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A Very Short Eternity [M]

Discussion in 'Pandora, Year 1 - 7' started by Fëanor, Jul 5, 2018.

  1. Fëanor

    Fëanor Tolkien Legendarium
    Drama Prince of the Noldor

    Posts:
    174
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Owner & Blacksmith at Mind Over Metal
    Location:
    67 River Styx Lane, Midcourt, Pandopolis
    Race:
    Noldor Elf
    Age:
    280 Valian years
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link




    JULY 7, YEAR 7
    Early Afternoon
    @Lift Reyes



    Fëanor was minding his own business when the man approached him in the alley. Human, by the looks of him, and too scrawny to be considered a threat. Although it soon became obvious that he didn't feel the same way as he stalked up to Fëanor, blocking his path back to the forge where he worked.

    "Give me everything you have, and I'll consider letting you live," he said, and Fëanor immediately scoffed. Who was he to threaten such a thing? An urchin, by the looks of him, dressed like - well, not too differently from how the strangely-named girl from around these parts was dressed. But she hadn't tried to threaten him...

    "What?" Fëanor asked, too surprised by the stranger's audacity to do much of anything more. Not to mention more than a little amused - how did this child think he could threaten an elf such as Fëanor?

    "You stupid? All of it, all the shinies, in the bag!" He held out an empty burlap sack and gestured towards the small sack of unrefined gems that Fëanor was holding onto for work.

    "Why would I give you these gems?" Fëanor asked, slightly more irritated. Sure, the insult didn't mean much from a person like this, especially someone who said shinies for not knowing the word 'gems,' but he was losing patience quickly. "Move aside, now."

    The stranger laughed - laughed right in his face - before pulling out what looked like a short black stick - no, something more metallic. "Because of this," he sneered.

    "Because of a fancy stick? You do know it is shiny like these gems, yes?" Fëanor sighed. "Now, I will only ask one more time. Move aside."

    "Why, you stupid little... gems, now, or I'll shoot!"

    The word meant nothing to Fëanor, who shrugged his shoulders. He took a few steps to the side and then made to leave, but not before a sudden and extremely loud sound filled the alley. Just then, he felt himself shoved aside more brutally than anything he had ever known, and he fell against one of the alley's walls, heaving for breath as he looked up at the urchin. What was that thing? Had the stick done it to him? And then he realized that he and the stranger were not alone...


     
    #1 Fëanor, Jul 5, 2018
    Last edited: Jul 6, 2018
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  2. Lift Reyes

    Lift Reyes The Stormlight Archive

    Posts:
    738
    Gender:
    Female
    Occupation:
    Thief / Knight Radiant
    Race:
    Human - Surgebinder
    Age:
    15
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Directory:
    link


    Lift was storming hungry. Not starving, at least, but she needed food. She'd used up a chunk of awesomeness healing some poor cremling what had tripped up so badly his foot had twisted right 'round and his bone had stuck out all gross-like. It was her lookout for a decent bakery or shop to steal from that took her to Blackhaven, and took her along the street near where a certain elf was being threatened by a coward hiding behind his gun.

    She heard what was going on before she crept closer, peering around a corner to see properly. She didn't recognise the thug, but she recognised the guy with the pointy ears and girlish hair. He was reacting in totally the wrong way for someone having a gun pointed his way. Clearly, he didn't know what it was. There'd been a time when Lift didn't neither, not before she'd met Gabe back when he'd been Reaper. Ever since then she'd had more experience with guns than she'd have liked.

    The thug was getting pissed off. Never a good sign. He was scared too, just like all the little men who tried to pretend they were so big that they needed to try and rob innocent people. Lift hated 'em. They were all the storming same, from Roshar to Pandora, with guns or storming daggers. She'd seen so many robberies, lots of 'em ending in death even when the criminal got what he wanted. And when the target acted the same way as this Curuthingy Feawhatsit elf, then they was even more likely to die.

    Lift knew what to look for. And she knew that he was gonna die, because he didn't know the danger and he was just trying to walk off like there wasn't no threat at all. From her vantage point, Lift could see the thug tightening his grip on the gun, muscles cording beneath the skin as he psyched himself up to fire.

    While she was watching him, Wyndle was watching her. "Mistress, you've been complaining this entire walk about how hungry you are," he warned from his place against the wall next to her face. He had taken the shape of a concerned face that she wasn't looking at. "I know what you're planning and it is a terrible-- Oh Blessed Mother!"

    That last bit followed Lift as an aggravated and worried shout as she summoned her awesomeness, just enough to push her to a fast running start and then make herself Slick. She knew she only had a second or so before the idiot elf got himself killed. She slid along the ground towards the elf from the side, so fast the alley blurred around her, and when she crashed into him, shoving him bodily off to the side of the alley, she heard a deafening crack that she seemed to feel reverberating inside her skull as well as hear it all around her. There was a blinding pain in the side of her head, and she crumpled to the ground, the world gone black, a dark hole in both sides of her skull as the bullet had ripped straight through and into the wall.

    "...Shit." The thug almost dropped his gun, staring down at the motionless teenage girl on the floor. "Oh fuck, I didn't mean-- Fucking hell, that's a fucking goddamn kid, oh jeez, oh jeez--" Then he turned tail, and scarpered, out of sight.


     
    #2 Lift Reyes, Jul 6, 2018
    Last edited: Jul 6, 2018
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  3. Fëanor

    Fëanor Tolkien Legendarium
    Drama Prince of the Noldor

    Posts:
    174
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Owner & Blacksmith at Mind Over Metal
    Location:
    67 River Styx Lane, Midcourt, Pandopolis
    Race:
    Noldor Elf
    Age:
    280 Valian years
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link


    [​IMG]

    Fëanor looked over at the ground and saw - no, it couldn't be, it wasn't possible, it was insane to think that Lift would be laying on the ground in front of him, a gruesome hole in the side of her head, a hole that could not be anything less than fatal. He barely heard the words of the man who had attempted to harm him before he fled. Instead, he heard echoes of words spoken to him a month ago by his own son, words that suddenly made a great deal more sense to him.

    "Lift?" he spoke in a despondent voice, longing for her to find some way to be alive, to not make him the murderer of another innocent child like his boys, his sons who had done no wrong other than loving him... Tyelko, so sweet and curious, asking a thousand questions and learning about the world around him at such a young age... Moryo, unsure of himself even with his grandmother's talent, a colt with legs too long for him... Curvo, so like Fëanor that it hurt, with his talent and pride and temper gone from the world making it so much emptier... and the twins... so small at birth, so skilled, so full of live that it bubbled over into all their brothers, into the whole world...

    He had never held his sons' bodies. They were still healthy in his world, but he had pictured them ever since he had met Maglor some weeks ago, not even his sweet second son anymore, and he had told him what his deeds had done. He had never held the bodies of his boys, but there was this girl now, who, without a second thought or a moment to spare, had jumped in front of Fëanor and saved him...

    He crawled over to her body, not trusting his legs to carry him, drawing her into his lap like he had with his own children so many times. She was light, too light, still so small and fragile, her tough demeanor peeled away from her. She was a child, a little girl who had lived her life in an abandoned building and stolen food to eat because no one had cared for her, and now she lay dead because she cared for others more than herself... someone like that deserved no less than life's finest honors, and now she lay dead in an alley, her short life cut even shorter by the cruel hand of fate...

    No. It was not fate. She had chosen to die for him. This girl who he barely knew had chosen to die for him, like his mother... his sons...

    He wept as he held her, rocking back and forth to a disjointed rhythm. He knew better than to hope, but the child in him still hoped that the girl would awaken. He scoffed at himself, getting angrier and angrier at himself alone - why had he not realized that the man was threatening him with a weapon that could tear a hole in a head and kill instantly, why had he not realized that his father had loved him... Lost in his memories, he could not even imagine moving from the spot, kneeling in the dirt in an alley, looking at the dead girl in his arms.

    His tears blurred the world, and he failed to notice the silver wisps emanating from her wound, the fibers beginning to knit closed against all odds...


     
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  4. Lift Reyes

    Lift Reyes The Stormlight Archive

    Posts:
    738
    Gender:
    Female
    Occupation:
    Thief / Knight Radiant
    Race:
    Human - Surgebinder
    Age:
    15
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Directory:
    link


    For several seconds, the girl was completely motionless as the elf pulled her into his lap, the holes in the sides of her head seeming to gape like two hungry mouths. Long black hair fanned out across his lap and down to the floor, a large area of it glistening wetly with blood. The seconds seemed to stretch out forever, Wyndle rushing over along the wall, still invisible to the elf, muttering frantically to himself as Lift remained motionless.

    "-- would never have happened if I'd just bonded that nice shoemaker instead," he was whimpering, zipping, unseen, right up to where the young Surgebinder was held in the elf's arms. "This level of foolhardiness and recklessness is so stressful; oh, how I miss my lovely gardens." A vine reached out and tapped Lift sharply on the cheek, trying to get some reaction from her.

    Then white vapour started to leak from her skin, rising up like silvery mist from her body. The visible hole in the side of her head started to close up, bone and skin knitting together. In a few seconds, the holes were gone, though the healing slowed and stopped before it was complete; all that was left of the lethal bullet holes were small cuts in the scalp where the skin hadn't knitted all the way.

    Lift coughed, a puff of white mist bursting from between her lips as Stormlight escaped her body. "Stormfather," she swore in a weak voice. Her head was pounding, though the pain was going away, washed out by the Stormlight that still drifted from her skin. It was fading now though, and the pain in her head was replaced by an emptiness and gnawing pain in her middle instead. She'd already been hungry and now her Stormlight had burned up everything in her belly. She felt cold, feeble and exhausted, summat she had come to realise was a warning sign for when she had used up so much of her awesomeness that she might as well have not eaten a thing in several days. The world swam around her and she trembled in the elf's arms. The world felt so cold even though they were still in summer. "This crem never stops storming hurting."

    Her eyes focused on the elf with the weird name, then, and she gave a feeble smile. He didn't seem hurt. That was good. A small word passed from her lips in a whisper. "Hi."

    And then she passed out.

    "Blessed Mother, mistress," Wyndle muttered in his own weird spren way of swearing. He paused, clearly trying to think through other options, before he let out a heavy sigh and then in the next moment, he had made himself visible to the elf, a long sinuous vine dotted with chunks of quartz in a tight pile on the ground right next to his foot. The vine writhed on the ground, and a second later, the spren had formed a face against the ground, two crystals where the eyes would be.

    "You need to get her food, as quickly as you can," Wyndle said sharply, the tendrils that formed his mouth moving with each word. He didn't bother introducing himself because there was no time for that. Blessed Mother, he had told her that this was a terrible idea, but of course, Lift had to help. Wyndle supposed it was a good thing that she was trying to live up to being a Radiant, but she wouldn't be able to do that if she died. That was even in the very first part of the oaths! Life before death... But Wyndle knew Lift. She would insist that in this situation it meant someone else's life first. "She metabolises her powers from what she eats, and she's used up too much. She is quite literally starving."


     
    #4 Lift Reyes, Jul 8, 2018
    Last edited: Jul 8, 2018
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  5. Fëanor

    Fëanor Tolkien Legendarium
    Drama Prince of the Noldor

    Posts:
    174
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Owner & Blacksmith at Mind Over Metal
    Location:
    67 River Styx Lane, Midcourt, Pandopolis
    Race:
    Noldor Elf
    Age:
    280 Valian years
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link


    [​IMG]

    Fëanor lost track of the time he stayed on his knees in the alley, rocking Lift as he had once rocked his sons to sleep. He wondered if this was what Maglor meant, if this was how he had sung his brothers to sleep, felt their last breaths in his arms... With Lift, it had been too quick, too swift for him to even have time to react before she was dead.

    He mourned in silence, not noticing as her wounds began to close. Instead, he heard the tiniest voice... her voice. He knew she was dead, but he could have sworn that someone with a very similar voice had uttered one of her incomprehensible phrases, something she used to swear... but he had never met anyone else who spoke like her. She was one-of-a-kind... well, the most important thing he needed to realize was that she was. She was a creature of the past, never coming back.

    And yet, against all odds, he heard something else from her. A sentence this time, the words continuing for long enough that he had time to open his eyes and look down at her. Where were the wounds that caused her to die? All he saw were cuts, so tiny compared for the gaping holes he had seen... and against all odds, he allowed himself to believe.

    "Lift?" he said against all hope, and she looked right up at him, greeting him...

    ...before she passed out.

    Fëanor was about to despair in confusion when a sudden creature appeared. It didn't look like anything he had seen before; it began as a long vine, and quickly coalesced into an odd face partially made of vines, partially made of something that looked like one of the gemstones he worked with from time to time.

    He was shaken enough that he didn't question it; he only had the mental capacity to listen, to understand what the odd vine was saying. She was alive, but she needed food, quickly. He said something about powers then, but that flew right over Fëanor's head. All that he understood was that Lift lived, and there was something that he could do to keep things that way.

    Without hesitating, he put the fainted girl's body on the ground and tried to stand. He slipped slightly on the blood, wincing before he got a good grip on the side of the wall. He took a moment to take a few deep breaths before he leaned over and picked up Lift. She was oddly light, still a child according to the standards of the race of men, plus a skinny one at that. Was she truly starving? That was one thing he could certainly fix.

    He made his way over to Westcourt as quickly as he could, wondering if the odd creature was following but not taking the time to look. His steps were hurried, his breath coming quickly, but he didn't pause - he couldn't, not now when every moment could be the difference between Lift's life and death.

    At long last, he reached Emerson Road, running down until he stood in front of number 43. He put her down gingerly and fished his key out of his bag, trying to slide it into the lock a few times before he made it in. As soon as the door was open, he propped it with the first heavy thing he could find, grabbed Lift again, and laid her on the table - the first flat surface he could find.

    He began rooting in his cupboards. Being one elf living alone, he didn't have a huge amount of food, but he began to bring out everything he had by the armful, depositing it next to Lift. Belatedly, he wondered if he would have to feed her if she didn't wake up. If she didn't wake up when she was surrounded by the food, he would lift some bread to her lips, trying to encourage her to eat without inhibiting her breath.

    "Please work," he muttered under his breath, waiting for a miracle.


     
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  6. Lift Reyes

    Lift Reyes The Stormlight Archive

    Posts:
    738
    Gender:
    Female
    Occupation:
    Thief / Knight Radiant
    Race:
    Human - Surgebinder
    Age:
    15
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Directory:
    link


    Wyndle was admittedly wary of this person taking his mistress off away somewhere. He was protective of her, and not least because their bond and therefore her being alive was what kept him in the physical realm. Frustrating as she was, he was fond of her even beyond the Nahel bond, and she'd been through too much in Pandora.

    He'd had to watch her being kidnapped, unable to help. Had to watch her go through the trauma of using him to kill someone. Watched each failed assassination attempt on her. And then he'd watched that red-eyed man torture her a few months ago until she hadn't had any Stormlight left to heal at all, before taking away her memories and dumping her in an alley, terribly wounded. Wyndle had had to watch her pain and suffering and her confusion afterwards, all while remembering the demon's threat to kill her if he said a word to anyone.

    No, Wyndle was not happy at having to follow along as this man took his mistress away from the alley, not knowing if he really would get her food or not. He had difficulty understanding the intentions of humans, or... well, whatever an elf was. And he didn't particularly trust most people around his mistress, at least when she was in such a vulnerable position. She'd been hurt too many times.

    But what else could he do but simply trail along after this man?


    When Lift slowly started to come around, shivering from cold despite the air being warm around her. The first thing that came to her, even before she started to open her eyes, was the smell of food that just made her stomach feel like it hurt more from storming longing. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, and she jumped a little at the sight of the elf whose correct name she'd kinda forgotten standing over her holding some bread up to her mouth as though debating whether or not he ought to just stuff it in.

    Although her limbs were heavy and weak, she managed to seize the bread as though snatching for a lifeline, and shoved the entire lot into her mouth at once, frantically chewing as fast as she could before swallowing. Storming hell, she was so hungry!

    It wasn't really a good idea to eat so many solid things at once when she got this hungry, because she normally felt sick after, but it was hard to really care when it felt like she hadn't eaten in nearly a week. Not even felt; the way her awesomeness used up her food, her body reacted the same way as if she hadn't eaten in that long at all.

    She didn't really pause as she managed to push herself to a sitting position, finally realising she was lying on a table for some reason, and then started eating everything that was in sight. She'd regret it later when her stomach hurt, but right then she didn't care. She was too hungry to care. Nor did she care just what a sight she must look, sitting there on the table in grubby, bloodied clothes devouring the food like a wild animal. Manners were for people who weren't starving.

    And for people who weren't Lift.

    A little while after she started eating, she felt that strength returning which meant her awesomeness was coming back. Drawing on her Stormlight until the white vapour trailed from her skin again, she felt the pain in her head wash away as the little cuts that had been left behind closed up. Even the hair grew back, which felt kinda tickly.

    She let her Stormlight go straight away, reluctantly because it was always felt so awesome with the stom raging inside her and then the emptiness like a deflated balloon after, but she didn't wanna use up more of what she'd been eating than necessary.

    "Fanksh for 'he food," she said thickly through a large mouthful, once she'd fully healed herself, looking up at the elf above another hunk of bread. Swallowing, she lifted a hand to check the side of her head. Her fingers came away bloody, but she felt nothing there except smooth skin and plenty of hair. Only thing that said anything about the incident was all the blood. She was gonna need a storming shower. "Wasn't expecting it to be that bad. Thought he was too much of an idiot to be able to aim well and that he'd hit my arm or summat. Even shooting me in the chest would've been better and less work to heal. Didn't expect him to go for the head."


     
    #6 Lift Reyes, Jul 10, 2018
    Last edited: Jul 10, 2018
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  7. Fëanor

    Fëanor Tolkien Legendarium
    Drama Prince of the Noldor

    Posts:
    174
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Owner & Blacksmith at Mind Over Metal
    Location:
    67 River Styx Lane, Midcourt, Pandopolis
    Race:
    Noldor Elf
    Age:
    280 Valian years
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link


    [​IMG]

    When Lift began to stir, Fëanor held his breath, not letting it go until she began to devour the food. This wasn't like before, when she had snacked at her own leisure. No, when she took this food, she shoved it into her mouth fast enough that Fëanor wondered if she was even pausing to chew. She ate like her life depended on it, like she hadn't eaten in years. So much that if she ate like this regularly, how could she be so skinny?

    So much, Fëanor realized, that she would need to steal in order to eat.

    "You are welcome," Fëanor said, still flabbergasted by what had happened. His grief now turned to curiosity, especially when she began talking in her usual way. She didn't even seem concerned with the holes on either side of her head, the holes that were completely covered over with skin and hair like nothing had happened in the first place!

    "But... how did you do that? You were dead, I saw you, I held your... body..." It was nearly impossible to believe that the decidedly dead body he had held not long ago was now sitting on his table and eating his food, completely healthy. "That thing went through your head, I saw the blood... and then the man ran away because he had killed a child. He had killed you - and now you speak as if it was some minor wound..."

    He had under-exaggerated wounds before, of course - if it was a time when he needed to be in the forge and Mahtan was too responsible to let him work even with minor burns to his hands - but never something like that thing that went through her head, splattering an obscene amount of blood on the walls and the ground and probably his robes too, although he hadn't stopped to check.

    He had felt too guilty ever since she took the attack meant for him. She was no child of his, and even if she was, there was no obligation to save him over herself... she had her whole life to live, and according to her, he was a very old man. Why would she choose to save him above herself when she was so good at surviving in horrible circumstances, when she was so close to building herself a new life? Why?

    "I must ask you, Lift... why did you do what you did?" He couldn't bring himself to say exactly what she had done in words, but he did feel the need to at least scold her a little for the situation she had gotten herself into. "It was so irresponsible to throw yourself into danger like that, and for me... you cannot go about throwing yourself in front of weapons like that, you could get hurt - well, more hurt," he concluded lamely. He had thought she was dead - no, she had been dead, he had checked himself - but she could still get hurt or killed by other things...

    He put aside his curiosity about how she had survived and said the one thing he had been remiss in from the moment she woke up. "Thank you," he nodded his head solemnly, a smile beginning to form on his weary face.


     
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  8. Lift Reyes

    Lift Reyes The Stormlight Archive

    Posts:
    738
    Gender:
    Female
    Occupation:
    Thief / Knight Radiant
    Race:
    Human - Surgebinder
    Age:
    15
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Directory:
    link


    He seemed so confused by her sitting there devouring his food when she should have been dead that she couldn't help the broad grin that curved her lips. It really was kinda hilarious surpassing all expectations people had of her, a skinny runt of a girl with a boyish figure and scruffy clothes. No one ever expected anything big from her. The looks on their faces was always storming worth it.

    When he asked how she'd done it, she shrugged her shoulders as though it really wasn't anything of any real consequence. "I'm awesome," she said, giving the exact same cop-out explanation she gave in every other similar situation. She chewed more food, taking a bit more time now that she didn't exactly feel like her belly was gonna start eating itself. "I just heal. I heal everything s'long as I've got enough power to do it. I've been shot in the heart before. Stabbed... in the heart. Had my leg cut off, once, too." She wiggled the much younger of the two legs at him. "Grew back good as new. 'Cept I'm missing a really cool old scar what looked like a whitespine on this new one. I'd liked that scar."

    She kept eating, noticing Wyndle winding his up the back of a nearby chair. Invisible, she assumed. Her eyes flicked back to the elf when he started scolding her for doing what she'd done, like she was gonna storming listen to a word he said. She shrugged again, a heavy lift and drop of her shoulders. "I ain't stupid," she told him with a roll of her eyes as he called her irresponsible. "I do it 'cause I can, and 'cause I got the Stormlight to back me up. I just... misjudged a bit back there is all." She said nothing about how she felt like she had to do things like that, putting herself in harm's way for other people. Feeling like it was her duty and part of her oaths wasn't summat that he needed to know, and it made her sound mushier than she was. She didn't wanna sound like she really cared.

    "A bit?" Wyndle repeated in an incredulous voice from his place on the back of the chair. "You couldn't even heal yourself fully! If you had Invested any less Stormlight than you had, you likely would not have healed enough to regain consciousness at all! It was sheer dumb luck that you survived, mistress, and I put emphasis on the dumb."

    Lift wrinkled her nose and gave the spren an exasperated look, flicking a wrapper at him. It bounced off him - to Feanor appearing to bounce off thin air - and landed on the floor. "Guess you met Wyndle," she said to the elf, as she slid off the table and hopped down onto the floor, still eating. Her belly was still rumbling, though out of remaining hunger or protest at everything she'd dumped into it she wasn't sure. "Since you knew to get me food. Hope he wasn't a pain. He's always a pain."


     
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  9. Fëanor

    Fëanor Tolkien Legendarium
    Drama Prince of the Noldor

    Posts:
    174
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Owner & Blacksmith at Mind Over Metal
    Location:
    67 River Styx Lane, Midcourt, Pandopolis
    Race:
    Noldor Elf
    Age:
    280 Valian years
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link


    [​IMG]

    Apparently the explanation for how she had survived such a gruesome attack that could have - should have, in all fairness - killed her was that she was "awesome." The word only made things make less sense. Fëanor's works were often considering awesome or awe-inspiring, especially his gems, but that didn't mean he was immune to swords or to whatever the man had used. "Shot," she had called it, and he wrinkled his nose as he tried to puzzle through what it meant. The stick had shot some sort of... something, and it had gone into her head? And another one in her heart, apparently, and a knife to her heart... just the sound of it made chills run down Fëanor's spine, but there was apparently no need to worry about such things.

    Somehow, the leg bit only made it worse. She had lost a limb and regrown it, something that he heard had happened with Nelyo but, of course, without the happy ending. If only he could transfer some of his talent to make Nelyo "awesome" and able to regrow his hand, even after all he had done... even after that business with Nolofinwë and the crown that still sounded like a scene ripped from his worst nightmares...

    "Can you make other people... awesome?" he asked, assuming his talent in the forge was not what she was talking about. "Or give someone else the ability to heal them? My son Nelyo, he has... he is missing a hand. His sword-hand." Hope shone in his eyes as he wondered if that could be his way to make amends with Káno, if he could give him the power to heal Nelyo and see if that could be his way of fixing the world even after his own death.

    And yet, even as he spoke hopefully, his heart was still pounding from the death he had seen Lift suffer, from the way she had jumped in front of the "shot" for him when all she knew of him was a short encounter in the hovel she called home. As a father (and considering she lacked one), he thought he would need to tell her of her importance - but she quickly brushed him off, citing this encounter as a misjudgment.

    "A misjudgment is aiming the hammer in the wrong place. It is not giving up your very life," he said, still incredulous that at her young age, she took life so lightly. By the time he knew what life was, he knew to fear and hate death, and she was jumping into it readily, taking chances that she might not succeed.

    She paused then, head tilting slightly as if she was listening to something, but Fëanor heard nothing before she tossed a wrapper at an empty chair - that bounced off something. Was there something there? Thankfully, the question was answered quickly enough by Lift naming the... well, thing, that he had seen earlier that told him to give her food.

    "So its name is Wyndle... yes, I did meet some strange creature that told me to get you food, but it disappeared before I brought you here - or so I thought." He squinted at the area where Lift's wrapper had bounced, wondering if the thing found some way to hide itself. "It told me to get you food, but... I do not understand. How can ordinary food make you able to heal wounds like this, when I can eat the same things and still be vulnerable?"

    Maybe humans had some kind of strange resistance to death, something to help them in the short years they were allotted by Eru, but this was never something he would have expected. His heart rate finally slowing, he listened curiously, hoping to find out exactly how Lift did what she did.


     
  10. Lift Reyes

    Lift Reyes The Stormlight Archive

    Posts:
    738
    Gender:
    Female
    Occupation:
    Thief / Knight Radiant
    Race:
    Human - Surgebinder
    Age:
    15
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Directory:
    link


    Her bright grin faltered when the elf started to ask if she could make other people awesome, going on to explain about one of his sons missing a hand. She couldn't really give a proper answer, definitely not the one he obviously wanted, and that made her feel guilty. She shifted where she stood, looking away almost as though she was looking for some kinda escape away from being a disappointment.

    "I mean, I can heal people and I can kinda bring 'em back if I get to 'em after they die fast enough, but..." She shrugged. Storms, he looked so hopeful, it made her feel awful, and she couldn't even look at him. "I dunno if I can heal someone else's missing hand. Mine, sure, but I dunno if that's just... special to me." Rubbing the back of her neck, she coughed, feeling ridiculously storming awkward. "I can... try. If he's around. But I dunno if I can. I ain't tried that with no one else before."

    But then what if she tried and she failed? It'd be like when she tried to fix Reaper back into Gabe and failed the first two times. She hated people expecting stuff of her.

    Lift shrugged again as he continued to criticise her for her decision to take the bullet for him. She didn't wanna explain it properly. Didn't wanna explain about oaths and duty and just trying to care, and... and getting into danger because as time went on it felt like danger was one of the few times she actually felt properly alive.

    "He ain't never far," she said when Feanor mentioned Wyndle disappearing. "He just don't like other people seeing him. Just me he likes to inflict that on." Her, and John. She'd seen him talking to John pretty readily a couple times, without any of his usual weirdness about being visible.

    'Course the storming elf was asking for proper explanations and Lift was storming crap at them. Wyndle was better at them, but he was also boring and he didn't much like telling strangers about stuff. He didn't much like her telling everyone neither. "Simple really," she said. It wasn't really. "I'm a Surgebinder, you ain't. And I'm a special one, for some reason I don't know. One of a kind, blah blah. Getting power from food ain't normal even for other Surgebinders. It's just me what does it and Wyndle can't tell me why."


     
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  11. Fëanor

    Fëanor Tolkien Legendarium
    Drama Prince of the Noldor

    Posts:
    174
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Owner & Blacksmith at Mind Over Metal
    Location:
    67 River Styx Lane, Midcourt, Pandopolis
    Race:
    Noldor Elf
    Age:
    280 Valian years
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link


    [​IMG]

    Fëanor noticed when Lift's face fell, and the tentative plan he had for fixing Nelyo quickly fell through. It was a long shot, he knew, but there was some part of him that had been hoping for a miracle, or at least an offering of one to give to Káno, in poor payment of everything he had to endure from the Fëanor of his own time.

    "It is fine, for he is not in this world - I would have asked for help for Káno, my second son, to help him once he returns to his own world" he said, hoping his voice did not give away the forsaken hope, even if it had been slim. "The most important thing is that you are okay right now, after that horrible ordeal - what did that man even do to you? I saw him with a strange piece of metal, but no sword I have ever seen could fire a projectile like that, especially at close range," he said, a part of him feeling the morbid curiosity of what happened to Lift and could have easily happened to him if she hadn't swooped in so quickly.

    Which reminded him... "How did you get in the alley so quickly, by the way? I believe I would have noticed you if I saw you there earlier," he said, wondering if her 'awesomeness' extended to that as well.

    Another question rose in his mind then, about the strange creature that had told him to give Lift food, and when she brought him up, he didn't hesitate to ask. "It is strange to hear of an invisible creature, but it... he does seem to wish to protect you, and did in fact inform me about your need for food." He paused again, wondering if he was about to insult Lift or the creature before asking, "And this Wyndle... what is he, exactly? And how did you find him?"

    He asked about her 'awesomeness' next, why she was able to heal like she did, and she explained that she was something called a 'Surgebinder' that he had never heard of. "There are no Surgebinders where I am from, or if there are, I do not know of them - and I would be likely to know, I often sit on council meetings," he rambled, wondering if he was supposed to be congratulating her for the feat or something like that. The fact that she was a special one, however, piqued his interest. "So you are special because you get your power from food? Where do the others get their power? And I suppose it is convenient to be able to refuel whenever you want, although I can see why you were stealing food now." The idea was still foreign to him, but if he needed excessive amounts of food to use his talents, he supposed he would do the same.

    Along that idea, he did think of one final question, although he wondered if it would be incredibly rude to ask. Still, his curiosity eventually won out, and he turned to Lift once more. "These Surgebinders... do they not have the resources to get the powers they need? Would there not be a way for you to get food, or the money for food, from them?" He was no stranger to getting resources from his father, after all, and perhaps she could do the same. And if she was having trouble getting the others to help her, he would have no qualms with getting in their faces and helping her. Dying for him made her family, after all.


     
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  12. Lift Reyes

    Lift Reyes The Stormlight Archive

    Posts:
    738
    Gender:
    Female
    Occupation:
    Thief / Knight Radiant
    Race:
    Human - Surgebinder
    Age:
    15
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Directory:
    link


    It seemed to her like she didn't even get chance to think about how to answer his questions - or rather, to think about whether to lie or tell the truth or just not say nothing at all - before he was asking more. Before long she was just gawping at him because she didn't think she'd ever met anyone who asked as many questions about her and what she could do as this guy. She didn't even know where to storming start with all his queries. "Do you ask this many questions about everything?" she asked incredulously.

    Well, she knew she should probably explain about the weapon that had shot her in the storming head - that had been a first and really not pleasant - so he'd know to not be an idiot next time and actually avoid it. "It's called a gun," she said. "I dunno how it works so don't bother asking; all I know is that it shoots little things called bullets out and they can kill you if they hit ya in the right spot. Or wrong spot, I guess." She didn't like them. She'd seen the kinda devastation some guns could wreak when she'd seen the mess of bodies and blood when Reaper had rescued her from the crime gang what had kidnapped her ages back. She didn't reckon she'd ever forget that sight. It had given her nightmares for months. Even just remembering made her shudder.

    "And Wyndle is a spren," she said, in answer to those questions. "He's what lets me do the stuff I do." And didn't he always like to storming remind her about it. Sometimes she got envious of people like John whose magical powers were their own. That was better and easier than having 'em tied to another sentient being. Especially one that could leave her or even die if she broke the oaths for some reason. There was a lot of responsibility in the bond and she didn't like it. Responsibility was what she'd gone to the Nightwatcher to avoid, after all.

    His other questions were all about her connection with food, and she just shrugged. "It is convenient. Just means I gotta eat a whole lot to ever feel properly full, and if I use too much power I get super hungry again. Other Surgebingers get their Stormlight from storms, funny enough. The Stormlight goes into gems and they can breathe it in from those, but then they gotta wait for the gems to recharge again. I don't gotta wait for anything, s'long as I got food."

    She wondered if that meant she could potentially be a more powerful Surgebinder than normal ones, if she could just keep eating through a fight if she ever had to fight one. Their gems would go dun, but she'd still have snacks in her pockets to keep her going. She could wear a coat with dozens of pockets and have cakes in every single one.

    Not that she'd ever have to fight another Surgebinder. She hoped.


     
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  13. Fëanor

    Fëanor Tolkien Legendarium
    Drama Prince of the Noldor

    Posts:
    174
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Owner & Blacksmith at Mind Over Metal
    Location:
    67 River Styx Lane, Midcourt, Pandopolis
    Race:
    Noldor Elf
    Age:
    280 Valian years
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link


    [​IMG]

    “I do, in fact, ask this many questions about everything,” Fëanor said with a smile. Clearly, the return of her sarcasm meant that she was feeling better as well. “I studied with a master smith - my father-in-law, in fact - who said that asking questions was the best way to learn about something if you had no means to get your hands on it.”

    And he definitely didn’t want to get his hands on a gun. It made no sense to him unless he thought of it throwing a projectile like a bow and arrow, but the assailant hadn’t drawn his arm back or anything, just waved the gun and pressed something. If it was that easy to set off, he definitely didn’t need to be around it, and so he simply nodded his head solemnly as she spoke. He would have to watch out for them in the future, especially considering the damage it had done to Lift… the damage it could do to someone like him who did not know how to regrow body parts.

    He was, however, going to comment on Wyndle, without whom he wouldn’t have known that Lift was alive and needed food. “What is a spren?” he asked. “I assume he is a creature who can become invisible, but how did you happen upon such a creature? My son Tyelko has a hound blessed by one of the Valar, but he had to impress the Vala first in order to get him. Is that why you say you had to have Wyndle to do what you do?”

    Aware that he was asking more questions, he simply listened when she explained about her connection to food, although he couldn’t resist adding in, “I work with gemstones every day, and am considered a master in my craft. Do you think I could make gems like that? What do they look like?” More questions, he knew, but as a smith who worked with a good number of gems, he couldn’t help but ask.

    The fact that she used food instead of gems only made her actions from when he first met her more understandable. She had needed to heal something, although he hadn’t seen what, and without knowing that, he was tempted to think of her as a common thief… her tale was confusing, and he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t witnessed her come back from the dead with his own eyes, but now he knew why she stole, and why it helped.

    And then, even though she was dead not that long ago, she quickly found the strength to stand up and start fussing with her things. She seemed eager to get out of his house as soon as possible, dodging around his questions with finesse. Before she could leave, Fëanor put his hand on her shoulder, knowing that he couldn't stop her, nor did he have the right words to thank her for what she did.

    “If you ever need more food, I welcome you to come here, although I would appreciate some notice,” he said, hoping she would understand that meant not to sneak in his house in the middle of the night. He would appreciate the chance to say hello; someone who died for him was family, after all.


     
    #13 Fëanor, Jul 27, 2018
    Last edited: Sep 14, 2018
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