The nymph moved like water, like a leaf, like the elegant, entangled elements, all bright, incandescent facets and vestiges, and combined into one motion. She left behind the pieces of her melancholy, she stoked the finer edges of her magnificence, and she clambered for the portions of her soul that still held those firm, beautiful resolutions and promises. In her days away from home she’d seen and witnessed the crowning of two new Kings, she’d heard the backdrop of war from her abductor’s home, and she’d pulsed with chaotic whirls of ineptitude: and held no notion of spiraling back into its sanction in the near future. Instead of falling, of flickering, of withering, she ricocheted, she echoed, she sang for the spirits, for the laurels, for all the sylphs and angels nestled in her care, she closed her eyes and thought of soothing, assuaging presences, of the earth blossoming without blood beneath its stems, without fire scorching its horizon. The fairy thought of a realm without hardship, without pain, without refugees and scarred children, and descended into the frozen valley that had hardened her, that had polished her, that had made her prosper from the forgotten ghosts of cliff tops and ocean views. Here, amidst the pines, the firs, the summits, the peaks, she held purpose, she held worth, could wash away battle-weary faces and restore, mend, blistered brutes and bludgeoned barbarians (or was it selfish to think of herself in this way; needed, necessary, a contributing figure?). Here, she was not just a shadow, not just a silhouette, not just a figure lost in the crowd; and she had to find a way to ensure others like herself were not the neglected, discarded cretins flickering and hovering about the horizon. They were more, much more, than the realms and sovereigns gave them credit for, like a priceless, incandescent gift, granted and anointed and consecrated into life-giving aspirations, and if the world dared to look away from their potency, if the empires never gleamed them dignity, the Songbird would take it upon herself to stitch the rift. No more fading whims, no more dimming lights, no more vanishing, disappearing acts – all of them were strong, enduring, and capable.

So she called for them, the wise, the powerful, the young and the old, reaching and extending her maw, her presence, her essence, rupturing the chilling Orangemoon winds with delicate, cordial traces, whispering fortitude over the ramparts, chiseling tranquility in the cherished, graceful filaments, regarding each and every mending individual like one of her own. They were brethren, they were kin, they were family and friends - from the cold, aloof Doctor, to the newcomers, bright and wide-eyed and ready to revive the broken slivers and splinters of the discordant kingdoms. Imogen sparked a trail of embers behind her, like beautiful, enticing invitations, not blazing, not infernal, but welcoming, embracing, attempting to tie together the strings of their bountiful sovereignty: the realm deserved their regard, their growth, and their vigilance. She yearned to see their capabilities, their curiosities, their minds opened and chimed to a world of possibilities, to hear their stories, to answer their questions, to encompass and embody the nurtured abyss. Beneath the noon-sun, with its cool embrace and eager veneer, she composed and unraveled a song for all of them, a siren near the un-freezing lake, a beacon, an opus, a symphony, layered and lacquered for the Basin.

[Healers’ meeting for @[d'Artagnan] @[Renegade] @[Tilney] @[Varath]

Also tagged @[Adelric] because I know he's interested in healing, but not required to come if you don't have time or interest.

Set around noon by the lake. ;D There will be herb lessons, cupcakes, etc.]

They played the waiting game, sauntering and enjoying the rippling water, composed, hopeful, begging for faces to be drawn from the borders, from the boundaries, from the caverns and pine groves. She’d attempted to start and regale a crowd before, offering her bounties, her wares, her knowledge, to no avail – perhaps her call had gone unheard, unnoticed, or simply ignored. The notion pressing against her skull, that perhaps it could happen all over again, was an irritating, vexing one, and she continued holding out hope and lifelines amidst the grandeur, the splendor, of their vast land. Mere snippets later her heart lifted at the sight of the Doctor and his companion, and she trumpeted a sweet hallelujah, a grateful hello, to her fellow Mender, to one of the masses long devout to their cause, to their kingdom (even if it was more listed under poisons and deceits, even if it heralded curses instead of fortunes). The nymph and her bonded hastened quick bobs of their heads, Imogen bestowing a chirp towards Aramis (and the carcass he’d brought, for a meal or something else?), flicking her ears and rounding her lips into a cordial, curled smile. Prepared for gruff, brief greetings, simplistic but cordial, her features faltered and crumbled in surprise as he extended his queries towards sorrows and well-wishes; her face turned in his direction, stunned and eyes widened, then gaze lingering down towards the ground, along the patches of freshly fallen snow, on the puffs of coiled air her breath hastened (because how many knew she’d been captured, ho many knew she’d been weak and stupid and careless?). The fairy composed herself thereafter, composed a brilliant smile upon her face, fought tooth and nail for the dainty mask she frequently wore, vocals bright, spirited, brewing past convictions in hope of channeling them all over again. “I’m well – though I’m sorry for it too. It was very foolish on my part.” Her head tilted a fraction, stare resolutely wandering over his frame, over his face, along all the stories, all the mythos they’d never shared, spilled, or spun. “How are you?”

But then others came, and any trepidation she’d courted twirled off into another corridor as she set her sights upon extending her welcoming (for she didn’t know them, and that was unsuitable), her wishes, her dreams and aspirations for a world she’d cherished. “Hello! I’m so glad you could make it.” Her eyes swam from the beautiful chestnut with gilded trinkets, to the silver bay embodiment of Arah, antlered and all. The grin she’d painted renewed its sense of spirit, provided to both newcomers with absolute earnest. “I’m Lena. Who are you?” She yearned to know them all, to band them together on the course of learning, of mending, of healing, of assuaging the soldiers, the warriors, the citizens of their home, of a kingdom destined for further glory, for further triumph; and they could provide a piece, a sliver, a sanctuary for the weary and forlorn. The sylph strung together her beloved song, a practiced virtue, lilted into a harmonious aria, navigating the potential routes they had in store. “Thank you for coming. I was hoping we could all discuss plans for our healer ranks.” Her gaze, steady, amiable, and luminescent, lingered upon each. “Though we mainly heal by the Time God’s magic, there are still ample ways of soothing our herd. Herbs, for instance, can be very beneficial. If any of you are willing to explore, we may be able to discover some new vegetation.” She paused, ruminating for a moment or two on which plants to seek, which were dangerous, which were toxic or helpful. “We already have ideas for a future greenhouse and herb garden. Once we find some herbs, we could store them in a cave until the garden is ready.” Lena’s mind was a whirl, a blur, of possibilities, stretching into vast regions of potential and prowess; because they could be just as great as the scholars, as the phantoms, as the mercenaries – they merely needed a spark, a flare, an ember to get them started. “Is there anything you wish to learn? Any knowledge you seek?” What could assist them more? What would be the most guiding or supportive? Eager, willing, ardent, and determined, the dove wove her sentiments, her raptures, her reveries, into the void and yearned for all of them to grasp, clench, and hold onto them firmly, to journey and venture into their leagues, into their fathoms, into their depths, for their cravings and desires. What did they want?

[Professional timeline murderer. ;D]

They were like a brilliant, beautiful mooring; security and anchors for the future, fledglings for the ice and snow. Had she been able to properly convey her gratitude, her sentiments, for the creatures before her, she would have likely prostrated at their feet, delighted at their existence, at their aptitude, at their willingness to walk the same lines and pathways as she, embark and heal and nurture the melancholies, the woes, of the inevitable. Her heart stoked beats and harmonies of absolute rhapsody, of generosity she hadn’t seen or felt in some time, and she fought against the urge to wrap them all in a warm embrace, to promise them endless bounties of joy and ebullience; instead, she chose to cherish them with her constant, overflowing essence of beneficence and compassion, leaning into the furtive fold of healers and menders, of the divine, of the virtuous, of those who gave everything and expected nothing in return. “A pleasure, Enna!” Her bright chirp cast into frozen spheres and bobbed like a blessing; courting, inviting, tempting in its beholden graces, ears flicking back and forth as each lady in turn gave over their thoughts, their wishes. The Songbird aspired to grant them anything they yearned for or craved, eager and fervent to give into the rites and rituals of their ranks, to collect information, wisdom, and sagacity for the impending whims of their fellow comrades, and her brow furrowed for a few snippets at Enna’s query, for it was a line of mystery she’d yet to cross. Her eyes sparked towards an open area near the hot springs, and though currently covered in snow, it was wide and vast, situated and tucked between caverns and eaves; perhaps with enough protection to withstand the might, squall, and subterfuge of the Basin’s terrain. While the task may have seemed daunting, Lena was far from losing her hope and spirit over the project, unrelenting and goaded by pure boldness and fortitude, melding her lips together in a touch of serene, tranquil thoughts, before gliding her eyes back towards the silver femme. “For the most part, we’ll require glass. I’m hoping at Frostfall’s end we may journey to the World’s Edge, where they have crafters capable of making such materials. Perhaps we could negotiate a trade between our herds for what we need.” After all, they’d been allied, they’d been forged amidst a recent war, and some, she’d noted at her latest stay amidst the cliffs and the sea, had stayed and strayed, familiar and whole (her thoughts blistered to Mauja, to Kahlua, to a world of friends and companions just over the horizon). Her eyes flicked back to each again, wholesome and genuine. “And if not, we’ll come up with an alternative plan.” She winked thereafter, then paced against the snow, digging along a dip of ice and rime below her feet, grinning in impish delight. “For now, maybe you’d indulge me in some exploring? There must be some herbs evading winter’s touch.” The smile blossomed and bloomed into a smirk, beguiling and entrancing. “We just have to find them!”


[@[Renegade] @[Enna]
I can make a new thread in an open land somewhere and we can gather some herbs? ;D]