Visiting the Green

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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* W03: Druid Grove *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The silence of the woods is only broken by its wildness. The clamour of squawk and the scratch of claw becomes almost hushed, only to erupt again and prove that this sacred place is at its heart, untamed. The great branches of Ygdrassil's Sapling rise from the center and then outwards. Its limbs hold every sort of wildlife, from the hooting owl to the forest leopard, and are broad enough to provide shade for Gilead's wild hounds. It would take more than a dozen giantborn to surround its base, with arms stretched broadly and limbs straining. 

Here is Wild, with the roar of beast contrasted with the solitude of the forests. Surrounding the tree lies open ground composed of dirt and a mixture of wild grasses, rocks. Along one side of the grove is a place where the shamans and hunters craft bonfire and rest after an evening's gathering and gossip. A multitude of races may be seen here, though in particular those of the shamanic followings--many humans, sildanyari, oruch, and sith-makar among them. Shamans, however, are not the only number--hunters shelter here, or come here for gossip, ritual, and social exchanges. The Grove becomes a place at once both sacred and a community's heart.

Some of these hunters serve as silent, armed guards around the perimeter. Hedges composed of thorn and bramble add to the border's enforcement. Though Nature perseveres, it is also peaceful and wild, kind and savage, and those of the Green must from time to time stand their ground against the Blight and Unmakers.

EXTRAS: +view                                 

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Belladona       Curvaceous Ourch in Hide Armor                        2m   2h

Tyrianna        Large green skinned woman with a shiny breastplate.   9m   3h

Crow            A young half-sil man with dark hair and blue-grey eye 0s   1h

Kirran          Elf with a tattoo on the right side of his face and s 0s   3h

Svarshan        Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon!                      9s   1w

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Out <O>                   

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Kirran gives a nod, "Once I am free of my duties here then I will go over there and check things out. I should learn the layout for a proper scouting. Who is in charge over there that I may speak to so I may not get into trouble if anyone spots me?"

CRUNCH. Crunchcrunch crunch crunch. A pair of heavy feet pace just beyond the Hedge. They move quickly among the leaves and across the roots, the sound unsubtle, and--"Ausht kuint gustavin pitha suuri vaaau!" A halting sylvan rings out, announcing a rider, even as the footsteps crush closer. "Ausht kuint gustavin pitha suuri vaaau!" For those who speak it, it roughly translates as, hail the Green and Hearth.

Belladona stretches out, "Well I hope she doesn't come now." She says as she puts aside the bowl to clean later and warms her hands by the fire. She looks up as she hears an unfamiliar voice and Samafa's fur rises up. Belladona puts her hand on the lioness, "Easy."

Tyrianna has disconnected.

Sandy has arrived.

Crow and Kirran are seated around the sacred central bonfire, having a chat about various duties and happenings. Crow moves over to the kettle by the bonfire (because druids are nothing if not practical... sacred fire is still fire, and can be used for cooking), getting another bowl of the stew that's cooking there, looking like he's about to say something else as the heavy crunching footsteps start from outside the Hedge.

He pauses for a moment, looking over in that direction, body visibly tensed as his keen eyes focus on... whatever's out there. As the voice speaks, though, Crow relaxes just a bit. But only a bit. "Everyone is welcome here," he calls in Common, "provided they come in peace."

Kirran turns at the sound, standing up out of concern at the loud approach, but relaxes as he sees a sith-makar approach on a mount. He doesn't understand the words that are said, but he takes it not for someone attacking. It was just the loudness of the approach that startles him. He settles back again, "Greetings," the elf offers in tradespeak, watching the Sith-Makar carefully.

"Aska mai kerthiaev, rhimoth brothe asajan yohn vhail a khondol vhieal..." the voice follows as a swift's great head comes into view. Srassha stands there a moment later, wearing an Am'sherei's armor and style...metal laquered to resemble the jungle's deepest woods. The sith atop her back repeats his message, then pauses...lifts in the stirrups and with the creak of leather, drops to earth. He wears much the same, armor made to honor Am'shere's deep woods, and marked with the symbols for Daeus and the Silver Empress.

Belladona pets Samafa to keep her calm as she watches the sith-makar come into view, "Hello there." She looks over to Crow and Kirran, "Maybe she is coming now."

"I sincerely hope that she's not," Crow says back to Belladona. He glances at the Sith-Makar, the look on his face one of concentration, yet confusion, trying to figure out what's going on here. But, naturally, sometimes you just have to go with it, and go with simple niceties. He moves over to the kettle, spoons out a bowl of soup, and holds it out to the Sith-Makar with one hand, gesturing to the log where they're all sitting with his other. A simple invitation, common to many cultures, regardless of language barriers.

Kirran doesn't seem to understand what the Sith-Makar is saying though, frowning a bit. "Doesn't sound familiar. And I sincerely hope not. Should I go check to make sure? I still don't even know where this place is..."

-------------------  At a glance around W03: Druid Grove  --------------------

Sandy        1m      5'0"     122 Lb     Shadow Elf        Female    

The HIPpest elf ever. Practically a HIPpy.                                

Svarshan     0s      6'4"     274 Lb     Sith-Makar        Male      

Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon!                                          

Belladona    15m     6'2"     258 Lb     Orc               Female    

Curvaceous Ourch in Hide Armor                                            

Kirran       26s     4'9"     111 Lb     Wild Elf          Male      

Elf with a tattoo on the right side of his face and sea-green eyes.       

Crow         1m      5'0"     135 Lb     Half-Elf          Male      

A young half-sil man with dark hair and blue-grey eyes.                   

==============================================================================

Svarshan removes his helmet...to someone close, it might smell faintly of blood and old battles. There are scars along his scales where magic did not take quickly enough. "Dun dhahct hi..." He trails off, letting go a quiet breath...and then accepts the soup. He smiles faintly, and makes the sign of Dragons in the air in front of him before repeating a few of the words from earlier. The words have a slight halting cadence to them, but come easily enough, as one used to a ritual.

...at the end of it, he raises the bowl, and thumps his tail against the earth. He starts to say something else, and then looks towards the sylvanori. He pauses in the middle of drinking the soup, and lowers it instead, as well as his head. "Haasst. ...blessings to you and. Thank you for the welcome at the Central Fire. All in honor of the...Green and. The Ancesstral Dragons."

The swift stays behind, standing there placidly...and makes a point of making a big, huge yawn. The act seems almost conscious: Look, I am a Princess! I am restful. I am the MOST restful Princess of all Princesses, the Princess of Restfulness, Restfulness Princess. I am...

Crow sits back down as the visitor seems to be non-threatening, even smiling as the Sith greets in a language he's more familiar with. "And to you," he returns. "The wisdom of the ancestors always guide you." The stew is simple, rabbit and vegetables, but filling nonetheless.

Turning to Kirran, Crow nods. "That might be a good idea," he agrees. "Northwest of the Light Forest. Just look for the bones. You'll know it when you find it."

Kirran smiles softly as it sees that they have found a common language. "It is a pleasure to have you here," he pauses as he spies the holy symbol. "Sunblade?" he guesses at the armor and everything else on the Sith-Makar. "What brings you here to this grove?" he asks curiously. He gives a nod to Crow, "I will go soon then."

Svarshan lifts the bowl, and pauses as the shaman turns to give directions. "Mictlan?" he asks. He starts to say a thing and then falls silent, his muzzle closing over the words. He stays like that for some time--it's a while before he can place one word after the other, again. "I bring honor from the Sssilver Empress, and her wish for. Peace." He pauses after that. I have. Alsso come sseeking peace," he says after a time. Then, "And sspeak with your sshamans." He lifts the bowl once more, and pauses with it in hand. "It isss Spring."

Behind him, the swiftclaw continues to pose. To posture. She's spotted the tiger and now lifts her head to the side. I am gorgeous, that says.

"Ssspring," the sith repeats. More firmly.

Belladona has disconnected.

Crow nods. "Mictlan," he agrees. "We wish for peace with the Silver Empress as well. We're working hard to make sure that her visit is pleasant and safe." Or, at least, doing as much as they know to do. "When she arrives, she'll be treated with great honor by our people, befitting her position." The Swiftclaw's antics earn her a smile, also befitting of her position as a pretty princess. "Any of us are willing to answer any questions that you might have."

Kirran gets up after finishing his latest bowl of stew. "Unfortunately, you will have to answer them. I should head out and check on things. I will check things out and let you know what, if anything I find." He smiles a bit and gives a nod of the head to Svarshan. "A pleasure, and enjoy your time here in the grove."

A thump of the tail against the earth in response to the sylvanori. "It iss an. Honor," Svarshan says. The words come slowly, roughly though he puts them together with care...like an old woman gathering fabric for a quilt, with trembling hands. "Go with the Ancesstors and beneath His Wings."

Kirran has disconnected.

Crow whistles as Kirran moves off, raising his arm up to a level. It only takes a moment before the hawk descends and lands comfortably there, staring at Crow with those hawk eyes. "Ati, Watch," he instructs the hawk, working hard to get the animal to understand, looking in Kirran's direction. The hawk... does nothing, just staring at Crow, not fluttering a feather. The druid sighs, raising up his arm, the hawk taking off into the night again, back to where it came from. "Or not."

The sith watches a while. He says nothing for a while as the hawk flies away, but the soup finds its way closer to empty. "You have. Young sshoulders for ssuch a. Task," he says after a while. He stands there, comfortable on a tripod of anatomy, much as a human might find a log to rest against, or earth to sit upon.

"We all serve, in our own way," Crow says with a shrug. "I was selected for a task. I'll do it to the best of my ability. But it's not all on my shoulders," he explains. "I ask for help when I need it. We're a community, and nothing falls to just one of us. If it affects one, it affects all, and it's all of our responsibility to ensure that the community prospers." He looks at the Sith in turn, noticing the scars glinting in the firelight. "One that's survived as many battles as you must be stronger than most. An example to others."

A slow breath--a drawing in and out of the world around him. The inhalation of earth and... "Ssaa. It iss a good. Answer." He reflects on those words a while or perhaps just runs out of things to say. He bends, and returns the bowl to Crow. Near the Hedge, the swift continues to pose. Her eyes are bright, almost too-bright, as she watches the flight of birds overhead.

Crow nods quietly, refilling the bowl before handing it back to Svarshan. There's still plenty in the kettle, and cookfires all around for various tastes that don't include rabbit. "Has here been any update on when your Empress will be arriving? And is there any special preparation we should make in her honor?" Crow passes Svarshan a wineskin, still mostly full of the local vintage. "I admit, I'm not entirely familiar with the customs of your people."

"And we are not. With yourss." A pause as Svarshan lifts the bowl. Or just decides on words. "...it iss the...our insstincts are. Different. Dangerouss." Definite silence there, an opinion held closely that may not be shared by everyone, even his Empress. "To your. Other quesstion. ...sshe does not ssay. She will come. When sshe comes. It iss like the wind or the water--so the Empress is a force." His tail hits the ground quietly. "We are Her sservants. But I have come to sshare breath. With you." The next words are slow, though a close watcher would detect an undertone of wryness, "...a requesst."

Crow nods, listening quietly. "A force. I can respect that." He thinks on what else the Sith says quietly, fire twinkling in his eyes. "Different and dangerous aren't unfamiliar to us," he explains slowly. "We're familiar with the most basic of instincts. We run with the horses. We fly with the birds. We hear the language of the trees and flowers, and sing the songs of the wolves in the night. Different and dangerous are something we're comfortable with, in many forms." At the mention of a request, his eyes move from the fire back to the speaker. "If it's within our power, and doesn't violate our promises," he starts carefully, "we'll do everything in our power to fulfill it."

"...if I were not sscarred. But a young ffool. I would... take your farmerss land. From him. Territorial, sshaman." The holder of the bowl tenses slightly, and lets go. Not a threat. Not /here/, but a suggestion of nature, a suggestion of what is, or may be. "And the landsss of this world are. Claimed. You know badgerss, shaman. They claim, and ssay. Thiss is mine."

His tail hits the ground again, softly. "We work with /you/. But I can not ssay ssharing breath with the other ssoftskinss is good." Then, a gesture of the eyes towards the swiftclaw. "Sspring. I have come for...ssomething. Sso her offsspring do not overrun your lands."

Crow listens carefully, taking it in as best as he can. Finally though, he nods, understanding at least the gist of what's being said. "We honor nature, in all things," Crow explains. "But we believe in the balance between man and nature. We make no claims outside of what we can hold." He gestures to the Grove, to the tree at its center, to the Hedge around it. "This is ours. This we claim. But even in that, we act as guardians, caretakers. Not lords."

At the other, Crow's eyes follow toward the swiftclaw, a mild frown coming over his face, brow furrowing as he tries to think. "I... don't know of anything offhand," he explains carefully. "But there may be something. Let me do some consultation. I can have an answer for you by tomorrow, if one exists."

After a hesitation, a nod and then a gesture of the eyes towards the swiftclaw. The swift in question watches the fliers overhead. Her scales glint and shine and she's begin to put on spring's wei... "We musst live here a. While and now. Iss not the time. Disstractions." Then lower, "Sshe hasss thought. /Dragon/-blessed."

...and good of hearing. The swift looks up abruptly. YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT ME, that look so clearly says.

...and then. Then, she PREENS.

Svarshan gives Crow an even look that manages not to twitch at its edges, but for reasons above, is so carefully, carefully neutral. "Sspring," he repeats more quietly, though the word were a curse.

I AM A PRINCESS.

Crow nods, understanding exactly what the man is saying now. Or so he thinks, at least. "Then if a solution doesn't exist," he offers with a smile, "we'll simply have to make one." He carefully avoids looking at the Swiftclaw, having an idea that the Sith is telling him that she's more intelligent than she seems, much like other beasts the druid is all too familiar with.

"Sshe had. Children. In Am'sshere. Sshe named them... Chews-Taara's-Tears. Tyrant-Cries-at-Night. ..." The sith stands there a while and lets the last name trail away. The pause says many things. It suggests there were more than two. It...the edge of his muzzle curl. "I sshare pride of her. ...the young-oness now resside among our sshamans. But we will be in. Alesssandria for ssome. Time." Svarshan shifts as he says the last, as though discomfited, somehow.

YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT ME. *blink blink* go the huge eyes.

ARE YOU SAYING HOW PRETTY I AM.

Crow tries to keep the smile down, but it's hard. Very hard. Apparently, something about that is very funny. "Well, we'll try to make your stay here as pleasant as possible." he takes a breath, regaining his composure a bit. "So far as dealing with the other softskins... we can provide most of what you need," he explains. "If you want someone to act as a liason between you and the city, I'm sure one of us could help with that. We're used to moving between the two."

Silence, then. Words. Thought. ...the muzzle opens. A slow hiss.

...try again. "...would that have been. Open when I firssst came here. Your intentionsss speak well. Of you." Svarshan falls quiet again after that, and looks towards the preening swiftclaw. Who preens, and preens, before becoming distracted by the fliers overhead again.

"Svarshan Kotharrventin...I am of the Dragon'sss clawss. Lately returned to Am'sshere. I have lived here for sssome time, but my. Cihuaa and I may need your help in the monthss ahead." He quiets after this, and evidently guards against what he had been about to add.

"Of course," he says with a smile. "Anything we can do. You are of the Dragon's Claws," he says, trying to put it in terms that he might better relate to. "I'm Crow. I... am of the Dragon's Memories. Our ways are older than civilization," he explains, "but we also don't see the lines between civilizations that others do. Our oaths know no race. We remember a time from long ago, when all was one. But we see the present as well, and use the lessons of the past to help us through our lives now. And we share what we know, to those who are willing to learn, and who come with respect."

"...Memory. Memory iss..." the eyes are lost a while. They stare into nothing for too-long, before refocusing on Crow. "The Dragon'ss claws honor Memory," he says low-voiced. "And sseeks their wisdom." He lowers the bowl again, now empty. And thumps his tail against the earth.

Crow responds, "And Memory is nothing without the Claws that help it endure through the ages. Memory honors the Claws." Crow takes the bowl, putting it back on the table. "For now, I have duties to attend to," the druid explains. "Seek me in the morning, and we'll see about finding an answer for your problem."

Svarshan goes OOC.