Iᴏʀᴠᴇᴛʜ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aenseidhe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tushanshu_logs2013-02-12 03:53 am
aenseidhe) wrote in tushanshu_logs2013-02-12 03:53 am
[OPEN] I just want to play on my pan-pipes
Characters: Iorveth and YOOOU
Date: 2/12
Location: Outskirts of the Wood sector
Situation: Elf sits in tree doing typical elf shit like having pointy ears and playing his manly elf flute and leaving traps that will set you on fire.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing really? He won't let anyone actually step on the traps :| Unless anyone is Dean Winchester.
[ A suitable tree hadn't been hard to find, nor had been setting out the sturdy enough, thick enough branches and wooden planks over a couple level enough arms of the tree, nor the subsequently lashing them down with rope to make a makeshift sort of lofted platform with room enough for him and his pack alone. Setting the traps had been more of the difficult part. It wasn't that making and setting them were particularly hard - the crafting second nature to him after so many years - but it was more trying to find materials for the last few, after he exhausted the ones he had with them. That, and, listening to a bunch of humans telling him how horrible he is for wanting to put up fortifications where he sleeps. It's been laughable how absurd it is, and he almost wishes another Scoia'tael, or Geralt were around just to hear it. The day he sleeps without a bow in hand and something around to wake him if another approaches is the day he finds himself in a free Elven state, far out of Nordling or Nilfgaardian lands. He wouldn't even had mentioned it if he wasn't concerned a Kedan might wander by.
Despite the fact he'd sarcastically told someone he would set up a warning sign, there is no sign at all, as that would completely defeat the purpose of traps, but the elf seated high up on his lofted landing in the tree, partly camouflaged in the branches and leaves, is keeping an eye down at the area below. Just in case some idiot actually comes wandering out here. As much as he'd love to let them right into the trap that will ignite and light them up like a bonfire, A.) he doesn't want to waste the trap on an unobservant simpleton and B.) he doesn't want to have to evade guards without knowing the land well enough to hide somewhere and/or be wanted for murder quite yet.
So, with bow placed over his lap and quiver close by on the landing, he's idly playing at a wooden flute - a simple, soothing kind of tune that echoes nicely through the forest. It's something of home that relieves the tension a little that he'd been holding off since arrive. The woods here aren't like those in Temeria or Aedirn. They aren't as full, and the air still smells weirdly of sea. But he'll have to get used to it. He doesn't have a choice. If the phenomenon is what he thinks it is, he could be here for a short time, or he could be here forever. He can't know. At least not yet. ]
Date: 2/12
Location: Outskirts of the Wood sector
Situation: Elf sits in tree doing typical elf shit like having pointy ears and playing his manly elf flute and leaving traps that will set you on fire.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing really? He won't let anyone actually step on the traps :| Unless anyone is Dean Winchester.
[ A suitable tree hadn't been hard to find, nor had been setting out the sturdy enough, thick enough branches and wooden planks over a couple level enough arms of the tree, nor the subsequently lashing them down with rope to make a makeshift sort of lofted platform with room enough for him and his pack alone. Setting the traps had been more of the difficult part. It wasn't that making and setting them were particularly hard - the crafting second nature to him after so many years - but it was more trying to find materials for the last few, after he exhausted the ones he had with them. That, and, listening to a bunch of humans telling him how horrible he is for wanting to put up fortifications where he sleeps. It's been laughable how absurd it is, and he almost wishes another Scoia'tael, or Geralt were around just to hear it. The day he sleeps without a bow in hand and something around to wake him if another approaches is the day he finds himself in a free Elven state, far out of Nordling or Nilfgaardian lands. He wouldn't even had mentioned it if he wasn't concerned a Kedan might wander by.
Despite the fact he'd sarcastically told someone he would set up a warning sign, there is no sign at all, as that would completely defeat the purpose of traps, but the elf seated high up on his lofted landing in the tree, partly camouflaged in the branches and leaves, is keeping an eye down at the area below. Just in case some idiot actually comes wandering out here. As much as he'd love to let them right into the trap that will ignite and light them up like a bonfire, A.) he doesn't want to waste the trap on an unobservant simpleton and B.) he doesn't want to have to evade guards without knowing the land well enough to hide somewhere and/or be wanted for murder quite yet.
So, with bow placed over his lap and quiver close by on the landing, he's idly playing at a wooden flute - a simple, soothing kind of tune that echoes nicely through the forest. It's something of home that relieves the tension a little that he'd been holding off since arrive. The woods here aren't like those in Temeria or Aedirn. They aren't as full, and the air still smells weirdly of sea. But he'll have to get used to it. He doesn't have a choice. If the phenomenon is what he thinks it is, he could be here for a short time, or he could be here forever. He can't know. At least not yet. ]
no subject
Iorveth's eyes follow her as she trails across the forest floor, continuing his playing regardless, but as she approaches the tree, and the perimeter of traps, he switches to something lower and more menacing. Sort of like if you were playing the Jaws theme if you played it on a flute :| He's giving her a soundtrack.
Though, as she comes closer and closer, the music dies out and the bow is brought up. He's not too visible from where he is, high up in the tree, so the arrow that snaps out of the leaves and branches a moment later seems to just come from the tree itself. The wooden bolt thuds into the grass and dirt less than an inch from the toe of Katniss's boot closest to the trap.
Hay durr. ]
no subject
Her body reacts automatically when the arrow sinks into the ground in front of her. The bow comes up, one of her own arrows set to the string between one breath and the next. Her eyes lock on the place her attacker had to be, and while for a moment it looks like the tree had decided to shed weapons, a second or two gives her practised eyes the time to see the outline of a person.
She shoots. The arrow thunks into the trunk next to their head, but she's already moving, taking cover behind the trunk of another tree. Her breath comes in harsh pants, and she forces herself to keep her eyes open, throttling her panic. She didn't kill them, whoever it was. She's okay. She's still good.]
no subject
Noting that she'd taken to hiding, Iorveth sets to pulling out a piece of parchment he'd snatched from his suite the few minutes he'd been there, and the small pencil, writing out a note as he whistles idly - something cheery and nonchalant. One piece of twine later and it's tied to the shaft to the arrow that had thudded into the tree behind him.
A short second to aim, and he fires her arrow back to her, sinking again into the dirt just to the side of where she must be. The note reads: ]
Decent. For a fledgling human. [ And there is a wry kind of clapping that comes from the tree a second later. ]
no subject
Morals and promises are a luxury that she can't afford any more.
Her internal monologue is cut short by the arrow thunking into the ground nearby. Rummaging through her bag, she tugs out a small hand mirror she'd pilfered from somewhere and angles it to make sure the stupid asshole is still in the tree and not aiming at her. Satisfied, she stoops and picks up the note, scanning it.
Anger starts pushing at the panic, making it recede. Either he's toying with her, or he doesn't want to kill her. She's not going to accept that second one on faith] I missed on purpose, jackass!
no subject
An new arrow is twirled in a hand, ornate Elven bow in the other as he steps out as far as he can without taxing what the arm will hold. ]
As did I. [ And he's threading the arrow, settling it on the middle of the tree, a simple twitch enough to adjust to either side. He's, of course, not looking to kill her. But prodding her into the game is amusement at least, while it's been so boring simply sitting around. ]
Who taught you your skills?