Poor Wayfaring Stranger
Tristan Cadfáel
Blacksmith / Mercenary

Age: 35 | Height: 6’ 7” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 0 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 5 - Int:
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#1
tristan
Laying prone with his limbs spread, the blue sky overhead seemed endless.

He watched, captivated and awed, as white clouds drifted lazily by and shifted shape upon an endless backdrop of blue. There was no sense of touch, of smell, or of sound and general awareness to his person. He was a stranger, a foreigner, unaccustomed and unwanted in a land he had no memory of arriving in. Everything existed in a muted sense, muffled, as though he were immersed in water.

What was the last thing he could recall?

Eyes fluttered closed, and he thought back. A sharp inhale, the scent of herbs or spice. Smoke. The calm, steady beat of his heart, dirt and foliage beneath his searching fingertips. Adrenaline. Panic. Steel. Silence in his ears. A shout of his name, and then nothing. Nothing? No, that wasn’t right. He was most definitely somewhere now and still very much alive, but where?

With a groan, Tristan slowly forced himself to move from his prone position on the ground. He sat up, head throbbing, his entire body aching. Eyes opened and he took in his immediate surroundings, chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. A hand cupped at his left side, where his shirt was stained with blood from an injury he could not remember gaining, and blue eyes roamed the area that he found himself in.

He had awoken upon dirt, grass, and some kind of plant that smelled almost sweet to his nose. Around him appeared to be a garden of some sorts, small and quaint in a way that reminded him of the farmstead he had grown up on. It was well tended to by someone far more talented than he was. As his eyes wandered, Tristan spotted the humble cottage only a few paces away, and were it not for the muddled state of his mind, he was certain an instinctual sort of panic would have taken hold.

What was he doing here? And where was here?

He had been riding along the main road, his horse at a leisurely lope beneath him, and then… Then…

Sitting in a strange garden, the dirty, bloodied brunette remained still, hoping it would all come back to him. Above, the clouds continued to drift by in a sky of bright blue, the world both new and knowing.

Georgia McCullough
Herbalist / Healer

Age: 32 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
Level: 0 - Strg: 5 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 15 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: ali Offline
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#2
 GEORGIA
Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
image by Csutkaa @ flickr.com

It wasn't every day that a man suddenly dropped out of the sky and if Georgia had not happened to be looking out of the kitchen window of her cottage she wouldn't have believed it. She stood there, mouth hanging open as she stared out at her garden. The plants were tall enough to hide him from view, but she knew that she needed to go out and see just how injured the he was... and check on her plants. She could only imagine the state they were in after having something that large fall on them.


She stepped outside, paused, and looked up at the sky curiously. It was nothing more than a vast expanse of blue, dotted with lazily floating clouds.Nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that a man had just fallen from the gods only knew where. Georgia was hesitant as she ventured toward the garden, expecting to find a bloody mess splattered across her plants. Her surprise and shock increased when she looked down at the man, who appeared relatively uninjured aside from his bleeding side. He was still breathing, his fingers were twitching every now and again...

Again, she looked up at the sky, frowning, then back down at the stranger.

"Oh!" Georgia squeaked when he sat up. She had circled around him, inspecting her plants and had not noticed when he had regained consciousness and opened his eyes. Obviously he was better off physically than she had anticipated if he were able to move on his own so quickly. Still cautious, she stepped in front of him then knelt so she was eye level with the man in her garden. "My plants broke your fall." She said with a smile and a glance toward the flattened flowers. A majority of them would have to be pulled up, but it wasn't the end of the world.

Her gaze moved from the flowers back to the man and her head tilted, expression becoming a bit more serious. "Are you okay? Is there anything I can help you with?"



"."

Tristan Cadfáel
Blacksmith / Mercenary

Age: 35 | Height: 6’ 7” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 0 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: Sparrow Offline
Change author:
Posts: 13 | Total: 22
MP: 0
#3
tristan
So out of it as he was, it had been easy to overlook the young woman who had exited the cottage to investigate his sudden arrival. Tristan turned his head at the sound of her voice, wincing a little and blinking past the sun in his eyes. Once, instinct would have told him to use caution; she could be a threat, but he lacked the energy and the strength to currently care.

As the woman knelt down before him so that they were a more similar height, Tristan blinked slowly, letting his eyes wander across her youthful face. Cherubic, almost, a head with fiery red hair and pale skin with a face full of freckles that gave away the time she must have spent in the sun. Oh. Was this her garden?

Sorry,” he croaked without thinking, his voice rough as gravel as though he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. The brunette paused, a particularly baffled expression crossing his face at the sound of his own voice, then tried to speak once more but only after clearing his throat. “About your plants. Um.” Keeping a hand pressed against his injured side, Tristan looked around himself. He had indeed landed in a bushel of something, but he very much doubted that the plant did much to break his fall. Still, the woman’s sentiments were appreciated, especially when his whole body felt as though he had taken a large fall.

Upon her further pressing as to his wellbeing, the man took a moment to really get stock of himself before attempting to answer. He moved his legs, then his arms, and straightened his back a little, hearing a little pop! from somewhere in his spine. Nothing seemed to be broken, luckily. Blue eyes focused back upon the woman’s freckled face, and he nodded, attempting to at least form some kind of cordial smile even though he was certain it would look more like a grimace.

“I’m alright. Confused, more than anything. Erm…” Looking down once more, Tristan pulled his hand away from his side with a true pained grimace. His palm came away bloody. Pulling his shirt up, it was easy to spot the cause of the blood; upon his left side was a precise slice, as though from a blade. A quick glance around and he spotted his own swore laying a ways off, but the blade was clean. Letting his shirt fall back down, he turned his head to regard the redheaded woman once more. “You, ah, possibly wouldn’t have any bandages on you, by chance?”

Georgia McCullough
Herbalist / Healer

Age: 32 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
Level: 0 - Strg: 5 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 15 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: ali Offline
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Posts: 10 | Total: 54
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#4
 GEORGIA
Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
image by Csutkaa @ flickr.com

He was slow to answer her and when he did he sounded as if he hadn't spoken or had anything to drink in days. She waved a hand and shook her head as he apologized for landing on her plants. "No worries." The flowers had been nearing their end, anyway, and she had planned on pulling them up within the next couple of weeks and filling their spot with something else. His unexpected arrival and destruction of the flowers would just move her timeline forward a bit more quickly than she had anticipated, but she was adaptable.

Besides, wasn't it more important that he had survived his fall?

She watched calmly as he moved his arms and legs. There was no wincing, no sudden inhale, jerky movements, or anything else that would indicate that he was in a considerable amount of pain. His back popped, but that seemed like no more worrisome than a knuckle cracking. "You're lucky." She caught herself saying, then smiled sheepishly. "It was quite a fall, I was expecting broken bones." She explained.

Naturally he was confused, she wouldn't have expected anything less, though she did wonder just how hard he had hit his head when he hit the ground. His grimace made her look down and her frown returned when she saw the blood on his palm. Without having to ask him to do so, he lifted his shirt and she could see the clean cut on his side, like he had been sliced with a knife, or something else sharp. There wasn't anything sharp in her garden that he could have landed on, she didn't leave any tools laying out for fear of rust.

"You fell into the right garden." Georgia announced as she rose to her feet. "Why don't you come inside? I'll make you some tea and clean that wound for you." She offered and held a hand out to the man to help him to his feet.

"."

Tristan Cadfáel
Blacksmith / Mercenary

Age: 35 | Height: 6’ 7” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 0 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: Sparrow Offline
Change author:
Posts: 13 | Total: 22
MP: 0
#5
tristan
Something about what the redheaded woman was saying just didn’t seem right. Fall? Had he fallen? Tristan couldn’t remember. Lips pulled downward into a quizzical sort of frown, the brunette gave it thought once again. He had begun to assume that someone had simply dumped him here, not that he had fallen… And from the heights that the woman claimed were enough to break bones? That just wasn’t right. It wasn’t like he could have just fallen out of the sky.

Still, Tristan was grateful that she didn’t seem angry that he had efficiently trampled her flowers, even though he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. If it had been the other way around and someone had ruined the crops in their garden on the homestead, he was quite certain that his mother would have throttled the culprit. As it was, the redhead seemed to not mind it at all.

Pulled out of his musings by movement, the brunette watched as the stranger pushed herself up to her full height and offered him a hand. He stared for a moment, his sluggish mind struggling to catch up to what was going on before he realized she was offering to help him up and to his feet. “Right,” he murmured, more to bolster himself than to answer her. Letting his bloody hand cup his left side once more, Tristan reached up and took the woman’s pale hand in his own, taking a moment to really notice how small her hand was compared to his own before he struggled to stand.

With a grunt, he pulled himself up and to his feet and struggled not to pull the woman over due to his greater weight, his head suddenly swimming with dizziness. For a moment he stood, certain he would topple right over, but he managed to stay upright for the time being. “Thank you, miss,” Tristan said softly once the dizziness had slowly begun to ebb away, “I really appreciate this.” Once more he looked to her and smiled. This time, however, he had to look down, for he stood over a foot taller than her.

Georgia McCullough
Herbalist / Healer

Age: 32 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
Level: 0 - Strg: 5 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 15 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: ali Offline
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Posts: 10 | Total: 54
MP: 0
#6
 GEORGIA
Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
image by Csutkaa @ flickr.com

The man looked big sitting there on the ground, but it wasn't until his hand completely enclosed her own that she realized just how big he probably was. She had to brace herself and grip his forearm with her free hand to help get him to her feet all the while hoping that he wouldn't end up pulling her down on top of him. It wouldn't be good for her to injure him further, not to mention her poor flowers had had enough abuse already without her adding to it.

Once on his feet the man was even taller than she had assumed. "Well then." Georgia said, her head tilting back so she could look up at the new comer. "Fall off your beanstalk?" The tone of her voice sounded almost serious, but the twitch of her lips as she tried not to grin should have been enough to make it known that she was joking.

When he no longer seemed like he was wobbly on his feet she let go of his arm and stepped back, brows furrowing as she studied him. There had been an influx of newcomers, but for the most part she had been left alone and had stayed out of sight. He was the first one that she had come across and it made her wonder if they were all that big "Okay, we need to get that taken care of." She said, motioning to the bloody hand pressed against his injured side.

She turned to walk to her cottage, but the glint of metal in the sunlight made her stop. There, lying on the ground near her crushed flowers, was a sword. "Huh." She stepped away from him then stooped down to pick up the sword. It was heavy, the edge razor sharp, but there was no blood on it which made his injury all the more perplexing. She looked back at Tristan when he thanked her and grinned. "I haven't done anything yet." She said. "I'm sure you'll be less thankful when I do." From her experience bigger men tended to be bigger babies when it came to cleaning and stitching wounds.

"Come on." Georgia said, taking hold of his arm once again to guide him toward the cottage. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, stopping long enough to leave the sword leaning against the wall.  The inside of the cottage was quaint and home. Dried herbs and flowers were spread out across a small coffee table in the living room. A couch and a set of chairs sat near a fireplace that wasn't currently being used. In the kitchen were more dried herbs surrounding a morter and pestle on the counter.

"Sit at the table." She said, motioning toward it as she disappeared to get clean bandages. Georgia returned a short time later with the bandages in hand and a bottle filled with amber colored liquid. "Here you go." She held the bottle out to him. "A bit of whiskey helps take the edge off."

"."

Tristan Cadfáel
Blacksmith / Mercenary

Age: 35 | Height: 6’ 7” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 0 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: Sparrow Offline
Change author:
Posts: 13 | Total: 22
MP: 0
#7
tristan
There was a moment of peculiar confusion at the woman’s words. ’Fall off your beanstalk?’ Tristan didn’t understand and he was certain that his blank-faced expression gave that away. Be it from the fall he was still recovering from or the ache of the wound in his side, it took him almost embarrassingly long to realize that it was a lighthearted joke directed at his height, and a grin mixed of lethargy and pain crossed his lips. “You know, miss, maybe I did.” It wasn’t as if he could really remember what happened to him, and he found that the redheaded woman’s assumption was just as likely as his own.

It took a bit of care and maneuvering, but soon enough Tristan was out of the garden and situated in a chair inside of the small cottage, admiring the interior of the unassuming building with a quick glance. The smell of herbs and concoctions were thick in the air, but it wasn’t overwhelming. He caught sight of the small trinkets and items lying about; the mortar and pestle, the dried herbs, and other necessities for living seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It all looked well lived in, but lonely, and the brunette found himself wondering if the woman lived alone.

He let her go and fetch whatever it was that she needed, and when she returned and offered him a bottle of amber colored liquid, the man arched a brow up at her. “Whiskey?” He questioned, but the answer came soon enough. To ‘help take the edge off’, huh? “Alright, then.” Deft fingers undid the stopper and he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a hearty swig. The amber liquid burned going down and he coughed once, but then took another quick swallow and set the bottle down upon the table. “Thank you.”

Knowing that she would need to reach the injury unhindered, Tristan cautiously removed his shirt. It took a bit of care and assistance from the redheaded woman, whose name he still didn’t know, but soon enough he was sitting bare-chested in the middle of a kind stranger’s kitchen. If he had been a different man, perhaps he would have been a bit sheepish, but there was nothing ulterior about what was going on here. The blood oozing from the slice in his side could attest for that.

Keeping his hands elsewhere and letting her do whatever she needed to do, Tristan grit his teeth but spoke in an attempt to distract himself from the inevitable pain. “I don’t believe I caught your name, miss? I’m Tristan. I figure I should at least give my name when I accidentally ruined your flowers. This, ah… This is a nice little home you have. Do you live here alone?”

Georgia McCullough
Herbalist / Healer

Age: 32 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
Level: 0 - Strg: 5 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 15 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: ali Offline
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Posts: 10 | Total: 54
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#8
 GEORGIA
Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
image by Csutkaa @ flickr.com

It was obvious that he was in pain and that alone was enough to make Georgia's heart hurt for the stranger. She couldn't stand by and watch as he struggled to remove his shirt so she could better see the wound, so she helped to gently peel the material away from the bleeding wound. She carefully helped work the shirt up and over his head and once it was off she placed it on the counter. "I'll clean it once I'm finished with your wound." She offered as she walked back to where Tristan sat waiting.

Kneeling down next to where he sat, she was able to get a better look at the injury. "It'll need stitches." She said, glancing up at him, her gaze questioning. Many people shied away from stitches -- the repeated stabbing of a needle through already injured flesh was something that was hard to stomach. Some opted for a longer healing time and a bigger scar because of that fear.

She was gentle as she could possibly be as she began to work. Cleaning the wound was, perhaps, just as painful as it would be to stitch it. Alcohol burned, but it was required to fight against any kind of infection that could potentially take root and complicate the healing process. "Sorry." She murmured quietly any time he flinched. "It'll be over soon." She promised, though she knew from experience, that when you were on the receiving end of stitches time seemed to drag on endlessly.

He started talking and she knew right away that it was a coping mechanism to keep his mind off of the needle going in and out of his skin. "Georgia." She said when he asked her name. "I do now." A less trusting person may have allowed a stranger to believe that they lived with someone else, but Georgia didn't sense any ill intent from the man sitting at her kitchen table. "I lived with my grandmother until she passed a year or so ago. I can't bear to part with her cottage or that garden... too many memories attached." She looked up at Tristan and smiled. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't abandon it."

Immediately after her attention went back to the work at hand, her fingers quickly and expertly stitching the wound closed. "Where are you from?" She asked while she worked, both out of curiosity and an attempt to keep his mind occupied.

Several minutes later the wound was closed and Georgia began bandaging it. "Be careful with moving." She warned as she wrapped the bandages around his middle. "If you rip those stitches out you'll open that wound back up and it'll be far more painful the second time around." She stood then and stretched her back before turning to retrieve his bloody shirt. "I'll get this cleaned for you. Make yourself at home."

"."

Tristan Cadfáel
Blacksmith / Mercenary

Age: 35 | Height: 6’ 7” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 0 - Strg: 12 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 5 - Int:
Played by: Sparrow Offline
Change author:
Posts: 13 | Total: 22
MP: 0
#9
tristan
As the redheaded woman knelt down to better get a look at his wound, Tristan followed her gaze. The wound itself was a clean laceration that cut between two layers of skin into the flesh and sinew just beneath his ribs, blood dripping steadily downwards to stain the hem of his pants. It was a nasty injury, and one that he couldn’t remember getting, but at least it seemed like a clean enough slice. Catching the woman’s cursory glance, he simply offered a shrug of a shoulder in return. Should it need stitches, then he was alright with that. Anything to make it heal quicker and without more mess.

Despite his willingness, of course, it didn’t make it any less painful. The brunette grit his teeth as she began to clean and stitch the wound, doing his best to not shift around at the lingering pain, not wanting to make her job any more difficult but also not wanting to mess up her stitching. It was a necessity, and it wasn’t the first time that he’d had to stitch up a wound. Tristan truly doubted that it would be the last.

Eventually, it seemed his words had an effect. That or she took pity on his pained winces and sharp inhales, for she introduced herself in that same dulcet tone as ‘Georgia’. Little did he know that Georgia would be only the first of many names he would learn in this mysterious world. Still, earning her name was a true treasure, considering he had done nothing but invaded her home and crushed her poor flowers. Tristan felt honored to know it. That strained smile didn’t last, however, as Georgia went into detail about her grandmother and how she had lost the elderly woman a year ago, but to know that she held such sentimental adoration for the cottage they were now sitting in was endearing.

“Well,” Tristan gasped out, gritting his teeth as he inhaled sharply through the nose in an attempt to keep himself calm and still, “I think… She would be pleased with how well you’re taking care of it. The garden is beautiful.” From the bits he had seen, of course. Although that did make him feel all the more guilty about landing on top of her flowers…

At Georgia’s own little inquiry, Tristan understood it for what it was. Not only was she prying for more information about him, but she was offering him a good distraction. This woman clearly knew her stuff, and he would remember her genuine bedside manner. Ah. Um, a small farmstead in the Briarwood. I lived there with my parents before striking off on my own, but it was always home.” He wondered yet again if he would see them again, or if he was stuck in this world for the rest of his life. The thought was a terrifyingly sober one, and doing his best to not jostle Georgia’s hands, the brunette plucked up the bottle from the table and took another swig of whiskey.

Eventually the wound was closed, and Tristan held still for a moment longer to allow her to wrap a soft, clean bandage around his middle before shifting and sitting up. Soft blue eyes watched as Georgia stood up and stretched, and the man smiled warmly. “Thank you, Georgia. I won’t forget your kindness. Um. Is there anything you need help with? I know you told me to take it easy, but… It doesn’t feel right to not offer some kind of trade. Maybe help with dinner? Or… Chores?”

More than likely she would give him a look and order him to just sit there and take it easy for a while, but he had to try.



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