protest.

    "Not, really, I mean, you were there, I just failed to properly assess the...what are you-?" she straightened slightly at the kowtowing, at a loss how to react. Being thanked for saving someone or not being thanked were both equally irritating things to go through for Gill. The former made her feel awkward and embarrassed, especially as she was her own worst critic, and the latter because it was annoying to do your best to keep everyone safe and then have them ignore you like you weren't worth the money, or worse, complain because you didn't take on extra work not in the job description or because they did not understand that they themselves had no sense of self preservation to speak of, and thus could not understand why she kept thwarting them in the things they wished to do.

    Gill had thought she had managed to turn a apathetic exterior to either scenario, but this was a whole new level of gratitude and shame all rolled into one. Eyes slightly wide, she took a moment to let his words sink in... and to maybe see if the situation would resolve itself on its own. When it did not after a few seconds she responded.

    "I... uh... I mean... but you were here... you saved us both," she wasn't sure how to make the bowing stop, "I mean, you did us a solid, and... I just... returned the favor?" the last bit came out more a question than an explanation, but she tried to piece together some more words, "I mean... it's not like I... There's no need for owin' each other... I mean, in the end we all owe the healer the most for being able to fix m' noggin. So you can get up. It happened, crisis over.”

    She finished with some brusqueness, a little of her bitterness returning. Her fear in the clamoring darkness was past and anger was returning. Anger at herself, anger at the would be murderers, anger at the world that had tried to take the third most important person to her away. She was the one who messed up. If the Twili hadn't been following them Rachel would have been hurt. Life was bitterness for Gill but the idea of her one friend being hurt or killed made her madder than her own near death. Her own life was not so great that this bowing and swearing a life debt was really necessary.
     
  10. Rachel Tosh

    Rachel Tosh Quill's Historian of Butts
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    Rachel let herself be nudged this way and that as the healer assessed her. She recognized what he was doing- she'd been checked before. She endured it all, but when he wove Spirit and made to lay the weave over her, she seized his wrist before it could land on her shoulder. "No," she said, and she could taste the bile she'd been forced to swallow, "no. My pain is mine to bear. I won't let you deaden me to this..." she waved a hand vaguely around the alley. "This...." She couldn't find the word. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. Then another. Then another. Soon they came in shuddering gasps, and she held onto the healer's wrist so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

    "I can't do this anymore," she whispered. "I can't. I can't bear it. It's too much. One after another after another, it never ends. I can't hold it up anymore." She turned her head and stared at the healer's eyes, meeting his grey eyes with her wet, brown ones. "Please," she said, and the word cracked horribly, "help me." She lowered his hands onto her shoulders, taking his gossamer strands of thin- but precise- magic with them. She felt the Spirit set into place, and immediately her body began to calm. Her heartbeat slowed, her muscles loosened, and her breathing became deeper and more regular. She closed her eyes. The pain was still there, but the magic connecting her to the healer's body was helping her body bear the burden for now.

    She watched Gill and Sir Prize as they spoke. Those thugs would have come for them regardless of what Sir Prize did, and it was quite possible that without him she and Gill would both be dead. Yet, he had been there all along, and his negligence and drama had made things much worse than they would've been if he'd been more attentive and less concerned with making a production out of the thing. Without him, they would've been dead, but if he hadn't hidden himself, hadn't been so busy being showy (like with that quicksand magic), Gill might never have been hurt. Did that make him, to a certain extent, responsible? Or should they just be grateful that he'd been there at all? Who was right, Gill or Sir Prize?

    Maybe she should know, but she wasn't sure of anything right now. Her world was knocked on its side, and from that angle it was tough to make a solid judgement call. Sir Prize certainly thought he was responsible. He felt guilty- extremely guilty, if she believed his antics. She looked at Gill. Rachel owed the woman something herself, though it wasn't guilt that drove her. Gill had helped her, had risked her life for her- Rachel wouldn't leave her friend to seek the Hero's fate alone. On that she was certain. Another certainty clunked into place in her head at the thought, and she followed the chain down to its conclusion. Their quest would be dangerous. Rachel had all the luck of a black cat after breaking its 13th mirror; they would certainly be attacked again, and Rachel... tonight had shown her yet again just how useless she was. Gill wasn't enough to protect them both. She wanted to help her friend find answers, but she didn't want to die, Goddesses damn her cowardice and her weakness, she didn't want to face the horrors lying in wait for her. At all. If her gutless soul had its way, she would curl up in this alleyway and never move again, but that wasn't going to happen. If she was going to venture out, she would take as much protection with her as she could, and she couldn't call on the Order's resources this time. They needed an ally, and here was Sir Prize, dropped into their path as if from the Goddesses' own hands. It felt heartless to think it, but guilt was a powerful motivator. If he held himself responsible for what had happened here, she might be able to use that to secure both her safety and that of her friend. Goddesses, damn me, for I am low.

    She cleared her throat and broke the silence after Gill's statement. "It is not, actually." Speaking without being able to breathe for herself was a strange experience. The healer's magic dictated when she drew breath, and she had to pause every so often in the middle of her sentences as she ran out of breath or the magic compelled her to inhale. She could've broken the bond, but she was reluctant to abandon that crutch just yet. "Gill and I are fine now, but we walk a dangerous path. Tonight... well, I don't think I need to explain just how incapable we are of defending ourselves." Especially me. "Sir Prize, if you mean what you say, will you help keep us safe?" She met Sir Prize's eyes, her own shining with tears. "Will you protect us?"
     
  11. Sir Prize

    Sir Prize Urban Legend
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    Nathaniel Moone
    He slowly drew himself up, kneeling upright as he looked Rachel in the eyes. It was only truly moments, but Prize felt he spent hours lost in those eyes. For the first time in a dog's age he couldn't think of a damned thing to say. If the situation had been different, it would have been normal- and he really ought find that distressing- but he would have known just what to do. He'd tip his hat to the young lady, see her safely home with a few parlor tricks to brighten the mood, and leave her somewhere safe and warm for the night.

    But this wasn't some scared little girl, out too far and too late for her own good. This was a broken women, who'd nearly died and almost lost a dear friend. Not just because some thug had accosted her, but because he had been there and failed to prevent it. She'd nearly died, it was his fault, and she was asking him to atone for it. In the end there was only one thing he could say. There was no magic to the moment, no drama, no theatrics.

    "Yes," he said, finally speaking. "I will."

    The words were simple and clean, and his voice did not crack or waver as he spoke them. It was a quiet, subdued oath, but it carried weight and finality. A new truth was etched into being. The night was dark, the earth was cold, and he would die before they did.
     
  12. Moone

    Moone Eccentric Inventor
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    Moone took in the conversation around him, trying to ignore the drama. It wasn't any of his damned business anyway, and he had more important things to worry about. For example, his own swiftly depleting magic.

    The spell he was maintaining was efficient, but Moone's pitiful reserves were nearly dry. If he kept the spell up for much longer it would start to burn body fat. Every mage knows that's a bad idea, but he still had to do it from time to time. He'd be ravenous soon, if it came to that, but he would without question. His patient was faring well, her brain was predictably adjusting its signals, slowly syncing to the rhythms of her heart and lungs. If he stopped now it would be quite an uncomfortable jolt. Hardly damaging, but she didn't need any shocks to her system right now that the calming magic was beginning to work. The adrenaline was going to hit her hard enough.

    Moone smoothly began to feed the spell from his body, hoping the spell caster didn't notice the transition of source as his metabolism spiked up to supply the energy. He'd begun to sweat, as if running hard, but his pulse, his breathing, remained calmly measured and even. She wasn't far off, he only needed a few more minutes...
     
  13. Gill

    Gill Misanthropic swordswoman
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    When Rachel contradicted her Gill began to protest, but on looking to Rachel for the first time since healing, she saw how drawn and pale her friend was, and she found the words stuck in her throat. The healer was even attending to poor Rachel. She was taking this hard. As she should, as any normal person should.

    Goddesses! Gill hadn't realized how terrifying this situation would have been for Rachel. As a battle hardened swords-woman, Gill was used to death and near death experiences. Life had toughened her, given her a callous disregard for each survived encounter. Putting it behind her and moving on was how she coped. Don't dwell on the “what if” and just be grateful for the “now.”

    Maybe... even wistfully wonder if it would be better to die, and sleep at last until reincarnation in another hundred years, as her village believed the cycle of life and death turned.

    She found herself turning introspective, thinking on her mother's death, how hard it had been, how deeply it wounded Gill, turned her morbid and depressed with no one to look to for support, her father always away working, coping by being away from the home he had loved.

    In time she became hardened and was better able to accept and bear her father's death when it came. But the years between... they had been hell on earth. Would this break Rachel? Make her depressed, broken? Unable to cope, as Gill herself had been unable, still couldn't at times?

    She didn't want that. As Sir Prize issued his solemn promise Gill carefully scooched herself over to Rachel and awkwardly patted her on the back, unsure how else to express the emotions beginning to churn within her own mind.

    By the Goddesses though, she wasn't going to let this break Rachel, or herself.
     
  14. Rachel Tosh

    Rachel Tosh Quill's Historian of Butts
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    Gill patted Rachel on the back, and Rachel flinched from the touch. She didn't deserve her friend's compassion. Gill was the one who was hurt. Rachel... she had only been an observer. She hadn't been injured or threatened, she had only watched as Gill's head was bashed in, as the thug was speared through the chest, as the other man sank, screaming, into the earth, watched as the cobble-stoned ground swallowed him whole... She shuddered.

    "Thank you," she said quietly to Sir Prize, and though she felt she should maintain eye contact, the effort of will required to meet that genuine gaze was too much. Her eyes lowered to the ground, too heavy with the weight of shame and deceit to remain lifted any longer. "Thank you."

    She touched the healer's hands. She did not merit his magic, and besides, her panic had passed. In its place remained a deep, heavy gloom that pressed her down, down, down.... "Thank you," she murmured to the man, noting the sweat that was building on his skin. Goddesses, how she had taxed him. "I'm fine now."

    She inhaled deeply and managed to look up at the kneeling Twili. His words earlier, they had rung with the weight of solemn truth. She searched desperately for something of equal weight to give, but all she could think of was her name. Speaking of which....

    "Oh, I don't think I ever told you," she said, twisting slightly and nodding to Gill, "this is Gill. I owe her a lot. My name's Rachel."
     
  15. Sir Prize

    Sir Prize Urban Legend
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    He rose from his knees, the weight of his oath seeming to settle on his shoulders like a cloak. He nodded to Gil at the introduction, branding the names into his memory. On reflex, he swept off his hat and sunk into a theatrical bow. An exaggerated gesture with an arm flung to the side. He snapped back jauntily, his hat back on his head, brim held low over his face as if to taunt those with a missed glimpse of his face.

    The cobbles thrummed briefly as he began to speak, but his speech seemed to wither in his thoughts. "I am-" the cobbles said, in the same voice he'd used in the alley. It was striking to him now, how different he sounded from the voice he chose. There were similarities of course, they'd come from the same root, the same mind... but it was not the same. As if they were different people. "I am?" The voice continued, as his mind spun.

    His monikers bounced around in his head.
    Apple Baron, Brother Dusk, Mister Midnight, Shadefellow, Imaginary Friend... Midna's Grace where did I get so many names.
    His control over the cantrip loosened, and the names bounced around the cobblestones as the spell unraveled.
    "Apple- Dusk- Ter Mid- Shade.... so many names" the cobbles echoed as the earth magic dwindled away.

    The living legend stood head slightly bowed. The hand that still held the brim of his hat fell, dragging it away. His face was striking. A pale grey, color stolen by so many waking nights and slumbering days. Intricate runes and patterns stretched from just over his right eye, sinking all the way down his face and neck. If not for the green color, they would look to be a wicked scar. His eyes were ruby red, a common color for twili. His hair was cut short and shaggy, in a deep red color like wine or velvet. He was clean-shaven, and he wore no jewelry.

    Slowly, his mind righted itself, dredging up something ancient and precious. The only thing his mother had ever given him. Something that hadn't seen the light of day for many years.

    "My name," he said his voice shaking slightly. "...is Zulf."
     
    #35 Sir Prize, Nov 19, 2018
    Last edited: Nov 20, 2018
  16. Moone

    Moone Eccentric Inventor
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    No longer needed, and thoroughly depleted, Moone took his leave. He started off back in the direction of the house of healing, intending to retrieve his brewing supplies before he left, and hoping the emergencies were over for the night. He'd begun his evening being all but drafted into the house of healing to help with triage after scaffolding collapsed. Lots of injuries for a lot of people. He'd been alternating between helping the healers stitch people up and bottle brewing potions in every bottle he could find.

    He stumbled a bit, a little unsteady on his feet. He hadn't depleted himself as far as he had with Squamata, thankfully, but he was still very burnt out. He leaned against a wall, trying to get his eyes to uncross and his legs to stop shaking.

    Diagnosis, Magical Exhaustion. Aggravated by insufficient recovery period following last incident. Loss of consciousness imminent. Proceed.

    "Damn it all..." He said. Sometimes he hated the way his mind worked. With a sigh that could have been frustration just as easily as exhaustion, he controlled his collapse, leaning almost casually against the wall as he slid down it. His eyes were shut before he gently came to rest on the cold stone.

    He hadn't made it a block.
     
  17. Gill

    Gill Misanthropic swordswoman
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    At the flourishing bow and the cobbles echoing his words Gill started to internally roll her eyes. More theatrics? Couldn't he just... just...

    She blinked as the cobblestone echoes bounced names around, he seemed uncertain what to choose. In the end his honest unmasking, the pure simple answer, moved her, in a way she thought she would never be moved by this twili and his roguish slant. Under it all, he was a good person. Wasn't he?

    But the stillness that followed made her antsy, and she couldn't maintain eye contact for long. She turned to watch the healer leave instead. Whatever he had done had certainly taken it out of him. He looked bad.

    "Right, well..." she grasped for a line, something to ease the tension without being harsh.

    She didn't know how to do that.

    "Well," she started again in a somewhat surely tone, "Glad.. glad to have you with us, Zulf... 'preciate it... It means a lot, your willingness to help us. Let's put that to practical use and get everyone... home... damn I don't have a hotel currently.... um..." Carefully she tested her strength, shifting up to one knee. She felt.... not great, but she could stand. Unlike the healer over there who just slumped down.

    *Right, get up.* She told herself as she wobbled to her feet. She blacked out for a moment, pain lanced through her forehead and behind her eyes for a few moments before clearing, "Alright, crisis averted, let's deal with the aftermath in a calm, productive manner, shall we? Looks like the healer needs help now," she gestured to his slumped form up the block, "I can walk... I think... mmm..." she braced a hand against the wall and took a few unsteady steps. She wasn't holding herself up as well as she could have hoped, but it was a sight better than expected after that drumming.

    "Mmm..." she hummed her annoyance again. What to do? Where to go? She'd been sleeping outside the village in a small wood surrounded by farmland. It seemed an unwise choice to try to make it out there in her current condition. Wobbling to her sword she picked up up, battling more dizziness from the up-down motion. Beginning to clean the blade she continued with, "Let's ge th' healer back and figure things out from there... I guess..."

    There was probably an inn stable she could sleep in for a few ruppees... yeah... that would work...
     

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