Ever verdant trails

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Copper Dragon
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Re: Ever verdant trails

Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Jul 18, 2016 3:35 pm

Impiltur's people are known to be reserved and taciturn outside their homes, and in Outentown that is no different. Aleira is received with skeptical glances from the menfolk that she accompanies on woodlogging, hunting or even perhaps fishing by the Mal; she is a young woman, what does she know of these things? The farmers' wives, though polite, are more silent around Nemesk Aleira than they are chatty, for she is clad in pricey (if weathered) leather and carries a bow, and has left her own home behind, so what say should she have in their daily toil? The men have learned from their fathers, after all, and the women from their mothers and grandmothers. Things are the way things are because they have been done through well-chiseled, honed, proud customs, passed down with wisdom.

But change does come.

Some of the woodcutters spit Nemesk Aleira's way, but several more listened after their initial mute criticism. "This tree then, you say?", asks Burin of the Ejkjoc farm as he inspects the sick tree that the Ranger points out. "And what about those roots, feel like putting your hands to use?", another would ask. The regular group of loggers who come out to the woods are difficult to thaw to Aleira, but they do, and while only Burin, Kameni, and Old Yuri listen to her which tree to cut, they do at least listen and take in her advice with hard consideration. Others call her a meddler in curt shrugs, yet others a vagabond, but Burin is quick to wave a hand.

"You know the jape about the rabbit with the hat and the bear, right, Nemesk-miss?" Ejkjoc Burin offers in Easting. "The rabbit bought a new hat and wandered through the forest. He stopped by the bear, and the bear looked at him-like, and gave him a big smack so his hat fell off. The next day the rabbit came by the bear, this time without the hat, and the bear gave him a good slap again. The third day, the rabbit comes by and shouts at the bear from afar, 'will you hit me again if I have my hat?', and the bear replies, 'It doesn't matter to me: I just hate your mug.' For some, Nemesk-miss, it don't matter what you do."

Among the women who foraged, Aleira finds that they know some tricks themselves - which things are poisonous and which aren't. But they don't know the land as well as a ranger ever could, and hidden mushrooms, hard-to-reach berries, and edible flower- and leaf buds are all new to them. They are quicker to accept her assistance, even if one tries to jab at her for her 'thin, skinny figure' while another belittles her 'manly equipment'. By the end of the third outing, though, Nemesk Aleira becomes the talk of the washerwomen: the curious East-Impilturan who is not only self-sufficient and hard when she needs to be, but with a keen eye for resources, too.

Outentown remains a farming community first and foremost - it has always been that way, and maybe it will always be. In the past tendays, however, their supplies have been kept stable through these "wild" methods, and their repertoire of rural wisdoms has been broadened. Where they were not moved by speeches of conviction, and where they were not interested in offers of non-traditional assistance, they were helped through deed and perseverence. And an offering or two was made not only to Chauntea and the Triad, but Silvanus too.
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ljuslek
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Re: Ever verdant trails

Postby ljuslek » Fri Jul 22, 2016 11:04 am

Yet Aleira stands out among Impilturans. She differs not only from them, but from other folks of the woods, those who spend time in the wild tend towards being reserved, closed in to a degree greater than the common Impilturan. Yet Aleira Nemesk defies both stereotypes with the warmth and forthright attitude she adopts towards Outentown's folk. Indeed, to most everyone. Even as she works as hard as her meagre strength allows her with the men in the forest to help them unearth roots and fell the right trees she returns their jibes and taunts in a manner that could be called friendly; not once does she take their scepticism to heart or as a thing personal. It seems she has come to understand the folk of Outentown and their traditions and just as the man tells by way of the adage about the rabbit; one cannot hope to sway everyone. In her heart of hearts, she takes the message delivered by Burin seriously. Yet, she jests after he has finished speaking.

"Rabbits and hares do not wear hats, Burin of Ejkjoc.". Says the ranger as she plops a gathering of wet moss onto her head; as fine a substitute for a hat as the forest can muster. And with a grin she delivers it, the rather sheepish punchline to her good natured chaff "But how do you like mine?".

With the women she adopts a similar attitude. Or it would be better to say that she remains herself, but in a way different to how she is herself among the menfolk. For here, she is warm and open still, yet, she does not joke with the women as much as with the men. Rather she asserts herself more there, perhaps to make them see that they are not too different from her. That they too might shoot a bow, might learn to find their way in even the deepest reaches of the forest. Indeed, as one woman chides her for her manly equipment Aleira makes a solemn but still light promise. One spoken with a self assured, placid smile. "I let loose my arrows truer than any man. And you might see come midsummer, how well The Forest Father guides my shot.".

It is with a light heart that Aleira continues her work in Outentown. Her approach less handfast as the tendays roll on, for sure enough, the menfolk and the women both learn what she had sought to teach them. But even so, she journeys out with the washerwomen, the fishermen, the loggers and the hunters; to see to their safety and the sanctity of the wilds. It was never the woodswoman's intention to change the ways of Outentown, not truly. Rather, she sought to see the folk remain upon the right side of the delicate and teetering balance of nature. A balance that she valued so, was sworn to uphold as best she could. It is fortunate for the woodswoman and Outentown both that her efforts have succeeded. For who knows what actions her convictions might have force her towards if the long and arduous winter had been allowed to prompt the folk of the thaedar to stray too far away from the balance and their traditions.

Whilst not busy aiding the folk of Outentown Aleira seeks those who share her concern with the balance of the land. Namely, Faile Loomgold, Garvin Culdrake, Elis and Trish Winterbrooke.

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Obsidian Sea
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Re: Ever verdant trails

Postby Obsidian Sea » Sun Sep 18, 2016 10:21 am

New light rises on Outentown as Aleira Nemesk returns from what has been a trying and untamed journey to and from the sparsely populated village of Vlasta. The tavern has enjoyed occupation this night, and by whatever tolerance of its keeper, there are people exiting from its doors only in time to see the final breath of night.

It is new light, and a new day. There is a warmth to the village. It is not the warmth of the climate, which yet eludes the region entirely, and which might not come again until the passing of Hammer, and Alturiak - and maybe not even then? Warmth this morning is in the hospitality of the locals. Food is offered to the Ranger, her long night of traveling noticed. People indulge her longer for conversation than before, though their scepticism had receded dearly from where it had begun. Across a busy marketplace, Mrs Pontek raises an arm, determined to have her greeting heeded by the Ranger, but she cannot stay for more than the gesture, governed by the plebeian concerns that start off each new tenday in the village.

There are other faces to greet Aleira, and it seems conversation will last almost as long as her wishes - or her duty - allows it to, though these are conversations in the every day. Discussions of how the children grow; mentions of food, and a worrisome lack of it; complaint or commendation of Warsword activity. It might be dull to Aleira, who has Goblin and Lizardfolk felled in her time, or maybe it is a breath of fresh air to ground herself in the local community, and be apart from the strange society of adventurers, which in its busiest and most tumultuous times threatens to be taken in stride, but which assuredly ought not to be. Enjoyable or exhausting as the dialogues are, they are symbolic of a growing trust; a perceived alliance between the Ranger and the village.
Heomar Bloodstone

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ljuslek
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Re: Ever verdant trails

Postby ljuslek » Tue Sep 20, 2016 8:07 am

And Aleira welcomes their offer though she takes share in it only enough to not rudely reject what is bestowed upon her. Conversations and talk of troubles she welcomes more readily and without reserve, it matters not how humdrum they are, how many times she has heard similar words spoken before. She listens and speaks in turn, with earnest expression and interest. After all, to truly speak with the folk and have them bare their hearts to her, as best as Impilturans might to near strangers? It was a gift greater than anything material they might ever come to offer. To be welcomed was a fine thing, a warm feeling in times of uncertainty that she was ill-used to knowing.

The ranger's work in Outentown continues largely unchanged but it is a new place where she stands waiting for folk to seek her. No longer is the statue of Chauntea her station instead she lingers near the tavern; there is a better view of the thaedar's quaint square from there some folk inclined to gossip might speculate. A better chance for the ranger to catch a glimpse of a familiar face, exchange smiles or quick greetings. She speaks often still of the importance of the balance, of how to take only what is needed from the land. And of taking with reverence and care from earth that continues to give, even in the long winter. But does she not mention the name of her god less? Perhaps, who had the time and care enough to count?

Aleira also trails north-west along the Laviguer, to the very fringes of what could be considered as belonging to the thaedar. The folk who have so recently begun to welcome her in earnest speak rumours that an old man was forced by his poor health and other circumstance to forsake his home and with it; the graves he found such peace in tending. Aleira ventures to tend them in his stead, to make certain snow and lichen does not obscure the headstones, that the door to the crypt is free of snow and that all is well within. Aleira's regular trips to the cottage sees her head further north, to leave parcels of meat wrapped in brown paper by the leeward side of a slope. An offering? Or is it a promise that she fulfils? On the path back to Outentown the chance is seized to warn the good folk to keep their children under particularly close supervision during the coming tenday, and to bar their doors in the night. For the goblins stir.

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ljuslek
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Re: Ever verdant trails

Postby ljuslek » Mon Oct 17, 2016 5:34 pm

Aleira's routine in Outentown continues unabated, broken only by a recent trip to Vlasta following in the steps of the old dwarf Hroín. Five days out of a tenday she spends upon the rote of enduring nightly patrol around the thaedar as well as offering the smallfolk whatever aid they need. She had been questioned in days past by the half orc Ornak under the employ of a local lord. It was a strange thing, she had thought, that the powers that be were so out of touch with their populace that they needed to deploy their agents to confirm that which was obvious, plain to see. Not that it mattered much, her duty, after all, laid with the people and the land, not with the laws or the offices that claimed to govern them. Though work to reach a compromise with the lords of the thaedar would become necessary sooner or later; for the game animals the common folk were allowed. Such as pheasants, squirrels and hedgehogs suffered harder than the ones reserved for the blue blooded. If the balance were to be kept in the face of the winter, something would have to change.

As evening patrol came to a close the ranger took her rest by the abandoned grave keeper's cottage overlooking the river Mal. All thoughts faded to the back of her mind; the repetitive task of clearing the light covering of snow from the headstones lending her a different sort of focus. It was a calm manner of clarity that the simple work conjured up as a peaceful night failed to spread it's darkness beyond the light of Selûne that shone upon bare branches rustling in the wind.
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ljuslek
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Of wisdoms to impart

Postby ljuslek » Sat Nov 05, 2016 9:16 am

Aleira’s duties to Outentown and the land that surrounded it had carried on through the shift in seasons marked by the calendar if not by changes in climate. At least five days out of every tenday she was present in the thaedar to aid the folk however she could, in matters trivial as well as in those more pressing. To range the woodland and riverlands near and far, ever marking the subtle twists and turns of change; and to keep the balance as best she knew how. When her most recent fiveday in Outentown drew to a close however, she did not forsake the thaedar fully in favour of walking other trails. Instead she sought to prepare and sought to set in order matters that in the grand scheme of things were trifling concerns. But even the small things mattered, so she had learned.

Her road led first back to Sarshel where she secured sacks of flour and other goods non-perishable from the merchants by the dockside. Then she found the solace and quiet to pen letters four. The first of them was put to parchment by the warmth and light that came from the hearth that stood as the centre of Merney Valroc’s recently acquired home on Vanguard Terrace. But it was not only the warmth of a hearth she found there, for the Damaran hedge-knight was a friend she held dear enough to call brother. Surely they spoke in easily joyful tone amongst themselves once the ink had dried. The other three letters she ventured to The Old Quarter to pen; three near identical ones addressed to each of Outentown’s lords. Only the script separated them from one another. The first was written with rigid and sure hand, but the subsequent two saw the hand falter and the words flew more slovenly over the page. With her near two days in Sarshel concluded, the ranger-woman once again took to the trail; one that would lead her south. Her only companion a pack light enough to allow her to also carry the provisions she would offer to the inhabitants of the thorpes she travelled past. But only three letters were in her satchel; the fourth left behind upon a desk in The Old Quarter. The morning she set out saw fog solemnly hug the ground and a frail early winter sun lit it only barely; a mirror image of the veil that shrouded her mind. The one that drew over her to instil thoughts and sentiments pleasant enough to become hard to bear.

It was fleet feet and sure steps that guided her along the woodlands towards Whitsome Bridge, those sure steps in turn saw her stop by each humble homestead to offer brief exchange of words and meagre but much needed provisions. Near the bridge she knew the yew to grow strong and fit for purpose, and the birch trees that grew in the fens bore bark ripe for harvest. With careful nicks of her short blade she marked the suitable specimens, those gifts of The Oak Father that would aid her teach the lessons she knew she had to give. If all went to the ranger’s plan, the fibres of yew and birch would soon find fresh purpose; their potential for growth and splendour exchanged for another fate. But birch bark and yew wood were only the first two items upon her list; deer fat, sinew, beeswax, and flax still had to be found. She knew where the wolves sought their sustenance, and where they left the remains of their kills to rot after feeding; she would seek those later. She knew also who the ropers and weavers favoured flaxen over hemp were, those too would find themselves visited by the woods-woman.

With the yew and birch trees marked for future harvest the ranger travelled to the thorpes on the southern fringes of Outentown. Homes that sheltered families who knew already how to eke out a living from wooded and wild land; it was pupils she sought. One young man and one young woman to learn what she knew of nature, to learn to walk it as she did. But it was a hard task, surely, to find volunteers of a suitable physique and mind; even if she offered promise to provide all equipment needed as well as generous compensation to make up for the temporary loss of a productive family member. Yet persistent and bull-headed were words that could aptly be used to describe Aleira, she did not give up easily in her task. When rounds along the scattered homesteads had been completed, the letters she carried with her were delivered. First to find it’s recipient was the one addressed to the man whose tax rolls Aleira figured in; Rilwor Slywenn. Second came Ashkyr Relindar and third, Sulyim Nassour.

Each time she delivered one of those letters to a lordly servant her thoughts drew to the parchment left behind upon a cluttered desk in Sarshel’s Old Quarter; but only fleetingly did thoughts linger there. She knew well how to forget, or at least pretend to.


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