RP:Enter the Elder

From HollowWiki

Part of the Surface Tension Arc



Synopsis: Skylei persuades Gilwen, an important member of the Elven Council, to accompany her to Sage on a reconnaissance mission. Their target, Gevurah D’Artes, proves easier to find than previously thought, but after the elves’ cover is quickly blown, a skirmish breaks out between the two parties. After Gevurah proves she has the upperhand, Gilwen and Skylei escape serious injury by fleeing. With the Elders now fully involved in the conflict and the meeting of the Elven Council impending, it is clear that war between the two parties is now a serious possibility.

Narrow Path

Skylei walks alongside Gilwen, head covered by a forest green cloak and body wrapped in the traditional rangers leathers she is apt to don. The path runs to their right side, though Skylei has naturally chosen to avoid the marked route and instead brush through the trees. Not only should it make them less visible to any patrols scouting the area, it is also a far more naturally elven thing to do. As they pass by a particularly large oak, the concluding sentences of what has clearly been a longer refrain on Skylei’s part can be heard very faintly, “…And that’s why I need your help. I’ve been tracking her for months and haven’t seen head or tail of her.” Skylei’s palaver lies with drow. One drow in particular. One that has proved so incredibly elusive that even a ranger such as Skylei, hasn’t been able to locate her. “I don’t know what she is. But she’s… important. I feel as though knowing more about her would be of use to the war efforts, should it… uh, come to that.” Skylei knows full well that council is yet to give it’s backing to any conflict with drow and thus her words are tentative, “I expect she’s behind the disappearance of several of our people over the last few months too...”

Gilwen could be Skylei’s twin in attire, save for the dark brown cloak that shielded her fiery colored strands from view; the importance of supple leathers were oft times over looked. The conversation, one sided up to this point, had inspired a few short nods and small, throaty hums of agreement, but with the conclusion of Skylei’s favor, and mention of potential war, Gilwen stopped. “Tell me what you’ll need, and I’ll find a way to provide it, if you can return a favor in kind.” The council, she was finding, was difficult to sway in terms of retaking the Sage. Understandably so, she often thought, considering the countless wars the elves had found themselves in over the years, but the need to thrive in their lands was something she could see in the faces of those exiled to Frostmaw. “I can play games behind the scenes, but until more kin have rallied to this cause, I can’t openly endorse anything that will be deemed as jeopardizing. So, I need you to help me find others willing to retake the Sage. We have to force the council to listen.” Younger than either Syelnar and Maegus, Gilwen was often filled with fire for action, and the desire to return home burned hotly. “And, if we can find proof that this woman I behind the disappearance of our people, that alone will be enough propaganda to turn the tide in our favor.” While it was known that Gilwen openly favored those who sought action against the drow, there were only rumors of her wanting to go to war until now.

Skylei nods, grateful that the elder had even taken time to hear out the half-baked plans of a half-breed. Approaching Gilwen had seemed like the most sensible course of action. The young leader was known for having a little more fire in her belly than most of the council and it was that fire that Skylei hoped would work in her favour, “I’ve heard from a few of the rangers that remained stationed at points around the forest that she’s been seen a few times, always with an entourage, but she eludes me. Every time I hear word that she’s been seen above ground, I seem to have missed her. You, however, are much more in tune with the life forces of the forest; far more likely than I to be able to recognise the presence of the priestess and her lackeys.” As for what she wanted from this favour, Skylei is frank, “Observation, primarily, of her and the entourage, is the aim. I have an idea I seek to put to the council when they meet, but without enough grounding, I worry it will fall flat and the council will refuse. Now, say we were able to quietly dispose of the lot of them, I wouldn’t…” A quiet rustling of leaves interrupts her speech and the half-elf falls deathly silent. Skylei would cast a look away from Gilwen and into the northbound foliage. “Deer?” she questions in a low voice, flattening her back against a tree for a few moments.

Gilwen fell back into her agreeable nodding and low throaty noises, taking in Skylei’s information regarding the drow woman and posse. In the time the wood elves had relocated to Frostmaw with the acceptance of the Queen, Gilwen hadn’t had time to journey from the frozen city to Kelay and its surrounding areas; relying on word from those capable of venturing back was frustrating, but had been passable. However, with the noted disappearances, and the general unrest that came with being uprooted, Gilwen forwent the approval of the other Protectors and the council, and ignored their thoughts on the matter. The dangers associated with this trip hadn’t escaped her though, and the moment the sound of rustling leaves found the shell of her pointed ears, she, too, found a thick trunked tree to press her back against. Her green gaze fixated on Skylei, and the question that came thereafter earned a short shake of her head. Her right hand had planted soundly against the tree’s rough bark, and the magic gifted to her wormed through the trunk, down into its roots, and extended to the surrounding vegetation. It definitely was not a deer.

There are two main things that make that level of noise in a forest. Skylei had been naïve in assuming that it would be the first noisemaker; deer. Instead, the noise seems likely to be of the humanoid form. Pulling her hood further over her head to obscure any dark hair and pale skin, Skylei would take the shake of the head as a signal to climb. The threat may very well be benign; it could be a group of travellers on their way to Cenril from Larket. It could be their very own elven rangers scouting the area. That said, it could also be a patrol of drow looking for a fight. With a few deft hops, Skylei disappears into the middling branches of the tree against which she had been resting against, peering through the leaves of the canopy in order to ascertain what it was that had caused the disturbance.

Gilwen found herself wishing it were a deer and not something potentially more harmful, but regardless of what creature stalked through the forest, she also took to the canopy. Once settled within the boughs of the large oak, disguised with the blending of colors between the tree and her clothing, Gilwen’s hand fell to one of the daggers that nestled in its sheathe at her hip, while her other continuously sought vision by extending her magical reach through the root systems of other fauna and flora nearby.

Gevurah causes the disturbance. She had hoped to be back in Trist’oth by now, but surface politics tax her time. She has grown accustomed to the sunlight, and the way the earth gives slightly beneath her feet. She’s even found a way to tolerate the incessant buzz of life under the sky. Nonetheless, she prefers the dead silence, dead stone, dead darkness of her homeland. The same could be said for her entourage, the five D’Artes warriors who travel with Gevurah. They move as silent as the caverns they all miss, though they are too proud to admit such sentimentality to one another, let alone Gevurah. Four warriors flank the high priestess in the cardinal directions, and the fifth lurks in the shadows at a watchful distance. At Gevurah’s hip a whip of magically animated snake heads writhe.

Is it her? As Skylei’s arch-nemesis comes into view, the half-breed takes a few moments to study her face and figure. It had been dark for most of their first encounter, but Skylei thinks that this particular priestess, is the one that she’s been hunting. There is one problem. It’s become natural instinct for any elf who happens upon a small party of drow to attempt to take them out. For elves who do dare to return to Sage, they have the natural upperhand. They know the forest and the forest knows them; the two work in perfect tandem against their enemies But Skylei doesn’t want to attack this particular drow. Well, that’s not entirely true. She’s love to jump straight out of the tree, pull her hair, smack the bitch around the face and slit her throat. But the quick tempered half-breed knows to wait. She would turn to look for Gilwen, but the elf is obscured by foliage between them. Needing to ensure that the elder knows that this particular party is the one that they are seeking and not to jump from the canopy and attack, Skylei is forced to shift her weight, causing the tree to creak, the leaves to rustle and the entire operation to sound ever so slightly out of place in the peaceful woods.

Gilwen ’s magical presence slowly ebbs from the surrounding forest life until there’s not a trace left, leaving the elder elf to rely on her eyes and ears to tell her were this woman is, and how many she has with her. The moment Gevurah draws into her line of sight, Gilwen’s hand instinctually tightened around the leather bound hilt of her dagger, and she, too, found herself wanting to rid the forest of their presence. However, the creak of the tree drew her from her murderous thoughts and was answered in two parts: the first being a chubby red squirrel, who darted along the branch Skylei occupied, and upon reaching the end, jumped to the nearest branch of a new tree; quick thinking and frantic searching lead to the discovering of the sleeping rodent in a hollowed out knothole. Hopefully that might cover the displaced noises. The second part of Gilwen’s answer came in the form of a small ivy vine; as soon as the squirrel was returned its own will, which no doubt left it confused and disoriented, Gilwen once more extended her magical reach to Skylei’s hiding spot, and thus, found the ivy that grew up the tree and into the branches. That small off shoot of vine released its grip along the bark and slowly snaked its way to the elf’s hand where it would tap six times before falling still once more.

Gevurah stops short at the rustling in Skylei’s tree. Gilwen’s red squirrel darts across her searching gaze and successfully protects Skylei from immediate discovery, but Gevurah’s scowl suggests she isn’t wholly convinced by the ruse. The drowess is no wood elf, but she has her doubts that a tiny squirrel dislodged that many leaves. Maybe. How tough are leaves? This is exactly why she hates the surface. It’s unnecessarily complex. She signals in the drow’s militant sign language to the rogue to her right. He immediately climbs the tree adjacent to Skylei’s and creeps closer along a thick brand as he scans in Skylei’s general direction for anything else that may lurk in the leaves. As for Gevurah, when Gilwen begins manipulating the vines at a distance, she releases just enough magic for the priestess to pick up on its very faint trace. It isn’t unusual to detect magic in this elven forest, but the impression coupled with the rustling arouses Gevurah’s hyper-sensitive paranoia. She is a D’Artes, after all. In her mother tongue she cantillates a basic spell that would help her see magic, quite literally. Should Gilwen continue to manipulate vines, or anything else, they will glow before Gevurah’s eyes.

Skylei can’t see Gevurah anymore, but she has eyes on the drow scouting out their position and he’s coming right at her. Damn, Gevurah! Always so tricksy, but never willing to do her own dirty work. Skylei has no idea how long she has before Gevurah’s bodyguard lays eyes on her and blows her cover. She has to act fast and do something or she is a sitting duck. There’s an obvious rustling of leaves as the half-elf manoeuvres herself so that she can clearly see the incoming drow. Without a second thought she would launch herself forward, hoping to flatten the drow against the branch he is clawling along with the sheer force of her own body weight. Once he had been flatten, she would swiftly thrust one of her two throwing daggers into the side of his neck, aiming to end his life quickly and, relatively, painlessly. Her other hand is thrust against the back of his head, forcing it into the branch, in an effort to muffle any cries he might make. That is not an entirely successful manouver, and there is some indication of a scuffle in the trees, along with clear sounds of distress. Should Gevurah shout up to her bodyguard, she would instead receive Skylei’s reply of ‘everything’s fine’ in what basic drow she had managed to learn, delivered in a lowered monotone designed to imitate her attacker. It wasn’t the savviest response but it’s all that Skylei can do as she attempts to hold the lifeless body up in the trees alongside her.

Gilwen had released the minute magical hold of the ivy vine as soon as she had relayed the number of drow in the area, and despite her attempts to mask Skylei’s presence, Gevurah found need to check the tree boughs nevertheless. Damnit. Carefully, Gilwen moved along her tree, keeping to the thicker branches that gave little to no creak in protest of her weight, and the leaves moved carefully, dancing as though caught in an above head breeze. She wouldn’t be able to reach Skylei’s perch, or the drow that sought to find her in time, but the sudden movement that shook the boughs and startled birds from their nests above, stilled her from offering aid. She sat quiet, head cocked for proof that Skylei had not been found out. When the low registering drow language came back, Gilwen settled back onto her haunches and began formulating a quick, but potentially messy escape from their current situation. Had it been Skylei who have been found out, it would be immediately known, and since there was no call of discovery, the elder sought to climb higher into the tree’s coverage to find a spot that allowed a decent hiding location, while also providing a wider view in case it was decided that more drow needed to be killed today.

Doing your own dirty work is for scrubs. (A guy who thinks he’s fine, but holler’s at you from the passenger side of his best friend’s ride is also a scrub, and Gevurah will have none of that either.) Skylei, despite her best efforts, rustles up some leaves and suspicions, and Gevurah acts fast. She bursts skyward to levitate on par with her rogue’s branch, and demands an update from him. He can’t answer right away, because his chin is tucked against Skylei’s wrist, jutting forward to deflect the ranger’s knife away from his face. His ebon face purples under the strain, and he tries to tuck his feet beneath Skylei’s ribs to kick her away. Skylei’s lady-with-a-cold voice fools no one, and the priestess thrusts an open palm towards it. She shouts a command in drow and a sonic boom pummels against the tree so hard it strips it of its leaves. If Skylei is on stable footing, she’ll likely not be toppled by the blast, but if her weight is distributed precariously, she may fall from the branch. The drow rogue would likely tumble with her. On the ground, two more rogues train their crossbows up into the naked tree, but struggle to find a clear shot at Skylei. As for Gilwen, Gevurah and her party remain unaware of her presence.

Skylei manages to hold her weight on top of the downed rogue as he struggles and attempts to kick her off. Unfortunately, this struggle leaves her vulnerable to Gevurah’s sonic blast and she is catapulted backwards alongside her new rogue friend into an adjacent tree. One advantage of this situation is that she’s blasted out of the obvious sight of Gevurah’s little party. The disadvantage is that she’s now freefalling down to earth through the canopy. With one hand still holding a blade, she only has one available to grab onto the branches that smack at her face, her arms and her torso as she takes a tumbling descent. After what seems like forever, but is in reality little more than second, Skylei manages to get hold of one particularly precarious branch with nothing below her to balance her feet upon. It’s a picture perfect scene as the damsel in distress hangs from a height by one hand, desperately swinging the other in reach of the branch. Her struggles would be clearly visible to their drow audience and she’s in desperate need of superman (or superwoman, whichever takes your fancy) to come to her rescue. Yet she doesn’t cry out, worried that she would alert the rest of the drow party to her ally’s presence. As for Gevurah’s scout; Skylei has no idea where he has landed…

Gilwen watched with wide eyes and gritted teeth as Gevurah blasted Skylei, the drow, and all the leaves from the tree; if potentially harming Skylei didn’t upset her, the display of disregard for nature surely did. However, before she could leap from her position to try and knock the priestess from the air, Skylei’s struggles arrested her attention and immediately, the elder moved to assist. Her druidic abilities quickly surveyed the tree Skylei hung from, and while little foliage grew on the tree to provide a sure rescue, but what was offer was a small offshoot that was still trying to grow into a branch a foot below Skylei’s toes. The process of speeding up the growth to provide a footing for the dangling half-elf was quick, but significantly draining for the elder; while it wasn’t a long term solution to her predicament, considering that Gevurah could now see the magic Gilwen cast. Was Gilwen aware of this? No, not at all. But, she doesn’t sit still long enough to be considered a sitting duck. The boughs that extend between the trees that reside betwixt her and Skylei’s location intertwine, providing a flimsy path for Gilwen to dart across with sure footed steps. With the fallen drow, there was no doubt that the pair of them were found out. Might as well face it, there was no more hiding.

Gevurah ‘s scout is really unlucky. He tumbles arse over head over knees over shoulders over ankles, banging limbs, chin, ribs, and everything else on his ungraceful tumble down the thick tree. His instinct to grab onto twigs and branches is unrehearsed, and he fails to get a handhold the way the wood elf does. But his unlucky streak doesn’t stop there. Skylei’s blade, held upwards, finds purchase in the tumbling drow’s eye and impales him through to the back of his skull. His dead weight threatens to pull Skylei down with him, unless she relinquishes the blade. The drow on the ground are just about in position to open fire on Skylei when their fallen comrade rains down above them, with or without the half elf in tow. Gevurah, however, leaves the ranger in the capable hands of her entourage. The druidic magic which blooms before arrests her attention and efforts. When Gilwen reveals herself out of loyalty to Skylei, the drow smirks at the weakness of the elves. Sentimental beasts. Unsure of this druid’s power, Gevurah decides to forego any druidic gifts bestowed upon her by Vakmatharas. Instead, Gevurah’s hand dips into a pouch attached to her belt. Her fist obscures its contents and she whispers a quick incantation against her thumb, then opens her palm and blows hard. Her breath defies the laws of physics momentarily, and a cloud of iron dust blows forth at the speed of a dart. It grows from the size of a lemon to the size of a house cat as it hovers just over Gilwen, at which point it succumbs to the laws of physics and will slowly settle, dust up, resettle, and such as gravity demands. If inhaled, the victim’s nervous system will collapse into a twitching, uncontrollable spasm. The priestess shouts at her men below to clear out of the way, and they don’t wait to be told twice.

Skylei finds a footfall thanks to the drudic magic of the elder and would begin to edge her way back along the branch and into the relative safety of the treetops. It would be fine now! Up there she could reassess the situation and come out fighting. Unfortunately, fate has other ideas for the young Luncindio. Just as she takes her first steps to safety, Gevurah’s scout tumbles down from the branches above and impales himself on the knife held upwards. As Skylei’s blade rips through the skull of the drow, the momentum of his fall combined with his weight dragging her floorwards rips her arm from the branch and sends her on a newly downwards spiral. Her fall is relatively cushioned as she lands mostly atop the dead drow, who in turn had landed atop at least one of his comrades. The rest of said comrades are following Gevurah’s orders to clear out of the radius of the iron dust whilst torn between ending the half-breed right there and then. Seemingly the threat of the dust, or the danger of not heading Gevurah’s orders is of greater priority than toppling the half-elf there and then. Instead of being assailed with swords, she therefore faces a barrage of arrows and knives thrown from increasing distances. Most fall far too close for comfort. A knife grazes the side of her face, two arrows find a home in her left bicep with the rest scattering around her body. Using the body of the fallen drow as cover, Skylei would lay low and perfectly still until the vast majority of her assailants were out of primary range and then flee up into the nearest tree, her arm already stinging from the ill effects of drow poison. Outnumbered and unprepared, if whatever Gevurah was doing was bad enough to lead to a drow semi-retreat; Skylei didn’t want to be around to see it. Gilwen, an elder, could surely handle herself. And there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that out and out war was an option now.

Gilwen had focused on coming to Skylei’s aid by trapezing over the branches she had woven together much in the way of the squirrels that populated these woods. But, when Gevurah’s movements produced a handful of iron dust, attention was fixed to the drow priestess. Rather than run, Gilwen waited until that mercurial cloud came close enough to cause significant harm, the elder dove from her canopy pathway. As soon as her feet left the plaited limbs, her body twisted like a cat, as if she was fighting to land on her feet. However, as the ground rushed up to meet her, her figure shifted, shrinking in size, until an avian shriek reverberated through the forest. Practice had perfected her maneuvers to escape the leathers she usually wore, and before the bundle of squirming clothing met the forest floor, a small, red tailed hawk escaped, climbed the air and flew off. War would be inevitable.

Gevurah snarls at both retreating forms, though she’ll admit the sight gives her some satisfaction. The hired rogue pinned beneath the dead rogue inhales the iron dust and immediately starts to convulse. Gevurah rolls her eyes at his theatrics, of which he has no control. She lowers herself to his side and taps his forehead as she blurts an archaic drow word. The dust’s magic is dispelled and he comes to his senses quickly. She thanks Vakmatharas for this encounter today. It’ll help convince the remaining, reluctant houses that the war has already arrived.