#ivoryrabbit

@ivory-rabbit

This place was... familiar. Odd, in a way, since Virgil didn’t recognize the silent trees and their sloped branches or the pathless earth around their roots. It was something he felt in the heart, a sense of familiarity that soothed against his skin and soul. 

This place was timeless, like the ancient ruins buried beneath the sands. Magic, in a way, but in a sense of being that simply was. It reminded him of someone, tickling the back of his mind, a friend, and yet he couldn’t put his finger on it in the sleepy haze of stirring from a Wandering. 

He stood barefoot in the soft soil, boots in hand and bag over his shoulder, as if he had been preparing to go somewhere before he Wandered off. He slowly tucked his boots into his bag, absently so as his odd eyes roamed up to the still, silent canopy above him. 

He didn’t belong here, Virgil knew. This place wasn’t for him. Yet at the same time it was too familiar for him to try to find a way out, so instead he took a cautious step forward and another as he went further in. 

He took his hands away from the wound immediately, only the faintest hint of exasperation flickering through his usually serene, concerned expression. He knew better than to ask too many questions in situations like this, but they’d been attempting to fix this for a while and with all the information he lacked, it was hard to say whether they were running out of time or not before serious damage would be done.  “All right, all right, but we have to take that knife out eventually if we want to fix it.”

Since he was going to wait a moment until she told him she was prepared, the Guardian instead took the opportunity to examine it visually, tilting his head to look at the wound from another angle. The dagger that pierced her hand, right through to her gloved palm, was a wicked looking thing - a curved blade with an ornate handle, with dark jewels inlaid in the design. He looked at these pointedly, and at the runes that glowed like dying embers along the handle’s surface, before turning his attention back to his friend.

“This wouldn’t happen to be a cursed item, would it?”

"Yeah, sure, keep admiring this blade, I’ll stand here, I have the whole time of the world, it’s so nice to stand with the dagger in my fucking hand, and God, can’t you come up with a plan how to help me?!"

   Ivakir, who was in pain, was nasty. Ivakir, who was in terrible pain, was very nasty, because of which she could sometimes say things that she later regretted. Getting down here was not a mistake, and she absolutely did not regret that she had come down here. Surly caves, full of antiquities and secrecy - such places always attracted the witch, just like cheese attracts mice. Which was usually in a mousetrap.

   After wandering through dark and dusty corrirods, they managed to find a hall with a bunch of corpses and skeletons of different stages of decomposition with a dagger in the center of the room. "Stood" was the right word to describe the position of the dagger, because from the side it seemed as if it was hanging in the air, "standing" on its blade. The light falling from a high ceiling made the room look like a stage.

   Ivakir remembered her grandmother's instructions: “If you see a cursed object, never touch it with your bare hands. Who knows what people touched it and what they did before with their hands”. The one could see a rag next to the dagger. Obviously, Ivakir's method didn't work.

   Having the dagger pierce your hand was painful, and there was no point in describing this pain. It was enough to look at the witch's face, which was covered with sweat. Ivakir should be paid tribute: she heroically held on. In addition to sweat, tears streamed down her face. Iv was crying. Now was not the moment to be ashamed of this.

@ivory-rabbit

"Oh, Heavens!” shouts Roland, bent his crouching knees at the rift of this boy’s short-sighted falling; held out the open bouquet of thrice-picked flowers, absolutely upon a whim. Doth Roland’s face borne worried, e’en as his gesture is seen appropriately and given its pleasured thanks.

Drop your muse’s name in my inbox and I’ll reveal my muse’s opinion of them…

Kieran

Most admirable quality:

“I respect that he’s so dedicated to his duty. I don’t think I could stay in one place long enough to be the guardian of anything, anymore.” 

Most attractive physical feature:

“He moves so gracefully—when he’s not a tree, of course. But it almost seems like he still is, in a way? This is going to sound trite, but…it’s like he retains the same elegance, like leaves on the breeze.” 

Most annoying habit:

“He seems a bit too concerned with safety and rules. Traveling between realms can be dangerous, but not if you know what you’re doing. Which I do.”

Something they would like to do with them:

“It probably isn’t possible, but I’d love to learn how to shapeshift like that. I wonder what kind of tree I would be…”

Fitz

Most admirable quality:

“His power might be unorthodox, but he has quite a gift. It’s difficult to control a power like that at the best of times, but especially without any training. It’s impressive that he’s learned how to do it on his own.” 

Most attractive physical feature:

“He’s got this soft, uncertain way of smiling—I know he’s shy, but I wish he’d smile more often.”

Most annoying habit:

“I get the feeling that he doesn’t think much of himself. It isn’t annoying, but it is a shame; magic is all about willpower, and I know he could do anything he wanted, if he tried.”

Something they would like to do with them:

There is a suddenly shiver that passes up the length of the ferrymen’s spine. It vibrates deep within him a second later. It was something so sudden, so, shocking. That it worried him truly made him worry. 

            “... what...?”

It was a rather quiet day so far. Merc had gone out for a small job and wouldn’t be back until the following day, and the sun was a bit too hot and baking for most to try risking walking down the block, instead favoring the cooler airs of larger stores. 

Rasul didn’t mind. It gave him time to busy himself doing the weekly rotations of his plants, watering the ones that needed to be watered and plucking the dried leaves and drying petals off some of the larger plants that required it. Busywork kept him from thinking too much, getting lost in his own head. 

Moving the smokepipe from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue, Rasul put his hands on his hips and looked over the shelf he had just finished arranging. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t a cluttered disaster either. Well, it was the best it was going to get, and so he let out a huff of smoke from his nose and turned to face the front window that had previously been behind him. Just watching the people who dared to be outside pass.

Patrick had seen a plethora of reactions from the injured in his time. Given his profession and the other seedy team ups he participated in, it was a wonder they ever made it home without a scrape. That being the case, the practically feral movements of the other man was not altogether surprising. The reaction itself wasn’t, at least. But Patrick had not pegged Turlough as the violent type when injured. He seemed frenzy, paranoid even. It made the hybrid pause, shock gracing his soft features for a moment. 

“Turlough...” He eventually said, tone solid but with an obvious gentleness. He had taken his hands away, lifting them up in a non-threatening gesture. Though, honestly, there was never a real moment when he wasn’t threatening simply with his biology. But as of now, he had no intent to purposefully harm the man.