Fate - First Reply Between the Lull of a Breath

[Wordweaver]

A moth flapped its wing in a hurry, making Wordweaver's ear twitch imperceptibly.

The thick foliage of the southern Falwood rainforest trapped the moisture in the air, shielding its ground from the dimming amber of the sun far above. With its balmy, humid air, Wordweaver could even smell the rotten stank of carcasses left out in the open, mixing with the heady blooms of rioting flora promising sweet death. Her feet glided over the gnarled roots of ancient trees, the flowing fabric of her dress barely hindering the movement as it brushed the slick moss and various fungus that dotted the landscape.

This jungle was noisy, teeming with life that feasted upon another life, which in turn, feasted upon another. A celebration of existence.

Summer in all of its maddening glory.

Her stride paused as the moth earlier flitted to her cheek. It kissed her with murmured whispers, before deciding to meld back into her skin.

A beat passed. Then another.

Slowly, Wordweaver turned around. The glitch on her face flickered slightly before it settling into frost-blue eyes and pointed ears reminiscent of an elf.

To play a wanderer means to forever transgress, to pay the proper respects, to observe the song and the dance of hospitality if not wanting her head to fly at all off her shoulders, if not worse. While it offers a certain degree of freedom, it also means she is an eternal refugee in a stranger’s land.

She exhaled softly. She should've taken the ley lines. Faster, safer, more reliable—though it can be argued. But she had been taking it non-stop for a while, and the monotony gnawed at her sanity. Her need for novelty had been warring against her better judgement, what with the tension running rampant among the courts and all.

A bad choice, she concurred, but there has always been something charming about taking the scenic route back home.

A flicker of shadow caught her attention now. Wordweaver shifted carefully, almost brushing the border of the Summer Court yet not enough to enter, her eyes scanned the seemingly empty surroundings. She rarely runs into people this deep in the jungle, but maybe it’s one of those days.

“Charming weather for a stroll, don’t you think?” Her voice lilting lightly, testing the water with an innocent question.

 

[Gob-brigade]

An eerie quiet enveloped the surroundings, the symphony of the woods dissipating as if the trees had paused to listen for an answer; a nearby bush stirred and was pushed apart by lengthy talons, revealing yet another visitor. "Indeed, it is," replied a pleasant yet slightly raspy voice, as a short green figure dressed in armour and cape stepped out from the dense, shadowy underbrush, moving slowly and stopping a few feet away from her. "Yet not completely as pleasurable as the company it keeps." Raider expressed, giving a courteous half bow. "I apologise for disturbing your evening, my lady; it was not my intention."

 

[Wordweaver]

An eerie quiet enveloped the surroundings, the symphony of the woods dissipating as if the trees had paused to listen for an answer; a nearby bush stirred and was pushed apart by lengthy talons, revealing yet another visitor. "Indeed, it is," replied a pleasant yet slightly raspy voice, as a short green figure dressed in armour and cape stepped out from the dense, shadowy underbrush, moving slowly and stopping a few feet away from her. "Yet not completely as pleasurable as the company it keeps." Raider expressed, giving a courteous half bow. "I apologise for disturbing your evening, my lady; it was not my intention."

“Apologies accepted." She gave the stranger a grin, giving a small curtsey in kind, albeit with a hint of dramatic flourish.

Wordweaver took a moment to silently observe the goblin. He was dressed unmistakably for war, his armor reflecting the distorted picture of a smiling elf that her glamor settled into. The jagged edges of his weapons peek out from behind his back, serving as a deterrence and tools of intimidation at the same time. Which was which, she wondered? Either were valid, considering the lay of the land where they stood.

The politics in this area were a powder keg wanting to blow, after all.

“Yet don't worry about these things—you are not a bother at all!” Wordweaver said, waving one of her hands in playful denial. “And a stranger with a silver tongue is always a pleasure, even if they come dressed like a walking fortress,”

Yet her eyes flickered to another color—from icy blue to that of molten gold, a sliver of red corona marred her pupil. A small hint of her true nature. “Though I must admit, I did not expect the company.”

If things went south, Wordweaver wondered if the goblin would still try to fight her despite the difference in their build and status. Her dress rustled softly as she approached, its fabric dragging in the moss below. Her face tilted slightly, the smile on her lips unwavering as she posed an almost innocent question.

“It is only courteous for companies to share their names, no?”

 

[Gob-brigade]

“Apologies accepted." She gave the stranger a grin, giving a small curtsey in kind, albeit with a hint of dramatic flourish.

Wordweaver took a moment to silently observe the goblin. He was dressed unmistakably for war, his armor reflecting the distorted picture of a smiling elf that her glamor settled into. The jagged edges of his weapons peek out from behind his back, serving as a deterrence and tools of intimidation at the same time. Which was which, she wondered? Either were valid, considering the lay of the land where they stood.

The politics in this area were a powder keg wanting to blow, after all.

“Yet don't worry about these things—you are not a bother at all!” Wordweaver said, waving one of her hands in playful denial. “And a stranger with a silver tongue is always a pleasure, even if they come dressed like a walking fortress,”

Yet her eyes flickered to another color—from icy blue to that of molten gold, a sliver of red corona marred her pupil. A small hint of her true nature. “Though I must admit, I did not expect the company.”

If things went south, Wordweaver wondered if the goblin would still try to fight her despite the difference in their build and status. Her dress rustled softly as she approached, its fabric dragging in the moss below. Her face tilted slightly, the smile on her lips unwavering as she posed an almost innocent question.

“It is only courteous for companies to share their names, no?”

Raider observed her, maintaining a facade of courteous calmness while his gaze carefully tracked her, shifting from her hair dancing in the gentle breeze to the fluctuating hues of expression in her eyes, signaling the connection to her thoughts and the red serving as a warning.

To an ordinary mortal, the figure in front of him might easily be mistaken for a strikingly beautiful elf, but to his perception, they were unmistakably a fae, likely a powerful one at that.

He was still unable to determine how similar their true form was to how they appeared now; yet, he could sense their magic emanating from them like sunlight. How quickly could that gentle warmth transform into searing heat if provoked? He wondered idly, his ear flicking at the thought, hoping his armor would offer some protection if it came to that.

"I'm pleased that my appearance hasn't made you uncomfortable; many would not be as kind," Raider smiled as he spoke, but a hint of bitterness crept into the last part of his words.

"Honestly, it was not my aim to venture so deep into this part of the woods, and I must request your forgiveness once more for my impoliteness, my lady. I'm not especially at ease with sharing my name; I trust you can understand," he said, coloring his tone with apologetic dismay as he placed his hand over his heart and gave her a slight bow nodded in apology; his dark predatory eyes flicked up to hers.