Severingblade:

severingblade‌:

⋰ C O B A L T  ⋱ ☆ ⋰ S T A R ⋱

Once presented with the clipboard, Novus leans forward off his arms, beginning to tug at portions of his mail. The spaces between the links are stretched to capacity and no longer useful, so he begins the process of removing it. The moment he is done reading, it is swept overhead and allowed to fall to the floor in a jingling heap. The process reveals the regrowth plates beneath, strapped elaborately to his person. If Cornelia has an eye for p r a c t i c a l i t y in regards to equipment, she will realize that these plates are astonishingly thin. It is what makes them a viable alternative to b u l k y equipment. They provide a light defense without activation but can rise to the occasion during an emergency.

In the end, he responds with a labored nod, the mere mention of rest bringing about a palpable measure of f a t i g u e washing over him. Conversely, the gesture of holding both her hands out to help him onto his feet fills him with the strength to stand and return home. Connects his grips to hers and feels the counterweight doing most of the work to lift him. Even finds the energy to pat the dust off his rear once he is at a stand.

﮴ If we don’t look, we will not find, ﮴ he repeats. With both acknowledgment of the point and f i n a l i t y. ﮴ Fortunately, we now have the time to do so with no rush. ﮴

A thought crosses his mind. More a memory. Goes back to the first expedition he undertook with Cornelia and he suddenly finds great comfort in the knowledge that the f u l g u r i t e still awaits. An image of the lamp he intends to craft with the material appears in his mind’s eye. Makes him eager to return to his home. A hand rises absentmindedly to settle over his rib cage and apply pressure when its motion is interrupted by something he has forgotten. The helmet. It still hangs there.

Remembrance gives him pause. Causes his eyes to soften pensively. Its presence there is supposed to be motivational. Infuriating. As c a t a l y s t to regrowth plates, providing l i f e to something that is predisposed to dying. It eventually does anger him. A sneer appears on his countenance but it is difficult to decipher the reason. Contextual information might lead one to believe he simply finds it cumbersome.

Yanks it off with a snap. There is almost something d i s p a r a g i n g about the notion. He even appears to consider tossing it when his eyes catch Cornelia’s gaze again. Everything becomes clear in that moment. Tilts it upright and places it upon her head. Pushes down so that her eyes align with the visor.

﮴ The regrowth plates in that helmet are small. Take it apart. Get rid of the spikes and lather them with catalyst. Sprinkle godbug powders upon it. If you’re lucky, they will come to life again. There is a reason they are known as e t e r n a l regrowth plates. ﮴

Figures the young scholar will have a field day playing around with the things. Never mind that there is speculation of Nergigante spawning asexually through the spikes that it leaves behind. What are the chances that one day she will step out into her living room and encounter a baby elder dragon anyway?

With a smile, he turns his attention back to the caves. Identifies which one will take them back home and begins to walk after motioning her to follow. Leaves a broken switch axe in his wake. ( Until Cornelia forces him to pick it up and dispose of it properly. ) 

Two days later.

Novus lies quietly on a hammock in his workshop in Astera, wearing casual leathers and a soft tunic. In the near distance, pacing the boardwalks, members of the commission visibly continue their work. Next to him lies a ceramic bowl full of green grapes. Weaved throughout the bundle of snacks are snow herbs that come just short of freezing them. Turns them into a mound of cold treats with moisture spreading an enticing g l e a m across their smooth surfaces.

Periodically plucks one from the bowl and deposits it in his mouth. With each bite, there is a satisfying c r u n c h. Feels a cold and sweet s p l a s h of flavor spreading across his palette. Meanwhile, his lamp sits nearby upon a wooden surface. Three fulgurite pillars stand in the shape of a triangle while a bed of beryl minerals beneath them shine brightly, powered by lit fire herbs. A resplendent c o b a l t glow flows through the glass. In the dark, its shine is nothing short of divine.

Sitting there in tranquility, he wonders if Cornelia has completed her project yet. Remembers he made it clear that she is welcome to use his shop.

With a grunt and gritted teeth, Cornelia gives her very best shot at helping the heavy hunter to his feet, pulling hard despite the weariness that’s starting to knot her shoulders. She is worn, but the prospect of home drawing close gives her strenght, and she stumbles back, almost falling on her own rear from the energy she puts in helping Novus to his feet. She rights herself after a brief amount of swaying unsteadily, arms flailing.

She feels thankful that he does not truly wear heavy armor, for a time, lest she truly crumple on her rump. The carefully folded regrowth plates on his chest are thinner than expected. Not conventionnal armor by any stretch, and they ruin mostly anything that would stand in their way to add protection. Nonetheless, the discarded chain mail, quite in the sad shape, is picked up by the cautious apprentice. She writes not, only clicks her tongue in disapproval.

She trots to his side, hoping that they’ll be able to reach for the exit soon. She watches as he reaches to hold his chest, seemingly to collect himself, nurse a stubborn ache, and she lets him, but his hand bumps into his helmet. She pays it no mind, staring out to the end of the cavern, trying to think of the way back, and grimacing to herself as she realizes, it might be a bit of a trek. A sharp snap drags her attention back to the hunter, his helmet now firmly in his hand. There’s irritation on his face, and she half-expects him to fling the aggravating object across the cave like a bowling ball.

But, instead, he looks back to her. Cornelia shoots him a light look of displeasure, one not meant to scold, moreso request that he does not part with the precious item. He does, because of course he does. But not in the way she expects. Moments later, the heavy item is wedged onto her cranium, its large edges weighing on her shoulders, and the surprise pulls a surprised squeak out of her. It’s heavy, thick with plating, and it has a... smell. And is, much to her chagrin, a little damp.

Yuck.

She makes a small uneasy sound, shoulders hiking up at the uncomfortable sensation. Through the visor of the helmet, she stares back incredulously at Novus as he announces she can part with the item. Just like that. Scales of a beast that can kill a hunter twenty times over, just given away. Not like she can wear it, the blasted thing is far too large and jingles about her head, sloping forward with its own weight. And it does, flopping forth with a light thump, forcing her to reach up and right it. Still, many thoughts pass her mind, and she nods at his instructions, causing the vexingly large helmet to slide forward once more with a small fwhump. A light groan. Then yet another try at righting it up.

That’s not exactly a gift of extreme generosity. At least she figures it isn’t in Novus’ head. That’s a gift of someone who really did not like that helmet and found a good way to get rid of it while also making the best out of it. The intention behind the helmet being gifted is generous, but, not out of the price of the helmet itself. That he would just throw it away still brings a strange wince to Cornelia’s face. Novus is a strange one indeed.

...It’s a big helmet. She can hardly imagine it ever becoming comfortable. Big shoes to fill, indeed. She plods forth after being requested to follow him, with it still on her head though, preferring to leave her hands free to carry her things.

...And hounding him before he leaves so he does not forget his weapon. Of course.

Two days later

Cornelia groaned, staring at her essay page with a dull, uninterested glare. The sheet of paper is white, pristine, yet vexingly empty. Though she’d made sure to signal the location of her departure, her lenghty, mysterious leave from Astera had not gone unnoticed. And neither had the fact she’d walked back into town with a hunter gone for several days, refusing to tell of the why and hows associated with her journey.

The scholars had creative manners of constructing punishment for unruly demeanors, to say the least. To write a detailed essay on the regrowth plates she’d cannibalized off of Novus’ helmet. That had become her punishment. The apprentice looked up to her large wooden desk, covered in clutter from her project, bathed in sunlight from the large, square window showing the tradeyard.

The deconstructed remains of said helmet were strewn about the wooden surface, bolts and pins and strips of leather, and chipped thorns that had been painstakingly clipped off of it, along with the famous regrowth plates. On a corner of the desk, bathed in sunlight, stood shallow clay dishes filled with diluted catalyst, surrounded by vials and closed pots containing various powders. A mortar and pestle, filled with the crushed juices of a handful of godbugs, completed the set. She’d be able to start the project very soon.

Her eyes drifted idly to the transparent fulgurite chunk, shimmering with sunlight, allowing it to filter through. The sight pulled a sigh from her. She’d still not been sure what to make of the blasted item, but it did make for a nice desk decoration. Too brittle for a chime, maybe a waste as a flower pot...

Perhaps she could come see what Novus made of his. It’d at least help with the inspiration.

severingblade‌:

⋰ C O B A L T  ⋱ ☆ ⋰ S T A R ⋱

Now that she places her gaze on Novus, that very same rippling effect that she can see rattling the walls and the crystals now affects his face. It is something that takes some time to become accustomed to. It is easy to feel disoriented here. To mistake the oscillation for dizziness. But Cornelia is quite something. Her wrath is p a l p a b l e. A driving force. Allows her to b a r r e l through like an unflappable tigrex.

Novus is immediately concerned when he sees that. Becomes pensive and quickly understands what her angle likely is. But before he can see what comes next, something in his periphery m o v e s. Not shake, but moves. Turning his attention towards that, he sees t h e m. The First Wyverians. Several of them are converging upon them.

B O N K יִיִ

His head whips back and eyes SHOOT WIDE. Yanks his gaze back to the little one, the one he should be paying more caution towards than the ruiner it appears. Suddenly nothing else beyond Cornelia’s fury matters. And all of the following motions she makes of retrieving the clipboard are met with flinches on his part. A tilt of his body to the left and a hand is held up between them. Then a tilt of his head in the other direction follows, gaze following her pencil the way it might follow the bladed tail of a glavenus.

The first part of the message she scribbles ( he sees the anger in her penmanship as well ) is to be expected. But when it tells of entrusting her with the task of helping him, his hands raise and a fervent shake of his head ensues.

﮴ Cornelia, I did not make preparations expecting you to come find me. I made c o n t i n g e n c i e s in case you were equally as independent. In case you decided to resolve the issue of a kept secret without the help of others. Which you did. ﮴

By then, they are surrounded by seven First Wyverians, each of which now perch themselves either on equal ground or on elevated platforms. However, they watch quietly. Intently.

﮴ And I did not place you before nergigante. I placed you in charge of luring an elderly uragaan into a tunnel that narrows along its length. You speak as if you have only yesterday begun trudging on all fours, not even a y e a r l i n g yet. You look spry enough to make sport of a nargacuga. ﮴

Novus’ rebuttal was met with a stern glare, but her anger seems to vane somewhat as his arguments reach irritated, but still compliant enough ears to listen. And though his logic honestly frightened her - she never would’ve seen one of her guardians so much as think of letting her within a hundred yars from an elder dragon, she found there was some shared understanding to it. He believed her to be capable of finding him, and of aiding him in whatever endeavor he’d designed, and she’d proved him right.

To, well, no small amount of internal pride on her part. She allowed him to finish his rhetoric before considering it in silence for a small time. She reached for the clipboard, flipping the page and writing - the hand motions still sharp and angular, but somewhat calmer as she turned the paper back for him to see.

This is still very much inappropriate, by most standards I’ve been confronted with. The danger was very much there, and my gear and experience sorely lacking. As for my coming to help you, I doubt the comission would have managed to cobble together a proper search party before at least half a day. When I supposed you’d perhaps ran into trouble in your endeavor, I chose to take the faster, safer route of making my way to you myself. It was not exactly safe enough, but it did prevent you from getting ground to paste between the thorns of a Ruiner and that of a Crystalbeard. I doubt you’d have appreciated help coming a moment later.

And, I maintain that you should not worry your handler to the point of her losing her appetite. It was rather saddening to watch.

She lowered the clipboard, considering the conversation to be somewhat over, for the moment, until she caught a glimpse of colorful cloth from the corner of her vision. The young apprentice practically leaped out of her skin, sharply turning to face the elder wyvernians that had taken the opportunity to scuttle close, perched here and there, observing, watching.

Probably thinking of what a strange sight this had to have been. She relaxed somewhat, but still sharply observed them, waiting for them to dole out some of their strange, indirect wisdom, or perhaps just scatter without a word. It was difficult to tell what went on in their minds, and if that was even possible, they were even quieter than her. And poor in the detail-giving department.

I still have no idea what they summoned you for, but I’d like to know.

severingblade‌:

⋰ C O B A L T  ⋱ ☆ ⋰ S T A R ⋱

For the most part, Novus has a positive view of the Ancient Forest. It and the W i l d s p i r e are the most h o n e s t of the biomes. The ecologies are straight forward. And the mysteries that they do have are worldly. Like the patches of d e n s e forestry so thick with life it is speculated that completely n o c t u r n a l Wyverns have come to exist there.

The beaches are beautiful. Clear cerulean waters wash up on the shores, where tiny crabs with dark shells and expressionless b e a d y eyes occasionally forage for food. The wyverns are simple and f a m i l i a r. Important to their habitat in clear and concise ways that are well documented and obvious.

Never any real t r o u b l e. At least nothing c a l a m i t o u s.

Novus walks along the beach barefoot. The feeling of sand between the toes is pleasant. And in his hands, he carries remnant of the meal from earlier. The frothy hot chocolate is halfway through and a cream cheese filled loaf of bread shaped like the New World as a result of selective bites ( he likes to sample the crispy edges in between wholesome chomps  ) still survives. Although not for long.

The feeling of sea water washing up on his ankles is welcome. It cools him. Even though it is not particularly a hot day, the hot drink has raised his body temperature. Not that he regrets it. The captain of the Argosy really came through this time. The reddish brown chocolate smells t o a s t y. It is so rich that the consistency approaches being s y r u p y but falls just shy of it, so as to not overwhelm. And when combined with the cream cheese in the loaf of bread?

E p i p h a n i c יִיִ

A taste to remember.

Already on their way along, p r o s p e c t s are not very promising. When these thunderstorms ravage the shorelines directly, c l u e s as to the proper cultivation of fulgurite are found along the way. Not today. In the distance, the lightning fulcrum is unmistakable. And long before they come near it, they can see that the volcanic minerals attached to it and arranged in puddles underneath it remain loose. Still, Novus continues. Even if just to see the s e a r i n g pathway left behind by Zorah Magdaros when it made l a n d f a l l in this very stretch.

The h e a t still emanates freely from melted sand and rock. Trees here caught fire. Burned swaths of forestry mark the path it took on its way there. And the volcanic smells gives Novus D e j a   V u. Memories must be coalescing, he figures. Clashing with dreams maybe.

Glances towards Cornelia after he gathers his thoughts.

﮴ Were you able to see Zorah from Astera when the Fifth arrived? Still can’t believe something like that ever came to exist. ﮴

Gives pause.

﮴ Then again, we’ve seen a few unbelievable things out here. ﮴

To be fair, it was somewhat hard to get a breath of fresh air anywhere near Astera that wasn’t accompanied by iode, marine salt and a faint note of beached algae. Even within the forest itself, the smell was always somewhat present, unless you were far enough in the undergrowth for the smell of decaying leaves and dirt to replace it.

So, Cornelia had to get used to liking the ocean’s presence.

Not that this was a struggle, mind you. She quite adored the sensation of the white sand creaking under her boot heels, the sight of the clear waters ebbing and flowing... The sight of a little pink crab snipping its pincers at her. She stopped briefly, crouching over the little crustacean, watching as it stood defiantly on its prickly legs, gently reaching to prod at his back, finger curled away from the pinchy appendages it reared at her. After a few pokes, the little creature scuttled back into the clear waters of the sea, and she watched it go with an amused smile.

Anything to keep her mind out of mild discontentment of being made an absolute fool by her stomach, and its continued silent protests at the smell of hot chocolate. She hopped back onto her feet, jogging back to Novus’ side, huffing at the light struggle of having to dig her heels in the sand, each hurried leap kicking a plume of white sand.

The tall lightning rods do not show signs of having been struck by the skies’ wrath. There’s a little part of her that feels relief, because she has yet to know what to do with the squiggly little crystals. But, most of her still feels somewhat disappointed. Even if honestly, the trip is pleasant. The skies are blue, the beach is clean, and there is little to complain about. As they move, however, they come across a peculiar sight.

The gigantic trench, blackened and smoking still, of a great mountain-beast’s path, carved into the coastline like a scar of molten glass and stone, surrounded by the splintered remains of burned out vegatation. Even after Zorah magdaros’ passing, a long time ago, the area still steamed, probably from the jostled everstream. Cornelia’s nose wrinkled after an inhale that was too sharp and stung her sinuses, it still smelled like brimstone and volcanic ash.

Cornelia turns to Novus as she hears his voice, then back at the molten scar, eyes growing unfocused as a light fog washes over her mind, recollections bouncing forth. She nods quietly as she remembers the sound that first shook Astera, like the sound of rolling thunder in a clear, sunny day. She’d rushed at her window, and she’d seen a walking, steaming mountain, lumbering out of the ocean with a slow, but purposeful gait, spewing forth globs of molten rock and black soot. A walking forge, a force of nature, unstoppable, that made landfall heaving and tearing a path of destruction, leaving scorched earth in its wake.

She snapped out of her thoughts with a sharp shudder, shaking her head, before looking up at Novus, curiosity taking hold. The heart of the world was about as crazy as the existence of a walking volcano, all things considered. But, she did wonder...

A light tap on his arm with an extended finger served to catch his attention that she has something to say, and her trusty notepad is turned to the hunter.

You’re from the fifth fleet, aren’t you? You lived on the continent, at least for a time. Was there anything like that you saw there?

What monster does our littlest blue star resemble the most?

A very good question to ask indeed, though one that’s not quite that easily answered.

Okay, actually, when you put together several things concerning her, it’s kind of easy to draw a conclusion just because of the obvious factor.

- Flexible vocal chords, can easily make weird noises and mimic monsters

- Loud and very colorful in terms of personnality

- Likes fish

- Doesn’t like sitting still

I’d say a Qurupeco would be the right choice to describe the little blue star, although I’d have to go with the Crimson variant, because of the color going better with Cornelia’s hair, and, generally...

Because Cornelia WOULD lure a goddamn’ angry pickle somewhere if she absolutely had to.

severingblade‌:

⋰ C O B A L T  ⋱ ☆ ⋰ S T A R ⋱

Novus sees a violent gust of wind s m a s h into the floor. It pushes loose debris out in every direction. The remainder of it g u s h e s against his legs. But the moment he sees it, his eyes angle sharply skyward. As if he anticipates what comes next. And he is right. The downward gales signify an upwards motion. When Nergigante’s claw comes slamming down on him from above, he steps out of the trajectory. Can feel the weight and strength of the monstrous elder dragon s h a k i n g his foundation. But he doesn’t stop there.

Another step to his right puts him to the Ruiner’s left just as the spikes on its right arm explode outward. Can hear the i r o n   s p l I n t e r s howling as they shoot past. It is at that moment that the switch axe moves. It swings. Rotates around his body once but does not clash with hide. The uninterrupted momentum allows it to gather force. Swings around like a planet orbiting around its wielder.

Then in the next revolution, Novus leans in. A forceful grunt bellows out though it is nearly obscured by the rumbling dirt and rock. Pushes the momentum forth h a r d e r. It is as if he intends to cleave sever a tree at the base. And what results is another e x p l o s i o n of spikes. Metal splinters fly in every direction. Novus feels his weapon crack. But Nergigante recoils in exchange. Then he is s w e p t away by something painful and destructive. A bare arm. Without the dangerous metallic protrusions.

The spikes protecting Novus’ torso shatter in an instant. Not because they are insufficient but because it is in their design to do so. The delineations found in a Nergigante’s spikes are not a mindless track of evolution. They are purposeful imperfections that d i f f u s e impact. The reason the elder dragon does not injure itself with its dive bombs and savage physical attacks. With Novus, it protects his chest. Helps his rib cage sustain the force. And when he crashes into a wall, it stops his spine s n a p p i n g. Allows him to roll to the side and push into a sprint, remnants of his switch axe still in hand.

Fortunately, it does not confront him further. The Ruiner shoots by him. S l a m s into one of the tunnels and displaces crystalline shards. The rage that fuels it becomes worse as it anticipates the loss of a rich meal. For a moment, it looks as if the Uragaan’s crystal cobweb will not be enough to keep it at bay. Until the Ruiner reels back like a hunter assaulted by vines in a dense forest. With a roar, it rips free and drags itself across the floor. Novus dives narrowly out of the trajectory and turns to peer up into its condemning gaze.

The moment their eyes meet, something c h a n g e s. After a lifetime of opposing instincts fueling his actions, Novus lets the tension in his arms drip away. Lets his legs become loose. Shoulders rest. And his expression is far from a snarl or threatening. What takes the most strength to accomplish is the motion of his eyes a w a y from it. To show that he is no longer a threat.

A gust of wind hits him and he shuts his lids tightly, expecting the worst. But when no harm befalls him, he opens them again and turns. It is gone. And his hand lets go of the switch axe. A c a t a c l y s m i c breath escapes his lungs and he drops onto his back. His stark green eyes mellow out as the ceiling becomes the focus of his vision. The rushing steps of a First Wyverian and the aspiring hunter are what eventually stirs him into a seated position.

First thing he does is glance at Cornelia. Peruses her expression. Hopes to decipher what is going through her mind.

The expanding crystalline structures behind her eventually halt their growth. However, they continue to t h i c k e n. They fill out. Reinforce themselves and obscure the cracks between them until it is well on its way to becoming a massive, solid chunk of crystal.

Novus breathes out, ﮴ It is over. ﮴

Cornelia didn’t have much time to complain, that much is true considering what she is running from. Still, she made some, and grumbled to herself a little as she followed the first wyvernian full throttle up one of the corridors branching from the heart chamber. Truth be told, she didn’t know what to make of the day that has been spent tracking Novus, helping him, and discovering the heart’s existence. Many conflicting emotions had been evoked by the events leading to her escape from the crystalline creeper licking at her heels, and that of the old wyvernian.

First, irritation from being roped into an impromptu rescue mission by a stubborn hunter who really should have asked help from another of his profession, and not a trainee. Then annoyance, from being used as mere bait. Then surprise and wonder, at the discovery of the heart. Perhaps some gratitude at being shown such an incredible thing. Then a dash of disappointment at her own lack of utility. The bad souring the good, the good evening out the bad.

Still, what an adventure! And what luck! At the realization of the importance of what she’d witnessed, Cornelia couldn’t help but stop her grumble, a tiny smile creeping onto her face as she watched the tunnel curve around towards where Novus had disappeared off to. They’d be joining up shortly, it seemed. She suddenly felt quite unamused that her trip had been taken with a sour mood - she rarely ventured so deep within the bowels of the rotten vale, and to know that the tunnels snaked so close to the heart of the world...

In the end, she’d remember the journey more for that part of it, she was sure. Being bothered by Novus’ crude behavior amounted to little compared to the litteral heart of the world. But, she thought, she’d always wonder how ancient wyvernians could be so fast on such short legs. Wonder of living in the new world, perhaps.

Around and around they went, the crystal creeper having long slowed its advance and been left behind, until they leaped into a larger room in which Novus was... laying on his back, amidst broken shards of rock, splintered thorns, and next to a rapidly thickening wall of crystal. The cavern floor had been torn into with tremendous force, no doubt marks of the fight. She scurried on close to the hunter, giving him a quick once-over, eyebrows drawn together with worry before relaxing. He was well, luckily.

She gave the hunter a smile that felt surprisingly chipper, compared to what her expression had been prior, pulling out her notepad and scratching upon it a comeback with obvious gusto.

Maybe it is, if there are no other tunnels close to the heart that may allow passage for a large monster. Though I suppose you looked for that, so it’s most likely over indeed. Still, I wish I could have taken a more at ease look at the heart! It would have been so interesting, to perhaps formulate a hypothesis as for how it functions, or to even SEE it directly! If only there had been a passage directly to the dragon’s chest cavity - with its decay, it would have been a possibility. One can dream.

But, I digress. It’s a relief to see you are well. I maintain that heading down there alone was foolish and that you could have easily perished, or gotten injured to the point where help from me would not have arrived in time

severingblade‌:

⋰ C O B A L T  ⋱ ☆ ⋰ S T A R ⋱

Despite doing it often, Novus is not skilled at keeping things to himself. Cornelia’s glare brings a painful spotlight to the fact. In retrospect, he realizes that upon deciding not to elaborate on his reasons, he leaves her thoughts abandoned in the air. Lets them fall   h e l p l e s s l y   l i k e   l e a v e s.   The gesture in and of itself is indicative of something hiding beneath the surface and it does not escape her.

His folly causes him to tuck his gaze back in, contemplating, before he reads through her words. It is the sensible response. A morsel of   u n d e r s t a n d i n g  only the scholar often obtains. She endows him with a new idea of things. Better said, new lenses through which to view this world of vast mysteries. Wonders if it will change how his future unfolds.

﮴ Do you see yourself as the sort to allow myth to run off with the truth of what you have seen? Myths can be   b e a u t i f u l   but they can bring   d e s p a i r   to those who must decipher them. Those of us who make history should take greater caution. ﮴

Like Cornelia, Novus begins to feel the need to rest weighing on his eyelids. The difference is that he also feels he has found   w h e r e   he will sleep and it has been some time. As the minutes pass, the floor he rests upon feels more and more appropriate. The warmth that he has created there anchors him in place. He appears to understand that only a shifting of his torso is necessary, sinking himself deeper into the bundle of cloth supporting his back. The result is a deepened desire for rest.

﮴ Then again … there is only a small distance into future generations that our influences may travel. Perhaps it is inevitable that a scribe or two will eventually take the liberty to make our adventures sound more pleasing to the imagination. ﮴

Another thing that he does not tell her is that he finds the Tale of the Five rather   c o m f o r t i n g.   He does not know if it is the way it rolls off the tongue or how his mind reads the words or the music that is played when it is told but something about it causes him   e u p h o r i a.   Perhaps spinning tales is not such a bad thing. Or at the very least somewhat worthwhile. Comfort is a valuable gift. 

As thoughts swirl like scoutflies giving chase, he begins to slip away. Another word or two is given, having been all he had of his consciousness to offer. Then he is gone. Eyes are closed, head turned to his left while a quiet breath causes his chest to rise and lower. Whether it is out of possessiveness or just for a position of comfort, his arms continue to hold the fulgurite container. The sounds of other hunters arriving to take shelter at the encampment do not wake him. 

Cornelia let out a loud scoff at the thought of letting whatever strange and wonderful things she’d be part of in her lifetime, shaking her head disapprovingly. Blame being born in the middle of a batch of scholars whose day consisted mainly on the neat recording of every minute, usless and useful alike, fact they could get their grubby hands on, but letting things become legend felt... Silly, really.

To let truth become a vague shadow of itself, shrouded in analogies, was a waste of perfectly good ink, paper, and time spent picking myths apart for the little shreds of truth they contained under a scrutinating lens. Myths themselves weren’t harmful, it was their substitution to recorded fact that proved problematic. Or, maybe it was her scholarly pickyness talking. Either way, she scrawled one last message onto the clipboard, choosing to let it be the last. She was too tired to drag along Novus’... tendancy towards prosing everything he so felt like prosing. She liked things to the point, to be fair.

Might as well write a memoir, then. At least that way, you’ll have a way to pass on everything you don’t want to leave to a scribe’s... interpretation. Work’s never done better than by your own two hands.

That written, and that read, Cornelia decide to leave it at that, and quickly laid on her back by the fire. To hell with the dirt, the fact she wasn’t exactly clambering into anything comfortable, she was tired, sleepy, and she was warm so she MIGHT as well go to sleep then and there.

It takes her a little while to drift off. The shuffling of feet causes her to squirm and stir in her half-slumber, the young girl cracking an eye to stare as more hunters took advantage of the late hour to go hunting while avoiding the day’s heat. She then proceeded to superbly ignore them, having, in her mind, better things to do, like, sleep a bunch.

When morning hit, and that she scratched off her cheek the caked on layer of drool and dust, she promptly parted ways with Novus, hurrying to Astera by Wingdrake transport. Curious as she was, she really, really didn’t have the luxury of wandering off whenever she wished. Casserole’s grip on her schedule was extremely lax already, she couldn’t exactly push it. Two days passed during which she thought little of Novus’ escapade - hunters went and wandered off for personnal reasons all the time, even if his was more dangerous than most.

She, however, did ask around the canteen for signs of the strange hunter with an allergy towards the comission. As two days became a week without trace of the hunter there to pick up anything to eat, Cornelia started thinking that just PERHAPS, perhaps, Novus’ idea of bowling in head first without help nor alert of anyone, had actually come back to bite him. Rather than risking anything, Cornelia quickly decided that it was time to knock some sense into the hunter who thought he really could solve all the problems in the world alone.

She left a quick note to Casserole as she wandered off to fetch some supplies.

A whole stash of supplies hanging off her waist, complete with a neatly folded ghillie mantle, and enough flash and dung pods to last her a while, complete with a scoutfly cage... erm, “borrowed” from study, Cornelia trotted off the shipyard, towards the exit of Astera. Though, before she could whistle in a Wingdrake, a Palico came strolling in, to which she promptly stopped and crouched, wishing to speak eye-to-eye with them. Well, speak...