RP:The Ranger's Test

(<_< Alright, so this is what I saved of the RP. It's more or less the second half. Up to this bit Lirithen has taken Fortis Animus to Liana and requested he be allowed to keep it, where upon she told him he'd have to be tested first and asked him to give the bow to her.)

Lirithen's hand stilled. Give it up? Distaste, fleeting yet prevalent, shot a deep line across the tree-born male's forehead. It was he who had recovered it. He who had endured an endless torrent of taunting death threats, had tracked the culprit for hours through the thickest foliage, across the most difficult ground. And when he had finally held the halfling in his sights... Well, not much, actually. A sense of defeat caused his shoulders to slump when the realization hit. It could have been any elf you cared to name, they could have accomplished the task with the same ease as this particular ranger. Between fair lips slightly parted slipped a resigned sigh, one arm extending the bow outwards for the Archdruidess to prise from his tight, reluctant grasp, in exchange for the offered longbow with which he must prove himself. Such was insulting, but he kept a blank expression as his free hand reached behind his back, fingertips clasping the feathered end of a wooden arrow shaft. A target, a target... Emerald gaze swamped the surrounding forest, keen gaze looking for anything that may become an unwitting victim to his prowess. The arrow knocked against the ashwood bow, steel tip pointing menacing into the forest depths as the ranger drew carefully upon the unfamiliar bowstring, wary of the thing breaking in his hands. A brief moment of aim, mental calculations flashing through a focused psyche, then the arrow was allowed to slip from Lirithen's hold, the bowstring twanging loudly as the projectile rocketed forwards into the woods. A dull thud heralded it's collision with a sturdy tree trunk, and if one cared to peer through the greenery that the elf's shot had just travelled through they would notice, an admirable distance away, a squirrel skewered from mouth to rear upon the fired arrow, ready to be skinned and cooked. “Don't worry, m'lady. I intend to eat that.”

Liana keeps her eyes upon him as she accepts the bow he extends to her and gives up her own much lighter counterpart. Slinging the legendary weapon over her shoulder with a nonchalance perhaps not due its great standing in the elven community. She studies the man with obvious interest as he reaches over his shoulder for his arrow. "Did you make those yourself?" asks she, noting the craft employed in their formation. She falls silent then, her eyes straining to penetrate the shadowed depths of the forest in search of his target. As the arrow is loosed with an audible twang, she tracks its progress, wincing slightly as the squirrel meets his unfortunate end. his words soften the loss somewhat, and turning to him, she replie,s "I am pleased to hear that, for wanton waste of life does not become our kind, sir. Good shooting, but can you shoot the red berry on yonder tree?" She points ot a tree some hundred feet to the north of their current position. The berry is large for its kind and a vivid blue, but from this distance it appears no more than a tiny speck in her vision. She knows that she could not make the shot herself, but then, she was no ranger. Passively, she waits.

Lirithen thought hard about the answer to that question. Which was the truth, confirmation or denial? A shred of both, upon reflection. “Not these particular arrows, no,” replied the male, emerald eye raising to discern the object indicated by an extended digit, “these were made by a fletcher from the clan, though I showed him how to ah... Increase the quality of his craft.” Three arrows, this time, were plucked from the quiver and brought forward for the ranger's examination. The berry would take a flat head to prise from it's branch, instead of the four-pointed head he had used to kill the squirrel. Rifling through the collected projectiles he found the particular tool of his need, and replaced the other two back into the quiver before placing the flat-headed arrow into the bow, curling two fingers around the feathered end and pulling the bowstring again taunt. Lips pursed in contemplation; 'twould be a difficult shot indeed. It took slightly longer for Lirithen to decide upon the exact angle and power of the shot, and even then he allowed a sliver of magic to slip from the bracer clamped tightly around his wrist for added leverage. A tiny speckle, forming the thinning of air wraps around the arrow's shaft, before this one was released as well. The rogue ranger's accuracy was, frankly, astounding, the berry sliced clean from it's stalk and allowed to fall, unscratched and unpierced, upon the forest floor beneath, much to a grinning Lirithen's delight.

Liana purses her lips as she watches him contemplate, the two rapidly forming into a thin line as she senses his use of the power. "You would think to cheat?" she asks, the question a test in and of itself although spoken in the same off-handed manner with which she had treated the bow. "Why use you magic in your shooting? Oh, this is yours." With the crooking of one finger, the squirrel comes sailing through the spaces between the trees towards the pair. Manipulated by air, the thing looks as though it is flying, an illusion added to by the fact that the substance which carries it onwards is invisible. The man's accuracy, she thinks as she slows its forward motion so that it bumps gently against the other elf's chest, iw great indeed, yet it does not show his prowess as a warrior. "Shoot me," she commands, and without a backward glance, is off. She darts among the trees, jumping, climbing, dropping from limbs to tuck, roll, fly to her feet and continue. Her agility was astounding, but Liana herself cheated, for flows of air bore most of her gravid weight, lending her a speed unmatched by elves with physical effort alone. To shoot her would be difficult if not impossible even were it not for the shields which, as always, cloak her body. She does not mention those, for she wishes not only to see if he can land a shot, but whether he will or not.

Lirithen's smile faded at the accusation, and a silver brow lofted in it's place. “You do not test our accuracy alone,” replied the ranger, “or, atleast, I would not think so. Using one skill to compliment another would...” His words faded, certain Liana would not appreciate him explaining how best to judge the testing, as he was sure she already had ideas of her own. “Shoot me,” she commanded, then darted away, leaving a surprised ranger to watch with her progress with flickering ears. Emerald gaze tracked her agile movements, calculations again running through his sharp mind. By working out where she is, and gauging momentum it was possible to figure out where she would be whence the arrow was fired... But there must be more to it than that, surely. Pupils darting from left to right as he followed the Lady's form, Lirithen reached behind him to acquire a third arrow. It mattered not what shape head it bore, for the head was to be removed. A tight clench of the elf's left fist released the catch on the mechanism within his second vambrace, releasing a six-inch, deadly sharp sliver of steel that protruded from his sleeve, and promptly the blade was swiped across the arrows shaft, severing the steel arrowhead from the wooden shaft, leaving but a blunt cylindrical end to the projectile. It took a moment for emerald sights to find the Archdruid again, but when they locked on her person they refused to waver, even as the feathered shaft was knocked readily into the longbow. It took a steady hand without the head to hold it in place, and a further few seconds to judge where best to fire, but the aim was deadly as ever. With the sharp end removed the worst the woman may suffer from the collision of the projectile would be a mere bruise... But then, she had her shields to prevent injury.

Liana lets out a shout of laughter as she ducks and dives through the trees, swinging from branch to branch with a glee she had not felt in months. She winks at him as she shoots past, then, as she sees him knock an arrow to string, a more serious mood takes her. The chase was on, and run she would. All energy is now put into avoiding the arrow which she knew was sure to come. As she drops from a tree branch, knees bent to take the fall and land lightly, the arrow strikes. It takes her low in the small of the back, and whilst it could not hurt her, the impact, the shock of it was enough that she cried out. Its momentum jars her fall somewhat, so that instead of landing on light feet, sha is forced to take a half-step and stumble in order to maintain her footing on the uneven forest floor. Turning and bending, she retrieves the arrow, allowing her shields to thin as she starts back towards him. "Good shooting," she says simply as she offers him the broken shaft. "Perhaps even impressive. Now, however, the true test, for this bow has its own task." Turning her back to him, she retrieves the bow from the tree limb where it had been left during the testing. She becomes very still then, her hand extended above the weapon, directly above its centre. Softly at first, but gradually increasing in volume, a low thrumming intrudes upon hearing. She allows it to build, the bow vibrating in time to the audible pulse. When it has reached a steady rhythm, she extends the bow. "Be sure you are ready for this test, warrior, for it is a grave one. I cannot tell you of its natur,e but once begun, there is no turning back. It will cause pain beyond your wildest imagining. That is all I must tell you. Fail and you lose something vital to you. Succeed and the bow may choose whether to accept you or not." Should he take the bow, the thrumming would extend rapidly to encase his body. One of the lesser known qualities of this legendary object was its testing methods, but the elf was about to find out how they manifested. Illusion was its guise; the picture of an elven village of an unknown enclave. It was under siege, its men desecrated, its women and children in the process of being slayed by... By Lirithen's own family. The man himself would feel pain from a myriad of wounds, its intensity severe, debilitating, almost blinding. Lirithen stood in the middle of the field panting for breath, drenched in sweat. It was obvious that he had been fighting, but upon which side? "Choose," the voice echoes in the vaults of his mind. "Choose either to aid your family and finish the village or help the survivers and kill your loved ones. Who is worthy of your aid? Only you may decide." The thrumming increases, the bow's insistance doing likewise. "Choose, choose, choose!"

Lirithen took the bow without hesitation, fully confident in his success thus far. A lazy smile habited thin lips as long fingers reached forward to curl around the weapon, when his mind bore the central focus of the psychic assault. His physical person stumbled backwards a few steps with the unexpected power of this hideous mind rape. In but an instant he was sodden with perspiration, lungs so full now empty of breath. Fires burned around him, elven homes set alight while their inhabitants cooked within. Wounded men were struck down mercilessly, the enclave's defenceless people scattered and dying. Fortis Animus demanded choice, and horrid pains shot through him, bleeding limbs and pierced muscle all flaring at the same time. Lirithen cried in horror, in agony as the bow barked the choice at him, ears straining under the boom of it's terrible tones. It can't be real, there was an underlying element, something he missed... “Athyaron!” called the ranger, forcing himself into a run in direction of the figure but a small distance away. Pale hair whipped about the man's head, forest green gaze staring dead into Lirithen's own. “What are you doing?!” roared the elf, noting gauntleted fingers clamped around the scruff of a child's neck. A grin, twisted, sadistic, became of the figure's lips, it's wrist flipping upwards in revelation of a thin knife. The child writhed and screamed, the gleaming silver blade travelling upwards to slice the helpless girl's throat... Blood splashed across the youngling's face, a strangled cry emanating from Athyaron himself as a single arrow thudded into the side of his neck. Lirithen stared blankly, fingers tingling from where the feathered shaft had been clamped but moments before. Without thought, without even a moments deliberation, his brother, slain for a child. It seemed fitting, somehow. The Order... Pious defence of the defenceless... The illusion swimmed before him, the picture dissolving into a colourful haze, and the elf was normal once more, simply staring grimly down upon the weapon he held now in the lightest clasp, and at full arm's length, as if wary of the thing and the unknown power it bore.

Liana watches the man sweat, shake, struggle with his inner turmoil gaze upon things she knew were there but which no other mortal could see. She steps back as he releases the arrow, guiding its flight so that it strikes nothing but air as it drains its forward motion by zipping through the trees. As his eyes clear, she positions herself so that when he lifts his gaze from the weapon, she is the first that thing that he will see. "You chose well," she says, the words very soft in respect of the personal, emotional pain he would no doubt feel at having to slay his own family. "Few could have done what you have just accomplished, and yet, you triumphed. you have earned the true right to carry Fortis Animis.2 She moves forward then, her hand coming to rest a few inches above the top of the elf's head. Her own eyes seek and hold his, her gaze very direct, incredibly clear. Keeping her gaze locked to his, she speaks a single word, and from her hand flows power. It descends, touching the man's skull, traversing through it. It was life, pure, raw, untwisted by design or purpose that she gives him. .As it spreads, it would leave him feeling light, buoyant, almost painfully revitalised. "This is my gift to you. For a time, not forever but for a time, this life will sustain you beyond all else. You will not become exhausted, you will not tire easily, your strength will be steady and not hampered by fatigue. Enjoy this, for it will last but one wane and wax of the lady moon. Go, and serve us well with the right you have gained for yourself. You are worthy." With no more said, she withdraws her hand, and then in a profound gesture of respect, bends her back to him. Raising, she utters her last speech. "May your shot be justified and may your arrow fly true."

Lirithen met the Lady's gaze steadily as her eyes hovered inches from his, arm slowly withdrawing to hold the fabled bow at his side. Emerald gaze held hers fast, though lids slid closed as the blissful energy wiped him clean of the trial's fatigue, cleansing his person. Liana's words were met with silence, and but a single nod, before the ranger made to turn from her person and stride from the clearing. A pause on the edge, rotating briefly about his heel. “My... Thanks, m'lady. I will send more of my fellows to meet you.” With that promise, he disappeared into the greenery.