Learning by Teaching
|| 2nd Fall, 514AV || Darium Wordling's office || Ninth Bell
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|| 2nd Fall, 514AV || Darium Wordling's office || Ninth Bell
Darium Wordling was a glutton for punishment. Apparently.
Nearly two years ago, he had taught a young woman – a detestable Myrian – about the majestic Eypharian people. It had completely baffled him as to why such a beastile race would want to learn about another so holy. But all had become clear to him. Ayatah of the Scattered Bones – of the Scattered Bones! What a grotesque name! – was half-Myrian, half-Eypharian.
The very concept of the two races breeding was enough to make Darium feel sick, yet nevertheless the golden-skinned, black-haired woman was proof that such a mating had, indeed, happened. Ayatah had all the mannerisms of a Myrian – all except her impressive thirst for knowledge. The girl had keenly drunk each and every fact Darium had shared with her, which had really been quite pleasant. More than once he’d almost forgotten she was Myrian after all.
Almost, but not quite. For Darium, despite his own disappointing human-ness, adored the Eypharian people more than anything else. More than his wife, children, friends, family… More than anything other than the Eypharian woman whom he had desperately loved as a young man. Hashae. The name was like a breath, beautiful and easy, natural.
The Myrian-Eypharian mutt Darium had met with two years ago could not hold a light to his gorgeous Hashae, but the mixed-blood had smelt incredibly similar to her. It irked Darium that someone with such a vile heritage could so easily spark memories of his beloved. How could she, a filthy mongrel, have more in common with the lustrous Eypharians than he – who had spent his youth serving them, who had spent each and every waking day wishing to become one?!
It was an outrage.
In the two years since he had first met with Ayatah, Darium had delighted in forgetting the woman, or at least trying to. That fragrance – floral, sweet, undeniably arousing – now reminded him of not only Hasahe but of Ayatah as well. There she appeared, in even the most adulterous and explicit of his memories of Hashae; frustrating, constantly present like an unwelcome house guest.
So when Darium heard that that woman had returned to the university seeking employment, for some Gods-only-knew reason, he had been the first member of staff to offer her work. After his kind offer had been accepted (who would refuse a chance to work with the Darium Wordling?!), Darium had sat in his office, staring at the various waxy paintings of Hasahe that hung on each of the four walls, quietly repearing the words: “you’ve messed up there, haven’t you?” over and over again until nighttime.
Today, was to be their first meeting as professor and assistant, and though neither of them had said anything in the five chimes since he had welcomed her into his office, Darium already felt the need to push the woman out and lock the door behind her.
”So… What sort of things do you want me to help with?” Ayatah repeated for the second time. The first time she had asked the question Darium Wordling had acted as though he hadn't heard, and for a tick Aya wondered if the man had gone deaf. She cleared her throat and tried again, speaking louder this time: ”Maybe some plans for classes? Organising your papers?”
Anything, just saying something!
Finally, thankfully, Darium spoke.
”Do you remember me, Miss Ayatah?” He refused to use that horrid Myrian title: of the Scattered Bones
Nearly two years ago, he had taught a young woman – a detestable Myrian – about the majestic Eypharian people. It had completely baffled him as to why such a beastile race would want to learn about another so holy. But all had become clear to him. Ayatah of the Scattered Bones – of the Scattered Bones! What a grotesque name! – was half-Myrian, half-Eypharian.
The very concept of the two races breeding was enough to make Darium feel sick, yet nevertheless the golden-skinned, black-haired woman was proof that such a mating had, indeed, happened. Ayatah had all the mannerisms of a Myrian – all except her impressive thirst for knowledge. The girl had keenly drunk each and every fact Darium had shared with her, which had really been quite pleasant. More than once he’d almost forgotten she was Myrian after all.
Almost, but not quite. For Darium, despite his own disappointing human-ness, adored the Eypharian people more than anything else. More than his wife, children, friends, family… More than anything other than the Eypharian woman whom he had desperately loved as a young man. Hashae. The name was like a breath, beautiful and easy, natural.
The Myrian-Eypharian mutt Darium had met with two years ago could not hold a light to his gorgeous Hashae, but the mixed-blood had smelt incredibly similar to her. It irked Darium that someone with such a vile heritage could so easily spark memories of his beloved. How could she, a filthy mongrel, have more in common with the lustrous Eypharians than he – who had spent his youth serving them, who had spent each and every waking day wishing to become one?!
It was an outrage.
In the two years since he had first met with Ayatah, Darium had delighted in forgetting the woman, or at least trying to. That fragrance – floral, sweet, undeniably arousing – now reminded him of not only Hasahe but of Ayatah as well. There she appeared, in even the most adulterous and explicit of his memories of Hashae; frustrating, constantly present like an unwelcome house guest.
So when Darium heard that that woman had returned to the university seeking employment, for some Gods-only-knew reason, he had been the first member of staff to offer her work. After his kind offer had been accepted (who would refuse a chance to work with the Darium Wordling?!), Darium had sat in his office, staring at the various waxy paintings of Hasahe that hung on each of the four walls, quietly repearing the words: “you’ve messed up there, haven’t you?” over and over again until nighttime.
Today, was to be their first meeting as professor and assistant, and though neither of them had said anything in the five chimes since he had welcomed her into his office, Darium already felt the need to push the woman out and lock the door behind her.
”So… What sort of things do you want me to help with?” Ayatah repeated for the second time. The first time she had asked the question Darium Wordling had acted as though he hadn't heard, and for a tick Aya wondered if the man had gone deaf. She cleared her throat and tried again, speaking louder this time: ”Maybe some plans for classes? Organising your papers?”
Anything, just saying something!
Finally, thankfully, Darium spoke.
”Do you remember me, Miss Ayatah?” He refused to use that horrid Myrian title: of the Scattered Bones
.
