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Post by Vanitypirate on May 11, 2019 12:32:51 GMT -8
 The soil turns marshy and soft, the further one ventures to towards the coast and its oceanside Hamlet. It was a steep climb up one hill, then slippery down another, following the road which wound around and around the hills as a snake would encircle a bird's nest. Yet the traveler on the road would make fair progress all the same, mercifully unbothered by whatever wildlife might threaten her journey. It seemed that, perhaps, the light of the fading sun cast away whatever evil might lurk in the Weald-- or it was the heap of humanity in such close proximity, one might notice from her vantage atop the next hill: the hamlet's sprawling town where the trees were cut away into flat patches of farmland and grey buildings, with their black chimney smoke towering into the orange sky as though to rival the clouds. By luck, Toustain's journey was nearly over, as all that was left was the final hill before she could cross the bridge over the ravine and be on her way to safety. It might do to hurry, however, before the sun could dip below the horizon. Almost on queue with the observation, heavy, clumsy-footed steps could be heard behind Toustain. Something was there. |
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Post by rosallora on May 11, 2019 16:31:40 GMT -8
She feels like she has been walking for hours.
From the accursed town she'd left behind, she'd headed some different direction, negotiating inwardly that she could find her way back by some common road. She did not - no, could not - continue along the path with the others, not with their thoughts towards her, not with their scrutinizing eyes. She was filled nearly to the brim with paranoia, and with every beam of wan sunlight fading from the world, she found herself more and more desperate. She clambers through underbrush, her boots nearly sinking into softer mounds of peat and brine, and the smell of sweat and fear cloaks her like a second skin.
Her eyes are wide against fading light and unseen predator. She takes hurried steps back, sighting the peculiar outline of a woman dressed in adventurer's garb. She opens her mouth to speak with trembling tongue, but she trips backwards over a snarl of roots instead, landing on her ass with an undignified clank, the impact sending the air ungracefully from her body.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 12, 2019 20:50:01 GMT -8
The figure rose, moving with a stiffness as though she were an intricate construct of levers and pulleys. In her fingers, which were cloaked by her long gloves, were mushrooms she had carefully snipped and was stowing away.
Swathed in dark robes, the bone-white, beaked mask seemed to pivot atop a pillar of black-dyed fabric and leather. It fixed Toustain with its thick lenses, as large as saucers.
"Hello." Said Florence; her monotone voice was as stiff as her movements. The only apparent hint of personality was the barely-noticeable Italian influence upon her accent. "You should be careful. If you fracture your coccyx, you will have a very uncomfortable walk back to town."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 13, 2019 11:31:22 GMT -8
/Arnulf/
"Keh..." It was something between a cough and a scoff, but in all measures it was unpleasant and mean, and it all spat out from a grouchy fellow in a mess of blonde hair that was only just pulled away from his sharp eyes that betrayed an intellect beyond his barbarous state of grime and blood. His face was long and wolf-like, and his nostrils pulled into a preternatural snarl caused by deep lines about his jowels which complimented a thin lipped frown.
"... Dumb cunt." He muttered under his breath as he stalked forward and out of the brush and tree he'd hid behind. He made to stand aside Florence, with his bow set loosely at his waist. String drawn halfly with a simple broadhead arrow set on the weapon.
The cruel posturing lasted for a moment, before his shoulders slumped and his eyes danced over Toustain, gauging her as a wolf might gauge a lamb.
"Are y'hurt, girl?" He called out and sheathed both bow and arrow with a speed that was impressive for the apparent decrepit nature of his cloth and person. The Haggard Hunter took a step towards Toustain and offered an open palm,
"We're from the Hamlet. Out picking bloody mushrooms... or something, what was it again?" He looked over to Florence again before thinking better of it,
"I'm Arnulf, and this daft cow is Florence." he smiled at Toustain, though it almost looked painful for the man.
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Post by rosallora on May 13, 2019 14:35:17 GMT -8
"S...Snn..." She starts to say sorry but it gets caught in her throat, turning into a groan of pain instead. Her eyes close, the world hazy and swimming before her, and she knows there's tears dewing up at the corners of her eyes. Her chest shudders with breath, just the feeling of drawing air in again hard to do after being winded. She was exhausted. Hungry. Afraid of the dark and yet so close to just. Lying there. Lying there and letting the night swallow her up.
She opens her eyes to see a man that was unused to smiling looking back up at her, the array of wrinkles making the expression unfitting on the face. He has a hand out. She should take that.
The vestal reaches and clasps onto it. "Toustain..." her voice is raspy from exertion.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 13, 2019 14:45:57 GMT -8
Behind her lenses, the good Crowgazer squinted at Toustain as she weeped, taking a moment to scrutinize her, to ensure that the tears were that of distress, rather than a worrying illness of the eyes. One was simply more dangerous than the other.
"I am Florence Novel, researcher, physician, chirurgeon, and apothecary. This is my..." She stops short of saying 'friend,' as that would be untruthful and therefore an unneeded statement. "...companion."
Satisfied with her more proper introduction than 'daft cow,' she continued:
"Are you hurt? Did you come from an expedition?" She queried with much interest, "Did your companions perish?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 13, 2019 16:40:47 GMT -8
/Arnulf/
"... Toustain? Sorta like Toussaint, I suppose." He offered softly, though it was clear drink had burned his voice to turn whatever melody it once held to something utterly growling. Arnulf tried his best to lead the girl slowly to a nearby fallen log to sit her on, where he took a knee and looked her over for any visible injuries.
Trying to see if there was any blood amidst the dirt.
"Slowly, you damn quack..." He spoke louder, but still in a far more tame measure than he was used to lest he spook the girl, he cast a glance over his shoulder at her in the same beat,
"... get your fat arse over here and give the little fawn a look over. Ask one question at a time. She smells of fear and death." Arnulf ordered curtly, before settling his eyes back onto Toustain's; there was a definite cool in his eyes, like a stream neath a clear sky.
His hand moved to his hip and opened a square pocket there, where he produced some greyish jerky. He held up the finger length stuff up to her, waving it left and right, hoping to see her eyes trace them. He offered them wordlessly.
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Post by rosallora on May 13, 2019 16:48:40 GMT -8
"I-.. my... my companions..." she follows, lamely, shivering with the fright of it all. She felt like things were perhaps too bright, or too dark, fear still running through her veins. They were in half-focus, somewhat blurred. Toustain doesn't like the sight of that at all. "I... Harina and Sophia... they kept going.. they're going to burn themselves in it, they're too bright..." her words are quipped murmurs, eyes welling further at the thought of them still out there, still in that too-bright dark, surrounded by evil. She does not want to recount what had happened, how she had failed, how she had despaired, how she had been accused. So much failure. So much failure from someone so small.
She does follow the jerky though, and she takes it in careful hands. She raises it to her mouth, and bites, then ungracefully tugs to free a part of the stringy, smoked meat. She sniffs, then swallows dryly. She rubs her throat. The mask at her side gazes up at her, eyeless and wordless, and she doesn't want to think about it, or that town, or the beings that were once within it. Or the women that still were. For the most part, aside from the mud and the sweat, she was uninjured. It seemed the damage that had been done was purely of the mind.
"Volundr... I... I think he... he left, he was... he was done, and... I..." she broke off, too afraid to travel with any one of them. She slumps forward, her elbows on her knees, and breaks into a loud, ragged sob.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 13, 2019 18:12:54 GMT -8
There was some disappointment in the way Florence's shoulders sank. She had hoped for corpses-- fresh corpses were a rare commodity, which Florence had no intentions of producing herself. As such, she was forced to simply come across them.
And it seemed she would not be doing that today.
"Be calm." She told her flatly, nonetheless approaching gently and making to sit criss-cross directly in front of the shaken vestal. From this angle and distance, one could see her eyes: dark, keen and sharp, yet tired: there were bags under her eyes, the hallmark of every overworked academic.
"I diagnose you with..." She took note of her breathing, her disoriented speech, and more obviously, her sobbing.
"...acute stress. In which case you are operating as normal. Drink some water." She offered her a tin canteen full of, presumably, water.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 13, 2019 19:55:03 GMT -8
The jerky is surprisingly tame, perhaps old, but there are flakes of peppercorn and basil seasoning on it; it has a good texture and flavor, despite being in the hobo huntsman's pocket for who knows how long. Closer now, there was a surprisingly herbal odour to it... no doubt to mask the otherwise meatly flavor and scent from other potential predators.
It was a rational portion of jerky, it would certainly keep her for a time, though the thing would certainly be gone in three bites or less.
/Arnulf/
"... fucking hells woman; don't you've something useful on you?" Arnulf huffed, not even bothering to give the Doctor a look, he cast his gaze down to scowl and shake his head like a frustrated hound before looking up to Toustain; the smile faded as it proved too much effort to sustain. He fixed her with a steady squint and looked the Vestal head to toe; another soul lost in these woods... lost in this Darkest realm that ought not be here.
It pained him to see them, and he couldn't keep it from showing in a flicker of his eyes.
"Right... alright..." Arnulf stood up in his muttering and looked to the water Florence was offering, before he looked back down to Toustain. Would've been nice to have a lyre or a candy right about now. She didn't look the sort to like wine, anyways; women who valued the cloth and looked as humble as this one did always took their oaths too seriously.
"... Look, girl; we'll get you out of these woods and back home. Don't worry about anything but that for now, hear me?" Arnulf's attempt at kind words came out with a growl and snarl as he rolled his shoulders irritably; it was bad enough to keep an eye on Florence, but now he had to care for another lost lamb.
"Mmmh, you took quite the fall; can you walk?" Arnulf placed one hand on his hip, resting the ball of his palm on his quiver, whilst he extended the other out to Toustain for her to rise. His eye glanced to the water flask offered by Florence with a gruff, jerking his head to the side,
"You can drink as you go."
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Post by rosallora on May 14, 2019 3:46:00 GMT -8
She chews on the jerky like it is her only comfort in the world, because it is. The voices of the other two drift in and out of focus, her mind picking up snippets. They're arguing, she thinks, or they're mad at her. They're probably mad at her. She inhales shakily, not wanting to feel the wave of tears that she could sense bubbling up within her. The man, she thinks, wants for her to get up. Get up and move. She can do that. She has to get back to town.
She takes the offered water and sips. It's lukewarm, but the moment it touches her tongue, it's the greatest thing she's ever tasted. Toustain takes the canteen with both hands, forgetting the mace that clunks to the ground beside her in favor of it. She closes her eyes, then removes the canteen from her lips, taking a heavy, steadying breath.
"I... I'm sorry." She pushes a hand over her dirty, tearstreaked face. "I don't think I heard what you said. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm alright. I can make it back to town." She has to be able to make it that far. She looks at her mace. Ser Roland definitely wouldn't approve of her letting her guard down. She picks it up hurriedly.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 14, 2019 11:37:13 GMT -8
"Behold. She is perfectly healthy. There is nothing to treat." Florence walked along in her heavy boots, as though on a pleasant stroll. "These are common physiological reactions to extreme stress. She will endure, and recover, with rest."
She thought on, pausing as she waited for the other two to begin walking with her. Evidently, she was thinking... a refined poppyseed poultice, inhaled or swallowed, would do well to calm her. It was a shame that she did not carry anything of the sort with her, but she made a mental note to seek out poppies in the future.
"Toustain, if your distress persists when you return to safety, you may seek me out. I shall concoct a calming salve for you."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 14, 2019 14:24:14 GMT -8
/Arnulf/
"Don't apologize, it doesn't matter." Arnulf shrugged brusquely and looked off to Florence, pulling away now that she was on her feet and seemed unmolested.
"Let's get you home then..." He muttered softly as he bowed his head and marched on after the Crowgazer, his hands moving to hold his bow before him with an arrow in the other hand. His mind drew away from niceties, he dared not look at Toustain lest his grim and dower come trudging up to stain whatever optimism she had left... which certainly wasn't much, given the dire state she seemed to be in.
The mask she had upon her hip certainly didn't match the rest of her garb, no doubt claimed from whatever venture she'd gone on. The dumb fools.
He massaged the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he trudged on...
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Post by rosallora on May 14, 2019 14:32:46 GMT -8
"I... I hope your own venture has been... nice." She doesn't know if the word nice is exactly right to use here, but it's the only word she can really think of in the moment that fits the bill. Profitable just didn't sound correct. Victorious? Maybe not that either. She walks, self conscious, trying to come back to herself. "I... I should still be out there with them. They kept going. They're still out there." She murmurs this to herself, worried, head looking in a direction, one she assumes is towards those ruins (it is in fact, not the right direction at all).
"Thank you for the water," she says to the doctor. She passes back the canteen, her grip on the mace already turning her knuckles pale. "I needed that. I... if I cannot find some comfort, I will. I will seek you out - what name? What do you go by? I'm. I'm sorry. My words are all. They're wrong." She's embarrassed and yet she can't change how frazzled she is, how out of sorts. She has the distinct feeling the woman has already said her title, but she can't bring it back to mind.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 14, 2019 15:49:00 GMT -8
"I am Florence Novel: researcher, physician, chirurgeon, and apothecary. This venture has been adequate." Florence repeated stoically as she lazily plodded along, still scanning the sides of the roads and between the trees for either of the reagents she was in search of.
Maybe today would prove fortuitous after all.
"What has your group fought?" She pondered aloud, following Toustain's gaze...
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