Tomas is up early as well, not looking to have slept much either. As she tends to food, he sees about fresh water for everyone and makes a point to splash some of it in his own face to help get more alert. He lets Tolliver sleep a bit longer as he does his own morning routine, letting the older fellow rest up. It also lets him have some private time with Genny, but that's beside the point.
Or maybe it was the point considering that when he brings water to her he also hisses "He might buy it, but I don't. I saw you. I saw what you did. I'm -never- going to forgive you. My brother wasn't part of any Court. My parents were just animal trainers. None of them deserved what you did to them." Yeah. It's kind of personal for him.
Genny arches an eyebrow as she listens to the hiss. She rolls her shoulders in an easy shrug. "I don't expect anythin' from ya." Everyone has their issues. "If ya want great remorse an' weepin' ya ain't gonna get that either. I don't remember the past. All I can do is create the present I want, so stay the hell out 'f my face, 'r turned leaf 'r na I'll kick yer ass."
Tomas glares at her and his hands flex as she speaks, like he was expecting more and was reacting to that instead of what she actually said. Then his glare turns into a scowl as her real words sink in and he turns his head enough to spit on the ground beside her hoof. "Master Tolliver trusts you. I won't step out of line until you give me reason." And then he steps away from her, backing up to not show his back until out of whip range as best he can judge and only then turning his back and stalking back to his duties.
Quietly, from his bedroll Tolliver says "Try and not let him get to you. He was a child. He doesn't understand what he truly saw and he doesn't listen when someone tries to explain it." His words come without the older man seeming to stir, letting Tomas believe he wasn't seen. "Maybe when he's older." he adds before giving the first overt signs of waking.
"Mmm...doesn't help him that his monster ain't bein' as monsterous as he expected. Leaves him grumpy..." She moves to her feet as he starts to stir, serving up the breakfast she came up with. "I'll be off shortly. Need ta take advantage 'f every stroke 'f sun."
It may not be the best breakfast she's ever made, but their supplies provide for a meal that will fill and stay with folks through hard work, or hard travel. It's better than the leavings she was fed in the previous inn too, even with their poor supply of additions for flavor. "Wise choice, goat." Tolliver agrees as he digs in and Tomas once more takes his as far as he can and still be in the camp. The older man is smiling now, enjoying her ability to make light of his student's mistrust. "Remember all the tales of dark woods as you search. It's not quite so bad as to lose the path if you so much as step off it, but don't go far from the trod without a plan to get back. The forest can be as much your enemy as the Gruach."
Breakfast is enjoyed for all it can be...more so since it makes Tomas all growly. Yeah, Genny's a better person than she is, but she can't help but enjoy the opportunity to make someone squirm. She even does up the dishes proper, so he can't say she left them with a mess. Once finished she rechecks her bags and slings it over her shoulder, securing the whip at her hip. She turns back to Tolliver and Tomas, giving a formal bow. "Thank ya again. Ifn ya ever need help what I can offer I shall do my best ta serve. Hopefully we will meet again." Then she crosses the wards, taking a deep breath and heading down the trod with the speed and grace only a goat has.
Tolliver returns the bow with an easy grace and Tomas mirrors the gesture after a glare from the elder of the pair. "I thank you for that, and I hope someday, you can be truly free of this nightmare." Tolliver tells her as she starts off. Tomas just grunts and spits in her tracks as she sets out.
As before, after only a few turns, the light of the camp is long gone to the twilight of the vine wrapped path. Thank goodness it is a trod or the road would be long eaten by the kudzu like growth. After a bit, long enough to be ready for a brief pause to check her hooves and get a drink, things begin to carry a deja vu sense, like she should remember it but can't. It's not quite like when some old memory threatens to return or like her dreams of those wild days though. It's more of a familiar but not thing, like if the vines were gone, she might see something but with it so covered it's just not right. A few minutes after that she finds the first skull hanging from one of the vines, the plant threaded through the eye sockets to hold it. Troll, from the size and horns.
She pauses at that, tilting her head. Unbidden one hand reaches up, touching the bridge of the skull, just above the nose. She has troll issues, thank you ever so much Eric and Maxim, but this seems a miserable way to go. Or maybe a good way to show off a trophy. Stepping back, she looks over the forest again, trying to place the sense of belonging and finally snorting and pawing the ground before she starts moving again.
The skull hangs as she passes, just dead bone on living vine. Further on, she finds more bones scattered. Some are placed for display, usually skulls, but occasional other bits that seem to have been picked for the impact they might have, for instance a small and cracked pelvis that had to belong to something not old enough to call mature. Or a well gnawed femur, with tooth marks gouging the bone itself. Old smells, trapped by the heavy forest linger near some, rancid oil and burned meat, blood long spilled, offal. Nothing pleasant at all. Then, she passes one tree with gouges in the bark and the vines ripped away. Horn and hoof maybe? If so, the one making the marks was bigger than a troll.
Looking closer in the area would show relatively fresh hoof prints too, leading right into the woods away from the trod. Not many, but between that and a glimpse of white and splintered wood deeper in the dark gloom suggests it would be an easy trail to follow.
Following the easy path is tempting... It's also usually the wrong thing to do in these kinds of stories. Genny frowns, checking the other side of the path and looking for something less...obvious. Finally, she scoops up a stone, the smoothest she can find and craddles it in her hands, whispering stories to it as she Whispers to it, looking for where the Beast or his herd last passed.
Smart goat. As usual. Looking around brings nothing to help at first, but the Whispering does. An answering whisper comes from the stone, telling how it was just kicked aside in answer to her wondering. Of course, with a stone, how long ago was 'just'? Then another stray breeze sneaks through the vines, bringing not just the ruined vegetation but also the smell of dirty goat. Looking into that breeze, there's a flash of movement and a flicker of fur. Not much bigger than she is, but carrying a skull on a pole to mark the trees up impossibly high and thick carved 'hooves' for marking the ground.
The figure is looking back too, past a thick and tangled beard and shaggy hair that's dirty enough to imagine it would be able to grow a vine as well. Then he bolts, dropping the tools and allowing only a glimpse of his body before disappearing into the growth. Still, thanks to the horrors of her life, even that glimpse is enough to let her recognize some marks. Scars and brands on leg and wrist that seem to mirror the nocker's old 'chains'.
Oh dear...oh double dear. Genny blinks twice, flesh itching at the very sight of the scars. Scars she carried once before they were taken from her. She can see what he's doing, but not why and the why and the truth are important. She sets down the stone, using it to mark her way back and zips after the runner. "Return."
It’s one thing to run down someone in the open. It's another to run down another satyr. And an even harder one to do it on the other satyr's home turf. Oddly enough, she has no trouble keeping up though. It's not that he's slow. He's making her run for all she's worth to do it. Oh no. It's that she's turning and twisting just like he is, as if her legs know where to go to let her hooves miss the roots and the holes as easily as his do.
Unfortunately, as Tolliver has told her and as the almost memories might suggest, things have changed and when he goes under a low branch, she almost goes face first into a vine that's dangling as she doesn't go low enough on those instincts. A few steps later, another vine almost trips her and each time the fellow gets further away as she recovers. In the surrounding darkness, gone past twilight and into a cloudy night at best away from the trod, laughter and screams can both be heard, along with a distant voice. "Come Nieve. Come back to me." Thick with rage and madness, the voice tickles her memory as much as the place has. Familiar but lost.
A few more steps and Genny forces herself to stop chasing and to plug her brain back in. She glances up and swears softly, one of those really good chains of swear words that Chago likes. Taking a deep breath, she brushes greenery from her fur and straightens, eyes narrowing. So much for facing them in the day. "Eh...screw it." She begins towards the sound. "Ya want me...come on over so I can kick yer ass an' get back home."
Oh, if only it were that easy. When she challenges, the vines begin to shake and move, pulling back and opening a new path through the woods. "Kick my ass?" comes the voice again as figures begin to show themselves here and there, playing instruments made from bones and tissue that scream with the torment of the ones made into their music even as they produce sweet and almost seductive melodies. Some are satyrs, gone shaggy and wild with the wood and smelling of unwashed musk. Others are from other kiths and other tales, given form by the Dreaming. These others are strange though, wearing fur and fake horns to mimic satyrs as well. They stay in the trees and behind the vines, letting themselves be seen at last, but not be reached easily to become an honor guard of sorts along the new path. "Come to me. I welcome your return, my sweet Nieve." comes the voice from somewhere ahead along the pathway.
She watches the herd for a moment, ears twitching. Absently she rubs behind her ear, adjusting one piercing before straightening. "Sweet..." Genny snorts, brushing her braid back and closing her hand into a fist, feeling the dig of her Trueheart ring. "Now I know ya don't know me very well." She keeps her back straight and one hand resting on the haft of the whip as she walks through the opening. In for a penny in for a shiteload.
As she continues, the path curves and the vines colors begin to change, going pale and still or colorful and moving in unison until the woods suddenly open into a clearing that does hit memories. Hard. The plants and vines look like the stone walls of a fighting pit, with waving banners and people watching from above, using limbs like they were benches about the ring. At the far end, a few vines drip down like the edges of a noble banner and in their joint is the flames of a strange purple fire.
Stepping from this fire, a giant satyr simply appears as if the flames were a doorway. As he moves into the clearing, he mutters "The baron said we have to fight Nieve. I won't hurt you." His tones are tender and almost loving, but edged with madness still as the familiar taunting voice comes from this figure's mouth.
The figure itself is easily taller than a troll, despite being in the form of a satyr. His skin and fur is all black and white, like an old time photograph, but his hands, face and legs have crimson splatters, as if decorated by fresh blood. He also bears the scars of those chains, as well as another mark. Cut into his horns are patterns like those of her horn decorations. And his face... so familiar. So remembered, but twisted with rage and madness. From her old herd. The one she told Chago about.
The figure stands a moment, facing her, then his lips twist slightly and he makes a 'bring it' gesture with one massive hand as his tail flicks. Along the 'audience' a cheer erupts and the vines wave eagerly except for the ones that appear to be stone walls.
He won't hurt her...that's convenient since she fully intends to hurt him. The place and sounds pound at the walls of her mind and she clings onto the here and now with a determined stubbornness. The same stubbornness which won her Chago and saved her from Maxim. She frowns at the mention of the Baron, snarling softly. "No Baron ta give those orders anymore. Stand down an' let it end." Umm...whoever you are. Sometimes it's really nice not to have memories and sometimes it's a total pain in the butt.
Even as she speaks, she shifts her stance to a balanced one, hand resting on the whip. She doesn't expect to get out of here without a fight. Or forty. Somehow she seems to be very outnumbered. Then again, like that's never happened before?
The crowd chants and kicks and plays their eerie music as the almost monochrome figure lunges for her. Promise to not hurt her or no, it looks like he intends to simply trample her underhoof as he charges. Around her the vines settle, still squirming and flickering but less active suddenly and the odd flames he stepped from seem to die down a little as she refuses to break.
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Genny waits him out, letting him charge. She's been training with a redcap for months now. It's not like she's afraid of a little pain, or stupid. She waits until the last second, then gives a quick whistle to give her a boost, jumping up and over him. As she goes over, she slaps the top of his head. Not a hard hit, but like children playing 'tag'. Just to show she could have hit him hard and didn't. She lands lightly, already shifting position incase he whirls around. "now, now...it ain't nice ta step on folk."
Training with a redcap does her a lot of good too. Not just with learning combat either. Also patience and timing and things other redcaps wouldn't even teach her... like using her other senses for more than just an assist to sight.
Hearing. Not everyone would notice with the crowd noise that his hooves are silent as he moves or that the crash of impact with the wall wasn't that of running into vine covered trees. It was more the sound of a carefully muffled drum to mock that noise.
Smell. There's no smoky smell from that fire, even though every other odor seems trapped in the area. Sweat and musk and dead things. No blood. No smoke.
Touch. The beast is solid. It's -there-. It's as real as it looks but... it's not right. That wild and unkempt hair between those massive horns is almost as solid as anything else. There's no texture of hair to it. It's just a springy mass so it can move a bit like hair without actually moving around.
Taste. Okay... there's not really anything to taste yet. Not without the massive taste sense of someone like Chago perhaps. And besides, does she really want to taste anything here?
Still, even vision has more information as the beast squares on her again. His eyes flicker as his hands flex, the same odd color as the flames that are now behind her. The flames that burn on the vines that support them without destroying the plant. It's an important detail she noticed earlier but didn't register until she started processing the rest along with it. Know your fight. Know everything you can. Notice everything.
Genny frowns slightly as she takes everything in, the innate wrongness of a place which isn't what it's advertised to be. Then again...strip club...misdirection and lighting is just as important as sexy women. She cocks her head to the side and snorts, "Con artist. Ya don't even have the stones ta be real. Jus' weavin' an illusion an' pullin' folks inta it. Some rule 'f terror when ya ain't got none." She waits for him, patient, patient... No reason to charge him when it seems she can get him to do the work. All strength and no grace. She flicks her fingers at him, "Well...care ta try again?"
The black and white beast turns to her at her taunting and rakes the ground with his hoof before bellowing a challenge that echoes all around her... or maybe was produced from all around instead of from the beast. Hard to say. It rears back, telegraphing another massive head first charge, looking to gore her with those horns from the looks of things...
Then the beast snorts and the vines to either side of her start to lash and whip, easily three lashes coming from both right and left while the surrounding music gains a deep thrum of heavy drums and the pipes fade to a support for it. Not horror and fear in the music now. Oh no. Now it's pain. The agony of being skinned to make drums while still alive.
Genny scowls, fighting back the combination of anger and almost enjoyment that comes from those sounds. She's a little crazy out here, no matter how she fights it. Better to let some of the crazy live and hold back the dangerous crazy. She looses the whip, snarling under her breath.
Yeah, this is pulling on magic...old, angry magic, lashing out with a guttural chant even as the whip lies curled at the ground. She waits until the last moment to lunge to the side, snaking the whip around like a lasso.
Sometimes instinct is more than enough. Especially when it's fueling old magic. The whip comes up and lashes out, wrapping the giant satyr's legs and ripping them from under the beast so it falls and blocks some of the attacking vines, while she goes the other way and pick up a few small slashs from the vines. Not one of them is all that bad though so it's probably for the best. As the giant satyr struggles to get free of the lash, the vines press the attack.
And finally, the unusual flames begin to leap higher as she gives in a bit to the wildness, even if it's for good reason.
She doesn't hesitate, even as the slashes land. Small rips are nothings compared to what she's faced before, even fairly recently. She makes a fast reverse which her hip doesn't like, but it also manages to stay in joint and under her as she leaps for the Beast. She snarls, howling a battle cry as she tries to adjust her landing to land on him and not in the vines.
And the beast can't avoid the deep rending tears from her hooves as she comes down on him. Not with his legs bound and cut by the edges of her rather nasty whip. His head goes back in a silent howl of agony but the vines and the crowd don't provide a voice this time. The vines continue to lash at her as the music build faster, driving and trying to pul her deeper into her fury fed madness. With her atop the beast, it abandons its struggles with the whip for the moment and grabs for her. Once again, it's all brute force and aggression, leaving himself wide open if she can avoid his meaty grip.
Avoiding meaty grips. Hasn't that been every troll she's ever fought? And there have been a lot of those. Avoiding she does well, stomping one hoof down for leverage and ducking the grip. More words tumble from her lips as she lunges to get an arm around the Beast's throat. No matter how big you are, you have to breathe.
Most people would think a chant with lines like 'fight till you're no longer sane' would be a bad thing in a battle like this one, where holding onto who she is can be more of a challenge than the fight itself. But... well... sometimes powerful music and the right words can mean more than someone realizes and she is stirring old magic. Thankfully it's the line before that seems to be the trigger this time. 'Close your mind to stress and pain'.
She dodges the grasping hands easily and the gnashing teeth to get her grip and rolls with it like an MMA pro, looping the beast with legs as well as arms to trap his mass over her a bit. Yeah, not comfy but it makes him a living shield. Between the protection from the lashing vines and the help from an unexpected portion of the chant, she gets a moment for a few things to connect. The teeth. Biting. Rending. Rending to go back to. Yeah, an odd train of though, but sometimes they do happen. Her shield against her madness is strengthened by that memory and it gives her time for other, far older memories to stir a bit. Monsters of the dreaming that feed on dark things and can make chimera to help feed the emotions they thrive on. Nervosa. If it was in the vines... then the satyr would be just a chimera. It's a powerful one to take so much damage so it has to be fueled by something though.
Unfortunately, a choke isn't doing a lot to the beast. She can't feel it even trying to breathe. On the plus side, the flames are guttering a bit once more with her better grip on herself and the vines aren't finding a way to hurt her. Maybe the choke is helping in some ways. Just not the ones she expected.
She digs her fingers into the Beast, clinging to his back like a burr even if she's kinda being squished. Her lips move close to his ear. "Ya wanted me back...well, here I am. Ya came from me, fed off me." She digs hooves into it's back, and twists, snugging her arms higher under its chin. "I claim my passion, I claim my rage, I claim my hunger... I claim you and I destroy it all." Genny pours force into the ground below them and the air around them, using her earthmoving talents to rend and tear the rage left behind.
And that works quite well, between the power of her song and her fierce will, things really begin to happen. First, there's a snap and rip from the beast she's rending and the chimera satyr rips apart. As might be expected, there's no blood spray or gory bits falling from it. Instead the parts begin to crumble and flake and scatter on swirling winds only the dead beast is touched by.
But that's okay. There's plenty more touching the vines. Between her reclaiming her madness and her rage and the lashing out with magic, vines start bursting like overripe fruit and here there's more than enough blood to make up for the lack from the beast. Other vines go wild, even the ones that were being walls, revealing the trees below as they lash and flail at anything, mostly striking the crazed musicians rather than her.
From the thickest bundle of vines a new creature slips out, spindly and gangly and utterly wrong to look at and it darts toward the guttering fire as the vines holding it begin to writhe as well. The fire itself is much smaller and flickering colors from the quite wrong flames that rested so easily in the vines to the warmth and brightness of a small balefire that chars the vines each time it appears.
Genny catches her breath, or at least would except there's just no time. The creature and the bale are both spotted at the same time and she throws herself to her feet, skidding across vines, blood and anything in her way to keep the creature from the bale heart. "I don't think so!" It's an all out tackle...Chago would love it.
Slowly, without the nervosa inhabiting the vines, the plant stops flailing. Too much damage both from what she did to it and how the nervosa made it grow to be the threat it was for the plant to survive long without some outside force driving it. The same applies to much of the crowd watching and playing music. Many were killed by the flailing vines when they went wild, others died from the loss of the monster's support, falling into whithered husks, and a few ran when they were free, still lost in madness but no longer guided by another force. Of course, there's a few that still sit and play, no matter what happened to them but without the constant flow of twisted glamour the perverted bale was providing the music is just what it should be, poor and disjointed and played on crappy instruments. When there's time to examine the bodies left, they all have bits of that same vine growing on and maybe in them to draw power back from their madness and keep the bale fed and twisted. It was a good system until the nervosa was forced to leave i's vines.
However, before she can take note of all of that, there's the matter directly in front of her. The creature. The nervosa. As she shouts and charges, it turns and twists, avoiding the worst of the contact, but not quite all so they both go to the ground. As they're touching, the monster lashes out with power instead of with physical might, and judging by how it felt, it may not have a lot of physical might to bring to bear. Unfortunately, it has a lot of power. It burns briefly with the energies it releases, shining the same colors as the perverted bale flames before lashing out at her with madness, trying to break her mind with the insanity it lives for.
Genny screams through the pain and madness...well...half scream and half war cry, they kinda become one and the same at some point. She slams a fist into it, using the physical impact to help ground her. Something shakes free deep inside of her mind, but she wraps mental chains around it. "No way...Na gonna do that...again..." With each word she strikes again. All the rage and claimed madness in each blow. "I am my own person. Go ta hell..."
It tries, but there's only so much the nervosa can do. It lives for madness not confrontation. Trapped and battered, it's soon beaten to mush, especially when one considers who's Genny's main sparring partner. The assault is relatively quick and quite brutal and very, very final.
With the death of the nervosa, the vines finally go limp and the corrupted balefire settles into a weak but pure flame... a flame already beginning to gutter slowly and die down without a properly glamour based fuel source until instilled in a true home for it.
Oh yes...Genny is happy...and really tired. It takes a lot of sheer emotion and physical energy for this kind of stuff. On top of long travels on the trod. The glint of the bale catches her attention and she creeps over to it. "nono...don't die out. I got need fer ya." She pulls the bag off her shoulders, dumping the contents out, then dips her fingers into the blood she's covered with, writing glamor right into the hide bag. The runes and the message come from a deep instinctive place. She can’t tell from where, or even what she’s writing, but she knows what it will do. Next, she crumbles the treats Chago made for her into the container. She looks at where the bale is burning and takes a deep breath before plunging her hands under it and scooping it into the open bag. Sticking your hands into any kind of fire is a freaking bad idea, but sometimes...well...necessity and all.
A balefire isn't just any fire though. The heat of it runs up her arms as she lifts it and burns into her head, sealing the cuts along her arms, torso and head. She's not healed much but she's not openly bleeding except for any marks on her legs, but the fur will help slow that, plus it kept them from being bad.
Once the fire is in the bag, the treats are quickly consumed and the fire stablizes at a small but steady burn that rests easily in the bag she prepared for it.
Around her, the vines and the dead continue to wither slowly, It may take a month or more, but the vines are dying off and dawn is creeping into the forest again. Dawn? Yeah. Either things took longer than she thought or time is still a bit wonky.
Wonky time...that's not a huge surprise considering everything. She'd not be surprised if she lost a couple of days in there. Everything takes longer than you think it might once you're off the trod. She cradles the bag of fire in her lap for a moment, sucking up the heat before pushing to her feet. The healing helps pain and clarity, though she's still weary. It takes a moment's thought before she begins to move, stopping every few feet and sniffing. Even nervosa pushed, the herd would have needed water...somewhere.
Water isn't that hard to find either, with the vines dying off to let more light in and more air move. The hard part is getting the dead stuff out of the way to be able to get to it. Probably not a good choice to drink, but at least it'll help her get the gore off her fur and skin. Then it's time to head back. Finding the trod again takes most of the day and the bale continues to burn happily in the bag. It's much smaller than the one they had access to back in Canada, but it's more than they've been able to count on for a very long time.
It's well into the night, assuming she presses on, before she finds Tolliver's camp once again, surrounded by much deader vines. Looks like his charms are speeding the process of withering in the area. It also looks like Tomas and Tolliver are well asleep.
Genny looks over the two, nodding a bit. At least there's some good to be shown from all this. So much destruction just isn't right, not even for her...at least not the current her. She curls up near one of his poles, not crossing the wards so she doesn't startle him. Instead, she feeds the bale a little more of the food and her own magic, trying to space it out so she can make it home, and leans back closing her eyes. Just a little sleep...