Triba Gues - Breaking the Bindings

[Pankoki]

This is the development journal for Triba Gues. I'm reserving this post for her appearance description and potential thread indexing.

Her old journal can be found here.

[SIZE=32]---[/SIZE]

[SIZE=16]Appearance Description:[/SIZE][/B][/I]

                                 This heavily tanned and slender halfling stands abnormally taller than many of her kind. Though her story and features are often intimidating, neither stance nor reputation can completely conceal a deeper care beneath. Her caramel colored eyes, which can quickly shift between amusement or a piercing stare, always seem to be attentive to her surroundings.

Smooth dark brown hair falls long and fluidly over shoulders and back, easily reaching below her waist to curl at the ends from many years of being bound tightly in braids. Still soft and well cared for, it swirls with ease around her figure while managing to stay out of the way of her movements.

Her slim halfling body show no signs of laziness or lack of care. While not ribbed with heavy lines of muscles it is clear that every inch of her gently curved figure is a testament to an athletic lifestyle. This appearance is only accentuated when the occasional impossible act of physical contortion is seen from her with such grace and so little effort that many are left questioning her true nature.

                                 [SIZE=13]Several tattoos of varying styles and origins are seen on her skin when her clothing allows for the viewing. Clearly marked by different artists and at different times of her life, they range from scarred almost to birthmark level, to fading with age, through large and colorful and into the ever unfinished projects that grow with time. Not quite tattooed but similar in permanency is a pair of scars, one simple white line to each bicep.[/SIZE]
 
Often garbed in easy to move in (and out of) clothes, certain features rarely abandon her attire unless she wears a stylish dress of some kind. The first two are her signature weapons. Buckled on her left hip, a silvery gold toned mithril handaxe whose edge glows with an unearthly fire, bursts of strange crimson energy often seen arise from its shape. On her right thigh a curved mithril kukri with similar coloration as her other weapon, its sharp and deadly edge sparkling with small shocks of electricity that die out on the leathery flap that binds it to her leg. Another item of interest are a pair of silvery bindings that wrap around her arms, anyone who bothers to examine them could see the static energy being emitted by them, and the occasional clear emanation of energy if they ever come close to one another.

However, while Tooth and Nail, the names given to her main weapons, are a constant feature on her, it is not strange to see many more weapons latched to her body. A deadly thorny whip curled on her left leg. An elven short-bow strapped to her back. A terrifying club, too large for her size, with dented metal scraps on its end hanging from a backpack. The occasional glint of a hidden dagger along her clothing. And even splinters of fine and sharp metal used as pins on her hair but easily doubling as instruments of death. Fully garbed she would pass as a small armory and often does so out of whim, amusement or need.

In the end, her movements, despite the many attachments, are fair and graceful. Though thuggish as she may seem from her equipment, an almost elven sense of breezy fey-like movements contrast starkly with her accouterments once again aiding in that chaotic feeling that permeates her personality and behavior.

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[SIZE=16]Tattoo Descriptions:[/SIZE][/B][/I]


                                  The following is a listing of Triba's tattoos, detailing their appearance and origins.

- Left Arm:

A wreath of thorns encircling her forearm, it has been modified since its original drawing to have rose buds upon the thorns. The original wreath of thorn looks relatively crude in style, very simple colors and an even simpler tattooing pattern, bordering on scarification. It was made by an averagely skilled tattoo artist in Katherian, whose technique mimics the reputation of the town. The rose buds make a stark contrast against the wreath of thorns for their coloring is vivid and almost paint-like. These flowers were added by a rare Ilsarean priestess who studied under Triba to learn her interesting methodology and culminated her apprenticeship by drawing on her teacher's arm.

- Right arm:

Near her wrists a resting Moon Tiger surrounded by blue and silver sparkles of magic. The tiger's head lays nearest to her hand while the long tail curls back towards her elbow. The detail in this tattoo is exquisite, following Triba's taper and needle methodology which offers plenty of room for detail at the expense of comfort. This particular tattoo has an odd enchantment to it that was placed by the seer Neru, its effect unknown, the only tell-tale sign to any practitioner of magic is that a strange sense of illusion or divination plays upon it.

- Back towards front:

On her back, upon the left side, at heart level is a mid-sized fairy (about 6 inches tall). The fairy looks like its being affected by a wind that is making her hair all a mess. She is garbed with wild leaves and flowers (a knowledgeable person would know that they are rare species of plants, some even thought to be extinct). The fey has small trinkets and keys hanging from all sorts of places like pouches or twigs or even her hair, it seems more trinkets have been added through time. In her pose, she mimics blowing something off her hand towards Triba's left arm. From this blowing action, wind gusts, leaves, petals and little sparkles of magic encircle her ribs towards her chest, they round under her left ribcage and end in a smattering of colors and patterns on the left side of her belly. This complex tattoo was designed by herself, drawn and colored to full detail on a painting she places in whichever house she is spending the most time on, and tattooed by Mary Wildthorn, Triba's tattooing partner, in Spellgard.

- Back, right side:

On her right shoulder blade lies a light shade, just a pigment under her normal skin color, of a  small four leaf clover cradled comfortably in a bed of nuts and berries. This tattoo was not quite painted but rather burnt and scarred with extreme care through druidic ritual in Alindor. While the process of tattooing this particular design was clearly quite painful, there is no lack of detail and in the end it almost seems like a beautiful natural birthmark.

- Right frontal upper thigh:

This strange tattoo seems to be a work in progress, right now it has a golden clover leaf wreath, wrapped around the red shape of a heart, upon a circle of stars. The circle of stars is being held by a bodiless and unfinished bird beak. This is being drawn by her, thus the patterns follow the similar appearance to other tattoos she has done, but the work is sporadic and thus some shapes seem to have just slightly different methodologies, the more recent ones looking prettier than the older ones. The Heart shape is the one which looks best when compared to the other figures.

- Feet:

On top of both of her feet a pair of black wolf paw prints are drawn, they are very faint by now, the figures are very simple and with just one color. This was tattooed by a Folianite Ranger in the Ulan Treetop Village during her long stay there and by how the figures are fading it is clear that the technique used is not one to make the marks last forever unless repainted.

[Pankoki]

===

[INDENT][INDENT]
...It is important for everyone to know...  
[/INDENT]

Slender fingers caress the spine of an old weather beaten journal, its leather now but a mere ghost of the rich mahogany color it mimicked before. Bright golden caramel eyes peruse the first pages of and old life, of old memories. A river of emotions cross this halfling's face: melancholy, happiness, sadness, excitement, satisfaction, regret. Each small insight into her older self granting a unique perspective that only age and experience can bring.

[INDENT] ...So we married at the first place we met...  
[/INDENT]

How it all seemed simple then. How it all seemed it would last forever and it would only grow stronger with time. It amuses her now to realize how naive she was, how she did not even remotely come close then to scratch the very surface of her heart. And yet there is still one thing defining her then as it does now: Passion. Unequivocal, fully committed, unabashedly, unadulterated passion. She gave everything she knew of herself at the time to every lover that came into her life, and every time she was changed and those she loved were changed too. Chaos.

[INDENT] ...So I am paying for my crimes...  
[/INDENT] Her slender halfling body stretches as a cold breeze slithers its way through her desert home. Well-toned muscles tighten and relax as her fingers flip through more pages. Her eyes catch the passages detailing her mistakes, her blunders, the paths that led to harsher lessons. She finds herself surprised, not realizing the great quantity of these types of entries. Some are amusing. Some are dangerous. Some are world changing. Little by little she finds herself affecting more lives, even those of people she's never met. She knows how this story ends. Her last known action would change -everyones- lives. A darkening of an entire world.[INDENT] ..."Let those who come from beyond the waters embrace the harmony of your woods"...  
[/INDENT] A simple prayer. The tension eases upon her body. The wings of a fey inked upon her back seem to flutter playfully as her muscles unwind. She remembers now how her heart rests with so many of the greater powers. The Merchant of Fate. The Lady of Spells. The Runner. The Prince of Wolves. But the deep well of her being, the passion that drove everything else, that she now knew was Lady Muse's song. That realization was a recent discovery. Her shifting mind could not settle for one or the other, it could not for it is many and unique. But the fuel behind it all, it was clear to her now who held the halfling in the musing embrace.[INDENT]  ..."Not all portals seem to be working as one would expect"...  
[/INDENT] Her fingers find the last of her journals, the most recent one. The letters upon them now mostly in elven, and many more drawings sneaking into the pages she explores. She finds adventure, yet another constant in her life. She thinks perhaps it all started when she was born, and had made her first journey in a basket to the doorstep of the ones who had adopted and loved her. How could she not wander from there on? To walk. To explore. To learn. To find Mystery. The malleable constant in her chaos. Yet the urge to find her place of origin is strong too. Another mystery never solved. A constant struggle for what lies beyond and what lies within. For what comes ahead and for what was left behind.[INDENT] ..."Sinthar was dead"...  
[/INDENT] The end. Fingers turn the lock on the cabinet. She hides the key in a secret compartment within the lock, her own invention. She presses her palm against the sealed wooden door, admiring the magical sigils that protect its content. She understands the bitter sweet nature of endings. Of how something ends and something new begins. She feels regret for abandoning the world after Sinthar's death. She also feels relief at having done so, the lessons learned, the memories she made in the time.


  Feeling these mixed emotions she picks her traveling bags and weapons, sheathing the large number of the latter in many visible and concealed places upon her body. Her now gloved hands part a flap of the elaborate tent she calls home and the cold breeze of the desert night swiftly sneaks inside. Triba takes one last glance at her home. She finally understands that her life story is far from over, that it is not a book closing, but instead a telling that never ends. There are no more journals in her future. Only herself and what the road ahead brings...

[/INDENT]

===

[Pankoki]

[INDENT]

===

The year 1450. The slender halfling watches the priestess walk to and fro in the Ilsare temple. This is good ole Hlint, she thinks to herself, yet even after all the insanities and inanities experienced in it, it feels like home. A wistful eye watches the events that pass before her eyes. She sees how the young priestess is given the scarlet anemone and in a private moment she shares one of the many blessings she will receive from the Heartsong. The halfling's stomach twists with a strange pang she has not felt in a long time and in one very cold moment her soul feels lonely.

... I need to do something about this ...

She doesn't speak to any one person in particular, perhaps not even to herself; yet at that moment a task begins to grow in her mind. This path she will walk, but she will walk it right and forever. She doesn't feel ready yet, but in her heart she feels that if she can prepare and wait for Her embrace that it will prove it is all true. And so the task begins.

... You mean it only grows once every decade? ...  

Her plans slowly take shape. First, she works on the dress or at least the fabrics for it. In Tilmar she manages to chase down a slippery man who has the knowledge of a rare silkworm that produces a naturally tinted silk. Her intention is to rely on dyes the least possible, and so after paying far too much True in drinks and favors for this man, she's finally able to squeeze a location out of him. It's not much, but she is who she is, and so the name of the forest and a vague description is all she will need to find them.

... In the Forest of Voices. Follow the pathways east until you see the crimson butterflies ...

Once a decade. She's not sure how or why. But she is who she is. And so the pathfinder does her job and locates these elusive creatures. Cleverly hidden by the folds of bushes and leaves, the larva's home is protected by the very forest it grows in. She must hurry. She cannot allow them to burst their cocoons or the silk will be ruined. Setting a hidden campsite nearby, she boils water and begins to unravel the hundreds of cocoons she will need for her purpose. She should have brought help, it is too much work for one person with so little time, but she decides she must do this alone. So through whatever stubborn determination she conjures, she manages to finish her task just before the majority of moths break their small homes.

... Ye, of course I kept them. They are rubies! ...

The brilliant crimson stones she collected herself, with the aid of her two proper sized companions. Most of the stones. The set of rubies for the central piece are much older. The Harper and herself gathered those in very dangerous territory while exploring elven lands. She gave them to Reventage because it seemed fitting that they were guarded by one so high of Ilsare, she knew they would be put to good use. What she didn't know was that years later she would come back to ask for them for this project. It made sense. It reflected where it all had started, where the seed had been planted and it belonged there near the heart. The red-haired elven beauty could not turn this logic away and with much reluctance handed over the precious rubies knowing that in the halfling's hands they would make art beyond words.

More fibers were collected in time. Each of them as exquisite as the next. The gold she mined and molded herself. Every bit of this outfit was gathered from scratch and made by her. In the end she made two.

Both outfits were reflections of one another. One fitted for her size, the other proper for an elf or a slender human female. The burnt red, which truly is called sangria, is the backdrop for everything else. Silky white lines etched with true golden strings contrast vividly against the deeper blood color making elven runic symbols all carrying the many different subtle meanings for passion and love that the language has, but each done with taste. The weaving of this tapestry carefully blending all this meaning upon the cut of the fabric. The cut itself, that which is commonly known as a mermaid dress, is close fitting through the bodice, down the the hips and about mid calf its skirt flares outwards. And so in this manner, all the decorations flow spiraling downwards to meet the skirt that brushes lightly against the ground.

The gown is fitted for an athletic body and so it highlights her every curve. The rubies find home at the edges of the fabric, except the center piece on her bust, which form a V amidst the cleavage. Each ruby, polished and enchanted to emanate its own passionate light. The whole thing a breathless sight.

Three years it took from the moment the first silk was collected until the last ruby was placed. Three long and arduous years to finish this work of art. Truthfully though, only the first step in a longer road. Only the start.

===

[/INDENT]

[Pankoki]

[INDENT]
From a distance it is hard to describe. The pile of carcasses remotely resemble some sort of chitinous creature but it would take careful consideration for anyone to actually figure out what they might be. Whatever they may be, the pile is considerable in size. A closer look reveals many legs and if these were the collected parts of one whole creature it would be a creature of nightmare. Something stirs from within the mountain of bodies making the broken body parts shake and slide from its summit. The stirring grows stronger and stronger and with a final shove a large bulbous and hairy remain is tossed across the dark cavern's walls. A dark figure emerges from the refuse.

In the darkness of the cave there is no natural light. It is deep within the earth and even then, the world outside is covered in the dark blanket of night.  The faint glow that begins to bathe the cave in light comes from something held in the figure's hand. Shadows form and in this case it would have been best if darkness prevailed. The creature that emerges is perhaps more terrifying than the grotesque monsters she has slain. As the figure rises from the pile it can be seen that she is covered from head to toe in gore and blood. Some of it is hers, some of it belongs to the dark spiders she has slain. There is no part of her not covered in this mess and by the way some of it has melted through her garment it doesn't seem to be a harmless substance. She is beyond pain however, the soul aching within has no room for anything but sorrow and anger.

As the light from her weapons begin to fill the room the truly terrifying sight is observed. Her eyes. An anger that would stop a creature ten times her size. An anger so deep it takes on a shape of its own. Her eyes burn and whether it is a reflection of the flames on her axe or a fire from within, an unnatural seething hate is embodied on the two near-amber orbs that grant her sight.

She walks out of the deep cave, stinking and oozing, with something strange held in her hands.

==

Triba didn't know how she was going to tell them. Viperin was the closest thing Triba ever had to a sister, and Alessia's care and bond with Acacea was strong. They had both been saved by Acacea and now she had to tell them the worst. It was not only the fact that she was delivering bad news, but that she intended to ask a horribly painful favor of them that made everything even more difficult. She was not looking forward for this meeting but she needed them. She needed them because they were the only ones she trusted with the deed. She needed them because they were one of the few who would understand. She needed them because her heart and soul were breaking with each passing moment and they could give her a purpose to keep it together.

Only once had she seen Viperin and Alessia cry before, and it was nothing compared to this. The link between Slither and Sandcaller only made matters worse as they both reflected their emotions and sorrows unto another. The tears Triba could deal with, she was familiar with those, it was the despair in their eyes that nearly made her snap. Viperin's vibrant sky blue eyes looked as if they would never again be able to see the light in the dark world that they lived in. Triba sought refuge in them and it seemed that she was to once more be the strong soul. She steeled herself just as she had done so many times before and offered them a little hope.

Acacea's body had disappeared. The scrolls did not work but it made no sense for her body to disappear like that.

It was then the Viperin knew exactly what Triba wanted. As if her sister had slapped her, the shock on her face brought a immediate stop to the tears that kept flowing. There was a great sorrow there, but she understood. It was fitting. It was Acacea who had healed their dark magic and made it something good. Still dangerous. Still dark. Still taboo. But now forever changed to not harm magic and all thanks to Acacea and her perseverance. The one reprieve of consoling a pair was always that when one side was fixed the other tended to follow along shortly thereafter. Alessia too calmed down and began thinking.

The recipe was not pretty. It never really was. There were parts of the ritual that they were still working on to change before Acacea left the desert. It was decided that Viperin and Alessia would handle the legwork while Triba went for the unique component. Triba listened to her soul-sister as she explained that the poison gland they were looking for was actually an aberration. That not any poisonous spider would do. That the fang would be engorged at its base. That the liquid would not be filmy but black. That they needed a large one. She listened carefully to all the instructions. It didn't matter to her how hard it would be to find it. It is what she did, she found things. When she left them, she had a purpose. Of course it would be spiders, it made sense, really.

==

On her way to Wildflower, trophy in hand, she remembered. She remembered the first time they ever met. It all started outside Hlint. The younger Acacea struggled against spiders. She was about to be overwhelmed by them when Triba spotted her. A quick few well placed hits and she was safe. It made so much sense to her now. So much was written on that one encounter that it made her heart ache at the thought it all.

She would become her protector, much to the dismay of the young halfling. She would become a companion. A partner. A friend. All that and so much more and it was all written on that one encounter. Their lives, linked by happenstance, beginning and ending with spiders. It had to be spiders.

Those thoughts, the thoughts she was trying to battle from coming to the surface kept flooding her. She remembered pranks. She remembered gryphons. She remembered seashells. She remembered losses and triumphs. She remembered music. She remembered Hairy Porpoises. She remembered magic. There was a lot of that, both the obvious one drawn from the Lady and the more subtle one that permeated their existence. Their existence. She was gone now. It was not supposed to be this way.

She had seen before the effects of those paired when one met their end. The callers would bear their grief but they survived. They made their peace in whatever way they saw fit and though never again will they truly find that bond they had with the lost one, they could move on. She had seen it happen before and it was sad but bearable. She had also seen the other side. It was not pretty. The Slither was meant to defend and die first. It was for a good reason. The Slithers were never really stable. They were always kept in check by their callers. And even though she had seen the effects of that, she had seen the madness that takes over, she still felt sad because that too was taken away. A half broken link is of no use.

So many ups and downs. A lifetime together. A lifetime still left to go. So many unanswered questions. So many things left unsaid. So incomplete. And now only clinging to a tiny thread of hope that she was simply lost and not gone. She could find lost. She was -good- at finding lost. Gone however would be forever. She knew she was bound to the Lady of Magic, her own would be another. Gone was nevermore.

==

When she arrived in Wildflower they were already waiting. She knew it would be so. There were very few people that Triba ever relied on, but these two were on top of that short list. The Viperin that greeted her was already the darker one. Her mind was already preparing for the ritual and Triba knew it was not an easy thing to do. But even behind the darkness she was greeted with love. It was the same with Acacea, even more so. Even amidst fights, quarrels and darkness, she was always greeted with love.

Viperin explained that though the results of the ritual might be unwanted, that it was going to be clear. A pale green meant that she was still alive, the greener the better. A dark red meant that she was gone. Black and it meant that the ritual had failed to give any results. Triba liked these kinds of rituals, no funny business, straight and to the point.

All the preparations were done. Steeling themselves the three halflings set on the path to answers. Each aspect of the ritual was done precisely and perfectly. No flaws. They were good at that. With each little step of the way the signs confirming they hadn't made a mistake came. They had done this before and were familiar with each of them. At each confirmed step the candle of hope was fed and turned into a bigger flame. The slow and arduous process seemingly lasting hours as each step was done with very carefully measured steps.

Then it came to the blood. This part Triba was familiar with. It was what she was supposed to be to Acacea. That too had many conflicting memories. She gave it willingly, one of her many sharp knives easily cutting the skin on her palm breaking the patterns of a recently made tattoo. The three sets of hands offered their share and into the cauldron the magic was finally pleased. The churning patterns that emerged swirled with the power of the ritual as Viperin enunciated the words required. The proper and expected gas left the pot and as it dissipated it would reveal the results of their magic. The three of them leaned in expectantly waiting to see what color it would take.

==

Confusion at first. This ritual was what she wanted to do because of its clear nature. They received all the proper responses along the way. This was a good ritual. But the amber color that the murky waters had taken gave her no answers at all. She looked up to Viperin in hopes that she would know how to interpret them but her expression was equally puzzled. A helpless shrug was all that she could offer and that is when it finally snapped.

Everything started spinning. Slow at first and then too fast. Her world had become blurry and out of focus. She needed air. She made her way through the cave to find an open space. Every step she took seemed too heavy. The voices behind her made no sense anymore. Every step was a torture as something within felt empty. Emptying. Unsure of how she got there she made it to the mouth of the cave and all around her were memories of the one lost. Lost? Gone? No answers.

The world closed around her even outside in the open. She couldn't breathe. She both felt everything and everything went numb. She needed something and she didn't know what it was.

She screamed.

A scream that carried the sorrow and frustration weighing her down so heavily.

She screamed again.

A banshee-like scream that tore at her throat and left it raw.

She screamed once more.

Pain. Suffering. Anger. Despair. All mingled together as the edge of her sight grew darker and darker.

The screaming wasn't enough. Her body was hurting. Hurting in ways that she never knew possible before. She held her head in pain not knowing what to do. Frustration coursed through her as nothing would do to stop the pain. In that pain, she tries to scratch at her cheeks wanting so desperately for tears to come. Frustration is compounded when the scars she makes close immediately and she feels a doom upon her. Nothing lasts. Nothing is permanent. She forgets and thinks that nothing will ever mark her and feels the dread fall upon her.

Picking up her knife she eyes the blade and knows that it too will not offer any peace. No. She has known this for a long time. She stares at the blade looking at her deranged reflection and catches a glimpse of an answer. Trembling now and looking to the wild jungle before her a thousand memories flash through her mind. The blade is held firmer and with her other hand she grasps the long braided coil of hair that so beautifully adorns her head. She can hear now the screams from behind her. What seemed forever was only a few seconds and the other halflings are just catching up to her. They are too late.

She does eventually pass out. Limp, her mind can't take it anymore and she collapses in a heap on the rocky ground. A desperate Viperin comes to her side, cradling her in her arms, tears stinging her eyes as she cries Triba's name. Next to her the calmer Sandcaller picks the remnants of nearly a century worth of hair and carefully coils it into one of her bags. She comes to stand next to her pair and quietly holds her as the sun gives way to the night...


Somewhere in the wilds of the haven a guttural roar is heard. No sound that a humanoid throat could make. It is almost a howl but it comes from no wolf or hound. The roar persists for a long while and an unnatural silence falls in Wildflower that day.

==

[/INDENT]((You will be sorely missed))