abraxaslogs | ( catch-all ) sailin' away on the crest of a wave

[Jasper is clearly more suited to staying on horseback than him, and he doesn’t care if he leads the way; all the better. Stephen nudges his horse forward and grips the reins tight, seated with the comedic stiffness of a man who isn’t used to riding at all.

Now and again he jostles as they trek down the road, keeping balance and holding onto the horn of his saddle like he’s about to be swept off by an invisible wave. But their journey is a straightforward one, their path not particularly perilous even as they traverse inclines leading them to closer to the mountainside, and eventually he relaxes just enough to trust his horse not to throw him off at a whim.

The wind’s colder out this way, whistling through the trees. A mild frost still covers blades of grass their horses sometimes flatten under hoof. Jasper is blessedly spared of too much small talk, with Stephen occasionally remarking on some wildlife flitting by, and by the time they reach their destination, he’s more than eager to dismount his ride and plant two feet on the ground.

He manages, immediately hit with a next-level variation of sore. His face crumples up in a wince.]

I’m never complaining about public transit ever again.

Trained horses follow instruction without complaint. I find it hard to comprehend why a brash man like yourself has anything to complain about.

[Dismounting is a simple affair. He grasps the reins in his left hand and pivots his right foot over the horse in one fluid motion. The rudeness of his observation is forgotten by the time his feet are planted onto dirt. Reins are swung over the mare's head and he leads her forward.]

Better we ride than walk, surely not?

[Stephen almost seems an afterthought. His attention is diverted towards the forest and over his shoulder, his nerves on edge as a matter of course.]

[Brash? He scoffs at the assumption.]

I’m not talking about horses. I’m talking about the subway.

[No explanation follows, thank you very much. Stephen straightens, ignoring the fact that he may now be bow-legged forever, and gestures with a hand. The reins of his horse wrap themselves against the nearest overhead branch, secure with a flick of a spell.]

It doesn’t matter. We should leave the horses here.

[The forest is surprisingly vast for not being too departed from Thorne’s castle. The winter season has thinned its canopy and sunlight dapples the ground as he walks forward, gesturing out towards a very large incline just a few yards away. It’s a stony crag, with plants poking out from its side, roots desperately clinging to the bluff.

Just above the treeline.]

That’s where we’ll find what we need.

[Strange words are noted for investigation. Now his mind focuses on the task at hand - in hand - his hands grasping the reins of his mare. He steers her towards a sturdy tree beside her companion. The burden of memories silences him as he loops the leather around its trunk, tying a firm knot before pausing to reminisce. His compatriots were not the only ones to perish the day their kingdom fell.

He tightens the knot in disgust and ignores deep-rooted guilt. Eyes stare towards the canopy as though sunlight is an alien sight. He shakes his head and strides towards his travelling companion. His nose wrinkles, woes forgotten for a time.]

Of course they grow in the most awkward of places.

What? [He edges past Jasper, tossing him a quirked brow — acerbic all around.] You mean you can’t fly?

[The cloak, not unlike the original somewhere back on Earth, is not just for show, nor just for steadying Stephen on a horse. It allows him to fly, and it does so in that exact moment: lifting him off of the loam of forest ground, past the branches of trees, and up towards the steep bluff where swaying plants shiver in the breeze.

Their roots are strong, and the leaves and flowers are hardy enough to thrive beneath the frost. Stephen plucks at one between scarred forefinger and thumb, taking a moment to observe the nature of its blossom — little starburst shapes in a blue so pale it looks white beneath the rime. Likely the origin of the name: Winterwhite.

Stephen calls over his shoulder, rummaging around in his satchel the next second to unearth a pair of gloves and a sharp set of clippers.]

I might be up here for a while, so this is the part where you watch my back.

[Jasper curls his lip and watches Stephen ascend through the air: enjoying a freedom he does understand. He turns his back gladly and remembers why he prefers the company of animals.

Eyes focus towards shadows in the forest. His suspicions and imagination consider how easy it would be to surprise anybody in Stephen's position - back exposed and bare to knives and magic alike. Sometimes he feels tempted to plunge the dagger himself but that would hardly cement their relationship. One of the first he has forged with anybody besides his first friend.

His ears prickle at the rustling of leaves as he calls over his shoulder.]

Do holler when done, will you?

[His acerbic tone might figuratively erode that jagged crag. Hopefully beneath Stephen's fingertips. Wouldn't that be a loss?]

[Oblivious to thoughts of daggers in the back and words so cutting they may slice away the herbs themselves, Stephen makes a noise of affirmation but little else. He’s already donned his gloves and has opened up his satchel to collect the herbs, taking them stem by stem. The work’s delicate, but not too delicate for slightly unsteady hands — mostly, these plants will be smashed into a paste by mortar and pestle, or tossed into a brewing tincture, so there’s no need to keep each blossom uncrushed or each stem unbent.

Time passes, leaves rustle with the wind. Small pieces of shale tumble down from the rock face as Stephen eases them free. The event’s, well… uneventful, mostly, and he should be glad for the lack of troublemakers interrupting this outing. Maybe Jasper’s presence would be redundant after all. Not much good for the man’s boredom, doing little more than keeping watch, but Stephen doesn’t feel the need to hurry on his account alone.

In fact, it’s when the second satchel-full is nearly stuffed to the brim—after having already descended once to attach a whole bag of herbs to one of the horses—when something more than just wind moves through the branches. It’s faint at first, just a whistle of an object arcing through the air, before that same object slams into the stone right next to Stephen’s hand, flown over his shoulder and missing by half an inch at best.

The arrow bends and bounces off the crag, falling. Lightning lances through Stephen’s nerves, adrenaline doing its work; it’s all the motivation he needs to drop back down to the ground in a rush of a billowing cloak, landing with such an unceremonious crouch that hoarfrost clings to his knees.]

Jasper! Archers!

[In case he hadn’t noticed the ruckus, the stray arrow now sticking in the shrubbery nearby.

Should the man have a keen pair of eyes, able to pick out a couple of human forms wearing leather tanned to match the color of tree bark, he should find one nestled in the branches, crouched and balanced like an animal. The bandit reaches back into his quiver to correct his first missed shot.

And farther down, in a tree adjacent, one more such man. His bow is already drawn and trained on Jasper.]

Edited 2022-02-10 22:18 (UTC)

[Silence unsettles his nerves. Seconds tick by. Moments feel like minutes; interrupted by a whistle of wind that slams into shale and shatters stone. The arrow - Jasper recognising the sound for what it is - clatters against the rocky ground. Hairs spring up along his neck. His spine jolts at the impact of the stray arrow embedding in bark. Nerves long forgotten as a monster doing work at last.

His eyes dart through the undergrowth; hawkish in spotting every abnormal detail. Unnatural shapes breaking the outline of a tree. Faces staring with human intelligence and greed. Faces because he indeed spots that second man amongst an adjacent tree. Humans showing animalistic instincts to frighten and kill without possessing the nobility of any beasts but rats. His heart pounds within his chest, pumping blood and provoking nerves.

The sight leaves no time to think. Fingers stretch and release the drawstring; thoughts disperse in alarm and he vanishes from sight. The arrow shoots through dark flames that dissipate quickly, clattering against the cliff face.

His shape reappears amongst the trees one second later. Fingers unclench and spread while he draws back his right hand and releases an electrostatic discharge of ball lightning that strikes the first man in the back and knocks him clear out the tree.

Onto his face? A broken nose? He cannot see through the shrubbery but he hardly cares. That's one man less to target Stephen, at any rate.]

[Jasper’s gone in a flash of darkened flames, and in the next moment there’s light from a surge of something emanating from the branches. A bandit tumbles out from them, landing hard on his face.

Well, someone’s gotten his magic back, he thinks, pulling himself up to his feet. A sensible person would find cover from behind a tree trunk, given that the other bandit’s already nocked his arrow and intends to send it flying his way. But for good or ill, Stephen is long past the point in his life where being shot at by archers is considered extraordinary, and he makes a quick hand gesture to summon an amber shield, etched in swirling runes.

The arrow’s let free, but it bounces off the shield uselessly. He dismisses his magic and conjures again, and this time glowing red bands of energy snake around his arm. Stephen tosses them out like a whip, and they lash out, coil around the tree branch from under his assailant, and grow taut.

All it takes is one hard pull, and the branches snap. Bandit #2 lands just about as gracefully as bandit #1, cracking his shoulder on the gnarled roots of the tree. He groans, trying to get back to his feet, reaching for a small dagger strapped to his hip — but he’s dazed and slow, and likely of no further danger with his bow still caught in the branches above.

Meanwhile, their horses protest. A third outlaw, probably having seen the display up until now, has given his fellows wide berth, and is focusing on loosening one of the mare’s reins from its hitch.]

[Jasper sees little through the trees; amber lights glowing bright for a second before disappearing. Red bursts of magic - like ribbons to his eyes - soar ahead on his side and soon his ears are twitching. Listening to the snapping of a branch and the discomfort of a frustrated man slamming into its remains.

It is a curious magic this man wields. How fluid and mercurial it seems. His attention is soon jolted back to the present: whinnies and stomping hooves ringing his ears. The matter is entirely important and he abandons his travelling companion to manifest himself behind the back of a brazen thief. He immediately delivers a stomping kick with the bottom of his foot to an unprotected knee. His nose wrinkles as he pushes the man off balance and launches him to the ground. His actions rupturing ligaments and, considering the crying he hears, his own ears.

He approaches the man and stomps his hand for good measure.

Then he spends his remaining time relieving the man of his weapons.]

[No need to prep a subsequent spell. Jasper seems to have it covered with another teleporting act, catching the horse-and-herb thief off-guard. He wonders if they’d have been so bold if they knew they were dealing with practitioners of, ah, very creative forms of magic, but it doesn’t matter know.

He straightens, flicking a wrist. The dagger of the thief having fallen on tree roots floats over to Stephen, who grabs it and tosses it aside.]

Better for everyone if you stay down.

[There’s a murmured curse in his direction; probably an insult born of a wounded pride and battered body. Stephen exhales and casts another spell to bind the man’s wrists together, leaving him there for now as he gazes up towards Jasper.

He watches him crush the other man’s hand under the harsh pressure of a boot heel. Winces with a disapproving frown.]

He’s had enough. I don’t think he’ll be getting up to fight in his state now.

[He heard that cry of pain. Probably fractured or twisted something.]

A favourable position I think.

[The distance between them makes it impossible to notice that censorious stare. It is a small mercy; he barely enjoys this interference as it stands. He grits his teeth and slings the scoundrel's bow atop his sword.]

You cannot trust these rodents not to stab you in the back.

[His concerns lie more with his horse than explaining himself. He soothes her with a careful, cautious series of gestures before gently prompting her to lower her head.]

I’m not asking you to kindly thank them for trying to kill us. But excessive violence is redundant when it’s already over.

[Stephen’s not as good with horses, and his own is still nervous from the tussle—short-lived as it was—but he crosses closer just enough to rest his hand on her mane. With any luck, everyone will have a chance to cool off.]

What are we going to do about them? [The three incapacitated would-be thieves.] Leave them on the forest floor?

[Jasper ignores the argument and continues attending his mare. His cruelty had served one important purpose: the prevention of further aggression. These bandits had showed no evidence of healing acumen and were unlikely to access proper medical care.]

No. We ought obey the law of the land.

[Says the man who acted with excessive force.]

Bring them back to the castle to answer for their crimes. Permit them to walk free and others might not be as fortunate as you and I.

[Now does this damned human-hugger understand?]

[He manages, somehow, to look more exasperated with each word that passes Jasper’s lips. It’s true, Thornean authority should at least be aware of what’s happened here, and it isn’t in Stephen’s interests, either, to let those with the intent to rob or kill innocent flora-gatherers walk away scot-free.

But why can’t anything be simple? An outing just be an outing? He ruefully laments the state of his luck, and his companion’s dour mood isn’t helping. Even if this is something he had accounted for by asking him along, it doesn’t mean the worst-case scenario coming to pass is any less tiring.]

If we’re going to lug three people back with two horses, then I’m at least going to heal that one first.

[The one with the crushed hand and probably a torn ligament in his knee.]

Otherwise, we’ll have to deal with his complaining the whole way back.

[The proposal is unbearably kind and excruciatingly sensible. His brows draw together in reluctant agreement. By all rights, the three men ought be dead. It seems fortune favours them this day.]

I would ignore him.

[He says nothing else. Admittance he would suffer the man to walk would work against his interests. His hand extends in an offer to claim the reins of Stephen's horse. The man is putting his talents to use. Might as well offer his own.]

Attend to the wretch. I shall mind your horse.

Edited 2022-02-11 21:59 (UTC)

[He hands the reins over, wasting no time in tending to the fallen men. The nearest one needs the most healing, takes the most time with a pass of magic over his body to ease the pain. But it’s still simple work, especially given his commitment to magical study since his arrival, and Stephen’s sure to cast a binding spell on him, too, before he stands. Amber ropes of Eldritch enemy loop and tighten around the man’s wrists.]

You know—

[He moves to the other, crumpled beneath a tree, unconscious with his nose ribboning blood.]

—I’m not a fan of outlaws, either, but you really seem to have an axe to grind.

[Crouching again, his hands extend to cast a minor healing spell.]

Is there a bandit problem in your world, or are you always so enthusiastic?

[Jasper proceeds to calm the horse in similar fashion; approaching slowly to embrace her head. He turns her gently towards the frightful sight and helps her inspect his travelling companion begin his work.]

My hometown was infested with them. Cowards hiding inside their nests. Stealing whatever they laid their filthy hands upon.

[It did not matter if their victims had passed away; their homes were ripe for the picking. Yes, he truly has an axe to grind.]

Permit them to run free and they rot the heart of a community. So indeed, pray excuse my enthusiasm.

And sometimes crime is born out of an unlucky set of circumstances. People make bad decisions all the time when they’re desperate.

[No, he does not like being shot at, and he does prefer a situation where they have control, rather than arrows in their backs. But Stephen says it to make a point — not everything’s so simple.]

But that’ll be for Thornean authority to decide, not us. For now— [Finishing his spell, casting another set of bindings, then standing again.] —we have the unenviable task of trying to load three men on the back of our horses.

[Hope Jasper doesn’t miss arm day. Or leg day, for that matter.]

[Points about empathy and mercy fly inside one ear only to leave his other. His back turns upon the problem - and his partner - his attention stalling. It returns to the task in hand, sending him across ground and grass.

One bound man is seized by the scruff of his neck and hauled onto his feet. Arms flex against their bindings. Curt words are spewed in his direction but snapped against: one hand jostling his prisoner forward. Towards his horse. Onto his horse. Over and across her backside like a hunting trophy.

It hardly looks effortless. He brushes his hands against his cloak and grasps the back of his neck, stretching out his arm. How better Hendrik should be for such labour.]

The rest would be better off riding with you, surely?

[Uh-huh. Ignore his insight, why don't you. Stephen won't waste his breath much more on the matter, especially if the words are just going to roll off like rainwater on armor.

Besides, he's already trying to wrangle one bandit onto the back of his horse, with ample help from a sentient cloak that does most of the heavy lifting. It wraps around the man, who's still muttering all sorts of colorful insults in Stephen's direction, lifting him up and placing him on the back of his horse. The doctor reaches out to situate him in a more balanced way, so that he doesn't fall off and go tumbling down a mountainside slope on the way back, straining the muscles in his hands as he works.]

Sure. Pile them up on the back of my horse, just like you see in a Western.

[Though he ultimately chooses to go the more logical route; the third bandit will simply be wrapped up and carried mid-air by his cloak, more than willing to travel behind them on the journey back. It floats beside the two men once it has its prize twisted up in its cloth, ready to go.]

[Jasper thins his lips and narrows his eyes; a frustrated confusion jolting through his body head to toe. He closes his eyes in a second and inhales deeply. His refusal to ride and unnerve his horse is both pragmatic and honourable. It takes him a moment to collect himself, stretching the muscles in his hands.]

What are you babbling about?

[What on earth is a Western?]

[Only after his effort to mount his horse, in which he doesn’t have the advantage of a cloak to ease him up—]

No movies in your world?

[Unsurprising. Jasper has already struck him as a very medieval sort, suited to Thorne. He recalls his prior mention of a kingdom.]

Tales of bounty hunters in a lawless time that’d track down criminals, tie them up, and bring them back to the town sheriff to collect the reward money.

[It takes a longer moment to process what his companion is saying. Stephen's collection of stories sound entirely strange. His eyes refuse to roll only because his foot slots into the stirrup - and in one fluid motion he mounts his horse.]

Childish adventures. The same nonsense my friend would enjoy.

[His hands grip the reins with a fine amount of unnecessary force. This time, his travelling companion is not the reason.]

How unsurprising.

[If Jasper thinks watered down summaries of old movies are strange, then he’d get a kick out of Stephen’s retelling of real-life experiences. For now, he peers over his shoulder to make certain both men are secure behind him—on horse and in cloak alike—before securing his own boots into the stirrups and grabbing hold of the reins.]

Yeah. You’re a lot of fun. Unsurprising.

[S a r c a s m. He nudges his horse forward, in the direction of the forest’s exit where they can find the road again.]

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stares at previous tag, please forgive my typos

no judging here you should see mine pffsh

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