The trees grow high above them, dense in many places dotted with small clearings. The heavy clay earth heavy beneath feet after days of rain.
A secluded clearing with a small camp fire burning.
The trees grow high above them, dense in many places dotted with small clearings. The heavy clay earth heavy beneath feet after days of rain.
A secluded clearing with a small camp fire burning.
Aravir sat there by the fire, his cloak over his shoulders, the hood over his head. He stared into the fire almost in a daze. On his left side, his sword lay. To his right his book lay open, a quill and ink nearby, though no words had been written in there for a good ten minutes now; instead his fingers played with a blue stone that hung around his neck.
He walked in memories, but his ears were alert to the environment. The fire crackled, the stars shone clearly tonight and his ears strained to hear if the trees would whisper...
A figure using the trees for cover {fade into forest} slowly approaches the clearing.
A smile forms, eyes sparkling with laughter.
"Mar theet yss ceplo vi viso?" a giggle rings through the air.
Snapping out of his memories, Aravir looks up, squints through the darkness and looks at he smile and the laughing eyes, his mind translating the rusty words. A thin smile escapes him as his cloak falls back off his head and he holds up his book:
'Affey Vi Ceplo yss Avar'
He looks around, suddenly nervous, his pendant falling below his tunic out of sight...
A giggle erupts from the trees as a female steps from the tree line, a long black cloak falling to the ground enclosing her body.
A mischievious look upon her face as she speaks, " Tokana vi troobar, Aravir, vi ceplo..ko mar yey?"
She approaches the man and grasps his hand in friendship..
Placing the book down and closing it, he Stands up to greet her, he replies,' Dombray rowbo. Ko mar yey?' He takes her hand in friendship. 'What brings you to these parts?'
"Vi mar rowbo vi troobar, "
Gesturing to the fire, "Vit vi?"
Pulling a deep blue bottle which is corked from her pack she asks, "Vi feorayell mar viso ceplo....yey?.... Mar yey tirs?
'Of course'. He struggles with the elven, being a little rusty,' Yes I am thirsty. Is that your scouts are looking for a monster or beast?'
Elyssia laughs as she places the bottle beside her and crouches beside the fire warming her hands, in stilted common with smatterings of elven she teases him " Yey stre naga ....keep... good ...company yey language to fail?"
Picking up the bottle she forces the cork and the rich aroma of mead reaches Aravir.
"Vi viso dom ceplo..stre yey viso?" she holds her hand out awaiting a mug to pour the drink..
'No I have no good company. And my language needs honing. No I have not seen the beast. Which beast is this? How long have you been tracking it?' Aravir could not help but show a slightly confused look, wondering if his understanding was right, close or just plain wide of the mark...