Across the Serpent Kin ¨[Slaine]

[Iskyros]

By this time, first among the things that Iskyros had learned by living on the road was the it was absolutely not something quite nearly as enjoyable as, he guessed, whatever phantom comforts his past home must've of had. He was always tired. But he knew enough about traveling to know that past a certain point you never felt truly rested, and if you stayed too long in one place while taking "days off" you would run out of food while slacking. and still feel just as tired as the first day you lay down to rest. It was also part of why he had grown quite a bit of muscle, though not necessarily increased the volume of his body greatly. Carrying a 40kg bag everywhere was, how would he put it, not thrilling. And there was also the matter of safety. Something that discouraged many of the normal-er folks he had encountered in the settled areas.

But he wasn't overly worried about it. He knew how to take care of himself, or so he believed. He knew how to wield magic while peasants were scared of a knife attack or being jumped by bandits. He'd show them, for sure. He already had a violent confrontation, after all. What was the most dangerous plan those inferior beings could concoct? Nothing nearly as complicated and unnecessarily paranoid as his own thoughts, for sure.

He was wearing his traveling cape, made of a water-repellant material in similar fashion as his traveling bag was. He had a staff that helped him walk along, with engraved runes from top to bottom. Little did anyone know they weren't anything magical or a mysterious item; he had just carved it out with his knife out of boredom one night after another. Should anyone be privy to this knowledge they would learn not just long he had been traveling, but also just how hyperactive he was at times. His white hair was not tied down this time, and the wind carefreely pushed it back. He trailed along the side of the river for a while, leaning down at times like an old man with a back problem at times, and at other times, simply squatting. After a couple times of doing this he simply let go of his backpack and placed it gently on the ground near the shadow of a tree.

The area near the river was lush with life, and the closer they got to the mountains the clearer it was. Right now, he was able to perfectly see through it. And once in every while he could see fishes swimming through. The bushes nearby were ripe with small fruits, and even some lizards. The trees had guests of their own as well, but he wasn't so interested in the local fauna as he was in the local flora. Amidst the ground, in between the bushes and the grass there were two things he was after. A certain kind of flower, and a certain kind of mushroom he needed for his experiments; the rest of the ingredients he would have to find at night. As much as he was loath to admit it, his night vision was not really all that great; so there he was now leaning forward and reaching out with his hands into bushes, moving leaves aside and-

"Ah fuck!"

He shouted, a mouth as dirty as his thoughts when he accidentally pressed his hand against a thorned plant, he quickly withdrew and shook his hands out of instinct, before looking at it. A thin thread of blood was leaking out of his forefinger. He pressed his teeth together and kicked the plant, which of course, was pointless and to no avail as his black boot simply pushed the flowers aside and the next moment it got back together like nothing. As if mocking him, a soft breeze of wind rocked the bush back and forth.

"Oh, you're mocking me?"

His voice was deep, slow and methodical, and yet vibrant with life and youth in his display and intonation. He lifted both eyebrows and then moved to the side, walking back to his backpack. He opened one of the compartments, and after a few seconds of fumbling with the contents he retrieved a book; it was a bit ragged, with a cover of hard leather and thick reislient pages. He walked back towards the bush, and opened it revealing it's contents: His caligraphy was a calculated, practiced thing. Stylish, yet legible. Slightly pompous, but not too much. Even his writing was arrogant.

His fingers caressed the letters he himself had written and began to read out an incantation, perfecting the spell. It was easier with plants, but no less of an art. As the words left his mouth his right hand reached out towards the plant. The spell would have been much easier with a magical catalyst such as a staff or a wand, but this, this was personal. Droplets of his blood fell on the plant. One, two, three. By the fifth it was as if his blood itself was boiling; a thread of white smoke began to raise from the bloodstains on the flower. He continued, and that white smoke began to be released not only from the places where his blood was touching, but by the whole plant. The smoke gathered above the plant, and as it did, the plant withered into a black thing. And further, further. He kept pushing it, like squeezing a towel. He kept at it.

"Not so tough now, are you"

It was not merely out of spite; he wanted to find the limit. Just how much could he drain the plant before it ceased to exist. Would the life-essence of the plant, small as it was, be tied to it's physical form, or was it entirely another matter? He was at that very moment, pondering on what separated necromany from animation. He was trying to find the precise point where that happened. The plant was coal-black, with cracks on it's surface as if it was made of stone. And as he continued, the cracks grew deeper. The small handful of white mist that had concealed on top of it began to have a sliver of green, just the tiniest bit.

Then his elven ears picked up a noise. A noise like a small rock being pushed aside or falling on top of another. A sound like someone walking on the same riverside he was. Startled, he ceased what he was doing, and as his concentration dispersed so did the plant; the next breeze of wind blew it away on a tiny spray of ashes that did not reach the floor before seemingly disappearing; the particles pf the dust it had been reduced to were so small that they could for the most part fall through the space in between the smaller rocks. The small globe of white mist similarly dissipated, except that this one was like proper smoke and went windwards.

He turned around slightly startled, like a cat when hearing an unfamiliar noise. His expression neutral, but his eyes ready.

[Slaine]

Though perhaps the fae were naturally graceful and spry, a life of study indoors had done no favors for her dexterity, and though she had learned to walk silently in an old house with floorboards that creaked and stairs that squealed going up and down them if you stepped wrong, she had never quite learned how to walk silently in the wilderness, giving herself away as she began to creep forward, straining to get a better view of the magical withering from between the branches of her cover. She had not meant to become a spy, but the strange elf had made himself quite the spectacle with all of his carrying on, drawing her from the nearby path.

Born and raised in Fellsgrad, Slaine had rarely seen magic in the flesh. It was always a treat and a delight when it occurred, even when it took such a terrifying form such as this. This man had not merely burned the offending plant or electrocuted it, but rather something else entirely - something darker. Something far more threatening than any primal burst of magic ever could have been. The elf must have heard her as suddenly his concentration lapsed and the flower collapsed as dust amid the rocks and roots and the strange turned in her direction, his eyes bright and alert. Though Slaine did not think he had seen her, neither did she think that he wouldn't come looking - rather than draw out the embarrassment of being found out she reasoned that it was likely better to out herself now, gripping her staff in a white-knuckled grip, as if that would do something.

Standing, she straightened herself up among the bushes, tilting her hat back and away from her face as she regarded an elf that, to her, seemed perhaps potentially a bit unhinged. It was only a plant, and his reaction had struck her as somewhat over blown, all things considered. Of course, she had arrived late and had barely seen what had been of the plant before he had wrought whatever arcane misfortune upon it he had. Someone concerned that she might be next, Slaine fished in her memory for something protective, something safe. Something surefire that could put an end to his menacing if he turned those incantations her way. Unhelpfully, her mind seemed by and large blank the moment she found her feet leaving her staring at him with a rather blank expression that, paired with her small stature and fae-like proportions made her look more like a lost child far too far afield to be on her own. Several tense seconds later, Slaine found her curiosity had returned in full force as she swept the brush from in front of her feet with the plain staff clutched in hand, holding her free hand up to express her intention of peace.

Her mouth didn't get the message however, as a cat-like grin curled on her lips and her attention shifted from the clearly dangerous magic user to the target of his wrath, the empty space where once there had been life kist seeming pretty neat to someone that got excited about simple parlor tricks and the like. "How'd you do that? You didn't even use a focus - let me see the spell." Wetting her lips she glanced up at him, craning her neck to meet his eyes. "Come on, you know you want to gloat."