Selvarria's face became more calm and light hearted, she seen to much horror coming out of the city "Maybe I haven't no..But what good am I..if I lose those I love..lose my friends..Ill be alone..." Tears started forming in her eyes as she fell to the ground landing her knees "What hope will I have then? What will I do..." Selvarria at that point couldn't contain her self as tears ran down her cheeks.
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((There's a temporary split, so I figured we don't need a turn order between the two conversations, but if things get too cluttered we can establish one.))
It was at that moment that it dawned on Lysarra how different they were. It wasn't just that the priestess had only witnessed the hell Lys had lived through - it was how much they lost. This woman might have lost everything. She had a home that lay in ruins, a family that by now was almost certainly dead, friends who she would never see again... Lys didn't have any of that. Lys didn't lose anything she wasn't glad to be rid of.
"...My condolences." The mage wasn't much good in the way of consolation. Especially in front of someone who was already crying. But she at least knew that if she didn't have anything kind or uplifting to say, she should opt for a solemn silence. "...Go, then, if you are truly so desperate," she finally sighed. "But know that you take your life into your own hands..."
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((Oh u knife eared bastard...))
Sylvannars mouth hung a jar. A mixture of hatred and confliction sat upon his brunette brows. "Son of a..." he let go of his bandaged arm to slap himself in the face with his palm, a pathetic barrier to escape the embarasment that woukd soon follow Tristyns crude comment as the messy haired female appriached. His large, bloodied hand smelt of ashes, death, blood and liquor. How had he been so foolish to trust this man he called his partner? ...again? What good had it ever done him. Had it not been for this ***** -
-his thoughts were inturrupts by the quiet sniffles in the distance of one of the healers and what looked to be her wounded child. For a long while he kept his stance, a broken man with his hand over his face, peeking through the sluts of his fingers at the crying Selvarria.
For a long while he stared.
He wondered how he could be so stupid to gage is situation of suffering to be worse than what appeared to be a mother about to loose her daughter.
He continued to stare... they looked nothing alike...still.
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(I wont post my search in the city since what happens is mostly explained in selv's background in TRP 2 and ill post again later)
She lifted her head up still crying a bit "Tell them I went to a nearby camp if the commander asks anything..and I don't return..you know what happen"
Selvarria quickly picked up her bag and left sneaking out into the woods in the way to the city hoping not only to find her loved ones..but also so come out of it alive.
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"What the fel happened to you two?" The messy haired female glanced to her brother and then to Sylvannar with his hand over his face. No acknowledgement at her brothers comment. Already her gaze pinned Sylvannars embarrassed stance meaning whatever hell they'de been through, this was somehow his fault.
The deep cut on Tristyns nose catching her eye. "Oh... brother... you've got something on your face..." she bit her lower lip realizing that might leave a scar, simultaneously and unintentionally reopening the cut in her lip.
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As the priestess left Lys to herself, she couldn't help thinking that she would never see her again. A morbid thought, but an honest one. The odds of her surviving that place were slim at best. And at worst...
Lys winced at her wound. No more bleeding - and even the scar was reduced, thanks to the lovely nurse that tended to her - but the soreness and sensitivity would likely last for a while. Not smart to move around. For now, she was going to stay right where she was.
As Lys assessed her limitations, her eyes wandered until they met the gaze of another Farstrider at the other end of the tent. He was staring. She didn't quite know what to make of it. So, she stared right back - not speaking up or saying hello. Just a staring contest between two strangers.
After a moment, she added in a little wave of her hand. Because that was a little more polite - or so she thought. She didn't want to interrupt whatever conversation they were having. She couldn't hear much of it, but it was probably important.Edited: February 16, 2016
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Tristyn was quick to answer. "Three abominations happened to us." He scowled bitterly as he continued to wipe the cut on his nose with the back of his hand. "Filled one full of arrows and it kept coming. They can really swing those meatbhooks..." another wipe followed with the back of his other hand. For a long moment he stared at the back of his other bloodied palm. "How deep is it?" His eyebrows furrowed at a level between concern and anger.
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A long and bushy brunette eyebrow raised as Sylvannar removed his hand from his face to give the slightest signal of a wave back. His hand then returned his bloodied, bandaged arm. A maroon handprint covered his pale and dirty face as he paced over towards the younger elf, leaving behind the two siblings without a word.
((This probally looks haunting as flip from Lys perspective...)) as the farstrider approached, he stood over where the younger elf lay and asked but one question. "Where did your mother go just now?"
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"Its..." turning slightly as she watched Sylvannar presumably escape the scene, givibg furather rEason to assume the worst and that this was somwhoenhis fault. .."it's deep enough..." she didn't finish that line and forced a smile with a quick follow up: "hey, you're alive, right?" She tore a piece of her sleeve and held it out to Tristyn. " you might wanna cover that until we can get you some stitches..."
Her eyes suddenly widened as she peered around the tent. "Where's the rest of squad seven?"
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Ah, evidently their conversation wasn't that important after all. To Lys, it made little difference. Well, except that she was finally able to fill her desperate, eager thirst for interaction. How long it had been since she spoke to anyone... In compensating for that long silence, it seemed she'd be more likely to talk too much.
His question earned him a quizzical look. She didn't realize his assumption about herself and the priestess, and she herself then assumed he meant it as a general statement. "...She's been dead for almost 98 years now," she answered bluntly. "Don't know where my father is, but... He's still probably in the city. Either a rotting corpse, or a walking one. Same as... just about everyone, I guess." She spoke in quite the matter-of-fact tone about such a terrible tragedy. Different people had different ways of coping. Her coping method relied on pushing aside and flat-out ignoring the emotional impact of the horrors she'd seen. It was the only way to keep herself from going mad over it all.
"...You gonna be alright?" Her gaze flickered to his bandages, but didn't stay there long. She didn't like seeing other people's scars. They reminded her too much of her own...
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The brunette male with a bloody handmark on his face matched the quizzical look she first gave him as she spoke non-shelantly about their current situation. "98 ye- ..." He listened as he glanced to the forest where the priestess vanished and then back at the younger elf. "You hit your head?" Looking at her in disbelief. "Who was that I just seen ya' with if not your ma?" A strange, almost goblin accent picked up.
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Tristyn turned slightly with his sister to watch Sylvannar as if they were seeing him off on the walk of shame. He'd grab her make-shift sleeve bandage and immediatly hold it with pressure to his face, hoping to stop the bleeding. His next words were slightly muffled (holding nose closed) but his glare was serious enough to get around the funny noise that became his voice. "Dead, yes- all of them." He'd add, as if knowing the follow up question would come.
This news all voiced as if a serious man had in hailed helium just moments before telling a mother their son died in war. "No thanks to him." His glare turned to Sylvannar, if he had Lazers for eyes they'de have burned strait through Sylvannars back. Luckily for his 'partner', no lasers...
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"...My healer?" Her incredulous tone carried an unspoken question of, "Are you daft?" But the confusion still put a smile on her face. If Lys wasn't still completely in shock over her ordeal, she would have laughed. And teased him over his mistake for the next 50 years, most likely. But, as it stood, she wasn't in any state for laughter. It would have hurt her to laugh anyhow.
As if trading scars, Lys lifted a little of her dress - though, with how badly it had torn apart, it was now simply more like a shirt - and showed off the bloody bandages that dressed her wound. "Got this last night," she almost bragged. "That's why the healer was here. She fixed me up nice, but... I did all the hard work, yeah?
"As for where she went..." Lys trailed off, looking towards the forest - towards the city - with a sigh. "...We told her it was suicide. But if that's her choice... It's not like I could stop her."
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The corners of Sylvannars lips tugged upwards in a conflicted smile as the younger elf seemed to brag about doing all the hard (wound) work but as she mentiontoned the priestess had run off, his expression faded back to worry and sadness. "Yea, that's true..." He agreed as he caught himself looking at her bandages but seemed to catch himself when he realized he was blatantly staring and looked away.
Then brunette male smelled of blood, crap and liquor. Now he felt like a pervert...
He took a deep breath and sighed heacily. "Well, I'm sure she'll make it." He forced the most confident smile he could muster. "Your dad too." He attempted to offer some kind words as he peered back at his now very thin squad. "City ain't that bad right? Couple o' chums like us can make it out. Anything is possible."
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"...You kept your positivity," she noted darkly. "I didn't. You look at the people who made it out... But the past couple of weeks, I've been hiding and running from the corpses of the people who didn't. And there's a lot more of them than there are of us." With a wry grimace of a smile, she stated simply, "The statistics don't lend themselves to positivity. Dumb luck doesn't mean anything. By all rights, I should be dead too..."
She looked up at him then - this smelly, dirty, bloody fool of a ranger - and she smiled. Genuinely, this time. "I'm only alive now because of people like you," she told him, and the sound of her voice clearly conveyed the depths of her gratitude. "The Farstriders saved me when I thought I was going to die. I can't forget something like that..." Looking down at her hands, she thought long and hard about the meaning of her salvation, and the meaning of their sacrifice. "I don't have that kind of bravery..." she finally confessed. "To go in, get out, and still go back in again... To risk your own life, for the sake of someone else... I'm not the kind of person who knows how to do that. But... I have nothing but respect for the people that do."
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