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  1. -CRASH- The vial fell onto the floor. The contents fell upon his tongue like acid rain. Burning... Sour, acidic sludge. The elven lord clawed at his neck in panic as the druidic concoction invaded his senses. The wave of primal, nauseating euphoria of the mind and body took over with frightening potency. "MOUNTAIN!", he managed to stammer out in a shout, a final defiant word before his mind clouded with strange visions. Trees... so many trees. Far away in woods he recognized, a place he had been before. Visions tormented his mind with the memories of another, doing things he could not remember doing. By now he had blown through the door to his bedchambers and into the kitchen. His tall frame assaulted the walls of his house with the grace of a meatball tossed by a toddler. A desperate, careening Aerendyl scrambles to the door with a speed he himself did not know he could possess. He had to find them, he thought, as more memories pierced his mind. There was something foreign and yet completely urgent that consumed his soul. The elf was unable to stay still. -BOOM!- The hinges of the cabin's front door fly out into the lagoon. The rug shifts and takes flight from beneath his scrambling feet, tumbling far down the balcony and splashing into the pool. He didn't even bother to put his boots on as he sprinted past the tavern, up the stairs, and out of the mouth of the grotto. Aerendyl gulped lungfuls of air as his eyes frantically scanned the beach for the road. His vision was blurry and unsteady, but his feet seemed certain of his path. They took flight down the road, and far away from his home... The leaves had turned to gold, now. The dark forests surrounding the Vale bloomed with fiery hues, air brisk with chillier misty mornings. His pace had slowed tremendously, having pushed himself to near exhaustion. Deeper into the woodland realm he ventured, past trees and rocks he'd seen a hundred times. Aerendyl pondered what his wife might have thought of him, bumbling through the woods like a wild man, aimless and confused. He thought of his mother, who he had planned to visit so soon after her last visit. And for his children, his heart was heavy. It was then he saw it, the source of his heart's yearning. He'd seen these creatures ridden by the forest guard, silent and practiced in their hunting parties. Three massive wolves dart through the trees and past the druid, unbothered by his presence. Slowing to a gentle lope, the last beast, with a mane of shadows and eyes like fire peer back towards Aerendyl. They were like his own, yellow and seasoned with the trials of life, he thought. They looked back at him not with need nor disdain, without love nor anger. They were simply there... present and keen. Months passed... Wherever Aerendyl went, the shadowy beast followed. No words, not even in song or poem left the archdruid's lips. He did not need them with this creature, who had come to understand him so well. They hunted as one, relying on each other to ambush deer. When one would drink, so too would the other. In the hour of sleep, the other would keep watch. Months and months keep going in peace until... He snapped. It wasn't exactly clear what angered the other, or who was to blame... it didn't matter. Teeth flashed and tempted to tear into flesh. Neither committed to the challenge yet, but the strain of their growing competition in being became palpable. Each decision between them became more difficult. Each day he prepared for the next disagreement... He knew one day, it'd be their last. Praying to the Pack Lord, Aerendyl waited...
  2. ✧◉❂◉✧ The pink haired elfess had long since been feeling as though her own form was as foreign as the changing seas, that her mind was as barren and turbulent as a storm’s waves, but it wasn’t until that small gathering had formed within Pinemaw with unknown entities bearing flaming weapons did she realize how empty she felt. There was no reaction to the possible threat, no care nor investment into defending her home and her neighbors. It was only then that she became aware as to how cold she felt living among strangers and reduced to the mind numbing theatrics of the canonists. Near instantly, she realized that change wouldn’t come to her. She would need to go to it. It wasn't easy. Rarely had anything in her life ever been. She’d been born Deaf in a hearing world. No one understood. it was almost as though she’d been set up for eternal loneliness. She told none that she was leaving for there were none that she needed to tell. The only two that may truly have missed her likely wouldn’t realize she’d left until the time would come for her to return. Still, she left a note for one and resigned to thinking up some grand apology for the other. The Artisan Emporium was swiftly shut down, the gates slammed closed and the forge left unlit, gathering dust until her probable return. The house was left under the care of her two living dolls, for she knew they would keep the place up and running just fine during her absence. Then, knowing hearth and home would be cared for, did she set out. Left behind was the human-like title of ‘Lady Axilya’, abandoned was the job upon the council. Shoulders set, she moved forth, without any supplies other than two days worth of rations and the simple clothes on her back. No tools, no weapons, no companions. The elfess truly made to start from the very beginning to rekindle that lost connection, however weak, that she’d once had with her own sense of self. ✧◉❂◉✧ The freckle faced elfess, unable to truly return to where she’d been formed as a person, settled down in the forests of Elvenesse. A single cavern within a small glade, bloodied and riddled with long forgotten bones, became her new home. Once, long ago, she had found a grizzly to have taken home here, but by now, their children’s children would have long since passed. None would come looking for her here, not even Bolomormaa’s kids. A flitted thought of 'fitting' crossed her mind. On the first day, a thunderstorm left her sitting within that stench-filled cave, the scent of iron revitalized by the wash of rain. She drank from her only flask, emptying it, before leaving it to hang outside to gather the sky’s tears. She nibbled lightly on the dried meat she’d brought with her, barely touching it and instead leaving the rest for emergencies. The rest of the day was spent cleansing the walls of stone, for as much as her strength shouldn’t be wasted on such a first task, leaving her surroundings tainted would only bring back memories unwanted. And then the dark came. She didn’t like the dark. On the second day, her stomach groaned and rumbled, heard only by the surrounding woodlands. An hour was spent making a rough and wooden spear, forged only by the sharpest rock she could find upon the ground, before she turned towards the West. Following only her vague memory of the area towards the edges of the forest she found where the sea met the sands. The crude spear gave her struggles, offset only by the skills gathered from every-day fishing, allowing her a night’s worth of food. She returned to her cave then, a white-meated fish in hand, and spent the rest of the evening gathering wood and kindling, for as much as she hated the fire that had once melted her sights from her, the complete blackness that followed was worse. Piled up at the back of the cave she stored it all, dipping into her stock only when the dark started to take over. With a flick of her fingers, a click sounding in the air, and a Cerulean hue misting across her palm, a flame started, catching upon the sticks and logs gathered. Cheater. But the magic was a part of her and she’d come out here in an attempt to find herself. A meal was cooked and eaten, the rest of the night spent in total silence, flames entertaining her by casting dancing shadows upon the walls. The dark was chased away. By the fourth day, she had crafted a few baskets born of stiff fiber and wood, shoddy in work but sturdy enough to be used. She stored some berries in one, alabaster leaf and serpent’s stalk in another, and some fish she’d dried out the day prior in the last. She spent the night with a full stomach, the water flask left untouched due to the ripeness of the small, juicy orbs. On the fifth day, the berries came back with a vengeance and she spent the day plagued by hallucinations worse than those normally given to her by the spirits. She wished she hadn’t left Pinemaw. On the seventh day, the hallucinations finally left, returning to the normal tidbits that floated in and out of her vision. She was used to those. She could ignore those. What she couldn’t ignore was the dizziness that came from dehydration. The flask was emptied, the berries thrown out. She spent the rest of the night whittling a stone knife, clam shaped, with the rock she’d used to make the spear. By the end of the eighth day, the elfess had carved out a bowl from wood, her hands blistered in areas they once wouldn’t have been. On the ninth day, dizzy once more from dehydration, she set out to find a stream of fresh water, bowl in hand. When she returned, successful and ready to boil the water, her untended baskets had been raided and destroyed, muddied paw prints decorating the cave she called hers. Despite growing hungry that night, and an incident involving heated, exploding rocks, she wished none for water, the leftover liquid filling up her flask. On the fourteenth day, her arsenal of tools had expanded from a single clam shaped knife and wooden spear to an archaic set of bows and arrows, another three baskets now hung from mid level branches at the edge of the glade, and a few further bowls filled with cleansed water. On the fifteenth day, she let her hands heal and her feet rest. On the seventeenth day, she came face to face with a child of Morea. They parted ways without incident. On the eighteenth day, she found a small doe, hind leg torn half off and shredded into strips, hiding within a bramble of bushes. Despite the way it panicked at the first sight of her, exhaustion overtook it and the elfess found little resistance in her attempt at assisting the beast. She carried the doe back towards her cave, setting it down near the dwindling fire to keep it warm, and attempted to nurse it with her own supply of water. The doe responded well enough for a time and didn’t put up much of a fuss when the descendant made to take a look at its wounds, laying still when the elfess cleansed them and wrapped them with strips of her own clothing. She named the doe Riddlewart. On the nineteenth day, she tried to find some food for Riddlewart, avoiding the prior berries like the plague. In the end, the elfess tried to simply feed the doe some grass and twigs and leaves. The animal seemed to like it well enough. She spent the rest of the time stoking the fire and telling tales to the creature, reminiscing on memories long passed and people long since disappeared. She told the other how she’d learnt the meaning of family from her Maln, how she’d learnt the meaning of love from her partner, how she’d experienced heartache and motherhood and how everyone she ever knew had left or would leave. She spoke of those times she’d been kidnapped, her fears born of the torture given both by strangers and people she’d once thought loved her. She spoke of the dark and of the light and asked questions that she herself answered when the doe remained silent. She felt at peace for the first time in a long time. On the twentieth day, the elfess coaxed Riddlewart out into the sunlight, and there the doe blinked up and towards the sky, alert and calm despite its wounds. She brought the beast down towards the waters, carrying it with gentle hands, and set it within the smoothest part of the river where they both submerged. Soothingly, the elfess assisted the doe with attempting to move the injured leg, slow and eased to simply keep the limb working. The Mali kept the creature afloat, setting its head on her shoulder for extra support, and there they stayed for the better part of the day, relaxing and allowing the water to ebb away aches and pains. When they returned to the cave that night, they had both been exhausted. The elfess fell asleep soon after drying the doe off and ensuring it had taken up residence in the comfiest part of the cavern. On the twenty-first morning, she awoke to find Riddlewart still and unresponsive. The elfess weeped. Hours later, when her tears had dried and the first of flies began to find the carcass, she brought the doe’s form into the forest and buried it beneath a large pine tree as if guided by Cerridwen’s hands herself, where its body would feed the dirt and the dirt would feed the grass and the grass would feed more deer and the deer would feed the wolves. This was what her Maln had tried to teach her of. This was what the balance brought. Life and death and more life. The elfess had been privy to the process and, despite her interference, it had gone on as it had meant to. The natural form of life. This was what was meant to be preserved and respected. On the forty-fifth day, the rains started to drain from the sky. . . ✧◉❂◉✧ It took three days for the rains to finally stop, and by then, her cave within the small glade was half drowned, flooded with ankle deep water. When she stepped outside, without the risk of being pelted by bullet-like drops, privy was she to the sight of her painstakingly weaved baskets shredded to bits, torn down from their heights upon the trees. It seemed animals weren’t her only concern within these woods. Sloshing back into her cave, the elfess retrieved what little had survived before setting out to start from near the beginning once more. Tucked within her half ruined belt sat her homemade knife and beside it her five arrows bearing stone heads. Strung over her shoulder rested her weak attempt at a bow and in her hands she carried that bowl for water. As she stepped outwards that cave, she gathered up the only pieces of smoked and soggied strips of fish meat she could find floating about the area. Set over a fire near a week ago, they’d last her in an emergency, though if all went to plan, she would be able to feed them to the soil or some small predator after finding a more suitable substance for sustenance. Onwards she went, searching firstly for the river she’d so often gathered from, and from there, the elfess would be able to follow the water upstream to higher ground and wait for the floods to subside. A far fetched idea, but she had no other plan. She needed new food and water, and she would not find that in her ruined cave. It didn’t take long before her feet were near black from muck, as if she’d been wearing ankle high socks, and the closer she trekked towards running water, the harder it got to walk. Against instinct and all better judgment, the elfess continued forth, struggling her way through glop, brambles, and felled branches, until motion came forth into her vision. With a heaving breath, swiping at her sweaty brow with the back of her hand, she paused, taking note of how high the river had risen. No more were the carved out edges of a well worn waterway. Instead, cascading through the woodlands, was a rush of browned liquid, carrying fallen trees and great amounts of debris as it surged past. The Mali’s ear flicked lightly, a habit she’d attained over the past decades, as she peered on with a pinched expression. Lips thinned, she pressed forth, turned upwards to continue her path across the woodlands. The smell of the ground beneath was activated with each ascended step, hiding the sharp rock and broken boughs that stabbed at the soles of her feet. She didn’t seem to care much, for if there was no blood, then there was no need to. Onwards she went, each footfall as laborious as the last, the sucking sound of entrapping mud glopping around the air left in the wake of every footprint canceled out by the rush of waters it emitted next to. Her gaze shifted up, just a brief moment of respite within that arduous climb to peer upon a much calmer scene. There above was the sight of cleared skies, so somberly missed the past handful of days, speckled with the strongest of greenery that hadn’t faltered during the raging storm. Down was cast arbitrary shadows of which the sunlight peeked through, the forest ground illuminated with- -laid upon the ground, hacking up that dirtied river water. With a wheezed gasp, the elfess remained flopped into the mud at the edge of the waterway, eyes unfocused and brow creased in confusion. A sharp sting drew her attention and her throbbing head lofted, as did her hand, to grasp at the side of her ribs before a sharp wince drew forth from her features. Seeping through the muck that now covered her entire figure was a rivlet of crimson, the rest feeling bruised and battered. Shit. She must have lost her footing and fallen in, or perhaps the ground had given out. The elfess squeezed her eyes shut and let out a hiss through her teeth before she shifted into a seated position, careful, slow, and cautious as the pain in her side increased. Her free hand lofted, making to cradle her brow as her vision swam, and when her eyes opened once more, the slightest of movement caught her attention. A flash of fur darted out of sight from across the river. A rabbit, perhaps, for it had certainly been small enough. But then it was gone, just as quick as it had arrived. Her sights drifted thereafter, the image produced slightly blurred, and took note of the unfamiliar territory and her current situation. Downstream. She was downstream, without her tools, and bore an undetermined severity of wounds. The elfess shifted to her feet and the movements forced her pained expression to crumple further upon her countenance. Heavily, she leant up against the nearest tree, the touch of it’s rough bark doing nothing to soothe her surface level aches. She bent over, seeking to catch her breath as she pressed her palm into her side, and it took her a long moment before her chest rose and fell with some sort of rhythm. She watched, dazed, as brown water fell from dulled strands of hair hung beside her face. Long since had the Alabaster and beetroot dye faded, leaving her natural gingered brown to break through. Idly, she noted that both a dye job and a haircut were long overdue. Her head lifted once more, though the weak gaze sharpened as her form froze, chest stilling with baited breath. There before her stood Morea’s child, stood the wolf that she had crossed paths with when she’d begun the whole experience. Her gaze met the creature’s own and piercing dark eyes seemed to shoot straight into her soul. Immediately, she casted her sights downwards, for she was in no shape to risk challenging the beast. The Mali knew, then, that she must have landed somewhere within its territory, and should it wish it, she would become its evening snack. Her head dipped, submissive, in an attempt to show it that she was no threat, and watched from the corners of her eyes as the wolf stepped closer, head poised high. Graceful and elegant was the canine, near feline-like with its steps and ashen form rippled with power. Confident if an animal ever was so, it stopped just before her, and for a brief moment, the elfess feared the wolf would go straight for her neck. Its gentle breathing brushed against her cheek, and holy shit, she forgot how large wolves were. That darkened snout dipped and paused at the scent beneath her hand, as if the waft of blood had called to it. After a moment of inspection, however, the beast turned and gently nipped at the cloth on her hip. The Mali casted her gaze downwards and when she saw what the beast was nudging at, a simple understanding crossed her features. Slowly, at the risk of her own hand, she slipped her fingers into the pocket that brushed against the canine’s nose and grappled out the smoked fish she’d absentmindedly grabbed back at the cave. The wolf stepped back as her hand had withdrawn, though its form was lined only with an expectancy as it watched her movements. Painfully, the elfess crouched down upon the mucked forest floor and set the meat before her, stilling thereafter once more. The large creature eyed the offering, though interested, returned to its spot nearest the elfess. Its snout lowered, brushing against the food on the ground, and its nose roamed the surface of the meat in exploration. Carefully, as if dealing with a pup, the wolf opened its maw and took the piece of meat into its mouth before it simply… turned and shifted to trot off, away from the river. It stopped then, meters away, before it swiveled back towards the elfess, staring her down. She briefly met its gaze once more, moss-colored orbs settling on amber, before it returned towards its path and disappeared into the woods. The elfess slumped once the canine was out of sight, a heavy breath escaping her form as a look of disbelief crossed her features. Her head thumped back against the tree she leaned against, eyes finally allowed to close for just the sparsest of moments as the encounter replayed in her head. She’d faced many a creature before, but never had she been without a way to defend herself against them, never had she been so… vulnerable to a child of the Mani. It was unsettling. And it was also thrilling. She wasn’t sure how to feel about the emotions raging through her, so instead, the elfess settled on the relief that cast itself upon her shoulders. Once more she straightened, and though the wound in her side pulled with a horrid throb, she seemed reinvigorated. One foot placed itself in front of the other and, with a new drive, the elfess set out to return to her task at hand, adding the need for medical supplies to the list of necessities. On the Forty-ninth day, the elfess reached the start of the river - a pond deep enough to submerge in - and settled down at the highest point nearest it, under the largest pine. ✧◉❂◉✧ On the fiftieth day, the elfess had started to renew her stock of clean water by placing heated rocks into the gathered rainwater that had sat in the hollow of a felled tree’s separated trunk. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. She tried to clean her wound first and drank second. That night, she came down with a fever. On the fifty-fifth morning, her fever broke and any infection that had set into her wound was staved off by her own immune system and habitual cleanings. She spent the day curled in on herself nonetheless, for her stomach had long since grown hungry. On the fifty-sixth day, her hallucinations born of eyes gifted by the spirits raged at her prone form. She found the strength to begin resource stocking due to the sheer need to distract herself from the ghosts of her past. It was slow going. On the seventy-third day, the elfess had finished crafting a proper shelter and her stock of supplies had grown immensely. On the eightieth day, during a hunt for small game, the elfess stumbled across a den. Out came Morea’s child and, with a respective distance, the Mali observed it. It didn’t attack her, so she assumed it didn’t mind. Throughout the little time she risked being there, three other pack members had shown and interacted with the beast. When the elfess felt close to overstaying her welcome, she left the game she’d collected for the pack to feast upon out of a sense of gratefulness. On the eighty-third night, she went for a midnight swim. Within that pond she floated upon her back and stared up at the stars above. The figure of some sort of raptor not yet nesting glided above, its moon-backed silhouette casting a shadow upon the forest below. The elfess cried beneath the darkened skies. On the ninetieth day, the elfess entertained herself by drawing upon stones with globs of mud from the banks of the pond. Figures danced over their surfaces, telling stories of her loved ones long since passed and those few that remained in the present. When she’d finished, she decided that she should make a career of finger-painting. On the one hundredth day, a butterfly landed on her nose. She went cross-eyed trying to watch it. They spent a half hour together and in that time, the Mali moved not a single muscle. She became the embodiment of a flower for the little insect’s calm rest. On the one hundred twelfth morning, the elfess deconstructed her shelter before making the trek back down towards her original cave. The move was long overdue. That night, she was unaware of the large elk that had walked past the cave’s entrance. She’d been sleeping. ✧◉❂◉✧ On the one hundred fifteenth morning, the elfess got up to stand at the cave’s entrance and breathed in the glade’s fresh air. There, she found herself to be at peace; not with her past, nor many aspects of her present, but with what she’d learned, lived, and accomplished out in the forests on her own. She had left to reignite that connection with the balance, and though she knew not if she had accomplished it, she felt comfortable enough to continue her pursuit of it. That day, for the first time in many years, her shoulders bore no tense lining to the way they held themselves, her back entertained no slouch, and her expression contained no subtle lines of stress or unease. Out she stepped into the early streams of light, basking in the way they warmed her countenance. Beneath her feet, settled between her toes, was the tickle of grass just kissed by morning dew. Scattered over the area was a flourish of flowers, a rainbow of color once taken by heavy rainfall now returned. Trailing at the edges of tree line grazed two brown rabbits and above them a red squirrel skittered. Her gaze turned upwards and she watched a sparrow glide carelessly through the air before disappearing into the foliage. Life was in abundance here, so chaotic and yet just as powerfully calm. The Mali moved forth, going about her morning routine of washing up, drinking, and eating. When she’d finished, she shifted to return the basket filled with the next few days’ worth of food to its place in the trees, though a mass out of the corner of her eye stopped her movements before she'd made it halfway to her destination. Slowly, she turned to peer over at whatever being had found itself at the edges of the glade before her ear flicked in clear surprise. Morea’s child stared her down, amber gaze flashing within the shadows cast by the bushels of leaves above, and the elfess, stood within the center of the sunlit clearing, stared back. After a moment, her head dipped lightly out of both respect and acknowledgment, and when she looked back up, the creature was gone. The elfess subtly smiled, the corners of her lips tugging upwards at the prompting of a gentle twitch. It was time to go home. ✧◉❂◉✧
  3. Welcome, to LordCrowe's: Extremely Cliche Character Theme Music Thread Featuring: Ambient Character Themes Character Battle Themes Other Incredibly Unnecessary Character Music General Stupidity I shall begin: Hendrick Mengelestein - ISA Soldier and general pragmatist General Character Theme: Ambient Character Theme (What you hear when talking to Hendrick): Battle Music!: Battle VS Undead Or Supernatural
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