[Mithryn] Letters from Home(Xira)

by **Marrick Corvis** on May 24th, 2014, 11:34 pm

The squire gave the little one a gentle ushering back to her seat, with a nudge. As the child was welcomed back with a few giggles and shoves, the quiet conversations began to give way to the call for another story. Marrick smiled with genuine affection, as he gave the crowd of story starved pages, and squires a calming wave of his hands.

“Alroight alroight, hush now.” He said with a chuckle. “Give me a ponderance children.” Marrick chuckled inwardly. Many of the pages were older than he was, but growing up fast was something that happened as a slave. Inwardly the idea amused the Kelvic, as torturous as his education was.

While he looked over the crowd he spied his new friend Xira, looking very warm and comfortable. With the slightest of lilts to his head Marrick watched as the man’s smile waned. It seemed that the young ones were having a hard time taking to the strange courier. Yet, Marrick gave him the slightest of nods, and a smile back to reassure his friend that the Kelvic was there, and had not forgotten him.

Like a falling spark in the darkness, a memory sprang into life in the Raven Kelvic’s mind. So sweet and sad, a single tear began to form at the corner of his eye. The only relief to the pain was a deep breath, and a sip at his cup.

“What’s the matter Mr. Corvis?” a little boy said from the front row as the firelight made the trail of water down his face shimmer like a trickle of molten gold.

Realizing that he was likely scaring the children, Marrick quickly wiped his face and smiled again. “Fergive meh wee ones. Oi was rememberin a tale told teh me boy moy mother.” Marrick took another fortifying sip of his cup, smacked his lips at the fruity flavour of the dry hard cider, and slowly leaned forward onto the edge of the large armchair.

“Her name was Gypsy, n’ she was an amazin cook, n’ a far better story teller than Oi.” The Kelvic grinned in remembrance. “But Oi’ll tell yeh about her another toime. This story is one that she told me once or twice when Oi was a wee one loike yerselves.” Marrick closed his eyes a moment, and smiled remembering warm food, and a story to help wash away the days aches, and pain. The memory was marvellous and vivid in his mind. It was just what the room needed.

“From the lans o’ Eyktol, came teh Syliras a great man!” Marrick began slowly, and with great reverence. “His skin was kissed boy Syna, his hair dark n’ curly. He always wore a buckskin coat, buttoned at the front with antler. And he always whistled a merry tune that brought peace to the weary, n’ hope to the sufferin. Oi’d whistle it to ye, but Oi’m afraid Oi would’nae do it justice.” The Kelvic smiled and took another sip of his cup. “His name was Tar’tas. N’ he was a wanderer o’ the woilds.”

“He travelled the lans, with naught but a walkin stick n’ a song in his heart.” Marrick’s broad and beaming grin foretold the incoming onslaught of questions.

“Just a stick?!” one of the little boys in the front row said with surprise and wonder.

“Aye, jest a stick.” Marrick said in reply, followed by a quirk of an eyebrow and another sip at his cup.

“Surely, you mean a spear little brother.” Sir David Whitevine said as he packed a fresh bowl into his pipe. The knight grinned as he played along with the little trickery that his squire was playing.

“Oh no, Ser. Our traveller carried with him no weapon, nary a knoife. Trustin in his feet n’ the world teh provoide him where he need be and if he saw the morrow.” The Raven Kelvic said with a sly look to Xira. This statement set many of the young folk in the front row to mumbling, which Marrick quelled with a soft shushing sound from his lips.

“He walked, all the way through the desert, with no shoes. He’d done so all his loife n’ the soles of his feet were harder than the leather on a’ boiled roidin boot.” Marrick rapped the sole of his boot with a loud thump for good measure, and winked at a few of the squires in the back.

“Many days he walked, till at last he came teh this land in the days of hoigh summer. The fields were green with loife, fer that year had been good. The farmers o’ the fields, the knoights n’ there squoires. Had all played a hand in the growin n’ safety of that year’s crop.” Marrick sat a moment as if in a trance, his eyes glazed as he envisioned his own fiction in his mind.

“The ground was black n’ smelled rich with minerals. The plants grew taller than an Akalak. And the stiff breezes that flowed oar the Suvan Sea set all the fields’ teh a rollin shimmer loike an emerald sea of grass.” The squire took another soothing sip of cider and continued. “N’ when it came toime teh harvest the yield was bountiful.”

“But in those days, Syliras was naught as welcoming as it is today. When Tar’tas was met at the gate he claimed no skills, save fer walkin. The men n’ women told him he needed teh foind a Job, just as they do today, and Tar’tas troied many occupations. He even helped with the harvest at Mithryn, n got a first-hand look at the vast food stores.” The Raven Kelvic took a handful of oats he’d had left over in his pouch for feeding Kiter, his Tiaden, and sprinkled them on a few of the pages in the front row as they giggled.

“But he could naught stay, as he had nary a skill teh use after the harvest.”

“Many o’ the folk turned him out. Saying they didn’ want teh make a beggar o’ him. Until at last, Tar’tas felt he had sipped at the hospitality o’ Syliras enough, n’ it was toime teh move on.” Marrick leaned back in his chair and set down his cup; a look of thoughtful contemplation upon his face.

“Tar’tas left the day after the harvest ended, and headed out inta the cool autumn days afor winter.” The dark haired squire said softly, as he stared off into the distance almost as if he could see Tar’tas walking the lonely road, with nothing but a pack and his stick.

“It was a lonely way, n’ the wanderer wished nothin more than a companion teh wander the world with him. So much so that he would feed foxes n’ wolves. Any creature that’d join him at his foire would be welcomed there.” The Raven Kelvic leaned forward again and settled into his seat. “He walked for a full waxing and waning of Leth in the sky, until at last finding a hollow where he moight last the winter.”

“One noight, as he rested boy his foire, a group of woild men found him. Armed with wicked blades n’ desperate eyes they watched him as a pack o’ wolves moight a faun. Yet, so charmin n’ welcomin the wanderer was he convinced them teh spare his loife n’ rest boy his foire. He fed them his mead, n a portion o’ his food. N’ when they asked where he’d wandered from, they spat at the name o’ Mithryn n’ the Syliran Knoights.” Marrick grasped his cup which was nearly empty, sloshed down the last of its contents and began to refill it.

“The woild men then told him o’ a desperate plan teh seize the graineries o’ Mithryn, n’ set fire teh the garrison.” His cup at last refilled the Raven Kelvic, settled back into his seat comfortably. “Tar’tas felt sore that he’d been turned out teh winter in the unforgivin woilds, yet he’d befriended many o’ the farmers when he helped with the harvest. He knew that the innocent folk o’ Mithryn would be killed in the raid.” The Raven Kelvic’s face looked grave as he took a sip from his cup and sighed.

“That Noight as the woild men slumbered, their heads muddled with mead, Tar’tas set out teh save the good folk of Mithryn, and Syliras.” Stiffly the squire stood, and stretched. “Loike a mad man, he left behoind his warm foire, and stepped out onta the cold slopes.” Marrick stepped away from the comfortable chair and wove his way through the crowd of pages. “Yeh see, he had wandered deep inta the Cobalts, n’ snow had already begun teh fall there. Yet he needed teh give the koind folk he’d befriended the best chance he could.” Marrick carefully found his way through the group of following faces till at last he found the squire that had shunned him in the mess. “Even the ones that’d put him out inta the winter, Tar’tas felt responsible fer their loives.” After his subtle comment, the Raven Kelvic took a short sip and offered his cup to the squire that spurned him.

For a moment all seemed rapped in the mysticism of the story, but Marrick could see the wheels turning behind the other squires eyes. He seemed confused, yet somewhat awkward to be put under the gazes of everyone in the room. He threw a sidelong glance to a few of the other squires, and then the pages likely hoping for some advice hidden in their eyes. Though none, other than Xira, and David, would understand what Marrick was doing. The squire took the cup of cider from the Raven Kelvic with a suspicious hand, and took a sip.

The olive branch given, Marrick smiled and began to make his way back to his seat. “Tar’tas set the pace o’ a man filled with desperate will. He cloimbed bare rock in the howlin wind, and fasted from peak teh pasture. Until at last, he found his way back to the gates. His body was weak, for he’d brought no food. His walkin stick, he’d worn down teh a cane. He was desperate fer rest, yet he waited patient as a stone leanin against his cane.” Marrick said as he pulled an iron poker from a rack by the fire and hunched over it as if he were the old man in his story.

“He lost one o’ his big toes on that journey.” Marrick whispered as he stood up straight and stoked the fire. The flames blazed into life and light.

“Then what happened?” Chimed in one of the little ones in the front row.

“Ooh, the woild men came, and the Sylirans knoigts fought them off, as they sometoimes do. T’was an ambitious assault thwarted boy an old wanderer.” Marrick said almost nonchalantly, adding to the mystery.

“But what happened to Tar’tas” The squire that had spurned him said just before taking a large swig from Marricks cup.

“He fought on the wall.” The Raven Kelvic replied. “The noight the raiders came, they say he fought harder than any knoight, even though all he had was a stick.” With a soft sigh the Kelvic settled back into the arm chair and gazed off into the darkness of the room. “Some say he doied in battle. Others say he went back teh Eyktol, foindin Syliras teh be an unwelcome place.” For a moment, the Kelvics distant gaze turned to a smile, and he turned his gaze back to the crowd of pages hanging on his very breath.

“Though Oi loike teh believe Tar’tas wanders the woilds still, watchin over traveller n’ pilgrim who’ve strayed too far from the road.” The Raven Kelvic had always felt a strange kinship to that story. He had often wondered if Tar’tas was the embodiment of some god, or perhaps a champion of one.

“you mean he just kept wandering and wandering?” A sleepy page tried to say while yawning.

“Aye, wee one. They say he’s always a step ahead of dira in his wanderin. N’ that’s why he’s never doied.” Marrick noticed that many in the crowd were beginning to nod off, which was perfect as it was past lights out. Xira was evening showing signs that pillows, and a visit from Nysel was in order. “Roight you lot, toime fer bed.” The Kelvic crooned softly.

A few of the children moaned, though many seemed eager for sleep. The Knights and squires present helped tuck in the youngest pages, until one by one they filed off to their own bunks. Which left only Xira Hezmek to doze in his seat, in what looked like an uncomfortable contortion.

Marrick leaned in to watch him for just a moment, cocking his head to the side as he often did. Then with a smile he gave him a friendly nudge, to try and rouse him. “Toime fer bed, moy good wanderer. There’s a foine bunk waitin fer yeh moy friend.”

by **Xira Hezmek** on June 15th, 2014, 2:28 am

The words, the scents, the warmth and a belly full of hearty food conspired against the courier. It was not that he particularly desired sleep, well he did, but he also would have liked to listen to the story. Unfortunately that would not be the case for dear Xira and his weary body and mind. Marrick began to speak his story again and the courier rested his eyes a moment while he listened along.

The dark haired man's voice had a soothing rhythm to it and he could feel that he was taking the cadence into himself. The warmth, the hushed breathing and the sound of that voice caused his mind to drift. His thoughts were sluggish and he could feel himself not caring that his head was bobbing slowly downwards. It was such a nice story.

He was sitting in camp surrounded by friends and comrades he knew for years. They were eating travel bread and stew and they all were joking and telling stories of bravery and boasting. He was always a quiet sort, in the back of the conversation while those more obnoxious than he proclaimed their prowess. Yet they had accepted him into their fold, a scrawny boy like him.

The newcomer had brought some sort of drink and shared his food with them. It tasted sour, bitter and sweet. An odd combination that the young man did not care for though his comrades took to it greedily. The alcohol loosened their lips and the largest of their number told the newcomer eagerly of their plan. Of course, he did not think it would work. But what could he do?

The fire died down to embers and he was the first to keep watch. They might have been predators among men, but even the fox new better than to not watch for the wolf. Monsters inhabited the forest along with them and they would need to watch for them. The task was left to him and it was only by chance that he saw the newcomer slip away. He did not think anything of it, but when the others awoke they were incensed. They left him there to guard their things. He would not participate in the glory of the raid.

Xira was awoken from his dream by the sounds of disappointed children. And then a moment later from the bump of an elbow or something. He blinked about wearily and stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand. "Mm... Excellent stories Marrick" He said without any sort of wit to himself, "You must tell me some more some time, with or without an audience."

It took a moment to find his legs. Seems they had been beneath him that entire time, though one of them was certainly less awake then the rest of him. He took a step and stumbled into Marrick. The courier put his hand on the squire's shoulder to steady himself enough to take another step, "I can't thank you enough for your hospitality my good man. The squires nor knights are indebted to me in any way, so that you should feel to accommodate me is beyond the measure of kindness. I am not sure I deserve it." He was babbling, even talking like he was drunk despite not having a drop of alcohol in him. Sleep did funny things to the mind.

"Will you be sharing the bed with me? Or do you have a place of your own?" He probably didn't realize what he was saying and decided then to yawn instead of elaborate, "Mfff.. Well, my knight in resplendent armor, take me where you will. I put myself in your capable hands." He said with a drowsy tone and promptly fell asleep on his feet, leaning against marrick with his head on the man's shoulder. Though, if prompted he would easily be led, as sleep walkers are sometimes want to do.

My words

Their words

by **Marrick Corvis** on June 30th, 2014, 8:25 pm

The man yawned wide enough for a sparrow to nest comfortably in his mouth, coaxing a broad grin from Marricks face. “Thank ye. Ye are too koind.” Marrick said helping his friend to his feet. “Oi’m certain we will have another chance teh tell stories moy friend.” As the man stumbled and flopped into Marricks steadying arms, the Kelvic helped re-direct the mans faltering limbs into some semblance of balance before slinging one of his arms over his shoulder.

“Ye’have no need teh thank me. Oi’ve no need fer a bed. The Stars work as well as the beams or a hearth fer me.” Marrick chuckled sleepily as the pair made their way to the stairs to the squire’s floor. “As fer debts n Koindness, Oi say Pech it. There isn’t nearly enough o’ that in this world. Oi’m simply tryin teh shift the scales a wee bit.”

Each step was a struggle for Marrick to manoeuvre the nearly dead weight of his companion as they ascended. He didn’t get any less light either. It seems sleep was overtaking the courier faster than even he realized.

The Raven Kelvic, at last bringing his charge to his bunk, paused. He listened thoughtfully to Xira’s questions, and for the briefest of moments Marrick actually considered bonding to the man in his arms. He was a good man, witty when he wasn’t about to pass into blissful sleep. Yet, the responsibilities to the Order made the Dark haired squire reconsider. “Oi take yeh, teh moy bed, yeh silly man.” Marrick said as he gently laid the courier down.

The concept of bonding to Xira again crossed his mind, playfully teasing the Kelvics thoughts and concepts of his future and past, making his head cock to one side. A little smile crept its way onto his lips before he tenderly drew his own blanket over the exhausted man in his bunk. “Rest well now, moy friend. Dream of hills, n’ mountains unseen. See the land far away, and feel the pull of its adventure. Dream of the sheen of gold, in the settin sun and o’ the warm n’ safe place yeh know ye can call home.” Xira’s soft snoring could be heard coaxing the little smile back to Marricks lips. Almost like a goodbye the Kelvic gently laid a hand upon the man’s brow and whispered a soft prayer to Syna and Sylir.

“Syna, bring yer warm breath teh this man’s sails. Keep him in yer loight. Sylir bring peace teh this man’s Journey, n his heart.” The Kelvic whispered softly. A long sigh escaped Marricks nostrils as he brought his focus back to his own evening. He quietly and quickly disrobed, gently setting his armour on its rack. He slipped the last of his clothes and stretched naked as the day he was born, and looked about him at the sleeping figures in the Squires bunk house.

Sleep beginning to take him he touched the Black feathered Raven within himself and transformed in a soft shimmer of light.

A Raven at last, he shook out his feathers and preened for just a moment before he hopped to the door, and took flight. He found a suitable beam in the eves and nestled in for a short night. As his jet black eyes began to slowly blink closed, his curdled voice croaked out. “Xira- Hezmek. Oi hope, Oi see him again.”

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by **Vanari** on July 8th, 2014, 5:15 am

M

Singing	+1 XP
Rhetoric	+5 XP
Interrogation	+3 XP
Intelligence	+3 XP
Socialization	+4 XP
Story Telling	+5 XP
Horesmanship	+2 XP
Body Building	+1 XP
Leadership	+4 XP
Teaching	+2 XP
Observation	+5 XP
Philosophy	+1 XP

Lores :

Loot :

X

Riding	+2 XP
Horsemanship	+2 XP
Rhetoric	+4 XP
Socialization	+5 XP
Intelligence	+5 XP
Interrogation	+4 XP
Persuasion	+2 XP
Endurance	+2 XP
Storytelling	+1 XP
Philosophy	+1 XP
Singing	+1 XP
Observation	+5 XP

Lores :

Loot :

Notes :

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