epidemiology | EVENT ★ MAT GATHERING

EVENT ★ MAT GATHERING

http://www.joemichael.co.nz/photography/#/luminosity/

The investigations in the sungazing log have lead to a number of discoveries, including trace amounts of solar radiation and seemingly temporary lights in the sky that match no known star charts currently in Chantes. On the 15th, Rick will announce via the verdict over the network: the sun isn’t gone.

un: 82736775
Those of you who actually did your job instead of screwing off (and breaking my shit! Yes, I know all about it), congrats. We've made headway on our dumbass situation.

The sun isn't gone (obviously). There are radiation levels suggesting that it's still there somewhere, but it's weirdly faint. Concerning item number one. Concerning item number two: there are lights in the sky but they're not native stars. They're red in the west in the morning, and in the east in the evening. This suggests a solar cycle that we just can't observe (with a western sunrise apparently). There are no moons visible; supposedly there should be two. Go figure.

The most interesting observations came from the storm, during which the "star" readings went off the charts, dawg. All lit up like Christmas and shit.

Hypothesis: the darkness is not because homeboy made anything "vanish with magic," but because he stuck a big "blanket" between the planet and the sky. The "stars" are likely just holes in his dumb bullshit. So let's get this solution rolling so we can get off this godforsaken rock. This is where you losers come in. I need things . . .

The mystery of the disappearing sun might be clear, but that doesn’t mean the problem’s solved. Now’s the hard part: creating something that will dispel the darkness.

Fortunately, with the right ingredients, science might be able to win the daylight back. All recruits will be encouraged to help with some good, old-fashioned teamwork and fetch quests.

SCAVENGER HUNT

The list is as follows:

Iron ore. Collecting it seems easy enough, but a dangerous serpentine creature capable of breathing electricity known as a Behir lairs nearby. If hungry, it will ambush characters and will not stop unless it succeeds or is slain.
Following the rich iron supply, characters will also find a series of winding underground caves and caverns.

Inside are items such as glowing cave mushrooms that are likely radioactive. Blue mushrooms maintain their coloring due to a rare solute in the cave water, helpful for optimizing fuel. Green mushrooms are useless and if you collect them you should feel bad.
Bat guano. Bats indigenous to the caves also seem to be affected by the contaminated cave water, however -- they’re enormous, blood-sucking, and have developed a mild venom. While one bite won’t kill anyone, the bats have numbers, ultrasonic screeches, and bad tempers.
Plutonic rocks. The source of the odd cave life, an ancient scattering of some massive meteorite resides deep inside the cave. They’ve got rich veins and chunks of crystal, the bigger the better. (We’d tell you what these space oddities are for, but we think it’d blow your minds.)
Cave Minnows. The fish inside the cave lakes are easy to spot since they’re bioluminescent, but only the small, quick ones metabolize the correct oils for this project. The large ones will simply try to drag you into a death roll the -- surprisingly deep -- waters.
Glowworms. See those lights hanging overhead? They’re not bulbs, but bundles of strange, glowing cave worms. Reaching and handling them might be tricky, and keep careful watch of them. They’ll burrow into anything, including your packs, your collected materials, or worst of all, you.
Rock salt. Delicious!
Potassium nitrate. This one is easier to find in Chantes itself: an old woman in town has a giant jar of it that she uses for pickling. Recruits may attempt to wile her out of a cup, or steal from the elderly.
Wildcard. If you don't mind volatile reactions, go ahead and science on your own. Or see anything else that might be useful? Grab it and go.

As a side-mission for the cave items, it seems the 15th is also the only day of the year that the night-blooming cereus plants are open around the cavern entrances. These flowers must be handled very delicately or they’ll wither and die, and local insects of all shapes, sizes, and aggressiveness will be drawn to them, so collectors beware. These flowers will have no bearing on the sun solution, but the goblin church will ask outgoing adventurers to bring some back with them. These items may come into play in February depending on IC actions, but otherwise they make for some pretty decorations!

And finally, a big thanks to

ricksybusiness for submitting their player plot and working with us. You go, Rick Sanchez.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( truth be told, mining had always seemed easier than this. there were monsters she had to deal with, sure, swarms of everything from spiders to slavers, who sought use of whatever cave she was using as her source for a particular crafting material in a rune or potion, but nothing ever quite as persistent as what she was finding here. perhaps it was the lack of a proper vanguard force?

in any case, she was thinking of just passing on the iron ore and moving further into the cave in search of something she could gather with less chance of harassment, when she happens upon someone evidently willing to have a go at mining. so she presumes from the pickaxe in his possession. ) Hey--! ( a brief pause, to make sure she's got his attention. she doesn't shout too loudly because she doesn't know what may be lurking around waiting for a trace of an echo to follow towards prey. ) Graham. Might you need a work partner? I can't hold a tune, but I can watch your back.

( she's got him pegged very correctly! so maybe he's armed with a bow, too — he has heard that this place is not fare to those that don't have a hope of defending themselves. he could likely do a bit of damage with the axe, too, not that he's keen to try it.

it's hard to get the jump on someone with a wolf companion. he turns toward the voice and recognizes the face, and gives a nod of recognition. his wolf cranes his head curiously, though his ears are alert for things likely neither of the humans could possibly hear. )

Hold a tune? ( he's reminded of Leroy's drunken renditions of whistle while you work, and it makes him equally nostalgic and a little homesick. apparently even the heartless can feel that. ) Ah— good idea. There's plenty to avoid in here.

( the wolf pads a little closer, curious about their company. ) He'll be able to help. He'll hear anything that comes close. ( Graham has tried to tell the wolf to go back to the woods, it just won't listen. he doesn't always relish that the wolf is always quick to fight at his side when it means it could be harmed for it. )

( she can't say that she wouldn't welcome a fight, but she'd really prefer not to have to get into one here, where it feels she's very close to passing beneath the surface of the earth. caves are one thing, but she has a distinct Dislike of being underground. nothing good happens there. nothing good dwells there. )

No. I'm not so cruel as to subject even my worst enemies to a single hum. Though it might keep some of those more musically inclined nasties away. ( a small laugh, and quickly her interest is caught by the wolf. since he hasn't shied away she'll try and approach him, consciously hunching over to make herself appear smaller, and offering her right hand with its exposed fingers for him to sniff. she wants to gain his trust in the hopes of being able to pet him. such fluff, much cute. )

Oh, well, now he's got the right idea on how to stay safe here. There's too many possible hiding places to keep a watch on. I wouldn't count on safety in numbers.

( he doesn't have any particular dislike of the underground but deep caves aren't his favorite, either. somehow the darkness seems deeper in a place like this. he's slept in a cave or two when the climate went south, his family had made a few dens in small caves. never anything this deep, though. sounds were harder to track and the knowledge he had in the forest failed quickly in a cave. it was a completely different place. )

If a tune were all it took to stay safe around here I'd risk it. ( as it is, they're probably going to need more than a few sour notes to keep all the creepy crawlies at bay.

the wolf carefully smells at her fingers, trying to make sense of her scent. the wolf is always more friendly than he should be, but in the dangerous cave he's a little more on edge than usual. no pets today, but it's a good sign that he'll take the greeting. )

If it comes down to it, I suppose this will do some damage. ( he is holding a pickaxe, after all. ) Shall we? ( the faster they get it over with, the better. )

( see? just as a wise {ass, but still a good} friend of hers had said: nothing good happens in caves. and this guy was a dwarf. so much for natural affinity. )

Famous last words, those. ( she wants to laugh to indicate that she's only partially exaggerating, that her bad singing had at one point led to a brawl that probably left one person dead, so she just chortles briefly in her throat.

she's still clean of ichor or guts so all he should get are the scent of a human--and magic, of course, if he can smell that kind of thing. but she understands, regrets that she didn't bring something suitable for him in her snack pouch, and smiles as she backs off.

then, moving on, she nods. ) No need to ask twice. Though I do have a question for you: do you mind if I use magic? I'm thinking of setting up a shield in case anything tries spitting poison at us.

I think I can take it. There was plenty of off tune whistling at my last job. ( dwarves were big whistlers, apparently... and leroy had considered it his drunken mission to whistle his entire stay in the drunk tank. possibly just in attempts to drive him crazy. it had never worked, though. (maybe being heartless did have its perks.)

as for magic... yes, perhaps there's a bit of a hesitation. there's a reason for that, though not one he wants to share. especially right now. in the end, though, he won't let his fears get in the way. ) No. I don't mind.

( not all people will use magic the way Regina did. not all magic was bad. that sort of thinking was what ended up with all the wolves being slaughtered. one did not decide the whole and he had to be better than the woman that had kept him captive for so long. ) There's a vein not too far from here. I suggest we start there.

Really? I can't imagine what kind of a hunter would intentionally scare away his prey. A drunken one? ( she laughs a bit. at the same time she's actually doing something that's both helpful and serious--quite an accomplishment, really. since she has his assent {but after a hesitation? she's seen all her life the fear of magic so the sight of it is quite familiar by now. it makes her wonder, suspect, what kind of horrors mages have wrought in his world as well}.

before beginning walking she gestures in the air, which results in no apparent changes just yet. the barriers won't react until there's actually a threat and combat entered. ) A sound a suggestion as any. ( said with a small smile. she begins walking in that direction, and will follow one step behind him as her companions always did when they were following her and had her back. she's a tall woman with a long stride so it won't be hard for her to keep up at any pace. even when something somewhere drops and she pauses a second to try and spot the source. it's too serious so she doesn't shrug but continues to move when a discernable threat fails to manifest. )

( he's confused for a moment before he remembers the only occupation she has to connect him to is his username. which is fair. sometimes it's hard to put the pieces of his life together. is he a sheriff, or the huntsman? the combination of the two isn't as easy as it sounds. ) No, that would be when I was the sheriff. You're right, whistling wouldn't do any favors on a hunt.

( though he knows a few bird calls, which he uses to communicate with his wolf... not important right now though... moving on.

the wolf slinks between them with a wary posture and flattened ears. he's certainly not at ease in the cave, either; if Graham weren't present it's safe to say the wolf wouldn't be, either. it doesn't take long to get to the vein he mentioned, and Graham shrugs off the bow to keep his mobility a little more open. )

Ready? ( it's bound to get loud and crazie rfrom here on in, once he starts chipping ore from the walls. )

( maybe if she'd been a little more nosy she'd have asked him if there was anything else he did {hobbies?} but he struck her, and continues to do so, as the kind of guy who didn't share something unless it was essential and relatively unsentimental. he's probably got a Past, but that's nothing new. she's got plenty of experience working with what's been given to her by others to go on, and getting whatever else she may need. ) Shooting the breeze while patrolling? ( she laughs. ) You're a man of many hats. Which is nice, you'll always have one to wear when your ears get cold.

( said while she's finally transitioning into a fully focussed mindset. bantering with her companions is a hard habit to break. this kind of banter has always revealed some interesting things about those in her party. still, she's ready to be on guard when they arrive, and she stands with her back to the vein but not too far away. )

Yes! Both mind and body. ( slipping into a slight crouch, she draws her staff from her back. besides the shield spell she also sets up an Heroic Aura--basically, though he may not be fighting, Graham ought to feel more capable and competent when she's not further than twenty metres away. hopefully she won't have to stray farther than that. hopefully they won't attract a peckish Behir but she does have a plan if it rears its ugly head. she's happily got a lot of experience handling magical lightning as it is a part of her favoured school. ) And don't worry. If I need your help, or think we'll need to run, my soul-piercing whistle will let you know.

( she's not wrong about him: essential and relatively unsentimental was practically his conversation motto. his story is a complicated one, and it sometimes seemed impossible to tell some of it without revealing things he doesn't care to talk about. she's right, there's a reason he doesn't like magic. he was held hostage to one of the darkest kinds for most of his life. even now he lives without a heart thanks to a witch that had punished him for sparing a life. he doesn't care to talk about his history with Regina and he finds he doesn't have much of a history left if he cuts her from the conversation.

he shakes his head, not quite managing a laugh but he's amused in the distant way he usually is. it's not easy to get a laugh out of him, especially with such serious work ahead of him. still that kind of humor happens to be his favorite. way to impress him with the dad jokes, Hawke.

he does feel a little differently and he will have to ask her why later. still, now isn't the time — he's focused now on getting the job done as quickly as he can. a whistle or a full basket is all he'll stop for, as long as the wolf doesn't try to get his attention first. )

( while Hawke can't be said to be a mind reader, she is something of a people kind of person, someone who reaches out and {mostly} welcomes the experiences others will bring with them into her life. life is more exciting when you don't live with your head down near the ground. and there are less neckaches, which is also a plus. still, hearing another story of suffering caused by magic wouldn't surprise her, not in the least when there's just such a predictable outcome when humans are allowed access to something powerful.

a positive reaction is still a positive one. if he keeps receiving them so well, she may never stop telling them. and there are some real stinkers she knows. and is capable of.

for now though, she's focussed on something other than herself. the cave is dank and dark, blessedly not putrid, but these aren't the kind of circumstances she likes. honestly, there's not a lot she wouldn't do just now for a good rich lyrium vein or a river of lava for illumination as the dwarves in her world once built. however a job is a job, and the goal is to get the very sun {and two moons, apparently} back.

she's focussed so it doesn't come as a surprise to her when something is roused by the cacophony raised by tempered metal hitting stone. a call comes out, then movement--towards them, no doubt about it. something with too many arms--or is it legs?--is advancing with relentless will. she grips her staff and waits for it to burst forth from whichever tunnel its clambering down.

at the sight of its head she gives a cry and a swing of her staff as a cloudy white girdle of protective veil springs up around the humans: the earth by her feet forms a fist and punches towards the creature's eyes and nose. this followed in an instant by a strike of ferocious lightning to stun it, she's hoping its not immune as a boon granted by its affinity. though if she can't disrupt its nerves, then at least the sudden flash of brilliance should blind it for an appreciable few seconds. ) Maker, are you ugly. A true sight for sore eyes! ( here comes the high of the battle: with a surge of what little mana she has access to in this strange world she begins to cast into being a rend in the very gravity around them. the behir will be slow, slow, captured by a gravitic coil for some tens of seconds. )

( it's true, even he would agree that magic had more sad stories than happy ones. in fact, however biased his opinion was, he doesn't know of any story where magic fostered happiness, except for perhaps the true love between Snow White and Prince Charming. and even that had not been enough to protect them from the Dark Curse, no matter the defiance he'd put in to try and help them. he had been happy, or as close to it as possible, in a world without magic — but with his heart enchanted and still in the grips of the woman who had controlled him for decades, had he really been in a world without magic?

the distraction of the cave and the work they needed to do was a welcome one. Graham finds thoughts catch up with him far faster than he'd like them to. busywork, things to distract the eye and the mind, are always invaluable. there's a risk of his life in this and a part of him knows it, whatever dwells in this cave has proven its tenacity just in choosing to thrive in such a dark and dreary place. perhaps without a heart he can't feel much in the way of fear — a dead man fearing death would be awfully ironic, anyway.

it's not easy work to cleave the ore free from stone, and it's not silent work, either. he doesn't try to dampen the noise, opting for speed instead of care. the wolf creeps closer to him in a flattened, alert and unhappy stance, a low growl hinting that he needs to be wary just as evident as the scrabble of movement drawing nearer.

he agreed to magic and yet a part of him is still astounded by the sheer capacity Hawke displays. he's always surprised by the power and destruction of magic — at least this time it's focused in a positive direction (instead of at him or innocent people). it's hard to say how much iron they'll need for this Rick character, but Graham wants to clean out the small vein he's found and he's only about halfway there. )

Nearly there— ( if she asks he'll delay from the mining the second it seems she needs him to. as for now, well, it's showing a great deal of faith to focus on mining with a snarling monster encroaching on them, even slowed as it was. ) Got it back there? ( he hasn't heard any whistles, but just checking! the wolf, for its part, seems to have found that his brother wasn't fighting and angled toward the part of the party that was, waiting for an opening not far from Hawke's knees. )

( magic is a tool, nothing more, nothing less, it's inherently neutral, it has no intentions of its own, it does not lead itself to destruction, that is something which she firmly believes. but the truth is this: magic makes more easy to realise the basest human desires. it brings into being things which ought not be. and this is just what happens whenever human nature is allowed outlets and ways to come into contact with anything outside of itself--just look at how twisted spirits become when they follow their basic nature and collide with humans out of curiosity.

not here, however. Hawke has been taught self-control from the moment her magic manifested, and she has since honed herself into a master of it. she is a follower of the tenant her father, who was a mage before her, laid down and would humbly declare for all the world to hear: magic will serve what is best in me, not what is most base. it's the best part of her which surfaces now to rally utterly to the aid of a comrade she doesn't even know all that well. already she is extending herself, and though she does enjoy this part of the battle, she won't be giving anything but her all as she calls down another dazzling bolt upon the head of her scaled enemy. his work may be loud, but a battle is bedlam. it takes her a moment to register what exactly he has said, she has to unmuddle the message from the screech of a monster, and of magic, in her ears. she smiles over her shoulder: )

By all means, take all the time you need. But we may need to make a decision once you're done--proper fight or flight? Let me know how aggressive you're feeling after you've had at that wall.

( until he's done depleting the vein she'll have no problem holding the behir off. as it's only one enemy and a large one at that, it's a joke of a target, simple to distract, and a pleasure to irritate. this is much easier to handle than the battles she's used to. however, she's not sure how to cover a retreat from a thing that can obviously go creepily fast and has the distinct advantage of being in its home territory. she needs time to figure this out; her plan doesn't involve whistling yet and she doesn't foresee it doing so, but she'd never be so bold as to claim any skill at foresight.

when the thing lashes out with a crackling bit of lightning aimed at them, she easily redirects it into a relatively far away wall to crash and cause carnage there. realising that it's regaining some of its mobility, now, Hawke jogs forward to engage it and give a wider buffer between Graham and the beast; the last thing she needs is the behir realising it can shoot at the ceiling and cause a partial cave-in to trap its prey; otherwise the arcane shield she has put up should protect Graham from most of the damage the behir's projectile lightning could do, then it seems that she's messing with gravity again--though she isn't, not this time, she's using the force of her willpower to keep the behir in place. if it weren't so big that damn thing would be flattened and incapacitated. there's another physical obstacle as well: the thing's carapace. she isn't sure how tough or thick the scales might be so she's hesitant to create any openings that the wolf might take advantage of. he probably shouldn't engage unless she can bring the behir to its many knees--joints?--because the head seems to be its true weak point. if Graham feels up to it when he's done, a bolt to or between the eyes would probably be well in order.

in the meantime she's summoning a tempest. it takes a second, two, to gather, and then the strikes rain down so heavy on the monster's head it cannot move because the barrage is simply shocking. now this is pandemonium. Hawke takes this opportunity to rush it and stab at a foot to cripple it. for the one foot that she takes out she's swiped by another, but she's nimble enough to force the claws to clash against the armour on her right shoulder. ) Ugh, someone needs to get this thing declawed.

( he's seen the damage that assumption based on misunderstanding can do. while he doesn't want to fall suspect to those flaws. it's difficult not to fall to his bias of dislike. he's only ever seen dark, horrible magic, used for terrible things. it's easy for instinct to tell him that's all it's capable of, yet he is learning that especially in this place, there is more to it than that. magic was no more evil than a gun, it was the individual controlling that power that brought on the trouble.

so despite his fear of magic and his unhappy experiences being on the wrong end of it as well, he puts every ounce of trust he's got into an absolute stranger. sure that she'd not only not use her magic against him but that she'd be able to protect him, too. it's not a lesson that he learned easily, to trust other humans. it's something he might not even have been capable of before the curse. perhaps it was not all bad, in the end... though the achievements it wrought are tempered with so many heartbreaks. some literal.

he can't watch to know what they're up to, other than flashes on occasion. iron ore rich rocks drop like weights from the vein he's working on, his body and shoulders aching from the work. he can hear the snarl and scrape of claws on the cave floor as his brother does his best to defend their party, too — the wolf is fast, much faster than the Behir now that it's been slowed by magic. there's a grace in the way the wolf slips in and leaves painful bites in joints, disabling limbs that are close enough to the ground for him to reach. the wolf seems to find a decent rhythm in working with Hawke, striking as she does or shortly after, leaving little room for him to be shaken off. proof that he's fought beside a human before. the magic might be new but the idea of teamwork isn't.

it seems to last far too long before the vein doesn't offer anything more. if it does, it's too dark to tell and he's not willing to search. collecting his haul to bring with them to safety only takes a few moments in comparison, and after that he's quick to take up his bow instead.

taking true stock of the magical storm is a little overwhelming. it reminds him of the torrent of the incoming curse, enough that his stomach feels a little sour. only for a moment, long enough to wait for the magic to fade and a well aimed arrow to catch the creature mid-howl, aimed at the back of the throat. for all the fighting nothing managed a noise of pain quite as shrill. she seems right that the head is the weakest point. )

Good luck if you'd like to try. ( the huntsman, for the record, is willing to leave the creature with it's claws if it means escaping. if they need to kill it, well, he'll do his part. he's killed more dangerous things than this before, and if it won't stop fighting then death isn't worth sparing it. )

( Hawke is more than happy for the canine help and does understand how to work with a four-legged companion on her team. she's been in plenty of fights with her ferocious mabari who was kind enough to distract and aid when and where it was needed, who was a valuable ally even against lourring ogres. the disabling bite the wolf provides is practically a boon--it gives her fewer things she has to worry about striking at her from either side, and it's easier to keep the Behir in front of her this way. close as she is she has a good idea of the thing's range of motion kept clearly in her head.

all she knows is that he's shot an arrow true. it's so welcome, and the timing is utterly perfect, she smirks and turns and thinks indeed he is a huntsman. she has a feeling she can trust his instincts on whether they can make this thing prey or not. in the few seconds in which its stunned and the fray sinks away she keeps her attention on him. )

Don't need luck, but I think we need to put this ugly bastard down. I think it's hungry more than anything, and-- ( its next screech in particular sounds pissed so she's partially drawn back to the battle. she begins inscribing runes on the floor, a circle she dances around while avoiding the flailings of a limb or two, until the glyph is complete and begins to glow. insubstantial as it may seem, there won't be anything crossing over it for the duration of its lights life.

now she takes a few steps backwards towards him. ) Where was I? Something about dinner? Right, I think this thing thinks we're dinner. Though even if we're fast foot, I don't think we're going to be able to make it see the sense in not trying to put us in its stomach. ( maybe it seems like she's picking a fight but she thinks she's right. she also doesn't think it would be too hard to kill if he's that good a shot, and she doesn't mind providing the distraction in this case. ) But that glyph will last another twenty seconds--is that enough with all that extra weight? ( she points to the load he's now carrying. )

( he'd suspect the thing is a mix of territorial and hungry, if Graham had to guess. the Behir moved through the cave like it knew it perfectly, Graham didn't doubt that the creature had a den somewhere in its twisting caverns. having so many people running in and out of the cave had likely aggravated it to the point of no return, and no mercy — it'd fight until its last breath to be rid of them, which in a way made it a bit sad to do the thing in. it didn't understand anything but instinct, and that instinct would end up with someone hurt if they didn't stop it.

he didn't especially like it — he never liked killing things, even when there was no option — but he'd do it. a huntsman that mourned every kill was a bit backwards, perhaps, yet the huntsman had always seen value in the wild. often more than he found in humanity, actually. still, for all he doesn't care for putting the Behir down, he'd rather that than let it kill to protect its territory. it's clear the thing won't be scared off or convinced to back down, no matter how injuries it took on it kept on moving. )

Should do. ( if not, he should be able to land a shot incapacitating enough that there won't be much fight left. it almost feels a little unfair to fire at a creature that can't move, but he still notches an arrow and squints for an opening. before he lets it fly there's a whistle to the wolf to call him back to safety, and for all the instincts the wolf had, it turned tail and returned immediately, even as the arrow whistled through the air as the last bit of light seemed to be fading, finding a place in the Behir's eye.

deep but not quite deep enough to kill it, sending it to the ground in a pained snarl of limbs. there was no going back now, someone would have to land the killing blow and if it wasn't Hawk the hunstman would do it. after a whole in the head, death would be a mercy. )

( it doesn't strike her as a possibility that a hunter may be so sensitive to his prey. and it won't, not at first, because this isn't something that she particularly shares in. humans are one thing--even other persons, including the elves, the dwarves, and the Qunari--but everything else has always seemed fair game so long as it posed a threat. safety is something she's always been harried about.

without a second thought she moves in to make the kill. it only makes sense since she is closer. a few steps, and she's across the distance which isn't as dangerous now, but she still approaches with attention placed in each step. from a lolling mouth a stray shot of lightning scatters at her and deflects off her wavering shield. after that there's no need to expend any more mana, she gets right up to the creature close enough to kick it. but she isn't that cruel, this isn't about causing pain and suffering: she stabs through the Behir's other eye with the sharpened blade protruding at the end of her staff. then twists, and a sighing kind of squelching confirms that she is done.

the one last heaving twitch of such a large body unbalances her, and she stumbles backwards and finds purchase only with her staff. Hawke has to breathe out the extreme tension that spending so much energy has imposed inside her head, the tide of battle has gone out and the clutter come in. her thoughts are trying to tell her that this kind of behaviour is reckless and she should know better, she's going to actually get herself killed. this shivering struggle takes a few seconds, then she can regain her balance and walk over to where Graham is. now even her passive skills have been deactivated so there shouldn't be anything that isn't normal. )

Did you get what you needed? We did make a fair amount of noise.

( perhaps it's a little backwards, for a hunter to grieve his kills. heartless, he can't feel the remorse he did before, and with a monster the feeling was less than with an animal he understood better. still, he didn't take joy in taking life, it was simply a part of survival that ended up unavoidable. he'd known that, living with the wolves, they killed to eat and to protect themselves, but when he could avoid it? he did.

that said he's seen death too much, watching it doesn't make his stomach clench, the noise doesn't unsettle him. his expression is grim and his body still a sharp until the relative safety of the monster finally drawing a last breath. the wolf still seemed skittish, finding a place at his heels, but they've managed their task more or less no worse for the wear, despite the risk. )

I'm not sure how much we need, but it's a start. ( his body can't feel weariness in the same way, anymore, but when he runs an arm over his forehead it's damp with sweat and the action leaves his a little-too-long hair sticking up a bit. ) Either way I'd like out of this cave for a little bit before I try again. ( he's not sure how much magic might leave her weary, but he suspects it's about the same as physical exertion. she could likely use a break just as much as he could. )

Well at least something is usually better than nothing. ( she replies automatically, smiling as usually even if there's no sense in it just now. but to be fair she does find the sweat sculpting his hair amusing. though it's been years since she's had to do such things, she does wonder if he wouldn't do with just a little bit of a trim. Maker knows her brother would've wanted it. but then he always did fancy any styling which would make him present as more military.

also, she's sure to maintain a strong appearance because she doesn't like to let on how draining casting has become on her without ready access to the source of power she has always relied on. it's a complicated relationship. as for his suggestion, she couldn't think of a better one herself. ) I won't say no to a breath of fresh air. ( she pauses a moment to cast a glance at their felled foe. ) And I could take a look at any injuries, if you'd like. ( he seems to be able to move and walk {if not be completely fine after all} so it's best to do any examinations there. she hitches her staff to her back in the meantime and looks around for any more possible sources of danger. there are strange sounds to be heard in any park place like this, but she fails to identify anything of note now. of course she would undoubtedly trust the wolf more than her own senses. she's just doing her part and keeping her mind of the strain in her body. as for her sweaty hair, she lets it lay flat and will sort it out later. )

( she's not wrong, it does need a trim. in fact it needed a trim when he got here. he hasn't thought too much about the shagginess of his hair or his beard on arrival, but he's definitely starting to look like the man of the wild he was raised to be. maybe when there's some sunlight he can actually take the time to cut his hair, or there was a chance he'd be completely lost in it.

Graham joins her in a last look at the fallen creature. the hunter in him is tempted to look to see if there's anything useful to be taken from the kill — it was more respectful to make use of the body instead of leaving it to rot — but in the end, decides a little bit of fresh air is better at the moment. he doesn't put his bow over his shoulder until they're back out in the darkness of the outdoors rather than the cave, and when he does he notices a slick of red on his arm.

he probably should have noticed the cut before he spotted the blood, but it wasn't deep enough to hurt terribly. even injury was numbed in the absence of his heart. )

You've got quite a few skills, don't you? ( mage, medic, comedian... color him impressed! he hesitates for half a moment but it's too awkwardly placed on his arm to do up well on his own. ) Think I got sliced by debris. ( he showed her the cut, though it was clear it didn't bother him too much. be that because he couldn't feel it or because it wasn't that bad was hard to say. )

( provided they don't actually exit the area {return to town, as it were} she herself is almost certain to go back and take a look through the body for something she can both loot and carry. a little bit of a stink has never actually put her off from putting her hands in something, but at the moment there's the load of iron to consider, how much space the rest of the needed materials will take up, and the rising tide of exhaustion pushing up against her temples that might make it harder for her to discern what's useful and what's actually just junk she'd only get a coin or two for.

she's taking a breath of fresh air when she turns to him to engage properly in conversation. she lets it out, takes a few steps towards him, and offers up the gloved palm of her left hand, the exposed fingers surprisingly clean and pale in the unnaturally darkened night. ) Some more useful than others, to be sure. But I'm sure you've got a set just as ranged. ( she's not being modest. she's sure that he must know how to do a hundred handy things or more. not only does he have multiple jobs, apparently, being a successful hunter entails a great wealth of knowledge and understanding of the natural world, though he's now most likely in a setting which renders some of this trove of a lifetime's learnings useless.

all the same she takes his arm in hand and begins an examination. not that it matters what actually cut him since she was going to heal it before it can get infected, she's still curious as to what this wound might tell her about the battle that had gone on behind her. what's surprising about the wound isn't that he didn't feel his skin being sliced open, it's that it didn't sting from the sweat and the irritation from the newly opened seam in his clothing. she assumes that she still has permission to use magic as given before, and activates without making note of it a healing aura required to actually use healing magic--it's nothing remarkable, at least to her, just a blue-white glow that emanates from her hand and makes a sound like wind. it's sympathetic magic so it should flood everyone who feels it with an increased sense of well-being and ease as it boosts their natural regenerative powers.

and then something feels wrong. something missing, the right rhythm isn't there, the song of the magic has not its regular beat. she stays committed, so she can get this done as well as she can, but as soon as the wound is sealed and less than superficial, she slips her hand to his wrist. several seconds she waits. she has her answer, then, perhaps should stop touching him, yet a part of her can't quite accept what she's feeling. ) This is a rather personal question, I realise, but are you by any chance dead? Either that or you're just...in oddly amazing shape. Whatever it is, I can't manage to find your pulse. This is quite the serious symptom.

( it is a little bizarre, that he doesn't think much about the pain or react properly to the injury. he can't think to how strange it is, or properly understand how strange it must be for her. some intricacies of socializing are simply lost to him now, without a heart. it's difficult for him to put himself in the shoes of others when half the time he can't place how he feels, either.

he offers his arm to her gloved hand, more curious than anything. he supposes she'll use magic to help him, and honestly he's never seen magic used in such a way. the Evil Queen had never healed anyone, not in front of him, and certainly she'd never have used such a skill on him, anyway. Regina had seemed to delight in his pain too much to fix him up when he was injured. it's interesting to watch it at work, soft light putting a wound that doesn't particularly hurt back together. he's so used to the darker sides of magic, a lighter aspect is a bit of a revelation.

he's curious enough that he's distracted as her hand falls to his wrist instead, twisting his arm to properly inspect the slight scar left behind that he doesn't know what she's up to. he should, really — even in the Land Without Magic, people took pulses in much the same way. when she speaks he snaps out of it and his arm is pulled away, as if that can shake the reality that she's already had enough time to find.

are you dead. it's a joke, probably, but the reality of the question makes him wince. the wolf whimpers a low whine, trying to communicate with Hawke instead of his person. the Wolf has tried quite hard to get him his heart back, but he'd ignored him and it was too late to get it back now. )

You're mistaken. ( his reaction probably gives away how much of a lie that is, but he can't help but hide the truth. it's hard enough to deal with his own death, the idea of conversing with a stranger about it seems impossible. ) I appreciate the aide, but I'll be heading back to town now. ( in the cave, with his arm. but much like the animals he was raised by, the huntsman tends to bolt when he feels threatened, and the truth coming out about what he is? well, that's somehow frightening, even to a man who no longer has a heart. )

( to be fair, to everyone, he's not nearly the hardest person to communicate with whom she knows. she's mostly attributed his stillness and silence to a stoical character who has a penchant for such things. she assumes that means he'll be honest, though, and not start defending himself by turning away and fleeing when confronted by something that's so obviously vital. after all, what could be more essentially to life than a heartbeat? she would've expected a bit more fortitude in such a situation.

his instinct to pull away has her arching a brow and pursing her lips, then she looks to his companion for the sound he makes. he's communicating, she understands, even if she doesn't understand the exact message, and she thinks he's doing a better job than his master is at the moment. that's a little too much for her to just accept as an idiosyncrasy of a manifestation of a hermit mentality. something is very much wrong.

her hands are on her hips, now, and she'll take a step towards him if he backs off because it's her right as his healer to assert her authority over the situation. that's her idea of an effective bedside manner. {which, really, one shouldn't expect to her have. the truth of it is that she's killed many more with her magic than she'll ever heal. that's just the way her life and talents have turned out.} ) You can't. Well, not literally, but theoretically.

( then she runs her hand through her hair and cocks her head. ) I'm not the best healer by far, but even I can tell that something's wrong. I'm not mistaken about that. Your condition is...worrying. Look, you should take a little bit of a rest before you take off with that load you're carrying. Why don't you take a load off for a bit and--tell me a bit about it? It's obviously a pretty personal problem, but if you tell me the nature of this condition, I might be able to help.

( it's hard to speak wolf if you haven't been raised by one. if Graham were listening, he'd know what it meant. the wolf has tried harder than anyone to get his heart back to him, even showing him where it was hidden. the wolf knows what he is missing and wants him to be whole again. the problem is that this is not a condition with a solution. they can't fix him, it's already far too late for that.

his jaw knits and his eyes fall on the ground instead of her face. she's right, it is worrying, but perhaps not as worrying as she thinks. he already knows what is wrong with him, and furthermore he knows that no matter how much she wants to, there's probably no helping him, either. )

I don't have a heartbeat because someone took my heart. ( it's the first time he's said it out loud, at least in a long time. before he hadn't had memories, a part of him hadn't been sure. now he knows. ) It's not something that can be helped. There's no getting it back now. ( because it was crushed, because she's right, in a matter of speaking he is dead. but that might be a little too much truth for him at the moment. ) You don't need to be concerned. I've been like this for a very long time.

( his gaze falling to the ground isn't good for her, because he's avoiding her still, even if he's not now completely escaping the subject. she also cannot completely read his expression without the access to the inner which the eyes grant. his body language doesn't tell her much.

in fact now she looks to the wolf for some place to start, pauses, then turns back to Graham and goes for it. ) They stole it, didn't they? And not in the unintentional kind of way. ( even though she's actually worried it's hard to resist a quip, especially one that's a chance for sarcasm. maybe it's not charming but she's not exactly charmed at the moment. ) Is it magic that's keeping you alive now?

( when she asks it, it doesn't sound like a rhetorical question, her voice is somehow softer and dampened, and so much for not being concerned. it's the undeniable fact that he must be being sustained by the stuff that's only making this whole matter much more concerning. she's not personally familiar with spells like these but there's no doubt in her mind that, whatever this is, it's something that's dark and horrible. it doesn't seem like a leap to her to have assumed that this vital organ was stolen, not given willingly. )

EVENT ★ MAT GATHERING

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