Faethril: The First Encounter

Finally, a glass of white wine. Eruviel had been glad to finally have an afternoon with Anya, relaxing and listening to a bard perform in the Pony who she had never heard before. Their conversation had been cheerful and light for the most part, but as always the seriousness of their recent circumstances seemed to catch up with them.

Anyatka frowned slightly at Eruviel. “How long till you are recovered?”

Eruviel glanced down at her glass. “If I had been a human, I believe Cwen said it would be at least six weeks. But alas, I am not. I presume it will be two weeks before I am able to return to the hunt, as long as I take things slowly. It has been my great fortune to have the grace of my ancestors. I will be taking a riding holiday here soon with another of my kin. I am hoping the rest from that will help.” How she detested being laid up. She missed her jaunts through Chetwood, and not being able to work might soon drive her insane.

“You certainly deserve a holiday,” Anya replied nodding. The young woman glanced nervously around the room, and for some reason the look in her eyes made Eruviel feel uncomfortable.

Eruviel motioned to Anya, frowning. “You look ill at ease, oselle.”

Anyatka shook her head but put her drink down on the counter. “I…I think I shall go for a walk,” she said rather distractedly.

“Should I accompany you?” Eruviel asked, frowning.

Anyatka ‘hmmed’ vaguely as she started for the door. She seemed to not quite hear the elf and stumbled a bit on the rug as she walked away.

Eruviel ‘s frown deepened and she set her glass down on the bar. Sighing heavily she followed her friend, nodding politely to Falros and the group with him as she stepped over the the threshold into the brisk, Bree-town afternoon. She could see Anyatka wander over to the fountain with a rather blank expression on her face. Only her eyes, darker than her normal overcast grey, revealed anything out of the ordinary. Blood and orcs, this cannot be good, Eruviel thought grimly.

Quietly crossing over the cobbled street to where her friend stood, Eruviel stopped beside Anya. “It is going to be a long week, is it not, oselle,” she said. A woman passing by eyed the pair suspiciously before moving on.

Anyatka blinked slowly and turned her head to Eruviel. “He needs it,” she said in a faraway voice.

Eruviel sucked in a sharp breath. Rotating her body to face Anya, her sad eyes gleamed as they searched those of her friends. “Oh, oselle. Why does he need it?” She did not let on to any of the recent events, hoping her suspicions were wrong.

“He needs it!” Anya said, her tone rising. “They are coming. He will not survive!” She turned from the elf and began to wander down the street that led further into town.

Eruviel turned after her, reaching out to grab Anya’s shoulder. “No one is coming, oselle. Tell me what you need.”

Anya shrugged off the elf’s hand, shooting her a foreign glare. “You know very well what I need!” Brushing past Eruviel, Anyatka  . . . no, it was merely Anya’s body that made haste down the hill.

A knot formed in Eruviel’s gut and as fast as her wounded body could carry her, she ran down the hill past her friend. She is going south! The thought leaped into Eruviel’s mind. Stopping near the boar-head fountain, she put out an arm towards Anya, halting the woman’s progress. “I will not let you leave with her, Faethril,” spoke Eruviel, her voice dark and rich as her elvish accent surfaced. “Let her be, ancient one. You will not be allowed to harm her.”

Anyatka’s body recoiled when Eruviel spoke the name of the spirit still dwelling inside of the young woman. She then looked up, her eyes narrowing as she hissed through gritted teeth. Eruviel set her feet as Anya swung at her with a clawed hand. Moving forward to catch Anya’s wrist her muscles around the broken ribs suddenly spasmed, shooting streaks of pain through the elf’s body. Hindered by her injury she missed her target and Anyatka raked her nails across Eruviel’s jaw, leaving behind two deep cuts.

Taking a step back to relieve the pain in her side she looked up just in time to see Anya dive forward to tackle her. Caught under the weight of her friend, Eruviel fell backwards. She cried out in pain as her back struck the pavement, her hands up to ward off Anya’s attacks. Wrenching back, the young woman struggled to get up in attempt to bolt away. Setting her jaw Eruviel swung her legs around, tripping Anyatka, and as she landed Eruviel rolled over fast enough to come atop of her, backhanding Anya across the face. Anya’s eyes shot open, flashing their usual grey color. She pushed Eruviel back, rolling both of them once before her body fell limp.

Eruviel struggled to breath, grasping at her side. Looking over she saw Anyatka’s eyes flicker open, confused. A wave of relief rushed over the elf. She could not have lasted much longer against the violent spirit.

“Systir, what . . . where are we? Why are we on the ground?” Anya looked around them, her surprise apparent.

“What do you last remember, oselle?” Eruviel breathed, sitting back on her elbows to take stress off of her side. Feeling a small stream of hot liquid run down to her chin, she brought her free hand up to cover her jaw.

“I remember . . . I last thought we were in the Pony having a drink.” She then whipped her head around towards the elf. “Oh, Eruviel! You are bleeding!”

Eruviel chuckled as much as her body would allow. Laying down on the street she put her left arm over her brow and closed her eyes. “I am, oselle. Do not fret. It was not you who wounded me, but Faethril. She turned out to be a lot stronger than I had anticipated.”

Anyatka lowered her head, her eyes growing moist. “I can’t take it, you getting hurt. You and Eirik and Canderas, and even Torlach — you all risk your life for me, and it’s not right.”

“My dear friend,” Eruviel said seriously, grunting slightly as she slowly sat back up, “It is a small price to pay to see you free of that tainted soul.”

“I should just turn my self in to the town jail now so that I don’t cause any of you further harm,” said Anya, shaking her head. Rising to her feet she looked down the street that led to the prison.

Eruviel steeled herself as she carefully rose to her feet. “I have considered it as a possibility for the night or two before we depart for the last venture, but I do not want you to be locked up all week. You do not deserve a filthy cell, my sister.” She wiped the last bit of blood from the scratches. She would have to put ointment on it as soon as she got home. It seemed quite vain of her, but she did not wish to have facial scars, especially if it came from something like this.

Anya smiled kindly to her, though still concerned. “Well, should we then head home, systir?”

“Yes, oselle, let’s.”

Only the first half of the rp logged saved, but the encounter is as accurate as I can remember.  (Anya, let me know if I need to fix something!) ^_^


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