Unhappy Valley

Log Info

• Title: Unhappy Valley
• Emitter: Vaera
• Characters: Vaera, Skielstregar
• Place: W01: Wilderness Pointe
• Time: Saturday, September 4, 2021, 8:30 PM
• Summary: It had been two days since Skielstregar had been chased away from Happy Valley after seeking to see a play, and it seemed to be bothering him still. Vaera was outside Mictlan, working on carving flying fish into her leg as she had promised. Skielstregar passes by, and stops to greet her, seeming worried by something. Vaera asks, and he explains how he was chased out after being forced to get rid of most of his weaponry to enter the theatre, and the scent of death that was ever present was picked up. Vaera offers suggestions for dealing with non makari, having experience herself. They speak of what happened, and Skielstregar's concerns about his condition, and Vaera does what she can to reassure him. She shows him her wooden leg, the carvings in it, with the names of kin and her family who were gone, but he does not pry further. He asks about her ability to hide her emotions and scents, hoping it may apply to the scent of death that was present. Vaera is unsure, but willing to try teaching him, once she figures out how to do so. On better terms than before, and with offers of meeting again if necessary, Skielstregar departs, and Vaera continues to make fish fly.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* W01: Wilderness Pointe *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Wilderness Point is the last-ditch point of civilisation before the great northern woods. It stands as a last bastion of trade, and a hub of activity between hunters, traders, and townsfolk.

A fairly wide path, flanked on either side by shallow ditches and tall trees, makes its way into the village from the southern roads, whose borders are outlined by a low stone wall. Sections of the wall have fallen apart here and there. At this point, it's more of a decoration than anything else.

The largest building in the village is an inn, a sign hanging over its door reading 'Wayfarer's Inn'. Its stone chimney has a thin wisp of smoke drifting off into the sky overhead.

At the center of the town is the Hunter's Market, beyond which the town ends along the river's banks, with the ferry providing passage to the other side. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

(All spoken language is Draconic.)

The weather was relatively mild that day. In fact, it erred on the side of a light chill through the air, the sky somewhat overcast, chasing out the heat of the dwindling summer months, for a time at least. Though it was still bright enough out for plenty of work to be done.

Vaera was, for a change of pace, not working, and not hunting. It was relatively close to Mictlan, and so the redscale had eschewed their coat and the sheer amount of supplies contained within, for a simple leather kilt and accompanying armor. The Tornmawr stretched up and past, and she was seated far up the shore, near the treeline, wooden leg removed, and in her lap with a pouch of tools at her side.

As Vaera sat there, a scent on the wind announced itself. Decay. Death. And... a tinge of worry? Anxiety? Scent was soon accompanied with the clanking of heavy footfalls and metal. Soon after a large figure carefully crosses the Pointe along its edge, not wishing to interact with the local folk. His once large poncho was seared away, faint stains of different colors on it shown on what was left. And underneath the poncho was, hidden away from it, more weapons on a bandolier. Though he held none in his hands, the long talons fidgeting with each other as he passed on by Vaera, wrapped in his head.

He almost didn't catch her, not until the glint of a tool made the dead eyes glance over. A snick of a blink. "Ahh, Vaera... peace on your nest," he rumbled out stopping a safe distance away. <Draconic>

Vaera noticed the bronzed sith-makar before they were in view. There was only one with that scent she was aware of. She turned slightly to look at them, and then away as they continued along. She would not push anything if they wished to continue on. She had done that enough already. Only when he announced himself did she turn back, looking up to him. The bandages had been pulled from what remained of her leg. Where it was ended was covered in numerous rough horizontal scars where the scales ended.

"There is none." She states, in that usual strange lack of emotion. "Peace on your nest though, Skielstregar. You do not have to be so fearful of me. Or is it, something else on your mind causing you worry? This one will listen, if you need."

Skielstregar looks down at the old wound from where he was, only to look back up at Vaera. He makes a growling sound, but to sith it was just him clearing his throat. "This one... is just a bit wary of others for the moment. After what happened in Happy Valley," he explains, rubbing an empty patch of skin where scales should be. After a moment of thought, he steps forward and sits down with a heavy thunk about half a stone's throw away. <Draconic>

Vaera nods, and swishes their tail just once. There was still no emotion from the redscale, but another scent. One of reassurance, often used when others were worried.

"This one is, sorry." She admits. "Both for how the people there reacted, and how this one has, in the past. This one felt right in the response at the time, but in looking back, it was hurtful."

The red makari seems to appraise Skielstregar, the burnt coat. "Why did they react as such?"

A sigh, confusion and a hint of frustration mingling with the decay. He puts his chin in a hand, talons covering his fangs. "This one does not fault you, nor any others. This one found a note about something softskins call a 'play'-," he used a single talon in the air to quote it,- "and this one was curious. So they went, hidden under their cloth. They.... were picky with attire. They said I would be distracting for the 'performers', and they told me to try and remove some of this one's things off of them. So this one would be... smaller."

He reaches behind himself, fiddling with some of the straps and frog before the quiver of javielns and the halberd are pulled free. Skiel sets them aside, and lays back against the ground with a muted 'thud'. "It did not take long after to be ran out, as they said an undead was in town."

"Ah." Is all Vaera says, with a chuff as she brushed some wood shavings off of her leg. "Impressions are important with softskins, yes. How you look, how you act, how you smell. In a different way from kin. And sometimes, they will not take time to hear you out, if they are already riled."

"Perhaps, while you are in town, it would be best to carry less weaponry? Or at least, store it elsewhere. It will make you less threatening on an approach, if you do not always look prepared for battle."

"So this one has noticed. The softskins this one knows of are closer to that of Am'shere than those of... here." he gestures around, namely in the direction towards Alexandria. "That is something this one can do. They are not used to not having something nearby, either for hunting or defending. Perhaps this one will just take their halberd."

He took a glance to the wooden leg. "... you move well despite such setback. Is it of your own making?" Skielstregar mentions, sounding genuine and impressed.

"Many softskins are exceptions, but still exceptions. The majority, do not live with constant threat the way life is in Am'shere." Vaera notes, following the gesture into the direction of the city. "Walking armed with numerous weapons is a sign of danger, that is not normally present. Not there, and likely not in Happy Valley. The fact they reacted as such implies they have little to no true experience with undead."

Vaera nods, and holds up the wooden limb so he could see it. The hardwood with joints that were accentuated with metal tubing and various fastenings, carved with scales, and other small patterns difficult to pick out. "Well enough, not nearly as well as before. This one, cannot take all of the credit. But a large portion was made by myself, and all maintenance after it was finished." She explains.

"They clearly did not. Such implements they had would have done nothing to any other. This one was more afraid of catching fire or hurting them."

Skielstregar squints at the leg, him sitting up and moving closer to inspect. But not before dipping a finger into a pouch and wiping some residue under his nose. He nods approvingly. "This one thinks if you painted it red, it may pass as real," he chuckles, amusement mingling.

Vaera looks, and watches whatever it was that was pulled out and wiped under their nose. "What is that for?" She asks. They did not panic as much as before as the sat closer, and surprisingly, they offer the wooden leg for him to see. Among the scales were various runes of draconic, several names, and what appeared to be scales at first were in fact blooming flowers from the jungles of Am'shere. A band was sanded near the top, and strangely were, fish? Fish with draconic wings outstretched where normally side fins would be.

"Perhaps it would." She agrees, though still as hard to read as ever. "At a glance. But I have come to accept that it is not my original leg."

He did carefully take the wood leg and closely examine it. Faint bits of recollection from the flowers appeared across his face, but not fully. The pads of his fingers brushed across the names. "Elk musk," he answers, then elaborates, "overpowers scents of kin."

He nods, handing the leg back. "What are the names?"

Vaera nods. "Is it concerning, or does it help it not be a concern?" Vaera asks, sniffing somewhat at the air. "That sounds, unpleasant."

She takes back the leg, and looks at the names herself. The spines on their head flatten, somewhat. "Kin, tribemates, children." She states, turning the artificial limb over. "Memories, now."

The scent around the man was his normal, deathly one, but it also had the smell of a elk pelt wafting through it. He curls his upper lip, and looks off to the river. "Some days are harder than others, redscale. After the excitement of Happy Valley, this one is a bit... more on edge." A sigh. "This one does not mean to set you on edge, and apologies if they do."

Skielstregar looks on, watching Vaera. "Ah," he nods solemnly. "This one understands. Their memories of kin and tribemates is... sparse, but they remember some." He doesn't push it. Wasn't his place.

"This one is fine." Vaera states, shaking her head. "At happy valley, you did not attack. This is good. And this one, was surprised when you came to protect me as such."

The red makari chuffs, and her tail flicks once behind her. "This one was fine, but appreciates the gesture. It was more concerning having them leave you alone."

This one wondered, about the scent of decay." Vaera asks after. "Is it just always there, or does washing help with it? If there is a way, to put others more at ease."

There was the slightest hint of pride, however much could show, on his visage before it slowly bleeds away to a slump. "This one is warrior caste. This one will... will try and protect his kin. Even if this one must... distance themselves."

He shakes his head, letting his hand fall from his face to show the fangs of the forgotten. "This one has tried. This one cannot. The corruption, as the shaman said, cannot be undone. This one is always weary in Mictlan, and does not want to scare the hatchlings."

"Then thank you." Vaera replies as she relaxes again, spines no longer laying flat. "That is not what shaman Un'eth said." Vaera clarifies, watching the fangs, perhaps staring at them. She reaches out to take the hand that had fallen. Mindful of the claws so he did not need to be. "Or rather, it can be lessened. Perhaps in time, it too will vanish. And if not, it is not overpowering. And everyone has their own scent, yes? Even this one, despite it being hidden so."

Skielstregar took note of the staring, the same hand about to rise again before it soon captured by Vaera. The man's hand was cold to the touch, almost frigidly so. He pulls a knee up and rests his chin on it, a sigh escaping him. A plume of visible air spilling forth. "This one understood differently. Thought she said that it cannot be undone. Only learn to live with it."

He does raise a scaled brow at that. "How... might you have done such a thing? This one is not sure how... a may find it helpful."

Vaera's hand, in stark contrast perhaps, was quite warm. Warmer than average, most likely. She was minding the claws, with the reassuring scent from before, and an accompanying low rumble from within her chest. "She said that it may lessen, become easier with time." The redscale replies. "This one is not suggesting you do not be wary. But if you can handle yourself now, if it gets easier later, it will be more manageable."

At the question, she tilts her head, and thinks.

"This one, it may be hard to teach. But I do not know if it would help with your scent. As for emotions, it is fine to share those,this one thinks, but if you wished to learn, then it could be shared."

"This one can handle themselves," he echoes quietly, both to himself and to Vaera. He carefully squeezes the hand, a tinge of fear mixing in with the decay. He does seem to slump at bit at the thought of it possibly not covering the smell of death wafting off of him. "This one does not mind sharing their emotions. It is the stench of death they wish to suppress."

"Peace, warrior Skielstregar. This one believes you can." The red makari rumbles, the noise from her chest growing with the hopefully soothing scent. She gingerly holds the hand, letting it be squeezed.

"If it works like most, then, perhaps it will allow you to do so. The possibility cannot be explored without an attempt, either. This one will help teach."

She tilts her head once, considering something. "This one knows another somewhat, who does something similar. Though they use magic to dismiss it."

Skiel inhales, but the soothing attempts are thwarted by that of the elk musk he used ealier. Though the rumbling assuaged some of his increasing worry. "Then this one will try whatever attempt it may be, and is open to your teachings."

He shakes his head. "This one knows naught of magics. Who is it that you know? This is not well versed in knowing those around."

"A keeper, keeper Cryosanthia, though she is rarely around Mictlan, if at all. This one knows few as well, but there are those always open to meeting." Vaera elaborates. "You may see her in Alexandria, if you explore there."

The redscale chuffs, and looks out to the water. "Apologies, this one never considered, teaching it before, never felt reason to. This one will need to think about how to do so. For now, to start, it is about being aware of your emotions and scents. If there is a reason for the scent you speak of, determine it."

"Cryosanthia," he repeats aloud, trying to keep the name in memory. "This one may go to Alexandria. They..." embarrassment seeps in, as well as anxiety. His tail lies flat against the ground. "... They are not certain how they will do in a large city. It has been such a long time..."

Skielstregar looks down slightly at the red makari, head bowing, and appreciation slipping through. "This one will need to think on that then. And thank you. This one appreciates your aid."

A final squeeze of the hand, and the large warrior gets to his feet with a grunt. A hand scooping up his weapons. "Should you... need anything. This one will be around the outskirts of Mictlan."

He smiles lightly, a slightly unsettling sight considering it shows off the fangs and too long teeth. Though appreciation seeps through the wind.

"You are welcome, and welcome." She replies, echoing something told to her recently. She squeezes the hand back before he gets to his feet. "If you are concerned, then seek this one out. This one may not be the best in them, but can do their best to help you see the place."

"And what about yourself? If you need anything, to share words or worries, if food is scarce, you can always speak to this one in Mictlan or elsewhere."

She looks to the fangs, but it was a smile, the scent confirmed it. Vaera looks over, and returns a normal (for a sith) smile. "Take care of yourself, Skielstregar."

Skielstregar rubs at his nose with the back of his hand, ridding some of the musk re put there. Finally, he got a small piece of what Vaera offered, and it made his head swim.. But he recognized it, and appreciated it nonetheless. "This one... appreciates your guidance. And will more than likely take you up on it. This one is good on food, but offers to share a meal in the future, should you wish."

A bow of the head, and a bit at the hip. "And you, yourself, Vaera. There may be no peace, but still it is wished for your nest."

He inhales again, shakes his head, and ambles off.

"This one wishes to help, despite how it may have come off." Vaera admits, turning back to her leg and the waterfront. "This one is glad you are willing to do so. If you would wish to share a meal, you need only ask, as there is usually food to spare."

Vaera sets the leg down quickly, and she pulls herself to stand, wavering a bit on the singular leg. There was a pouch on her leather kilt that she offers. "You said you enjoyed the jerky last time. This one has more to spare."

The farewell makes them pause, and they nod. "There is no nest, but thank you. Peace on your nest. Things will be better."

Once he was gone, She turns back, easing into a seat. She only had one leg, so it was important to get the carvings right, to avoid disappointing a certain kobold.