faderift | Player Plot: The Brecilian Ruins

On the top floor, Merrill is briefly alone, the other two having promised to catch up. Wading through colorful leaves, she can explore the entirety of the floor as noisily as she pleases. But the crunching and rustling does not drown out the high register of a young voice crying, sobs skipping off the stone like a pebble over water. It is high morning now, though overcast, and a chill wind, carrying the spicy scent of autumn, echoes the mournful sounds of the child across the cracks and windows in the ruin.

It is tempting right up until she hears the cry to take her time, to lose herself in the ruins, the merging of nature and structures raised by elvenkind. All of that is forgotten, however, as soon as Merrill hears the crying. She freezes for a moment and then she moves, trying to find the source, trying to follow the cry to wherever it is loudest.

"Hello? Da'len?"

The sobbing stops suddenly. The only moaning comes from the wind.

Mamae? calls the young voice; tentative, uncertain, desperate. As if he thinks this call might come from a familiar person.

Oh. Oh, no, the poor thing -- Merrill almost bites down on her own fist to keep from crying out in hurt. No, she's not this one's mother -- but she is something, maybe something that can help.

"Nae, da'len; ir lethallan." She bites her lip for a moment, trying to think. So many of their own words have been lost and she falls back into Trade. "Are you lost? Let me help you. I won't hurt you, I swear it."

There's a long, long pause. There is no response, but there is also no crying. If Merrill looks around, she will see half of a small face with wide eyes peering from over a door frame. The other half of the face appears when he notices she sees him.

Lethallan? he asks. Ir...ir elvhen? Eman emmar dhru?

As soon as she sees the small face Merrill crouches, resting her staff on the ground next to her. She doesn't want to appear to be a threat, but she does open her arms.

"Ir elvhen," she confirms. There's a gesture up toward her ears. Still, she can't quite make it all out and she also can't quite figure out the words to tell him. "Ir abelas. Ma Elvish..."

Another gesture, now -- one hand to her mouth and then quickly away, fingers splayed out, as if scattering her words to the wind.

The boy hesitates, as if he does not understand. What he does understand is those open arms. That is a universal language. He peels himself from the doorway and approaches her at a slow pace. When he reaches her, he wraps his arms around her neck.

Ma halani, lethallan, he says mournfully.

Edited 2017-01-07 22:10 (UTC)

Oh, the poor thing. Merrill wraps her arms back around the child, gently pressing a kiss to his hair.

"Garas quenathra?"

It's asked gently, a way to figure out how to help rather than to scold.

Mara san Mamae, the boy answers tearfully. Ma halani? Ir souveri, lethallan.

She soothes him with another kiss and nods. Of course she will help -- how could she ever do anything but? With the strength of someone used to both hauling around other elven children and a wriggly dog, Merrill picks him up. Her staff is grabbed also, returned to her back in a moment of careful juggling.

There may be some gaps in language -- enough that Merrill is not so certain that this boy is truly a child, but not enough to prevent her from trying to help -- but there are tunes that she knows. They cannot have been changed so much, can they? And so she hums softly, an old song about a hunter as she begins to walk, carrying him through the ruins to find his mother.

Mamaaaaaae, the boy calls out, calmer now that Merrill is here. He genuinely seems reassured that his mother will soon be found. He is still a ghost, and weighs almost nothing in Merrill's arms.

Soon Merrill will come to a room with no door, only rusty hinges on the stone frame. Pel stands just inside, blocking entry, and she does not move when she hears footsteps behind her.

Ar tu na'din! comes a female voice from the other side. Ir emah'la shal!

"Er," says Merrill. She's not so sure that whatever that woman said is polite, but she can't exactly cover the boys ears when she's holding him, so.

"Pel? I don't suppose that woman is looking for her son, is she?"

That would rather neatly solve things. Hopefully.

As long as the boy explains that Merrill didn't kidnap him.

Pel does not move. As Merrill gains a better angle, she will see a dagger hovering midair, aimed for Pel's throat, with no hand guiding it. Inside is indeed a ghostly woman, and she does not look friendly. She glances toward the boy in Merrill's arms, but does not appear to recognize him.

"Ir len?" Pel asks her breathlessly.

The woman sneers. Banal'len, she spits back.

Mamae! cries the boy, reaching a hand for the woman and squirming out of Merrill's arms. Mamae! Ir ma dirtha?

Edited 2017-03-03 14:47 (UTC)

Oh no. The boy escapes but Merrill can't help but move after him (the dagger isn't pointed at her throat, but she hopes, prays that it doesn't dig in just because Merrill is trying to protect a long-dead child), startled.

"Ir abelas-" breathless, for Pel, for taking so long and for her sudden movement.

"Ir abelas- dareth, da'len!"

It's meant for the woman first, of course, but if she were to strike out at this child- well. Merrill isn't sure she'd be able to move fast enough. It's a horrid thing, to have to tell a child to be safe around his own mother, a woman who doesn't recognize him.

Pel understands the conversation roughly as well as Merrill, maybe a little less.

"Is there something that can convince her?" she asks hoarsely.

The boy halts when his mother does not reach for him or recognize him. His hands open and he looks into them. He says something entirely unintelligible, then looks to Merrill with keen eyes. She is to find something, and she will know what it is when she finds it, perhaps? He is still a child, if a dead one, and with the language barrier cannot communicate well.

"We'll figure something out," Merrill reassures Pel immediately, then reaches out for the boy again. "Just- um, don't- move, I suppose... oh, dear."

This is really not a situation that she wants to leave Pel in, but it seems like she'll have to. She can't kill the mother of a child right in front of him, even if they're both already ghosts and the mother doesn't even recognize her child.

What a complicated situation.

"We'll just- look, then."

Player Plot: The Brecilian Ruins

Ghosts

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i suck i suck i suck i suck i suck i suck

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