forum Medeis {open}

Started June 19, 2019 by @Reblod flag

tune

Arabella’s head snapped up at hearing Craision. She gasped, “I’m not the only human? Thank the stars!” She let out a soft laugh of relief as a weight lifted off her chest that she hadn’t noticed before.

Iris looked down at the angel, sighing at the sight. The poor girl appeared broken in more ways than her wing. With a grimace, Iris stood up and leaned against the cold wall. "I'm Iris." She paused, hearing her Brachish tremble in the cold cell. "You?" A blunt, cold introduction. Not a trace of emotion in her tone. Wonderful.

Arabella looked over at the angel and the elf. What was the elf saying? She heard the name Iris, was that the elf?

Azriel jumped at the noise. "I? Oh, my name is Azriel," she said quickly, her Brachish sounding a bit thin. She brushed her hair out of her face nervously.

"Azriel…" she murmured, feeling the name. Noticing Arabella _{sorry I couldn't resist} staring, Iris waved a hand ironically. Turning her attention back to Azriel, she examined the injuries a little closer. "Do you remember what the person looked like? The one who broke your wing."

Azriel looked nervously at the girl who was too close for comfort. "No, I'm afraid I don't, sorry. It is of little importance, however, as the man is either dead or currently holding several people captive," Azriel said without a hint of self-pity. She knew there was a way to set a broken wing, she just didn't think she could reach back to do it without hurting her wing more.

"If it's the latter, we'll take care of that," Iris vows in Eltin, a dangerous gleam entering her eyes. Brushing it off, she asks, "Is there anyway to fix a broken wing?" Iris points to herself. "Not very adapt or experienced in these situations."

"I'm not very good with instructions, I apologize. There's kind of a twist that should pop it back into place, however, I am clearly incapable of doing this myself, and as previously mentioned, not very good at giving instructions," Azriel said, wishing that she knew how to describe how to fix a broken wing. She kept the pain out of her face, but her head was screaming at her.

"A… twist…" Iris looked helplessly back at the girl. She removed her cloak - an action that immediately made her appear much more natural - and positioned herself next to the wing. "Alright." Iris shrugged her shoulders. "This is your wing, so we're relying on your instructions here. It'll hurt, but the result is better than leaving it to rot."

Azriel winced at the closeness of the girl. "It - from what I can recall, you will have to push and twist the joint sharply to the left. I cannot be sure that this will work, however - " she shrugged with the shoulder that didn't share a joint with her broken wing, "there is little else that I can describe."

Iris bit her lip, hesitating, but this wing needed to be fixed if they wanted to do anything in the future. She touched the feathers, softly tracing around until she found the exact point where the bones were dislocated. "Look away," she instructed Azriel. "Um, do you have anything to bite on?"

"No, do not worry, though. I have a high pain tolerance. I can be quiet enough so that the guards, or whoever is out there," she gestured to the door of the cell, "will not hear. Are you certain you are confident in your ability to… not break my wing more? Because I enjoy flying, and would prefer to be able to do it again."

Arabella (I got it right! Yes!) watched in confusion as the Elfin girl scooted toward the angels Brocken wing? Was she trying to fix it? “umm, can one of you translate, if this conversation is important, I mean you don’t have to, if you want to- I’ll shut up now.” She spoke in Medien hoping that one of them would understand.

"I enjoy not making enemies of the people in the same cell as me," she retorted. "If you're sure… okay then. I'll go on three, so brace yourself. One, two… three." Iris pushed and twisted the bone the way the angel instructed, trying not to think about what she was doing. A satisfying pop occurred as the wing clicked back into place, unfurling in its magnificent transformation.
Directing her words at Arabella, Iris helpfully translated: "I think you saw what just happened."

Azriel dug her fingernails into her thigh, drawing blood. Only a small hiss escaped her lips. "T-hank you," she said lowly, trying not to yell.

She was already shivering, but Iris wordlessly handed the girl a block of ice for the wound. Iris could feel her internal temperature drop a couple degrees at such a small action and she shamefully slid closer to the human with fire.

Feeling her wing again, Azriel smiled as she realized the pain was gone. She still felt nervous about the contact that she had shared with another person. I should have just tried to do it myself, she thought shamefully, blushing crimson. "I - I appreciate that, thank you," she repeated, taking the ice to put on her shoulder blade. Her shirt had no back, so her entire back was cold when she put the ice on it, having to turn slightly to do so.

Hearing the pop of the wing Arabella cringed so hard she almost fell over. “Yeah, I think I get it now. Let’s hope that never happens again.” She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, imagining that she was in her happy place, the library, surrounded by books.

(That's fine, and the map sounds pretty cool!)
Iris shrugged the gratitude off, never really one to accept it. Awkwardly - and it was very rare that Iris Glarore was awkward - she replied, "You're welcome." Suddenly feeling very out of place, she bit back, "Try to watch out for one of the most vital components of your functioning body next time."

The voices become loud enough for everyone to hear. Those who know Eltin catch the last few shreds of conversation.
"-but an order is an order. Besides, when this is all over we will be too many to count."
With that, the metallic clunk of a lock mechanism reverberates throughout the room. A heavy door, the only surface that isn't blank stone, grinds open. Warm, soft light floods in. Two elven figures stand silhouetted at the entrance. One brings the torch closer and scans over the prisoners. They hesitate when they recognise one of their own in the cell. Another Yrnan elf. Sharing a look, they throw a small loaf of bread onto the floor. It clatters forward like it was a rock instead of something edible. The elves back out and slam the door shut. Darkness returns to the room as the lock clicks once more.

Azriel nearly yells when the door opens, but holds her tongue. She backs into the corner as far as physically possible, hiding herself in her wings. You are an idiot. You should have just stayed home. Then this never would have happened.

Cursing violent streams over the elves and their dead bodies in Eltin, Iris sent the loaf a look of pure disgust. "What're we suppose to do? Use that bread as a weapon? It'd probably work just as well as a bullet," she exaggerated.
Her mind turned over the phrases she caught. Translating them for the group, she watched how it was interpreted.

"W-what is that supposed to mean?" Azriel says, her Brachish muffled by her wings, which she hasn't moved since she hid herself in them. "Maybe they're trying to recruit an army?"

"They expect to receive an army that will willingly follow their commands after they take said army out of prison cells." Pausing for a breath, Iris continued, "Sounds legit."
Continuing to murmur to herself, Iris considered the words. They were clearly following an order, and had seemed surprised to find one of their own in the cell. But they had made no moves to rescue her, she thought bitterly. Immediately, she memorized their features onto a long list of revenges.
"'When this is all over we will be too many to count.'" She repeated to herself. What in the world could that mean?

Azriel hurriedly fixed the feathers on her wing. It looked all crumpled, and it gave her some form of control as she pondered the statement.

"And there's also the matter of how the hell we escape this place," Iris deduced logically, speaking in Medein. "We should probably spend some of our ever present, high levels of energy on that." Promptly she translated her opinion to Brachish.

For the first time since she'd been in the cell, Azriel smiled. High levels of energy were usually her thing. But the whole "being-trapped-in-a-prison-cell-with-several-other-people-" thing was really putting a damper on that.