Of Winters and Warm Fires

Farinyir's Basin; Harroc, Mara, Khan

Domrhask, with eight magnificent towers, is Khy'eras' northernmost city governed by Dwarves. A cautious group due to past incidents, Dwarves do not easily invite adventurers inside and disapprove of magic in their city, no matter the type. Read more...
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Galynhun-Khan Tinnudir
Character
Khy'eras' Greatest Detective
Level
01
24 / 24 HP
16 / 16 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Ranger
Posts: 13
Joined: October 27th, 2019, 8:28 pm
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Re: Of Winters and Warm Fires

Post by Galynhun-Khan Tinnudir »

As the Cleric worked to deliver a cup full of tea to him, he seemed to shake off the reverie, replacing the sour scowl with a genuinely warm smile in gratitude. The hand that stroked Asfaloth’s fur took the piping-hot cuppa. ”My thanks, lady,” he spoke, eyes taking in her face-sans-visor for the first time. So that was why she wished to know if nightfall was approaching. Not to prepare for the Great Owl’s coming, but to see with her own eyes however she could—and to pray. Khan felt the least bit ashamed to complain of his disabilities in her company, though it seemed his story had touched them both in ways he couldn’t have anticipated.

The Druid spoke his own piece on the matter, explaining himself as to his dismay. ”Hnrgh,”Galynhun grumbled at it, feeling some manner of shame again at expressing his own disposition. He raised the cup to his mouth, blowing on the top to cool the first sip enough as to not burn his tongue and took in a moderate amount. Not pensive, not questioning if it were poisoned, but rather to stretch out his enjoyment of it. It would compliment the elk meat and his pipe quite well. He watched as Asfaloth scarfed down her portion with zeal, loosing even a contented burp afterwards. His own consumption was nearly as rapid, from a lifetime of not knowing what was around the next bend; though he took a simple pleasure in eating, however fast. Khan took only a small portion, resigning the leftovers to be cured and dried into jerky for the next trek. It wasn’t unusual for him to eat only every couple of days. Some had joked it was his secret to keeping that elven figure.

”Strange, indeed,” Khan replied to Harroc’s astute judgment of Farinyir’s Basin. One didn’t need magical essence in order to deduce such, only a finely keened sense of observation. He wasn’t new to Irtuen itself, but hadn’t ventured into the den of a great beast before now. A chill started to tingle at the base of his neck, though not from the cold. It was a danger sense that had served him well in his time. But the tingle didn’t always mean there was impending doom, more of a warning that something was afoot; no more than a gut instinct.

With his meal complete, Khan was forced to re-light his pipe by the fire once more. This was the calm before the storm; the quiet before the maelstrom descended upon them. Khan reveled in the almost-unnerving stillness, knowing full well that destiny was likely at work, and would come to shape the things to come for one, if not all, of them.
Word count: 465
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Harroc Crownegrove
Character
Disciples of Balance, Defender of the Woods
Level
01
24 / 24 HP
21 / 21 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Elemental and Shapeshifter
Class: Druid
Posts: 141
Joined: August 5th, 2019, 1:48 am
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Re: Of Winters and Warm Fires

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

Harroc sipped his tea slowly and indulged in performing his own sort of ritual. After even a little time traveling with the adherent to Ristgir, Harroc found watching her preform her rites and prayers to be a pleasant and deeply introspective experience. His eyes would observe, but his mind caved inward and forced him to examine all his own beliefs and tenants. It was a strange thing, not entirely unlike his training to take the form of the great beast. His mother had guided him using a visual meditation. One where the heart of the matter lies deep in the jungles of his birth. Many vines and crawlers had to be cleared from his own thoughts. He had exerted his will, sharpening it to a fine tool to hack and slash. Then, when he faced a truly impassable challenge in his thoughts she had taught him to extend his essence.

Now, as then, he was drawn deep into the dense jungle of his thoughts. He stood in a clearing, a place he had crafted over years of focused effort. All around him lay paths, lines of thought and consideration he could follow. He spun slowly, looking over them all before selecting one he had come to favor as of late. It was filled with gnarled woody vines thicker than his arms, and once he stepped out of sight of his clearing the path became rough, uneven, filled with pitfalls and eroded land. It was an uncertain line of thinking, one for which he did not have enough answers, and still he pursued it. ‘Were the druids wrong? Was there a path beyond suffering that still led to strength?’ his thoughts questioned him as his mental path shook.

There was another shake, this one much louder and more violent. Harroc snapped from his reverie and looked around, a thin line of panic worming into his awareness. Then a third booming rumble came, followed by the brittle cracking of distant snow tumbling down the mountain. “Thunder,” he said in a half-shout as his hearing adjusted to the sudden return of silence in their small cave. A fourth boom rang out across the skies, this one preceded a roiling rumble as the mountains themselves quaked in fear. “Hunter, no matter what happens, do not fire directly on the beast,” Harroc said as he steeled himself. “The great one is not normally this far, nor this angry, but I am still a keeper,” he added as he stood and moved to ensure Mara was unharmed.

“Lightbringer, I will need your help, in any way you can, but most especially when this ends. Be the beacon that draws me back,” he said with a wry grin and gentle squeeze on the woman’s shoulder. “Cover your ears when I howl, it will be painful otherwise,” he added, and then he moved out of the cave, sweeping his staff before him in great curling motions. The snow packed ground lept at his command some thirty meters from the cave. A sloped platform of frozen snow and ice formed, softly crunching into place as it was bent to his will. It would act as a focal point, draw attention away from his allies, and force the Great Beast to confront him alone if necessary.

His magic done, Harroc lept forward and shook himself mightily as the roiling smoke of his shift faded away. As the wolf, he took slow strides to the top of his new outcropping and planted his feet in a wide supporting stance. He gave his head a final shake to build his confidence before letting loose a frighteningly loud and mournful howl. It asked a single question, posed it unerringly to the entire mountain and sky above. ‘Why?’
Word count: 625
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Mara Whitewood
Character
Disciple of Ristgir
Level
01
24 / 24 HP
20 / 20 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Cleric
Posts: 24
Joined: September 13th, 2019, 5:49 am
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Re: Of Winters and Warm Fires

Post by Mara Whitewood »

For a space of time the silence between them was comfortable -- almost companionable. Between the small fire crackling in the pit and the warm tea in her belly, the atmosphere was downright cozy. The solid strength of the companion at her side was as reassuring as it was a buffer from the wintery wind outside, and everyone's slow, steady breaths were as rhythmic as the tides. All of these things combined could have lulled her to sleep, particularly after the journey they'd had.

Mara felt her grip on the conscious world loosening one ephemeral finger at a time. Her lids were leaden but she forced them open long enough to put her mug of unfinished tea aside, lest she drift off with it in her hands and end up wearing it later. The thought did cross her fuzzy mind that Harroc would have spared her the indignity before it came to that. Best not to trouble him if she could help it though.

The first boom sent a powerful vibration through the air that she felt on the surface of her skin. Mara jumped, overturning her mug of tea, and the fine hairs along her arms stood on end as if statically charged. Beside her, Harroc stirred slightly but his focus remained inward.

Looking across the cavern towards Khan, she started to ask, "What was that?" when another earth-rattling crack interrupted her. The cave walls shivered and so did she.
Her druid companion roused fully then and seemed to grasp the situation in a matter of seconds. He understood much sooner than she what the sound represented and began to act accordingly.

Mara hurried to stand and meet the mild concern in Harroc's eyes. She shook her head, wordlessly indicating that she was uninjured, and then subsided to listen. His words planted a seed of disquiet in her belly that she fervently ignored; it wouldn't do either of them any good and he needed her faith.

"Harroc," she said, stopping him from leaving with a hand on his forearm above the wrist. The other hand found the sigil of Ristgir on its leather cord about her neck and squeezed. She invoked the power within herself.

"As night yields to day and shadow retreats before the candle's flame, go fearless into the dark with Ristgir's blessed light ablaze in your soul."

Her hand grew warm as the magic swelled within, shaping the spell that radiated from her fingertips and covered Harroc in a glittering, golden shroud. The effect was visible only for a second and then seemed to fade from view. Any with a discerning eye -- or the appropriate spell -- could see it still.

Mara turned him loose and stepped back to watch him go. The evening and the snow swallowed him up, obscuring him from her meager sight, but she clung to her faith. Obediently, she placed her hands over her ears and waited, breath caught, until she heard the dire wolf's booming howl reverberate through the mountainous valley. Even before the last notes faded, Mara turned to retrieve her visor, her cloak, and her staff of polished yew. The first two were donned quickly with a mind for what might follow, and she held the last firmly in one hand.
Word count: 544
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