Lightning in a Bottle (RP)

Seeing that there is no immediate threat to her person, Ezmaray will take this moment to look down and assess the severity of her wounds.

In shock, Ezmaray lifts her hands to her chest where she feels the pain, but hesitates to touch it. She spins, astonished, back to Wankle. "You scratched me...! I feel it! Why can I not see my wounds!?!"

Deeply disturbed, Ezmaray tentatively touches the wounded area with her hand.

This was ... the wrong move. Ezmaray had demonstrated incredible willpower up until this moment, but touching the injuries inflames them even more, causing them to itch unbearably. She itches them twice.

With much effort, Ezme pulls her hands away from scratching. Deep breaths. She mustn't panic. She needs to focus. Step 1: orient yourself.

She pauses in place, listening for the river. Having identified what she thinks is the gentle sound of rushing water, the trapper steps carefully toward it, calling to the creature as she walks.

"You look concerned, Wankle," she observes, trying to work some kindness into her voice. "Does your master require a certain number of people to... to 'feed' them every night? Do they hurt you if you fail to deliver? Because that hardly seems fair to you...."

Again the same strange animal-like sound reaches Roald through the mist.
He is confused... Which way to go now
He pauses for a moment to overthink the situation.

What to do... Follow the voice, or the scream...
Roald decides to keep his bearing and continues to walk in the direction of Ezme's voice.
He is walking through knee high vegetation and his boots are soaked. The new leather cloak keeps most of the moisture of off his pants. Still, walking is becoming more and more uncomfortable.

'' EZMEEE!''

A sort of odd animal noise wakes Albert from his fascination with the vial of mist and the flaming bowl. As a disciple of Raynor, fire has always had a certain hold on him. "Help you up. Uhm... Yes... Of course!" He walks over to Gronk to help him and sees his bandaged forearm. The blood has completely soaked the cloth and Albert is pretty sure that this amount of blood loss would make any person weak at the knees.

"Stay there for a bit." He tells him. "Try to relax. I'm not exactly sure what to think of your display, Mystic." Albert gets on his knees next to Gronk and continues. "But I'd like to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now, speaking of doubt... For my next trick." He says the last part just as Gronk did before. "I will try to aid a person in need."

With both hands touching Gronk's arm, he closes his eyes and raises his head to the sky.
"A mystic's magic may be true
Which part it plays knows only you.
A greater goal awaits us all
In Raynor's wisdom we stand tall.
Although the night be full of mist
Please help this fallen ritualist."

Albert waits for the familiar feeling of Raynor's glory to envelope him once more.

Albert blinks as his vision adjusts to the low light again. He looks down to see the situation has not changed. "Nothing happened?" He says hesitantly. Was this a sign from Raynor that he doesn't condone ritual magic? Was it the mist causing this? He had definitely felt Raynor's presence. But something was blocking the power from flowing into the object of his focus. Which in this case was Gronk.

"I... uh... Don't understand." He looks up to ask Roald for his opinion. But Roald is not here. "Roald?" He calls out. Come to think of it, neither is the woman. "Gronk! Did you see where they went? Roald and, uhm, Ezme." He manages to remember the name. "Did they get pulled into the mist?" His heart starts to race with the thought of his friend being in danger out there.

Ezme stops and looks in the direction of the voice. There might be some poor bloke over there, calling for her. Maybe. Maybe not, though. If she tried yelling back, how would they know for sure that it was her? More importantly, how could she convince them to stay together and meet her at the bridge?

The trapper glances back at Wankle. She needed to outwit him and any out there like him, to tap into some sort of cultural understanding that these creatures might be clueless about....

Cultural understanding?? Not exactly her area of expertise, given she is an outsider here....

Ezmaray's mind flits to one of her older sisters. Mindri was something of musician -- only as a hobby, of course, though she was admittedly quite gifted and had become knowledgable enough on the topic to fancy herself an "expert." She liked the sound of her own voice, for sure, and so she frequently harped to others about such topics as musical form and craftsmanship, fancying that she sounded quite elevated when she did so. Thank goodness she'd been married away first. That's all Ezmaray had to say on the matter.

At any rate, when Ezme was home during the summer she would escort Mindri and her other sisters to see the traveling performers whenever they came to town. Some of the tunes she heard on these outings had a sneaky way of worming their way in her head and following her into her reclusion in the wilds, leaving silky, invisible threads that forever tied her back to other human beings.

Today, she would cast those threads out like a fisher of men.

Standing there by the river, gazing at Wankle's sulking form, Ezmaray whistles loud and clear the first popular song she can think of that has a bridge section -- and then she repeats the bridge section, again and again and again.

So these city folk don't know the hunter's trill? Let's see if they know music.

Roald tries to keep himself from scratching but. It. Is. Sooo. Hard. And it feels soooo good. A couple of times his hand goes for his face but he manages to restrain himself.

what is that high pitched sound? This mist is screwing with my senses

Lost in thought and trying to hear the sound again he loses focus and scratches his wound.