What's this? What's this? [closed]

[Folie]

There's white things in the air!

Folie leaped from snowdrift to snowdrift, bundled up in a thick white fur coat. His Luna Moth was hidden in his hair, a delicate green ornament obscured by the white of hair and hood. This was no weather for an insect to be flying about in, and had Folie any thought or recognition of reality, he'd likely have left the poor moth behind in the artificial warmth of his quarters in the Seelie Court. Instead she was accompanying him on this expedition to...wherever it was that they were going.

Of course, if Folie had a particular goal in mind, it certainly didn't show. Instead he seemed content to frolic about, occasionally bursting into raucous song when he deemed the quiet around him to be too much to bear.

Finally the Sidhe settled himself at a flat point on top of a hill and began rolling snow together, packing it into a heavy ball. Then a second ball, which he heaved up onto the first. The third ball took less time than the first two, and then he got to work sculpting and decorating his snow-person.

"It will be a me," he told the moth in his hair, or maybe he wasn't speaking to anyone at all. "It will be a me, and it will be lovely! It will stay out here when it is too cold for me, and when it is warmer and I decide to come out more, then it will be gone so that it doesn't decide to take over the world in my place! Snowmen are good for that. Derranged, evil, killer, monster snow-goons."

Stepping back, he eyed his sculpture - which looked nothing like him - and then followed its supposed gaze toward whatever it was "looking" at. Raising a hand to shield his eyes dramatically, he peered in that direction.

"I wonder, I wonder, I wonder," he sang, and then headed in that direction.

[Skylla]

Late winter and the wet snow was perfect for molding, Folie’s snowman sat contently upon the hill Folie had left him, melting in such a way that was so slow that the eyes of the deranged sidhe would never behold.

Folie sloshed through the snow, the majority of the winter mostly gone; melted back into the earth but still the wet mixture was enough to run above his ankles. This part of Alanor was close enough to the court to still be considered the Seelie, but still very few treaded there.

The sun glittered over head, the brightness multiplied by the white of the snow. The place was silent, save for the merry sidhe who walked along.

[Folie]

Walking was one term for it. Drunken staggering was likely another. Folie preferred the term "frolicking," personally. It was much more fun to say, and much more fun to do on top of that.

Joyfully flinging himself through the snow and slush, he bounced along in a direction that was more-or-less straight toward where he'd been aiming. Well, he wasn't exactly aiming for anything in particular, aside from the idea of toward whatever it was that the snowman he'd made was looking for. At. Could someone be looking for something without any idea of what it might be that they were looking for? That very concept caused him to stop for a moment, puzzling over the confusing thought, before he finally decided that yes, it was possible. After all, he was going looking for something right now without a clue as to what it was, right?

How close to the Seelie Court this might be had never been a thought to enter his mind - no, he was mostly focused on the sheer joy of running along, enjoying himself to the hilt in a winter (spring) wonderland excursion.

[Skylla]

Frolicking through the snow, Folie quickly found himself bounding through the woods, leaping over fallen trees and dancing upon over turned stones. Rustling in the bushes might have caught the attention of Folie, but there was very little for him to see, for whatever creatures were nearby seemed to scurry off just as quickly as they had found the sidhe baring down on them.

However, as Folie dancing along merrily, sopping wet from the knees down, a rustling much louder than typical sounded directly in front of the deranged fae. If the rustling was enough to catch his attention, all he would see is the shaking of branches in the distance.

(OOC: Disregard my typo about spring. It is late winter.)

[Folie]

It took him a moment, but eventually Folie's wandering attention finally happened to wander in the general direction of the rustling. He stared at it in the distance for a long, long moment, and then proceeded to jump and shriek in surprise as if a rattlesnake had appeared out of nowhere to strike viciously at his leg. He danced backward in surprise, then tripped on an unseen root beneath the snow and fell full-length into the white fluff.

And then there was silence.

Folie's pale whiteness seemed to almost make the snow itself seem dim, and he lay staring up into the sky silently, body still and quiet. It was almost peaceful like this, and he closed his eyes just for a second. It reminded him of the Long Sleeps, when he'd fallen into Dreaming and drifted away the years, decades, centuries.

He didn't want to do that again. Not so soon, at least.

With a spastic motion, he lifted his legs up, and then launched himself up and forward onto his feet again. His fur coat was now covered in snow, and he made only a token effort to brush it off before charging in the general direction of the rustling. He wouldn't fall into Dreaming again! That meant activity, doing things, and having fun.

He could do that.

[Skylla]

For a long while Folie’s charge through the woods only resulted in him tripping over a few more branches, breaking a few twigs, and stomping through wet, sloppy patches of snow, it was safe to say by the time Folie stopped running he was sopping wet. Yet when Folie’s charge ceased, the rustling could be heard again, and the curious fae’s eyes almost immediately spotted the perpetrator, a rooster.

The rooster walked from behind a bush, slowly going about its business without so much as a care for Folie. The creature was so brazen as to come within two feet of the faerie, only glancing up at him once with a confused look before returning to its search.

Another rustling sounded in the distance, this one louder.

[Folie]

A rooster. A rooster? A rooster!

It would pay for its brazen, fearless attitude. His hand flashed out lightning-quick, closing about the neck of the rooster before lifting it and bringing it close to him. He held it so that the wicked natural weapons were just out of reach of his body, and smiled disjointedly.

"Hello there, rooster-blood, ritual-blood. Should I snap your neck and use your blood for something? I don't need a slave or a master, but I could use decoration. Would you be decoration?" His voice rang out in a sing-song, soft and lilting as he studied the only animal that naturally wandered around Alanor while not being a Faerie's mantel, the animal whose blood was key to a great number of rituals. Well, Riana had required it, would Skylla as well? Might as well find out. But there was no use for it just yet, so he might as well keep it with him.

The louder rustling caught his attention now, and he wandered toward it in a slower, more circuitous route than his initial charge. The rooster was held at his side, his grip still around its neck.

[Skylla]

The rooster squirmed within Folie's grip, the bird knowing all too well what fate lay ahead. However, Folie's attention was no longer focused on the disgruntled aves but rather on the noise that rustled in ahead. Though winter was coming to an end, it was still far too early for most of the animal species that populated Alanor to be wandering.

Folie was very close to the spot that the noise was coming from, in fact pine covered branches that rustled with movement were now within sight. Just as Folie was about to peer behind the tree the rooster at his side gave a great shriek, crowing in a way that alerted all within a mile’s radius. The crowing must have alarmed whatever was behind the bush for a figure immediately dashed away, sprinting full speed away from Folie, leaving the faerie with only a glimpse of a pale gray hide and long white hair.

[Folie]

Folie snarled in pure rage, and his hand convulsed around the rooster's neck. Avian bones were such delicate things, and for all of his pretty appearance, Folie was still a Sidhe: strength and power were his to command when he wished for them. Even if he hadn't had them, it doubtlessly wouldn't have taken too much to snap the bird's neck. And snap its neck he did, lips pulled back from teeth that looked just a little too sharp to be human.

"Foolish creature," he hissed. "You could have lived longer, had you stayed silent." He thought about flinging the corpse away from him - should he ever actually need one, he could always request another from the Fate. That was one of the reasons the Fate was there, after all. But no, there might be a reason he had discovered it now. He shoved the body into a huge pocket in his coat and then lunged after the whatever. Unlike all of his previous, bumbling attempts to pass through the snow, he was now light and fast, seeming to almost skim over the snow instead of going through it. When he did need to land, it was only so that he could take another lunging leap, easily clearing the depths of the snow. His body language was inhuman now - a feral hunter rather than a tame, bumbling fool.

[Skylla]

The time Folie took to break the neck of the rooster allowed the being to sprint even further into the woods, his pale complexion camouflaged by the white snow littering the ground. Folie's immediate change in pace, however, immediately began to close the gap between whoever had been in the bushes and the Seelie sidhe.

Though Folie was still too far away to see who or what the creature was in front of him, he could definitely discern that the creature was at least faerie in build and he could now see what looked like fire burning in the distance, surrounding the creature like a silhouette.

The creature looked back, alarmed by the fae that was pursuing him. Folie was on his tail and it looked like he would soon catch up. But that was not the case, for an arrow ripped through the air, born from cover so it seemed. The arrow struck Folie in the leg and immediately he fell, a sharp pain tearing through him.

The wound wasn’t very deep, but it hurt nonetheless. The arrow was not crafted from stone, steel, or silver, but from what looked like ivory and he was bleeding more than any faerie should.

[Folie]

[ooc: I was going to wait until you edited the part where you power-played his reaction. However, as you don't seem to have gotten my PM, and I want to continue this, I'll simply ignore it instead.]

His fast hunting pace was interrupted by the streak of motion from an arrow, hitting him with such force and in such a way as to send him flying. He tumbled face-first into the snow, a startled cry escaping him even as he skidded forward a few more feet until the motion was arrested by enough built-up snow to bleed it all off. Pushing himself out of the snow, he spat out the mouthful he'd gained and yanked the projectile from his leg. At the sight of the arrow, and the fact that his wound was not healing, his eyes narrowed.

"What walks on four legs at dawn, two at noon, and three in the evening?" he murmured, staring intently at the pale shaft. "But I am no man, to have an evening of my life." Then he pulled his hood back, freeing his hair and the green moth to the air. His mantel moved out of the way as he twisted his hair into a high, messy bun, very carefully using the arrow to hold it in place. That way he wouldn't lose it. The hood itself, however, was torn from the jacket entirely. He shredded the fabric, binding it quickly about his leg to staunch the blood. Standing once it was bound, he began his stalk once again. Slower this time, because there was no need to rush too much when there would be a clear trail through the snow.

[Skylla]

[OOC: I received your PM and we spoke briefly about the matter at hand. Assuming you don't have a doppleganger manning your personal messages, I trust you remember and are aware of the fact that I explained this is a narrated adventure and anything narrated is done so out of necessity for the plot. Though I apologized for any assumptions I made about your character, I assumed we could continue on with the roleplay without any further incident as it was a small matter. However, I have edited the appropriate material and will continue with your narration.]

The wind whipped around loudly with no sign of who had fired the arrow or the creature that Folie had been chasing. Though there was a path in the snow that would lead Folie in the general direction for quite some time, the snow stopped where the forest became most dense and thus the sidhe was left without a clue.

There was nothing but Folie and the arrow now, for the momentary injury he suffered had allowed them to escape. The wound still bled freely and showed no sign of slowing.

End.

[Folie]

Glaring into the depths of the forest, Folie's hand tightened into a frustrated fist.

"I'll find you," he murmured, his voice low and intense and angry. It wasn't a hot anger, not mindlessly enraged, but instead was icy cold as the weather itself right now. "I'll find you some day. Maybe my little luna will smell you out, find you and scent you and track you down. Or maybe I'll track you down myself, and tear your heart from your chest."

Turning, he eyed his still-wounded leg, and narrowed his eyes at it again. A wound that did not heal. He was immortal, Fae. Something was wrong. He remembered the taste of this story before, or something like it. For now, he needed to return to life and light, and so that meant the Seelie Court. Bending down to tie the bandage tighter in order to put more pressure on the wound, he began to limp back toward warmth and protection.