World Tree MUSH

    There are two most unlikely travellers passing through these parts. One of them is said to be a woman nine feet tall, with stark white hair and chilling eyes. The other is a masked woman in full regalia, although the style of Mirrah's armour fades, this far from the desert land.
    Still, she is undeniably skilled, and her swords and her war-steed have seen them through many a hunt. The slaying of monsters is not difficult for one with such a martial background as the stoic Lucatiel; Priscilla, too, has no doubt proven her skill by now. Such simple contracts are a godsend, because they mean not camping in the woods, and having something more than the odd grouse or rabbit to cook over the hearth.
    In particular, the war-steed is a great part of their hunting success. The woman is uncanny at controlling and guiding her horse, but the animal also shows uncanny wit in many small ways. Lucatiel has always praised the animal's value, commenting often that the desert stallion cannot be replaced, even if they were to find their way to Mirrah. Yet Naruiel is more than just a steed; he's a tether to humanity for a woman whose humanity is fast fading.
    Some mornings the woman wakes up disoriented, as though the curse were doing its work on her. She's made an effort to hold up without complaint, but even someone as socially stunted as Priscilla could sense that Lucatiel is terrified of these episodes. So she makes a point of spending time with the horse, doting on it and training with it, even though she's coarse and abrasive and terrible at getting along with the average idiot villager.
    That's where she is today, in fact. Hunting had been profitable yesterday, breakfast had been generous today, and the desert warrior has decided today makes an excellent "screw everything, let's relax" sort of day. She can be found today a short ways out from the shoddy little inn she'd found them, riding the dapple-grey at breakneck speed over an improvised course made from crudely-carved branches and rocks and other natural objects.
    Notably, Lucatiel isn't bothering to wear her full armour. The pieces are stacked neatly in the room. Instead, she's only wearing leggings and tunic, and only the brazen mask to cover her features. No hat wears she, and her golden-blonde hair, braided neatly, whips behind her. The pair are tearing through the course at breakneck momentum, yet there's nothing foolhardy about their advance; this is a trained soldier, and a trained war-horse, both. It shows in their determined deliberation.
    Lucatiel had said she'd be out for a while, but she never really said what she was doing...

    Priscilla is 'detached' from humanity, that much is obvious. Half-god, half-dragon, her own humanity is suspect... yet she does have some concern for her travelling companion. A lot of concern, actually, but figuring out how to keep that muddled confusion from taking hold is much harder for someone like her. Priscilla has taken instead to, well... doting on the undead, in her own clumsy way.
    In this case, it means going after Lucatiel when she wanders off. While she can take care of herself with the blade, Priscilla has taken to checking up on her more often, all while trying to figure out who she can ask for help. At least this time it proves to be something pretty normal for a horse rider.
    "Thine use of such a beast shows great practice," she admits, but she doesn't make a great effort to make herself heard. She makes a striking enough figure that she's sure she'll be noticed, since she isn't going invisible.

    No doubt if the curse-afflicted woman knew her travelling companion were regarding her any differently because of her particular condition, she might be annoyed by it. If it were anyone else, she would probably part ways vigourously in the opposite direction, but she has come to regard Priscilla as something more than a half-dragon curiosity. She's come to regard the pale woman as a friend.
    A friend who occasionally has the power to catch even Lucatiel by surprise, but a friend, nonetheless. Thus it is when Priscilla pops up in the open field, it's the horse who notices first, rearing as though in surprise. Yet he doesn't scream, and when he comes back down to earth, he pricks dainty ears and sticks his nose out eagerly towards his current preferred provider of treats.
    Lucatiel looks over a second later, but if she manages a smile, the mask hides it and muddies the tone of her voice. "Hard work and endless days of practise. When I first became a knight of Mirrah, I had never before touched a horse. They frightened me as a child; so large, and with such sudden movements."
    "I learned quickly, for an Elite Knight is naught without his steed. His steed is as much his weapon as his sword and his shield, or his sidearm." She reaches forward, ruffling the horse's forelock with a bare hand; patting his neck solidly before resting it again. "I was there when he was born. I was there when first a saddle was placed 'pon his back. And when he was first tested in battle, forged in the flames, it was I astride him."
    She leans forward to stroke the animal's neck again, and the fondness shows through her tone, even with the mask on. "He is young, yet, and has many years ahead of him. Worth a king's ransom, the sand-dancers of Mirrah are, and keen of mind. They are spirited, though, and it takes a patient hand to command them. With the right combination, though... an Elite Knight astride his horse is unstoppable on the battlefield. I never won a sparring match against my brother Aslatiel, but by turn, he was never so skilled an equestrian as I."
    She glances over to Priscilla, and the mask tilts slightly to one side. "Truly, I pity you, that you will never be able to sit a horse, and know what it feels to race along, to drink the wind..."

    Priscilla frowns. "Pity? Perhaps an elder would suit mine stature. Many strange things abound in these worlds. Can it not be so that an equine of mine stature would exist, allowing mine learning?" She poses the question curiously, rubbing her chin, but then dismisses it.
    "None the matter. Mine powers would likely not reach to encompass a steed. Thus mine feet shall remain on the ground for the future." She gestures to the now-sandaled feet before she relaxes her expression. "Truly learning would be a new experience. And thine beast is of grand health and power. Mine regret is in not understanding nor knowing any which could relate to thine experience."

    "True enough." Lucatiel shrugs one shoulder at the chiding, tilting her head first one way and then the other, as though she were sizing Priscilla up from a glance. Nine feet or so, give or take. That would have to be one truly monstrous steed of ridiculous proportion. "Mayhap we should cross paths with such a creature... but I would be no help if it were beyond your ability to control."
    The fencer spreads her arms wide as Naruiel paws at the ground and snorts. "Certainly I could not. Although I suppose I would be less at risk from a lethal blow than most."
    Still, there's never a hard and fast guarantee that she'll ever come back from that great dark beyond. Every time she picks herself back up from the dust is a blessing, as far as she's concerned, in its own subtle way.
    The mask turns subtly, as though she were studying those sandals with a critical eye. Loose footwear like that are one thing for a lazy day at the beach, but another entirely for the kind of forced marches they've been doing lately. Something more suitable might need to be found, if the half-dragon could abide the sensation of a closed-toe boot; something flexible and comfortable for walking in. Hmmm.
    With some effort, Lucatiel mentally shakes herself back to the here-and-now.
    "Heh. My thanks. I've made an effort to keep him in good health and well-trained. He is spirited. I had some difficulty with him as a colt... it was necessary to prove I was his master, and suited to commanding him in battle."
    She pats the stallion's neck fondly. "Now, there is little he would not do for his mistress... and yes. I have some hope that we will find a steed strong enough to bear you. It passes the time more quickly between towns, as well." Lucatiel's masked face tilts down again. "You are certain those are not uncomfortable? We have walked long, hard roads since their acquisition."

    A wave of her hand dismisses the shoe concern, but Priscilla is looking upon the stallion thoughtfully. "Alas mine supply of apple slices dwindles too much. The short-lived affection he feels may not last." As in, she can't bribe him with those any longer, at least not consistently. It actually manages to make her show regret again... a heaving sigh that makes her hair flutter delicately, the giant woman showing a rare instant of vulnerability and desire for something, if only a little patting of the equine's flank.
    She refrains from doing that for now though. Turning, she lifts one foot and taps it. "Mine sandals? For a long while, mine feet were unprotected. These are but a decoration. Yet perhaps in travels, we might find something akin to your own that we might adorn myself with. The pace we keep is much greater than any before. Is this travel the norm?"

    "I thought someone was feeding him." Lucatiel tilts her head, as though she were eyeing Priscilla speculatively. "I thought so. Is that where all the apples have gone...? Horses are terribly forgetful creatures, even those as intelligent and loyal as Mirrah's sand-dancers. There are better ways to earn his favour. Be gentle with him, and mayhap you can groom him. He disdains filth." Much as his mistress does. Both are impeccably clean. Like horse, like rider, perhaps?
    "Though," she adds with a slight tilt of her head the other way, "I suppose we may have to find you tools large enough to hold."
    Meanwhile, as Priscilla laments about being out of apples, Naruiel takes a step or two closer, since this obstacle course is pretty much done, and busies himself with nosing about any possible pockets. "Heh. More loyal than you might think, though. Look. Shameless," she sighs at the courser, reaching forward to affectionately tweak an ear. "Shameless, shameless..."
    "No lie, that. I was hoping to find something more akin to mine, as they are better-made for walking so long. Or, I suppose, a suitable mount to carry you down the roads and the wild places of these worlds." Lucatiel looks left, and then right; finally twisting to look behind them for a few long moments. Once she judges the clearing suitably empty, she reaches up to strip off her mask, freeing herself from it with an abrupt shake of her head to clear her hair from her eyes. The stark shadows only throw the circle of rot 'round her eye into sharper focus, but the sun is warm with the promise of spring; sweat beads on her forehead. That thing is uncomfortably hot. "I suppose it would do no harm to search. My goal is as aimless as that."
    "No. This is not the norm for travel. I set a pace much faster than most, in part because I have little enough to tangle us up, and in part because my time is... limited." One hand flicks to gesture at the mark of the curse. "I do not know what manner of state Aslastiel may be in, and can only assume he is further progressed than I. So, my haste is born of need: It falls to me to find my brother, and to find something that may lift the curse from us both."

    With Naruiel nosing about, Priscilla dares to give a very light pat on the stallion. As much as she doesn't fear much... well, animals do take their time getting used to her. Perhaps an undead mistress helps keep him calm around her, or perhaps he's just that well-trained, but she's going to take advantage to actually get a light petting in.
    When the mask comes off, Priscilla doesn't stare, but her eyes do flick to the eye when the topic comes up. Though she rarely smiles, her somber expression deepens now. Is that actual concern she allowed herself to show? "Thine... condition allows thine pace to continue," she says cautiously in a rare moment of showing consideration. She isn't afraid to speak the facts though. "Yet thine same advantage also causes strain, and thine kin is likely to feel the same. Mine aid is offered freely now, for thine company is the greatest reward." Also, she's a bit clingy, even if she shows it very, very oddly.

    Maybe contracting the curse has helped to dull the horse's sensitivities. Or, maybe he just remembers all the countless apples he's been fed over the time since they began travelling together. Whatever the case, Naruiel seems to harbour a genuine affection for Priscilla. At least, he's not afraid to nose at her pockets in search of tidbits.
    Lucatiel watches, but there's an uncharacteristic softness in her eyes. She may not have much tender-hearted sentiment towards her fellow humans, but she can't harden her heart against animals, especially ones as magnificent as a sand-dancer in its prime; let alone one she's raised personally from colthood.
    The fencer tilts her head, mismatched eyes settling on her half-dragon travelling companion. It's a regard that any ordinary person would find unsettling, just as Priscilla's regard might unsettle any other ordinary person. These are two most extraordinary travelling companions, though, and they're both accustomed to the other's mannerisms. The corner of Lucatiel's mouth curls, just slightly; too bitter for a smile, too cynical for melancholy.
    "I am not going to drop dead the next time we rise and set off with the rising sun," Lucatiel sighs, patiently. "Although like as not I would simply get up from that and continue on as though nothing had happened. No. It infers me no special strength; only a sense of haste as oblivion approaches."
    She shakes her head, reaching up to clear blonde hair from her face. The simple gesture makes her seem much younger, almost innocent, although her eyes are old and tired. "Strain only when I perform above and beyond my limits. Like the last time my horse was stolen, and the perpetrators murdered me. I tracked the idiots and slew them." The very same night Priscilla was treated to an unmasked view of the curse of undeath, in fact. "Ordinary marching, no."
    "Not yet, at any rate."
    She may or may not be lying through her teeth. It's hard to say, her tone is so calm and level. She won't meet Priscilla's eyes, though, instead looking toward the trees, where shafts of sunlight fall among dappled shadows. After a moment, she drops her gaze and her voice both. "I thank you, Priscilla of Ariamis. I am glad, for I cannot bear the thought of travelling alone."

    It is an awkward moment of silence that follows Lucatiel's statements. Priscilla is still not sure how to approach these humanish considerations, but the solemn understanding of how death is cheap to her companion has hit home perhaps harder than she expected with that.
    Finally she shakes herself out of the thoughts, and the taller woman turns to regard the still-ongoing road that they have been travelling. "It does thine demeanor well to rest now and again, regardless. Travel makes even thine body weary, and with such weariness comes a dulling of the edge. Mine thoughts are that thy skills tell thee that such a thing is not desired, yes?" She finally gives a wry smile, showing more relaxation in the moment than the tension before.
    The smile fades with thought. "Mine company is of use... that is more than I have been told for many an age. Mine thanks."

    "Mayhap for someone with more time than I, but I cannot afford to be so lax." Lucatiel shakes her head, reaching up to clear her hair from her face again, this time taking a moment to tuck it behind her ear. "I must find my brother. And then I must find a cure, if there is any such thing to be found."
    She glances back to Priscilla, mismatched eyes appraising. "But you are not wrong. Skills are like swords. Neglect them, and they will rust and tarnish, and they cannot always be brought back from such thoughtless damage." She looks down at her hand, flexing her fingers. "Besides. If I find him... I could not bear to face Aslatiel if I forgot everything that he had taught me. It was from him I learned everything I know."
    "Of use?" Lucatiel tilts her head, looking at the half-dragon more directly, eyes fierce as a hawk's. She smiles, and the expression seems somewhere between 'pretty' and 'awkwardly ill-used.' "I should say so. I'm certain you have saved me from a dire fate by now. To be alone is not so dire a fate as a knife between the ribs, but these days, I think I would prefer a knife in the ribs than to walk these roads alone." Lucatiel inclines forward, managing as much of a formal bow as she can despite being in the saddle; even Naruiel, following some subtle cue, bows his head and leans down low over his front legs. A showy and dramatic move, suitable to the high courts of Mirrah, no doubt.

    The bow gets a long stare, and Priscilla, when she does react, looks away for a long moment. "Thine flattery is... appreciated," she finally says. "Amongst mine own kin, mine presence was not welcome. To have mine presence desired for any means is of great importance." She heaves a sigh and looks back again, with a smile...
    And an offered pat to Naruiel, this time. He participated in this! "It is for this reason that mine presence will be hard to divest thineself of. If your brother can be found by mine efforts, then it shall be so."

    "Call it what you please, but know that I do not flatter," Lucatiel comments. "Such things were expected in Mirrah, but I swore that even if I was born of the gutter, I would have my pride. I have never been able to bear such empty platitudes. When I speak, it is with meaning."
    The fencer frowns very slightly when Priscilla expands on her own lack of value. Something in the tilt of Lucatiel's head suggests that viewpoint bothers her, although she doesn't immediately expand on it, as though she were taking a moment to choose the right words.
    Why should it bother her? Life was cheap, in Mirrah. She and her own brother were considered expendable, up until the point where they were suddenly the kingdom's premiere warriors.
    Maybe that's why.
    Nobody's life should come so cheaply, no matter their standing or their situation. Nobody should be truly unwanted, even if Lucatiel is too proud and gruff to actually say that aloud.
    A smile flickers its way across her face, and she shakes her head a little, shifting in the saddle. "Then if by some means my own companionship has brought value to you, I have accomplished something in all of my aimless wandering. I am glad."
    Through all of this, the stallion makes a point of nudging Priscilla's hand when she moves to pat him, as though he were also glad! Actually, he probably just knows she's a sucker and likes to feed him treats when his mistress isn't looking, but it's the thought that counts. Right? Anyway, there's some affection in the way he bumps her with his velvety-soft nose, snorting into her hand.
    "I suppose I should be off to collect my things from our lodgings. I will shed no tears at leaving this wretched place behind, in the hopes of finding something better on the road ahead." Gently, Lucatiel sets her heels to Naruiel's ribs, and the horse reluctantly leaves off his determined search for something tasty in Priscilla's pockets. "Let's go," Lucatiel adds, over her shoulder, glancing back at the half-dragon. "My friend," she adds, with a tentative half-smile.