Accidental Banishment
Oct 27, 2017 21:36:29 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 27, 2017 21:36:29 GMT -5
Anyone wandering the forest on this fine, sunny day would stumble across quite a scene. In the midst of the forest strode an angry elf. Her posture was defensive, dark brown hair awry by the wind. A string of curses was leaving the otherwise delicate mouth of the woman as she walked. She was dressed in sturdy, worn boots, multiple different skirts of varying shades of green and brown. A simple brown tunic covered her top half with a belt resting on her hips. A leather pouch hung on the belt, along with dried herbs, and a small knife that looked to only be used for gathering and maybe skinning. A sturdy, gnarled looking stick was also tucked underneath the belt. But the most bizarre thing was the fact that her eyes were shut tight, and every now and then, she was walking straight into trees and tripping over roots and rocks.
Ophyra was not in a good mood, struggling as she was pass through the forest. She could feel her hut somewhere close by, but everything was messed up. Her sense of direction was off, she couldn't focus, her magic was acting bizarre and she had a splitting migraine. Just an hour before, it had been midnight- clearly not any longer for the sun was high in the sky- and she had been ambushed by three other elves in her garden. Her jaw tightened and she diverted her thoughts, tripping over a root as her boot struck it hard. A quick curse slipped out of her but she continued, trying to focus on her hut again.
The lifeless form of the familiar hawk lay unceremoniously in the midst of her now trampled garden. The cruel, dark steel dagger was embedded in his chest. One wing was wrenched out of socket, stuck at an odd angle, partially trapped under the dead weight of his own body. His beak lay partially open. Even though the form of his killer moved behind him, standing back up while leaving the dagger where it was, she could not tear her eyes off the sight.
"God damn it!" she exclaimed angrily. A tear was roughly wiped away with the sleeve of her tunic and she took a momentary pause as she nearly collided with a tree. Out of habit, she tried reaching for Kas'teril, but he was no longer there. It was an old habit that would die very slowly; it had been there for over 150 years at the very least (or so she guessed). The hawk always helped her see during the day. She was completely useless right now.
She tugged again at her hut, which was too far away to place her hex on to bid it to come to her, but it was stubbornly refusing to give her much help in finding it. It was almost as if it was purposefully being elusive. The mountain witch reached up and rubbed at her temples. The migraine was starting to subside, only because she wasn't opening her eyes to subject them to the brutal sun that cut through the canopy of trees like an unforgiving blanket of pure agony. ... Okay that was her migraine talking, but still.
She sighed, reaching out and touching the tree that she was near. Leaning on it, she rubbed at the sides of her head, just beside her eyes. Her hair shifted, snagging on the bark behind her, and she pushed it behind a pointed ear. "I would kill for some mead right now," she growled, deciding to take a breather before she stumbled again and broke her leg or something else foolish.
Ophyra was not in a good mood, struggling as she was pass through the forest. She could feel her hut somewhere close by, but everything was messed up. Her sense of direction was off, she couldn't focus, her magic was acting bizarre and she had a splitting migraine. Just an hour before, it had been midnight- clearly not any longer for the sun was high in the sky- and she had been ambushed by three other elves in her garden. Her jaw tightened and she diverted her thoughts, tripping over a root as her boot struck it hard. A quick curse slipped out of her but she continued, trying to focus on her hut again.
The lifeless form of the familiar hawk lay unceremoniously in the midst of her now trampled garden. The cruel, dark steel dagger was embedded in his chest. One wing was wrenched out of socket, stuck at an odd angle, partially trapped under the dead weight of his own body. His beak lay partially open. Even though the form of his killer moved behind him, standing back up while leaving the dagger where it was, she could not tear her eyes off the sight.
"God damn it!" she exclaimed angrily. A tear was roughly wiped away with the sleeve of her tunic and she took a momentary pause as she nearly collided with a tree. Out of habit, she tried reaching for Kas'teril, but he was no longer there. It was an old habit that would die very slowly; it had been there for over 150 years at the very least (or so she guessed). The hawk always helped her see during the day. She was completely useless right now.
She tugged again at her hut, which was too far away to place her hex on to bid it to come to her, but it was stubbornly refusing to give her much help in finding it. It was almost as if it was purposefully being elusive. The mountain witch reached up and rubbed at her temples. The migraine was starting to subside, only because she wasn't opening her eyes to subject them to the brutal sun that cut through the canopy of trees like an unforgiving blanket of pure agony. ... Okay that was her migraine talking, but still.
She sighed, reaching out and touching the tree that she was near. Leaning on it, she rubbed at the sides of her head, just beside her eyes. Her hair shifted, snagging on the bark behind her, and she pushed it behind a pointed ear. "I would kill for some mead right now," she growled, deciding to take a breather before she stumbled again and broke her leg or something else foolish.