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Post by Galvin Roe on Oct 29, 2015 13:47:22 GMT
Nymara decided she liked this town, enough. It was a nice little place to stop for a bit and converse with some people. She'd been starved of human contact for awhile, well, living contact anyways. But like most times she felt 'starved' she didn't need to hear more than a few words to feel better and not want to deal too much with the people here. That was only heightened when she heard some children: playing with hoops and trying to scare each other with stories of 'necromancers' and 'witches'. Nyms jumped a little when one boy said: 'Yah knew, we've a' witch in them woods right forth.' Which was greeted with a bunch of arm waving and declarations that 'Jimmy' had best get better stories. In which the boy professed his truthfulness and started off about the woman's description. Which let Nymara relax, as this woman sounded . . . well, maybe not nothing like her but certainly wasn't her. Eyes as crimson blood as the bleeding moon and hair whiter than snow? First off, sounded a bit exaggerated, especially when they started off about her being a long stick that strode in and through trees like some legendary monster of yore. Stick of a woman sounded like Nyms anyway, but no-one would call her tall, so far only one man had noticed she was a female and his disapproving: 'woman shouldn't be let to travel around alone' frown, was all Nyms got from him and that was plenty. So with a small smile, as she thought over the false scare, she turned her head down the small gathering of wood and thatch houses. Maybe someone needed a little healing here, some supplies wouldn't be bad in the forest, well certainly better than having to scavenge. Honestly, she might starve if she had to do that again.
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"Tyrants and cowards - for metal, you will kneel .." - In My Sword I Trust by Ensiferum
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Post by Ruin on Oct 29, 2015 20:54:01 GMT
Eriyahna Silwen was a hybrid between a dark elf father and a high elf mother, something that happened quite a bit over time, but was still deemed unusual due to the appearances of the offspring such a pairing could produce. Pale hair and almost crimson eyes were certainly not considered the norm, and Eriyahna so happened to possess these traits. It often earned a few head turns, but one grows used to such things after being alive for just over a century.
Today, she was meandering through the moderately sized market of Pickaderry, a small and not particularly notable village within the Kingdom of Vuoria. The almost willowy woman, who was a bit taller than the average female height of humans and similarly structured races, was planning an expedition into the forests once again. Her interests lied within the topic of enchanting and lately, alchemy. The latter she was not all that good at, but denied that fact herself. The elf was quite a notable necromancer also, but that was a trait of hers that was probably best hidden most of the time.
Prodding a few different dried leaves and plant-like items that were being displayed in one stall which apparently held healing properties, Eriyahna gave one suspicious-looking root a quick snick. Euch, revolting. Perfect. And with that, she dropped it into the basket that hung from her left arm, after handing the merchant a few coppers. Items and substances with potent scents proved to be better than those without, she had noticed, and she enjoyed mixing different oddities together while enchanting to see what might be the product.
The necromancer was blissfully unaware of the rumours being spread around the village about her, and the sometimes scornful looks cast in her direction. In fact, when she did hear mentions of a witch being around, she assumed it was someone else entirely. To Eriyahna's recollection, she had not done anything that would reveal her profession, so it was silly to assume the village folk knew. They had captured the descriptions of her appearance rather spot on, actually, which was not always the way with tales spread by many different mouths. But the elf had not heard snippets of such descriptions.
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Post by Galvin Roe on Oct 30, 2015 5:31:42 GMT
As Nymara moved further into the town she became aware of strange looks. At first she thought someone had caught a glimpse of her hair, and the fact she was a wandering lone female put everyone at unease. But most these people didn't seem as biased as the man by the Inn. No, they were whispering something about her. 'Red hair . . . in the forest, devil dancer'. This shocked Nymara, so much so she turned around looking for the speaker. Only to have a flock of individuals scurry away from her. How had anyone found out? The old crone that hobbled up to her didn't seem to care how ridiculous the rumors were, she grabbed desperately at Nyms' hands with blistering fingers that suggested leprosy; even so the bubbling flesh had a strength that began to actually frighten the girl. What the woman started whispering in her ears startled her even more. " Sweet girl, lovely child share thine brews with me. Take me back past my years of suffering to my youthful, lusty days. I've been wronged child, so wronged. All my children are dead and my husband long abandoned me. I was a young saucy wench like yourself once. Full of . . . vitality and vigor. But I turned my eyes to charity and the local church. I HELPED the lepers child. the curse'd divine disease and the gods punished me for it. For my charity. Come sweet girl, you must see that I, if anyone, deserve to live again. Tell me what I need to do, I have chicken's blood and I even know of an orphan baby . . . " Nymara had heard far more than enough. She shook her arms desperately at the woman, but despite the woman's sickly condition and painful sores she was well fed, stocky and quite strong. " Let me loose, spiteful woman! Stop, I'm not going to make any pact of life with you. I haven't the ability and wouldn't even if I did. Witch-craft is a sin! " Despite Nymara's sudden panic she had her wits, and maybe she could get some kind of local constable to help her. That's when the woman's face shifted into a horror, " Don't you spew righteousness at me, devil's whore! I bet. . ." Sudden panic blossomed in Nymara's chest now. Real fear, that irrational emotion that cut through all logic and deduction. The woman was lifting her gnarly stick and she didn't want to see or hear what the old hag was going to do or say, next. With sudden desperation she flung her ascetic half-starved body at the woman. Arms and legs flailing against her and sudden gasps wracking her body. " No, no-no-no NOOOOO! Help. Someone help me. " She'd be completely humiliated in a few moments but this time she couldn't stop her sudden terror, the woman was about to do something with that stick and Nymara wasn't prepared to find out what it would have been. With sudden surprise and possibly fear, the woman's grip suddenly loosened. Nymara's twig of an arm caught the woman in the nose, and she was able to rush off behind a house. Breathing heavily and scooting herself into a dark corner for a moment, to calm down. She couldn't believe how effected she'd been, it was . . . horrible. For a moment she sat trembling and a few tears escaped her eyes, as she contemplated suicide right there, for about the billionth time in her life. Slowly she regained her composure and the crone hadn't come after her, so maybe she was safe? Safe, that thought brought unbidden bile to her mouth. She really did hate people. In time she'd come out from behind the unremarkable home, noting the bile and blood on her robe from the woman's bursting sores and feeling very irritated with herself. Emotions, emotions shouldn't be allowed to have that kind of power over a person. And with that simple event Nyms day turned from kind of enjoying the town, to a dull indifference as she pressed into the throng of the crowd surrounding the market place.
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