RP:Respect is Earned
Druid’s Eternal Tree
Chills creep through your body the moment you step foot onto this sacred ground. This seems to be a place of great worship, though the object of worship is at first unclear. Your gaze follows the trunk of a large oak tree standing erect in the center of a grassy floor, its mistletoe adorned branches reaching great heights into the deep blue sky above. A small wall of smooth stones surrounds the tree, and walking closer, you notice that this tree seems to float within a pool of clear, tepid liquid, where beautiful white flowers dance about, gracefully. Several faeries fly past, having some sort of enigmatic tie to the druids. The air here is warm and damp, exuding a sense of purity. As you continue to glance around this room constructed of rock, ivy and other various plants climbing the walls, you begin to suspect it may be the force of nature and life which is celebrated and cherished here. Deep in your mind, you can hear a voice, which seems to come from within the tree, as you concentrate, you can hear the words of nature speak clearly. 'I, The Eternal Tree, can teach those the power of nature.' (read note)
Sabrina liked it here. She felt a calmness that this structure was known to bring and with good reason. She was inclined to bleed emotions like open wounds and she found the strength to overpower her own concerns in this one place. She should have been sleeping, but for all intents and purposes had found herself unable after her last attempt left her wide awake to a completely inappropriate dream about a distant stranger she was sure she had never met. She had her nose shoved in a book, even with keen elven eyes she slouched down and squinted though it was likely unnecessary. She had since pulled her hair around the front of her shoulder, letting it pile in a small twisted mass at her side rather than sitting directly on it. She’d meant to have it cut but the urgency seemed to leave her when she wasn’t thinking about it. That was probably at least three cycles ago, by now she was just used to moving it out of her way when she needed to. She seemed out of place, that old leather duster hanging off her body showing it’s proof of use. It wasn’t that it looked bad, but she was becoming more aware the females in this region tended to be a little more… druidic. She tried the gown thing earlier in the day, but it proved too difficult to keep tidy, whereas the duster could be …well…dusted off. Beside her, laying on the ground conspicuously within reach, was an elegant reflex bow. It was extravagant as all Elven made items ended up being, and modern. The Bow appeared to have been modified recently; an enchantment placed upon both the limbs and the chord to make its use more bearable for its frail user. She had come here in hopes that spending more time with the tree it would somehow help her gleen on some deep rooted water issues she had been having.
Linken is usually one to make his presence known upon entering an occupied vicinity, as not to startle the first occupant(s) to arrive before him, but tonight the elf would make no entrance. Unbeknownst to Sabrina, Linken was present the entire time, though unless one knew the elf's habits they would not be able to discern his whereabouts. No, for this one took much more kindly to heights over the earth, and the lofty branches of the Eternal Tree was one of his favorite and most-frequented locales, the perfect spot to stargaze, meditate, or (for one capable of maintaining enough balance while inebriated) getting drunk and reflcting without fear of immediate interruption. Which happened to be the case the night before, explaining why slept away on one of the many branches high above, his back to the trunk with a hand lossely gripping the near-empty bottle of whiskey set upon his lap. How one could even fall asleep in such cold weather was beyond anyone who knew him, but then again this is someone capable of scaling such heights while under the influence of alcohol on a semi-regular basis, so it would be safe to assume a little wind chill did not bother him. Eventually, Linken would begin to stir, perhaps the result of a dream gone awry, and his mild movements caused his form to shift more and more to his right, slipping more and more from his balanced position until that instinctual feeling in his gut kicked in as he was about to fall, and the first sight his weary eyes would behold as they fluttered open was the glass bottle slipping from his hand, about to fall and strike some poor woman on the head! His eyes widened, and following a sharp inhale the elf belted, "Watch out!" Before rolling off the edge in an effective-but-not-so-elegant acrobatic maneuver, managing to grab the bottle before it could descend any further while catching himself with one foot hooked around the branch in just the nick of time. If his shouting did not alert Sabrina to his presence, then the bouncing of the tree's branches under the weight of the elf's armored form surely wood, shaking loose many a leaf as it bobbed up and down. Linken, his emerald cloak having enveloped the upper half of his form, took the moment to breathe a sigh of releif avter avoiding such a disaster, only to call out once more to the woman below. "I... apologize if I've disturbed you..."
Sabrina had never been more startled. The book closed shut and was quickly discarded, by the time he had made his second comment the bow was already drawn on him. Minty eyes held focus on the male, bobbing up and down on that branch which, if it weren’t belonging to the Eternal Tree would have likely broke with the weight of his armored form. She didn’t respond immediately. Her heart was racing and with the damage to her calm a release of panic would stain the very air. If Linken would descend it would be strong enough to feel- but not so strong as to effect one of the keenest of races. “What -are- you doing?” She spied the bottle in his grip and had considered the bow was probably unnecessary as he was just one of those reckless individuals that belonged in the Human Tavern.
Linken 's features were hidden by the hooded cloak engulfing his body, but would she have seen his face his expression would have been extremely apologetic, and should he have seen the bow aimed at his person he would have been a hell of a lot more careful. "I was... sleeping. I come here quite often, whenever I need to collect my thoughts, or-" his words were cut short by the whistle of grinding steel as his blade began to slip from it's scabbard upon his back. Without a moment's hesitation he quickly grasped the hilt of the blade before it could slip free, sliding it back into it's sheath with an unviewable sheepish grin plastered across his face. "...I am sorry, give me a moment." Linken twisted to the left and right a couple of times, swinging his cloak out of the way in order to get a bearing on his surroundings, before swinging his right arm in a wide arch and sending the bottle spinning into the air, and in te brief moment it stayed afloat the elf managed to swing and flip over, catching the branch with one hand while the bottle fell back down into the other. With one swift movement he slipped his hand into the satchel hanging from his shoulder, exchanging the empty bottle for a grappling hook, and with another toss of his arm the hooked end flew over the branch, allowing the excess rope to falluntil it barely touched the tip of the water collected at the base of the tree. Grasping the rope tightly in his right hand, Linken released his hold on the tree and began his descent, relaxing his grip just enough to maintain his speed and ensure he did not fall too rapidly. Before nearing the ground, the elf would kick his free foot against the massive tree, swinging outward just enough to avoid the water and stone wall as he landed gently upon the soil. Slipping his foot out of the hook and kicking it to the side a bit, his black-plated hands would part the shadow of his cloak to cup the seams of his hood, a mess of long, bright blonde hair cascading down his back and across his breastplate as they pulled the hood back from his crown. The top layer was tied back in a neat ponytail, with the rest tucked behind two pointy ears and falling nearly down to his waist, and below his cerulean hues, through the semi-thick blonde beared blanketing his jaw, were his pearly whites, shaped into an apologetic half-smile. "I am terribly sorry about this whole incident, it's entirely my fault. I assure you, I am never usually this careless..."
Sabrina wasn’t amused. The bow was now point blank in Linken’s face and the iridescent green projectile was let go. It would, of course, under Sabrina’s direction dissipate before it would hit the arrogant, furry, and frustrating male. She sided the weapon, thin dark brows furrowed at him in a manner that screamed annoyance. She did not want an altercation and so bends down to pick up her book, deeming him both harmless and useless in the same breathe. Literally, out loud, in the most colorful Elvish-laden, one-liner insults she could muster. “People come here for silence and serenity, I will have you know!” She was neither serene nor apologetic, that much was clear. A sickening anger emanated from her, infecting any and all who were sentient enough to sense it, it was that damned quirk that made her a friend of solitude. She walked past him toward the path, feet stomping in a very human tantrum. She did also make a conscious effort not to touch him as she passed.
Linken 's apologetic smile, and any sense of apology that came with it, waned almost instantly the moment his face was met with a drawn bow. He did not mean to come off as arrogant, if he had done so at all, and was therefore in a stupor as to why she would be aiming her weapon at him, considering that he just prevented her fom suffering head trauma. He could have just as easily let the bottle go, if he were that type of person, but hew as not as careless as she thought, nor was he one to be so intimidated by her armed nature when this sort of of event was a regular occurence. "Yes, I am aware. That is the reason I came here in the first place. I did not expect anyone else would come here in this weather." As Sabrina lowered her bow to gather her things, Linken reached out and grabbed the rope, pulling it over and down from the tree branch before kneeling to pick up his grappling hook and swiftly carving a path around the woman as he winded the rope around his arm. "Please.." he exclaimed in a soft tone, one hand held up in a halting manner as he quietly slipped past her, "Stay. I am sorry. I will disturb you no further." And so he would walk, swiftly and without another word spoken, raising his hand to his lips about halfway from the main road only to blow a faint whistle, possibly calling for his steed to carry him away.
Sabrina wouldn’t have been in danger of head trauma if the Elf hadn’t been sleeping one off in the most sacred of places. Sabrina was offended to the core that the male did not even know what to apologize for. One does not simply walk into the House of Arkhen and carve a carcass on the floor- much like an Elf of all things should not slip into a drunken stupor on the Tree so beautiful and renowned for its druidic charms. It was blasphemy. She stops in her tracks, turning to him only to state the obvious. “You are not disturbing me. You, Sir, are disturbing. Period!” She watched him whistle, now sure that he wasn’t listening and only meant to have the last word. She makes an audible noise of frustration and storms off before his steed could rescue him from himself.
She made her way to the Scenic View of Hollow to cool down.
This small path breaks out from the sparse trees and becomes an open area on this cliff. People come from all over Hollow to look off of this edge and the view is amazing. As you stand you become slightly dizzy from the great height. Such a sight your deprived eyes have never seen before. As you walk toward the edge of the cliff, you notice small signs of a great battle, an array of booted footprints here a spot of blood there. Stepping to the edge of the cliff, a great slab of stone has been ripped free of the ground, and where it had been, there is nothing but a hole in the earth sloping ever downward to the edge. Creeping out over the edge you can see a heap of shattered rocks and piled up earth at the bottom. Something powerful had devestated this rocky cliff face. tearing your eyes away from this destruction, you can gaze over the most of the land. Towards the south you can see the mountain path you've once traveled. So small it looks from here, yet your legs can tell you differently. To the east you can see a great forest of trees, obviously being Sage Forest, with the little town of Kelay deep within. Beyond the edge of Sage Forest you can see the mountains to the north, although the path to the small town of Larket is not visible from this vantagepoint. At the very edge of the horizon you can just make out the beginning of Milious Planes, and beyond that you know is the great city of Cenril. You take in the wondrous view and wonder what this place must look like at night under the canopy of stars, lights glowing from the towns below and east of here. To the west is where you came, a mountain path. A small cliff in the area seems to lead up to a hill.
Vaan staggers forth, his right hand clutching his left arm, as blood seeps betwixt clenched fingers from the wound beyond. His bruised and batter form trudges on still yet, in search of this view to rest and tend to his own wounds. His left leg, despite Warren's best efforts, is still badly mangled on the inside; muscles torn and sundered, tendon enflamed and the bone cracked. In his left hand, he wields his bow as usual, but it is unstrung and used as a walking stick, which he clings to like a rock in a sea of torrential floods. Despite his haggard appearance, a calm determination rests upon the image of his visage, hair let down to frame his bruised and dirty face in an almost picturesque quality. Like an add you would see on a, 'wanted' sign, for help in a foreign kingdom where starvation and disease have struck. His attention is more on the ground at his feet, and the seemingly insurmountable rise, feet shuffling and stick clicking with heavy strides. It is because of this, his knowledge of Sabrina's presence goes amiss, as he staggers to a nearby rock at the top of the rise. The bow is released alas, and Vaan sits back to take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of the earth, of nature, and the crisp sky overhead.
Sabrina was following a peculiar trail when she came upon Vaan. Though still upset from her last unexpected company she is quick to barrel her temper upon seeing the wounded Elf hobbling to this very path. She approaches him with caution, and she would fully assess the situation before rushing to the criminal’s aid. She looked to his wrists first, to see if there was any sign of her mark, and after not finding any would refer to memories enchanted upon her left arm- but hidden from his view. It was this catalog that betrayed her most times, for instance just now, as she considered the one before her to be a complete stranger despite him being her rescuer two nights past. She had failed to mention him in the endless ramblings about the Lycan known as Desparrow. She opens up softly, a gentleness falling like a thick blanket to surround him. She chose that emotion purposefully, and as long as there were no sudden movements or break in concentration she would maintain it well enough. “It would seem you have happened upon a small stumble, Sir.” The dialect of Nuduin weighed heavily on the melodic tones of Elvish when she addressed him. There was no noticeable familiarity in her minty green reflections as she stooped down to pick up his makeshift walking stick. She leans it against the rock gently. The scent of Earth would be tainted with the smell of the slight woman, lavender and sandalwood.
Vaan continues to watch the sky for a time, even after the woman makes herself known. His eyes, a nearly colorless hue of gray, do indeed, after a time of momentary reflection, finally come to meet the other woman's. "My lady." He says in his usual tone of delicate iron; his own dialect High Sylvan in return, "It warms my heart to know you are safe." Vaan finally releases his wounded arm, and glances down to his bow-turned-staff. He looks away, and once again finds her gaze, "I apparently cannot hide long from punishment, it would seem." The Hunter laughs, not knowing the woman has no recollection of him; her scent and outward manner was undeniable--he didn't need to see her to know who she was, her dialect, the way her feet sounded when the touched the earth with soft steps. His finely attuned Hunter's senses picking up on all of it. "However, I must admit, I sought this fight just the same as he. It was only by error that I received the worse." That soft smile of his once more in offering of some sort of apology, for having had been wounded yet again.
Sabrina bows properly when he addresses her with the formal greeting. It was when he spoke with her about her safety that lent he had encountered her previously. Her mouth fell upon smartly, a silent gesture that accompanied a slow nod of her head and a simply beautiful smile. It was rare that any fell privilege to a genuine smile from the lady. It was no manner of infatuation she gazed upon him now, more of an appreciation that even in his humility he addressed her with respect and poise. She missed the mannerisms she believed to have left at home. She leaned her bow beside his, although it did stand noticeably shorter than his own. “A Hunter’s spirit is rarely without consequence, Sylvan.” It was hard to pick up on, the ancient dialect only gracing her ears a handful of times in years that were long past. She gestures to his wounds, having passed through the formalities of strangers. She still made no mention of familiarity as she was no stranger to enigmatic gestures. “May I?”
Vaan 's eyes do not leave her, when she motions to his wounds. "If it wouldn't trouble you, I think I would appreciate some assistance. My hands are a bit shaky still yet." Indeed they were, his muscles were still feeling the terrible after effects of being shocked by an elemental arrow, and being thrown some feet from a concussive blast. At the very least, he would be shaky. "Perhaps it is fate, I happened upon you. I am only happy that this time it is not in the company of a crazed Lycan out for my blood." Vaan grunts a laugh, but quickly regrets it, as his hand comes to clutch his side, "You have an odd taste in company, by the way." His smile, sudden and full, is cut short as he wheezes a sigh. It was with great pain to pride, that he would except the help of another, even if she was the Elf he had helped a few nights prior. His unshakable fortitude is something he takes meticulous care in tending to, and to be seen defeated was a sting in and of itself. To allow assistance... the Sylvan couldn't help but cringe.
Sabrina would remove the black leather duster that had seen its better days. She strewn it across the rock just behind him, folding the shoulders and arms inside themselves to form a sort of pillow that would imply he could lie back if he wanted to, but it would not be necessary. She was very precise about not touching him, not just yet, as the shroud of caution still hung at the tips of her emotional veil. Direct contact right now would be laced with uncertainty and inflicted tenfold upon the already wounded hunter. Her arms fell to her sides, the left length of exposed skin would reveal a swirling pearlescent glow of mixed Elvish text sometimes accompanied with images, other times not. On occasion the array of golden arches and elegant script would fade completely beneath the surface of the palest of flawless flesh- each movement a reaction to some memory or recollection. She was searching her thoughts for the most effective manner for the healing to begin. She moved to tie back a tedious river of inky trusses that even when secured swung lazily at her hips. He spoke of the Lycan and the banter read brightly on the appendage that reclaimed its position at her side. She remained calm. “I do not tend to keep company at all. I am practicing social conditioning. Not by strongest suit I am afraid.” She was very light about it all. Social protocol had told her that it was enough small talk and she took a deep breath before approaching him. She had only hoped she had done nothing to induce ill will towards him in their last encounter… more so she had hoped he would keep the reminders of the horrific episode to himself for the duration of this short visit. With the distance closed she would wrap thin digits around his arm, if anything should go awry it would be easier for him to heal the leg with help of a hand, then hand with help of a leg. Her style was not the herby-enchanting style that one would expect. Due to history placing a burden on her directly she had learned to harness some of those energies and apply them in other aspects of her actions. She placed her right hand on the rock in which he sat, closing her eyes for no more than ease of concentration she began to borrow what energy she could and siphon the healing powers through her, unto his wound. The rock itself lost what little luster it had to offer. Even the tiniest of reflective light was robbed as the moonlight glinted upon it. Like a thief, Sabrina was stealing from one source and lending to another. It was practical and required little spot-on knowledge compared to the mixing and measuring… and finding of herbs. Much like the emotions that constantly bled from her person, the energies would work diligently to sew together broken strands of muscle and torn fleshy bits that dangled helplessly from the wound.
Vaan nearly retreats from her touch, just before contact is made; apparently he too, favors his distance. He clamps his mouth shut and lets her do her work, casting his eyes away from her, to lock onto the shaft of his bow, where he is able to read each intricate knife-mark, the hewn wood a very familiar presence to him. Eventually, Vaan lies back, thankful for her thoughtfulness, and allows the coat to cradle him as he rests. "I never asked you for your name, my lady." His face grows red, "Such bad form... you must think me a lout." The odd magic was beginning to work, sinking deep into his body, of which he was thankful for--to be rid of the throbbing pain from the prior battle. "Yydraxyll Vaan Irros Ophdravix, of High Sylvan descent. Though these days, such names aren't what they were... so I answer to Vaan." His eyes gaze up to her own, in desire for a reply, "And you, my lady?" Sabrina felt a little nauseated. Working slowly would have proved easier on her system, but working slowly also offered more opportunity for this encounter to go horribly wrong. She continued to ensure only the very tips of her fingers were used. The least amount of contact the better- but some contact was required and there was nothing she could do about that. Her eyes were still closed. “Sabrina…” She could have gone on with the full introduction but him being who he was would not know the House of Skaoi, if he even knew of Nuduin at all. Her mouth formed the name ‘Vaan’ several times as if making note to make note of it later. It was an odd time to ask if she could mark him, and even odder for her to explain why she needed to. When she had finally let go his arm his pale flesh would peek through blood-soaked fabrics that had since crusted over with a metallic glaze- no doubt residual elements drawn from the now cold and dull boulder. She took a few steps back, shaking her arms as if they had fallen asleep- on the contrary this energy was circulating at an alarming rate and she needed a minute to compose herself. When she would finally open her eyes the effect would be brilliant and near colorless, especially since the moon was high. The rock was useless at this point and it would need hours, if not days, to recuperate. She suggested they move to the ground or possibly closer to some nearby shrubbery so that the leg could be addressed. When most would look upon her in this state it would always be some startling reaction that rid her with guilt, though, it could not be helped.
Vaan nods his head to her, his eyes not to leave her own. There was something strange about this woman, and he couldn't quite put his finger on what. Her dialect was bizarre, in the least, though he had heard of small enclaves of Elves scattered to the four winds, trying to rebuild a utopian society all to themselves. Perhaps she was one of these Elves, lost and forgotten as the years turned into millenia and time wiped clean the slate of history. It would not be the first time he has stumbled upon an Elf like her, from a distant homeland, an enclave so out of touch with Sage, or Rynvale. It is for this matter, that her character is neatly assessed and filed into his mind for safeguard, so that he will not forget her; he doubts he could even if he tried. The oddity that swam about her like a cloud of foreboding, it was cause enough for her vivid eyes to remain branded within his mind for eternity. "Lady Sabrina... I will not forget." His voice the calm, reassuring tone it always is, "And I thank you for what you have done, but I do not wish to burden you longer." He could tell this encounter was awkward for her, for some reason, "I do believe I will be fine enough to heal on my own from here." A smile, albeit small, is appreciative and brightens his eyes from the otherwise dull, detached expression they harbor. Curiosity. The feeling was so unique, he couldn't help but grasp at it in a sense of awe and wonder. Who was she?
Sabrina was still opening and closing her hands as if hot from flame while she listened to him. Forget? He said ‘forget.’ She quickly reaches to a golden quill that hid itself behind pointed ear. Awkward didn’t hit the tip of the iceberg. She apologizes as she gently pushes the tip of the quill into the crease on the inside of her wrist. Lavish flows of iridescent ink spread across the epidermal layer of her skin and begin forming the name ‘Vaan’ and just below it an image of a poorly rendered Sylvan crest. She couldn’t have been more obvious about it, but if he was going to go on purposefully not forgetting something she was going to do the same. Without word she retrieves a similarly lettered scroll, no bigger than the tiny sausages they served for breakfast at the Inn. She hands it to him. “Yerrel will take good care of you.” She did not disagree that this encounter overwhelmed her. Her eyes already began to dull as the high energies dispersed. She would help him to sit up, unfortunately the recently healed appendage was probably the only thing that didn’t hurt, given the poor state of the High Elf. She felt a pang of guilt settle in her stomach. “Are you certain?” And there it was- an automatic display of unrehearsed concern for his well being. It even took her by surprise when it came out of no other’s lips than her own.
Vaan does indeed accept the scroll, whilst he offers her arm a rather quizzical look. He makes no mention of it, rather preferring to leave the secrets and oddities for a later date, when he was in a better state of dress and health. "Again, you do me a great honor, but I will be well, I assure you." Vaan rises to his feet, with her help, though he quickly resorts to that bow of his, which he manages to avoid clinging to desperately. The Sylvan touches his first two fingertips to his lips, and then places them at his heart, before lifting the hand towards her in a formal gesture of Sylvan custom, "Might you always find shelter beneath my tree, Lady Sabrina." And with that, the Hunter trudges away, a measured pace of step, stop, breathe, step to ensue. He wouldn't allow this wound to get the best of him!
Sabrina stood there silently blushing, though stone features would not express her childish reverence for this gesture. She bowed formally and politely and watches him go, only breaking for an enchanting smile when he would turn his back. She winced lightly for every step he took ‘pon that wounded leg. Her head cants sideward momentarily as her thoughts wandered deeper on this male. She catches herself and immediately shakes immodest apprehensions about his form. Propriety would find him a fine Rynvalian wife some day.