Lady Cassandra de Rolo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ofwovenstone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
farsickness2021-02-24 10:50 pm
ofwovenstone) wrote in farsickness2021-02-24 10:50 pm
[OPEN] Is there a hero somewhere, someone who appears and saves the day
WHO: Cassandra de Rolo (ofwovenstone), and YOU
WHEN: End of February/shortly before and maybe a little into the beginning of March (aka I might make this a catch-all)
WHAT: Returning from her travels and settling back into town.
WHERE: All over Gazin.
WARNINGS: There might be mentions of blood/injuries in threads. Otherwise nothing to start. I will edit should that change.
NOTES: Feel free to wildcard it up after her return and trip to the tavern. She'll be all the usual places, and headed out into the forest for a supply run.And probably putting off going to the healer. (Or hit me up to plot ideas for something else! I can toss a starter in the comments.)
Cassandra rides slowly back into Gazin, several large packs hanging from her saddle and a cart hitched to Melora herself. She’s been gone... for a while, now. Had needed to get out of Gazin for a while, itching with restless energy. Feeling a little... trapped. And so she left. Riding out for Fallhaven, by way of Lothalian. And the farther she got from Gazin the easier it was for her to breathe.
She’s forgotten what freedom feels like. She’s stayed in Gazin so often, for so long... that she’d forgotten what it was like to be free. Whitestone had been a cage, one she had grown accustomed to being in, had had no choice about being in, and she’d fallen into a similar routine, here. One she doesn’t have to have. She is free to go where she chooses, WHEN she chooses.
And she needs to remember that.
So she rode out of Gazin, excitement bubbling in her chest and a lightness to her bearing. An entire world out there, for her to explore. The adventures she'd always wanted to have but had never been allowed, in Tal'Dorei.
There had been trouble, of course. There was always trouble. A gang of bandits had thought that she looked like an easy mark. She showed them the error of their ways, of course, and left them trussed up by trees along the road. Goblins had been troubling children playing outside Lothalian. A few other incidents, hardly worth mentioning.
Then she reached Fallhaven.
The hydra came as a surprise, she will admit. But there was never any thought of not going to help. Never any thought of not facing it. (She was immensely thankful that she’d thought to get a silver weapon or two, though, and had plenty of fire potential on hand.)
It had seven heads and it was furious. A dozen Fallhaven residents fought with her, although she used them more as distraction, keeping them out of the reach of the thing’s many mouths. She refused to get them killed. (She will have no more blood on her hands.) So with them as a distraction, she drew on all her goddess given gifts, using earth and rock and nature as easily as breathing to fight the creature. Trapping its body, its necks, and using that momentary brief reprieve in its ability to try and maul her to dash forward and land as many blows as she could before it broke free and the dance started anew. It roared with every slash of her silver short swords.
She didn’t walk away unscathed, but she hardly noticed in the heat of battle, too focused on defeating it, on keeping the townspeople safe. Knocked flying, she rolled to her feet and leapt back into the fray, ignoring the pain and ignoring the blood. How long the battle lasted she didn’t know, but at last the hydra lay dead on the beach. She thrust her silver sword into each of its brains, just to make sure. She wouldn’t take a chance it wasn’t fully dead.
Only then did the severity of her injuries settle upon her. Daud would not be happy, she thought distantly. Not happy in the slightest. She wishes he was here. She misses him, more than he could ever know. Alaric and his wife, Edda, insisted on her returning with them, to rest and so they could patch her up. She tried to decline, politely, but she found herself bundled into a cart and taken to their house on the outskirts of Fallhaven.
They gave her a cart before she left, to haul the hydra pieces back to Gazin. Mostly scales and claws and fangs, but spikes and a horn or two found their way into the cart as well. Some of the hide. And a single head and some neck, cut off after the creature was dead, when it was safe to do so. It creates quite the pile, and she drapes a huge swath of fabric over it, to keep it hidden. The rest of the hydra is left to Fallhaven. To harvest and burn. They gave her others things as well, even though she tried to decline those, too. They were as stubborn as she was, and wouldn’t hear of it.
She left the next day, riding out with her cart full of hydra bits and other odds and ends.
Melora goes slowly, gently, as they near Gazin, turning back to look at her rider every so often as though to check on her, make sure she’s all right. And Cassandra always pats her on the neck to reassure her. She’s fine. She’s always fine.Melora doesn’t necessarily believe her. Arriving back at Gazin is.... almost a relief. She hurts, badly, and she ought to be changing her bandages. (She ought to visit the healer, as well, but that can wait a little while longer.)
Dismounting, she sways a little, and has to lean against Melora for a long moment, until everything steadies. Until the pain stops stealing her breath quite so much. Then she leads her horse and her cart towards the stables doing her best to hide how she’s limping.
Later, once she’s dealt with her cart full of hydra pieces and settled Melora in her stall, Cassandra limps towards the tavern. She wants a drink, and something warm to eat, although her appetite is practically non-existent at the moment. She knows she ought to eat something; she hadn’t eaten much on her return trip, thanks to her injuries. Making sure that Melora was well tended to had been her primary concern.
She’ll need to head out to the forest to gather supplies soon, as well. The aftermath of the fight with the hydra had used up what salve she had made up. And she’s not yet set up a small garden in her room with what she needs to make it. With the way she’s hurting... she’s going to need more. But first. A drink. Or several. The hydra had netted her quite the impressive haul, and she is going to use a little of that gold. (It had also netted her the possibility of armour, which is as good as the gold.)
ofwovenstone), and YOUWHEN: End of February/shortly before and maybe a little into the beginning of March (aka I might make this a catch-all)
WHAT: Returning from her travels and settling back into town.
WHERE: All over Gazin.
WARNINGS: There might be mentions of blood/injuries in threads. Otherwise nothing to start. I will edit should that change.
NOTES: Feel free to wildcard it up after her return and trip to the tavern. She'll be all the usual places, and headed out into the forest for a supply run.
Cassandra rides slowly back into Gazin, several large packs hanging from her saddle and a cart hitched to Melora herself. She’s been gone... for a while, now. Had needed to get out of Gazin for a while, itching with restless energy. Feeling a little... trapped. And so she left. Riding out for Fallhaven, by way of Lothalian. And the farther she got from Gazin the easier it was for her to breathe.
She’s forgotten what freedom feels like. She’s stayed in Gazin so often, for so long... that she’d forgotten what it was like to be free. Whitestone had been a cage, one she had grown accustomed to being in, had had no choice about being in, and she’d fallen into a similar routine, here. One she doesn’t have to have. She is free to go where she chooses, WHEN she chooses.
And she needs to remember that.
So she rode out of Gazin, excitement bubbling in her chest and a lightness to her bearing. An entire world out there, for her to explore. The adventures she'd always wanted to have but had never been allowed, in Tal'Dorei.
There had been trouble, of course. There was always trouble. A gang of bandits had thought that she looked like an easy mark. She showed them the error of their ways, of course, and left them trussed up by trees along the road. Goblins had been troubling children playing outside Lothalian. A few other incidents, hardly worth mentioning.
Then she reached Fallhaven.
The hydra came as a surprise, she will admit. But there was never any thought of not going to help. Never any thought of not facing it. (She was immensely thankful that she’d thought to get a silver weapon or two, though, and had plenty of fire potential on hand.)
It had seven heads and it was furious. A dozen Fallhaven residents fought with her, although she used them more as distraction, keeping them out of the reach of the thing’s many mouths. She refused to get them killed. (She will have no more blood on her hands.) So with them as a distraction, she drew on all her goddess given gifts, using earth and rock and nature as easily as breathing to fight the creature. Trapping its body, its necks, and using that momentary brief reprieve in its ability to try and maul her to dash forward and land as many blows as she could before it broke free and the dance started anew. It roared with every slash of her silver short swords.
She didn’t walk away unscathed, but she hardly noticed in the heat of battle, too focused on defeating it, on keeping the townspeople safe. Knocked flying, she rolled to her feet and leapt back into the fray, ignoring the pain and ignoring the blood. How long the battle lasted she didn’t know, but at last the hydra lay dead on the beach. She thrust her silver sword into each of its brains, just to make sure. She wouldn’t take a chance it wasn’t fully dead.
Only then did the severity of her injuries settle upon her. Daud would not be happy, she thought distantly. Not happy in the slightest. She wishes he was here. She misses him, more than he could ever know. Alaric and his wife, Edda, insisted on her returning with them, to rest and so they could patch her up. She tried to decline, politely, but she found herself bundled into a cart and taken to their house on the outskirts of Fallhaven.
They gave her a cart before she left, to haul the hydra pieces back to Gazin. Mostly scales and claws and fangs, but spikes and a horn or two found their way into the cart as well. Some of the hide. And a single head and some neck, cut off after the creature was dead, when it was safe to do so. It creates quite the pile, and she drapes a huge swath of fabric over it, to keep it hidden. The rest of the hydra is left to Fallhaven. To harvest and burn. They gave her others things as well, even though she tried to decline those, too. They were as stubborn as she was, and wouldn’t hear of it.
She left the next day, riding out with her cart full of hydra bits and other odds and ends.
Melora goes slowly, gently, as they near Gazin, turning back to look at her rider every so often as though to check on her, make sure she’s all right. And Cassandra always pats her on the neck to reassure her. She’s fine. She’s always fine.
Dismounting, she sways a little, and has to lean against Melora for a long moment, until everything steadies. Until the pain stops stealing her breath quite so much. Then she leads her horse and her cart towards the stables doing her best to hide how she’s limping.
Later, once she’s dealt with her cart full of hydra pieces and settled Melora in her stall, Cassandra limps towards the tavern. She wants a drink, and something warm to eat, although her appetite is practically non-existent at the moment. She knows she ought to eat something; she hadn’t eaten much on her return trip, thanks to her injuries. Making sure that Melora was well tended to had been her primary concern.
She’ll need to head out to the forest to gather supplies soon, as well. The aftermath of the fight with the hydra had used up what salve she had made up. And she’s not yet set up a small garden in her room with what she needs to make it. With the way she’s hurting... she’s going to need more. But first. A drink. Or several. The hydra had netted her quite the impressive haul, and she is going to use a little of that gold. (It had also netted her the possibility of armour, which is as good as the gold.)
Castiel could heal her if you wanted? - Stables
"Hello, Surmund," He bowed slightly. "How are you?" He listened and nodded appreciatively. "I understand." He turned at the sound of someone else entering the stables. His wings were low and pinned tightly against him, like they usually were when he was nervous.
"His eyes widen as he looks between the pair. Hello. Are you all right?"
If she knew him better maaaaybe but since she doesn't that's all right
It’s too easy to huff a soft laugh and nod. The practiced ease of pretending to be all right. “Of course,” she replies, even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. She trusts very little, these days.
the forest
Not that he's waiting where he'll be easy to see. He's waiting just inside the treeline, where he can see the tree but where he can't easily be seen if somebody comes by who isn't the girl with the honey and the bandages. (In fact, he's conversing quietly with Annie, who's sitting in the lower branches of the nearest tree.)
He's not here entirely by choice. Annie had insisted that he ask for help with the wound on his arm, not because it shows any real sign of infection, but because they both know it's deep and nasty and if he can get it taken care of, he should. It's already going to leave an unpleasant scar.
When he sees her approaching, Finnick murmurs his farewell to Annie and walks out across the snow towards Cassandra. He looks very different from the last time she'd seen him. There's less of the panicked tribute about him now than the confident victor. The scabs that had marked his face and body where the poison fog had burned him have mostly given way to fresh, pink skin. If his hair's still uneven where it had been burned by the fog, it is at least mostly neat. And most obvious of all, he's got warm clothes now, a full outfit that's simple but functional.
"Looks like I found you."
no subject
So when she finds her way there and rather than a piece of fabric waiting for her there’s the man himself, well, she can’t help but laugh softly. Her eyes briefly flick towards the treeline, towards the tree he’d been standing by as he’d caught sight of her, having a conversation with... someone, she can only assume. Unless he’s taken to talking to the wildlife here. Which she’s not discounting. Perhaps he’s found a familiar face here, much as she had. Although she suspects he was gladder to see his than she was to see hers.
His words earn him an amused grin. “You did indeed. It’s a very good thing I wasn’t trying to hide. Otherwise you might have had a more difficult time.” Teasing him, of course. Although it’s still the truth. He looks better, now. Dressed for the weather, the scabs given way to new, pink skin. Her blue-grey eyed gaze turns serious, studying him thoughtfully. He’s not favouring a limb, or limping. “Are you all right? How are your wounds healing?”
no subject
"I think that's true," he agrees. She certainly seems at ease in the forest, in a way that Finnick, as a son of sailors, isn't, and she'd hinted at such last time they'd spoken. Of course, that sort of skill could be a threat, but given what she's already done, he's more inclined to think of her more in terms of a potential ally. So far, he hasn't had to make many of the snap decisions that can lead to unplanned alliances in the arena, but if he does, he'd like to know who he could turn to.
"I think I'm all right, but I wanted to ask if you'd look at them again."
He knows the potential danger of the wounds, without the ability for a mentor to send medicines like Mags had in the 65th Games. Annie's aware of it too, and she'd wanted him to get more help if he could, to be safe.
He might not have sought her out if not for Annie, but ... Annie's been giving him good advice since he found her here.
no subject
He asks her to take a look at his injuries again just in case, and she's nodding before he's scarcely finished speaking. “Of course.” She’d brought the supplies she’d needed. Just in case. Granted, she usually carries some around anyway, but she brings more when she heads out to check and see if there’s any fabric tied to the tree.
And then, because she needs him to sit (he’s taller than her and it’ll make her work more difficult than it needs to be if he’s standing), she goes ahead and reaches out with a hand, shifting a small square of the ground up to a proper height for him to use to sit on. “Sit down. You’re far too tall and this will be more comfortable for the both of us.” As though she hadn’t just used her goddess given gifts openly in front of him, and whoever he’d been speaking to hidden in the trees. (She doesn’t know how he’ll react given how he reacted when they first met, but it was necessary.)