Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer
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Marietta’s grip tightened on the hilt of her dead lover’s sword. The shamshir’s tip described short, sharp circles - but the sellsword didn’t move, did not so much as flinch. Coward. Gritting her teeth and letting out a strangled snarl, the half-elf stepped back and lowered the weapon. “Once and always.” Fighting Karen - and Luca - to reach Muuka wouldn’t end with Marietta getting what she wanted, even if she managed to win. Instead, she gave the two a disgusted look and spat a curse. “Of course you side with her.” Living in Keken hadn’t exposed Marietta to an abundance of people willing to lend a hand to a half-breed. And really, why should it be different elsewhere? She retreated another pace, looking between the two. Live through this first. You can settle debts with the witch later. “Have it your way then.” Muuka watched the exchange - the confrontation - expression unreadable behind the beaten gold mask hiding her visage. “The Company woke it up.” The oracle started to look up, toward the distant moon, but checked herself with an effort of will. “I’m sure that they didn’t know what it was when they started, but it didn’t take long for someone in Pinewatch to see the possibility.” “For a seer with a cracked mirror,” Marietta cut in sharply, “you certainly sound like someone who was there.” She glanced at Ember, looking for support, but the tiefling was still and silent as a statue, staring up at the full moon. “I’m sure Yondrin would have recognized you.” “It was greed, I think.” Muuka seemed to ignore Marietta’s jab. “Greed and envy are good motivators but poor restraints.” Before the ranger could interject again, the masked woman pressed on. “And I have been there, in a way. I’ve seen the apparatus, the cogs and gears that drive this hunger, in dreams and memories.” “You’re just talking around-” Marietta bit the words off with a shake of her head before turning sharply on one heel. “We’re not getting anywhere like this.” She slammed the shamshir back into its sheath and squinted up at the sky for a moment to take her bearings. “I’m leaving.” The half-elf called the rest over her shoulder, heading back toward the timber hauler’s road and Pinewatch. “We still have an assignment to complete. Come with me or stay and trade riddles with the tiger-witch, it makes no difference to me at this point.” Muuka folded her hands in front of herself calmly, watching the forester unlimber her bow and stalk away. The seer glanced at Luca and Karen. “If she makes it through the Fold once, she often makes it back, but never the same.” One bandaged hand motioned vaguely in the direction Marietta was moving. “That’s what they called it initially. The Fold. It is,” Muuka hesitated for a moment, searching for a word, “a sort of confluence. A place of meeting, one that might be at the heart of the problem itself, or just one of its byproducts. I only wish I’d had the chance to…” She trailed off, voice falling to a whisper. “She was late to our meeting, and after the dream I had to look.” Muuka pressed her hands together, gave herself a shake to shed the memories. “The Moon’s pull grows stronger. Take heed: until you reach the heart, any branch that seems to offer a way out is only Death in disguise.” A deep, leviathan breath rippled over her skin and stirred wisps of hair that had slipped free from her braid; they played lightly across her skin and drew a smile to her lips. But a cough wracked-tore-writhed through her parched throat and her bloodshot eyes creaked open slowly, unfocused. Perhaps eyes weren’t the only way to look. There was something true in that, but she had to see to… to serve. Her hand twitched, rose from where it had rested for a day-span-aeon and then paused; the woman at the other end of the appendage tilted the hand, gazed at it in the moonlight - was it hers? Hadn’t it belonged once to someone..? There was a callus there, no… calluses. Calluses and absences, what an interesting idea. And the fingers wanted to curl-grip-hold. That seemed important too, a braid of hairs dark and light tied about a finger, a kohl-marker tracing slow under her eye, a box stashed in the crux of a limb. She loved apples. Lips twitched, formed about an idea that died unspoken. No, the tree wouldn’t take root. Her head lolled suddenly to one side and she blinked rapidly, feeling the tide across her skin. It only wanted for a little water. Perhaps she would see her soon. It might be nice to say hello. Reaching for the wooden rim of her barrow, she exhaled slowly and pulled-drew-prised herself forward from the shelter of a hollow tree. Citrus. There was an orchard. One boot snapped a brittle, fleshless rib. She was fairly certain it had belonged to a ranger once; not her ranger, but one of them. She couldn’t remember what had happened to the man. But he had been here with her in the true-light-shimmer and there had been singing, sweet singing. Her too wide eyes, perfect silver coins, rose to stare at the moon far above, and her hand reached-grasped-sought through the empty air at her side. There was nothing there, where a... something should have been. Had her ranger taken it? She thought maybe she had seen that, or maybe she had dreamed it. There was comfort in that conclusion, but she couldn't focus on that, not now when she needed- Her boot clattered against another leftover fragment of her last visitor and she reached out for it, closing her fingers about the worn, ragged leather of a hilt. The calluses on her hand told her this wasn't perfect, but it was better, closer. She straightened up and flourished-twirled-brandished the old and rust-chewed sword. The distant moon received a precise salute and she started forward again, humming a song like screaming.
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