Lightning in a Bottle (RP)

Lost in thoughts, Roald stands at the temple door, leaning against the wall, one knee bend, his foot resting against the wall.
The sun's already setting and his stomach is growling.
what's keeping him?
He suppresses the urge of going back in and saying something.

"One of you go make sure that lady is okay. The other can stay with me while I set up this ritual."

With that, Gronk begins to set up the ritual he has been preparing to handle the mists.

"Hmm.. I can't really see an easy way to reach her." Albert says. He tries to envision a path down to the dam. When that fails, he decides to whistle at her to get her attention and try to sign to her that she should head home quickly.

Ezmaray, having discovered the beavers' favorite pass-through spot in the dam, stands knee-deep in the river, 330 conibear in hand. She takes a moment to double-check the safeties of the trap, then pauses to wipe a mosquito from her brow with a muscular forearm, leaving a smear of mud on her forehead. This is cold, dirty work -- certainly not her favorite game to hunt -- but beggars can't be choosers.

In this moment, a loud whistle breaks the relative silence. Ezmaray's head shoots up and she squints with stormy grey eyes up the hill to see a man waving her direction. What the hell? She throws her free hand up in a confused, frustrated gesture. Catching game was hard enough around here without the locals stomping around and making noise.

The lady obviously looks confused. Albert tries to shout, hoping the valley will carry the sound. "Miss! You may be in danger! We suggest going home immediately." He too has noticed the wisps of mist starting to form. "On second thought. How about you make your way to us, if possible?" He asks her.

Then he turns to Roald. "I'm not sure we have time for this distraction, but we can't just leave her there, right? Knowing what might happen in the mist."

'' alright alright, I'll try and get a little closer, maybe then we can tell her of the danger''
Roald is a bit disgruntled by the way Gronk is telling everyone what to do.
Maybe he's preoccupied with his ritual... A tad uncertain of the outcome...? Maybe it's just me, I haven't been myself since the thing attacked me.
He tries to shake the feeling and heads down to the dam or as close as needed anyway, there is no use in walking here alone when the mists come in.

Ezmaray cocks her head to the side, puzzled. Did one of those men actually call her 'Miss'?? Were they mocking her? She stares for a moment longer. Eh... Probably not.... They seemed agitated.

Oh, for frack's sake.... She sighs as she watches one of the figures start to descend down the slope toward her, obliviously stumbling through underbrush like a regular townie. With a subtle roll of her eyes, she hooks the trap back onto her pack and sloshes toward the figure to learn what all the hubbub was about.

As the man finally makes it down the hill to the edge of the river and enters within earshot, Ezme hails him with one hand, calling:

"The toilet paper rolled downhill for what reason?" Her voice has a distinct foreign accent, her aspect as flat as her vowels as she continues to wade toward the man. "To get to the bottom," she finishes. She smirks ever so slightly as she eyes the fellow.

As Roald gets closer, the woman stops what she is doing and walks in Roald's direction.
He halts at the bank of the river and tries to hear her words over the splashing of the water.
Toilet paper? I must have misheard her...
'' You should go home, there is a thick mist about to form!'' He shouts over the river.
Her answer comes immediately
- TO GET TO THE BOTTOM!

'' YES! Me and my friends will get to the bottom of this!''
He shouts back at her.
'' But it's not safe here, you should go home''
''Be careful now, the current looks very strong and unpredictable ''
Roald doesn't have to shout anymore, the woman seems to be holding her balance pretty good while wading. She looks quite strong as well.
He helps her out of the water onto the bank. More out of politeness then out of need.
'' Hi, I'm Roald, I came to warn you about the mist that is about to come out. Me and my friends are investigating it after a strange encounter we had last night. Do you live far from here? If you can't make it back in time I suggest you stay with us until we go back''

Ezmaray nods and brushes the long bangs of her pixie-cut hair out of her eyes, momentarily disoriented over the fact this "Roald" -- she still can't get over the fact that folks just introduce themselves by their first names here -- had assisted her out of the river like she were a proper lady.

"Not far at all," she responds to his question with a nod. She turns, trodding barefoot down the bank. "As they say, 'Home is where the haversack is.'" Roald notices that the pack on her back bulges with camping gear, but the muscular woman bears the weight effortlessly.

Ezmaray flops down onto a boulder, brushing off her feet and sliding them into a pair of deer-hide moccasins. She leans over to tie the leather laces and unroll her worn earth-tone harem pants.

"I would not traipse too close to those mists," she warns. "They drive away all my game. It is bad portent."

Albert turns his attention back to the mystic when Roald goes off to see to the lady. The man is busy with some of his trinkets and not paying attention to Albert at this time. "Uhm... I'm sorry, I don't think I've caught your name." He says inquisitively. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've given you mine either. Albert's the name. And that over there is Roald."

After a quick introduction, he asks what he was going to. "What exactly are you planning to do? And what are you expecting the result to be?"

"Ladies and gentlement... or in this case, just gentleman- today, I will, for your amusement and amazement, perform a magic trick sure to astound and astonish."

Gronk has switched into full performer mode here. While he was bossy earlier, it was more out of exhaustion and preoccupation with his research. Now, he is a stage performer in charge of his performance, so he assumes an air of confidence and authority, as if he expects others to comply with his requests out of a desire for the show to succeed. This is so second nature of him that he does not even realize that he has made the switch.

"I, the great and powerful Gronk, will do the impossible. I will now attempt, before your eyes, to bottle this mist you see before you. Yes, you heard that right! I will control the very weather and bend this unnatural fog to my will. For those skeptics out there, this is actually two tricks- I will capture a sample of fog in my bottle, and I will dispel the remaining fog so it bothers us no longer. First, I will need a volunteer from the audience."

Gronk looks at Albert, who is the only member of the audience. He pretends to survey the crowd, looking for a volunteer. Eventually, his eyes settle again on Albert.

"You, young man! What's your name?" Without waiting for a response, he continues, "Lovely, you shall be my assistant tonight. Please be a dear and help me prepare my stage."

He hands the candles from his bag to Albert to place around the area, and begins drawing many intricate symbols on the ground, consulting one of the various books and notebooks he brought with him every few seconds. He also sets up a small table in the middle and sets it with a notebook, the vial he will be trapping the mist in, and his other ritual items.

"With everything set, we will wait until the others return to finish the show." With that, Gronk sits down to wait.

Ezmaray straightens and stands. "Kind of you to come all this way to warn me. Shall we...?" she says to Roald, nodding in the direction of the bridge. "...I will show you better way to climb back up. Slightly less... mm... scenic." The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, and she gestures for him to follow as she starts to make her way up the hill.

Albert is taken by surprise with the sudden show being put on by Gronk. He is even more baffled when he gets called a 'young man'. That hasn't happened to him for many years now. But he will gladly take the compliment. "Uhm... Albert." Then he gets some candles shoved into his hands, which he sets around the area indicated by the mystic. He lights them one by one as the tendrils of mist start to become more frequent. They might not have a lot of time.

Is this guy the real deal? Or did we make a mistake? Is something he asks himself. He's also unsure of how he feels about such a ritual. The temple had always told him that any ritual aside from a divine one was bad news and should be stopped and/or reported immediately. But he didn't feel much of a responsibility towards the temple at this time. He was Raynor's implement, yes. But not the temple's, in his view.

Not wanting to disturb the mystic's concentration, he keeps quiet until Roald can get back. With or without company.

More mist is spreading in the valley, the other side of the river is getting hazy already.
''yes please, we should hurry a little too. I've been in these mists before and I didn't like it one bit.... It sort of numbs me. ''
Maybe he shouldn't have said they have to hurry because Roald is hardly keeping up with her. She clearly has experience walking in the wild.
'' I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name?''

"House Felder, born of Brahm the Trapper of Dalhurst…" she calls as she hikes uphill with long, steady strides. She pauses in her track, realizing she was expected to offer up a given name. "Call me… Ezmaray?" she frowns. "No.... Ezmaray is more like placeholder than real name." Fortunately for Roald, the woman's flummoxed cessation allows him some to catch up. The minute he arrives, she turns and keeps on trudging on without allowing him a chance to catch his breath. Finally she says without turning: "My sisters call me Ezme. That will do."

'' Well, nice to meet you Ezme and thank you for showing me this path.''
I think...
Usually it's Roald who has to watch his pace not to exhaust Albert, now he is on the 'receiving end'
Approaching the top he already hears Gronk's voice rolling over the land. He can't make up the words, but they sound very important.

Gronk sees Roald arrive back at the table with the lady from across the valley. "Welcome, newcomers! You're looking lovely as always! Take your seats- we were just about to begin."

With a flourish, Gronk moves his hands in an intricate pattern and a large flame springs forth from the center of the table. (In reality, he made big gestures to conceal the lighter he used to ignite the bowl full of flammable fuel he had already placed on the table.)

"That's better- now you can all see me properly." The fire simmers down as some of the initial fuel is burnt off. "For my first act, I will capture this mist-" he guestures to the growing mist- "in this bottle-" he gestures to the vial on the table. "I have already spent countless hours preparing myself- mind, body, and spirit- to master the forces of nature..." As an aside, he adds, "...and countless hours preparing this vial to do the capturing for me."

Taking off the cork from the vial, Gronk yells "Behold!" Smoke curls from inside the bottle, from no discernible source, and Gronk places the vial into the flaming bowl. "Tempestus, keeper of foul weather, I call upon you to capture this mist, to be released again at my will. Consider your debt paid in full."

With that, Gronk drops the sample he took from Roald into the vial and looks up expectantly at the audience. Nothing happens.

Gronk waits another moment, letting the tension build... then, with a flourish of his hands, he throws his arms open wides and yells as a bright light flashes out of the ritual bowl. (Again, the flourish of the hands conceals Gronk sneakily adding more fuel to his fire from a concealed bag on the table.) When the fire returns to normal, it is plain to see that a sample of mist is swirling darkly in the vial, as if trapped there by a magical force. Gronk places the stopper on the vial and hands it to Albert.

"Pass that around for me, please. Everyone must gaze upon our might and magic."

Albert is impressed by the ritual, though less impressed by the over the top act going with it. It gets him thinking about how he comes across when talking about Raynor. He shakes the thought. No way his proclamations are like this. But to each their own. At least it seems that Gronk is not just pretending. This man could be a valuable aid in their endeavors. He makes a mental note. Probably something to talk to Roald about later.

After taking the vial, he walks over to the others to show it. "Welcome, miss" he says to the woman, who now looks much more sturdy than at first glance. She probably would have been just fine without our help. runs through Albert's mind. "My name is Albert." He adds with a warm smile.

The most defining features of Albert are his blue vest and the iron-tipped staff sticking out from behind his back. His curly hair with receding hairline billows in the breeze and a scruffy but trimmed beard surrounds his mouth. His clothes, although a bit dirty, look quite new or recently repaired to a decent standard. His eyes and words give off a warm and serene vibe, with a good bit of confidence behind it.

Upon reaching the bridge, Ezmaray's attention is at first captured by the incredibly handsome man who appears to be putting on some sort of... performance? Though she'd of course heard of occult powers, magic was not really something you encountered back in Dalhurst. She is both cautious and secretly impressed, though you might not guess this by her stoic countenance. Her eyes are curiously fixed on the vial as it is handed over to the gentleman in the blue vest and carried over.
There it is again! "Miss." Her eyes dart to the face of the blue-vested man addressing her, confirming that there is indeed no trace of sarcasm there. Contrary, there is a kindness and sincerity to his expression. It strikes her that this was the sort of man who, when shaking your hand, would place his other palm on top, giving a gentle squeeze and somehow filling your own breast with warmth and a sense that you are truly being seen.

This was its own sort of magic, one which she is similarly on guard against. How special could anyone's affection be, after all, if they offer it to folks so freely?

All the same, she feels herself unwillingly drawn to the man. She would offer a handshake to test her theory, but the vial in his grasp made that impossible. Instead she straightens and nods formal greeting. "Call me Ezme." Despite local custom, that still didn't feel like a proper introduction. "House Felder, born of Brahm the Trapper of Dalhurst..." she finishes briskly.