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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 12:47:47 GMT -8
There was an odd moment where Tilly felt a flicker of pity for the box.
...An inanimate object. She squinted at it and quietly doubted her own sanity for the other series of odd moments, then picked her way across the vines and brambles.
It was magic... she could certainly expect the whole of the flotsam to be magic.
She glanced back over her shoulder, with the intent to see if anyone was watching.
Tilly gave the box a firm nudge with her boot, as per usual, to discern its contents and determine whether swift obliteration was imminent.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 13:04:31 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
Making her way to the box was surprisingly easy; the odd bits of greenery, while looking perilous at first, seemed to clear like curtains to a bath.
Closer to the box, there was a definite clarity to the air; a refreshing spritefulness instilled into every breath she took closer to the box, yet there was a definite but natural fear, as though she were approaching a fawn.
The steel showed signs of rust and it was beginning to peel away from the jade slabs. It looked much sturdier from afar, but up close... There was a sliver of a crack where the steel of the lid had begun to part and recede.
When Tilly moved to nudge the boot, the box stayed sturdy, not budging an inch. The weight behind it was like moving a boulder.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 13:10:26 GMT -8
Satisfied with the boring reaction, or lack thereof, from the box, Tilly made to wedge the tooth of the pickaxe again beneath the lid and made to pry it open.
Scores of different outcomes rushed through her head: would the box vanish as soon as it was opened? Would it self-destruct? It could be filled with gold and silver and all sorts of pretty metals; it was certainly heavy enough to.
It all seemed too good to be true, but Tilly couldn't staunch that soaring feeling of joy as she made to see inside the box's contents.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 13:21:33 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
The crate's lid was heavier than Tilly could've imagined, but with skill and ease that might even surprise herself; the lid popped open after a brief push and leveraging. It slid off with a dull thud, but gave no sound of metal on metal; more like a log being shifted from is mossy rest.
Immediately there was a fresher aroma, as though it too had been packed inside the crate, and nestled within was a dark alcove of leaves and flowers and herbs. A herbalist's dream.
But, perhaps most curiously, rested in the center of the crate was a dagger, its blade hidden inside a boxy wooden sheath.
The design was missable at first, seeming to be a part of the decor; though the unmistakable hilt shape stuck out to Tilly. Though even that was tinted green, its grip winding like vines, and the pommel spread out like roots to a tree. Clasped by those roots was a brilliant emerald, more impeccable than those pressed into the corners of the crate. It caught the foggy light and, for a moment, glimmered against Tilly's face.
All in all, the grip was a bit long for a dagger; capable of fitting a hand and a half perhaps. And the box was roughly the same size. Closer to a shortsword than a dagger, in truth, though a hair shy of being either.
There were old and ancient runes carved into the boxxy sheath, and even without being attuned to magic, there was a definite aura of power to them. It wasn't intimidating, but it was definitely worthy of respect. Like a great, aged oak that'd held strong through countless years.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 15:41:34 GMT -8
Tilly paused. She watched the dagger for a long while.
She'd seen a whole collection of fancy, magical daggers before. One had bound itself to another man's hand, and would only come apart if the hand in its entirety was removed.
The other leeched her blood and drained her, leaving her exhausted and unwell-- until it was discarded in a well.
...Tilly paused some more and then thought it best to discard the latter thought, instead pushing her attention back on the green knife.
It didn't seem cursed. It was childish, but it looked far too friendly to be cursed: the other daggers were dark, scary, pointy, and appeared just as dangerous to the wielder as they would to their target.
Who ever heard of a murderous plant?
Tilly supposed she had, but that was beside the point.
She reached out to grasp the dagger by its handle and bring it up to the light.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 15:53:40 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
As she brought the dagger up to the light, she felt her grip tighten; almost reflexively, as the chorded vines of the grip twisted and suddenly stung for but a second, a sensation not unlike a twisting rug burn. It passed in the next moment, and the roots of the pommel relaxed; having tensed before, they seemed to move only barely after their initial tension.
The Dagger now felt like an extension of herself, as though the dagger was but another appendage. A term used by blade dancers aplenty, but in this moment... The sensation was real, literal, as it were. She could almost feel the blade at the end, hugging the confines of the warm, comfortable, woody box. It was dry inside, hard yet soft; a good resting log.
This extension, of course, had a hard thorn at the end; a blade still hidden, seemed to fill with pride in this moment.
The aura of fear before was vaporized, and replaced with one of noble purpose. A soothe of well being was instilled in her heart, a symbiotic contentedness.
Despite being a dagger, often a weapon of malice and guile; this vine-bound blade felt true and protective.
It yearned for a name.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 16:30:36 GMT -8
Tilly crouched before the box, now fully engrossed with it. She flinched momentarily, but when the sensation fell into something more natural, she relaxed.
The dagger was friendly, which was both a relief and a rarity. She certainly couldn't afford an amputation in a time like this.
She gently pivoted her hand, waving it back in forth. She got more comfortable on her knees and thought for some time.
As Taas put it, she could name the thing after what 'vibes' she'd gotten from it, so she thought on that:
It was green, plant-y, friendly, and fun. It didn't curse her (as far as she knew) and it certainly didn't require her to amputate her hand.
Suddenly, she smiled, and moved to remove the friendly dagger from its boxy sheath.
"Beansprout." Tilly named it outloud.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 16:35:39 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
Beansprout's roots stretched and seemed to wave in thought, before relaxing back into its natural mid-squirm state in a measure of contentment that pulsed from its hilt.
It was happy.
So crouched, from the corner's of her vision, similar roots to the ones that sprouted out of the pommel of Beansprout reached up and into the Emerald's that pocked the corners of the crate. The roots, behind the emeralds, seemed to each cradle a smooth flat rock; like a skipping stone with a slight shimmer.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 16:52:51 GMT -8
Tilly beamed back at the dagger that she had found a strange camaraderie with.
If she was going mad, she figured she could make do with just this: it was like having a friend she could put in her pocket.
Her eyes flickered to the shifting roots, and then back to the friendly knife,
"You don't mind the sheath, do you?" She asked Beansprout politely, holding the wooden sheath just beside it for emphasis.
She felt rather silly.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 17:02:05 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
The Blade of Beansprout shined in the light now; its blade had a slight wave to it, and was actually, mysteriously, a fair inch longer than the box itself. The material which composed the blade had an impossibly straight grain to it; stripes of grey and almost-black seemed to go in contrast to its wavy blade, unaffected by the smithery. Veins of white-green glimmered across its surface as well; what seemed to pulse every once and awhile to boot.
Where the blade met the grip was nothing; no crossguard, but the vines seemed to simply stretch to their fullest to hold the blade... in fact, it seemed the vines dug into the metal itself.
There was no denying the magical potential in Beansprout, and the arcane forging techniques that composed it.
In that blade, there was a pause to the pulsing, contemplating... Then the roots tensed and relaxed in what could've been a shrug of indifference as the pommel and roots seemed to stretch out again, seeming to enjoy the moment as it were; though its vines seemed to pulse and tense with an eagerness to move while daylight was up.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 17:15:11 GMT -8
"Ah, good. S'just so you don't poke me on accident and all." Tilly nodded to the friendly knife, watching it squirm in the daylight with a little smile before slipping Beansprout back into its sheath with utmost care, more than she would give to a regular dagger.
Regular daggers tended not to talk.
"I'll sit you right up here." She tucked Beansprout into her breast pocket, tip downwards, so that the handle of it was exposed to the outside air and sun.
Eyeing the emeralds along the chest, and the jade material of the chest, she scooted forward to examine it more closely...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 17:20:33 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
Beansprout's rooty stalks from the pommel seemed to relax, though they leant themselves more toward the sun; pointing towards it rather poignantly...
The Emeralds seemed nestled firmly into the chests corners, though four seemed a bit loose from the rust and could probably be popped out with the right amount of jimmey'ing.
All of them seemed securely socketed in the back(Inside the crate) as well, with roots digging into each emerald and holding it securely in place. Those same roots, from the emeralds, cradled flat rocks, about the size of Tilly's palm.
The jade, on the other hand, was all secure in the boards; the lid itself seemed the most portable, but even that weighed almost a hundred pounds in its own right. These were inch-thick panels that were designed to weather storms; and definitely explained its previously undisturbed state and crater.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 17:44:10 GMT -8
Tilly 'hmmm'd and reconsidered the placement of Beanstalk. Of course the plant-y thing would like the sun.
She rehomed the knife up in her hat, stowing it safely in the band at its base. The hilt of it would stick out, out of the shadow of the brim.
"Now then..." She whispered, both to herself and to Beansprout, and rubbing her hands together. She wantingly eyed each and every one of the gems, though the twisting vines gave her pause...
"Ah." She tapped it with her bare finger, in the center of the emerald, "You're not alive, too, are you?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 17:50:38 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
The Emerald gave no response, but Beansprout seemed to twist eagerly from his new position in her Hat; a slight tugging, like leaves falling on her head.
It knew something about the Emeralds.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 17:56:14 GMT -8
"Ah... what about these emeralds?" Tilly slipped it out of its sheath in her hat and held its emerald near the others with their vines.
"What've you got?"
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