Estretics

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”

((How do you respond?))

Stumbling lightly into the dimly illuminated tent, Cyrvane's doe eyes dance along the floating candlelight, before settling on the frail woman in the back of the tent. Lowering the worn garment she had wrapped around the lower half of her face and neck, letting the root covered front hang loosely. As the woman stepped into the depth of the tent, light crossed her soft features, the mark of a partially obscured ilmyumier, which was almost scaly in its markings. With a delicate sigh she parted her lips, kneeling down to sit herself down with a light bow of her head. "I- am not sure why I am expected, in a place like this, though The Aenguls guide me." She'd pause, a purse placed upon her lips as she eyed the woman opposite her, in a way, the mysterious figure reminded her of her own family, it filled her with an odd sense of ease as her voice spoke once more in a soft, albeit nervous. "I. . . am Cyrvane Ael'hir, A healer of sorts, as my name prior mentions. A healer of beasts, animal, and any other unfortunate enough to be brought harm. . . At the hands of those who defy Cerridwen and Cernunnos. Those who reap but do not return to the earth." Such a triumphant resolve in the gentle young wood elf. Her eyes dropping the the floor before the woman. Once more she paused, drawing in a deep breath of the stagnant swamps air. her hand rose to the cloth wrap around her neck, lowering it to fully expose the ilmyumier she carried, like a scar along her throat, Siss'siru's Grip. "I once strayed. . .I fell- I sought the refuge of man, deep behind stone walls. Hardship at the hands of war left me weak, I believed that nature had turned it's back upon us, and as I result I harmed those who spoke on their behalf" She fell silent, it had been so long since her story had been told, in truth, it had been forever since she had returned to the woodland, living solitarily for fear of ridicule for the markings she earned. Gathering her breath again she leaned forwards slightly, the mossy coat along her shoulders shifting, like a fruitful branch in a spring breeze. "It was I who turned my back on the Aengul, I strayed from The Path, and now I come here. To return to nature what it once was, and protect all who have not the voice of man with my life." Finally Cyrvane would remove the cloth entirely, it was not fitting for her to cover her ilmyumier, she had been given a second chance, and she must honor that chance openly. Instead, she opted to tie the cloth to the rucksack along her back, one which carried a woven bedroll, a shortbow, and even had some plants, dangling upside from twine, presumably to dry them. It was evident Cyrvane spent much time wandering the woods, as her nomadic people once did, only now she did so alone. Perhaps her journey leading to this tent of all places, would be the beginning of new awakenings, purpose beyond that of a wandering healer.