forum Everchill Shenanigans Pick-A-Path || Open Voting, Stalkers Welcome!

Started Jan 30 by @im-with-stoopid pets

tune

There was a certain allure to the Northerrest Woods that gripped the fascinations of fledging Stonefolk with the call of the wild. It was the habit, really, for young hunters, masons, and scholars alike to haunt the sprawling pines from dawn to dusk. As such, a semblance of a community grew round the natural landmarks, most notably of which a star-kissed sequoia named – with much affectionate deliberation – Leafhaven.
Naveil, of course, was no stranger to Nature's wildward tugs. During his seventh winter, he was given the blessing of venturing – well, sneaking off – to Leafhaven. In truth, Matern simply asked him to retrieve some sweetwater remedy for his ailing sister.
But what an adventure it was!
He remembered, now, the soft brush of goldferns against his face, the thundering of his heart within his ribs, and the surge of adrenaline in his veins. The wilds were generous to him, as a lone, lost boy should be mauled before a third heartbeat. A tangled string of wrong turns led to some uncharted gorge, and there, he was privileged to uncover Nature's masterpiece. Some spiraling atrium of wind-chiseled stone wound down into a vast, bubbling spring. A temptation pulled Naveil close, and he was pleased to find that the water was bath-warm. To report this discovery to the fledglings at Leafhaven was such an honor that he'd completely forgotten the remedy, though it was impossible to forget the spanking that followed his empty-handed tardiness home.
But his resolve was stone-clad. No amount of scolding could deter him from Nature's light, and his curiosities only grew.

As the daystar crested the fiery horizon, Naveil stirred from his beddings. He'd be off to Leafhaven again today, though now, it wasn't anything to hide. A young man in his twelfth winter was free to come and go as he pleased, long as he was home before supper. Not far from the Balnear, he'd stumbled upon a ward's worth of summer-fat rabbits; today, he and his tandem decided they'd feast on lucky stew. The lack of breakfast slipped his mind as he shifted his coat over his shoulders, and it was only until Naveil had dressed that an enchantingly sweet scent of pancakes caught his nose.
Stars, Matern always had a way to keep him home just a little longer.

Responding in a whisper, what should Naveil do..?

• Skip breakfast - he's hunting anyways.
• Stay for breakfast - he might need it.

Oh, how Naveil wanted to seize the day already! He stole long strides down the dark hall, his loose tools jingling like chimes, and his gaze fixed hard on the left wall should the kitchen's golden glow entice his stomach. Not a half-step past the streaking light and Matern's cheery "Na-a-vi-ie!" fluttered into his ears. Stars, he might've popped his jaw with how hard his teeth ground together.
"Yes, Mam?"
"Daylight's graces to you, too. Come and eat, won't you?"
"…Yes, Mam." Against his better judgment, the rucksack fell from his shoulder – weapons at the table were, apparently, impolite.
The kitchen had eight walls, giving the illusion of roundness – something Matern would flaunt to any soul who lent an ear. Shelves of polished clay dishes hid in an odd nook between the larder and the countertop. Opposite the pantry was the furnace, and Matern stood there in her nightlies, fussing over something smoking. A sturdy old spruce table lingered at the far wall, bathed in the dim morning glow that spilled from the window above it.
"Just have something for breakfast, Navie. Been a while too long."
She padded across the floor on cozy moccasins and spooned chunks of brothy venison onto his plate.
"Eat on up," She added, with some playful warning in her voice.
The sweet pancakes were dry as cork and dense enough to sink a ship. Naveil took to soaking the cakes in broth, and it, surprisingly, was delicious. Folding venison chunks into the pancakes worked as well, and he could shove it down faster that way.
"You're done? I can whip up another batch if—"
"Mo fhanks," He muttered through a glob of meat-cake.
What time was it? Naveil had promised his tandem that they'd feast by noon. Between getting to Leafhaven, hunting, and cutting the meat – Stars, he was late! Quickly, he snatched his bag as he staggered into the hall, and it was over a shoulder by the time he left the lounge. Naveil swung the front door, and the morning chill greeted him with a wind.
Surely, there was still time to salvage this. He made haste down the cobblestone streets, racking his brain beneath the veil of dawn-lit shadows. There was a single, meandering trail to Leafhaven, paved by tens of thousands of footfalls, lost and wandering – there had to be some shortcut, right?
There was. By the forest's southern hem, the trail curled into a sudden bulge. The Snake Bend – named not for its wildlife, but for its spiraling heights – wound just along the encroaching valley farmlands. But if one were to simply pass through the lowlands…
No! Those low-folk were scavengers – dishonored hunters beyond the graces of even the Stars! At least, that's what Matern called them, and he was inclined to believe her.
But who was she kidding? The lowland-folk were, from what Naveil'd seen, too busy mushing their farm-beasts along to notice much of anything. It'd be far quicker than the Snake Bend, for sure. And imagine the bragging rights!
Naveil thought on it as he walked – all he knew then was that he needed to keep moving.

Responding in a whisper, should Naveil..?

• Stick to the Snake Bend and arrive late – better safe than sorry.
• Cut through the lowlands – he won't be there long enough to bother anyone.

Small, braided flowers thronged icy puddles as though the Stars above had spattered color upon the rippling grasses. Cornered on three sides by the highland scree, an ever-present blight drifted through the air, spitting some acrid stench as it rotted the leaf litter. Pines on the highland to his west-northwest obscured the brightening sky, and a blanket of night swept down into the valley. Still, in the billowing darkness, broad shadows crept about the stony roads, clattering on – what seemed to be – horseback.
It was all so fascinating.
Naveil trekked on at a half-stride, sponging all he could about the valley-folk. They were solitaries, most definitely, as each homestead was swathed by a half-league of smoky expanse. Wheeled anomalies, languid and ungainly, rumbled over clear land, churning snow and soil into near-straight rows. Walls of weathered stone drew tidy lines between owned and unowned lands, and within the pastures, gauzy shapes grazed on the lowland's scrub. There was a distinct orderliness within the valley, it seemed, though Naveil had no intentions of testing the farm folks' patience with his presence.
At some distance – a distance respectable to his tearing eyes and wrinkled nose – he'd witnessed a grapple between two silhouettes. One, some snarling farm-beast, turned fangs on its owner, and the slope was bustling with the echos of battle. Naveil knew to steer clear for his safety, though, of course, he lingered long enough to see the beast's owner had won, though not unscathed. They stood, rattled and trembling, and clamored until another silhouette formed from the shadows, offering help. He'd left the pair then, his heart drumming and mind polishing the story for utmost braggability.
If the way of the valley hadn't gripped his fascinations, he'd have surely made it to Leafhaven early, but it wasn't until morning's light poured overtop the canopy and cascaded into the lowlands that Naveil remembered why he'd come. The hunt.
He was long past the Snake Bend, but his curiosity veered him off-course. Unlike the gentle declines from the west forest to the vale, the woods now perched upon a cliffside glittering with morning frost.
Not worth it. He'd go the long way, hoping the incline further along was tamer. Small firs dotted the valley's edge in scant clusters until, finally, Naveil broke into what could be considered a forest. Fragrant needles and peeling cones littered the softening bluff, and the refreshingly stinging scent of pine purged the blight from his breath.
Nearly home free. At its shortest, the cliff was little over thrice Naveil's height – a doable climb. He rose a leg and stepped onto an ice-free stone.
Tock-tock. Tock.
…Was he hearing things?
Tock-tock. Tock-tock.
What was that?
Tock-tock.
It grew louder the higher he went, only to die abruptly amid his climb. Then, a soft rustle of fabric. Something hefty shifting its weight overhead. Footfalls over gravel and grass drawing nearer, nearer, nearer…

"Hallo!"

Naveil's heart nearly leaped out his throat, but biting his inner cheek held back his traitorous panic. Craning his neck, he could make out the vague impression of a human, gangling thin in all the wrong places. A shadow covered all but a pale green eye, squished upwards by the thing's grin.
"Y'need 'elp?" Their voice was hoarse, strangled dry.
"Can climb fine, thanks."
"Y'sure, noble-boy?" They went on, leaning over the rock edge as if they knew they'd sway him. But that word – "noble-boy" – stirred something with Naveil. "M'used to helpin' lost folk – y'high-an'-mighties from up-yonder, yeah?"

Stars above, this was a lowlander! A surge of hatred rippled through him, followed by… well, embarrassment, honestly. He couldn't do much of anything now, as he hugged the rock face – admittedly, out of the mild terror of losing his grip. The lowlander's face split into another crooked-toothed smile as Naveil, hesitantly, reached up for help. A few ideas simmered in his mind, but he'd have to decide on one, fast.

Responding in a whisper, should Naveil..?

• Strike first! Aggression might scare them off.
• Hold back. Maybe he can get through this without fighting?
• Run away! It's not very honorable, but neither are the lowlanders!