((Suz taking too long and then three of us actually know the story, don't wanna give too much ooc info cuz we rp'd this so...))
His muttled voice held the same hatred as his regular tone but the fact he had to continuously apply pressure to his bleeding nose made his heart-felt hatred just a tinge more comical...
"-Even Ranger Lords gone missing. We wouldn't be in such sorry states if that knife-eared bastard had just made the call and let us stay put." Tristyn grit his teeth as he continued to glare in Sylvannars general direction. "If he never picks up the bow again he'd still be getting off easy." He turned to his sister. "They're all dead because of him...and if you were with 'em..." his eyebrows suddenly furrowed and his eyes watered but not a drop dared to fall from the lids. His moment of concern was quickly replaced by more anger. "... we're alive, like you said." He glazed over his own fears with one hard swallow. He turned away from his messy haired sibling, partially to hide his emotions but more so to keep his glare on his partners in the distance. "The hell is that pervert doing now?"
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Sylvannar snapped just as she finished her sentance; "ya shouldn't." His eyebrows furrowed fiercely as he glared at her through troubling bloodshot stare. It was at this moment he looked down at her as if she had somehow hit a bad spot in his subconcious. "'Specially now with things the way they is... that kinda kindness will get ya killed but ya know that." He peered over at his partner and his sister, his expressions lightening as he calmed himself. "A child knows that." He muttered just quiet enough to hear. He sighed.
Taking a deep breath to regain his composure he turned back to her. "Ya quick to mock hope, but it's what saved ya. 'Hope' is what keeps a person going. Yea, it might a been a lil luck, it might a been ya were tough enough, or the fates were on ya side - hell, maybe this was a fluke, and sure ya can give the farstrders credit, gods know we like the praise... Maybe because a group a rangers found you another suffered, but don't think for one second anyo' this would have happened if people lost their faith, their hope..." He broke from his borderline lecture to put it in lament terms, sensing this rambling wasn't doing any good.
"What I'm try'in at say is... we're all born with an expiration date. Makes life less sh*tty when ya can finally be placed in your grave and you're still looking up. Ya understand?"
The look he gave her might as well have been a question to himself.
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"Likely getting you a healer..." Her words hung like the solem echo of lower keys on a piano. The news of her comrades deaths, Sylvannars actions, and just the overall state of things had finally gotten to her. She nibbled on her lower lip, no longer caring about the mark it would leave. The taste of rusty copper in her mouth was a twisted reminder that she had lived while others had perished. She needed to press on for them, they all did... somewhere in all this darkness, they would find hope. They had to...
Her gaze fell upon the scene in the short distance. It appeared Sylvannar had gone off in the direction of the healer but she had vanished - it was only minutes ago...
Her eyes widened as she frantically scanned the area for any sign of her.
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Hope.
Lys silently meditated on his words for what felt like a good, long while. Was it truly hope that saved her? She had to wonder. While she was stuck in that dead city, she didn't stop to think or hope for anything. There was just the driving impulse, the pressing need to survive, to adapt, to live until tomorrow. Even now, she felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins, as if an abomination was going to come crashing through the camp at any moment and her body was getting her ready for it. Never stopping to think, never thinking to hope. "Just live," is what she always told herself. What came after would be worried about after.
Was that hope? Maybe, in a way, it was. With a light chuckle, she told herself that it was at least a nicer than saying she was "too stubborn to die."
"Hope is... a symptom of a strong will," she finally spoke. "A passive way of describing one's desire to survive and thrive. What I think... is that none of us would be here - none of this would happen - if our people were not stronger than the challenges we face. I might not have much faith left in the Light... But in life... I don't think there's anything I believe more in than life."
Nodding towards his wounded arm, she went on to say, "The scars the Scourge left behind will never go away... But so long as our people survive, we can heal over it. So long as you're alive, your life has meaning. I guess that's what hope is for me."
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"Heh" Sylvannar smirked with a raised eyebrow. "Ya almost got it..."
He leaned in, oh dear heven- he must have smelled. Close enough to smell the liquor on his breath, the questionably clean underwear, the stank of cutting down corpses amd his fresh wound. Though realizing all this he didn't lean into far but still he whispered. "Life ain't nothing without hope. Ya alive because the fire inside you burned brighter than the fires around you but ya gotta find out why they bruned brighter." He pointed to her noggin before he eased up and leaned back. "And use that spark ta' our people's advantage." He winked with a big-brother like grin. "And your own."
It was at this time he started to feel Tristyns super glare... he looked towards the two able-arrow slingers.
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((Forgive me for the prolonged replies - class is one reason, but the other is because I want to give other people a chance to jump in if they want! Otherwise I'd be going too fast to keep up with xD))
The big-brotherly vibes Lys was getting from this guy were... a strange and new experience for her. She had to pause for a minute to try and sort out whether or not he was actually hitting on her in a new and fascinating way. It earned him a quizzical look, not a smile or a frown, but, once satisfied, she just sat back again and let it be what it was.
Hope, though.
Again, she had to ponder it. Her future had always troubled her with its uncertainty. Before this catastrophe, it seemed so stale and stagnant, like nothing would ever change for her. But now... Now what? Everything was changing around her, faster than it had ever changed for the elven race. Could these changes prove to better her future, too?
That depended on whether or not she was the last living Lightseeker.
As for the stench... Well, Lys hadn't bathed in a few weeks. And she was caked in blood and dirt and sweat. Neither of them smelled that great at the moment. The only thing Lys noted as the ranger leaned in was amazement at the fact that it could somehow get worse.
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'Tackfully' (but not really); the white haired ranger flipped the brunette off but held his finger up for a moment before attempting to beckon him over by curling it inward twice. How glare never faltered. He didn't even blink. He just kept staring with that menacing, incriminating, look. One hand holding the gouge on the bridge of his nose, as he lipped. "Pervert."It was at this time he started to feel Tristyns super glare... he looked towards the two able-arrow slingers.
((no worries- we understand symphonia))
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It took mere seconds for the messy haired female to piece together the healers presumed whereabouts. "Fu vos dun bur." The gibberish sounding words slipped out in the same sad tone as before. It sounded somewhat like a silent prayer.
Before her stood her brother; one of the last remaining farstriders in squad seven, flipping off his squads leader who may never be able to shoot again. The two had always been rough on each other. Over time she learned it was more of a game of 'one up' but with the gravity of the situaton, now they had fuel to their loathsome attitudes. Still- with each hateful action, with every glare, with every jab, they could draw strength in a time where no elf could even find the time to grieve. Anger would be their reason to keep going, their stubborn resistance nice to death, and in many ways- if they were going to get through this; their salvation. Knowing this, all she could do was stand back and watch. Watch, pray and hope they didn't kill each other in the process.
Sighing heacily she peered around the tent hoping to find another able bodied elf. Perhaps someone who could mend armor, ration them more supplies or even stitch one of the two mens wounds closed. They would leave in hopes of finding more soon but in truth, they would leave because the farstriders knew that without the cover of the forests; they were sitting ducks.
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Sylvannar peered back at the younger elf once more before departing. Her quizzical looks made him feel like all this talk was confusing her. He assumed she'd been through a lot. As she sat back he started to pace towards the man flipping him off, without looking back; "Rest up." We're his last words to her, at leats for now and they seemed like more of a command than a goodbye.
Sylvannars eye caught a glint of what Tristyn was Lipping and shortly after the following happened:
With his able-arm he let go of his bloodied bandage and traced a line from his left to right cheek, skipping across the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. When he was done, it resembled the wound the white haired elf was covering with a bloodied cloth. He then mimicked the smug smirk Tristyn had worn so many times. This of course would have been facing away from Lys.
((Heh heh-))
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He was taking a stroll by, dutyfully looking for the so shattered remnants of his kin. The youthful Arcanist would have overheard an arguement, shaking his head and heaving a sigh, causing his blonde mane to casually shift in the light breeze that lifted up in the enviroment.
He spoke with a calm tone of voice, gripping the hilt of his blade. He then raised his voice with determination and authority, knowing that it would only do more harm for their people if they were argueing.
"It will hardly be helpful to dwell in senseless bickering, kinsfolk. Anar'alah. We have just lost our precious jewel of a home and you sit here, trying to find a reason behind all this. There is none. We fight to survive now, we stand united or we go down under. Learn that quickly." He was referring to noone in particular, but to them in general.
He seemed like an approachable man even, able to essentially help with whatever the current plans were.
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A messy haired female paced quickly up to the young elf, giving him a once over before speaking. Dirt and blood smeared on her forehead, her lip dotted on the left with a newly dried cut, her clothes were stained with a light showering of gore, and her raised eyebrow never lowered as she spoke. "Keep the blade sheathed." She stared with a slight grin as she noticed his hand on his hilt. "Did anything follow you?" A more serious tone followed as she peered behind him outside the (assuming as we're in a-)tent, before staring back at the young male.
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((Had we the ability to /roll or /duel we'd be going at it right now but being that were stuck on an rp forum...we should totally meet ingame and rp this :D like old times))
Tristyn was livid, barely able to keep his cool.
With his sister off now seemed more than the perfect chance to strait up punch that smug look off Sylvannars face but not here... not yet...
In another moment, Sylvannar would be in his face. With one arm, one presumably unusable arm- this man, the man responsible for the fall of elves he'd fought along side for years; would likely be on the ground, bleeding out as Tristyns blind rage took hold and crushed any ounce of hope left in that tent.
No...
He had to restrain himself. Not here... not yet...
Tristyn tightened his fists, both of them as he let go of his bloodied nose and for less than a nano second he'd face him- contemplate killing him, in the most brutal of ways. He could imagine the blood, the gore, his sister likely pulling him off Sylvannars grey body as he smashed his face in... the bloodied fists, raw knuckles...
-it was only for a nano second that all that gore flashed before his eyes and he turned to exit the tent. Praying to whatever might still be watching over his people that Sylvannar would follow.
Not yet... outside would be more appropriate; he thought as he lifted the flap of the tents side and vanished.
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((Wish granted lol))
Sylvannar followed hot on his heels, vanishing through the tent flaps moments after.
((Meet u in the scar>:D))
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Lys watched the rangers go with a mix of amused interest and and slight disappointment. She didn't need to know what their story was to know how deep their hatred burned. "Looks like they didn't hear you," she said idly to the arcanist - was he an arcanist? He had the look of one about him, but the sword threw her off. So far as she recalled, magic and martial combat didn't often mix.
Then again, she did just stab a man to death last night. 'Maybe he's got something figured out,' Lys mused. Can't hurt to have a fallback plan, for when mastery of magic is not enough to save you. Now that was just smart thinking.
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He turned towards the woman, a brief glance of his azure blue eyes enough to take in every detail of hers and put it to his memory. His hand would then distance from the hilt of his curved blade, as he offered a short nod.
Surely, he was rather young and only saw a little more than a hundred and twenty summers yet, but he was not shy either. With a melodic tone of voice and the determination of a man that has experienced and endured alot, especially these days, he'd speak with utter confidence.
"No. I would hardly let anyone follow me without my permission, these days. What is the current status, Lady?" He approached her a bit closer, treading towards her, remaining polite and forward while asking for the current situation to be going on. He was not covered in dirt, nor was he wielding any signs of gore. However, that might be due to the clear arcane shimmer that one could feel or even see. It seems, the Arcanist was quite capable of defending himself with simple spells of Conjuration and Abjuration, which lets one wonder for the purpose of his blade.
He shifted his gaze throughout the tent they apparently were residing in, eyeing those that inhabitated it.
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