Bramblepoint bide my time

i Scout thread #3

She is reluctant to leave what peace the Wild Berry Meadow gives. Although from it the edges of Bramblepoint do not look terrible, unlike the destruction that undoubtedly lay ahead. She sees the second mountain range in the far distance. Closer and closer she goes to the end goal. Her luck not exactly favorable, but it has yet to be poor.

The challenges that fall in her path ones she conquers with relative ease.

Annaliese seeks the thrill of true danger, seeks something other than the shiny rank she will get upon returning to Diaspora's doorstep. Night is upon the Wilds when she enters the next location to explore, and perhaps with it, the danger she wants.

vague about outcomes of this!

She supposes it only makes sense to return to the place she had gone from whence everything had begun thereafter. And though she had rummaged through the underbrush for the ailments that had been afflicted upon her person, she still aches, in flesh and marrow and soul. But this insufferable adamancy to continue and to wander, to leave and to list is still there; and it is all Andraste can do to bid the lune-lopers farwell  (for now?)  before returning to the briars in somnolence and silence.

She moves through the hour of gloaming, 'ere;
and again the silver sibyl unwounds her wrists from the sedge-knots that reach for her, high-stepping and so faraway from herself that she may very well be making this tread aslumber. She knows this place, above and below; below, the stands of elm and oak and what-have-you-wood, coming together to build great, green-grey fortresses of needles and thick, gnarly arms. Above are the lit heavens she's once felt, once followed, and now, now ‒‒
this rapt quietude, and the deafened hum of those heavens filling her ears, draws her close to the bright wanderer without even noticing until, of course, it is impossible not to.

The willowy and winter-thinned stricken shivers with a start;
rubied head pulled back, argent eyes peeking from the wisps betwixt shorn brow. Where she is waxen as forgotten candle, this female is flame made flesh. She takes a moment to breathe, to observe the determination upon her guise; what to say, if anything?

She remains quiet, cut lip a bit atremble, uncertain.

It appears lone wanderers are common in these parts. Not all run with the pack constantly, and though Annaliese prefers her life alongside others, she is an example herself of a woman on a mission. Thus she cannot judge per se the phantom standing before her.

Eerie, however, it is for the moon mistress to simply stare. Annaliese prides herself on her appearance, never one to be shy, yet she is not here to give a free show.

What do you want, ghost?

"Nothing more than to be free of ze Wilderness,"
and herein the silver had made her own decisions stifled, for although the lune-lopers had indeed proved themselves innumerably hospitable to her and hers, this impending sense had been brought about by all those else who the hydra's many heads hissed with. And might indeed did the queen of Moonspire have, and entrust the furthered decision to stay within the Weald by word of her own wolves she did, and yet ...

Many things were amiss. 

As a strider herself, perhaps too easily she took note of the wandering-strain within the flamed's step— "There is nigh but ze earth renting itself apart."  A dull, almost dismal shiver of shorn muzzle,  "It has forced ze wilderbeasts to flee north ... if I may assume that you stride for quarry?"

For what else would such be? Had the gilded glory not come from those spires, too, when her innards had gnawed the same as the silvers'?

Annaliese, too, can sympathize with the desire to be free from these lands. It is west, yet not over the second range of mountains her General seeks. Thus, she lay in the mid-way journey, close but out of it’s grasps.

What is stopping you? From leaving. Surely if she is a lone wanderer, she could leave this all behind; flee from the destruction and tremors that affect these lands. Anna, too, could choose to leave if she felt there was something else out there.

Interesting, I’ve been told the north is a mess; the coast dangerous and to be avoided.

"Perhaps all of this is to be expected,"  was the low musing; eyes thrown heavenward, for dreaded red upon the horizon; or bright white within the clouds,  "that ze Wilds thrive upon their own chaos, so near to ze winter. And perhaps still all ze quarry believe they might fare better amongst ze teeth of ze land than that of our own."

Wearied halfsight found the strider's once more; glossing over the emberous figure with the gaze of a contemplative companion considering a fellow champion of terrain. Oh, certainly, she would and could leave by her lonesome, but—  "I have yet to announce my final word with my wolves. We linger beneath ze shadow of another's protection, but ze Wilderness is starving us."  Lashes anchored heavily upon shorn cheek, pensive,  "But we may have to think as ze hunted do: to stay, to starve, or depart ze lands before they eat us, in ze hopes that we ourselves can eat?"

No lofty preachery within the foreign chords; but a tad fretting, almost, and shoulders sighed.  "I cannot allow their hunger to overwhelm them. I must not, if there is any chance of finds within ze Sunspires, or ze Taiga. Not here; not now."

Expected? Certainly this amount of destruction ought to be a surprise, lest her theorization on a witch’s curse be true. Annaliese narrows her icy gaze at the phantom, pondering the thought that this woman may be hiding secrets behind her poetic words.

Her reasonings make little sense for the foxfire, yet every fool is different—the phantom apparently runs with others. Faithful, to desire uttering words before a departure. Who’s protection? Annaliese presses for further information.

Everyone can fight against nature as much as they like, but the outcome will always be the same; you’ll lose. While Annaliese holds herself in high regard and is confident in surviving, she, too, knows where boundaries lay. If these storms do not take them, winter will pick off the already weak. Without food lingering around, they are doomed, all of them. That is why her mission is to make haste.

The Sunspire is unforgiving. It is worse there than it is here, with rock and trees falling anytime the earth shakes. There’s little to be found, and if you plan on heading east, that is where the smoke is thickest. This Taiga she speaks of is unknown, directional wise, but Annaliese advises what she knows.

this got to be A Lot & Messy sorry!! idk what this is

She tucks the strider's enquiry away to answer in a moment, shorn lips unable to reist their elfin dimpling at the forward persistence; the stricken by no means yearning to trifle this shared time away, for give tell to the foxfire she would; but she was weak against the compulsion of snagging, sweetly, at the yarn of truth she would present in this telling; tattered, in a needy naughtiness. In the mean time, the fairylight let the knowing flit from the words proffered and tucked away into her gauzy mind.

Unforgiving; little to be found; smoke in the east.  "Ze shadow of Moonspear and its queen,"  she finally unearthed, giving a lofty cant of her head towards the towering, southern spires as she thought now upon all she has been given. ... Why not inquire, herself, if she means to trek east?  "It is my intention,"  Andraste mused, pensively,  "to come to an accord with Diaspora, of whom I am quite familiar. Once upon a time, that caravan was where I rested my brow."

'Head,' the saying should go. Was she still welcome, though? Most certainly not—  "I ... am not knowledgeable, if they still settle about ze Arrow Lake. If they do, howe'er, I wonder at some manner of alliance, you see."  Foolish starlight; she had not even asked if this strider had come across them; even knew of them. But the quirk of a simper had long since faded; Andraste now gazed upon the auburn with a clarity in those supposedly-prudent eyes.

She would rather guests who might merely hold her in contempt than those of Hydra's who sleuthed so near to her own Court's shadows.

:eyes:

Moonspear, ruled by a Queen.

Annaliese’s eyes flash; interested as if the phantom placed a meal before her. Although she knows little of the packs that dominant the Wilds, the foxfire strives to devour what information she may get.

Alas, she does, of course, know of her own. This woman speaks of Diaspora, of how she once ran—or rather, rested—among them. It smells. Suspicion edging in the sparks of the fox’s fire, she keeps her eyes narrow.

Certainly her absence happened before this destruction, though, if she is unaware of Diaspora laying in wait within the fox’s Hollow.  Why did you leave?

Why bow to this Queen instead of the General, when Diaspora was once your home?

Home—
the fractured lune features shifted, then; harrowing marring softened by faraway figments that the stricken did not severely worry upon to conceal. Eyes gone listless; shorn cheek fell aside, bedding upon thoughts which she gave all:  "Whence last I lived with them, it was as a mother. As ... another. Another, who did not favor ze manner of which its past General and his gloated ze sanctuary given to my brood and myself. Another,"  canting her head a smidgen more, as if studious of the soul that had first been born in her sun-lashed vessel,  "who challenged that General not for glory, nor for ze hope that his Diasporans would e'er follow her, but in ze honor of her brood and whatever remained within herself. We were ... cast out, you see."  Tell her children beforehand or no; holding steadfast to their name had been all that Aurëwen had wished to defend. No matter the selfishness; the thoughtlessness.

The strider did not need to know that the sire of the family had left of them, twice; did not need to know how she had wrenched their children from their natal place on a goose's hunt to fervently find him; did not need to know the faults and falterings of a life that was no longer lived ... lest the foxfire mean to press further. If, perchance, she did—
—Andraste would rather the musiker be by her side for it.  "As of late, howe'er, Diaspora's ambition for dominion throughout ze Sunspires has come to be ... more favorable to my priorities than it had been before. My ... allegiance to ze Moonspire is founded upon their own hospitality for my person,"  the silver continued, demonstrating by swanning the pale column of throat, the hiking-up of thin shoulder, all to present a peek to the faded fury that had writ itself upon spine.

"It is ... thinning. As is my tolerance of those she has also made allegiance to. Ze queen suggested it, truthfully, ze moving,"  she mused, eyes finally returning to the strider's, with a bit of impishness from before.  "I see no reason to leave her counsel unheeded, no?"

What revelations. Annaliese pats herself on the back, for not being foolish enough to snitch on Mahler so easily. Certainly she has little loyalty to the General currently; their relation just beginning and her time out of Diaspora's grasp far outweighs the time within.

Alas, this woman riddles her way through a summary of a story impossible to live in; easy for outsider's to see a different perspective than those involved. And that is why Annaliese casts judgement upon this pale witch who confesses to her crime as if she did not commit it herself. Laying blame to her youth as if she is an entirely different person (oh what little the foxfire knows).

And why is it so favorable for you? What has changed? Annaliese steps forth, standing tall. Though she may not be the fittest she's ever been, her pride never dulls.

Thus far, it all points to Diaspora being a mere pawn in this women's game. Her tolerance may be thinning, but she cannot use Diaspora as a shield. Not a traitor that attacks her own General. Mahler would be a fool to believe someone who has already backstabbed once, no matter the reason.

Tell me your name.

oof this post is Messy im sry!!

A soft and sidereal smile, at the geist, upon that museful mouth, and still the stricken spoke instead:  “I am Andraste, and I have seen otherwise through your General’s eyes.”   What merriment she might find in such a statement! Already was she fraying! but she would not hide this from one who had enquired as much; there was no shame nor guilt to be had, and she spoke not through latticework of the enquiry as one confessing.

Ever since the plinth and before, the blood fair left Andraste’s heart whenever the shadowpriest admonished his way into her sights.

Then, she had been held in the hard mold of the musiker’s arms, melting even as they refashioned another upon his very anvil. Then, she had bit the forge-tough muscle, and there had been no consequence amidst the place of lilies wherein naught but truth lie between them.
The cavern; the rising ribs of Netherwood harvest; they had cradled another, aquiver, and for both dawns Andraste had listened to that even, lulling billow of breath as he had slumbered with her amongst briars.

What had changed was that the Diasporan would never only be a body to her. What had changed was that she had likened the beautiful, interwoven make of locked joints to all trials he might face thus far; the hammer-heavy muzzle to a presidency over which predicament would best benefit him; the long, deep stretch of sternum to stomach the path he would most take. In all her findings, even his flaws did she hold precious. The unrepentance, the cold chiding. Yes—held them, and had sworn herself to better them. Each sorrow, each smile, now petal-pressed too between them like promises.

The imp drew faux-insidious claws along once-lovely features, and her smile could not resist surrendering a simper. Perhaps she might seem naughty, mischievous — and it was not entirely an untruth. The dishevelment was almost delightful! Thusly did the sibyl rise, and eyed Annaliese’ posturing with a vaguely-amused air. Let the strider make of her words and wry glint as she would.

Sorry for the delay! Alright if we fade here? Thank you for the thread if so!

Andraste. The way she melts at the mention of Anna's dear General, the red woman can practically see the heart eyes. Alas, she cannot blame the phantom, for Mahler is an attractive package; appearance, personality, and position, all wrapped together nicely.

Alas, Annaliese is not here for gossip on her General's potential love life. She's little time for this, when a mission to prove her worth lays before here. A huff escapes her lips, that curl just slightly at the edges in the form of a smile.

Well then, it is up to him and Takiyok, if your wishes of an alliance come true. I wish you well, Andraste. Diaspora still rests in the Mountains, call for them near the creek and I am sure they will come. She is still reluctant to tell her of their true location, for she speaks in riddles and Annaliese is uncertain of her deeper motives. But she sees no reason why Diapsora cannot defend themselves if it came down to it.

For now she wishes to move on, to explore the Bramblepoint and rest her eyes after.

fine w me! anytime ♡

The rouged strider does not balk at what-ever mischief she might conjure—
and so the witch  (if indeed she now be)  only simpered further, farther, neverminding the foxfire's own insight.  "Oh,"  a rare and petulant pout,  "I am sure they will."  Argent sights crescented, dandied, before they swept heavensward; for though she herself had spoken with such surety, and though her musiker mayhaps had already listened ... she could not assume the same of Stigmata's vision, veiled in white; or who-ever else had recently come into militant tenure alongside both  (if at all).

Then — eventually became quite soon, and as the stricken melted from the burnt's presence through berry and briar, the shorn lips again parted to breathe, lune:

"Wind guide you, phayanāro."