A New Face

W03: Druid Grove

It's Tariday, Eatonis 06 17:07:24 1020. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and ebbing. Fair weather clouds sail across the blue sky, propelled by light breezes from the west. It's warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the air is clear and dry.

---

A day where one can feel the warmth of the sun is a good day. Those in the grove have used it to get things done, and now that things are winding down for the day, people start to congregate near the fire. A new face, a Gnome woman with a shock of orange hair, unpacks a few things from the bags on her mount, a giant stag beetle.

Gregor is an irregular here. He's known, but he doesn't stop by super often. He's a bit too stiff for some of the druids, but he's a decent enough hunter and respects the wilds well enough. It's more of a professional respect than a moral imperative, but they wind up with the same result: a trio of small rabbits for the stew.

The sacred precincts of this grove are welcoming to many, and a living example of the harmony that the Green encourages among beasts, vegetation, and the intelligent races for together they all are part of Ea. There have been those, however, who for twisted reasons seek the destruction of that harmony. Accordingly, there are those who take it upon themselves to keep a vigilant posture even here, always ready to counter an unexpected threat. One of these watchful wardens is the wild elf Ga'Elian. Sitting astride his griffon, he rides near the orange-haired gnome and the big Arvek, nodding in courteous, if silent greeting.

Gregor nods a mute greeting to the brooding wild elf. "Relax," he suggests. "No one's going to burn the forest down in the next ten minutes. Unless your gaze came with heat vision, then we'd all be dead." He'll toss his contributions to the chefs, then go check on his horse, who seems to be all right, and just where Gregor left him.

Tawyse nods to the elf, looking up at the man, before appraising the griffon. She then looks to Gregor and smiles. "Rabbits for the pot?" The Gnome woman pulls a variety of fresh herbs and vegetables, mostly wild carrots. "Should go well with what I've brought."

Gregor nods to Tawyse about the pot. "Excellent," he agrees when he sees her own contribution. Teamwork provides a nourishing stew. Horse and food taken care of, he'll take a seat on a log and relax a bit as the cooking is taken care of by those with an inclination for it.

Ga'Elian hops off his mount and strides lightly toward the cookfire. To the hobgobln, he says, "Perhaps you read too much into my expression, Gregor. Vigilance is not hostility, and economy of speech is not enmity." Then to the gnome, "Welcome to the grove, miss. May you bask in the bounty of nature's blessings."

Tawyse will offer up the herbs and root vegetables to the person who is minding the cooking pots, and will take a moment to make a quiet introduction to said custodian of the pots. She returns to her mount, and sees to his comfort then: checking him over for any issues, and leaving a small bowl of water for him, with some partially rotted logs and daisies as its meal. "Eat up, Chaucy. You did well today." The creature makes a clicking noise and its carapace opens, large wings expanded and fanned a few times before being retracted to their safe hiding spot." She nods to Gregor with a grin, "I did not feel it right to hunt anything, in a grove where I am unknown. But I doubt many would be upset over some vegetables." When the elf returns from settling his mount, and addresses her, she straightens and bows. "My thanks, guardian. May your roads be sunny and straight."

Gregor says to Ga'Elian, "Perhaps I did. Or perhaps there was more in your expression than you planned? Small birds and squirrels would flee in terror," he jokes. He says to Tawyse, "We don't hunt in the grove at all. And nearby, we hunt ... lightly. It means we must range farther, but the druids are adamant that we put no burden on any one area too much."

Ga'Elian smiles. Says, "Gregor is correct, miss. Here, no predation is permitted, and under the blessing of the Green Word, even the animals dwell peacably with each other." He then reaches into his shoulder bag and withdraws... a reed pipe. He says, "I am Ga'Elian."

Tawyse nods to the two men. "What I meant was, not the immediate grove, but the wider area. Even in areas where people may hunt sparingly, it is wise to make one's self known before helping one's self to the game." She offers Gregor a bow. "My name is Tawyse. I have traveled here from the north. I seek knowledge of history and of Nature, and of the Green Mother."

<OOC> Tawyse says, "She's looking at them both when she introduces herself."

Gregor smirks, but nods, at Ga'Elian's comment. "I'm not so clumsy with a bow hat hunting is a great chore," he says. "Even if I have to ride a ways to do it." He nods to Tawyse, and says, "I am Gregor Augustin. I have no knowledge. I just do occasionally useful things. But this one," he jerks his thumb at Ga'Elian, "Can probably teach you all sorts of tricks."

Ga'Elian says, "The respect you show, Tawyse, does you credit." Smirking at Gregor, he says, "Tricks?" The tone is all innocence, but the twinkle in his eye betrays a touch of playful sarcasm.

Tawyse runs a hand through the ends of her hair, pulling free a few leaves and twigs with a smile. "Well, useful things are useful things, and worth knowing.", she says to Gregor, before she glances at Ga'Elian. "Tricks can also be quite useful and worth knowing. I would gladly accept what you might be willing to teach."

Gregor nods to Ga'Elian. "Tricks. Things like how to speak with fish and clams, as if they have such interesting things to say. But I think," he says seriously, "That you do have some lore of nature, yes? History is for the upper class," he says dismissively. "They as can afford history."

Ga'Elian shakes his head. "Yeah, speaking with animals I have not yet tried, alhough I do believe there is a spell for that, but I agree that the conversation would be rather limited. So I am not a skald, nor a bard, and have not studied histories with the lorekeepers of the Llyranesi, but the ancient ballads of my folk are regularly sung around fires such as this, and with many of them I am quite familiar."

Tawyse peers at Gregor curiously and her face grows thoughtful. "Clams and fish can tell you where the bigger clams and fish are hiding, that could be interesting." The Gnomish woman runs a hand through her hair again, netting a few more leaf bits which she lets drop to the ground. "History is for everyone. If you do not know the how and why of the past, then you risk repeating past mistakes. That is dangerous and could cost many lives." She glances at Ga'Elian a moment and chuckles. "Conversation might be limited, but it could be useful. Especially if one is a fish at the time." Tawyse puts her arms behind her and grins brightly. "If not a skald or bard or druid, what would you call yourself?"

Gregor eyes Ga'Elian, and finally says to Tawyse, "Mister Mysterious here is Ga'Elian. He's actually somewhat senior among rangers and is a person of consequense, as such things are counted. He knows more than a few old folk songs, at least." He shrugs about history, and says, "I make the best decision I can, and if someone made it before with bad results, then I will share those bad results and do the best I can with them because it was the best decision available to me."

Ga'Elian says, "Ranger? Yes, I range far and wide looking after the welfare of the Wild. All too often, I have business in cities, too, mostly Alexandria, but my passion is for the untamed wilderness. The forest enlivens the soul of Ea, and mine as well. The air currents and headwinds breath life and freedom into my spirit, and the secret dancing of fairies reflects the magic of this world. Despite being 118 years old, I am but a fledgling adult among my race, I have learned much. Now Gregor here, is of a race of which I have scant knowledge. I'm certain that the lore he has acquired would be just as fascinating in its fashion.

Tawyse eyes Gregor curiously, and her facial expression exhibits several emotions, but settles on confusion. She cants her head slightly, and opens her mouth. Shuts it, and seems to ponder something. "History teaches that it is never 'just' one decision. A war is not started with one decision. A nation is not founded on one decision. It is a series of decision points that determines the course of history. Are you honestly saying that you would make the same series of decisions that doomed ancient cultures, simply because it seemed like a good idea at the time?" She takes a breath and closes her eyes, and lets the breath out slowly. She glances to Ga'Elian and nods slowly. "That does sound like something an Sylvanori would say. You have lived twice my years. And I to, am merely a fledgling, a few shaky steps from the nest."

Gregor snorts at Ga'Elian, and says, "While it's true I only have life in years rather than decades, I doubt the proper setting of horselines and sentries is of interest to this gnome." He shrugs, says to Tawyse, "If it is, I'll teach the bits I know." He laughs, and says, "He's /five/ times my age, and still talks in circles rather than straight out." He shrugs about bad decisions, and says, "If a series of decisions seems best to me, then it doesn't matter who's done what in the past. But it seems to me that I wouldn't make those same bad decisions if they were bad decisions."

Ga'Elian laughs. "Anyway. to continue introductions, my companion there is Erithamiel. I prefer to have him with me, but many are the Guild missions in which I have been constrained to leave him in the care of my cousin, Pendaril." The griffon swishes its tail. He goes on, "But yes, I can share some techniques on forestry, going about undetected, wilderness survival, and so forth."

Tawyse raises a finger, and looks back to Gregor. "Right. And the reason why you know they were bad decisions? Someone thought to write down, "Wow, this sucked, let's avoid doing this in future." Without history being recorded, you'd not know which decisions were good or bad. History is good for everyone. Warriors. Leaders. Paupers. Kings. Everyone." She lets out a breath and seems to shrink a little. "Sorry. I'm a uhm... history buff." To put it lightly. "That's an nice name.", she says to Ga'Elian, and she gives the Griffon a wave. "He is a noble looking steed, indeed. And I would happily learn what you would teach. I hope I can return the favour in kind."

Gregor sighs as Ga'Elian mentions leaving the griffon behind on missions. "I wish more rangers and druids understood that better. I see tigers in the Fernwood and bears in the Guildhall, and it's all I can do not to panic. At least I leave my horse at the hitching post and don't bring him indoors every chance I get. He'd just crap on their carpets anyhow." He shrugs about history, and says, "You can generally see most bad decisions coming straight on. But when you're in ranks, and the captain says charge, you don't argue, you charge." That's how Gregor works, anyhow. Hobgoblin and military.

Ga'Elian sits down by the fire, his legs folded in front of his torso, his posture straight. He lifts the reed pipe to his mouth and starts to play an upbeat tune, complex, yet light and whimsical.

Tawyse shrugs. "I suppose.", she says by way of reply to Gregor. She blinks. "People have tigers? And bears?" By her reaction, one would think that she would not find this terrible to encounter. "Well, if people aren't running around screaming, there's probably a good chance that the animals are well behaved." When Ga'Elian sits at the fire, she moves to settle at his feet, with the fire at her back. As he plays, she starts to remove her leathers, starting with the leg pieces. Each piece is carefully inspected before she sets it down, making a neat pile by the end.

Gregor ohs, "They're well-behaved enough. But bringing a bear into a bar is still bad form if you ask me. It's confusing to the bear, and it terrifies the people. And the only reason they do it is to brag, Hey, look what sort of animal I have to follow me. Wizards do it with familiars, sometimes, or that one with his staff that complains all the time. It's annoying, if you ask me. Anyhow, I need to take care of a few things." He'll rise and head back to his horse, then ride off.

Ga'Elian waves as Gregor heads out, but keeps piping until a tiny red dragon with butterfly wings appears out if thin air beside him. Lowering his pipe, he says, "Well, I wondered if you'd come you sly dragon you." Then to Tawyse, "Tawyse, this is my friend Sparklewing. Sparklewing, this is Tawyse, an Essense of the Green Mother." The dragon giggles then says, "Of course I came. Someone..." he looks Ga'Elian pointedly in the eye, "played my favorite song." He flits around the cookfire, looking about then returns and hovers by Ga'Elian. He asks, "Did you show her where the Hunter marked you?" At this Ga'Elian says, "Oh, no. I mean, we only met just here not long ago. I was patrolling the perimeter." He gestures at the griffon, and just like that, the faerie dragon flits off to hamg out with Erithamiel.

Tawyse blinks at the sudden arrival the tiny dragon, and stands, though she nearly topples over as she'd been pulling her boots off and only got halfway with one. "Oh.", she says a bit sheepishly a few moments later. "Hello, Sparklewing. Nice to make your acquaintance." The dragon's question about being marked causes her eyebrows to arch upwards. "Er, marked by a hunter?", she wonders. "Uh. Like a tattoo or brand?" When the dragon flits off, she spends a moment to remove her other boot, and sighs rather happily as she wiggles her toes in the dirt. "Much better!", she says, twirling around once, her gambeson spinning about.

Ga'Elian stands, and says, "Not marked by /a/ hunter, but by /the/ Hunter. At least that's what the priests tell me. You see, the mark left by an ordinary hunter can be healed with magic, but this mark is of divine origin." He removes his quiver, then his cloak of tawny owl feathers. Then he pulls the soft chamois shirttails out of his belt and pulls the shirt off. Filling his back is an animated tattoo, masterfully inked in greyscale. It depicts the Great Stag, a representation of Gilead, standing in front of the might Ygdrassil Tree, whose sapling is the mighty heart of this very grove, and looking skyward at the full moon, it a representation of the Silver Huntress, Eluna. The open display of this deeply religious, personally significant artwork capture the gaze of many nearby.

Ga'Elian explains, a year or two ago, I was swimming, and a friend of mine saw this upon my back. When she asked me where I'd had it done, I didn't know what she was talking about. She described it to me, but I scarcely believed her. So she took me to a clothier's shop, and had me strip off in front of a mirror. When I saw it, I was so surprised that I went to the temple of Eluna and consulted with the priests. After they examined it, they called in the priests of Gilead. They pronounced it a sign from Gilead manifested in my flesh."

While Ga'Elian is turned around, she approaches, standing on tiptoe to peer at the moving stag. She presses lightly with a fingertip, and then a hand, obviously impressed. "I would freak out for a little bit if I found that on my back.", she says quietly. "Sign or no, it is a little disconcerting at first."

Ga'Elian slips his quiver on over his shoulder but tosses the shirt and cape into his shoulder bag, which seems remarkably capable of storing more than it could possibly have room for. He says, "Yes. Disconcerting is a good word for it." As he reseats himself, he recounts, "As Eluna is the patroness of Sildanyar, She is also the most revered deity among my tribe. All Faravanilas hold her to be our personal deity, but when I reached my 100th year, and set out on my ritual Dreamwalk, She whispered to my heart that it was Her holy Brother, Gilead who would inspire my vocation in adulthood. So, She grants my spells, but I am touched of Him."

Tawyse looks at her hands for a few moments, and then at Ga'Elian. "It must be some weight, then, that settles upon your shoulders." She runs a hand through her hair and takes a step back, settling back down upon the ground. "Is it difficult to march to two deitys' wills?

Ga'Elian ponders a moment before replying, "No. I feel that the Hunter and the Silver Huntress are in correlation with the wishes of each other. Not quite the same, but similar to how those who adhere to the faith of the Green Word focus their worship on both Gilead and Dana."

"Are Gilead and Dana are so similar that you can worship them both properly?", Tawyse wonders, bending a knee and peering at one of her toes. She picks at something, and straightens her leg out. "I have not investigated."

Ga'Elian shrugs, "Many do." is all he says. Then, "So, you say you are a history buff, eh? Once the sun sets, I'd be glad to sing some of the ancient tales for you. Do you happen to understand Sylvan or Mynsandraal or Sildanyari? I could translate them into the Trade tongue, but they'd lose much in the rendering."

"I am fully conversant in Sildanyari and Sylvan, but I have only a smattering of Mynsandraal.", she says somewhat shyly. "I would enjoy that."