Faith Rekindled

Lour has a bit of a crisis of faith

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Lour
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Race: Ellune
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Faith Rekindled

5 Saun, 716
The white expanse beneath his feet didn’t crunch like snow normally did. Lour frowned at the thought looking down. Maybe it was because it was the height of summer, but Lour didn’t think so. Kneeling down, he scooped up some of it, and it didn’t feel cold, or warm, or like anything really. Instead of staying in his hand, it flew up, more like a mist or a fog than a proper snow. Lour frowned, perplexed. He didn’t seem to be in Treidhart anymore, but there weren’t many clues to his location.

It was dark, but there didn’t seem to be any stars visible, and none of the moons made an appearance. Instead, the sky was a uniform black, stretching infinitely into the distance until it met the white of the floor at the horizon. Turning back the way he came, Lour noticed that he didn’t seem to be leaving any footprints either. In fact, each direction seemed much like the last one.

There wasn’t an obvious light source, yet Lour could see, so something had to be glowing somewhere. Maybe it was the floor itself, since the white was rather unnaturally bright. It was serene, in a sterile way. While he loved a peaceful location, this place felt surprisingly empty. It was odd, since Lour realized then and there that the sort of peace he enjoyed wasn’t an empty one, but rather one that was filled with the soft sounds and sights and smells of life moving forward as smoothly as possible.

This void, in contrast, was unsettling, and goose bumps prickled up Lour’s arms. Concentrating, he pulled upon the cool reservoir of power within him to create a spear. The ice appeared as quick as thought, much quicker than Lour was accustomed to, since usually he had to think long and hard and focus in order to create anything with Nilas. He didn’t dwell on this fact too long, since he figured he might just be getting more skilled at that particular aspect of his race’s gift from Treid.

Holding a spear instantly made Lour feel more comfortable, safer in some way he couldn’t name. It was odd. He didn’t like violence and tried his best to keep it from his city. And he never initiated a fight if he could help it. But he also felt that peace wouldn’t maintain itself. Instead, he and others like him had to be constantly vigilant, always trying to keep the world stable.

Still, he wondered sometimes what Ziell would think of his chocies. The Immortal had a profound influence on Lour’s life. While the Ellune didn’t fully comprehend all the ways he’d been touched by the Immortal, he did wonder daily if he was following a path Ziell would approve of. Lour bowed his head. He didn’t often get the chance to pray out loud in Treidhart, since the worship of other Immortals was highly discouraged. Now, though there didn’t seem to be a soul in sight.

“Ziell, hear my prayer.” Lour didn’t know the proper protocol for praying for any Immortal other than Treid. The Ellune didn’t have guides for this sort of ritual. However, though he spoke hesitantly, and his voice barely rose above a whisper, Lour felt he couldn’t go wrong with that opening. “I seek the peace that you embody, for both myself and for my friends and family.” The words hung, trembling in the still air. “I wish I knew how you would want me to act.” Lour chuckled at that. “But then again, I value my freewill. I guess we all just want a little guidance now and then.”
word count: 631
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Toscun'ahesesi
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Tose was running, feet bare though the ground was covered in cold snow that stung her feet. It wasn't quite as painful as it should have been though, she felt no fear at all that she might lose any toes. Besides, the heat of her exertions was keeping her warm. She laughed as she ran, arms pumping at her sides.

Glancing down, she saw her right hand was covered in green dye. Of course it was, this was utterly as it should be. How else after all, could she leave proof on the white stag she ran after that she had caught him? A creature like this, only the best most true hearted hunters could hope to catch, but to actually hunt him, to mar his almost glowing hide would be nigh on sacrilege. She would never do such a thing, so instead she ran, chasing him, following tracks as often as she followed flashes of his coat, very nearly sliding around the trunks of trees, leafless and standing like solemn old men, twisted with age but still reaching for the sky.

As she ran the forest thinned, and then was gone, but she did not notice, focused as she was on her target, on the feeling of her heart pumping, the rhythm of her feet hitting the ground. Even if she never caught him, there was purity and purpose in the chase. Eventually though, she realized she'd not seen the stag recently, and that she was no longer in the forest. As these strangeness caught her, she slowed, disoriented. No more forest, no more stag. Even the feeling of the ground beneath her feet had changed. The cold was gone. She looked up to see if she could use the stars to catch her bearings and saw.. nothing. Empty blackness.

She looked back down to follow his hoofprints, as the only thing that had guided her into this strange landscape they might guide her out again, but scanning the ground she saw once more.. nothing. Turning, bewildered, the prints she had been following, as well as her own were also gone. There was nothing and nothing in all directions. It even smelled sterile, with none of the natural scents she was used to being inundated with on a constant basis.

With a sense of direction she hoped was still functioning, she headed once more in the direction she'd last seen him moving in. What else was there to do? Sit and weep? That was hardly going to solve anyone's problems. It was hard to judge time here with no sun or moon, with only her own steps. Did she walk for bits or breaks? She was starting to ache, but it wasn't even a wholly physical sensation. She ached not from tired muscles, but for input beyond the nothingness.

She was just starting to worry that perhaps she'd been cursed when a form slowly began to appear before her. She picked up the pace jogging slightly as it resolved itself, not into the stag, but into a man. A very, very large man. Tose had never met an Ellune, and stood much shorter than he did, over two feet so. Fear was not a common response from her, but he was very big, and holding a spear. A little wariness and caution was perhaps normal. Besides, she wasn't even entirely convinced he was a mortal man with the grey skin and silver white hair.

She was behind him at the moment, and he did not seem to notice her, speaking too quietly for her to make out. Creeping close, utterly focused on being unheard, she darted the last short distance forward to press her green-dyed hand to has back, leaving behind an almost perfect handprint. and drawing back in case he tried to stab her.

This yielded no discernible changes to the landscape.

"Oh. Hm."

She'd somehow expected that that would fix it. That the forest would spring back up and all would be as it should be. Apparently not.
word count: 680
Lour
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Faith Rekindled

A hand placed in the middle of his back startled Lour out of his reverie. He had slipped into a sort of trance. While he wasn’t exactly expecting Ziell to answer, he’d hoped that the Immortal might take pity on him. So Lour had focused on his breathing, trying to slip into the meditative state that he could sometimes enter if he focused hard enough. ’Breath in. Breath out. Clear your mind,’ he repeated to himself, almost like a mantra.

However, all that changed when he was pushed from behind. Not expecting the movement, he fell forward, catching himself on his left forearm, spear held in his right hand. Lour wasn’t especially flexible and the position he ended up in was less than graceful and quite painful. He groaned slightly, and quickly untwisted himself and stood up. He spun to face the direction that the push had come from, noting that whatever had pushed him seemed to have a women’s voice.

There was, indeed a woman before him, but she was nothing like the Ellune Lour was used to. The first word that came to mind when looking at her was brown: brown hair, brown eyes, and brown skin. It was such a contrast to what Lour was used to that he stared, before realizing that was rude and averting his eyes somewhat. He towered over her, especially while standing, and Lour made a conscious effort to try and reduce the space he took up.

She was barefoot, which wasn’t odd to Lour, who was barefoot himself. What was strange, beyond her appearance, was that her hand was covered with green dye. As Lour watched, part of it dripped to the floor, and splashed, spreading through the white. However, he didn’t spend much time paying attention to it, finding the woman much more interesting.

She hadn’t spoken in a tongue that was familiar to him. And Lour didn’t know what had brought her to this place with him. Still, he reasoned that if she’d meant to do him harm then she could’ve attacked him while he was stupidly sitting unaware. Since she hadn’t, Lour figured that she was neutral at worst, friendly at best.

Speaking slowly and calmly, enunciating each word of his relatively rusty Common, Lour addressed the woman. “Hello there.” Projecting as much peace as he knew how, he continued “I’m Lour. You?” Remembering her approach and deciding she must have been the one to push him, Lour planted his spear in front of him, just in case. It wasn’t a threat, just a reminder. “Can I help you with something?”

At that, thought, Lour felt something crawling over his leg. Glancing down, he saw that the splatter of green paint had transformed somehow. In its place, there were roots, questing about, almost tasting the air. One of them had found Lour’s foot and was trying to wrap around him. Frowning slightly, he stepped away. But now he could feel something moving on his back as well, and he twisted, trying to get a look. Unfortunately, it was placed in such a way that he couldn’t get a glimpse. Giving up, he lifted a hand over himself and pointed at his back, asking the woman, “What’s going on?”
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Toscun'ahesesi
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Faith Rekindled

Tose had not meant to push him over, only to get the handprint on him. Perhaps he was the stag transformed after all, and that had been the original goal. She felt a bit bad about what she'd done, and part of her wanted to move forward, to help him rise, to apologise but.. But it had become apparent that other people, those not from Desnind, were often brutal and acted and reacted in ways that she did not understand. So caution, tinged with just the slightest hints of fear kept her back.

Still as she watched him, and the way he tried to compress in on himself, as though apologetic about how much space he took up, how large and imposing he was, she decided that he was probably not terribly aggressive. This was more a hunters observation than anything else. She could still be proven wrong. The way he spoke reinforced this, and though he firmly set the spear between them, dividing them, she chose to read that as a defensive warding gesture.

Her own Common was also broken, but she did not mind, it was good to practice, and she was a social creature by nature for the most part.

"My self-name is Toscun'ahesesi, called Tose. Was chasing-"

She paused her frowning, searching for the right words, and finding them missing.

"sacred.. beast? Gone. Lost and I too am lost now. This place is very strange."

But it was better now that she was not alone. Blame it on her upbringing, on the emphasis on community and cooperation, for all that she'd been taught to be self-sufficient, but Tose felt more comfortable being in such a strange place now that she was not on her own.

She looked down at his prompting, noting the questing roots. Strange though it was, and ominous though it could have been seen, she grinned at the sight.

"Ah! Good!"

And to her it was. This nothingness was unnatural, oppressive. It was good that life was beginning to grow here. As he turned however, showing her his back, where her handprint had marked him, she was less certain about the positive nature of what was going on. There was a plant growing out of him, growing faster than a plant ought to. The Dichondra Argentea was a particularly fine specimen, she just wasn't certain it ought to be in a person.

"Is plant. Not sure of all-name in this tongue. Silver Waterfall?"

Was this her fault? It surely wasn't coincidence that it grew where she had touched. To be able to cause such growth would be a great gift, but also one you would have to be careful with, for reasons exactly like this.

"Maybe I cause. Do not know. Never before such things. Hurts?"

This with some obvious worry.
word count: 476
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