open | Dead and Drowned


Age: 31 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#15
"Huh." Her head bobbed with a slow nod, processing the information before deciding that there simply wasn't enough context for her to make any graceful leaps or bounds in understanding. The ideas and concepts that defined "her world" were still so indistinct that the parallels she could draw came more like some knee-jerk response. Still, it was solid advice that she took to heart, or at the very least wanted to try.

Jigano's concern for his own well-being was met with a dispassionate stare and a ponderous silence, as well as his offer of healing, as though it needed much consideration. Still, she hesitated to invite him closer, finding herself simply unable to form the words or find a gesture to beckon him. The only offer of confirmation came as he approached to steal away the cloak as she gave the woolen fabric a limp-wristed shove in his general direction, gathering her thoughts with a deep inhale. "I don't really blame you too much. I probably would if you made a wrong move. Assume it's safer for us both this way." She watched, but did not so much interfere, perhaps a bit sad to see such a nice cloak go to shreds like this. It was a tragedy that an object that spoke of craftsmanship or the wealth required to attain such neat hand stitching of flowers and vines was being reduced by necessity and happenstance to rags though she did not imagine that it would serve her much good in this heat. All transitions demand sacrifice, she reassured herself, and in turn offered him what she hoped was an affirming smile. "We'll see about that training."

His confidence was at least making a decent attempt at reassuring her of his conviction and capabilities, though his proximity was making her uncomfortable. She remembered long-limbed wolves in traps, their limbs proportioned and contorted in strangely human ways, their minds almost entirely animal, how once she had found a human arm gnawed off at the elbow with gnarled claws and coarse black hair sprouting from its knuckles, a bear trap clamped above the wrist. If only the threat on her freedom as something so simple as a limb in a snare.

"Melinoë." She told a distant wall over his shoulder a name, her brow furrowed as she resumed picking through what he had said to her earlier. "You said there were changed humans- changed how?"
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
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#16
Dispassionate stares from concussed people weren't all that unusual, and he met hers with calm equanimity as he waited for her decision. The shove of fabric was all he needed to gather it, but he was no artless hack with his knife; the cloak was large, and she was a tiny thing. There was no reason to destroy the whole garment when he could start from the bottom, carefully slicing long strips a few inches wide and tossing them back to her as he did, avoiding slicing into the finely-embroidered work at the edges as much as possible. Such trim could easily be repurposed onto a new garment in the future, and he had been on Caido long enough not to waste any bit of finery or Outlander trade good that she could use to barter with in the future. "Safe as you can be while bleeding out," he agreed wryly. "And I'm not a fully trained healer, I'll grant you that, but I've the basics, at least. Enough to bind wounds and sprains and stitch up gashes, provided I have needle and thread. Which I don't keep on me for walking out to the farm, though perhaps I should." Given how lucky he had been to bring through as much as he had through the portal, he supposed he shouldn't let the lesson lapse and assume it wouldn't happen again. Keeping a few basic necessities on him at all time would be exhausting... but there would be times when they would pay off, after all.

"Melinoë," he repeated, tasting the alien name with a fine appreciation for new things and the new worlds they represented. "I've not heard anything like it here before. Well, Melinoë, there are four types of humans here. Races, you might call them, though all began as human. There are normal humans, that look like you and me, but with no other characteristic to set them apart. They are called 'Accepted' because they are most loved by the gods. Then there are mages... called 'Abandoned' because the gods do not generally care much for them, due to an event in the past. Some have control over one element or another, others can create objects from thin air, or heal wounds in mere minutes, or drain the life force from a creature. There seems to be quite a variety of types of magic, and many are master of more than one ability." He paused there, waiting to see if she had any questions before he continued with the other types.


Age: 31 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#17
With caution he disassembled the cloak, each stitch spared earning a visible softening of her expression - not into apathy, but rather a touch of fondness, appreciation, even. With a weary huff of amusement she collected each strip of cloak-turned-bandage, folding them each as neatly as she could in her lap. Her movements were slow to account for the unsteadiness in her hands, her voice a low murmur, as if she didn't quite want to be heard. "You would in times of war." Still, she didn't sound so much disappointed, only reflective, lapsing into quiet listening once again as he turned the given name over in his mouth. Melinoë. She repeated the lie in her thoughts, only because she could think of no other. "At least I'm unique."

In fact, the more he spoke and the more the edges between what she could barely recall of a world before this and this new alien place blurred and the panicked memories became something more like a dream. Vivid and bewildering when you first awake and fading with time into incomplete details that one could not clearly explain. There were words that matched and concepts but little else - unable to draw clear parallels she instead attempted to commit this knowledge to mind, repeating it softly beneath her breath. She bore a smile, canting her head in a nod. "Gods, then? Are they common?" She asked not merely as a matter of curiosity but concern. Being disliked by the gods sounded decidedly unlucky, but also promising. Gods did not often detest that which did not threaten them.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
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#18
"True," he agreed with a faint smile, considering that even in times of peace he often carried them if he was planning on doing anything out of the ordinary. This was what he got for thinking a simple walk to a friend's house would be ordinary on Caido though! The one time he didn't have his supplies with him, of course, was when he needed them. "But Vai will set you right as rain better than I could anyways," he continued, and then chuckled at her quip. "Unique, indeed. Which may be a blessing or a curse, depending on your temperament." A blessing, he thought, for her, but he had a long ways to go before he got to know her well enough to say for certain.

He finished cutting enough bandages for the moment, he thought, and sat back on his heels to regard her thoughtfully as she processed the new information she was being inundated with. "They are more active than I am used to from my world," he admitted with a wry chuckle. "Whether that's good or bad is up to your personal experience with them, I expect. We have old gods and Older ones, and some younger ones as well, and they don't all get along." He shrugged lightly. "The Ascended race are directly touched by their goddess the Voice and turned into..." he hesitated, still not sure how to accurately describe them after all this time. "Something no longer human on the outside, though very much still human on the inside - with all the good and bad that can entail. They're weakened by sunlight, strengthened by night, and drink blood for... various reasons. Including borrowing or stealing the abilities of Abandoned or Attuned," he added as a careful warning.


Age: 31 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#19
She seemed quite agreeable now, coming around to the idea of trusting what was effectively a stranger in an incredibly strange land, and why not? She had few options and he was at least respectful of a bit of tailoring. "I'll try to make the best of it." That was all she could do, after all.

With what remained of the cloak laid aside she neatly gathered the bandages up and offered them toward him, grimacing at the sight of the river-wet wool. People did what they needed to do, she supposed, too tired to muster up a solution herself. At this rate anything called an infirmary seemed sure to host a bed, or at the very least a flat surface and some relative cleanliness, at least the way he spoke of it. Mel didn't want to say she didn't care, just that it was one less thing to worry about. She really liked the idea of a good solid nap right about now.

Stiffly she extended her left leg, clapping a hand firmly over the wound as she braced her back uncomfortably against the wall, her hand retreating to hug the aching right arm back against her belly - the leg was an open invitation to demonstrate his skills before she was willing to let him near her belly. Still, she made an effort to keep the interaction light, her expression neutral. Friendlier than most of the faces she had pulled since meeting him at the very least. The information about the various deities was taken in stride though warranted no real change in expression or reaction, the gears already clicking ahead.

The Ascended, as well, didn't seem to bother her as much, though she acknowledged the warnings with a knowing nod, certain that she would not like to cross the path of such a creature any time soon. Not until she had better gotten her bearings. The description alone sounded tragic and familiar but not familiar enough to earn her immediate attention. He had said there were four races - Accepted, Abandoned, Ascended... She wet her lips, broaching the topic gingerly, clearing her throat. "Attuned?"
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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#20
He raised a brow at the extended leg, but took nothing for granted as he rested his hands on his knees. "May I?" he checked first, waiting for her approval before he shuffled closer to inspect the wound with a faint frown. It needed cleaning, desperately, and was going to make walking hell for a good long time, even with a deep healing from Vai, but thanks to the Infirmary's talented staff it was recoverable, he decided. He reached for one of the bandages, speaking softly as he began to work. "I'm going to tie a light tourniquet first, to slow the blood while I bind the wound. Then I'll release it slowly so you don't risk losing the leg while we travel." He put words into actions, binding the leg high on the thigh with a deft touch and elegant fingers that treated Melinoe like any other patient he had tended, respectful but not shy of her dignity and keeping his hands firmly on the assigned task.

Her question as he bound and padded the gash earned a faint chuckle, and a tip of his head. "Attuned are the last race. As the Ascended are to the Voice, so the Attuned are to the old gods... more or less." His lips quirked wryly. "Or at least, the Attuned from here start out human, and make the choice to become Attuned at some point in their life, near as I can tell. They can take on the shape of an animal of Caido, or even more than one as they become stronger. Shapeshifters, though of very limited shapes." He finished with her leg and settled back on his heels again, tilting his head curiously at her even as the gryphlet sleeping in his hood popped her small owl head up and peeped sleepy curiousity at this newcomer over his shoulder. "Ready for the next one?" he meant, referring to her injuries as he reached for the next length of bandages.


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#21
She watched, nodding her approval of his plan though she didn't seem to be much for judging his approach at the moment. Rather she assessed him mutely, humming periodically with pain as he wound the bandage about the leg, her gaze drifting toward some distant point overhead in an effort to conceal her discomfort. "That's good." She glanced down toward the knots, hissing as he'd tighten them though expressed no prudish objection to being treated, only a moderate distaste for the obvious. Nobody liked to be in pain, after all. Or, at the very least, she didn't seem to be one of those people. Still, there was a bit more to do, much to her displeasure. She tried to make the best of it, clenching a bunch of the tattered remains of her shirt in one fist. It hurt an awful lot more than she had expected.

"Oh - like-" She stopped herself, brow furrowing. She decided better and shook her head instead, huffing with relief as he rocked back, the small owlish head peering over his shoulder giving her something of a lazy start. She beamed at the tiny creature for a moment before looking back at her timely rescuer, slowly moving her arms out of the way, plying the shirt open and pulling it up to expose her belly, sparing what modesty the tattered cloth allowed. Her gaze fixed on the gryphlet, a small smile pulling at her lips as she straightened her posture in an effort to be of help. "As I'll ever be, I suppose... who is that marvelous little creature? When did she hatch? They do hatch, don't they?"
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
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#22
She bore up well, all things considered. She was a tough little thing, in spite of her size, all spitfire and sinew and pure cussed stubbornness wrapped in wool and drenched in blood. He kept talking, as much to distract her as to give her information, suspecting most of it would be forgotten by the time Vervain had healed her concussion.

"Like what?" he asked curiously, watching her as he sat back and tilting his head to the side. Isuma took that moment to appear and he chuckled as he turned to bump his cheek against her soft head as she stretched up onto his shoulder and returned the affectionate head-rub. His smile faded as he finally saw the extent of the belly wound, and he caught his lower lip between his teeth in thought as he studied how best to go about stabilizing it.

"This is Isuma," he introduced, leaning forward finally to fold several bandages into a thick pad before reaching around her to tie them securely into place with a firm binding. "A gryphon, and my companion. She hatched this past Deepfrost - that's what winter is called here - and yes, she came from an egg." He chuckled as the gryphlet balanced on his shifting shoulders, studying Melinoe with fascinated golden eyes as the man she was hitching a ride on focused on the wound. "A nymph or fairy creature of ice and mirrors gave her egg to me. The spirits of this place can be mischievous, capricious... but generous, too," he explained. He sat back again, arching one silver brow and smiling wryly. "Next?"


Age: 31 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#23
"Like..." She lowered her head, clearing her throat into her shoulder before mustering a weak growl, flashing him a sidelong grin as she unwound her arms from around her belly and turned her attention away. She wanted to meddle, she wanted to fix it herself. She couldn't trust her hands to thread a needle, however, even if they had found one. There was no way she would have expected him to simply allow her to paw all over in such a state - not if he had been trained by a healer worth their salt, which she was happy to believe he was.

It was nicer than the alternative. She still wasn't convinced that a long slow death of sepsis wasn't ahead of her, but instead focused on the bright side, the distractions. "Hrrrr, druids." She looked at him as though it were an in joke. With a softening gaze she watched Isuna's antics, ignoring the look of what she guessed might be concern.

The wound itself was clean and largely, crossing her side and tracing along the path of a scar not yet entirely healed, bold black ink spelling a name across the gaping maw of the wound - F L Y N T. The angle and depth, however, suggested not assault or incidental injury as did the rest of her, but perhaps a wound self-inflicted - reopened in the struggle? She looked thoroughly unaware, pondering instead what it was she meant to say after "druids", her mind having taken a day-dreamy wander through what remained of a world before the river and the obsidian plain it had dumped her into. The longer she focused on it the more it seemed like a dream, difficult as the spirits he claimed existed, though not as generous. A muffled grunt rewarded his efforts to keep her guts and blood on the inside of her skinbag, a weary growl telling him it had really hurt though she was far too winded by the application of the bandage to do much about it.

With a grimace she turned her right cheek toward him, peeling back a blood-matted curtain of hair that covered a gash extending into the hairline, crossing down across her brow, her cheek, even carving into the bridge of her nose. Bruising and swelling suggested blunt trauma, maybe a rock in the rapids, maybe some asshole way-laying girls on the roadside - it was hard to tell and she didn't seem interested in discussing it. "Maybe a bit gentler with the head. Not as much to keep in there." She gave a hollow cluck of her tongue, emulating the knock at a door, the punchline of a joke she was too tired to give the good old editorial glance before just saying and doing whatever had come to mind. She sure felt stupid right now. Tired.

"They just give you things? Like gryphons?" This was a dizzying realization, one she regarded with abject suspicion. "What's the catch. What's her... Y'know... Price?" If she could just keep talking she was sure she'd survive just a bit more bandaging and maybe even the trip to the infirmary. Luckily, Isuna provided many (cute) talking points.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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#24
He chuckled at her growl, glad to see she could still smile in spite of her wounded state. As he worked he continued talking, his voice mostly quiet and soothing, though occasionally deepening in warning or lightening with humor. "Yes, actually! Or at least... like the druids of my world. It sounds like something else we have in common." He gave a light shrug after tying the bandages into place and sitting back, mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. "Though it's not a term I've seen used here. The druid I knew tended to be defenders of the woods and wild places. Here, Attuned are just... normal people. Townsfolk, farmers, crafters and the like, who turned to the gods for a blessing and a chance to be something other than what they were for... well, for personal reasons, each different depending on the person."

He raised a brow at the possibly self-inflicted wound on her side, and took note of the name written across it, tucking it away to ask about later, when a concussion wasn't muddling his companion's thoughts. She endured his work with admirable fortitude, and he hoped they were nearing the end of her serious wounds so they could begin the trek towards the Settlement, but of course there was one left that needed tending before she was moved again. He winced in sympathy as he reached up with gentle fingers to move her hair away from the nasty gash, grunting a faint sound of amusement at her little joke. "Well we certainly don't want you losing any more of what's still left in there," he teased back. "That gash is going to need stitches as well, though. At least the bleeding has stopped for now... hmmm..." Once again he had to consider how best to make do with what little they had, answering her with an air of faint distraction.

"'Just give?' Oh, hardly that. There are prices to be paid, and none of them in gold or silver," he warned, even as Isuma started to try and climb down his arm, feather neck extended to investigate Melinoe. The bard snorted, shifting to catch her with his other hand and set her on the floor so her talons weren't pricking into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. "The ones I have seen so far... they tend to challenge those who are drawn to them. Challenges of the mind, the body, the heart... and those who impress them, or simply who catch their attention, they might bestow a blessing on." And it was clear from the fond way he looked at Isuma that was, indeed, a blessing, even as the gryphlet examined Melonoe's wounded leg with a mournful, sympathetic Reep? of concern.


Age: 31 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#25
Finally, one of those stray lines cast into the void had caught something! She lit up at the recognition of the word. Druids. It did not matter that they didn't seem to exist here - the bard had confirmed a memory, his explanation of what the word meant to him like someone responding to her brain's call for "lines!" off stage.

Green - she had never seen so much green.

She walks beside a tall man bristling with scars and intimidation factor - he is nearly three feet taller than her and built more like a beast. His nails grow long and sharp, his teeth jagged and sometimes jutting from his mouth in an uncivil way, as though they don't quite fit. He doesn't look anything like her common company, and there's something comforting in that. He is a guardian of balance and of life to an extent, he is something unlike even the brightest sun, but best yet he respects her, though not her choices.

'You could always ch-hrrrrrr-ange-' he growls, and she growls back - she does not know what it is he wants her to do differently, only that it is impossible. She would have to die to be anything other that what she always had been.

She prays with him at the feet of a great statue, its claws gripped with ivy and tiny white flowers. This is not her goddess, this is not her holy place, but it's the only one that welcomes her. She sleeps curled around her bag in the leaves and grasses and, though this place is more a comfort to her than anything she finds a deep longing for the familiar takes root. Homesick for perhaps the first time in her life she wishes her towering guide might understand.


The memories blurred and bled together so she could hardly make out the details, though she hadn't the energy to try and hold on to them. They didn't seem overly important anyway, though she could still make use of them. Optimism didn't exactly seem like a strong suit of hers so she relied instead on what she could glean of pleasantness. She feared if she stopped to figure it out now she might never get up again. So she tried to focus on the warmth and comfort of the color green when things began to feel overwhelming.

"I imagine so - it doesn't feel all too great either. I'll assume it doesn't look as though my skull is caved in - I'll take it." Sucking at her teeth she tracked Isuna's approach, opening her left palm with a gentle clicking of her tongue. "At least I still have my hair." Her hand moved to her leg, attempting to gain the baby's attention. Evidently in her present state offering a hand to a strange creature made of what seemed like all the business ends of all the predators one wouldn't really want to offering their hand to seemed reasonable and well-thought out. Absolutely nothing could go wrong!

The bard's attachment to the gryphlet was not lost on her, though she mustered only a smile because who could resist that face, really? Shifting she seemed anxious to find her feet, attempting to figure out how she might be standing up when they were ready to go. "Like gods to toy with mortals -" She clicked her tongue and the chirrup of worry. "Oh, don't worry, it'll clean up nice, little one. Gotta give dad some credit here." Giggling her head lolled back against the stone. "I might make it back in one piece if your knots hold. I could use a hand up when you're ready."
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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#26
His sleeves were green, if that helped to subconsciously soothe the wounded newcomer, and he hummed thoughtfully over her head injury, weighing the pros and cons of what to do with it. "Split open, yes, but not caved in," he agreed wryly. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if some of that hair grows back white after the gash heals. I've seen it happen sometimes." Not often, but it was striking when it did. Nurse Isuma added her own touch, albeit even more gently than she normally did. The gryphlet turned to investigate the hand that appeared, nuzzling her warm, hard beak against Melinoe's fingers but not nibbling them in greeting as she normally might have, fastidious about the blood and dirt that clung to them.

"Oh, the gods do that, too," he agreed again, grinning. "I don't think these spirits are gods, though. More like... hmm... personifications of elemental forces? Or elemental spirits. Neither mortal nor god. Worthy of respect, though, if you do run into one!" It was a caution he hoped she would remember in the future as he leaned back to let her shift around. At her willingness to move he nodded and collected her tattered cloak before offering her his hand, grinning at her compliments on his work. "The head wound has stopped bleeding, so I think I'm going to leave it be for now. If it starts again I'll wrap it, but I don't want to get any more dirt in your wounds than is already there," he pointed out wryly. The gut wound was the real problem, but also the one that had to be bound. As long as Vervain or Isla could attend to it with their magical Healing quickly, however, he hoped they would be okay. "Lean on me as much as you need. And if you've got the breath for it - can you tell me about the druids of your world?" His curiosity was genuine, but so was his desire to distract her from the pain of her injuries as they began to walk.


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#27
Mel delighted in Nurse Isuna's attentions, her fingers feeling dumb and boneless as they tickled her chin and cheeks with little strength behind them, gazing fondly at the beaked kitten, not so much batting an eye at the thought that her hair might grow in white. "That's okay." The witch chirped, head easing back against the wall to look him in the face again. At this point, she seemed fairly agreeable with whatever the universe willed for her at this moment, and if the universe willed a stranger to mummify her in her own cloak to stop her from coming apart at the seams, then so be it. If the universe wanted her to have white hair, so be it. Feeling more than a bit worn out but somehow bolstered by the realization that she had, in fact, a fighting chance with Jigano's aid, she really was fine with anything in this moment so long as it meant survival. Her beastly guide and fondest acquaintance would understand that, she was sure of that.

As Jigano leaned away, she thought about gods and spirits being apparently within arm's reach and did not find it entirely unfamiliar, only curious. She hoped she might recall these exchanges later to better flesh out her understanding of this new world. Finally, after some great concentrated delay she nodded with some effort and shifted about in an effort to find some position in which she could be pulled to her feet with little fuss from the wounds littering her body. The effort demanded rest as she panted and returned her attention to Isuna, fondly focusing upon the gryphlet as she reined in her short shallow breathing, gaze becoming glassy for a short moment. What had Jigano said? "What I'd trade for ink and parchment." Mel muttered gruffly beneath her breath, coughing as she came to and focused on the extended palm before her and her savior's green sleeves. After some hesitation she took his hand, sucked in a deep breath and locked her narrow fingers around his wrist in a vice-like cuff, focusing all of her strength and willpower on the great heave that would bring her to her feet.

Invitation was not needed for her to lean on him, in fact Mel seemed quite the natural at using another humanoid body as leverage to stay upright, wrapping her arm under his and gripping his shoulder quite fiercely. A low whine and a clenched jaw grimace accompanied her experimental leaning on her left leg, discovering that while not a great leg at this moment, with Jigano's help it would be workable. It was a thankful thing that, while not skin and bones, the witch weighed very little indeed - it would certainly make the trip back to Sanctuary less of a tax on the bard's shoulders. Recovering her strength, she gazed about the dark interior of the Spire one last time before they managed to limp out the door and into the humid air.

She focused on walking and left navigation in the bard's knowledgeable hands, focusing on her water-logged leather boots and the black glassy floor. Dark hair fell in damp curtains across the right side of her face, blinkering her vision further, though she found she didn't particularly care, her swollen and battered face scrunched in a thoughtful mask of concentration that could scarcely be distinguished from her characteristic glowers and grimaces. "Druids, right?" Craning her neck she looked up at him, using this moment to pause and catch her breath. "They're guardians in the way knights are not, protecting what is truly important. I knew one, I think. Talk and broad and practically a beast himself - he showed me the place where they pray deep in the woods where even the air is green-" she sighed wistfully, returning to the dreamy shrine, thinking back to damp knees knelt in the mud and moss. "Every part of their life is devoted to something larger and more important than themselves, and each would sacrifice themselves for their duty - it's all they know." She sounded... Appreciative. Longing, even, wistful though the thought of self sacrifice did not sound as attractive if she was the one meant to do it. It just sounded stupid. "Their transformations were gifts, things they earned by training and beseeching their goddess and spirits. I'm sure that if they were to die so would the world around them."

The trek was arduous, her entire body aching and on the verge of collapse, though she soldiered on and spoke slowly, focusing on the words as a means of distraction. "There were witches when I grew up - not the same but not all that different. They spilled blood for healthy crops and burned offerings for strong babies. We were told stories about their power and potential for cruelty to keep us in line, but it's all the same. The sacrifice it takes for the land to thrive, they were necessary to us as wolves-" Howling. "As... As wolves are to deer..."
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
MP: 10170
#28
"That can be arranged - after you're settled at the Infirmary," he informed her with an understanding chuckle for her desire for pen and paper. He lifted her with surprising ease - surprising to him, that was. He knew he wasn't a strong man, but the little witch was light enough that even her full weight didn't tax him as much as he'd expected.

He took as much of her weight as she would allow as they began to walk, slow and limping, from the Spire and towards the Settlement, and he let her words flow around him, nodding and making quiet noises of understanding - and approval, at her description of the druids. Less approval of the witches, but a thoughtful acceptance of them as different in her world than his. When she trailed off he distracted her with stories of his own world, the druids and witches there, and the wizards and sorcerers as well. It passed the time and made the trudge of feet over damp soil less noticeable, until mud turned to rough brick and stone, and the path became a street. Ruined buildings rose around them, few taller than two stories and most quite a bit shorter. Some were simple, barely hovels, but as they neared the center of town the size and crumbled grandeur of the buildings increased. He turned from historian to tour guide, pointing out important places like the Atheneum and some of the shops of his friends until they finally made their way to the Temple's doors.

Inside the air was dark and cool, and faint sounds of clinking mugs and talk drifted from a door that lead down - the Rathskeller tavern, he informed her with a chuckle, but led her instead past the pews and towards the back of the building, where the rooms had been turned into an Infirmary for the sick and injured.

Only then did he leave her, handing her into the care of gasping nurses and bustling healers, telling them what he knew of her wounds even as they found a stretcher to carry her back towards a room where she would be washed and examined, her wounds unbound and cleansed and restitched with poultices to fight infection until one of the healers with a magic touch could attend her and set her more firmly on the road to mending.


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