Fantasy If all the stars align, we could solve this mystery

[spektri]

totally did what I threatened to do and took the title from a song. we can still change it, I think, later, so don't worry.
(song is "bright whites" by kishi bashi who is absolutely amazing)

this is a closed 1x1 fantasy rp for me & -book-dragon- !

 

[-book-dragon-]

She whimpered softly. She pulled herself through the forest, the pain in her leg flaring up every few seconds. I can't believe that stupid hunter got me. I should've realised that he wasn't alone. I'm so stupid. I'm going to die. Her thoughts wouldn't stop. The terrifying reality of her death looming over her as she continued to drag her body to... she wasn't even sure where she was going, at this point she was simply looking for somewhere comfortable to die.

The smell of her blood permeated the air, her sensitive nose twitching to get away from the heavy, metallic scent. I will tear myself apart if I shift now. She shook her head, starting to drag herself through the woods with more determination. No. I'm not going to die right now. Not today. Not today. Those two words shifting from simply being her thoughts to barely a whisper. Before long she was speaking them out loud, using those words as a mantra to keep herself sane.

Letting out an almost animalistic screech, she looked down at her mangled and bloody leg. Falling to the ground and stretching the leg out in front of her, she attempts to take off her torn overshirt and wrap it around her thigh. The action causing slightly more bleeding before it finally slowed down. Breathing heavily and still chanting those two words, she leans back against a nearby tree.

Izara closes her eyes, relying on her hearing and sense of smell to alert her should something come close. Her breathing begins to even out, the pain subsiding to a deep ache as she falls deeply asleep. One that she may not wake up from...

 

[spektri]

The animals have been acting odd, lately. Independent creatures though they are, unbothered by and indifferent to the concerns of people, in her years of living in the woods Damaris has won over their hesitant trust. They only seek her aid when it is sorely needed, but they do not avoid her, either—and never attack. But lately even the crows have been a rare sight, usually so talkative in the highness of their nests, now silent and absent. She misses the chatter of the animals. It is not the most glamorous way to live, alone in a repurposed cave, but she found a family of sorts in the natives of the forest. Now they have left an emptiness.

As she walks the paths she has trodden before she hovers her right hand over her left wrist. There, moments ago, bled a wound made by the sharp fangs of a wild wolf. Not only do wolves rarely appear in these parts of the forests, they never attack on sight; perhaps growl a warning to stay a distance, but usually keep to themselves. She is concerned. The behaviour is odd, and it has come out of nowhere—if there had been people violating their home, she might have understood, but apart from herself there have not been visitors for a long while. The wound was not fatal and she was quick to heal it, but the memory of the sting plagues her thoughts.

So focused on her own thoughts is she that she almost trips over… something. An animal carcass is her first thought, but as she kneels down and really looks, she sees it is not that—it is a human. Young and small and badly injured, passed out and shallowly breathing. How she got there is a mystery, and not one she should be solving at this moment (though she cannot but wonder if it is to do with the strange behaviour of the wildlife). It is no-one Damaris has seen before.

She inspects the girl with her eyes only, not daring to touch before she has a proper understanding of the severity of her wounds. They seem to have been made with weapons, perhaps traps; man-caused, then, not animals. Vaguely disappointed that the girl won’t likely know much about what is happening in the forest, she knows she must help her nonetheless. One, there is no use for a rotting human corpse. Two, the girl will be indebted to her. Three, she feels badly for her; she is alone, hurting, and no-one but the bloodthirsty are interested in her now.

She takes a deep breath, sits down more comfortably, and begins.

One: she directs a purification spell towards the blood that’s seeped out of her, that is untainted by leaves and dirt. Two: she directs it back into her body through the openings of the wounds. Three: she has the flesh around the wounds knit shut, so that all that is left are nearly-healed scars. Four: she reaches to the blood on the ground, tapping into its inherent power, and makes it run: now the blood in the girl’s veins should work as they should, giving her heart strength.

The girl is still pale and weak, and what Damaris has done has only helped the superficial scars. Her leg is still mangled, and she isn’t quite sure what to do about it; she is not specialized in healing. Still, she has more help in her home, where she has tomes about herbs and potions. She lifts the girl on her arms (she is heavier than Damaris first imagined, but her home is not too far and it is not the heaviest load she’s had to carry) and starts on her journey back home.

 

[-book-dragon-]

Izara doesn't notice the other creature taking her away from the spot she had chosen to lay in, the pain over her body causing her to slip in and out of consciousness. Although by the time she had been noticed she was more out than in. The faint memory of warmth going through her body and the sting of her wounds closing is the only thing she remembers once she wakes up.

She awakes slowly, her body protesting as she attempts to move them. Her eyes remain closed for as long as she is able before they fly open, her mind registering the potentially dangerous situation she may be in. She doesn't move, allowing herself to quickly scan her surroundings the best she can from her position. Flicking her gaze to her right, she notices a stone wall, arching high above her. Her heartbeat quickens. Is this a cell? The stone seems cold and foreboding but dry and clean. Her eyes continue to wander, moving to her left where she sees some evidence of a person living there, a small fire pit, rough blankets, small possessions that she is unable to make out.

Finally she decides to move, the hair on her neck standing high in the air as she attempts to sit up. As soon as she does that, however, she lets out a loud cry of pain. Her leg, she remembers belatedly, the injury forgotten for a moment in the midst of everything else she had to process.

She pants softly, gritting her teeth against the pain and swings her legs over the mattress. Small whimpers escape her throat as she moves and she pauses for a moment to catch her breath. It seems as though whoever had found her had brought her to a cave, one that they must have been living in an as well from what she could see inside. Now that she had a better view of everything else in the cave, she noticed the lines of small potion jars, the tell tale signs of some kind of magic user living in this area. She didn't notice any creature with her, whoever found her must be outside somewhere.

She attempts to stand, limping her way to the entrance of the cave. The cool night time breeze blew across her face. Izara sighed in pleasure, she hadn't expected to ever feel that breeze again. Falling to the ground, she feels the sparse grass between her fingers and laughs softly. I was dying, she thought, I was dying and someone saved me. Healed me. Her excitement was quickly replaced with fear as she heard footsteps and came face to face with the creature who saved her.

An elf. Of course. What other creature would be compassionate enough to save someone like her? This elf didn't seem nice though, she seemed intimidating. All sharp edges and pointed features. The elf looked down at her and Izara gasped at the piercing gaze. A dark elf? Izara didn't believe they existed. Most elves keep to themselves from what she heard and dark elves were apparently the most reclusive.

"Were you the one who healed me?" Izara asked softly. What does one say to the creature that saved your life?

 

[spektri]

The journey back was thankfully uneventful; it would have been an unnecessary burden to fight off more of those wolves. When she got to her cave, she laid the human girl on her cot. She looked again at the injuries on her leg; the flesh had been badly torn, and Damaris doubted the magic she used to knit worked as more than a glorified bandage. Still, she went to the cavern further in that she had made into a library, and pulled out some volumes on healing.

It took a while for her to find what she was searching for, but eventually she discovered a potion that might speed up the healing process and another that should numb the pain. She doesn’t know enough about the field to make sure there would be no permanent damage, but perhaps she would find a healer in a town, now that she should be able to walk better.

The ingredients needed were thankfully quite generic, ones that she already grew in her small garden outside the cave entrance. She made the fire and put a pot to boil water, and pulled a small scrap table near. After finding the right herbs she would need only her scale and a knife; them she could prepare after. Then, without sparing a glance to the patient, she went out.

Now she has the ingredients collected and tied to make a small bunch (except for the blackberries she put in a pouch) in hand, but as she is about to turn back she hears the noise: a dragging gait, coming from behind her. She tenses out of habit—usually, if people get this close to her, it is bad news. This time she knows who is coming. She swallows the worry to the best of her ability, though is not ready to completely abandon care. After all, she knows very little of her visitor.

She turns and nears the girl, looking somewhat disoriented still, and not for no reason. She can see exactly when the girl notices her: the fear and the confusion is coming out as a gasp. Perhaps it is good. Damaris prefers to have others respect her, whether it out of fear or awe. The worrisome part is that people can also be unpredictable when afraid.

As the girl asks her question Damaris decides to be careful. If she is to get something out of her, know though she might not what that could be, their terms should be amicable. She is not the best with people, but she can try.

“You should not be up,” she says, sharply. And then, softer, as she realizes that her words must come out more threatening than she means them, “You are still injured, and I would like to help your pain. Please follow.” She speaks unnaturally and stiff, but hopefully her intention is clear enough. If the girl were to choose running away Damaris could easily catch her, but it would be a pointless waste of both of their—but especially the patient’s—energy.

Hoping that the girl does as she says Damaris goes back to her cave, in front of the small table she readied before setting out, and begins to place the herbs and plants onto it in neat order.

 

[-book-dragon-]

Her eyes flared in defiance as she heard the sharp order come from the elf. Opening her mouth to let out a protest, she heard the rest of the elf's plea and resigned herself to being taken care of by this creature. She stands painfully, limping back into the cave and sitting down on the bed.

"I though elves lived in their big family groups. You know, all reclusive and aggressive towards strangers." Izara asked in the brash way that she most commonly used. Although she wasn't meaning to be rude, she was suspicious as to why this elf had saved her when most would have simply let her die.

As she watched the elf confidently arrange the herbs and other plants into whatever order she was using, her mind began wandering again. Should I trust this elf? She has saved me but what if she has more sinister plans with me. I have heard of elves using blood magic before but I have no idea how I would be able to know if this one is. Izara was not much of a healer herself so despite her suspicion of the strange elf who had let her into her home, she watched carefully, trying to see if she could see any ingredients that she knew were poisonous or bad for her health.

She didn't find any.

The strain of trying to go outside and also from sitting up for so long began catching up on her as the time passed without a word between the two strangers. Izara began to notice a light feeling in her head, almost as if she was floating above her body. With a deep sigh she lay down on the bed, her head swirling from fatigue and her restless thoughts. The fabric felt rough under her hands, something made crudely with untrained hands. Despite the roughness she was able to relax, calming her thoughts with some deep breaths.

By the time she was once again falling asleep the elf came closer to her. Izara tensed up, unsure of what the elf was going to do now.

 

[spektri]

The human is defiant, suspicious, and standing her own ground though one of her legs is injured and it must be obvious Damaris is at an advantage in the situation. She can’t help but smile; it is, in a foolish way, admirable. And why should the girl blindly accept the help offered? It may be her only option, but she cannot fault her for questioning it. It is not a world of kindnesses they live in. Damaris knows this all too well.

She begins cutting the ingredients into fine pieces.

“They do,” Damaris answers to the accusation. She is calmer, now, in the familiarity of her home. “Which must be why they wanted to rid me of theirs.” Perhaps the bitterness she still often feels creeps onto the surface with her reply; perhaps it doesn’t. Damaris does not particularly care. It is no secret that elves, the good ones as they think of themselves, are exceptionally unaccepting of peoples not of their own kind—even more so those who appear like they are, but do not abide by their ways.

The herbs neatly chopped she begins to work on the blackberries. She cuts into them and extracts the seeds, one by one, and the flesh of the berries she closes into a small box for possible later use. The seeds she drops into the now-boiling pot. They are tasteless and will eventually dissolve into the mixture with the help of the other ingredients, but they are an important part in enhancing the patient’s resistance.

Next she pulls of the leaves of an autumn rose and puts them in the pot, too. They bring a sweet taste, but also calm an infection. Then she juices the water from a deep mushroom’s roots for regenerative power, and lastly, the finely cut herbs of multiple kinds for general health. The pot bubbles for a while, and the concoction turns the colour of a sickly green. It is, unfortunately, the right colour. Appetizing though it does not look, at least the smell is not the worst. Certainly not like the elixir she once made from cave moss and a songbird’s kidneys.

She takes a cup—and, after considering a moment, takes another, too. She fills them both with the potion, sets them on a small tray, and walks up to the girl again. She’s resting on the cot, strained and tense. Damaris clears her throat to prompt her to open her eyes.

She holds the tray out to the girl. “I made a healing potion; it should help your pain and fasten the natural regeneration of your body. However, I am not a healer, and this is but firsts aid. I suggest you seek more knowledgeable help somewhere else.” She nods towards the two cups. “I do not need it, but since you have no reason to trust me I am willing to drink it to prove to the best of my ability it is not poison. Choose one, and drink.” As an afterthought, she adds, “Please.” Humans like manners, she vaguely recalls.

“You are not from around here,” she says, then. If the girl is well enough to question her motives, she should be able to answer for hers. “The only town nearby is an elven settlement. Why would a human venture here?”

 

[-book-dragon-]

Izara eyes the cups suspiciously, choosing the one on the right and waiting for the elf to take a long sip from the left cup before she downs the potion herself. The concoction works its way down her throat, the thick texture making her shudder. As soon as the potion reaches her stomach she feels a cooling sensation throughout her body, the pain subsiding before the sensation disappears, leaving her body feeling light and floaty.

"I am from far away from here." Izara says in response. "I am from the town of Havenshire, my family and the rest of the town were all farmers under the reign of King Eadred. Many of my friends perished from his reign. I was forcibly removed from my town many years ago because I was found out as a shapeshifter. The chased me away with knives and arrows and I have not been back since. Travelling alone isn't so bad at times although it is difficult when I come across bounty hunters and have no way of healing myself. I am thankful that you have healed me. Is there any way that I can repay you?"

 

[spektri]

Whether the girl drinks out of trust or lack of choice is unclear, but happy about it though she might not be she does so, anyway. The taste or the texture aren’t exactly nice, but even Damaris, who isn’t too badly injured, can feel an immediate effect on her recently-mauled wrist. It is as if nothing had happened. Of course, the girl’s injuries are far worse, so it probably works more as a nullifier than anything, but it should be an improvement to what must have been searing pain.

The answer to her question demonstrates more trust than Damaris expected, however. She gives a lot; more than enough for someone with worse intentions than Damaris to abuse. The girl should deem herself lucky that it was she who found her, though she does not say as much.

A shapeshifter. She has not met one before; they are quite rare, and often on the run, chased by similar circumstances as this girl’s. There could be many uses for one—she would have to wonder what exactly does she need.

“So were it these bounty hunters that chased you here and wounded you?” she asks. “If you wish, I could help you get back at them. I would certainly be much better at that than at healing. In return, well—you owe me a favour. Two, in fact. When I ask you to repay me, you will do it.”

 

[-book-dragon-]

"Yes, the bounty hunters attacked me. Two days ago I believe, if my timing is correct. I had had to go into a small town for some new boots, mine had worn out from travelling so much. The hunters must have somehow found out what I was, I don't know how. I never shift inside a town or city for this reason. I believe they followed me out and set one of their dogs on me. It was odd, usually I can shift into a dog form and the hunters canines back off. These ones didn't. They caught me and well... I believe you are aware of the rest."

Izara thought about the elf's offer for revenge. Whilst rationally she knew that trusting an elf, let alone a dark elf, was often a bad idea, she couldn't help but see the appeal in the offer. They can be malicious and very persuasive, trusting one could mean death for her. On the other hand, however, it could mean that she is able to kill the men that hurt her, the ones that laughed as their dogs tore open her skin and spilled her blood. A pained smile crosses her face. She knew what she wanted to do.

"I accept. We find the hunters and I will kill them and in return I shall be indebted to you."

 

[spektri]

As she tells about the hunters’ dogs’ behaviour, Damaris can’t help but wonder if it is somehow connected to the behaviour of the wolves. It is not quite enough to go on, though, but she makes a mental note of it regardless—this is something that merits closer inspection, if other similar instances were to present themselves. And when they set off she should be especially careful, and not trust the bond she’s formed with the forests’ inhabitants, especially with a stranger in tow.

“Very well,” Damaris says. “We shall set off tomorrow morning, after you have gotten some more rest, but while the trail is still fresh. You may sleep on the cot; I will make a bed for myself in my library. I will warn you that if you try to deceive me in any way you will not like the consequences. If you are hungry, there is fruit in my garden; you may have as much as you need, but be mindful of the other plants.”

She turns around to leave, not even waiting for the girl to answer, until she remembers something and turns around.

“You may call me Damaris. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”