[SFP] Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? (Open, PM to join; no houses, please)

[Straylor Leonard]

A small glade lies at the foot of Sentinel Bluff, the grass grown high, a few stone benches scattered about the level clearing. The benches are heavily encrusted in moss and lichens about the legs and underside, their appearance ageless and natural amid the slightly untamed park. The grass seems wilder than most of the rest in town, unkempt in places and showing thistle and other weeds poking about the fringe. Rough hedges enclose the park, giving a slightly stifling atmosphere to the otherwise cozy location, their bramble-laden branches gnarled as the oaken sentinel above. The shadow of the Crying Oak falls across the verdant green lawn, an ever-present reminder of the great tree which stands watch over Kriskinstat. The park itself runs south a short distance to the shore of the Westlake, a low stone levee rising a scant foot over the high water mark, no railing preventing the tipsy or unwary from falling in, but likewise affording the public access to soak their feet should they so desire.

Few come here, seemingly, footpaths showing little sign of use outside of rabbits, squirrels and other such fauna. The only other inhabitants of the park are a few thrushes, a matching moss-encrusted marble birdbath having been provided for them by a kind soul some time in the past. These dart and flit about, enjoying a respite from the howling winds crashing futilely against Sentinel Bluff and the Razor. Eyes cannot help but linger on the mute perfection embodied there, the edge crisply straight.

Straylor arrived at Silverfall just a candlemark after the first Sun decided to rise above the high horizon in the east. He was dressed in a fine soft leather vest complete with matching dark brown trousers and a long-sleeve tunic to top things off. As he walked over the unkempt grass of the park, his military boots crunched loudly as if signaling his visit. He came here on purpose, of course.

The rabbits and various other fauna interested him little. He could, after all, just conjure them should he wished. Instead, he found an old mossy bench, placed one foot on it and took in a deep, long breath. He was here to meditate, to practice his Arcana. And to start things off, he slowly inhaled and let loose a single low note. He didn't want to strain his voice and so he warmed up before beginning a slow melody -- one that he composed to accomapny a poem he named 'Griffon Talon'. The actual lyrics to his song were currently nonexistent but the melody was mellow enough that it allowed him to slowly clear his mind of the non-essentials and focus on achieving Clara.

When he had done so, Straylor proceeded to mingle his Vis with the Ara around him and created Mana. With that, he delved into the Plane of Nature to produce the Nature essence he required to make a series of alterations that he would released aimed at the newly formed dew on the grass and the surrounding air. He hoped to test just how much more water he could produce as an apprentice.

[Bunny]

Treestamp: Gnomusy - Dolmen Ridge

The gentle rush of altered perception as Straylor entered clara was a welcome, familiar feeling to the erstwhile warrior druid, save for the sudden, fierce chill that arced up his spine like frosty lightning. The ruffle of grass and shrub marked such a disturbance as likely a last chill breeze, borne off the nearby surface of the Westlake, its inky depths untouched as yet by the twin suns. Shaking it off, the Lion of Carmelyn remained in his meditative state, though something still felt slightly off, much like the first taste of rosyun being altered by morning mouth. With his mind's eye, Straylor could see the shifting, shimmering planes of the multiverse respond to his command, his metaphysical grasp reaching for his chosen well of power.

And thus was he surprised, and more than a little disconcerted, when said metaphorical limb was flung back in his face, painfully so. The youngish human reflexively clenched and unclenched his fist, as if trying to work out a potential case of frostbite before it took hold. Topping this whole tableau off was the sense that Straylor needed a bath for some reason. For their part, the flora and fauna paid him no heed, passing no judgement on his seeming failure, nor deigning to notice it, apparently.

Save one.

"Caw"

The source of the strident call was a large collared raven, perched upon the adjacent bench, head slightly askew as it regarded our young Mister Leonard with its yellow and ebony eyes. The bird's head almost seemed to float above its body so well did the white plumage of its neck match the white marble.

Strange things were, apparently, afoot.

[Straylor Leonard]

Straylor flinched as the cold seemingly got him. What cold exactly thoroughly escaped his grasp. It was Summer and even the early brightenings were hardly chilly if anything. But something made him shiver, made his hands tense. He was forced out of Clara, giving him a momentary headache as his sixth sense was snapped like a broken arm.

"Caw."

Stray looked up, his eyes narrowing on a lonely perch where the raven stood. He regarded those amber eyes, as if completely unaware of the odd situation surrounding him. "What?", he asked the black bird half hoping that it would reply. Then shaking his head, he closed his eyes -- something he wasn't prone to doing -- and attempted to reach Clara once again. The failed attempt at spellcasting tugged his conscious like a sick reminder. Humming another low note, Straylor attempted to begin Griffon Talon's melody. This time, however, he pulled out his Wand and focused on the Plane of Nature using it.

[Bunny]

The clarity and increased vision afforded by the simple piece of wood was certainly useful, though what was revealed was anything but. Instead of the normal, if somewhat chaotic, patterns of energy Stray was accustomed to, there was a darkness there, much like a black oil drizzled over the surface of a pond, tendrils of the inky fluid splaying out in a network covering the entirety of Straylor's altered vision. He could even smell the stuff, an arcanic quandary in and of itself, a horrid, rancid odor permeating the air like an acrid fog.

"One would tink one mad to be ignoring such signs, says I." came a curiously accented voice from behind Leonard.

The sight that greeted him upon his surprised turn was indeed even curiouser, a brown-skinned woman with equally brown eyes regarded him with an intent and piercing gaze. Her garb was as odd as her accent, a dark shawl covering her smallish frame had black feathers woven into it, its bulk concealing and supple. A sizeable ermine stole was draped over this, the fur rather luxuriant and full, if a bit dirty. Her hair, in apparent accord with the rest of her image, was black and rather unkempt, falling in loose sheaves over her shoulders and back.

"Tell me den what kind of druid can no hear de voice of de Mother when she call?" she asked, apparently displeased with something or someone.

[Straylor Leonard]

Straylor ascended into his trance-like state, post haste. But the Ara ... they were dirty? His mind's eyes regarded the scene for a moment, watching the ink-like substance seemingly chase away the bright fireflies that he needed to cast spells. And that smell. What in the name of Aslan's broad chest was that? Straylor coughed, bringing his arm towards his mouth as a shield. Naturally, he was chased out of Clarity when he did so ... but that mattered little now. Something was wrong here. He could feel, see, and smell it. No more evidence was needed.

He was gonna bounce.

Straylor froze for a moment before deciding to turn to face the voice behind him. She carried a curious accent that matched her equally curious demeanor. A witch? Stray's heard stories about them, the whole broomstick ordeal, plus the occasional burning. These were just stories, of course, but Stray's faith in stories have been rekindled somewhat lately. He did meet gnomes that were more-or-less going to eat him. And those were only suppose to be storybook-level.

"Mother?", Stray repeated with a hint of confusion. The smell still wouldn't leave his nose whether or not it was persent outside his state of Clarity. "I think you're mistaken ... madam." His eyes narrowed for an instant before he decided that he's better off leaving. "Either way, good brighteing to you. Enjoy your walk ... or ... whatever ..."