a nodding campanula of bell buoys

POSTED: Wed Oct 09, 2019 5:07 am

It's noon in the Miramichi Valley, and it's foggy. Your character has encountered a small fire.

The fire can be Alena's or someone else's, up to you!

Thumbing her tooth-poked ear, a remnant of an earlier encounter with a fellow packmate, Clementine navigated the lowland forests of the Miramichi Wilderness with ease on horseback and off; when the ground grew uncertain or the possibility of marshland arose, she led her white horse across safe ground, his saddlebags swaying slightly.

To avoid the possibility of ruffians in and around Amherst, she’d hugged the mountain range on her way north and passed close to the old home of Sapient before veering away from the general direction of the cape. Keeping the loch on her left as a sort of guide, she meandered the swathe of unclaimed land, sometimes building small fires at night when she felt comfortable enough doing so, and neglecting to do so when anything so much as a foreboding sense of ill-intent drifted her way.

Often, she was awake well into the night, and sighed sleepily atop her horse in the mornings. If one were to delve into the business of trade, however, this was necessary. Taking an armed escort every time – reminiscent of her trade with her aunt, Morgana – would bring about unwanted questions, such as how or why a young woman was able to retain such loyal services. Nonetheless, her story was the same every time.

It was less of a story now, and more of a second self.

She was ruminating over this split identity when a dim fire flickered onto the horizon; from such a distance it was only a hazy speck floating across her vision, as if a single blink might send it away. Despite this, she turned Fingal’s head toward it and set off at a light trot, her hair loose and her rings left behind. No mere merchant’s daughter was as wealthy as the real Clementine Salcedo, after all.

Approaching out of the dense fog that seemed all-too common place these days, she slowed the horse to something that barely resembled a walk, but remained firmly on horseback should the need to flee rise from the glowing light, inspecting the cleared space around it with her keen gaze, assessing and gauging.

Ciao? She called eventually, and then again in English, all while her uncertainty rose precipitously with the growing amount of fog.

The Arbiter
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Mercante light of the North

POSTED: Thu Oct 10, 2019 10:00 pm


The Darkness rules here now.
Hatred infected all my actions. This Revenge polluted my soul.

Alena had only gotten through half of her chore list for the day, she had checked and rebaited all of the fish traps and had decided it would be a good time to take a break and make some food.

Since Aenan had been gone, she had gotten a better handle of fending for herself with the new knowledge he had bestowed upon her. She had only gathered a small bundle of sticks and twigs, enough to ensure her fish would be cooked evenly just as the older man had shown her the first day they had met.

A soft sigh escaping her lips, the twigs and sticks crackling within the flames as they were consumed. The calm air was only disturbed by the occasional sound of the tinkling of small pieces of glass falling into a pile of other shards. Since she wasn't home and wanted to practice she had kept in mind that others walk this forest. No one would appreciate glass in their paws, so she had decided digging a hole for the droppings to fall into was the safest way she could proceed.

Aenan had been collecting glass the day they had run into each other and from his stores, she had borrowed a few cracked or otherwise unusable pieces to practice her knapping. A voice cut through the near silence, ear and a half pitching forward and listening for where the sound had originated from. Getting to her feet, emerald gems searched her surroundings. Shrouded by the fog, she had spotted the figure atop an equine.

The eerie scene had sent a chill straight to her core, a figure emerging from the fog... Surely this would only be a horror tale to scare pups or give a thrill to yearlings. Nothing bad was going to happen so close to her new home, right? Breathing in through her nose and out her mouth in an attempt to calm her nerves, she finally called back to the mysterious figure. Hello there. and with those two words, there was no turning back now.

Walks Talks Thinks

Image by Mel
Let me know if you need anything to change! [346]

Avi's By: @Jmonster, @Mel, and @Ash
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'Souls Soldier of Love Luperci

POSTED: Sat Oct 12, 2019 12:22 am


Looks good to me!

At first, the campsite had appeared abandoned, but perhaps this was simply the fog playing tricks on a mind that sought mystery and intrigue around every corner. Some part of her wanted it to be so; maybe it belonged to a nefarious person, or someone who had just up and disappeared. Ghost stories were for children, of course, but she had only just emerged from adolescence into adulthood.

Unfortunately for her, upon closer inspection, the fire had been rekindled recently, with the plumes of smoke mingling freely in the fog, creating a sort of cloudy atmosphere. Atop her pale horse, Clementine was more or less able to look down on most things and found that between swirls of mist there were signs of habitation – temporary or otherwise – beyond the fire itself. Here and there were pawprints and recently trampled grass.

When a voice reached out, seemingly from nowhere, Clem urged her horse forward, a line creasing up her muzzle in consternation. Snuffling and tasting the air, there was something vaguely female about the scent, but she was distracted by the strangeness that seemed to surround them.

Hello! Greeted the Warden in the same tongue, giving a brief wave from where she sat, her horse taking slow, plodding steps forward. His head hung slightly, as if he might be contemplating taking a break from travel with or without his rider’s permission. Fingal was stubborn in this way, though rarely was he eager to take a break from anything.

He enjoyed a challenge as much as she.

is this your fire? I thought it was abandoned at first, so I came to investigate. She confessed the truth in a chipper tone that felt strange. It was perfectly suited to her alter ego, however, and this bolstered her confidence.

Despite this, she did not swing down from the blanket which she’d taken in lieu of a saddle, having not been invited to do so.

The Arbiter
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Mercante light of the North

Northern Tides