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Post by Deleted on Jan 14, 2011 9:01:11 GMT -5
Aithne stood at the prow, the wind sweeping through her grey-blue hair like velvet fingers, caressing and gentle. The sky was slowly being painted a brilliant golden yellow with blotches of dusky pink over the clouds by a swiftly rising sun. As the shirtless men sweated and grunted at the labourious task of handling the huge oars, Aithne began to sing. The noise was soft at first, caught up by the gentle breeze and tossed away, but then her voice grew louder as her lips formed the familiar shapes of words she didn't understand. Slowly, the rowers began to time their strokes with the beat of her song, an ancient melody that seemed to carry the weight of authority. Trees grew to the beat of this song. Flowers bloomed to it's melody. Winds and waves and all the world, as well the sun in her glory, and the moon in his tenderness, and all the stars in their joyful radiance danced to the beat of this song. Not a single one missed their step. From behind them, the wind picked up, the waters gave way to the blades of the oars more easily, and the rowers' strength was rekindled. They pressed on with purpose and vigour, their sweating backs shining in the first rays of dawn. A thin man lifted himself from his damp perch in the stern and picked a precarious path past the men's benches, trying to steady himself amid the rhythmic rocking of the boat. By the time he had stumbled to the high prow, Aithne had ceased her song and was staring at the horizon with her cloudy green eyes. The man coughed slightly to announce his presence. When the young woman didn't acknowledge him, he spoke, his voice more than a little irritated. "Aithne, we've been rowing for so long! How do you know it isn't better to just turn back? We might not even be half way yet." "We're almost there," came her serene reply. The man scoffed at her. "How do you know?" he asked. "Because, Morday," she said, with a tiny hint of triumph, "there is a falcon circling over there." She pointed to a spot directly ahead of them, and as Morday squinted into the misted distance, the faint outline of high, frosted mountains and thick emerald forests began to emerge. "We're almost there," she said with obvious anticipation. ((Nope, I don't know who these people are, what their level of technology is, where they're going or why they're going there. xD I just need to get back into writing and I wanted a new RP. Please keep your post length decently long and provide a good amount of detail as well as actions/reactions/events for the rest of us to react to. For help with RPing, check out Kit's RP course since he puts it far better than I can.))
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Post by Shadaras on Jan 14, 2011 21:43:49 GMT -5
((Freeform roleplaying = so much fun. xD))
Songs and music. Merlin grunted, tuning out Aithne’s voice with the ease of long practice. He never quite had understood the attraction of the two to Aithne; no matter how many time she’d explained it, he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the magic of music.
The more obvious magic of nature’s forces, now, that he understood.
Merlin smiled, the expression transforming his rough, magic-marked, face into a glimmer of the beauty he’d had before discovering forces he hadn’t, as a child, understood. Now, twisted almost into a creature of the earth himself, he kept quiet about how he’d looked as a child. There was no need to speak of something long forgotten to time; Earth’s children lived longer than those who walked Her surface. He reached out, murmuring as if to a lover, and touched, distantly, Earth’s dark skin.
With that touch, soft as it was, he relaxed and drew back into himself. It had been too long since he had last been easily able to touch Earth’s warmth. He hadn’t agreed with Aithne’s choice of a boat for this mission, but he hadn’t been able to find a better solution to the problem of crossing Oceanus’s cloth.
Aithne’s song stopped, and Merlin listened once more to Morday’s complaints. At least this time Aithne could sooth them with ease; Earth’s skin now lay on the horizon of even physical senses, visible to the sharp-eyed among them.
“We’re almost there.”
“We never did decide exactly where ‘there’ is,” Merlin drawled. He let himself fade out of the ship’s wood; he’d taken to meditating as part of the ship, as there was little other way to join with any part of Earth when Oceanus separated them. Now more easily visible to the others, he sat up, fingers stroking absently the twisted, half-alive, sapling he used as a staff. “We near Earth once more, however, and She has gifts for us all.”
High above them, a falcon called, and Merlin tipped up his head to the sunlight, a smile touching his lips as he watched the little air-child dive back into Earth’s fold. “And, perhaps,” he said, more to the wood than to any fleshly being, “we shall find that which all stories seek.”
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Post by Rikku on Jan 14, 2011 23:46:23 GMT -5
Cyan was forbidden the mountains, so he was in the higher branches of one of the higher trees when he saw the ship, a splotch of substance dark against the rise of the sun. Cye regarded it for a moment or two, thoughtfully, and then tugged at the magic that linked him to Fiercely. The falcon had been circling reasonably close; she came diving down to him within a few minutes, flaring her wings and settling on his thickly-gloved right arm. She cocked her head to better regard him with her mad brown eye.
Cye told her what to do without words, the sky-magic making his scars prickle painfully – but the link to Fiercely was strong, he’d raised her from a chick, and so the magic didn’t tax him as painfully as some might. Still, it was an inconvenient way to go about things, and he added sharply, “Quickly now,” when the instructions were done, more to vent his anger than in hopes of the bird understanding. So much better if he could fly himself, soar into that endless blue …
The long climb down did little to improve his temper, with his right hand near-useless and even his left clumsy ‘neath its own smaller glove. He tugged it off partway down, awkwardly, with his teeth; thus he had the use of his fingers, which made it easier, or somewhat. Cye was nimble and gracile, all the royals were – even the banished ones, he thought briefly, which gave him a stab of bitter amusement – but the scars, while not giving him pain except in magic, had an awkward tendency of pulling at his movements in strange and unwelcome ways. He didn’t come to the point of nearly falling at any time, but only because he was slow and cautious, and he reached the bottom irritable and sweating despite the coolness of the forest. He left his left glove off – it was only to protect his slender fingers from the climb, and that was useless now in any case – and clumsily loosened his short blue coat so the damp air could offer some relief. Thus he’d been walking only for a few minutes when Fierce came back down, and he held his arm out for her irritably and went on walking.
The forest was sparser nearer the shoreline than in some other parts, so he left half his mind to direct his footsteps and plunged the rest of him into Fiercely, slipping neatly behind the falcon’s eyes. For a moment or two he saw the forest as she did, sharper and richer and much more clear; then he cast back to older recollections, and saw the ship, in that same clear falcon-sight. Middling size, rowed instead of sailed … but he knew that already, he would’ve seen the white of the sails. He dug deeper in his impatience, saw the people … and ah, yes, yes, they were moving all together as though in some dance, perfectly co-ordinated. They had a singer.
Cye allowed himself a smile at that. Singers had come on many of the other ships that visited this place, and he’d gotten any useful information out of them long since – it was not an art he could learn, so it was of no use for the revenge he longed for. But a mage was not something to be disdainful of, regardless, and anyway if there was one mage on a ship there was no reason there wouldn’t be more. Or soldiers, or people otherwise of use.
He clawed through Fiercely’s recollections, looking for any evidence of this, and was startled out of the falcon’s mind when she screeched and beat her wings at him, striking the side of his face hard enough to bruise. He chuckled and stroked her handsome head to calm her, though there was a risk of her plunging her beak into his hands; he would hold her no ill-will if she did that, she’d just be acting as all wild sky-creatures acted, as he himself acted. Though he was glad when she did not, as he had left off the glove.
The most likely port was a place where the water was blue and deep ‘till nearly the shore, then rising into a pleasant enough beach of shells and sand, the trees keeping, for once, a decent distance away from the sea. Cye went there, and stood thoughtfully on the beach, regarding the ship, which he could now see with his naked eyes even from this low height. Perhaps the Song called them, as it did so many others; or perhaps they sought treasure, or glory, or thrill. He was only slightly interested. What they sought was of no concern.
He was mildly more concerned with what they’d think of him, the bright-haired sky-eyed stranger standing all haughty and noble with his coat and his falcon, by all appearances waiting for them … but even the most uncomplimentary of first impressions couldn’t be formed if they never met him, so in the back of his mind he whispered to the wind, pulling it gently. It was not so simple a business as talking to Fiercely, not at all; his scars burned sharp and cold, making him wince and pull his coat closer around himself. But the wind came, it came to his call, it sung in from the sea, twisting inland. This would be of more use if it was a sailing ship, but the brisk breeze would cool those sweating rowers, and it was difficult to take such an uncharacteristic and kindly wind as anything but a pleasant omen: Good things would surely await on any land where the wind itself showed you the way …
Cye stood on the shore, and smiled coldly, and waited.
((… Rereading the Temeraire series, sorry. xD Makes my phrasings all clumsy and complicated. Pray do complain if it’s of any inconvenience or if I did anything wrong or if anything’s confusing or.))
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Post by Deleted on Jan 15, 2011 3:48:13 GMT -5
The young girl caught the scent of magic as Merlin emerged from the inner hull of their small ship. She ignored him totally. His was a magic bound in the roots of the world, slow, steady, unchanging. It was full of certainties and uncompromising laws, or at least that was how she saw it. Aithne leaned forward eagerly, the wind picking up slightly. She delighted in it, for they were friends, and the wind seemed also to delight in her. It caressed her and surrounded her with its embrace, but it would not hold her. “Oh …” Morday broke the spell with his little noise of surprise. Aithne looked up and saw what had made him stir. Standing alone on the shore almost directly ahead of them was a lone figure. The woman sensed something strange, almost wild about him, but she was no magician. “Merlin,” she said, almost a little afraid, though not truly sure why. The rowers pushed on for the last few strokes, then shipped their oars and let the prow slice neatly through the last stretch of water. When it was close enough, the men swung themselves into the lapping water and began hauling the hull up the shore. Aithne stepped into the ankle-deep water, her small feet burying themselves joyfully in the silt and the liquid. She waded slowly to dry land, leaving Oceanus reluctantly, and turned further up shore where the figure, now revealed to be at least humanoid, waited. There was something about this new land which seemed intoxicating. The air was thick, almost stifling, and heavy with what she knew to be magic. The rowers had secured the ship with several ropes and strong knots and were fetching heavy sacks from the hold. The sacks clanked as they were lifted and carried delicately to the forest. Slowly, and with purpose, the shirtless rowers transformed themselves into lightly armored soldiers with burnished breastplates and short broadswords. A few had managed to salvage their cream cloaks and one or two even boasted a shield or a bronze helm with a high feathered plume. They looked exactly what they were. A squad of soldiers, once decked in splendid garb and now struggling to keep a firm grasp on that heritage which was fast slipping away. Still, they looked formidable enough, and Aithne felt a little safer with them around. But nowhere near as safe as she felt when Merlin was actually paying attention to his surroundings. She called to him again, not sure if he had heard her the first time. This strange land was full of laws they did not understand, but which they were expected to follow, and this worried her even more than the image of the man on the shore. (( ))
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Post by Tam on Jan 15, 2011 5:30:07 GMT -5
Áed was in an exceptionally good mood as he swam towards the surface.
Not that he wasn't normally in a good mood, of course. But today was extra special — that glowing one day a week when the rest of the Clan ran out of things for him to do and were forced to allow him to swim off on his own for a while. It was the one day a week he could spend visiting his lady love, Niamh of the Riverfolk.
Singing to himself in the fragile haunting tones unique to those who lived beneath the waves, Áed continued his swim upwards, twirling a little as he went. He had met Niamh nearly a full year ago, when he had been exploring the inland waterways. His people, the Loch Clan, had lived for longer than anyone knew (or indeed cared to know) at the bottom of a wide inlet that opened up to the ocean to the west and gradually narrowed into an ancient, serpentine river reaching back into the land to the east. In general, Merfolk were creatures of habit who liked to keep their fins in the salt, and journeys into the brackish water upstream were usually seen as the special territory of fools and lovers. Áed was at least one of these, so his people were willing to humour him.
He was ultimately heading for the river, but first he would need to surface on the shore and enlist the help of a friend who would be waiting for him there. He was making good time; the surface was just above him now. He could see the light scattered across the waves like chips of crystal, feel the sun's rays filtering down through the water, making his skin feel clammy and much too warm. He always hated this part of the trip: that last few yards of water that were too sunny for him to comfortably stay in his Merfolk form, and yet too... well, watery for his surface form. Today, he decided to break tradition, and while he was still a few strokes away from the surface, he shifted.
As smoothly as if by magic (which, of course, it was), his glossy silver-green tail became a pair of humanoid legs, fins retreating into flesh as if they'd never been there. The webs on his narrow fingers followed suit, and the scales that had been glimmering on his olive-coloured skin vanished like water drops evaporating in the sun. The gills on each side of his neck closed, and a more appropriate nose for air-breathing appeared on his face instead.
His hair and eyes also changed: bound seaweed-like strands becoming bound brown hair, black fish eyes lightening to a more natural murky green. While not strictly necessary for survival above the water, like his other modifications, Riverfolk were decidedly more human-like in appearance than the Merfolk, and tended to be more attracted to males with hair than those with seaweed. Niamh herself had expressed a particular fondness for his hair when he tied it up in a rough ponytail behind his head. Áed couldn't say he understood her tastes, but he was happy enough to go along with the suggestion.
He broke the surface gasping, his body burning with the thrill that the few seconds of not being able to breathe underwater had granted him. He was definitely going to try that again next week. He started to sing cheerfully, but broke off in alarm when his voice came back to him as a thin-sounding echo, bouncing off the trees around the inlet. Right. Different sound above the water. He paddled sheepishly up to the shore, clambering to his feet with some degree of difficulty once the water was shallow enough. It was cool this morning, and his human skin shivered in the wind that was blowing in from the sea.
As he looked out from the inlet, down past the treed shoreline and along the sandy beach, out onto the vast plane of water that was the ocean — something caught his eye. He tilted his head, trying to get a better look. While he was doing this, something behind him spoke, making him nearly jump out of his skin.
"I thought you had no time to lose."
"Elodea!" said Áed happily, once he had picked himself off the ground again. "Good morning, my friend! I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Not too long." Elodea was something that could best be described as a small horse. Her skin, however, was like a seal's: soft, black, and slippery. She was dripping wet all over. "Although I was beginning to consider jumping in and coming to get you myself."
"Sure," said Áed, grinning, "because you just love deep water so much—"
She swatted him gently with her tail, causing him to pitch forward into the mud again. "I can put up with it if I have to, merpup, especially if it means I get to drag you out by the scruff of the neck."
"Alright, alright. Huh, you and your temper. I'm beginning to see why most people say it's a waste of time making friends with a kelpie."
"Most people aren't getting a free ride to each little romantic rendezvous they scheme up, either. Hop on."
Áed did so, clumsily, wrapping his fingers in her wet mane to keep from sliding off. Then he remembered what he had been looking at before being distracted by Elodea.
"Hey, Elodea? What's that thing out in the ocean?"
The kelpie turned and looked out from the inlet. "Boat, I guess."
"Boat?"
"Yeah. A big one, coming this way. Probably carrying lots of human magicians. I saw another one just like it a few days ago."
"Magicians?" Áed's eyes widened. "Elodea, can you take me to meet them?"
"To meet — I thought you wanted to visit your forest damsel!"
"I do! Of course I do! But if there's magicians in that Boat thing, maybe they can help me! The Rite is just a few months away, and I still haven't been able to do any better magic than that time I sprayed boiling water in Chief Eógan's face!"
"Merpup, you have some serious commitment issues."
"Please, Elodea!" he begged. "I'll have my glamour on, the humans won't have any idea I'm not one of them! Probably they won't have anything to tell me anyway, but I have to try. Just take me to the edge of the forest. I just want to go, and ask, and come back. Niamh won't mind if we're a little late."
"You're not going to be talked out of this, are you."
"No. Plus if you refuse, I'll just get off and walk there myself."
"I don't know when I suddenly became your own personal steed, anyway..."
"So you'll take me to the beach?"
"May as well, the idea of you taking three hours to stagger through the mud to get there is enough to bring a tear to my eye. But I'm not going anywhere until you find some clothes. Can't have them getting the right impression of you, after all."
((Edit: ...Oh right, italics. >.>; *adds them in*))
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Post by Shadaras on Jan 15, 2011 13:07:33 GMT -5
“Merlin.”
Aithne’s use of his name, quieter, starker, than usual, brought the Earthy man’s attention to first his song-bright friend and then, following her gaze, to the figure on the beach. He hummed beneath his breath, the vibration resonating deep in his chest, and stood. Eddies of magic, playing at the level of instinct, bound his right hand to his sapling-staff, and his sapling-staff to the wood, steadying him on the uncertain waters. He moved, slowly, steadily, up to the prow, gazing at the figure. A flapping of wings; a bird on his arm. “Watching us?” Merlin asked his sapling, leaning thoughtfully on the strong hickory. “We told nobody our destination.”
A thought occurred to him, as they drew nearer to shore, and he reached out, casting his senses through Earth. As She caressed him, reaffirming their bond, sending Her strength surging through him, he let out a soft groan of pleasure. He felt, then the wildness of the waiting man’s poise, the uncertain winds at his back, the way the falcon – the watcher – looked to him. To Merlin, the man was profoundly disturbing. He lived like an animal, yet gave deference to Anemoi. The Wind-lord, Sky-lord, held few ties to Earth, though they lay together always.
Merlin drew reluctantly out of his Earth-bond, keeping tight hold upon his hickory sapling to steady himself on its threaded strength as Earth’s power stayed in its place and he returned to his. He blinked, and found that they had reached the beach, Aithne had left the boat, and the rowers had become warriors once more. “Typical,” he said, speaking to those other who would listen as much as himself. “You have no sense of patience.” Slowly, though more quickly now that Oceanus’s waves did not rock the wood beneath his feet, he moved to where a gangplank had been laid. With a thought, he pulled his hickory from the ship’s wood and placed it on the plank, steadying himself as he stumped down and into the salty waters of Oceanus.
Salt-water stung his bare feet, and he grumbled as he dug his feet into sand. His hickory did not need to be bound to the surface upon which he walked, now; he had the Earth Herself to bind himself to as he walked out of the salty waters and onto the beach’s solid land. Here, he walked more smoothly, not needing to worry about his limbs stiffening, their sap-blood drying, losing life from lack of connection to Earth’s sweet food. Even from the sand, he felt life, and gently pulled sustenance from Earth’s body into his. His skin, which on the boat had been as grained as the planks that held them, smoothed, turned a fine Earthy hue, the color of good soil, and his hair softened and deepened into the warm dark green of fine moss. His eyes, however, remained the same: the color of stone, hard and unchanging as the Earth itself.
Now, fully alive once more, he studied the wild sky-man in front of them (for he had stopped by Aithne’s side). A fine coat, unsuited to the free woods in which he seemed to live, yet a scarred body that spoke of darkness, fighting, blood in his past. Wild eyes, wild eyes that matched those of his falcon, though the falcon’s eyes were amber as her feathers and the man’s eyes were bright as the sky.
Meditatively, Merlin rubbed his hickory sapling. Beneath his hands, his hickory, drawing life just as he had, began to sprout and twist around his hands, slender branchlets tickling, teasing, him. He smiled indulgently and asked them to stay and strengthen the rest of his staff. They withdrew, and he said, quietly, in words meant for Aithne’s ears alone, “He has the wind’s trust, and the falcon’s eyes.” There were truer ways to put the information, but he knew she could understand this phrasing. Then, louder, voice an Earthy rumble, he spoke to the sky-man. “Who stands here in greeting, when none unneeded knew of our passage to this place?”
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Post by Rikku on Jan 16, 2011 18:00:35 GMT -5
The ship drew in, its rowers leaping to drag it onto shore. Cye blinked, having expected them to anchor the ship in the deepish water and row the boats to shore … but perhaps they were fond of their ship, not wishing to leave it where any storm might wrack and wreck it? Or perhaps they were intending to stay a while. Interesting.
And then the rowers clad themselves as warriors, and Cye blinked again, taking in their armour and few items of finery. He wondered where they’d come from to have warriors, particularly ones who’d once been in a much finer state. Banished too, perhaps? If so, he could maybe tell them … no, no point. Particularly if they ended up wanting to go to his own city, up in the mountains; not much use a guide who wanted to destroy your destination.
They were an odd lot. The soldiers, and a thin man who was very definitely not a soldier, and the girl with blue-grey hair and green eyes – young for such a journey; but then, she was the singer – and … who was …
Cye slipped behind Fiercely’s eyes automatically, to see him better. He hadn’t even noticed him in the small ship, and he could see why, with his oddly woodlike skin – smoothing over as he stepped onto land, his hair going softening and deepening its green. An earth-mage undoubtedly, unless Earth-mage was a better word. These travellers always insisted on calling the parts of the world by names, which seemed a strange notion. But they were what brought them here, generally. Even if the travellers themselves didn’t know that.
And he could bring himself to believe it, when the winds were strong and the sky was bright. Anemoi.
The mage murmured something to the singer, and Cye realised they’d been looking at him; he gave a start and pulled his mind back into his own body, not particularly wanting them to see him all glaze-eyed and blank.
The mage said in a rich rumble of a voice, “Who stands here in greeting, when none unneeded knew of our passage to this place?”
“I do,” Cye answered lightly, and made a half-bow, simple but courtly. “You can call me Cyan, or Cye if it please you. And as to not knowing …” He grinned. “Do you think yourselves the first to come here? Hardly. And I have a fondness for knowledge and new things; so really, there is nothing strange in this.” Except for the fact that you seem half made of wood, of course! “In fact, I come to offer my services, you being strangers to this place, not knowing its ways. I have sharp eyes if you’re in need of a scout, sharp claws if you’re in need of a hunter …” Fiercely turned her head to look at them, shifting her position slightly. Traditionally, falconers kept their birds tethered, kept hoods over their heads; Cye had never been able to stand that. “I was intending to offer myself as a guide, to whatever it is you’re seeking; but,” and he eyed the Earthmage, “such a party can have no difficulty finding their way through the forests if they have one with them who knows the ways of Earth herself, I am sure.” He smiled, politely and briefly and coldly, and then turned towards the singer-girl, who seemed almost the leader, despite that it had been the mage who asked. “Have you need of my aid?”
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Post by Tam on Jan 16, 2011 23:04:04 GMT -5
In Áed's mind, life was far too short to worry about clothing. So when he had plucked up a few handfuls of broad-leafed water plants and rapidly strung them around his waist using the twisted hemp cord his flint-knife normally hung on, he deemed his transformation into an ordinary human complete and once again climbed onto Elodea's back.
"Done," he said, clutching her damp mane. "Now let's go! There's already people on the beach."
"Ask nicely," grumbled Elodea, "or I'll eat you."
"Let's go please."
The kelpie snorted in disdain, but obligingly moved onto the narrow weedy path that skirted the inlet then broke into a trot. Her hoof-falls were light, almost dainty, and she navigated the muddy shoreline with more agility than Áed's human feet would ever be capable of, even given a lifetime of practice. In just a few minutes, the inlet was behind them, and all that was separating them from the beach and the almost startlingly colourful new people standing upon it was the shelter of a few scraggly trees at the very edge of the forest. It was here that Elodea slowed to a halt, facing the beach so that she could keep an eye on the strangers.
Áed, his head buzzing excitedly with the prospect of talking to real human magicians, was already in the process of slipping off her back, but this process was brought to a rather abrupt stop when the kelpie's skin seemed all at once to turn to a thick glue, catching his own skin against it and refusing to let go.
"Elodea!" Áed hissed, one foot brushing the ground and the other firmly affixed to the kelpie's side. He pulled futilely at his arms, but they too were held immobile across her back. "What are you doing? Let go!"
"Use your eyes, merpup." She nodded her muzzle in the direction of the beach. Reluctantly, he followed her gaze and saw with a start that there was a group of humans walking purposefully in their direction even now. The humans were wearing clothes made out of some material that, to Áed, seemed unnaturally bright and smooth, and all the vital areas — head, chest, abdomen — were covered in something that glimmered like the sun. While Áed couldn't begin to guess what these coverings were made out of, he had seen enough clan-against-clan warfare his life to know that these men were wearing armour, and probably carrying weapons as well. He recoiled, pressing himself even further against Elodea's adhesive skin.
"Okay, you were right. I admit it. Terrible idea on my part. Let's get out of here." He nudged her, but she didn't move.
"Calm down. I was just pointing them out. I don't think they mean us any harm. See, they're carrying something."
Áed looked again and saw that they were. However, it was also then that he finally noticed their belts, from which hung the unmistakeable tapered shape of weapons. He shuddered anxiously.
"Well, you basically have two choices," said Elodea. "You can either gather up your extraordinary reserves of courage and approach them, in the hopes that instead of killing you they will decide to teach you magic, or you can forget all about this and go on with your peaceful little life, courting your lover every week until perhaps, one day, she finally accepts your advances. I'll take you to either one, but it's up to you to tell me which."
Áed frowned. He was quite fond of his peaceful little life, really. And he had a certain degree of confidence in the belief that Niamh would one day return his affections, as she seemed to become warmer and warmer towards him every time he visited her. But if he could impress her by mastering magic... the thought sent a curious sort of heat tingling through his veins, filling his heart with determination.
"Let me go," he told Elodea. "I'm going to talk to them."
"You're welcome," said the kelpie, and the texture of her skin became smooth and sleek once more, releasing Áed from its hold. "Best of luck, merpup. I'll wait here for you."
Setting his jaw firmly, Áed strode off through the last stand of trees between Elodea and the warriors. When he was just coming out onto the pebbly beach, however, his foot caught a tree root and what was supposed to be a graceful step became more of a leap out of the foliage instead.
Recovering himself clumsily — his bare feet still struggling to balance in the sand and broken shells — Áed grinned and spread his arms to the warriors. Using the gift of tongues shared by all Folk, he said, "Greetings! And welcome to this land,my friends! I am..." He racked his brain for an innocuous human-sounding name. "...Ed. Of the... Mountain... Clan. I couldn't help but notice your pretty Boat and I came over to see if I could be of any assistance." He paused, pleased with his quick thinking. It was at this point that he noticed the figures in behind the warriors — a scarce handful of them, less armoured and more varied in appearance than the warriors, and even at this distance making his skin prickle with the strength of the magic he could sense in them. So those were the magicians. Fleetingly, Áed found himself hoping that if the warriors started stabbing him, the magicians might step in and rescue him.
((...This is written in the belief that the soldiers are still controlled by Sarn at this point. xD; If they aren't, and instead they're meant to be a bunch of community-driven NPCs, then I apologise because I provided very little here for anyone to respond to. >.>))
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Post by Deleted on Jan 18, 2011 5:30:00 GMT -5
((Sorry for the length! I kind of got carried away. xD Also if anyone isn't keen on anything I wrote, do say so. I just came up with this idea as I started writing. :3))
Song, the dancing of life, was always on Aithne’s mind. It ran through her blood, as vital too her life-force and swifter to rush. It was the food she ate, the air she breathed, the thirst she quenched. It was in the words she spoke, and she heard it when others spoke, too. Singers had no magic of their own, at least so the wizards said. But they were children born of magic, whose lives are so filled with its embrace that they proclaim it as a felt experience.
The term ‘Singer’, too, was hardly accurate. Some Singers’ experience transcended song; some only vaguely felt a tingle of magic. Some even spoke of tasting magic in the world. And while it was true that Singers had no magic for themselves, there was always a dormant vein of it coursing through the world. Spellsong wasn’t said to be magic, but it could do some small things, and Aithne was more than grateful for her gift.
It was no surprise, then, that the stranger’s words came as a dissonant concoction to her. Windweaver, Lord of the Sky, whatever title they gave him, she felt the blaring, hideous melody that she knew all too well. It spoke of many things, many ghastly and horrific times, and she had heard it so often before, but familiarity had not done anything to temper her fear. The song spoke of bloodshed and scars and hatred. It spoke only of war. Aithne’s mind was filled with images, some from her own past, and some she didn’t recognize, but thought must have been her imagination. They flashed like a torturous wheel, cycling through the events that had finally forced their little ship to flee over Oceanus.
It had started as a secret, hidden in labyrinthine tunnels and hidden chambers where unspeakable things were let loose to roam on the world. And Earth detested them, she recoiled at their filth and would not allow their feet to touch her back, so she caused them to fly without wings, and they hunted always for flesh and blood. The Elders saw the plight and gathered all the splendor of their armies, sending them out to chase down the spirits of evil.
Years after the purging, Blood Druids were still being found hiding, and everyone despised them, so all who were discovered were put to death. The song of suspicion rang over the whole land, and soon it wasn’t just Blood Druids who took their rightful punishment, but mages also. The Eldership changed, a ruthless new purge began, and innocent practitioners of the elemental arts were slaughtered in their hundreds. Thousands more were forced to flee, or hide their identity.
But some brave souls fought back. They gathered up the remnant and waged war on the Elders. They were few in number, but strong of will and had much power. They were evenly matched by the still that so often cut them down. Soon, factions began emerging, and more sought power, more sought bloodshed, and the war was not so much one side against another, as it was everyone against everyone. Blood Druidism resurfaced, more powerful than before, and mages and soldiers alike began to take sides and do unspeakable things.
Singers, however, remained untouched. There were always very few of them, and even fewer who had any real command of their abilities, but their immersion in, but detachment from magic changed them into something strange. They knew, but were ignorant. They were weak, and yet their voices could still even the hardest of hearts. They were as gentle as dewfall, but as harsh as a rainstorm. Singers were an enigma, but one which could be wondered at without the trappings of fear.
And since her own story wove in and out of all of these things like a strand in a braid of hair, her memories flooded back to her with shocking lucidity. She cried out in a loud voice, a cry which conveyed her anguish and sorrow, and when she opened her eyes, she found that nothing at all had happened. No image had danced upon the beach, and no cry had escaped her lips. Instead, she heard the voice laden with beats of war speak directly to her.
“Have you need of my aid?”
She took a few deep breaths to steady herself, and lifted her gaze to look him in the eye as best she could.
“I was not aware that strangers so readily gave assistance to each other without seeking something in return. I shall be frank; what is it you desire?”
Aithne leaned slightly closer to Merlin and whispered to him. The whisper didn’t contain any words, but she felt sure he would grasp her meaning, and she was sure he had heard the voice of war as well, for it was Earth herself who had wept great tears of sorrow for the blood which stained her, and no mage who made her his mistress could have closed his ears to her cries.
~*~*~
Morday was still rummaging around the small hold of the ship. He pushed aside a large coil of rope and then promptly tripped over the large cedar mast which nestled in the very belly of the hull. Finally, he spotted his own small bundle of belongings beneath a small ledge that jutted out from the prow and served as a platform upon which one could stand to gaze over the proud head. He quickly ducked under, grabbed the large leather satchel and made his way carefully to the gangplank.
When he reached the beach, he was in no good mood, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that his very purpose for being onboard the ship when it fled was happening without his presence.
”What historian was ever trying to find his quill as history happened before his very eyes!” he grumbled to himself, then quickly dropped to the ground, found his waterlogged journal and began to write the scene which presented itself.
The soldiers, who had once served the same Lord as Lady Aithne, were now gathered on the stony beach, all but a few standing just behind the Lady and the mage who called himself Merlin. The few not present were tying of the remainder of the ship’s mooring lines when one of them gave a shout.
“Come no further!” The cream-and-bronze warrior drew his short sword and brandished it threateningly at a figure which seemed to leap out of the trees. He was a boy nearing manhood, or a man fresh out of boyhood, and he was naked except for a cluster of leaves which formed a sort of ridiculous skirt. He also seemed to be making every effort to dispel his initial introduction.
"Greetings! And welcome to this land, my friends! I am... Ed. Of the... Mountain... Clan. I couldn't help but notice your pretty Boat and I came over to see if I could be of any assistance."
Two more soldiers had moved to join the first, and even though the man was armed with what looked like a small and relatively blunt knife, the warriors had been around magic long enough not to trust his vulnerable appearance.
“What assistance can you render, boy?” asked the Commander, who had also made haste to see what the ruckus was all about. More people than any of them would have liked seemed to have found them, and this bothered everyone.
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Post by Zylaa on Jan 18, 2011 16:15:41 GMT -5
Higher up in the forest, a woman watched from up in a tree of her own as the circling falcon disappeared from the air. Unfortunate, that. A search of the forest nearby revealed nothing but trunks and branches and needles of pines; the bird of prey had disappeared. She sighed and scooted up the tree, ignoring the sap that stuck to her hands. A young crow hopped along with her, branch by branch, with an amused look on its face.
"It's not my fault I've got no wings," she snapped. Pine trees had flimsy branches, too, so she had to cling to the trunk like some sort of oversized insect. She was glad this corner of the forest was normally deserted, she was sure she looked ridiculous. Her crow's look confirmed that. "You think you're so clever, don't you, Nuisance." Nuisance, of course, did not speak. But he managed to look smug. "Start flying then, why don't you? You don't care about that silly falcon, do you? Surely a big tough crow like you can handle it?"
Nuisance pecked her hand. She swatted at him with an air of long-suffering exasperation. Her hands were toughened and covered with faint pinkish scars.
As she shimmied higher in the pine tree, she at last caught sight of the ocean... and a boat. Her eyes widened. "Great Azrem! Travelers?" She peered down at the boat, still clinging precariously to the trunk. Soldiers, perhaps? There were a bunch of people wearing the same clothes. A few other unidentified people, although one looked... odd. Misshapen, somehow. Maybe people were like that, over the sea. She didn't know.
More grunting and shuffling gave her a faint glimpse of the beach, enough to spot the falcon, at rest on someone's arm. She lightly bit her tongue, a contemplative habit. Sky-magic, most likely. She couldn't resist saying "See, Nuisance? It wasn't a normal falcon anyway. Coward." This earned her a peck on the ear, which she shrugged off. "Kidding."
A falcon with a mage riding its mind could be even more dangerous than a normal falcon. After all, crows could outwit regular birds of prey. She didn't want to test nuisance against a human.
This high up in the air, she felt somewhat loose, like a flower without its roots. She wanted to reach out and feel whether or not the new arrivals had any magic, but this far up from the ground... she scanned the trees. There! In the next tree over, a spider's web, with a few dried insect corpses hanging in place. Not much, but it would do. She stretched out with her own reserves of power and felt the comforting presence of death.
Death-magic may be feared, hated, mysterious, grisly, and depressing... but it was constant. She could say that much for it.
Touching from spiderweb to fungi to spiderweb she made it to the forest floor, where the carpet of rotting leaves gave her all the power she needed to reach the shoreline. She peered at the people one by one, trying to match her magical senses with her eyes. A sky-mage, just as she'd thought. The deformed one, an earth-mage. And the girl... she had to rack her memory before she could pinpoint the sensation she was getting. A singer, it had to be. She had never run across one of them before, but she'd learned about them.
She continued to bite her tongue in thought. Worth the risk, to go talk to them? She had no idea where they were going, what their purpose was... she didn't want to talk if there was no gain. She had enough tricks and trappings to feign sky-magic to a casual magical observation. But she couldn't escape from a full band of soldiers if someone found out her skill.
She wiggled down the tree until she had found comfortable, secure branches, and settled in to a sitting position. "Alrighty, Nuisance. Go make yourself useful." The crow cawed once in reproach and began to take to the sky as she slipped out of her own consciousness and into his.
Nuisance was a handy bit of her deception. Not many people knew that death mages could have a scavenger as their familiar. She hoped these travelers were no different.
((... No, you don't have to react to this. This is just my very long intro to say "I'm here! =D"
And Sarn, would you mind elaborating your fourth paragraph? I can't tell if the Blood Druids are the ones who released the foul creatures, or if the foul creatures are the Blood Druids))
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Post by Deleted on Jan 18, 2011 19:02:10 GMT -5
((Maybe it's both. :3 The creatures were released by accident from Blood Druids, but they're probably just as bad as each other. Note: Druidism probably came from lesser mages who had to rely on magical aids such as rituals and blood as opposed to inate power like mages can. Or at least that's the thought in my mind, anyway, but nothing's set in stone, so play with this worldsetting as you will. ^_^ ALSO YAY! I thought no one would join me, and here you guys are! <3))
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Post by Rikku on Jan 18, 2011 19:57:58 GMT -5
“I was not aware that strangers so readily gave assistance to each other without seeking something in return. I shall be frank; what is it you desire?”
Cye raised an eyebrow. “Right now?” he said, amused. “For you not to whisper to your friend before I have time to speak. Spreading stories, are we?” He rather hypocritically gave her no chance to respond to that before continuing, “Apologies if I lack eloquence at present; I’m trying not to laugh. How in sky did I give you the impression that I was offering my services for nothing? I even told you: I have a fondness for knowledge, for new things.” His eyes were drawn to the Earth-mage again. It was unlikely he could teach Cye anything, but if Cye could get his power somehow … He imagined the mountains crumbling, his old city crashing itself to splinters as it fell. He let himself grin at that, fierce and savage, and turned his eyes back to the girl. “Letting me observe you, find out your foreign ways, will be ample payment enough – though of course I wouldn’t object to any other payment you care to offer, such things as gold being rare in the forests. But enough talk.” He took a step closer to the girl, tilting his head on one side to regard her and smile.
He wondered if the way that she didn't quite seem able to meet his gaze was because she knew something of what he was, of the things he’d done – of the things he planned to do, even. That’d make things interesting. Though surely, if she did, she would’ve already ordered her battered soldiers to make his head and his neck part company.
“I gather from your question that you do have need of my aid,” he continued cheerfully, without pause. “Excellent!” He lifted his right arm and added, “Fiercely will be glad of the company.”
Fiercely was closer to the girl’s face than was entirely comfortable. The falcon glared at her and then spread out her wings to make her look larger, more menacing. All of this was independent of Cye; Fiercely did not have much fondness for strangers.
He took a step back before his falcon could try and rip the girl’s eyes out or something inconvenient like that, and, relying on the girl being too unsettled to object to him forcing his way into their employ, said, “Would you like to set up camp here, or travel into the forest? The day’s bare begun, after all, and it would be a pity to waste the daylight hours if you're in any manner of hurry.” He glanced around. “Or it might be best to camp here and send a few foragers and scouts into the forests for provisions and information. All depends on what you’re seeking, I suppose; and how you intend to seek it. Your men’ll be hungry after so long at sea – at Oceanus, if you like,” he added, in an I-will-indulge-your-childish-fancies sort of voice. “Grateful for real food. There are some tasty antelope you can find in the forests near here, and wild onions …”
He kept up the smooth stream of talk, wondering with amusement how they’d react to all this.
((Cye talks too much. xD Incidentally, Sarn, I’m lovin’ the worldbackstory thus far. ^_^ It could make for fun things!)
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Post by Shadaras on Jan 20, 2011 19:00:36 GMT -5
((Whee relatively shortpost. =D Worldbuilding is /fun/. And we have a quest now!))
This... Cyan (Merlin thought the name in distaste. His initial impression of the boy – for all his years, he acted and sounded like a child – was not helped by the cheerful breeze of chatter that flowed without interruption from his mouth.) could not have possibly been more outstandingly perverse if he had tried. The Earth-mage did not change his expression – from expressionless calm to expressionless disdain did not require any adjustment, after all – but did change his posture. Now, instead of standing, straight as a lone tree, he tilted towards Aithne, as if she were the life-giving Sun above, his hickory sapling in line to separate her from the skyling if it became necessary.
“I was not aware that strangers so readily gave assistance to each other without seeking something in return. I shall be frank; what is it you desire?”
Merlin paid the Singer’s words little mind; the whisper that followed, notes and tone conveying meaning in the Singer’s strange ways, gave him more to think on. The call of war, a blazing trumpet, sounded through her song. He frowned, lines deepening in his face. The druids (they knew nothing of the powers they tapped with that name; nothing at all of the true tradition of Earth-ecstasy) and their sacrifices, their blood and war... had their touch reached even this far? The sea caught most Earthly magic, and much of that of Anemoi as well. Oceanus’ own power travelled well in his waters, but did not reach past Earth’s bounds. No – whatever had come to pass in this Cyan’s past was not tied to the cult of blood; it was something else, something that lingered and dipped into similar fears, similar deaths, similar sheddings of blood.
So caught in thought, he heard only half of the reply Cyan gave to Aithne. Only when Cyan moved too close, when his falcon spread her wings in fire, did Merlin pay attention once more to the so-quick world on Earth’s skin. He stepped forward and sideways, even as Cyan moved back, placing himself between the fierce hawk and the Singer whose mission he had joined his life to. Here, across Oceanus’ swell, they should be able to gather a strong enough force loyal to Earth – or at least to the eradication of sinister sacrifice and slaughter – to cleanse the land of the Blood Druids who had overtaken it.
As Cyan rambled on, Merlin gathered his thoughts and asked a simple question: “Where do you come from, O fine-coated sky-spirit? You speak and walk as if this land—” he gestured, with the green head of his hickory, at the forest “—is yours and yours alone, and yet you are a part of it—” he eyed the falcon, so close-bonded “—though in airier ways than I.”
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2011 11:14:08 GMT -5
It was just plain unsettling, the way he got under her skin like that. Cyan, a lovely colour, but an unpleasant companion, and one Aithne was even afraid of. Fear was unusual for one so confident. She had been forced to set fear aside long ago, but now it reared up in full force as the skyling advanced. The young woman recoiled, tried to lean away from him, but fear was grabbing at her muscles and she couldn’t muster the courage to move out of harm’s way.
The Singer was immensely grateful when Merlin, having spotted the danger, moved between the pair. Her hand gently brushed his wood-like skin in gratitude as she moved a little further back. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the man as she possibly could without actually running away. Running away was cowardly. Running was not an option when there was a greater cause at stake.
Cye’s chatter finally ceased, but Merlin didn’t move out of the way. Instead, he began to question the man with speech more eloquent than Aithne could have managed in her state. Having been given space enough to think, some small part of her began to formulate ideas. Before Cye could answer, the Singer stepped around her Earth-mage companion, placing her soft hand over his, and interrupted.
“I do not think anyone as wise as he would answer such a pertinent question from strangers, and strangers even to this very land upon which we stand.” She paused to give Cyan an indulgent sort of smile, then continued, “we are, as you know, inexperienced in the ways of your land and your people, if indeed you even belong to any. You would be of great use to us if you would consent to show us where we might make camp and find food for our men, for they are numerous and hungry.”
Aithne gestured to the warriors who were gathered, making an effort to emphasize their numbers and strength. Fear had given way to curiosity, and the Singer knew the only way she would discover this strange man’s past was to keep him close. But that didn’t mean she would trust him, not for a second. But she knew better than to let Merlin in on this plan right away. She didn’t want Cyan suspecting anything. Perhaps she could fool him into thinking she was as naive as her age.
Perhaps.
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Post by Rikku on Jan 25, 2011 22:43:54 GMT -5
((Okay, more time has elapsed than entirely necessary. xD I know I should be doing something but nothing turns out right. Someone post plz?))
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