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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 5:19:03 GMT -6
A fist sized eyeball just sat in the grass beside the straw doll. A lighter amber in color, the clear orb interrupted by a... pupil of sorts that darkened the inner middle of it. What was an eyeball just sitting out here for... Flare didn't want to touch it. He braces himself with his good leg and his tail somewhat, tapping the orb with his cane-staff. Tink tink. Making a glass sound to his ears. 'Of course its made of glass', he told himself. It looked rather serpentine. He'd seen his own refection before; he himself had slitted pupils. The glass eye didn't draw him at all to it short of being unusually placed. "Bring something to carry things in" he recalled from a previous conversation. He did... not have a proper way of keeping things on him. Perhaps to pick them... it... up as he was leaving and backtracking home after the nyssa is found. 14 16.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 5:27:10 GMT -6
Though... would he need something to trade for the crystal once it was found? Depending on the size, and if he had to steal it or just trade for it. No, too many gray areas for now to take it. If he recalled the path there, Flare decided he felt confident enough in his ability to follow a path in order to come back and claim the two objects if needed. Or if they were gone when he returned. To him, carrying the objects around would hinder his movement speed too much. Just imagining coming across the nyssa with a straw dolly in one arm, and somehow holding onto the glass eye otherwise. Back to the task at hand. If he was lucky, perhaps there was some sort of wild creature that could lead him to the giant nyssa. Ha. Fat chance. The drake had no heads or tails idea how animals even communicated. Short of sounds, and even with that he was rusted. 15 17.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 5:47:26 GMT -6
Actually, that wouldn't be a bad idea, making a starting map. He did have his book on him, and a sad excuse of a writing piece. although flare would have preferred to do his rudimentary at best map while sitting down, he was already slightly braced and could turn his attention to making a few sketches. Assumingly the path would wind around the house and the property is likely wider then longways... the drake turned his handmade booklet so the spine faced away from him while he drew. Here was the gate, the apple tree that he'd picked the apple from... were there any distinguishing marks on that tree. He cranes his neck back to look. Not... really? Looked just like a typical apple tree. It was almost closest to the gate. Ok, that would be close enough. he marks the tree, and the path, and the then the fork. Fork was important. as was the items, if he were to come back this path. 16 18.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 5:50:35 GMT -6
Note down the straw doll...object and the glass eye. He wasn't the best artist, but a circle with a thick line down the middle looked eyeish enough. The eyeball must have some use. but t hat would be for another thought at another time. Time to pick a path. To the left, the path curves through the orchard of apple trees towards the old house. To the right, it goes deeper into the yard. If he were here for general exploration, likely the house be the next destination. But he was here hunting a giant nyssa for a crystal cluster. Wish he'd asked on what it looked like now. Too late. Walking trees dont' live in houses, he marked the path to the right as his way to go. Logic, right? Big things dont' typically live in small places to hide. Or it was so far away that Crannie had lost ear-sight. 17 19.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 5:57:01 GMT -6
That should be enough. Snapping the booklet shut, Flare stowed it and the sad attempt at a writing stick where he'd been keeping it since leaving Tumai, literally on him. He'd make notes of the path on his way. Finished daudling around, the drake took a hold on his staff-cane again and started to slowly walk his way down the path. One thing he did notice with having a staff-cane vs a crutch; looking where he was going. With his crutch, Flare almost constantly had to look at where his big feet were going. His neck got a crick in it much faster then usual doing that. With the cane-staff thing, he could look ahead. See around him. Granted, glancing down now and then so he didn't end up flat on his snout again for catching his big feet on the rocks that did dot the path. Rare, but still there. 18 20.20 lv 44 flare
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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 6:01:01 GMT -6
Flare decided he liked Autumn here in Central as he walked down the path. Ambled, practically. He liked the bright colors of the leaves as the trees prepared for their winterly hibernation. The crispness of the cool air, with a hint of moisture. Totally different from the dry desert air of Tumai. There were bright colors, but not nearly as much when it came to the desert. The cacti only bloomed once or twice a year, and only for a few days. If you were too busy, this event got missed. Around here, the colors felt more... long lived. Green for two seasons out of four, then brightly colored, then barren. He'd seen barren. Barren is only okay. He vaguely understood how much work it took for a tree to grow for two seasons, then back off and sleep off a season to prepare for another year of growth. Especially true with younger plants. 19 1.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 6:07:00 GMT -6
Enjoyable as his walk may become, he couldn't forget that he did have a job to do. Crannie seemed like a patient old goat, but his gut held a mite of unease that she might get frustrated or bored of his garden and inhabitants of said garden. He wouldnt' doubt that the Warden would attempt to slip away if he had a chance. Not the most reliable sort of creature, that... mammal with a tail. No, he told himself. The warden had been very helpful to get him started when he'd first come to the gardens. Getting him all set, even suggesting later on for trying his hand at being a creature trainer. Fat lot of good it did when chunks of his words didn't come out right for his conical accent. Had to bee the teeth, he believed stupidly. Yeah, that was a stupid reasoning. Keep an eye on the path, don't be so hasty. 20 2.20
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Post by Renathan on Sept 6, 2019 7:09:08 GMT -6
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Post by Flare on Sept 6, 2019 14:22:54 GMT -6
Flare vaguely recalled his first trip to the magic house. He'd not been in his right mind, steered here by the draw that couldn't be explained. But hadn't gone further then the gates. He recalled the iron fencing and gates being rusted and such, but this time around they'd been cleaner. Perhaps someone buffed the metals. Not the point of his venture. However how was he supposed to find this enormous walking tree? Did these things have a way of being tracked? He'd been somehow followed by the chaos creature not too long ago. In dirt or gravel or sand or whatnot where his weight made deeper footprints, that would make sense. But the ground appeared to be pretty packed in this area. Wild and only disturbed by the wild floras of the yard. The path barely could be called a path, athough the ground seemed tamped down by at least a few feet. 21 3.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 7, 2019 4:24:34 GMT -6
As he walked down the path, the general shapes of the wild left to their own devices apple trees vaguely held Flare's gardener's eye. His free hand itched to reach out for his book again, to break from the path and start taking leaf samples. He really really wanted those leaves. Would the bright color of the fruit leaf hold when dried out? If he could find a shovel or something... no, no. Flare, stop. Bad garden brain. Willpower alone seemed to hold his hand on breaking away from the path and picking leaves and digging out a root or two. The gardener brain, as he walked, argued the validity of nobody missing a few chunks of missing roots or leaves. The core brain argued with greater validity that he had no pockets, and no way of carrying all that around with him. Root clippings were delicate and needed to be packaged. 22 4.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 7, 2019 4:28:48 GMT -6
Roots can be grafted! Roots dry out all the time, they would- NO. The core brain's roar seemed to gain more umph. No space to carry it, and if he was caught by the walking tree killing the trees around him, that was the end. Gardener's brain has an eye roll. Too safe thinking. Its a TREE, TREES DON'T THINK. Core brain snorts in frustration, this happens a lot. TREES DON'T TYPICALLY WALK, SO THIS ONE IS LIKELY CAPABLE OF THINKING. The two sides of his mind warred back and forth, one very pro clipping and trimming someone else's plants, the other attempting to stay alive around a place where a massive walking tree was rumored by an old goat to make its lair. Granted, when it came across that way... rumored by a single old goat that a walking tree laired in the magic house grounds... was that just too predictable? 23 5.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 7, 2019 4:38:00 GMT -6
Since his gardener's brain wasn't willing to give up the ghost and shut up about it, Flare found himself literally considering pacifying both ideas and making an extra trip later on to get his samples. He'd been super good so far about not snipping everything in sight; it'd not exactly been legal to trim other people's plants out on their terraces, but he managed with help. Said help he did not have. An image of one of the plant creatures being quick-fingered and doing the 'help' part jumped to the forefront of his gardener's brain. On the literal cusp of saying NO again, the core brain did start considering this. The conifer cat had the twiggy fingers to do the picking and the digging and the climbing, it was convincing the creature he wasn't going to mass murder every woody plant as a result. Before he'd realized what his mind was thinking about, Flare would later find his book scrawled with potential ideas on attempting to train the evergreen king he kept to be the 'help'. 24 5.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 7, 2019 4:43:46 GMT -6
Only a page though, because adding pages to his book had been easier said then done. Making your own paper took LITERALLY FOREVER. The general store may carry paper though. No no, he liked his handmade book, there must be reeds or something growing in or near that loch that he could find, take back and grow himself. Make his own paper. It was the drying out and the pressing flat that took a long time. Desert weather of the hot and the dry worked well to dry out the reeds without having to do much of the drying personally. And the big flattening stones did a good job of the flattening part. Were there flattening stones around Central? Consumed by these thoughts, the drake barely seemed to be keeping to the path, almost wandering off into the orchard as he pondered these ideas. When his foot caught on something. 25 6.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 7, 2019 5:23:07 GMT -6
This would eventually happen, he finally realized. Why you don't wander the path when distracted. Even without a crutch or a cane-staff or whatever, one can fall down if not careful. Even with attempting to plant the staff down and catch himself, the drake found his knees plowing into the gravel-dirt path. Ow. Scales were a wonder to have for sake of not skinning open his knees. But what had he tripped over? It took a few minutes for the ssashirk to figure out how to use his staff-cane to ease himself up again. His tail being an extra limb for ease of moving upwards because his short leg would do nothing in terms of helping. Now upright again, he looks back an down at where he'd tripped. He'd apparently tripped over a young bush, with two branches sticking up oddly, like leaf antennae. Not much growth on it, it appeared to be... homg it moved. 26 7.20
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Post by Flare on Sept 7, 2019 5:33:24 GMT -6
What he believed to be a bush lifted its woody base up out of the dirt, dropping clods and pebbles around it. The creature had a natural looking underbite of where the wood split apart like a mouth. Curious, it not confused and irritated eyes that were just flecks of light within the wood’s ‘face’ looked at him. The bush continued to raise up, with long awkwardly twiggy arms and thick legs and a short tail. He’d found a walking tree... bush. Thing. Was this a nyssa? The juvenile oak had been enjoying a good rooting all day so far. The other saplings weren’t interested in the fruity dirt so much, preferring to stick around the mother tree. The fruity dirt tasted just that; fruity. Some parts of the harvest if the fruity dirt fermented long enough, you saw cool things! Yes in this mental scape nyssa can get drunk on cider compost. 27 8/20
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