Hell and Silence (Khara)

Zhol recieves an unexpected visitor

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The westernmost tip of Kalea, Wind Reach is home to an amazing group of people and their giant eagle mounts. [Lore]

Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Zhol on November 21st, 2014, 8:50 am

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51st Autumn, 514
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Zhol wasn't sure what time it was, but that didn't seem to matter much: knowing how late it was wouldn't have made it any easier for him to sleep. There was no reason for it, or at least no new reason, and yet here he lay, staring upwards, his eyes searching for patterns in the undulating texture of the cave ceiling.

Finally he surrendered, the hunt for familiarity in the stone abandoned as he rolled onto his side. Back in Endrykas it had been comforting, following the weave of the fabric overhead, or looking up into the night sky for star patterns even in the summer months, surrounded by the reassuring flutter of canvas in the breeze, the sputter of restless horses, the groans and breaths of a pavilion full of familiar souls. Here in the warrens of Wind Reach though, the cave walls blocked and absorbed so much of the sound, trapping the reassurances of the living within their chambers; and those few sounds that did escape were twisted into distant, chilling echoes that sounded more like the groans of monsters in the shadows than anything that might help soothe the dislocated boy from Endrykas to sleep.

He extended an arm and focused, picturing the flickering candle inside his soul, waiting patiently for a trickling stream of molten wax to flow from his imagination into his arm, and seep from his pours as res. His mind guided it to a fingertip and ushered it into flame, which he gently laid to rest against the wick of a real candle waiting patiently beside his bed. A few flickering moments later, and the flame slowly grew, a fresh set of brighter shadows dancing their way across the stone walls.

Zhol sighed gently, and clambered to his feet, bare souls flinching momentarily against the cold floor. He crossed the room to his table, scattered and strewn with almost everything he owned. Even his bow rested atop it, discarded after his return from the range. He spared the evening a passing thought as he carefully bundled his most expensive possession back into it's case; many days had passed since his first lesson of sorts from Khara beside the lakes, and while her responsibilities in readying the city for winter had been far more deserving of her time than he was, archery had been the one easy excuse to spend time together. Khara assured him that he was improving, but Zhol wasn't so sure; perhaps he would bring his target and equipment with him to the Hideaway next time; perhaps a little seclusion would have the same faint impact on his archery skills as it had on his reimancy.

He sighed again, and collected the book he had come for: a story for children, borrowed from the Enclave. His feet padded against the floor as he paced back to his bed, fumbling through the pages for the place he had last left off. It wasn't a thrilling read by any stretch, but with his paltry command of Nari, it was as much as he could manage: Asi the Yasi was on a journey, experiencing events that taught him about the lives of the different areas of the city, and the different Inarta castes. At first, Asi had found his way to the hydroponic gardens, and had learned about the reimancers there who helped control the waters there, and how essential it was that the city was provided with sustainable foods like mushrooms and moss for the winter months; though as yet there had been no mention of the vital role that the stables played in providing the manure that helped those crops to grow. Last night, Asi had helped the dek transport food supplies to the kitchens, and had learned about the roles people played there: not only cooking and serving the food, but also washing the dishes, cleaning up after each meal, and protecting the food stores; an uncomfortable bit of prescience on the part of the author, given what had transpired last winter.

Where Zhol had stopped, and where he began again, was with the entry of a hunting party, delivering meat for the next meal. He tugged aside the scrap of paper that marked his place, and traced his fingers over the page to find the words that had twisted his stomach in knots and forced him to set the book aside the previous night. He glanced at the illustration as he found it, the young girl that Asi had spoken to: the same red hair, the same attire, as any other Inarta who travelled the outdoors, but six specific words set her apart; six specific words of Nari that burned themselves into his mind.

Actually, I'm just a game scout.

The story continued to expound upon the difference, gently but insistently, the others in the hunting party explained to Asi how the scout was a mere Chiet; how she hadn't been good enough; how she was somehow inferior despite possessing skills that Zhol knew many of the hunters in reality were lacking. It was presented as a consolation: it was okay not to be good enough, because even Chiet had an important role to play; just not quite as important as the hunters who would be utterly lost without them, apparently.

The knot returned, and tightened; it was all Zhol could do to stop the book from busting into flame in his hands. He looked inside himself again, as the meditation books he'd borrowed suggested; he pictured the candle, focused on the flame; imagined it swaying and flickering with each slow and steady breath; imagined that his frustration was the fire; breathed hard to extinguish it, his annoyance transferring from flame into a delicate, curling spiral of smoke, drifting away into the dark nothingness.

He wished it had helped more than it did.

The third sigh of the evening escaped as he set the book aside on the mattress beside him, hands running across his face, as if he could scrub away his thoughts like they were nothing but grunge and grime. His fingers threaded into his hair as they continued upwards, still short, but not as much as it had been; ruffled and unkempt from the way he'd been laying. That was another unwanted thought; another dilemma. Should he cut it short again, once more depriving himself of what in his old home had been a sign of status and prestige; or should he let it linger, through the winter at the very least, trading a little warmth for his scalp against the risk that he might mistake himself for someone less insignificant than he was every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection?

A knock on his door summoned a stomping mule of confusion that stubbornly shoved his other thoughts aside. There was something faint and feeble about the sound, and for a moment he almost thought he hadn't heard it at all; but he could hear the subtlest sounds of someone beyond the door, of a pattern of breathing that he didn't quite recognise. A frown creased his brow as he rose from the bed again, a stray thought wondering if he should arm himself just in case. Slowly, cautiously, he clicked the latch, and opened the door.
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Khara on November 22nd, 2014, 2:00 am

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Khara was dreaming. That was the only explanation. After all, all her dreams, as rare as they were, were either very very strange or filled with things best left forgotten upon waking. This was both, so that had to be it. It would explain the strange detached feeling she had as she had pushed herself up from where she had slumped against the wall only a few chimes ago, it would explain the feeling like she wasn't really there, it would explain why it was that she suddenly felt so small, no bigger than a mouse, as she half stumbled through the warrens of the Common Rooms. What it didn't explain though was the pain. You weren't supposed to feel that in dreams, after all. You thought you did but then your eyes would open and you would wake up with a start and you would find out everything was okay. Sometimes a muscle cramped up to echo what you had been feeling but it would go away, it didn't stay. She should have woken up by now, right?

Khara reached up a shaking hand, palm scuffed and scraped from impact with the ground and where her own fingernails had dug into skin, and wiped it across the back of her mouth. The slight split in her lip had stopped bleeding, but the sensation still caused a flinch as she brushed against where a bruise was no doubt forming. It seemed funny to her then, out of everything that had happened, it was the backhand she'd earned from speaking out of turn that was most clear in her mind. Everything else was… fuzzy, a thick cloud cover had formed between herself and memory when she tried to think about it, tried to piece things together into any sort of semblance of sequence of events. Not that she wanted to think about it. As far as Khara was concerned, she could never ever think about it again and be perfectly happy.

But her mind was insistent and even though Khara kept telling herself that she had only done as an Avora had said, even when she had wanted to run and hadn't, she couldn't help but feel awful. All the things he had said to her had been true though, weren't they? She had been acting out of place, trying to learn things to make her better than she was supposed to be, to rise above her caste. The girl had been selfish and foolish in equal measure and she had been rightfully shown just how wrong she was for doing so.

So why was it that she felt terrified? Why was it that the thought of going back to her own room was only met with anxiety and a mocking memory repeating the Avora's last words to her as he told her to leave his, ”I have no need for you anymore. Not today at least.” The possibility was enough to cause the same trembling that had taken hold of her to be all the worse, breath became struggled and vision blurred over. Gods, she had wanted to fight back. Wanted to scream and refuse and… and… she hadn't, couldn't; and it would be just the same if he called upon her again.

Khara came to a stop - not far from where she had started, really - in front of the door her footsteps had lead her to. It was the one place in Wind Reach that Khara had ever felt actually safe, despite whatever the Avora had insinuated about it's occupant. ”You think he cares, don't you? That you mean more to him than-” Her hand rose and lightly rapped on the door, the noise breaking through the silence and cutting off the mocking voice in her head that was forcing streaks of moisture to run down her face again.

The quiet that followed seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Maybe Zhol wasn't there? Maybe she hadn't knocked loud enough? Khara wasn't sure she had the strength to try again. Her breath caught in her throat again, stuttered and clipped and only adding to the overall ache that coursed through her. A step back was taken in preparation to slump against the wall again, certain it would be the only thing capable of holding her up, content to wait and too scared to move and then...

The door opened and Khara wasn't sure what to do, what to say. She knew she must look awful; hair mussed, red marks at her shoulder where skin had protested against harsh calloused grip, stained vinati sloppily tied back in place, eyes bloodshot and ringed in puffed and swollen skin from where she'd been crying. It wasn't ever how she wanted to look at all, especially not in front of him.

Khara couldn't bring herself to look up at Zhol and ticks went by that felt like ages until her bow and quiver slipped from her shoulder, clattering to the floor, forgotten much the same as they had been ever since she and the human boy had left the range earlier that day. A sudden lunge forward and trembling arms wrapped firmly around Zhol as she buried her face into his chest.

Composure that she had tried to regain, tried to desperately cling to, was entirely lost. Amidst sobs she managed a few words, the concept of language barrier entirely lost to her. "An Avora… he made me… I didn't want to..."
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Zhol on November 22nd, 2014, 2:57 am

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Zhol understood; perhaps not the words, perhaps not the specific turn of phrase; but he understood enough. The fleeting moment of blissful confusion and ignorance as his gaze had first settled upon Khara had shattered, collapsing through his insides into sinking despair.

His arms settled around her, mustering as much protective comfort as he could offer. He was at a loss, for words and for actions, save for continuing the embrace that Khara had initiated. The one word that he had clearly understood lingered in his mind; Avora. Like him. The vile, manipulative, abusive caste of which he was part. You didn't live in Wind Reach long before you heard the stories; but it was one thing to hear them, one thing to be aware, one thing to be afraid that they might transpire; another entirely to find that they had, and to realise that there was nothing you had, or could have done to prevent it. While perhaps not normal; while perhaps the scuffs and scrapes and other injuries that had burned themselves into Zhol's eyes in that brief moment he'd looked at her standing there were not typical; it was accepted, tolerated out of necessity. The Chiet like Khara knew their place, and the Avora knew it too; exploited it for all it was worth.

Zhol didn't feel how he thought he would have. On the day that he and Khara had first met, back during the riots of last winter, he had thwarted such an act from taking place, and Khara had mistakenly believed that by bringing her here, bringing her to his room for safety, he was embracing his Avora status and trying to claim his reward. That such a thing was her first assumption had sickened him, and he had vowed to himself that he would prove to her that he was different; but at the same time, he had known that his beliefs were a rarity, the disparate morals of an outsider. The risk of this had lingered on the fringes of his awareness; and like the injuries he had inflicted upon the rioters who had attacked Khara in the past, he had imagined what he would do if anyone even so much as tried. He knew his temper, knew his rage, knew the fire it would ignite within him; and yet it was absent, the coiling tendrils of fury failing to fill the void that realisation had created.

Instead what he felt was cold: not angry, but ruthless. He would not harm the person responsible. He would not slice off his roaming hands, or deprive him of the parts of his anatomy he would need to ever do such a thing again. He would not sear the skin from his bones, or brand the Avora's amoral crimes into his flesh for all to see. He would kill him, with utter certainty, utter premeditated clarity of thought. That surprised him, but his mind offered a simple explanation. It's what I would do, his mind whispered, dressing itself in the voice of Zhol's twin sister. It's what I would do if someone hurt the people I love.

Zhol couldn't deny the truth of it; not even that final word. But it didn't mean what he thought he would; there was no lust or desire, no misplaced moment of romantic intent. That he cared for Khara was an undeniable certainty; but as his closest friend, his most favoured soul; as exactly who and what she was to him now, regardless of any other factors. She was in his life, in his heart, and he would show the petching son of a whore responsible his innards before ending him and sparing anyone else the same fate at his hands.

"Who?" Zhol asked, pulling away from Khara just enough to ask the question. His mind was already on his sword; already armed; already marching down the corridor in search of whoever he was. "Who did this? Where is he?"
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Khara on November 22nd, 2014, 8:30 pm

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The first single-word question was lost to her, lost somewhere in the perpetual haze of reality and a struggled intake of breath. She knew he had said something, but it couldn't be comprehended. What was, though, was the subtle shift, the tug against her hold that slid her arms away from him, that pulled where she had bunched the back of his shirt in her hand out of her fingers. It felt like time slowed as he moved away from her and her mind was already racing to fill in reasons and doubts. The girl felt herself tense against the motion and at the suddenly expected shove that would follow to fully separate them.

Of course he didn't want her touching him. Right then if she had a choice she wouldn't want to be anywhere near her, either. Before, when she had been in the other Avora's room, it had felt like kind of like she had stepped out of her body, like she wasn't really herself anymore, but now Khara found herself wishing nothing more than she actually could do it. There was a way to, right? She could step away and Zhol could push away the empty husk that had latched onto him and maybe she could even fly away then, drift on Zulrav's winds until she was scattered across the cliffs of Skyinarta.

Her eyes shut tightly, willing and praying it would happen just like that when she heard Zhol continue. This time the words made sense but they sounded so far away and had been spoken in a tone that sounded nothing like the kindhearted horse boy. Why was he asking that? Why did he sound so strange? He's going to drag you back there, the thought broke free of the strange soup in her head and dropped like a stone in a frozen lake, punching through the ice and causing fractures to splinter outwards. No, she practically yelled back to herself. He's not like that! He's not one of... them. It was the echo of the memory of when Zhol had proclaimed that very thing that brought back some form of rational thought to her. No, this was her friend, someone who had said he was family, someone she trusted, someone who had once protected her, someone who said he would keep her safe.

She felt her head shaking side to side against him before she even attempted to answer. It wasn't her voice that was failing this time though, but her mind. She knew what the Avora looked like, that was something she would never forget. Khara had seen him before today, after all. He had been at the archery ranges sometimes when she was there, he was there at the Second Quiver when Turrin had been nice enough to take her there, she had seen him on occasion near the Crafts Gallery she was certain too. But his name? Who he was?

"I-I don't..." Khara began and stopped short as she realized the small chirps that left her weren't how she normally talked to Zhol. "I don't know," she tried again.

The admission dropped another weight into her stomach. Khara wasn't avoiding the question, wasn't trying to protect the person who had used her, she just didn't know. The Avora had never made mention of anything that would give her any way of saying who he was. As far as where, about the only way she could answer that was in his room, and that wasn't a real answer at all. She tried to retrace her footsteps to Zhol's door in her head, tried to figure out where she had turned and how many steps it had been but she couldn't. Her mind tried to go back further, to when the Avora had first approached her, had said he needed her help with something, had grabbed her wrist and lead her through the warrens. But it seemed an endless maze, one that had ended in front of a door just like any other within the Common Rooms and then-

"I don't know," Khara repeated apologetically and half mumbled against him. A plaintive whimper followed in it's wake as she tugged herself tightly against Zhol once more.
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Zhol on November 23rd, 2014, 12:52 am

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Then we kick down every door in Wind Reach until we find him.

The sound of Dinah's voice in his mind was there to stay, it seemed, whispering assurances in the Common tongue that their mother had been so insistent they practice as children. Zhol had never really considered why before; perhaps it was a way to set them apart, to make conversations between the twins different from all the other Drykas words floating around them; literally something they both had in common. Whatever the reason, Zhol was glad of it; and glad that some part of him had taken to speaking in her voice. When his mind disparaged and chastised, it did so in the harsh Pavi words of his father; it felt right that the voice motivating his desire for retaliation would be that of his sister, the one who had done the exact same to protect him, countless times. Perhaps some people would be ashamed knowing that a woman had been his guardian and avenger; but anyone with such a short-sighted opinion clearly had never met Dinah Emberwing.

As Khara tugged tighter to him, he tightened his grip on her; he'd felt the tense of panic and reluctance as he had tried to draw away, and reaffirmed his silent, tactile promise that he wasn't going anywhere. "No worry," he uttered in broken Nari, one arm tightly wrapped around her body, the other rising on instinct to cradle Khara's head, his fingers gently brushing against her hair as she held her against his chest. "I have you safe. You stay as always as you want."
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Khara on November 24th, 2014, 1:16 am

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"Thank you," she replied softly. Khara hated the fact she flinched as she felt the pressure on the back of her head, hated that part of her wanted to pull away and retreat within herself. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be like this. A breath was forced, pulled in deeply despite every attempt her lungs made to cut it short and slowly let go as she tried to find some form of control over herself again. That suddenly seemed a very important thing to her, but she couldn't exactly understand why.

Her right arm slowly, reluctantly, fell away from where it had anchored around Zhol and she lifted her head away from him just enough to drag the heel of her palm across her eye, just enough to shove away her emotions enough to actually see again. Golden eyes fell to the floor, to the strange sight of her discarded weapon. A sensation of guilt came upon her at how she had let it drop to the floor but she couldn't make herself move to pick it back up either. It felt like it was beyond her reach now, that if she went to touch it it wouldn't let her move it, that it would know she wasn't worthy of it anymore. Maybe she never had been.

"I'm sorry, Khara murmured, barely aware that she was speaking at all. "It is everything my fault." She wasn't sure who or what she was speaking to: Herself, Zhol, the bow on the ground, or something else entirely. The admission was enough to break through the veil of self-control the girl had managed and she felt her shoulders jerk as a shudder pierced through her.

Instinctively her arm returned where it had been, joining the other once more. Zhol's few words in Nari repeated in her mind, and she forced herself to speak again. "You always protect me," she began, her voice brittle sounding. "I... I should have gone with you."

They had been at the archery range earlier, mutual practice ending on a rather frustrating note as neither had really accomplished what they wanted. Zhol had seemed particularly agitated but had offered to walk with her back to the Common Rooms. Khara had, for some reason she couldn't recall anymore, declined and had lingered pointlessly around the Bent Arrow far longer than necessary after watching him walk away. Nothing would have happened if she had only left with her friend, if she hadn't been alone. At least, it wouldn't have happened now.

Another sob left her despite her struggle to keep the sound from leaving. "P-please, just... no go. D-don't leave me again."
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Zhol on November 24th, 2014, 6:34 am

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Always protect you? Yeah, right. Such a fantastic job I've done of that so far.

Zhol could not have felt more ashamed and more responsible if he had tried. Yes, she'd chosen to walk home alone, but she'd chosen for his benefit; barely even a real choice, all things considered. If he had been a little less wrapped up in himself, or a little better at hiding it from her, he would have walked her to her door -

And then what? Was this Avora of hers some simple minded predator who would have been deterred by the mere fact that Khara wasn't alone? Would he have simply moved on to another victim of opportunity, or had Khara been a chosen target, one he would have waited for a different opportunity to pursue? Would Zhol have even deterred him at all, the horse boy with his meagre muscles, laughable skills with a bow and a sword, the beating he'd allowed himself to take from Azira in the summer that he didn't doubt was muttered about behind his back at every opportunity? Every woman that Zhol could call to mind called horseshyke on the sexist notion that his man parts and the predetermined role of his base instincts somehow made him more formidable than they were. Khara was more capable of her own protection than Zhol would have been.

At least you would have tried.

That thought stung with double meaning, and twisted the knife of guilt in his stomach a little further. That was what it came down to: not Khara's ability to protect herself, but rather her willingness to. She was following orders; a Chiet acceding to the demands of an Avora. There was no reason for her to fight against it, because to her mind nothing wrong had transpired: this was how Wind Reach was, this was how the Inarta functioned; this was Khara's role in life, to obey her betters, and to endure whatever pains and humiliations resulted. This Avora had not merely taken advantage of Khara's body: he had exploited who she was, and how she thought; he had raped her heart and soul as well.

Zhol's anger turned so icy cold that it burned, considering the broken, eviscerated, cremated remains that the Avora would have become had he been there. Khara would never have fought for herself; but Zhol sure as hell would have, with every fibre and every breath. For an idle moment he wondered if he could do the same as the other Avora had: to twist Khara's beliefs against her, force her to obey this Avora also, order her to protect herself, to keep herself safe because he desired it. But that was something he had promised himself he would never do: no matter how noble intent, he would never forgive himself for forcing Khara to do anything that she was not willing to.

Gently, he forced - no, encouraged - Khara to look at him, to meet and hold his gaze. In spite of everything, he managed to muster the smallest of smiles, more sincerity than warmth. He took his own words, and twisted them around. "I stay as always as you want, also," he offered, trying to inject as much certainty into his words as he possibly could. "I will as well preserve you as safety as we am able. You am having my promise, most best friend."

He knew the words were wrong, knew the tenses were probably off, knew he'd probably not said quite what he'd intended to say: but that didn't matter, because the fact that it was in Nari was itself part of the promise. He wouldn't always succeed, he wouldn't always get it right, but he would never not try.

His hands shifted, freeing Khara from his embrace, but not pulling away. His fingers trailed down the side of her arm, descending until they found and snared her hand: a way to walk and move without leaving her. He took a few steps backwards, leading her inside, pausing briefly to scoop up her bow and to shut and lock the door. He led her a little further, better judgement stopping him from guiding her to the bed - not for any ulterior motive; it was merely the most comfortable place to sit. Instead they lingered in the centre of the room, his hand offering a squeeze of hers before it snuck free; he crossed to the table and lay her bow atop the case of his, before turning his attention to the bag where he stashed his clothes. A brief rummage, and he pulled free the shirt that he'd worn on their visit to the lakes, but hesitated before he turned back to her. He'd seen the scuffs, the scrapes, the stains. To let her sit still wrapped and coated in the evidence of what had happened seemed a terrible cruelty; and yet the baths were too far. He rummaged more, pulled out his old work shirt, and after the briefest moment of hesitation began to tear at the seams, transforming the cotton clothing into rags and bandages. When he finally turned back to Khara, his waterskin and his medical supplies had been added to the contents of his hands.

He crossed to the room to the bed with purpose, setting down the supplies before retreating to the far corner of the room, gaze steadfastly focused on the stone wall. "That shirt should be big enough to -" He trailed off. Cover everything went unsaid. "There's water and rags if you need to clean up. When you're dressed again, I'll see what I can do about where you hurt."
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Khara on November 25th, 2014, 1:06 am

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Although misspoken and partially jumbled, Khara thought she understood what Zhol was trying to say, the promise he was making to her. She wanted him to say it again, though; in Common, in Pavi if he had to. Anything so that she could know she wasn’t just hearing what she wanted to and there wasn’t any kind of misunderstanding between them like there always seemed to be. She didn’t ask though, couldn’t bring herself to question him, if for nothing else than fear that the persistent thought eating at her would manage to actually escape from her lips. He didn’t say you were wrong. He knows you deserved this. It was wrong and Khara knew it, she had looked into his eyes and hadn’t seen a shred of the disgust or disappointment she had feared he would look at her with. Still, Zhol was always quick to tell her or make her feel like she didn’t need to be sorry for things, that she didn’t need to blame herself when things seemed to go astray. But it wasn’t there this time and the silence in it’s place as he lead her out of the hallway was haunting.

As he slipped away from her grasp she felt her arms raise to wrap around herself, fingertips pressing into and running across the back of her upper arms as she mutely stared at an unremarkable spot on the floor. While Zhol moved about the room she slowly lifted her eyes from where they had been focused, glancing about at the small changes the room had taken on since the last time she had been within it. There were more things now. That was good, Khara figured, but the actual reasoning for that conclusion drifted away before she could fully understand it.

The fog of her thoughts were once more pierced by Zhol’s voice, sounding far more familiar as he spoke in his usual Common to her. Her head raised slowly and looked over at the bed and the seemingly meaningless objects there. They were just items with names and vague purposes that were only defined by someone else. Just like her.

Khara looked over as Zhol turned away and strangely for a change she felt like she should do similar. He hadn’t spoken in instructions to be carried out, the human boy never told her what to do, but it was the only way her mind wanted to think about it. Suggestions were too easy to ignore, to be pushed aside and better left for someone more deserving of choosing their fate.

Her fingertips reached out and snagged the bottom hem of the shirt and she tugged it away from everything else towards the edge of the bed. A long pause of hesitation came upon her as she suddenly couldn’t decide what to do next. She knew what she wanted to do, what she was supposed to do, but it was like some wall had suddenly formed between her head and her hands and she felt her breathing stumble over itself once more. Relax. the thought came clearly and suddenly. He’s trying to help you. Let him. Khara nodded to herself and finally forced herself to move.

Her vinati was shrugged off first and held in her hands for a moment, her head replaying the moment when it had become little more than a rag for the Avora to clean himself off with when he was done with her. A wave of nausea came over her and the piece of clothing fell to the floor as she quickly released it as if it had suddenly grown hot or sprouted thorns. You’ll need to buy a new one, the same calm voice that wasn’t quite her own chimed in. The rest of her clothing was removed and discarded in a similar manner before she finally took the shirt that Zhol had offered her to wear and tugged it on. The sleeves were far too long, covering her hands from her view and use. It felt strange to be wearing such a thing. Everything she had ever owned had fit snugly against her skin whereas this was anything but. It felt shapeless and… like a lontev, the crueler side of her head spoke up again.

It was enough to send an avalanche of other thoughts through the girl. What if she felt like this tomorrow? She couldn’t work like this! She didn’t have the focus that was needed to look for all the signs that let her track game! What would happen if she didn’t do what she was supposed to? What if that was what the Avora had wanted to happen? What if he was telling the Valintar right now that she wasn’t any good as a scout anymore? She couldn’t become one of the drudge, she just couldn’t!

Her legs gave out, crumpling beneath her in slow motion as Khara slumped to the floor, her back against the side of the bed. The girl’s knees quickly drew up to her chest as her arms crossed in front of her. "I don’t want to be a Dek," she wailed, muffled slightly as she buried her head into her arms.
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Zhol on November 25th, 2014, 3:33 am

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There was a split second when Zhol hesitated, where indecision prevented him from moving for fear of what he might see if he did. What lay beneath Khara's clothes wasn't a mystery to him; the first time she had entered this room, she had believed his intentions were the same as what the other Avora's had been today, a mistaken impression that Zhol had inadvertently given, for which he felt a never ending amount of shame. Beginning to undress was a choice that Khara had felt was demanded of her; and the brief glimpse that Zhol had witnessed before he'd had the good sense and decency to turn away was a memory he hated himself for having. What if by turning now, by rushing to comfort a Khara who sounded so in need of it, he stole another inappropriate glimpse, and subjected her to yet more indignity on the worst possible day to do so?

Grow up, Dinah's voice condemned in his mind. Fret later. Focus on your friend.

With reluctance and caution Zhol turned, and the instant he saw Khara crumpled on the floor, his heart sank to meet her. He had seen her shy and timid before. He had seen her scared, and sad. But this was different. This was broken. This wasn't a Khara who doubted her worth as she always did; there was no question anymore, she was certain. The other Avora had treated her like she was nothing, as if she was worth nothing, good for nothing save exploitation, and so that had become the truth of how she felt. There wasn't even the faintest shadow of doubt in Zhol's mind that she was utterly and entirely wrong; but that certainty was hard to put into words, hard to convey to someone whose heart and mind were determined not to be convinced of anything other than what they already believed.

Zhol dropped to his knees next to her, not so close as to crowd her, and yet close enough so it wouldn't seem like he was avoiding her, or keeping his distance. Looking at her was a struggle, especially with how heart-wrenching it was to see her cry, but he forced himself to do it; forced himself to insistently prove that his soaring opinion of her hadn't wavered in the slightest.

"The only one who deserves to be a Dek right now is him."

His voice was quiet, and he hated that; not the gentle kind of quiet, but the timid one, self-conscious and wary of his words. He tried to force more determination and confidence, tried to ensure that he left no room for doubt or disagreement.

"The only one who is worthless is him. I don't care what the Inarta believe: it isn't just what you are capable of that matters; it's what you do, and how you do it. You look at yourself and you see a Chiet. You see a girl who became a game scout, when she thinks she should have been a huntress. You see your mother's disappointment that you didn't become an Avora."

He hesitated; frowned; swallowed. He felt the things he wanted to say balloon up inside him, and fought to hard to keep them under control, to not say too much, to not admit too quickly. "I know dozens of Avora," he continued, "And you are worth more than all of them combined: worth more as a person, and worth more to me. You have a kinder heart and purer spirit than anyone I know. You are generous and caring. You are quick to give, quick to help, and so very slow to judge anyone but yourself. You are almost the only Inarta in all of Wind Reach who does not treat me like an outsider. You see the best in everyone, even those whose actions make it difficult to find; and your patience and tolerance doesn't seem like it has an end. You aren't worthless, Khara: not to me, anyway."

He faltered, kneeling there, awkwardly unsure of what to do with his hands. When Khara had launched herself at him that was one thing, that contact had been invited. Even at the best of times though, touching her was a difficult and anxious notion; and today it seemed even more worthy of cautious consideration than ever. He wanted desperately to pull her towards him, and offer the kind of comforting embrace that he knew he would want in a situation like this; but with the why Khara's arms wrapped around herself, the way she shielded herself from contact, the memories that must have been haunting her about the way the other Avora had touched her? Zhol would rather hack off his own limbs than risk reminding her of that.

The thought twisted back on itself, beginning to wring out some of the flammable rage that felt much more like what Zhol was used to than the ruthless chill of before. "But him?" He uttered the word as if the very gender was an insult; all things considered, right now he felt as if it was. "I don't care what skills he has, what job he has. He doesn't deserve to be an Avora. He doesn't deserve to be higher than you. He doesn't deserve your respect. Doesn't deserve your obedience. Doesn't deserve -"

To have been with you. It was the truest sentiment he could possibly convey right now; and his gut twisted on itself at how selfish it was. It wasn't quite jealousy; had Zhol felt as if he was more entitled to Khara, that would have made him just as bad as the other Avora. But Khara deserved far better than that; better than either of them. She deserved someone better; she deserved to be treated better; she deserved to be loved, respected, doted upon, adored. Zhol could accept that Khara would never want it to be him; but why this other Avora? Why this reprehensible, disgusting example of humanity? Why someone worse? How was that fair?

His honestly was absolutely what Khara deserved; and yet his honesty came with a price. He could tell Khara how he felt, use his feelings as proof of how she was worth more than the undervalued amount she insisted; but then she would know, and if she did, would she feel that she had to obey Zhol's desire as she had done with the other Avora? If anything ever came of it, if they were ever together, would Zhol be anything more than the less terrible of two unfavourable options?

Zhol's jaw clenched. "I will find him," he insisted quietly. "I will make him suffer for doing this to you, and when I am done with him? He will be so broken that Dek is the only thing he will be good for. He deserves to be beneath you, so I will make it so that he is."

The sentiment that buried in a coffin would be a far more satisfying version of beneath was kept silent, but his eyes burned with determined anger. "No one gets away with hurting my Khara." His eyes fell away, regret at that overstep of words; he tried to retreat from it, to undo the accidental admission that he wanted her to be his.

"No one hurts my family."
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Hell and Silence (Khara)

Postby Khara on November 26th, 2014, 7:14 pm

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Her head had lifted just a touch and tear stained eyes had barely raised to look towards Zhol as he spoke. Some of what he had said had been lost to hysterics but somewhere in the middle of his reassurance she had actually really listened. You aren’t worthless… not to me. Khara would have been lying if she had said that the opinions of others didn’t matter to her, that she didn’t care what the other Inarta thought of her. It wasn’t optional, it was a matter of self preservation most days, and one of her betters had told her she was good for only one thing even the lowest of drudges was capable of. But Zhol? His opinion wasn’t just something she was curious about, it was important to her, and in that moment when she felt less than nothing, he still seemed to think nothing but the best of her.

It wasn’t enough to undo the damage, but it was enough to feel like a small bandage had been placed over the gaping wound where her feelings of self-worth had once been. Her head managed to pull up just enough to rest against her arms, supporting her so it wouldn’t instantly fall again. Even though she faced him, her eyes wandered and couldn’t keep trained on him for very long, settling mostly for looking at the floor between them that seemed more like a canyon than just an outstretched arm’s length away.

Zhol’s leveled anger towards the Avora came with a mixed set of feelings. Some part of her genuinely found comfort in the thought of her friend finding and hurting the man who had taken what little inner fire she had from her. The rest though? A tight knot in her stomach refused to believe there was any blame to be had except for her own, for not being good enough to keep herself above what had been demanded of her. Then there was the possibility of what would happen to her friend if he succeeded, what sort of consequences he would face for maiming one of his own caste. Disputes were often settled between parties privately, or not so privately in the Fighting Pits. But if someone got really hurt or killed, the Valintar would step in. And then what? He could have Zhol flogged or worse and the thought of any harm coming to someone she held so dear on account of something she brought upon herself was entirely indescribable and horrible.

Finally though, and the one piece that persisted and refused to let up was the fact she was terrified of what Zhol would learn if he confronted the man. Somewhere in his torments of her the Avora had stumbled upon a realization. Amidst his mockery he had taunted her about how Khara was always around the outsider, and when he had pressed the thought upon her that she was only some object waiting to be used by the horse boy she had suddenly cracked and the outburst of emotion had been more than enough to betray her real feelings. He’d used the knowledge against her, adding it to verbal and physical insults. Khara could feel herself tense, her stomach clenching and threatening to further sicken her as words that had been said were twisted into a new variation. Stupid little chick wanted you to be her first.

Khara shut her eyes tightly, fighting against the newest round of anguish that threatened to overtake her. Zhol couldn’t know, couldn’t find out like that. He was having enough problems without knowing some broken barely-better than a drudge girl was secretly harboring feelings for him. No matter how highly he seemed to think of her, she knew it could end everything if he found out. Especially now.

She suddenly couldn’t breathe again, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the dull ache that swept through her, couldn’t - my Khara. Zhol’s voice once more shattered the creeping darkness at the edges of her mind. The term repeated itself in her head and it made her eyes and thoughts quickly focus on nothing but him. Even as he clarified it didn’t change the feeling he had caused. Hearing him say she wasn’t worthless was one thing, hearing that he still called her his family, still classified her as someone he unconditionally cared for was entirely different and felt far more calming than anything else that had been spoken.

Khara forced herself to sit up, to uncurl from her position enough to free an arm that reached out until the sleeve fell back enough that her fingers could gently touch his arm. "F-family," the word cautiously left her only because of her uncertainty of it was the right one in the small batch that Zhol had taught her. "My family," Khara repeated in her own more comfortable language.

Her hand hovered there, barely touching him as until Khara realized the slight tremble that had been there the entire time. She slowly withdrew as she turned her hand over and looked at the scratches there, her gaze leaving him as she became aware once more of the marks she had been left with. Legs slid back to the floor and tucked under her as she ran her fingertip against the scrapes on her knees. Her lower lip was drawn into her mouth, copper taste following the realization the small split in her lip had reopened in her crying.

"I’m sorry," Khara said softly, her voice sounding as raw and meek. She raised her hand to wipe against her mouth again and flinched at the sight of her own blood. "I did not do so good at being not a mess."
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