[M] Shifting Tides [Iandraws & Ashen]

[Ashen]

[This roleplay is rated Mature for any of the following reasons, in moderation or excess: swearing, violence, sexual themes, alcohol or drug use or abuse, and things that do not fit these limitations. Reader discretion is advised.]


Shifting Tides
OoC

It was a dark morning in Luxen, and a panther was on the prowl. She slunk through the long grasses surrounding the Lucet encampment, her midnight tail swishing ever so slowly behind her. Her determined eyes were on a trio of children nearby, giggling and chatting among themselves. It wasn't until the panther had already leapt that one of the children screamed. The other two got up and ran, putting distance between themselves and the predator. The one captured child, a light-skinned boy of seven, tried fruitlessly to wriggle from the big cat's clutch.

It was then that the boy began to change. His body was enveloped in a light, colorless, and his form faded away. When the light faded, he had penguin flippers in the place of his arms that he furiously beat against the panther. From the distance, the other two children pointed and laughed.

The panther was toying with her prey. She pawed at his new flippers, licked at his hairy head. The boy squirmed under her touch. When her tail wiggled under his nose, he giggled and swatted. "Clover!" he yelled. "Clover, please, mercy!"

The panther slunk off of the penguin-boy. A light took over her too, brighter than the boy's. In the panther's place stood a woman, laughing jollily. She hefted the boy into her muscular arms and touched noses with him. "Gotcha!"

The boy cuddled closer to her. The other two children returned, reaching up to the woman. She laughed and set the penguin-boy down, then ruffled the hair of the other two children. The girl moved away, then tried to straighten her messy black hair. "You scared us!" she said.

"Yeah," said the other boy, a dark-skinned kid with a scar along his arm. "No fair, we can't keep up.

"I know," the woman replied, sticking her tongue out. "You should have seen the look on your--

"Clover."

The woman stopped and turned around to see the tribal elder. Sophia had an even look, though there was an annoyance in her eyes. Beside Clover, the three children scurried off.

Sophia sighed. "Still playing with the children," she said. "When will you begin to act like a woman? By this time your mother was already pregnant with you."

Clover bowed slightly. "I know," she replied. "I was just riling them up, training them in case anyone ever makes another sneak attack. I'm preparing the next generation to bolster our defenses. See? That's mature of me." But it was clear the elder was not buying it. Clover bowed lower. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll get to work. See you at supper." With that, Clover slunk away in shame.

The chores could wait. Clover hated being talked down to by the elder. She knew the drill: everyone was always disappointed in her, and while Sophia told her as much often, she wouldn't ever change. She wasn't like the other Lucet, had been different since the time of her birth. The All-Conforming Lucet, they'd called her. The weird one who never had to pick a form. She was supposed to be celebrated for her ability, but instead, she was ridiculed. Clover was only reminded of how different she was. She didn't want to settle down with anyone, didn't want kids of her own, didn't like carrying her weight. Clover was a free spirit, and she wanted to explore her own life. She just didn't understand why Lucet did not live that way.

By the time Clover realized where she was, the sun was ready to set. She didn't remember becoming a lynx, but she'd gotten father than she would have as a human. Clover regained her human form, and she squinted into the distance. Before her was the Dweirithian city-state of Belhira. It was the closest remaining settlement to her family, the base of her enemies. Clover, like all Lucet, knew the history of her continent. Dweirith had been destroyed by the Lucet that had teamed up with the other humans, the Umalir. Even if she hated the Umalir as much as Dweirith, Clover would not be welcome here.

And yet, she could not yet leave. She had never been so far from her rainforest, and curiosity led her closer to the city's borders. Clover knew she would stick out like a sore thumb: her tanned skin was not so common in the mountainous region; her outfit of shorts and a bandeau did not at all fit the climate; she knew none of the customs of the Dweirith and would only make a fool of herself. Most odd, however, were Clover's eyes. She had the dark red irises shared by all her people, the most obvious sign of a Lucet.

The further up the mountain she got, the more her body shivered. She had to take the form of a slick white fox in order to continue. She made her way to the city, and she wove between the buildings. Clover had never been in a city before, and everything was new. The buildings were so much sturdier, and the roads were paved. People shuffled around wearing their thick furs, ignoring the snow-white animal with scarlet eyes. Clover took it all in, completely forgetting supper preparations, one hundred and twenty miles away.

As she explored, Clover stumbled upon a man. He had amassed a crowd, and he seemed to be entertaining them somehow. The fox wove her way between the crowd to get to the front. She watched the man curiously. He seemed to be playing some kind of instrument, and singing, and his discarded cloak contained several small medal pieces upon it. Coins, Clover realized. It must have been the currency of Dweirith. He was playing for the coins? What a curious ritual.

While Clover watched, she heard someone behind her speak out. "Fox!" they yelled. "Furs!" chimed someone else. She looked up, panicked, and took off. Her cover was blown, and she needed to get away. Slipping into an alleyway, she assumed her natural form. She'd stand out now, but she was already in the heart of the city. Now she was trapped. She needed warmth, and she remembered that she needed coins to barter for those. Thinking quickly, Clover got an idea. She retraced her steps, and taking in a breath, she darted.

She was unusually quick as she approached the musician. She did not address him, instead swooping down to take the coins from his cloak. She clutched them as she continued to run, hoping this would be enough to cover some kind of clothing that would keep her from frostbite. Clover was not ready to leave yet. She'd just gotten here, and for once in her life, she had the chance to explore. She was not going to give this up.

[iandraws]

Sunlight glinted off the snow-covered streets of Belhira. The morning air was crisp and chilly, but mild for those native to the area. Denton’s brown-leather boots crunched snow with each step he took through the mountain city. It wasn’t the first time he had been to Belhira, but part of him still had to admire the craftsmanship of the buildings that he walked by. They were almost completely made of stone. Some of them looked as if they had been carved from the mountain itself. Roofs of rocky slates sloped off each building. Stone brick walls held back the morning cold. The city looked solid; secure.
Maybe for those who lived there, but not to Denton. Belhira stopped being his home long ago.

He stepped through the snowy street, his tan-fur coat trailing behind him in the breeze. Hanging from a strap on his back was his prized possession; a three-stringed instrument known as a shamisen. Its body was drum like, with a thin sheet of white-leather stretched across it. Its long, thick, wooden neck had no frets. At the head of the neck were three hexagonal pegs which wound the strings, the loose ends anchored to the bottom of the instrument’s body.

The strap of leather which held the instrument suspended against Denton’s back looked old, as if it was rarely taken off. The young man was of 23 years and stood just under six feet tall. The hungers of the homeless manifested themselves in the thin shape of his body. That, and a gurgle from his stomach. Denton grimaced at his body’s complaint.

He trudged on, passing by cheerful denizens all chattering and laughing and playing amongst themselves. They wore layers of thick furs, some pulling carts of goods while others carried baskets of food. Denton smiled at those that acknowledged him as he passed by.

He made his way to a central square; a crossroads with a statue of Keeper Graldür at its center. At the base of the statue Denton swiped away some snow and sat down, the fur of his coat cushioning him from the burning cold stone. In front of him he rolled out a spare cloak, tossing two gold pieces on it. He swung his shamisen to the front of his chest, withdrew a fan-like pick, brushed aside a lock of his curly red hair, put his fingers in place, and sucked in a breath of freezing air.

Denton began to slowly sing.

“Oh, come all ye pleasant people, if your lives be filled with hurt or strife.”

He strummed with the pick, playing chords on the instrument. As he sang, he focused on the words with his mind, channeling his will into the shamisen. Only those with a trained eye would have notice the strings start to glow as they were filled with magic.

“Come here and listen to my melody…”

He trailed off, letting people start to gather around him. He looked into the eyes of a girl he didn’t know and grinned.

“and I’ll do my best to fill your hearts with life.”

His tempo picked up and he kept grinning, hiding his concentration on the spell with his showmanship. He tapped his foot on the ground, each tap sending out a tiny pulse of his will in the form of magical energy. He started singing again, attracting a larger and larger crowd. All of their smiling faces were seen but ignored by Denton as he continued to cast his spell. He’d grin at an old woman, nod at a man, wink at a lady, and mean nothing by any of it.

The spell ended as the song did and the crowd clapped and cheered, tossing gold coins onto Denton’s cloak.

“Thank you everyone! You’re too kind!” Denton called above the applause with fake cheer. “I can take requests. Anyone have any?”

Someone in the audience cried out “Do Graldür the Bold!”

“Do Graldür the Bold?” Denton asked, tossing a thumb at the statue behind him. “I’d rather not bed the guy, but I’ll at least sing about him.”

The men in the crowd laughed, some getting elbowed by their wives. Denton readied himself, then started to play again. An hour or so went by of Denton taking requests, casting his spell, and watching the coins begin to pile up in front of him. Then, in the middle of ‘The Wonderous Wall,’ someone from the crowd called out.

“FOX!”

“FURS!” Cried out another.

Denton stopped, eyes scanning the crowd for the person who last spoke. He recognized them.

“McWithers, you don’t even trade in furs!” He jeered.

“Eye, well, if I did, it’d be mighty fine to catch a fox!”

Denton nodded his head in acceptance of McWithers reply.

“Well, if you aren’t looking to start a career, mind if I keep-”

Before he could finish, a strange girl, wearing almost nothing, rushed in front of him. It took him a second to realize she had snatched a pile of his earnings.

“HEY!” He cried, hopping off the stone. He hastily wrapped the cloak around the remaining gold and chased after the girl.

“Come back here!”

She kept running, ignoring him as she did so. Almost half a life time of running from authorities was the only thing that let him keep up with her. She was still fast, almost impossibly so. He chased her through the cobblestone streets, dodging and weaving past unsettled pedestrians in his pursuit.

“A’ghaoth!” Denton spoke, striking a chord on his shamisen. Magic energy rushed at the girl in the form of gust of wind, knocking her off balance a little and slowing her down. The girl was still able to keep a few feet of distance between them. She made a quick right, turning down an alleyway. Denton followed her.

The alleyway stretched back out into more streets but Denton was ending this here. He slowed to a steady walk and focused on his shamisen again. He began to pluck a slow melody in a minor key, improvising as he went. It didn’t really matter what the notes were, so long as they helped him retain his focus. The girl kept running but his focus held firm. He took his anger at this girl, his exhaustion from chasing her, and threw them into the spell.

As he did so, the air started to get colder. Ice began to form slowly between the two walls of the alley. The woman stopped, staring at the huge chunk of ice that was now blocking her path. Denton stopped playing but continued walking towards the woman, his breathing heavy.

“That,” he said between breaths. “Is not yours.”

[Ashen]

Clover was surprised at how easy it had been. She didn't dare look over her shoulder at her pursuer, but she could hear the distance between them. A few more turns and he'd be gone. So, the girl kept her steady pace, running through different streets, hoping her lack of knowledge of this place's geography would not hinder her. For some reason, however, she could feel her legs growing heavy, as if there was some resistance in moving forward. She turned down one street, and learned too late that it was an alley. There was only one entrance, and now she had only the hope that her chaser would not turn into it, too.

But he did, of course, and Clover found herself trapped. She paused, trying to think things through. She could run past him, try to ditch him again, or wear out his stamina long enough that he would not be able to keep this up. The humans of the west, she had heard once, hadn't the endurance that her tribe did. However, as soon as Clover turned around to jet past, a wall of ice greeted her. She stopped, surprised, and frantically looked around for a way out. A dragon, she realized, a dragon would be able to melt through the ice. But the Dweirithian was too near, he would see her change forms. Then she would really be hunted, and she needed to leave that as a last resort.

The man was approaching her. Clover looked him over briefly, then turned away. She took a step back, hoping he did not see her eyes. They were the dead giveaway; she might be killed on the spot if he noticed. Her hand still tightly contained the coins, but she knew they were not worth her life. Clover dropped the coins by the Dweirithian's feet, not daring to raise her gaze once more. She stepped away again, then motioned her chin towards the ice. "Collapse it," she said steadily. Her voice was too lightly accented to give away her identity. "Collapse it, and let me get home."

An idea crossed her mind then, and Clover stopped clenching her fists. What if she could use this man to provide her the means with which to stay here a while? She only wanted to explore more, but much longer in this freezing place and she was sure she would die. Her body was shaking, teeth slightly chattering; she was not used to cold climates. But her eyes, her damned eyes; how would he react to those? Why could she change everything about herself except those eyes? Clearing her throat, Clover decided to take her chances. She looked up, exposing her family's unique orbs. Despite the reputation they had, there was a beauty to the color, and how it contrasted her light caramel skin. She watched him, waiting, before she dared to speak.

"I just wanted to buy a coat," she explained, and it wasn't a lie. "It's freezing here, and I didn't realize that I'd be left here a while, so I need something before my bones turn to ice." She shivered unconsciously, but was grateful it proved her point. Clover's shaking fingers went to her hair and removed the ponytail holder. Her wavy, golden hair fell to her shoulder blades, the only hope at warmth she could get. She tried to display her best puppy-dog eyes. "Please," she said, "I meant no harm."

[iandraws]

The strange woman’s eyes met with Denton’s. He recognized the crimson of the Lucet and realized why she had kept her face hidden for so long. Belhirans didn’t hate people like her necessarily, but they were still an old enemy. Denton, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit. As long as she didn’t try to eat him, the two would be just dandy.

He let her speak; partially out of patience but mostly because of a lack of breath to speak himself. He watched her shivering as she tried to explain her actions. The way her body shook just… Denton pitied her.

When she finished speaking she stared at him. Whether or not she was manipulating him, the cold would soon kill her if she didn’t cover herself up soon. Meanwhile, he wore layers of thick fabric because he knew to be prepared for Belhiran cold. Denton sighed. He slid off his fur coat from his shoulders and held it out to the woman.

“Give me back my gold and I’ll let you borrow this while we go find you another one.”

She took the coat from him.

“Then we’re getting food because taverns are warm and I’m starving.”

Denton turned to face the ice wall he had made. He extended both of his hands, palms outwards and fingers spread.

“Lasir,” he muttered.

There wasn’t any visible fire, he hadn’t put that much energy into the spell, but there was enough heat to melt a path through the ice. Once he could see through to the other side, he released the spell and started walking.

“That’s my favorite coat,” he said, without turning around. “Please don’t make me regret lending it to you.”

[Ashen]

Clover could not believe her luck. The man was just handing over his coat to her, and she had done nothing for it. She took the coat swiftly and draped it over her freezing shoulders. The furs provided her warmth, and they still held the slight scent of him. She wrapped the coat around herself, not liking how constricting the oversized garment was. Clover liked mobility, she liked very little covering, but she realized that would not be possible in this strange foreign land. She bowed her head a little, hair falling gracefully over the fluffy collar. "Thank you," she murmured.

This Dweirithian went on to surprise her. Clover looked on at him with wide eyes, baffled. Food? she thought. We? He was being a bit too kind to her, she thought. What was waiting at this tavern? Would others notice her and kill her? She was fortunate this man didn't seem to loathe her kind, but she could not hope that all his fellow Dweirithians would be similar. She waited for him to collapse the ice, then cautiously fell in step behind him. His words did little to scare her; she was more concentrated on the man's magics.

Clover had only seen magic briefly in her own tribe. Tribal elder Sophia was a mage, and a couple other people scattered about, but they were largely a minority group. With their magic, even small feats would exhaust them. Yet this man had just erected a block of ice, and the fire with which to remove it, and he looked completely fine. Was he just good at hiding his exhaustion, or was this man some kind of legendary mage? That made her even more cautious. Clover was an anomaly in her tribe, she had no true form, so she was always confident she could escape great dangers by herself. But magic was a different story, an art she had never understood, and she had no idea what this man was capable of.

Pulling the coat tighter around her body, Clover sped up a bit. Her legs felt lighter than they had before, so she figured the man had put some kind of hex on her. She shook it off and watched the kindhearted enemy. Should she question him? Deciding against that, Clover cleared her throat before speaking. "My name is Clover." Briefly she wondered if she should give her full name, the name she had been granted at her birth. She shook her head. "Who taught you magic like that? I have seen nothing like it before." She paused, contemplating. "Are you a soldier? I'd think many would have a tough time against a powerful mage."

[iandraws]

The woman followed.

Denton was glad he wouldn’t have to chase her again. Normally he wouldn’t have asked her to follow but he was curious. He had seen a few Lucet before, but only a few, and none that looked like they actually chose to be there. But this woman said she had been left here. But by who? Other Lucet? And why would they leave her behind in the middle of Belhira? Why would they even come here at all?

As they walked, Denton felt his energy slowly return. He was still just as hungry as before and now cold, to top it all off, but at least he could breathe evenly.

The woman cleared her throat before introducing herself. He let out a small sigh and shook his head. She must have known very little about magic if she’d so freely give away part of her name to a caster like that. Not that Denton could or even would do anything with just part of a name.
But still.

Denton stayed quiet and, a few moments later, Clover spoke again.

“I’m no soldier,” he replied, not looking back. “Don’t have the stomach for it. And if you really want to know about my magic, we can talk about it over dinner. I've got a few questions myself, actually.”

He stopped, having finally reached a fur merchant’s wagon. Coats, scarves, and an assortment of fur clothing hung from stands and hooks on display.

“Now find one you like and let’s go.”

[Ashen]

He was curt, but Clover wasn't going to complain about that. She noted the way he didn't give his own name, and how he seemed surprised at hers. Was she known as the anomaly even out here? No, she thought, that was impossible. Dweirith had no business knowing Lucet politics, and they certainly wouldn't know of the weird legacy orphan. Shaking her head, she continued to keep up with him, her curious thoughts spiraling in her mind.

She didn't know what kind of questions this man would have for her, but if she got to learn of his magic, she felt it only fair. Clover bowed a little again, but she remained silent. They walked up to some wagon, with several furs draped over it. She looked at the man beside the cart, studying. A merchant, she guessed. This was where people bought their warmth. She turned back to the goods, ran her fingers ever so lightly over the soft coats. Clover wondered how many animals had had to die for these outfits, and how many animals had died in vain. This wagon looked more like a practical one than a luxury one; these coats were especially for those seeking warmth, not good looks. She could at least take comfort in that.

The mage told her to find one, so Clover met his eye, baffled. "I haven't the coin..." she reminded quietly, but she turned to the goods again anyway. She took her time feeling the furs, the authenticity of them, the warmth. Finally, she picked up a dull-looking brown coat, probably made from the furs of minks. She slid out of the man's coat, handed it back to him, and slid her arms through the new one. It fit well, and even had buttons for keeping it in place around her body. Clover turned to look at the mage, and she wondered how silly she looked. A Lucet, a rainforest-dweller, wearing the furs of the animals she could easily take the forms of. What would her family think now? Using a Dweirithian man to satiate her curiosity in a foreign land. She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. Wiping it off, and modeled a bit, then asked, "What do you think?"

[iandraws]

"What do you think?" Clover asked as Denton slid his own coat back on.

He looked at her, her arms splayed out to the sides slightly to display the coat she'd picked. He raised an eyebrow, half a smile appearing on his face. It was certainly a rare sight to see a Lucet wearing furs. She looked actually kind of pre-

His stomach growled and Denton grimaced as a wave of starving nausea washed over him. He instinctively clutched at his belly. Gods he needed food.

"It looks fine."

Denton turned to the merchant who was focused on a book in front of him.

"Excuse me?"

The man looked up and smiled when he saw who spoke.

"Aye! Denton me lad," The man said with a gruff, booming voice. "What brings you 'round here? Lookin' to buy some'in?"

"That's the plan!" Denton replied with a forced smile. "How much for the brown one she's wearing?"

He pointed towards Clover. The man let out a low whistle. He spoke in a voice low enough for only Denton to hear.

"The furs are pretty cheap, but great dawn does she look good in it."

The man turned back to Denton.

"You can have 'em for seven gold."

He was about to argue but his stomach was growing impatient.

"Deal." He said, pulling out the coins and placing them on the cart. The man swiped them off the table and into his hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you!"

Denton was already turned around and walking towards the nearest tavern, just across the street. A sign above the door read The Preacher's Habit. Denton paused. He turned back to look at Clover.

"You coming?" He asked. "I promise, you'll be safe with me."

[Ashen]

Clover could only watch as the man interacted with the merchant. So, the owner of the furs knew him, this Denton. She had to wonder just what kind of trouble she was getting into as she followed this Dweirithian. She guessed he might have been a royal, a king or something, and nearly laughed at the thought. What would have been the odds? The first Dweirithian she'd run into, that she'd ever met, and it was the king of the empire. She shook her head, dismissing the idea.

Denton paid the coins for her--seven golds. She didn't know what that was worth and didn't bother to ask. Denton was walking away just as Clover was bowing her thanks to the merchant, careful to keep her gaze low. She had to jog to catch up to his head start. They didn't walk even twenty seconds before Denton stopped again. Clover looked up at the place, a warm-looking place with chattering coming from the inside. The sign above the door had symbols etched into it, letters she realized. Literacy did not have the same emphasis in her tribe that it did in the other kingdoms, but she still squinted to read. "Pre-ach-er's... No, Preacher's... Preacher's Hab...it." She was talking very quietly, trying to work through the sounds in her head. They were at The Preacher's Habit, then. Clover didn't claim to know what that was, but she was excited to find out.

Before they entered, though, Clover lingered by the threshold. She grabbed onto Denton's arm. He'd promised her safety, but why? Her stomach growled lightly, and she wanted to explore, but she knew the dangers. "I am not wanted here," she whispered. "There are people within, and if they just so much as glance towards my face..." Her eyes darted towards the building again. "Why are you doing this for me?" Finally her question was out, the one she'd had since he'd spared her life. She didn't understand his hospitality, and she didn't know what kind of trap she was stepping into. In Lucet culture, word was sacred, but was it the same in Dweirith? She didn't know. Her grasp on his arm got a little tighter. "I don't understand."

[iandraws]

Of course she asked that. Denton knew she would eventually. He took a breath, not looking at her. She held tightly to his arm, waiting for a response. He was very careful about the words he used when he spoke.

"I know what it feels like. To feel like you don't belong. To be left behind. Cold. Hungry. Alone. I grew up that way. And that whole time, what I wouldn't have given for... Just... I don't know."

He trailed off, lost in painful memories. He shuddered, composed himself, then turned to Clover. He smiled at her with as much reassurance as he could muster. It was the first real smile he had worn in days.

"There usually aren't too many people inside around now. We'll go in, sit towards the back, and I'll buy us some food. You won't have to interact with anyone and I'll keep you safe. We'll answer each other's questions and go from there. Okay?"

He pushed open the door and led her inside.

Candles lined almost every flat surface of the building and a fire crackled in the fire place. The sweet aroma of food, smoke, and alcohol hung in the air. Denton's mouth watered and his stomach made a pleading grumble. There were a few other people in the Preacher's Habit, one of which was the bar tender. An older gentleman with a potbelly and large, gristly beard. He was wiping the bar with a rag. The other patrons both looked drunk off their asses and probably wouldn't remember the next few hours anyway. Denton turned to Clover.

"Go pick a seat somewhere towards the back while I get us food. Are you good with eating meat or is that not okay?"