A Dedicant's Task

[Giga 357]

 

As the sun slips below the Arcas horizon, casting a shadow over the descendants’ domain, a hooded figure sits silently atop the branch of an oak tree. Clasped in one hand is a simple bow, the other, a quiver of arrows. The figure’s gaze is cast out over the deadly still lake that lays before them, the moonlit sky a perfect reflection upon the water.

 

After several minutes, the figure reaches down into the depths of their cloak, producing a small bound book. They flick through to the latest entry, skimming over its contents and re-checking the task they had been set. As they read, the figure’s gaze suddenly snaps to a point a few dozen metres further along the bank where a movement had caught their eye. 

 

A doe emerges gracefully from amidst the dense forest, pausing for a moment as it checks it is alone, before striding down to the water’s edge. With one elegant motion, it dips its head and begins to drink.

 

The hooded figure bestows the book back within the folds of their cloak, before dropping silently to the ground behind the tree. With long graceful strides they move from tree to tree, from bush to bush, all the while keeping a close eye on their target. Finally settling upon the root of a large tree, the figure pulls their hood back, auburn curls cascading out as the Dedicant Evelyn sets her quiver down, sliding out an arrow and nocking it slowly.

 

 

 

She takes a moment to compose herself before raising her bow, drawing back and releasing the arrow. It soars towards the doe, though it is caught by the breeze and nicks the deer’s left ear as it pierces the stillness of the lake. 

 

“No!” Evelyn groans to herself as the doe bolts down the shore of the lake, disappearing into the dark reaches of the forest. With a sigh, she retrieves her quiver and hops down from the root. The Dedicant sidles over to the water’s edge, gazing up at the moon before looking down at her reflection in the idle lake, pondering her evident failure. She had been too hasty. 

 

“Patience…” She mutters to herself, her mind casting back to what the Owl Druid had told her days before. With a soft exhalation, Evelyn looks down to where the doe had previously stood. The sea of grey pebbles was broken by one tainted by a small patch of red; her arrow wound had caused blood to drip upon the beach.

 

With a renewed determination the Dedicant crouches to inspect the pebble, pocketing it and heading towards where the deer had disappeared. Before the treeline, Evelyn spots another pebble, similarly splattered with a hint of blood; she now has a trail to follow.

 

The Mali’ame makes her way through the dense forest, pursuing the trail of crimson splatters. Before long she comes across a river, a gnarled log seeming to be her only way across. She slings her bow and quiver over her back, before taking a deep breath and stepping onto the log, which creaks unnervingly. The Dedicant takes a few steps forwards, causing the log to shiver and crack. She closes her eyes and slows her breathing. “Patience...patience…” she murmurs.

 

Evelyn lowers her stance slightly, reopening her eyes and taking a slow, measured step forwards. As soon as her foot touches the log, it emits a loud snap as it breaks in two, plunging her into the icy cold water.

 

 

The current is strong, pulling her under and carrying her along at an alarming rate. The elf flails around, trying to find something to grab onto to slow her advance along the river. After what feels like an eternity, her hand finally finds a root and she tightens her grip around it. With several, painful movements, the Dedicant heaves herself up the root and onto the bank, where she coughs and splutters, laying on her back.

 

After coming back to her senses, Evelyn pushes herself up into a sitting position. She starts to shiver, not just from the icy water but also because her cloak seems to have been torn away in the journey down the river. Luckily her bow seems intact, though only one arrow seems to have survived the trip. As she stands and looks around, the elf realises that she is in a small valley, which aside from a few trees is devoid of much else.

 

 

Suddenly, some movement catches her eye further down the river and that’s when she sees it; the same doe from the lake, drinking from the same water that had carried Evelyn to this spot. “The Aspects work in strange ways…” she whispers to herself, moving slowing behind the tree and removing the bow from her back. With considered movements, the Dedicant retrieves her one remaining arrow, carefully nocking it and applying a little tension to the string.

 

She slows her breathing as she brings the bow around the side of the tree, gently bringing it to tension. One of her eyelids slides down to hide a single emerald orb, the other’s gaze focussing along the arrow at the doe. The elf does not rush this time, the words of the one who set her this task reverberating in her mind. “Patience…” she whispers to herself. A quick glance to the branches above show the leaves blowing to the left in the breeze. This time she adjusts her aim to account for this. And with that, she releases the arrow. This time it curves with the breeze and strikes the doe where she intended.

 

As it falls, the Dedicant approaches, drawing a small dagger from her hip. Upon reaching the deer, Evelyn lowers to a crouch, running a gentle hand along its neck before sharply sliding the blade into the creature, bringing its life to an abrupt end. A soft exhale emits from the Mali’ame as she retrieves the small book from within her dress. It is still wet from the river but the pages are thick, and although some of the charcoal has run, the outline of her task is still legible. After consulting the Owl Druid’s request, she re-bestows the book, setting to work on the doe.

 

After a good hour or two, Evelyn sits back against the tree, having just washed her hands in the hissing river. She looks down to the bag beside her, its contents neatly packed, before turning her attention to what had taken most of her time: the wind chime made of bones. A small smile crosses the tired elf’s face as she re-reads the words inscribed across the bones, and then she sets it inside the bag with the other pieces. Using the tree as support, the Dedicant stands, slinging the bag over her shoulder and setting off towards the grove to deliver her task.

 

‘Haste leads to missing the mark.

Targets are met with patience’

 

[NotEvilAtAll 10906]

Pervinca Driftwood wonders where the local forest doe has gone “Darned thin’ kep’ ea’in’ me petunias! Good thin’ ‘t ‘as ran off tar greener pas’ures!” She’d say to herself.

 

((quality RP post, enjoy my rep))