Vindico

Open: Calculated Risks

Citlali Deerheart Offline

Loner of Vindico
18 Seasons / Female / Familiar
Played by FennecFyre
140 Runes 
Domum - Ferox
x0 x0
*
Citlali's Health
 
 
Strength
0
Defence
3
Agility
7
Intuition
10
#1
This...was not a safe place to be. Particularly when you couldn't fly and instead had to slog through the mud and muck to get where you wanted to go. Thankful, for once, that she was of such delicate stature, the girl had it easier than most, but she still had to pick her way carefully across the moors. One wrong step here, she knew, and she might find herself chest-deep in mud, with no guarantee she'd make it back out. Each step was considered as she hopped her way from grassy patch to grassy patch, avoiding anywhere that looked boggy enough to be dangerous. Normally, she would have stayed well and far away from a place like this, but for once she had reason. Various kinds of herbs, many of them exceedingly helpful, grew in places like this. If she could uproot a few and replant them at her new home in Noa, she'd have easy access to them without needing to risk a return trip here. The beginnings of her own herb garden.

She still had to find the darn plants, though. With a ragged satchel borrowed from Indian's workshop slung across her shoulders, she made her way to a relatively-solid island in the middle of the bog, heavily overgrown. She snuffled among the foliage, nose immediately filled with the scent of soil, water, and plants. It was an almost soothing mix, really, earthy and natural, reminiscent of simpler days. Letting her guard down for the moment, she poked and prodded in the underbrush, searching for a likely-looking cutting to take home.

1d8 rolled for a total of: 3 (3)
[Image: citmythjumpsummer_by_fennecfyre-d86la05.png]
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Beauturn Eslelise-Freewinter Offline

Loner of Vindico
18 Seasons / Male / Factionless
Played by Astrara
205 Runes 
Domum - Ferox
x0 x0
*
Beauturn's Health
 
 
Strength
0
Defence
5
Agility
10
Intuition
5
#2
I wont sing your requiem
He was delirious. His words uttered softly through blackened lips like a toxic ichor as shock violently overcame him like a hurricane. His prattle faintly heard through the strong thrum of wingbeat as the vast eagle carried him elsewhere. Beauturn himself was elsewhere. Long gone. A lingering burning effigy where a man once was. Eyes red, eyes lost unto the cinders that now furled deep within him like a ravaging fire. Like embers. Like an inferno. He could feel the air within uncoiled primaries, blood strewn thick upon his shoulder dampening the black of his fur.

That one untouched wing of his carried the thick scent of smoke, his entire body did as his runes would blaze upon his awakening. The sky fleeting past. His ears would retreat to hear the strong thrum of wingbeat. With a ached sigh that rattled against the back of his throat he would seem a little more aware of the words that were strewn from his lips ‘We were men once, though we’ve become trees.’ He would murmur, an odd whimsical light to his words- he was far far away from them, from anything. But he had to remind himself; the blood was real. The gods had taken something of his. Something.

“Kindling. Libra. We are nothing.” He would rasp, words forced out of his throat like a sob. This passion of communication. The bird tightened his grip, tapered talons clutching carefully of the man and his one wing. ‘you burned like embers, this I know.’ The bird would state unmoved, his words long and drawn with untampered disbelief. ‘to survive such an inferno- you boiled the mountain peak alive’ to this the eagle-king would slur with newfound vigour “I am deathless, unbound, unkindled!” his words snarled with the fire of a thousand suns, fangs bared where glassy eyes did not reciprocate. The bird, the mythical beast, would find newfound respect for this hellfire man that seemed to transcend mutuality. Oh no. He feared the eagle-king. He feared him man would fear god.

With the alternating of vast white wings, he would lower the injured man to the grounds, from his eye there was another. Piercing blue would scrutinise her with an unfound intensity. A warning. “And yet I am nothing.” The words spoken by the forgotten king would draw the birds eyes to him. ‘a man who burns the night is not a failed man- I speak for the eagles.’ The great bird would state with an ice within his voice before casting a cry that reverberated around the planes. A piercing cry. Expecting eyes locked upon the bystander. An invitation. “we fled the fire? Bird it was within me” Settled upon the unwanted ground the earthbound would begin to assess what had been lost. The bloodied shoulder, flesh ripped. Bone fragmented, twisted. He’d do nothing at stare upon it; entranced almost. Elsewhere



@Citlali
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Citlali Deerheart Offline

Loner of Vindico
18 Seasons / Female / Familiar
Played by FennecFyre
140 Runes 
Domum - Ferox
x0 x0
*
Citlali's Health
 
 
Strength
0
Defence
3
Agility
7
Intuition
10
#3
A frustrated snort escaped the girl as she pulled herself out of the thicket, empty-handed. There was nothing of use growing in there, only brambles and weeds. She was about to turn away and continue her search elsewhere, when a strange form half-buried in the mud caught her eye. Curious, she peered down, spying a piece of driftwood. It was warped and twisted, but something about the shape, how the wood bent and branched, intrigued her. If one used their imagination, it almost looked like a curled-up wolf. There were the legs, a head, a tail, all wrapped about a lumpy body.

It was useless, but something still compelled her to tug the chunk of wood from the muck and store it within her satchel. Indian would have no use for it, but maybe later she would wash it off and try her paw at carving it. The rough form was already there, she just had to refine it a little. If nothing else, it was interesting to look at.

She was startled from her musings by the sound of heavy wings. She looked up, then watched, openmouthed, as a massive bird landed nearby, a scraggly black form clutched in its talons. The creature, revealed to be a wolf, was deposited on the swampy ground. A tattered ear pricked at his delirious mumblings, but her attention was focused on the bird, who was now glaring at her.

Citlali was not the type to let curiosity overrule caution. She would have gladly bolted away into the marsh like a startled rabbit, especially when the bird screeched with such intensity that her ears flattened themselves against her head. If the man was this monster's prey, then he was already lost. Beginning to tremble, she would back away slowly, eyes remaining fixated on the giant bird. Perhaps it was callous to leave him to death, but what could she do?

@Beauturn
[Image: citmythjumpsummer_by_fennecfyre-d86la05.png]
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Beauturn Eslelise-Freewinter Offline

Loner of Vindico
18 Seasons / Male / Factionless
Played by Astrara
205 Runes 
Domum - Ferox
x0 x0
*
Beauturn's Health
 
 
Strength
0
Defence
5
Agility
10
Intuition
5
#4
I wont sing your requiem
He’d look to the company before talking to the bird, his heart wasn’t in the words but there was something that came from his mouth although the conversation seemed discordant and broken. “Avant-garde bird you’ve brought me to a coward.” Her fleeting steps. If it was him he would save the day he always did. ‘then I won’t leave you to a vulture’ The roc would retort, affirmation rife in his tone. Sharp blue eyes and ice wings proving itself a denizen. Proving itself unswayable. It would stay till the end. “cowards only pick bones once you’re dead.” Beauturn hoped Libra wasn’t implying he was for the crows. Beauturn felt hopeless but by no means was he to waste his life to give the birds an early meal, even if metaphorically they were talking about the weak of man- which Beau and libra both seemed rather set that the passive intruder was one such specimen; unworthy. ‘cowards are dangerous.’ It would draw its massive head close, tilting it to the worst of him.

He’d push the birds face away with his unhindered arm the one who’s shoulder wasn’t missing additional joins. His unhindered wing limp, folded in placidly to his side. It was not out or greeting wind or showing glory. It was gone, useless. Hidden. Here he was not a king. He just looked tired. A pretty face but there was a hollowness in his eyes, as If he was still processing the ghost of something aforementioned. No he needed the intruder. This was audience participation. His entire life it was him. He took care of himself and he took care of the family. He was the heir to the Freewinter name. The eldest son. The idol of the village. None could hunt with an eagle as he could, tame the winds as he could, be a hero as he could. The purloiner of impossibly lofty expectations and he upheld them. It was sods law for him to be so useless within the situation. He wanted to burrow, to just sleep and leave and not be there.

He’d signal for her to approach, a sweeping motion of his head that displaced the fur upon his cheeks, runes glowing, red eyes sharp. An uncertain look within them, yet there was a courage there. A sense to overcome. A desire to swallow his pride. Tilting his snout downwards towards the visceral image of torn ligament and blood that lined where a wing once lay, he’d then make a sweeping gesture to the scenery as if to silently say ‘go find something that can make it less bad genius’ He couldn’t move, it was nerves connected to his shoulder, severed screaming nerves that dared him to move only to viciously gnaw at him from the inside. No, he had to remain. There was one more thing he felt the need to do. Looking up to the bird and back at her he would roll his eyes, expressing the annoyance that he thought the being was. The great roc would step aside.


@Citlali
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Citlali Deerheart Offline

Loner of Vindico
18 Seasons / Female / Familiar
Played by FennecFyre
140 Runes 
Domum - Ferox
x0 x0
*
Citlali's Health
 
 
Strength
0
Defence
3
Agility
7
Intuition
10
#5
She had expected the giant bird to tear the poor mangy bastard apart, but he kept mumbling, indeed, the bird almost seemed to be listening to him. Puzzled enough to keep her from fleeing, she watched as he stumbled to his feet, pushing the bird away from him. Eyes that might have once been called fiery locked onto her, and he gestured for her to approach. He didn't bother speaking to her, though she guessed that was likely because he had picked up that they didn't speak the same language. As he stood, she realized that something about him was off, asymmetric. Was he missing a wing? As she approached, eyes kept warily on his face, her suspicions were confirmed. A quiet breath was sucked in through her teeth at the sight, a sound that needed no translation.

His wing had been torn off, leaving a bloodied and half-cauterized stump with only a few charred feathers left. Her first thought was that the giant bird must have done this, but it was rapidly becoming more apparent to her that it wasn't the enemy here. Had he picked a fight with a dragon? If so, then he was lucky to be alive, even with a giant eagle backing him up. Walking slowly so as not to startled either one of them (more specifically the bird), she drew up to his wounded side and sat back, forepaws drawing themselves lightly off the ground. After a brief wipe on her chest fur to brush off any dirt, she'd bring them up to get a better look at the wound, gently brushing aside charred fur and feathers. The smell of burned wolf-flesh made her grimace, but she was almost glad for it. Cauterized wounds didn't make a wolf bleed to death, and he had likely lost a fair amount of blood already.

The wound looked fresh, and thus far uninfected--she needed to make sure it stayed that way. She'd removed her paws from his shoulder and step away, returning to all fours. "I'll be right back," she said, even though she knew it was unlikely he'd understand. "Stay here." She'd point a paw at him, then to the ground at his feet, for emphasis, before turning and darting off, nose to the ground. She searched with renewed intent now, narrowing her eyes to slits to focus on the scents swirling across the ground.

The acrid scent of an herb pulled her off the path, and she came upon a clump of numbing thistle, their pale leaves barely visible against the muck. She'd pluck a few leaves, careful to avoid their prickles, and stow them in her bag before continuing on. A few minutes more of searching led her to an old rotting tree, killed long-ago by a lightning strike. An electric-yellow treeslime oozed from the bark, and it was this slime she scraped off with another chunk of bark pried from the tree. With her odd findings stowed away in her satchel, she galloped back to the strange duo.

She'd approached the black wolf carefully once more, nosing open her satchel to show him what she had brought. The thistle leaves were first, ripped up slightly before being applied around the stump, pressed against his skin. He would feel a faint stinging for a few moments, but then it would fade, taking all feeling in the area with it. Hopefully, it would provide some relief from the pain he was no doubt feeling.

While she waited for that to take effect, she fished out the slime on it's platter of bark and coated her pawpads in it. "I know this stuff looks nasty," she said with a half-hearted smile, "but just bear with me for a minute." She tried to at least sound reassuring, even if he couldn't understand her words. This slime mold, only found growing on certain kinds of wood, and then only when it was rotting, was a surprisingly powerful antibiotic. Any illness that might have been prowling at the edge of his wounds would be swiftly extinguished--it just happened to sting like crazy on open flesh, hence the thistles.

Resting one paw against his side to steady herself, she'd cover the maimed area with a thin film of the slime, paying close attention to any spots that looked inflamed. When she had done all she could, she stepped away and wiped her paw clean on the grass, studying her work. Not bad for swamp first-aid.

@Beauturn
[Image: citmythjumpsummer_by_fennecfyre-d86la05.png]
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