Rakhasta followed the man who called himself Mathias, studying how he moved as he walked. He carried himself with a certain confidence that implied a warrior's power and had a blade on his hip, but seemed old to truly be a member of the warrior caste. He called himself a leader as well as a scholar. And a priest, of all things! He quickly scanned over the mans flesh, but couldn’t find any visible gnosis mark. It was unusual in his culture for any to show a God such great favor as to devote their lives to Him or Her, and so this laid an odd, almost awesome aura about the man in Rakhasta’s eyes.
Finally he decided that the closest comparison to his own culture was to consider Mathias a member of the Hawk caste, and therefore worthy of respect from his lowly station as a disgraced Jackle. He bowed his head and shifted his arms so as to be respectful in High Arumenic, though not quite the level of awe worthy of the Pressor. He turned an ear towards him as well, listening carefully for any mote of wisdom the warrior priest and founder of the settlement might choose to grant him.
As they entered the mossy grove of mounds, however, his attention turned more directly to them. He slowed his steps, taking in the vibrant greens of the moss and how they padded his footsteps, making them silent with little effort on his own part. It was strange how nothing grew here but the moss, nearly every spare bit of soil was accompanied by some sore of plant everywhere else in the forest. Yet Mathias paid them no heed, simply striding across them without worry, and so Rakhasta followed, making note to revisit these one day or perhaps ask Mathias what these things were.
The fruits came in heavy, tiered bunches, and it took some effort to catch them carefully and lay them on the mossy ground below. When it came time he helped Mathias out of the tree and watched carefully upon the mossy mounds as he explained how the fruits were taken apart and eaten and tried it for himself, taking several bites before nodding with approval and a slightly banana-smudged smile.
”I must think,” he pondered aloud after nearly finishing one of the oddly long fruits ”if we could not export these fruits someday. They would keep well for the few days voyage to Riverfall. You say there are farming efforts here, has an orchard for these banana been made yet? I know not how long the tree takes to grow, but now is the time to plant the futures seeds. And people will pay greatly for rare luxuries such as these rare fruits.”
He swallowed the last bite of his banana carefully as he weighed the implications of telling Mathias the reasons behind his coming here. He did not know how long his exile was to be, only that it was unlikely to be shorter than a decade and could last for the rest of his life. Yet he had to hold on hope that someday his great deeds would erase his failures and he could return home. Lying to Mathias seemed a foolish thing to do, and so after a solemn silence he licked his lips and began.
“I come here for new beginnings, for the possibilities this virgin land holds. I am a warrior by trade, trained in the warriors arts by the finest military academies in all Ahnatep. Yet I am unwelcome there. I am called allahini sikeyim"Back-stabber", denotes more that one is bad enough at it to be caught. More an insult to intelligence than morality. by my family and my people. The closest word I know in your language is...failure. I failed my family in their time of need and so am banished from my lands, not to return unless I can somehow erase my shame.”
His voice was firm and precise, but showed little in the way of the emotion that stirred beneath the surface. His shame was very real, and he wanted nothing more than to redeem himself in his families eyes, to erase the dishonor his failure had bestowed upon them, but he knew not how.
If only I had been quieter, or had been faster, I would have kidnapped that child and all would be well. I would wear the laurels of a hero of my family and would be far from this uncivilized land.
But that was not his lot. He knew as well as any that the past could not be changed, and so his failures were his to suffer with. He would find a way to return victorious, someday, or he would die trying.
”Atonement is a hard road, especially for my people, and it will take many grand accomplishments before I can consider leaving. Until then, I am here. I can dedicate to this place a decade with great certainty, perhaps my life should I choose some other road.”
He paused a nearly a chime before speaking again, licking his lips and shifting uncomfortably, moving his arms slightly this way and that. It felt odd to admit there was a possibility he would not accomplish his task of redemption, but he had to accept it. The stories of exiles being cast out and forgotten far outweighed those that returned and were hailed heroes. Still, he had to try. It was his guiding star, though for now the “how” was as vague as smoke.
Eventually he cleared his throat, moving on to the next topic of conversation the man had mentioned.
“For now I sleep in a tent at the edge of the jungle, though I have purchased some building materials and hope to make a home for myself soon in the coming days. I hear there is word of some project, a sawmill, coming to this place? This would be of great use to me, and to all citizens of Syka, and so to prove my worth to you I would help in this task any way I can. I ask, if it is not too much to presume, for a plot of land to set up my tent, and upon which I will build my home once the sawmill is complete.”
“As to a business...I do not know what sort I would start. As I said, I am trained in the ways of the warrior, which are of little use to you here. Perhaps someday when the settlement is greater you might employ me as a lawman, but for now…”
He exhaled softly, looking down before glancing at the old man with a small smile.
”Though, I suppose as I am a novice in all things I am a thing of boundless potential. I can do or be whatever this place needs of me. I will learn any trade, be it in gathering or crafting or managing others, any skill, so long as it is to the benefit of Syka. So I ask you, Mathias, what man does Syka need me to be?”
He chuckled, soft and low as he peeled another banana, unsheathing one of his dual-bladed daggers to cut a small line in the top before sheathing it once more and exposing the pale fruit.
”And what does Syka need you to be? You are this lands leader, and call yourself a priest. As such your Gods are the Gods of this land, and I would honor them as your tradition dictated in my time here. Who does the leader of this land bow to? To what Gods do you dedicate your life, and how did they come to you?”
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