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  #1  
Old 10-08-2008, 05:55 PM
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Life and Death

The answer to Cassel's rumination is so obvious as to be easily overlooked. It is there though, high in the sky, the brilliant orb passing from east to west each day. Except now it travels along its daily arc to the north of him, instead of to the south, as it always has before. Which can only mean that he is south of the equator. Far south of any lands he has traveled, and the Flanness region he typically haunts. Of course he could be on another planet altogether, or some unknown continent of Oerth. Considering the kindnesses of Finsnake though*, that seems highly unlikely.

...or you could just nicely ask one of the strange elves that have been watching us from deep in the forest... Mealstone deadpans within Cassel's mind, not even bothering to glance at his companion, his gaze unwavering from the little pond.

Cassel's own ganders into the forest have seen no such beings over the last day or so, or now. An entire army could be hiding in there for all he knew, but there was no trace of them that he could discern. Nearly all elves, after all, are notoriously reclusive.

...they're in there, I can feel elves when they watch us... the margoyle adds, sounding quite sure of himself.

OoC
*hint, hint

Seemed like a good place to begin a new thread...
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Old 10-08-2008, 11:27 PM
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Having packed everything but some fruit cores and seven piles of steaming Stone Dung, Cassel figures there is no time like the present for introductions. He uses his arm to push off from the tree he had been leaning against and begins walking towards the unindicated area that MealStone referred to. His weapons are carefully not prepared, and his stance is as inhuman as he can muster. Once he has traveled to a space within the occupied territory he stops and raises his hands in a classic elven greeting.

"My name is Cassel Talmot, son of Dri'geen of the Flowing Grasses Clan. I come in peace." he stood motionless while he contemplated his next words. "I am simply seeking a way to my home."
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Old 10-09-2008, 06:23 PM
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Their presence causing alarm among the larger insects and their numerous hunters of the deeper jungle, a pall of near silence absorbs his chosen words. Pungent and humid, the shadowed air hangs heavy, stifling. Perhaps out of respect, Mealstone has ceased his incessant grinding. The resulting quiet is palpable, nearly a presence of its own. Even before the varied little rustlings resume, gradual movement is detected overhead. From the darkness of the lower canopy a furry leg emerges, followed immediately by its twin. Agonizingly slow step by step, the brown furred creature climbs down the mammoth bole, using wedges of severe claws where digits should be, puncturing the bark with impressive strength at every step. Shorter by a head than Mealstone, this is clearly a creature of the canopy, not of land. Its snail-like speed is undoubtedly a test of some kind.

As it finally reaches the lowest branch, shrouded by the flowering peak of an underlying bush, still more than twice Cassel's height off the ground, it slows even further. Glacially it moves to sit upon the branch, leaning back against the thick bark of the tree's trunk, ignoring these visitors completely. Finally a voice responds, but not from the small mammal. Deep in the utter blackness of shadow under the tall bush's crown, perhaps a full body length below the resting mammal, an elven whisper weakly issues forth. Almost as if from another time or place, the words sound as if squeezed into being, although through what medium could only be guessed at.

"So long it has been since hearing a greeting not of our own, that I find myself uncertain how to properly respond. That you somehow ascertained that we yet exist here though, proves worthiness beyond compare. Therefore I receive you honored cousin, as Wil'drus Ammon', of the Spiraling Vine Clan. Greetings, and apologies both, I must extend unto you and your companion. Likely you have heard nothing of our dreaded curse, but I assure you it is not in any way contagious. If you should have the time and patience, I shall explain the short of it?" the thin voice says, never rising above a frail whisper.

The clan name is entirely unfamiliar to the sorcerer, but that is hardly surprising. What is disconcerting is the spot where the voice comes from, between the thickly clustered frond-stems of the lovely bush, as there is obviously no place between them large enough for even the most lithesome elven body. Cloaked in absolute shadow, it is still readily apparent that no such void exists between the lengthy leaves branching overhead, hung with vermilion sprays of sweet-smelling flowers. Yet despite his suspicions, he can sense some physical connection between this reedy elven voice, and the indifferent mammal licking its claws on the branch.



OoCThe mammal is a 3-toed sloth.
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Old 10-09-2008, 09:10 PM
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With nearly a sigh of remorse for the unknown plight of these elves, Cassel responds with patience, appreciation, and calm anticipation. "I would be honored to hear your tale. My friend has the time as well." The half-elf steps up into a levitation, as is his habit when relaxing or meditating, and continues to gaze at the spot from which the voice emanates.

"Please, tell the short of it, the long, or the ambiguous. I am eager to learn and assist if possible." The goodness of this situation is not lost on Cassel's human half. His natural distrust of pure elves is being actively thrust into a nether-space in his soul. The elven portions, and even the Jotun blood (and even the grey soul-gaps?) are telling him to open up to other races: accept what they have to offer. To allow others to to accept him will be the real challenge.

.
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Old 10-11-2008, 01:06 AM
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It seems the sun has passed behind a cloud somewhere overhead, as shadows deepen and the speckled twilight under the lofty canopy perceptibly darkens. A dozen or so mottled snails, each larger than a person's head, emerge from out of the leaf-litter to take up stations near one darkly shadowed area or another around the strangers. Others of the slow-crawling mammals plod their way nearer along branches and vines from all directions. The sense of clustering phantasms fills the near air as a gradual hush falls delicately over the unremarkable parcel of jungle. Perhaps it has been too long since this tale was told...

"Humans came to us from the far north, unannounced, calling themselves the Suel. We were reticent at first to receive them, engrossed and content with our lives. They made clear their knowledge of our existence, urgently pleading for an audience while they pushed deeper into our jungle. We granted their audience in due course, striving to impress upon them the wisdom of our sedate ways. The Suel would have none of it though, braying their demands and chafing over every sensible delay. Would that we had listened to our priests then, and judiciously banished them from our lands and our minds. Our fate would then have not taken such a cruel turn."

A soft breeze rustles through the jungle, strengthened by the anguished sighs of uncountable spectral elves. The morning twilight has steadily shaded darker, but a refreshing coolness now wafts up from the verdant growth covering the fecund soil. Butterflies and moths of all colors have inexplicably been drawn near, and now preen themselves on leaves and branches all around. More than two dozen of the odd, little mammals are already in attendance, with yet more on the way.

"Alas, we heard the Suel out, bowing to their desperate pleadings. They claimed to have been sent to us by the Oracle of Tunshea*, with claims that we possessed a ready solution to their tragic dilemma. Some force of which they claimed no knowledge, was completely emptying entire villages and small towns of each and every single person. These attacks were said to take place only at night, and each victimized village would be found deserted the following morning. All their efforts to locate the missing folk, or to put a face on the aggressors, they claimed were in vain.

Of course our initial reaction was to corroborate these outlandish claims, the first act that truly doomed us to our current fate. Some few of our mages expressed curiosity about the situation, and promised that they would look into it. The Suel were enraged beyond reason by our prudent response, their piteous pleas instantly turning to childish insults and impotent threats of violence. No words could soothe their raging tempers, their vulgar mouths, or their suddenly hateful assaults. Rather than simply slay the impetuous fools, we magicked them back to our northern border from whence they came. Would that we had never seen or heard from them again."


A healthy breeze spirals through the near jungle, its nascent sound drowned out by the groaning of the massive trees as they shudder and shake with sympathetic fervor. It feels as if the jungle itself is coming alive with the retelling of this tale, as plants of all kinds add their quavering to the impromptu din. The multitude of butterflies and moths take flight, to inexorably swirl on the raggedly circling breeze. Joined by bits of dead leaves and unburdened clutter, the air is filled with riotous colors flowing round. The up-swell of emotion is tangible, and not without its attraction.

"Some days passed for us in peace then, and our jungle's harmony was restored. One by one the promissory mages announced their findings to those of us yet interested, generating more questions than they answered. We had known for some years that a travesty against nature had taken place somewhere northwest of the mountain barrier that borders our jungle, but nothing of the folk responsible for it. The mages returned to inform us that the Suel had entrapped djinn for centuries, and recently forced the enslaved djinn to unleash devastation upon their northern neighbors, the Baklunish, with whom they were at war. Apparently the surviving Baklunish inflicted 'the rain of colorless fire' upon the Suel in return, reducing their fertile lands to deep ash, along with most of the Suel. These unscrupulous Suel who came begging to us for salvation were some of the few survivors.

That numerous of the Suel's mountainous villages stood desolately empty was indeed confirmed, including all those of the eastern half. With the exception of one large eastern city, our mages reported, it appeared to be a solid sweep from east to west along the mountain's jagged length, proceeding even as they watched. They found no sign of the missing humans though, as powerful magics shrouded the actual disappearances from their view. They could only speculate that the weapon's power was divine rather than arcane. Armed with this knowledge our own priests decided to look into the matter, as our mages turned an eye towards our own defenses."


Tiny birds of iridescent hues join the swirling maelstrom of breathtaking colors swirling beneath the verdant jungle's lofty canopy. Even the stoutest of nearby trees bend along with the revolving mass, fanning it further with their mighty branches. Virtuous emotion verily crackles through the charged air, strengthened by the yearnings of plants both large and small. An enigmatic pressure, born of the native flora, is progressively building as the ancient tale unfolds.

"Within days our priests called together those of us that would listen, revealing the Suel's deceptions, and the Greater Truths of the matter. Firstly, the weapon used against these Suel was an instrument of the Divine Will of one of their few surviving gods, delivered unto the hands of their own devout priests. While both their gods and priests were deigned repugnant by dint of their fosterage of slavery, only fools interpose themselves between gods and their followers. To even consider such a rash course, would have taken longer than the Suel refugees had left to them near our borders.

Secondly was the fact that the supposed missing were in fact being relocated to more prosperous Suel enclaves far to the east, across the seas, in a safe haven against the Suel's apparently righteous enemies. Evidence did suggest though, that some of them were indeed sold into slavery by their own priests, to a cabal of flesh merchants**. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, the Oracle of Tunshea merely suggested that the resistant Suel seek our counsel only as a last resort!"


The swirling wind gusts stronger with sanctimonious zeal, blurring its rollicking colors into vibrants streaks against the morning's canopied gloom. Buffeted branches sway and shake, excepting those perched upon by the little mammals and snails, which remain as unscathed as the visitors. Tiny droplets of rain, or just moisture squeezed from the whipping winds, begin spraying out from the forming vortex of wind, vegetation, and animals. Scrupulous indignation sweeps around with the gaudy blur, as rumblings issue from the largest of the gigantic trees.

"Our debate over what could be done for the Suel, if anything, was a lively one. Days into it, the recently crowned queen of the Suel just beyond our borders unleashed this djinn-inspired curse upon us for not interceding on her people's behalf against her own god! Our living spirits were torn from our beautiful bodies and grafted to those of slow-moving creatures as punishment, doomed to wile away the centuries, bodiless."

Lightning erupts from the canopy high above with a thunderous roar, all arcing down to the same point within the bush near where Cassel reclines on his undisturbed levitation. In the searing flash of green-tinged white light, the flying insects and tiny birds disappear. The inevitable crash though, when they simultaneously strike, is like the timid shattering of thin porcelain, a wash of tinkling that quickly fades into hushed silence as the air stills. A lady gray elf of middling years and savage beauty emerges from between the close-packed stems of the bush near Cassel. Seeming as stunned by the development as any elf could possibly be, she gazes around in wonder at the now quiescent plants and animals that have somehow returned her form. She wears no clothing or adornment of any kind, her smooth gray skin blending perfectly with the jungle's twilight.

OoC
*The Oracle of Tunshea was suggested to Cassel by Finsnake at their parting, in regards to his nemesis, The Slavers, as a safe place to view their preparations without risk of discovery...

**Flesh merchants was the title for slavers back when the practice was considered respectable throughout Flanness.

The 'rain of colorless fire' is renown for wiping out the Suel Empire, and creating the Sea of Dust.

Yes, this is the short version, but I do try to never half step.
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Old 10-23-2008, 08:54 PM
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Cassel merged his rapt attention with some nimble carving with this idle hands. He had the bundle of ash branches in his lap, whittling and crafting arrow shafts while he listened. Some were significantly larger than his standard draw length. His eyes, however, never left the sloth except to search its surrounding perimeter at times for signs of the Eleven Spirit attached to its slow mammal form. He found nothing, but it was polite to look.

When the story finished he was just about to ask for more information on the Oracle when the lightning flash signaled the entrance of a stunningly beautiful Grey Elf. Despite himself, Cassel blushed and began to avert his eyes. He stopped the action mid-turn, opting instead to meet the woman's gaze and convey comfort and unity in the way of the Elves.
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Old 10-24-2008, 09:21 PM
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The elven maiden gracefully nods her greeting in return, maintaining eye contact, yet still clearly enthused by the unexpected development. She sedately turns to gaze up at the gathered sloths, sweeping her awed and wondering gaze across the assemblage, oblivious to the presence of Cassel and Mealstone for a span. While a few of the attentive sloths offer barking grunts, it is to the deeply rumbling nearby trees that she eventually turns, her leisurely pirouette alone worthy of some bard's masterful ballad. A relatively brief conversation ensues, lost to the half-elf and gargoyle, with only rare interruptions from a couple of the loftily perched sloths. Finally her limpid gaze reverts to Cassel, a fresh blush rosing her cheeks, and the sense of a newfound determination in her regal bearing.

"I find myself nobly bound to a sojourn into the Sea of Dust, which lies many day's travel to the northwest." one of her hands floats off vaguely in that direction, as if buoyed by clouds, before fluttering back to her side. "It has been suggested that I beg from thee some suitable garments or material for my needs. If you could be so kind with such a generosity, it would save precious time that my kin need not suffer through under our ancient curse." she asks, ever so liltingly, clearly delighted by the prospect of the journey, while still in awe of her embodiment.
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Old 10-25-2008, 12:57 PM
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Cassel found a fragment of his perception that had long been wasting away: appreciation. While the elven maiden gazed and spoke he simply sat in awe of her presence. The way he would could not to a valiant foe and would not in the presence of a god, the Half Grey Elf found himself truly enjoying her graceful movements and strong-yet-lilting voice. When she made her comment regarding joining him on a journey he could hardly believe his bodies response.

"Cassel Talmot and MealStone will be honored with your presence, as we would go there as well." Honored at her presence? Was this the same Cassel that had seen nearly each of his companions and followers killed at the hands of dire evil? Was this the same Cassel that in recent years had forcibly shoved aside any offer of assistance or accompaniment? I say thee nay.

"Clothes, gear, of course. How rude of me to have delayed in providing such." Before he knew his course he had already stood and opened the Portal against a nearby tree. He went within and was gone for two or more minutes before returning with a footlocker in tow. "This should have much of what you would need in terms of traveling clothes and gear."

He waved a hand towards the secured hasp on the chest and spoke a harsh word in a dead arcane language. The lock popped and the lid sprang open. On display was a variety of female clothing including boots, cloak, and belts. In addition, the chest contained a couple of daggers and a short sword. "I hope this meets your expectations. I will take my leave for a time so that you can dress."
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Old 10-25-2008, 06:32 PM
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MemoriesYears back the Vaguard had decided to part ways. To a certain extent it was because of relationships. Not bad ones - they had always seemed to thrive on their bitterness towards each other. No, a good relationship was forming and it was tearing the group apart. Duvian, the Genin, was particularly devastated by the increasing amount of time that Cassel and the Witch were spending together.

"But you never have time for hanging out any more. You're always giving her whatever she needs. I'm like, Hey, Cassel! Let's go out drinking or killing Ogres or something! But it's always, No, I can't, gotta hang with the old witch tonight. I swear you're never around."

Cassel just stared at the blandly-garbed man, a smirk slowly breaking on his face. "You're jealous."

"Sure I am. She gets all of your quality time these days. All I get is the leftovers. You're always too tired to storm a castle or break some slaves out of a dungeon. Like, Whah! I was up all night! I am starting to think you don't like us any more."

Incredulous, Cassel shot back. "Like you guys? Who do you think I am? I never liked most of you." He shook his head and turned back to his job of packing. When all of the equipment in the Keep was divided into five there was quite a lot of stuff. Particularly since he was packing two of those fifths.

A new voice came from behind him, one more to his liking. "Cassel, we should talk." Until he heard the content, that was. He heard a loud thunk on the floorboards as a storage chest was dropped indelicately. "I am having second thoughts."

They had planned to go away together, of course. Get some distance from the SlaveLords, the group dynamics, all of this mess. He had been under no delusions that they could make a good life together, but he had expected to get a start down a better road. "Now, Trixie. We've talked this through. The death, the random dismemberment... It is starting to wear on all of us. We need some space for ourselves and we can't get it here."

She nodded briefly, then looked into his eyes with clear denial. "I... I have to try to stop the evil here. These people need a better life."

Blood boiled in him. He was dangerously close to anger. "Who has been talking to you? Who got between us? Was it DUVIAN?!?" And then he passed anger and went straight to furious. White fire bled from his eyes as his fists tightened into balls of rage.

She stood in silent refusal.

He let the pain of rejection flush through him and out into the sky, blistered air waved through the space above him.

"What should I do with your things?"

"Keep it, I don't need anything I packed in there." She turned quickly and in moments was gone from sight. A howl of wind informed him that she had departed via her unique teleportation effect.
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Old 10-27-2008, 12:24 PM
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MemoriesItís all about center of gravity. You canít go anywhere that your center of gravity doesnít also go. In fact, wherever your center of gravity is, there you are. It is defined by your location, and you it. Gymnasts are masters of it; particularly the manipulation of their bodies about that point. Watch as they flip and twist, forcing their form into beautiful shapes that respect and abuse this feat of natural law: The Center of Gravity.

It is the archerís secret to hitting the unhittable target. If you can recognize the center of gravity in another and determine the direction and speed of that target, you can hit it. Cassel is skilled in the identification of all three. Within a momentís recognition of a foe he can determine where it will be in a measure of time equal to the distance covered by an arrow fired from his bow at a fixed speed. The result is as inevitable as dawn: you are struck.

ĒGENIN!Ē

So how had Duvian avoided his last three arrows? One of which was fired while his former ally and friend was in mid-leap from the wall of the Keep Bailey? His direction and speed were consistent and clear: gods know that Casselís arrow was of accurate speed and true form. But Duvianís Center of Gravity was not there when the arrow reached the target. Instead of having a grouping of three arrows tight in his midsection, he had this silly smile on his face like he had caught the canary.
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Old 10-27-2008, 02:51 PM
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memoriesArrows werenít working. Time to move on to an attack form with a larger area of effect. ĒIf youíre not going to stop, Duvian, Iíll be forced to use more lethal means!Ē It was a warning that provided two effects. First, it asked Duvian to take a smarter path as more lethal offensive weapons were on the way. Second, it warned the Genin that he would die if he kept this up. In other words, he needed to move along before Cassel was forced to kill him.
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Old 10-27-2008, 04:44 PM
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Her surprised smile barely lifts the corners of her expressive mouth, but its glow within her jade-flecked eyes of blued violet carries the warmth of a summer's sun on a cold spring day. She leaned slightly forward, drawn towards the joyous return of verbal exchange, still full of residual wonderment and awe.

"You would accompany me, to the Oracle of Tunshea?" she breathed ever so faintly in response to Cassel's pledge, her astonishment obliterating all thoughts of reciprocation. Yet she was recovered by the time the sorcerer emerged from his magical contraption, after sharing a whispered exchange with a nearby tree. Wil'drus' thick eyebrows rose again in surprise at the bounty exposed within the traveling chest, the extent of outward expression of her curiosity over a man trekking through the jungle with such cargo. She nods in gracious receipt of his diffidence at his departure.

A bit tardily, Mealstone hurries to gain Cassel's side, an expression of pleased puzzlement on his usually blank face. The gargoyle offers no comment as they stroll through an area of thin vegetation due to the thickness of canopy high overhead, their feet sinking deeply into the fecund soil littered with sparse grasses and struggling weeds. More unusual, the gargoyle steals more than one appraising glance the sorcerer's way, carefully keeping even any hint of his emotions from infringing onto the link they share. Cassel is distractedly reminded of the mother's words regarding the lessons Mealstone could gain at his side, but cannot guess at how any of this might translate into whatever passes for margoyle societal norms. The result could well prove amusing though...

Wil'drus Ammon is quite literally transformed upon their return. An austere gown of silk that was creamy alabaster, somehow now appears to be bristling seafoam on the verge of rinsing from her elegant form, the few traces of its former incarnation barely noticeable. Her luxuriant locks lie knotted at the nape of her neck, revealing more of her cheeks, her regal neck, and gloriously long ears. A modest pack is slung over one shoulder, and a dirk rests incongruously on her hip, apparently sewn to the very cloth of the gown. Her feet are twined with leather strap over a few layers of large, dark green leaves, that look to have a thickly, rubbery texture. An overly tall staff of twisting ebon wood is held firmly upright in her resting hands, most assuredly not from his plentiful stores, with a vibrant crimson and vivid green banded viper of modest length coiled at its peak over her head.

"Your gracious generosity will not be soon forgotten, cousin Cassel." she offers with a respectful nod as the two approach, clearly a vivacious denizen of her jungle, and yet speaking eloquently enough for any elven court he can recall. "I await your fair company with earnest anticipation." she smiles, still with an air of wonderment about her.
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Old 10-28-2008, 09:27 AM
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Damn. We're related. Still, he does not allow that disappointment to enter his expression or voice as he responds. "My lady, it is our pleasure." He places one hand on his stomach in a half-bow, pointing with the other arm towards the direction of travel. A hard-earned elven smile graces his lips as he recalls bitter-but-successful training in his youth.

He feels fortunate that the gown no longer reflects its former owner. Oddly, he never recalled the alabaster vestments being anything other than pink when she wore them before... But now they were resplendent indeed.

Cassel takes a few moments to stare at MealStone with raised eyebrows. If the grinding sidekick wants to exchange some information, he is open to it.
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Old 10-28-2008, 04:49 PM
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A game trail conveniently meanders off to the northwest, more than suitable for their needs. That is, unless the jungle itself has temporarily parted to allow passage to its newly embodied denizen. A crazy thought perhaps, but impossible to completely vanquish all the same. Wil'drus obvious eagerness belies her sedate pace, even while her curiosity bridles under her demure manner. Her enthusiasm for her jungle adds a precocious element, while her inexperience with etiquette at times halts her impulses. The result is engaging as the hours pass, as is just about anyone honestly willing to listen to another's prattling, and occasionally flirtatious. Her own tale already told for the most part, she has little more she is willing to add. The only notable exception, are her memories of the Oracle of Tunshea, winnowed and warped by centuries of irrelevance.

"Back then, what is now the Sea of Dust was a broad expanse of grassland amidst rolling hills and sparkling streams. The renown oracle resided in a small cave system under an unusually tall plinth of solid granite, that towered up over the narrow point of land where two rivers joined, rather near the center of the region. It was there long before the accursed Suel emerged onto those lands, and I can only hope it exists still. The eldest of trees claim they can yet feel its presence there, while the younger claim it is ought but memory. We will learn the truth soon enough I expect." she explains, finishing with a smiling flash of her eyes that could weaken the knees of lesser men.

"The oracle was very rarely sought by our folk, of course, as we lived nearer to our gods and the natural ways, and therefore had little need. Yet from time to time it was consulted, in search of finer details or a differing perspective, with some success. Our legends told of our sages sharing wisdom with the oracle in ages past, but those details were unclear even before the curse."

Her flow of words halt abruptly there, as a self-conscious cloud passes over her radiant features. Her tepid gaze turns to the surrounding jungle, as a variety of survivor guilt courses through her, wistful that she not be the only one. Her half-hearted search of the canopy overhead for sloths is fruitless, and her focus falls to the enigmatic trail just ahead.
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Old 10-28-2008, 07:58 PM
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[OoC] You manipulate the game with words, don't you? You are toying with me... [/OoC]

Cassel walked beside the beauty, reveling in his proximity to a happy female. He had not paid her, nor had he promised her more than company on a trip to a destination that he also sought. In fact, he was certain that she was providing a greater service to him than vice versa by leading him to the Oracle. His history was full of women who liked him for a few days. Not one of them knew who he was, and none of them cared. The Witch was the last to discover his true nature and he paid for it.

MemoriesAs Duvian leaped to the far side of the Bailey wall Cassel followed through on his threat by dropping a ball of flaming argent death on that spot. He had only missed with the arrows by inches or fractions thereof. He could not miss with a 30' sphere. Immediately after the saturation Cassel flew to the top of the wall and looked down on the decimated shrubbery.

No Duvian.

A moment later he felt the cold steel pricking at the skin stretched tightly over the oblique muscle protecting his right kidney. "Why fly over them when you can walk through them." That FŁcker held back. That taught him never to assume that he knew the extents of an opponent's abilities. Even if he had lived beside him for ten years.

"Do it, Duv. Finish me off." The anger was rising again, proving to Cassel that he had never really tried to kill the Genin. If he had been acting with deadly intent things tended to die. More so than just bushes. As his flesh began to heat up he felt parts of him shriveling. Emotions were getting more extreme: hate, bitterness, and jealousy extremely large; sorrow, pity, and consolation extremely small.

"Screw you, mage. You don't need to die. You need to live. I'll be back around when you have learned to live with yourself without killing everyone around you." Cassel felt the blade lift, taking a few layers of skin with it. The tiny cut cauterized itself with white fire. As soon as he could tell that the Genin had backed off he spun on top of the wall with his hands raised in arcane gestures. But Duvian had left.


So what is the harm in being in someone's presence? Why had he always chosen the destructive path? One could argue that going to see the Oracle was destructive. But it may have a healing effect on Wil'drus and her clan. Even though it would bring more war to the Slavers.

And by 'war' I mean 'Cassel'.
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