Stones, Sand & Sorcery
For Peter
Evie Wordsworth
Age: 27 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 1 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 16 - Luck: 7
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 71
It's Evie's first time outside of the barrier.

Her self-imposed exile had started around that time. She had burrowed into the hole that was the Wordsworth manor, frightened by all the changes and hoping if she just remained hidden for long enough things would change. In the end she had been wrong. But there was no time like the present to make up for lost time, and so she had ended up pulling on her thicker winter coats and sturdy boots before closing up the shop and heading north. Onward and aimless. Until she reaches the treeline.

The forest doesn't seem so sickly beneath the fine powder of snow that coats it. It conceals the darkness that lies beneath, smoothing over the taint with a thick layer of white that invokes ideas of purity and restoration. Though beautiful, there is no doubt the sickness still lies in wait, perhaps more dangerous now that it is hidden from view. While the woman inside who wants only to cure the Blight can't ignore such thoughts, they have no place in her mind today. Instead, she focuses upon the trees. Giant, looming guardians that welcome her into their sunspotted depths. It is far quieter than she is used to. However, instead of being oppressive it's...calming. Freeing. Like she can finally hear her own thoughts out here without the constant buzz of noise and anxiety drowning them out.

Evie doesn't exactly have a destination in mind, considering every patch of forest is foreign to her. She wanders and rests in intervals, enjoying her moment of solitude, until the sound of water catches her ears. Easy enough to follow it after that. Not so easy to comprehend what she finds when she ventures upon the bloody pool the water gushes into. Her curiosity is immediate and intense, sneaking onto the beach to stare wide-eyed at the vibrant lichen that stares back at her. It's beautiful, if a little daunting with how it so sharply resembles blood.

Evie fully intends to research it later, but for the moment she decides to simply sit there. Right in the sand, feeling the water spray gently up against her face as she finds a smooth enough rock to roll in her hand. Over, and over, and over. Finding comfort in the familiarity and repetitiveness of the motion, letting her eyes close and listening to the roaring of the water as it freefalls into the pool before her.

be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
Peter Launceleyn
Thief / Assassin
Age: 26 | Height: 5’3” | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 2 - Strg: 8 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 21 - Luck: 6
Played by: Johnny Offline
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Posts: 211
the seasons are turning into goodbyes I can live through

Where Peter came from, snow never fell. Even in the seasons when it was bitterly cold, and the night lasted nearly twice as long as the day, the ground stayed stubbornly dry. So, despite the cold, which he normally hated, Peter braved the outdoors, again and again, enchanted by the snow. He is bundled in nearly every scarf he owns, a number that would easily supply a large family, but not much else.

The longer he is out, the most expensive inviting the forest seems to be, with the majority of it insulated by thick vegetation, even if the trees are all bare now. It is rare that he goes places with a particular purpose, and this is no different. He’s been in the greatwoods enough times to know that he’ll be spat out where the woods decide, so there’s no point in him worrying about it.

His path ends at a great red pool, a place he’s been before. His mind goes to the undine, her pain and recovery, and how beautiful she was. And, for a moment, he thinks he sees her, a feminine shape at the waters edge. The corners of his lips turn up, the beginnings of a smile, and he steps forward. It isn’t until the second step that he realizes he’s made a mistake. That is not the undine, that’s something... someone else.

At this point though, he’s made too much noise to be ignored, and his options are to freeze and stand awkwardly, waiting for her to turn, or to call out himself. ”H-Hello!” He calls, barely louder than the current. When he hears how quiet his own voice sounds, he wants to smack himself. The sounds of his stumbling forward wouldn’t have been heard, but his voice is now impossible to ignore.
Peter is very heavily scarred, most noticeably on his hands


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