World Tree MUSH

    Needless to say, on hearing that the mermaid had in fact lost her voice for a human body... Salome Highscribe was incensed. There was simply no missing the flash of fury in the witch's mismatched blue-red eyes. For a large part of the day she had left camp and the mermaid in the care of her hired knight. Though she did leave her Familiar with them; a fluffy black cat by the name of Pierce that seemed to watch the pair like a hawk, likely due ot his master's bidding.
    For the most part, the mermaid, tired herself out petting Naruiel and being an absolute darling; a mostly good tempered and good natured girl aside from being utterly mute and only able to answer any conversation in monosyllabic utterances. It's getting late, though and the melancholy song of the mermaid's flute plays mournfully over the camp by the time Salome returns; the soft click-clink click-clink click-clink of high heeled boots and spurs announcing her swaggering gait and return.
    "Never took you for much of a person to like kids." She says, tipping back the brim of her grinning hat with a finger to ease up on the ominous and dark shadows shrouding her face. Judging from the curl of her lips, she's still in a foul-tempered mood but is doing her absolute damnedest to not let it show around the mermaid as she reaches up and... Pulls a folding beach chair out of her hat's mouth, unfolds it, and plops down for a seat by the campfire, slouched back and brooding.

  The presence of the cat had been ignored, as long as the cat had been content to ignore the knight and the sea-child. Lucatiel had not missed that flash of fury, though she may as well have; showing no acknowledgement and treating the witch no differently than her usual bland professionality.

  Fortunately for the mermaid, there had been very little conversation from Lucatiel. No well-intentioned babbling here or pointless verbal cooing. The knight has proven a largely silent bastion of protective instinct, generally making herself available any time the girl happens to be frightened, and quietly seeing to anything else that she might need. She's been more kindly to the child than she is to most adults.

  By the time the mermaid plays her melancholy flute, and by the time the slushy sound of high heels in the sand announces the presence of Salome Highscribe, Lucatiel has gone back to half-dozing. An arm is draped over the top of her head, the other folded over her stomach. Blood spots the bandaging. that binds her right shoulder; the breathing behind the mask is just a whisker less easy than normal. She doesn't seem as well as when Salome had left, but then again, she had taken a dagger to the shoulder for the girl's defense. (Of course, her retaliation had been swift, brutal, and invariably lethal.)

  She could be sleeping, but she had come awake the instant she'd heard shoes crunching in the sand. Somewhere between dozing and listening, her rapier had made it to her hand; even lying there against the palm tree, she looks like she could use it. And she can, as she's proven to Salome.

  The sword droops. Ah. Her employer.

  Behind the mask, Lucatiel arches a brow as Salome produces her own seating in less than orthodox ways. With a tired grunt of pain, the knight pushes her back against the palm trunk, straightening as much as she can without pulling herself too far upright. "I take it you've seen to your business. The girl has been fine. Sweet as a kitten."

  "You've something on your mind." It's an observation, not a question. A hand adjusts the mask into a more comfortable place with slow deliberation. She wishes, idly, that she could take it off altogether. It's hot and unnecessarily stuffy in the humid tropical heat. "What is it, then?"

    Salome hasn't begrudged Lucatiel keeping her mask on in her presence. The relationship, thus far, has been entirely professional. Salome hires Lucatiel. Lucatiel usually pulls through for her. Salome pays Lucatiel. Never once has she asked to see the visage beneath the mask, nor would she grudge the Elite Knight if she never saw it at all.
    The elf witch shifts in her seating slightly with a grunt of irritation- not at Lucatiel, but more at the situation at hand than anything else as pointed ears twitch and bob in time with the sad song of the flute. At least until it tapers off. Because the mermaid is drawing nearer, something clasped in her hands.
    And just like that a crown of woven sea flowers is set gently upon the knight of Mirrah's head, the child flashing a shark-toothed grin. In the light of the fire it's impossible to tell the child apart from a normal human, the features of her true form only visible under the moon's rays.
    "She's taken a real shinin' to you, you know that?" Salome muses. "Most mermaids are supposed to be cautious and distrusting. Considerin' they're dyin' out it's not surprising." The witch mutters, propping her chin into her upturned palm as she gives her cat a light scratch under the chin. But then her expression darkens once again.
    "Oh yeah I got something on my mind." She confirms. "I did some diggin'." She explains in a drawl. "About who did that to our little mute friend. It takes a special kind of magic that needs a mermaid's voice."
    Lips curl briefly into a fanged scowl, but Salome rallies and clears her throat fast. "This is the work of a Sea Witch, no doubt. And I have an idea of just who the responsible hag is, this is her turf, last I checked." Uttered as she rummages in her duster and pulls out a vial of crimson liquid. She's about ready to toss it Lucatiel's way, when the mermaid gently sets her hand on the knight's wounded shoulder, the wound beginning to knit back together on its own.
    "... Like I said. A real shinin' to you."

  Not even when severely wounded has the knight bothered to remove her mask. The bronze has covered her face so consistently that her age and the colour of her eyes are both a mystery. Her voice is so low and hard that it's impossible to tell her age just by tone.

  If she follows the meter of the girl's flute-song, Lucatiel doesn't show it. The mask does tilt slightly as the girl approaches, watching as a crown of sea flowers is set upon her brow, where her hat would rest. That shark-toothed grin is regarded for a moment before Lucatiel reaches out, gently ruffling the girl's hair in gentle affection. "Yes, you're a sweetly one. My thanks, Child of the Sea. I shall wear them with pride."

  "Is that so strange?" Lucatiel shrugs a shoulder, mask tilting again to glance toward Salome. "The meek always respond when treated kindly. Still... a pity. They seem most interesting."

  A special kind of magic that needs a mermaid's voice? Lucatiel raises a brow, and the faint movement of her mask suggests she's listening. Sea witches and oceanic magicks are far from her area of expertise, so the knight holds her tongue. Mirrah was a landlocked desert. She'd never even seen an ocean until well after she'd left.

  The masked woman jumps at the sensation of a tiny hand on the back of her shoulder; she hadn't seen the girl steal up behind her, and it's only by effort of will that she stops herself from startling further. The mask tilts down as though to study the mermaid.

  "...My thanks once again, Child of the Sea." Lucatiel tilts her mask towards Salome. "Is this Sea Witch one that you happen to know, Lady Highscribe?"

    Salome's age, on the other hand, is literally impossible to tell even without a mask. She looks to be a woman in her mid twenties, but the elven ears belie the fact that could be as old as centuries, if not more. Yet still she doesn't begrudge that mask never coming off once.
    "Au! Hah, ah!" Is the mermaid's response, a series of pleased grunts mutterances when ruffled, and more importantly when Lucatiel's wound begins to heal from her touch. Salome puts away the healing potion, better to save it for later in case of an emergency now, if the mermaid has that trick up her sleeve. The witch draws a sharp breath through her nose and lets it out slowly from between fanged teeth as she weighs her words.
    "Yeah." She replies at the length of a few heartbeats. "I know her. Sometimes I wish I didn't, though." She mutters. "An old crone by the name of Methuselah. Some say she's over a thousand years old." Muttered as she plays with her cat's ears."
    "She's a real piece of work." The cat actually speaks up next. "The older a witch grows the more powerful she gets." He says, flicking his ears while fingers scritch the top of his head.
    "She's gonna use that mermaid's voice to reverse her age." Salome finally says grimly. "Keep all her accumulated knowledge of centuries and longer, while having the strength and vigor of youth again? No doubt that's her game. Wouldn't surprise me if this wasn't the first time she did it either. Damned hag knows mermaids are dyin' out and she still uses them for her selfish gain." The dark elf spits.
    "We gotta stop her before she does and the girl's voice is lost forever. I'd say she needs a few more things 'fore she can go through with the spell though. And she's gotta do it under the light of the full moon... Best time for her would be... Tuesday next week I'd venture."

  Without looking up or commenting, Lucatiel reaches up to run her fingers through the mermaid's hair again, gently sorting it out before it has a chance to tangle too badly. She does so with the arm that she'd been favouring. Knowing the girl can do that, and that it actually works on her bizarre physiology, is worth noting. It might be of use if this girl is to be their travelling companion.

  "Best save your potions," Lucatiel agrees, as Salome puts the crimson vial away. "I have a supply of my own potions, as well. In Naruiel's saddlebag." Just in case Salome ever needs to know that, it's good information to have access to. What she doesn't say is that Salome's potion probably wouldn't even work on her, and that the stuff in Naruiel's saddlebag is specifically crafted to target the Undead.

  Lucatiel tilts her head in consideration of the sea witch. None of it is particularly familiar to her, but the details are filed away, just in case any of that becomes relevant. Once she's finished doting on the mermaid, she sags back against the tree trunk with a grunt of weariness. The humid air saps the strength; steals her breath, and she'll be glad to move on to drier climes.

  "So, all of that power has gone to her head." Lucatiel leans her head back, throat pale beneath the stripe of moonlit bronze at the mask's jawline. What tiny sliver of her lower face is visible looks normal enough. No scales, no feathers, no fur, nothing bizarre. "An opportunist, and an unsympathetic one, at that."

  The woman sighs one of those long, exasperated sighs.

  "Very well. Find someone to watch the child, and I will take care of this problem in your stead, if you wish." The mask tilts as she nudges it into place with a forefinger. "My sword is always ready... but you know that much, by now. I will be ready to ride forth whenever you choose to go on the offensive."

  Lucatiel shrugs a shoulder, spotted bandaging rising and falling. "You have paid for the services of an Elite Knight of Mirrah, and while I may command a steep price for my services, you have bought them, and they shall be used to the fullest extent." A puff of air from beneath the mask. "But that, too, you have learned by now."

    "Power always gets to the head." Salome says grimly, head nodding when told to save her brew. And where Lucatiel keeps hers. "That's the curse of bein' a witch. We're all too beautiful in our own minds, too perfect..." She murmurs. "'A witch ought never be frightened in the darkest forest because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.'" Intoned as she scoots Pierce off her lap to let him roam the perimeter of the camp.
    Anything he sees, she sees.
    "Findin' someone to watch the girl is easier said than done." She muses. "Not many I trust, 'specially not here." Salome taps at her chin. "Also problem is, she's gotta be there when we get her voice back. I don't quite have a bottle spun from witch's tears to keep it in. We gotta give it to her then and there."
    But with that, she sinks back into her beach chair. "Oh yeah, I'm full 'ware you cost a pretty penny. But unlike most others, you're actually worth every single ounce of it." She muses before peeking up from under the brim of her hat. "What's with the coin, anyway? Ain't never seen one like it."
    A slow sigh, though. "Anyway, we better rest up. I got more business on this island to deal with, so I'll continue to leave the li'l one under your watchful care. I'll let you take first watch. I don't need sleep, jus' gotta meditate a little. I'll be bright eyed and bushy tailed in four hours to watch for the rest of the night."

  "So it goes. The exceptions are few when I think of those in positions of authority." The woman grunts from beneath her mask, eyes sliding shut. "Not my dear brother, of course, nor myself. We had never taken our positions for granted, and we fought and clawed like beasts for what we had."

  A slight shift lets her cradle her head more comfortably, and the end of her braid dangles just above the sand. "Heh. The Elite Knights of Mirrah are not dissimilar. I have faced horrors on the field of battle and fought in defense of my own accomplishments; there is very little I fear."

  Lucatiel heaves a sigh. She sounds tired, despite the mending of wounds at her own shoulder; she's slept poorly with such chokingly thick air. She's also been busy defending the mermaid-girl, or simply looking after the poor tyke.

  "Coin?" Lucatiel reaches into a pocket, withdrawing it. It marches over her knuckles in clever sleight-of-hand, before marching back the other way. She catches it up and flicks it toward Salome, ringing; it glints in the light of the fire.

  It's a simple flat disc stamped with a desert rose on one side and a rearing horse not unlike Naruiel on the other. "A commemoration. My dear brother and I began as street rats, but before we left Mirrah, we were among the highest of aristocrats. Proof of our status, as a matter of course. Aslatiel should have one in his possession that is a match to mine." She'll wait long enough to let Salome study it. It's certainly pretty, intricate; made by a very skilled goldsmith. "I carry it with me, always. It has been known to bring me good fortune."

  "Very well. Wake me at second watch, then. I will see to the girl when I wake." Her voice is low, distant. "And if there is trouble, wake me. My sword will be ready." Indeed, she keeps them both within reach, turning to lie on her side, pillowing her head beneath a folded arm. "Good night, Witch. Rest well." However that may be accomplished.