Common Text
Xanthean Text
Kashehino Text
Saun 23rd, 718
Part 1 - Careless Whisper
Part 2 - A Mother's Duty
Part 3 - I am the Wild Side
Part 4 - Blue is the Warmest Color
Qit'ria watched the lake come to life, just as the other areas had when she'd completed another part of the mission given to her by the spirit of the forest. Water lilies bloomed, birds were suddenly flying over the lake, and the shoreline was churning with reptiles and small critters. And even though she'd been cut off from her magic, and it worried her greatly, she was happy to see that it was resulting in some good. But now, now she wasn't so sure what it was she was supposed to do. She looked around the lake while recalling the vision the spirit had shown her.
There was so much life, so much greenery in the area, and the only direction she could discount was back toward the burnt forest she'd previously traveled from. But soon, her eyes settled on a pair of trees that stuck out. Willows, with long hanging branches. But they were not green. These were brown. Dying or dead. She looked all around first, realizing that was the only sign of anything out of place. This was her path now. Her final objective. She was sure that if she could overcome this obstacle, the spirit would be rejuvenated and the forest brought back to its normal, healthy self.
So, the huntress began walking around the lake toward the willows while preparing herself as best she could. She came to realize she'd been relying on her magic so much that to act without it felt so foreign. She no longer had access to her heightened senses, no longer had the security of changing suddenly to a form that would be more useful in the moment. For the first time in an arc, she was just QIt'ria. A smirk came upon her face. And just Qit'ria was more than enough for anything.
Confidence growing, she prayed into her bracelet once more, letting the spirit know that she was determined and was moving forward. It just needed to hold on a little longer. Qit'ria drew a javelin, keeping it at the ready, and then looked at her bracelet, conjuring up an idea. She'd seen what it had done earlier, both in the collapsing cave and when she was falling through the burnt forest. She could feel the energy given off by it, and she tapped into it, watching the leaves perk up in her presence. She didn't know what she was getting into, so she needed to be more cautious, careful. And so, she envisioned a shape for the bracelet.
The leaves grew and grew, much like they did when they created the protective spears for Qit'ria. But she stopped them short. Hanging from her arm was a shield, crafted from the leaves, made rigid by her desire and the spirit's magic. It was light, surprisingly light. She tapped the shaft of her spear against it, hearing a muffled yet satisfying thud against it. It was strong. Just like her. Just like her spirit friend. Qit'ria pulled down the turtle mask, tightened her bear cloak, and readied herself for whatever came next.
And then she stepped through the dying willow leaves.
There before her was a man, an old man. "So it seems you found me after all, little cat," in Qit'ria's native tongue. He appeared to be unarmed, but Qit'ria didn't dare trust that, nor this area. Every hair on her body was standing on end, and she crept forward suspiciously. "Oh don't be like that. I just wish to talk to you."
He waved a hand out before him, and a large, yellow mushroom grew out, followed by two smaller ones. He moved over at sat upon the mushroom seat, resting his elbows on the mushroom table. "Come, join me. Let us negotiate on behalf of those we answer to."
Every mode of warning in Qit'ria's mind was going off. Who was this man? Why did he want to talk? Qit'ria had come here, prepared to fight to the death on behalf of her friend. Qit'ria didn't like talking, especially to people. But... she looked down at her leaf shield. Her friend needed her to do whatever it took. And she had no idea what the challenge actually was. She started walking toward the negotiation table (mushroom). She raised her mask, so he could see her face, but she never disarmed. She sat down upon the spongy toadstool, looking across at this old man.
He was clearly Sev'ryn, dark skin, terribly wrinkled face. He wore a simple robe of plant fibers, his hair long and silvery, tumbling down his back. His eyes were piercing green. "Who are you?"
Xanthean Text
Kashehino Text
Saun 23rd, 718
Part 1 - Careless Whisper
Part 2 - A Mother's Duty
Part 3 - I am the Wild Side
Part 4 - Blue is the Warmest Color
Qit'ria watched the lake come to life, just as the other areas had when she'd completed another part of the mission given to her by the spirit of the forest. Water lilies bloomed, birds were suddenly flying over the lake, and the shoreline was churning with reptiles and small critters. And even though she'd been cut off from her magic, and it worried her greatly, she was happy to see that it was resulting in some good. But now, now she wasn't so sure what it was she was supposed to do. She looked around the lake while recalling the vision the spirit had shown her.
There was so much life, so much greenery in the area, and the only direction she could discount was back toward the burnt forest she'd previously traveled from. But soon, her eyes settled on a pair of trees that stuck out. Willows, with long hanging branches. But they were not green. These were brown. Dying or dead. She looked all around first, realizing that was the only sign of anything out of place. This was her path now. Her final objective. She was sure that if she could overcome this obstacle, the spirit would be rejuvenated and the forest brought back to its normal, healthy self.
So, the huntress began walking around the lake toward the willows while preparing herself as best she could. She came to realize she'd been relying on her magic so much that to act without it felt so foreign. She no longer had access to her heightened senses, no longer had the security of changing suddenly to a form that would be more useful in the moment. For the first time in an arc, she was just QIt'ria. A smirk came upon her face. And just Qit'ria was more than enough for anything.
Confidence growing, she prayed into her bracelet once more, letting the spirit know that she was determined and was moving forward. It just needed to hold on a little longer. Qit'ria drew a javelin, keeping it at the ready, and then looked at her bracelet, conjuring up an idea. She'd seen what it had done earlier, both in the collapsing cave and when she was falling through the burnt forest. She could feel the energy given off by it, and she tapped into it, watching the leaves perk up in her presence. She didn't know what she was getting into, so she needed to be more cautious, careful. And so, she envisioned a shape for the bracelet.
The leaves grew and grew, much like they did when they created the protective spears for Qit'ria. But she stopped them short. Hanging from her arm was a shield, crafted from the leaves, made rigid by her desire and the spirit's magic. It was light, surprisingly light. She tapped the shaft of her spear against it, hearing a muffled yet satisfying thud against it. It was strong. Just like her. Just like her spirit friend. Qit'ria pulled down the turtle mask, tightened her bear cloak, and readied herself for whatever came next.
And then she stepped through the dying willow leaves.
There before her was a man, an old man. "So it seems you found me after all, little cat," in Qit'ria's native tongue. He appeared to be unarmed, but Qit'ria didn't dare trust that, nor this area. Every hair on her body was standing on end, and she crept forward suspiciously. "Oh don't be like that. I just wish to talk to you."
He waved a hand out before him, and a large, yellow mushroom grew out, followed by two smaller ones. He moved over at sat upon the mushroom seat, resting his elbows on the mushroom table. "Come, join me. Let us negotiate on behalf of those we answer to."
Every mode of warning in Qit'ria's mind was going off. Who was this man? Why did he want to talk? Qit'ria had come here, prepared to fight to the death on behalf of her friend. Qit'ria didn't like talking, especially to people. But... she looked down at her leaf shield. Her friend needed her to do whatever it took. And she had no idea what the challenge actually was. She started walking toward the negotiation table (mushroom). She raised her mask, so he could see her face, but she never disarmed. She sat down upon the spongy toadstool, looking across at this old man.
He was clearly Sev'ryn, dark skin, terribly wrinkled face. He wore a simple robe of plant fibers, his hair long and silvery, tumbling down his back. His eyes were piercing green. "Who are you?"
