<div class="floatleft">(https://pre05.deviantart.net/2171/th/pre/f/2011/336/b/4/b4c5f3881238a966efc3a093560337d5-d4hx467.jpg)    </div><strong>Takari Fox-At-Dusk (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1314731)</strong><br/><em>Half-Elf Unchained Rogue 1 CG</em><br/><strong>Condition:</strong>Normal<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Explorer's Outfit, Studded Leather Armor, Gloves, Cloak, Backpack<br/><hr/><br/>Takari has never seen the likes of the festival-- far from sheltered, her awe is more a result of the isolation of her youth.  She's overwhelmed at the sheer variety of faces and goods, and the sheer gaiety of the people thronging the streets is fascinating and infectious.  She is dazzled by the goods on display at first, though dawdling over them-- especially with the merchants still not fully prepared to tend to their wares properly-- gets her shooed off more often than not.<br/><br/>A few friendly sellers make over her lovely features, commenting on her elven heritage, including a scant few that attempt to engage her in her father's native tongue.  She politely entertains the banter, unwilling or unable to sustain it for long, indicating only that she's from a much simpler and smaller place, one without such offerings.  One knowing half-elf offers words of caution, or perhaps simply friendly advice for traveling where there are pockets of prejudice against half-breeds farther from here, and she accepts this free advice at the cost offered.  Risking being sold on items she simply cannot afford, and after a few close-vested offers of work for a pretty half-elven girl with red hair that, well-intended or not, strike her as a bit unsavory, she opts to make her way to a central point for the revelry, where perhaps a meal-- or at least rations, should she find need to seek roadside accommodations among the fellow travelers for safety-- can be procured.<br/><br/>There's no wanting for unusual fares, and for just a few coppers, she manages a spiced cider and some stew that seems quite popular among those she takes for locals... the earnest-looking ones, those who are finishing their labors for the day before joining the festivities.  Those are the ones she follows, seeking the wisdom of the crowd in lieu of a proper guide or friend in this village.  She does make a note of a few sellers to visit... of course, those with the most appealing wares are beyond her means, but a few pretty garments would, perhaps, turn heads her way if she lingered at the festival, and who knows?  Maybe the attention wouldn't be unwelcomed.<br/><br/>So she found her way to a crowded plaza, and now seated at a corner with a clay tankard of fresh water, Takari watches the goings on with mild amusement, until the strange-- albeit naturally charming, and matronly in a strangely 'woodsy' way-- levels her gaze at Takari herself, seeming to expect some sort of... what, tale?  Amusement?  Entrancing story?<br/><br/>Shifting her long legs under her further at the hewn wooden bench where she sits, Takari seems to try to duck the woman's gaze, as the others tell their tales.  Fascinating... intriguing, even... that so many of the throng gathered seem to be close to her own age, but demonstrate a certain poise and ferocity beyond her own.  They strike her as the adventurous type, and while it may take a cup of ale and a decent self-lecture, she resolves to speak to some of these women... sea-farers, warriors, mages perhaps?  Silence speaks volumes, and she guesses from the accouterments-- some eerily familiar-- that there may be even magic among some of these assembled.<br/><br/>In particular, she seems struck by the boldest among them... the outspoken warriors, particularly fierce despite the preclusions against the 'fairer sex', whose strength seems to radiate from them like waves of pure, radiant heat from a friendly fire.  In particular, she seems intrigued by this... Test of the StarStone?  Nothing of its like was spoken by her father, who assumed that magic was innate and inborn and should not be proven, only glutted upon.  The thought made her shiver.  And the thought of pirate booty and celebration-- capped off with a kiss between what surely-- or maybe not?-- must be complete strangers demonstrated such boldness that it actually made her blush in sympathy.  Or jealousy, who knows?  And of founding a tribe... who knew that there would be whole 'tribes' of warriors who, like her mother, defended their land with their blood and blades?  Or of a dragon hoard?  Were such things not legend after all..?<br/><br/>And yet those eyes sought her out, expectantly again, as the woman's dark-skinned, inscrutable face fixed upon her, seeking a tale of her own telling.  Was this a test?  If so, yes, Takari would fail.  She couldn't tell a story for shit, and yet her mouth was trying to form words as if doing so would be the only way to force the woman's eyes to move on.<br/><br/>"When I was a child," she murmured, and then a few in the rabble hissed for silence among others-- oh, dear gods, the embarrassment, as if what she had to say bore any weight at all.  Still others gestured, frowned for her to speak up.  One old man even tilted an ear-horn her way in displeasure.  "EH WHAT'S THAT?"<br/><br/>She cleared her throat and, more shakily, yet with a bit more volume, tried again.<br/><br/>"I was still becoming a woman when m-- a mage, corrupted by the blight, tried to make pact with the dark fae to change me for one of them."  Eyes widened in horror, or respect, or surprise or something.  She sickened, paled visibly-- the lack of color on her amber skin more obvious next to her coppery locks.  "He carried me to the woods, away from my mother-- who is a respected ranger from Merideth.  He took me into the woods, down paths of brambles and water-ash, and swamp-lands that reject all good life."<br/><br/>Her mouth dry, hands trembling-- perhaps from the telling more than the tale-- she continued.  "He had found fae corrupted, mad with the blight, and swore that he'd serve them if they could impart on him their glamour, or impart it into me... make me one of them, place one of their spirits into me... I think... or at least offer something of meager value in exchange."  Shrugging, she tried to laugh.  "Don't know how much good that'd be, I had nothing to offer them.  But they... wanted me for something.  So he bore me to them, he.... bared me, on a strange altar of a great fallen black oak at the waters' edge.<br/><br/>"There," she continued, "I saw things, felt them.  They came from every shadow, every overturned tree... seeped out from the water and from between the bark, like they were that place.  But there was no peace in them, no nature, no belonging.  They were made of... terrible things.  Fungi and worms, some.  Serpents others.  One, like a tall, half-man, half-ghost, made as if to... take me.  And his touch burned my leg, burnt my skin like scalding hot oil, but cold.  And I could not move."  She shrugged then.  "Thankfully, my m-- a ranger, versed in fighting the blight, arrived, and with cold-iron and spells drove them away.  She saved me, all but for that touch."<br/><br/>Stares met her back, cold and numbing.<br/><br/>"I should... probably learn some other stories."