[Flashback] Making Scents of Things

[Koze]

27th of Summer, 499 AV
Riverfall

Koze stood at the cliff’s edge, the azure vista of the Suvan Sea spread across the horizon before him. To his right, the Bluevein continued its eternal violent assault onto the larger body of water three thousand feet below. He briefly pondered his own impact on that water, or much worse on the rocky outcroppings that he likely would not clear en route. And then he lept. A thousand moths seemed to cry out in terror from deep within his gut as he fell into empty space. Then his hand was jerked backward and up by the rope tied fast to the wooden rail-post above. He felt the heat the braided hemp generated against his leather glove as it raged through his tightened fist, and an instant later the straps tightened in a painful embrace about his body when the harness attached to his end of the rope arrested his fall. His downward momentum thus contained, the only place to go now was straight back into the face of the cliff, which was exactly where his swing was taking him. The laws of motion that the gods saw fit to govern the world with did not fully agree with Koze’s own intentions, and his outstretched legs meant to brace against the oncoming surface were now twisting away, following the rotation of the rest of his body. His side slammed painfully into a jutting rock, twisting his face into grimace, but he managed catch hold of one side of a wide crack with his free hand and prevent himself from bouncing off and spinning even more wildly. He looked up at the twenty feet of rope he was now hanging from. Only about a body-length was actually visible above him, the rest disappeared around an overhang which he was currently clinging below. The drop was designed to take him to the facade beneath the tricky outcropping, a path he wasn’t sure he was skilled enough as a climber to traverse more deliberately without getting stuck. That was his justification anyway. He turned his attention back to the rock face he was grasping, and brought all four extremities in contact with it, securing hand and footholds. Then he reached down and released the first clip on his harness, which allowed him to unwind another thirty feet of slack in the rope wrapped about his body. With his safety line extended he started edging, slowly and carefully, along the rock face toward the immense and powerful surge of water gushing out of the high cliff-side. He relied on his natural agility and strength for much of his progress, as his instincts for recognizing hand-holds were not yet well developed. His shoulders felt the strain of holding his not inconsiderable weight on a vertical surface, but he remembered his few lessons and kept his hips and center tight against rocks. He clambered around a corner, and could feel the power of the falls now so near to him. He had made it into the gouge the flowing water had carved into the stone over the years, the surfaces here becoming slick with moisture from the cascade. As Koze neared the end of the rope's slack, he spotted his temporary respite. A small ledge jutted out above his position, just within reach. His outstretched arm grasped its lip, and in a few more careful movements of hands and feet, he hoisted himself bodily upon it. He sat on the small ledge, leaned his back against the rock wall, and gazed out again toward the Suvan. His panorama was now significantly narrowed: to his left the outer edge of the crevice he just entered; to his right the huge stream of water from the Bluevein spilling past, and which he would soon be skirting behind. His nostrils filled with the smell of vaporized water. An undercurrent of his own sweat was there, very familiar, and in the background of his awareness. Other musty notes, lichens and moss from the wet rocks, rounded out the present smells. And something else, just a little hint of it right now, a tiny olfactory melody that just barely trilled in his nose, and flittered away the next instant. He was close. His brief rest enough to let the burn bleed from his muscles, Koze carefully planted his feet on the ledge and stood. He unbuckled the rope, which had run out of slack, and wedged the metal clasp at the end into a small crack. Then he continued on.

[Koze]

The path was easier now, but at once more precarious. The small ledge Koze had climbed onto continued for along the facade, thinning as it lead deeper into the crevice. He could edge along upright, but each step was on wet, slick rock, his feet constantly struggling to gain purchase. The sound of the waterfall, so near now, was a deafening roar, encompassing his whole auditory world. The ledge finally tapered off, the last few feet only wide enough for only about half of Koze’s foot. He had traversed this distance with his nose and chest flat against the shear rock face, side-stepping along as far as he could go. He was closing in on his quarry, that faintest fragrant note, still dancing in and out of the swirling mists. But where to from here? He had run out of ledge, and handholds were both sparse and dangerous to trust with his full weight. Scanning in all directions, Koze’s eye caught on a particularly dark spot of rock. No, not rock at all, but the absence of it. Eight feet above him and about four arm-spans over was a dark hole in the stone. It squatted atop another small ledge, which partially obscured Koze’s view of the hole. It had potential. Carefully, and ever so slowly, Koze turned his body around so that his back was again up against the stone wall. He reached down to his left hip, where a second, smaller coil of rope was strapped against him. Pulling it out of it’s loop, he unspooled one end, and grabbed hold of the grappling hook attached to the other. Koze’s swiveled his head ponderously back and forth between the grapple and the ledge above. He shrugged. One side of his mouth hitched into a grin as he asked in a low voice, “One idiotic move worked today, why not another?” He was glad no one else was around to provide an answer. He let the hook drop a few inches out of his hand, and started swinging it back and forth like a pendulum, getting a feel for its weight. “What could go wrong?” he asked the absent companion, as flicked a flick of his wrist sent the grapple flying toward his target. The five barbed hook sailed over the lip of the ledge, and rang metallic against stone somewhere near the opening. Koze pulled on his end of the rope, and it went taught, having caught on something solid over the ledge above. Another grin spread across Koze’s lips. First try. He wrapped the end around one arm and leaned back into one final testing heave. Ice shot up his spine as the tension on the line suddenly gave way, the grappling suddenly losing purchase and shooting into the air. His sense of equilibrium was clanging warning bells in his mind as he struggled to regain his balance, compensating for the sudden slack in a rope he had expected to take his full weight. He managed to slam his back against the wall, tightening his hand about the rope as the grapple plummeted past his perch and bounced around sorrowfully below him. Koze let out a long slow breath, and then, “Oh.” He reeled back in the grapple. His second toss missed the mark entirely, pinging off the lip of the ledge. The third toss landed in the hole again, but as Koze pulled it back, it failed to gain purchase on anything solid. The fourth toss finally saw the grapple wedging into place again, and Koze gave the line a series of tugs, elevating the strength slowly to make sure it was firmly in place. On a final tug with near his full weight, he was satisfied that it would hold him. Most assuredly. Highly likely anyway. He gathered a deep breath, and swung out into space. The hook held as Koze swung into position under the hole, feet planted against stone. He let out the breath. Hand over hand, he ascended the rope up to the ledge, and upon reaching the lip, he pulled himself up. The hole was not big, maybe half as tall as Koze, and a similar breadth. The ledge protruded just barely enough to stand on, so to look inside Koze had to tenderly squat while keeping spine upright, and then bend his head into the opening. It was dark at first, but his nose was alight with the aroma. There was an overlaying mossy scent, moist and green in his nostrils. There were floral notes, faint sweet traces of perhaps tansy that formed a thin melody in the melange. The scent that Koze was interested in though, trilling in the mix like a jaunty piper, was an aroma of clean sea air on a clear day, but with undercurrents of a spice that made his nostrils flair to gulp up more. It would be perfect for her. As Koze's eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, he could see the hole was not deep, though tiny drainage tunnels likely lead further into the cliff-side from it. A swath of yellow-green moss, persistently growing amidst the moistened rock and slimy layer of sediment, filled the bottom and around the edges. It was dotted by bright yellow growths, that looked very much like flowers, though Koze was dubious of a gardener considering them as such. They did seem to produce a floral odor though still. Each one had a small sack underneath, marbled with bluish veins, which seemed to be filled with fluid. Koze pulled one of these off, and squeezed it between thumb and forefinger. The pressure caused the bulb to split along one end, and an oily blue fluid flowed from its wound. The spicy sea-air fragrance became more pungent. He was a little amazed that it was actually here, right where the herbalist Mayna said it would be. Conditions like those behind the waterfall were very rare, but perfect for Kesselmoss to grow in. Fine silty sediment, constant moisture, mostly indirect, diffuse light. The spores or seeds must have blown all the across the Suvan from Kalea and somehow ended up here. With his knife, Koze cut off about a dozen of the oily bulbs, leaving a handful in place to allow the growth cycle to continue. He also cut off a few of the flowery growths and even scraped up some of the moss, putting all of his scrounged treasures in glass vials or oilskin, and tucking them into the pouches on his harness. Half of the bulbs he would give to Mayna. Perhaps the moss too if she had use for it, as he didn't think it would distill well into a fragrance. The rest he would use to finish the fragrance for her. It was perfect, just what was missing from his mix. In fact, it would form the centerpiece of the concoction, complementing her natural scent and adding a mysterious allure to her presence, though Koze could hardly be more enthralled. She would be pleased. Koze turned, the raging falls and precarious height focusing him back on the present, and he began contemplating the route back.

[Koze]

28th of Summer, 499 AV
Riverfall

8 vertigo inducing glances downward, 5 near slips, 2 scraped knees, 1 long climb and a deep night’s sleep later, Koze awoke on his firm mattress, scraped and bruised from the previous day’s adventure, but the anticipation drowned out any of these less important sensations. The herbalist Mayna had been impressed with the six kesselmoss bulbs he brought, and had given him a small application of valuable pain relieving salve in exchange. He still had another half-dozen for his own work, and now unwrapped them from the oilskin stowed under his bed. He set out the bulbs on the table and gathered his equipment. His primary performer picked out, he now had to collect the rest of the players. A solid base and complimentary supporting scents; perhaps some cedar or maybe vanilla would be the best mix. He would create an orchestra of aroma, an aromatic cornucopia worthy of the complexity of her soul. Or should he keep it pure? Something clear, simple, subtle. What would best harmonize with her essence? Koze broke open the kesselmoss sacks and collected the oils in a vial. It was potent, but there was definitely a hint of musty odor amidst the purity of the sea-air and spice scent that was so perfect. Half of it went into the alembic on the table, a candle flame underneath providing the heat that would separate and allow the extraction of the purest parts of the oil. While he waited, Koze went to his rack, scanning all the other possible ingredients he could mix in. The woods and barks were always nicely fragrant, and would make a nice base. There was rosewater and lavender, but he didn’t think floral would be quite right. Highgrass Elk musk? Absolutely not. She needed something lighter, like the breeze, like a zephyr on the grassy cliff top on a clear spring day. Maybe some citrus rind, or honey extract... He grabbed several of the glass jars and tubes, and returned to his bench. Already a promising vapor was forming at the top the alembic, a small stream of fluid running to the smaller chamber. He peered at the churning liquid at the bottom of the first chamber, the oil becoming more concentrated as vapors were burned from it. Then he peered closer, deeper, in the particular fashion his great-grandfather had instructed him. He tightened his focus, bringing it to a narrow beam on the fluids and swirling gas in the alembic, the periphery of his vision losing resolution, dimming from his attention. His hearing shifted, the ever-present auditory blanket of the waterfall fading to a whisper, the gull cries in the harbor only reaching his ears as if through a layer of cotton. His hearing always seemed to shift to aural perception first, perhaps making up for deficit it displayed in normal conditions. A new sound took the place of the hushed ambient noise, a quiet song that was emanating from the object of his visual focus. Two notes diverged, one subtle and elegant, the other lower in register and with a timbre like a horn. There was something else in between the two, a synthesis of both that was growing weaker and fainter every moment he spent listening. This was interesting, but not enough. He wasn’t experienced enough at reading aura yet, especially not in the auditory domain, to make enough sense of this. Koze needed more, and he needed the specificity right now of auristic sight. But it was always harder to get that particular switched flipped in his mind. His eyelids twitched up and down as he tried different points of focus. His lips set into a thin line as he tried to increase his focus, notch the intensity ever upward until he crossed the perception barrier that was being so stubborn. He was trying too hard. Great-grandfather Butros’ words whispered in his mind, “It is an apple. It is not the Coalinga mines, and your eyes are not a miner boring for diamond. Take a step back. Relax. Take in everything. The stem, the bud at the bottom, the green skin, the roundness, it is all part of the essential appleness. Appreciate the whole. A thing’s aura wants to appear, you simply must let it.” And so he did. The barrier was crossed, not like a dive into the sea from a cliff, but like a slow walk into breaking waves on a gently sloping beach. At first just a faint haze outlined the liquids, expanding only slightly beyond the border the the glass of the alembic. Rivulets of color started flowing into this haze, and bands of light curled into wispy arcs. Soon the roiling heated oil at the bottom of the container was alive with flowing hues, and twirling glowing insects. Interesting. Base compounds were not usually this alive with aural activity, maybe the herbalist Mayna had good reason to be excited about it. Koze hadn’t the knowledge to appreciate exactly what he was looking at. The vapor at the top, and now the small concentration of clearer liquid flowing to the smaller container, told a different story though. The colors here were not spinning and chaotic, instead a pure white-gold glow emanated from this portion, brighter around the condensed liquid, and softer with lighter white misty curls amidst the vaporous cloud. This was it, this was what he was looking for, though he found his certainty in the matter surprising considering his lack of it before. The impurities would remain in the denser liquid in the first container, and the clear, clean fragrance he quested for would be pulled through into a lighter and more agile form in the second. Koze let himself fall out of the auristic semi-trance that had overtaken him. His mind was again the swimmer, emerging from the waves and plodding back onto the sand, a little unsteady after treading water and rocking with the aural waves. Butros could do this sort of thing almost as second nature, but Koze still perceived aura like a novice with a sword, putting his whole body into every attack where a single step and flick of the wrist would do. But he had gained the knowledge he meant to find, and the attack that strikes its target can be successful no matter how sloppy or elegant it is. The distillation would be a few bells yet. Koze had time to experiment with several base mixes before the key ingredient was ready. Pulling the stopper off a nearby vile, he set to work.

[Koze]

29th of Summer, 499 AV
Riverfall

The appointed chime had come and gone as Koze hurried down the steps toward the Harbor. He had taken too long wrapping the small vile. At first he had rolled it in a fine, rich, indigo fabric, with a ribbon holding it fast and spiraling white around its circumference. But it seemed a little much, and the fabric was already scented with another perfume that had a conflicting fragrance. The parchment he tried next was too scrappy though, and finally he settled on small and supple leather pouch, tying that off with the white ribbon. Then he had to dash out the door. The result of all of his effort was wonderful though, maybe his best work so far. He had tried several intricate mixes but discarded all of them. The final product was a combination of only the distillation of the kesselmoss oil, a light hint of tonka bean, and a smooth base of white ambergris. It was simple, subtle and clean, but also mysterious. Koze had no doubt that she would cherish it. And then there she was. His pace slowed as he descended past the lowest tier of Riverfall and looked over the railing across the harbor. She was at the entry to one of the piers, curiously observing the offloading of a trade ship and looking as lovely as the first time he saw her. She must have been a few hundred feet away, but as Koze stepped onto a final landing, one more stairway to descend, she turned and looked his direction, and he felt their eyes meet. “Koze!” the deep, rumbling voice intoned, “I’ve been waiting forever. Where have you been?” His attention ripped away, he turned toward the Akalak coming up the steps and meeting him on the landing. “I had to get it just right,” Koze told him. “Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere for some time,” The other Akalak stood a head taller than Koze, and was broader through the shoulders. Merilko was a stone mason, responsible for the continued maintenance and improvement of the cliffside city. He looked at Koze with some exasperation, “Well, I don’t want to look bad, being late. Females don’t much appreciate that, right?” He looked down at the pouch clutched in Koze’s hand, “Is that it? Will she like it?” Koze’s hand involuntarily tightened on the pouch. He brought his face close to Merilko’s, whos eyebrows raised in surprise, and said, “It is perfect for her.” Merilko blinked. “Okay... good,” he started, “Well as long as she appreciates it. I mean its the gesture that really counts anyway right? Koze, you’re the best.” The big Akalak pulled a pouch of his own from a coat pocket, “How much do I owe you?” Several beats passed in silence. Koze’s gaze had turned toward the harbor again, looking at her. She was now conversing with a young Akalak boy, almost as tall as her, and paying him respectful attention. Without turning back toward Merilko, Koze said, “5 golds.” It was a steal. Merilko whistled. “That much? You must do well.” “Rare ingredients,” Koze replied, “plus this pretty pouch comes with it. Merilko, really, she’ll love it. From here, it’s on you.” Merilko pulled 4 gold mizas and 10 silver from his pouch and held them out to Koze, “At this price, she had better want to contract for a dozen children at first whiff!” They exchanged mizas for pouch. Merilko held it up to his nose and took a deep sniff. He looked back at Koze, lips pursed in reluctant acceptance, “Not bad.” For the normally terse mason, this was high praise. Koze simply looked back at him with a steady gaze, and dipped his head in a nod. He watched Merilko trundle down the steps the rest of the way, and start pushing his way through the light crowd toward the feminine figure near the pier. She was done conversing with the young Akalak, and now standing still amidst the busy laborers, merchants, and consumers content to observe. Again, Koze watched as her head turned back toward the cliff city, and back toward the landing he was on. Was she looking at him? At the other residents ascending and descending the stairs behind him? Merilko was almost to her now, walking stiff and obviously slightly nervous. But she hadn’t noticed him yet, her face was still held up in Koze’s direction. Koze smiled at her, warm, open. She cocked her head slightly to the side, inquisitively. Then she smiled back.

[Baku]

Thou has written, and thou has completed, so I award thee the following.... Koze: +3 Climbing, +2 Rope and Grapple, +1 Acrobatics, +2 Detection, +1 Foraging, +2 Perfumery, +1 Herbalism, +1 Philtering, +2 Auristics, Lore: Taking the Plunge, Using a Rope to Stop Your Fall, The Pain of Slamming into a Cliff Face, Hand Holds of a Cliff, Climbing Wet Slick Rock, Places to Rest While Climbing a Cliff, Smelling Something Sweet Along the Cliff, Following Your Nose, Finding Your Way Off the Cliff: “Holy shyke these rocks are slippery.”, The Aches and Pains of a Climb, Distilling the Bulbs of a Kesselmoss, Adding a Little Extra to Perfume, Trying a Variety of Mixtures for Perfume, Satisfaction in One’s Work, Interest in the Fairer Sex Additional Notes: An interesting glimpse into Koze’s past, and very well written as well. The ending especially tends to indicate that such is not the end to the tale as well. I look forward to reading more. Koze should be an interesting Akalak for Riverfall.