Social: Cabin in the Woods
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Light Woods *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- The trees are increasing in number and density, moss covered rocks can be seen along the way, offering places to rest and camp for the night. The scent of pine blends with the deep rich scent of the earth and paths break off the main road trailing in several directions. Further off into the forest, it seems like night has fallen. Only it stays this way all day and night. Old trees crowd together, making it seem almost impossible to pass through. Darting in between the trees, animals can be seen, dark furred creatures gliding in and out of the trees as travelers move on. OOC: At this point you are about a days travel from the city. Going further into the Deep Forest brings you to two days away from the city. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Alteri Eldanar fighter; dark hair, pale eyes, shit luck. 3s 1h Svarshan Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon! 0s 1d -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Deep Forest <NW> Druid Grove <DG> Eldwyn Road <S> -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- It's Korday, Rhaltaas 20 13:45:52 1013. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and ebbing. Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's chilly and the air feels damp. There is no wind.
It is that time of day, when animals have done their foraging and found nooks to nap in. Birds nestle against the boughs of sturdy evergreen oaks, heads tucked under their wings. Little disturbs the grey, misty afternoon, and the sun's rays feel distant, weakened by the turning of the seasons. Nearby, a stream burbles gently, more deep than wide, it has cut a path through softer rock over the millennia, doing its best to sparkle with what light that does reach it.
Drifting through the quiet, a soft whistling tune is heard. Laced with a depth of yearning and sorrowed memories, it floats in the still air, hanging. If one is to follow the sound, the damp mists will part, revealing a figure clad in the monochromes of dark and shadow. She too, has found a spot to nestle under one of the mighty oaks. Heavy branches sway and dip in the stream, a benediction of life despite all that Ea has seen.
"..." *grunt* Svarshan trudges into the small grove of peace, a bundle of sticks over one broad shoulder. He walks heavily, though steadily, his tail out behind him like a weighted balance. At the center of the grove, he drops the sticks--they clatter, bouncing once against the fall-hardened ground. And then he looks at Alteri, a silent: one has brought the firewood. He doesn't bother with words.
The melody, a Sendoran folk's song of lost love, ceases as sounds of the makar's arrival grow louder. A small bird chirps a protest at having the song end, but settles back down with a huffed chirrup. Surprised to find a visiter, more so that it is a Sunblade, Alteri flows to her feet, hurriedly brushing away any brightness that might have lingered around her pale eyes.
Those eyes drop to the firewood Svar has brought, and they widen. Swiftly moving to greet the Sith'makar, the Eldanar drops in a low and respectful bow, "You honour us with your peaceful gift, Sunblade." Straightening, two leaves are seen fluttering out of her hands to settle like boats on the stream's surface, paired travellers on the path to life. It appears that had been what she was playing the tune on, a leaf whistle.
Glancing up to the higher ground, where shadows of a half-built cottage meet grey with the grey of the autumn ground, Alteri gestures in invitation, "I fear my hospitality shall be as incomplete as my roof, but pray, come warm your peace at my hearth."
He opens his muzzle, but closes it, and eyes her, eyes dark as a pair of coals. Smoke drifts faintly from the lava-lines between his scales, and he bends, lifts the firewood with a, "You still talk too much."
And followed by a: "Where do you want this?" He doesn't appear much for chatter, just eyes her as though waiting for a reply. The teeth at his necklace clatter, their tips stained in blood that will never quite wash away.
Though reddened at the edges, the corners of Alteri's eyes crinkle just a smidge. "A failing of my race." Nodding, she adds, "Inside," in regards to where the firewood goes. This is said with a touch of humour, for as they approach, it is obvious that only three of the four walls have been completed. Meticulously stacked stones, smoothed by countless years of rushing water, packed tightly with mortar. Noble she may sound, yet this Highborn still seems more comfortable in solutide, away from crowds and perhaps, lynch mobs. The fourth wall, the front, has no door, just a tightly lashed sailcloth to help keep rain out. This, Alteri unties to offer easier passage to the larger Sith'makar. A whuffle comes through the door by the fireplace, revealing where the small stables have been built. Clever. Having the living area and the stables on either side of the hearth to keep both mistress and mount warm in the coming months.
"Every race has its failings," he growls generously, though it comes with a warm sort of humor that says he's pushing, as a sith'makar is prone to push. He slows as they near, and sniffs the air, its flavor tinged with cold. Smoke curls from his muzzle in response, and he lets out a sigh before trudging inwards...and dropping the sticks unceremoniously near the fireplace.
"They will need food," of the mount. Suddenly, and out of the blue.
Alteri makes a low sound of agreement, "Humans more so than most." She looks thoughtfully up at the newly stuffed rafters, the straw so painfully clean, for now, "At times I feel the gods placed all capacity for greatness and evil within us to truly test this, the most youthful of the races." she muses, then blinks, "Pardon, I do talk too much."
A sturdy cupboard has been set next to the fireplace. The bottom segment she opens, revealing a modest store of wood. One imagines more must be stacked elsewhere, this is hardly enough to last a few days. "Tea?" she offers, "I met a Xian merchant with a fresh store of fermented leaves. Mistress Greyfeather did enjoy it." At Svarshan's sudden rejoinder, the Highborn pauses in her efforts at hospitality, "They will. I'm expecting the bales delivered later today." Perhaps why she is here and not at the Guild looking for more work.
Rugs lie scattered about the freshly varnished floorboards. Thick and deep, the bounty of years of hunting for her table, they offer makar feet a respite from the cold, hardpacked ground outside.
He stands there heavily in the midst of the half-finished cottage. His shoulders are broad and his countenance is quiet, content out here in the wilderness and away from the City. Still... he turns his muzzle halfway, and eyes her with eyes that are coal-black and dark and without blinking.
"...there is a ssssmall khazad mining village. They are not-so-large, but would have stones-for-building. ...and there isss a farmer, who may have exssstra grain, asss well. They are not City-bound." And then after that, a pause of some kind and an unspoken and unasked question if she will make use of the opportunity and meet her new neighbors, or continue relying on the resources of Alexandria.
Which is not a bad choice.
He scratches at his jaw with the claw of his thumb, quietly. He watches Alteri in a way that isn't unfriendly--quiet, warm, but at odds with the abruptness of the words, and the teeth hanging from his neck.
He smells of brimstone.
"Saaa. Yess." And another, awkward pause: "Thank you."
A large water barrel sits on the other side of the hearth. One fancies it will use the hearth's fire to keep water unfrozen throughout the winter. Looking rather odd as she bustles and tries to be domestic, Alteri gets a pot filled and hooked over the fire she has poked back into life. The shelves above the woodstore are revealed with a tug of handle. Retrieving cups for the two of them, she tries not to feel nervous under the elder Sith's unblinking look. A youth, trying to show she has not been idle since being released from the Watch's cells. Pausing, she considers, "I... had not explored that far." Her lips twitch and that dark head dips into a smaller bow of thanks, "I shall have to speak with them. Stupid gets bored with the same grain." A sad excuse for not wanting to stress Alexandria's resources, but one she'll work with.
"...yes. Ssshhee iss a good mare." The word and phrasing is simple, but warmly spoken. He gives his heavy frame a shake, as though waking it up, but the movement is sluggish, like trying to move a great weight that wishes to rest. He looks across at her. "...the winter. Will be harsssh. You will come and visssit if there is...trouble." It is not a question, and the look stays just that, quiet and unblinking. Reptilian.
A small flash of defiance greets Svarshan's not-question. The Highborn prides herself in being self-sufficient and troubling no one, yet, her time in the City has taught her much. Though her back remains proudly erect, she nods in quiet acquiescence. "My thanks, Sunblade." Then an impish look flashes across her usually sombre features for just a second, "You will come visit, too, if there is trouble." Fair is fair. She will help as he would help.
"...good." And, then he straightens slowly as though making an effort. A... "...it isss good to see another here. It isss a good place."
He pauses as though he might say something else, though shakes his head instead, awkward, and heads out into the woods and morning Sun.