"Open your eyes!" And Ivern is holding a chunky little frog in his hands. "May I present to you, Princess Valerica of the Swamp Realm! Treat her delicately. She is royal, after all!"
“... I would literally die for her.”
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"Open your eyes!" And Ivern is holding a chunky little frog in his hands. "May I present to you, Princess Valerica of the Swamp Realm! Treat her delicately. She is royal, after all!"
“... I would literally die for her.”

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"Jack, do you think you could help me with the rabbits? They're so easily startled today, but I'm just trying to get them somewhere safe before the storm comes! I hear you're good with animals..."
Eyes immediately alight with an outpouring of joy, the vagabond ringmaster bounced around to gleefully address the familiar voice, lurching forward to hug the tree spirit purely out of instinct.
“TREE DAD.”
Obviously happy to see him, he peered up at the taller creature like he’d just been given a great gift, biting into his bottom lip to contain his grin.
“Show me the bunnies!”
@godwillow said : "Hello, Zyra! Did you see the badgers are having a potluck? We'd love to invite you!"
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐒 𝐔𝐏𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃, facing one who she considers to be her kin — no, not the same species, but something close, close ENOUGH to understand her plight. While so often grief & bitterness make homes in the flora of her gut, Zyra feels only warmth for Ivern . . . someone pure & joyous enough to break the shadowy punishment that mankind had created just for her.
As he extends his offer, Zyra decides almost immediately that yes, it’s time for a break. A pretty smile pulls at lush lips, & a leaf - coated hand reaches out to squeeze the branch of his wrist affectionately. ❛ 𝑶𝒉, 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑰 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ? ❜
"Have an unusual day, my good sir!"
Talking trees! In Zaun!
...It really could not get any stranger.
“You as well,” Viktor said on impulse.
ira-sturm said:
Determination
“Do not come to me once you have determined that you should break your legs on the climb...”
godwillow said:
"Faith and a friend!"
“E-Eh? I do not think this, how you say, altitude is good for... trees.”
More bizarre spirit visions again...

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"Rrrrrakan!" Ivern calls with a dramatic trill. "The performer himself! Haha, looking good today! How goes the rebellion?"
Delighted, Rakan made his own dramatic entrance. His sun touched cape gracefully followed every well planned arc, a PERFORMANCE that came naturally to the Lhotlan without much thought.
“Ivern, my friend. You are RIGHT, I always look good and that won’t ever change!!” The vastayan GRINNED from ear to ear and offered a brief, theatric bow. “The rebellion is bangin’! We are a dancing flame that will never burn out! Not until magic and our kind can one day dance peacefully amongst Ionia once again! And You...!!!” A pause for dramatic effect. “You are looking amazing yourself, are you ready for the cold spell? I can feel it in the air!”
"Hello, Mr. Merriweather! I've been doing some jumping jacks recently— you know, to keep in shape! But you know, I'm more of a spruce tree than a redwood."
Oh! That is... Certainly a talking tree. Which is more out of place in Piltover than anything else Jayce has seen in the last week. Or month. (And it? He? Knows his name. Although maybe that’s not too much of a feat, considering.)
“I... well, that’s good to hear?”
At least the talking tree seems to be a pleasant individual!
@godwillow might have time to unpack all of that...
Gradually, the grass gives way to sand beneath his feet. There’s a slight dip where the wind and water has eroded away the dirt that leads to the beach proper, and as Kayn steps down, feels the granules crunch and give way beneath his sandals, he wonders why Zed has never sent him this way before. The disciple who was supposed to investigate fell horribly ill and, pressed for time as the de facto leader of the Order while Zed is away, Kayn went himself. After all, who else can he trust to get the job done quicker and better than anyone else?
He doesn’t like to be this near water, especially not the vast quantity that separates Ionia’s islands from the mainland, but he has honed his body and mind to endure it. In only a decade, Kayn has gone from trembling when the healers would wash his sunburned face to swimming, head under water, sometimes, if he absolutely must. He has spent too many years standing shivering, paralysed in pools and rivers, to let it consume him now. But still, as he steps closer to the river and the ground gets wetter, the sea seems so much louder somehow, the waves bigger, as if with each step he shrunk a little further.
And then Kayn steps in a particularly wet patch of mud, and stops. Of course, he’s walked through mud before, countless times in the rainy seasons, but there’s something about this mud. The consistency of it. The way the sand and silt mix with the water that saturates the land. Kayn slowly pulls his foot out, tries to take a step back, figure out the creeping sensation up his spine, but his legs aren’t working right and his foot sinks back down and suddenly Kayn knows this mud.
“No.” Dark eyes reel up to the cliffs above, so deceptively green and brown and grey in the broad daylight, but Kayn knows that shape. Memorised it as he lay in this mud. It’s morbid fascination that calculates the angle, drags his eyes down again to a spot only a hundred paces from him where he must have lay for days and nights until Zed found him. He has to say the hateful name aloud. Every time he does it’s like he’s swallowing it, making it a part of him so that it cannot kill him. “Epool.” But it’s rotten. It’s crawling inside him. Again, Kayn tries to step back. He sees sky for a moment, remembers a blow from a lifetime ago, and then the mud catches his elbows, the seat of his pants, his carefully braided hair, and embraces him like an old friend. “No.” He says again as the mud tries to swallow him whole. “No.” A bird cries over his head and Kayn blinks, instinctively, so it won’t peck out his eyes. The sea is so loud now, and it’s going to cover him like an icy blanket.
“Master—” But Zed isn’t here. There is only Kayn, the birds that will eat him when he dies, and the mud that will take whats’s left of him. “Zed—” His fingers weave into his hair, palms to his ears, trying to squeeze the crashing of the waves from them. “Help me!”