RP:No Harm on a High Night

This is a Healer's Guild RP.

Summary: Sabrina happens across a new recruit by chance in the darkness of Vailkrin forest. Faythiul will learn the Master Healer’s aversion to breeching proximity.

Faythiul stands over the dying spiders, he cannot help feel conflicted killing creatures just to tone his eternal gifts. He once again removes his gauntlets and places his hands above the spider, as he closes his eyes his he speaks softly to himself. as his hands illuminate as do his runes along his robes and relics. He pauses for a moment, as his eyes open widely he has a small invision, blurry and unclear he shakes it off as he has all of the other small visions; as he looks around he feels the presence of another. His black and white robes split down the middle, his druidic staff held tightly as he rises from the spiders corpse. His hood flies back as he looks around furiously, shoulder length blonde hair falling across his face. He contemplates shifting into his draconian form before harm follows his unlucky path around the spiders nest.

Sabrina had a graceful step, it was no wonder a being would sense her before hearing her as she approached from the path to the East. She spies the figure hovering over the spider’s nest and it brings her booted feet to a halt. She takes in the words, the light breaking through the thick dark of Vailkrin night as well as the relic ridden robes that encase him. Definitely a him, she did not need to see him to know that. “You know, I wish I could say this was the first time my presence incited that kind of panic.” Her voice was soft, yet stern- feminine and authorative all at once. She stood in a place where silk strung from the limbs above her head, glistening in the moonlight and highlighting silver rings which reflected in her eyes. She has pale skin, a frame that is slight if not breakable, and raven locks pulled back from her face in elvish braids to hang loosely just at her knees. The tongue was Sylvan, and all accounts proved what she was, but in a place like this it might only prove what she might have been. Her attire is formal, fitted, and with little gleam about it aside from the bit of shine against a chain that tucked something within the confines of that captains style coat. She did her best at a quick smile, well, not her best but the attempt was there.

Faythiul looks on at the magnificent woman or entity before him; The voice of a goddess and the beauty that follows. He looks up and with a half closed look he bows slightly but never taking his eyes off of her. he tries to open his eyes once again but just speaks slowly, slowly but clearly. "I am Faythiul! Fayt for short." he firmly plants his druid staff into the tainting grounds, as his staff enters the earth his eternal gifts begin to shroud from the staff. The moonlight dances in the distance as he looks on toward the entity before him. "What brings you to these dark lands at night?" as he speaks his eyes flicker with each work spoken as if his words are connected to the runes engraved upon his clothing and body.

Sabrina was not as beautiful as she may have appeared at such a distance, it only took a handful of paces in this darkness to mask the faults to her breeding. She steps into the light, the moon doing its favors at it was closely correlated to her people specifically. The silver rings shift into reflective disks, though the right eye is clouded with blindness. As the blue gaze of the nightly instrument basks upon her pale skin he would likely take note of a thick scar that ran from brow to the lower ridge of her cheekbone, crossing over that dumb eye, indicating the wound was the cause for such an insult to her elvish ego. “Fayt.” The strong accent was Sylvan in nature, more accurate than the slang qualities of most of her kind from the mainland. It was because he people secluded themselves from the others after the Sylvan split that her words came so pure. River elves, at least those still roaming about, were hunted a great deal after facing accusations of being bred with the succubus. Damn the moon for that. None of those stories were true. She stood at a mere fifteen hands, even in her culture she was considered small. “Hunting.” A test. Did she appear to be the hunting type? It would be more likely what she was hunting was not so close to the flesh and blood he towered over only moments before her first words.

Faythiul Listens to the accent and begins to place his finger on the race, he looks as the entity once again. She draws closer, her notable features can be slightly present as he peers on upon her. His own features disguised into his shifting scales, his thick scaled skin hardens under his robes and leather clothing. He listens to her words once again and can almost identify her dialect, but continues to listen and take in her features. His curiosity getting the best of him as he contemplates the blindness, her scars and all noticeablescars, but respectfully holds them back for another time, a better place and time is always his key. His tones deepens as he hopes this encounter doesn't lead to a skirmish."I bring No harm upon this high night."

Sabrina passed by him in a casual stroll, hands clasped behind her back to ensure she did not appear to be a threat. “Calm down, I am not going to hurt you.” And she walks by, the vision she leaves in her wake is that of well-postured, well-bred female. Disciplined, structured, but not overly refined. Gloved hands and a high Mongolian collar secure every bit of flesh from neck to mossy floor. She kneels, planting one knee down near the puppy-sized creature that lay with milky insides coating the surrounding area in a pool of chunky bits and venom. It fought before it was slain. The twitch of leg brought her brows to knit, remnants of its life still trying to flee the scene. She sighs softly and removes a single glove, letting her fingers slide into the cold confines of its main cavity. There is no light, no immaculate visual context that led on that anything beyond profound obscene molestation of that corpse was taking place. It might have been graphic to some but when the other legs begin to twitch in protest it would be clear that -something- was happening beyond the physical eye. The Elfess was not overly concentrated on the night-beast, but slowly the invasion of her appendage to its form would become shallower, and if he peered inside the vacant cavity he would understand that the pieces were coming together, so to speak. Like wild tendrils of a grotesque parasite, the fibers that made up the various organs were flailing about like a can of worms being boiled alive. Closure after closure forces the soft tissues to bring themselves together until finally the husk encases the solidified form of the fallen. “There isn’t a lot still living in this region. We must keep a balance.” The anterior limbs curl inward, comparable to a boney twig, gripping her hand to contend this intrusion. The shiny black arachnid rights it’s horizon and skitters off to the safety of the shadows beyond the path. She grins half-heartedly. “You’re welcome.”

Faythiul cannot help but feel an astonishment as the creature is forced back to whole. He eyes the woman's motions, actions and abilities in such a way it a brings goosebumps to this human side. He fills his mind with even more questions about the amazing woman before him, as he mumbles to himself he cannot help but want to call the woman a god, but knows better than to think there where gods among them. He looks at his own hands and looks at the illuminating features and then then back toward the skittering spider as it makes its way back into the nest and finds a place to hide. He shakes his head with doubt and looks toward the moon before casting a gaze upon the woman before him. The brightly lit moon giving the two a clear view of the area, the clearing around the two widening, the light around his runes begin to fade he be begins to speak." Hunting and resurrecting creates, balance?" he speaks to sum up the womans presence." I can understand the balance in the area, and I can see if everything is killed off there will be no longer balance." he catches the womans half-hearted grin passes her a grin of his own, a grin of obvious confusion.

Sabrina pivots so her knee rises from the damp floor to a steady crouch. The glove is left off, at least until she can clean that gunk from it as healing was rarely tidy process. A clean rag is taken from the small bag hanging loosely from her form, to wipe the blunt of it away. She listens to him speak while brandishing the glint of a metal blade from her boot. She then proceeds to… scratch the silk-glue from the recently vacated nest. A trivial collection is gathered, then scraped into a small glass vial for future use. She shakes the tiny vessel lightly. “Hunting.” She states again. Unfortunately, the rest was tainted with the life-fluids of the nearly departed. “Hm.” She might be choosing her words wisely so as not to be so confusing. Talking has never been her strong point. “Just because awareness has left the consciousness, it does not mean to take all life with it.” An uneasy shrug. “The creature was only mostly dead.” She stands, tucking the vial into her bag with the removed glove. The elfess was less than worried that this individual might touch her for some reason or another. Her hand is wiped readily along the thigh of her pants as she looks up at him. “A resurrection requires a necromancer. While you are in the right place to find one, I am not one.” She bows her head lightly, sensing the illusionary form before her as something much greater and therefore is the only reason he garnered any respect from her. “Master Healer Sabrina, at your service.” One did not simply get by toting that title without some convincing role in the territory. It sounded different rolling off the tongue, but then, she hadn’t needed to introduce herself in at least a year’s time. A slow glare finds his eyes, one in full black sclera, the other fogged over in a useless mirror of its former glory. She didn’t always look so peculiar, only when her gift was offered full-throttle. It would dim in time. “Ardent.” Given the flow from his form she could conclude he knew what that meant; Magical backlash. In this case her Ardentism leaves her with a unique ability to transfer life energy from one vessel to another, and so, touching her is very very unwise. Her curse was one of very old magic and in times long ago was very common. With a structured syllabus of magical teachings this type of thing was, in this day, unheard of. In other words, some time ago this Elfess was a stupid stupid girl.

Faythiul admires the woman's poise and fluid movement, his mind catches all her movement and calculates and predicts movement. He watches her clean up with more curiosity and watches the vile being placed in a safe place for keeping. His eyes close as another small vision passes by, he closes his eyes momentarily and shakes the vision off once again. He takes in her entire name, name and title both bringing his past achievements to a dull roar in comparison. He holds his curse to himself as to not reveal his weaknesses to an almost stranger, he begins to think about the womans curse or in his mind Eternal gift. Grasping the woman's curse and allowing it to wrap around his small yet curious mind; the moon still casting a bright spotlight upon the two his aura and runes begin to glow from the small vision he had, as he calms his Eternal gift he looks toward the woman and pulls his hood over his scars and facial features he casts a looks toward Sabrina, Master Healer. "Sabrina, if I may. How long did it take to learn that ability to bring life back into a near dead creature." he glances toward her eyes filling with clarity as he hangs on to everything about her.

Sabrina chuckles lightly, shaking her head as she once more strides past him in the direction she entered. It did not surprise her, like most he considered the curse to be a gift, where the ability were a learned trait rather than one cast upon her. “That is not the trick of it.” Two fingers move in salute from the point of her temple. “The real trick is not killing everyone around me when I do it.” Nature had a flow to it, any druid could attest to that. She had a direct tap on that flow, which meant each act was one of controlled restraint. “Two hundred years before I could be around people, four hundred more to fine tune the art. A vast study of nearly all bodies in motion, and eventually I might even be able to be comfortable in my own skin.” She stops, turning up to his scarred features. “As it stands, I have not taken a life by accident in nearly two months.” There is a twinge of self loathing in her response. Was it the taking of a life she had issue with, or the accidental bit? She gives pause, gesturing to an intentional deep breath of air. “To breathe is to take in life.” She exhales smooth and slow. “To exhale is to redirect the use of that energy. Voluntary, yet involuntary, wouldn’t you say?” And a hand redirects his attention to the trees, the half-shriveled grass, and even the stones. All of which harbored some essence of what life was. “Even now, I am inhaling. There is little I can do to stop it.” And she points to him. “Even from you.”

Faythiul listens to the womans words and gives her a gaze of confidence, and replies."Allow my essence to bring you stronger strength, allow that same essence to bring you power and prowess as needed." he looks around at the trees, the half-shriveled grass and the cracking rocks around the area. He takes in a deep breathe and without thinking he exhales, remembering her words and feeling the essence through his body, drawing essence from those entities around him. "Curse in your eyes may be viewed as a gift, and as for the years to master said curse, one would need to know how to balance her own essence, I have not mastered but I have well developed my essence absorption." he places his enchanted and rune enhanced gloves back upon his hands, he steps closer an extends his hand toward the woman, a gesture of resolution toward the woman goddess before him."I do not mean to test your curse upon me, but Im sure i can withhold my essence from thee if your gift is as strong as you say it is." he looks deep into the womans circular vessels and returns the gaze with his own.

Sabrina looks at the runes on his gloves with an arched brow. “Are you insane?” And her eyes would find his own once more, one shifting quite suddenly to a brilliant minty hue and the dummy eye following suit with a milky haze. If the blackness denoted a use of the curse, the whiteness would imply she shut him out in his approach. She was quick about that, for some time now she had found herself quite capable of shutting down in a blink. He meant to heal her, but was he not listening or did it simply not resonate. She was healing as they spoke, at least, up until he took that step in her direction, in which it was answered by a mathematically accurate step back. When she closed herself off to him, for his protections, likewise she walled the current that which she already possessed. “If you want to heal people there are better ways.” From her hip pocket she pulls a small chain, the adornment on it was an insignia of a bird born of fire. Her gaze casts to the heavens. “It is getting late.” Not that she slept, but he didn’t know that. He couldn’t put that together in the moments that passed since she told him of what she was.