Old April 19, 2017, 09:26 PM   #1 (permalink)
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[Wilds] The Mountains Are Calling and I Must Go

Timestamp: Summer, Era XXIV

The air was quiet. She could feel it, the air, as it run along the length of her in gentle wisps of breeze. It was quiet though, and it did not whistle or howl, nor did it sing like her air in Trelore. No. The air was quiet here. And though she did not hear the air, she could feel it. She could feel that it was moving Northeast this brightening. She could sense that it was not rushed, and not hurried. She could sense many things, like the smell of stagnancy as it carried the staleness of the Bellewoods up the mountains.

The Bellewoods were just a skeleton of what they once were, a graveyard of once towering woodlands. It was only up here in the higher altitudes of the region that one might find any healthy trees, all alpines that clung to life on the rocky slopes. It was the perfect vantage point to smell, and feel, and listen. And that’s what Liahal did. It was as if she could feel the neighboring trees shimmer with life, not with her eyes but rather her feeling. Her sense. It was dreamlike in it’s sense of lucidity, and the city dweller suddenly found herself doubting if she could ever go back to Ziel Aerca. Why would anyone leave the wilds, when they could see life without seeing, could feel the canter of a squirrel without touching, or hear the steady heartbeat of a cabbit thumping from underground.

It was here on the flanks of the Great Mountains that Liahal Kard en i’Elentiri could detach herself from the going-ons of daily life and follow that ingrained sense of curiosity that asked her why, and how, and where. She had not lived the Black Fog but she had heard of it’s destruction, and now she could feel it in the air. The death that it brought. The hollow shell that it left.

Along a steep slope at the edge of the mountains lay a sparse line of trees. Alpines of varying sizes. Limber Pine. Foxtail Pine. Whitemark Pine. But one was not like the others. Broad leafed and flowering, a dogwood sat pretty along the ridge, small in definition and contrasting deeply against it’s fine needled neighbors.
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Old April 19, 2017, 11:47 PM   #2 (permalink)
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It was surreal to Niven that the Bellwoods were the only place anywhere near her home that had any amount of green left. The black fog had decimated much of what was now known as the Principality of Moonstone. The Silrosian Forest was charred beyond all recognition and her family was gone.

That had been the hardest for Niven to accept. The last time she’d seen them, choice words had been exchanged and she left in a huff. When she’d heard about the devestation caused by the black fog, she hoped against hope that someone had survived. She spent so much time in Sancta Nova waiting for someone she knew, anyone she knew. But it was all in vain. No one had survived.

It had been difficult for her to accept this. She’d waited for so long that when she finally allowed it to sink in that they’d all perished, she’d completely fallen apart. Thankfully, Dante and their family had been there to help her heal or she may never had recovered. Once she’d made her peace as best she could with what had transpired, she felt moved to honour her family. How, she just wasn’t sure yet. But she knew that being as close to “home” as possible was her best bet.

Now she walked through what was left of the forests. Here she hoped to feel close to the spirits of her family, to Carmelya, to anyone or anything that would guide her in the best way to bring elvish honour to their memories. Here, in the forest, she felt would be the best place for her to figure that out.

As she walked along she felt sadness that even this area had not come out unscathed. But like she, it was growing again, renewing itself and it would come back stronger than before. A soft breeze moved through the trees and Nivcen closed her eyes for a moment and she could almost feel their spirits guiding her.

When she opened her jade coloured eyes again, she caught sight of a dogwood, it’s beautiful blooms seeming almost out of place among the evergreens of this forest. The oddity of the placement drew her to the leafy tree, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it could be a sign like one she’d been looking for.
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Old May 7, 2017, 01:51 PM   #3 (permalink)
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It had been quiet for a long time, until it wasn’t. And she would not hear the disturbance with her ears, but she would feel it. The vibration of movement rippled from a shoed foot and into the earth, but by the time it reached her soil it was just the faintest hint of something palpable. What was it?

Another ripple vibrated into the blanketed soil and into her roots, stronger this time. And though she could not hear the footsteps moving toward her in the classical sense, but she could feel the distance between her and it was closing. Another footstep, another vibration. And the air was different around the body that moved toward her. She responded with a vibration of her own, seeking contact from her neighbors. What is this? She would ask them, but she would only feel their familiar stillness.

And another step and another vibration, this time forceful. It was closer now, too close, and all she could feel was this body in front of her. It swallowed up her other senses, monopolized her awareness until it was the only thing she could focus on. It was vibrant and loud, it’s heartbeat throbbing against the stillness of the air. She tried to bounce her own vibration against the body, in hopes of reverberating some of it’s spirit back and away. But it was too loud, too close. To full of life, and the dogwood quivered, shaking forcefully enough to set loose a bundle of it’s blossoms and showering the Silrosian elf below it.

If Niven were the observant type, she might see a collection of clothing to her right, haphazardly placed a few feet from the dogwood’s reach. And even if Niven was not the observant type, she would witness another quake of the dogwood’s branches above her, before the tree itself appeared to recede into itself, slowly at first but gaining momentum quicker than she could process it.

POP! Was it a pop? Perhaps it was something else entirely, but before Niven could make sense of the noise, the dogwood was replaced by a very lavender, very bare Quel’anthasan. And she appeared more than a little disheveled.

”You are so… alive.” The words were enthusiastic through uneven and nearly panicked breaths, and the woman’s rigid posture was only displaced by a fascinated expression. A slender hand reached toward the Silrosian’s cheek, caressing it if she did not pull away. ”I have never felt anything like you, vanima.”
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Old May 7, 2017, 03:13 PM   #4 (permalink)
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As Niven came to a place where she was no more than a foot or two away from the tree before it started to rain down blossoms on her. She raised her arm in an effort to shield her face from the incoming flower shower and a few of them stuck in her waist-length corn silk blonde hair. Her pretty features contorted into a look of confusion as the blossoms stopped falling and she let her arm drop to her side. There was no breeze, nothing that could have brought upon the deluge if white blooms.

The Silrosian looked from side to side, seeing if there was anything around her that could explain what just happened. Her gaze fell upon the clothing, almost hidden in the grasses. Alarm flooded her. She was not alone.

Her entire body tensed as she prepared to defend herself when the oddest thing started to happen. In no more than a few moments the beautiful tree in front of her ceased to be a tree and became an elf. A purple elf. A naked elf.

Niven froze in shock. She blinked a few times to try to make sure that her eyes were not playing tricks on her. Her brain couldn’t process what had just happened. And then the elf spoke to her. The sound barely reached her pointed ears, but the look on the pretty purple elf's face was one of awe. And the face was the only place Niven would look.

It was the touch that brought the Silrosian back to life. The soft smoothness of her finger tips against Niven’s skin grounded her and she recoiled slightly, unsure of what exactly was going on. The elvish word she heard sounded foreign, yet familiar at the same time. Her brain tried to work it out. It sounded most like the word for beauty. Niven’s eyebrows raised. She was the beauty? The elf before her was exquisite, even in her rumpled state.

Finally, she found her voice. “You....You are naked,” She said, stepping back and pointing to the elf in front of her, her green eyes still never moving from the face. “And you were a tree.” The statement came out with definite certainty. The obvious was clearly the only thing she could muster. “And you felt me? W-.... how?!
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Old May 12, 2017, 08:42 PM   #5 (permalink)
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The Silrosian blinked, and the Quel’anthasan, she would blink back. She felt warm, much warmer than her vampire. Much more alive, than Theodallion, though satisfying in a much different way. But as soon as her fingertips grazed her skin the elf recoiled, Liahal responding with a curious tilt of her head. Why was this woman, so full of life and vibrancy, recoiling from the affectionate touch of another?

”I am seler’sister.” Her response was an obvious one, the Silrosian could see to that. ”I was.” Her head straightened slightly, green eyes running the length of the woman to assess her for any visible threat, though Liahal, she was farm from threatened by the pretty face. Her hand left her cheek finally, the woman’s attentions moving toward the clothing a few paces away. ”Patrius, he gifts us many things,” And a loose blouse was pulled over her head, disheveling the woman’s already tangled lavender hair. ”What we cannot see, we feel.” A hand outstretched to her side, motioning toward the neighboring trees. ”One might consider it deprivation vanima, but they are wrong.”

A set of plain trousers were pulled up to her waist, and Liahal finally passed a speculative glance toward the woman. ”It is dangerous up here all alone… Are you?” Should she expect another?
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Old May 12, 2017, 10:29 PM   #6 (permalink)
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Patrius? Who is that?” the Slirosian asked, as the purple elf moved for her clothing. Her presence of mind had now returned and the shock of everything had dissipated . She was now more curious than anything else.

Niven allowed the elven woman who had no issues with modesty dress semi-privately by turning her head, but could still see her in her peripheral vision. “I had no idea trees could feel so acutely,” she said, her attention turning to the nearest evergreen. She studied it closely with new appreciation. “I thought only Treant’s could feel like that. It makes sense though. With one sense removed, the rest are heightened.

When she was spoken to again, Niven turned towards her lilac companion and was pleased to find she was now dressed. “No, I am alone. My fiancé who traveled with me has been left back in the city. I chose to come out alone. I needed to come alone.
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Old May 13, 2017, 01:04 PM   #7 (permalink)
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”Patriling. Assuming the form of a tree,” She started from the beginning. ”Patrius is the spirit the cast was named after.” She had smoothed her clothing, surveying the space around them. The dogwood’s blossoms littered the rocky slope, their beauty contrasting deeply against the vastly barren mountain side. ”Dogwood.” Her voice was small, but seemingly tickled by this revelation. She had never been a dogwood. ”How quaint.”

”They hold onto just as much life as you and I, dove.” She was sliding into a pair of worn leather boots now, lacing them tightly. ”I try speaking to them every cast, but they do not answer me.” The woman’s expression changed then, brow furrowing and her mouth twisting into a frown. It was true, the Quel’anthasan would reach out to the trees until the effort would exhaust her. She would ask them what it was like, and how did it feel. The thought that asking the trees to relive the fog would be too painful for them had not crossed her mind, and she would continue to ask them about the fog in it’s entirety, seeking for some inkling of comprehension… But they would not answer her. Not even when she said please.

”Well if you’re looking for solitude vanima, you’re well suited here.” It was meant as a slight of course, not toward the elf but toward the silent trees. Why would they not speak to her? Why would they not tell her about the fog? Patience was not something the Gods had given Liahal Kard en i’Elentiri, but stubbornness was. And it was only this stubbornness and refusal to leave empty handed that had kept the woman up her for the past cycle. Still, the elf found comfort in being given the opportunity to speak to someone other than Rauko…

”Liahal Kard en i’Elentiri.” She said finally, bowing deeply in a traditionally elvish greeting. ”I will leave you to your own company.” A click of her tongue sent a rustling through the trees as the nimrban was summoned, ”I hope you find what you’re looking for, dove.”
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Old May 14, 2017, 12:10 PM   #8 (permalink)
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Patrilling,” Niven repeated, feeling the word on her tongue. It was an interesting concept, assuming the form of a tree. She would have to ponder the practical applications of the idea later.

As the elf explained about the trees, Niven nodded slowly in understanding, accepting this new information about the vegetation that was around her. “I have a Treant who is my ward. Yes, she is sentient, but the nature of what she is makes me feel that it makes sense that other trees and plants too, likely, yes?...” She asked giving the Trelorian a questioning look before continuing,”...Have feelings of their own.” She reached out and lightly touched the evergreen closest to her with her fingertips. "I was always taught to have great respect for the flora and fauna around me, but I didn't really understand the intricacies of it before."

How do they communicate?” Niven asked, truly curious. She had only ever communicated with Ilianthe.

The Purple Elf introduced herself with a bow and Niven returned the traditional greeting, saying, “Niven Soleil.” As she raised up, the elf decided to take her leave.

No, wait!” she cried, reaching out towards Liahal. “Please don’t go yet,” she begged. “I came out alone as I didn’t think that my fiancé would be able to be of assistance to me. I....” Niven looked like she wanted to divulge her reasoning to the Trelorian, but couldn’t decide if it was a little too soon in their acquaintance to dump her own emotional junk on her. But Liahal was an elf. She would understand in a way that Dante never would be able to.

I lost my family in the Black Fog,” she said with a sigh. “I wanted to feel close to them, but I couldn’t do that in the charred ruins of the Silrosian forest. I needed to be somewhere where there was still green.

Niven paused for a few moments before continuing. “I don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” she admitted, spreading her hands in front of her.
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Old May 22, 2017, 09:43 PM   #9 (permalink)
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The Silrosian nodded, considering Liahal’s words, and it seemed the Silrosian had taken interest in Liahal’s musings, moreso than the Quel'anthasan had expected. At the mention of the treant her lips cracked into a wide smile. ”Tirtaure.” Forest guardian. She had only run into a treant once in her life, but it was a peculiar thing. Short and stubby and it took to the forest floor like a runaway log. ”I don’t know.” She answered her. Truth was, Liahal was not sure if the trees could feel. She was not sure if they could speak to her, other than the strange vibrations of life they emitted.

”I do not understand it either, vanima. I only feel it.” She had tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and her eyes left the woman briefly as this revelation humbled her. It was not like Liahal to admit to not understanding, and less so in disciplines that she practiced in. ”I don’t know if they even can communicate,” A shrug of her shoulders gave way to her apprehension. ”They always listen though, no matter how long the story.” Lia could attest to that.

As Rauko was called a tornado of cream fur rushed down a neighboring pine and onto the forest floor. It was not like the nimrban to keep to the floor, and Rauko would express this discomfort by scrambling up the Quel’anthasan’s body in a frantic heap of fuzz. The creature was rewarded with a fastened candy, to which Rauko responded with a bushing of her tail and a content purr.

The duo had turned their backs to Niven, when the Silrosian stopped them. Lavender brows furrowed slightly, and as her head turned she met the Silrosian with a somewhat puzzled expression. It was a pleading sound that came from the elf that stood beside her, but Liahal would not understand why. She was not well-versed in the troubles of men, but she would not leave her acquaintance alone as long as she sounded this way.

”I’m sorry seler’.” And a hand would extend to the woman’s arm, a gesture of comfort perhaps. It was the reason why Liahal had made the trip up here in the first place. To try to understand. It pained her to see so much of Moonstone in desolation, but perhaps if she could understand the fog, she would be better equipped to spread growth that could flourish despite the region’s past. ”Have you ever had a needle crown Niven? I will make you one.” Lavender fingers extended to take Niven’s hand if she would allow it. ”Talk to me, yes? I will try to understand.”
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Old May 23, 2017, 03:37 PM   #10 (permalink)
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Niven watched the nimrban with interest. It was quite adorable and though the Silrosian had seen them only a handful of times before, she’d never quite seen one this close before. She watched as she climbed the Trelorian and was rewarded and her mouth curved into a small smile.

A soft sad smile flitted across her lips as Liahal’s arm extended towards her. She felt comforted by the gesture, feeling secure in the knowledge that the purple elven beauty before her did understand. Liahal may not be of the Empire, but she was still an elf and on that level they could connect in a way that others could not. The black fog had been a tragedy not just for the Silrosian elves, but all elves.

She shook her head at the question. “No, I’ve never had a needle crown. Only one of flowers and leaves.” she replied, putting her hand in the trelorian’s outstretched one. She couldn’t fathom how a needle crown would be possible as needles were short and fine. But she would watch and learn. She tried not to think of the memories that were conjured when she thought about the wildflower crowns she once wore.

The invitation to talk was a welcome one and she smiled a grateful smile at the Quel’anthasan. Niven hadn’t had the opportunity to speak at length about her family’s tragic end with anyone, really. Or at least no one who was able to understand the way a fellow elf would. Dante understood within his limited scope, and while he too had lost his family in a tragedy, he would never feel the loss of a family he didn’t have the opportunity to know. Niven’s family had been a large part of much of her 96 eras. There were memories, relationships, love that filled her thoughts as she spoke of them. The loss on many levels was much greater than that of one who had never known their own family.

She hadn’t been able to talk to Lord de Lylles about it either. Yes he was an elf and her friend, but rank and social status made her feel small and unimportant and him inaccessible. She’d shared the essentials with him, but felt greatly that her story mattered very little to him, especially when he’d come to ask for assistance in finding his family.

But now here was a new person to share with. Someone who wanted to understand and seemed to care, whether or not she actually did. That was all Niven needed. Someone to pour her heart out to.

I’m not sure exactly where to start.” She admitted with a little sigh. “I mean, I wasn’t there. I’d left eras previously and on poor terms with them. But I see their deaths in my dreams.” The Slirosian took a breath and let out a quiet, breathless cry as she exhaled, reliving her darkeningmare, the one that had plagued her since learning of the fog’s effects. “I have heard enough from other elves who came straggling into Sancta Nova to know that are accurate. It all happened so quickly. There was little warning. The suns shone until they didn’t. The fog rolled swiftly through the area, decimating everything in its path. Many ran, but could not outrun its billowy cloud of death. It enveloped them, melting the flesh off their bodies, each victim dying in agony. The wildlife and the flora never stood a chance. The fog left nothing but charred skeletons of what once was in it’s wake.” Her eyes closed, her features transforming into the look of one in deep pain and sadness. When her eyes opened again, her green eyes glistened with tears. “I see it during the darkening, over and over.” she whispered, her grief consuming her.
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Old May 29, 2017, 10:07 PM   #11 (permalink)
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A wide smile was now prominently displayed against the Quel’anthasan’s face. ”They braid much better than twigs and leaves, vanima.” She was leading the pair of them toward the nearest pine, only pausing to pick up a dogwood blossom here, and then there. The Silrosian’s hands were not as delicate as Liahal might have expected, the beginnings of small callouses felt hard against Liahal’s more gentled hand. ”You do not shy away from hard work Niven.” She had picked an exceptionally pristine blossom from the ground, it was neither ruffled or scuffed from the rocky slope. ”My hands, they were proud like yours, yes? They were not afraid of hard work.” Carnivalesque had crafted once supple hands into something honored. They were once strong, and tough. They were much softer now, but an era in Talelena could weaken anyone.

Only after the duo had reached the pine would Lia take a seat under it’s shade, as sparse as it was. She would pat the ground just next to her in invitation. Niven had already started speaking and lavender fingers would get to work, braiding the needles in a tight, fastened weave. It was uncomfortable, the way Niven spoke of her family. The way she had left them eras previously. The terms poor. It was not unlike Liahal’s recent experience. The troubled past with her father, and the abrupt dismissal from Trelore. And now he was dead, too.

It was curiosity that struck her now, as she watched the woman relive the fog. Could their situations be so similar, that she might feel the same? Her walls dropped, and the Silrosian’s feeling came spilling into her all at once. It was pain. That same, familiar pain that only grief could carry. And guilt. A familiar guilt. A nasty, shame stricken guilt. Niven’s eyes closed and Liahal’s mimicked them, the wash of guilt and devastation rolling over her like a crashing wave. Why wasn’t she there? Why couldn’t she have been the daughter he expected from her?

But there was something missing, something that did not feel the same. The Quel’anthasan’s eyes opened, cheeks tear stained but silent. Where was the disdain? The chagrin for her apathetic, stiff, father? Why did Niven not share Liahal’s twisted pleasure knowing he was finally gone, or the shame that accompanied it? It was something the woman did often, this comparison of emotion. She did it for reasons she would not fully understand, and so she would tuck it away. Fold it up and stash it somewhere far, far away.

The breeze had chilled the woman’s cheeks and Liahal’s eyes averted, suddenly aware of her empathetic cry. Her fingers stopped their weave momentarily to dry her cheeks. ”It hurts.” She said simply, as if the statement alone could show the Silrosian that Liahal understood, and fully. If not by her minor magic, than by her own experience. ”It is knowing this that makes me hope the trees do not also feel, yes? So they do not have to live the pain.”

There was a silence. ”Would you have done things differently?” She started. ”If you knew your brightenings with them were limited?”
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Old May 31, 2017, 03:53 PM   #12 (permalink)
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Liahal commented on her hands and for a moment Niven felt self conscious, but the feeling was quickly replaced with pride. Her hands had once been soft and silky smooth, like the lilac lady’s, but in her new role as family gardener, her hands had become a little rougher as she used the differed tools of her art. While she missed the softness they once were, she was proud of her efforts of contribution to the household. She once again felt of use to her family, especially now that their children were all but grown and didn’t need her like they used to.

At the invitation to sit under the pine, Niven moved and in one graceful motion was sitting next to the Trelorian.

Tears streamed down Niven’s face as the silence hung between them for a few moments. She hadn’t allowed herself to move her eyes from the ground before her, her shame, guilt, and sorrow keeping her from meeting those of Liahal. When the Quel’anthasan broke the silence, she was finally able to raise her eyes and immediately found comforting, not only her words, but in the fact that she, too, was crying.

I sincerely wish they do not, but I suppose I’ll never know for sure.” Niven gave a sad smile and a little shrug. “They would have been witness to more horrors than I care to think about.

Silence reigned once more. Niven took the opportunity to somewhat collect herself and dab the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She was unprepared for the next questions.

Niven’s eyes looked past Liahal into nothingness as she thought once again about the questions she’d asked herself over and over. “Not when I last saw them,” she finally admitted, not only to the Trelorian, but to herself as well. “What was said needed to be said,” she continued, “But I would have tried to reach out and make amends the first time I wanted to. I would have listened to the little voice inside, buried my pride, and apologized.

Her eyes shifted to look into Liahal’s, Niven noticing for the first time that she saw her own mirrored in them. The corners of her mouth turned up, but for the briefest of moments. “But you cannot change the past. You can only learn the lessons it teaches you and be better in the future.

A weight felt like it was lifted as she spoke. Relief washed over her body, making it tingle for a few moments before the feeling faded. At last she had fully found acceptance. Her depression had been lifting little by little over the past months, but she had not been able to forgive herself for her choices. She’d held herself hostage, torturing herself with the thoughts of what she should have done, over and over. But now she was done. It was over. She was able to take her lesson and move on.

A serene smile slowly spread across the Silrosian’s face. “Thank you,” she said, her gratitude reflected in her summer-meadow green eyes. Liahal may never fully know and understand what she’d done for Niven this brightening. But it had been everything Niven had needed to heal.
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Old June 7, 2017, 11:18 PM   #13 (permalink)
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”It doesn’t wear at you, to not know?” It wore at Liahal. It hit every nerve and rubbed every wrong way to not know. It was Liahal’s endless sense of curiosity and desire for knowledge that drove her up all this way in the first place. ”But this is the difference maybe,” She paused, considering this. ”Between us and the trees. They live but perhaps they do not feel.” Liahal could not fathom such an existence, where she did not have the capacity to feel pain, and love, and joy. What kind of existence would that be? What purpose did food and drink serve if one could not melt in love with a young couple? What was the point of crawling out of bed every brightening if one could not feel the wash of a mother’s pride? Surely, Liahal’s position in this was a unique one (she after all, could experience many emotions most could not), but the bottom line was still the same.

”I take it back.” A change of heart. ”I do hope they feel.” You took the pain with the pleasure, the good with the bad. It was part of living.

At Niven’s answer, Liahal’s attentions broke from the pine needle crown and lifted to the Silrosian. ”You are a better elf than I, seler’.” She made a small sound from behind the crown, something of a scoff. ”Pride is a wicked beast.” Liahal, she would have also done things differently. She would have counted all the ways Callon had failed her, and then she would have admitted every foul thing his daughter had ever done before his death.

And now Niven spoke of lessons, and learning. ”This is true.” She had finished the crown now, fastening it into a full circle. ”Perhaps the trees are too complacent here. Perhaps their vibrations will be different at a lower altitude.” She finished weaving the last blossom into the crown and presented it proudly, as a child might. ”It is not unlike you and I, yes?” She spoke of the crown, of course. ”Forest needles, dogwood blossoms. They do not belong together, but they weave together as if they might, hm?” She leaned into the elf, placing the crown atop the woman’s head.

And she thanked her, a soft expression passing the Silrosian’s already delicate features. ”It is just a crown vanima, thank the trees.”

Her arms lifted above her head, reclining into the slope of the mountain until her head found the ground beneath it. ”If I did not like whiskey so much Niven, I would never return to the city.” A druid’s life was here, in the wilds.
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Jun 21, 2017: 20:56 RosieKyrillos: you ALWAYS get the power

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Old June 9, 2017, 11:56 PM   #14 (permalink)
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The finished product was lovely, there was no denying that. The Silrosian had never seen anything so intricate and delicately weaved. Niven ducked slightly as Lia placed the crown upon her platinum locks. She considered the comment about two unlike things being weaved together. “I suppose,” she replied, slowly, “But they both have the fact that they are both plants at the core of their being. A common ground to start from.”


Niven smiled to herself as Liahal waved off her thanks. It was clear that the pretty purple elf misunderstood the reasons behind it, but Niven didn’t feel the need to correct her. It was enough that she knew what had transpired inside her own head.


As the Trelorian laid back against the ground, Niven sighed softly and nodded. “The cities have their virtues, for certain, but surely they have nothing to compare to the wild and untamed beauty of the forests,” she countered, looking at the greenery that surrounded them. “While I love being in the towns and cities, I need the forests when I need to centre myself again. At my home, I have the town close, and the beach and sea outside my door. But nothing makes me happier than a walk in the woods that line our property. To be one with nature and commune with the trees…. It feeds my soul in a way nothing else does.” She turned to look back at Liahal. “It’s as if that is where I am truly at home."


A few moments of silence passed as she sat and looked at the purple elf and the Silrosian considered all that she knew about the elf. Chords of familiarity struck deep in the recesses of her brain. "Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as if someone had lit a candle behind them. "You are a druid! I had a friend who was a druid who could turn himself into a tree!" All of a sudden it all clicked into place. "What's it like, being a druid? I feel like it must be amazing essentially being one with nature..."
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Last edited by Niven; July 1, 2017 at 02:56 AM.
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Old July 3, 2017, 01:30 PM   #15 (permalink)
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She considered this, the blossoms and the pine needles being one in the same. The blossoms were surely fitting for the pale haired elf, in all their delicate and exotic beauty. She supposed that made herself the pine needles. Sharp, but protective. Or something.

"One in the same." She agreed. For all the pride the Quel'anthasan kept for her pure roots, it was soothing to be able to sit under the shade with another elf. To talk of trees and regrets and the things that others might not understand. It reminded her much of Elliathiel, but Liahal would not allow this to end so poorly.

Lia was peeking through the leaves of the their shading tree, finding the puffy clouds that float above them. One resembled that of a chalice, or was it the gaping mouth of a lion? Niven was speaking, she could hear the words enter her ears but they would not make much sense, the hedgemage instead lost in this inward debate. "What do you see, seler?" She had not meant to be rude, but her finger was pointing toward the cloud, green eyes nearly glazed over from the staring so closely at the suns.

She would wonder if Niven would see the chalice first, and what would that mean for them? Of course, if she saw the lion...

But Niven would exclaim and Liahal would respond, startled and nearly jumping upright. It would take a few moments for her heart to steady from the outburst, but it came soon enough. And Niven's eyes were still just as bright, perhaps filled with more promise and enthusiasm as they had been since meeting. What was it like? "Do you want to feel it seler?" It was only the smirk of her lips that might hint toward her intentions, but it had always been Liahal's duty to share.
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Jun 21, 2017: 20:56 RosieKyrillos: you ALWAYS get the power

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