westwhere | I called out

Entry tags:

I called out

WHO: Eleven and OPEN to anyone around the Tree, chained to the Tree, or otherwise in search of one tree-hugger.
WHEN: May 31-June 10th-ish
WHERE: The Tree
WHAT: Tree simping/vibing
WARNINGS: tba?

It's simple curiosity that leads Eleven out to the tree when he hears of it. He doesn't expect more than a worn, old pine tree sticky with sap. But the moment he sees it, with wide-stretching branches held tidily up from its trunk and twining beneath the weight of a trim canopy, his breath catches.

Caught up in staring for several heartbeats, he becomes aware of a cold aura that the tree itself seems responsible for. Moreover, he senses the beginning stirs of life, entwined with another feeling that takes him too long to place: death.

Cold forgotten, his heart tumbles through his chest, tripping up his feet in his haste to reach the trunk of the tree. His marked hand touches first, palm thrust forward, fingers embedding into deep grooves in the rough bark. The whole of his awareness and focus narrows to the tree beneath his hand, seeking a connection that fails to immediately manifest.

A.

He wouldn't give up.

Over the next several days, Eleven spent considerably more time at the tree than the farmhouse. There was some connection to be made there, he was sure- it was just a matter of forging it. An effort well-worth his time if any of his suspicions or hopes came to fruition.

He spent hours circling the tree, prodding around its roots to extract visible shards of embedded glass with gloved hands, and occasionally stopped to examine an oddly shaped fallen leaf with focused intent. Sat between its roots and leaned back against the trunk to simply rest and attempt to feel for something else through the cold wafting from the bark.

Eleven spoke to it when he thought he was alone- voice soft with apologies, reassurance, or quiet concerns. Then near the end of the day, bent himself in prayer for lengthy spans of minutes, still and silent, willing his mind open to the brush of another consciousness until the sun began to set.

B.

Of course he's heard of the trials of Anurr and how he'd had to chain himself to this very tree for three days and three nights (or something?) and while he isn't surprised that Anurr's most fervent supporters have elected to follow in his footsteps, it does surprise him to discover slightly more familiar faces in the mornings he comes to visit.

Eleven crouches near them, tentatively reaching out to try and wake them if they don't appear to be conscious and anxiously hovering when/if they are.

"Hey, are you all right? Do you need help?"

C.

His persistence pays off.

Pressed fully into the trunk, Eleven knows when he's found it- a subtle feeling, but one that's reaching for the energy he's poured into the tree. The back of his hand shines with a soft glow just before he loses time and external awareness between one breath and the next.

He exists in a quiet, floating awareness, attached to a sense of aged perception. Understanding slowly permeates his mind quite without words, in the same manner his own questions reach out. It isn't much, but it's enough and he's grateful up until something within the tree pulls at him and leaves him cold.

Eleven starts back to reality with a sharp gasp and shivering breathlessness, cold and fatigue plaguing him with quaking arms and unsteady footsteps as he moves to peel himself away.

[ooc: action or prose is fine!]

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[Goddess? Her? Hardly. It must be an expression of his. Though it does at least offer up a means to introduce herself.]

Yennefer of Vengerberg.

[She stays vigilant, casing her case around them before allowing herself to take some warmth for herself.]

I hope that it was only a temporary fee.

[Though dealings of the magical sort are seldom fair or straightforward. At least once she knows of.]

[He smiles and finally lowers his hands. It's enough that he'll certainly make the walk back]

Yes, I think so. I'd know if it were stolen. Well met, Yennefer. [The syllables from the last bit got a little lost on its way to his ears; a place he'd never heard of and likely never would] I'm Eleven.

...you're a mage?

[And if not a mage then a druid? Some magic user if he can conjure fire. Definitely not a Witcher though the idea of it is like an icy dagger that she has to pry free from herself to think straight.]

Where will you go now after such peril, Eleven? Your farm house?

[The omission of her homeland doesn't immediately register. She assumes it is earnest familiarity.]

Yes.

[To both questions.]

Though I'm more of a swordsman. [As evidenced by the two swords strapped to his person]

But you're someone not from this world too, aren't you? We're all staying there presently.

[With the world being a dangerous place, surely it would never hurt to have more than just the power of magic to help. Two swords are typically the trademark of a Witcher, though Eleven is too young, his eyes unchanged.]

I woke here not long ago.

[Her gaze drops to the fire and admitting such a thing feels like a weakness.]

We.... so there are others. [Clearly though how many, and why? The haze of waking and remembering the night, the fire. Could any of the other sorceresses be there?] Take me there.

Of course.

[He'd been too worried she wouldn't want to for some inexplicable reason that he doesn't take exception to what amounts to an order. He does owe her a bit, after all, and so he takes a step in the right direction and tips his head in a mild gesture for her to follow.

Although, thinking about it after a moment, a touch of reservation creeps in]

You awoke in this world by that tree? But you aren't one of Anurr's?

[Her head dips in thanks. A wave of her hand and the fire goes out. It doesn't do well to just keep it burning. She falls into pace with Eleven.]

I am my own mistress.

[She answers that proudly, indignantly without a thought. Karsa's clipped version of this...civil war is still muddy in her thoughts. She had no feelings of alliance with Nilfgaaard nor the Northern countries, and still a choice was made.]

I hadn't even heard of Anurr before today.

[Not that Anurr's people don't already probably know where they are, but it settles that bit of doubt, at least]

How odd. I've only known people to awake in this world from the salt mines or, well, the jailhouse in Sa-Hareth, before. I wonder if it's possible that Anurr is growing strong enough to pull people from their worlds as well.

And those that woke from the mines or jail, were they also in such a state?

[Cold, bewildered? Her face falls some with the realization that if she is the only one that woke from the tree then there is a chance she may truly be alone. Though that might not be obvious to Eleven. Yennefer picks up her skirts as they walk.]

What do you make of all this? One royal fighting another while the countryside pays the price?

[Some things don't change.]

[No, that's not true, he realizes. The slave ship- though he can't begin to guess where that batch of lost souls had physically been when they'd awoken. Certainly, none of them seemed to remember. But that too, had been Unhalad's doing. Yennefer's awakening is still uniquely strange so far as he knows]

I don't think any of us have had a kind awakening, here.

[But insofar as the local politics, Eleven mulls it over again, then shakes his head. He doesn't know about royals so far as undead go, but the situation isn't much different besides]

The people of Sa-Hareth don't seem to recall a time when they were ruled by the living. The Citadel is very tense, and Unhalad's power seems to be weakening.

[A sigh] I just hope their faith in Anurr is well-placed.

[No other? Her eyes widen at these words. She says nothing but keeps her stride. What can this mean then. And it doesn't miss her attention that being drawn here would make her a pawn. That thought makes her clutch at her skirts tightly, angrily.]

If it will mean peace and no suffering, it doesn't matter who is in charge.

[Though if the common folk have one clear party in their favor, she is willing to listen and get what information she can.]

People with power will do what they will...

[A cynical but also disapproving sentiment.]

[It's a fair point she won't hear him argue]

Anurr is still another undead warlord, so I don't have faith that much will change, but I can't think of more we can do to help. As it is, we don't have many supplies to sustain ourselves with. Nearly all our coin is being used to buy passage East.

[Eleven for his youthfulness is at least worldly. This still is not a cheering bit of news. No common folk deserve to suffer beneath the strain, that's how the world--worlds are.]

I have no coin with me at present but never fear, I can earn my keep.

[For whatever it means, it makes sense to go with Eleven and be with the rest of the refugees.]

If this is a matter of money then that means some have been here a month? Longer?

A little more than two.

[At least most seem to measure time in similar terms, so it translates easily enough. That she isn't afraid to work speaks well of her, too]

We spent the first several weeks in Sa-Hareth, then were moved out here. ..I hope we'll be able to move further East soon, to somewhere a little warmer and not plagued by as much undeath.

[Yennefer softly mutters a curse. Two months is quite a bit of time. Will that mean that whenever she returns to the Continent will time have passed? Can she emerge as if she had disappeared a second before?]

What do you make of your comrades?

[Eleven hums, not given to an immediate answer as they wade their way through the forest. His eyes are alert, but he likes their chances should anything decide to attack them on their way to the farmhouse, so he isn't unduly concerned]

I get along with most of them, though many seem set on underestimating me for my age. ..But I guess that doesn't matter so much.

[He feels a little foolish and petty for having said it aloud, and glances off to hide his grimace. But it's an honest aggravation that's been festering for some time- and one he's scarcely acknowledged to anyone otherwise]

But ah, so far, we've all worked together to raise funds and get by on limited resources. I just.. hope it's a sentiment that holds.

[Their surroundings don't seem to be particularly fantastical or curious though she takes note of his darting gaze. Perhaps there is dangerous wildlife as well as brigands, those are typical hazards of the crossroads and plains.

Eleven is old enough to carry a sword, old enough to fight with it and risk death. Now Yennefer truly is curious to see the rest of the group.]

You do seem young, yes. Would I call you a child? [Her mouth twists in a half smile and before she can cause any unnecessary tension she continues:] No. Not as much as I have observed.

[A child would cry tied to the tree, a child would have clutched at her.]

[His face colors in a flush, hands gripping at his baldric. For all it shouldn't matter, it worms beneath his skin regardless. He's painfully aware of his limitations, but neither is he as fragile as others seem to believe.

But there are at least two people now that don't view him as a child]

I'm of age- at least by my world's standards- it's just that I'm among the youngest of our number.

[Put like that, it's understandable, but still he chafes under the perception of being incapable. His pride didn't used to be so fragile]

..Anyway, uh, I should warn you there are undead wolves that wander around the farmhouse sometimes, and spirits that call out from the forest at night to try and lure you in. It's best not to stay out past sundown if you can avoid it.

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I called out

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ask him again in a few days lmao

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