Closed O Cousin, Where Art Thou?

[Rune]

*

O COUSIN, WHERE ART THOU?
07 SPRING 125

Cast: Velho, Rune​

Rune rapped his knuckles gently against the tree of his cousin's home and business, with barely enough force to make a sound. After a second of waiting with no reply, he opened the door. It had been many hundreds of years since he had reconnected with much family, let alone Velho, though he recalled their childish antics quite fondly. It was Rune's fault, truly; he was the one who had traipsed off into the wild blue yonder, setting fire to the northern wilds, purifying the lands, and recreating it as acres of his grove, with few there to fight over the land. But some centuries of isolation led to a desire for the simpler things in life, and when he learned that cousin Velho was also a practitioner of Malediction, it only took a few decades for Rune to get up, leave, and return to civilization, as it were.

Rune knocked at the door again as he walked in, though it was an attempt as weak as the first. Rune wandered through the first floor of his business, looking at the decor of the lobby as if it were his full-time job. Buildings built into trees were not uncommon in the slightest in Aelheim, but Rune appreciated them all the same. His own living quarters were scattered inside trees he had hollowed out with no doors in sight, to avoid most animals and intruders. Bandits and Vokhai sometimes liked to come into his grove, and he had little desire to bother them. He was hardly a fighter, perhaps even a pacifist, and any attempt at learning more violent skills was hampered by the hyper-empathy that came from his pact of Nymheia. Which, coincidentally, was the arcana he was tapping into in an attempt to sense Velho before the aelf startled him, as was his habit in their childhood.

: Spell Reserves

N/A

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 07 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Not long after she'd begun working for her old friend, Lucia had sequestered off a section of the lobby, roughly a fourth of the room in the back right corner, with her own Draoidh and the help of Velho (she was no sculptor). Her nook was decorated with a desk, a chair, and the equivalent of a large armoire for storage grown into the wall beside her, all of the same deep, dark brown wood of Hespæria's sequoias. For comfort and style, the chair was covered with an embroidered silk blanket and pillows of colors similar to the surrounding flora. Själasalr both inside and out was wreathed in a meadow of wisteria, lavender, nightshade and poppy flowers, but within her office were her own flora– belladonna, red spider lilies, purple clematis, and purple hyacinth. Though her tastes leaned more towards elegant beauty than the beauty Velho found in death and the macabre, they did share a love of the color purple.

While Lucia did spend most of Själasalr's operating hours in the little nook of the lobby that was her office, she failed to hear Rune's knock, soft as it had been. She did hear the opening of the door; it wasn't loud per se, but its size did beget a sound on top of the bog's quiet night song being let in, however briefly. Assuming the visitor to be a patron, Lucia looked up from the book she'd been reading– the tall arch of her office's entryway rendered her visible to visitors and they to her, as her desk sat off-set from the back corner such that she was facing the front entrance.

On Rune's end, the room looked to be designed as a plush sort of waiting area for clients and other guests. It had plenty of comfortable looking, exquisitely crafted furniture, and ornate, maximalist decor crafted of the same durable, dark wood as the tree which composed the manor itself– one might describe the aesthetic theme as a sort of druidic art nouveau. The curtains on the windows and the upholstery was a deep shade of purple, and the room was adorned with both varying artworks and floral growths. Being a client-facing space, it did have some unique pieces of art, but it lacked the more personal touches common to the rest of Velho's home and business.

The receptionist waited for a moment, as she found it generally better in her experience to wait for the client to speak to her or for them to sit down before approaching; the grief stricken did not often do well when accosted immediately. However, Rune seemed to be losing himself in Velho's choice of decor– this happened sometimes where people got distracted, so in this case, she instead took the initiative to stand, walk 'round her desk and out her office, and approach the other.

a common Ælven greeting accompanied by the polite, gender neutral way to address somebody whose title or name you are unsure of.

"Heil, Elsknýr," she spoke with a soft voice and warm cordiality. "What drew you to us this evening?"

Of course, Lucia had no idea who Rune was; the two had never met, with the latter becoming a recluse during the time the former was still living in the basin as a youth. And Velho? He was...somewhere in the tree, surely.

 

[Rune]

Lucia, being in no particular way distressed or in pain, barely registered in Rune's hyper-empathy when he had entered, and he had not even tried to look for anyone else once he realized that the lobby was mostly empty. So it came as a surprise to him when she addressed him, and he spun around, his messy braids settling haphazardly across his shoulder and his eyes wide when he saw her. This expression did not last long, and he smiled, only furthering the appearance of the burn scars 'cross his face and now partially crossed arms.

"Well! I've got a wild hair to find my cousin, and it seemed to me this was his place of business or residence. Looks much like a... well, is Velho here? It's only been a few hundred years, perhaps he'll remember me." Rune began to elaborate at length on his intentions. "He was quite dear to me when we were young, you know. We were born seven years apart, and into the same family." He paused.

"I am Søger'i, Rune fyn'Veiðrbrand Æisling. I did change my name once I moved up north, which is why you might not recognize it... but I learned some decades ago that he was also a practictioner of malediction, and I find myself drawn back to see him. I'm a healer, of course. That's my focus." Rune seemed oblivious to the fact that he had now trapped Lucia in a conversation that she may or may not have desired to engage in, and may have not even had the time to listen to.

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 07 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻

<notes>

Starkly contrasting Rune's wildness, Lucia appeared very elegantly put together; she wore a turtleneck dress of fine-grained black velvet with layered sleeves that flowed like flower petals, her pearlescent white hair tied up and back into a smooth bun leaving only her bangs to frame her face. Two belladonna flowers hung from her ears and tiny blooms of multicolored hydrangea wrapped 'round her neck like a choker, both floral accessories grown from her skin rather than worn.

As Rune spoke, Lucia let her arms rest against her abdomen, fingers laced together in a polite stance– she'd realized from his cadence right away that it would be best to simply let him finish. Indeed, she was of sound mind and body per Rune's Nymheia; the woman enjoyed her life here and was hardy as any normal Æld'Norai.

"Ah, I see. The Ferrier's kin usually inform us of their visits in advance; excuse me for mistaking you for a client," she'd say with a polite smile and a short nod.

Velho would've countered that sentiment in the past, claiming his family showed up at the drop of a hat– realistically, however, he'd just ignored their correspondence and thus was always caught by surprise. But since Lucia took over reception, he was proven wrong; she took care of his schedule at this point.

And though Rune wouldn't be able to tell because the emotion was masked, she was surprised to learn Velho had any blood relative so close to him in age– it was rare to have family members within a century, even. Nevertheless, her demeanor shifted gears slightly knowing this was a social visit rather than business. Her naturally disarming presence remained intact.

"I am Hjarter'i, Lucia fyn'Seilæch Emerine. I work reception and grief counseling beneath Velho here at Själasalr– I can fetch him for you if you'd like." She still spoke with a smooth cordiality, yet not quite as formal as before.

"But I'll note he is primarily a mortician and Ferrier as opposed to a healer– even his living clients usually come in healthy, asking after modifications or enhancements," she'd punctuate with a wry laugh.

 

[Rune]

"Hm, it may have been wise to send correspondance." Rune replied, though the thought had never even crossed his mind to warn Velho in advance of his arrival. A ferrier and mortician was as much medicine as anything, and Rune was not unfamiliar with the dead he could not save in the remote reaches he made his home, be it animal, aelf, or something else. He was not particular with who he interacted with, and the social rules were much different out there.

"That is very interesting!" He replied, with a sort of genuine eagerness that felt out of place in a mortician's office. "Grief counseling must be a difficult task. I would like for you to find him, if you could. Just tell him that Rune has come to see him, though I hope he hasn't forgotten me." It would be awkward if he had, in fact, forgotten him, but he didn't think the memory of his fellow aelves to be so frail.

He fidgeted with the end of one of his braids. He was dressed in a well made outfit, though obviously tailored for the travails of the wilderness and not for fashion, and though it was maintained and had been magically enhanced to avoid the need for replacement more than every century, it was clearly outdated and well-worn, practical, and simple. Maroon pants, leather boots, and a black shirt underneath a fur cloak. "Though we are kin, I have lived in Veiðrbrand for some time... I prefer the seclusion, I think, and I have a penchant for arson that is not favorable in civilization." He shrugged, as if that were a normal fact to tell someone. "It is nice to meet you, Lucia. I believe Velho will be agreeable to seeing me."

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 07 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻

<notes>

Even without his explanation, Rune's time away from civilization was abundantly clear to Lucia. A social butterfly, the woman had always been adept at reading others since an early age– this trait only enhanced further by the heightened social intuition gained from her Rusalka. Again, she waited patiently for him to finish before responding.

The comment about 'arson' only rang oddly to her ears because Æld'Norai, and, to her knowledge, most Draoidh in general, were rarely fond of fire. Many respected it for its role in rejuvenating ecosystems, but to say one had a penchant for it was certainly a rare take in Ælheim. Rare, but not entirely unheard of. Fitting, she supposed, that Rune kept his burns and had left for Veiðrbrand; must've been drawn to Fulgur and the blasted northlands like a moth to a lantern.

"Ah–...when you first walked in, I'd made the mistake of assuming you'd be asking after having those burns cleared; Velho has had that request from Fulguri before," she began, looking over the other more closely. "...I imagine they're sentimental to you, no?" The question rhetorical, she'd smile, genuine interest creasing her eyes, and then add: "I think they look lovely on you."

"One moment, though; I'll get his attention," the woman continued, turning and going back into her office.

If Rune followed either physically or with his gaze, he'd notice that all she did was pull on a vine. The hermit would be able to guess with his knowledge of Draoidh that this might alert Velho assuming this was his Grove– anyone messing with the plants therein would summon the Draoidh's attention, and it might be easy to assume that the two of them likely set that up so he'd know that specific signal meant his presence in the lobby was requested. That done, she'd turn back to leave her office and return to Rune.

"If he doesn't show in a few minutes I'll go look for him; frankly, I don't know exactly where he is at any given time and this tree is larger than it appears," she said with light hearted yet somewhat sarcastic breath of a laugh.

"Feel free to sit if you'd like– no need to stand while you wait," she'd add, gesturing to any of the seating options– sunken into the floor, two half-moon shaped couches were set across from each other with a low, oval table sat between them in the middle of the room. Alternatively, there were two benches along the western wall and a chaise in what space wasn't taken up by Lucia's office to the east, all of which was framed by sequoia wood with velvety upholstery the color of nightshade petals.

The pair would be left waiting for approximately eight minutes for Velho to arrive. Even though the stairwell was at the opposite end of the tree from the entryway, Rune would likely be able to sense the Ferrier around the time he'd descended the floor above or possibly even before that; he'd been up in the medical suites, conveniently not up to anything that couldn't be interrupted.

Further, he was always in some degree of pain as a natural consequence of Scourge's entropy– even at its most mild, the dull ache in his tissues and joints was omnipresent. For this reason, he preferred to avoid physically walking where possible, but since that vine was normally pulled due to the presence of a client, he was making his way down by foot, his only aid being his cane. Appearing as a cloud of Ash, even partially, to his clients always came across as…unprofessional, even if it was easier on himself.

When the door at the far side of the lobby opened, Velho's slight frame shambled into view. He was quite tall amongst his kin, though he might not appear as such at first glance due to the bend of his posture; much as he tried to stand straight, it hurt him to do so. He dressed from the chin down darkly, though not in true black like Lucia; his clothing was a deep, abyssal purple woven of matte silk and embroidered with whorling black patterns. This along with the high neckline helped to disguise how painfully thin he was on account of not being form fitting, but the ælf still appeared unmistakably underweight even if one failed to account for the gauntness of his cheeks. Yet despite half-lidded lethargy of his eyes and the bruise-like bags beneath, the man's gaze was sharp, full of the vim and vigor his body sorely lacked.

Upon letting the door fall behind him and setting his sights on Rune, he squinted at first, and then his brows rose briefly, eyes widening slightly in surprise at the sight of the other if only for a moment. He did recognize his cousin despite the time that'd passed.

"Am I mistaken…or is that you, Rune?" he'd ask, foregoing formalities and making his way over to one of the center couches regardless of whether or not anyone else was sitting. "Veiðrbrand is quite a ways away…to what do I owe the visit?" The Ferrier spoke slowly, though his voice was surprisingly smooth given the state of the man.

 

[Rune]

Rune opted to stand, not sit, and he wandered around looking at things until Velho arrived. Now that he knew of Lucia's presence, he also wandered to look at her artfully decorated receptionist corner. Maybe it was a touch of nerves that he didn't sit or stand in one place, but it was also just a desire to figure anything out about what has become of his cousin. He certainly felt his presence - the aching, the vague decomposition, the pain - before he saw him finally descend. It did not deter him from launching into a hug at the tall, frail man as soon as he heard him speak, though.

"Ah! Velho! It has been so long!" He exclaimed, a joy to see his cousin in the flesh after so many years. "I was bored, you see, and I felt it was time to come see you. I heard some decades ago that you were a practitioner of malediction, though in a much different faculty than myself, as Lucia here explained. You deal in the art of death, and I in life. What a great thing. You are in so much pain, cousin, can I assist you?"

He continued rattling off much as he did with Lucia. "I do not mind the isolation of the north, mind you, but I have had some inkling of desire to come see our family, you know, it's hard to keep touch and even harder to send letters... I do have a large grove that I burned into being myself. SO much of that land is polluted and I am trying to nurse it back to health, I'm sure you know what I mean..."

He released Velho, mostly at fear of accidentally crushing the man of skin and bone, and clasped one of his arms with his hand.

"We have much to catch up on. How have you been? You are doing well? What ails you so?"

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 07 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻

<notes>

Had Rune been a stranger, Lucia might have intervened to help free Velho from his grasp. The Ferrier was physically frail, with his only means of defense being Arcana– while he was powerful in that respect, if Lucia could help fix a problem without expending spellwork at all, that was preferred. But, given who the other was, she refrained, instead lacing her arms 'cross her chest alongside an exhale of concern.

Velho had no means to resist, really, and hugging him would indeed be quite comparable to embracing a skeleton draped in cloth. There was some degree of pain caused by the compression, but nothing would break; at worst, bruises. Being squeezed so also caused him to cough, forcing a small, silken cloud of harmless– if cold– Ash from his lips. Had Rune any familiarity with Avernus' Ashes (or the consequences of being a Ferrier), he might recognize the substance, otherwise it would come across as bizarre.

The story of Ferriers told to the uninitiated went that their condition was sourced from a bizarre twist performed by one of their ancients on Avernus' Pact of Nekros; rather than commanding the undead, Ferriers were capable of shepherding them off to where they belonged. In Ælheim, they were understood to be perpetually ill, and that the cause of this was the connection to Avernus they had, with Miasmata being the source of the corruption afflicting their vitality. Most worked as morticians or wandering exorcists, some dabbling in a bit of both, but the position was always held in high esteem. Having been raised normally, Rune would have been taught this at some point in the past– how much he remembered on the subject, though, was up in the air.

As soon as he was let go, Velho would wobble for a moment as he regained his balance, listening to Rune as he moved to sit down. He didn't mind that Rune still had his arm in hand, or at least, he wouldn't unless he wasn't able to sit. Lucia had started to move reflexively as if she meant to help him, but she stopped when she realized he wasn't going to fall.

"What ails me isn't…ah, there's nothing else to be done. I underwent the Ferrier's Rite and currently receive as much care as is known to work on those of us who bear this title," he started to explain. "Surprisingly, others of my trade normally fare worse," he'd add, punctuated with a short, sardonic laugh.

This was true, though mostly in the sense that other Ferriers required a higher degree of regular upkeep in order to stave off the endless decay than he did along with being notably more fragile– an embrace might be enough to break bones for some.

"A noble goal– I know many of us would love to see Veiðrbrand restored," he'd add on the subject of what Rune had been up to. "Are your efforts bearing fruit…? I've always believed it possible, it's just…so few try."

This was true about a lot of things in Ælheim. Though the Æld'Norai are still capable of great feats, many have instead chosen to live epicurean lives away from struggle or the pursuit of anything greater than themselves. This was not something Velho blamed anyone for, really– he felt that nobody was obligated to live their lives any particular way, at least, provided they did not disrupt nor harm others of their kind. It was more just an explanation for why things like Veiðrbrand had gone unrestored for so very long– excess breeds complacency.

Once the two started talking, Lucia would slink back into her office, feeling no need to intervene further.

 

[Rune]

Rune listened intently as Velho explained the reasoning for his state. He knew of Ferriers, of course, but details eluded him as unimportant when he was so far from Aelheim and others for it to matter particularly much. As soon as Velho spoke of his efforts in the northwest for restoration, however, Rune almost vibrated as he waited for his cousin to stop speaking so that he may elaborate. He removed his hand from Velho's arm so as to not agitate the man.

"I have found that, with careful tending of my grove and extensive use of Fulgur combined- it manages to 'burn' the excess arcana. The combination of Draoidh and Fulgur is quite spectacular, and I think it agitates the latent corruption into lighting off even more spectacularly. That is my theory, anyway. My grove is nearing a thousand acres and it is very healthy. I have bonded with a variety of fire resistant and even fire-blooming plants, things that thrive after a fire and need it to grow, sprout, flower... Which in turn breeds a hardy grove. I have a number of Wisps who patrol with me and aid in the upkeep. Travelers, bandits, Vokhai alike find respite under the branches, though I do not interact with many guests. Unless they're dying, of course." He punctuated the last sentence with a laugh.

"If you so desire, I will take you there sometime. It is truly a sight to behold. I think it is certainly possible to truly cleanse the land. I have dabbled in some research of aligning Fulgur with Saol, I believe it would have the power to purify... I have not made any progress."

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 07 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻

<notes>

For a moment, Velho would appear thoughtful about the proposition before sighing a bit– Rune might notice that on every deeper-than-average exhale, some small modicum of Ash would be expelled.

"I…well…" he'd trail off for a second, bringing a hand to his chin in consideration. "I would love to, and because of the relative rarity of death for our kind, there are times where my schedule has wide gaps…I do have the time…it's just that I, uh…don't travel very well on my own."

Velho really did not understand how his mentor, Reykr, a far older Scourge than he, had such boundless energy when for him, the prospect of simply moving around much was daunting.

"By your mother's order, the Ærcanists did get around to installing a portal to that bizarre dragon's breeding ground on the outskirts of the firelands," Lucia would interject from her office. "It connects to Thokkmyrr's Ældrísal. It does permit the travel of those simply passing through."

"Oh-...!" He'd turn back to face Rune. "...in that case, I can rely on Tendril and cane and should be fine…that cuts the distance down significantly."

"Are you asking spontaneously or would you prefer I arrive at a later date…?"​

: Ældrísal

Ælven temples that serve as portal nexi for the purpose of travel; generally, every major Ælven settlement has one, but they do not all connect. The name means 'path of Ældrassil'.