P is for Pain, not Persistance ((Kiri!))

[Anonymous]

The woods were hushed, completely quiet in anticipation as the arrow shaft sliced through the breeze. The boar hadn't noticed the halted forest chorus, it went about its business. To anything there that second, it seemed impossible for the boar to live another season.

The impossible had a way of becoming inevitable, though.

Raising its head, at what appeared to be last second, the animal let out a terrified squeal and fled. Instead of piercing flesh, the arrowhead burrowed itself within the bark of the silver birch. The next noise was a frustrated growl, belonging to the young huntress whose dinner had just fled.

She never missed, not boar anyway. They were too stupid to keep a watch on the tall grass, too careless to travel much in numbers. If she could find a boar, Maisynira's arrows had never failed to bring them down. There wasn't any possible reasoning suggesting that it had been a fault of hers, it just not fathomable!

The elf had to cut the arrow out of the birch, it had lodged itself in so deep. The whole while she fumed as the forest released its breath and the normal flurry of activity resumed. There hadn't been a bear through this part in quite some time, and wolves had learned to give her a wide berth; no animals had alerted the stupid pig...

Mai's head whirled, deep blue eyes glaring in the direction opposite of the way the boar had fled. Grabbing her bow, she crouched and made her way warily through the wood. She didn't have to go far till she found the source of her fury; with a hiss, the huntress stalked closer, bow drawn and taut, trying to assess the best way to get rid of this new problem.

Didn't they get it yet? Visitors weren't welcome.

[Anonymous]

He hated this place.

He hated how familiar it was, how he knew most of these woods like he knew the back of his own hand. He hated all the memories that had lived and died amongst these trees, how they had housed some of his best times, along with some of his worst. What he hated most of all was knowing that his home was here, right in this heart of this damned forest, but he couldn't see it, and would never see it again. Not now, and not ever again. Exiled, banished – but he was fine with that now, or as fine as he would ever be with it. He had a purpose now, did he not?

Bríathar had returned to the Draconi Forest – not to be nostalgic, no, but to hunt, for a certain cave he had heard of being hidden in these depths, one that not even the Talún druids had managed to dig up. Was such a rumor true? And could he believe the words of whispering woman, who wandered in these woods? Hell, Bri followed every lead he could get, and he wasn't about to toss away a free clue, just because he was skeptical, or because he was weary of returning to the place of his birth. Hell no – he'd stay, of course, and he'd search for that dungeon, because that's what he did. He scoured the darkness, in hopes of overturning a little light.

The former druid was moving at a swift pace now – he was faster than some of the wood elves in these woods, out of the hard training the Talún druids had put him through at a young age. After all, he had worked harder than any of his peers, had he not, hoping to become the sentinel to end all sentinels of his guild. Hah – that was all a big joke now, but back then, it hadn't been. Back then, he wanted the best for his hidden world. And look where that had lead him – a wanderer, searching for answers that were not even promised to exist.

His swift running was disturbing the forest, he knew, but he didn't care, not even after hearing the squealing of a boar, somewhere off in the distance. He did, however, care when he heard light footsteps, someone crawling through the tall grass of these woods, being cautious, stealthy... If he had just been a little more lost in thought, perhaps his stalker could've gotten away with it – but Bríathar Rann wasn't someone who could ever let their guard down all the way. He slowed his pace down until eventually he slowed into a walk, his movements very quiet, very still.

Softly, he placed his hand on the trunk of the nearest tree, and closed his eyes, focusing in on the environment around him. It stung his flesh, to use his druidic powers like this – blame the armor, it disconnected him from the earth. However, he could see it clearly now, everything around him – from the rabbit that lay innocently in the grass, a few feet from here, to the boar, who had run off now, still nervous and on edge... and the humanoid figure, perhaps elf, perhaps not, who lay not too far behind him – his stalker, no doubt.

"You can come out now," Bríathar offered, his eyes still closed, but speaking out to the forest. "We don't have to play hide and seek anymore."

He turned to face her, and despite the fact that he sensed that she had a bow, and that it was drawn, he did not pull out his own. Instead, he raised both of his hands, grinning, in mock surrender. "Trust me, I wouldn't make a good meal," he joked, as if he believed she was going to kill him for food. "That boar that just ran past might make a better choice for dinner, though, huh?" Right, if he hadn't scared it off...

[Anonymous]

Someone had been in a hurry, and his haste had spoiled her hunting! The elf almost wished that the man would keep going, remaining oblivious to her presence so she could craft quite the terrifying illusion for him. Then he stopped, placed his palm upon a tree and faced her.

She should shoot him. The oaken bow might not have been very heavy, nor the bolts very thick, but she had the arrow pulled back so far that the wood groaned. Should Maisynira loosen even one finger, the shaft would fly. Not only was this man trespassing but he was taunting her. The arrogance was enough for anger to lift the bow and aim straight for his head.

Oh her arrow flew, but it did not hit him. Instead it lodged itself into a tree several feet behind the man, having come quite close to his face. Once again, she didn't miss. A death would just bring more people.

Standing, the woman glared at the newcomer, her fingers itched for another arrow that it wouldn't draw.

Suddenly, a great gust buffeted the woods. The trees all wailed as they swayed and the grass was pounded by the force; the sky darkened and the larger predators howled and made their close proximity known. Thunder cut through the howling wind and lightning lit up the darkness. Within the gale, the trees seemed to grow taller and broader. Growing more menacing even as they were beaten around.

"Leave, or you shall live to regret coming here!" Though she hadn't spoken a full sentence in years, the sound seemed to come only from her mouth. Being heard clearly despite the raging winds and deafening thunder.

Mai was sweating, she hadn't pulled off something so large in years. The illusion had taken her mere seconds to craft, but she couldn't hold it much longer. As for her voice, another illusion; she had tapped his mind so she could speak with him, and made it appear as though it had come past her lips.

Kia, make her hold out for a few more minutes and make him leave so she could live in solitude once more!

[Anonymous]

There were some people in this world who would scoff at the man who refused to raise his weapon in the face of immediate danger. It was not as if Bríathar was a complete pacifist, but there was still very much a Talún druid left in him, even if he would not dare to admit this aloud. So it was not strange, for Bríathar to still keep his hands held up in surrender, even when she drew her bow and aimed straight for her head. If push came to shove, he could alter the breeze so that it just missed him, but something in his gut told him that she wouldn't shoot. He wasn't sure just what made him think this – for everything about the elf's countenance shouted out his distaste for him – but nevertheless, he believed it – and he had been right.

It was a close call though, and landed centimeters away from his face, pinning itself onto the tree. He smiled a little in relief, letting out that anxious breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in. He looked up at her, and had wrongly assumed that was it, the last of her thoughts, and was going to shoot the breeze with her – but then, she decided she'd rather toss a maelstrom of gust and wind at him instead. He hadn't expected it – never before had he seen someone who did not look very threatening... be very threatening. He was twenty eight years old, goddamnit, so why did he still have the optimistic mindset of a two year old? Maybe he believed too much in the goodness of others – maybe that's why there were so little Talún druids alive in the world today.

At first, it was overwhelming – hard to breath, hard to even keep his ground, if at all. It was times like these when he loathed him decision to wear armor – they weakened his bond with the earth, and actually worked against him at times like these. However, despite the penalty the armor gave him, he had been brought amongst the Talún druids for more than three quarters of his life – his awareness of this earth would always be second nature.

Groaning, Bri struggled to get a feel for the wind, and manipulated enough of the wind so that it worked as a barrier against the brunt of her attack. Now he could stand, at least – but he still had to shield his eyes with the inside of his right arm, and could not look up, least risk being buffeted by the wings. His own barrier was working well to counter it – because that was all he could do for now, and hope that she would either tire of using such strong magic, or hope to the spirits that he could reach out to her, and figure out why the hell she was so hellbent on getting him to leave.

"Why are you doing this?" he shouted, trying to project his voice against the thunder and wind. "I mean you or the forest no harm!" A part of him felt as if he should be angry – this was his home, was it not? Sure, he could never return to Baile, but it was in these woods he had trained, played with his parents, where he had ran to for comfort after he had been banished... He exerted more of his strength into keeping that wind barrier on, pressing his limits, hoping that he wouldn't have to be blown away. "After I've found what I need, I will take my leave!"

Right, it wasn't like he wanted to be bombarded by nostalgia anyway... Or these ruthless gusts of wind...

[Anonymous]

Well... this was new. Countless times, even the visage of a mad bear had been adequate enough to drive off any undesired company, which was any. Instead this man decided to tough out everything she threw at him! Had her illusions been real instead of fantasy he wouldn't even still be around to regret staying.

"No!" Maisynira knew she didn't have much more time left. If she didn't drop the whole phantasm now... she would pass out. "You have no claim to anything in these parts! Leave now and I'll let you live; refuse and your corpse will rot where you stand!"

If she had any energy left after this.

It was only a few seconds more till the whole storm just vanished. The howling ceased and the trees didn't even sway. It was as though nothing had ever happened to give birth to such a gust. The only thing amiss anymore was the young elven woman who was struggling to stay on her feet, sweat coated her skin and her face a ghostly pale.

Despite the shaking and the fight to remain upright, Maisynira continued to grip her bow and glare at the man. Never letting on that the whole thing had been faked.

[Anonymous]

Bríathar was many things – an anthropologist, an explorer, an outcast – but above all, Bríathar was only a man. At the end of the day, despite his oaths of nonviolence and peace, he was a skilled sentinel who knew how to take out a threat, and it was a test of patience for him to stand strong against such a storm. This stranger, the elf, must've been extremely powerful herself if she could whip up such a storm and cause the trees to shake – and to be frank, Bríathar wasn't sure how long he could last against such a storm. But he needed to stay, because the dungeon was around here somewhere, and the last thing Bríathar Rann wanted to do was turn tail and run.

Her words were still cold and scathing, but Brí could not muster up enough energy to try and reason with her and keep up the wind barrier at the same time. Eventually, his patience was rewarded, and the gust ceased in a fluid motion, making the dungeon crawler take in a breath of relief. It was almost as if the wind storm had never existed in the first place, as if it had all been a figment of his imagination. Was this the extent of her power? If so, why would go to such extreme lengths to make him leave the forest? It was a conundrum to Brí, who had to stop and catch his breath – the wind barrier he had put up had taken a lot out of him, but somehow, it had managed to hold up against her assault...

She was probably just as tired as he was, Brí could see it on her face. The man held both his hands up, as if he were surrendering, to show her that he meant no harm. "You're a competent mage," he acknowledged, "to pull off such a storm." His voice was grave – to be honest, he wasn't sure how long he would've been able to last in that situation, given that his own mana had been running low. He did not move closer to her, but he did not stop back, still keeping his arms in that surrender position.

"You're right," he continued. "I don't have any claim to anything in these parts." He didn't bother to point out that she didn't either, unless she had managed to buy out the whole of the Draconi Forest. He also didn't bother to point out that he had lived here nearly his whole damn life, until he had been excommunicated from na Talun – but ah, patience was a virtue.

"But I am not leaving until I find what I need."

He let his declaration hang in the air – it was firm, unshakable, unmovable. One might think that being nonviolent meant allowing everyone to step all over you – when in reality, the opposite was true. Being nonviolent meant being firm with your needs, but also being willing to compromise. It also meant not drawing your bow unless you were absolutely sure there was no other way to solve things. His eyes, a violent vibrant purple, flashed with determination – it might've been obvious by now, from his steely aura and palpable fortitude, that he was not going anywhere.

"If you're worried about the forest," Brí went on, slowly, carefully, "I can promise you that I won't harm it – or you." Obviously, that much might have been clear. Bríathar Rann was a crazy son of a scoundrel – someone who wouldn't even draw his bow in the most seemingly violent of situations.