ORIGIN

"Use your fur. Grow some on your shoulders or on your back, and you'll always be armed, just in case." Her response was near-immediate-- in the sort of way that it was clear this was something Aethril was going to bring up anyway.

She let go of her grip on the vines and the oil-slick foliage crumpled limply to the ground, inwardly splashing iridescent-black oil on the ground. "That's good," she said, shifting. "You can set traps on the ground, too-- don't stand on mine."

Aethril shook her wrists out and focused; but nothing came. She cast a quick dart of her eyes over Pollen and-- "hold on a second."

The Hand was shaking her arms and legs out, now. The spell she was going for was difficult-- brutal, but one she hadn't done too often. She liked to be direct, like Obieth, she supposed-- she wasn't the type for traps and waiting for them to work if she had to fight.

She liked to see the effect she had while fighting. She liked to see blood and fire and lightning. She liked the tang of blood and sweat in the air, the taste of ash in her mouth, and the ring of her ears from booming thunder. But it was clear what an asset it was to corrupt the very ground someone could walk on.

Pitfall traps were very valuable.

Her hands outstretched forward and corruption left her body and sept into the ground-- but this time it didn't just take hold of the roots and corrupt the grass. The very soil and cave floor underneath were plagued and blackened; and soon it was crumpling away.

With a great rumble the very ground shuddered as it bled away to reveal shiny, dark gemstones underneath a ravine six feet or so deep-- difficult enough to most people to climb out of, with sheer, slick gemstone walls.

Aethril was overlooking her work for a moment, sweat beading down her temples and the back of her neck. "Don't get too close," she reminded Pollen warily. "But do you think you can do something like this?"

Aethril padded around to take a look at the hole Pollen had made, thinking. "You could probably do more than plants," she offered. "A lot of people can do two or three kinds of magic-- even more." Not her, and not the corrupted, but that didn't matter.

"Take some time to practice and explore. Just-- do whatever you think of, and it might come to," came Aethril's suggestion. She weaved past the two holes and went back to her spot to sit down, slumping down against the tree trunk.

Another flash of magic and she was quietly refreshed, slumping a little further down until her chin had caved into her neck, eyes falling half-shut. "Take a stab at it now, if you'd like. I need a few minutes to rest."

Aethril did not move from her spot, damn near half-asleep on her spot by now. The sound of Pollen working away-- vines creaking, leaves rustling above --left a pleasant tingling sensation in the very back of her skull. Her eyelids fluttered, pupils vanishing underneath thick eyelashes.

But it was the crack of a whip that forced her awake again, blinking half-alarmedly. "Oh," she murmured. "Oh! Yes, I know things like that." She recalled some using whips to make their mounts go faster, and others whipped the backs of their enemies for punishment.

She could almost taste the blood on her tongue. "You could try weaving thorns into it," she suggested. "When you strike someone with it, the thorns will take hold and take out chunks of skin and meat. If you got a rebel's legs with it, it might stop them from going too far."

Assuming losing blood wasn't an issue, of course. "You could figure out how to use it to take away the things they're holding, too-- disarm them, in a way."

"A whip," the Hand responded. "There are a lot of different kinds. A bullwhip is like the one you have-- it's long and thin, and snappy. A riding crop is blunter and doesn't really snap as loudly-- it's for making people go faster." There were... other uses for such things, but Pollen sure as hell didn't need to know about that.

One leg folded over the other as Aethril got comfortable, fingers digging underneath the low collar of her shirt to itch the skin around her gemstone. "Disarming is taking away someone's weapon," she went on. "Their arm. If you're to take up a weapon, you're taking up arms."

From a distance, she studied the thorned whip. Pollen would be lucky if she didn't kill someone with it-- or at the very least, horribly, horribly maim someone with it. It was a simple but effective weapon; and she seemed to be quickly getting the hang of it. Some more practice and the little gardener would be incredibly dangerous.

Aethril licked her teeth, smirking. She liked that image.

"You'll need a good aim," she said. "I don't know how to do it myself-- but if you do practice with someone, make sure they're well-protected from the whip damage, should you miss."

Aethril was still rapidly falling asleep, but Pollen kept asking questions. She pushed herself up and rolled her head around her shoulders with a muted groan. Whips, Rodd Danger-- perhaps they should try to find him. He could teach Pollen how to handle one much better than the Hand could.

"No, I don't think so," she was responding, reaching out to her magic with little success. She was beat. "Ahh-- we could get you a physical weapon and find someone to enchant it, I suppose. We'd just need to find someone who can enchant weapons. And an actual bullwhip."

Shouldn't be too hard. Surely someone out there could make something as simple but effective as a whip-- or hell! Maybe some innovative, lonely Valkhound out there had managed to make a better whip, somehow. She'd just need to find out where they were hiding.

In any case, Aethril had not, in fact, Seen It. "Very nice," she lied, albeit quite convincingly, even going as far as to let her eyes follow Pollen's finger to the ground. Whatever she had managed to do, it'd leave a brutal mark across someone's back.

She shook herself out a little. "Let's start heading back to the Palace," she sighed. "I'm exhausted."