RP:No Man Is An Island

Part of the Through A Glass, Darkly Arc

Summary: Valrae and Mathollak both find themselves running from mysterious men on a trip to Selen Island.

Mangrove Beach

Whether reached in the safety of a boat, or swum to by the survivors of a shipwreck, it becomes apparent that this is not an average sandy beach. Thick with the tangled roots of brine-loving mangrove trees, the brackish and murky shallows have the appearance of a swamp. Saltwater crocodiles and sharp-toothed predatory fish lurk here, as do some even less savoury sea-creatures. Yet, the place has a certain wild beauty, and the reef beyond is a sanctuary for many exotic and colourful fish. Beyond the mangroves, the ground bleeds dry to a strip of coarse-sand beach surrounded by lush greenery, which might prove a good place to rest before exploring the remainder of the island. A rough path has been chopped through the foliage to the east of this spot— might the island be occupied? The possibility is certainly worth exploring.

Valrae was happy to have land beneath her feet again. Stepping onto the sun dappled shore of Selen, the witch sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess for her safe travel over the choppy open sea between Cenril and the small island. Pitiful really, a woman born and bred from Cenril and a long line of fishermen who had never found her sea legs. She was wearing her favorite hat, a wide and floppy brimmed thing that kept the sun from her eyes, and carried a peach colored handbag the size of a terrier. She was lazy and bold here, traveling without a glamour to disguise herself. On the strip of coarse sand, nestled among the green of the island, were rows of brightly colored tents and and the movement of people who inhabited them. It was a small and clearly newer settlement of witches that had come to Lithrydel from a far off Isle. Normally, Val’s sandaled feet would lead her there, beyond the small stretch of tangled mangroves to her people. Not this time though, even seasickness hadn’t stopped her from noticing the strange men that she’d seemed to have picked up as far back as the market in Cenril. Casually, she started walking east, away from the camp of witches. When the men followed, the witch began to jog… And then run.

Mathollak disembarks the same boat as Valrae, attached to a group of (mostly) human explorers. They had nothing in common except for their fancy hats. They were mandatory attire for the boat ride. The people who stood out wore nothing but hair on their heads (and maybe he stood out too because a donkey on a string walked behind him). His hat was wide brimmed, stiff, pitch black and had a fluffy, droopy feather arcing out of one side. Maybe it protected his face from the sun, but mostly it protected his face from looks. The brim was down, and he still managed to look nonchalant. Once off the boat, the explorers went their way and he went his. A random direction he chose, one that seemed to have nothing to offer. So no one would follow right? But he had a hunch someone was. And a notion that he was being watched. Did that guy's stare linger a little too long? He wasn't good at this, the entire time he walked, he was looking behind him. He couldn't be cool for long. "Time to go!" he says to the donkey, then he scoops it up with both arms looping under its belly and hugs it to his chest. He's running too! Eventually he's running through foliage, feet are sinking in salty swamp mud, and is has someone caught up to him? He notices Valrae running parallel to him, in the same direction. Only she's faster. But why was she running? He could only see intermittent flashes of her as she appeared from behind greenery. He decided to follow, as long as he could. But he couldn't actually run for much longer. Donkeys are too heavy! He needs a break...but is it safe? In front of him all he can see is leaves. Fine, he looks behind to see if his pursuers were possibly catching up. He'd hate to leave his donkey behind, but if he had to? No one would kill a donkey out of spite they're not worth it. Then he trips over a wild mangrove root and him and the donk plunge into a saltwater bath.

Valrae starts her dash through the obvious trail that had been cut through the tangled foliage of the island. The witch becomes vaguely aware that someone is running with her, for only a moment before she pulls ahead, and… Was he carrying a whole donkey?! She knew better than to look back and find out. With her golden hair trailing behind her like a comet Val continues her sprint, only darting off of the path and into the untamed wild when she’d put enough distance between herself and the strangers that followed. She plunged nearly hip-deep in cold, clear water and cursed quietly. One of her sandals caught in a twisting root of a tree and she cursed again, ducking her head low as she wiggled it frantically in an attempt to free herself. Things only managed to worsen then, as Mathollak and his donkey come crashing in next to her loudly. Girlishly, Valrae squeals as slaty water drenches her and stings her eyes. Thinking quickly, a spell tumbles from her lips. Waving her dripping finger tips, a barrier blinks around her and the stranger… and his donkey. Heartbeats later, the men who had been following them sprinted by without so much as a glance, tricked by the impromptu glamour that concealed them. Her ankle has begun to ache. Cautiously, Valrae grips her soaking bag to her chest and narrows her dark eyes at Mathollak. “Who are you and what do you want?” Slowly, the witch fishes a wand from her bag and points it at him, her eyes sliding between him and his animal companion.

Mathollak goes totally underwater and struggles a little bit. He's aware of Valrae's presence next to him, because he could see her legs while he and the donkey thrashed. The water's not super deep, but the donkey needs air too! It's kicking and bucking and squirming and Mathollak can barely hold on. Finally he just lets it go. "Drown then fatty," he bluffs. Then he finds out donkeys can swim. It treads quietly, and Mathollak hears the platoon trampling the brush along the path he meant to follow. She was ahead of him, already running, so it doesn't occur to him that she might be an especially fast bounty hunter. He communicates as best he can in these dire circumstances. His eyes widen at her, he points into the woods the hunters just ran through, and imitates walking on his palm. How much should he actually divulge, though? Maybe everything if it can help him. He points to himself twice, then sticks out his tongue shakes his hand vigorously above his head and brings an imaginary axe through his neck. He's never hid before. How do you know when it's safe? Maybe now it is. "Mathollak," he whispers, ducking his head this way and that to try to avoid being at the receiving end of whatever spell she might plan on casting. "And I want...a lot. But right now I want to hide."

Valrae is unsure of what to make of the man in front of her as she watches him struggle with his donkey. Her hat drooped sadly, soaked through, and her hair was a tangled wet mess that curled wildly into her eyes and stuck wetly to her cheeks. The dark khol that had once neatly lined her eyes was now running down her cheeks. Val’s wand wielding hand was shaking, poorly trained on Mathollak as she watched him pantomime his version of the events that have led to this bizarre situation. The crashing sounds of the men who had been following the trio now soaking in mangrove waters became nearly too faint to hear. Finally, when he sticks his tongue out, Valrae cracks and a rolling laugh escapes her. The witch was clearly unconcerned with being heard. She finally drops the wand down to her side and releases her death grip on her bag. “You don’t have to whisper,” She waves a hand at the glimmering gold barrier that surrounds them. “We’re safe for now. Unless they have some of their own magic tricks I guess,” She shrugs, her doubt clear. “Why are you hiding?” She narrows her eyes again. “I thought they were chasing me.” There was a pregnant pause. “I’m pretty sure they were chasing me…” The doubt creeps in and crosses the features of her face like a cloud. “I’m Val,” She decides to add, even attempting a half smile as she pushes at the hair that clings to her cheeks, smearing the kohl that ran down them.

Mathollak pulls his hat out of the water before ripples caused by their movements push it too far away. The water colors with fading streaks of red, but it isn't blood. It's whatever mineral concoction he used to dye his now-deflated pompadour He shakes his hat off away from her, and appraises it. The pitch black monochrome is ruined by glittery red spots. But does it look...cooler? Maybe. He puts it back on his head and continues to whisper. "Are you sure we don't have to whisper?" He listens. Only the sound of the donkeys hooves plopping while it plays. Still, he takes his time getting out of the water. "Normally there's only one or two of them," he says with a mischievously quirked eyebrow. "Bounty hunters! But it seems like they've banded together because..." He can't tell her the reason yet, he realizes. "Well because I'm too much for them. Why would they be after you? Do you owe someone money?" Eventually the donkey will come out of the water too. Mathollak does feed it...

Valrae watched Mathollak appraise his hat, that was ruined in her personal opinion, and hardly managed to keep another laugh from falling from her lips. She watched him leave the water enviously, ready to free her ankle from the roots of the mangroves and climb her own way out as well. The pain had gone from dull and aching to sharp and throbbing. She winces and exhales a curse as she struggles again to free herself. She really, really didn’t want to lose her shoe. These sandals were her favorites. Huffing, she stashes her wand back into her bag. “We don’t have to whisper, they would have heard your donkey splashing around earlier if my spell didn’t work,” The witch took a deep breath, gripped her hat, and gave a final tug on her leg. The clasp of her shoe broke and she stumbled free, splashing as she went. “Bounty hunters?” Val snorts. “Try witch hunters. Or Larketians.” She shrugs, finally pulling herself from the water after him. Her sun dress was drenched and heavy, the indigo fabric muddying the sand and dirt beneath her feet. With only one sandal, the witch limped awkwardly. “Not money,” She begins ringing out her tangled hair. “I’m a terrorist,” Her punctuating smile was as bright as sunshine.

Mathollak notices her yanking her ankle a little. "Sorry I thought you were staying in there on purpose." What was he supposed to do? Free her? "There's a knife in the donkey's...ah! Never mind you're free. Well done." What a weirdo this woman is, Mathollak tried not to look at the awkward situation, but he didn't actually know where to go. Or where he was. He's a city boy! "Larketians, eh? Yeah we Larketians are bad, bad scary people." This was evidently sarcasm born of obliviousness. He grew up there, but didn't stay long. Anyway, whatever way she walks, he follows, because she seems to have a purpose. Then he stops because..."What?" The donkey walks past him, eventually yanking his wrist forward by the string tied around its neck. "What do you mean a terrorist." Suddenly she seemed like his people.

Valrae continues her limp walking back toward the beach. Would the men be gone? Who knows! She flinched when he proudly proclaimed his Larketian status, her only comment pointed frowning. They walk for a while in relative quiet before she tilts her head curiously, “Do you owe someone money?” She didn’t seem terribly concerned with clarifying her terrorist statement. Mostly, she was just wishing she still had her shoe. “You’re from Larket, yeah?” If they were going to be walking the same way they might as well have a conversation, right? “Well, have you been there recently? Or picked up a paper?” Valrae paused to consider herself. It was ridiculous to tell a complete stranger who she really was. He could be anyone. Do anything with that information. There were already papers in Cenril that were hinting at rumors that she was still living. The witch hunters obviously knew she was still living enough to be moving against them… Why would she tell a complete stranger the truth of who she was? “Have you heard of the witch Larket burned at the stake for crimes of witchcraft?” She smiles again. Maybe it was because he’d carried his donkey.

Mathollak actually didn't mind a mystery. It was only more intriguing. Right now though, she didn't seem so scary, and he didn't need to be mysterious. "I owe some people money, yeah. I didn't think they'd follow me here..." He started to think that it was more serious than he thought. Which was pretty scary! He had the same notion before he got on that boat. "I was in Larket fairly recently," he says, recalling the tournament. He lost in the first round. "But I only stopped in. Actually they paid me to do a job that I didn't do. Money up front. But I," he turns up his hands and smiles apologetically, "didn't do it? I kept their money though." In fact he was hired indirectly by Macon to bring a witch coven to justice. The means weren't specific, but he had an idea. They were supposed to die. "Yeah I heard a little about that. I don't really celebrate when people die though. Besides," he says mischievously. She's going to think he's so interesting. "I'm uh something of a witch myself. A little bit. I can do things."

Valrae finds herself appraising the man anew. “You ripped off Macon?” She gave a snort. “That’s brave,” The witch could only guess at the specifics of what that job might have entailed. Before Valrae had taken to moonlighting as one of Queen Josleen’s ladies in waiting, she might have guessed something pretty close to the truth. Now? Val had managed to let herself see behind the dramatized mask of hatred she’d painted on the monarchy that had ended her first life and even carved a little piece of her heart out for the Queen. One that was especially tender of late while she watched her own child grow, without the worries of a curse to shorten his life. This made her feel charitable, so her best guess was that it was probably cleaning gutters or something. The witch is laughing again, resigning herself to being continuously surprised by Mathollak. “Are you?” They seem to have paused naturally this time, nearing the beach. Was it clear to step beyond the cover of the wild, tangled mangroves just yet? Valrae should be asking herself those questions but instead she’s watching Mathollak carefully. “I’m a witch too,” She moves forward again, “Not just a little bit though,” Leaning, she looks down the line of the beach. East, then west and back again. No sign of the men that had followed them. They must have kept running further inland. Maybe they would run into something big and hungry. One could hope. She starts to lead him to the colorful patch work of mismatched tents. It was nearing nightfall now and the warm glow of firelight danced compellingly, dappled shadows across the sand with long, twisting dark lines. As they neared the first line of tents Valrae stops again, drawing ahead and turning to stand with the camp at her back. “I’m the witch that fire couldn’t kill. I’m Valrae Baines,” With the sun and firelight haloed around her, she offered her hand. “Welcome to the new rebellion,”