Eleven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bearshermark) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2021-06-03 10:05 pm
bearshermark) wrote in westwhere2021-06-03 10:05 pm
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!]
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!]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[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.
no subject
What do you make of your comrades?
ask him again in a few days lmao
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.