#erethide.start

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 !

calla’s  head  throbs  as  she  presses  a  hand  to  her  forehead.  there  is  often  a  fine  line  between  the  pain  of  her  visions  and  the  pain  of  a  𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠,  but  it’s  been  so  long  since  she’s  last  celebrated  that  it’s  hard  to  discerne  the  difference  in  the  moment.  only  there  are  no  images  that  flicker  through  her  mind  as  she  closes  her  eyes.  she  knows  she  must  have  overdone  the  celebrating  -  it  isn’t  often  that  she  gets  to  let  loose  so  freely  and  openly.

she’s  settled  herself  in  a  quieter  corner  of  the  hill  top,  away  from  most  of  the  busy  crowd  and  the  loud  laughter,  but  still  a  figure  appears  before  her.  instinctively  she  shuffles  in  her  seat  to  make  room  for  her  new  company,  and  with  a  quick  gesture  to  the  empty  seat  next  to  her  she  offers  what  she  can  of  a  smile.

The blonde’s soft, golden locks were pulled back from her porcelain face and plaited with yellow and white wildflowers gathered from her garden; she wore a simple, pure white dress with a high neck and voluminous sleeves fitted at the wrist with a cream-colored apron wrapped around her waist. It had been ages since Panacea felt that little spark of joy— dare I say excitement in her chest. While it was more like anxiety, it was a welcome change from the heavy grief she had been carrying since her mother passed merely a month ago. The standard side of loneliness was also lessened thanks in part of the crowd of happy and joyful people celebrating the festival of light and harvest. It seemed to be contagious.

Pan was busy sorting out small stacks of wild flowers traditionally used to decorate one’s hair or lapel in recognition of the fertile season of early Summer when she noticed someone approach her table out of the corner of her eye. “Merry meet,” Pan said warmly as she raised her head to gaze at the person who came to a stop. “It’s such a lovely and festive evening, isn’t it?”

          Usually after a long and particularly hard day Viggo found himself either at a tavern downing ale or between a pair of legs. This time it was the first option. He thought it would be a quiet evening, but, oh, how wrong he was when, finishing his third ale, he witnessed a drunken fight between two men, who could barely stand on their feet, their profanities thrown at each other were slurred and fists nearly missed their targets. It was a fun sight to see, especially when they stumbled outside and continued it there. Viggo wasn’t the only one intersted in it, no. Half of the tavern followed them outside to watch. There was a thought, maybe he should stop them? But no. This was too entertaining.

The small stream of light that bent through the transom window sitting above the entrance painted the walls of Arudstrand Apotek in a soft, peachy glow. The shoppe already had a warm and gentle aesthetic without the beautiful spindle of light, but somehow, the early morning light sneaking above the tree-line made it more heavenly.

“Mum loved mornings like this,” Panacaea muttered to herself as her eyes swept from the cast sun rays to the botany bench littered with spare herbs and dark, milky glass bottles below her hands. How Pan desperately wanted to work alongside her mother once more, the pair of them humming the sweetest songs of birds as they worked to restock the shoppe.

It had been only a few fortnights since Pan’s mother had passed on, and she was already back in her shoppe creating ancient tinctures sold to heal those who pass through Elysia. This work was all Pan knew, all she had been allowed to know after inheriting the gifts of natural earth magic; a blessing once bestowed on the founding Arudstrand matriarch generations ago and passed down from Arudstrand woman. In a way, it was therapeutic for Pan to continue in her mother’s foot steps and take over the shop as the head apothecary, even to the dismay of her mother’s assistant, Sigrid, who hoped she would be the one to take the role.

Panacaea’s nimble porcelain fingers started to flutter across the bench, pulling different dried herbs called for in her ancient tonic recipe. “Elderberry... eleuthero... ginger root...” Pan thought to herself and plotted a small amounts into a mortarium to be ground to fine dust. She was so concentrated on the concoction that she barely heard the melodious sounds of the front door charm radiating across the shoppe. “We’re not open for another several hours,” Pan said, glancing up toward the figure disrupting her sweet and soft strand of light. “I don’t have much to offer to you, straunger.” Pan’s soft green eyes flickered back to her tincture.

          Elias felt a little out of place, he wasn’t keep on participating in big celebrations, especially ones that required a special dress code. White was not his color, but there was nothing much he could do. And he also had to leave his word at home, which he wasn’t happy about. He felt naked without it. At least he had a dagger strapped above his ankle just in case something happened. His movements were a little stiff and he didn’t know where to put his hands for the most part, but having some mead made him relax and loosen up a little. 

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 !

stark  is  still  dripping  with  the  morning  dew  as  he  pulls  his  shirt  over  his  head.  the  bite  of  cold  nips  at  his  skin,  sending  goosebumps  across  his  flesh  as  he  hurries  to  dry  himself.  there  are  people  who  are  beginning  to  flutter  in  from  the  nights  celebration  to  partake  in  the  bathe  of  beauty  -  and  he  doesn’t  want  to  be  around  to  see  it.

the  elven  tradition  is  one  his  mother  always  wanted  to  try,  but  because  she’d  been  at  home  caring  for  him  and  his  siblings  she’d  never  even  had  the  chance  to  celebrate.  let  alone  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔  of  celebrating.  he  figured  tonight  would  be  the  perfect  time  to  do  what  she  wanted  -  at  least  for  her  sake.

he  was  still  dripping  wet  and  shaking  to  the  bone  when  someone  approached  him  from  behind.  he  doesn’t  bother  to  turn  in  their  direction,  figuring  that  although  he  was  getting  dressed  they  must  be  getting  ready  to  𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬.  it  was  part  of  the  celebration,  afterall.