Timestamp: 15th Day of Fall, 513 AV
Abashai needed answers, knowledge and connection. The year in the wilderness had restored the memories that the Black Sun bitch had stolen from him, of the life before Ravok. But that was only the start. To perform the kind of work he and Nya had planned, they needed what Areesa had deliberately hidden from herself through the ages, and understanding of things neither of them had experience with.
The Benshiran was determined to carry through. He had no other purpose, everything that mattered Kialandra Salvatrice had stolen from him. What ate at Abashai, what was the sick irony of it all, was that everything he lost was still with him. Everything Nya was to him, gone, even though she stood next to him. His relationship with Yahal, quiet, yet the marks still resided upon his hands. Abashai could not even enjoy his own son, every glance at Micah a reminder of his mother, the woman that had tore away his life. Thank the gods Nya ripped the wench's head from her shoulders and freed Abashai. Now, pursuing the magic, and the chance to exact retribution against Ravok and the damnable god who marked him with Chaon, gave the man something.
The trip to the small shop set against the castle wall was intended to stir something, memories, visions, or simply some material to educate the man on what they would be dealing with. Nya accompanied him, though Abashai was not certain whether she saw any value in scouring the cluttered shelves of the book shop.
Though a bell tinkled as they entered, the old man said to run the shop didn't appear, nor did there seem to be any other patrons. Shai began to move around the tables and shelves. Curious items were gathered nilly willy among dusty old books, some Abashai had to rub firmly with a finger to reveal the title on the spine. As he perused, he spoke to Nya, voice low.
"I keep thinking something will trigger memories, a piece of equipment, a drawing, sketch, book, something." His blue-green gaze lowered to Nya. Abashai buried much when it came to her. The cacophony of accumulated emotions and memories regarding Nya were haunting. He strained mentally to shove them into corners of his mind, they only brought guilt. Still, sometimes, in the quiet of the nights when Nya remained in the room, Abashai watched her sleep, letting himself remember. It was a sweet torment in which the dark-souled man indulged, the pain some form of penance to appease the trace of the virtuous man that once was, lingering still in his core.
"I want to know about it all, to some extent, as Jefrek would have."
Abashai needed answers, knowledge and connection. The year in the wilderness had restored the memories that the Black Sun bitch had stolen from him, of the life before Ravok. But that was only the start. To perform the kind of work he and Nya had planned, they needed what Areesa had deliberately hidden from herself through the ages, and understanding of things neither of them had experience with.
The Benshiran was determined to carry through. He had no other purpose, everything that mattered Kialandra Salvatrice had stolen from him. What ate at Abashai, what was the sick irony of it all, was that everything he lost was still with him. Everything Nya was to him, gone, even though she stood next to him. His relationship with Yahal, quiet, yet the marks still resided upon his hands. Abashai could not even enjoy his own son, every glance at Micah a reminder of his mother, the woman that had tore away his life. Thank the gods Nya ripped the wench's head from her shoulders and freed Abashai. Now, pursuing the magic, and the chance to exact retribution against Ravok and the damnable god who marked him with Chaon, gave the man something.
The trip to the small shop set against the castle wall was intended to stir something, memories, visions, or simply some material to educate the man on what they would be dealing with. Nya accompanied him, though Abashai was not certain whether she saw any value in scouring the cluttered shelves of the book shop.
Though a bell tinkled as they entered, the old man said to run the shop didn't appear, nor did there seem to be any other patrons. Shai began to move around the tables and shelves. Curious items were gathered nilly willy among dusty old books, some Abashai had to rub firmly with a finger to reveal the title on the spine. As he perused, he spoke to Nya, voice low.
"I keep thinking something will trigger memories, a piece of equipment, a drawing, sketch, book, something." His blue-green gaze lowered to Nya. Abashai buried much when it came to her. The cacophony of accumulated emotions and memories regarding Nya were haunting. He strained mentally to shove them into corners of his mind, they only brought guilt. Still, sometimes, in the quiet of the nights when Nya remained in the room, Abashai watched her sleep, letting himself remember. It was a sweet torment in which the dark-souled man indulged, the pain some form of penance to appease the trace of the virtuous man that once was, lingering still in his core.
"I want to know about it all, to some extent, as Jefrek would have."