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Flippz was getting relaxed. Her ears drooped a little, but that was from relief. The salve seemed to have a soothing effect, and the feel of Isolde’s hands was just-
Her face grimaced. Her back arched as she let out a mix of a scream, a groan and a wail. She grasped at the grass and pulled some of out. It took a few seconds for her to calm down, but she kept panting heavily.
“That… that…” she bit her lip. “That’s alright,” she convinced herself and closed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to watch Isolde work on her foot.
And she remained like that, occasionally groaning, until the painful part of the procedure was over.
@cabin-dweller
Isolde felt sorry for the pain, so she stood up and turned away at the pretense of putting away the salves and bandages and tending to the tea. Putting the open honey next to the young yordle, she followed it with a box of sailor crackers and dried fish. "You can sweeten your drink or dip the biscuits in however you like. Your ankle got a clear internal break but it should heal nicely. Please remember to keep the cast on until we get you to a proper doctor and then get something sturdier!"
With that, she handed Flips her cup and sat down wearily with her own, warming her hands as she looked out beyond the shore, at the dark curve of the sea.
Her guy was down. Luckily he was, because if he wasn’t, Akali would have to hurt him until he dies. But since he was already dead, Akali didn’t have to do that. How lucky he was.
The mom friend didn’t seem to be as lucky tho. Too sad, Akali thought she would’ve been more badass. Like her mom. Then again, these expectations might’ve been a tad high, given how her mom has already punched giants and stuff.
But now mom friend seemed to be in danger! O no! Akali readied to save her. She dug her feet into the ground to ensure the maximum amount of grip on her sole. She only had that one shot to save the yordle lady! Energy flowed through every muscle of her body just to release it and jum-
No! Wait! Launch aborted! Quickly Akali ripped the mask off her mouth and threw the contents of her breakfast out of her mouth. After a short second of disgusting brown oral bursting, she quickly apologized. “Sorry. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. Where were the?”
Then she jumped off. It was so quick, it almost seemed like she just disappeared! And when you followed the trail of kicked up leaves, you’d see her with the crossbow in her hand right on the other side of the battle. Complete with the Poacher’s hand attached. “Urgh, disgusting.” she said, throwing it away and heading over to the Yordle Grandma. “Are you alright?” she asked as she gently picked her up, ignoring the screaming of the poacheress. She’d stop in a couple minutes anyways. She then stumbled back to the cabin. “I’m hungry. You got something?”
Isolde said nothing, completely shaken. Then, as the bobbing and warmth of her charge's arms soothed her mind, she spoke slowly. "B... Baked meat. I suppose. And herbal drinks."
As the horrifying screaming was shut by Akali closing the door to the hut, and she was set down, Isolde dipped down and tried to contain her nerves. She knew this would happen, but being flung into the air and subsequently almost impaled was far from what she'd planned for this encounter. She looked at her hands, both of which were entirely crimson. "Did you... get hurt?"
Finally tracking down where it was that Isolde was staying - as she moved about often, and even with the correspondents between them keeping track was not the easiest - she called out to her fellow old-magic friend. "Isolde! Iso-... oh? You're not-... who are you?" She said, wariness level increasing.
M!A
The voice made Isolde smile, eventhough she recognized the danger it might’ve posed. “I am as confused asyou are, Amelia.” She replied easily, putting a little more emphasis onthe name, before rising from beside the bedroom chest, a handful of clothes inher arms. “As you can see, I am in a bit of a predicament; could actually reallyuse a helping hand right now.”
Walking over to the witch, the changelingdweller raised a placating hand in her direction, setting the clothes next herthe traveling bag as she went. “I am Isolde, a traveler and dweller. And Iam currently obviously not inhabitingmy own body, for an unknown reason, which is making me pretty upset. You meanwhile are Amelia, my trusted friend, met in asea of ducklings.”
She then passed Amelia, entered thekitchen, reached for the top shelf and the jar of dried fruit, realized she wastoo short to reach it, and slumped against the bottom shelves with a smallwhine.
“It’s not the magicks I need.” Isolde smiled, blinking at the contents before running off to pack the object. “It’s company. If I have the body of a child, then the child must have my body, doesn’t she?” She looked at the witch, the delicate worried crease to her brow highly visible. She hoped to all that was holy that the joke she was facing was a body swap of sorts. It had to be. There was no way she would accept being a purple, triple-fold-pigtailed moppet before looking for herself across the world and exhausting all of her options.
She told Amelia as such, checking her clothes one last time - a tad too big, but thankfully manageable, before packing no less than two cookie boxes (her appetite craved silly amounts of sweets right now, for some reason) into the bag and heaving it onto her back.
“So… I thought the two of us… Could look for me… More eficiently-”
Her frail muscles, unused to years of hard work, buckled beneath her, and she fell onto her knees, and almost onto her back.
“Oh boy.”
@ask-a-yordle-witch I’m backckck
To find the real body was no small task. The two of them set out readily, but it actually took a month to piece the pieces together and find the fairy child. Isolde was greatly concerned when she finally saw herself again - the body a nymph-like picture of innocence that jumped onto her eagerly, its floating familiar so in-your-face she had to use rainbow fire to put distance between them.
The body swap was of the girl’s doing - an accident so profound even she sheepishly admitted to the mistake. To reverse it took the brainpower and magic of all three of them, using Lulu’s innate talent, Amelia’s profound knowledge, and Isolde’s throughout preparation to put the right mind in the right body.
After that, Lulu didn’t stay around long. Regaining her confidence and power, she ebbed away into the forest, her giggles fading in the dim as she raced off on another adventure.
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The day was a pattern of clouds and light drizzle, the earth outside turning soft and moist as the elements moved overhead. She woke up on her cue, early enough to breathe in the novelty of the day, and rose from the bed. The teapot was steaming in the cold, and the sips she took were invigorating.
It was perfectly usual of a morning. One such as the others when the weather was upset. Mending and knitting and etching. Writing and reading. Relaxing to the pitter-patter sounds from the outside. Letting the stray fly sit on the windowsill until it was safe outside.
Her days were usually the same. She had to admit, she had a weakness for the familiar. It was comforting. Putting on her travelling boots, the feel of the cane in her palm, the quacking of her ducks and geese, the feel of coming home after an arduous journey. It never got boring to her. Though she loved discovering the new, the old held her unyielding affection. Her life was set and known and so enjoyable.
But then she died.
She was sipping and the rain was falling onto the tiles on the roof and there was Kindred on the table in front of her. The cup froze at her mouth as she noticed it's presence - right in her face, and yet - the wolfish mask was staring at her, static in the air, the creature behind it unmoving.
The second she saw the Lamb, she knew. All knew. She put down the jasmine cup and opened her mouth to say something, but the question readily died on her throat.
A compulsion tilted her head to the side. Her eyes shifted from Lamb's mask to the bedding. Dimly, she realized she forgot to rearrange it as she rose into wakefulness. She-
A shuddering sigh escaped her as she took in the gentle curve of the blankets. The hair spread over the pillow, alight with tiny reflexes. The curled hands. The face, comforted and still.
She counted each individual eyelash on that face.
Soundlessly, she rose from the table stool, and approached herself. Her eyes trailed from her face to her hands. She took her hands in her hands.
Kindred was already at her bedside when she arrived, and it stared at her as she gingerly touched at the strands of her own hair. Trailed the edge of her ear. She asked Lamb if it was okay. Lamb told her it was.
Finding her tools in the basement took a little longer than expected. As the earth became soft from the rain, she dug in her field, just by the road. Rivulets of water seeped down into her coat, down her face - she dug a hole the size of a large person and looked like a pig for it. Her hands were wiped against her slacks every few seconds as she cut the blooms in the garden - she decorated the hole meticulously, with a bedding of vibrant flowers and branches. Apple and grape, tulip and lily and pasque. Many, many flowers. A wreath of fresh yew.
She held the body in a traveling coat and stood over the grave, feeling strange. Kindred stood next to her, and they looked at the ground silently - the rain was lost on her - Isolde knelt down and laid herself to rest.
She died as she lived. Quietly and peacefully. With an inherent beauty, and someone to watch her go.
Or was that a lie?
Soaked to the bones and breathing heavily, the creature that remained set a heavy marker and pressed it into the ground. As it slid into place obediently, she faltered, and knelt next to it to catch her breath.
Thank you - She breathed to the lamb, who now had its eyes on her. Though I'm sorry for keeping you as much as I have.
You can go now.
Lamb's silken voice was untouched by surprise. You stay.
Isolde smiled, a shaky little thing.
Force of habit.
Afterword
I’ve been gearing up to write this infodump for a while now, to throw some context into the mysterious of Isolde’s life. The truth is, to put it simply- you probably suspected it to an extent- Isolde is dead.
Yup, that’s right. For a while now, I wrote the motherly traveler as someone who already died. Specifically, a motherly traveler who didn’t exactly let death slow her down.
Post-death, she is a ghost, a spirit, a benevolent mirage of varying consistency that keeps to it’s habits, places and people out of affection instead of moving on into the afterlife. While Kindred succesfully rang her death a lifetime ago, many secrets surround the true nature of her race. And death is slightly more complicated when you are half-spirit and imbued with attachment.
There are many uncertainities when it comes to Isolde’s powers post-death. It is not a side of her that is very well explored by others, because cmon.
Anyways, for your convenience, you can think fire -> ghost fire, amidst other things a regular spirit would do. Haunting, blinking, undying, being summoned, being corporeal to an extent, in tune with her affections. Knowing that which should be not. Also, potentially this.
If you have any doubts, feel free to ask or rp it out. More headcanons will pop up as I’ll update her page... Slowly...
And know that whether she’s solid or gas, Isolde will always gladly become your grandma (well unless the world ends, but even so.)
“Go on, then.” The yordle female nudged the pie slightly to the side and supported her head on her palms, interest already piqued by the summary. Bilgewater was one of the places she was hesitant to engage, due to the unpredictable nature of nearly everything that thrived there. If this man could recall any great ventures he’d lived through in these lands, then she would love to hear of them. “I’m all set, myself.”
And from a magic tome, no less. These tended to be long. It was a good thing she had so many pies at hand, else she’d worry about getting hungry. Now though, she could just focus on her human guest, and the tale he was going to spin just for her.
@the-aspected-scholar
The scholar thus spun the stories of grandiose... Of wickedness, of death and birth, and love, and sometimes about a bear or two.
“Isn’t it always?” Isolde exclaimed, yanking up the sleeves of her shirt. This was going to be sticky. “I’m starting to think that you’ve learned how to track me, you glutton. Now, hold still, please!”
Wrapping her arms around the ex-yordle, and hoping her plea would confuse him enough to comply, Isolde struck her body flush against his - ahh, this would never wash off - and taking a firm stand on the floorboard, give the boy a mighty tug. Then another. And another.
“You know what?” She huffed into his gooey ear, catching her breath between each pull at his slippery form. Gods, he stuck to one spot like gum if he wanted to. “I know you like my supplies. Actually-” Another tug! She almost slipped on this one. “-it is incredibly flattering for me, you know? But.” And another. “If this is to continue, we need to do it properly.” Tug! “And, we will have to cooperate.”
Was it just her imagination, or has he budged a little? Or maybe he was just stretching out? Blowing away stray hairs from her face, Isolde leaned over so she could look him square in his yellow eyes. “‘C'mon, Silas. Cook with me. You can even choose the dish, on the condition it’s not something particularly disturbing. Then I will gladly share with you - meal for manners. Doesn’t that sound good?”
// @silas-the-sticky-yordle as you can see I am taking this very seriously
The gooey boy stared at her for a second, his expression unreadable, and then he snapped back into place like a rubber band and started to drain faster.
"Oh, come on!" Isolde exclaimed, trying to grab him by the edge of his scarf which wasn't yet slotted through the dwelling floor. Having failed, she wiped her hands roughly on her frock and rushed towards her door with slippery feet. "I'm going to catch you, just you wait!"
The key to the basement, the key... She snatched it from the hanger, and it proceeded to slip out of her finger and clatter to the floor. She cursed, trying to pick it up. When it was in her hand - finally! - there was still making it to where her basement started- slotting in the key- she gave a little triumphant cry as she accessed the inside, dropping onto the steps and slipping down on the layers of slime that the boy has left in his wake.
"Where are you!?" She cried out, vaguely aware how long it would take her to climb back out of there.
The slimy bar of the outside opening were her only answer. She sighed. “Oh, Silas...”
Shakily setting herself down on her feet, Isolde blinked up at the beast and allowed the look of it to accent her shock. What a beast… And she’d missed it completely, slow and silent as it was, the coat pale just like the ranger’s coat and the dried grasses which surrounded them.
“‘Tis alright.” She mumbled, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and giving herself a severe mental scolding. It was creeping up on her flock and she had no idea. “I should’ve been more careful, myself. Lost myself in the story; how foolish of me.”
She reached for the thin chain wrapped around her neck; a poultry whistle, in which she promptly blew, alerting her gentle companions that they should return to her side. The trustful creatures followed her call, although very shyly -and at the sight of the fanged boar, their pace slowed down to a crawl.
Poor darlings, so scared. It was a feat that they were completely unharmed; and a feat not her own.
Counting the birds and coming up with an even number, Isolde sighed in relief, and refocused her attention on the ranged hunter. For a moment, she mulled over the possible things to say. Then, she murmured, for a good start;
“I need to thank you sincerely from the bottom of my heart; you saved this little crew. Though, I also have to ask… What is this?”
@ranger-turrii
However, rather than respond, the ranger raised a single finger in her direction, signaling her to be quiet. Isolde clammed up, suddenly wary again - she clicked at her geese to come close and herded them onto the path, her ears twitching as she listened on for the traces of the beast.
"I suppose you can't escort us some ways off from that creature." She murmured at the other female, who was touching upon the tracks and memorizing their scent. She turned her ear, having heard the request, but just shook her head, eyes trained on the way the predator has just gone for.
"No." She replied, her voice feminine and rough. "Though you should be safe with no creature."
Then she readjusted her hunting outfit and stalked off along the tracks. Before she disappeared, Isolde called out after her quietly - a word of luck.
Then she was alone with her birds, with nothing to do but establishing peace and hurrying out of the danger zone.
The male fox sighed a bit as he scratched behind his ear. He was long over due for a mid afternoon nap but he was bored and knew that when he woke up he would still be bored and wanted to save the nap for after some fun. As he walked he noticed a yordle and looked at them curiously. He had not seen a yordle in Ionia for a long time and he followed her, curious as to what they were doing.
Isoldelet out a pleased hum, her fingers toying with the inscribed medallion aroundher neck. Ionia. What a beautiful place.
Thegrove she was walking through right now was one of Gingko Biloba; the gold offan-shaped leaves gathered on the branches and ground aflutter. She hadn’t beenhere in a while; and she was pleased to see that none of the trees were cut. Nothinghas changed. Even with the country in thinly-veiled turmoil, this place seemedto be as peaceful and pretty as ever.
Midwaythrough the grove, there begun a familiar, rocky mound; a tiny shrine ofofferings nestled amidst the stones. Long since forgotten by the people, butstanding vigilant nonetheless, if only to house a family of small birds orrodents. This was her spot of peace and resting; her favorite in this part ofthe world.
Settingdown her bag next to the shrine carefully, Isolde rummaged through it briefly,pulling out a handful of grains to put on the shrine’s carved base for thelittle critters. Next, the journeywoman found a round, flat, smooth rock, andmade herself comfortable on top of it with an Ionian rice egg in her hand.
Sherubbed the talisman on her neck again, feeling a pang of intuition tug at hersenses. Looking around herself curiously - and a tad warily - the female yordlethen saw a little flicker between the trees. Well, the spirit ward wasn’tlying. She wasn’t alone.
Notfeeling like moving from her spot though, not until something particularlyworrying happened, the journeywoman just pulled out another rice egg from theside of her bag, set it aside, and stretched out in the sun filtering inthrough the leaves. Ahhh… She needed that.
When her treat didn't attract sufficient attention, the dweller didnt touch it again so the company could enjoy it later. Letting go of the wariness as the charm failed to warn her again, Isolde ate the delicious, magic-suffused food and took her time meditating in front of the little forgotten relic.
As serenity overcame her, the strain of the journey ebbed away, and all she could do was sigh blisfully, undisturbed.
[RP FIN!]
note that the yordle lore/Isolde lore used for this piece is outdated.
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“Amusingly enough, I am here for similar reasons.” Isolde couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
The summer fires have decimated the dwelling she had come to associate this area with - only the basement and the chimney have survived the string of droughts and storms that plagued the land in the past half a decade. So, while the yordle has heard the rumors about significant collateral damage in the area, she was unprepared for how little she’d actually found in the cinders of her dwelling.
Food, yes. The canned supplies withstood even getting flooded - she’d made them as such. The reinforced chest storing her local valuables and emergency necessities was also intact.
Everything else… Not so much.
Even the flock of geese had set out to find new nests for themselves. This made up her mind. Thus, paying some last respects to the place that was her trusty hiding spot for almost a century, Isolde resupplied with the charred scraps and followed in their footsteps - their waddles? - and was currently revisiting some familiar roads in search of a new and appropriate habitat to call her own.
“So, yes… House hunting.” She put the cup back on the tray, having finished the story with a sip of tea. It soothed her throat and prepared it for further conversation with Lyra. “This teahouse was supposed to be a break and a little treat. I’ve also asked some questions when I’ve arrived.” She smiled. “They weren’t much, but I didn’t really expect them to.”
/@lady-femgar Whoops Isolde TMI mode activated…
With a common topic on the table, the two ladies found it easy to share their tales. Isolde gawked at the mind-boggling standards her companion listed casually- a castle on a hill? Far away but also a large reachable population for convenient restocking- she wasn't joking! A stable for magical creatures of many sorts and sizes...
Likewise, her side of the story elicited gawks. Lyra was entirely taken aback by how Isolde lived when compared to how ladylike she was, apparently. It took her some time to explain her lifestyle away, which in turn earned her a look of deep curiosity mixed with respect.
She laughed.
"Anyhow," Lyra waved her hand a little bit, the other bringing the delicate cup to her mouth as she sipped her favorite. The older yordle held her cup without moving, just letting it warm her hands. "This area doesn't serve my standards. The population ratio is barely enough, but the castle itself is too small."
"So you've found one..." There were many things to support the search, like a demilitarization of the arena by human forces or the mountainous geography of the region, but still. It was like a one in a thousand call, and it was too small!
"The shape is bulky, the complex consists of only four merged buildings, and the stables support quantity over quality, so to speak." Lyra clicked in exasperation. "If anything, it's a place for someone like you. I need at least 10 buildings plus some spires. Guess I'll need to try closer to a magic vine next time, huh? Should bump into a secret magic academy or two."
"Probably." Isolde hummed pleasantly.
"But enough about me." Her teatime friend put the cup down, now empty. "...Okay, almost enough. Can you do me a favor?"
Isolde raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yes?"
"Take that castle from me." Lyra leaned in with a toothy smile. "I'm sure you can manage. I spent quite some time looking out for it so I'd love if it was taken in by an individual capable of bringing out it's valor. And you seem to be just what I needed!"
"Wha-" Isolde blinked, the cup clattering from her hands and narrowly avoiding breaking as Lyra caught it in one deft move.
"C'mon, I already told you, you need to raise your standards. Just consider it a gift from your lovely teatime mate, alright?~"
The silence was one of shock, but it was treated as an affirmative.
Access to her dwellings? Isolde was taken aback. Not because she didn’t wish him to enter her dwellings, of course; but for the exact opposite reason. What could there be of interest for a dark magus in her humble abodes? Food? A bed?
Still, she didn’t show how much of a surprise - or joy for that matter, at this request. If that was all he wanted in exchange of not turning her and this unfinished house into cinders; or rather, into a set of requests… Something she often granted for no price at all…
“Fine.” She said, at a length. Reluctantly. “If you must.”
Then without a single lie; she was more than fine to comply.
Reaching out for the tray and taking the crispy treat, she gave it a little puff and unlike her newfound partner, took a little bite. Crunching thoughtlessly - look at how the situation had resolved itself - and was about to take another nibble when she heard a skitter at the roof. It brought a crease to her brow and a tension to her back. Shade critters… How icky.
Trying to distract herself, she refocused on her apparent accomplice and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So, if that is all… What now? I’d suggest you wait until the storm passes by before leaving, just to be safe. We can chat, mayhaps, or…” She looked around the disassembled mess strewn about the room and sighed. “Or… I don’t know. It seems you’ve found me here in… quite a compromising position.”
@the-primordialburst
With no reply incoming, Isolde just assumed that Veigar had no further claims, sticking out her tongue at him for his lack of humour. Likewise, she ultimately agreed to them - even with his doubious attitude.
Unless he couldn't find the dwelling in question, of course, she thought to herself privately. But that depended on his individual ability. Nothing she could do about it.
That night, she prepared them more proper food in a makeshift kitchen as skittering wraiths nibbled at her house, trying and failing to find a weak spot in her defenses. As she offered him the bench she used as a bed, she herself took a simple pillow to the corner and made herself comfortable to the best of her ability. It was fun in a hard, cold way that only new dwellings delivered properly.
The next morning, with a warning and farewell, he was gone, leaving her to work on her - their - house.
Starter for @itcamefromtheglade! Hope you’ll like it, love.
The cemetery was an undisturbed place, with fireflies hovering over overgrown shrubbery and rainwater puddles rippling with the last rays of the dusk sun. Olden, mossy graves in various stages of disassembly passed her as she crossed it, stretching along the leading pathway and all of its branches, most of which were blocked by the nature. The faded text engraved into the tombstones formed distinctly human sentences, but there was no human settlement here anymore. These folk below the markers were left to enjoy quite a quiet and peaceful sleep, indeed.
The gravel crunching underneath the hardened soles of her boots, the easy wind whistling between the stones, the occasional noise from bats or crickets… They mixed together into a certain atmosphere that penetrated her to the marrow of her weary bones. Even the smell was something quite particular, freshwater and old, and full of summer.
Convinced that she was tricked, Isolde departed from the cemetery and down the winding roads of rural Demacia. Half journeying, half meandering, she felt like something was watching her for a while... but then the sensation eventually yielded.
As the sky became an inky black, all traces of light gone - she was curled in her modest camp with a little fire and tent shielding her from the elements, safe and sound asleep.
Amelia's constant need for ingredients for use in her alchemy and potion-making took her all over the known world, searching for rare materials for use in the most potent of brews. It was for this reason why she found herself in a remote valley - the only place where she could find a specific species of acorn. Little did she know, of course, that the valley was not as uninhabited as she initially thought.
The morningbirds were interrupting themselves an awful lot for the past ten minutes.
Raisingfrom the bench by her house, the tar slipping out of her soapy hands, Isolde wadedcarefully between the horde of baby ducks occupying her cottage yard. While shereached the fence to look out on the road for anything unusual, one of thechicks took her absence as an opportunity to jump into the laundry, splashingsoapy bubbles everywhere. She sighed. This was exactly why she preferred geese.
Before shecould do something about the unruly babe, however, what appeared to be a darkforestling rounded the nearest bend of the valley road she dwelled by. Stoppingin her tracks, Isolde blinked at it curiously, wondering why in the world wasthere a forestling of all things soclose to her house. And how did it get there in the middle of the day?
As thecreature drew closer, however, the dweller became even more curious.
This was no forest imp of any sort. It was a perfectly normal yordle witch,a female reshaped with the bend of old magic, carrying with her a stuffed bagand a closed basket. She advanced slowly along the valley road, lookingintently at the trees and shrubs as she went, her peculiar, goat-likeappearance making the morning birds quiet with wonder.
Isolde couldhave hidden away in her house, but she only leaned on the fence with aplacating expression. If the clever witch paid her any heed, she doubted she’dstay hidden for long. It was better to just greet her with a smile. And ifanything bad actually happened, she could always trust in her brave ducklingsto rescue her, no?
“Good.” The dweller nodded at that, and set her backpack down in the same spot. Setting up camp was a breeze - flakes of wax clung to her fur as she lit a small fire, placing water-filled brass over it to heat up their meal. Clapping her hands clean, she produced potato dumplings from the depths of her inventory, and waited for the water to boil.
The holy - yet somewhat eerie - silence of the forest was broken only by the quiet of Amelia’s hooves, ruffling up fallen leaves or pebbles as the witch searched for her acorns. Watching her without a word, Isolde waited until she could put the plum-filled treats in the pot, and then rose to her feet to help her out in her gathering.
The acorns were very noticeable on the ground. They reflected the reddening rays of the sun, their chiseled shells cold and smooth to the touch. The yordle wasn’t sure how many were needed, so she decided to gather up however many she could while staying sensible of the upcoming danger.
Bending low, Isolde dug her fingers into the soil, wrapping them around the chime-shaped shells before plucking them out and stuffing into the large pockets of her pants and cloak. Some were damaged and had to be discarded; there were also ones too old, overripe, or those which bore the rusty marks of infection. Walking about aimlessly as she searched the ground, the old yordle eventually ended up walking right next to Amelia. She made a soft noise to get her attention, judging the stack of acorns in her basket.
“How are you faring?”
@ask-a-yordle-witch I’m listening to Camp on loop rn haha
Seeing as the witch had a fair share of acorns on display, Isolde figured an answer wasn’t necessary. Giving her supply a little shake, she retreated back into the warmth of the campfire, and checked on the dumplings diligently until they were ready.
The two of them ate in silence as the time went, relaxing as much as they could’ve as they prepared to nap. Amelia offered to keep watch first to check for some imperfections on her collection, while Isolde chose this time to sleep and tuck the road back safely into her memory.
When she awoke, refreshed and with adrenaline starting to hum in her veins, the sun was growing red above the horizon. When it was closing in on the mountain line, she awoke Amelia and they packed their belongings, raising to their feet determinedly.
The holy oak glowed behind them as they set off, accompanied by the last traces of sunlight.
The first part of the road was a quiet, anxious experience. Raising over the great roots of the forest, avoiding pools of leaves for the quiet of the earth. As they walked, Their lights dimmed to avoid being found, they heard noises come to life around them. Tiny snaps of twigs which hadn’t been stepped on. Rustles of creatures in the dark.
Isolde looked back to her companion, whose eyes were trained on the tree line. Her hand was raised in the air in a protective stance as they shuffled along, her clip-clopping a shadow of a sound. Isolde herself focused on the feeling of fire warming her veins, and put her torch to light.
Many pairs of eyes looked up the moment the material flashed in her hand. But right before most could react, Isolde raised the torch high above her head, casting lines of light between the trees. The shadow-trailing forestlings dove for the black, each with a shriek - already a single torch seared their eyes and blinded them with pain.
The surprise cleared their path of many obstacles. Lighting up the second torch, Isolde held it out to the witch.
“If we’d gotten sneaked up on without light we could’ve gotten hurt. The shine keeps them away. Beware though, because now they will try to strike it from our hands to get through into our shadows. Then, into our flesh.”
Amelia didn’t seem fazed. She seemed unimpressed to a point where Isolde wondered if she was underestimating the enemy, but then another thought occurred to her; she could have just been that strong. Still,
“Don’t get cocky.” She warned, and when Amelia grunted a reluctant affirmative, she picked up the pace. “Let’s go.”
The skirmishes were aplenty. Time seemed to slow down, especially for the first time, as ice-cold claws would strike from the darkness at her hand, intent on putting the light out. Flickers of eyes between the trees followed by the shadows twitching. A blindingly fast reaction from either of them snuffed the battle just as quickly. Adrenaline pushed Isolde forward yet unsteadied her grip on the torch. A monster jumped from the darkness and landed on Amelia’s back, but before she turned fully to help, it was already extinguished into nothingness.
The witch cursed, her back having been torn at by the creature’s claws. However, once she made sure her treasure was intact, she didn’t comment on her state any further.
Rows of enemies faced them, and were likewise faced that night. Isolde lit them on fire to great effect, and whatever bigger creature was struck down by the eerie black of her companion. They’ve been lashed out on by the cold of their wraithlike limbs, the obsidian of their horns. Some carried wooden amulets which Amelia dodged then confiscated deftly. As the night advanced, ever so slowly, they wormed their way through the haunted woods, traps springing in places where none were remembered. By the fifth one, Isolde’s knee was busted, but like Amelia, she simply covered the bleed with her robes and pressed onwards. None of them questioned the deeds of the other, even as Isolde turned out to be a tad too sturdy and evasive, while Amelia let her eldritch afflictions on the loose. Sometimes though, when their eyes met - when an adversary wormed his way into the worst possible place between the both of them - there was a spark of newfound wariness and… respect. A tactical acceptance.
Lighting up a new torch and leaving behind the cinders of the old one, Isolde counted on the amount she’d spent. There were still a few left, so that wasn’t her concern. What she numbered were the hours they’ve spent walking, comparing her with her course.
They were close. To the end, and - as she rounded the bark of a great tree and stopped in her tracks - to their biggest obstacle yet.
The forest boss thumped towards them, his steps bringing out tremors that stung at her knee. Its great horned head showed the white of decay, bone wrapped in shadows to conceal itself. As it sounded a chilling cry and got into a fighting stance, Isolde noticed one alarming thing.
“His eyes-” They’re gone.
The gallop had them both lurching in opposing directions, Isolde bursting aflame as Amelia was swallowed by a flock of lesser mobs. The former gave a cry of horror which was soon replaced with cautious anger - the flames jumped off her body and towards the large enemy.
As they laved at the body of the beast, it howled in rage, turning it’s mangled head towards her. It was beautiful in a sense - bone and darkness - but any admiration Isolde might’ve felt for it was suppressed by the chilling fear for her companion. As the monster burned harder and brighter with a thick, gold, watery flame, the rivulets of it spilled down its sides and onto the pile of bodies beyond.
As the fire begun to work its way into the fiends and their champion readied for a second strike, there was a sound that interrupted them both. Isolde started to her feet as a nausea-inducing rip echoed from behind it, and dissolving limbs fell about in a spray of gore. In the centre of the explosion stood Amelia, her frame partially shadowed, blood oozing from the numerous shallow gashes adorning her skin. Her clothes were ripped, and as she stood there with her head hung, her physical form convulsed, hair raising in the air as if tugged by a gale that wasn’t there.
An obscure, pungent smell wafted about her, along with an immensely powerful and worrisome aura. As Isolde felt it twist the magic about her, she took a step back, then a few more. Amelia looked up, her eyes wild. Her mouth formed a dark sentence, and her hand cast the curse upon her enemy. With a rending sound, the beast howled, impaled and sawed apart by the power until it was dead and Amelia was satisfied.
She stood there, prickly and on edge, her eyes glowing as she clutched her acorns with one hand and rid herself of her enemies with the other.
“I’m a little angry…” She breathed out, then her teeth clicked together and she closed her eyes. Wiping the gore of her enemies off her face and hair, she sighed - a long, agitated thing. Then she click-clacked over to Isolde, looking ready to go. “How much longer?”
“Not much. We’re almost out.” Isolde replied easily, seeing the power dim in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’ll need to wrap up some wounds, but there should be no lasting damage.” Amelia reassured her, and they fell into their pace, Isolde picking up her torch and lighting it up again while she could. The other torch was lost, but after the display of powers, her companion seemed more wary of her than the dark. Was she afraid of being judged?
“I’ve a basin and some light cleaner at my house.” Isolde told her lightly as the first slices of the starlit sky peeked through the gaps in the trees, trying to reassure her. “It should make do for your hair, as long as the ducklings won’t try to shove you out of it. I’m afraid they get very excited around all and any, bodies of water.”
That yielded her a half smile. The atmosphere eased, the feeling of unity returning. Then Isolde got caught in another trap.
When they firmly made it out of the forest, the sky was a shade or two lighter. They kept their guard up for enemies still, walking down the beaten path carefully as the tall grass about them rustled alarmingly. Only when the east became a bloom of reds and purples did the monsters retreat for the safety of their domain, and the two relaxed.
Amelia did not mean to stay long at her house, especially at first. But as they reached the familiar fields surrounding the dwelling again, they presented a bloody and exhausted picture, redeemed only by the gold of acorns nourished from an underlying vine of magic. In the light of that, when they were done bathing, patching up, dining and mending the charred and cut material of their outfits, sleeping - hiding the acorns from the ducklings! - she inevitably ended up sticking around for a while longer.
When she finally left for good, backpack on one shoulder and basket in her hand, the only thing Isolde could think of was inevitably meeting her again.
There was a lot of eye shutting and teeth clenching as Isolde removed her footwear.
“Numb? Not re-OW!” she yelped. The numbing effects of the salve were barely just kicking in. “It’s alright… it’s getting better…” she smiled weakly, nodding.
She wondered what had she heard when she fell down. It was hard to remember. She hadn’t really been focusing on the sounds back then. There was just one faint of memory… “You know what it sounds like when someone gets punched really hard in the jaw? There’s this… crack. Although it was silent, wait, no, muted. That was it.”
She looked over to the fire, then to the drinks. The scent of the herbs was already assaulting her nose, so she put her palm against one of the cups. It still felt searing to touch and her ears drooped as the promise of a drink distanced itself.
“B-But thank you anyway,” she remembered her manners. “I don’t think I’d be able to crawl over to that village in time”, she smiled, resting upon her elbows.
@cabin-dweller
Broken, huh.
Isolde hummed along understandingly as Flips spoke, debating on telling the girl what would occur next. The leg wasn't particularly crooked, but the rapidly growing swelling told her the interior burst and leaked. That leg wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Deciding on keeping it sudden to avoid additional stress, Isolde finished applying the salve with feather light touches, then smoothed her hand over the many bones of the ankle, and applied traction.
Which meant manouvering all of the bones in one place and pressing on them to heal. Ouch.
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