Along Came a Sith
Log Info
- Title: Along came a Sith
- Emitter: Faranmidahn
- Characters: Cryosanthia, Faranmidan
- Place: PrP Room: One - Stables
- Time: Friday, May 01, 2020, 7:00 PM
- Summary: In the stables, Faran is weaving a web. Cryosanthia has sought her out. The lucht is in terrible shape, not eating, not washing, not even aware of her surroundings. The sith tries to draw her out of it, then simple takes hold of her and surrounds her, and tries her best to console her sister. Faran reveals she received her mother's arm in a box sent by Salina. There is nothing Cryo can say that will help this, beyond, "I'm here.". With her memories intact, this act is easy enough for the sith to believe and also lost in the near endless sea of tragedy that woman has inflicted. All Cryo can do is promise that will stop her, and pack up everything belonging to Faran and take it with her. The new base of operations will be Mithralla Merchandise, and Faran will be safe there.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* Stables *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
A local stables available for rent. The only place that will allow giant spiders.
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cryosanthia 6'9" 267 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. Faranmidahn 3'3" 35 Lb Halfling Female Albino Lucht woman in black leather armor with a BIG spider -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
It's early evening, a stable not overly far from the Purple Rose chapterhouse finds it's coffers full, but it's boarding all but empty of late. There's a certain, ominous stillness about the place for the most part. a silence except for the occaisional sound of tiny tools being swapped out from the floor, of a feeble, whispered murmur. A torch, much like the expended corpses of seven more scattered on the floor around it, is wedged into a sconce overlooking a shaggy, haystack of ivory. Her knightly armor, as well as a more humble, older second set in her size lay nearby, as do her array of weapons. A hand, her right, extends forward, threading a twisted silken cord amongst the wiven strands of another, anchoring it to the strand before carrying on to yet another in what looks like it will be a large spider's web which Zephyr is currently exploring from the upper corner, while Torrent is resting in a stall with what looks like the hide of a pig. There is the smell of personal negligence wafting from the little sorceress, though the arachnids look well taken care of.
There is a knock, a door opening and a cool draft fills the space, disturbing the woven strands. A step, a cautious voice, "Faran...? Are you here?"
It's Cryosanthia, looming tall and white even in the torchlight. There is something about her, something different and not immediately obvious. She sniffs, inhaling Faran's scent, sure it's her now and detecting the personal neglect. She waits for acknowledgement, tail still behind her.
Faranmidahn continues her weaving, murmuring softly under her breath as she angles the strand off at an angle when the breeze rustles her work. A distracted, almost hollow, "Leave it by the door." is the response, where several plates of food have led several rodents to an apparant white, fluffy doom.
"Oh," Cryosanthia looks at the plates of food, and the dead rodents. These are not appealing, they shouldn't be. Her gaze lingers and she looks at Faran once more, how the lucht rests in the hide stall. She breathes quietly, watching, staring.
Faranmidahn is forced to stand, which she does, albeit unsteadily to work the thread to the end of the web, her right knee shaking the worse of the two. Torrent starts to rise to his feet, while Zephyr moves out of Faran's way to watch from her high-left. Of note, the traveller's knife is strapped to her bare thigh, though it's the only weapon so visible on her person. The rest of her weapons lay close at hand, along with several, similar others, though one blade seems closer to a greatsword by her measures, the furniture quite different.
The white sith watches as the lucht stands. She looks briefly at Zephyr, then Torrent. She meets their eyes, she can tell they're concerned. The weapons are inventoried, especially the larger blade. Her breathing is slow and deep. She's been asked to wait at the door. She decides not to.
"Faran..." Cryosanthia sweeps forward, closer to the lucht, "Faran, what's wrong? You haven't eaten, you smell very wrong and strongly. I'm worried."
'By the'"bleep"'Door!' comes her hoarse yell and she whirls with wild eyes, starting to pull her knife free when her legs give out on her and she, instead, spins wiltingly to the floor, the weapon bouncing away from her hands. Both arachnids move closer to their mistress, now, who is trying to get enough strength together to get up off the floor again. <unknown>
Cryosanthia doesn't flinch when Faran spins around, nor when she goes for the knife. When she falls though, the sith moves forward, dropping down to her hands, stretching her neck out and crawling ferally towards her. She notes the spiders, mostly the location of Zephyr, as she wants to keep track of her and avoid squishing her at all times. Torrent, she simply recognizes his location. If they attack, if Faran attacks, it seems like the sith will let it land.
"Faran, it's me. Cryo." A Cryo that looks like a tall white tower, a Cryo that comes with frost, like her. A Cryo that seems to be made of frozen stone, even if her voice is soft, caring. A Cryosanthia that is winter.
Faranmidahn manages to get herself to her knees and looks up toward her tresspasser, the cold raising gooseflesh on her skin an her forefingers extended into the start of her attack invocation. Something like sanity, waving frantically from behind the storm in her eyes, manages to stay her hand as a spark of brilliant white manifests before them and she suddenly stops, hand going slack as the spell fizzles.
GAME: Faranmidahn casts Magic Missile. Caster Level: 5 DC: 15
"Faran, it's safe, it's me." Cryosanthia reaches out towards the lucht. She didn't flinch, at most her chest muscles tightened anticipating the spell. What's more pain. Her white gloved hand reaches for her shoulder, to pull her in as she slips closer to sit on the ground, take Faran into her lap. Her wizardly robes adjust to the deep fluffy version she had out in the desolation. Soft, enveloping.
"Faran. Something has happened, tell me. I haven't seen you for days. You're..." She looks around at the woven web, the spiders, "... making a coccoon? Let me in."
Faranmidahn at first, is still resistant to the draw, but she doesn't have a lot of strength left to her and her struggles abate to resignation in short order. "...arm..." she whispers, "...s-she... her arm...." Her eyes close and, "Your mistress... sent me mother's arm."
And there's that feeling stabbing straight into the soul. The consequence of her Mistresse's handwork. A pain unimaginable, yet which must be endured. Cryosanthia can see how it's torn into her friend, completely eviscerated her. It drags at the sith as well, she feels it ripping in like claws, or an arctic wind, but her emotions hold. Her friend needs her, her friends need her. She doesn't crumble as easily anymore.
Cryo hugs tightly around Faran, surrounding and shielding her. Her velvet robes a barrier to the world. The sith vibrates a low, quiet thrum, a calming noise which might or not. She searches for some sort of words that will help, but those elude her. Finally what comes is not much consolation, "She would. Faran... oh Faran. I'm sorry."
Faranmidahn barely does anything more interesting than breathe for a few heartbeats, as Torrent draws up nearby and Zephyr starts to scramble up on the sith's robes. It's about as the tiny one gets up to Cryo's arm that the Lucht finally speaks, "... I'm tired..."
The whitescale can wait, as long as the lucht needs. She draws up her knees, her tail, wraps around her arms, lays her head over Faran's. She is surrounded as much as possible in a ball of fluff that contains a durable lizard. "Sleep Faran, I'll protect you. I can't change what has happened. I am going to stop it happening. Just rest."
She exhales cooly, leans her head over towards Zephyr in case she wants to climb on, and gazes up at Torrent. If she could communicate telepathically she'd be saying, 'hold me holding her', or 'climb on'. The giant spider is invited into the ball. "I'm here Faran, I'm here. Cry, hit me, yell, it's ok. Feel it all."
The lucht lets her eyelids droop some, "I... don't.... I don't blame you, sssisssterr...." Her fatigue finally seems to win out and Faran, perhaps for the first time in days, is out cold. Zephyr climbs onto the sith's snout and moves up to hunker down between her horns, while Torrent, by far, a much simpler creature, does naught more than stand by and watch with that alien impassiveness.
Cryosanthia holds Faran and thrums quietly. She has all the time in the world, so she holds the little lucht and provides what comfort she can. Her toes curls, gripping the ground and she rocks a little so sitting on her tail is something she can do for a while.
"Spring will come. Winter will be finished." The sith is careful with Zephyr on her head, gently undulating her head up and down, keeping up her soft throat noises, helping Faran sleep. She gazes around at the room, at what she'll pack up. She's not leaving Faran here, with the rats and rotting food.
The lucht's pack is here, as well as the pack of her parents' personal effects. Torrent's barding and tac, a sling, two longswords, one Faran's, the other slightly heavier with a shorter blade, and a round rose pommel, tempered to a dark blue-violet, the hilt wrapping well worn. Similarly, the another traveller's knife, though this one is more humble and worn than hers. Her shortbow and arrows, her lance, and a really battered looking little stitched leather ball, the one she beaned Kol with. The last, that perhaps halfling greatsword, is steel of a bright blue temper, with quillion tips and pommel all like the dark blue-violet rose of the other longsword. Some clothes that could stand cleaning, weaving tools, and the web, itself.
Cryosanthia looks over the inventory, the clue's to her sister's life. Some things she recognizes easily, like her pack, Torrent's barding and saddle. The blades, the similarities in the longswords as well as their differences keep her attention for a while. The things that belong to Faran's parents' she recognizes from helping retrieve them from the Everstorm research camp, but they are unfamiliar. That Lance. The traveller's knives get a long curious look. The sith really should pick up one of those. She recognizes the kickball and can smell the clothes from where she is sitting. The halfling greatsword probably has an interesting story behind it as well, and the sith doesn't remember seeing it before.
Of course, she's got a lot to remember. She rubs her chin against Faran's sleeping head, still humming her hatchling song, and asks the spiders, "Oh what have you seen. Do you understand at all? You must, somehow. How does the web help. Why Mistress, Why. You have left us no choice, you will be ended. Your family will not have suffered in vain Faran. I promise."
At once... from between the she sith's horns, a soft voiceless rumble from the little fascinator, while the onyx mount is stone and silence. The silent lucht is not so indefinately, in time, she murmurs and fidgets slightly or sounds the occaisional whimper.
"A web for you Zephyr? Teaching her to keep her mind off things. That's good." Cryosanthia hums, speaking her words towards Torrent, but Zephyr will hear, feel it through her feet and the sith's skull. "I'm here, Faran. I'm here."
She wants to say it's ok, but it's not. Even that simple assurance is stolen. Her mother's arm. Her Mistress' experiments come easily to mind, and with them the pain of knowing her friend's mother was subjected to them. It's not forgiveable. She's not even sure if it's worse to hope she still lives, or that there is a possibility she could be brought back. The same hestiation she felt with Menel; if she lets that flower grow it will be crushed. She can't offer that fragile possibility to Faran, right now. Perhaps in time.
When she hears the lucht whimper, Cryo hugs her tighter, "I'm here. I'm here." Hopefully it will be something if it's not enough.
The whimpering from the little sorceress is sporadic, occaisonally spiced with murmurs, like ,"blrgl blah", or "bleep sandy sandy" The little spider, hearing her name, rises to her feet and drifts forward along Cryo's snout to the tip before turning around to face her. Then... a soft, mournful whimper of, "blrgl" <unknown>
Cryo's eyes do something they don't usually do, and cross so she can look at Zephyr. She's careful with the little coconut spider on the end of her snout. She looks something like a pom-pom or a snowball. The sith grins, then turns her attention to Faran as she hears her painful murmurs, "I need you to help her feel better Zephyr, trap all the bad thoughts in her mind, drain them dry. Can you do that? I'll keep her safe."
"Big sister is here. Nothing will get past me. You're safe, as long as you need to rest."
She doesn't understand the lucht's words, but can feel the anguish in them.
Faranmidahn's familiar looks steadily at Cryosanthia, unable to articulate her thoughts, such as they are, in response to the Mistress' big sister. She understands the Mistress is loved by this one, and is loved by her in turn, much like the spider, herself, and for now, that will do. She pivots to regard the web, then back to the crossed eyes. A soft purr, that breaks off just before the whimpers begin anew. A fuzzy foreleg lifts and gently paws at the sith's snout.
"A web for the bad thoughts. Good idea. I'll bring it, all her things." Cryo is careful not to nod, not with Zephyr on the end of her snout. Instead she inventories the room from where she sits, deciding what can fit in what. She'll load some on Torrent, can carry a lot of the weapons and packs herself.
She'll leave the food to the rat corpses, but she'll find everything of Faran's in here. She decides her approach while she comforts the lucht. No need to rush, she can plan it then it will go smoothly.
Faranmidahn does eventually have dreams turned more pleasant, or falls further into a more dreamless state. In either case, the whimpers and cries eventually stop, allowing Cryo what peace she can find. Zephyr now returns to her original place atop Cryo's skull.
Very gently the sith uncoils and stands. She transfers Faran to Torrents back, positioning her securely on the giant spider. Then, she starts finding all the things, what she could see from where she was sitting, and anything else that might have been hidden. She looks around the stalls for things that might have rolled away. Sometimes she scents things out. Faran and her equipment at least, have a distinct enough scent compared to the stables. She is careful to get the web and all the things that were used to weave it. Even the pigskin bed is packed up.
Torrent bears the Lucht's weight easily enough, but, aside from turning slightly to watch what transpires, he doesn't make any real reaction to the proceedings. Zephyr's appreciation for the sith's consideration is returned with the renewal of her purr. Most of her weapons have places amongst her weapon belts, save her knife which was... er, discarded earlier. The others don't smell much like her, though the owner's scent was definately of her ilk; though muskier, definately her father.
Cryosanthia is careful to find everything and leave behind the finished and unfinished meals. She gathers up all the weapons, checks carefully and once she's sure she's found everything and either tied it to Torrent or put it in some packs, she puts on the packs. "We're going to go stay with Mikilos. He's made a room for me, shielded so it can't be scry'd. There are reasons, you'll be safe."
The sith is telling the spiders and the sleeping lucht. Maybe they'll understand. If not, it's still a voiced intention she will follow through on. She carefully leads Torrent out, making sure Faran rides gently on his back.
The somewhat bizarre train draws a few eyes, as the elegant while sith with the little fuzzy fascinator leads the glossy jet arachnid bearing the unwashed and fluffy lucht on it's back. There is a certain undercurrent of concern, though no one seems sufficiently motivated to risk any trouble. Faran, still silently slumbering, may have slept so on the spider much before, and the ride is soothing enough to keep her under...
Safe with her friends....
Safe from the dreams...
Safe from.... zzzzzzzzz
