Re: and our time is flying

see the candle burning low

POSTED: Tue Aug 20, 2019 8:48 pm

The dark male was pensive, as he always was — always thinking, considering from a distance. And his question was valid: how could she so easily speak on behalf on her King, anyhow? Was she not just a commoner beneath a monarch?

Her mind drifted to the face of Iomair, his amber eyes dully shining from his rugged, doggish face. He was worn, weary from war, and yet a glimmer of hope shone in those pools of gold; a hope to rebuild, a hope to restore that which he had lost. It would never be the same, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. They would reestablish the Realm from the rubble and ash — and they would create an entirely new kingdom, one that would eventually come to surpass the old.

She couldn't so easily convey all of these things to Bellad, however, not without appearing overly ambitious or unrealistic.

Instead she looked to the path ahead, face just as unreadable as his. "Iomair welcomes all," she started slowly, carefully. "All who have collected in our camp — we come from all walks of life. Some of us seek to start anew, others seek to continue as they had in the past. Wherever your path may lead..." Violet eyes drifted back to her companion. "You can travel upon it with us."

Fennore knew how it felt to be alone, to carry burdens; there were things Bellad had left unsaid, and that was his choice. But he would be closing an open door if he didn't so much as consider her offer.

Soon Lirael's hooves struck upon cracked pavement, and Macha poked her head out from the saddle bag, mewling in curiosity. The woman sniffed the air, but they were alone here, as she had expected. Bellad had shifted at this point, and she halted the mare momentarily to slid off the saddle, and she took the reins to lead her along on foot.

"And where shall we begin, Songthorn?"

ooc →


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• moonwraith •

POSTED: Sun Sep 01, 2019 5:50 pm

Iomair. He would have to remember that name. It was that of someone who held power over Tamlin, over Fennore, over all the Luperci he may have to come across in the foreseeable future. Whether an alpha, a chief or a king - by any name he was still a leader, and Bellad weighted that station against what he, the latter Songthorn, could offer in a bargain. He did not grace Fennore with anything definitive. There were no I-will-think-about-its or thank-you-I-would-love-tos, but the nondescript grunt with what could almost have been a nod certainly signified that he at least heard her.

By this point, they finally reached the man-made (or at least man-brought and man-assembled) stone. Here Bellad seemed perhaps somewhat tense, even as he was asked the question about their further investigation. The black Luperci clearly wasn't particularly accustomed to civilization in the sense of material creations. His habitual lack of clothes and few accessories or grooming spoke volumes about his lifestyle. Perhaps had his origins been in the canine rather than lupine, some tiny part of him would have thought differently. But here he stood amidst abandoned yet somewhat alien comforts and struggled somewhat with what instinct dictated.

"Where scents linger strongest." He finalized with a simple commonplace truth, one that he hoped would serve him just as well here as it did in the wilderness. So he trotted along the cobblestone, careful and deliberate. The occasional bird looked at them from the rooftops, the beating of wings causing Bellad to perk up momentarily and follow one of them as it flew off its perch and into the sky. Where the scents lingered strongest. But what scents would it be? Soot where they cooked? Flora where they cultivated? "Are you used to places like this?" More of a practical question, and a rare if not entirely acknowledged treat of having someone to speak to during a survey.
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Howlykin
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POSTED: Mon Sep 09, 2019 4:09 pm

She had not expected much in way of a response; he did not fail to deliver. A dismissive grunt and nothing more, and that suited the woman just as well. Bellad was a tough case; he would take some time to come around.

But come around he would, she thought. The more she and Tamlin harassed him, surely he would grow weary of the intrusions and just concede. Either that or move to a spot further away from their reach. It would be interesting to see how it unfolded, if nothing else.

And so they set about their business without delay, the Songthorn leading on all fours and the woman following with the kitten and mare in tow. She did not walk on his heels but rather lingered a pace or so behind, her pink nose getting to work as they approached various structures, dilapidated and closer together. A town square, maybe. Untamed vines and greenery consumed every inch of weathered stone, and though it was a city in disrepair, Fennore found it almost... pretty, in a barbaric way. This was not even the first fallen human city she had encountered, and yet it seemed more ethereal than others.

"Somewhat," she replied, idly running her fingers against moss-blanketed stone walls. "My clan dwelled in a place such as this; but they restored it and kept it tidy." The pack that had occupied this space might have repaired the square once before, but the progress of overgrowth made it clear how long ago their era had been.

They passed by one building in particular that seemed to intrigue Macha as she slipped inside, and Fennore peered through the open door frame curiously, leaving Lirael nearby and praying she wouldn't bolt.

The gray kitten was perched on a wooden table, sniffing the surface intently. Gliding over, Fennore glanced around the relatively empty building with vague interest, and only when she brought her nose close to the table did she begin to piece its purpose together.

It was faint, a ghost of a scent, really, but it was there. Leather, dye. At first she couldn't place it, but it was unmistakable.

Despite the small discovery, the instruments for crafting seemed all but gone now. They must have taken what they could. "They had a leather-worker," she called to the male as an afterthought. What else did this forsaken town hold, she wondered?

[+400]


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• moonwraith •

POSTED: Sat Sep 28, 2019 10:07 pm

He had backtracked towards the building that the New Caledonian scout entered, his figure looming in the doorway as he observed the room, at once empty and full of immaterial vestiges. Bellad entered, heeding Fennore's analysis of the place. The leather scent had been strong and prominent once. Now it was merely the most vivid remnant. He scrutinized the room, going from one corner to another independently of Fennore's own observations. Somewhere in the corner he found a wooden box, but the bits of leather inside seemed shriveled, and even had they been in their prime, they were much too small to have served any purpose. Then again, unlike Fennore he had a rather pointed interest in particular objects. Where, he wondered, was their apothecary?

And then, in a motion that in part may have even surprised himself, Bellad asked Fennore, while he was still in the same building with her: "Tell me more of your Caledonians. Of the place you came from. Of the people you were and are..."

Was he actually curious? Or was there some sort of lingering urge to converse while the opportunity presented itself? He made his way back to the doorway, pausing there so that both Fennore and her feline companion could join him and proceed with their survey at talking distance. The streets winded between buildings, made all the more subtle by the overgrowth. He listened to whatever Fennore had to say, while also watching the blades of grass and the occasional bloom. Mostly weeds, full of life, but of little use in saving the lives of others in any significant measure. Ivy, at least, was wildly abundant, strangling derelict buildings with its green vines.

Bellad peered into another gaping doorway, the door itself long since rotten into oblivion. The interior sported what must have once been a table, and behind it, something he couldn't quite recognize, save for the soot and the all-too-familiar smell of ash. "What had they here...?" The black wolf asked, looking towards what Fennore could likely identify as the remains of a smithy's furnace.
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POSTED: Mon Sep 30, 2019 2:04 pm

Bellad glided into the room soon after, scanning over it with a critical eye and even finding some abandoned specimens of leather near the corner of the room. Macha padded over to his side to stick her nose in the box and sniff it herself, and she pawed at the shriveled pieces of leather as the man walked away.

He was curious about them; this was at least a small indication that, maybe, her pestering was yielding results.

"I know little of the old Caledonia," she answered calmly, pink paw pads idly running across the weathered wood of the table. "They were presumably a strong, sustainable kingdom — unfortunately besieged by some dissatisfied group, and their kingdom went up into flames." She could see the fiery flicker of hurt flash against the green and gold of Tamlin's eyes; a distant memory.

"They fled in all directions, but the King came into this land with an entourage of other refugees, and..." She made a small motion with her hands, "Here we are. I joined them shortly after the camp was established."

Continuing on, they made their way through the dense brush and foliage that had consumed the town; Bellad was drawn to another building, and the Moonwraith followed him inside, her nose twitching at the vaguely smokey smell wafting around the small, dense space.

Macha immediately moved to investigate the soot and very potentially roll around in it, so the woman was quick to scoop the kitten up and away from the ashen remains. "A hearth," she answered, distractedly, as she drew a little closer to get a better look. "A furnace for forging... weapons, presumably." The design, or whatever was left of it, didn't indicate that it was for food, so smiting seemed the next logical option. Her clan had a set-up similar to this for producing spears and swords...

"So they tanned leathers and also made weapons," she recapped, glancing at the medic momentarily. "They were certainly self-sufficient, or at least it would seem that way."

[+300]


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• moonwraith •

POSTED: Sat Oct 19, 2019 6:04 am

"I see…" So she was not personally familiar with the Old Caledonia. Her words, perhaps, warranted asking just where it was that she had come from. But instead Bellad had simply turned to observe her somewhat more throughout their survey. As if trying to take apart the Fennore before him, figure out what came before Caledonia and what they had added later. But further questions would perhaps invite inquiries into where it was that Bellad came from. And he was careful not to provoke them.

He paused in the doorway, hesitant, it would seem. The dust was but gray and scattered, the scents thinned to where a non-Luperci wouldn’t feel them. He stared at the stray motes of ash, Fennore’s words resounding somewhere in the background. The former inhabitants had been skilled and made many objects to sustain themselves. Whoever lived her had the skills to outfit them with long teeth of iron. And yet what was left now? Ashes… Ashes…

"Do New Caledonia?" He nearly startled himself with his own voice, but returning to conversation snapped him from this brief lapse. Focus, an inner voice commanded. Or will you next cower from a mere campfire? He turned his head and drew the air into his nostrils again, turning so that the wind would carry scents from elsewhere. Scents of something that wasn’t ash or dust. To his surprise, he felt it, among the strangling ivy and the bitter grass. Familiar if faint floral scents.

Over there.” He indicated a direction, seemingly selecting their next point of interest. More vine-strangled buildings, more gaping empty doorways and windows, more winds and ghosts and then somewhere in the distance, among the monotonous green, faint patches of color.

Bellad slowed here, grass tickling at his paws. There were more than weeds swaying in the wind here. He recognized them. The purple candle-like growths of lavender, the white clustered batches of valerian. There weren’t many, and they were scattered here and there, as if someone had dropped seeds by accident rather than planted with purpose. But these few hardy stalks now grew, bloomed, blossomed. His steps became even slower, and then he knelt and lowered his head. Slowly, near-solemnly, he waited until his body attained its Optime form and he stood up among the herbs.

Medicinal plants.” He pointed out. “Not many, but we can gather them.” Perhaps for the first time his voice had something in it. A triumphant, near-elated undertone. Beneath his thoughtfulness, beneath his dedication to remaining reserved and withdrawn, he was still a young man on a search. And with the search now bringing results, his impassiveness mellowed however slightly.
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POSTED: Wed Nov 13, 2019 6:18 pm

His response was lacking, although she was not altogether surprised nor offended by it. When she had turned from the man she could still feel the lingering of his gaze, though she did not acknowledge it readily; if Bellad chose to be mysterious and aloof, so be it, for she could reciprocate the gesture just as well as he. He observed, and she would oblige, but perhaps not in a way that was very easy to read.

He had his questions, and she had hers, after all.

"No. Not yet, anyway." She shook a paw free, loosing it of dust. "Perhaps when we are more established, such industries will naturally follow." As it was, they could do little in the way of manufacturing within their tiny camp; once they relocated to somewhere more suitable for the growing band of refugees, however, they could surely look into such things. "We would need skilled hands to produce weapons and tan leathers, anyhow." Which they also presumably lacked at this point.

But all things in due time.

The Songthorn led them on, and so they migrated once more — this building, unlike the last, did not still smell of aging ash. In fact, there were faint traces of herbs, of spices and plants; medicinal plants, the healer aptly pointed out amongst the bending stalks of lavender.

Fennore noticed the change in him, however small it was, and she nodded with her approval.

She knew little of plants herself, but it would be foolish to leave the only bounty they had encountered thus far. "What are their uses?" she questioned, a curious lilt to her voice as fingertips brushed the white buds of the valerian. "We can split what is here. I'm sure someone at the camp can make use of these more than I can."

[+300]


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Northern Tides