Harvesting Supplies || Open Nov 17, 2016 14:29:24 GMT -7
Post by Ichabod Afof on Nov 17, 2016 14:29:24 GMT -7
1st of the Scales of Judgement
Early Ev'ning in the Esper Wood of Aurcaele
Of all the places he had visited in Aurcaele, the Esper Wood was his favourite. It was a pleasant happenstance, seeing as the herb he was requiring often as of late could be found here. Happenstance, perhaps, or divine intent. Perhaps he was always supposed to find this place. It seemed like most things in Ichabod's life had some kind of purpose. At times, he enjoyed it - it was a perfectly crafted tale with a beginning, end, and plenty of foreshadowing. Other times, he wished for chaos. he wished to simply exist, and cause trouble as he saw fit, in favour of fulfilling a grander purpose.
You must be cautious not to cloud your judgments with those misguided thoughts, A voice that did not whisper in the Esper Wood sounded. His mother, most likely. But lately, he wondered if perhaps it was merely him, playing pretend. It might make a more interesting story. There is a duty you must fulfill, and she is awaiting your return.
"Yes, yes," Ichabod answered, smiling as his voice whispered back at him. Yes, yes. Yes, yes. Yes, yes. YES, YES. The way that the whispers grew louder just before they were silenced ran a chill up his spine, and made his stomach pang with hunger. He'd need a meal before returning to the girl. Perhaps one would stroll in, perhaps he would hunt, perhaps-- She is worth more than a meal, child. Do not let the thought cross your gluttonous mind. "Yes, yes," He said again, letting the whispers take over the wood.
Finally, he spotted what he had been looking for. Pennyroyal. It was a beautiful plant that suited the country of Aurcaele quite strikingly. A string of lilac-coloured pearls, pearls with the soft, yet stiff texture of cat-tails. It smelled of mint - and that's what he told her the tea was. Spearmint, to aid with her daily sickness. She always thanked him - her sickness was always terrible. Always painful. She could not wait for it to happen already. Neither could he. Aurcaele was growing dull... Aurcaele was growing dull, but not this place, not the Esper Wood.
He sat himself down when he finished pulling enough of the plant for a week of tea, and began humming, thinking of what story he would tell to her as she died. Perhaps a meal would wander through while he pondered - then he wouldn't have to make any additional stops.