Closed (Caehli, Faye) Time, Place, and Bad ideas

[Rothyr Windbourne]

Season of Fall, Day 31, AV 512
City of Wind Reach, Kalea Region

In all his days, anything he had seen up to this point paled in comparison. Never had he seen such wonders as he had when he passed through the Sanikas gateway, and its mechanical lift powered by the working class. It was all so alien, so strange to him. He was a long way from home, where the people cherished their freedom to ride and their open spaces. These caves seemed somewhat stuffy and cramped, grimy with the sweat and blood of those who worked their bodies to the bone, 'Dek' he heard them called. He did not know what the word was or meant, but he could only assume it wasn't a kind word. He had shared a few words with the Old man of the gate, pulling the chain that summoned him out of curiosity more than announcing himself. He jumped out of his skin when the bells rang, which made the man laugh at him.

A short conversation later, and Rothyr found himself in the tunnel city of Wind Reach, home of the eagle-riders and the red-headed Inarta. After disembarking from the lift, he was surrounded by new sounds. He could not tell if it was another language he heard, or simply all the noise bouncing off the cavernous walls around him. He did make out one thing, though: what seemed to be music. He stopped those who didn't seem too busy to speak with a traveller, to ask about where the music came from, and simply gain his bearings. A few didn't speak to him, either not caring to give directions to a strange traveler, or simply could not speak his language. It seemed foreigners weren't cared for much around the Reach.

He bumbled about, sticking out of the crowd like a sore thumb with his blond hair in a sea of red, in the direction of the sound of music, reaching a hole in the wall with a sign he could not read. It was written in a tongue he did not understand, after all. The language around him seemed more like the chattering of birds than anything else. Still, the music seemed to come from within, so he entered.

What he saw, he added to the list of crazy things he'd never thought he would see. A dance club. The music played, and the dancing bodies with their fiery hair resembled a grassfire. He almost did not want to stay, as the sight was almost too much for him. He stood there, still dusty from the Sanikas road, watching the insanity before him. He began to wonder if coming to Wind Reach was a smart move after all...

[Faye Shakath]

Oh what a day to be alive!

Within the city of stone and fire, music fluttered from the flutes and drums that littered the room. As each note frolicked from one person’s ear to the next the dancers would chorus together to engorge the entire room with music. Along with their voices their feet pounded against the rock and their hands grasped for their partner. The Inarta looked to one another with unbridled life. Every set of eyes was lit with the blaze that rumbled in the mountain’s belly and burn with its intensity.

Surprisingly, a particular set of blue eyes were glowing. Icy and bright in the middle with deep cobalt and shoots of gold surrounding the edges, the Endal’s eyes were focused on nothing for once rather than the tip of her arrow. Those alluring eyes were not concentrating and those long lashes were not fluttering from exhaustion. They were wide with brilliance. The music was what engulfed her mind, not flying, as she flung long waves of deep crimson hair about her. It was not her knife practice that made beads of sweat run down her bare abdomen, but her dancing and singing. Her voice rang out amongst her fellow people as they all swooped from one side of the room to the other.

She even glimmered amongst her fellows. Just for the occasion the Endal had persuaded a glass blower to give her his excess glass beads to adorn her clothing. The wind that blew across her Vitani in red stitching now had white and blue droplets waltzing amongst it and it now ventured up her straps. She even added a few black and blue beads to her simple Bryda that had only sported the red threaded wind before.

Ah yes, a vision she was. A natural beauty that had been in danger as a Dek was now free to flaunt and flit about as much as she pleased. Alas, even though she was safe from the attention she garnered, the young girl still danced alone. Her pale skin might have been flawless, but it didn’t take away her shy nature.

It had been an effort on her partner’s part to get her to go to the market that day. The dire eagle had to do extensive persuading to get the girl from her bow practice to the Inclement Weather. The market was a mini festival all in its own and the Rider made a point of missing the dancing ever ten days.

But now? She couldn’t believe how much molten lava surged through her veins. A small blush had even warmed those high cheeks in all her merriment. As she sored around the edge of the group, her loose Bryda billowing out about her legs, the girl closed her eyes. . .

And ran into someone.

Startled by the sudden stone wall of muscle, the red head opened her eyes to see a man towering above her. His blonde hair stuck out and caught her attention before anything else about him. With her momentum holding her off balance the girl tried to grab onto his arm for a support least she fall. Using her firm hold she was able to steady herself before she fell backwards onto her back end.

With her balanced achieved, the girl kept her eyes almost fixated on his blonde hair. Very few times -so few she could count on one hand- had she seen any other hair color. While she cleared her throat the startled girl tried to hide her red cheeks and comb down the fire that tumbled out all around her face. She had quickly taken her hand off his arm and tried to ignore the fact that she had almost plowed right into him.

Shifting her sapphire eyes to look at his face, which also held blonde strands of hair, she quickly blurted out an apology, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-“

That was where she cut herself off. As she glanced at his strange hair color, she realized that he probably didn’t speak her language. He was most likely very confused right now and from the way she looked, he could very well think she was angry at him. He could even think that she was trying to challenge him to a fight! Her eyes became very wide and the Inarta girl began to wave her hands in front of her to show she meant no harm.

Clearing her throat one more time, she focused on her basic common, “I’m sorry for hitting you with myself. I. . . I did not mean for this to ha-happen. . . ” Her pronunciation was only slightly broken and each word seemed to a trilling bird sound mixed with them.

Fiddling with her rope-woven belt, with her hand comfortably close to her sheathed knife, she gazed up at the strange to see what he would do.

[Rothyr Windbourne]

To say Rothyr never thought leaving Syliras, or even Cyphrus was a bad idea would be to tell a lie. He thought it often in Alvadas, and even Sultros, and several times on the open road as he trudged along. As he dodged the dangers of the ever present predator, Yukmen, bandits, Journeymen; he found himself ruing the day he made the decision to step on that boat for Kalea.

He could have stayed with the Knights and signed on, continuing to campaign about Syliras and outlying regions, but the city life was not for him nor was the army life. He was a man of the plains, of the path forward as the seasons changed. He could not stay.
He could have stayed in Alvadas, amongst the tricksters and scoundrels there, to thieve and steal for a living. But again, he could not. He is an honest man with an honest heart. He could not take from another, much less by theft or deceit. The road called, and challenged him onward, and brought him to Wind Reach: home of the Inarta, the Endal, the Eagle-riders of legend.

But today, Rothyr thinks he should have stayed home.

By mere chance he had wandered there, led by nods and the sound of music. Echoes of passion that rang about his being and seemed to shake the mountain to its' very core. If he did not know better, he would think they danced to the pulse of the world itself, connected to the very wind that was its' breath, and the beat of its' heart, and danced to the rhythm of the world around them. The sight had mesmerized him. The colors, the sounds, the movement, how these people lost themselves and became one being of dance and song were all things that Rothyr had never seen before. They had songs on the plains, things to pass the time, drink to, and remember the old tales, but this was something surreal and completely different.

He was still trying to figure out what he was looking at, when suddenly he found himself being pushed. He was a stranger there, and unsure of the reception he would receive. It didn't take a magus to realize people were imbibing in alcohol there, and he didn't exactly look like a local. In reality, being dirty from the road as he was he likely looked like a drudge. His unknown assailant had pushed him, and grabbed his arm! He put up his hands to prepare for a fight, but what he saw next made him pause.

A woman, lost in her dance, had simply run into him. She had almost fallen, but grabbed on to his arm for support. He quickly put his arm down, opening his hand and motioning he meant no harm and was not offended. It was about that time she spurted out a series of bird-like chirps and strange noises that made Rothyr lift an eyebrow and wonder
'What sort of place have I wandered to?' as he took a step backwards,

He held both his hands up, “I'm just a traveler, I mean no harm,” he said after she finished speaking in Nari,
“I simply was stopping by to hear the sounds, I'll be leaving now...”

He stopped when he heard her speak in common, not well, but well enough to get a point across.

'Finally,' he thought, 'Someone I understand,'

“There's no harm done, miss,” Rothyr said, “I should watch where I stand more.”

He smiled, hoping to make the best first impression he could. She was beautiful, and her eyes held the same color as the Cyphrus skies. His hunters' sense smelled trouble, but he did not want to leave her. He needed to know her name.

“My name is Rothyr Windbourne, of the Emerald clans,” he said. Considering how transfixed she was by his hair, he figured he ought to reiterate.

“I'm not from around here,” he said, with a smile.

[Faye Shakath]

It was strange. One minute all she could hear was the beating of her heart challenging the drums to go faster and the next it wasn’t even a flutter in her ear. The girl’s concentration was only the deep voice that wavered in strange tone patterns she wasn’t used to. While she understood what he said, generally, it sounded like a whishing sound. It didn’t rise and tumble downward like the song that echoed behind her.

Letting a small giggle escape past her lips at his small joke, she quickly side stepped to move out of the way of a couple who came prancing their way. For someone out of their element he was certainly calm. She had to give him at least that. With his blond hair, bulky frame, and tall stature, he stuck out like a sore thumb and that would‘ve at least made her nervous if not outright terrified. She was used to blending in and staying out of sight.

Brushing a tongue of fire out of her face, she met his gaze right as she smiled at him. It was all that she could manage not to blush and turn away. As it was the bird in her chest that she called a heart flapped in trepidation. Interactions with humans were sparse and short for her and thus the Inarta didn’t elicit more than a nod or a show of respect from most. Smiles? This was certainly a day of change.

She only let her eyes flicker to the floor for just a moment before nodding her understanding when he said his name and that he wasn’t from around here. It would explain why he was just as fascinated by her hair as she was with his. Though she felt her hair color wasn’t as brilliant as the senior glass blower’s shade, she had learned that red wasn’t actually that common a color outside the mountain. All the same she was one of hundreds and he was different and, even by her people’s standards, a striking man

It was almost odd to think of herself as an oddity. In fact, this was all odd. As amazing as running into an outsider was, it was stressful. Still fiddling with her woven belt, she yearned to feel the familiar feathers in her hand and a smooth beak press against her shoulder. At least Shakath would know what to say to this.

Thinking of him actually proved useful because she then imagined that scolding voice of his Well are you going to introduce yourself or sit there like a lame hawk? She had lingered on his face a bit longer than she figured was polite.

Trying to disguise the small gasp of air in her moment of panic, she turned her attention to brushing cooling sweat of her abdomen.

“My name is F-Faye, Shakath’s rider,” she stammered to keep in common.

A nervous laughter bubbled up out of her throat as she moved out of the way of another twirling couple, “One would think that I was as well n-not from this region.”

Gesturing to a empty table that only had a few mead mugs on it, she offered a more natural grin to her own try at a joke, “But to what you had say-said earlier, we should watch where we stand.”

[Rothyr Windbourne]

Rothyr nods, and takes a seat at the table Faye had motioned to. He waits for her to join him at the table, moving the empty or unfinished mugs to the side of the table where they would not impede his view of this young woman. He watched her movements, and saw they were precise like many he had known were warriors, or hunters like he. She was no prancing wildflower in the wind. He could tell by her physique she was more akin to an oak. Whatever it was she did, it required hard work Yet, she was rather bashful. Curious.

“I don't understand, are you not from Wind Reach too?” Rothyr asked, wondering why she said she may as well not had been from that region. Did she spend much time abroad like he did? It was an interesting thought, maybe he'd find a way to another new city. He heard of cities in the frozen north that were unreachable in the winter months, and froze all comers who were not blessed by certain deities.

“I've not seen many people with red hair, in my travels,” He continued, “Especially with your rare beauty.”

Oh petch, did he just say that? He hadn't even been drinking! Very smooth. He fought back a cringe and a curse that said, of all things, that. He'd be chased out of town the same day that he arrived. He had to change the subject, and quickly. Lest that moment be remembered or heard over the drums and music. Think, Rothyr, Quickly!

“You mentioned you were a rider, Shakath's rider,” Rothyr said, curious. Fortune smiled on him indeed, if he was to meet an Eagle-rider like the ones he heard of like some lost legend in Cyphrus on his first day in Wind Reach. Hunters that matched the Emerald clans, but took to the skies rather than horseback. He thought it all nonsense when he was younger and heard the tales and songs from Elder Goldsaddle. No one hunted better than the Emerald Clan Drykas, and people couldn't ride eagles. They weren't big enough to carry them!

“I've seen no horses around here besides my Windlass, so I gotta wonder, lady Faye,” he paused, “What do you ride?”

Rothyr was on the edge of his seat, as he awaited with bated breath the answer to his inquiry.

[Faye Shakath]

Making her way to the table, she couldn’t help but feel his eyes scanning her. It was almost the same look she got from Shakath when he was analyzing her. As she tried to proceed with the same examination of this man, she ran a nervous hand through her hair. Faye never could decide what to do when she knew she was being watched. Often hiding out of the way meant that she never had to put on a façade or worry about impressions. So instead of fidgeting like a nervous fledgling, the girl focused her attention on figuring out this outsider.

These new comers came only at the beginning of the summer and left by this time of year. Rarely did they come at the end of fall/beginning of winter because they would be stuck here for three seasons. He would be here for a while and looked lost as it was. Normally the traders knew their way around either from experience or from knowledge of others. Why was he here if not for trade? Maybe for scholarly expedition?

For one, he was talking to the wrong person for that pursuit. She was nowhere close a good representation of her people. He wouldn’t learn much from her. Secondly, he didn’t seem the type. There was wisdom in his eyes and his movements were sharp and calculated. Alas, he seemed a lean fighter and not a frail journeyman. She could tell from his awareness of the world and his physical prowess.

Blushing a little form the thought that skipped across her mind, she sat down across the man. Strangely enough he began to move mugs out of his way. But she had to remember that he was an outsider and maybe where he came from people cleared their tables before conversation. He then posed the question of her origin. That blush continued to creep up her cheeks and she rested her chin in her hands.

“I was born and grown here,” she confessed to the table’s surface before looking to him sheepishly, “I just am not like the rest of the Inarta. I prefer the company of my p-partner and myself. Thus I sometimes feel like a traveler.” She offered another small grin to show that she was not sad about this fact, but rather at peace with it.

Twirling a stray hair with her other finger, she wondered in the back of her head if she was using Common properly or if she sounded like a complete idiot. She had learned common from schooling and from traders and figured it wasn’t perfect.

He then confirmed her belief from early about rarity of her people’s hair color but before she could comment on that he added that she had a rare beauty.
First, she blanched. Sitting up straight, her cobalt eyes widened in a small surprise. Did she hear him right or did she misunderstand his Common? No. She knew the word ‘beauty’ for the travelers used that word to describe their glass. Never had the word been used for her. That’s when the color rushed back to her cheeks and her porcelain skin started to match the color of her hair. Hiding her face behind her hand she managed to mutter out a thank you.

It then occurred to her that she should probably return the sentiment. It would be not only polite, but true. After all, if an unattractive Dek had said the same thing, she wouldn’t have been as flustered. But the courage that she needed to muster coward stubbornly in her belly that had been swarmed with small hawks.

Mercifully, he changed subject. Once her blush receded to a small pink she faced him and saw the curiosity on his face.

She placed her hands in her lap as she grinned at the question. Now her interests were peeked. What traveler didn’t know of the Inarta and their eagles? Not to mention this was a subject that calmed her. Her eagle was her world and her partner. He was her life and she almost knew nothing else.

“I ride a dire Eagle, Sire Rothyr,” she beamed proudly. He didn’t have to know that she had been a lowly Dek before, but for anyone it was an honor to be an Endal.

Adjusting the strap of her Vitani, she continued, “Horses are utterly useless in this terrain through a majority of the months and most of our prey can only be reached by the air. Without our breather and partners, we would starve. My partner is Shakath, a male eagle.”

The idea then came to her that he had probably never seen one if he hadn’t even known or questioned their existence. Folding her hands before her on the table, she offered tentatively, “Did you want to meet him?”

[Rothyr Windbourne]

So it was true! The fabled sky-hunters existed! Surely the question must have seemed ridiculous to her, for hunting in the sky was surely commonplace for her, but such things were unheard of to Rothyr. True enough, traders would come through Endrykas and Riverfall, waving about glass that came from the mountains of the eagle-riders, but who can trust a trader's word for truth when money is involved? He took them as fairy tales, when he heard them as a child, and much like many other tales one hears as a child one begins to disdain them after awhile. A city encased in stone? Nonsense. A mountain city with people with hair like fire, who rode eagles like horses? Someone is desperate for coin to see through the grasslands. This was most fortuitous, indeed, but he could not be starstruck. He was no tourist, but an adventurer, a wanderer.

“I'd not see a horse as useless, in any situation or environment...” Rothyr said, slowly, “I may be biased, my horse to me is your eagle to you, I suppose. I hail from grasslands, where an eagle could be seen miles away. But I'm nowhere near any sort of plains.”

He let himself get offended by the comment on the uselessness of horses, which is something he racked himself for. He wasn't anywhere close to home, nor in any place to let himself become offended by anything for that matter. What would he do if he came to a city where they eat horses? Things one must consider when traveling to new areas, and this was something he forgot for the moment. But he recovered, and changed the subject quickly.

“I apologize, my horse Windlass has seen me through much, and what you say is likely true,” he said, “To meet the eagle you ride, would be a great honor. I am a hunter myself, amongst my own people. And a hunter always appreciates another.”

He did not want to talk too much, he wanted to learn. He wanted to learn more about her, her people, her eagle, so he asked questions.

“What do you hunt around these parts, normally?” He asked, as he stood, waiting for her to lead the way, “How do you hunt them atop an eagle?”