Wild Berry Meadow [bwp] unfähig

backdated to 9/16

when mahler awoke, it was to the earth astir beneath him. without the aegis of the mountains, he was adrift. 
the gargoyle blinked.
in the distance, the sunspire reared. his head throbbed; he focused upon the shadows of the mountains rearing against a clouded sky. the ground heaved, and he again was thrown to its loam, and recalled as he lay there the violence that had sundered him in the first.
alive, yes, well, yes; diaspora — did they suffer also?
how could he have left them? now, of all times, and for whom? a wing-broke dove in which there lay no true future he could see? disgusted with himself, mahler lurched forward, unsteady, stumbling as the stones churned underfoot. he was angered; the rage lay with himself and his own choices, not with her, but for now he could not think of her face.
he must get home.
blood began in a slow trickle down the left side of his face from a tear upon his cheek, but the shadowpriest did not feel it as he grimly lay eyes upon his destination.

She hadn't meant to leave the trees today, but she was starving, and the game had darted out into the meadow. Perhaps it was best she was in the open. The trembling rocked her, knocking her already clumsy form to the ground. Her teeth rattled, eyes wide—

What in Peryite's name was going on?!

Maegi looked behind her, the woods still in sight but not quite close enough into which she could crawl back. Instead, she rode out the. . .storm? Earth-wave? She didn't have a word for whatever was happening, nor a clue as to why. All she could think of was her babies—were they safe? Oh, gods, she had to get back to them—

crack!- - -
and a mighty thud.

One of the tall cedars at the edge of the forest had fallen; she saw it, shivering. The earth, it was tearing her home to pieces—! She made to rise to her paws and was about to make the precarious journey home when a charcoal figure caught the corner of her eye.

Hey! she called out, nose catching an all-too familiar metallic tang. He was only a few paces away from her. You're bleeding, you know—what the hell is happening? As if he knew.

<3!

a feminine voice rang out, and captured mahler's attention, causing a brief burst of irritation to blossom in his chest. could she not see that he did not wish disturbance? why did she question him so, this slight pale figure. something in her gaze, perhaps; mahler came to a grudging halt and glanced over one broad shoulder at the shuddering world behind.
"it does not matter vhat it is," the gargoyle muttered, lowering his muzzle to swipe exasperatedly at the blood with a crooked fore-ankle. "it only matters vhat it vill do."
to me, to you —
why had he stayed so long in moonspear with the sun-lashed thrall? not now. mahler felt himself beginning to fray, and swung his heavy head toward the girl. "you have somevhere to go?" he asked brusquely, continuing his plod onward past the girl. she would not stop him, but he would not disallow her from accompanying him back to diaspora.

He was cross, which she didn't really hold against him—a man bleeding, after all. Still, she gave him a scowl at his retort, deciding (as usual) to be pedantic. Isn't knowing what it is helpful to knowing what it'll do? she shot back, continuing to pad toward him and eventually falling into step.

Maegi nodded at his question, giving the woods a brief, worried glance before turning her eyes back to his face. My home. I'm not sure how bad the damage is. . . She still heard the fall of the cedar, that noise resonating in her ears like a slap. How many other trees had given way to the trembling?

You can stop by and let me patch up your face, she offered, for she'd just picked up the faint but distinct smell of Diaspora on his pelt. They'd been kind, if not overly helpful, on her visit there, and hadn't reacted poorly to her name-dropping Blackfeather Woods. It was the least she could do, really.

he wanted to snap at the girl, demand that she begone and let him be. but mahler recognized swiftly the wisdom of her suggestion, and after a brief clench of his jaw, relented. "mahler, of diaspora," the gargoyle rumbled, charcoal ears jerking sharply backward as another tremour rippled through the area. 
the girl was young, but there was a confidence in her that mahler found appealing. no foolish child, this one. "vhere is your home?" he asked in the next instant. "diaspora resides in the sunspire, but i feel ..." 
— another crash, the snapping of crushed branches.
"— that after i return home, i vill move us from the range of falling rocks." a haunted expression harried mahler then, and he fell into a tense silence as he traveled in the direction presumably indicated by the pale young woman.

Maegi nodded as he spoke and began to follow her, eyes warming. I went to Diaspora recently, looking for my son, she explained, forging on at the briskest walk she could muster. He came home eventually—but your scout was good to me. Friendly, tried to help. She had three legs, she added in illustration, in case she merited praise (no name had been given). It was hard to forget a wolf that was missing a leg.

I don't blame you for that, the Melonii responded, grimacing as she looked toward the trees they were steadily approaching. I'm worried about some of the bigger, older trees in the woods. They could do some damage. Her scarred mouth was set in a troubled frown and she fell silent, pondering the worst.

After another moment, she glanced at Mahler. I'm Maegi, she answered, of Blackfeather Woods. What brings you so far from Diaspora? Maegi supposed it was some sort of mission. It was too bad for him that he was caught out on the road when the rumbling went down. She hoped that once she was able to apply some sort of makeshift poultice to his face that he was able to return with haste.

And then she blinked at him, doing a double take that was almost comical. Wait, you said Mahler? she asked. That name rang oddly familiar, and she couldn't figure out why. . .

a son. she was young for it, mahler noted to himself, his practiced eye detecting no available signs of birth upon her slim frame. but stranger occurrences had taken place, he supposed; was the world not churning round them even now? content to let this maegi speak for them both, mahler paused a long moment while he considered her question.
"i vas returning from moonspear. a diplomatic mission, to see how far the trembling stretched." no need to tell her of andraste; their meet was yet another secret mahler must carry within the vault of himself. "kazimir," mahler confirmed, brightening somewhat despite their grim meet. "she is very loyal to us."
"i vould move your volves also. seek open ground," he muttered grimly. "that is my plan." a flick of his dark ear, and he caught maegi's expression. "yes, mahler. perhaps you have heard of my late brother, stigmata."

The name Kazimir was noted, as was the man's advice, but Mahler still rang about her head, the incessant chiming of an alarm bell. Mahler, Mahler. . .

”Oh, yes, Mahler. That scowler still resides in ze spires. Whatever for?”

Here, too—it had been here! She shook her head in disbelief, the ghost of a smile upon her face. I don't know Stigmata, she admitted. A woman gave me your name once, when I mentioned I was looking for someone by your description. You're definitely not him, though. Peryite be praised, she added, chuckling wryly as she glanced over at him.

It was actually right here, in this meadow. She, uh, taught me about berries, all the different kinds you can eat. I think she might have mentioned she was from Diaspora, but. . .can't remember. Maegi shrugged, shaking it off. The information was merely trivia, now. This man was certainly not Skullchaser, nor was Skullchaser named Mahler. She was glad that was finally settled.

As for open ground. . . Maybe we'll move, she murmured, pursing her lips. She hadn't thought of it—hadn't wanted to. She was very good at avoiding her problems, even when they came to a head.

she did not know him, but seemed relieved at this. mahler was confused, though this did not slip into his expression; he gave a mere nod, though there was some rare humour in his mouth as he thought of who had given maegi his information. "vas she a pale voman? scarred face?" andraste now, though he would always think of her beneath the silvered name she had borne to diaspora.
"who is peryite?" the gargoyle uttered next, intrigued. his mind clambered to the footholds of the sunspire, however; surely takiyok would move their wolves in his absence if things became too cruel. and stigmata. 
forgiveness would have never come while his brother lived for what mahler offered next.
"if you find yourself in reach of the mountains, maegi, ally vith us," the shadowpriest suggested. "if the tremblings vorsen, each of us vill be more in need of their fellows."

Maegi nodded, mouth quirking in remembrance. Yes, and she sounded like you, too, she responded, remembering the strange cadence of the woman's speech. She was about to comment more when he first asked about her god, and then went on to speak of. . .an alliance?

I. . .I'll consider it, she said, taken aback. She was a priestess, not really one for the fine art of diplomacy. Furthermore, the thought of moving closer to those mountains— Maegi didn't think she could do it. Not after what had happened there. If we move, I'll seek you out again.

That settled, she lifted her muzzle slightly, glad to get away from matters she was less than skilled in. Peryite is my chosen god, the one I'm named for, she replied, smiling proudly. God of pestilence and decay—my mother didn't like me very much, the Melonii added, her voice caught between acid and humor. But Peryite spoke to me, and I serve Peryite alone. Her bitterness only made me stronger and more faithful.

If Potema hadn't named her Peryite, to whom would she have gravitated? Mephala, or Sithis? Another daedra, or some other religion altogether (or none?)? She would not think of it. It mattered not. She was Peryite, and she was Peryite's.

I'm glad you're not the one I was looking for, Maegi said, her voice growing warmer, only to sink into ice as she continued. But he still walks the earth. A gray man, big and strong, with a scarred face and deep purple eyes. He calls himself 'Skullchaser'. . .he gave me this when I was just a child, she explained, turning her ravaged cheek to Mahler for full effect, orange eye flickering cold fire.

If you see him. . .if you come across him. . .send him to me.

a nod was given her words; he was more interested in her explanation of peryite, who turned out to be a god. mahler had little use for such things, but appreciated the passion of maegi's voice. so few had such in their hearts these days; he would be remiss if he did not see the fire of it in this one's soul.
that was andraste, surely; their accents were too similar not to be noticeable, and this pleased mahler in a silent way. but now, the talk of this skullchaser churned him to cold stone, and his eyes met that of the girl with a discernable anger. "vhat sort of cuckold attacks children,"  came the rusted grit of his quiet enraging. "if i meet him, i vill ensure he comes into your possession, maegi."
a gentle pause. "your son, vere you able to find him?" he was reminded of andraste's children —  best not to think of her in any way now, for diaspora loomed and he must go back.

Cuckold wasn't a word she was familiar with, but the way Mahler said it, she knew it was bad. It pleased her. She smiled ruefully, cruelly, shaking her head. Not a good man, she understated, having run out of adequate words a long time ago to describe Skullchaser. But I'll find him again one day. Make sure he can't hurt anyone else. Thank you, Mahler.

The conversation shifted to sneaky Sobek and Maegi's smile grew warmer. He came home, she confirmed, nodding. My daughter actually picked up his trail and it led us back to the woods. Thank goodness, she added, breathing a sigh of relief while internally beating herself up once again. No thanks to me that he's home. The Melonii blinked gently at her newfound ally. I couldn't have ever slept again if he hadn't come home.

They made it to the edge of the woods, and Maegi glanced at the man, eyes raking over his cheek wound. Wait here, she said softly, mouth pursing in quiet thought. There's a cache nearby. I'll go and fetch some herbs and moss for your cut. Without another word, she slipped wraithlike into the forest, heading for her nearest collection of green things.

"the pleasure is mine, maegi." a smile. "i am glad to hear it, that your son came home." too many wayward children straying from the nest; he was pleased that maegi's nestling had returned. and yet she seemed so young! it was not his to comment upon, however curious he might be. and so for now, mahler shelved his thoughts in hopes that with prolonged time, he might come to know how the proud young woman had entered motherhood.
with a nod, mahler settled himself. the ground continued to roil, but he found comfort in knowing that he was not alone, for however long. diaspora loomed; he would make it back to his wolves.
andraste
mahler shook the limpid cobwebs of her from his mind and brought there the fierce visage of takiyok, whom he loved but did not deserve. when maegi returned, she would find her patient quite contemplative indeed.

When Maegi returned, she did so with a mouthful of marigold leaves, chewing as she walked, as well as a clump of moss dangling from her lips. Shoving the wad into one cheek, she spoke through the other, tattered corner: I'm not a healer, but I learned a little bit from a woman who knew it all. I've got moss to soak up the blood, and then marigold—it'll make sure your cut doesn't get infected.

With no further preamble (and if he did not object) she rose to her full height and even past that, rearing slightly onto her hind legs (Mahler was quite taller than she) and going through all the ministrations. She made sure she was both thorough and quick, and when she was presumably finished, she stepped back, satisfied for now, although grimacing at the sharp herbal taste.

Hopefully it heals up quickly, she murmured, running her tongue over her teeth. She glanced down at the moss, now stained a dark crimson. Memories of Cicero, bleeding, came suddenly to mind; she shoved them down with some annoyance. Why now? Why did her father-uncle revisit her so randomly?

let me know if mild PP is not okay!

totally fine!

not a healer; mahler was amused as she began to deftly treat him, lowering his muzzle down where she might find an easier reach. there was a determination within maegi, once he sensed ran quite deep in their proximity to one another. finding he rather enjoyed taking the role of patient, at least in this moment.
"i am certain it vill," he reassured the sylph. he himself could scarce recall the exact details of how it had happened, for it had occurred in flight, and such things escaped a ready notice.
her task finished, mahler allowed the sensation to settle and regarded her with an open curiosity. "i am diaspora's healer and midvife. you are skilled at vhat you do; vhy not pursue healing more fully?"

She smiled sheepishly at what he revealed, glad to know that her healing had been not only adequate but welcomed by a healer. At his question, that expression wavered, replaced by something more troubled. The dying mother. . . Lainie. . . Lilah. . . Cicero. . . Glimpses of those faces she was unable to save overtook her for a moment; she blinked, clearing her mind.

I've never really thought of it, Maegi half-lied, shrugging. My father was skilled in poisons and taught me, too; I was always more interested in what could harm than what could heal. And there's. . .there's too much blood on my paws to really consider medicine.

Perhaps a lame excuse, but it was the only one she had. The only way she could articulate her thoughts. How could she explain to this man the awful things she had done? The good things she had failed to accomplish?

too much blood on her paws? mahler glanced at them, then to maegi with a vaguely questioning look. he supposed she did not mean it directly; it was an allusion to things otherwise unsaid. uncomfortable with metaphor, doubting that the girl had truly done such horrid things, the gargoyle decided to let it alone. "poisons, ah. there is something i know very little about."
pups were always pursuing one thing or another in their young stages; he thought amusedly of how little dragomir had eaten dirt, much to his mother's dismay.
mother — a mantle remade andraste had cast off.
"thank you for your treatments, at any rate. if you vould ever like to go over plants vith me, perhaps i can show you the softer side of them."

Perhaps that was best that he wasn't all too familiar with the darker side of medicine. Poisons really only unlocked doors to terrible paths. She smiled at his offer, nodding as she replied, Maybe I'll take you up on that, if we end up running into each other again.

Maegi wasn't sure whether she'd seek him out with purpose. There was too much happening, too much in the air, to make plans set in stone.

Safe travels back to Diaspora, she murmured, stepping away, partially cloaking herself in the shadows of Blackfeather Woods. Her eyes glinted out at him, so at odds—deep indigo, bright flame. A mirror, really, of the duality of her nature, her uneven personality.

When he'd departed, she withdrew back into the forest, thinking quietly on the encounter. On the whole, she was really just glad he hadn't turned out to be the villain she once thought purple-eyed Mahler to be.

Peryite be praised.

"and to you," mahler whispered, charmed by the last gleam of maegi's eyes.
he too rose, stretched, began his long stride back to home, far better off for having spent the last moments with an interesting person who gave him things to ponder upon his journey.