Fantasy Realms of Nymserine: Main Thread [[CLOSED]]

Azaria gratefully took the piece of fruit loaf and broke it into smaller bites. The centaur was warm against her back. And, sure, he smelled a bit like the battle, but so did she. The sandalwood calmed her. "Pyrrhus, do you have a lot of friends?"

SilverFlight

Pyrrhus nearly jumped at the suddenness of Fernwe's appearance. His response was half chuckle half sigh of releief.
"Well, I'm glad you didn't get hurt in the fight. That is quite a formidable cat you have there."
Fernwe produced the half-eaten loaf and he held up a hand in polite decline, eyes the crumbs that now littered his coat.
"It's from a baker in Meletus. Gordon Runnymede, I'll give you the address."
Lekiel

Azaria's voice made him turn back around. When asked the question he considered it for a little while.
"I...well, you could say I make friends easily, but...I suppose I've never really stayed in one place for very long so...I don't really get to know anyone all that well."
He paused for a long moment then, as if considering whether or not he should open this part of himself to her: "I did have a friend, back at home, we met again on the road not long after I had left...as it turned out...he wasn't much of a friend at all..."
The centaur shifted a little, mindful of Azaria's broken leg and reached into his saddle bags to draw out a knife and a small hunk of sandalwood. Some of the toggles on his harness had been wrecked when the ice fell, he slowly began carving another.
"What about you? I bet people are clamouring to get to know you." He said this with a wry smile, a playful jab.
Zazz

The gloomy half-elf cracked a smile, though it looked more like a smirk. "I keep my head low." The fruit loaf was, indeed, good, and it settled her stomach a bit. "I grew up in Shylanora. People are not very partial to half-bloods, there, so I never really... I've never had a friend," she admitted quietly.

Azaria was curious about his false friend, though. "What did your friend do?"

SilverFlight

Verity smiled meekly back at Roloand, shaking his hand. “Of course I will... and I’m sorry for lying. Surely you can see why I had to..” she looked down at her hands, the wrappings that covered them were worn and ragged on top of her pale skin. “I was afraid that you would see me differently... since I am... was...” her voice trailed off, hating the say words like ‘royalty’ and ‘princess’ out loud. She shook her head and guestured to the supplies she carried.

“I should get this stuff to Kezine.” She said as she walked off towards the captive mage.

The air was growing colder with the night's chill. In the distance crickets could be heard calling into the shivering darkness.
"That is a shame." Pyrrhus said, genuinely sorry. "It must have been awfully lonely."
The centaur set his carving down for a moment to pick up a blanket that was lying nearby and drape it over Azaria's small form, fussing at the corners before picking up the wood and knife again.
He thought about the halfling's next question for a moment, considering the small bit of sandalwood in his hands. The scent was sweet and spicy, and reminded him of home.
"I trusted him completely, so completely I became blind I suppose...I never saw it coming..." He stopped working the wood again and rubbed his wrists unconsciously. Traces of scars, so faint they almost weren't there, glinted in the firelight.
"It's not a pretty story...It is late...perhaps...another night."
He took a long breath, his flanks rising and falling with it. "At any rate, I'm glad you're here now, and, I regret calling you suspicious-looking. I don't think that anymore."
He had finished the small carving and brushed the piece off, considering what he had made before holding it down to Azaria in the palm of his hand. It was a tiny wooden dagger, an ornament, not an actual weapon. Its scent curled sweetly in the air between them.
"A gift, for a new friend."
Zazz

((Time skip soon?))

Truthfully, it had been very lonely, growing up. But the half-elf had learned to be self-sufficient, and she had grown cold and hardened. Her teachers never favoured her, so her frustration only made her work harder at being the best. Her harsh gaze and her cutting words became her defense, and her cold exterior her offense. She needed no friend, she had told herself for years. And when she found out the truth about her father's fate, she hated her mother for it.

Azaria bit back questions about this traitorous friend and instead watched him tuck her in. She blinked. Pyrrhus was kind, and sweet. Something she was not accustomed to in the slightest. The half-elf chuckled softly at his words and told him, "To be fair, I am pretty suspicious looking."

She took the tiny dagger in her palm and glanced up at the centaur's face. The halfling brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply, getting lost in its scent. "It's beautiful, Pyrrhus," she said softly. "Thank you." She tucked it against her chest and rested her cheek on his flank, running her fingers through his fur again as she slowly began to doze off.

Now you know, she thought. A part of her felt relieved that he finally knew. Now he would understand, at least. But a deeper part of her worried. With every new person that saw her true identity, the more she felt the new life she'd built for herself crumble away. The past resurfaced, bringing with it ugly memories. She felt overwhelming guilt... a never ending shame for ruining her family's legacy. She was the heir to the Ophelia's, and the line would likely die with her. Perhaps Shylanora would be better off... or maybe it would fall apart into chaos. Her cousin, Amaury would take the throne when her father passed, and who knew how his heart would reign. She wanted to kick herself for being so concerned about Elvish politics, even now. That wasn't her world anymore, but she couldn't seem to leave it behind her. It was frustrating.

Verity returned to Kezine and set down the few things she found. She spread out the bedroll next to her and dropped the waterskin on top. "There you go. Hopefully that will keep you for the night. We will leave for Aeredale in the morning." She turned to leave.

A cold compress lay draped over Charlotte's bare shoulder, bruised a deep blackish-purple with thick splotches peppering the length of her arm - the biggest one didn't hurt much actually, she must've suffered some kind of nerve damage in the area. Everything else hurt like a bitch, though. Charlotte kept her distance from the fire to keep the cloth cold, holding her journal open and using her good hand to pen a summary of tonight's events with an ink quill.

Every now and then, her eyes glanced to each of the members in their little group and took mental notes. She'd been silently eavesdropping on any conversations within earshot, but there was only enough material to form surface evaluations. Gotta start somewhere.

Roland, the pirate. A man who does not walk the middle-ground; will not hesitate to end those who earn his wrath, nor will he hesitate to save those in need. He killed a surrendered man. . . doesn't seem to take betrayal well. Shouldn't be hard to defer as long as you cover your tracks.

Verity, the fugitive princess of Shylanora. Puts on a tough act. The why isn't important, will likely break under duress. A troubled soul, as it were - she's kept herself hidden for a long time, but here her identity was out in the open. Information on her whereabouts could fetch a high price in the underground right now.

Azaria, the ranger. Constantly alert, but it'll wear her out. If you stay on edge all the time, that edge will dull. Still, given her conduct she will likely serve as the voice of reason to an otherwise naive and free-spirited team of adventurers. Softer than she lets on, but most people are.

Pyrrhus, the centaur. Seems to prioritize direct action but stalls when forced to make a decision. Was the first one to rush to the ranger's aid - thought there might have been a connection between the two, but it turned out it was just an act of heroics. They have been getting along rather nicely, though.

The half-fairy and her pet. . . didn't catch her name. Difficult to evaluate. Acts like a child, but her values are a grey area.

Of course, she didn't actually write any of this down. Her journal was mostly filled with boring event logs and the occasional doodle. The half-fairy's spontaneity was contagious, she felt like acting on a whim herself. She gave the entries some personality this time around instead of describing everything word-for-word like a machine. Her eyes fell to her equipment at her side. After inspection, she discovered that her shield was actually cracked completely in half, held together only by the bar handles - time to get a new one.

Charlotte jotted it down in her journal.

Important Notice: Get a new shield!

- - -

Kezine took the waterskin in her hands, removing its cap.

'That little girl sounds like a hero in her own right. We all fight for what we believe in.'

Oh, how wrong she was.

I don't fight for what I believe in, Kezine thought, as if the words would telepathically reach Verity. Hoping, almost. I fight because it's the only thing I know how to do anymore. She took a swig of water, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. She wondered if he could still save her. . .

Her gaze shifted back to the parting elf.

Or maybe her salvation lie elsewhere. Either way, she wasn't going to get any answers if she didn't start asking questions. And that question, kindling like a dying flame, persisted in the recesses of her mind. A question that cannot be asked with words, but with something more immaterial. . .

She closed her eyes.

How much longer am I going to keep running?

Roland watched as she wandered off, a feeling of dull satisfaction taking the place of the uncomfortable sting on uncertainty among friends. He trusted her, more than he should maybe, but he had always had a good eye for people: For what was beyond each veil. Her willingness to open up to him wad the reassurance he needed that he was not wrong to leave, and even though he had no clue who the Ophelia's were, or who she had murdered, it mattered little. Verity was his friend now, and it took world shattering power to sever Rolands friendships. He followed her back to the campsite and sat down, smiling as he looked over there small team.

Pyrrhus sat in-between two ladies, one a rogue who would kill him if he commented on how cute she looked while she slept, and the other munching hungrily on some great smelling bread. Roland could imagine worse places to be. Charlotte sat back, nursing a wound and scribbling in a small journal, her eyes occasionally darting out to each member of the group. Verity was placing a few things down next Kezine, who was laying down on the ground, with the rest. Roland's eyes narrowed slightly as something she said came to mind.

"So, who was it you were waiting for?" He spoke above a whisper, but low enough so as not to disturb the weary. He laid back relaxed, leaning his weight on his elbows and letting the fire warm his feet, now bootless as he had kicked them off onto the ground in front of himself.

Kezine cracked an eye open as Roland returned, armed with a question.

She took a deep breath and gazed into the fire, letting scenes of the past flicker in and out of its embers. Those memories were so distant to her, they started to feel more like a dream - but not because they had been worn down by time. This was a bridge she chose to burn, cutting away all the promises she made to herself, and. . . to him. She was afraid, deathly afraid, to face her failures. But it was a shapeless thing, like a phantom appearing before her in many guises, reminding her, taunting her. And perhaps speaking her mind rather than bottling in those feelings offered some reprieve to her inner turmoil.

Kezine liked to think she didn't owe anybody shit, but even she had to admit it'd be rude not to divulge at least a little bit. It's not every day that a stranger drags your stinking corpse from death's maw.

"Mikael," she answered at length, her eyes still fixed on the flames. "We used to be good friends. But I fucked it up, and now I'm here, paying for my mistakes. I think. . ."

She paused a moment, then shook her head.

". . . I think, I wanted him to kill me."

Roland looked at her, not at all surprised. Somehow, he could see despair cling to her like a soaked cloth.
"Something tells me he would not willingly grant you that wish. And if he did, what kind of friend would he be?"

Roland shrugged, not worrying to inquire further. He laid back, this time ready to sleep. He did not pity Kezine, for it was not a warriors way to pity another warriors climb to greater heights. But he understood her, in a strange way. That did not, however, stop him from sleeping with one eye open, and his hand on his sword.

Verity watched the small exchange between Roland and Kezine with mild curiosity. She, too, had wondered about the man she spoke of waiting for... After all, she had gone through an awful lot of grief to get his attention. However, she said nothing of it and passed by Roland, patting him on the shoulder as she did. "We should have shifts guarding the camp. I'll take first watch." Her fingers trailed and dropped from his shoulder and she walked a little ways away from the campfire, leaning against a dented barrel near the entrance.

She looked up at the sky, letting herself get lost in the stars. She wasn't too concerned of anyone attacking in the night, but she kept her ears trained for anything suspicious. Her body was exhausted, her muscles screaming to relax and to rest, but her mind raced. She wasn't kidding before when she thought she would get no sleep tonight. Away from the others, her back to the fire, she didn't have to look at the still heaps of bodies soaking the ground with blood. In the shimmering blanket of stars above her she could almost forget the rest of her troubles for a moment. She would stay up for the next several hours, standing in vigilant silence before finally caving to sleep and waking the next person to watch over the weary travelers.


The next morning, they rose bright and early, much to Verity's own chagrin. Last night she managed to make her own little tent of rest inside the camp with the others, but her sleep was restless. Nevertheless, she bounced to her feet, checking to see that everything was in order. She took a sip of water and packed up her things before seeking out Roland.

Early the next morning, the half-elf awoke to find all but the guard on duty sleeping. Her leg was stiff and sore. Bundled up beneath the blanket, she remained resting against Pyrrhus and gazed up at the sky to watch the colours of the sunrise. Even amidst the death and gloom of the destroyed camp, morning birds began their chirping, welcoming the new day.

Quietly, Azaria peeled away and crawled over to a fallen bandit. Taking a spear, she used it as a staff to raise herself onto one foot. It was a painful adventure, indeed. Slowly and carefully, she hobbled around the camp to retrive her blades and arrows.

The camp woke to the smell of roasted pork, and the sound of Charlotte's gentle humming. Borrowing a pan from one of the bandit tents, she heated up the precooked meat and let its scent waft over her. She was seriously starting to regret having chocolates for dinner instead of real food, but as they say, hunger makes for the best sauce! At least, that's what she told her growling stomach. Call it neglecting guard duty, but she was practically salivating at the mouth at the thought of eating the grub in her pack. Besides, she wasn't going to stay standing much longer without something to shut her noisy stomach up.

She leaned her head over, watching Azaria rise from her bed with a fair bit of trouble.

"Well, look who's up!" Charlotte adjusted her seat on the overturned bucket, jokingly shaking a wooden spoon at her. "Scared the hell out of me last night, ya know that? Not that I blame you, I know you were just looking out for the group." She briefly turned her attention back to flip the pork over. "Hope we didn't get off on the wrong foot. If it means anything, I'm glad you're okay." She hesitated as she gave Azaria a quick once over, rethinking her words before smiling awkwardly. ". . . As okay as you can be, anyway."

Wincing as she yanked arrows from flesh, Azaria muttered back, "It doesn't." Louder, so Charlotte could hear, "I'll be fine. Just needs a good splint." She was back to her usual grouchy self, good as new. The halfling took a sniff at the roasted pork and paused. "You sharing that?"

Pyrrhus stirred when he felt a weight lift off him, and the cold spot it left on his flank in the chilled morning air. The bruises gave him a very stark reminder of last night's events and he stifled a groan as he rose, wiggling out from under Fernwe and putting a folded bed roll under her arms as a replacement.
He fished about the camp for a strip of clean fabric before tossing it over his back and meandering over to the two people who were up.
"Good morning," He said sleepily, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand. He eyed Azaria's bad leg. "I can heal that a bit more now that I'm rested. Then I'm going to find the river. I need a bath."
The sensation of dirt and dried blood on his skin was horrible, and he knew that all the sandalwood in Kali-Sharri wouldn't hide how he smelled now.

He scanned the camp with a slight expression of concern. "Is the bandit leader still here?"
He wasn't going to make a secret out of not trusting her. He half expected her to have run off by now.

Zazz Melon Bomb

Roland slept like a rock: Though he would never admit it, he was a very heavy sleeper, even sleeping on the ground. And he snored. A lot.
While everyone else seemed to be rising with the sun, Roland turned on his side and snored even louder, drawing a small blanket over his form.
In his dream, he was in a tavern, docked at a port, making eyes at the girls giggling before him.

Charlotte emptied the pan's contents into a wooden bowl that was half filled with white rice, gesturing her head to the side in response to Pyrrhus's question.

"Oh yeah, she's having sweet dreams right now," she said. Like Roland, her snoring was equally loud and obnoxious as she tossed and turned in her bedroll, her staff/sword/whatever laying at her side. Charlotte hugged her food defensively, squinting her eyes at the rogue.

". . . Maybe next time. It'll be my treat."

Honestly, it wasn't very hard to locate Roland. Verity could hear his obnoxious snoring from yards away... it was a wonder that any of them got any sleep with that racket. She stood over his sprawled form, a mildly annoyed look passing over her face. It was hard to stay mad though... He looked like a little baby when he slept. His lashes were long and dark as they brushed is cheeks, and his hair was sticking up in ways that defied gravity.

Verity nudged him with her foot first, feeling horribly uncomfortable about needing to wake a person she'd only just met. "Roland... Roland. Wake up! By the gods, how can anyone be as loud asleep as they are awake..." She let out an sound of frustration and knelt down to shake him with her hands instead, rocking him hard enough to make his head roll back and forth. "I swear if you don't wake up, i'll make you eat mana for breakfast," she grumbled.

Azaria glanced over at the source of all the racket and narrowed her eyes. The two of them were obnoxious. Shaking off her annoyance, the halfling looked up at the centaur with a small smile. "Would you?" She leaned on the spear for support, her leg already starting to frustrate her.

She left Charlotte with her food and found an upturned crate to sit on, wincing as she adjusted her bad leg. She wanted to wash up before they left but with her leg like this, she was at the mercy of the others. She hated the idea of being dependent on them. Pyrrhus... Pyrrhus was her friend, now. She hoped she could trust him.

"Wh-what?" Roland leapt up, dishelved as could be, and looked around with a mean pirates grimace, brandishing a sword was not actually in his hands.
"GET BACK, KELP DEMON! I'll...." He seemed to regain his senses and found a rather irritated looking Verity standing nearby. The kelp demon was no where to be found. "Oh.... is it sunrise already...? How did you sleep?" He asked with a sheepish smile, running his fingers through his unkempt hair.

Finally, he was up and on his feet. She sighed and shook her head at him. "You sound like a fog horn when you sleep." Was all she said before walking off again to repeat the same task with Kezine.

The woman gave Roland a run for his money with the snoring. Verity guessed that anyone who came back from a near-death experience would be exhausted... but this....

She would never understand heavy sleepers.

With Kezine it was even more awkward to try to find a way to wake her. Not only did Verity not know her, but she was technically a prisoner... how does one wake a prisoner? Kick them? Poke them with sharp sticks? Neither of those ideas seemed appealing to Verity, so she trying nudging with her foot again like she had with Roland. This time, she was a fair distance away from the mage, stretching her leg out as far as it would go so she could pull back quickly if need be. It was similar to trying to pick up a poisonous snake, there was just no safe way to do it unless you were quick and careful. Why is waking people up so hard? How do mothers ever wake up their children....?

At the edge of the riverbank, a knight donned head to toe in plate armor seized the reins of his black steed and the layers of its barding rattled in place. The knight lifted his faceplate, feeling the cold droplets of rain against his skin. The reeds trimming the distended river line swayed and danced with each breath of the wind - and from his shoulder, a small sprite lay flat over the spaulder with her chin in her hands.

"Doesn't look like we can cross," she yawned, her eyes following the bouncing stems with a bored look. "What do you want to do?"

"We're turning around," the knight answered, closing his helmet again as he nudged his horse back toward the road. The sprite lifted her head in surprise, blinking confusedly.

". . . Didn't you want to meet her? We came a really long way, you know. . ."

"There are people who need my help," he said curtly, feeling the beat of the hooves escalate. The midnight horse ripped across the dirt, the wind blowing fiercely through the tiny sprite's wavy locks. "I'm already wasting time just by being here, I have more important things to do than chase my past."

"A true knight looks forward," she muttered with a compulsory roll of her eyes. "Yeah, I know." Her wings fluttered as she snuck into his pack, sheltering herself from the winds and the rain. "Just admit you're not honest with your feelings, you goon."

- - -

Kezine slept through another dreamless night. But a nudging sensation cut through the blackness and she was suddenly awake, bolting upright with a wide sweep of her arm.

"Who the fuck is-" The mage paused, then narrowing her tired eyes at Verity. "Oh. It's you." Her back was hunched and her pale hair was frayed with stray hair after stray hair, thick bags hanging under her eyes - the classic image of someone who was not a morning person. She cracked her knuckles, her back, her neck. . . When she was satisfied that every joint was demolished, the woman threw her covers off with force, rising to her feet in one deft motion and instantly towering more than a foot over the smaller elf.

She worked up the residual saliva in her mouth and spit into the dirt.

"Mornin'."

Roland watched her as she walked away, a little bit of embarrassment raising as red in his cheeks at her comment. Quickly he packed his things, a small bedroll and blanket, and headed over to the delicious smell wafting from Charlotte's pan.

"What you cooking?" He asked, his eyes peering hungrily at whatever was assaulting his nostrils so effectively. If Kezine had wanted to stop them last night, this would have been a better plan. Roland felt his muscles tense up, not letting him pull away, his stomach growling in cahoots.

Verity's eyes followed Kezine's as she rose and towered over her. Her neck craned upward to maintain eye-contact, but she was used to it. Elves were usually a lot taller... her own height was a bit of an anomaly... as many things about her were. "Charming," She replied, watching Kezine spit. "That wasn't that hard. I figured you'd be as hard to wake as Roland."

Verity walked away towards the middle of the camp. She saw the small crowd gathered near Charlotte and her divine-smelling breakfast. "Good morning, everyone. Ready to head to Aeredale?" With her hands on her hips, she addressed the small band of travelers. "Roland and I are going to be heading out soon. It's best to start early since its about a two-day journey from here. The rest of you are still welcome to travel with us if you want." Even though they all were headed that way, she figured it was still polite to ask as everyone still had their own agendas. Verity had grown rather fond of her newly-made rag-tag group, but they followed their own paths.