Quest [Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

What wyrd things happen in the Wildlands...(Razkar, Edreina)

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Perplexity on October 4th, 2013, 7:22 pm

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23rd of Autumn, 513 AV
19th Bell

The caravan had been traveling for days. It was as tumultuous a journey as anyone could have expected when traversing the expanse of untamed land known as the Wildlands. Each day presented a new challenge. Each challenge forced the leaders of the caravan to view the world a little differently. This was a world where there were far more pressing difficulties than a broken wagon wheel or a shortage of food stuffs. The Wildlands were a place of both beauty and mystery. A place that evoked awe and fear in equal measure for each twist brought with it surprises from either the Old World or the New.

For the time being however, the travelers could rest easy knowing that they were in a modicum of safety in the purview of the legendary Pond of Priskil. The scouts accompanying the caravan had stumbled upon its shores the day prior and in a decidedly smart move the leaders of the caravan had altered their course to pay homage to it. It provided the opportunity for both rest and recuperation from the journey. There was still a great deal of traveling left to do.

Leth was beginning to rise in the sky. His visage was that of a waxing gibbous. The pale light shed by his presence reflected off the surface of the calm waters. The reverence for the area was tangible. The trees all rustled in a lazy breeze that toyed with their branches. They seemed to bow in reverence of the living shrine to the Goddess of Hope Each tree was crowned with golden leaves accented by rich reds and warm earthy browns. It was as if Bala has stretched forth her hand and painted each leaf in painful detail. Though her season heralded the hibernation of life there was no mistaking the vibrancy in the air. Each breath was refreshing. Every step was pleasant, the earth was not hard or unwelcoming rather warm and inviting. For those who filled their waterskins from the pond itself they found they were renewed as the waters evoked a peaceful vitality.

Peaceful.

That was certainly an apt word for the traveler's current surroundings. Every whispered wind, every ripple of water, every rustling leaf did so as if to say there was no danger there. There was only safety.

Campfires had been lit. Wagons had been set up for the night. The horses pulling them had been allowed to roam freely along the expanse of the great pond. Tents were erected and those who were tired enough went straight to bed. The scouts were posted. The watchmen were set. Everything seemed to be in order as soon the traveling minstrels brought out their instruments. Storytellers found their audiences among the fire pits. Everyone seemed to fall into a comfortable nightly routine, put at ease under the eye of Leth and the peace offered by the Goddess who presided over this Wildland sanctuary.

Everything seemingly fell into place. This reprieve from travel offered the perfect setting to organize thoughts and find answers.

To what questions? That was certainly the question of the hour on the mind of one very out of place Myrian and his fiery apprentice.

What question was the right question?
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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Edreina on October 5th, 2013, 2:30 am

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After their own personal visit to Priskil's Pond, Edreina and Razkar had been able to convince the caravan leader, Albrecht, that such a place would boost the morale of the caravan. And, as she found herself once more immersed beneath the pond's crystalline surface, Edreina was glad they had been able to do so.

Her breath burned as it was held in her lungs, threatening to escape in a cloud of bubbles as she continued to lay on her back, looking up at the Leth-lit sky through the dancing surface of the water above. Her lungs had been emptied to a specific level so that she would not float to the surface, and her arms moved in gentle motions in order to keep her on her back. The water around her was more natural than the land's dry air; she found herself once again wishing that she had been blessed with Laviku's second mark. If she were able to ignore the lack of salt in the water around her, the lack of ocean life nagging at her ever so faintly through her sixth sense, she almost felt at home. Blue eyes blinked against the water, and she finally consoled herself with the fact that it was time for her to return to the surface and, from there, the world of the sell-sword. With slow, languorous strokes, the Svefra pulled herself to the surface.

The air she pulled into her lungs was clean, pure, and sweet despite the various detritus now marring the shore. Taking another deep breath, Edreina dove beneath the surface once again and started to work at a stroke she had been struggling with before setting out on this journey. It was difficult as it caused her to utilize her entire body in a variety of ways. Her legs moved together up and down in a single wave motion while her arms moved in a constant windmill, round and round. It was, frankly, exhausting for one even as skilled as Edreina. Once she had to stop at the surface, shoulders heaving as she attempted to remain in control of her breath before resuming her practice.

It took her several chimes to finally reach the shore, and when she did, she had to fight the urge to collapse. Instead, she put her clothes back on and made her way over to the tent she shared with Razkar, smiling at the sight of Jorven trotting around the clearing; the magic of Priskil seemed to have given even her lack-minded steed a bit of energy. From there, she retrieved the trio of books she had found after the Yukmen battle.

In the flickering light of a lantern, she lay out in the grass and decided that she would finally get a chance to crack their spines.

Immediately, her copy of "The Ways of Ionu" was tossed away without so much as a second look. Ionu had been the patron deity of Sari, the trickster Dhani from days past; Edreina did not want to be associated with such... evil in any way.

"The Basics of Shielding" was opened and then quickly set aside; such a magic seemed to be too complicated for her to learn alone... Maybe one day when she had a better grasp of the concept of magic overall.

The third, however, "Knowing Those Around You" was intriguing from the opening line:

"The arrogance of the soul is to believe it can dominate the body. The arrogance of the body is to believe it can contain the soul."


This, this was a book she could get into. Edreina sat up with her legs crossed, elbows on her thighs as she supported her face in her palms as she began pouring over the book, slender fingers brushing over the worn pages.

Everything, living or not, casts an aura around itself. What is an aura, you ask? Think of it as a lantern. The object/being is the flame and the aura is the light it casts. From this light, one can discern a variety of things about the flame including its temperature, temperament, wishes, desires, and lingering Djed.


Ok... certainly more interesting than being able to build an invisible wall around people... And the whole bit about seeing the temperament of one alongside their wishes and desires... it could be helpful as she continues to improve upon her skill in Hypnotism. Cocking her head to the side, Edreina lay back in the grass with her head next to the lantern, book held aloft and tilted slightly so that it was illuminated by the lantern's light. In the wan light, it almost looked as if the fire had become liquid and now pooled about the freckled woman's head.

Footsteps sounded nearby, but Edreina was too immersed in the book to care.


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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Razkar on October 6th, 2013, 5:18 am

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Suffice to say, the Myrian had fond memories of Priskil's Pond. To him, it was more than just a convenient body of water; it was peace and refuge in a land where everything larger than a field mouse would try to rob, kill or eat you (whichever was more pressing). When the Valini Expedition had wound its way closer to the copse that hid it, Razkar had questioned the wisdom of leading the humans there.

So many of them, with their wagons that churned earth, their animals that spread muck and their dozens of travelers that defiled the earth... it was almost... unseemly.

But pragmatism won out. He was commander of the mercenaries protecting Leo Valini's investment and if a night or two relaxing off the Kabrin was most beneficial to them... then so be it.

By the time Leth rose in his pale splendor, the smiling Razkar was grateful he'd listened to that internal advice. After the tents were struck, the animals bedded down and the wood piled high and aflame, a strange and almost giddy calm had settled over the raucous assemblage of humanity. Sellswords who spent their nights grousing and drinking became giggling, story-swapping youths who sang and grinned by campfires. The passengers even mingled with the dirty laborers and sellswords, sharing drinks and advice to the proles and taking it in return.

Even Albrecht was mollified, in the middle of a long and light-hearted tale of when he was but a scrap of a lad far-flung from his home, plying his wagon from one end of Eyktol to the other. Razkar watched as his arms flailed and danced, casting shadows that caught the world in their embrace, hard-faced underlings as rapt as children around him.

It made them like children, this place that was a balm to souls without respite. The cool, vitalizing water. The shade of the trees. Some part of Razkar even feared to submit so freely to its allure, afraid that such beauty could not exist without some equal and opposing force eager to trample and defile it.

But he knew this was a fine place... and did not seek to waste his mood.

You would have seen him, that night, behind the tent he and his apprentice shared, body moving with slow but thoughtful purpose, eerily lit by pale Leth, scars and tattoos in sharp relief. His arms stretched out or jabbed in punches and blocks, and though they seemed far less than what the man covered in taut muscle could dish out, there was a sheen of sweat and the adrenaline-fueled light of happy exhaustion in his eyes.

The book had a lot to do with it.

That crotchety old bastard Dominac had hardly been one for cordiality, but he would sooner lose his balls than misdirect a customer to his store. When the weapon-strewn warrior had come to it, seeking knowledge of The Flux, he'd been swiftly shown a large and venerable tome. "An Introduction To The Art of Flux", as Razkar had laboriously discovered (his while his speaking of Common ma have been fluent, his read of it was less so), was far more than a mere preamble, and thus worth the high price he paid for it.

But knowledge was nothing without practical application. Nights on the road, mind filled with concerns for his ragged band of sellswords and the security of the caravan, they were not the place for the freedom of thought such an artform required.

But there, by the shimmering silver of the Pond and with the soft night breeze caressing his bare body... such a thing was a gift.

Feel the strength beyond your muscles... within them, but separate... the layer of energy crafted to fit flesh and bone, but beyond it... intangible and invisible, but as necessary for life as will and intent...

The wisdom from the tome echoed through the Myrian's mind as he planted his feet, squared his shoulders, arms raised... a fighting stance, adept for attack and defense... but with his eyes closed.

Why had he not felt this before? It took only a few ticks to find it. Careful, patient breathing, enough time to blot out the laughter and fluting from the caravan... and feel the faint stirrings of djed within himself... aching to be released...

With a thought, Razkar willed it to travel into his cocked arm... then opened his eyes, imagining an enemy before him... and his arm snapped outward-

-faster and stronger than his own muscles could manage, djed transformed to Flux in a blink, clenched fist that could have shattered a jaw flung straight out... and he braced himself-

-for a pain far less than expected. He breathed heavier for a moment, feeling the aching tingling that he'd become accustomed to when he harnessed this strange new power. The moment it faded his head snapped to the left, finding another phantom enemy coming from the side... and he directed that crackling, silent energy into his hips, swinging himself around-

-augmenting the snap kick he aimed at his opponent's crotch, that time not pulled off-balance. He remembered the first time he'd attempted such a technique. The result? His balance ruined by over-confidence, rewarded by him flying back onto his arse with his legs in the air.

But this time...

"All true skill comes from practice," Razkar murmured, as if it were a prayer, but it was the words he'd read that night, from pages lightly rustling in the night wind, "Tested technique, proper stance, the mediation to find The Flux and use it... all these are needed. But what matters more is the will to practice and train, often for seasons and years, sometimes without seeing any evidence of improvement... and then finding, at some point in the unknown future, that you have become the knowledge, and a facet of that which you sought to master..."

Razkar did not pretend to understand all he read, but the proof was in the fact he was still upright. A season before, his attempt at a solid kick had ended with him on his back; now he was on his feet. Progress measured in a minute way, but progress nonetheless.

His mind cleared as he looked around, and a frown marred his features for a moment. She was not there. But then the frown became a smile, for he knew where she would be. Where else would one find a Svefra so close to such a pristine body of water?

Razkar walked calmly and slowly through the camp, exchanging words and nods here and there, happy to see all was as it should be and, perversely enough, that his people were content.

His people. These barbarians he'd scorned for years, and now he had come to regard them as under his protection. The young male shook his head and sighed.

Such things you learn with years and changes taken...

Like him, she had found solace and peace in scrawled-upon parchment that night. He walked softly, favoring mud and sand to stifle his steps, enjoying the guilty pleasure of watching her unawares and immersed in her reading, toes flicking back and forth idly as she lay on hr back... until a shadow obscured her precious light and she looked up sharply-

-into a grin of sharpened teeth that would have chilled the blood of many, but the eyes above were so filled with fondness and affection.

"A fine night to broaden the mind, apprentice..."
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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Perplexity on October 6th, 2013, 5:35 pm

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And what a night it was turning out to be! The joviality that was sweeping across the encampment was both boisterous and inviting. A group of women amongst the caravan had banded together to form a bonfire. The smell of what they were cooking was beginning to waft over the camp. On this night and in moderate safety of the Pond the whole of the caravan seemed to have transitioned from a travel weary, mercenary laden band of Valini couriers to a migrating village of sorts.

Slowly but surely the greater majority of those amongst the caravan began to assemble around the bonfire where those with musical instruments brought them out to perpetuate song and dance. Seasoned veterans were suddenly asking hardened women who would sooner break a mug over a man's head than dance with him, for a chance to stretch their legs. While there was seemingly no rhyme or reason as to why everyone was in such a relieved mood no one seemed to need one. No face was without a smile. No voice held back laughter or did not join in the chorus to songs they collectively knew.

All except one.

An elder woman with hair the color of cold steel. She was short in stature but that didn't seem to detract from her presence. Everyone who noticed her acknowledged her but none seemed to remember her by name. She seemed both out of place and yet belonged at the same time. The woman stood on the outskirts of the group at the moment and she was watching the festivities with an amused smile on her face. She walked along the shore of the holy Pond alone not fearful of any danger. The watchmen were highly attentive in their duty. In one hand she carried her sandals. In the other she thumbed a string of multicolored beads. As she walked her eyes were focused on a single point amongst the camp. She was not consumed with the idle wanderings of an old woman but she moved diligently and patiently with purpose.

She was watching the Myrian, his name mattered little to her but she knew it just the same, practice skills only her eyes could see. Likewise she saw that his companion was equally consumed with her own interests.

An odd pair they were. To most. But not to her. When the Myrian finished his practicing she followed him. Her footsteps quieter than a whisper. She came to a halt not far from the two of them content to let Razkar lose himself in admiring his lover. She spoke only to interject. Her words a gentle correction to the Myrian's otherwise broad statement.

"Every night is a fine night to broaden the mind, Myrian." Her back was slightly stooped with age but that didn't seem to slow her down. How long she had been standing there watching the two lovers was a mystery so it would appear as if she had been standing there the whole time. Uninvited, apparently seeing no need for an invitation, she walked up to the both of them. Her figure was cast mostly in shadow. The gentle chime of various bits of jewelry the only heralding of her arrival. She stopped only a few feet away from the both of them. Her back to the bonfire, her face in shadow.

She wore a colorful gown most would not expect for someone traveling amongst a Valini caravan. Her dress bore no extravagant designs other than those found most common amongst peasant women. The material was not expensive but she wore it with a majesty bespeaking the wisdom of old age. Her arms were covered in bangles, bracelets, her fingers and toes bound with rings either plain or dotted with simple jewels. She wore a shawl about her shoulder and over her head each as brightly colored as the last, each with patterns that conflicted one another but ran together nonetheless. She was a walking contradiction that seemingly made perfect sense.

"Well?" She looked at the two of them expectantly. "Are you going to offer an old woman a seat or must I get that myself too?" She failed to mention what it was she had requested previously. Did it really matter though?

NoteLaden with redundancies I'm certain because I have a cold and NyQuil makes me drowsy...
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The Old Lady :
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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Edreina on October 7th, 2013, 2:30 am

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Razkar, his appearance had been an inevitability. No matter how much they attempted to immerse themselves in separate activities, Tanroa always seemed to find it prudent that they should be cast together again. The woman behind him, however was a surprise to say the least. Her words were true enough, but her appearance was still a mystery. She was, obviously, not a worker nor a laborer, so one of the wealthy travelers who had contracted Valini was the only acceptable answer. Her garb was... familiar. After a tick, Edreina realized that, despite her obvious physical differences, the woman dressed herself like the Lia of a pod that remained upon the Anchorage. Each garment likely had some sort of meaning to her, each ring a story. The grace of her carriage denoted a woman used to holding power and influence over others, perhaps without them even knowing her position. This only built upon Edreina's mental linking between the woman and a Lia.

With that image cemented in her mind, Edreina started gently at the woman's double-edged request, rising without thought and trotting off to her tent before she realized what she had done. Probably lost my place in my book, she thought belatedly, shaking her head even as she gathered up her own bedroll. As she returned to Razkar and the old woman, she folded the bedroll over several times and then set it on the ground. "I apologize," she murmured, cheeks flushing a pleasant shade of pink in the lantern's wan light. "If you would like some help-...?" She offered the woman a hand so that she could help her lower her frame onto the pad. A Lia would not allow another to help her with something so simple less she had no other option, but it was still nice to ask and a force of habit for the redhead who was raised in a strongly matriarchal society.

Looking at the woman as she sat once more, legs crossed, Edreina could not help but wonder her purpose. It was not uncommon for people to seek either she or Razkar out, but this one looked as if she wanted to do more than just say hello or ask a brief question. She wanted to sit, and that implied a stay that would last for more than a moment or two. "Is there something you need?" Edreina asked, blue eyes flashing over to Razkar for an instant. She actually wanted to know what the woman wanted, plain and simple, but she had been taught to avoid speaking to older woman in such a way. Unconsciously, as she awaited an answer, she pulled the book back into her lap and ran her fingers over the warps in the cover and the little ridges where it had been bent at one point.

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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Razkar on October 7th, 2013, 4:54 am

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"Every night is a fine night to broaden the mind, Myrian."

It was a difficult thing to sneak up on Razkar; his senses were finely honed after a lifetime of stalking through the jungles of Falyndar, not to mention surviving more brawls, battles, ambushes and duels than he could properly remember. Even in times of peace his ears twitched, his eyes roved and his nostrils were always sensitive to unusual smells-

"Shyke!"

-and yet the old woman appeared behind them like she'd dropped from the sky. His hand immediately went to his gladius and when he saw the object of that latent violence he almost choked.

What is she doing here?

The question echoed through the Myrian's mind as he looked at the slight, frail-looking female wrapped in gleaming metal and colored cloth. A face wrinkled by decades but bearing eyes bright and alert bought him swerving back to his childhood, where venerable females who had survived everything the most ruthless environment in the world held sway over a race of bloodthirsty warriors like they were ruling a hot-headed extended family.

"Well? Are you going to offer an old woman a seat or must I get that myself too?"

"Hon... Honored Elder," he managed to choke out, even as Edreina was scurrying away to get a seat, and he had to make sure he was speaking Common, because she couldn't be a Child of Myri... could she? "I... I am sorry, I'm sure-"

The Svefra returned and Razkar mentally gave himself a whipping for failing to be so courteous as to offer something so simple as a place by their little fire. His present body was in the Wildlands of the barbarian nations but damnit, his mind was somehow back before his mother-

No. Worse. His grandmother. The fearsome warrior visage the world saw when they looked at him, enough to cow merciless mercenaries and fearless bandits alike, all that seemed stripped down to the boy who'd toed the ground awkwardly and stuttered for words before his Matriarch...

"Um." Urgh! How many years has it been since you were like this?! "... one moment!"

In a blink the male had vanished, shadowy form rummaging through their tent and returning with an armful of smoked meat, deer and fish, most of it fresh the day before and jerked to last for longer. Without even realizing it he lowered himself on his knees with his feet under his rear, the traditional pose for Myrian males to sit before their elders, their... betters.

But there was no lingering fear of punishment. No hard-learned lesson to always respect the females of the clan. Just a desire to treat this old and strange woman as she deserved.

But why think she deserved anything? Where did that fierce imperative come from, more akin to his desire to protect Edreina than prove himself as Myri's Chosen Male?

It must be the Pond, he assumed, trying to brush of the mood and act like something more than a tongue-tied child, just go with that and act your damned age...

"We would be honored if, ah... you partook."

"Is there something you need?"

Razkar flicked a disapproving glance at Edreina before he could stop himself. Questioning an Honored Elder? And a female? How did-

No! We are not in Falyndar! She is not your grandmother and-

"I do not recall your face from when we left Syliras," Razkar managed to blurt out with nothing approaching finesse, earning him a similar look from his "apprentice". "Forgive me, but... I have something of a mind for them." A faint trace of suspicion, scolded internally but not ignored, crept into his voice even as he offered the smoked meat. "I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls, and this is Edreina Whitewave, my apprentice... and you are...?"
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Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Perplexity on October 7th, 2013, 11:34 pm

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“Finally. Some manners.” She nodded to Edreina as the Svefran woman laid out her bedroll. At the offer of assistance the elderly lady stared at her hand for a moment before waving it away. Without much difficulty, and without much ceremony either, she plopped down onto the bedroll with a content sigh. As her face was illuminated by the firelight that the mercenary and his apprentice shared the decades of life etched upon her became revealed. Wrinkles adorned her visage with all the careful placement of an artist tending to a treasured sculpture. Every one told a story. Every one held the weight of her long, long memory. The most prevalent wrinkles were around her mouth and her eyes. A keenly insightful individual might construe that as the tell-tale sign of a lifetime of laughter. The bags under her eyes and the stoop to her shoulders also bore the weight of so many sorrows.

Nevertheless she was the picture of strange albeit wild dignity. Of all the distinguishing marks upon her face or in her bearing there were none so striking as her eyes themselves. Either one was a different color. Not shifting or changing to suit her mood like the Vantha but that didn’t make them any less startling. The right gleamed with golden hues whereas the left shimmered with various planes of alluring violet. They were not dull with age nor lackluster in appearance. Quite the opposite in fact. Those strange eyes in turn followed the movements of the warrior as he scurried about giving in to his heritage. Upon being presented the smoke meat she smiled. It was not a warm smile but it was not an unpleasant one either. If anything it was a smile of amusement.

"We would be honored if, ah... you partook."

“We shall dine, boy. But it will not be on just strips of smoked meats alone.” She offered nothing more than that for the time being. Setting her sandals on the ground beside her she continued to thumb her string of multicolored beads.

"Is there something you need?" At that she arched an eyebrow staring down at Edreina as if the red haired maiden had asked the most absurd question in the history of asking questions.

“Me? I need nothing. I have had, have and will always have everything I need. What you need…” She emphasized the sentence pointing one gnarled finger at the both of them. “…however is another matter entirely.”

Again she offered no answer to the curious statement. What could the two of them possibly need that this old woman could have? At Razkar’s inquiry another amused smile touched the old woman’s lips.

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls, and this is Edreina Whitewave, my apprentice... and you are...?"

“I am who I have always been, boy. I am me. I am myself. You do not know me because you did not take the time to seek me out. So now I have done the polite thing for both of our sakes. Or was your tirade with Caravan Master Albrecht about not concerning yourself with passengers just for show?” She continued to toy with her beads though her eyes never wavered from staring the Myrian and the Svefran down. The amused smile only broadened at the confused looks she got at her reply just as quickly as it appeared however it vanished only to be replaced with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. “If, however, you are asking for my name then that is what I shall give you. A name.”

Reaching up she lowered the shawl about her head revealing her steel colored hair. The only crown to sit upon her brow as proof of the many years she had traversed the world.

“You may call me Greatmother Syletha. My daughters and indeed their daughters and even their daughters after that are the ones responsible for stirring up the merriment in this erstwhile caravan.” She turned her gaze to Leth. Her face softened as she gazed at the Moon God. “In light of our travel I deemed it wise to lighten the spirit of us all. Do you deny the necessity of this, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls, son of Yurta and Zek? Or you, Edreina Whitewave of the Anchorage? Daughter of Illsa and Gnovak.”

It didn’t need to be said that she spoke information that the two of them had certainly not given nor anyone amongst the caravan might have been privy to.

“I know who you are. The question remains, do you?” She quirked her head. Those luminescent eyes studying the both of them. Her gaze lingered on Edreina for a moment longer before turning to the strips of meat still before the three of them. Flicking her wrist she gestured to them.

“Go boy, fetch a pot. Fill it with Priskil’s water. Then seek out one of my daughters at the bonfire. Ask for potatoes, marjoram, and salt. We shall have us a decent meal and once it has begun I shall share with the two of you a story.” She left no room for discussion. She had spoken. She would be obeyed but the more she spoke the more questions seemed to rise from her presence.

Who was this elder woman? What did she want? More importantly, how did she know what she knew?



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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Edreina on October 11th, 2013, 3:38 am

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OOCSorry this'll be short shyke xD I promise more in the future.

In the Svefra's experience, the older a person was, they more they tended to know. Wisdom was the plant of life, growing vast even as person's body began to wither with age. That did not, however, explain how the woman had come to know her lineage. Edreina had mentioned her siblings occasionally, yes, but never her parents. Well, maybe she had and it had simply slipped from her mind. But, what really impressed Edreina, was how simply she said it, as if she were commenting upon the weather.

This woman... she was something else. The Svefra's keen blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she judged their guest. When Razkar left, she eventually found an answer worthy of leaving her tongue. At first, she had been puzzled, wondering how to answer the woman. Her first question had been brushed away, and that left her unsure of how the woman wanted her to respond if she wanted her to respond at all. Eventually, as it usually did, caution was blown to the furthest corner of Edreina's mind by the winds of curiosity. "I know myself as well as any should. If everyone knew themselves entirely," she hesitated, letting the thought finish forming before her lips parted before it. "If we all knew ourselves all the way through, self-discovery and adventure would be a figment."

Her answer was, of course, incredibly biased. That was what this entire journey was about to her, after all, self-discovery and adventure. Part of Edreina slapped a palm to her face and hoped that the elder would be able to overlook her easily excited and incredibly naive visage for an instant. Believe it or not, she actually had a brain in between her ears... sometimes... othertimes the Suvan's salty water occupied that space, filling it with riotous waves that could change course on a whim.


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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Razkar on October 12th, 2013, 4:56 am

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"How... I... We never-"

A sharp little "ahem!" from Edreina cut off whatever foolish query the Myrian would have followed that incoherent stuttering with, and despite the brief glance of anger, he soon realized she'd probably saved him a great deal of trouble.

She was old and frail, from a distance. Another hunched over female with many decades making her back bent... but it took only the time to look closer to see this... Syletha, was far from a weakling. Her eyes took in the scarred warrior with the same amusement he would a strutting kitten, and Razkar did not like it.

Hackles raised even as he rose to follow her orders, stalking away with purpose from the warmth and light of the fire. A pot of water was quickly found, then it was to one of the shadow-ringed bonfires where sellswords and laborers and perfumed passengers alike swapped jokes and stories and upheld the oral traditions that kept Mizahar running smoothly in that silent, inevitable way.

And, as expected but still to his surprise, there seemed to be more females around than usual...

They flitted like oversized hummingbirds, always smiling or cajoling, ladling water or wine or bowls of aromatic stew that transformed skeptical frowns into satisfied countenances. The Myrian stepped up to one of them, a full-figured female with sparkling eyes nearly middle-age. That was not too surprising, either; as ancient-looking as this "Greatmother" looked, she would hardly have daughters running around at waist height.

"And how can I help you, young man?"

"Er... have we... met before?"

There was a giggle like running water, light and unsubstantial, and eyes of two shades danced in the firelight.

"I know not. Have we?"

Despite everything, Razkar sighed, expression more of universal male weariness than honest confusion at dealing with a female certainly not the the mundane world. "May I have one conversation with a female tonight that does not involves riddles?"

"Time will tell. Potatoes and marjoram, wasn't it?"

"I... Yes... Did I-"

"Oh, I'm sure you mentioned it." The woman's lie was so blithe and bold that Razkar could do naught but gape, arms held out like an automaton as what he asked was heaped into them. "Did you forget something?"

"... salt."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure..." A few ticks digging in the folds of her colored skirt like slashes of vibrancy across silk and cloth soon produced a short wooden shaker. "All you require?"

The Myrian nodded his thanks and turned, still dazed as if hit around the head. How was this possible? Well, that was a stupid question, considering the world he lived in. He'd seen men transform into snakes; he'd seen mages conjure scenes of flame and chaos from their very minds, set alight the sky and he'd met beings of living water and sparred with a being in the frame of a young girl with the soul of a being far older than even Myri herself.

This was Mizahar, after all. The extraordinary became humdrum remarkably quickly, if one but traveled long enough.

"Female, did you-"

And when he turned, a swaying sellsword was there instead. The sight of his scowling commander knocked most of the smile from his face and he tried to salute-

-with tankard still in hand.

"Shyke!"

Razkar gave him a tick to get most of the froth from his beard and then spoke: "The female? Who was she?"

"What female?"

There was no joke or lie in the man's eyes; he'd imbibed too much for such deception. Instead he just squinted at the Myrian like he was a distant figment and snorted.

"There... there was no female, sir, I-"

Little else was heard of the muttering of a honestly-enraged Razkar, tramping back to the lantern with the two females huddled over it. Well, one was huddled; Syletha looked calm and composed, as comfortable in the middle of the Wilds as she would at the banquet tables of royalty. He paused before entering that livid circle of light, composing himself.

Don't be fooled, and don't let your anger show.

But-

Be smart. Be watchful. Be polite. And for the love of the Goddess-Queen and all her Children, don't touch your blades!


Grumbling softly to himself (but remembering to quell the bubbling bile before he sat down), Razkar returned to the Svefra and the... to-be-decided, placing rather than dumping an armful of food and another armful of water-sloshing water next to them.

"As requested, Mistress."

Nice touch...
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Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
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[Priskil's Pond] Seeing Is Believing

Postby Perplexity on October 14th, 2013, 1:41 am

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"Spoken like a girl who truly believes that anything is possible." The old woman chuckled at Edreina's response to her puzzling question. Syletha wrapped her shawl a bit more tightly about her shoulders. Her eyes traveled with Razkar a look of supreme amusement glistening in them as he walked. She returned her attention back to the red haired woman in front of her once he had departed.

"Few there are who ever know themselves deeply and completely on a level that truly matters. For to know oneself entirely is to know all of one's selves. Tell me girl, do you know all of your selves?" The question was more rhetorical than anything else. Syletha knew perfectly well that Edreina had no idea what she was talking about. It didn't matter to the old matriarch though. She had her reasons for speaking as she did. She waved a hand absentmindedly in the wind.

"There is within all of us an unanswered question that grows with every passing day. The more we know the more the question become unanswerable. The more answers we find that pertain to that question the more we question the answers themselves." She folded her hands together in her lap. Syletha studied Edreina quietly for a moment. "Do you know what that question is, girl?" Her eyes widened slightly in emphasis of the apparent severity of the moment. When Edreina had no forthright answer the old woman provided one.

"Why am I here?" It was simple enough in its composition but the question was riddled with meaning. "That is the question you should be asking yourself, girl. That is the question that will lead you closer and closer to answering all others that may pop into your head. Not just about who you are. Not just about where you are. But why you are." With a sagely nod the woman left Edreina to ponder the wisdom of her words.

Wisdom? Or madness?

When Razkar returned with the requested items a pleased chuckle escaped the woman's throat. Without waiting for any sort of ceremony nor invitation she picked up the pot, hung it on the iron rung set up above the fire pit to allow the water to come to a boil then rummaged through her skirts.

"Now where did...I know I had it here....what on Semele's earth did I do with...Ah!" She exclaimed happily as she pulled out an easily concealed knife good for little more than slicing up food stuffs. Which is exactly what she set herself to doing. Grabbing a potato she began to slice it up with all the due care a woman of her stature should.

"Too many people are quick to peel the skins from a proper potato." She fixed the both of them with a stern stare. "What everyone seems to forget is that all of the good things are in the potato skins. They may be tough but that is where blessed Semele in Her wisdom touches the spuds with Her grace." One by one she peeled each potato. The starch within the potatoes would thicken up the water. Once again she reached into the folds of her skirts and withdrew a purse-string pouch. As she pulled it a white powder was revealed. Upon closer inspection that powder would be flour. She emptied about a third of the contents into the water to thicken it into a nice healthy stew. As she pulled the strings of the pouch closed she gave Razkar a wink before tucking it into her skirts again.

"Flour. Useful in many ways wouldn't you agree?" The old woman chuckled then set about cutting up the marjoram, the strips of meat and adding the salt. When all was said and done the makeshift stew would be boiling soon. With a sigh Syletha sat back on the bedroll smiling at the two of them.

"Now then, I'm certain the both of you are decidedly confused." She rubbed her chin then shrugged her shoulders. "As well you should be. Neither of you has any idea what lies ahead of you and can scarcely cope with the road behind you." She pointed a gnarled finger at the both of them before either could raise a voice in protest.

"Don't deny it. You're as uncertain about where you're headed as you are where you've come from." When she was satisfied there would be no arguments to her accusations she nodded then picked up a ladle. From where? Who knows? She began to stir the stew with a motherly intent.

"I've been watching the both of you. Don't ask why. I have my reasons and they will remain just that. My reasons. The fact of the matter is that you are both in need of my assistance. You just don't know it yet. But you will. Before we get to that unsightly business though I have a question for the two of you." She ceased stirring the stew and glanced up at Razkar and Edreina.

"Where are your bowls?" She blinked at them both her face the picture of dire seriousness.
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