Fable - Ask Silver Blood at Daybreak
- Thread starter Hector
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A roleplay which may be open to join but you must ask the creator first
"And you say that you saw the creature?" Helena asked the farmer, who leaned so easily against the handle of his hoe.
"Aye, M'lady," he said with a nod, and peered over yonder with a raise of his chin and a squint of his eyes, his nose seemed to point out the direction. "Just over in them woods, " he bobbed. "A creature, white as fresh falling snow. Had itself a mane like summer clouds gently stirring across a blue sky, and a horn, bright and gold and glittering as the very sunlight," the old farmer sighed, shifted in his stance, and shook his head side to side. "How anybody could shoot such a wondrous creature is beyond a man like me."
Helena cast her eyes out to the woods, to all the tall trees that loomed large and dark and foreboding. There was an anger in how they stirred, a menace in the sway of their branches. "How long ago was it that you saw the incident?"
"Incident? You mean when I saw that no good poacher shoot the lord of our woods?"
"Yes," Helena replied without a glance back to the old man.
The farmer mulled the thought over as he stroked his chin and narrowed his eyes with the weight of thought. "Well, must've been little less than a day now, was mighty surprised you lot showed up when you did, tell it true, mighty surprised."
Helana nodded, quick and sharp. "We received word of poachers in these woods, some days ago. We weren't expecting to find poachers taking down unicorns."
The old man nodded. "Aye, nor was I expecting to see such a creature, rearin up as it did. It was not scared of em, I tell ya, in fact, it drove most of them off. Was one she-witch with a monsterous bow that took the shot from on far, and the shaft she loosed was larger'd any arrow I ever seen," he sighed in dismay. "A right miracle the beast was able to flee after taking a shot like that, bleedin and hurt as it was."
"And you say there was more than one poacher?"
"Aye, M'lady, a whole party of them from what I could tell. Course, I made sure keep real low like when I saw it all play out, less they pop me with an arrow or two."
She bowed to him, low and with respect. "I thank you," she rose. "And with luck, your good work shall see this lord of your woods saved."
"We can only hope, M'lady, we can only hope."
With that she moved toward the wood, Lilian, knight of Dusk, bowed to the old farmer in turn, and the pair ventured toward the forest. They were east of the village of Fairing Wood, ten days ride out of Astenvale. It had been pure happenstance that Helena and Liliana had been out on patrol away from the sanctuary of the monastery, and close enough to Fairing Wood to make good time in their arrival once the echo-stones had carried the message to them. Poachers, threatening the wilds of the Reach, in a territory that held legends of magic beasts. Even so, Helena never expected to find truth to the legends, this far from the Eldyr tree. It brought a mix of joy and sorrow to her heart.
"A real unicorn," she said softly beneath her breath.
Lysanthir of Arapat
"Aye, M'lady," he said with a nod, and peered over yonder with a raise of his chin and a squint of his eyes, his nose seemed to point out the direction. "Just over in them woods, " he bobbed. "A creature, white as fresh falling snow. Had itself a mane like summer clouds gently stirring across a blue sky, and a horn, bright and gold and glittering as the very sunlight," the old farmer sighed, shifted in his stance, and shook his head side to side. "How anybody could shoot such a wondrous creature is beyond a man like me."
Helena cast her eyes out to the woods, to all the tall trees that loomed large and dark and foreboding. There was an anger in how they stirred, a menace in the sway of their branches. "How long ago was it that you saw the incident?"
"Incident? You mean when I saw that no good poacher shoot the lord of our woods?"
"Yes," Helena replied without a glance back to the old man.
The farmer mulled the thought over as he stroked his chin and narrowed his eyes with the weight of thought. "Well, must've been little less than a day now, was mighty surprised you lot showed up when you did, tell it true, mighty surprised."
Helana nodded, quick and sharp. "We received word of poachers in these woods, some days ago. We weren't expecting to find poachers taking down unicorns."
The old man nodded. "Aye, nor was I expecting to see such a creature, rearin up as it did. It was not scared of em, I tell ya, in fact, it drove most of them off. Was one she-witch with a monsterous bow that took the shot from on far, and the shaft she loosed was larger'd any arrow I ever seen," he sighed in dismay. "A right miracle the beast was able to flee after taking a shot like that, bleedin and hurt as it was."
"And you say there was more than one poacher?"
"Aye, M'lady, a whole party of them from what I could tell. Course, I made sure keep real low like when I saw it all play out, less they pop me with an arrow or two."
She bowed to him, low and with respect. "I thank you," she rose. "And with luck, your good work shall see this lord of your woods saved."
"We can only hope, M'lady, we can only hope."
With that she moved toward the wood, Lilian, knight of Dusk, bowed to the old farmer in turn, and the pair ventured toward the forest. They were east of the village of Fairing Wood, ten days ride out of Astenvale. It had been pure happenstance that Helena and Liliana had been out on patrol away from the sanctuary of the monastery, and close enough to Fairing Wood to make good time in their arrival once the echo-stones had carried the message to them. Poachers, threatening the wilds of the Reach, in a territory that held legends of magic beasts. Even so, Helena never expected to find truth to the legends, this far from the Eldyr tree. It brought a mix of joy and sorrow to her heart.
"A real unicorn," she said softly beneath her breath.
Lysanthir of Arapat
- Messages
- 36
- Character Biography
- Link
To say he was intrigued by the rolling, ever-changing scenery that the Reach brought was an understatement. Some little part of him doubted the locals had as much appreciation as he had. The wildlife, too, made his heart sing, reminding him of home even as he trekked so far from it.
And the Spine, the Spine, stretching high in front of him as he made his way East, with her peaks scraping the heavens, shrouded in clouds, with aureoles of snow at the tops, took his breath from him.
"A God, she is." He says to himself, to the animals around him, to the moss and lichen under his hooves. Feeling safe enough to forgo his boots yet another day, to better trod the bumpy, root-twisted ground, and to feel all the more connected with the nature around him. He had kept them on whilst passing through Fairing Wood, untrusting of the village folk to have picked up pottery shards and other broken, sharp things. He'd rather replace the soles, than turn back and waste several more days to an avoidable injury.
Now, he finds himself walking through a deer trail in the woods, some ways East of the little village. He'd been warned by a kindly woman of hunters in the region, and so he wrapped his horns in a bright red cloth, to avoid getting shot by an idiot who can't tell the difference between a muzzle and a nose, a deer and a satyr.
"Sing, pouliá. Tell me your poems, sionnach. Bellow for all to hear, al'ayl." He calls out blithely, appreciative of the hum it brings to him.
And the Spine, the Spine, stretching high in front of him as he made his way East, with her peaks scraping the heavens, shrouded in clouds, with aureoles of snow at the tops, took his breath from him.
"A God, she is." He says to himself, to the animals around him, to the moss and lichen under his hooves. Feeling safe enough to forgo his boots yet another day, to better trod the bumpy, root-twisted ground, and to feel all the more connected with the nature around him. He had kept them on whilst passing through Fairing Wood, untrusting of the village folk to have picked up pottery shards and other broken, sharp things. He'd rather replace the soles, than turn back and waste several more days to an avoidable injury.
Now, he finds himself walking through a deer trail in the woods, some ways East of the little village. He'd been warned by a kindly woman of hunters in the region, and so he wrapped his horns in a bright red cloth, to avoid getting shot by an idiot who can't tell the difference between a muzzle and a nose, a deer and a satyr.
"Sing, pouliá. Tell me your poems, sionnach. Bellow for all to hear, al'ayl." He calls out blithely, appreciative of the hum it brings to him.
"Spirits of fen and gale, lend me your sight, let what is hidden become clear," Cant the Pursuant of Life, and with those words uttered, a sheen of silver rippled across her eyes, and dissipated back to their natural color.
Lilian uttered the same cant, and as they approached the treeline, they could see the bright silvery trails of magic that wispped and whipped up from spots across the ground. "The trail is still fresh enough to see," the sworn of Dusk commented.
Helena nodded. "They say that a unicorn's blood is full of potent magic," she moved toward the swirl of silver and gold that fumed up in long languid tendrils in the distance. "Able to heal the most grievous wounds, and break the darkest curses, it alone would fetch a kingly ransom,"
The knight of Dusk nodded her agreement, and pointed out another spot of swirling magic in the shadow of the forest. "There is more that leads into the woods," her path veered toward the trail of blood, silvery and potent with magic.
Helena looked to the west, away from the woods and the path that Lilian followed. She saw the trails of men, their weight breaking and bending the long reeds of grass, carving shallow trails toward the blood. She stepped closer to the pool, its smell, fresh in the lungs, like the scent of pine sap and fur needle, bent and broken and scattered about. How it glimmered, how it ebbed with a force that tempted and pulled, if only because it was so pure and beautiful.
She wished to dab her fingers into it. Feel it against her skin, see if its power would pass to her. Her hand reached out, and her fingers hovered over the swirling wisps of its magic aura.
"I do not pursue death," she said to herself, and pulled her hand away. "For my strength is found in life, and my mind is steeled against the dangers of the day, though my sword may burn bright against the night and all the coming darkness it would bring," She rose up, and turned away from the pool of blood, and followed the trail into the woods.
Lilian uttered the same cant, and as they approached the treeline, they could see the bright silvery trails of magic that wispped and whipped up from spots across the ground. "The trail is still fresh enough to see," the sworn of Dusk commented.
Helena nodded. "They say that a unicorn's blood is full of potent magic," she moved toward the swirl of silver and gold that fumed up in long languid tendrils in the distance. "Able to heal the most grievous wounds, and break the darkest curses, it alone would fetch a kingly ransom,"
The knight of Dusk nodded her agreement, and pointed out another spot of swirling magic in the shadow of the forest. "There is more that leads into the woods," her path veered toward the trail of blood, silvery and potent with magic.
Helena looked to the west, away from the woods and the path that Lilian followed. She saw the trails of men, their weight breaking and bending the long reeds of grass, carving shallow trails toward the blood. She stepped closer to the pool, its smell, fresh in the lungs, like the scent of pine sap and fur needle, bent and broken and scattered about. How it glimmered, how it ebbed with a force that tempted and pulled, if only because it was so pure and beautiful.
She wished to dab her fingers into it. Feel it against her skin, see if its power would pass to her. Her hand reached out, and her fingers hovered over the swirling wisps of its magic aura.
"I do not pursue death," she said to herself, and pulled her hand away. "For my strength is found in life, and my mind is steeled against the dangers of the day, though my sword may burn bright against the night and all the coming darkness it would bring," She rose up, and turned away from the pool of blood, and followed the trail into the woods.
- Messages
- 36
- Character Biography
- Link
Gods, damn blind huntsmen!
An arrow comes sizzling by, dangerously close to his ear, and in a flash, Lysanthir ducks down behind the bushes betwixt himself and whomever has taken aim, slipping his helmet on from where it was hanging around his neck; an awkward contraption with hinges and strapping to keep it on his head, to take his horns and ears into account.
"Down yew, feckless moron! I'm no simple hind!" he shouts, pulling his falchion. A shame to frighten the creatures, worse yet to get laid up or killed in a hunting accident. He really should've been paying more attention, given he'd already been warned.
"Huh?!" comes the high reply.
You're joking me!
"I'm no simple hart, open your ears as well as your eyes, before you kill me!"
There's a crunch and an altogether ungraceful shivering of bushes, and Lysanthir keeps his blade at the ready from where he crouches. From the bush pops an ox-eyed youth, with barely a wisp of fuzz over his lip, clutching a bow undoubtedly older than he is, with a quiver inexpertly slung across his back. Lysanthir cringes.
"I wasn't-" the boy halts, eyes widening at the blade, and going wider still at the sight before him.
He quickly sheaths the blade, and stands up fully, deftly removing the helmet, and fixes the boy with a glare as he walks over to the arrow, still wobbling where it stuck fast in the bark of a tree.
"What do they call you, lad?"
"N- Naeus." he stutters.
Lysanthir grabs the shaft of the arrow right next to the head, and with a firm wiggle and some difficulty, yanks it free, splintering the wood. The head is barbed.
"Naeus, if you're looking to practice your archery, I have some advice for you."
The boy nods, shrinking as Lysanthir approaches and hands him the arrow.
"Don't used barbed arrows for practice. Don't go into the woods and shoot aimlessly into the brush. Don't combine those until you know what you're doing. Hitting a stranger while playing is bad enough, barbs are made to kill."
Naeus takes the arrow, hand shaking violently, and replaces it in the quiver haphazardly.
"Gods know where you found those in the first place. Don't just jam it in the quiver! Here is what you do, Naeus. Find a hillside, put a small bale of hay in front of it. Shoot at the bale, just to hit it. Then place a marker on the bale, and aim to hit the mark. Once you rarely miss, then you take to hunting."
Naeus nods silently, mouth open. Lysanthir sighs.
"You'll catch wasps, with a gaping maw like that. Let me show you how to fill a quiver, then you aught to go home and do some real practice."
"Ah- Alright. Who are you? Where do you come from?"
"Lysanthir. I am a satyr, and my home village is in the Falwood."
Naeus nods, awestruck, and pays rapt attention as he's shown how to place the arrows in the quiver, and then how to strap the quiver around his waist, as well as a few other amateur hints. The boy asks plenty of questions, between what the Falwood is like, to how to strike a deer. Lysanthir obliges, telling him of the wells and huts and insects of his home, and to visualize aiming for the join between the lungs. Once he's finished instructing him, Naeus thanks him heartily, likely feeling as though he's had a vivid dream, or met a fae, and heads almost straight North-East, surprisingly quiet.
Lysanthir chuckles to himself, and after a moment, continues walking the direction he'd been going to begin with, hopefully with better safety. Instead of asking the animals to serenade, he sings them a jaunty tune.
An arrow comes sizzling by, dangerously close to his ear, and in a flash, Lysanthir ducks down behind the bushes betwixt himself and whomever has taken aim, slipping his helmet on from where it was hanging around his neck; an awkward contraption with hinges and strapping to keep it on his head, to take his horns and ears into account.
"Down yew, feckless moron! I'm no simple hind!" he shouts, pulling his falchion. A shame to frighten the creatures, worse yet to get laid up or killed in a hunting accident. He really should've been paying more attention, given he'd already been warned.
"Huh?!" comes the high reply.
You're joking me!
"I'm no simple hart, open your ears as well as your eyes, before you kill me!"
There's a crunch and an altogether ungraceful shivering of bushes, and Lysanthir keeps his blade at the ready from where he crouches. From the bush pops an ox-eyed youth, with barely a wisp of fuzz over his lip, clutching a bow undoubtedly older than he is, with a quiver inexpertly slung across his back. Lysanthir cringes.
"I wasn't-" the boy halts, eyes widening at the blade, and going wider still at the sight before him.
He quickly sheaths the blade, and stands up fully, deftly removing the helmet, and fixes the boy with a glare as he walks over to the arrow, still wobbling where it stuck fast in the bark of a tree.
"What do they call you, lad?"
"N- Naeus." he stutters.
Lysanthir grabs the shaft of the arrow right next to the head, and with a firm wiggle and some difficulty, yanks it free, splintering the wood. The head is barbed.
"Naeus, if you're looking to practice your archery, I have some advice for you."
The boy nods, shrinking as Lysanthir approaches and hands him the arrow.
"Don't used barbed arrows for practice. Don't go into the woods and shoot aimlessly into the brush. Don't combine those until you know what you're doing. Hitting a stranger while playing is bad enough, barbs are made to kill."
Naeus takes the arrow, hand shaking violently, and replaces it in the quiver haphazardly.
"Gods know where you found those in the first place. Don't just jam it in the quiver! Here is what you do, Naeus. Find a hillside, put a small bale of hay in front of it. Shoot at the bale, just to hit it. Then place a marker on the bale, and aim to hit the mark. Once you rarely miss, then you take to hunting."
Naeus nods silently, mouth open. Lysanthir sighs.
"You'll catch wasps, with a gaping maw like that. Let me show you how to fill a quiver, then you aught to go home and do some real practice."
"Ah- Alright. Who are you? Where do you come from?"
"Lysanthir. I am a satyr, and my home village is in the Falwood."
Naeus nods, awestruck, and pays rapt attention as he's shown how to place the arrows in the quiver, and then how to strap the quiver around his waist, as well as a few other amateur hints. The boy asks plenty of questions, between what the Falwood is like, to how to strike a deer. Lysanthir obliges, telling him of the wells and huts and insects of his home, and to visualize aiming for the join between the lungs. Once he's finished instructing him, Naeus thanks him heartily, likely feeling as though he's had a vivid dream, or met a fae, and heads almost straight North-East, surprisingly quiet.
Lysanthir chuckles to himself, and after a moment, continues walking the direction he'd been going to begin with, hopefully with better safety. Instead of asking the animals to serenade, he sings them a jaunty tune.
Deeper into the woods they went, those knights in pair of two, as the sun of early day poured through the tops of trees and burned through the mist. They kept their footfalls soft, and never did one stray too far from the other as they followed the trail of silvered blood and swirling magic.
There was a whistle, made to mock bird-call. A trick of the Wild that most knights Sworn knew. The Swamp Swallow's song. It warned of danger, with its slow sweet notes, and it had the muscles in Helena's neck stiffen, her eyes narrow as she slowed her stride.
Lilian was still in sight. And as her eyes scanned the wooded horizon, searched the trunks of trees and the dark of shrubs, she saw it. A clump of growth near the base of a tree, unnatural as it gathered about the thick roots. A sniper that waited in ambush. Helena crouched low, made as if she checked for tracks, but never quite took her eyes off of the spot she had noted, never quite let the tension that would help her spring to movement out of her muscles. She let out her own song, similar to the first, but faster, shorter. Understood.
Would they shoot, she could not help but wonder. They were some one hundred yards away. More than one arrow would be let fly, and there was like more than one shooter.
Her heart pulsed a beat faster, and she drew in a long, focused breath.
They were likely a scout. Made to screen for competition, or any that would try and stop their heretical hunt. "Oh wild hearts and wilder souls," she whispered beneath her breath, "Oh ye claws of the wood and ye wings of the wind," she felt the mage swell within her chest, as she sent its tendrils down into the earth, down to trace along the tangle of roots that twist and web beneath the forest floor. "Hear my plea," and hear it they did, those wild things, small and fleet of foot and swift of wing. When she opened her eyes, and set them on the strange shape, and set her intention there with it, squirrels swarmed and sparrows dove at the object in a rush of snapping branches and small shrieks.
Whoever hid there, jerked, try as they did to stay in their cover, but the fight broke their nest, and soon they swat and they kicked at all the little creatures that did assail them.
Lilian broke forward, and Helena scanned the horizon. She heard the dull strum of bowstring, and the cut of arrow feather through the wind. She sprang into a roll, and an arrow, long and deadly, clattered against the earth where she stayed crouched a moment ago.
Lysanthir of Arapat
OOC: There are two screening scouts, part of the ambush party, engaged with Lilian and Helena. One is engaged by the tiny swarm, and one is hidden in a sniper's nest still.
There was a whistle, made to mock bird-call. A trick of the Wild that most knights Sworn knew. The Swamp Swallow's song. It warned of danger, with its slow sweet notes, and it had the muscles in Helena's neck stiffen, her eyes narrow as she slowed her stride.
Lilian was still in sight. And as her eyes scanned the wooded horizon, searched the trunks of trees and the dark of shrubs, she saw it. A clump of growth near the base of a tree, unnatural as it gathered about the thick roots. A sniper that waited in ambush. Helena crouched low, made as if she checked for tracks, but never quite took her eyes off of the spot she had noted, never quite let the tension that would help her spring to movement out of her muscles. She let out her own song, similar to the first, but faster, shorter. Understood.
Would they shoot, she could not help but wonder. They were some one hundred yards away. More than one arrow would be let fly, and there was like more than one shooter.
Her heart pulsed a beat faster, and she drew in a long, focused breath.
They were likely a scout. Made to screen for competition, or any that would try and stop their heretical hunt. "Oh wild hearts and wilder souls," she whispered beneath her breath, "Oh ye claws of the wood and ye wings of the wind," she felt the mage swell within her chest, as she sent its tendrils down into the earth, down to trace along the tangle of roots that twist and web beneath the forest floor. "Hear my plea," and hear it they did, those wild things, small and fleet of foot and swift of wing. When she opened her eyes, and set them on the strange shape, and set her intention there with it, squirrels swarmed and sparrows dove at the object in a rush of snapping branches and small shrieks.
Whoever hid there, jerked, try as they did to stay in their cover, but the fight broke their nest, and soon they swat and they kicked at all the little creatures that did assail them.
Lilian broke forward, and Helena scanned the horizon. She heard the dull strum of bowstring, and the cut of arrow feather through the wind. She sprang into a roll, and an arrow, long and deadly, clattered against the earth where she stayed crouched a moment ago.
Lysanthir of Arapat
OOC: There are two screening scouts, part of the ambush party, engaged with Lilian and Helena. One is engaged by the tiny swarm, and one is hidden in a sniper's nest still.
- Messages
- 36
- Character Biography
- Link
"-So, I am well prepared to ramble and must go!"
He finishes by throwing his hands out to his sides triumphantly for a moment, before returning to their position lax at his sides.
As the absence of the spoken word settles in again, swallowing him up in birdsong and the scuffling of animals, he muses his next course of action, pulling from his pouch the simple map he had copied down from Fairing Wood of the surrounding lands.
Around him to the North are little clusters of buildings, presumably farms and other settlements based on spacing as opposed to villages, and he traces his finger around a little clutch of buildings he may reach around eventide, before curiously zoning in on the large tree, drawn a considerable distance ahead of him. Perhaps he'll visit it on his way through.
More importantly, he aught to think of how he will make himself known to whomever is at the farm, and what he'll do if his presence isn't welcome.
He is only half-way into forming a plan when he hears the characteristic noise of squirrels fighting. No, birds fighting... Both fighting?
What is occurring? Is there a little civil war in these woods?
He approaches cautiously, crouching down to dampen his already gentle footfalls. Movement catches his eyes ahead of him, and he squints slightly to block some of the sunspots.
One figure, nearer to him, is being accosted by little creatures of the forest, fighting and grunting lowly.
Another figure- No, pair of figures -is approaching from near North, their armour glinting mildly in the light. No doubt his own is doing the same, and he quickly and deftly takes the red cloth from his horns.
Whom is the bandit, whom is the paragon?
One of the armoured figures- their ebony hair reflecting a rippling sheen as they move -surges forwards, in the direction of the accosted figure in the brush, while the other surveys the area intently, dark curly hair brought back in a loosed queue.
He continues easing forwards, low, unsure of the state of affairs, when the watchful individual takes a roll.
His eyes light on the sudden stroke of the arrow through the brush, landing where she had once stood.
Sneak thieves in the wood. Make yourselves as sitting ducks.
Instead of going for the already occupied sneak, he makes to round the small clearing, swiftly and quietly dodging between bushes, trunks, and rotting logs. The creaking of his helmet slight as he quickly fastens it on, the draw of his blade is a soft slide, holding it low, as he scans the trees above him. At least, he will draw fire, and at best, he will spot the bandit.
Helena
He finishes by throwing his hands out to his sides triumphantly for a moment, before returning to their position lax at his sides.
As the absence of the spoken word settles in again, swallowing him up in birdsong and the scuffling of animals, he muses his next course of action, pulling from his pouch the simple map he had copied down from Fairing Wood of the surrounding lands.
Around him to the North are little clusters of buildings, presumably farms and other settlements based on spacing as opposed to villages, and he traces his finger around a little clutch of buildings he may reach around eventide, before curiously zoning in on the large tree, drawn a considerable distance ahead of him. Perhaps he'll visit it on his way through.
More importantly, he aught to think of how he will make himself known to whomever is at the farm, and what he'll do if his presence isn't welcome.
He is only half-way into forming a plan when he hears the characteristic noise of squirrels fighting. No, birds fighting... Both fighting?
What is occurring? Is there a little civil war in these woods?
He approaches cautiously, crouching down to dampen his already gentle footfalls. Movement catches his eyes ahead of him, and he squints slightly to block some of the sunspots.
One figure, nearer to him, is being accosted by little creatures of the forest, fighting and grunting lowly.
Another figure- No, pair of figures -is approaching from near North, their armour glinting mildly in the light. No doubt his own is doing the same, and he quickly and deftly takes the red cloth from his horns.
Whom is the bandit, whom is the paragon?
One of the armoured figures- their ebony hair reflecting a rippling sheen as they move -surges forwards, in the direction of the accosted figure in the brush, while the other surveys the area intently, dark curly hair brought back in a loosed queue.
He continues easing forwards, low, unsure of the state of affairs, when the watchful individual takes a roll.
His eyes light on the sudden stroke of the arrow through the brush, landing where she had once stood.
Sneak thieves in the wood. Make yourselves as sitting ducks.
Instead of going for the already occupied sneak, he makes to round the small clearing, swiftly and quietly dodging between bushes, trunks, and rotting logs. The creaking of his helmet slight as he quickly fastens it on, the draw of his blade is a soft slide, holding it low, as he scans the trees above him. At least, he will draw fire, and at best, he will spot the bandit.
Helena
Arlin cursed as he pulled another arrow from his quiver and knocked it against his bow. "Wasn't expectin no bloody armored patrols out here," his eyes tracked the woman who had so deftly rolled away from his shot. "Come on you, stay still a moment," he went on as he raised the bow up and aimed down the knuckle of his hand, though his eye did all the sighting.
Quick as a whip, he pulled back the drawstring and let fly with a muffled twang of his bowstring.
Helena did not stop, trained as she was, she did not carry on in a linear path, her weight shifted in a new direction, away from her initial momentum. The poacher had lead his shot, and she could see the arrow meant for her again twift before her, and strike at the bark of a tree. Her eyes traced the line of its trajectory, but could see no sign so quickly. Not of an archer, nested and ready to snipe. She did, however, see a pair of horns.
"Muscle on the ground?" she asked herself through gritted teeth.
Lilian closed on the man who had been swarmed, and willed the creatures that scratched, pecked and bit at the brigand with her will of the wild. Wasting no time, she stepped to him, quick and forceful, and struck him across the temple with the back of her shield.
Arlin, still hidden, drew his third arrow, quiet and slow, for he could see the woman, keen eyed as she scanned for him. He was up in a tree, laid across a thick bough, his kit well threaded with leaves and branches. He was no amateur. He knocked his arrow once more, the action soundless. Though the wind blew, and and stirred the leaves, and let that great oak loose a small golden acorn which did fall and rustle the leaves ever so. Enough for Arlin's eyes to track down to the ground and curse beneath his breath when he saw the new figure which skulked below. Furry legged and armed as they were.
"A third one?" He whispered in disbelief. He trained his bow on the new target, and pulled back his dampened string.
Lysanthir of Arapat
Quick as a whip, he pulled back the drawstring and let fly with a muffled twang of his bowstring.
Helena did not stop, trained as she was, she did not carry on in a linear path, her weight shifted in a new direction, away from her initial momentum. The poacher had lead his shot, and she could see the arrow meant for her again twift before her, and strike at the bark of a tree. Her eyes traced the line of its trajectory, but could see no sign so quickly. Not of an archer, nested and ready to snipe. She did, however, see a pair of horns.
"Muscle on the ground?" she asked herself through gritted teeth.
Lilian closed on the man who had been swarmed, and willed the creatures that scratched, pecked and bit at the brigand with her will of the wild. Wasting no time, she stepped to him, quick and forceful, and struck him across the temple with the back of her shield.
Arlin, still hidden, drew his third arrow, quiet and slow, for he could see the woman, keen eyed as she scanned for him. He was up in a tree, laid across a thick bough, his kit well threaded with leaves and branches. He was no amateur. He knocked his arrow once more, the action soundless. Though the wind blew, and and stirred the leaves, and let that great oak loose a small golden acorn which did fall and rustle the leaves ever so. Enough for Arlin's eyes to track down to the ground and curse beneath his breath when he saw the new figure which skulked below. Furry legged and armed as they were.
"A third one?" He whispered in disbelief. He trained his bow on the new target, and pulled back his dampened string.
Lysanthir of Arapat
- Messages
- 36
- Character Biography
- Link
Lysanthir looks upwards into the boughs of the trees, squinting through the sun spots in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the brigand sniper. To his side he can hear the little creatures wail and call out in their battle, but he pushes them to the back of his mind for the moment.
Come down, bush dog...
He searches swiftly, and catches the innocent motion of an acorn bouncing on the leaf litter from the corner of his eye as he searches.
He takes a pause behind a tree, roughly estimating the sniper's post from the first arrow's direction, and quickly re-sheaths his falchion to have his hands free.
With a quick, calculating look up his tree, he takes a jump and grabs onto a low branch, scuffing his hooves along the bark as he hauls himself upwards, hoping the branches give at least a bit more cover.
You are not the only lightfoot here.
With several hearty heaves, and more than just a little effort, he makes his way higher into the tree. He assumes his presence to be well known by this point, and for the most part shields himself behind the trunk as he carefully scans the boughs for signs of life.
Helena It's something at least D:
Come down, bush dog...
He searches swiftly, and catches the innocent motion of an acorn bouncing on the leaf litter from the corner of his eye as he searches.
He takes a pause behind a tree, roughly estimating the sniper's post from the first arrow's direction, and quickly re-sheaths his falchion to have his hands free.
With a quick, calculating look up his tree, he takes a jump and grabs onto a low branch, scuffing his hooves along the bark as he hauls himself upwards, hoping the branches give at least a bit more cover.
You are not the only lightfoot here.
With several hearty heaves, and more than just a little effort, he makes his way higher into the tree. He assumes his presence to be well known by this point, and for the most part shields himself behind the trunk as he carefully scans the boughs for signs of life.
Helena It's something at least D:
A silent thrum-more-soft-thump came as the bush-dog let loose the shaft of his missile. It spat forth and whistled through the woods, and plunked into the soft earth where the satyr had been but a moment ago.
"Bloody billygoat," he cursed and quickly worked another arrow out from his quiver.
Helena saw the action, the streak of shaft across the sun-pour, the rustle of the branches and the leaves upon the bow, and the Satyr scramble up a tree. He's no ally of theirs. She thought, and was glad for it.
A second arrow streaks by Lysanthir. So close he can feel the feathers push the wind about his face.
The knight captain grit her teeth, offended the brigand had forgotten about her. She willed her magic close to her chest and then sent it out with a sweep of her hand.
The thick branch upon which the sniper lay began to creak and rumble until the branches began to bend and twist, they grew rampant and green and supple as they began to snake about him and ensnare him.
He shouted a curse and tried to swat the serpentine growth away.
Lysanthir of Arapat
"Bloody billygoat," he cursed and quickly worked another arrow out from his quiver.
Helena saw the action, the streak of shaft across the sun-pour, the rustle of the branches and the leaves upon the bow, and the Satyr scramble up a tree. He's no ally of theirs. She thought, and was glad for it.
A second arrow streaks by Lysanthir. So close he can feel the feathers push the wind about his face.
The knight captain grit her teeth, offended the brigand had forgotten about her. She willed her magic close to her chest and then sent it out with a sweep of her hand.
The thick branch upon which the sniper lay began to creak and rumble until the branches began to bend and twist, they grew rampant and green and supple as they began to snake about him and ensnare him.
He shouted a curse and tried to swat the serpentine growth away.
Lysanthir of Arapat
- Messages
- 36
- Character Biography
- Link
The first arrow flies by as he heaves upwards, and Lysanthir bites his lip into silence as the second arrow's fletching nearly brushes his ear. He forces the tensity from himself to remain steady. The young branches of the trees in the Spine are comparatively dense to many of his favourite climbing trees back home.
In front of him, he can see the outline of a figure, obscured by even denser branches, deliberately clumped for concealment.
There you lie, bush dog.
He makes to lead his fire, when the branches of Arlin's roost begin to shudder around him. Lysanthir pauses to watch, prepared to move out of the way of arrowfire. To his surprise, the branches, limbs, and twigs around the roost begin to grow and thicken, snaking and winding about like particularly lively rose cane.
The sniper shouts curses, swatting at the new growths, and Lysanthir takes the opportunity afforded to him.
Come here!
He makes forwards, not quite a surge, but swiftly as he can without forfeiting his balance, and bears down upon Arlin amidst the mass of vegetation.
The man shouts again in dismay, having now to defend against two forces, and he makes great effort to twist free, right before Lysanthir practically pounces on him, grappling at him, and attempting to drag him towards the trunk of the tree.
"Down yew! This land looks warless, why do you make it less so?"
Arlin bears his teeth as he kicks and thrashes, clanking against Lysanthir's armour, sending quakes through the bough. Loose leaves float downwards, and a few acorns shake free to lightly plunk on the ground. "Getoff!"
Lysanthir tuts, but his eyes widen at a particularly violent shudder and a faint heart-jumping sensation, a squeak and a creak leaving the tree behind him. The weight was too much, and he dug his fingers into Arlin's camouflage, seeing exactly where this was going. At least Arlin stilled.
So much for grace.
"Gladly, brigand."
With the long-winded groan of a squeaky hinge, the overstressed branch began to... Bend and curve downwards, the end of the branch heaving with such sudden force that it dislodged the two, sending them hurtling and shouting towards the ground, leaving the branch for the most part intact.
The impact with the ground knocks every ounce of wind from Arlin, and Lysanthir, armour and all, landing on top of him keeps him down. Lysanthir, for all his effort, keeps going even after the sniper comes to a halt, sending himself spilling forwards on his face, filling parts of his helmet and armour with leaf litter, twigs, and dust.
With a loud groan and an unceremonious clawing up onto his elbows, he blinks away some schmutz and rubs it from the front plates of his helmet, looking up at Helena with a pained grin.
"Well, at least he's down from the tree, I suppose."
Helena I got a little crazy with the Cheeze Whiz, clearly, despite this being my whole plan to begin with anyway.
In front of him, he can see the outline of a figure, obscured by even denser branches, deliberately clumped for concealment.
There you lie, bush dog.
He makes to lead his fire, when the branches of Arlin's roost begin to shudder around him. Lysanthir pauses to watch, prepared to move out of the way of arrowfire. To his surprise, the branches, limbs, and twigs around the roost begin to grow and thicken, snaking and winding about like particularly lively rose cane.
The sniper shouts curses, swatting at the new growths, and Lysanthir takes the opportunity afforded to him.
Come here!
He makes forwards, not quite a surge, but swiftly as he can without forfeiting his balance, and bears down upon Arlin amidst the mass of vegetation.
The man shouts again in dismay, having now to defend against two forces, and he makes great effort to twist free, right before Lysanthir practically pounces on him, grappling at him, and attempting to drag him towards the trunk of the tree.
"Down yew! This land looks warless, why do you make it less so?"
Arlin bears his teeth as he kicks and thrashes, clanking against Lysanthir's armour, sending quakes through the bough. Loose leaves float downwards, and a few acorns shake free to lightly plunk on the ground. "Getoff!"
Lysanthir tuts, but his eyes widen at a particularly violent shudder and a faint heart-jumping sensation, a squeak and a creak leaving the tree behind him. The weight was too much, and he dug his fingers into Arlin's camouflage, seeing exactly where this was going. At least Arlin stilled.
So much for grace.
"Gladly, brigand."
With the long-winded groan of a squeaky hinge, the overstressed branch began to... Bend and curve downwards, the end of the branch heaving with such sudden force that it dislodged the two, sending them hurtling and shouting towards the ground, leaving the branch for the most part intact.
The impact with the ground knocks every ounce of wind from Arlin, and Lysanthir, armour and all, landing on top of him keeps him down. Lysanthir, for all his effort, keeps going even after the sniper comes to a halt, sending himself spilling forwards on his face, filling parts of his helmet and armour with leaf litter, twigs, and dust.
With a loud groan and an unceremonious clawing up onto his elbows, he blinks away some schmutz and rubs it from the front plates of his helmet, looking up at Helena with a pained grin.
"Well, at least he's down from the tree, I suppose."
Helena I got a little crazy with the Cheeze Whiz, clearly, despite this being my whole plan to begin with anyway.
Helena was surprised to see the man in armor take such action against the sniper, and it showed on her expression, wide eyed and slack jawed. But she remembered herself, and the situation. A quick shake of the head did away with her surprise, and she hurried over to the fallen poacher and the grinning Satyr.
Her eyes of golden brown assessed the situation, saw that the sniper was incapacited, his arm, bent at a horrible angle, and his head shook slowly from side to side as he tried to recover. "Th-thank you!" she said to the man, who grinned through his pain, and she raised a hand in a show of peace as she bowed her head to him in respect.
A series of quick hand gestures saw tangle vines sprout from the earth, thorny and thick, they snaked around the bush-dog's ankles, and bound his arms to his side. With that done in a moment, she whistled low the call of the swamp swallow. All clear. The false bird's song would say.
All clear. Came another call from afar.
"I'd have your name, noble Satyr," she said to the brave hero who had aided her, but wasted no time in standing over the poacher. "And you," she said, as she willed the vines to tighten around him, press their brambles and thorns into his skin and punch through his clothes. Only the thickest leather pieces able to keep the needle point barbs from stabbing and scratching with irritating effect. "You will tell me of the others in your party, less you want to lose the use of that broken arm."
He sucked in through his teeth, but held his resolve.
Lysanthir of Arapat
Her eyes of golden brown assessed the situation, saw that the sniper was incapacited, his arm, bent at a horrible angle, and his head shook slowly from side to side as he tried to recover. "Th-thank you!" she said to the man, who grinned through his pain, and she raised a hand in a show of peace as she bowed her head to him in respect.
A series of quick hand gestures saw tangle vines sprout from the earth, thorny and thick, they snaked around the bush-dog's ankles, and bound his arms to his side. With that done in a moment, she whistled low the call of the swamp swallow. All clear. The false bird's song would say.
All clear. Came another call from afar.
"I'd have your name, noble Satyr," she said to the brave hero who had aided her, but wasted no time in standing over the poacher. "And you," she said, as she willed the vines to tighten around him, press their brambles and thorns into his skin and punch through his clothes. Only the thickest leather pieces able to keep the needle point barbs from stabbing and scratching with irritating effect. "You will tell me of the others in your party, less you want to lose the use of that broken arm."
He sucked in through his teeth, but held his resolve.
Lysanthir of Arapat
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- Messages
- 36
- Character Biography
- Link
Lysanthir nods up at the woman, gesturing in a half salute as he nods in return to her greeting.
"Lysanthir of Arapat, glad to be of service."
With a further groan and a great lurch, he drags his hooves under himself and stands upright, stepping aside of the poacher to give his arm a nudge with his hoof, causing him to hiss. Lysanthir takes a bare moment to marvel at the thorny canes snaking around and squeezing the man.
"I- Gah! Won't speak!"
Lysanthir shakes his head down at Arlin, before looking up to address the two knights.
"Is your being shot at by bushdogs typical, my ladies...?"
He gesture to each of them in turn, curious of their names, before removing his helmet to shake the rest of the dirt from it, revealing his horns, ears, and inquisitive smile clearly.
Helena
"Lysanthir of Arapat, glad to be of service."
With a further groan and a great lurch, he drags his hooves under himself and stands upright, stepping aside of the poacher to give his arm a nudge with his hoof, causing him to hiss. Lysanthir takes a bare moment to marvel at the thorny canes snaking around and squeezing the man.
"I- Gah! Won't speak!"
Lysanthir shakes his head down at Arlin, before looking up to address the two knights.
"Is your being shot at by bushdogs typical, my ladies...?"
He gesture to each of them in turn, curious of their names, before removing his helmet to shake the rest of the dirt from it, revealing his horns, ears, and inquisitive smile clearly.
Helena
Helena smirked, and gave Lilian a look. Her Dusker counterpart smiled, and nodded to the comely satyr. "Aye, Master Lysanthir, comes with the territory, us being knights and all," she said, and gave the man on the ground a swift kick in the side. "Listen you! We know what yer out here huntin! And we got our own ways of gettin the information that we want!"
Arlin snivvled some, still biting down the pain from the arm and the rasp and scratch and squeeze of the vines. "I done told you, I ain't speakin' a bloody-" another hard thump from the fair skinned and ebon haired knight. "Awoooo!" he howled in pain.
Helena motioned for Lilian to stop. She did, with a grumble in her throat, and scooted away. Helena lowered herself down to Arlin's arm, hand out as the spiny whips settled in their squeeze. "See, bush-dog, my counterpark, Syr Lilian? She is a mind dancer," Helena smirked, and Arlin's eyes went wide. "Ah, you know the kind?"
The poacher glared, brows pinched as he flick his head away. "Bluffin is all, ye damn witches,"
Helena smiled. "Yes, we've been called that, to be certain," she closed her eyes, and channelled her magic, her hands glowed with a soft golden light, and the air around it grew warmer, the heat medicinal, like a salved warmed by candle fire. "See, I," she let her hand go closer to the poacher's busted bones. "I can heal your hurts, make sure this arm of yours can pull string again, and that way, once you are done serving your sentence in the lord of the land's mines, or quarry, you can go back to earning coin with your bow," she let the light die. "All we need is a little information, to help us find your fellow poachers,"
Arlin looked at Helena, "Tell it true?"
"You have my word as a Knight of Anathaeum," she put a fist on her chest and bowed her head to the man. "I will see your arm mended before we throw you in jail,"
He didn't like that last bit none. But, what other options did he have? "Ah, alright, look, got a crew, well, you know, huntin the unicorn. Just a dumb old beast,"
Helena glared at the man. "Hold your tongue, cur, I will not hear such disrespect flung at a noble lord of these wilds,"
Arlin's stare hardened some, and he wriggled defiantly. "Look, I-"
"How many in your crew," Helena directed the interrogation.
"Four others," Arlin gave.
"What of this, monster bow?"
Arlin laughed some beneath his breath. "You mean Arza?" his eyes twinkled. "Yeah, you like probably won't survive her, but that's none of my concern now is it?"
Lilian cursed, and kicked the man again. "Like hell we won't!"
Helena motioned her away. Lilan huffed again and stormed off to the other hunter.
"You wounded the unicorn, yes?"
"Thas right,"
"Poison?"
Arlin's eyes shifted away. "Yeah, poison tipped arrows, bog bell, lethal to most creatures, us included, but only slows down somethin like a unicorn,"
"You've hunted them before?" Helena said through gritted teeth. Hands balled into fists.
Arlin smiled proudly, noticing how it bothered the young woman. "Aye, their horns fetch a pretty penny, lords and ladies sprinkle em over their tea and cakes just to do their nasty," he laughed at that. "What the fuck do we care, the coin lasts us months. Longer if we find a buyer for the blood in time, but, that's always a little harder,"
Lysanthir of Arapat
Arlin snivvled some, still biting down the pain from the arm and the rasp and scratch and squeeze of the vines. "I done told you, I ain't speakin' a bloody-" another hard thump from the fair skinned and ebon haired knight. "Awoooo!" he howled in pain.
Helena motioned for Lilian to stop. She did, with a grumble in her throat, and scooted away. Helena lowered herself down to Arlin's arm, hand out as the spiny whips settled in their squeeze. "See, bush-dog, my counterpark, Syr Lilian? She is a mind dancer," Helena smirked, and Arlin's eyes went wide. "Ah, you know the kind?"
The poacher glared, brows pinched as he flick his head away. "Bluffin is all, ye damn witches,"
Helena smiled. "Yes, we've been called that, to be certain," she closed her eyes, and channelled her magic, her hands glowed with a soft golden light, and the air around it grew warmer, the heat medicinal, like a salved warmed by candle fire. "See, I," she let her hand go closer to the poacher's busted bones. "I can heal your hurts, make sure this arm of yours can pull string again, and that way, once you are done serving your sentence in the lord of the land's mines, or quarry, you can go back to earning coin with your bow," she let the light die. "All we need is a little information, to help us find your fellow poachers,"
Arlin looked at Helena, "Tell it true?"
"You have my word as a Knight of Anathaeum," she put a fist on her chest and bowed her head to the man. "I will see your arm mended before we throw you in jail,"
He didn't like that last bit none. But, what other options did he have? "Ah, alright, look, got a crew, well, you know, huntin the unicorn. Just a dumb old beast,"
Helena glared at the man. "Hold your tongue, cur, I will not hear such disrespect flung at a noble lord of these wilds,"
Arlin's stare hardened some, and he wriggled defiantly. "Look, I-"
"How many in your crew," Helena directed the interrogation.
"Four others," Arlin gave.
"What of this, monster bow?"
Arlin laughed some beneath his breath. "You mean Arza?" his eyes twinkled. "Yeah, you like probably won't survive her, but that's none of my concern now is it?"
Lilian cursed, and kicked the man again. "Like hell we won't!"
Helena motioned her away. Lilan huffed again and stormed off to the other hunter.
"You wounded the unicorn, yes?"
"Thas right,"
"Poison?"
Arlin's eyes shifted away. "Yeah, poison tipped arrows, bog bell, lethal to most creatures, us included, but only slows down somethin like a unicorn,"
"You've hunted them before?" Helena said through gritted teeth. Hands balled into fists.
Arlin smiled proudly, noticing how it bothered the young woman. "Aye, their horns fetch a pretty penny, lords and ladies sprinkle em over their tea and cakes just to do their nasty," he laughed at that. "What the fuck do we care, the coin lasts us months. Longer if we find a buyer for the blood in time, but, that's always a little harder,"
Lysanthir of Arapat
- Messages
- 36
- Character Biography
- Link
Lysanthir watches the back-and-forth, the good knight vs. bad knight that the two knights perform with ease, with a look of amusement on his face. Thinking back momentarily to the tiny Arapat Guard, interrogating himself and a friend for allegedly throwing overripe fruit onto the doorstep of one of the crotchety, hateful old men in the village.
"Ah, alright, look, got a crew, well, you know, huntin' the unicorn. Just a dumb old beast," says the sniper.
At the mention of a unicorn, Lysanthir's pulse jumps, and he begins paying more attention, worry washing over his face. The good knight reprimands him, while her counterpart- Lilian -seethes.
Lysanthir's mind buzzes as he stares unseeingly at the man's face, intently picking the needed from the excess.
Four others. One stronger than the others? Sniper used bog bell to poison the unicorn.
"Aye, their horns fetch a pretty penny, lords and ladies sprinkle em over their tea and cakes just to do their nasty,"
Lysanthir makes a balking, scoffing noise, nostrils flaring.
The sniper laughs, "What the fuck do we care, the coin lasts us months. Longer if we find a buyer for the blood in time, but, that's always a little harder,"
Lysanthir shakes his head, a hard line of anger coming across his eyes, and he focuses a particularly harsh glare on Arlin, placing his hoof on the sniper's splintered hand near-weightlessly, a potent warning.
"Which way did they go, then?"
Arlin gulps, and for lack of a free hand, nods his head towards the depths of the forest.
"That way."
"Then that way we shall go," Lysanthir looks to Helena and Lilian potently, "as I don't believe this is something I should walk away from."
Helena I deed eet! I write postie!
"Ah, alright, look, got a crew, well, you know, huntin' the unicorn. Just a dumb old beast," says the sniper.
At the mention of a unicorn, Lysanthir's pulse jumps, and he begins paying more attention, worry washing over his face. The good knight reprimands him, while her counterpart- Lilian -seethes.
Lysanthir's mind buzzes as he stares unseeingly at the man's face, intently picking the needed from the excess.
Four others. One stronger than the others? Sniper used bog bell to poison the unicorn.
"Aye, their horns fetch a pretty penny, lords and ladies sprinkle em over their tea and cakes just to do their nasty,"
Lysanthir makes a balking, scoffing noise, nostrils flaring.
The sniper laughs, "What the fuck do we care, the coin lasts us months. Longer if we find a buyer for the blood in time, but, that's always a little harder,"
Lysanthir shakes his head, a hard line of anger coming across his eyes, and he focuses a particularly harsh glare on Arlin, placing his hoof on the sniper's splintered hand near-weightlessly, a potent warning.
"Which way did they go, then?"
Arlin gulps, and for lack of a free hand, nods his head towards the depths of the forest.
"That way."
"Then that way we shall go," Lysanthir looks to Helena and Lilian potently, "as I don't believe this is something I should walk away from."
Helena I deed eet! I write postie!
Helena looked to Lysanthir, smirked as she nodded her head in approving response. "A man of proper conviction," she glowered down at the poacher, "Hold still, now," Helena grasped at the man's wounded arm, and he grimaced, growling some curse beneath his breath as breath sucked in through his teeth.
"Bloody witch! You said you were going to heal me, not snap me arm anew!"
The Scowl on Helena's brow deepened as she pushed with one hand and pulled with another. The poacher yowled like a dying beast. "This," she said through gritted teeth. "Is what it would feel like," he was wriggling fiercely on the ground, kicked up dirt. Helena's muscles relaxed, and she let out a deep breath. "if I were trying to snap your arm anew, poacher,"
Lilian looked to Helena. "We best move on, Helena,"
A golden light glowed from Helena's hands, looked like vines and stalks in their own right, as they wrapped around the poacher's growth-bound arm. He whimpered in pain, face red with agony. But as the light went on glowing, wrinkles on his face smoothed, the tension in his eyes left, and slowly he peered down at the light that rooted through his arm.
Helena let out another breath, let her hands fall to her knees, and then scooped some earth up into her fingers. Felt the soil there, felt the lingering of magick seeded by the lines of ley that dug further into the earth. Bone cracked and popped as it righted itself, and then the light faded, slow. The tendrils of gold, vines, spidery, shriveled up and turned to motes of light that scattered in the breeze.
"Right," she fixed a hard stare onto the the man, and rose, her white cape a-flutter. "Your arm should heal better when the menders find you," She made toward the direction the man had pointed, and Lilian followed after.
"You can't just leave me here!" he called out. "You gotta cut me free! What if a wolf comes by!"
"Then the forest has cast its judgement upon you," she went on without looking back. "Tell me, friend Lysanthir," the young knight sad as she strode toward their next challenge. "You've dealt with poachers before?"
Lilian adjusted her own sword, and checked the fit of her breastplate. A cool breath left her lips as she observed the satyr man. "What of sorcery?" the dark haired knight added to the query.
Lysanthir of Arapat
"Bloody witch! You said you were going to heal me, not snap me arm anew!"
The Scowl on Helena's brow deepened as she pushed with one hand and pulled with another. The poacher yowled like a dying beast. "This," she said through gritted teeth. "Is what it would feel like," he was wriggling fiercely on the ground, kicked up dirt. Helena's muscles relaxed, and she let out a deep breath. "if I were trying to snap your arm anew, poacher,"
Lilian looked to Helena. "We best move on, Helena,"
A golden light glowed from Helena's hands, looked like vines and stalks in their own right, as they wrapped around the poacher's growth-bound arm. He whimpered in pain, face red with agony. But as the light went on glowing, wrinkles on his face smoothed, the tension in his eyes left, and slowly he peered down at the light that rooted through his arm.
Helena let out another breath, let her hands fall to her knees, and then scooped some earth up into her fingers. Felt the soil there, felt the lingering of magick seeded by the lines of ley that dug further into the earth. Bone cracked and popped as it righted itself, and then the light faded, slow. The tendrils of gold, vines, spidery, shriveled up and turned to motes of light that scattered in the breeze.
"Right," she fixed a hard stare onto the the man, and rose, her white cape a-flutter. "Your arm should heal better when the menders find you," She made toward the direction the man had pointed, and Lilian followed after.
"You can't just leave me here!" he called out. "You gotta cut me free! What if a wolf comes by!"
"Then the forest has cast its judgement upon you," she went on without looking back. "Tell me, friend Lysanthir," the young knight sad as she strode toward their next challenge. "You've dealt with poachers before?"
Lilian adjusted her own sword, and checked the fit of her breastplate. A cool breath left her lips as she observed the satyr man. "What of sorcery?" the dark haired knight added to the query.
Lysanthir of Arapat
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