2018.01.28:Ladies of the Lake and one Laddie
2018.01.28:Ladies of the Lake and one Laddie
| Ladies of the Lake and one Laddie | |
|---|---|
| An encountered of a curious kind on the shores of a foreboding lake. | |
| IC Date | January 28, 2018 |
| IC Time | Mid-Afternoon |
| Players | Flit!, Carolyn, Stryfe |
| Location | On the shores of a foreboding lake. |
| Prp/Tp | Ladies of the Lake and one Laddie |
| Spheres | ShifterMageChangeling |
Dramatis Personae
In order of appearance: Flit!, Carolyn and Stryfe
She's tall for a woman, 5'7", and athletic. Her long hair is sable black, glinting with nearly blue highlights in the light. Her eyes are grey as sea mist and glitter like frost. Her features are fine boned, overlaid by smooth, fair skin. The same classic beauty is echoed through the rest of her form, and augmented by the grace that comes of self confidence. Her voice is a quiet soprano. Her only jewelry are a pair of plain gold necklaces, both of high quality. One holds a silver cross, the other a pair of 'dog tags.' Her hair is pulled back into a french braid, the tail of the braid dangling between her shoulder blades, and tied off with length of green ribbon.
Cut-offs, a tank top and a button down shirt over top. The over shirt is a red and blue plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up a couple turns. Her tank top is heather grey, with lace at the neckline and lower hem. It's snug and cropped, showing off her figure. The shorts are old low-rise jeans, thread bare and cut short short. Her shoes are plain white canvas sneakers.
A large shiny black bird with long black beak and bright blue eyes. A curious tilt of it's head gives it the appearance of something less wild, something almost approachable. Almost domestic.
Short cropped hair so blue it belongs in a Slurpee cup. This is in contrast with the unnaturally red and yellow eyes. This teen or twenty something has eyes that are a bit sunken and her skin is a bit ashen. This contrasts heavily with the thick black almost tribal designs going up from her neck to her chin and the black highlights around her lips. To trained in a more geek or pop culture lore the eyes and designs indicate some affection towards Sith style. Some people love their cosplay year round. Her body is that of a runner or someone, aside the pallor to them, that lives a very fit and active lifestyle. Long of limb and without shoes is likely around 5'10" tall. Her movements are deft and catlike. Like some sort of predator eternally stalking its prey.
Continuing the trend she wears a black close fit tunic top with a black with red streaked half vest. The sleeves of the shirt are clasped with black leather bracers with red metal reinforcements. A wide leather belt around her waist with a few leather pouches attached to it. Continuing the lack of any color but red and black is her black leggings and sensible black flats. Finally when it's cool outside is the heavy black open front robe with hood.
In some places people might make fun of a woman for wardrobe or makeup choices. But the subtle air of menace and danger stills most tongues. (Bruiser Merit)
Log
Ladies of the Lake and one Laddie CoH - Sunday, January 28, 2018, Mid-Afternoon
Tall oaks, and ancient willows protect this place from the light of the sun; ancient dead trees scatter the landscape as often as clouds dot the sky. The wetlands is sited beside Blackwater Lake, and the path that comes through the forest is one made from wood across a bridge. One that allows people to peer down into the algae-infested waters with its murky green depths and see the various creatures that might swim beneath. The scattered islands of land are covered with the algae and moss
covered remains of various animals and people. The swamp slowly drawing the bones down into it as if to hide the recent dead. The branches of willows so often caress the dark water's surface whenever a wind comes through, and as it passes through these trees does it make such a terribly mournful sound. Baleful, even and when one passes a few hundred yards - the point of no return - into this swampland, can they be witness to a great obelisk stone reaching into the sky 30 feet - decorated with unending swirls and there at the top does a brazier sit spewing orange flames. Forever lit by the magic of man, and the methane gases that rise from the floor of the wetlands. The obelisk is scarred and defaced by something impossibly sharp.
A few still standing lodges of dark wood dot the landscape, each claiming a small parcel of land through Blackwater Swamp. Other's are burnt ruins collapsed down into the swamp. Little twirls of smoke rising off the lodges that eventually disappear into the thick fog that often overtakes this place. Do note that every building here is only reachable by bridges of wood and chain, and that the overwhelming sense of being watched is - everywhere - as the houses sit ten or so feet above the water's surface.
In the center of this place is a set of ruins which rises from the very center of the swamp on carved stone; once a squat ziggurat always shrouded in smoke and fog now with fallen stones around a tunnel descending into it.
The young Raven hung in the thermals above the wetland waters, taking in the sights. He took special note of the ruins but was keeping an eye out for natives in the area.
Carolyn walks in, hikes in really, given the pack on her back. It's not large maybe enough for a day or so out in the woods. She moves quietly, near silently in fact. She stops at the sight of the lake and looks around, nodding a little.
As the young raven made a lazy circle above the lake, he noted a woman below. He was pretty sure... yes... a hiker it looked. Alone? Most humans didn't travel this deep into the Wild alone. Ever a curious bird, he altered his flight for a better look at the brave human.
Carolyn sets her pack down and lays out a few things, a small hiker's stove, a pot, a groundcloth, a rain fly, a chair that folds into an impressively tiny tube. The things laid out she takes a seat in the low chair and stretches her legs out with a sigh of contentment.
It appeared the woman was setting up a nest of sorts as he'd seen the humans do. A portable den. With a chair. He needed practice with those. He was fascinated by the lovely way her perch unfolded. Clever trick, that.
The woman herself seemed a fairly lovely sort, if he was any judge. He taste in such matters was always suspect. He decided to take a nearby branch. Curious if she would burn down the forest.
Carolyn is in no hurry at all. She just rests for a time, watching the waters and the sky as the sun slowly sinks toward the west. Hunger stirs a little so she gets the hiker's stove going...some water from a bottle into a pot. She snaps her fingers and the stove lights. She pours something from a foil package into the water and sits back to wait for the freeze dried stew to boil.
Almost reflexively, the surprised young Raven mimicked the sound of snapping fingers. Did human's do that. Had she had one of those shiny metal tinder-tins and he'd missed it. Not a chance. A who different sound, those.
Realizing he might have drawn attention to himself, he made pretense to have an interest in the tree he was perched in. He mimicked a blackbird's song distracted.
Carolyn looks up and spots the raven. She frowns a little but doesn't say anything, just goes on with cooking her dinner. Carolyn looks around to make sure nothing shiny is out. Nothing obvious anyway.
*HAH!* The young Raven thought smugly. The nesting woman hasn't a clue. She obviously just dismissed him as some more natural beast. He look back to the peculiar oblisk and again to the curious woman.
It was just a stupid rock. It wasn't going anywhere. Probably trapped by wicked magic anyway. He could use a rest. Wasn't there something odd...
Oh yes. The trick with the fingers and the fire. Hmmmmm...
Determined to solve this puzzle, he hopped from branch to branch, idly inspecting the trees as he made for a different, better angle to watch the nesting woman.
Food ready, Carolyn turns off the little stove, and picks up the pot to eat. She takes her time but it still doesn't take her long to eat. She pulls a bottle of water from her pack as well, and sips from that. The crow gets glanced at now and then. Overhead clouds begin to gather off in the west, at the shoreline where ocean meets land.
Hmmmm. The young Raven was undecided. She had definitely snapped her fingers. Magic? Or was one more piece of unfathomable technology. Did they make sound activated fire boxes. He was pretty sure they mad lights and doors to activate on gestures. He hated those.
He had an idea. he looked toward the obelisk in the wetlands and back down to the woman. What if she was connected to it. What if she was watching over it. A parent protecting her egg. Her big, ugly egg.
Hmmmmm. No. Like as to like. Her egg would be fairer, he was sure of it. Though he was a poor judge of how that sorted it self human-wise.
A bolt of lighting flashes in the distance from the building cloud. Long seconds later thunder rumbles. Carolyn watches the flash, a small smile on her lips. She doesn't seem concerned about rain or storm, though.
The young Raven sighed in disappointment. Soon the Storm would com and the human woman would retreat under her rain fly and the rain would end is puzzling then. If there was truely any puzzle to be sorted.
She hadn't snapped her fingers to turn the stove off. That's not the way the market store doors worked or the garage lights or ....he sighed. Still curious, he watched to see he she did anything else odd... or showed any interest in the obelisk?
...or if she had any leftovers...
Another raven has appeared on the branch near the first. It caws raucously and looks at the young raven with bright, beady, black eyes. Carolyn looks up at that caw and smiles.
The young corvid looked over in surprise. A cousin perhaps? A beastly kin or just beast coming by to chat him up, then. "Hello Cousin", he cawed in Avian tongue with a nod of greeting. "Watcha up to?"
The raven doesn't say anything back. Blue St.Elmos fire plays briefly across wingtips and flight feathers. On the ground Carolyn is back in her chair, relaxing again. She has a book out now which she reads a little from and pauses to consider.
The young Raven fluttered back in surprised. The shock of the faerie fire was enough to toss him across to the Spirit Wilds. Maybe he should let it. It hadn't threatened him, though the silence was rather rude.
The was something wrong. He used the corvid Gift to sort out one's enemies and it didn't seem to be dangerous? But he could be wrong. Possibly.
He looked to the woman below who seemed oblivious so far. But how long could that go on. "Cousin" He cawed and chittered quiet warning, "Hide your fire. Human below"
The raven caws back, laughing, and flutters down to perch on Carolyn's feet, extended out in front of her where she sits. She looks up at the raven. "Causing trouble again are we," she asks, amusement in her voice.
*Okay. What just happened there?* puzzled the young corvid.
"Cousin?" He cawed in Avian, "Does the human belong to you then?"
Was she a Homid She-wolf? Ravens and wolves often got on well together. But sometimes his kind would associate with Witches. They had lovely secrets to learn and rarely asked for anything terribly difficult in return. Was that the situation here then. He watched and waited. He Eager to hear what his feathery cousin had to say for itself."
Another caw from the raven, laughing. The bird jumps and flaps his wings once, twice, three times, rising higher with each. There's a flash of light and a BOOM like a cannon going off and the raven is gone. Carolyn pulls her arm down from in front of her eyes, having expected something like that. "Showoff," she mutters.
*Well that happen* thought the young corvid, disappointed in his cousins rude departure. He regarded the woman again, puzzling her own nature.
"Are you kin, then?", he cawed in the shared tongue of the Corax. Then dismissed the thought. Corax Kinfolk wouldn't wear gold like that. Even if they were immune to it's effects, it would just be rude.
Carolyn looks up at the remaining bird and shakes her head. "I'm sure you're talking to me, but I don't speak raven." She chuckles. "I'm not sure my friend does either, to be honest. He does his own thing."
Hmmmm. Good. Not Kinfolk. The gold thing would have really bothered him if she was.
Probably Garou then. Or a friendly witch? His weird discourteous cousin trusted her, though. That was enough for him. Surely it was clever enough to steal an impressive gift.
He lit off the branch and landed a few yards away on the opposite side of the fire-box. She should be safe enough for a closer look.
He considered her for a moment and mimicked Blacktail's happy howl from the other day. But not too loud, should their be pack issues he wasn't aware of.
"Ahhhhhhroooooooooooooooo."
Carolyn laughs. "I'm not a wolf," she says. "But that was a good impression of a howl. Wise to do it quietly. The wolves might not understand if you call them."
Not a wolf, eh? Not kin? Left witch, didn't it. No Fera would ever reveal themselves so careless to a simple mortal?
He tilted his head curios and then got a most BRILLIANT idea. He hopped a fott closer to the fire-box and mimicked the sound of snapping fingers. Her snapping fingers. If it was voice activated, that should be the proof of it.
*snaph* *snaph* *snaph*
Hmmmm. Nothing. He was sure he was doing it right. It wasn't like imitating sirens which could be fun or cell phone rings on a crowd part of the city. He chittered at the humor of it.
Carolyn laughs at the snap snap. "That's not how it works." She puts her book aside, back in the pack actually. "You're no normal raven either."
Well she had already proven herself worthy of a Raven's trust and so he saw little harm in revealing his own nature then. With a look around he nodded and transformed into his featherless form.
In a moments breath, he kneeled before her in an approximation of courtesy.
A pale, lanky, dark haired lad quite completely naked save for a wry unabashed grin. He seemed confident in his nothingness and friendly in a fashion. His eyes danced curiously about. He smiled kindly with a curiously birdlike tilt of his head, "Well guessed, Miss Witch. I'm Feaagh, then. At yer service," His voice was accented with a Gaelic lilt. Not Irish or Scottish but something with a similar cadence and lyrical quality.
"Carolyn Owen," she introduces herself, unphased by the nudity. Nothing she hasn't seen before. "No witch I. But you... you're a bit loose with showing what you are lad." Ireland is thick on her tongue, a heavy accent. "You should like be more careful. Though I pledge Ill keep your secret."
"You're Gaeilg, then?" He said pleasantly surprised, "Not sure how I'd missed afore now then."
"Wait? Your no Witch, then? Nor Wolf nor kin? Some other Fera, surely. You've a Raven Friend. A quite the clever one to be sure."
The frowned puzzled at glance at the fire-box and back to the woman and stumbled back a step. "But...I was sure to have noted you doing magic of some sort. You cannae be any mere mortal, you?"
"He is thunderbird," Carolyn says. "Though a raven since Thunderbird is Native American and he and I are from Eire." She smiles a little at the youth. "I am what I am," she tells him. "Which is why I tell you to be careful who you show yourself to. 'Tisn't safe, young raven, to change in front of just anyone."
Carolyn's sitting in a little fold out chair, talking with the naked Fleeagh. There's a day pack next to her on the ground with a little stove and some food and water and a ground cloth.
Carolyn doesn't seem terribly surprised at Stryfe's arrival, or maybe she just keeps a lid on her reactions. "A very good question that." She speaks with a thick Irish accent. "Getting rather crowded here."
"ACK!"The young homid squawks instinctively, refusing to glance at the water should he be swept away to the Spirit Wild. He couldn't just abandon this woman no matter what she was. She was still some sort of Raven Friend. One didn't just abandon allies like that, if that's what she was.
He took a step closer to the Gaelig lady. In turn he gave a polite nod to to the strange blue-haired lass. He idly thought a pair of pants would do well right about now.
Stryfe says, "I wouldn't advise fuckin in this swamp. Well at least down here.." she shakes her head "What are you two doing out in a dread swamp, filled with death, at the edge of the desert and woods?" she doesn't say MY swamp. But she does have a possessive tone. "It's dangerous out here."
Carolyn laughs at the conclusion the newcomer draws. "Farthest thing from my mind," she tells the woman. "A good question you ask. I'm here for some peace and quiet. Looks like I chose poorly."
Oblivious to her accusation, the pale lad tries to explain himself in his thick Gaelic lilt, "Was just flyin'... euh... passin'... passing by, meself. New here and was sorting out the Forest, then. I dinna go in anything then, Miss" He gestured at the ziggurat and in the distance.
"Or you know... touch anything then," He added with a nod to the obelisk.
Carolyn starts to pack up her things, the few that are out. She stands, slinging the pack over her shoulder. "So I'll just be finding another place."
Stryfe nods "Probably best.. This is not a place of peace. Peace is a lie. This place makes evident that lie." then eyes Feeagh curiously before just shaking her head.
"Just go too, shall I, Miss?" He smiled awkwardly at the perculair, gloomy lass. "I ah... yes... think I was headed uh... that way then." He smiled as he nodded to some thick brush.
Stryfe nods to Feeagh, "Probably safer... Dangerous things hunt this place. Nightmares and true visions of the darkness within you," before she starts taking a few steps back letting the mist conceal her again.
Once the girl is gone from sight, the young homid moved to the brush so he could go back to a more comfortable form
