Owner Pose
Atrun-Rai     When the trees sense him, they shrink away.

    No scream of pain, no shriek of terror - but a clear, shuddering sense of disquiet, of something /wrong/, when the man comes floating into the glade from far, far at the edge of the swamp. Framed in moonlight, silvery renditions of the tangled trees that the unschooled might guess were some species of olive trees quake in more than just the nighttime Florida breeze. Black robes. A vaguely Mediterranean face, handsome, in his mid-thirties. A beard in the general style of Mesopotamia without /quite/ being so. Just as these olive trees aren't /quite/ olive trees.

    They are, like him, echoes of a vastly ancient history.

    Atrun-Rai stands quietly there at the edge of the copse, vital and healthy despite the swamps that surrounds it. A smile plays on his lips as he looks at the trees, hands tucked behind his back, awreath in memory. He should be watchful, but this - these trees - summons images of rolling hills now lost to the sea, herds of long-haired sheep that stood about them like unruly clouds. Temples of marble painted riotous colors, used not to worship gods but to speak to them. Magic, when it stood above the other, bruter sciences. But a science it was. Here, though, these trees have a mysticism for him that tears him from the world.
Jennifer Kale     It's not really a proper time of evening to be out, but Jennifer Kale never could resist a good, moonlit sky. After catching the last bus home from work she just dropped her stuff and headed out into the swamps. A shower will come much later. Tonight was perfect for communing.

Another night, another 50 bucks. All in all it wasn't really a -bad- night, but dancing in a... gentleman's club... was pretty limiting as to how 'good' things could really get.

Jen left her boots behind and rolled jeans up to her knees, padding barefoot as she follows her instincts out into the swamp. She's been feeling occasional psychic tugs for a little while, and now that she's outside under the moonlight it's the perfect time to just follow their lead.

Jennifer grew up in these swamps, but to one such as Atrun-Rai she seems to all but crash into the copse of trees. At least she didn't fall on her face.
Atrun-Rai     The crash of the young woman into the trees is enough to pull him out of his reverie; floating there still, his feet a foot or two off the ground, the man in the black cassock and long overscarf turns to look at Jennifer as she enters, and offers the young woman a nod.

    "Forgive me." His voice is rich and warm, a baritone whose English is accented with something as vaguely Mediterranean as his appearance. "I did not know that there was someone here. Have I disturbed you?" Never mind that he was here first, of course. Polite to a fault.
Jennifer Kale Jennifer catches herself, bare toes wiggling in the wet grass as she looks around. There's a figure floating just off the ground wearing black. Fingers run through long, blonde locks as she looks around, then back to him.

And she -feels- something... tingly... about his presence.

"No, actually, it's all good." Jen replies, straightening. Deep breath, exhale slowly. "You're not from around here." she continues. Physic feelers extend. The Man-Thing isn't nearby, but perhaps it's close enough. "I'm Jennifer Kale of the lineage of Zhered-Na."

Pause. "So, um, what brings you to Florida?"
Atrun-Rai     Tingly would be an understatement. Here in the grove, he does not attempt to hide himself, safe for the 'blurry' aura that defies classification. The magic that practically rolls off his shoulders is a familiar one, yet distant. Primordial in a way. "I do not know this name," he says in reply, considering that. "But I know a name of Atalyente. I am Atrun-Rai of Lantalla, sister. Do you know that land?"

    Atalyente? Lantalla? Ancient places, footnotes in the history of Atlantis even during Zhered-Na's time. Twenty-two thousand years older than she, when Atlantis was a city-state, not an empire, and the Ten Kingdoms had come together in what was known as the Atlantean League. Atalyente. When Atlantis had barely stood two thousand years.

    If he isn't a complete liar, the man is a relic. It would be like a modern greek speaking to Odysseus - or, perhaps, a gender-shifted Circe.
Jennifer Kale Jennifer can definitely feel the aura, the magic that this being -exudes-. Nostrils flare again, her hackles rising as if the very air around her was electrically charged. Then he mentions Atalyente? Lantalla?

"Lantalla passed into memory a very long time ago. There aren't many who would even know of it today." the young woman replies. Yes, Jen looks younger than her mid-20's and she dresses like a hippie. But there is a certain confidence in her all the same.

She won't be needing Man-Thing tonight, and relaxes their psychic connection.

"There is a Nexus nearby. I am one of its Keepers."
Atrun-Rai     "Lantalla will always live, so long as its last citizens do." He gives the young woman a smile, shrugging faintly. Floating still, looking up at the tangled wood. He smiles, now, hands tucking behind his back as he gently bobs through the air on approach to one of the trees, which does not understand what he is, or how the chains of nature can mark him as old as he claims to be. The ring of truth, known to so many creatures of nature, is oddly hollow next to the unnatural substance of the man.

    "I sensed it," he says after a moment's pause, "But it is not that which I am here for." Atrun-Rai reaches out toward the nearest of the ancient trees, but his long fingers stop short of contact. Perhaps he feels its terror, or perhaps something else yet stills him. He sighs. "...Do you know what these trees are, sister?"
Jennifer Kale Jennifer returns the smile and adds a small, polite nod. "Many things live in memory." she replies. As he floats closer to one of the trees she steps over as well. Maybe she just wants to keep a closer eye on him, who knows? Bare toes squish with every slow, deliberate step in the wet grass.

She knows the trees are old, albeit not as old as he claims to be. And while she isn't an intuitive empath like Man-Thing she can still feel the reaction of the trees to him. "The trees are history, to a point." she replies. "And they are... afraid. I can tell."

"Be careful with that. I am the Watcher of this Nexus. The Sentinal can be quite hostile to those who bring fear to this place." Yes, Fear burns at the Man-Thing's touch.
Atrun-Rai     He sighs again, nodding once. "Yes," says Atrun-Rai. "I'm sure that they are. Nature abhors the dead, should they return. But I bear this land no ill will. Quite the opposite."

    He withdraws from the tree's proximity now, tucking his hands into the depths of his cassock sleeves as he floats furthe toward the edge of the copse. "These are called selodendri. They grew in my time, you know. Just as beautifully. My childhood home was sheltered by them. Perhaps they have changed some, but I still recognize them. Their scent, their wood. Elsewhere they turned into olive trees." A look to Jennifer, his dark eyes practically shining. "Do they still bear fruit? Do you know?"
Jennifer Kale Jennifer nods slowly once more. "Yes. I... can tell." she replies. Toes squish as she pads closer to him, not exactly interposing herself between Atrun-Rai and the tree. Reaching out, she rests a hand against the tree. Her gaze remains on him, however.

"We also call these olive trees, actually. One of several types of olives. So yes." Then she realizes something that he said. "So you are dead, then?" Yes, that certainly explains a few things, beginning with his age. "And if you aren't here for the Nexus, then what?" The olives?
Atrun-Rai     "They aren't olives," he says with a laugh. "They're selodendri. But they evolved into olive trees." A glance to her, then, and he shrugs. "I was dead for over forty thousand years. But I have been resurrected. The angels, at first, though it seems that the defenders of the day have a solid handle on it. I have been sent elsewhere..."

    Atrun-Rai turns now to look at the young woman. Sees the blush of life in her, the great coil of power ready to unspring. Lifts a hand. "Be at peace. I came to ask the trees for a length of wood, but I do not think I will get it. It is enough to know that they still grow."
Jennifer Kale Ask the trees...

Jennifer smiles at that, both in understanding and appreciation. Yes, the Old Magic respected nature. "It's like you said, most of the living really don't fully appreciate the dead. The trees are afraid of you."

Keeping her hand on the tree trunk, she lifts a blonde brow and gives him a peculiar smile. "But they aren't afraid of me. How long a piece are we talking, here? Perhaps I can ask for you."
Atrun-Rai     He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "They're afraid of me for what stands at my back, I suppose," Atrun-Rai replies, tabling the idea of wood for a moment. "Forty-two thousand years ago, I gave my life to save Lantalla from being consumed by the Old Ones, and the Void. They consumed me in the process. I have been, of late, returned to life to ensure that reality - which has, I think you will agree, been fairly well threatened of late - is preserved." Preserved until the stars are right, and they can eat it themselves, that is. The message goes unsaid, but it is unnecessary to voice. The Old Ones are the Old Ones. "I am here to help the world. My masters, of course, are not. But that is some time to come yet."

    He's quiet now, floating there. Waiting for her reaction.
Jennifer Kale Jen can't disagree that reality has been fairly well threatened of late. "Well you look pretty good for forty-two thousand years old." she offers lightly. Jen draws her hand away from the tree, then, turning her full attention on Atrun.

"So let me get this straight. You work for the Old Ones, who still want to eat the world at some point. But you're still trying to preserve it, even though you technically work for them."

Jennifer shrugs lightly, then. "That works for me, at least in the short term."
Atrun-Rai     "The stars won't be right for them for millenia yet, if nature proceeds." He smiles at her, a faint, frail thing. "Perhaps this can be delayed further, even indefinitely. But my nature is incompatible with their ultimate desire. I am a preserver at heart." Does he lie? Would she know? If it is in her nature, she would find not falsehood there. Very candid, this one. Perhaps it is because of their common ancestry.

    "I must craft a lance. My mission now is to combat those cults and monsters that seek to take liberties while all eyes are on Manhattan. I crafted another, of orichalcum and sacred cedar, but it remains in the hands of the defenders of the Justice League Dark. I need a replacement." He gestures to the trees. "Hence my wish to make the request. But I will not terrorize them."
Jennifer Kale Jennifer's mentalist skills are mostly in the area of manipulation, not so much as detection. But she has learned to trust her instincts, and if Atrun-Rai says he is a preserver, then she somehow believes it.

Justice League Dark?

"Oh. I didn't know you were working with those guys." she replies. "Just a sec. Let me see what I can do." And with that she presses her palm to the tree trunk once more.

Jennifer's magic comes from an older source, but only relative to present day. She speaks a stream of soft words in Atlantean, surrounding the tree bole in an aura of luminous pink. She cannot give it life, because it's already alive. But Jennifer Kale CAN imbue it with magic.

She speaks with the tree, and through the connection the sorceress makes her request. It takes several minutes before she feels the pressure against her palm from the wood, and when she draws her hand away she is holding a staff. It's about seven feet in length and two inches in diameter.
Atrun-Rai     "I was," he replies with a nod. The wizard's mind, like his aura, is a blurry thing, slippery and hard to get a purchase on. The way she speaks, the energy her words weave - it makes him smile more, the moment's strangeness of his revelation fading before the beauty of the old tongue being spoken. Truly, between this and the trees all the troubles of the recent days are swiftly washed away.

    He watches, rapt, as she draws the stff from the tree bole. Drawing a deep breath at the sight of it. "Masterful," he finally says. "Truly masterful." A pause; he looks at her, considering. "Do you speak the oldest tongue? Not what our undersea contemporaries speak. But the old language, with magic still woven into its words."
Jennifer Kale Holding the staff, Jennifer turns towards him once again. "I was taught the language of magic from Dakimh, who was already ancient when I met him." She pauses, then clarifies. "Ancient in my terms, at least. No doubt young relative fo you."

"But I would be very interested in learning more."

Fingers curl around the staff and she holds it horizontally in both hands. Extending it towards him, she offers it. "A gift. From the selodendri to me, and from me to you. Be at peace here, and you are welcome."
Atrun-Rai     "In our days the magic was..." He gestures between them, an airy thing. "...well. It was in our words. There need not be a langauge of magic. Poetry, perhaps, would be the closest thing, but the will performed, not any specific lineage." The dusky man looks to the staff, and settling upon the ground takes it from her, head bowed. "Treleka mastelenoi," he murmurs, words of formal thanks that managed yet to outlive him for millenia. "Treleka mastelenoi. You give me a gift that I cannot hope to repay. But I shall try."

    The wizard looks about the copse, speaking now loudly so that it rings off the trunks of the elder trees, these roots, these boles, these leaves that shudder with the memories of his youth. "I stand in fellowship, despite my flesh, my masters. Should this place need aid, you need but call. I shall spill my blood, black as it now has become, to protect these trees, these lives. So do I vow."

    And then, he looks back to her, the momentary, vibrating intensity of his oath fading on his tongue. "I thank you. And I will leave you. Be you safe on the way home."