Fantasy The Crimson Curse [Roleplay]

[Anaxileah]

This roleplay will be a fantasy-based, one-on-one story with Javax , centered around her world of Thiyalia years prior to Roxii's tale. In the year 1407 A.E. (After Exther), a mysterious ailment of unknown origin has befallen the "Blessed" - people who have been gifted magical abilities by the Exther. The ailment began with their loss of magic, cutting any ties to the ethereal world; this highly contagious illness soon began to kill its victims as the second, deadlier phase appeared. Boils, scarlet in color, began to manifest on the skin of the Blessed in multitudinous amounts, forming wounds that oozed white and red heavily when scratched. Eventually, blood began to pour from multiple orifices, indicating the end was near.

Strangely enough, it has only affected the Blessed - those who do not wield magic in any form are entirely unaffected, and though they have been treating the Blessed with all methods they could, countless have succumbed to the ailment now referred to as the Crimson Curse, bringing the body count higher and higher with no indication of it ending. For the time being, mundanes have managed to keep the Blessed stable at the beginning of phase two of the Crimson Curse, but time is running out - the King and Queen of Felnethyr, Prime Rulers of Thiyalia, have appointed their last hope to investigate a nearby lead to the curse's origin, but she will need an aide through the Scarlet Heights that loom between her and her destination.

That is where our story begins.​

 

[Javax]

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

"Please..."

"I need you to stay still."

"It... It hurts."

"I know."

She dabbed a cloth to his brow, soaking the sweat that had broken out and hoping that he was too dazed to see how her hands shook. Though he shook more violently, racked with the chill of oncoming death despite the fever that kept his tanned skin tinged red with warmth. Infected boils and blisters littered his youthful skin, and the stench of rot battered her senses as if the cloth she'd wrapped over her nose and mouth were just a thin piece of lace. Even after all her years in training, she still found it difficult to keep herself from retching.

The boy couldn't have been more than half her age. Just a couple weeks ago, he had been training with the other soldiers to become a man, learning to wield a sword and hold his own in a battle. Now he was lying on the floor of the healer's college with a sack of straw underneath his head, the only comfort the healers could spare in their overflowing bay. Dozens of men and women lined the hall, only a handful lying in actual beds. The air was thick with the stench of death and the metallic, coppery taste of rotting blood. Garbled pleas rose up from the dying, to take away their pain and suffering, to allow them passage into Elerin's Great Hall for eternity. The boy was no different, his life being ripped away by a sickness that cared not for who it took from.

Sindilia dragged her eyes away from the boy she'd been tending and tried to focus, feeling herself losing her resolve. There were only a few other healers in the hall. Magic-less healers such as herself, immune to the sickness that ravaged the land and tore the magic away from the Blessed. That was the connection the Thiyalians had made, at least: that the sickness—the Crimson Curse, it had been dubbed—seemed to only affect those that were gifted with the ways of magic. It first came on as a simple fever and cough before stealing away their magic abilities. It was something no one had ever fathomed before, disabling a Blessed person's magic, and it only got worse as the Curse turned fatal.

"Miss..."

He erupted into a coughing fit, spewing blood all over himself and her skirts. She wiped away the blood that began to seep from his mouth and down his chin. "Just rest," she urged.

He met her gaze with his own, and the utter fear and understanding in those eyes nearly took her breath away. "I don't want t' die..."

Sindi opened her mouth to speak, to cast his fears away, but she couldn't find her voice. Instead, she closed her mouth and averted her gaze to her medical tools. What would be the point in dismissing his concerns? They both knew the survival rate. He would be lucky to survive the night.

A bottle was picked from her supplies, and she took a moment to work the cap off. Inside was a concoction of henbane, mandrake, and other herbs which would help with the pain and act as a sedative. It would be enough to keep him from suffering for the rest of his time here. She helped lift his head and brought the potion to his lips. "Drink." He seemed to hesitate, but he couldn't hope to fight back. "It will help you sleep."

A few minutes passed as he fell into slumber, perhaps the last one before he succumbed to the sickness that ailed him. Like many of the patients that had been brought to her and the other healers. So many had been given to them in an attempt to aid them, to save them from the Curse that had been placed on them, but they had yet to find a cure for those that had come down with the sickness. They could only hope to ease the pain and make the transition more bearable—the transition to inevitable death.

"Sindilia."

The brunette turned towards the voice. In the doorway stood an older woman. Her porcelain skin was wrinkled and tinged gray with age, but there was still life within her aging body. Her snow-white hair once blonde cascaded down her back and over her shoulders like the falls that roared from the mountains a little further north of Felnethyr. Though time tried to weigh her down, her back was straight and her chin lifted high, revealing the scar that cut her chin. Deep brown eyes full of knowledge and wisdom peered at her, but there was an intensity to them that made her skin tingle.

Between them stood a shimmering wall of gold, stretching the full width and height of the entrance. It reminded her of the portals her mother had told her about when teaching about the history of the Exther gods, the gateways that opened up into new and unique dimensions. It rippled slowly like a moonlit pond on a calm night, occasionally sparkling as it reflected back the stars of the universe. The spell was simple enough: a warding spell that kept sickness and death from leaving the hall. It was a spell conjured by the Mother herself to keep the mage healers and herself safe from the Crimson Death that they welcomed into their home. At least for the time being.

Sindilia slowly rose from her spot, careful not to put too much weight on her bad ankle, and dipped her head in greeting. "Yes, Mother Ysmeina?"

The master healer looked her over, seeing the blood that soaked into her clothing. "Come to my study immediately."

Sindilia followed the Mother's gaze and patted her skirts as if she could brush the blood and vomit off like she would dirt. "I shall come as soon as I am cleaned up–"

"Do it quickly," Mother Ysmeina interrupted. "Don't keep me waiting." And with that, she turned away and disappeared around the corner.

She blinked. It was unlike the Mother to be so cryptic. There was always an urgency that came with being a healer—time-sensitive potions to make, lives on the line, fighting the change of the seasons—but this felt different. Whatever was so important, it must be truly dire. So Sindilia wasted no time in discarding her dirtied clothing, changing into a clean dress, and hurrying up as fast as a cripple could to the Mother's study.

The healer entered the room to find herself immediately bombarded with the smell of books and history. Tomes and scrolls lined the walls in the form of organized bookshelves, and there were even some spread across the desk that sat in the center of the circular room. Ever since the Crimson Curse emerged, Mother Ysmeina's been slaving away through all accounts of savage diseases and plagues in an attempt to find a cure, an answer, or something that would at least give them an edge in fighting this war. For that's what this was: a battle against something they could not see, and they were losing.

But the older woman was not sitting at her desk like she normally was, instead standing at a large window with hands laced behind her back. She'd only been in this room a handful of times since her arrival, but she knew the view from that window. It overlooked the meadows that spread at the feet of the Scarlet Heights for miles. A lake shimmered in the sunlight, fed by the cold waters of the mountains that towered behind them. If she were to peek her head out and looked to the left, she'd be able to see the capital city in the distance. A shimmering beacon of hope during dark times. Though not all believed that.

Only now did Sindilia realize that there was someone sitting in a chair in front of the Mother's desk. She could not see their face, even from this angle, she could tell that he was muscled and tall. Atop his head, nestled in his black and graying hair, were two ears, canine in shape, and the name came to her mind immediately: L'yrathi. It was not uncommon for the wolf-elf race to come to the Magthrea a'Lorethi, especially with Felnethyr being just a day's ride away. But it was the adornment that sat on his head and shone in the light that streamed in that made her heart skip a beat and the color leave her face.

He stood from the chair and turned to face Sindi after hearing her enter, and his silver eyes seemed to pierce right through her. His face was chiseled and sharp like that of an elf's, but it had been softened into something near-human due to his mixed blood. The way he carried himself made her think of a soldier, like the boy she had been tending, and she wondered if he could snap a man in half with his bulging muscles. He wore no armor, nor did he wear the fancy, shiny garments that she would expect him to don, but the coat he wore was threaded with silver and expertly tailored. But it was the crown that sat on his head, made of shiny silver that contrasted with his dark hair and ears and inlaid with sparkling jewels, that told her all she needed to know of the man.

The Prime Ruler of Thiyalia himself was standing before her.

"Y- Your Grace! Forgive me, I- I didn't expect-! Oh my-" Sindilia threw herself to her knees before the royal man, making herself as small as she could before the man that ruled all of Thiyalia. "I was not told of your arrival. Please-"

"Off the floor, healer. I am a king, not an emperor." His voice was smooth like honey but held an edge that she had learned came with age.

A blush dusted her cheeks as she rose, and she instead curtsied, which she always hated doing, especially since her curtsy always came out awkward due to her limp. "Apologies, Your Grace."

"You are Sindilia?"

She nodded, "Yes, Your Grace. Sindilia Aleta."

He approached her in just a couple strides and looked her over. She forced herself to not step back from the king, to not show her fear, and he seemed to notice because of how a corner of his mouth seemed to tug into a small smirk. "And you have no magical abilities?"

"I... No, Your Grace. I have not been Blessed."

"Hm..." He lifted a finger and brushed the hair out of her face, though his attention seemed to be focused on the single strip of white that cut harshly through her brunette locks. From this close, she could now see the light blue flecks that swam in the pools of silver in his eyes, the key characteristic of a trueborn Vaneiros.

The Prime Ruler stepped back. "She will do."

Sindi furrowed her brow. "I... don't follow?"

Mother Ysmeina turned from the window and looked at them finally. "I have brought you my best healer, one with no magic. What do you intend to do with her?"

He turned away from Sindilia to address the master healer. "The Crimson Curse is growing more violent, and all the healers in Thiyalia cannot hope to fight against this plague. None of our efforts are providing fruit, and I fear that we are running out of time." The crowned man moved to walk alongside the countless tomes that lined the walls. "All your studying, Mother Ysmeina. The studying of the other masters all across Thiyalia is giving us nothing. Not even the other lands are able to provide us insight, much less send aid. They are afraid, and for good reason.

"But there is one last thing we can try." He stopped in front of a particular bookshelf and pulled a book from its hold. From here, Sindilia could not decipher the book's title, but she didn't need to for the Prime Ruler continued explaining, "Some of my spies have reported that there are strange things happening beyond Scarlet Heights, within the wastes beyond. They are afraid of scouting further, and those that do do not have much of a chance of returning. But there are rumors stirring, that the plague was birthed beyond the mountains."

The king flicked through the pages of the book, until he stopped on a particular page. He stepped forward and placed the book down on the desk. Mother Ysmeina and Sindilia approached and looked at the page that he had flipped to. They were met with a hand-scrawled drawing of a temple ruin, hardly decipherable due to the rushed strokes of the artist, as if speed dictated whether the author would survive.

"We fear it is too dangerous to send mages to investigate the rumors, and knights are far too unintelligent when it comes to medicine." The Prime Ruler met Sindilia's gaze, and she knew what he was going to say before the words left his lips. "Thiyalia needs you to travel beyond the Scarlet Heights and search into the cause of the plague. Perhaps then we can find some answers."

"Absolutely not!" Mother Ysmeina's voice rang out with such ferocity that Sindilia jumped. "I will not have another one of my healers sent out on some impossible quest for you."

"We are getting nowhere, Mother Ysmeina." The king's voice countered with the same harshness. "While you dawdle in your study, scouring over books and scrolls and maps that have nothing of use, hundreds of Thiyalians are dying."

"Dawdle! Forgive me, Your Grace, but I believe it was me that prevented your oldest from succumbing to the sickness within the first week. He is still alive because of me."

"Alive and broken," the king snapped. "His magic is gone, ripped from him, and now that essential part of him has left him quiet and confused. But there are children all across Thiyalia that are not as lucky."

"So you will send a cripple to do your dirty work?"

"I asked for your best healer despite all disabilities, and this is who you brought me. Do you not even believe in your best?"

Mother Ysmeina slammed her fist on the desk, and the trinkets on her desk rattled. "I will not allow her–"

"I will do it."

The Mother and Prime Ruler turned to look at her, and she shrunk away from the anger still glinting in their eyes. But there was also confusion in their gaze.

"I'll do it," she said again.

Mother Ysmeina bunched her brow in irritation; she didn't like being cornered. "It'll be dangerous, Sindilia. You are no fighter."

"She will not be alone," the king assured. "I will have one of my Honor Guard accompany her. But they will want to find a guide to lead them through the Scarlet Heights. My men are not familiar with the terrain."

The master healer pursed her lips in thought, brow furrowed, before she released her irritation in the form of a sigh. "Are you sure you want to do this, Sindilia?"

Not really. The brunette gulped down her fears and lifted her chin, feigning confidence. "His Grace is right; we are getting nowhere and losing dozens each day. We must try all that we can to save people, and if traveling beyond is our last chance, then I will take it with an iron grip. I made an oath when I arrived: that I would help anyone and everyone to the best of my ability, even if it costed me my life."

Mother Ysmeina sighed again and massaged her temple with two fingers. "Very well."

The Prime Ruler turned to Sindi fully and dipped his chin respectfully, careful not to let the crown slip with expert grace. "We will be in your debt, Alora Sindilia." He began to make his way out of the study. "Gather your things as quickly as you can. We ride out in an hour, for time is not on our side."

⊰ ∘ ⊱​

The next few days were a blur. Sindilia rode to Felnethyr with the Prime Ruler and his Honor Guard, where she met with the one assigned to protect her during her quest, Sir Haldir. They had rested upon arrival to the capital city, and the next morning was spent trying to find a guide through the mountains. Especially for the Scarlet Heights, due to their deadly secrets and terrible reputation, finding a willing guide was difficult. But they soon found a man named Vralekai. He seemed a nice enough individual, but it took quite some bribery to convince him to lead them into the mountains.

They only took a day to prepare before embarking. Now, they were treading through the thick snows which crunched underneath their boots. The wind whipped their clothes and hair against them angrily, as if urging them to turn back, but the healer refused to listen. Her nose stung from the cold and so did her fingers, so she rubbed her hands together before cupping them over her mouth and nose and breathing into them. She had thought the nights in the Magthrea a'Lorethi were cold, but this was blistering.

The trio came to a flat section with walls of red rock surrounding them. The path continued up through a crevasse in the wall, only a few feet in width, and the harsh winds zipped through the path like an invisible river, whistling in their ears. A portion of the wall to their right was not as steep and flat as the rest, instead acting as a snow-and-ice covered inclined that led further up the mountain. To their left was a large mouth to a cave that quickly became too dark to see how far it went. Regardless, the mouth would act as a good spot to rest safe from the relentless winds.

They set up a small, temporary camp to hide out from the elements for a time, just long enough to eat a snack and drink some not-yet-frozen water. Sindilia's ankle was especially hurting her, but she was restless. She sat just before the edge of the cave looking at the opening where they had come from. From here, the flat section seemed to drop off in the form of a cliff, but there was a small pathway that wound up to the ledge. Beyond the ledge was a couple hundred-foot fall that would surely kill a man if the sharp rocks didn't slice him to pieces first.

"We should keep moving," the guide spoke up. "It's dangerous to stay in one place for too long."

Sindilia nodded, mostly to herself, and helped pack up their stuff again. It didn't take them long to gather everything and continue their ascent.

Until a resounding thud shook the very earth. The three swayed, hardly able to keep their footing, as their eyes were drawn to the source. A large brute, four times the size of Haldir and carrying a wooden club the size of a tree trunk, came barreling down the slope towards the trio with a roar. Fear spread through her like ice as she grasped onto the knight, who brandished his sword and shield defensively.

"Giant!" Vralekai bellowed, running towards the knight and healer.

"Get up the path!" Sir Haldir commanded, shrugging the brunette's grip. "Go!"

But the giant was already upon them, its long strides no match for their speed. With a mighty swing, its weapon cleaved into the guide and sent the man skidding across the snow before sliding right off the edge. She heard no scream, which told her that the impact either knocked him out or killed him before he even went flying.

The knight pushed her from her spot, and she stumbled. "Go!" he yelled again. She hadn't realized she had been rooted to her spot. But now she heard him, realized the danger they were in. She limped through the snow, trying desperately to get to the crevasse before the giant reached her. She had not gotten far by the time she could hear the crunch of the knight's armor underneath the strength of the giant's swing. The giant roared in triumph before turning its attention towards her.

Oh gods, I'm going to die. The healer tried with all her might to reach the crevasse, ignoring the searing pain that shot up through her leg. But finally, her ankle gave out, and she collapsed into the snow. I'm going to die. Sindilia began to drag herself through the snow, towards the crevasse in a last ditch effort to escape, the cold burning her skin, but she knew it was useless. The giant would be upon her any second. She was going to die.

▸ ♫ ◂​

Addressed
Mother Ysmeina
Prime Ruler Folre Vaneiros II

Mentioned
Sir Haldir
Valekai
​

▸ ✵ ◂​

Health: 100%

Status
Healthy | Cold

Location
Magthrea a'Lorethi ➛ Scarlet Heights

Outfit
Refer to Picture

Inventory
‣ Healing Herbs
‣ Healer's Tools
‣ Canteen | Water
‣ Dried Jerky
‣ Small Dagger
‣ Pouch of Gold
​

▸ ∞ ◂​

Notes
WOOOO HERE WE GO shit's goin' down

[Character Sheet]
​

 

[Anaxileah]

• STORY
• CONVERSATION
• PERSONALLY
• NOTESSHITS

• Painstakingly bright sunlight filtered through the thick, frosted windows, spilling over the quaint home that was nestled deep in the Scarlet Heights. The dark elf residing inside stirred, rays of sunshine making their way past his heavy eyelid, a soft grumble escaping his lips as he attempted to roll over and dismiss the time of day. However, the grumbling of his stomach had grown over the past hour that he had been half-conscious, forcing him to arouse, sitting up with a grunt of displeasure. His muscles ached as though he had slept an entire day, paining him as he glanced around, his good eye slowly blinking open to survey his surroundings. A one-sided, crimson gaze glanced through the frosted window to the scarlet mountains below, noting the weather and time of day as the experienced drow stood, stretching with a satisfied sigh. He had made it to bed the previous night, which was a surprise considering the empty ale bottle strewn to the side with the bucket of vomit to match. He rolled his eye as he made his way to the cupboards, running a bare hand through his tangled hair, attempting to free it of knots.
  
  Stopping at the mirror in his room, he surveyed himself, a deep frown overtaking his groggy expression. The scars that crossed his face, over his dead eye and his cheek, contributed to the usual fearful appearance he presented to the townsfolk, along with the deep, blood-red eye that remained, challenging any brave enough to speak to him. He wore cloth pants alone, his chest and feet bare to the warm air that permeated his home from the burning embers in the other room. Pale grey scars adorned his chest, the misshapen flesh standing out like a sore thumb atop his usually charcoal-black skin. They had been made from various instruments; swords, daggers, arrows, even magical blasts had come across his body at some time during his elongated lifespan. Despite the damage done to his body, he was muscular, lean, and had the body of a warrior prepared for the cruelest of battles. Pulling a long-sleeved, cotton shirt over his head, he reached for a brush, deciding this day would be one of few where he would try for an air of decency — after two minutes of fighting tangled knots and eventually snapping the brush in half, he tossed it to the side, deciding to look for some food instead.
  
  "Damned brush." The dark-skinned elf muttered to himself, his voice deep and gravelly as he left through the open doorway of his quarters to his living area, complete with a bearskin rug, a wooden set of furniture next to a shining, scarlet fireplace carved from the mountains, a wall of books, and another doorway to where he stored his food, both by long-term and short-term means. He had a small, sectioned-off storeroom for salted meats and alcohols, whereas the majority of his food stayed in his kitchen, built much like that of a tavern. It had a large basin for washing dishes and goods, a long counter for storing wrapped cheeses and breads, and bowls of half-eaten fruit that were beyond their expiry dates. Grimacing at the smells that made themselves known, he looked through his cupboards, his counters, not finding anything remotely edible at the least. "Shit." He muttered, looking for his traveling bag, where he knew he had some jerky, at the very least. It wasn't his own, so the quality was questionable, but his stomach was growling louder with each passing minute, and needed something to appease it until he went down to the mountainside village.
  
  "That time of month again..." He grumbled, snatching the jerky from his back and stuffing it in his mouth, the savory, salty flavor a welcome taste compared to the regurgitated ale that tainted his taste buds. After taking a swig of water and some more ale, the drow made his way back into his quarters, donning his traveling gear and armor. The many cloth bags he brought to and from the town smelled of food as he stuffed them into his pack, making his mouth water as he prepared for the full day's journey, the sun now high in the sky with winds whipping around like a carriage driver's hand. Bringing a full waterskin, the last of his jerky, extra bundles of arrows, and the many cloth bags used for hauling goods back home, he finally donned his fur cloak and boots before opening the entrance to his home, greeted by the icy winds of the Scarlet Heights.
  
  The snowcapped air filled his lungs with the familiar pain of pins and needles, certainly reducing the amount of grogginess left in the drow's mind and body as he quickly shut the large, thick, wooden door until it clicked, locking it swiftly with the key he kept draped around his neck on a thin, iron chain. Stuffing the key into his shirt, he made his way down the small slope from his door, circling around the cliffside he built his home into until it leveled out onto a small plateau overlooking the vast meadows and lakes surrounding the Scarlet Heights. His hidden home was only a day's trek from the capital city, assuming weather permitted and there were no delays or setbacks. Felnethyr was not a bad city, but it certainly had its fair share of bad people, especially with the current epidemic going on. Still, it was the closest city and had quite the influx of goods, thanks to the Prime Ruler.
  
  Traveling to Felnethyr from his home was considerably easier than the opposite, as trekking downwards was always much quicker and, usually, less dangerous. However, that would not be the case today, as he heard a reverberating shout echoing from somewhere below him. Normally, he couldn't be arsed to do anything for anyone unless he benefitted, either by payment or food and drink. However, hearing Vralekai's familiar, irritating voice scream out, "Giant!" piqued his interest. After finishing his swig of water and stowing his waterskin, the black-skinned elf, standing out rather obviously in the blankets of snow and red streaks of rock from the mountainside, made his way down the side of the mountain, occasionally sliding down the slopes in order to reach whomever he had misdirected this time. He soon came upon the Split Cliffs, a section of the mountains known for giant dwellings and a maze of crevasses both above and below that could prove disastrous to inexperienced travelers. His curiosity getting the better of him, the armored drow drew his bow, glancing around with his one eye as he heard more shouting.
  
  "Go!" Echoed from somewhere to his right, the frantic urge forcing the drow to subconsciously move faster, eventually coming upon a slender crevasse between two peaked cliffs, the red staining resembling blood on the ice as he approached, catching a glimpse of brown hair as he inched closer, sucking in a sharp breath, he moved closer, his crimson orb able to absorb more of the view now that he was within fifteen, twenty feet of the flash of color he had seen before. It was a woman, dressed in clothing unfit for this type of travel, limping toward the crevasse he was in with panic and terror across her face. Why is a cripple out here? He asked himself incredulously, watching as she attempted to flee from the ice giant looming behind her, thunderous step after step closing in as she tried to escape. His crimson eye briefly met her forest green ones after she slipped and fell in the blanket of snow, now within ten feet of where he crouched.
  
  Before the dark-skinned elf could think or control his own actions, he leapt forward as the ice giant swung his club up in the air, his gloved hand gripping her cloak and yanking her back to him just before the club struck down. The massive force shook the surrounding area, causing the ice above the crevasse to crack and break off, threatening to fall on top of the two beings now wedged between the cliffsides. Swearing in Elvish, the drow quickly grabbed the human female around her waist and darted out the way he came, narrowly missing the large chunks of ice that fell to the ground, shattering behind them. He let out a yell as he dashed into an opening in the Split Cliffs, collapsing to the ground with the human female. Why did I help her? He coughed as he sat up, as he was unprepared for the sudden adrenaline coursing through his veins, forcing him to exert his still awakening muscles. He groaned before glancing over at the female, who he had released beside him as he dashed into the snow, searching for any signs of injury. They were both covered in snow, that much was certain, but for the time being he kept the majority of his face concealed by his scarf as he looked her over, his muffled voice coming through the cloth.
  
  "Are you injured?"
  
• Addressed
  Sindilia Aleta
  
  Mentioned
  Vralekai, Sir Haldir
  
• Health: 100%

  
  Status
  Hungover | Hungry | Curious
  
  Location
  Cliffside Home ➛ Split Cliffs
  
  Outfit
  Similar to this cloak, but pure white with grey wolf fur lining the hood and inside of the cloak. His normal ranger armor is beneath it.
  
  Inventory
  • Silver-Tipped Arrows (x40)
  • Elven Longbow
  • Dried Jerky (x2)
  • Waterskin (60% full)
  
• Notes
  Now you'll finally get the post you deserve
  
  

​

 

[Javax]

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

One moment, she was crawling through the ice and snow that bit her skin like a thousand needles, praying to whatever god would listen to spare her miserable healer life from the inevitable death looming behind her like the mountains that surrounded her. At the time, it seemed useless. Her companions had been squashed like maggots, and she was no fighter. What use would the dagger at her thigh be against a brute five times her size?

But the next moment, she was being dragged by rough hands through the crevasse, narrowly escaping the club that shook the ground and rattled the ice above, which came down soon after with a resounding crash! that echoed along the ice and rock walls. Sindilia collapsed to the ground once they'd been spat out from the confines of the crevasse, her shaky legs unable to bear the weight of her own body. Her heart hammered in her chest, blood pounding in her head, oh so loud in her ears.

She put her shaking hands to her head, unsure if the shaking was from the cold seeping into her bones or the fear that sunk itself into her marrow. The crunching of Vralekai and Sir Haldir's bodies repeated in her mind, the vision of the guide being thrown off the side like a doll plaguing her. She had seen enough death to rival a knight's, had combatted it head on on many occasions, but that was within the safe walls of the Magthrea a'Lorethi. Experiencing their deaths up-close, at the mercy of a creature with no moral compass, and hearing the crack of bones and the cut-off screams before they succumbed... It was a different thing entirely. By the gods, they're dead... Her thoughts were so loud amidst the pounding, or had she spoken them out loud? She couldn't be sure.

Through the pounding, she could swear she heard a voice. The healer felt hands on her person, not her own, and it was then she remembered that it was not a god or other ethereal being that had dragged her out of the dire situation she'd found herself in. Her eyes settled on the dark-skinned man that had saved her. Some of his features were concealed by the clothes he'd bundled himself with, but she could clearly see the lack of an eye sitting above the sharp, high cheekbones of an elf. His other eye, red as crimson, peered over her with an intensity that she commonly saw in the other healers. Dark hair framed his face and long, pointed ears poked out from between the streaked locks.

Though the man had saved her, he was still a stranger. She shrank away from the drow elf. "I- I'm fine," Sindilia finally answered. The healer began to push herself to her feet. "I thank you for your courage, stranger, but I must be–" She hissed at the pain that flared in her leg when she put pressure on her bad ankle and stumbled. She cursed the gods for the millionth time for bestowing such an awful disability on the woman. Though she did not fall, instead forcing herself to take a step. Two. She stumbled again, this time falling into the snow. "Agh!" she yelled, more out of frustration than pain. "I don't have time for this!"

▸ ♫ ◂​

Addressed
Diaval Skyth

Mentioned
Vralekai
Sir Haldir
​

▸ ✵ ◂​

Health: 100%

Status
Healthy | Cold | Pained

Location
Scarlet Heights

Outfit
Refer to Picture

Inventory
‣ Healing Herbs
‣ Healer's Tools
‣ Canteen | Water
‣ Dried Jerky
‣ Small Dagger
‣ Pouch of Gold
​

▸ ∞ ◂​

Notes
N/A

[Character Sheet]
​

 

[Anaxileah]

• STORY
• CONVERSATION
• PERSONALLY
• NOTESSHITS

• Amidst the flurry of snow and wind, the woman's sharp, emerald gaze met his crimson eye as she realized what just occurred. He could see the realization in her eyes as she understood how close she was to death, and likely was struggling with the deaths of her traveling companions. He opened his mouth to comment on the knight and sherpa but held his tongue, thinking better of it as he awaited her response, glancing nervously to where the giant had been. Loud thuds and shouts could be heard as the beast yelled in frustration, bashing the glacier with fists and his club. Thankfully, the glacier was thick enough to withstand its blows, despite the massive shards of ice breaking off and crashing to the plateau's surface nearby.
  
  The dark-skinned drow helped bring the brown-haired woman farther from the glacier, pulling her through the snow as she struggled with her companions' gruesome ends. Finally, she regarded him with thanks and claimed she was well, though, from the looks of it, she was simply trying to brush him off. When she stood, quite obviously in pain, the drow got a good look at her and instantly frowned. She was wearing clothing that was much too thin for these mountains, her cloak barely holding what warmth her small body could carry. Her nose was red from the cold, her lips as pale as her fingers, and the slight trembling made his heart ache, however dead it may be.
  
  "I-I'm fine. I thank you for your courage stranger, but I must be–" The female's words were cut off as she tried to rise and instead crumpled to the ground in pain, having only made two steps in whatever direction she assumed was the correct one. His eye narrowed as she shouted in frustration, claiming she didn't have time for her injury to slow her down. Letting out a low, disgruntled sigh, the drow elf crouched and glared at her. "Listen. You're not going anywhere with that leg as is. You aren't dressed for these mountains, and you don't have a guide. Seems to me like you need more help than you're willing to admit, and I just so happen to be here. Now, I was going to head to town, but we're closer to my home, so you're coming with me so we can get you appropriately dressed and on your way. Then you find someone else to help you." He grunted, leaning down to lift her petite figure and hold her over his shoulder, the female facing behind him.
  
  "Name's Diaval." He added as he hoisted her over his heavily clad shoulder, starting to make his way through the Split Cliffs as he ignored her complaints and wiggling as he struggled to bring her to safety. He gritted his teeth together in annoyance, eager for her to shut up and stop fighting him — he never went out of his way to help people and didn't understand why he was now — but her tiny ass was getting on his nerves. If she didn't stop smacking his back and complaining, he was tempted to yeet her throw her off the nearest cliff in a huff. Eventually, she gave up and resorted to pouting, staying that way for the remainder of their trip to his home. Luckily, they were only an hour away, and though he wasn't the strongest, his endurance was notable as he carried her the entire way with ease.
  
  As they neared his home, Sindi would notice a massive cliffside in the mountains covered in gorgeous, sparkling red ice, interrupted only by a massive, reinforced glass wall and multiple wooden beams holding the glass in place. The stark contrast between the scarlet streaks in the cliffsides and the glittering, pearl-white snow was blinding at times, providing an almost ethereal, if not deadly, beauty. A twisting path carved at the edge of the plateau could be seen leading up to the divet in the mountain, expertly chiseled into a spiral staircase leading to a thick, wooden door. Diaval let out a grunt as he made his way up the steps, taking care to avoid hurting Sindi further on the carved walls as his footsteps echoed, the two of them finally reaching shelter from the biting, winter winds. Relieved to be home, Diaval let out an exasperated sigh, dropping Sindi off into the large chair in front of his fireplace, now a pile of ash and slightly burning embers. He threw a small log on the fire and took a couple of moments to light it, providing some warmth for the injured female as he got it burning and could finally settle down, warming his own hands by the fire.
  
  Diaval remained silent as he removed his gear, revealing his disheveled, scruffy appearance as he shrugged off his cloak and removed his armor. His tangled hair and lengthy eyelashes were dotted with melting snowflakes as he turned to face Sindilia, his expression tired. "I'm going to get first aid. Stay put, and please," He paused, glancing around and gesturing. "Don't touch anything." He left her side without waiting for a response, heading to his kitchen in search of gauze and bandages, as well as some healing salve. He was no healer — he was prepared to simply slap on some salve, gauze, and then wrap it up — and brought the supplies over to Sindilia's side. "Take off your boots. Show me where you're injured." He said plainly, his expression serious with an undetectable hint of concern unless she was looking for it.
  
• Addressed
  Sindilia Aleta
  
  Mentioned
  N/A
  
• Health: 100%

  
  Status
  Hungover | Hungry | Annoyed AF
  
  Location
  Split Cliffs ➛ Cliffside Home
  
  Outfit
  Similar to this cloak, but pure white with grey wolf fur lining the hood and inside of the cloak. His normal ranger armor is beneath it.
  
  Inventory
  • Silver-Tipped Arrows (x40)
  • Elven Longbow
  • Dried Jerky (x2)
  • Waterskin (60% full)
  
• Notes
  Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
  
  

​

 

[Javax]

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

Protests sputtered from her chapped lips, trying desperately to get the man to listen to her, but he was having none of her excuses. Before she could react, Sindilia had been lifted out of the blistering snows and hoisted upon the drow's steady shoulder. "Wai–! No!" The healer wriggled her body as obnoxiously as she could to try and lessen his grip on her, but he held steadfast as a predator does prey. Despite the man's seemingly charitable nature—whose name she learned was Diaval—a knot of fear began to grow in her belly. She knew far too well that the words of men did not always translate directly to their actions, and she did not wish to find out firsthand if this man would be a man of his word or not.

"You can't do this!" She began to beat on his back defiantly. "You don't understand! Put me down this instant!"

His strength definitely overpowered her own, and the position he had put her in rendered her hidden dagger useless. She had considered using some of her healer's tools as a weapon—a majority of them were sharp enough to slice flesh like melted butter—but those, too, she could not reach. Diaval had put her in a position of powerlessness, and though most of his expressions were indecipherable, she knew that he was aware of what he had done to her. She was at his mercy, and there was nothing she could do about it.

When that reality settled in, Sindilia stopped struggling and instead wondered how she had gotten into this mess. Not even a day had passed since she'd left Felnethyr, and already everything that could possibly go wrong had done so. Her guide had been tossed aside like an unwanted toy, her protection had been squashed like an insect, and she'd been captured by a man that was taking her who knows where. His home, he had said, but that could be anything. It could very well be her end. The chill of fear soon overcame the howling winds that ripped the warmth from her body.

An agonizingly long walk on Diaval's part led them to a structure that was more than dazzling. The sparkling ice and snow created a beauty that was unlike the manmade architecture that formed the castle home of the Vaneiroses. Panic slipped from her mind momentarily; this place was too beautiful to be her place of demise. Was this where the man lived? Did anyone else stay with him in these frigid mountains?

Soon enough, she was deposited in front of a smoldering hearth that he coaxed back to life with a log. The flames which grew began to melt the ice and snow that clung to her clothing and skin, and her fright was momentarily forgotten as she placed her hands in front of the fire. They shook near violently, and her fingers tingled and stung as if she had thrust them into the heart of the flames. Green eyes flicked towards the drow elf, taking in the disheveled appearance of the mysterious man that lived in the mountains before he disappeared into an adjacent room to search for supplies.

When he returned, she shrunk away from his presence instinctively. The healer did not move to do as he asked. Instead, she said, "I'm afraid that my ailment is not one you can tend with medicine, much less what you have at your disposal." Her intelligent gaze roamed over the simple supplies he had brought, the salve and wrappings meant for treating open wounds, and she couldn't stop the flicker of disappointment that crossed her features. Simple supplies for a simple man, who was obviously no healer.

She forced herself to meet Diaval's crimson gaze with a confidence that was mostly feigned, and her voice sounded much stronger than she felt. "I thank you again for your aid, Master Diaval, but I don't have time to go back to the city. I must make it across the mountains. It is of the utmost urgency." Her hard stare softened, her voice with it. "Please," she said, a near whisper, "you must understand."

▸ ♫ ◂​

Addressed
Diaval Skyth

Mentioned
Vralekai
Sir Haldir
​

▸ ✵ ◂​

Health: 100%

Status
Healthy | Warming | Pained

Location
Diaval's Home

Outfit
Refer to Picture

Inventory
‣ Healing Herbs
‣ Healer's Tools
‣ Canteen | Water
‣ Dried Jerky
‣ Small Dagger
‣ Pouch of Gold
​

▸ ∞ ◂​

Notes
N/A

[Character Sheet]
​

 

[Anaxileah]

• STORY
• CONVERSATION
• PERSONALLY
• NOTESSHITS

• His slender, calloused hands held the bandages and gauze gingerly, a light coating of dust indicating a lack of use for several weeks, if not months. The elven man, now wearing only the torn, grey blouse and dull brown pants, knelt to the floor before her, a faint frown upon his thin, hesitant lips. He took a moment to look at her properly, noticing the intense shivering, the shying away from his presence, the look of disappointment as he attempted to be her aide, if but for a moment. Her brilliant, emerald eyes forced his hunger to subside as he realized what he'd done - he just stole a woman from the side of the moment and took her to his home, having rendered her useless on the way. In all his life, he had never done something so perceivably heinous and had no intention to do anything of the sort now.
  
  "I..." He began, at a loss for words as he knelt before her, the tangled mess of hair draped over his shoulders as he placed the gauze and bandages aside, placing his hands on his thighs slowly, so as not to startle her, as though she were a wild doe frozen in fear. "My sincerest apologies." His voice was gruff from misuse, but had a low, rumbly tone to it, ringing with sincerity as he bowed his head, his gaze at her feet rather than meeting her eyes. The scars on his face were much more visible from so close, the raised, grey flesh going through his brow, his shut, dead eye, and to his cheek, where more markings had also made their home long ago.
  
  "I did not mean to frighten you. I would not do anything that would bring you harm, though I know you have no obligation to believe or trust me." He murmured softly, fully understanding the consequences of his actions. His mind had sent him back to the war, when you did things for the better of your allies, whether or not they agreed. He could recall carrying his fellow soldiers to safety, despite their pleas, to dress their wounds and return them to battle. "I thank you again for your aid, Master Diaval, but I don't have time to go back to the city. I must make it across the mountains. It is of the utmost urgency." His frown deepened as his gaze returned to the present, resting on her verdant eyes as she pleaded with him, her claims about time spent and urgency almost ridiculous to think about in her current state. His brow furrowed, the scarred flesh tugging on his dead eye as the skin moved.
  
  "Do not call me that. Diaval is fine. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, little one, but your guide is dead. You could not even survive an attack from one of the ice giants, and these mountains are their home." He paused, a small scoff escaping his lips as a joyless smile spread across his features. "You are wearing scraps not built for this weather, your supplies seem rather lacking and I," he rose, his good eye narrowing at her as he did so, "am hungry. With no food here. So unless you can magically come up with the right gear and equipment for travel, as well as a new guide through these mountains, I will escort you back to the village at the base of this mountain and leave you to your urgency." His lip curled into a small, mocking sneer as he turned from her, his stomach audibly growling as he returned the gauze and bandages to the other room, gritting his teeth as he did so.
  
  He pitied her - she knew nothing about the lands and how to care for herself here, and had he done nothing, she would have joined the rest of the corpses trapped by these mountains or those that inhabited them, especially with that leg of hers. The jerky from that morning had done almost nothing to quell the hunger brewing in his gut, forcing him to once again check his stores and find them barren. He prepared two cups of water, carrying one out to the reckless woman out of hospitality; it had been many years since he housed anyone here, and he preferred to keep it that way. He placed it on the arm of the chair beside her, ignoring her reactions to his presence as he sat himself on the floor by the hearth, warming his body before they ventured back out into the bitter cold.
  
• Addressed
  Sindilia Aleta
  
  Mentioned
  N/A
  
• Health: 100%

  
  Status
  Hungover | Hungry | Annoyed AF
  
  Location
  Cliffside Home
  
  Outfit
  Beneath his cloak and armor he wears simple clothes, a tunic and pants for simplicity's sake.
  
  Inventory
  • Silver-Tipped Arrows (x40)
  • Elven Longbow
  • Waterskin (60% full)
  
• Notes
  A long-awaited post has been spotted within a year of the last!
  
  

​