Winds of Change - Madame Augustine 24.09.19
Sept 28, 2019 14:11:49 GMT
Sunday, Pieni, and 2 more like this
Post by Madame Augustine (Deceased) on Sept 28, 2019 14:11:49 GMT
The Angelbark is getting colder.
The leaves are covering the ground more and more for every passing day, the days themselves are getting shorter and Augustine’s feet haven’t been properly warm for at least a week. She’s crouched by the large oak at dusk, patching up her small windbreak with moss when it happens.
The silence is almost deafening when the steady wind that’s been coming in from the north-west abruptly stops whistling around her. She pauses, hands still clutching the moss and looks up at the oak, a peeved look on her face.
“.... Yes?” she prompts. “Did you need something?”
The leaves and branches of the mighty oak shake wildly for a second as if moved by a heavy wind, even though the trees next to it are perfectly still. Rolling down the side of the oak, in a fashion much too coordinated to be called falling, a number of acorns merrily make their way to where she’s standing. Ten of them gather at her feet in a neat circle. She gives them and the tree a dubious look before the wind suddenly returns, this time moving in a distinctly south-west direction.
Augustine is by no means a large person and it nearly knocks her down into the innocent-looking acorns as it roars around her, stronger than before. It rips one of the feathers out of her hair and her green eyes widen as they follow it into the pale, setting sun.
She turns to the tree again. “You have got to be shittin’ me.”
She packs up what few possessions she’s amassed during her time in Port Ffirst - the two healing potions she’s managed to brew, what little is left of the good port she got from that Lenoir brother, the acorns - while grumbling under her breath.
“... about to get settled in, being led to the correct place to begin with is apparently too much to ask from a deity, no, no, I’ll just pick up and leave, it’s not an issue…”
She ties her new, thicker boots securely on her feet, rights her pack and starts walking.
On the upside, Daring Heights is a lot closer to the Feythorn Forest than Port Ffirst is to the Angelbark. This makes it a hell of a lot easier to head into town for supplies and for people to find her if they need her to help with something, limited as her powers may be.
On the downside, it’s hard to avoid the gossip and the rumours and the fact that apparently there’s an actual war going on in a place called K’ul Goran.
Augustine sees the wounded come through the magical portals and tries for a whole day to tell herself that they will be fine, they have healers of their own, the wind led her to Daring Heights, not across the sea. Then she drinks the last of her port and signs up to join the war effort.
One contract declaring them ‘mercenaries’ and a magic transport later, their small party arrives in Zot Goran.
They’re not exactly what Augustine would call a troop of soldiers, but like her, her companions all seem to be driven by a need to help, to do some good.
Much like Augustine, Sheryl the halfling appears to have come to use her skills to heal and mend. Heret, Bones and Bubbles, Augustine isn’t sure of what they do entirely, but they seem nice enough. Taz the dragonborn is clearly the only person equipped for actual fighting.
They get their orders - massive wildfires to the south-east needs dealing with before K’ul Goran lose all their crops and actual towns start burning. While relieved to not be headed straight for the front lines, Augustine still wonders what good her few healing spells will be against the most volatile of the elements, even with the wands of fire fighting they’re given.
She begs to be let into an aid station on their way out of town, desperate to help wherever she can. She doesn’t think; she gives away her two healing potions to wounded soldiers as Sheryl sings them a song that heals their minds as well as their bodies.
She wonders if she’s on the right path. She wonders if she would ever know even if she was.
They reach the first of the fires and are about to get to work when the ogres appear through the flames. The party scrambles to fight, to protect the village and Augustine has never tasted fear like this, never felt her heart beat so hard it might just come clean out of her chest.
She raises her hands and tries to release the holy power of the Forest Father thrumming in her veins but it won’t come, it’s stuck, and it’s building and building within her until-
The wings explode out of her back; tree branches with sunlight coming through the leaves. Thin vines spread across her face, framing her glowing eyes and instinctively, she takes off. K’ul Goran is the windiest place Augustine has ever been and she isn’t strong, not at all, but she manages to stay in the air and lets her power flow. Silvanus lends her his maul and his power and she stops thinking again, and starts acting.
When the fight is over she lands clumsily, the leaves of her wings scattering in the wind. She falls to her knees, and doesn’t try to fight the tears.
She looks around for an oak tree and when she can’t find one, she turns inwards and begins to pray.
“Are you okay?” Sheryl asks her.
Augustine looks down at her shaking hands.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” she answers.
There is more fire to put out. A lot more.
They make their first mistake and split the party to work from two sides of it; one team with the fire fighting wands and the other by helping the locals in attempting to dam the river.
From half a mile away Augustine watches the second mistake helplessly, and she runs as fast as she can but an avalanche is much, much faster. She almost stops in her tracks as her companions and the villagers are drowned in relentless wave of rocks and rubble but the wind urges her on and a voice in her head demands that she keeps going, that this is what she was made for, and she keeps running.
Heret and Bubbles claw their way out first. Taz comes next, barely escaping the mysterious pull of the K’ul Gorian earth that adds insult to injury by drawing the very blood out of your veins. There’s no sign of the villagers but this, this is what Augustine has always been able to do.
Even when she doubted the Forest Father, when she veered off the path her parents had laid before her, when she turned her back on the Oak, she had always been able to pull people back from the brink of death. She prays for guidance and with Sheryl’s help they pull six of the seven villagers out of the dirt and rocks and with Silvanus help, they are spared.
The fires are put out. The party gets paid and transported back home.
In the dying light of the autumn day Augustine walks back out into the Feythorn Forest.
Just at the edge of it, where the Syvax Lake can be made out through the trees, she finds an oak and falls to her knees.
She puts her hands on its bark and leans her forehead against it.
The wind carries her repeated whispers of thank you and I'm sorry away and dries the fresh tears on her cheeks.
She pulls out the ten acorns from her pouch and carefully presses them into the soft earth, one by one, in a large circle.
She lays down in the middle of them, places a hand on the bark of the large oak, and sleeps.
The leaves are covering the ground more and more for every passing day, the days themselves are getting shorter and Augustine’s feet haven’t been properly warm for at least a week. She’s crouched by the large oak at dusk, patching up her small windbreak with moss when it happens.
The silence is almost deafening when the steady wind that’s been coming in from the north-west abruptly stops whistling around her. She pauses, hands still clutching the moss and looks up at the oak, a peeved look on her face.
“.... Yes?” she prompts. “Did you need something?”
The leaves and branches of the mighty oak shake wildly for a second as if moved by a heavy wind, even though the trees next to it are perfectly still. Rolling down the side of the oak, in a fashion much too coordinated to be called falling, a number of acorns merrily make their way to where she’s standing. Ten of them gather at her feet in a neat circle. She gives them and the tree a dubious look before the wind suddenly returns, this time moving in a distinctly south-west direction.
Augustine is by no means a large person and it nearly knocks her down into the innocent-looking acorns as it roars around her, stronger than before. It rips one of the feathers out of her hair and her green eyes widen as they follow it into the pale, setting sun.
She turns to the tree again. “You have got to be shittin’ me.”
She packs up what few possessions she’s amassed during her time in Port Ffirst - the two healing potions she’s managed to brew, what little is left of the good port she got from that Lenoir brother, the acorns - while grumbling under her breath.
“... about to get settled in, being led to the correct place to begin with is apparently too much to ask from a deity, no, no, I’ll just pick up and leave, it’s not an issue…”
She ties her new, thicker boots securely on her feet, rights her pack and starts walking.
On the upside, Daring Heights is a lot closer to the Feythorn Forest than Port Ffirst is to the Angelbark. This makes it a hell of a lot easier to head into town for supplies and for people to find her if they need her to help with something, limited as her powers may be.
On the downside, it’s hard to avoid the gossip and the rumours and the fact that apparently there’s an actual war going on in a place called K’ul Goran.
Augustine sees the wounded come through the magical portals and tries for a whole day to tell herself that they will be fine, they have healers of their own, the wind led her to Daring Heights, not across the sea. Then she drinks the last of her port and signs up to join the war effort.
One contract declaring them ‘mercenaries’ and a magic transport later, their small party arrives in Zot Goran.
They’re not exactly what Augustine would call a troop of soldiers, but like her, her companions all seem to be driven by a need to help, to do some good.
Much like Augustine, Sheryl the halfling appears to have come to use her skills to heal and mend. Heret, Bones and Bubbles, Augustine isn’t sure of what they do entirely, but they seem nice enough. Taz the dragonborn is clearly the only person equipped for actual fighting.
They get their orders - massive wildfires to the south-east needs dealing with before K’ul Goran lose all their crops and actual towns start burning. While relieved to not be headed straight for the front lines, Augustine still wonders what good her few healing spells will be against the most volatile of the elements, even with the wands of fire fighting they’re given.
She begs to be let into an aid station on their way out of town, desperate to help wherever she can. She doesn’t think; she gives away her two healing potions to wounded soldiers as Sheryl sings them a song that heals their minds as well as their bodies.
She wonders if she’s on the right path. She wonders if she would ever know even if she was.
They reach the first of the fires and are about to get to work when the ogres appear through the flames. The party scrambles to fight, to protect the village and Augustine has never tasted fear like this, never felt her heart beat so hard it might just come clean out of her chest.
She raises her hands and tries to release the holy power of the Forest Father thrumming in her veins but it won’t come, it’s stuck, and it’s building and building within her until-
The wings explode out of her back; tree branches with sunlight coming through the leaves. Thin vines spread across her face, framing her glowing eyes and instinctively, she takes off. K’ul Goran is the windiest place Augustine has ever been and she isn’t strong, not at all, but she manages to stay in the air and lets her power flow. Silvanus lends her his maul and his power and she stops thinking again, and starts acting.
When the fight is over she lands clumsily, the leaves of her wings scattering in the wind. She falls to her knees, and doesn’t try to fight the tears.
She looks around for an oak tree and when she can’t find one, she turns inwards and begins to pray.
“Are you okay?” Sheryl asks her.
Augustine looks down at her shaking hands.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” she answers.
There is more fire to put out. A lot more.
They make their first mistake and split the party to work from two sides of it; one team with the fire fighting wands and the other by helping the locals in attempting to dam the river.
From half a mile away Augustine watches the second mistake helplessly, and she runs as fast as she can but an avalanche is much, much faster. She almost stops in her tracks as her companions and the villagers are drowned in relentless wave of rocks and rubble but the wind urges her on and a voice in her head demands that she keeps going, that this is what she was made for, and she keeps running.
Heret and Bubbles claw their way out first. Taz comes next, barely escaping the mysterious pull of the K’ul Gorian earth that adds insult to injury by drawing the very blood out of your veins. There’s no sign of the villagers but this, this is what Augustine has always been able to do.
Even when she doubted the Forest Father, when she veered off the path her parents had laid before her, when she turned her back on the Oak, she had always been able to pull people back from the brink of death. She prays for guidance and with Sheryl’s help they pull six of the seven villagers out of the dirt and rocks and with Silvanus help, they are spared.
The fires are put out. The party gets paid and transported back home.
In the dying light of the autumn day Augustine walks back out into the Feythorn Forest.
Just at the edge of it, where the Syvax Lake can be made out through the trees, she finds an oak and falls to her knees.
She puts her hands on its bark and leans her forehead against it.
The wind carries her repeated whispers of thank you and I'm sorry away and dries the fresh tears on her cheeks.
She pulls out the ten acorns from her pouch and carefully presses them into the soft earth, one by one, in a large circle.
She lays down in the middle of them, places a hand on the bark of the large oak, and sleeps.
