RP:Something to Hold Onto
Part of the Home Sweet Home Arc
Summary: Whilst out gathering mushrooms, Archdruid Liana is startled by Rikailin, who has been slowly, gently nursing her back to some semblance of sanity after Liana's harrowing ordeal underground. The two speak of many things, Liana meets Rikailin's latest familiar - a dire wolf - and the Archdruid gifts Rikailin with a talisman which may bring her more peace than she currently possesses.
Spring of Vitality
The contrast here - for the present, in comparison to what lay before - is stunning. No longer does the stark, barren landscape lie void of life. Now the works of the denizens of the forest and the powers of the Pixie Druids have restored it to the full glory it deserves. A thick carpet of grass lies underfoot, moss and shrubbery making it soft and spongy. You almost feel tempted to remove your shoes if only to run through this lush blanket of greenery as no thorns or briars are visible, but decide against it as unsure who may come across you. This small patch of forest harbours a new feature than before, a glistening pool encircled by trees. The harsh destruction wrecked from the fires split the very earth here but the final effect has been far from detrimental. From the very ground has sprung a clear spring, filling the small crevice with its natural fluids as if the blood of the earth. Walking slowly over to the waters edge, you spot several tiny creatures flitting on ethereal wings about the radiant water, water Nymphs that guard this haven of life and nourishment with their Druidic magic. You cautiously lower a hand to scoop up some of the blessed water, the Nymphs paying little attention as you mean them little harm and upon drinking it down you feel a sudden rush of vitality. It's truly a wondrous act of nature and once again showing its unwillingness to give up. To your north, east and west lay the other patches of new forest whilst the southern route leads to the Old Forest.
Liana moves quietly through the small forest clearing, her feet light, almost silent upon the ground. The soft moss cushions each step, giving tender, still bruised feet an easier passage than the packed earth of the forest paths. Over one arm she carries a basket, the weave finely detailed and almost perfect, this in stark contrast to the elf's dress. A charitable soul might call the dress she is wearing a ragged one, and it was certainly that. Once, long long ago, it may have been white, but now its tatters are a motley of stains and colours, some leaf green, some perhaps made by the sap of a tree, others russet in hue. Gone are the days when Liana would not leave her home unless properly attired. Now she feels privilaged to have clothing at all, be they rags or otherwise. The basket contains an equally rag-tag collection of items. A treated rabbit skin nestles next to some sort of route, whilst a bright orange, oddly bubbling liquid contained in a flask rests next to a glowing stone. Bending with a small groan, the druid plucks a mushroom from under a nearby tree. "Wrong," she says, dropping it swiftly, then, after a careful perusal of the remaining fungi, she selects another. "Better." Her eyes flit from place to place, her movements quick, her posture alert, tense, ready to run.
Rikailin is gliding quietly through the forest nearby, doing a little harvesting of her own. She is clothed only in bunches of vines for modesty, as has been her wont of late, but those creepers also wrap her arms and thighs in thinner, less riotous profusion. They waver and twitch as drafts hit them, those vines, lending to the battle-druid a faint rattling sybillence wherever she moves. It is a soft sound, but eerie in its way, to be sure. She smells Liana before she hears her - that single word "Wrong." ringing out through the quiet a moment after she has caught the elf's telltale scent - and Rikailin herself steps out from behind a tree, bends and flawlessly picks up the mushroom that the archdruid had discarded. "Right," she says, her voice somewhat raspy from disuse. "Or rather, right for me." She stows the round little thing in a haphazard pouch made from vines slung on her right hip. "A good one, too. Very firm and fleshy. Hello, Liana." She smiles, showing her too-white teeth. "Are we after something specific?"
Liana does not pause to think or evaluate as the sound of a voice shatters the tenuous peace the druid had found. Instinct takes over. The basket drops to the ground, its contents rolling in all directions. The second mushroom joins the fray. A soft patter of bare feet is the only noise as Liana disappears from view, first darting behind a large tree, then swinging up into its branches. Let them try and catch her here. Let them try and follow her high, high where the birds were waiting to pounce. The leaves on the branch below her wither, then begin to drop as she unconsciously sucks at the life force around her, building and knotting her power, ready to strike. She would not go back. She wouldn't! Then something in the tone of the voice makes her pause momentarily, mere seconds from releasing a shattering blast of air at her enemy. It was not what was said, as the words were meaningless babble to her, so bone deep was her fright. It was the pitch, the rasp, the roughness of the voice. Rikailin? Was it? no, it was a trap. Although she wants to call out, she does not dare. Instead, she draws her feet up under her, her fear making her movement clumsy enough that more dead leaves shower down from the disturbed branch on which she sits.
Of all the reactions Liana could have made to her sudden appearance, this was the last Rikailin had expected. Rather foolish, startling her that way, the battle-druid thinks as Liana's feet patter away into the forest, but it was a split-second decision made without any real forethought. The vampiric elf's sightless eyes rove fretfully to and fro as branches crackle; she tracks Liana's descent by ear, but her head tips back as if she is watching the archdruid climb to her new and loftier perch. As dead leaves begin to flutter down toward her face, Rikailin raises a hand, moving slowly as if trying to placate the woman above who she cannot see. "They aren't coming back," Rikailin says softly, trusting her voice to carry on the breeze to where Liana is sitting. "We saw to that. Skylei and I. They're underground, and we are under the open sky. This is Sage Forest, Liana, where the drow fear to tread. If you don't believe me, look at me. See me very well." Rikailin gestures at her unblemished forehead. "I received a mark there on my brow when Tiphareth drove me out. That mark is gone now, and so is he. The dark elves are in the dark where they are welcome. The forest is ours." She has no idea if Liana can even parse enough of these words to make sense of them, but with a calm, steady voice and the truth of her statements, the battle-druid is trying, in the only way short of force, to convince Liana that here may be found safety, and solace, and healing.
Liana remains tucked in a ball, her heart pounding hard enough that she is surprised that it does not sound as loud as a drum, her breath coming in quick gasps which she keeps silent. No doubt the other would smell the fear, the unease, the uncertainty which wafts from her both mentally and physically, to such a degree that even the nearby birds fall silent, tucking up in nests, keeping small and quiet to avoid the predator, the threat. Only some few of the words penetrate the fear fog. Sage forest and open sky are most prominent. The mention of underground leads to a further spasm of fear, but now, reason begins to ascert itself over instinct. It was Rikailin. She knew it. She could feel the mind of the one who was her friend, sense that no harm would come from this quarter. Slowly, ever so slowly, the druid uncurls her toes, straightens her knees, and loosens her white knuckle hold on the tree branch. She eases down the tree's trunk, her eyes alternately flicking to Rikailin to ensure she stood still and made no sudden moves, and to the forest around, scanning, noting, tracking, searching. Her back feels incredibly vulnerable without any familiars, and not for the first time does she wish that she had an extra set of eyes in the back of her head. As her feet ease into the moss at the tree's foot, her knees bend, her stance still ready to flee at the slightest provocation. "No," she says in a small voice as she forces herself out from the tree's shelter. "It is not, not ours I mean. It feels wrong. Things. They..." she trails off. Words, so long unused, still come slowly to the woman, as does trust. Despite Rikailin's visits, her care, her gentle coaxing of Liana back from the brink of death and insanity, she cannot be at ease, no matter how she tries. "It's just wrong. Something's not. Well, things feel different when I touch them." She forces herself to take a step closer.
Rikailin feels herself begin to relax as Liana makes her way down the tree. That upraised hand moves slowly, steadily, to her own head, where the hand curls into a comb to rake through tangled black tresses. A few loose pine needles fall free. Rikailin knows at least a little of this woman's fear and madness; hadn't she felt some faint echo of it in her own exile within the Venturil wilds, after all? But that is where comparison ends; Rikailin was free, after a fashion, and though essentially abandoned and left to savagery, she did not undergo any of the torture and forced solitude to which the archdruid was subjected. When Liana begins to talk of the forest, though, Rikailin nods her head once, then again. "It's not right. But it's ours. And we can heal it. One last gasp from a dead foe, is all it is." There is a grimness to her tone, as if she is wishing that foe were merely dying instead of already gone, lying here on the ground for Rikailin to take apart piece by piece. But alas! Such fancies are ludicrous. The archmage is long departed, and his counterstroke the only remaining legacy of his occupation of this forest. "I've been busy." She looks down. "Well, perhaps not busy, exactly, but I am asking questions, learning things. It is a sickness, a wrongness. That much I know. And a man named Dyraxdiin, a dragon I believe, has sworn to help if he can. I get the feeling he is not particularly for nor against the forest itself, but feels that the abomination stands in opposition to balance. He's right, of course. But we two can't fix this alone. The more we know, the more help we can get, the sooner this place thrives again." She raises her right hand again, and gestures slowly. "And look. It's not as if everything is dying. There is trouble, but trouble still held at bay. We have a little time. We will do this, Liana. Trust me."
Liana takes a second step forwards, the spot between her shoulderblades itching, the skin rippling and contracting, expecting to feel the prick of a knife or the sting of an arrow at any point as she leaves the safety of the shadows. She looks terrible, although much less so than she did at the time of her rescue. Her cheeks are beginning to fill out again, and she is now somewhat more than a skin covered skeleton. Weeks of easy hunting and subsequently good eating have seen to that. However, one look into the previously calm, unrevealing eyes tells much. They move constantly, never holding a gaze for more than a few seconds, but uncertainty, fear, and even shame are easy to see there. Taking a third step, she visibly startles as her toes find something other than moss. Softness, warmth. She stifles a shriek, jerking her foot away from the... discarded rabbit skin. With a shakey laugh, she glances around, then bends swiftly to snatch the skin, the first piece of her new garb, a soft slipper perhaps. "A dragon?" she queries tentatively. "That is good. Dragons can fix this. It is bad Rikailin. Bad bad bad like the nightwalker taint. Bad and wrong and killing things. Don't use the mushroom." She stops then, so many words taxing her vocal chords as well as her brain. Slowly, watching Rikailin carefully the whole time, the elf begins to move around the clearing, restoring the dropped items to her basket. On finding the bubbling flask, she shakes it at the other. "Look. It goes wrong when you use it. This needs to be a green tea for sleep, but look at it bubble. The colour is bad. The smell is worse. We need to make this stop. But how? Will the dragon come here? Is he safe?"
Rikailin flinches a little at the phrase "nightwalker taint", having been forced into the unfortunate position of bearing that particular bale some time ago, but then steadies herself. She cannot see the bubbling liquid in the flask, but she takes the words to heart. "The mushroom is dreamsmoke," she says calmly. "I've used them before, more than once. And they actually seem to be getting stronger. But no, I won't eat them, or feed them to anyone. You burn them to create mental confusion." She looks levelly with her sightless eyes into Liana's face, and almost imagines she can see the woman, looking better now than once she did but still far from the figure of calm authority she once was. "The dragon has already been here, and he will come back if need be. He is safe enough. I trust him, and I don't trust easily. But your question of safety..." Rikailin falls quiet, relaxing into a slumped stance as her mind begins to seek. There is a creature nearby, a large, shaggy beast with whom the battle-druid has taken up familiar acquaintance of late, and in a few moments he comes loping out of the woods from behind Rikailin, following a pathway which will let Liana see him coming from a long distance off. "Dire wolf," the vampiric elf explains. "Almost entirely tame. He won't hurt you, and he can guard your back. I know what it's like, having to fear what's behind you. I know it almost as well as you. But he's watchful, and he's fierce, and he's strong. Do you remember the passing of bonds? If you do, I can give him to you. If you don't, I can simply set him to watch you for awhile. Don't fear him. He's a friend."
Liana shakes her head violently from side to side as Rikailin speaks. "Dreamsmoke?" she queries, her thoughts skipping over herbal books and lessons of long ago. "Dreamsmoke is bad. You shouldn't use it too often. And that one is tainted. Only for enemies I think." She moves slowly to the spring, and then finds she has a dilemma. She is so thirsty, and the water is so clear. She needs to drink, to restore her vitality, but doing so would mean putting her back to the night walker for longer than a snatched moment whilst she filled her cup. Was it safe? Should it be done? But there comes a time in every recovery where a decision must be made; a pivotal one which will shape the responses of that individual from that time forth. Whether she knew it or not, this was Liana's time. Would her trust be well placed, or a mis-judgement? Rummaging in the basket she finds her tightly woven cup, and, taking a deep breath, she bends. Scooping a cup of water from the spring, she straightens once more, quickly turning to face the other. Her heart stills as she finds Rikailin in the same spot, her lips moving, mentioning something about a "friend". She gulps greedily at the water, the dragon forgotten for the time being as her eyes focus on a huge canine as it lopes into the clearing. Rikailin's words register with her as she watches the beast move, automatically noting his size and his likely ferocity. "Bond? I would not have him given to me." She is as surprised as any other at this. Was that indignance she heard? The merest hint of it, but still, a mammoth step forward for this shell of a being. "If he bonds, he does so by his choosing, but he won't. I have nothing to give and would take much in return." Unspoken are her thoughts that Rikailin should not pass the bond of any animal without its consent, and, remembering her own familiars, she doubted that that consent would be given freely. But perhaps, and the loyal thought intrudes, perhaps Rikailin just did things differently. Perhaps she had no right to impose her morals on the other. "He is yours surely," she says simply, hoping it goes some way towards being an explannation. She falls silent then, her eyes on the dog, her mind reeling. Too many words. Too hard to find the right ones.
Rikailin | The wolf strides up to Rikailin's side, and the battle-druid rests a hand atop his shaggy shoulder, stroking the fur. The great animal seems to tense at first, but eventually relaxes, but does not wag his tail or show any of the fawning adoration a dog might display in such a circumstance. He is a wolf, after all, and while he might tolerate touch, it is simply that...tolerance, and little better. Rikailin is trying to give solace to the beast as much as she is taking it from him; in a world such as this, companionship is ever a thing to be treasured. When Liana rejects her offer, the vampiric elf smiles, once more showing those pearly, sharp teeth. "You're right, of course. And proved something, just now. You're still you in there. Still the archdruid I knew and respected through all this time. Bonds don't pass easily, and only under greatest need. The only reason I offered is because you need the protection far more than I do. A small harm to avoid a larger in the name of balance. We have different ways of looking at the world, but I wouldn't force this, not even if one of you was willing and the other not. It doesn't end well in such cases." She withdraws her hand from the wolf, who takes a cautious step forward toward the archdruid; he has no intention of harming her, and seems more curious than anything else, but he can smell her wariness, and he is a predator. The two-legs are not usually so frightened, especially the ones who deal with his kind, and he is puzzled by this. A low humming noise comes from deep in his chest, something that might be a whine of uncertainty in a smaller beast. "You need safety," Rikailin declares. "And right now you don't really have the freedom to be choosy about it. But elves are always elves, I suppose." She looses a brief snort of laughter. "I'd feel the same in your position, to be sure. But advice I can give, anyway. Find a purpose. A wound you can heal, a friend you can aid, time you can spend well. Don't just wander alone with your thoughts. That way lies darkness, and darkness you don't need more of." The wolf's ears suddenly prick up, and a moment later the great creature is bounding off into the forest, nostrils flaring, hot on the scent of something. Rikailin raises a shoulder, then shrugs. "He does that sometimes. He's young yet, and if there is something tasty to hunt, why, he hunts it, and I slavishly follow or I wait for him to come back. There is no other course."
Liana remains still, the whole of her now focused on interpreting Rikailin's words. She was tired. Gods was she tired, and the strain of finding the right things to say, then actually saying them, together with the fight and flight, were all taking their toal on her ravaged body. As the beast steps towards her, Liana instinctually reaches out to him, to touch thoughts, to soothe. Oh, such vitality thrusts back at her. Here, there was strength in abundance, physical and mental. The joy in just being, living, existing broadcasts from him in waves. She reaches hungrily, her tendrils of thought beginning to curl into him, to seek for and find purchase, to ready themselves to feed. But no! Sharply, she disengages from him, long before the contact has done anything more harmful than making the great wolf feel uneasy. As she snaps her power to herself, he bounds away and she lets him go, determinedly reigning in her urge to reach after him, to take what he has to strengthen herself against her need. It would come in time. Rikailin once again speaks, and Lian acannot help a snort of her own. "I have no friends left save you, and you clearly need no help. The only wounds to heal are my own, and that doesn't help my thinking. You can see how easily I could mix with other people. I don't know what to do". And it is only as she says the words that she realises how true they are. She is empty, hollow, directionless, and, in the grand scheme of the world, now probably meaningless too. Was it really worth the struggle?
Rikailin moves a step or two closer to the archdruid, taking each step forward as if it was its own ponderous thing, separate from the others. She does not want to frighten the woman again. "I need no help? No, Liana, I think you're wrong there. The difference is that I hide it better, and wasn't put through as much as you were. I came back from things a little sooner, and I was ever a wild creature to begin with. If you think me the sort to mingle in crowds, you are deluded." She chuckles again, and this time it is a less derisive sound than before. "You have wounds to heal, but so do many. The world at large is always bleeding. You knew that once, and you'll know it again. If you need direction, start humbly. Remember your crafts, and offer them to those in need. Take your meetings small, at first, and in places you know. Be cautious, but challenge yourself. Every day, do something you didn't dare do yesterday. And remember that you are safe here. No one is going to drag you down here. We will kill them if they try." Rikailin's normally pale face seems a little paler, a little more gaunt, in that moment, as if assuming a grimmer, more terrible aspect. "Once was enough, and twice too much for any to pay for."
Liana Curls her toes into the soft ground on which they rest. It might seem like the action of one enjoying the feeling of the soft moss, but it was in fact a physical reflex of the mental battle in which Liana is engaged. She fights furiously with herself not to pull away as Rikailin advances, for however slow the movements, the disquiet the elf grately. A large measure of satisfaction is felt when, with some considerable effort, the battle is won and she holds her ground. "My crafts?" The tiniest of smiles tugs at the corners of her mouth. "How did you know?" And, this said, her hand drops to the basket once more. "Were you watching me?" As she says this, her fingers close on what they seek. Slowly, her hand rises from the depths of the mish-mash of items. From her outstretched fingers, a thin, fine chain dangles. What it is made from is not entirely clear at first glance, as it is not the usual gold or silver. Instead, the links are a soft green which seems almost to glow in the dappled shade of the forest. From it hangs a tiny tear drop of green stone. Were one to look closely, they would, given time, spy the minute soft pink dot which winks out from the centre of this stone. Tentatively, shyly almost, Liana reaches forward. Not yet brave enough to initiate touch with the other, she brings the chain to rest against Rikailin's knuckles. Were the vampire to reach to take it, Liana would immediately withdraw her own hand. "The links are made from infant vines at their first sprouting. They are taken when almost smaller than the eye can see, and woven. I enchanted them to make them as strong as steel. The stone is moulded tree sap. It holds my first enchantment. Peace, ironically enough. I'm practicing so I can feel it too. It's not strong, but when you wear it, it might help you to go to sleep at night, or to just beat someone bloody instead of killing them. Or maybe just to stop feeling sad. I don't know, but it feels nice anyway. I made it for you."
Rikailin is, by this point, not afraid of people who get too close, or of touch, or anything of the sort; she is feral in a different way, rather more apt to attack someone who startles her than to flee. And so, when Liana struggles to remain stoic, then actually moves forward to present her gift, Rikailin does not flinch back or show any unease; she trusts this woman, who would not hurt her except under great duress, so the stone on its greenish chain is given easily enough. The battle-druid takes it, and though she is unable to see it, she lets her fingers move across first the chain, and then the stone which dangles from it. She probes gently at it, and quickly ascertains what Liana meant by "peace". It is a nice feeling even to hold such a talisman; the vampiric elf feels a little less likely to turn and slash the nearest threat, her heart buoyed by the sense that everything is all right, or will be, in its time. She slowly loops the chain over her head. "Thank you," is all she can say at first, and the faintest sheen is in her eyes. Liana, despite all of her trials and troubles, has seen to something outside of herself, and then given it up to someone else instead of keeping that protective sorcery for herself. "This is magic I don't fully understand, or I would have thought to give you something similar. You need that safety more than I do, I think. But thank you. If you ever want it, when your mind is worried and your sleep is thin, I will give it back to you. I won't refuse your gift, but I'll freely share it with you if you need it. But no, Liana. I haven't been watching you. I only meant to say that whatever you can do, whether herbs or woodcraft or even basic hunting and such, there are always others willing to pay coin for services or to take advice from someone who knows better than they do. You know much, more than I do. I may be a fair rival for you in combat, but in other druidic arts, you are more than my match. And those are often well-suited to the outside world, which knows little, pretends much and demands most of all."
Liana shakes her head at the last words. "The demands frighten me. I don't want them. They are too much." She trails off then, exhaustion tugging at the edges of her mind. Too many words, too much emotion. Gods but it was all too much. "I need to go," she says simply, and with no more warning than that, she backs out of the clearing, away from the spring and out of sight. no doubt Rikailin will understand the reasons for what they are rather than a snub, as Liana, once so adept at shielding, has neither the energy nor the will to do so at present. Still wary to the extreme, the druid moves off into the forest as silently as possible, bent on taking the most circuitous route her body can manage before she reaches her chosen hiding place for the evening.