Closed [Bronze Woods] Discovery [Aventis]

[Isolde Seibold]

15th of Spring, 515 AV
10th bell

It had been a year minus a season since the last time Isolde had gone out the castle gates. As she left the clamor of people behind (the clamor of safety, with the Knights in their armor clanking around, and the voices of great and contented crowds echoing off the high stone walls), she found she didn't feel a thing. There was no familiar feeling of fear or apprehension, like she once might have had not all that long ago. She just couldn't do it anymore.

Being afraid all the time was exhausting, especially for someone who could never sleep; and what did it help? Nothing. It had not helped her at all. Not when the ghost child had swatted her like a cow's tail swats an annoying fly, destroying her body and nearly killing her in the process. And not after, when she spent so much energy avoiding her own home
--yes, she was finally admitting that that place was her home now-- simply because the ghost child had known where it was, and might come back after her. All the fear had done then was run her into the ground until there was nothing left. And after that had been the long white haze of the mind-fog, and not knowing if she might come back out.

No. Fear had never helped her, not once. So what was the point?

She had to start out early to reach the Bronze Woods in good time, since this body was on the aged side. In her previous bodies, she would have run, just for the sake of saving time. This body, however, was creaky and sometimes ached, and she didn't want to strain anything.

Still, she reached the woods in good time. 10th bell or thereabouts, guessing from Syna and the shadows of the trees. It was a lovely day out. Not rainy, as it had been recently, and already the Winter chill was forgotten in favor of sprouting plants and fresh-growing grass. The colors were vivid, especially the greens of the budding foliage (it was a tiny bit early still for most blooms), the sky a merciless blue with not a hint of clouds. There was only a slight breeze, not even enough to ruffle Isolde's hood, like a bare breath against the face, and the ground was vaguely springy and damp feeling under her boots. Lovely. Really lovely. A fine day.

The Nuit meandered about the woods, one hand resting lightly on the dagger still tied to her belt, for maybe thirty chimes until she came to an appropriate spot. A little clearing in the trees, only probably 20 feet across in total and twice that wide, but no matter the size. It was large enough for what she had in mind.

These past days since the time she had... awaken (for lack of a better word), Isolde had been feeling sad. Too sad, almost dangerously so. As such, she had decided it was time to take up hobbies in the stead of taking... well, something else. One of the hobbies she was interested in was sculpture, especially combined with intricate carving: Vaughn had been into that, he'd especially liked wood and whittling, and what better to do than do something that might make her feel close to him, if only for a short while. So sculpting it was.

But rather than sculpt regularly, with tools and trade, she had decided to combine it with another of her skills: her magic. She had recently come to realize that she could perform more reimancy than just wind; now she also had earth. Earth wasn't fire, the element she had long yearned to control and which she had hoped to unlock within herself, but it was interesting and new besides. So why not exercise that, as well as her budding artistic interests?

Without further ado, the Nuit set to work. For some reason she felt compelled to roll up her sleeves, so she did, exposing pale and lightly-freckled flesh to the sky. Isolde lifted her arms, hands held flat and supine above her, palms up. She didn't close her eyes as she might have with wind, since wind was more about internal visualization than actual sight; no, earth you could see, feel. She needed to see it to mold it as she wished.

With a deep breath, she reached inside to her djed, which she always imagined residing in her core, behind the belly. This she prompted to life, and the magic filled her up, eager as it had always seemed. With a furrowed brow, she called forth res. Though with air reimancy it had usually taken the form of a gas, a strange, almost shimmering whitish-blue mist, this time she felt she needed something... more solid. More readily visible, and shapeable.

She breathed out slightly, and a cloud of res bubbled from her parted lips. Directing it with her eyes, she watched as it hesitated, hovering in front of her, then floated gently up, just above and before her head. Her hands, held up above, slowly bent at the elbows, drawing the palms inward, to face each other on either side of the small, shivering cloud. Slowly, slowly she concentrated on condensing the gas, bringing her hands closer and closer together, the cloud shrinking, quivering, growing shinier and more liquid as it grew ever smaller.

It started out as the usual mist... then became a fog of teensy dewdrops... then a collection of larger droplets as the dewdrops beaded together... then they collected to the size of raindrops... next to blobs of odd, clearish-blue liquid, the amount of which might fit neatly into the curve of a spoon. Finally, all at once, they joined together into one mass of liquid nearly as big as a fist. Experimentally, Isolde wiggled the fingers of one hand, directing the liquid res to move. It bobbled in the air, its edges wiggling and rippling, but despite the pressure on its shape it managed to stay liquid, and stay in one piece. Satisfied, the Nuit suddenly stretched all her fingers out at once, spreading her digits as wide as they'd go. With the motion she let out a lance of will and direction, and the res transmuted into a hunk of rock. It dropped from the air in front of her, thudding to the squishy ground at her feet.

The Nuit squatted carefully down --doing so slowly as to not damage her back and knees-- and inspected the rock. It was the same size and shape as the res had been when she had transmuted it, and of ordinary type (greyish, neither exceptionally smooth or rough, with no hints of veins or cracks). She reached out and touched it; it was cool, though not much more so than her own skin. When she picked it up and weighted it in her hands, it was heavy, though no heavier than one would expect a rock of this size to be.

Isolde made the notes mentally, making sure she would remember its qualities, and wondering if she should take a charcoal pencil and the journal out of her backpack in order to write down its characteristics. She paused, considering the rock carefully, then shook her head, slowly standing to full height once more.

As she stood, she held out both hands again, one lightly griping the rock she had created, the other empty. Isolde narrowed her eyes and bit her lip, and res burbled to life from her palm, this time of the mist variety again. The mist she channeled into a ball, perhaps the size of her head. The ball floated up, away from her palm, to hover waveringly before her. With her other hand, she shoved the rock into the center of the res, careful not to undo the res' shape... and then, in one dual effort, removed her hand from the rock and stepped back. Simultaneously, she transmuted most of the res into a powerful, tightly-controlled wind, holding it in place with the rest of the untransmuted res as it struggled to burst free.

The fist-sized rock juggled inside the ball of air, bobbing up and down and swaying back and forth, and Isolde took another step back, and another, concentrating on keeping the shape of the ball, on not letting the rock lose its place and slip out to the ground. She trickled more res to the sphere as necessary to keep it alive... then, abruptly slapped her hands together. The bubble of air popped outwards with the motion, in the direction that she indicated with her outstretched hands. The rock flew away from her as the air burst, the work of wind reimancy propelling it along.

It didn't go that far or that fast, arching lazily as if a ball that had been tossed underhand, but Isolde rocked back on her heels, satisfied. She wiped a chill hand against her forehead, a needless but ingrained gesture to show labor. Then she turned away and looked down at her hands, taking a deep breath, two, three, in preparation for her next attempt. This time, instead of just testing the reimancy, she would actually try her hand at some spontaneous sculpting.

OOCSorry for the length. I tend to use a lot of detail when it comes to magicky stuff. I'll try to cut it shorter next time.

Also if you prefer to come up with a different title that's cool with me, because I absolutely suck at titles. >:p

[Aventis]

Spring had arrived.

Yes, Spring. Spring had always been wondrous, and if not, then a gentle break from the burning cold, and a decent precursor to the not so decent blistering heat. It had always been… Decent. Comfortable. Spring had always been lazy.

Aventis was in strangely high spirits that morning as he lazily sat atop a muscular steed as it trotted its way along the Kabrin. The air seemed moist with morning dew, warm and comforting. Aventis was beyond thrilled the past few days, as he got to relive the yearly pleasure of watching the white (by then, brown) snow finally dissipate and disappear, revealing the yellowed and yet relieving grass below. The trees were yet stripped of their leaves and coated in the gentle dew of morning.

The squire squinted from atop his mount, the sun easily baking his eyes. Throughout the Winter he had chosen to remain within the infinite ceiling that was the citadel of Syliras, as to save himself from the cold, and had enjoyed very little of his time. Admittedly, it was still a tad brisk, and the squire could picture the dew drops that so eagerly stuck to the naked branches and the weak and harrowed lawns frozen, the icy fingers of winter ravenously stretching across their being.

And nonetheless, the squire was happy trotting along the Kabrin on his borrowed mount. The gates had been slow that morning, as the squire had noticed in his multiple rounds back and forth the one stretch of land he had gotten so closely acquainted to that morning. His patrol stretched from fifty feet or so to the left of the gate to fifty feet right of the gate. On any other day this might’ve been tiring, even tedious, but this morning Aventis was completely content with himself and his job, which he was intent on doing well.

He had been patrolling since the early bells of the morning, and it seemed as if he couldn’t be happier. Aventis, stuck in his reverie, had at first missed the peculiar occurrence.

Save the possibility of someone entering or leaving in the dead of night, the first person of the morning had left the citadel. This, of course, was not strange by itself. There would always have to be a first of the morning. It was the woman’s muddy intentions that had been curious. As of the norm, those who left were most usually hunters, occasionally traders or even Mithryn farmers, but this woman wasn’t equipped to be any of these. No produce was carried upon her back, and she did not follow the trail, rather to going straight into the woods. This was peculiar as well, seeing as she was not outfitted with weapons, as opposed to Aventis who had equipped himself with a rapier and his shortsword on his waist, a bow strapped upon his back, and twenty of his arrows held in a quiver just to walk outside the gate.

She just walked into the woods.

Admittedly, Aventis was not the smartest. He was not the sharpest sword in the armory. But he knew when something was amiss.

He knew for certain that this could end up in a less than satisfactory manner. He had tangled with mysteries before and had always gone the route of investigation, and when weighing possible outcomes, it had always turned out for the best.

He had allowed the girl a headstart of maybe five ticks before Aventis dismounted at the spot she had disappeared into the woods and began to pursue her on foot, his feet lightly crunching on the remainder of half-melted ice and snow. He had decided to keep a regular and upright gait, seeing as if he gave impression of just some other schmuck in the woods the lady probably wouldn’t think much of his presence.

She hadn’t walked far, and Aventis was able to clearly see her through the thinned and naked branches of the trees. She hadn’t walked far, not at all. Aventis could turn around and see the citadel clearly if he had wished.

The woman rolled up her sleeves, and Aventis knew the fun was about to start. He took up a position behind a tree behind her back, watching from behind its wide trunk as the lass did her business. He couldn’t really understand what he saw.

Aventis had certainly heard of magic before, and on rare occasions seen it done, but nothing like this. He had never seen anything like this.

Before him, a woman created a stone - a sizeable stone, in fact - with her hands. The squire couldn’t hide the look of confusion and flabbergast plastered on his face. Not only did she create a stone, but just after its birth, it flew. It flew right into the woods like a hyper bird and landed with a thunk.

“Petchen Hai…” Aventis muttered, holding his hands to his mouth as soon as he realized his mistake.

[Isolde Seibold]

The second working had planned to be greater than the first. Isolde was already calling up more res --this time it was pure liquid straight from the start, now that she better understood its creation and control. She was just stretching it between her fingers, figuring out what shape to direct it to become, when she heard a small noise. A voice, a little louder than a whisper, from straight behind. "Petchen Hai."

The Nuit felt her muscles tense, and she spun as quickly as she could, eyes wide and searching, her breath coming a little quicker. In her surprise, the res between her hands had unconsciously broken into three uniform shapes, each resembling a vague but familiar outline to anyone who had ever used a bow: arrowheads, but floating in the air and looking to be made of liquid. Isolde didn't think she saw anyone, perhaps they were hiding... but she knew someone was there. She hadn't heard any footfalls retreating or slinking to the side to round behind her again. But then again, she hadn't heard them moving towards her in the first place. Perhaps this body's ears weren't as good as she'd thought. That, or she had been too focused on the reimancy to realize what was happening...

Taking a deep breath, Isolde tried to figure out what to do. She could leave this place. But what would stop the person from following her further, and if they had ill intent they would never allow her back to the city in peace. She could call out and hope for a response, but she thought it unlikely she might receive one back. The person had not approached her, had stayed back and hidden, watching. That didn't seem like someone who wanted to speak. And they had seen... she had to assume whoever it was had seen her practicing reimancy. Technically she didn't think that was a problem, being as magic was only banned within the city walls. But she was a Nuit. The Knights, as well-intentioned as they usually were, might decide that they didn't like an undead practicing such power, even only near to the city.

Something very like fear prickled down in her stomach while she stood, deliberating, frozen, waiting for something to happen. She tried to shove it down. She was no longer afraid anymore, wasn't she? But there it was all the same. Waiting for her to return to it. Must like the mist.

No. In an effort to stave off the prickle in her gut, the Nuit made a rash deduction: perhaps the person in the woods was waiting for her response, just as she was waiting for theirs. So Isolde expelled another three puffs of fog from her fingertips, lining each behind one of the the arrowheads, and with sudden inspiration coiled them all into a long-familiar shape: three tiny twisters. In an instant she spread her fingers again, and the liquid-like arrowheads transmuted to stone, though she didn't know how sharp they might be... at the same time the twisters took to life, gathering air and the arrowheads in one go, spinning them. Adding momentum. The Nuit let go of the twisters, channeling their released energy into a funnel, which shot the arrowheads in the vague direction of the voice she had heard.

They were small and moved fast, but likely not fast enough to really hurt anyone, especially considering that she hadn't put any focus into trying to perfect or sharpen their shape. As they were, they clacked into the trunks of some nearby trees with a satisfying triple crack. Isolde stood calmly where she was, and called more res like fine mist gathering around her fingertips. This was to show that she was serious about what she next said: "Please come out, whoever you are. I will not try to hurt you unless you try to hurt me. But know that I will be prepared to react should you attack. Those arrowheads... were just a warning. I know you're out there. So please. I don't want to have to fight."

[Aventis]

Aventis clenched his teeth, gripping the tree trunk for dear life. He was certainly aware of the magic laws put in place. He knew this was allowed under technicality. He knew it was perfectly possible for this woman - this question of a lady - to be using magic responsibly. To be honing or practicing her skills.

It was also quite possible that the lass was doing something less than honest.

In fact, most likely, considering Syliras’ recent luck with magic over the past year or so.

The squire could very plainly hear the lady’s breath sharpen, her feet shift and the dirt under it crumble. He could easily infer that she had stood. And he doubted that she was standing away from him.

He dared not move. He dared not breathe. The only thing he had the courage to do was place his hand on the hilt of his rapier, ready to draw. Ready to defend himself, ready to defend his city, but not yet ready to draw. He honestly had no quarrels with drawing and doing his best to cut this woman down where she stood as long as it benefited his city. He honestly had no quarrels with yet another corpse, yet another casualty, another mistake to be learned from. That was fine. But today… He just wanted to do rounds and then go sleep. He hadn’t gotten sleep in so long, between rounds and training an-

His train of thought had stopped, it had halted and completely stopped. His eyes could just barely pick it up, but they did, and they lingered, ever did they linger, at the place where they had landed. It took a long moment to process. It took a long moment to understand what had just happened. Immediately, he knew it was hostile. He knew it wasn’t anyone else she was aiming at.

The woman had somehow fired bodiless arrows without a bow, any ammo, or any quiver to hold them in.

He held his breath and his tongue for what easily felt like a thousand bells. He gripped the hilts of his rapier and now his shortsword with white, bloodless knuckles, waiting for the next move, begging for the next move. He didn’t know what this was, what she was, but this… This was maleficent. He knew that much.

“Please come out, whoever you are. I will not try to hurt you unless you try to hurt me. But know that I will be prepared to react should you attack. Those arrowheads... were just a warning. I know you're out there. So please. I don't want to have to fight.” She pleaded.

Aventis hoffed. Just a warning, he thought. Now that the woman had sent a proposal, Aventis took it upon himself to consider. Reviewing the arrows, they had been… Slow. Slow and few in quantity. He wasn’t sure but he thought he heard one hit the tree trunk he was hiding behind and fall, meaning it was not quick enough to do any major damage. Then again, she could conjure bigger rocks… But it took her a second, and the distance between them was minimal. By the time she spent to make an arrowhead, Aventis could put an arrow in her head…

“If you don’t want to fight, don’t fire a warning shot.” He yelled out, a bit more confident. “This is the knighthood. I have a right to investigation. Please drop your weapons and kneel with your hands behind your head. If I so much as smell your magic you’re done for. Do you understand?”

[Isolde Seibold]

For a chime, maybe, it was quiet, and Isolde imagined that whoever had followed her was considering what she'd said. As she waited, she tried to stay strong, to be unafraid. If she had had a heart, though, it would have been beating double-hard and -fast in her anticipation... and had she had a heart, when the person next spoke it would have leapt into her throat.

“If you don’t want to fight, don’t fire a warning shot. This is the knighthood. I have a right to investigation. Please drop your weapons and kneel with your hands behind your head. If I so much as smell your magic you’re done for. Do you understand?”

The knighthood. She hadn't even considered that it might be one of them, and the words tightened her hands into fists. Her focus on her res hiccuped. That was enough to stop the mist around her fingers, and she let it dissipate, not trying to hold on any longer as she furiously thought what to do.

The knights. Of course she had to comply, and her fingers stumbled with dread to the dagger tied to her hip, ready to untie it. And yet. She paused. Her breathing had stopped completely. What if... what if it wasn't a knight, or squire? Brigands had pretended before. If someone wanted to get close to her before attacking, that would be one way to do it. At least, that would be the way to do it if they supposed she had any deference to the knights at all, which she did. Deference was likely, considering she was a citizen of Syliras and had just exited the city.

Another question arose, this one perhaps more frightening in its own way. Why had someone from the knighthood been following her? True fear spiked through her stomach and chest at this, and she clutched her hand to the hilt of her dagger, shaking from head to foot. Maybe they had decided they would no longer tolerate a Nuit in the city. Maybe they had somehow learned of her magics, though she had been careful... but perhaps not careful enough. What if they had realized that she had been there that night at the Spinning Coin? What if... she had done something that she couldn't remember? Something awful. She thought... she could have. It was possible. She'd... she'd done it before. Isolde felt sick.

If they wanted to try her, she did not think she would be treated like a human. Not even as a faithful citizen, who had lived in the city for nearly a hundred years. She thought it likely she would be killed and have done with it.

An urge came up inside her to flee, but she knew how that had worked last time. It hadn't. Not at all. And there had been pain, then. And she had nearly died.

Better, she supposed, still trembling, to get it over quickly. If this was some enemy, not a knight, she would probably be robbed or hurt or killed whether she tried to run or not. If it was a knight, she would be thought guilty for trying to run, and be killed for it on the spot. If it was a knight and she didn't try to run... maybe she would be spared. She didn't think so. But perhaps, if the gods were smiling on her.

What a joke.

The Nuit's hands felt like they weren't there any longer, but somehow she managed to untie the dagger and drop it to the ground. Then she knelt, slowly, her old knees aching. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she almost forgot to respond. When she did, she tried to keep some steel in her voice, though she didn't think it worked. "A-Alright. I understand. I've done as you wish. S-So... so come out." She held still. Very still. Except for her hands tucked behind her head, which were shaking.

[Aventis]

“A-Alright. I understand.” The girl stuttered. Aventis could once again hear the dirt shift and scratch under the woman’s feet as she followed his instructions. “I’ve done as you wish. S-So… So come out.”

Aventis took a deep breath and drew his rapier, his lower arms hidden beneath his cloak, ready for assault. He didn’t know much about magic. He didn’t know much about magicians. What he did know was their danger, the warnings issued about magic and practice of it, few didn’t know about the recent issues with the arcane arts. He had to be cautious, be ready to nip the issue at the bud.

First, he peered out from behind the tree, as to ensure the woman’s position, which was perfect. She had followed his every instruction, and was now on her knees with a dagger before her. But Aventis was no fool. He knew magic could be dangerous. He knew it could be used without hands.

He swiftly swung his body around the tree, extending his sword arm, about a foot from her head, as so that if any move was made, he could easily take her down with him.

He eyed his suspect turned captive warily, unsure of procedure. He knew that he couldn’t kill her without reason, he knew it was quite possible she wasn’t doing anything wrong, he knew that perhaps the worst sentencing he could give her here and now was a bit of time in the Lakolav Mines. But investigation came first.

“I have a few questions, madame, that I suggest you answer truthfully.” He said, doing his best to keep a calm yet authoritative tone. “What exactly were you doing here? What exactly was the magic you were using intended for?[/b]” He asked, barely capable of breathing.

This was perhaps the first time his sword had ever been pointed at someone he wasn’t sure deserved to die, and he had been told this was the hardest part of the job, and yet he felt nothing. The steely, icy complexion he would keep as per norm with things that deserved to die was mirrored here, with this woman. There was no difference whatsoever.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

[Isolde Seibold]

OOCYikes. Scary. o_o

He popped out swiftly from behind the tree and raised his sword, and Isolde tried not to flinch, staring up at the knight --squire? other?-- with the desperation of one trying to observe all that they can about someone else in the shortest amount of time possible. She didn't know why it mattered so much. She just found that if she was to die here, now, she wanted to do it looking at her killer. She wanted to try to know him, as well as she could, as well as was possible. It was an odd thing to want to do. Perhaps it was habit. She had known her other killer --the one who had stopped her actual life-- very well. Perhaps, too, it gave her something to do rather than be afraid.

It was hard, though. His face gave hardly anything away, his cloak tucked against him as if to ward off inspection. All she saw was that his raised hand, clasped around the hilt of the strange sword he held, did not shake. And the utter coolness in his eyes. Neither of these were comforting.

She couldn't help it. Isolde leaned back slightly, though she never made any other move.

His questions came crisply, with a sort of memorized authority that most of the knighthood adopted, and that, oddly, did comfort her. Despite being a threat, he was a part of the order. She had been raised to believe that the knights were good, honest, hardworking men and women. She had known many of them in her lifetime, and they had been her protectors, her friends, even her family. The Nuit was able to reign in her fear slightly, though her hands still quivered behind her head, a reaction she could not suppress.

"I was... I w-was practicing magic." That first statement was much, much harder to admit than she'd expected, and she'd expected it to be difficult. Years of secrecy told her to hold her tongue. It wasn't safe to say such things. But she had no choice. He'd already seen her. "It was reimancy. U-Um, elemental magic? I was just practicing." She realized she was repeating herself, and tried to focus. "It wasn't intended f-for anything, really. Well. I was... going to try to figure out what shapes I could make, and how much, and how I might use it. My first thought was... like stone sculpting? But with magic. Since I can make rocks."

She wondered how believable her story would be. It was true, every word, she wasn't a skillful liar and didn't think she would even if she could. But out loud, it sounded odd. As soon as the words passed her lips the Nuit went back to scrutinizing the young man's face with her flat, hazel eyes. It was better than just sitting and waiting, though she didn't get much from him. At least not yet.

[Aventis]

Aventis looked over the woman, looking far more weak than she had moments ago. With her magic, she was dangerous. She was powerful. She was alien. That mystery, that power that the Eypharian had witnessed drove him to conducting the investigation, he saw her as a threat. Something to be reckoned with, something that he had to make sure wouldn’t hurt his home. It wasn’t that she looked particularly intimidating, it was just that she had the means and capability to take down what he loved.

And yet, when the Eypharian looked down on her, she seemed frail and old. On the brink of death. She was vulnerable and disarmed. In fact, she seemed… Closer to death than one would initially realize. It seemed as if beneath her skin, the muscle and tissue had already begun to stiffen, and she was ghost white, almost as white as the light that he had so often heard others describe when one finally experiences death, but on her it seemed more perniciously dead. As if, even though it knew it had long past, the color in her skin fought to remain. It made the squire pity her.

But apparently not enough.

He was sure, now, that she wasn’t doing anything against the city by practicing here, and for that reason alone he sheathed his weapon, but he took the old woman’s dagger beneath his shoe and kicked it behind him. He knew it wouldn’t do much if she were to take arms against him again, but it gave Aventis something he could chalk up to peace of mind.

As he assumed he now had the advantage in any given combat situation that could follow and let down his guard a bit. He offered the woman a hand up.

“Tell me about this magic.” He said. He wouldn’t apologize to her, regardless of the fact that he was remorseful. He was protecting his city, doing what he thought was right. She wouldn’t be put in chains, nor would she be prosecuted in any way, as she was following Syliras’ laws to the letter.

But she didn’t need to know that quite yet.