Ruarc winced. So close. Kneeling, the Irishman kept his cloak safely away from any mess while rubbing a hand on Drysi's back to help her feel better. Once the retching had stopped he helped his apprentice back to her feet and offered her a canteen of water. He untied the cloak from her arm once he was sure she had her footing back.
"As I said, welcome to the Black Cuillin. Feeling well enough to walk? We've got about a mile to go before we reach the gate," Ruarc lifted the cowl of his cloak against the weather as he walked a little ways to the North side of the small foothill upon which they stood. "We'll be crossing the river and walking North along Loch Coruisk."
[The Keep] Walking to Skye
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
The girl that came back up from vomiting would have been hard to argue as fully alive. She pulled a wipe out of her hand bag and wiped her mouth off before discarding it carelessly into her bag. While she did feel considerably better, her body was sore from the exertion. She looked around dumbly, giving a little groan as she stared off at the ridges. When her eyes tracked back onto the canteen, she took it up in both hands and washed her mouth out.
Quietly, she followed in Flynn's shadow, nursing the canteen as they walked, groaning each time her stomach made a settling motion. Gideon followed at a safe distance, avoiding any footfalls as he slithered along. When she could feel her hair starting to stick to her cheeks, she tugged her hood over her head.
She made a mental note to study whatever it was that Ruarc had done to get them here. It was fascinating, and transportation magic was a field of magic that she hadn't thought much about since she began her hail Mary dive into druidism. The concepts were almost enough to distract her from the surrounding beauty, but eventually she was taken by the dramatic, steep mountains surrounding them. Everything that wasn't stone was awash with short grasses and mosses.
Eventually, she found herself trailing behind the man ahead of her that couldn't have been embodied better than by their surroundings. Mr. Flynn just kept going, nothing seemed to stop him, not even the biting cold of the wind. After having dropped off breakfast at the edge of the Atlantic, she felt like going home already. It was cold, she didn't feel good, and they still had a ways to go in this bitter, beautiful place.
Choking down the flimsy side of herself, she padded up quickly, and then bumped right into the man's back as they slowed to cross the river. Drysi rubbed her nose, and looked away, holding up the canteen she had taken earlier.
"S-sorry..." mewled Drysi quietly, still a little floaty, but looking a little more focused, "I'll... try to be... tougher."
Quietly, she followed in Flynn's shadow, nursing the canteen as they walked, groaning each time her stomach made a settling motion. Gideon followed at a safe distance, avoiding any footfalls as he slithered along. When she could feel her hair starting to stick to her cheeks, she tugged her hood over her head.
She made a mental note to study whatever it was that Ruarc had done to get them here. It was fascinating, and transportation magic was a field of magic that she hadn't thought much about since she began her hail Mary dive into druidism. The concepts were almost enough to distract her from the surrounding beauty, but eventually she was taken by the dramatic, steep mountains surrounding them. Everything that wasn't stone was awash with short grasses and mosses.
Eventually, she found herself trailing behind the man ahead of her that couldn't have been embodied better than by their surroundings. Mr. Flynn just kept going, nothing seemed to stop him, not even the biting cold of the wind. After having dropped off breakfast at the edge of the Atlantic, she felt like going home already. It was cold, she didn't feel good, and they still had a ways to go in this bitter, beautiful place.
Choking down the flimsy side of herself, she padded up quickly, and then bumped right into the man's back as they slowed to cross the river. Drysi rubbed her nose, and looked away, holding up the canteen she had taken earlier.
"S-sorry..." mewled Drysi quietly, still a little floaty, but looking a little more focused, "I'll... try to be... tougher."
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
No sooner had Ruarc begun to move onto the smattering of stones that made the crossing for the shallow Scavaig River than Drysi bumped into him. Hearing her quiet apology Ruarc wheeled around faster than a man his size would typically move and stared down at his apprentice. Standing stolidly in the way of her progress across the water, a gust of wind blew down from the valley and billowed his cloak. Kneeling down on the damp stone, the imposing druid brought himself closer to eye level with the triclops.
“There will be none of that,” Ruarc’s tone was firm as his face was shaded by the cowl. “No apprentice of mine will suggest they are anything but tough already. All you did was puke on your first ley line trip. That is not a measure of strength. My first trip; I passed out, overshot my target, and woke up with a sprained knee somewhere south of the Himalayas. Despite that, I was still considered strong. You; you have stood stalwart against dire threats both far afield and within your own heart. Do not ever suggest you are not strong over such trivial matters. I consider you plenty strong.”
Taking the canteen, Ruarc filled it from the upstream side of the crossing. Standing once more to his full height he turned and walked across the small bulwark of raised stones as the river worked its way through the earthwork. “Next time I hear something like that I’ll start you on cardio training. Now come, I assume you want to get out of this mist.”
“There will be none of that,” Ruarc’s tone was firm as his face was shaded by the cowl. “No apprentice of mine will suggest they are anything but tough already. All you did was puke on your first ley line trip. That is not a measure of strength. My first trip; I passed out, overshot my target, and woke up with a sprained knee somewhere south of the Himalayas. Despite that, I was still considered strong. You; you have stood stalwart against dire threats both far afield and within your own heart. Do not ever suggest you are not strong over such trivial matters. I consider you plenty strong.”
Taking the canteen, Ruarc filled it from the upstream side of the crossing. Standing once more to his full height he turned and walked across the small bulwark of raised stones as the river worked its way through the earthwork. “Next time I hear something like that I’ll start you on cardio training. Now come, I assume you want to get out of this mist.”
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
Drysi's empty stare offered little reaction to Ruarc's encouragement. As soon as he spun about, she was seized by a powerful urge to weep. She grabbed her chest, pursing her lips as hard as she could. It was like Ms. Alstad said, the triclops had lived and survived through some terrible, terrible things. Ruarc's affirmation was vindicating, and empowering.
"He thinks I'm strong."
Gideon coiled up on her leg.
"Why wouldn't he? You are his apprentice."
The triclops puffed up her chest, a smile spreading on her wearied face. With careful steps, she passed over the stonework as well and chased up to his side. From her on, she would only trail if she needed to.
"Where will we be… stayin', for the night?" Drysi asked in her slowly returning voice, "Do the druids stay in the Keep?"
"He thinks I'm strong."
Gideon coiled up on her leg.
"Why wouldn't he? You are his apprentice."
The triclops puffed up her chest, a smile spreading on her wearied face. With careful steps, she passed over the stonework as well and chased up to his side. From her on, she would only trail if she needed to.
"Where will we be… stayin', for the night?" Drysi asked in her slowly returning voice, "Do the druids stay in the Keep?"
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
"Quite so. The Keep houses a sizable population of druids that rotates yearly based on applications. Never had any interest myself, but many find the comradery and sense of place to be fulfilling. You might come to consider it, as the majority of those in residence tend to be of the Crafters. It also bears a garrison of Keepers, although this is more from tradition of ages past. Sages and Somatics keep the place running; Sages maintaining the central archives, and the Somas the day to day logistics. It's structured, efficient... and utterly suffocating. Food's tasty though, so there's that. To that end, we'll will be staying in the Keep. They are expecting us, and are accommodating us with temporary lodging."
The waters of Loch Coruisk lapped off to their right side while the master and apprentice continued North up the valley. As they past along the Eastern ridge of Sgùrr Alasdair, the highest mountain in the range, Drysi could see the mouth of the Coruisk River that fed the Loch as well as the mottle green slope and dark stone that made the Black Valley of Cuillin; yet Drysi still saw no Keep. All she could see was a single simple farmstead near the mouth, a small cobble wall with a split timber gate, and a handful of sheep grazing up the hillside. Ruarc made no deviation in his course or speed as his steady stride making the young girl work to keep pace, all the while discussing aspects about the Keep and the Order that sounded vaguely like he finally had someone to vent to.
Time stretched on as they trekked along the almost three kilometer loch, and eventually they drew close enough to the farmstead to see a man toiling in what appeared to be a small garden to the side of the building. When they reached the end of the loch and began to climb the slight rise the man took notice of the new arrivals. Standing and wiping his hands on a piece of cloth he moved to intercept their advance to the cobble wall. He stood just under six feet tall, had thick black hair grown out a few inches and swept back, a close cut black beard, and wore a knit sweater, work pants, and heavy boots. A bark sounded from up the slope as an Australian shepherd raced home.
"Hale met, travelers," called the man in a thick Scottish accent. "Ta wha' d'Ah owe th' pleasure of odd cloaked fig'r's pokin' onte may propertay?"
Ruarc stopped and looked at the man, and in turn to the dog that obediently sat at the man's side.
"Can we skip the theatrics today, Roan?" Ruarc sounded somewhat exasperated. "We'd prefer to be inside."
"You 'n' Ah both know tha's a lie, m'Lord Flynn," Rone gave a patronizing half bow. "'sides, gotta put on a li'l pomp f'r th' new kid."
Ruarc merely sighed, to which his opposition playfully bounced back on his heels while splaying his arms.
"Ahem, I am Roan Williamson, Keeper of the Gate, and it is my duty to welcome all arrivals to Carneath; whether by warm smile or cold steel. Now, young Initiate, state your name and your intentions," the dark haired Rone shifted his focus squarely onto Drysi. The man's face was reminiscent of Ruarc's; hard lined, storied by a couple of scars, signs of stress beyond his years, but his demeanor was welcoming and had a certain swashbuckling panache.
The waters of Loch Coruisk lapped off to their right side while the master and apprentice continued North up the valley. As they past along the Eastern ridge of Sgùrr Alasdair, the highest mountain in the range, Drysi could see the mouth of the Coruisk River that fed the Loch as well as the mottle green slope and dark stone that made the Black Valley of Cuillin; yet Drysi still saw no Keep. All she could see was a single simple farmstead near the mouth, a small cobble wall with a split timber gate, and a handful of sheep grazing up the hillside. Ruarc made no deviation in his course or speed as his steady stride making the young girl work to keep pace, all the while discussing aspects about the Keep and the Order that sounded vaguely like he finally had someone to vent to.
Time stretched on as they trekked along the almost three kilometer loch, and eventually they drew close enough to the farmstead to see a man toiling in what appeared to be a small garden to the side of the building. When they reached the end of the loch and began to climb the slight rise the man took notice of the new arrivals. Standing and wiping his hands on a piece of cloth he moved to intercept their advance to the cobble wall. He stood just under six feet tall, had thick black hair grown out a few inches and swept back, a close cut black beard, and wore a knit sweater, work pants, and heavy boots. A bark sounded from up the slope as an Australian shepherd raced home.
"Hale met, travelers," called the man in a thick Scottish accent. "Ta wha' d'Ah owe th' pleasure of odd cloaked fig'r's pokin' onte may propertay?"
Ruarc stopped and looked at the man, and in turn to the dog that obediently sat at the man's side.
"Can we skip the theatrics today, Roan?" Ruarc sounded somewhat exasperated. "We'd prefer to be inside."
"You 'n' Ah both know tha's a lie, m'Lord Flynn," Rone gave a patronizing half bow. "'sides, gotta put on a li'l pomp f'r th' new kid."
Ruarc merely sighed, to which his opposition playfully bounced back on his heels while splaying his arms.
"Ahem, I am Roan Williamson, Keeper of the Gate, and it is my duty to welcome all arrivals to Carneath; whether by warm smile or cold steel. Now, young Initiate, state your name and your intentions," the dark haired Rone shifted his focus squarely onto Drysi. The man's face was reminiscent of Ruarc's; hard lined, storied by a couple of scars, signs of stress beyond his years, but his demeanor was welcoming and had a certain swashbuckling panache.
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
Silently, Drysi listened to her master’s musings on the Keep, taking in an air of him that she didn’t get to hear very often. She had always suspected that Ruarc was not the typical druid, moreover, that he was not entirely in line with the order. Mr. Flynn had been his own agent for a very long time, and was also a creature who had his very own wilderness for when others came to harass him. Moreover, he seemed to never lack for hangers-on and door-knockers, demanding of his services or time.
”It’s sort of comforting to know that Mr. Flynn can complain about things,” said Drysi to her serpent, who had found his way back on to her shoulder in the sojourn.
”Oh? Why so?” asked Gideon, tasting the peaty air.
”I think it means he’s at ease,” surmised Drysi, another small smile spreading on her face before they came to their next obstacle.
When the farmer began to speak to them, she took refuge behind Ruarc, taking Roan for a common stranger. In the world of magic, it was often hard to tell the difference between magic and mundane, and if someone was legitimately just upset for using their space as a magical entrypoint.
Had it not been for her poor reception of transportation magic earlier, Drysi would have been more receptive of Roan’s theatrics, instead she seemed to carry her master's weariness of the motions. In fact, she was kicking herself, because in her heart of hearts, she thought it was the coolest thing imaginable. Being welcomed by a hidden, handsome guardian of an ancient fortress was right out of the fiction. She felt like the main character in an anime, coming to the main part of the story where she finds out she’s the chosen one.
The triclops looked up at Ruarc, checking him for a cue, before stepping forward, giving a curtsy and tugging up her shawl to hide her teeth.
“Hello Mr. Willumson,” greeted Drysi, taking a breath as she worked through the introduction she practiced, “I’m Drysi Llewella Maelgwyn of the 3rd Circle, apprentice of Ruarc Flynn. I’m here to pay my first visit to the Keep and make my appointment t’ Mistress Mastrogiacomo.”
”It’s sort of comforting to know that Mr. Flynn can complain about things,” said Drysi to her serpent, who had found his way back on to her shoulder in the sojourn.
”Oh? Why so?” asked Gideon, tasting the peaty air.
”I think it means he’s at ease,” surmised Drysi, another small smile spreading on her face before they came to their next obstacle.
When the farmer began to speak to them, she took refuge behind Ruarc, taking Roan for a common stranger. In the world of magic, it was often hard to tell the difference between magic and mundane, and if someone was legitimately just upset for using their space as a magical entrypoint.
Had it not been for her poor reception of transportation magic earlier, Drysi would have been more receptive of Roan’s theatrics, instead she seemed to carry her master's weariness of the motions. In fact, she was kicking herself, because in her heart of hearts, she thought it was the coolest thing imaginable. Being welcomed by a hidden, handsome guardian of an ancient fortress was right out of the fiction. She felt like the main character in an anime, coming to the main part of the story where she finds out she’s the chosen one.
The triclops looked up at Ruarc, checking him for a cue, before stepping forward, giving a curtsy and tugging up her shawl to hide her teeth.
“Hello Mr. Willumson,” greeted Drysi, taking a breath as she worked through the introduction she practiced, “I’m Drysi Llewella Maelgwyn of the 3rd Circle, apprentice of Ruarc Flynn. I’m here to pay my first visit to the Keep and make my appointment t’ Mistress Mastrogiacomo.”
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
"Such bashfulness," Roan spoke as he planted his hand at his waist, referring to the teenager raising her shawl. "Welcome now, Drysi, First Apprentice of Master Flynn, to the seat of of great Order. For seven centuries it has stood as a bastion of knowledge, and unity with the world around us. Welcome to Carneath Keep."
With a flourished swish of one arm the Scotsman gestured to his humble property. For a few beats he held the pose before hanging his head and sighing. "It's at this point Ah'd offer ya tea and a hist'ry less'n, but ye seem like a tough nut fr'm the same tree as ye'r master. So Ah'll skip to the finale. Come, Druid Maelgwyn, step forward and present a hand."
Stepping forward himself, Roan met Drysi halfway with his own outstretched hand. With his left hand he cradled Drysi's, while his right hand hovered over top. Quiet words Drysi could not hear were spoken, and when they finished Drysi's hand tingled and her eyes felt momentarily watery. A few blinks to clear the tears and perhaps an arm to wipe, but once her vision was clear the scenery before her had shifted. The humble farmstead remained, as did the garden and the sheep, but the cobblestone enclosure by the mountain had changed. The far side of the enclosure that consisted of a sheer stone wall of Sgùrr Alasdair was in fact stacked masonry stretching off to the North and South with a heavy wooden gate and iron portcullis; and the stony rise of the mountain had become a shimmering mist that gradually began to dissipate. Beyond the thinning mist was a mighty castle built directly into the stone of of the Black Cuillin range with tiers stepping gradually higher. Atop crenellated walls hung banners bearing a silver threaded eight pointed star over a sable black mountain on a field of sage green. Men and women, each bearing a right metal pauldron overtop cloaks bearing the markings of the Keepers, walked dutifully across the battlements.
"Open the gate!" Roan called as he swung the split timber foregate open for Ruarc and Drysi to pass through. In response the heavy gate began rumble as it swung open. The moment a crack formed a snap of energy could be felt as a truly powerful magical barrier parted to allow passage. "Pass now into the Keep, and meet your new family."
Ruarc nodded to Roan who reciprocated the gesture, and then motioned for Drysi to follow.
With a flourished swish of one arm the Scotsman gestured to his humble property. For a few beats he held the pose before hanging his head and sighing. "It's at this point Ah'd offer ya tea and a hist'ry less'n, but ye seem like a tough nut fr'm the same tree as ye'r master. So Ah'll skip to the finale. Come, Druid Maelgwyn, step forward and present a hand."
Stepping forward himself, Roan met Drysi halfway with his own outstretched hand. With his left hand he cradled Drysi's, while his right hand hovered over top. Quiet words Drysi could not hear were spoken, and when they finished Drysi's hand tingled and her eyes felt momentarily watery. A few blinks to clear the tears and perhaps an arm to wipe, but once her vision was clear the scenery before her had shifted. The humble farmstead remained, as did the garden and the sheep, but the cobblestone enclosure by the mountain had changed. The far side of the enclosure that consisted of a sheer stone wall of Sgùrr Alasdair was in fact stacked masonry stretching off to the North and South with a heavy wooden gate and iron portcullis; and the stony rise of the mountain had become a shimmering mist that gradually began to dissipate. Beyond the thinning mist was a mighty castle built directly into the stone of of the Black Cuillin range with tiers stepping gradually higher. Atop crenellated walls hung banners bearing a silver threaded eight pointed star over a sable black mountain on a field of sage green. Men and women, each bearing a right metal pauldron overtop cloaks bearing the markings of the Keepers, walked dutifully across the battlements.
"Open the gate!" Roan called as he swung the split timber foregate open for Ruarc and Drysi to pass through. In response the heavy gate began rumble as it swung open. The moment a crack formed a snap of energy could be felt as a truly powerful magical barrier parted to allow passage. "Pass now into the Keep, and meet your new family."
Ruarc nodded to Roan who reciprocated the gesture, and then motioned for Drysi to follow.
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
Drysi demurely allowed herself to be led forward to see the wondrous reveal. Her eyes widened more and more as she took in the enormity of the world that had been opened to her. Even being raised in a family with magic, there were still things to be amazed of. She opened her mouth to speak, and found her words failing her.
Mere months ago, she would have written the druid order off as a sophisticated order of hobos. What struck her more firmly than anything was how small her mind had been then.
She wanted tea, she wanted the history lesson, but she had already left a dour impression.
When it came time to enter, she dawdled, looking back at Roan.
"He will probably be there when you leave."
Gideon had poked himself out from under the hood to see the same splendour. He did not seem as impressed, but it was hard to excite the snake.
"So it's a common type of druid misdirection?" Drysi caught back up at Ruarc's flank, "Post a Keeper up as a humble groundskeeper out in front a'some important place and bob's your uncle? Huh. Willow'll have a fit when she sees this place."
Drysi's eyes tracked off to take in more details, "She'd love one of those Keeper pauldrons."
Mere months ago, she would have written the druid order off as a sophisticated order of hobos. What struck her more firmly than anything was how small her mind had been then.
She wanted tea, she wanted the history lesson, but she had already left a dour impression.
When it came time to enter, she dawdled, looking back at Roan.
"He will probably be there when you leave."
Gideon had poked himself out from under the hood to see the same splendour. He did not seem as impressed, but it was hard to excite the snake.
"So it's a common type of druid misdirection?" Drysi caught back up at Ruarc's flank, "Post a Keeper up as a humble groundskeeper out in front a'some important place and bob's your uncle? Huh. Willow'll have a fit when she sees this place."
Drysi's eyes tracked off to take in more details, "She'd love one of those Keeper pauldrons."
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
"At the very least it isn't uncommon. Our first line of defense is the Keepers, and we employ a degree of misdirection to try and seem unassuming," Ruarc responded as they passed through the gate. The courtyard they entered was squared and sizable from end to end. To the South end they could see a number of Keepers running drills, while the North side was reserved for quieter pursuits as a number of druids from a circle Drysi had yet to see were tending to a number of small but diverse flower gardens; and a few groups more appeared to be taking lunch on hewn stone benches spread around the yard. Drawing closer, the Keep seemed to loom above them, and more heraldry became visible. Eight smaller banners hung upon the front wall; four to either side of the main door inside marking the sigil of the Eight Circles. Above the door hung a larger banner depicting another silver eight pointed star, but this time set within a white circle on a light green field. Drysi would also notice the mist that seemed to permeate the environment on the walk in was gone, and the temperature seemed to have risen to a very comfortable seventy degrees Fahrenheit.
The large oak doors leading into the main keep were open, and muted laughter and conversations could be heard as the group drew closer. Inside a good number of individuals were scattered around the wide entry hall. The number of different cloaks were beaten only by the wide spread of nationalities of the wearers and the animals that were their familiars. As the druids enjoyed what appeared to be their lunch hour Drysi could see individuals from several corners of the world represented; including some that appeared mythical in nature. The recognition Ruarc, and by extension Drysi, had received from druids met up until now had waned. Here in the Keep they were faces in the crowd. Everyone went about their own business, spoke among themselves, and allowed the newcomers to pass in anonymity. A matter Ruarc seemed perfectly happy about.
"Through here we'll enter the Main Hall. It is mostly used for social events and dinners, and otherwise is used as a residual lesson area. We need to pass to the far side and take the stairs down a number of floors."
Sure enough, as the found their way to the far side of the room and entered the next, Drysi saw the Main Hall of Carneath Keep. Twice as long as it was wide, the hall had a number of doors to either side, and two doors on the far wall flanking a raised platform backed by a mural of the Eight pointed star interwoven by vine inspired designs. The dark stone brick floors were accented by long rugs, and the walls bore various furs and tapestries. All this combined with a number of candle lit wooden chandeliers gave the room a remarkably warm feeling that pulled any residual dampness Drysi might be feeling. A number of tables filled the empty space, and were occupied by various foods and more druids sat upon adjacent benches. Lunch appeared to consist of various cauldrons of soup, and breads with fixings to allow for either sandwiches or charcuterie.
Ruarc passed them all by, set on his business, but at a slower pace than he normally would to allow Drysi time to take it all in. Before long he led her through the left door on the far end of the hall and into a long corridor. The air here felt denser, and Drysi could get the feeling that they had passed into the mountain. The walls here were lit by hanging lamps, and more modest doors punctuated their walk. Turning once they reached a small alcove, Ruarc pulled open the door to a winding staircase going both up and down. Ruarc started down.
The large oak doors leading into the main keep were open, and muted laughter and conversations could be heard as the group drew closer. Inside a good number of individuals were scattered around the wide entry hall. The number of different cloaks were beaten only by the wide spread of nationalities of the wearers and the animals that were their familiars. As the druids enjoyed what appeared to be their lunch hour Drysi could see individuals from several corners of the world represented; including some that appeared mythical in nature. The recognition Ruarc, and by extension Drysi, had received from druids met up until now had waned. Here in the Keep they were faces in the crowd. Everyone went about their own business, spoke among themselves, and allowed the newcomers to pass in anonymity. A matter Ruarc seemed perfectly happy about.
"Through here we'll enter the Main Hall. It is mostly used for social events and dinners, and otherwise is used as a residual lesson area. We need to pass to the far side and take the stairs down a number of floors."
Sure enough, as the found their way to the far side of the room and entered the next, Drysi saw the Main Hall of Carneath Keep. Twice as long as it was wide, the hall had a number of doors to either side, and two doors on the far wall flanking a raised platform backed by a mural of the Eight pointed star interwoven by vine inspired designs. The dark stone brick floors were accented by long rugs, and the walls bore various furs and tapestries. All this combined with a number of candle lit wooden chandeliers gave the room a remarkably warm feeling that pulled any residual dampness Drysi might be feeling. A number of tables filled the empty space, and were occupied by various foods and more druids sat upon adjacent benches. Lunch appeared to consist of various cauldrons of soup, and breads with fixings to allow for either sandwiches or charcuterie.
Ruarc passed them all by, set on his business, but at a slower pace than he normally would to allow Drysi time to take it all in. Before long he led her through the left door on the far end of the hall and into a long corridor. The air here felt denser, and Drysi could get the feeling that they had passed into the mountain. The walls here were lit by hanging lamps, and more modest doors punctuated their walk. Turning once they reached a small alcove, Ruarc pulled open the door to a winding staircase going both up and down. Ruarc started down.
Re: [The Keep] Walking to Skye
“It’s like bloody Hogwarts, if Hogwarts had air conditionin’,” Drysi commented, amazed at the level of comfort despite the carven interior of the keep. She had the feeling that the druids may have always had this type of comfort here, being built into the cold wall of a mountain in Scotland. As she took in more and more of the interior, she felt a little more at ease. Perhaps it was the feeling of being dry again, or perhaps it was being in a spot where one didn’t stand out anymore.
Now that they were among other druids, the idea of being one didn’t feel as stand-out as it once was. There was a sense of inter-mingling belonging in walking by people of many different slices of life who all wore the cloaks the order. This was it, she thought. This was that sense of belonging she had been yearning for.
Drysi kept stopping, wanting to speak to the other druids, but each time she paused, she found herself gripped by an intense anxiety. When it became too much to linger, she looked back up to see Ruarc looking back at her, pacing himself with her stops. He was keeping an eye on her, and that meant she could take some risks.
But not today!
The triclops bounced on after Mr. Flynn, trying not to lose him. Her master seemed to be at task for something. Something she thought might be getting her to see Mastrogiacomo sooner than later so that their trip could be as brief as possible. Drysi felt intent on extending her stay as much as she could, though, finding all sorts of new wonder at each corner. It was a lot less scary than she thought it was.
She watched Mr. Flynn enter the stairwell, and lingered a moment to make passing thoughts at the purpose of these more ordinary halls. Were they getting into more businesslike areas? When she turned back around, she realized her master was gone, and she became seized by a momentary panic. Drysi entered after Ruarc, only to find she had just missed which way he had gone.
Not wanting to get left behind, she ascended the stairwell to catch up with him.
Now that they were among other druids, the idea of being one didn’t feel as stand-out as it once was. There was a sense of inter-mingling belonging in walking by people of many different slices of life who all wore the cloaks the order. This was it, she thought. This was that sense of belonging she had been yearning for.
Drysi kept stopping, wanting to speak to the other druids, but each time she paused, she found herself gripped by an intense anxiety. When it became too much to linger, she looked back up to see Ruarc looking back at her, pacing himself with her stops. He was keeping an eye on her, and that meant she could take some risks.
But not today!
The triclops bounced on after Mr. Flynn, trying not to lose him. Her master seemed to be at task for something. Something she thought might be getting her to see Mastrogiacomo sooner than later so that their trip could be as brief as possible. Drysi felt intent on extending her stay as much as she could, though, finding all sorts of new wonder at each corner. It was a lot less scary than she thought it was.
She watched Mr. Flynn enter the stairwell, and lingered a moment to make passing thoughts at the purpose of these more ordinary halls. Were they getting into more businesslike areas? When she turned back around, she realized her master was gone, and she became seized by a momentary panic. Drysi entered after Ruarc, only to find she had just missed which way he had gone.
Not wanting to get left behind, she ascended the stairwell to catch up with him.