Bardic Healing

It's Kesenday, Aestry 14 11:17:47 1019. The full moon is up. The tide is high and rising. Everything is pale grey, veiled by mist. It's warm, humid, and still.

W02: Mictlan

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The air is damp and humid from yesterday's rain, hanging over the land like a wet blanket. At least it's cool here amid the deep forest just outside of Mictlan's holy site, close enough that Elian will know where he is and far enough not to disturb the holy places of the sith'makar. They are close enough that it's likely that the sith'makar know he's here. Judging by the temperature, it's sometime fairly early in the next day after that horribly long trek back from the mountains on foot.

Elian will find that his wounds are still bound, and he's lying on a cloak, be it his or someone else's. There's the sound of a baritone voice nearby, lost in idle vocal wanderings and using only a small hand drum as a metronome to keep time with himself.

Reaching this sanctuary in the woods, Ga'Elian has been in-and-out of a trance state all along the trail from the mountain site where the larger-than-life winged owlbears lie mouldering. Now that the trek has stopped, he opens his black eyes a squint and smiles, recognizing the place. He tells the man that brought him here, "Oh, this will be perfect. Thanks."

"Don't mention it, mate." Aldean looks like from his idle vocal wanderings, and the drum stops. He's cleaned himself up somewhere along the way, and there's no trace of the blood and gore from those wicked claws on himself or his gear, but he does have the look of one who could sleep for a week. "Ye be near Mictlan. I ain't go in their holy places less I be invited, but I'd be damned surprised if they ain't know we be here." Since Elian sees fit to stop, Aldean does as well, leaning against a nearby tree. "Ye know, I ain't think of it in all the fuss, but if ye stay awake a bit, might be I could ease ye a bit. What say ye?"

Elian chuckles weakly, then says, "By all means. I just hope getting almost killed is not your normal price for a song." He leans back, and clucks to the griffon, who settles easily down onto the loamy ground.

At that, Aldean throws back his head and laughs, although the sound is a bit raspy with exhaustion. "Naw, mate. Have I ever said ye nay did ye ask?" Still chuckling, he slides down the rough bark of the tree to sit against its base, his cloak up around his shoulders. "Healin' spells ain't m'thing," he tells the ranger, "but sometimes a bit o' song helps lift the spirit."

With that, he taps the drum a few times as if giving himself a cadence, then begins to sing. It's a tale of a ship sunk by careless crew and repaired and brought back from the deep by a small group of friends.

But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock She's worth a quarter million, afloat and at the dock And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain And make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again

GAME: Aldean used a Healer's Kit.

GAME: Aldean used a Healer's Kit.

GAME: Aldean used a Healer's Kit.

GAME: Aldean used a Healer's Kit.

GAME: Aldean used a Healer's Kit.

The air is warm, humid, and still beneath the trees, deep in the forest not far outside Mictlan proper. It's in an area that any Mictlan sentries will cover, and a respectful distance from the holy bones, but it's from here that a familiar baritone voice raised in song is audible despite the sultry air.

Someone happening on the site will find Aldean and Elian beneath the trees, along with Elian's companion griffon. The bard is clean and hale, although he looks like he could sleep for a week, but Elian looks like something damn near shredded him into a pulled elf sandwich without bothering with bread. More bandages are visible than skin around the armor, and he's ghost-pale and barely conscious.

It is indeed the bard singing, and once he's a verse or two in, the tone of his voice changes ... expands somehow, until it sounds like he's got a ghostly partner in song, using his own voice. It's a weird but not unpleasant effect.

Arrivals on the grounds of Mictlan, much less those engaged in activities as conspicuous as song, tend to draw notice, regardless of whether the noticed are aware of the noticing.

Un'eth emerges from the foliage to investigate, accompanied and ridden by a hatchling with silver scales heavily speckled and mottled in greens and black. All the better for camouflage, though he currently looks invincible and triumphant atop her skull, horns clasped in claw. Also curious, and all the better to lean forward to peer at everything with large eyes.

"Peace on your nests," the mount greets.

Elian relaxes against the body of the griffon, listening to the amazing performance. In fact, as the song progresses, it has a healing effect on him, quite literally. At first, he simply seems to find some comfort from all the soreness. As the song goes on, his color starts to return, gradually. Eventually, some of the bruising starts to fade. As this effect works upon him, Ga'Elian smiles more and more, and finally even starts humming softly along. Then when approached and greeted by Un'eth and her young, he responds in Draconic with "And on yours, noble shaman." Continuing in Tradespeak, he says, "The hospitality of this place is most earnestly welcome." He smirks.

Aldean looks up at the greeting and nods quickly in acknowledgement, but doesn't drop his cadence to answer, instead continuing with his sung tale. Indeed, all those who hear the sound might feel refreshed and strengthened by it, and even some of Aldean's own weariness eases as he sings.

It's a minute or more before he finally ends it, the ghostly effect finally fading off in the final chorus.

Rise again, rise again Though your heart it be broken or life about to end No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend Like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again

Only then does he look up. "Peace on yer nest as well. Thought I'd be seein' ye afore long." There's no surprise there in having been noticed. He still looks tired, but not bone-weary like he did before.

GAME: Aldean rolls 3d8+16: (10)+16: 26

GAME: Aldean rolls 3d8+16: (9)+16: 25

GAME: Aldean rolls 3d8+16: (10)+16: 26

GAME: Aldean rolls 3d8+16: (15)+16: 31

GAME: Aldean rolls 3d8+16: (8)+16: 24

Singer. Griffon. Wounded. Griffon. Singer... Eyes and snout can't decide which to focus upon, though there is more leaning, until the rider is all but prone across Un'eth's snout. All for a closer look. A light snort helps right, and warn, the hatchling before she speaks again.

"All are welcome in Mictlan who respect it. What draws you here this day?"

When the song is done, Ga'Elian is his old self again, fit as a fiddle and brimming with vitality. As he hops gracefully to his feet, he says, "That's a mighty powerful talent you've got there, Aldean." He reaches out to grasp the man's arm in an enthusiastic gesture of gratitude and awe, and goes further to wrap his other arm behind the man in a masculine embrace... if, that is, Aldean doesn't pull back from it. Awkward bromance moment passing, he withdraws a couple paces and somersaults into a handstand, then hops back onto his feet with an expression of, "I feel like new--all except for this bloody filth. But that's nothing a while in the river won't fix." Nothing but smiles. "Hey, Aldean. Anytime I can do you a favor, you can count on me to be there. Okay?"

Aldean? Nah. He's spent far too long in the bardic college not to be used to such things, so accepts the arm clasp without surprise and the embrace with only a bit of a blink. "Don't mention it, mate." He puts an easy grin on it, but doesn't yet move from his seat at the base of the tree. Awkward, sure, but nothing a bard in Alexandria doesn't get used to in a hurry. "Gettin' him to safety, lass." He nods at the bouncing Elian, and gets himself to his feet, stretching luxuriantly. "Guild called us into the mountains. Group o' scouts found sommat they couldn't handle, we damned near got eaten ourselves. Called 'em owlbears, 'cept they was black as a mousehole at midnight, had wings, and was ten times the size an' strength of yer usual owlbear. Nasty bastards."

Un'eth's eyes narrow. "Unnatural. They do not belong upon Ea. Best to be rid of them."

"Aye, they be chitterlings now, lass." Aldean laces his fingers behind his head and uses that to stretch out his shoulders. "This one damned near went to the Halls and asked to be brought to the forest. Union ain't know me at all. Fergot about that trick," he adds by way of admission. "Be he known to ye?"

"Chitterlings." Ga'Elian says. "Perhaps mincemeat? I still wouldn't give their flesh for food. Near as I can tell, they were the unnatural creations of some overreaching spellcaster. They came upon us so fast, we hardly knew what to prepare for, though."

Once the sith'makar has satisfied herself and her hatchling and is gone, and Elian asks the question, Aldean looks over. "Oh, aye." He's already done his clothing, although it took him a bit, and now he looks over Elian's. "Hold still, mate." He whistles a children's tune, some of the secondary voice hovering around the edges of the whistle and adding depth to the sound, focused on the bloodied clothing and boots. It takes a good minute or more, but gradually all of the blood is lifted off the cloth and vanishes into kelly-green nothingness, leaving only pristine clothing behind. "There. Don't blame ye, mate. Hate walkin' about in bloodied gear."

Elian chuckles, "Yeah, besides messing with the camouflage abilities, the scent attracts predators, leaves a trail, and is just generally sticky. Anyway, I greatly appreciate it." After a pause he says, "Have you ever heard the lays of the Sylvanori? They're not quite as... tame as the ballads of the Llyranesi."

While Elian talks, Aldean's packing up his things, lashing the hand drum to the pack, and seems to be preparing to take his leave. He pauses, though, looking up at the question with unfeigned interest. "Nah. I'd hear anything ye'd share. Ye'll not offend me, spent m'childhood on shipboard."

At that, Aldean throws back his head and laughs again. "Aye, ye've the right of it. I'd hear it anyroad."

GAME: Elian rolls perform/sing: (2)+10: 12

Elian starts to sing something, but healed as he may be, he's not able to produce either pleasing sounds nor emotionally moving music. He aborts the attempt, and says, "Uh, well. Maybe I'll get something to eat before I try singing again."

Aldean still listens attentively, and chuckles, shaking his head. "Naw, mate. We'll try when ye've had a good sleep. Been a damned long night." Aldean yawns hugely -- looks like he could still use a good sleep himself. "Best I bet off then, if ye be well."

Elian waves. "Sure. I'll look forward to it."