Tree Hugging
Log Info
- Title: Tree Hugging
- Emitter: Cryosanthia
- Characters: Cryosanthia, Glasha, Elleandra
- Place: W02: The Wilderness
- Time: Sunday, August 16, 2020, 1:11 PM
- Summary: Cryosanthia is lost in thought, staring at a tree she has attacked on two occasions, when Glasha encounters her. The half-oruch wizard and the sith-makar speaker make introductions and talk about magic. Cryo reveals how she used to have a phobia against wizards, because one tried to make her into a spell-book and a familiar when she was captured in Charnath, but she has long since lost it. She recommends Glasha meet Mikilos. Their attention turns back to the tree, which is doing poorly and exhibits a great amount of damage. Glasha is able to restore the tree's bark with a mending spell, but this won't help with the live wood. Elleandra arrives, having come to check on wanderers, and is overjoyed to see Cryo even though they met at the Midsummer Night's Festival a few days ago. With her druidic skills, she heals the tree. Glasha decides at this point that Cryosanthia is a very life-like construct, because the way her magic appears to work isn't right at all. Somewhat shaken by exposure to other types of magic, the half-oruch leaves the two to go on their way. Cryo offers to take Elly to the waterfall she described to Merek, and the two depart.
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The path from the village eventually narrows somewhat, with the trees on either side becoming more populous. Moss hangs from large stones that sit surrounded by beds of leaves that has accumulated over the years.
A few trails wander in varied directions though eventually even these woods will thicken. One particular trail carries with it the scent of natural brimstone...this trail wanders north and westward, where the trees grow thick once more. To the east, it's rumored that the druids have built a sacred site.
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cryosanthia 6'9" 291 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. Glasha 5'8" 100 Lb Half-Orc Female Green-skinned, young lady with bleached hair. Elleandra 5'4" 108 Lb Wild Elf Female Blue-haired, green-eyes, Sylvanori -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Along one of the paths through the woods stands a white-scaled sith-makar. She's tall, lean in build though muscular and appears very flexible. A large pair of horns sweep back from her forehead. Clothing wise, she's wearing a simple loin cloth, although her demeanor suggests she is used to wearing a lot more. She has nothing else with her, no tools or equipment to suggest her occupation, and she is staring at a tree.
The tree is not in good shape. It is recovering, but at some point experienced a lot of violence. Deep gouges suggest claws, the slashing of a blade. There are even holes, at the bottom of which are dragonspitter balls. Someone has used it for practice or stress relief, and clearly went a little too far.
The white lizard woman continues to gaze at it, looking lost, if not lost in thought.
The wilderness may not be Glasha's bread and butter, but it's at least her crackers and mustard. The green-skinned half-oruch's bleach-white hair breaks any hope she might have of blending in with the greenery around her. Still, so do the white scales of the Sith-makar staring at the tree. Glasha approaches tentatively and, from a dozen paces away or so, leans on her axe-staff with the raven perched atop its flat head. "Hello," she says, hoping not to spook the other.
The white lizard is spooked. Her awareness comes crashing back and she jumps, upwards, to land in the same spot in a crouch, her hands spread to the side and ready. Her eyes are a bright sapphire blue, hard like gems, and stand out against her scales. It's clear when she is looking directly, when something has her attention, as Glasha does now.
She laughs quietly, relaxes and stands. "Apologies, this one was a million miles away. I am Cryosanthia, Speaker of the Sith-Makar. Peace... and hello." Her gaze shifts to the raven on the axe-staff.
Glasha smiles and nods. "Thank you," she says, calmly. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Glasha. This is Luna," she gestures up at the raven on the greataxe. "And that is a very unhappy tree, I take it," she says, gesturing at the tree Cryosanthia was observing."
"Yes... it is..." Cryosanthia says. Her Tradespeak is excellent, there is no trace of the sibiliation that usually is present in sith-makar enunciation. Her accent is strange, oddly elven or sylvan without being recognizeably associated with a type or realm. Her tail coils in around her ankles, crossing in front of them as she gazes at the tree some more. "It has suffered things it didn't deserve, simply by being here."
Her head turns back, she raises her hands in a hopeless gesture, "There is nothing that can be done, what has happened, happened."
Glasha looks at the tree and reaches up to thumb the back of her own ear. "I could look through my spellbook, but most healing spells are not something simple study can reproduce. I could try Mending it, but if it's alive, that might not work."
Cryosanthia nods thoughtfully, running a hand along one of her horns, holding and hanging her arm briefly from it at the tip. "Well, bark is not truly alive, mending might work on that. At least then it would have its armour back. You are not a druid, I would guess sorceror or wizard. This one used to be terribly afraid of wizards when she was young."
The white sith chuckles quietly at that thought, letting her arms hang at her sides. She steps back, to allow Glasha to approach her and the tree.
GAME: Glasha casts Mending. Caster Level: 3 DC: 14 GAME: Glasha rolls 1d4: (3): 3
Glasha gently rests her axe-staff against another tree, Luna jumping to Glasha's head. As Glasha approaches, she speaks the unknowable words of magic and gestures with her hands before attempting to heal the bark of the tree with her spell. When it's cast, she takes a step back, looking over the tree to see if anything at all had changed. "How much good did that do?" she asks.
There are changes. The mending has no effect on the living wood, but the bark which has been gouged, stripped away, is restored. Long slashes vanish, and a bare section showing the outer wood is covered again. It's not a full restoration, but will provide some protection and benefit the tree.
"A lot of good, it would seem." Cryosanthia says, moving around to examine the trunk. She avoids touching the tree, just in case. "It may yet survive. Thank you. If only all things were fixed so easily."
Glasha looks with compassion on the tree before picking up her axe-staff once more. "It's hard to tell what path your life follows," she says. "You are wise to discern I'm an arcane caster, though my spells are learned, not inherent. I am a wizard, like my father before me."
GAME: Cryosanthia casts Dancing Lights. Caster Level: 8 DC: 14
Cryosanthia makes a small gesture with her left hand. On her chest, just over her heart, some scales twinkle with a pale-blue light. This flashing moves across her chest, swirls down her arm and out to her hand, which glows, then all the scales wink out. A ghostly, vaguely humanoid form appears as a glowing mist, and dances around the tree before it drifts off into the forest and vanishes from sight.
"This one's spells come, study has not helped though practice has. They are often not very useful, only entertaining."
The whitescale exhales and makes a motion to pull on shoulder straps, which she currently doesn't have. "I have a druid friend, I shall ask her if she can assist also. The tree should not have suffered so. So, I have known a few casters and strove to learn the types."
GAME: Glasha rolls Spellcraft+2: (17)+10+2: 29 GAME: Glasha casts Prestidigitation. Caster Level: 3 DC: 14
Glasha discerns this means not a druid, but not much else. "Some spells are limited only by your own creativity," she says. "Observe." She speaks out more arcane words, gesturing with her free hand before tapping her own forehead. Luna launches herself back up to top the axe. Glasha's hair dries immediately before the light rain begins to wet it again. "What can you cast? Perhaps we could discern new and creative uses for your magic together."
"That, when I have my gloves, though I use it mostly for cleaning." Cryosanthia says, sighing a little, "So much cleaning. Still, one does not want to be a smelly lizard. This one can make sounds, leave a mark, freeze things with ray and touch, talk at short distances. I have a dagger, which is a part of my soul. Oh! And fireworks! I can make little tiny dragons which explode. That is my happiest thing."
Glasha giggles. "It does sound like fun," she says. "Freezing with a ray and a touch would be useful. Do it to a vat of water and one can have ice even in summer." She furrows her brow before asking, "What's the dagger, though?"
Cryo flips her right hand, another fluid arcane gesture, quick and threatening. As before the scales near her heart light up, and this cascades down her right hand. Her pale, glacial-blue scales shine brighter, and the movement of the light is more vigorous, swift. A combat spell.
In her hand a long icicle forms. Wavy, thick and round, tapered to a point but with bevelled edges, it's clearly a dagger as well as ice. A rough ball forms around her hand as a guard, and the air around it mists, some of the water condensing out of it to form droplets which fall from the blade.
A blade that might have caused some of the damage to the tree. The white sith smiles, making a small circular parry motion with the dagger, "my blade, that's all."
Glasha watches and nods. "I see," she eventually says. "Sorcery?" she tries.
Cryo lets her dagger drop point down, where it sticks in the ground. It goes quite deep, freezing a small circular patch around itself before it fades away. "It doesn't last long if I drop it, or even if I keep hold. I always have it though, which makes it more comforting than other weapons. My apologies if it was abrupt, I only seem able to cast it in a threatening manner."
She hesitates answering the question, her tail unwinding, then her tailtip flicking slowly back and forth. She clasps her hands against her front. "This one was not born a slave, but was captured. Spells were carved into my hide by a wizard who tried to make me her spellbook and familliar. This experiment did not end well and after this one manifested some magic. It was a long time ago, for me, when I was much younger."
"Oh, that's horrible," Glasha says. "I'm so sorry for the behavior of my peers toward you. Hopefully, we've made things right by you," she tries.
Cryo nods, "She was a mul'niessa, and while this one did have a phobia that is also long gone. I no longer view all wizards as being of the same stripe and am friendly with several. Master Mithrallas is an excellent person to know, should you be in Alexandria, he has a wonderful shop and research library."
Glasha smiles and nods. "Sounds like exactly the kind of person I would know," she says with a nod. "I'm glad you've known nicer wizards, too."
The whitescale woman grins widely. She has a long snout, lots of teeth, and while it would be a fearsome sight she dips her nose so they aren't all that visible, and it ends up making her look playful, "He is. Oh, and he saved the world. With a Mage's Magic Mansion spell, you should ask him about it. He saved my sanity with it also. Mikilos is a wonderful and generous person. Should you need an introduction this one can make herself available."
She coughs slightly, "I come to Alexandria to freeze up the water tanks in the refridgerators. I'm an ice-box girl also."
Glasha nods. "I would like that," she says. "An introduction, I mean. I don't like the thought of being frozen."
"This one shall refrain from embracing you then. It is my understanding it is not an appreciated gesture among oruchs anyhow." Cryo says. The air is a little cooler around her. Where she stands, little patches of rime frost have surrounded her feet. It is not the shade bringing down the temperature, she is, the cool aura moves with her. "I have an appreciation for frozen things but even I have been too cold and would not wish it on others. Well, leave a message at the Fernwood Pub if you wish me to meet you somewhere in Alexandria. I don't have many contacts there, that's the best one."
"Fernwood Pub," Glasha says with a nod. "And yeah, don't worry about hugging me. Mom never did, nor did her side of the family. Daddy, on the other hand--" she trails off. "Still, I do not need hugs." She concludes with a self-determined nod. "You off, then?" she asks.
Cryosanthia blinks, her neck straightening. She nods slowly, "This one will not. This one enjoys contact and there is a lot of it among the people. I find it comforting, but strive to learn the nuances of other cultures."
She tilts her head a little bit, and blinks once. "Off? This one does not work at the Fernwood anymore. The things this one does in Alexandria are more favours than a job. I am... taking some time. Off adventuring, perhaps, one might say. Yes."
Glasha nods. "I've started doing some adventuring," she says. "Just a little here and there. Mostly, I'm trying to get the capital together to start practicing my weaponsmithing again. I've noticed a strange lack of it in Alexandria." She pats her masterwork axe-staff/greataxe thing Luna the raven sits atop. "I made this, so I imagine people who have seen me with it would know I'm capable enough."
"Oh, that is a nice weapon, and a great perch for your familliar." Cryo grins again, examining the weapon. "Perhaps I will have one to order. A friend, Braelnoir, also enchanted her scythe. She's not a wizard, not even that magical, it was quite remarkable actually. She might be interested, in what you can make or assisting in some way. Adventuring is a good way to get the capital, but..."
The white scale hesitates, exhaling, "Be careful. Don't get too invested. Some things, the cost is high."
Elleandra has taken leave of Wilderness Point to wander in the woods. She does not need paths here. Not anymore. As much time as she's walked the lands near the small village, she knows every tree and even the littlest happening seems worth note. And so it is that before long she discovers news of wanderers, one which sounds remarkably familiar to her. With a confidence in her stride, she strikes one of the less paths and follows it. She is far from a gifted sneak, but she uses cover and stays downwind, ensuring as best she can that she will see and hear first who is ahead.
Glasha nods and smiles. "Thank you, both for compliment and advice. I'm doing my best to be careful, but I also have been coming back out to the woods to keep in touch with nature. Remind myself of all this."
Cryosanthia glances at the tree, which appears to be a reminder of something unpleasant. She bounces a little in place, "It is not Am'shere, but it is nice. While this one misses the marshes and rivers, the heat and the insects which can bite through my scales are unpleasant. As are the larger beasts that rampage. The wilds here are like gardens for me, untended but safe."
"And this one knows, for I have mapped the corruption and the advancements of the Felwood, with assistance, that it is not safe. Yet it feels safe." She adds.
Off her guard, she doesn't notice Elleandra down the way. Her approach sufficient to elude her observation.
Elleandra considers those she sees calmly, using her position and the elements to cover for her lack of skill. Where she steps, no tracks are left, no stems bent. Still, it is best not to sneak up on others unawares. As calm as the wood has been, there is always danger, and she would not be mistaken for a threat. Her voices rises in a clear call, "It has been too long, Cryosanthia!" She emerges swiftly into view, stepping through the brush as easily as others might walk upon a paved road. In the midst of her joy at seeing her friend, the tree draws her attention, her expression wavering for just a moment before she directs herself to focus back on those speaking.
Glasha turns to see the other approach. "You're a popular one, it seems," Glasha says with a smirk at Cryosanthia. "Would you like me to leave you with your friend?"
"But just three..." Cryosanthia blinks, her head switching to focus on her friend, then her head bobs, "Ah! You tease, more than a day is long! Glasha, this is a dear friend, Elleandra. Elly, Glasha is an accomplished wizard and weaponsmith."
She looks back at the half-oruch, "This one does wish to speak with her, but you don't have to leave immediately. This one hopes the tree could be restored, you should stay for that."
At which point the white sith gestures to the tree the pair are standing near. It has a decent cover of bark, but beneath that are some deep injuries to the living wood, and the leaves appear sickly. Hidden from sight are stab wounds, slashes, even some embedded dragonspitter balls. Cryo says carefully, "Elly, this tree has suffered some abuse, weapon practice and... high emotion. Glasha was able to mend its bark, but you are more adept at things of nature. Do you have a spell that would heal it?"
Elleandra dips into a curtsey before Glasha, laughing gently as she rises. "A day is long. Time flies in strange ways, whether we let it or no." Mention of the tree does draw her focus. "So, a bit of frustration has been let fly. Oh, we who cannot move suffer so at times, do we not?" she calls out, clearly speaking to the tree itself. She reaches out for the injured places, her touch as delicate. "I will do what I can for you, my friend, and tend you as best I can." She looks back to Glasha, "It's a pleasure to meet you, of course. My apologies, this may take some focus for a moment."
"I'm not offended," Glasha says. "The life of a tree is important, too." She waits patiently, despite being 'accomplished'.
GAME: Cryosanthia casts Detect Magic. Caster Level: 8 DC: 14 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls spellcraft: (18)+5: 23
"Of course," Cryosanthia says, taking a step back. She flickers her left hand through a gesture, again the light cascades and flows across her scales. When the cantrip is finished, the scales around her eyes and on her eyes, glow with a pale liminal light. She watches Elly work her spells with some curiosity.
GAME: Elleandra casts Cure Light Wounds. Caster Level: 5 DC: 15 GAME: Elleandra rolls 1d8+5: (5)+5: 10 GAME: Elleandra rolls 1d8+5: (6)+5: 11
Softly she whispers, and deep is her focus as Elleandra presses herself close to the wounded tree. At first, it appears more like the way one might cradle a wounded friend, helping her stand after some grave injury has been dealt. There's something of a slight tang to the wind, as it catches blossoms in its path. Elleandra smiles and the tree's leaves grow full, and then grow a verdant green. The bark becomes hale, and the wounds are bound together, then healed. One by one, things embedded in its living flesh fall out. It takes only a few seconds and then the druidess is pushing herself back from it, her last touch a long caress of a lithe branch. "May you be always blessed, dear one. Your patience and understanding have no match among those of us who wander this world, seeking a place to set our roots."
GAME: Glasha rolls Spellcraft+2: (1)+10+2: 13 (EPIC FAIL)
Glasha's flicks wet hair out of her eyes as the rain falls on her. She watches the magic flow over Cryosanthia's body and stares, trying to figure out how a construct could look so life-like, because magic SURE doesn't behave that way. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the repaired bark inflate as the wood of the tree knits itself back together, and her only thought is to take a step back, in case the inflating tree should pop.
The white sith'makar watches silently, staring with her magic sight, hoping to find insights. She watches the energy flow, how even the elf's embrace enhances the spell, and the depths to which it penetrates.
"That was beautiful Elly, and thank you." Cryo noses up a few times, swallowing. Her words careful, even, "If only some other things were healed as easily. I'm glad."
Now she steps forward, to carefully slap her palm on the trunk, feel the solidity of the tree. She grins, "It's not going to pop."
"All things heal in time, Cryosanthia. But that does not mean we are the same afterward," replies the druid. She moves closer to the sith'makar and offers a hand. "And the healings of the heart are not drawn away with the kind of simple magic we mortals toil with. For that, something far older, and vastly more powerful is needed."
Hearing mention of a pop, Elleandra laughs suddenly, looking over to Glasha, "I should hope not! But.. this one is so lovely, if she could, she would burst into blossom. There is lovely energy in that creature you touch, and we are blessed to be with her."
Glasha looks between the two and clutches her axe-staff against herself. "Looked like it was going to," she says. "What was that? I've never seen that spell used before...or at least not on a tree."
Cryo takes Elly's offered hand, holding it loosely and down by her side. Her grip is cool, and she gives a small squeeze. While not a construct, she has been taken apart and put back together as if she was by one skilled in such things. Many times. Each leaving a mark and, she suspects, at least once with a piece missing afterwards. A left-over part that should not have been.
She looks over at the oruch, says, "This one is not sure. It resembles restorative magic I've seen used by the divine healers, but the energy did not seem the same. Elly would be able to better explain. This one has seen many spells take old forms, use old sigils, and still function. This one was able to copy a spell too, and has no understanding why it works."
"The same spell that can fix the flesh of those that go on legs or fins can knit the flesh of these ancient and wise beings," replies Elleandra. "I am happy it is so, or many hurts would be left on the flesh of my friends. But it does not fix everything. Nor should it. This tree shall remember, in its own way, and must decide whether suffering shall soften its soul, or harden it. Healing born of love does not guarantee the outcome."
Elly turns to direct her gaze at Cryosanthia, watching her for a time in silence. When she finally does speak, she asks, "Are you trying a more comfortable fashion, dear? I rather like going about without heavy armor or thick clothing. Skin was meant to be kissed by the wind, especially when it is warm."
GAME: Glasha rolls Knowledge/Nature: Trained Use Only: 0
Glasha looks between the two. "I should go," she finally says. "This is getting very poetic and metaphysical, even for me. Trees don't have souls or minds or wisdom last I checked. Unless awakened, I suppose, and even then, that magic doesn't seem to maintain any kind of mind from before." She thumbs over her shoulder. "It's all beyond what I even consider hypothetically comprehensible at this point, so...I'll just head back toward town. I'm glad I was able to help the tree, though. Majestic and important for the ecosystem. Definitely doesn't deserve to suffer, even autonomously in lieu of a mind." She is floundering a bit, trying to mesh what she knows to be true with what a more experienced person is telling her, but it's not like those gears won't mesh, it's more like one is trying to put a chain on a belt-driven mechanism. They just...can't work together.
Cryo makes a small curtsey towards Glasha, staring unblinking at her. The half-oruch's distress registers, but she isn't sure what to do about it. So she retreats into formality. "Of course, thank you for your company, it was a pleasure meeting you and do recall what I said about Master Mithrallas. Peace... and goodbye." Not the normal sith farewell, but close.
She squeezes Elly's hand, "There... are reasons. This one will explain. But first, come! I have something to show you."
Elleandra considers Glasha's statements. "Perhaps another season, then, we shall speak again. What we know so often gets in the way of understanding. I am still a child, but I have come to appreciate my grandmother's suggestion to unlearn everything and start once more with the mind of a beginner." She curtseys once more, "Until that time, I wish you peace and sweet winds, Glasha."
To Cryosanthia, Elly replies, "I will be delighted to see what you would show me, my dear. I wish I had been out here yesterday, but.. there are some things that draw my mind away from the things I love most in this world." She bows her head, letting Cryosanthia guide her on the way.
Dramatis Personae
Cryosanthia
For those who have known her, Cryo is older, much older. Gone is the light on her feet, heavy in the fray, whimsical lizard girl. There is no trace of the fading youngling features which betrayed her youth, her lithe build, her playful exagerated expressions. She looks like her mother might, bigger overall with larger horns, more scale plates, a stronger keratin crest and fearsome talons. Even her gory tattoos have vanished. The Cryo you knew is gone. In a seeming instant.
For those who meet her afresh, Cryosanthia is an elegant sith-makar woman in the first year of her second century. She radiates confidence, a deep power from within. Her scales are a brilliant white, highlighted by ones which are the palest of glacial blues. These pale scales trace out the scars she used to bear, her hide is restored. She bears two fantastic patterns of these, one on her chest, the other completely covering her back from crest to tailtip. When the light hits right, one sees the dragon within. Her bearing is intense, her motions minimal grace. Two horns sweep back from her brow. Her eyes are like glittering saphhire gems, and when she blinks her eyelids have the glacial blue to them as well. She wears a white layered robe, cut for her species, with shimmering blue piping, highlights and whorls. She carries no weapons, and still keeps a tiny bag close to her heart.
For those who know the story, Cryo has been changed, physically and fundamentally by her experiences. She is a lifetime older, but a human lifetime. Still young for a sith-makar, she has centuries to go. Cryosanthia grew into herself under the fae Queen and is the only one to return with memories. These are, sadly, disrupted and Cryo struggles to reconnect with herself, her body, and friends she hasn't seen in decades. Alien at times even to the sith-makar, her heritage is written on her scales, along with her spells.
Cryosanthia, Speaker of the Sith-Makar.
Glasha
The camoflauging effect of green skin is ruined on this particular woman by platinum-white hair cut in a layered bob. Her round face has surprisingly soft features. Her nose is a little wider than a human woman of the same height, and is pierced, a silver ring hanging over her upper lip. Her lips are fuller than many Oruch's, but they part for short, stubby tusks that balance out underbite and overbite with a pair of broad incisors. Her form is fit and her arms and legs are more thickly muscled than average, though they are also soft and retain their graceful curves, more like a strong human woman than the bulging muscles of an Oruch.
Her clothes are relatively simple. A black, sleeveless dress hangs down to her mid-thighs, belted around her waist. Below it, a deep blue skirt takes over to just above her knees. The rest of the way down is covered by soft, leather boots. Around her shoulders is a lacy, brown, knit shawl with a skull motif. All in all, she's dressed and holds herself like a lady, and not a savage.
Elleandra
The first ingredient of Elleandra that most notice is her hair, the long wavy locks left to fly free. At its roots, it is a pale blue-gray, like the ocean at dusk. After a few inches, the strands swiftly grow more pale, until they are silver, and then, past her shoulders they darken, their hue eventually settling on a pale aquamarine. Even this shade doesn't last long, growing lighter and returning to silver by the time it passes her waist, finally ending mid-thigh.
A dash of emerald colors her eyes, accentuated by high cheekbones with just a touch of a pale rose to color them. Her lips are somewhat pale, shaded like peach zest and they curl into a natural smile. Her ears, delicate and long, draw to fine points. Those familiar with her kind will easily identify her as Sildanyari.
Elleandra stands an unimposing 5'4" tall. Her waist is slender and her limbs lithe, lightly toned with muscle. Her petal-soft skin is alabaster with more than a touch of amber, hinting at a developing tan. She bears a pale, fluted scar on the back of her left hand and her hands are calloused from many days of toil. Most days, she bears the scent of the wood folded in with a variety of spices.
She wears a pale brown blouse, seen peeking out here and there under a suit of dark-green hide armor. Over this is a hooded cloak that was likely a light-brown shade once upon a time, but heavy travel has written a tale of many brown and green hues across it. On her feet she wears dark-green leather boots, which are comfortably broken in, though they show less marks of her travels than the cloak.