Moira bristled at getting snuffed and glared at Lyra's back as she walked away. With a huff she let it go. Normally if people didn't want to talk that was there business and she let them alone. People didn't have the kind of power Lyra did though. It felt like turning her back to a tiger. What was worse was she literally had a tiger. Plus a predatory bird and whatever those little glowing balls were. She does, however, turn her back to whisper to Rosa, keeping in mind how good elven, even half-elven, hearing can be.
"How can I not worry? The last time she did this she got b*#+#-slapped with lightning. How do we know this isn't a punishment too? These things we made," she says waving at her sword and Rosa's potions, "she has to know how powerful, how dangerous, they are. And she used mine as a spring board." She half sighs, half growls in frustration. She turns to watch the half-elf make dinner, seemingly un-bothered by what happened last night. "It feels like she's burning the wick at both ends, running head long into things she may not completely understand. Like an obsession. What does she need that much power for?" She turns back to Rosa. "You're her sister. If this...seems in character. If you think she is fine, or will be fine, I'll drop it. But if there is a chance you think something is wrong, well, it's never good to let wounds fester."
There was a loud clang behind Moira and Rosa as Lyra tapped the spoon on the edge of the cooking pot with a little too much force. There was a moment of silence before Lyra spoke through gritted teeth. "You know it's not polite to speak out someone behind their back!"
She turned and walked over to the pair, soup spoon held out in a threatening matter in front of her. "I know what I'm doing, I trust in my faith, I know what I revere. Last night was a ritual that gave me a deeper connection with the world around me then I could have ever hoped for and it wasn't done so I could claim power. I sang because I LOVE the water and the wind and the grass, I sang because WHY NOT!? As for the lightning you-" Lyra cut off suddenly and spun on her heel.
She marched over to her tent and reached into to rifle through her pack for less than five seconds before stalking back to Moira with a thick book in her hand. Shoving the book at the fighter Lyra said "Before you go casting judgment on my decisions read this! If you can prove to me you understand even HALF of this then maybe I'll believe you actually know what you are talking about!"
Rose breathed a bit of a sigh at Lyra's response. "You can choose to read that or not if you wish. I will tell you it is a real dry analysis of magical theory that she made me read when I caused her to get made like that at me when I asked her too many questions about her magic. For those magically inclined... It does actually have some helpful pointers buried among all the theories." She gave a bit of a stretch and then she bounced her way over past Lyra to the stew pot where she had been whipping up something with a fairly pleasing aroma. "Need any seasonings? Or you use them already?" She said idly, trying to clumsily change the subject and topic of conversation as she sat near the food cooking.
Inwardly she was still cringing as they reactions between Lyra and Moira became fairly heated. Neither of them were completely wrong and that didn't help as she pulled out her formula book and started to jot notes about the type of acid that Moira wanted to use for metal etching her new adamantine creation. She also couldn't help but be impressed as Moira hefted the instrument so effortlessly as Adamantine was fairly heavy and dense material, but perhaps working it into the form of a blade gave it a lightness not typically displayed in the raw ore or unworked metal.
Moira felt silly leaning back from the wooden spoon but her childhood instilled in her a health respect for how painful a wooden spoon to the back of the head or hand could be. Even still she scowled at it and then at the book Lyra gave her. "So all you did was sing?" she asked, looking suspiciously at Lyra. "And then this happened?" She waved the book at the druid to indicate her new skin-tone. "You're purple now? And can fly and have whatever...those are?" she asked, now waving he book at the multi-colored balls of light floating around her.
Domitian smiled as he woke up in his tent, largely oblivious to the craziness of the previous night. His attention had all been on Mehaila, and their time together. It hadn't been much, by the measures of many, but he had let his guard down more than he thought possible. And to a priestess of Calistria, of all things. What am I getting myself into? Yet all he could do was smile. He brings his hand up absentmindedly to his lips, and is lost in thought for just a moment longer. Then he shakes his head and rises up.
As he came out of his tent, he stumbled onto what appeared to be a remarkably tense situation going on. A frown creases his face, and his gaze goes from Moira to Rose before settling on Lyra, at which point he freezes. His eyes widen a little, and his head tilts ever so slightly to one side. What in the... "Uhh... morning. So, what's new?"
Mehaila sighed as she awoke in the morning, stretching and rubbing her face. She had spent a wonderful night alone with Dom out in the wilds. Her hair dye was finally fading, the chestnut brown of her hair starting to come out more, giving her a more woodsy look, and for once she was okay with it. Perhaps being average was enough, for it was her natural looks, and more aligned with what Dom would enjoy. Wait.... Since when did I care what a male, let alone a human male think? Calistria, you have surely challenged me here. But perhaps in seeking to be closer, that is my message, that being true to myself and enhancing what I have is better.
She thinks on this as she gets dressed, donning a simple undershirt with some travelling pants and only her top armor, with a few simple daggers hidden and her new rapier on her side, the old rapier sitting with a place of honor in her stuff. She brushes her hair and ties it back into a ponytail, dons some simple earrings, and gets ready to walk out. She had no idea of anyone saw her and Dom walk off last night, and was getting ready to field those questions as she steps outside.
However, what she finds causes her to pause, and quickly drawing a dagger out, as some Fae creature was among the group. She tries her best to blend back into the shadows, knowing enough of her cousins that nothing good came of their presence unannounced.
Lyra looked up from cooking breakfast at Domitian and noticed Mehaila out of the corner of her eye creeping up behind her with a knife drawn. "Oh for goodness sake!" she said loudly and pushed into the air in a flash, flying well out of reach of the elf's blade before stopping to hover, her arms crossed and still holding the soup spoon. "Put that away this instant or you get no breakfast!"
Suddenly a loud growl cut through the tension as Shirak crouched into a combative stance, hair standing on end and tail fluffed as she bared her teeth and locked onto Mehaila with baleful yellow eyes. The cat may not understand the motives but even she recognized a hunt.
Domitian frowns when Lyra flies up, and then gets very worried when Shirak begins growling. It doesn't take long to see where the both of them are looking, and to see Mehaila holding a knife. His heart gives a little leap, followed immediately by his body as he jumps in between Mehaila and Shirak, arms extended out. "Alright, everyone needs to calm down, this is getting out of hand quickly." Meeting Shirak's fierce gaze, Domitian tries to calm the fierce tiger down. "Nobody is going to hurt Lyra here. You're protection isn't needed. Easy now."
Looking over his shoulder, Dom says "Morning Mehaila. Would you mind dropping the knife for the moment? I think we'd all feel a bit more comfortable without weapons drawn."
"SHIRAK!" Lyra snapped with more authority than anyone had ever heard from her, her voice unyielding and ferocious. She swooped down and landed so hard her legs almost collapsed, the four wysps trailing her like a cometary tail. With her back to Domitian and Mehaila the slim woman marched up to the powerful tiger so fast the big cat almost had to skitter backwards to avoid the alpha predator, flipping onto her back and presenting her throat to the druid.
Lyra stopped when she was standing over the big cat and stared hard down at the yielding creature, waiting for any sign of aggression or challenge. When all appeared well she spun back to the group and ignored the cautious elf as she went back to tending breakfast. "Tsk you almost made me burn the bread!" she scolded as she used a finger to quickly slide each small flat loaf onto a wooden platter.
Grabbing five bowls she quickly filled each with the fresh soup and handed them to everyone, giving Mehaila the stink eye as she offered the bowl. "Food or fight, no weapons allowed at breakfast."
Glances at Dom to Shirak then to who seems to be Lyra, then back to Dom. During this time Lyra glides down from the air and seems to make Shirak back down. This seemed normal, but their fearless druid was not one to normally be so pretty, nor to be so dusky colored. After a few more seconds she does seem to relax, as Lyra did more and more Lyra like things, but she still wasn't sure how to take this new change. After studying the druid it seemed like her, only more happy and easy than she had been the whole journey.
She looks at the bowl, her knife still in her hand as old habits were hard to break. Normally if something didn't seem right, you don't trust it, as how else an you sneak about at night? And while she does slide the dagger back into its place in her pants, it was easy to tell she was bothered by this new development. She quietly and with as much grace and pose she could muster after being seemly foolish, she sits next to Dom to eat, her long legs touching his.
" The food is good." she finally speaks, though it was clear she was chewing on more in her mind. After finishing she finally comes out and gruffly says " You are not prone to joy like this. Explain. You can understand my wariness when one is normally surely is suddenly... not." Most anyone could look and see, but Dom for sure would notice a slight color to her cheeks, as she was obviously embarrassed by her ations.
Lyra was silent for a few minutes as shs consumed her breakfast slowly, savoring the taste and not looking at anyone. When she mopped up the last of the soup with the savory herb bread she looked at everyone with wariness in her eyes. "I won't get into details but simply put last night I performed a religious ceremony that got much more reaction than I expected. The outcome is this." she waved at her body before pointing a finger at the four balls of light that swooped around her, playing with each other. "And these little ones. They are elemental wysps, freshly born."
She held her hand out flat and the blue orb settled on it immediately, wetting her skin with it's presence. "I'm not sure why they were given to me or what's expected of me. Am I to raise them as a surrogate mother? Or simply let them exist and travel with us? Either way their constant flying around is starting to give me a headache."
Lyra said something in a language with fluid vowels and smooth intonations while casting her hand into the air. She repeated this process in three other languages and in response all four elemental wysps shot out and vanished over the walls of the fort. "I told them to go explore-" she cut off as her gaze settled on her outstretched hand.
The writing that had appeared with the lightning strike had vanished along with the scar of the event, leaving behind a spidery tattoo with much more artistic expression that looked more like tribal marks then anything else. She looked at her other hand and saw the flesh was blank and clean, not a mark or scar, not even the nasty burn she had received as a child when one of Rosa's experiments had gone awry.
Unconcerned with her present company Lyra unbuttoned her shirt and looked down at the center of chest and saw that the runic circle remained but was altered, all but four of the glyphs fading until almost invisible. "Well at least she healed my scars." she murmured while buttoning her shirt back up.
Rose savored her meal in silence, still feeling the lingering tension that seemed to hang among them like a heavy fog. She had a lot of thoughts in her head that she was pondering, watching the wisps now and then until they shot off. She watched them go their separate ways before turning back to her meal and finishing it. She did enjoy the herbs and savory tastes that Lyra had used in the stew and felt rather content. She leaned back to look up at the sky and watch the drifting clouds and they floated by lazily.
After enough time she finally spoke up, glancing at Lyra. "I know that you walk a path that I am not able to follow, but I do worry about you sometimes dear sister. If it weren't for you I probably still would be at home, locked away with my experiments and frustrated with the limits of my capabilities." She pulls out one of the strange liquid-filled bottles she had managed to make from the previous night. "I wouldn't have even dreamed I could make something like this, I can't even fathom what the possibilities of these are! They are powerful and their effects? I can only guess..." She carefully secreted the bottle back among her things. "I want to test the limits of my knowledge and surpass it! I want to do whatever I can to push the limits of what I can make." She gave Lyra a broad smile and then turned to the others. "I feel like with you all, I just might be able to realize that silly little dream of mine."
Domitian takes a bowl of food as well, with a nod of thanks. He sits next to Mehaila, seemingly at ease, though he definitely noticed when her leg touched his. He focuses on Lyra as she explained her experience, and quickly looking away as she begins to unbutton her shirt. Letting out a brief cough, he says "Greater than normal reactions seem to be the norm since we started traveling together." He gives a little smile at Mehaila as he says this, and then quickly goes back to his food.
Moira continued to watch the proceedings with barely contained suspicion. Even when Mehaila surprised them by sneaking up with a knife, she held back. Honestly she wasn't sure which side she would have been on if things turned violent. Thankfully she was never tested on that. Even after Lyra's obviously abridged story of what transpired last night, she didn't drop her guard. There were too many odd things about it. Her religious ceremony got a reaction? From who? What did she do to get the so many boons? Greater power, flight, elemental wisps, that blindingly powerful duster? She had looked at Lyra with what she intuitively knew was a Detect Magic spell but couldn't make heads or tails of what she was looking at. But it was brighter than the staff. She assumed that meant more powerful.
Her sword was far brighter still. She was a little proud of that.
The bit about her scars was more intriguing. Scars didn't just heal. And considering she looked different, it was more like she had a new body which was far more disconcerting. More importantly "Who is she?" she asked, looking at Lyra pointedly.
"Archdruid from the First World. Nymph." Lyra responded quietly after a moment, realizing that what was summoned by the religious ritual wasn't a secret, merely the wording and ritual itself. "Somehow my song breached the barrier between dimensions and she responded. So did the great elementals of the land. She offered me a path to become more connected to the wild then what I was born with and I took it. Deep magic like that requires blood freely given and we fought to the death. She used a magic I am unfamiliar with and I was reborn as this." she held her hand out and turned it over slowly, admiring the unmarred skin and delicate textures. "I think she rebirthed me as her daughter...sort of."
The bit of bread Moira had halfway to her mouth slipped from her fingers and bounced off her bowl to land in the rubble. There would be no five-second rule here. Tainted bread was the least of her concern. In fact, as she stared dumbly at the half-elf over the cooking fire, she couldn't quite figure out what was more concerning. That she summoned great elementals, whatever those were. That she summoned an archdruid, who was also a powerful fey in it's own right. That she tried to fight it, died, and was somehow f!++ing REBORN!
She picked up the heavy magic book and tossed it back at Lyra's head. "Are you out of your mind? Do I really need to explain how stupid an idea that was? You poked a hole in reality and an archdruid came through so the first thing you do is challenge her to a death match? Why? You don't poke bears into mauling you. When normal people want a deeper connection to nature they just go take a s~&# in the woods!" Moira through her hands in the air in exasperation tossing the remainder of breakfast off into the rubble. "And somehow your, what, half-fey now? Well congratulations, I'm not suspicious anymore. That's the most Lyra thing you've done all night."
Moira gets up and walks away. She mutter to herself as she walks around the fort kicking bits of debris out of her way.
Lyra's response to fall off of the stone block she was using as a chair, laughing so hard she began to become short of breath. Seeing Moira stomp away grumbling to herself made the druid laugh even harder and soon she gave up trying to sit up and lay on her back, laughing at the sky. After her gut wrenching laughter had died down into giggles Lyra was able to resume her sitting position and watch the fighter grumble with a bemused expression on her face.
"Moira you are new to the true power of faith. To you the Old Hunter is someone you made a deal with, not a being who embodies the highest ideals of your faith. Faith is not quid-pro-quo, it's not a matter of 1=1 and anything outside of that doesn't make sense. Faith is...indecipherable. That you do not understand my religious beliefs is strangely enough comforting, it means that the mystery is even grander than I knew."
After breakfast the party would pack up and begin the long ride back to the kobold's lair. The next three days would pass without incident as the group conversed and bickered from horseback from morning well into the night, exchanging childhoods and general getting to know each other much better. The kobolds would also be much more relaxed with the death of the greatest threat in the region and began to open up to the adventurers, explaining some of the nuances of their strangely sophisticated culture.
At the kobold's lair the party would find an extra horse the small lizardfolk had salvaged from somewhere already laden with the gold and materials they had gained from Tartuk's lair. Between the mites, Tartuk and the Staglord's fort the group found themselves laden heavily down and it would be Lyra who would be the first to dismount her horse and walk next to horse. Lyra would consult her magical map and point the party in a north by northwest direction.
The day after passing past the colossal tree the party would come to a section of the grasslands that was unusually flat.
Rose squinted into the distance at the shape. "Do you all see that? It looks like a strange tree..." She said with a bit of a frown. She wanted to make small talk as she was still uncomfortably mulling over the thoughts from the exchange earlier. Sure Lyra found Moira's response humorous, but the part she mentioned about the death and being reborn as the daughter of another being. Would that mean they were no longer sisters? It seemed impossible to think of her as anything but as she was the only family she had left. Now she felt conflicted as technically the Lyra she knew died and granted they shared memories, but was she truly the same.
The doubts that plagued her were frustrating and now she found herself being the one unconsciously apprehensive around her, when she was the first to defend her despite the changes. She felt as though now she was the hypocrite and that thought gnawed at her more than anything.
Moira throws her hands in the air in frustration."Great. Juuuust great." She kicks a few more pieces of debris before settling down some time later to pack up her on things. She mutters angrily for several hours during their journey back to the Kobold's cave home. One look at the fantastical blade during lunch though and she turns towards thoughtful silence. Despite all she had been through over the course of barely a couple weeks, it was worth it. So very very worth it. She had proof. She had ideas. She had purpose. And only by coming out here to join this wild and crazy journey could have made it possible. That lightened her mood some. But she still kept a wary eye on Lyra. Her entire biology changed. You don't go through something like that and come out the same.
-----------------
"Grass and more grass. Can you be more specific?"
Mehaila stays quiet on the subject, but during the ride and other points she would discuss with Dom the oddities from Lyra's transformation and other supposed things, trying to compare it to things from her religions past stories. She was wary due to this, and was more cold toward Lyra for it, but polite. You couldn't help but wonder if it was truly still Lyra, but having no proof otherwise she doesnt bring it up, but she was clearly not sitting well with the idea.
The following day after making the last pleasant farewells with Shezen and the other kobolds, she spots a tree in the distance, and frowns as it rises strangely among the flat plains, as if it was a alone sentinal against whatever was out there.
"How can you not see it? It is as if a claw was rising to the sky. I say we approach it, and learn a bit more about it. Even if Lyra led us here, no reason to not trust what we ourselves find. But see, look over here, now do you see?" she moves her horse from next to Doms where she had been riding and takes the time to show the tree to Moira and then Dom.
Domitian at first can't see any such tree, but with Mehaila's help can just make it out in the distance. He nods in confirmation, and smiles at Mehaila. "Aye, I see it now. Odd, out here all by itself. Let's go take a look."
Rose fidgeted in the saddle, but made no protest about visiting the large lonely tree. After all she did make mention of it in the first place. She occasionally stole glances over at Lyra. She wanted to talk to her about how reckless her rebirth was, but she also had quite done some reckless actions herself in the pursuit of improving her own knowledge. She was deeply conflicted, as part of her completely understood the risk for the boon she appeared to have been granted, but the other part of her wanted to yell at her about trying something like that and leaving her to be all alone. Part of her felt that pang of loneliness regardless of Lyra's return as well.
She rubbed her temples, the more she thought about it, the more it simply made her head and chest hurt to think and worry about it. For now she wished to do her best and blot the idle negative thoughts until they had more reason to surface. She knew it wasn't healthy to smother such feelings, but right now didn't seem like a time to continue arguing about them either. They were still very much in the wilderness and things could go south very quickly if they were caught unaware and bickering.
Despite the party's paranoia as they approached tree is appeared to be just that, a dead tree bent and sculpted by rain and wind until it clawed for the sky and resisted the final rest. The tree sat at the top of a small hill that nevertheless gave it a commanding view of the lands around them. As they group approached they could see the mighty oak had been felled by a lightning strike that split the tree in half but left it standing, a corpse that refused to fall.
As they circled around the tree Lyra would notice that a section of the ground near the roots had been disturbed and now something lay buried below. A short excavation would reveal a rolled leather cloak that held a collection of items; a thin rod of carved wood, a beautiful dagger, a ring and a soaked book whose few legible pages revealed arcane writing.
That night that party would have to pitch their camp in the open as the only trees they could find were stunted and bent by the wind. That night the air would gain a mild chill as the first signs of summer's demise manifested in a steady wind that tried to suck the warmth out of the characters and set their campfire to dancing.
Rose sat near the fire, staring into the crackling flames as the wind set them to dance. The same very wind that nipped at her slightly pointed ears and sent chills down her back. She shivered slightly in the cool air, looking up at the others and then back to the flames. "That night... The sanguine moon... That was something else right? Powerful magicks were at work that evening, and impossible feats have been made." She smiled and attempted to make idle chat with the others in order to keep her mind occupied with thoughts other than how cold it was out. She wanted to do more of her experimenting, but was fearful that her shaking hands would cause her more harm than make productive progress forward.
She rubbed her hands together to try and keep them from shaking, as awaited an answer back from those around them. She had ideas and plans floating through her mind, but they would have to stay ideas and plans until she could spend the time in the proper place to give form to her dreams.
Mehaila thinks about Rosa words. She and Dom had not noticed anything much different, having spent a quiet night together. It had been very peaceful and relaxing, and while that seems to have been different from the others, she had enjoyed it nonetheless. After thinking about it she queries to Rosa " But what if nothing was made? Dom and I felt nothing but just spent time together. Perhaps you just are over reacting? Surely nothing that major would occur just from a moon phase."
She wasn't sounding very convinced, but she wondered what the two who had wandered off got from that exchange. It just seemed odd that everyone but two of the group got something, unless her and Dom just have not figured out what they got. It was possible it was something that would take years to see even, for magic worked very differently for everyone.
During the evening hours just before bed, Moira had taken to laying Hunger across her lap and just starring at it. Everything she had dreamed of was laying there in the palm of her hands. She revisited the memory of that not over and over and could clearly see the basics of what was necessary. The folds, the pathways, the magical conduits, everything. She could do it again with the right tools. She could even teach the process to others. Despite that, she felt ambivalent. She definitely made it. All the pieces of the puzzle were there. Something just helped her put them together. She wasn't upset with that. It was all the other stuff it shoved in there. Math, processes, structures, more complex than anything currently made. She didn't really care about flying sky citadels except whether she could actually make it. It felt like being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Distracted as she was she still didn't miss the conversation. She looked up at Mehaila, frowning. "Overreacting? Lyra is a new race and made a coat of sunbeams, Rosa made potions of night apparently and I made this," she says, gesturing to the blade in her lap. "A magic blade without casting a single spell. Made of Adamantine no less which takes months to mold. How else could it have happened? Any of it?"
Mehaila stares at Moira for a second, long enough anyone could tell she was thinking, or was judging something. It was not often that Mehaila felt her age, having been young when her companions fore fathers were learning to walk, and yet here is an example.
"Have you not seen what Dom can do? Or me? How about the deity who speaks to YOU. You are a child in somethings, and perhaps I forget that. But the gods have done many worse, and many greater things, by accident. However, the moon is a chartable and predictable moving body. It holds special places in certain religions I will grant you, and there are always rumors of wolfmen. But the moon itself cannot force these changes. You simply did what you always could. Or perhaps your god stepped in. Which is why this would be over reacting. You should be giving thanks to Erastil for this gift."
Rose tilted her head to the side as she listened to the exchange between Mehaila and Moira. Certainly Gods were going to be the answer for the cleric, and maybe one of them had their hand in the evening of the Blood Moon. The fact still remained that they who may follow many different ideals and creeds were the ones to perform the feats of only those that could be considered semi-deific. What did that make them? They were certainly more than they once were. She still greatly desired to improve the magicks and sciences that she had the knowledge of and wanted to delve further into. She knew the potions she had gleaned were but a fraction of the newly unlocked potential they were greeted with after the phoenix feathers and the powerful demon-like being they had triumphed over. They were making bold steps to proceed forward.
She also realized that she had merely been staring and not saying anything for quite some time as she mulled the multitude of thoughts that she decided to keep to herself rather than dump upon the others in a torrent of logorrhea. So she chose to begin drawing plans and designs in her book of formulae as she continued listening.
"It wasn't him," Moira says with sudden softness. Erastil was about living simply and these memories, these visions, were about far more complex things than anyone knew about. "If it was then I sure as hell wouldn't give him praise. This was my achievement. My dream. I am sure he wouldn't interfere. But something did. And in a way I can't rightly get made at. All the knowledge was there, in me, something just...helped me see the big picture. And hastened the process." She looks up her eyes and tone carrying a little more heat. "I didn't need that help so I not thanking anyone for it."
Mehaila listens, gently taking in Moira's words before she raises a hand at the end. " You admit it was not all you, you have a deity take an active interest in you, and yet you do not see how it could be from him? What do you humans get taught?" She looks at Dom as she says this, not really sure how to take this perspective. She was unsure how to direct or guide this, as even while she meet those who didnt believe, she had never dealt with someone who actively got powers from a deity, and didn't seem to understand when the deity helped.
After a few more seconds she ventures out " How do you know he didn't help you with the dream? Is it so far removed that he helped? Is Erastil not one to help keep one in touch with nature and things? Perhaps that is your nature? If you did not need that help, then you can right now do it again?" She ends with the challenge, for if Moira could truly do it alone, then she could repeat it.
"Oh he's about nature and things is he?" Moira says condescendingly. "Just like Calistria is about f&~#in and stabbin huh? I guarantee I know more about Erastil than you do. So how about we not lecture each other about what our respective gods are all about, hm? And sure. I'll just whip up another magic weapon right here," she says getting to her feet. "Huh, that's funny. I don't see any tools." She makes a show of looking around the camp even going so far as to lift small rocks and look under them. "Or any raw materials like, oh, iron. Or a f**#ing forge." She rounds Mehaila, growing increasingly loud and her gesticulations increasingly violent. "No I can't make something right now. You expect me to s&~@ ore, breath fire, and use my hands? Is that what you think I do? You think it's that easy? I spent years of sleepless nights and thousands of trials mastering this craft and I am not going to let some knife-ear bimbo treat it like a magic trick!" she practically snarls at the end.
Moira then stomps over to her spot and picks the blade up. Hunger, it's name carved in dwarven runes along the blade, glints in the firelight as she stomps back to Mehaila. For a moment it's uncertain what she intends to do with it as there is real menace behind the fire in her eyes. She swings the blade downward and plants several inches in the dirt in front of the cleric. "Take a good hard look at it," she says with an eerie calm. Her white-knuckle grip and straining muscles belay her anger. "I don't need to know what I am seeing with magic eyes to know this thing is stronger than just about any item here. The process I put together requires hundreds of folds, all made just right, combined with a lot of other materials, and an infusion of magic. It should have taken months to do this and I did it in a single night. And wanna know why I don't think Erastil did this?" she asks. With her back to the fire Moira is a silhouette of tense energy, like a hunting cat ready to pounce. She leans forward, smiling without a hint of humor or happiness. "Because he isn't about making s+#~ easy."
Moira holds the elf in her stare for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then without warning, she spins away back to her spot, leaving the blade behind. "Something interfered with the hunt," Moira says glaring at the fire now. "If he cares at all then he's just annoyed as I am."
Rose paused during her writing as she casually eavesdropped on the argument that start to slowly rise between Mehaila and Moira. She did not want to involve herself, it wasn't her place, but she was curious to hear how this would begin to unfold between the two of them. It also served to bring a little closure to herself as well as she had her own questions, but she was content in puzzling them out herself. This just brought another perspective to bear and intrigued her to find how this was going to settle.
She carefully moved her pen, so as to not let her distracted thoughts muddy the work she had cautiously recorded up until now. Nothing irritated her more than wasted time and effort when it came to her own research and projects. She read back over the notes she had made, while listening to the two of them speak.
Mehaila tries her best to maintain her calm. And for an elf she was displaying amazing patience, for at least she thought she was having amazing patience. She listens and gives Moira her due, but after a few seconds she realizes that Moira had no idea. And nothing better to show her than an example. After first she wanted to slap her in the face, but that was not the right approach. She waited until Moira turned her back, and then she struck.
She said" And you have had how much experience with the gods little human? There are secrets we would never know, and yet how many blessing have you seen? Ask yourself this, if you know so much about your god. What power would have allowed you to do that without the blessings of your god, or is this a sign he has forsaken you?" It was the cold tone of voice, one that might make ice form in a volcano. It spoke to the darker things of life, and all it takes to go there. Meha had plenty in her past she wasnt proud of, and some had been very illegal. Yet nothing short of a miracle had gotten them here, and to her Moira was wanting to just ignore what was happening.
She flips her hair and walks away, a coldness coming off her as she moves to the far side of the camp, on the edges.
Moira tenses at the cold tone. Her eyes flick to the very powerful greatsword now sitting in front of Mehaila, well out of Moira's reach. She felt very foolish about that. Not that she expected Mehaila to actually pick it up and attack her but a good hunter never left a good weapon out of hand's reach. Why was the elf so adamant that the gods were to thank for what happened? And why was she arguing? It very well could have been a god. Just not Erastil. Of that she was certain. Certain in the same way she knew the sun would rise tomorrow. She had no proof it would, but it always did.
It all just seemed so petty now.
Moira starred at the fire long enough for the tension to ebb away. With a sigh and grunt she gets up and retrieves Hunger. She carefully wipes the dirt off and angles it towards the fire watching the light play across the flawless metal. "I don't know why your so adamant to blame a god on this," she says quietly. She looks up, fierce and determined. "Do I not deserve some credit for this? If the gods handle everything then what is the point of even trying? I have to question this. Question everything that's happened. It's my nature. And it is my life. I will live it how I choose."
She lifts the blade and rests the flat of it gently on her shoulder. She walks several feet from the camp and begins practicing with it, slow and easy. Adamantine weighed a little more than steel. It was going take time to get acclimated if she ever wanted to wield it properly.
There was a loud thud when Lyra obnoxiously closed her spellbook as the argument between Moira and Mehaila finally concluded . "Well I'm glad THAT'S settled, so constructive."
She snapped her fingers at the low burning fire and it burst into life, flames dancing several feet higher as she tossed more wood in. "You are both wrong. There is a god responsible for the Blood Moon but it isn't Erastil and he didn't step in to give us any help with our activities that night. Nethys is a fickle bastard who delights in confusion and chaos while holding magic above all else. The Blood Moon is a form of Divine Artifact that anyone can use without judgment from it's supporting deity. In the simplest terms it's the same as harnessing a river by placing a water-wheel in. The water turns the wheel but what you do with it.." she held her hands up while shrugging. "And for all we know we could have been a hundred miles in any direction and seen only a pale white orb in the sky. The Blood Moon is a random occurrence that means...nothing."
Moira looks at Lyra, dumbfounded, stunned and more than a little annoyed. "Great," she says with a sarcastic smile. "Excellent timing. If a demon murders us in the morning will you warn us its approaching before or after we're dead?"
Rose blinked at Moira's reaction in mild surprise and confusion. "I wouldn't think she would be so cruel, lest you give her reason to be." She shrugged, returning back to penning her notes in her well-worn tome, humming softly as she did so.
Shrugging, Lyra takes flight and hovers ten feet over the fire in a seated position. "You did fine with the last demon you fought. Why is everyone so worried about what happened? We came to explore and discover, to create a new world for ourselves. So I'm different and Moira created a fantastic weapon while Rosa created-" she cut herself off and looked into the distance. "What was th-"
A throat ripping snarl was the only warning the group had before a shadow launched itself from the shadows and tackled the druid in midair, grabbing her and slamming the slim woman onto the ground. Lyra managed to roll and avoid the worst of the damage before both of her hands came up and locked on the throat of the werewolf, her arms trembling as she struggled with all of her strength to keep the large jaws away from her. "HELP!"
The creature holding her to the ground was tall and powerful, a humanoid body covered with thick black fur topped with a wolf's head and claws on either hand. Furious growls and roars ripped from its mouth as it struggled to clamp on and savage the druid.
Two more powerful howls sounded from nearby as the rest of the leader's packmates raced towards the fight.
Rose hummed in amusement as she listened to Lyra talk, feeling comfort and encouragement from her sister's voice. She felt guilty for harboring any doubts towards her. Even if she had be reborn, they still shared a past and memories and that made her still just as much her sister as blood did. She looked up just as she was about to talk about her own creation from the night of the blood moon and she blushed a little...
...only to have the color drain just as fast as a large wolf-like monster tackled her lithe sister to the ground. "LYRA!!" She called out, and with book in one hand, she pulled a bottle with her thick mutagenic compound and drank it as quickly as she could, the feel of adrenaline and chemicals pumping through her blood as her skin took on the roughened texture of oak.
Moira jerked her head at the sound of the snarling werewolf. She brought her greatsword around defensively but she wasn't the target. Lyra was. Without hesitation, she charged forward at the grappling duo. While it was distracted trying to eat the druid's face she stabbed for it's side.
While off pouting in her own world, Meha was not paying any attention as the werewolf snuck in and grabbed their fearless leader. She tries to scramble backwards, hoping to get into a flanking spot with anyone, hoping it would be good enough to stop this beast attacking them
Domitian's eyes widen in shock as the wolfman pounces on Lyra. He quickly makes a grab for Akiivos, and quickly pulls back an arrow. He smiles as he feels the strength of his new weapon, the draw being far more powerful than any other bow he had ever wielded. He lets loose the arrow, and it shoots off toward the beast.
What do you think, Akiivos? Seen these things before? Domitian asks, as he tries to search his own memory banks for relevant information.
As the group scrambles to respond to the lightning quick response Moira and Mehaila almost run into each other in their attempt to maneuver around the struggling duo on the ground. Moira's large blade whistled through the air and landed with a wet thud, cleaving through the werewolf's hide and exposing ribes in a splash of blood that did little to smother the glowing runes of the weapon. The blow was enough to punch the creature off of Lyra and she quickly scrambled to her feet, a shrieking whistle slipping past her lips as she held a hand out.
A moment later Mylee streaked down from the tree and vanished in a flash of light. A blue wooden quarterstaff appeared in Lyra's outstretched hand and crackled with thin streaks of electricity. "Bloody mongrels!" she all but spits.
Despite a clean hit Mehaila's enchanted blade fails to penetrate the lycanthropes hide while Domitian's arrow slices a furrow in it's shoulder but does little else. The werewolf struggled to its feet and snarled at Moira, favoring it's left side heavily. Two more werewolves bounded out of the darkness and took up positions around the three woman, all but ignoring the paladin as three sets of animal eyes locked on the fighter.
The paladin hears a hesitant response from the bow. Myself, no. Perhaps Erastil's power will help.
Feeling how her blow was not powerful enough to affect the beast, however Moira seemed to be able to harm them gave Mehaila pause. She was not going to be able to help out in a fight to much, but she could bolster her allies. Taking a step back out of range, she raises her hand and call out " CALISTRIA! Grant us the power to strike down our foes!" She was unsure what else she needed to do to help out for now
After feeling the blade bite into the werewolf Moira knew the person in front of her was once human. She was intimately aware of the blade's abilities, including it's magical advantage against humans. For a moment she wished she had finished that book on curses her father had. Unfortunately she couldn't remember what the difference was between a natural and cursed werewolf. One had control, the other did not.
Oh well.
"Silver of mithril if you have it," she said to her companions. Her blade wasn't either but the magic on it could get through their resistance apparently. She glances back at the other two but stays focused on her current prey. "I didn't start this but I will sure as hell finish it," she growls at the wounded werewolf. But first, she needed to get out of the middle of this.
Now out of the murder circle, Moira lays into the wounded one again.
Dodging under the claws from the newly arrived lycanthropes Moira lays into the wounded werewolf with a neat pirouette and undercut that removes the monsters leg and sending it tumbling to the ground, still.
Lyra snapped the staff down to her side and held up a hand, palm up, towards the werewolf facing her. She stood still for a second as her eyes lit up with power and a smirk crossed her face. The next second a white shadow exploded out of the darkness behind the monster, Shirak having maneuvered in the darkness until she could ambush the creature from behind.
As the creature became distracted by the tiger Lyra incanted a short spell that manifested as a tongue of flame that grew into a squat, four legged creature vaguely reminiscent of a wolverine of pure fire. With a a roar that sounded like the bellowing of a furnace the elemental threw itself on the werewolf. Despite the heat of it's strikes it could not hit the werewolf as the creature tangled with the tiger who was currently shredding it.
Rose reaches into her belongings and withdraws one of her famous concoctions as she drops a catalyst into a mixture, swirling it around as she draws a little closer to one of the savage creatures. She then furrows her brow and then hurls the bomb with full force at one of the werewolves, careful to ensure that her allies are spared from the blast. She smirks in satisfaction as there is an eruption of flame and the hide of the creature smolders and continues to burn.