The Start of Two Journeys (Private, Social)
Jan 2, 2024 20:51:06 GMT -5
Post by Tatalia on Jan 2, 2024 20:51:06 GMT -5
Tatalia was afraid.
It wasn't the normal sort of fear that Tatalia felt. It wasn't like the sort of fear that arose from being caught in a trapped room with the walls closing in, nor from being at the edge of a precipice ready to fall. It was nothing like the life-or-death panicked thrill of facing impossible odds with only a dagger in one's hand. It wasn't even akin to the fear that was born of being alone in a room with Lord Armelane as he shouted at Tatalia for embarrassing him in front of his peers. No... None of those things were anything like the fear that Tatalia felt.
The fear Tatalia felt was the fear of love.
How could she deny it? Tatalia could see how awfully the tear-stricken elf loved her, and she knew she had some sort of feelings for the elf in return. That- that was terrifying. It wasn't just terrifying because of the sheer absurdity of someone like Elvira being in love with her, no; nor was it just because Tatalia was afraid she'd disappoint the elf, that she wouldn't be good enough. Oh, she felt those fears, alright. But they weren't the most primal of her fears. No, the one that straddled her thoughts, the one that utterly paralyzed Tatalia was that she didn't actually know what love was.
What if it was just infatuation? What if Tatalia only liked the elf because she was beautiful? Worse, what if she only liked her because she was convenient, because she had already shown interest in her? And what if - and this truly gripped Tatalia by the heart - what if it was love, but it was only temporal?
Perhaps there were more important things to be worried about when stuck in a dungeon in a city full of guards that hated and mistreated her. Nevertheless, those were the thoughts that raced through Tatalia's head as the elf held her in a tight, warm embrace, the priestess' tears raining into Tatalia's hair.
"I-" Tatalia tried to speak, briefly, though she didn't know what she wanted to say. "You're- I'm n-... We-" Her tongue fumbled about in her mouth, and Tatalia still could not put a single sentence together. She could barely move her arms. She wanted to show the elf by words or by gesture or touch that everything was okay and would be alright, but she just couldn't. And just as she started to muster up the courage to say something, to do anything, Tatalia's keen hearing alerted her to the sound of footsteps. She tensed, and so did Elvira.
The next few seconds were a shock and a blur. The goblin was slammed against the wall of her cell by Elvira with enough force that it dazed her, and then Elvira started saying words that didn't quite make sense through the ringing. It took the green skinned prisoner a few moments to realize what Elvira was doing - bluffing! She was bluffing, threatening Tatalia in order to prevent one of the guards from realizing what was happening.
The goblin had to admit, that sort of on-the-spot deception was impressive. To think that Elvira was capable of that was really attr-
Tatalia didn't let herself finish that thought. No. She couldn't let herself think of Elvira that way. No matter what the priestess thought, Elvira deserved better.
As soon as the guard left, poor Elvira started shaking all over. She started attending Tatalia's wounds, and she whispered in that sad, quivering voice: "I am so sorry, calwa órëwe. Hells... how are we going to get you out of here?"
Tatalia blinked. She was being looked to for direction? She was being looked to for direction! Weary and afraid though she was, still recovering from her wounds thanks to Elvira's magic, Tatalia the ever-so-clever explorer put on her best, most cocky grin nevertheless, and she locked her yellow eyes with Elvira's blue waterfalls.
"Isn't it obvious?" the goblin replied, her teeth gleaming in the candlelight, her voice oozing with conjured bravado. "I'm going to kidnap you!"
That was a bold statement to make from inside a prison cell, but Tatalia knew what she was doing. The goblin stood up to her full height - not a very impressive height, admittedly - and stretched her arms out before smacking her left fist against her right palm.
"We'll draw inspiration from Sul Marimad's Raven Cloak, specifically from Act I, Scene 7," the goblin began with wicked glee bubbling in her throat. "You'll have to fetch my gear from wherever they're keeping it here in the prison, smuggle it to me, and then I'll use it to break us both out! With you as my fake 'prisoner,' of course!" the goblin added, her grin growing a hundred times more roguish as she continued to speak.
"Now, I'm sure you're wondering, 'how will we pull off such a feat?' Well, I'll tell you! Nay, I'll show you!" And as Tatalia said those words, she reached into the torn sleeve of her coat... and drew forth the amorphous magical goop she'd turned into a stool just a day prior!
"Shaping Putty,"1 the goblin explained, snickering to herself. "Those idiots didn't even realize I kept it hidden up my sleeve!2 Easy as stone soup, that was. With this stuff, all you have to do is stretch it about, imagine the shape you want it to be, and presto! You can make it look like virtually anything you want! Within reason.
"Now, what you're going to do is turn it into something innocuous and bring it with you to wherever they're keeping my gear," Tatalia continued eagerly. "Nothing that could possibly be a container normally, mind! You'll then store my things inside it, walk it back here, and nobody will ever know you brought me my gear. And you have... well, then leave the rest of the plan to me and follow my lead!"
It was a theatrical plan, all said and done. Then again, Tatalia was pretty sure it was a plan that would work. She didn't have all the details worked out, true; and she'd definitely have to make some things up as she went along. But she could tell from Elvira's voice and movements that she needed some confidence, that she needed a reason to believe everything was going to be alright. So, Tatalia decided she was going to give her exactly that. Nothing was going to go wrong, because Tatalia was the best at mashing a plan together out of nothing.
1. Shaping Putty; 2. Palm Trick
It wasn't the normal sort of fear that Tatalia felt. It wasn't like the sort of fear that arose from being caught in a trapped room with the walls closing in, nor from being at the edge of a precipice ready to fall. It was nothing like the life-or-death panicked thrill of facing impossible odds with only a dagger in one's hand. It wasn't even akin to the fear that was born of being alone in a room with Lord Armelane as he shouted at Tatalia for embarrassing him in front of his peers. No... None of those things were anything like the fear that Tatalia felt.
The fear Tatalia felt was the fear of love.
How could she deny it? Tatalia could see how awfully the tear-stricken elf loved her, and she knew she had some sort of feelings for the elf in return. That- that was terrifying. It wasn't just terrifying because of the sheer absurdity of someone like Elvira being in love with her, no; nor was it just because Tatalia was afraid she'd disappoint the elf, that she wouldn't be good enough. Oh, she felt those fears, alright. But they weren't the most primal of her fears. No, the one that straddled her thoughts, the one that utterly paralyzed Tatalia was that she didn't actually know what love was.
What if it was just infatuation? What if Tatalia only liked the elf because she was beautiful? Worse, what if she only liked her because she was convenient, because she had already shown interest in her? And what if - and this truly gripped Tatalia by the heart - what if it was love, but it was only temporal?
Perhaps there were more important things to be worried about when stuck in a dungeon in a city full of guards that hated and mistreated her. Nevertheless, those were the thoughts that raced through Tatalia's head as the elf held her in a tight, warm embrace, the priestess' tears raining into Tatalia's hair.
"I-" Tatalia tried to speak, briefly, though she didn't know what she wanted to say. "You're- I'm n-... We-" Her tongue fumbled about in her mouth, and Tatalia still could not put a single sentence together. She could barely move her arms. She wanted to show the elf by words or by gesture or touch that everything was okay and would be alright, but she just couldn't. And just as she started to muster up the courage to say something, to do anything, Tatalia's keen hearing alerted her to the sound of footsteps. She tensed, and so did Elvira.
The next few seconds were a shock and a blur. The goblin was slammed against the wall of her cell by Elvira with enough force that it dazed her, and then Elvira started saying words that didn't quite make sense through the ringing. It took the green skinned prisoner a few moments to realize what Elvira was doing - bluffing! She was bluffing, threatening Tatalia in order to prevent one of the guards from realizing what was happening.
The goblin had to admit, that sort of on-the-spot deception was impressive. To think that Elvira was capable of that was really attr-
Tatalia didn't let herself finish that thought. No. She couldn't let herself think of Elvira that way. No matter what the priestess thought, Elvira deserved better.
As soon as the guard left, poor Elvira started shaking all over. She started attending Tatalia's wounds, and she whispered in that sad, quivering voice: "I am so sorry, calwa órëwe. Hells... how are we going to get you out of here?"
Tatalia blinked. She was being looked to for direction? She was being looked to for direction! Weary and afraid though she was, still recovering from her wounds thanks to Elvira's magic, Tatalia the ever-so-clever explorer put on her best, most cocky grin nevertheless, and she locked her yellow eyes with Elvira's blue waterfalls.
"Isn't it obvious?" the goblin replied, her teeth gleaming in the candlelight, her voice oozing with conjured bravado. "I'm going to kidnap you!"
That was a bold statement to make from inside a prison cell, but Tatalia knew what she was doing. The goblin stood up to her full height - not a very impressive height, admittedly - and stretched her arms out before smacking her left fist against her right palm.
"We'll draw inspiration from Sul Marimad's Raven Cloak, specifically from Act I, Scene 7," the goblin began with wicked glee bubbling in her throat. "You'll have to fetch my gear from wherever they're keeping it here in the prison, smuggle it to me, and then I'll use it to break us both out! With you as my fake 'prisoner,' of course!" the goblin added, her grin growing a hundred times more roguish as she continued to speak.
"Now, I'm sure you're wondering, 'how will we pull off such a feat?' Well, I'll tell you! Nay, I'll show you!" And as Tatalia said those words, she reached into the torn sleeve of her coat... and drew forth the amorphous magical goop she'd turned into a stool just a day prior!
"Shaping Putty,"1 the goblin explained, snickering to herself. "Those idiots didn't even realize I kept it hidden up my sleeve!2 Easy as stone soup, that was. With this stuff, all you have to do is stretch it about, imagine the shape you want it to be, and presto! You can make it look like virtually anything you want! Within reason.
"Now, what you're going to do is turn it into something innocuous and bring it with you to wherever they're keeping my gear," Tatalia continued eagerly. "Nothing that could possibly be a container normally, mind! You'll then store my things inside it, walk it back here, and nobody will ever know you brought me my gear. And you have... well, then leave the rest of the plan to me and follow my lead!"
It was a theatrical plan, all said and done. Then again, Tatalia was pretty sure it was a plan that would work. She didn't have all the details worked out, true; and she'd definitely have to make some things up as she went along. But she could tell from Elvira's voice and movements that she needed some confidence, that she needed a reason to believe everything was going to be alright. So, Tatalia decided she was going to give her exactly that. Nothing was going to go wrong, because Tatalia was the best at mashing a plan together out of nothing.
1. Shaping Putty; 2. Palm Trick