wildestlogs | FLIGHT TO THE FORD

FLIGHT TO THE FORD

The Palace is not a safe place. It's far too open and elegant, its walls broken down, its doors thrown open. There are far too many places their enemies can crawl in through. But there is an entirely different land on the other side of the palace, with an entirely different climate.

It's a land of cool temperate forests. It has a gnarled look to it. While things glow, they're knotty and thorny and a little dreary. Every so often a petrified troll can be found, covered in moss. These aren't like the trolls some of them saw frozen in Trollmarket - they're larger, uglier, and more menacing. But they're permanently frozen and no longer a danger.

Otherwise it's just misty forest. Mountains can be seen in the distance. In some areas, a road is visible, but it's perhaps not a safe place to travel, given they have enemies after them. The forest is a genuinely good place to hide. The Shadowhunters have given up chase, frightened off by the Nazgul.

And while the occasional Nazgul screech can be heard far off in the distance, they don't try to attack again.

But this is not because they've given up. They're simply waiting. Because some of the group have been poisoned by the shards of Morgul-blades. They're simply biding their time until those people turn into wraiths under their command.

They're biding their time until they can command them to destroy the group from within.

OOC DETAILS
❧ Quest magic: Players can handwave that the quest bond magic is tugging the group together, so they can regroup.

❧ Archivist Spells: There will be little eddies of magic left near the occasional little bit of human ruins. These spells run a little dark.

Death flashback spells: This spell causes a target to get stuck in a 15 second traumatic flashback of a death of a human warrior in the ancient realm of Arnor, a place that was once filled with people that were gradually culled by the dark forces of one o the Nazgul - the Witch-king. The target is completely distracted during this time. Archivists can bank up to 3 iterations of this spell. Casting the spell causes a temporary Necromancer style curse effect on the Archivist: eyes going completely black for 2 minutes, and plants withering and dying around the caster. The effects are not permanent.

❧ Network: Feel free to use the network in parallel with the log events. The log can be where characters regroup, get first aid, etc. A network post can go up to allow everyone to coordinate their efforts. The mods will leave that up to one of the players.

❧ Resources: As far as food goes, there are not many edible plants in the area, just the occasional edible root. Deer and rabbits can be found but they're rare. The occasional beehive can also be found but one has to somehow get rid of the bees or mop up honey that's dripped below it. There are not many supplies to be found here. However, there are a few plants and substances that can be used for first aid, if some among their number know about them:

Athelas: A sweet smelling green plant with small blue flowers. It can be used to cure the Black Breath by boiling it in water and allowing the victim to breathe in the vapors. It can also slow the transformation caused by Morgul-blades if the wound is washed by water that has had athelas boiled in it. This can also help relieve some of the pain and cold. It smells extremely fresh and sweet, often reminding people smelling of it specific scents that remind them of home. This means it can smell different ways to different people, such making one person smell apple orchards from back home, and another fresh cut grass after a rain. Use of this herb is more potent in the hands of a king. Thanks to the magic affecting the land, it will do so for any king.

Honey: This can offer some help for disinfecting puncture wounds, but works especially well for burns, like ones caused by the grazes of the Shadowhunters' angel blades.

Foxglove: A mashed poultice of this can be put on wounds to help with healing and prevent infection.

Pine sap: Can be used as a wound disinfectant.

Willow Bark: A tea made from willow bark can be used for pain but is not recommended if someone is still bleeding heavily, as it is also a blood thinner.

Poppies: There are a few small patches of poppies. Poppies can be used as an opioid pain reliever, by eating the seeds or making a tea out of them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I didn't say you were fighting, I said there was a fight, and getting out of one of those is a task in itself. Alright, hold your hand like this, so you don't accidentally skin your knuckles." Dan demonstrates, meeting Kaworu's searching expression with a warm smile. "I get lazy sometimes, so be more strict about that than I am with myself. Do as I say, not as I do, in terms of hand position."

By now, Dan's picked up that Kaworu isn't a human, but someone with a genuine interest in and fondness for humans, which Dan finds - not necessarily admirable, but something very positive, something very endearing and sympathetic. Dan, too, often thinks of himself as an observer of humans, picking up on all their little details, all the nuances of human interaction and all the beauties of human nature, because of a genuine and lifelong interest in others.

"I like to think so." He pats the ground, indicating that Kaworu can sit next to him. Someone might have taken Kaworu's sentiment as an insult, but Dan only knows it's accurate; acts of usefulness and kindness lend meaning to what he otherwise feels is pointless suffering, the counterweight to the sense of always, always just wishing he were dead. "Not that I think carving a toy will come too much in handy, but hey, who knows. We might could come across a little kid in need of something to play with."

Odds are that it'll just be something extra to carry on the journey, but hope springs eternal. At least a small piece of wood is light.

The raw wood and well-used knife look out of place in his hands by comparison – disconcertingly pale and thin, unmarked except by faint calluses from playing intruments. But Kaworu's an attentive student, sitting quietly and mimicking all the motions even when the purpose is redundant where he's concerned. His initial cuts are careful if clumsy as he figures out how to move the blade right.

"Giving yourself comfort is useful in itself." Red eyes that flick back up to Dan. The statement isn't at all pointed, just calm fact. "Your own happiness is equally as important as that of any child you might come across."

"Reckon that's true. They say stress prolongs healing, so..." So maybe the methodical gestures of whittling a little cat, of taking his mind off bodily pain and putting it into the rough cuts of the knife, the wood shredding and curling away in splintering ribbons, maybe that's an end unto itself. Dan's always been someone for stress, but he's also been someone for soothing.

"Good, you got the hang of it. The most import thing to remember with whittling is that it ain't never going to be perfect. The end product'll always look rough and clumsy, and it ain't never going to look like it should in your head." Dan's eyes light up. "And that's the joy of it. There ain't no better artform for humbling someone and making it so you can let go of your expectations."

The wood in Dan's hand might become a little cat, or it might become a little dog, or it might turn into a ball, or a whistle, or just a formless hunk.

Rough and clumsy is definitely an accurate description. Having an idea of what this should be would probably help. But just going through the motions to figure it all out is pleasant in its own way – mindlessly satisfying, seeing the raw bark give way to the clean inner wood.

"Perfection is a futile goal to begin with," he says simply. "Lilim are inherently imperfect. That you can find joy in that in a good thing, though. It's better to embrace reality than to lose yourself in an impossible dream."

That's something he's witnessed again and again. Always the same people, evidently fated to chase after what they can never have and willing to sacrifice everything in the process. It's pitiful.

"Glad you agree." Dan doesn't take any offense at all to Kaworu pointing out the obvious. Why would he? "Are your people inherently imperfect?"

He's cleaned his piece of wood of bark, and he puts some light scratches on the smooth surfaces for chunks he wants to carve out.

"A lot of folks use whittling for weapons, but I don't got no interest in making those when we already got enough and then some of those floating around."

His people. Does he even really have any? He's always stood apart from his siblings. Whether they even count as "people" by the standards of humans is another question entirely. How does one define that?

True to form, he sidesteps the question. "I've failed plenty," he says. "Over and over again. It'd be more accurate to say I've never once succeeded."

He's still smiling, methodically cutting away the bark. But for once, there's a touch of something a bit bitter in it. Just a hint.

"Once you get the bark off, you might could want to decide what you want to aim for. Not what it's going to be, just what you're aiming for."

Setting a goal and not having any way to fail aren't mutually exclusive. Shoot for the moon, and all that.

"I don't reckon that'd be accurate at all." Dan doesn't want to be patronizing, and he doesn't want to speak to experiences he can't even fathom, but at the very least, Kaworu's succeeded at getting a piece of wood and trying something new with a relative stranger. "That seems less a matter of objective reality than of perspective."

"Accurate enough. But it's alright. I'm fine now. Everything is how it was meant to be."

Bark cleaned away, he eyes the wood for a moment and then begins to try rounding the top out. It's much less smooth work, aiming for a shape instead of just scraping along the sides.

"And it can be...refreshing, to recognize the futility of your own efforts." His head tilts a little, trying to cut at a different angle. "Freeing."

The knife finds the grain of the wood and suddenly moves without resistance, jerking forward as it carves off a corner. The blade skids off dangerously. But where it would have slipped and sunk into his fingertips, there's a small flash of light and an almost metallic shriek as the edge bounces off a barrier of energy. Kaworu doesn't even react, simply readjusting his grip and settling back into the pattern of careful cuts.

Rhythm reestablished, he glances back up to Dan, his expression at ease.

"I'm fine," he says again. He means it.

Dan takes Kaworu at face value here. Why not, when he doesn't know Kaworu well? To project an idea of how Kaworu's feeling onto him will only prevent them from getting to know each other in actuality.

"Careful-" Dan starts, but then there's the little flash of light, the squeal of metal.

"Not so much a worry about physical danger, huh?"

FLIGHT TO THE FORD

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