View source for Spirits and Allies

Even hazy, hot, and humid days are less miserable beneath the deep forest canopies, where the sun does not beat down and cooler breezes may be found rustling the leaves overhead and the undergrowth beneath. So it is, here in this place, trackless and untouched by the meddling hands of the races, but still a good distance yet from the hallowed spaces of the Grove or the bones of Mictlan, and further still from the twisted reaches of the Felwood. Peace reigns here, and Aimarra's footsteps on the land are light, her footing sure, instinct taking over despite the way in which she looks around her. New to the area, but not to the wild spaces, not at all. 

Beneath the tanned skin, the slight little thing is white as a ghost, dirty and dusty, her left arm wrapped from hand to elbow in an old spare shirt that is caked with crimson, held close to her body as she moves, and doesn't look as though it is properly straight. Tear tracks run through the dust on her face, her eyes wide and frightened and watchful, looking in every direction.

The forest around the woman is full of sound, which her ears would probably appreciate if she were not running. As luck may have it, the brush around her begins to thin. Several paths become obvious. Some are simple game paths, created by the recurring movement of herd animals migrating. Others are predatorial, created by those creatures that lay claim to territory. And some are artificial. Created purposefully. And it is upon this path, Aimarra is confronted. The beast before her is a very large insect: a rhinoceros beetle. Moments before, it was docile, now it rears to its feet with a ominous hiss. Its carapace splits open, the hardened shell opening, making the creature seem much larger.

From a short distance away, from behind the injured woman, a small voice can be heard. "Chaucy? Have you found another one of those grubs? Be a dear and eat it." The voice goes silent as the beetle's wings begin to vibrate. A moment later, it sounds again, closer. "Oh! Hello. Chaucy, stop it." Another hiss, and the beetle's wings fold away, and the carapace slowly closes.

"Are you alright?"

Aimarra's feet, running as she is, seek these things better than her brain does right now, and had unerringly found the purposeful path. Some part of her, the part that isn't consumed by terror, picks up speed as it hits the better trail, only to stop short at the giant beetle now in her path. A scream rips from her throat, one born of pure terror, when it rises up and hisses at her, and her right hand fumbles for the sword at her left as she backpedals away, sweat beading her dusty forehead. 

Fortunately for her, that isn't necessary, but she doesn't stop backing away when the beetle begins to calm itself, eyes wide as saucers. Only barely does she register the words, and she looks around her wildly. "Who's that?"

"I am Tawyse.", says the voice, and slowly a small being steps into view. Barely taller than half Aimarra's height, the orange-haired Gnome offers her a concerned smile. "You are injured.", she says, her eyes noting the crimson'd wrappings around the woman's arm. "I am a druid, bound to protect this forest, and that which lives under her canopy. I would tend your pain, would you allow it."

The wee woman slowly steps towards Aimarra, a hand outstretched. "Allow me to aid you, miss."

It takes a minute for Aimarra's brain to register the words that her ears are transmitting, but when she does, her hand falls away from the longsword at her side, and she fairly crumples to the dirt of the path, her knees weakening with relief, fresh tears streaming down her face. "Thank you ... thank you so much." The beetle forgotten, she ends up sitting in the dirt of the path, her good arm holding her up, her braids a mess and twigs and leaves haphazardly adorning her hair.

Tawyse is there in a moment, an hand reaching under the woman's good arm to prevent her total collapse. Behind her, the beetle approaches, turning and laying down. Providing a hard surface to lean against with her back. "Settle back a bit, yes? Chaucy will hold you up. He a companion of mine, and a gentle beast, he will do you no harm."

The Gnome's fingers move to the bloody wrapping, and pull at it gently. "I will remove the wrapping so I can see your arm. It looks broken... and perhaps not set straight. It will hurt if it is so, fixing it will require breaking and resetting. Will you allow me to do so?"

Virtually shaking now with relief, Aimarra lets herself be guided to lean back against the beetle. Later, her mind will register that that really was a giant beetle, but for now, there are not many advanced thought processes happening. She does not resist as the arm is unwrapped to reveal that first, it is most definitely broken, and second, what did it is also clear enough. The bite mark of a large predator's jaws are sunk deeply into the arm, tooth marks visible in a slanted curve from elbow to wrist and sunken to the bone on both sides. Whatever did it clearly did so with enough force to break those bones cleanly, and could have taken her arm off easily - she is exceptionally fortunate that it did not do so. A significant chunk of the flesh is missing or torn as well. A nasty injury. 

The moment Tawyse touches the arm, she lets out a pained, "Agh!", but does not resist, only nods with her head still leaned back against the beetle's carapace.

The Gnome's touch is light and gentle. The bloodied wrap is cast aside for the moment, and she reaches to put a steadying hand upon the injured arm's shoulder. She peers at the wound at length, noting the punctures and clean breaks. Her grip strengthens upon that shoulder. "This will hurt.", she says, thought there's no pause between the saying and the doing, her other hand pulling and setting the bones straight. It does, indeed, hurt. But it is very short lived, as that same hand begins to glow a pale white light, and at once, nerves are soothed and numbed. The bones knit themselves back together, whole, while the torn and punctured flesh stitches itself up to cover the wound. It only takes moments, but the only traces of the wound are a few angry pink areas of new skin.

"I am sorry for the pain, but these wounds need be dealt with quickly." From a pouch on her belt, she pulls a small, clean cloth. As she puts the cloth to Aimarra's forehead, it dampens and then drips water, being cool to the touch.

Aimarra's unconscious reaction - to pull away with a scream - makes the setting process more difficult, but the bones do finally orient correctly and straightly, and the healing that follows brings both release and relief. When it is done, the half-sil leans back against the beetle, shaking, but letting the druid do her work without resistance. The cooling touch of the water seems to help, and finally, she re-opens her eyes, still breathing a little hard and a little shakily, the mind clearly catching up with the body still. 

Something curious, though, is happening to that newly healed arm. Where the new, pink skin has formed, the pinkness is fading away, the flesh where the bite had been raising a little and twisting itself into pink scars. When it is done, the outline of the teeth marks are plainly visible.

The druid gathers up the bloody wrap, and then moves to Aimarra's 'good' side, and slides a hand under her arm. "Come. I've a small camp nearby. You need food and water, and rest. Chaucy and I will watch over you." She waits while the woman collects herself. 'I have a decent guess as to what happened, but I am curious to hear it in your words." There's a pause, before she speaks again, this time in Sildanyari. "I can speak the tongue of Elven folk, if it is more comfortable for you."

Aimarra gives a quick shake of her head, mussed braids, only coming a bit more loose with the gesture. "Nah, Trade is fine." Her words, much clearer and less slurred now that she is in far less pain, carry the harsh-but-sibilant tones of the Veyshanti, and the words come easily. Someone is a long way from home. She accepts the help to stand, and does so, slowly and shakily. The wrap that Tawyse picks up is nothing more than tears from a shirt, now hopelessly past saving, and probably best cast into a fire. 

"I ... that creature ... that _thing_ ... had been pursuing me for most of the day," she breathes. "I tried to shake it ... but it was _smart_, and it was me it wanted. Like a giant wolf ... but uglier, and smart." Clearly, she's still shaken, even as she shakes herself out, makes sure weapons and quiver are still present, and rescues a few arrows that had spilled onto the ground from the worked leather container at her hip. "Th-thank you for your help. So much."

Tawyse murmurs and nods to the woman when she speaks of the wolf. She keeps a steadying hand upon the woman's good arm, letting go so that the woman might collect her dropped arrows. "I recognize the bite of a dire wolf. That the wound has scabbed over instead of showing fresh skin says much."

The little woman is gentle but insistent: food, water and rest. And she gently pulls Aimarra along. "That it would hunt you is perhaps not unusual, however, without its pack? That is unusual."

Aimarra isn't resisting, letting herself be pulled along once she has collected her things. "No, that was just it ... and it _spoke_. Well, not really spoke, I...." She looks down at her bright-haired benefactor. "You're going to think I'm crazy. Maybe I am." Clearly, although she is healed, her arm sound if still quite streaked with blood around the new, pink-red scars, the bracer that had adorned her wrist soaked in blood and chewed clean through. "It could have killed me if it wanted to. I don't know why it didn't."

The Gnome's camp is a little off the pathway the two were following, not impossible to find, but hidden enough for peace of mind. On of the forest's great trees forms a protective barrier between the pathway and the camp, and a few small walls built of carefully cut branches adds to the camouflage. Three lean-tos circle the edge of the camp, providing shelter for several people, though the camp is currently empty. A well built firepit is the center of the camp, around which is arranged a circle of flat stones, and around that is a circle of logs.

It is to one of those logs that Aimarra is carefully led to. "Here, have a seat. I'll have the fire up in a moment. I've got some smoked rabbit we can eat, along with a few roots and herbs. Water, or if you want something to wake you up a little, I've got kafe, traded for it some time back." She looks to the Half-Sil, and smiles brightly. "In all this, I didn't catch your name."

Still trying to put her wits back in order, Aimarra sinks down to the log so indicated, although by now she has regathered enough presence of mind to remove the shortbow, quiver, and weapon belt from her person, and set them gently next to the log behind her. "Kafe ... I haven't slept in two days." She makes a comical face, but agrees, "I'd better drink some, yes." 

It's only when Tawyse asks that she starts. "Oh, by the Hunter's holy bow, I'm sorry. I'm Aimarra Reyes. I should have said." She turns her left arm over, staring intently at it, eyes widening as she realizes something. Slowly, she begins to unlace the blood-soaked, worked leather bracer on that wrist.

Tawyse giggles brightly, her grin broad. "Oh, it's quite alright. I was trying to be gentle about it, but I really didn't want to have to say, 'Hey, you'." She gently reaches out, and slaps Aimarra's good shoulder as one would a friend. "Kafe, you say? So it shall be."

It turns out that one of the leantos is used for storing things, and unlike the others, it has a means of keeping critters and casual inspectors out: a gate made of interwoven branches. The Gnome rummages around inside, chattering all the while.

"So you heard its voice in your head? I do not think you are crazy, one cannot come to that conclusion based upon hearing a voice. That it could have killed you, of that I have no doubt. Perhaps, too, you might have slain the beast. So I have a few questions."

She pops her head out of the leanto. "What did it say to you? And what were you doing before it appeared to you?"

Whether due to scents or sounds of others, or simple happenstance, another travels the the wilderness, paths and not, towards those conversing. Four eyes breach the undergrowth to note the others present, movement neither intentionally surreptitious nor blatantly conspicuous. The mass of scales is predominantly black, with auspicious marks of cerulean. At the top is collection of silver scales, speckled with black.

The upper portion leans forward to peer at the softskins with large eyes, showing that the four eyes and mixed scales belong to two beings rather than one, with the upper one smaller and seated on the shoulders of the larger black, one snout now peering around the side of the other.

The smell of blood lingers around the half-sil sitting on a log by the fire of this small camp, her fine brown hair mussed and pulling out of the braids that secure it. She has her left arm on that knee, and is just finishing unlacing a blood-soaked bracer, that appears to have been carefully worked and stitched by hand. Parts of the rest of her leathers appear to be liberally spattered with blood, and the pink-red, recently-healed mark that suggests a bite from a very large predator is quite visible, a slanted curve of healed toothmarks on the inside and outside of the forearm. 

"It was somewhere near the border with the Desolation, I think, that I realized I was being pursued," she explains, calling out to her companion. The explanation stops abruptly, though, as four eyes peer out of the shadows. "Uh ... what's that?" She jumps to her feet, eyes wide - clearly the girl is more than a little jumpy.

Another creature approaches the camp, the large rhinoceros beetle known as Chaucy. He carefully squeezes through an opening into the camp, and slowly turns, settling down and going still, his form blocking that particular pathway into the camp.

"The Desolation? My village is out near there, so I know that you have travelled some distance. That is quite a ways for it to have hunted you. You were travelling, then? Did it herd you this way, or were you already coming in this direction?"

The Gnome appears again at Aimarra's startled movement. She eyes the two Sith for a moment. "Un'eth.", she says softly, and then frowns slightly. "One should call out to a camp when they come across it.", she chides the Sith-makar. "To avoid... misunderstandings. Come, you are welcome at my fire." She disappears once more, and then moves to the fire, bringing an assortment of items. A few packages, wrapped in cloth, a sizable kettle, a pot, a number of large potatoes, some bright green mugs, and a few pouches. Soon the kettle is full of water, and set by the fire, and the potatoes are carefully set /in/ the fire. "Whew."

Un'eth's tail thumps the ground lightly. "Peace on your nests," she greets, adding as she steps forward, "This one," her eyes lift and pan to her rider, "necessitates more caution on his behalf." Her passenger also thumps tail, albeit againt Un'eth's back, and offers a simple but exuberant, "Peace! Peace!"

Although Aimarra watches the newcomer cautiously, the initial alarm seems to be fading, and she tries on a polite smile. "Um, hi. I'm Aimarra. Aimarra Reyes." Nervously, she pulls the bitten-through and bloodied bracer from her wrist, leaving the laces to dangle, and sits back down again, not taking her eyes from the pair. Interest is beginning to win out over initial fear, though, and she manages a smile as Tawyse sets down the food and water to heat. She drops it and the small pack she carries back behind the log, to join her weapons, and just stares at it absently. "I'm sorry, it's ... been a bad last few days," she admits, letting her topic with Tawyse drop in the presence of Un'eth, although the newly-healed scar is very plainly visible.

Tawyse returns to the leanto and a few moments later, settles next to Aimarra. She offers up a sizable strip of cured leather, as well as smaller, string-like strips, and an awl carved from bone. "You could probably repair your bracer with this. Perhaps it shall take your mind off the past days?"

She gestures to one of the logs by the fire, and grins to Un'eth. "Who is the youngling riding upon your shoulders, Un'eth? Kin? Your child? I've some rabbit and potatoes, and I'm thinking I can make a good stew. If you're interested, you may partake. I've hard tack, jerky and trail mix also, if you do not wish to wait."

"He is one of my clutch," Un'eth answers the gnome, "and very curious. Too much for his own good, at times." As if to prove her point, the youngling clambers over her head to try and get a better look, and sniff at Tawyse. And Aimarra. And the fire. And anything else in sight or scent...

Un'eth turns her snout to the syldanari (also granting the youngling a new field of view and/or scenting). "It seems that some of Ea's children disagreed with you, or thought you prey. The wound does not look a worry, for now."

"Uh, sure." Aimarra's eyes light up, though, at the offer of the basic leatherworking gear. "I left all of my working gear in Tashraan," she explains, taking the gear and the leather from Tawyse. "You're incredibly kind." Gear still in hand, she nods to Un'eth. "I ... it looks awful, but it doesn't hurt much anymore. Tawyse here healed it," she explains. "I'm near certain it was the second. I realized I was being pursued and ran for almost a day before it caught me. I thought I was good, but I couldn't lose it. It was smart."

"Has he taken a name?", the Gnome asks of Un'eth, smiling brightly. "He looks to be very inquisitive. He has never travelled from Am'shere before, I take it?"

Tawyse looks to Aimarra then, her smile still bright. "You are most welcome. I expect that you will repay my kindness to someone else in future, when they are lost, or in a bind. It is all I would ever ask as payment."

Burai makes his way through the wilderness. He eschews animal trails and the occasional trail. Instead he moves directly through the bushes and trees, which obligingly let him pass. Before long he's close enough to hear the bits of conversation. He pauses, turns his head in that direction. Then he begins moving that way, finally emerging near the small campsite. "Greetings," he nods.

Morgan comes out from behind some trees with a small bag full of something "Ok I though I herd people here." she gives a hello nod and wave to tawyse.

"He is not yet named," Un'eth explains in answer Tawyse while her attention remains on Aimarra... or, rather, her arm. "He recently returned from Am'shere with many others sent away for safekeeping during the P-"

Her words stop and eyes widen as her hand snatches out for Aimarra's arm with a step towards. She grasps at the elbow, rather than the wound, and isn't harsh.. though not particularly gentle, either.

"What form did the creature appear? A wolf?" she infers the latter tentatively, based on the wound pattern. "Did you encounter such a sight before? This mark is not what it appears, nor was the one that granted it..."

Un'eth's passenger is not so interested in arms. Instead, he looks the other way to those arriving. "Peace! Peace!"

The bone awl in Aimarra's hand drops to the ground at her feet as Un'eth grabs the arm, and she's about to object. "I...yeah, it was a wolf, but like none I'd ever seen or been told of. It was much, much bigger, an ugly creature." She carefully tugs at her arm, as if to try to take it back, but if she is successful, will lay her forearm face-up on her knee. Either way, all can see the pink-red of a newly-healed bite scar that struck at an angle across the forearm. "It bit me so hard I heard my bones snap," she says in a very, very small voice, grimacing. "And ... it spoke ... in my mind. Would I ... would I shed my blood for the wild spaces." A note of that same fear, that terror that gripped her a scant half-hour ago, creeps back in her voice as she talks. "I ... I don't know what it wanted. Why me. I'm good, but ...."

The bone awl in Aimarra's hand drops to the ground at her feet as Un'eth grabs the arm, and she's about to object. "I...yeah, it was a wolf, but like none I'd ever seen or been told of. It was much, much bigger, an ugly creature." She carefully tugs at her arm, as if to try to take it back, but if she is successful, will lay her forearm face-up on her knee. Either way, all can see the pink-red of a newly-healed bite scar that struck at an angle across the forearm. "It bit me so hard I heard my bones snap," she says in a very, very small voice, grimacing. "And ... it spoke ... in my mind. Would I ... would I shed my blood for the wild spaces." A note of that same fear, that terror that gripped her a scant half-hour ago, creeps back in her voice as she talks. "I ... I don't know what it wanted. It was hungry. I could feel its hunger. Why me? I'm good, but ... if it was hungry, why didn't it kill me?"

The Gnome jumps up at Un'eth, placing herself between the Half-Elf and the Sith-makar, her hand rising up to grasp at Un'eth's wrist. "She has just recently been healed of her injury. Could you let go?" She looks to Aimarra as she speaks, nodding slowly. "A dire wolf, likely. And if it truly spoke to you, in your mind, in defense of the wild spaces? It was no natural creature. A spirit, then. Perhaps not a Dire Wolf.. but Dire Wolf itself." The Gnome shrugs. "It is hard to fathom such things, if it was a spirit. Might as well try to know the minds of angels and Gods. When you have recovered and reflected upon it..." Tawyse reaches up to clap Aimarra's good shoulder once more, "Perhaps you might seek the creature out, and ask it."

Un'eth inspects the arm from the closer vantage point for a moment, though does not prevent Aimarr from retrieving her limb and removing it from Un'eth's grasp. "Ssa. A spirit, choosing to appear in that form. It did not kill you as it was not hungry for food, but something more. It did not bite to inflict harm, but for ...connection. It chose you, sildanyari, to offer its aid to you and seeking your own for itself." She looks to Tawyse and dips her snout before adding, to Aimarr, "You should seek it out. It will not be difficult to find, if you allow it to guide you."

Burai moves closer, raising a hand. "A spirit," he repeats. He peers at Aimarra's hand. Then he squints at the ruined bracer. "But in the form of a great wolf." He looks between the various folks speaking. "I wonder how many such spirits there may be in these lands."

"A spirit?!" Aimarra looks up and answers all three at once, her brown eyes wide as saucers. "But I..." She trails off, naked fear in her eyes. "I ... track ... and hunt...." The wheels are turning, though, and the likely truth of the words sink in. "An offer? Some offer. If I'd refused it would have killed me, I wager. It had me flat on the ground. I was sure it was going to kill me." The leatherworking tools in her hand are forgotten. "And ... and I have to go find it? Seek it out? What if it decides to kill me this time?"

"A spirit?!" Aimarra looks up and answers all three at once, her brown eyes wide as saucers, letting the sildanyari appellation pass unanswered in her shock. "But I..." She trails off, naked fear in her eyes. "I ... track ... and hunt...." The wheels are turning, though, and the likely truth of the words sink in. "An offer? Some offer. If I'd refused it would have killed me, I wager. It had me flat on the ground. I was sure it was going to kill me." The leatherworking tools in her hand are forgotten. "And ... and I have to go find it? Seek it out? What if it decides to kill me this time?"

"It was testing you.", the Gnome says softly, letting go of Un'eth and returning to the things at the fire. She glances sideways to Burai, and gestures to a log by the fire. "Welcome to my humble camp.", Tawyse says with a grin.

Looking back to Aimarra, the Gnome offers a shrug. "It would have slain you if it had wanted to. Likely you would never see it again had you refused to answer, or refused to help it. You know how nature is. It can be rough and unkind. I suspect it awaits a proper answer from you. And... you do not have to return to it alone."

"Ea is not kind," Un'eth agrees, "though neither is Ea cruel. A spirit would not do this to lure you into harm." Her opinion may or may not be of any comfort to Aimarra.

Un'eth then turns towards the latest arrival. "Many spirits inhabit Ea, and there are those who seek ties." With her facing Burai, she moves he cloak to reveal the swirling patterns of aquamarine scales upon her back to Aimarra. "The herald of the wind, Ea's Breath, is my ally. It may bring chill and death to the unprepared in coldest winter, and yet fresh and soothing breeze to those sweltering in the heat elsewise. It simply does as it its nature demands."

Burai watches and listens. At each new piece of information provided by the others, he glances at Aimarra to watch for a reaction.

Although Aimarra's eyes remain wide, and rove over the sith'makar's back with its own mark, the words seem to calm her some, and eventually, she nods slowly. "Nature isn't always kind," she agrees. "And ... I guess predators are hungry, that's why they hunt. They sleep when they aren't." She hasn't smiled yet, but she does seem to be relaxing some. "So you think it was a nature spirit, then. Um ... I'm more used to hunting humans, that's what I did back home. But, I can hunt other things too, I guess." She looks down at the leather in her hands, and reaches to pick up the bone awl. "Thank you ... thank you all. And ... your baby is really cute," she adds to Un'eth. "I'd never seen a baby sith'makar before."

Tawyse begins the making of stew, cutting up rabbit meat and potatoes, and adding carrots and herbs to the mix.

"If you would take my advice?", she says softly to Aimarra. "Rest. Sort out in your mind what it is you want to do. Eat, drink and make yourself fit, physically and mentally. Then? Seek some allies, and go in search of the beast." The Gnome chuckles. "But sleep. Heal. Everything else can wait."

Un'eth turns back to Aimarra and thumps the ground once more with her tail, now in emphasis. "Her words are wise. You should seek rest, and heal. The spirit will be ever-present and patient" There are a further three thumps of smaller tail on her back, as the little one strives to emulate and be helpful. This prompts Un'eth to add, "A fact that I envy..."

Already Aimarra is yawning, as shock and fear give way to a calmer state of mind. "I ... I suppose you're right. I didn't sleep at all last night. Where should I sleep? Um, thank you all for helping me. I've ... never heard of anything like this before." With that, and leaving her pack and weapons where they are, she stands up slowly, leathers and tools in hand, and prepares to follow Tawyse, moving as she directs.

Burai examines the smaller Sith on Un'eth's back. "How old is he?" The half-oruch wonders. "How long until he's grown and he ventures off on his own?" He tries to remember a trip he and other adventurers took to Am'shere a few seasons ago. "Was he born here? In Mictlan?"

Un'eth watches the two depart for rest and tending, respectively. She turns back to Burai, the youngling on her shoulders turning first to peer at Burai. "This is his fourth summer. It will be several more before he chooses caste, and many beyond that before he is prepared to travel his own path with peers of his choosing." Her snout dips. "Ssa, he hatched in Mictlan, with his clutchmates."

Burai nods as he listens. "He'll choose a caste? I had no idea." No idea that's how it castes were chosen, that is. "What path will you choose?" he asks the youngling gravely.

"Ssa," Un'eth's head bobs. "When he is old enough, he will choose and learn his caste." As for what that might be, the youngling offers several prime possibilities, "Shaman! Hunter! Warrior! Speaker!" Either he is undecided, or is still learning the options available.

Burai gives the youngling a small nod. "I see." He gives Un'eth a look of what might be sympathy. He turns his attention towards the small campfire, inspecting it with an expert eye.