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Post by Harbor on Feb 24, 2016 20:32:00 GMT -5
Elske and Fenir went out an hour before dawn for fresh air, needing to get out of the city, and leaving that early guaranteed that they could do so without any fuss. The gates were typically closed at that hour, but they weren’t trying to keep people in.
Elske still wasn’t comfortable enough in Uru’Baen to sleep without her rib-brace, but having been wearing it now for several years she could sleep perfectly well with it too. Its straps and buckles over her shoulders and around her back—like a strangely patterned vest—had rattled and pinched and squeaked and chafed at first. Now the skin they rubbed was tougher, number, and the leather softer. Nothing much could be done about the buckles besides putting a layer of leather between their chill and her skin, but Elske wasn’t accustomed to living a life of comfort; she didn’t care.
She left most of her scant belongings in her room—on the vanity she never used for its intended purpose—so no one would fuss too heavily or send the cavalry out looking for her. Immediately assuming she had run off and never intended to return and had wholeheartedly abandoned her assigned occupation did not seem to be how Lord Camarat would first react, but since she still wasn’t settled enough with being in his presence to treat him with anything more than abject suspicion and a sometimes downright lack of civility, she felt she owed it to him. He couldn’t know that she considered her vague words as binding as a promise, and that she took it upon herself to never—if at all possible—betray a promise. She likely gave him enough irritation already not to add to it by causing him outright concern.
It took her only forty minutes to reach a place sufficiently far from the city for her to feel slightly less leery of it, Fenir loping gleefully at her side. She’d have to go through all his fur and cut it to half or a quarter of its length soon, as the season grew warmer. The process took hours, considering how thick and tough his fur was, and how large he was. She could lay her hand flat on the hound’s shoulder while standing straight, and had yet to meet a larger dog.
”I wonder what they’ll think of us when we finally find our way back,” she said to Fenir as they slowed on the top of a long knell, sweeping back and forth like sand dunes in the Hadarac. ”Think we slept out here, likely. Though we’ll be a fair sight by then.” Despite the cool air she was already sweating—the expanse of leather pressed flush to half her torso had that effect. It was at its most useful in the winter, though.
A faint, fog-muddled bleat sounded from somewhere off to the north of them, and both she and Fenir turned, the latter raising his shaggy ears. Fenir craned to look up at her.
Elske nodded. ”Felak antou.” Find sound. She had trained him in a language she had designed herself, to lessen others’ ability to attempt to influence the hound, not that she thought they’d be able to. Fenir was rarely around other sentient beings, and she’d never taught him to trust or obey them.
The great hound trotted off, in no particular hurry since she hadn’t asked him to be. He paused to sniff at clusters of grass, clumps of dirt, knuckles of stone, sometimes wending back and forth across the dells. They heard another bleat—the light was just glowing around the eastern horizon now, pale yellow, edged with pink against the blue mist—somewhere to Fenir’s right, but she didn’t need to guide him; he knew what he was following, and was trained to also think for himself.
”Oh, bollocks.” Elske put her hands on her hips when Fenir sat and whuffed at what he’d found. It was a moose calf, roughly his height but far skinnier and leggier, wandering aimlessly across the next hill over. It had spotted them already and deemed them not a threat. It was only partially right—they had every capacity for being a threat, but it couldn’t know they wouldn’t be. Elske rubbed Fenir’s ears and chest the way he liked, crouching to reach. ”Hoorin am, hoorin am.” Utmost praise, gratitude. She slowly stood, and began humming low in her throat, among the same tones as the calf’s mother would use, though she had no ability to imitate the actual sounds.
The calf turned toward her. Elske motioned for Fenir to stay where he was, and she crept toward the calf, staying low and as small as she could, one hand outstretched. It wasn’t running away yet. It edged sideways, uncertain. Elske continued humming, maintaining her slow approach, stretching it out over several minutes, gradual. Until fifteen minutes later she stood close enough to lay a gentle hand on the calf’s shoulder. Its skin flickered, recognizing her touch as different from its mother’s. It was a boy. Elske unhooked her flask from her hip, cupped her hand tightly against her thigh, and filled her palm with water. It nosed at it, recognizing the smell, but couldn’t lap it up just yet. It hadn’t learned how.
Calves needed to eat every few hours or they’d starve within a day. This one’s mother had likely been eaten by now, so Elske continued running her hands over it, humming softly, and circled it to check for injuries or illness, letting it grow accustomed to her scent. When she slowly backed away before it, it took one plodding step forward, and she smiled.
At their slowed pace—Fenir keeping his distance for now at her request—it took them two hours to return to the city, but by then its gates were open. The guards didn’t want to let her bring a wild animal so blatantly in from the surrounding lands, but she flipped out an emblem representing her new occupation, and they quieted, uncertain, gritting their teeth. Maybe some of them knew who she’d been once. She didn’t particularly care.
The ladies in the kitchen shrieked when they saw what Elske had brought into the castle, but Fenir—now on good terms with the calf—kept the creature occupied at the door while Elske retrieved a pot of butter, then they went out to the cows’ stables. The milkmaids and milkmen, in contrast to the kitchen maids, laughed outright when she came in and made her request, quickly finding her one of the oiled sacks meant to feed those creatures of similar size who had lost their mothers. Only then did she get the calf to eat, dumping the butter in with the cows’ milk to fatten it, and holding the bulging sack high so it could suck, drenching the tops of her thighs and knees with splattered drops while it hurriedly did so. Elske nearly grinned.
*Elske's new 'position'/occupation is as an assistant to Camarat the Dragon-Spirit-Wizard.
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Post by Galeron Aeda on Mar 5, 2016 0:03:36 GMT -5
Skalos had been traveling for a couple of hours now. He preferred to travel early, sometimes even before sunrise. His horse had grown muscular and fit from all the traveling the Varden General did. Just as the sun began to rise, he could make out the silhouette of Uru'baen, a pointed spear jutting out from the smooth landscape. The rolling hills were covered in morning dew, the small clear drops mixed with the soil and plants to give off a particular aroma. It gave Skalos a sense of hospitality, he was a dwarf whos home was the outdoors. He traveled endlessly because that what he liked to do, even in his adolescence he had spent his time traveling and scouting for the Varden. It was a job irregular for the dwarves, many of his race preferred to stay inside their caves and chose to focus more on their world than the one around them. His horse neighed, returning Skalos from his day dreams to the reality. "You want to get going don't you?" It was a miracle that his horse liked traveling as much as he did. He spurred the creature, the cool wind brushed against his face. Within the hour he could see the peasants and labor workers that surrounded Uru'Baen. He greeted them, and many of them greeted back, they knew who he was since he tended to come in and out of the city so many times. As he neared the gates, he slowed his horse to a trot. As he got closer, the shadow coming off the stone city enveloped him, and his eye took a moment to adjust to the change in light. He did not realize that he was already next to the guards, their dull, grey, metal armor, blended in with the shadow coated stone. Darkness lay on one side of he city like a mantle, while the other bathed in sunlight. The guards motioned him to the inner walls saying "Go on ahead, General" They two recognized him from his back and forth movement between Uru'Baen and the rest of Alagaisia. Skalos made his way into the main keep, he tied his horse outside, and got off, his boots making a sharp, quick, sound as they struck the stone underneath. As he went in, and he said his hello's and good morning's to many of the people he remembered from his time in Uru'Baen. After the adventure he was hungry. He was hungry before he even began his travel this morning, but he did not ant to break his fast on old, stale, bread when he could have something better within the keep walls. Of course, he had to say his greetings to the women in the kitchen first. He tended to flirt and chat with them, they liked him being around since he made their boring work hours somewhat pleasant. He went in through the kitchen doors giving a loud greeting as he came in. Some of the ladies were startled, and other quickly dropped what they were doing and came to hug him and greet them. A plumper, older, raven haired, woman came and gave him a big hug, as she squeezed him he said "Whoa! That's a strong hold you got there Fleta! Hope you stay here in kitchens and don't start fighting for the Varden, because I might start having some competition!" Many of the ladies laughed, but Fleta gave him an abrupt, light, slap behind the head, and went back to work. Skalos had a deep hardy chuckle, his beard bobbed up and down, his one eye squinted, and as the muscles in his cheeks pulled on his lips, they made a crescent moon shape across his mouth. As the laughing settled down, one of the kitchen maids asked him "Hey, you met that strange red haired lady? "Can't say I have." Skalos responded, puzzled by the question. He knew almost every person within the keep wall, heck maybe even the entire Varden.
"She's by the cow stables, she is. Heard she was Camarats new assistant! Brought in a moose a couple of minutes ago!"
What the kitchen maid forgot to add was that it was a baby moose, and the only image Skalos could picture in his mind was a full grown adult moose inside the kitchen. The thought made him laugh lightly, and came to the conclusion that the kitchen maid must have missed something, but he preferred to go look for himself. "By the cows' stables you said? I'll go check in with her. By the way Fleta, I'm sorry for the joke I made. Could you make me the ham, egg, and cheese thing you always make for me?"
She said nothing but gave a curt nod.
The dwarf followed up with a clever remark "I better get someone to taste the food first, because I'll think she'll poison it this time!"The kitchen ladies laughed once again, this time Fleta joined in. Skalos walked out with a smirk in his lips, leaving the commotion of the kitchens behind him. He made several paces to the cows' stables, as he neared them, the stench of farm animals crept into his nostrils. It was a smell he had become accustomed to but did not like by any means. As he walked around several milk maids and milk men with smiles on their faces, he heard intense lapping coming from an empty stable. He peeked around the wooden barrier and found a fair, red haired woman, with a sack of milk held high, and a moose near her lap, sucking on one end of the bag as if it were the teat of his mother. Skalos saw a shuffle from the corner of his eye and turned his head to see a beautiful dog sitting nearby.
The General found the sight extremely strange, but remained calm. He crouched down next to Elske, and wanted to greet her, but said nothing, he did not want to scare the calf by saying anything. Being near it already disrupted the calf's feeding enough. He simply sat down, silently, looking at the red haired woman. He tried to guess her age, he placed her at about thirty, later twenties, and she was quite stunning for a human. She wore leather vestments, something that was not generally seen on a pretty face like hers.
( Haven't ever really written a post this long I think. Didn't check it for mistakes, sorry about that, I'm too lazy.)
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Post by Harbor on Mar 5, 2016 10:34:50 GMT -5
”Fenir, sidal,” Elske said to her vigilant hound as the moose knelt on its knobbly knees and yanked heartily at the sack. She nodded toward the moose once she knew she had Fenir’s eyes again. ”Sidal.” Guard. Fenir may or may not understand why his mistress wanted him to help her guard a moose, but he was often smarter than others gave him credit for—she just didn’t want to make the mistake of assuming too much of him and falling short. Fenir had never failed her before; she didn’t want to set him up for disaster now.
Fenir stood and sniffed the haunch of the moose calf again, then ambled to the mouth of the stall to look out, assessing his new assignment likely, judging all the possible risks. As much as Elske disliked being in a stall—they had only one quick exit—she guessed the calf would prefer being surrounded by stillness, and the milkboys and milkmaids were not known for idleness. At least not at this green hour of the morning.
Fenir huffed when he spotted someone approaching, and since he hadn’t yet deemed the person a threat Elske told him to allow the person to approach still if they wanted to—her designed language had been difficult to come up with, since she’d had to avoid the words of the three languages she knew so not to confuse him when she spoke them, but in some ways the other languages had also opened her imagination to different sounds and cadences not typically used in Alagaesia’s commonest words. On another day she might have told him not to permit the visitor within the vicinity, but she’d managed to do a non-hateful thing today, and it put her in what qualified, for her, as a good mood.
Elske didn’t look up as Fenir backed up to sit between Elske, the moose and the open stall door, permitting the visitor to pause in the doorframe as she assessed him from the unlifted corners of her eyes. She then allowed a tiny smile. Of all the races, dwarves were the ones she disliked the least. At any rate she’d had far fewer instances of calamity between her and the dwarves in comparison with her time spent among them than she’d had among humans and elves. Bloody elves.
The calf was edgy around this new fellow, even despite his diminished height, and finished sucking in the last dregs of the buttered milk in a hurry, splattering more of it over Elske’s vest and trousers. As she hung the dripping sack on the wall beside her she calmly wiped a few drops off the side of her face. The calf nosed at the loose sack again. ”No,” Elske murmured, still sidelong-appraising the dwarf. ”Let it settle and drink some water first.” She nudged the calf’s head away from the collapsed sack again and toward the low water trough. He wore travel-appropriate clothes that had evidently been in use for quite a while, but carried himself with the stature of either great confidence or nobility, and it could easily be both. The scar impeding his one eye intrigued her, as did most marks of others’ histories, but the eyepatch made it harder for her to identify which weapon might have made it. Besides, when she’d been in the war she hadn’t stuck around after to see what all the wounds and broken bits looked like when they healed—she wasn’t qualified to do any more than guess at what might have caused the damage. It didn’t seem to bother him, at any rate. That gave her at least one more reason not to be irritated with him before he even spoke. That and he’d stopped at the door, in no way yet intruding.
To demonstrate her acceptance of his presence, she looked at him directly at last and greeted him properly in Dwarvish. ”You’re a long way from home,” she added. ”I thought everyone went back to Farthen Dur when the war ended—most everyone made that their first priority.” She couldn’t properly see him from around Fenir’s head—the hound was taller than she was when they both sat, so she murmured, ”Fenir, jahd,” and with a sigh the hound sank to lie along his elbows, still warily watching the dwarf.
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Post by Brenton on Mar 5, 2016 12:03:21 GMT -5
*Arathale would likely be someone she knows since he is training under Camarat
Arathale, once a proud and vicious soldier of the sky, was walking along the streets in his new role. He still stood at his astonishing height with his broud shoulders and wide chest, but now he carried a staff that he used to lean on occasionally. Accompanying the staff was a full beard that trailed down to the center of his chest. His hair was pulled back to keep out of his eyes.
This once proud dragon spirit was now a Wizard and therefore had slowly taken on that appearance a little more each day. But he did still carry his sword from when he was a dragon spirit. There were times to be placid but even the wisest pacifist had to know a sword was needed at times.
At any cost, the Wizard simply enjoyed walking the streets and observing the citizens of Uru'baen. Their lives were so fascinating and the way they obliviously plodded on intrigued him. As Arathale walked toward the stables his mind snapped to the present. Elske was in there, feeding a moose calf it seemed, but there was an unrecognized presence as well. Being the assistant to his mentor, Elske was one of the few people that Arathale would go help if she needed it.
So the Wizard placed his staff firmly with each pace and walked into the stables. Briefly he reached out to the moose calf and let him know mentally that he was a friend and would bring no harm. Then Arathale walked into the immediate surrounding of the stall and stopped, leaning deceptively on his staff and acting out of breath. If it were an enemy dwarf, for the presence had been a dwarf, then it would be best he not know how agile Arathale really was.
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Post by Galeron Aeda on Mar 5, 2016 16:43:53 GMT -5
Skalos smiled at Elske. She didn't introduce herself, or even greet him, she seemed straight to the point "Farthen Dur was never really my home. I'm Skalos, former General of the Varden, and currently part of Lady Nasuadas scouts. I help make sure the peace is being kept after the war. I take it you're Camarats assistant?" His voice sounded like the deep bellow of a war horn next to her voice. He looked apon the moose and then the hound. It was a big dog, well trained too from what he had just seen "What language do you speak to him? It does not sound like the ancient langauge or even Urgal... He's a beautiful hound... May I?"
He held out the back of his hand to the dog. Just letting him smell his hand before proceeding to pet him. Just then, he heard a slight rustle to his left and found an older wiser looking man. He hadn't notcied him because he stood in the blind spot of his disabled eye. He turned his head to see a person with a long beard, a sword, and a staff. From what Skalos could gather he looked like a wizard, probably one of Camarats' own men as well. He looked very robust and strong, but seemed tired from the walk. Skalos waved a hand in greeting but did not want to raise his voice to get it across the room, at least not when the baby moose was so close, and when there was a dog ready to leap at him in an instance.
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Post by Harbor on Mar 5, 2016 17:20:10 GMT -5
Elske nodded to his introduction, often curious to how others related to one another—by means of their occupations, at least; it helped her better organize individuals—but her lips tightened marginally at his correct identification of her. Not because it was correct, but because of its veracity. She wondered if she would ever be comfortably in this position. Unlikely. But due to its apparently high rank and somewhat public nature, she put effort into hiding her distaste when she blandly nodded, ”Indeed. Is the peace doing as it ought to or are there still a few stir-crazy individuals to manage?” She spoke no louder than she had to—what was the point?—and appreciated that he did the same. One could sing trees from the ground with a voice like his. Was he larger than most dwarves? She would have to stand beside him to remember. Visual comparisons were not one of her strengths.
”It is a language of my own design,” she answered, spotting a sore mostly hidden amongst the shaggier fur running down the back of the calf’s leg. Looked like it had caught on something. She shifted forward onto her knees and lightly peeled the stiff hairs away from the small area. It was half-healed already, and would do fine on its own, but looking after it gave her something to do. Sentient creatures expected more of each other in their interactions than did animals. One did not usually simply sit and glare into their own hands while conversing with others.
It was good of the dwarf—Skalos—to have asked, though Fenir wouldn’t harm him on principle unless Elske told him to be more harsh. ”Fenir, shtuned,,” she said, suggesting that the hound rise and greet the dwarf if he so wished. Elske’s wary cordiality with the newcomer eased another fraction toward congeniality when he waited to extend his hand until Fenir stood with a light sway of his plumed tail, sniffing eagerly over the dwarf’s fist. Elske hadn’t treated the dwarf like an enemy, nor named him one, so he gladly sniffed over every piece of the dwarf he could politely reach. With Elske generally avoiding other people, he didn’t often have the chance to do so, and she tucked away a smile at his enthusiasm. ”You are welcome to pet him now,” she added once Fenir had finished with the majority of his inspection.
Elske was poking absently through her satchel for a bottle of cleaning solution and a swab when Arathale arrived, and Elske suppressed another sigh as she nodded to him. Anyone possessing more than a dust mite of magic made her leery, therefore the dragon-spirit-wizards would put her on edge even if they were her own mother. When he paused in the doorway beside the dwarf she nodded to him and tipped a few drops of the cleansing fluid on a rag and dabbed it against the pinked skin on the calf’s leg. Another thought occurring to her, she turned to Arathale and pointed a finger at him from the fist with the rag in it, voice suddenly stern, switching to the more common language of Alagaesia. ”And don’t you dare get involved with either of us, please.” In case he felt the need to work any form of magic. But she didn’t want to say that directly, as it was not her right to expose him as a sorcerer if he and Skalos were strangers. ”If either of us needs help I will ask for it.” She twisted to look over her shoulder at Skalos. ”I take it you speak this language as well?”
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Post by Brenton on Mar 5, 2016 17:40:14 GMT -5
Arathale chuckled as Elske made it known she did not wish him to get involved. Apparently the act had not deceived her but had been effective against the dwarf Skalos. So this was Skalos of the royal scouts. That made sense why he would be here in Uru'baen then. Without hesitating a beat, Arathale looked at Skalos and switched his mind to formulating dwarvish instead of the common tongue.
Forgive Elske for her sudden aggressive behavior. While I may look frail and tired on the outside I am well known for my strength and ability to overwhelm most anyone. My name is Arathale, Wizard and current pupil under Camarat. I assume you are Skalos Stonetree then if you are a scout.
Arathale looked at Elske and grinned broadly as he switched effortlessly to the common tongue and stood straight. But of course my dear. I would never dream of involving myself against allies no matter how dangerous they may appear. His eyes twinkled as he let a soft deep laugh rumble from his chest and through the air.
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Post by Galeron Aeda on Mar 5, 2016 20:52:36 GMT -5
As the dwarf felt the tension rise, his natural instincts kicked in and he grabbed the grip of the greatsword. He wore the blade at a 45 degree angle across his back, with the grip situated between his head and his right shoulder. He responded to Elske by speaking in the common tongue "I do." Even though he merely said two short words, his thick dwarvish accent was still apparent. What both didn't know was that he spoke all languages in Alagaisia, even those that Nasuadas' clansmen spoke. He hadn't mastered them all, but could engage in conversation as well as read almost anything. Nasuada had taken interest in him as he proved himself to the Varden, so she suggested he learned most languages in Alagaisia. The skill had proved more than useful. Yet, when the wizard spoke in his tongue it surprised him. As Arathale finished his speech Skalos dropped his sword arm and confirmed that he was, indeed, Skalos Stonetree.
Then he responded by saying "Elske, I understand your worry. Most everyone is weak when compared to magic users. It is a thought I have come to terms with. No matter how long we train we may never best a Rider, and elves might always have the upper hand. It is also something that disturbs me greatly as well. Whoever wields magic, wields power." He then directed his words to Arathale "I heard of the name Arathale around these parts, but never had the pleasure of meeting you. I was told of your great beard, and aye, I must admit yours is quite splendorous. I made sure I beat everyone within the keep walls with mine own beard, but it seems I have new competition." He chuckled. He didn't want such tension in the room so he cracked a joke, something he did often. Sometime his jokes got him in trouble though. As Fenir stood next to him and Elske, he turned his attention to the hound, scratching him behind the ears. All the while looking between Eslke and Arathale.
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Post by Harbor on Mar 5, 2016 23:27:12 GMT -5
She didn’t mind the chuckle. For the most part, she didn’t begrudge people their humor, even if it was at her own expense. But when Arathale opened his bloody mouth her jaw set and she slowly rose to stand, right shoulder to him. ”No,” she retorted in Dwarvish as well, ”by all means don’t forgive Elske for making an entirely reasonable request considering how you and your master feel the need to bestow your bloody magic upon everyone and everything you believe you can influence. Forgive the rest of us for not wanting your influence.” Elske was generally too impatient to explain a thing more than precisely once, if at all, but it infuriated her that once was not enough in some instances. Did they not understand that forcing one’s magic upon an unwilling other was just the same as forcing their hands upon them? Elske had maimed people who laid an unwanted hand on herself or Fenir—the very fact that they were magicians, and therefore well able to defend themselves against her—was the only reason she had not yet attempted the same with the two wizards she was most often found in the unpleasant company of.
Elske made a frigid face at Arathale, tightly corking her bottle and throwing her rag over her shoulder. ”That is the problem with you people. You think only of your own dreams and never of anyone else’s.” She replaced the bottle in her satchel.
When Fenir hummed low in his throat Elske turned at the warning, noting that Skalos had risen as well, and had one sturdy hand on the hilt of the sword lashed over his shoulder. ”Whoever wields magic, wields power.” She straightened again, satchel over her shoulder. ”Indeed. My concern is their manner with which they wield it.”
Elske rolled her eyes at Skalos’s joke, and murmured to Fenir, asking him to remain with the moose calf while she sidled between the two men with her pot of butter in one hand and the empty milk sack in the other. She used the minute it took to refill it and work the butter in to pummel herself back into at least a tolerable mood, as opposed to a volatile one. Wizards were like smiles—never to be trusted. When she returned with the milk sack fisted shut at one end, most of its weight balanced on her hip, she sighed. ”Never did I think bringing back a moose would garner this much active interest.” She clucked her tongue to the moose calf, shyly pressed into one corner, and hefted the sack up again, standing because her knees ached, as the moose vigorously sucked on the end she’d released.
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Post by Brenton on Mar 6, 2016 0:20:48 GMT -5
Arathale, smiling dangerously at Elske, kept his voice soft as he spoke in the commanding tone he only used for unruly children. This woman was but a newborn in the eyes of his people and she would be best to learn that not all of them were as patient as Camarat or him.
You, girl, speak as if I have any reason to fear what you have to say of me. Yet I have not once forced magic upon anyone. I actually prefer to do things without magic as often as possible. However, you insist on trying my patience. I spoke the way I did because it is polite to explain to someone in their language why another is so irate. You assumed I belittled you. So, if you are quite finished I would like to finish my comversation with Skalos.
Arathale turned back to the dwarf and spoke in older Dwarvish, using dialects that showed his age. A true beard comes with the years. You will one day rival even I but I have a beard less magnificent than Camarat's for he is older than I am. Still I welcome the competition with someone for a change. Oh and you need not draw weapons in this city. If ever a time comes where a fight breaks out then the council usually settles it peacefully as quickly as possible.
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Post by Galeron Aeda on Mar 6, 2016 0:42:33 GMT -5
Skalos found it amusing how Arathale took the beard talk somewhat seriously. He noticed the way he spoke the dwarven langauge, and some of the words he used hinted towards an older lexicon, and one that was very vast. Whoever Arathale was, he was extremely wise, and had lived much more than a couple of centuries. "True..." There was a slight pause before he continued "...If Elske tries your patience so, then why come here? Did you come to see her, I or the calf? Any option sounds beyond the interest of a a wise, old, being. Hope you don't mind the bluntness, but I say things as they are." He said in dwarven.
He placed his back to a wooden pillar, and relaxed his muscles. He stared at the mans beard while stroking his own. Skalos' beard had earned him the nick name "Rustbeard" one that he was quite proud of. The beard was more than just hair, it held a status among the dwarves. It was a symbol of pride, that a man could go so long without having their hair cut in battle. It exposed a vulnerability, but that was the whole point of it. Thus, Skalos made sure to keep it well groomed, attaching several metal links to thick clusters of hair. As well as braiding it and oiling it.
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Post by Harbor on Mar 6, 2016 8:03:25 GMT -5
Elske had to resist the urge to snarl, and refused to admit that in truth Camarat was the one more munificent with his magic, and she hadn't yet caught Arathale acting similarly. But that was all magic-users wanted wasn't it? Use, use, use. It was a drug their own bodies produced. And it made them far more dangerous than anyone had a right to be. Her own 'dangerousness' hardly counted in comparison; Elske could still be beaten by true skill or luck, or by the bloody elves. It didn't seem fair to compare them.
Arathale's older dialect was less inclusive; she didn't know it. That was probably for the best as even once she returned she was still tempted to kick things. She wanted to coax the calf back outside to finish eating but stubbornly refused; she had been here first.
The bloody wizard and the dwarf were still speaking in their mysterious dialect--some words of which she could guess, but not confidently. We're beards truly that fascinating to them? Yes the dwarves had an entire culture rooted around them but wizards? Honestly she had yet to see why they bothered. They rather seemed like they would get in the way. Elske did her best to pretend that at least one had never bothered her with his existence.
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Post by Brenton on Mar 6, 2016 9:03:06 GMT -5
Arathale nodded sagely as he understood the curiosity of the dwarf. It was an honest question and it made sense for him to want an answer. With an ever inclusive wave of his hand at the surroundings, Arathale began in his older lexicon, occasionally slipping even further into the language once used by Wizards and dragon spirits. He caught himself each time and would restate the phrase in dwarven before continuing on.
I came here because while she may try my patience, Camarat is a dear friend of mine. He saw fit to trust her and accept her into a close position to us. Therefore I see fit to associate with her. In truth, I only stopped to see what the strange mind was near her. Turns out it was you and that calf over there. Then I got to have a conversation with someone who understands much of what I say.
Arathale rarely oiled his beard but he knew how much the dwarves cared for theirs. To them, a beard wasa badge of honor. To have one as long as Skalos' meant they were an adept fighter for they had yet to have it cut in battle. Whereas for Arathale it showed his aging. With each passing year he would see it grow longer. Of course, the Wizard would keep it groomed and occasionally use an oil to keep it healthy. But that was about it for him.
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Post by Galeron Aeda on Mar 6, 2016 9:37:00 GMT -5
Even Skalos who was well accustomed to most languages had a difficult time keeping up with Arathales vocabulary. He used words in a language Skalos had never heard, but thankfully the wizard had taken the time to repeat what he had said in a dialect that Skalos understood. He replied by saying "Well you did much the same as I. I'm enjoying this opportunity to meet new faces... But if both of you are working with Camarat musn't you get along? Who knows how many years lie ahead of you? It's too long a time to hold a grudge." Skalos tried to keep the peace between just ordinary bonds as well.
Even though it wasn't the objective Nasuada had given him, he tried nonetheless. His mind trailed off to thoughts of him fighting with his friends and family when he was young. Skalos hadn't truly fought with somone in a long time, maybe it was Nasuadas' directive that had changed him. Yet in a strange way he like peace as much as he liked battle. War just made life interesting, he liked to walk the fine line between life and death. It was exhilarating. Just by thinking about it he could feel the energy that surged through him then.
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Post by Harbor on Mar 6, 2016 11:14:19 GMT -5
Camarat’s name was being mentioned too. Elske scraped hair out of her eyes with her shoulder and wondered if they would see fit to take their leave of her at anytime soon. Her good mood with Skalos had been interrupted, and she wasn’t skilled in returning from ire to contentedness.
Their words slowly rose back into the age of Dwarvish she understood, and some of her ruffled feathers smoothed back down. Elske shot one glare toward Arathale as she listened to Skalos’s assumption. ”One would think,” she muttered, and added nothing further on the topic. She hated thinking about how long she may be here, let alone how long she may live. She didn’t look half her age even, and that was a struggle all of its own.
Elske rolled the top of the sack down, squeezing the last of the buttery milk down toward the punctures in the bottom of the sack and tried to keep the calf from sucking air. Milk had dripped down over its heavy lips and beardy chin. Give it a few more months and the moose could take part in their beard-comparison too. For now he still didn’t have much to argue with. Once the sack was empty she flicked it out and hung it on the wall again, taking the rag from her shoulder and dunking it in the trough, kneeling to begin scrubbing it from the moose’s thin chest. ”I know,” she apologized, because the water was cold. ”I’ll warm you up again in a minute.” Fenir left Skalos’s side and came over to help, and she let him, since his tongue was warmer than her rag. She just wiped off the spit he left behind so it wouldn’t crust.
”Oy! Elske!” one of the stablehands called, and Elske straightened so they could see each other over the stall walls.
”Oy what?”
”You done with that milking sack?”
”Aye. Want me to clean it first?”
He shook his head. ”Nah, chuck it.”
Elske took it off the hook again, rolled it up and flung it his way. He caught it with a word of thanks, and disappeared again.
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Post by Brenton on Mar 6, 2016 12:17:58 GMT -5
Arathale chuckled as he realized what Skalos meant. Just because Elske and I work in close proximity does not mean I am required to extend anything more than cordial acceptance. She has yet to earn my trust and even after purging my animal instincts I am still far too suspicious of new people who achieve status so quickly. Back as a dragon spirit it kept me alive many times. Now it simply keeps me aware of my surroundings.
Arathale glanced at Elske briefly and then sighed as he realized she probably didn't understand much of what he was saying. Dear Elske, as far as I can tell you have convinced Camarat of your innocence yet you are too jaded. I distrust you but that doesn't mean I can't be civil with you.
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Post by Galeron Aeda on Mar 6, 2016 12:31:53 GMT -5
Skalos sighed. It was hard to earn someones trust, especially someone that was centuries old, as he had seen with the elves. But maybe there was still hope for the two. As Skalos was about to say something a brunette kitchen maid came in shouting from across the stables "Skalos! Come! Your food is ready! It'll get cold!" She ran back off into the kitchens and out of sight from the group. He changed to the common toungue "Well, I would have liked to stay and talk for a while longer but it seems I must go. Nasuada will be waiting for my report as well. I hope to cross paths with both of you again, in more... Normal circumstances. I also hope you two resolve this mutual distrust." He gave his farewells to both, gave Fenir a soft stoke on the head and headed off to the kitchens.
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Post by Harbor on Mar 6, 2016 12:50:42 GMT -5
Gray-edged heat simmered under Elske’s skin again at Arathale’s words. But due to how he’d reacted last time she’d pointed out his misunderstanding she chose not to draw his attention to this new one just yet. Too bad Skalos appeared to be on Arathale’s side, but that was what happened when she was determined to be on no one’s side but her own. Which was too bad again, because had the wizard left well enough alone she might have even almost liked the dwarf.
One of the kitchen girls hollered for Skalos, and the dwarf sighed. Elske waved a hand in a half-hearted farewell and waited until he was most likely out of earshot and irritably stood, shaking out her rag and tying it to the outside of her satchel. ”Bloody hell, dear Arathale, I haven’t convinced sweetling Camarat of anything! I don’t give a damn what you think I too much am or too much am not, and I neither need nor desire your trust. Stop assuming that everyone else wants or even needs anything from you, and if you cannot make that leap with others I pray you can at least attempt to make it with me!”
Elske did her best to remain ‘civil’ with the wizard as well, but his repeated patronizations and asking others for forgiveness for her, trying to forgive or explain away her actions, was both beyond maddening and in her opinion highly disrespectful to her as an individual. Since having decided to make at least the attempt to be cordial with other sentient beings again Elske did her best not to be outright rude even if she wasn’t friendly, but the people who thought they had the right to cheerfully explain away others when they in truth hadn’t enough knowledge of said others to even determine their favorite color were the kind of people she most wished to avoid. Willful or careless kindness was harmful and degrading in the hands of people like him. And it wasn’t yet harmful enough for her to justify even attempting to harm him back.
Elske threw her pack over her shoulder and spoke briefly to Fenir, who circled behind the moose calf to help her encourage it out of the stall and back into the weak sunlight. She didn’t know where she was going yet, or how she’d convince the calf up and down the stairs to her rooms until it was large enough to avoid harassment from the cows and horses, but she was certain she’d find a way.
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Post by Brenton on Mar 7, 2016 16:41:43 GMT -5
Arathale groaned inwardly as both of them left, leaving behind the Wizard to mull over his thoughts. He really didn't have all that much to do. So the man walked from the stables and outside, looking around to see where he would go. Just as the Wizard was about to give up, he saw a fine grassy knoll for him to rest and play a little bit of the violin.
It was an instrument so very few people knew how to use because it took finesse and training of the mind as well as the body. Yet that was why Arathale enjoyed it so very much. Pulling out the wooden bodied instrument with its bow, he began with a slow and thoughtful tune. This music was what made him so capable of relaxing and meditating for he could calm down when playing.
Arathale soon was playing a slightly faster beat but just as mournful in tone, as he neglected to realize that a group of children were watching and listening. This was his way of being out of body essentially. When the song ended he began to play a more upbeat country sounding ditty on his violin just to bring his mood back up a bit.
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Post by Harbor on Mar 7, 2016 18:28:00 GMT -5
Four Days Later (This post subject to change depending on Brenton's reply in the chatbox.) Elske managed to coax the moose out of the stables and into the grass on the east side of the tables, where the sun was still rising, then remembered with a grumble that she’d left the pot of butter in the stall. So she prepared herself to scowl with Arathale again, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he had left, too. She retrieved the butter pot, returned it to its original owners, then got Fenir to keep track of the calf while she cordoned off a long strip of pasture where the moose could graze without being reached by the cows, which were generally less uppity than horses. Plus cows she could convince to stay in one place with a few lengths of string—horses just bowled right past them. The moose seemed to be doing well under her limited-knowledge care for the first several days, until it developed a wheeze in its lungs and a bit of a drip from its nose. Elske didn’t know how to treat moose illnesses, though she supposed they must be much the same as illnesses that afflicted other similarly-proportioned mammals. Unfortunately neither the draught for the cows nor the draught for the horses when they were similarly-afflicted appeared to be working, so within two days of the first sniffle she kicked the wall, muttered profanities to herself, and went to find Camarat. Further unfortunately, Camarat didn’t seem to be around. Granted, she’d never had a reason to look for him before, quite the opposite. But surely he didn’t wander around that much—as young as he may think he was he certainly didn’t consistently act like it. Elske kicked the wall again, went to check on the moose calf again, Fenir ever at her side, and decided to look for Arathale. When she found him he was playing music—a violin—which intrigued her just enough to balance her genuine ire into a vague irritability. She’d been able to play an instrument once, though she’d never have called herself a musician. The music she’d played had never left her parents’ house. Anyway. She stomped over to where he could see her and took a discontented seat on the hill not far from him, but out of arm’s reach. Fenir and the calf cropped some grass while she waited for him to finish his song, unwilling to interrupt.
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