Completed Morning Mourning

[Orin Fenix]

89th of Summer, 515AV

The first rays of sun coming through his window caressed Orin’s cheek and woke him, as they did every morning. He groaned, not quite willing to face the world yet. His body ached and his mind felt full of the wool that comes from too much work on too little sleep. All he wanted was to lay there for just a little while longer. He’d been pushing himself to his limits lately, although if you asked him why, he couldn’t say. For whatever reason he’d been filled with a sense of urgency. But it was a directionless stress, and all it did was cause him to throw himself into his work with wild abandon. He spent hours alternatively obsessing over the inventory and staring intently at the door as if by sheer willpower alone he could summon customers.

But even that started to lose its luster after so long. Orin never thought he’d get to this point when it came to his professional life, but he was getting tired of essentially running a kitchen. Perhaps it was unique to this particular kitchen, which was a hope he clung to desperately. It was just so heartbreaking when day after day he slaved in the heat of the stove and the desert, and no one came to sample his wares. And yet he stubbornly clung to his assertion that he just had to change the minds of the Akvatari, show them that there was enjoyment to be had from the simple act of eating. Unfortunately, nearly all of them subsisted off of what they could hunt for themselves and eat raw, and so Orin’s talents went appreciated only by sailors, and they seemed to have no idea of the difference between his best efforts and his worst. This soul-crushing boredom, combined with the overall melancholic milieu created by the seemingly ever-depressed Akvatari was slowly but surely wearing Orin down.

And though he’d never admit it, Orin was horribly lonely. He’d never particularly thought of himself as a social person, but it turned out that even he occasionally needed needed contact beyond taking orders and delivering food. He missed the friends he’d left behind in Syliras, who no doubt had forgotten all about him by now. He had trouble relating to these Akvatari. Their ways were so alien to his. In their defense, he hadn’t really tried. And the few other people stranded here on this isle with him didn’t compare to the rich wealth of individuals who were in Syliras. Some days, Orin even felt himself missing Rondo. Sure, he’d hated the man, but at least it had been an interaction of some kind.

And most of all, Orin missed Sylvette. He didn’t regret severing their bond, but it left a hole in him that he had no idea how he would fill. But she’d become distant. Days would go by without him even glimpsing her, and they hadn’t spoken for so long that Orin had nearly forgotten what the sound of her voice sounded like. Even the things he found annoying about her, like when she paraded around naked despite him explicitly telling her not to and her lack of understanding of certain other human customs, seemed incredibly endearing in hindsight. But he’d woken up one morning in the long winter, and been certain that their relationship was over, and continuing to tether themselves to each other was just harming them both. Although he’d never learned how, something in him had urged him to imagine the place where Sylvette resided in his mind as an almost physical tie. And then, he’d conjured up a mental blade and severed it.

What had followed next was horrible, indescribable pain. He walked around for days in a haze, barely able to eat and wash, let alone perform his duties for the Hospitality House, which surely didn’t sit well with his new employers.. With time, the heartache had faded, but his insides still felt raw, as if by cutting himself off from his bondmate, he’d killed a part of himself as well. More often than not, he’d found himself prodded that empty space within, and every time it caused a wave of sadness that brought tears to his eyes. He’d long ago learned to detach himself from his emotions, shoving them away, and that, along with his faith from Priskil that all will pass and become better eventually, was all that allowed him to keep going. But still, some days his limbs felt like lead and colors, scents, tastes, and everything he could experience were dulled.

[Orin Fenix]

Today was one of those days, unfortunately. Try and he might, Orin couldn’t muster up the energy to lift himself out of bed. Head lolling, his eyes lighted on iron quarterstaff he’d picked up on their brief stop in Riverfall. That seemed like a lifetime ago, or maybe a dream, since that beautiful city had been unlike anything he’d seen before or since.. He’d meant to practice with the staff, but what with one thing or the other, he hadn’t gotten around to it. Besides, the staff was heavy, and Orin wasn’t strong. Still, something about the weight seemed to resonate with him, as if he deserved to be carrying around not only this mental weight, but the physical one to match it. So, finding that core of strength that he kept hidden away until he absolutely needed it, he managed to get himself to his feet.

Dressing happened in a haze, and Orin vaguely remembered strapping on his various daggers, think that if the quarterstaff practice didn’t work out, he could always work with those instead. His thoughts were dark, and violence seemed particularly fitting with him. And maybe he was hoping that working himself to an actual state of exhaustion would be punishment enough for what Sylvette must be feeling right about now. He hadn’t wanted to sever the bond, but he knew in his heart of hearts that it was the best for both of them.

Hefting the staff in both hands, Orin trudged out of his room, down the hall, and finally out of the Hospitality House altogether. Even that short trip left his arms burning slightly with strain. As soon as he reached a relatively flat place, the sand crunching under his bare feet, he dropped it carefully, not wanting to crush his feet. It thumped into the dirt and Orin stretched out his arms, throwing one across his body and pulling it with the other, then switching when the ache had eased slightly. His workouts typically started with some sort of jog, and while that had proved impossible while he was on the boat, it seemed right to start up with them again. As much as he could, he wanted to make this new place feel like home.

Speaking of the small comforts, as was his custom on his first time outside each day, Orin turned his face skyward. ”Thank you Leth, for watching us through the night, and thank you Syna, for bringing us the dawn.” Then, because something deep within him, from a place adjacent to the dark swirl of emotions that he did his best to hide from the world and close to the core of his willpower, urged him too, he added a slight addendum to his usual morning prayer. ”And Priskil, may your light guide me as well, to a better place. May you see your own hopeful light as well, and may it be enough to banish the darkness for both of us.” Something about that seemed good and right, and while Orin didn’t know the formalities of prayer and he seriously doubted that a great goddess listened to the prayers of one as simple as he, it helped him to believe that someone benevolent out there was at least listening, if not responding. It made eased the loneliness. And as he thought that, it occurred to Orin that Priskil herself must feel lonely. Anyone would spending the long years with such a solitary and sad task. And if she could make it through all this time without wavering, then Orin could definitely make it through this rough patch in his life. In fact, he felt slightly ashamed of his weakness, and vowed to try and do more for Priskil, even though he had no idea what that might be.

Taking a deep breath, inhaling the scents of sea and sand and sky, with the strains of faint melancholy music filling the air as the Akvatari began getting ready for their day, Orin bent his knees slightly. His first task was to plan his route, which was essential in any run, as he’d discovered when making his way through the Fortress City and seeing as his depression had prevented him from effectively exploring the sights of Abura, except for that one excursion where he’d met that peculiar woman Philomena, he didn’t know much about this city at all. Orin wasn’t even sure if the collection of oddities surrounding him could even be called a city. Apparently it was all spires and grottos, neither of which Orin was currently inclined to explore. So, for now, Orin decided to just run around the Hospitality House. If anyone found that odd, well, he was under no obligation to explain his actions to him or her.

He started off with a light jog. While he wasn’t great at running, and couldn’t go that fast or that far, what he had discovered seemed to be that if he took it slowly at first, it let him run for longer. Thankfully he’d made it outside early enough in the day that the sand hadn’t absorbed the sun’s heat. While it wouldn’t ever quite burn the skin, it could certain make it uncomfortable to walk on. And wearing shoes with all this sand was just a surefire way to get sand inside said shoes, which was more uncomfortable than the heat. So Orin had just taken to walking shoeless while outside, and being careful where he walked. The sand shifted and puffed up behind him, his strides leaving clear footprints for anyone or anything to see. Sand, as Orin was quickly coming to realize, was not the most stable of surfaces, and he had to be incredibly careful of where he placed his feet. Otherwise, the treacherous shifting beneath him might cause him to fall. He was constantly checking his balance.

[Orin Fenix]

It took him a few chimes to get up to his full speed, which was still as slow as molasses. While he was still getting to know these Akvatari, he was envious of their graceful motions as they darted through the air and dived through the ocean. While they were ungainly on land, none of that seemed to matter right now. And as Orin gasped for breath, he was sure he looked hideous, arms randomly pumping. He only managed to make it through one lap around the Hospitality House before he simply couldn’t continue any longer. As cramps threatened, he slowed to a walk, heaving in large gulps of air through his mouth. Hands on his hips and partially covering his slightly nauseous stomach, Orin made his way back to where he’d left his belongings. On the ship he could never leave anything out like this, but considering that there wasn’t exactly many places to hide out here unless you could fly or swim, he wasn’t particularly worried. And the Akvatari, what little he’d discerned of them, didn’t seem to be the type to steal.

Flopping onto the sand as he recovered the last of the energy that had been sapped by the run, Orin stretched out his legs and bent forward, the movement easing the tight muscles of his calves. He couldn’t quite touch his toes, but still the motion felt good. When he felt reasonably sure that he could stand and move about without too many aches, he levered himself up and glanced about him. There was a woodpile nearby that Orin used for his kitchen, and he made a mental note to try practicing with his throwing knives later. For now, he picked up the staff, wanting to try out the new weapon.

Immediately, his arms, which had been relatively spared during the running, felt the strain. And as the weight settled, he felt it drive through him into the ground below. His legs were holding up, but just barely. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, but Orin, for the first time in a long time, was feeling a fire in his belly, one that was pushing him to try this. The pain was good, right somehow. Maybe if he suffered physically as much as he was suffering mentally, it would help. Probably not, but it was better than wallowing in bed. Orin had always had a habit of losing himself in his tasks to avoid thinking about his life. It might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but at least it got him out of bed and into the world this time. He was going to have to start taking this whole recovery one step at a time, it seemed.

Not exactly knowing where to start, Orin slid his feet out, moving easily through the sand, until his left foot was slightly in front and his right behind. It was the same stance that he used when he threw punches. He tried placing his weight on the balls of his feet, but the staff wouldn’t allow him to move easily. This definitely wasn’t going to be a simple process, and maybe he should practice with something lighter first, but for now, he’d work with what he had. Bending his knees slightly helped him to absorb the weight. Carefully, cautiously, he swung the top of the staff.

[Orin Fenix]

Just that little motion was enough to overbalance him, and he started to topple forward. He had enough presence of mind to push the staff away from him and try to leap as far away as possible. If he got tangled up in the staff or it fell on him, not only would it probably injure him, he’d be unable to get it off without some serious maneuvering. While he ended up in a pile of thrashing limbs, he did manage to extricate himself from the staff without causing any damage to himself. When he got his arms and legs collected under him, he rolled onto his back and simply stared at the clouds for the moment. This was a stupid idea

Still, he got up, and bent down to retrieve the staff. Lifting it up was at the very least giving his arms a workout. Resuming his stance, Orin swiped with the staff again in a high arc, this time compensating for the motion by stepping out with his right foot to keep his balance. It wasn’t pretty, but maybe the weight alone and the momentum of the staff would be enough to give any opponent serious pause. Of course, if the attacker simply sidestepped, Orin wouldn’t be able to get the staff up in time to defend from their strike, at least not without a lot of practice and probably some formal instruction. Still, despite the agonizing weight and his lack of skill, he liked this weapon.

He managed to wrangle the staff back up to an upright position, and this time put his right foot in front as he stepped into the stance. He took a moment to check his feet. They were horribly placed, pointing off into completely different directions, and Orin made sure to have them both facing as forward as he could make them. This time, he swung the high strike in the opposite direction, where the imaginary opponent’s head was. It bobbled and wavered as it moved, but he managed to keep it relatively under control, and for that he was proud. He attempted the high strike both ways a few more times, his control not improving much over time, but maybe that would change eventually.

Finally, though, his arms simply refused to do any more work with the staff. Orin eased it to the ground, dreading the idea of bringing it back to his room, and resolving to deal with that particular problem later. As he shook his arms out, Orin pondered what to do next. He didn’t feel particularly like going inside to his empty kitchen. Most days, unless a ship was in the harbor or there were travelers staying, he just sat idly by, left alone with his thoughts. Business was slow in Abura, which wasn’t surprising. The Akvatari had no need of his services, after all. Without anything to fill his days though, and with the severing still raw, more often than not he found himself either listlessly staring into the distance or crying to himself in the darkness. He sometimes didn’t light candles or open the shutters, since he didn’t need anything to see by if he had no need to see anything.

Still, this rumination was exactly why he was trying to push himself right now. If he worked hard enough at something, anything, maybe he’d be too tired even for thoughts. Moving his sluggish limbs as best he was able, he slipped into his best fighting stance, which was terrible, but slightly better than when he had started. He threw a halfhearted punch, without putting much effort into it at all. Then, mad at himself for innumerable reasons, Orin slapped his own cheek, hard. I can do better than this. I will do better than this

He threw another punch, this time pivoting his hits and stepping forward to put the whole force of his body behind it. It felt much more satisfying, and Orin felt a savage grin spread across his face. Or at least, it felt like a grin; to anyone watching, it was far too manic for a grin.

[Orin Fenix]

With a shout Orin kicked out with his left leg. His right leg was his dominant one, but he’d been trying to strengthen both sides of his body equally. Of course his legs, weakened by the run and the staff work, didn’t want to move, and he could barely get it off the ground. Orin growled, and kicked again, this time slowly and with more control. He wanted to be moving quickly, powerfully, now, but recognized that technique was more important now, and that if he got the technique perfect, speed and strength would follow.

It was just like cooking in that regard; one always had to respect the basics of any craft. And so, though Orin chafed at the delays, he took a deep breath, trying to let a bit of the negativity he carried around with him out with the exhale, and trying to center himself. Dropping back down to the balls of his feet, Orin lifted his left leg until his thigh was parallel to the ground, ignoring the slight twinges. Then, he snapped it forward as quickly as he was able. However, his leg didn’t seem to want to straighten all the way.

Dropping it back to the ground, then back into the air, Orin kicked again and again and again, working until he was satisfied. When that was done, he switched legs, until there was a pleasant burn in both of his calves. Yet still, the burden on his heart and mind still seemed to cloud the sunlight and dampen the day. Whatever was happening to him, he couldn't seem to escape it, no matter how hard he tried. Still, until he'd exhausted both his options and himself, he would keep working, keep fighting. He wouldn't be himself if he gave up that easily. And although it might be better for him to simply rest and try and let recovery come as it would, Orin had never been a good patient. He hated losing control of anything in his life, let alone his own body and mind. So he'd push himself, at least to prove that he could if it became absolutely necessary.

[Orin Fenix]

Switching to his punches again, Orin lifted them to a guard position, with his right leg in front. He wanted to practice his jabs, which he’d never quite understood how to do properly. Making sure his thumbs were outside of his fists, Orin threw his left hand straight in front of him, not moving the rest of his body. The motion felt weirdly uncomfortable, as if he should be twisting or moving in some different way. But this was all he was able to do under the circumstances. He threw a few more jabs with his left before switching sides and repeating the process. Still, fighting with his arms and legs had lost its appeal, or maybe Orin was just being lazy and letting his depression deaden his limbs.

Sighing, Orin adjusted the placement his two main knives slightly, so that they’d be easier to draw. He’d recently decided that two blades were better than one, especially because armed with only daggers he’d be hard pressed to keep up with an opponent unless he had some sort of advantage over them. Putting his hands on their hilts, Orin tried to draw in a crosswise motion that would slash anyone standing in front of him. He could do this with either hand with a single blade just fine. However, the arm on the bottom got stuck until the arm on top was finished and so his imagined cuts didn’t quite work out. In fact, both slashes were lackluster, lacking precision or clarity and Orin put his blades back to consider how to approach this problem.

If he adjusted it so that one dagger rode slight higher than the other, it might work. Making that small change, Orin tried the cross-draw again. And again, his arms got wrapped around each other and his practice attack failed miserably. Placing the blades back in their scabbards, Orin simply tried taking them both out at once but again, his right arm came out, then his left. It seemed that he simply didn’t have the ability to do this at full speed.

If that was the case and he was back to basics again, Orin figured he might as well do everything at a snail’s pace. Indeed, as he sheathed and unsheathed the daggers as slowly as he could manage, he was able to pull them both out simultaneously. It seemed the problem was more one of muscle memory than of capacity, and that once Orin had practiced enough it would be possible for him. While it might seem silly to an outsider, Orin knew that every single moment was precious in a battle. Having his life threatened several times now, Orin figured that he should be able to ready his weapons in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to have to think to prepare, he simply wanted to react in the face of danger and if that meant spending several bells practicing his draw until it was as natural as breathing, then so be it. It was always better to be safe than sorry.

[Orin Fenix]

Still, even Orin’s patience wasn’t limitless when it came to such a boring task and soon Orin decided to move on to some more difficult moves. He tried to keep his left dagger up, blade pointed out in a defensive position, as he stabbed forward with his right. However, every time he attempted to stab, his left arm dropped too low to be of any use. At this rate, he would never be able to use two blades with any degree of effectiveness.

Orin wished he had the luxury of believing that he’d be safe and sound behind walls all his life. But his innocence had been ripped away after he’d been in several life-threatening situations, and somewhere along the way he’d vowed never to be helpless again. Even in Syliras, he couldn’t rely on the Knighthood to protect him. Besides, requiring someone else to defend him made Orin beholden to him or her, and while he didn’t mind asking for help if he really needed it, he tried to avoid it if at all possible.

It was yet another side effect of his childhood, and losing Sylvette had perhaps strengthened that quality and not in a pleasant way. But Orin felt strongly that he couldn’t lean on anyone’s strength but his own. His father had taught him that, although through the neglect of his son not through any kindness. He’d made friends in Syliras, sure, but he’d let very few of them into the secret places of his heart. Thinking of his childhood was doing anything for his mental state though, so he turned his thoughts back to his blades. Moving carefully and cautiously, he went through the motions of the defense and the stab, until he was happy with what he felt in his body. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for today.

Remembering the woodpile from early, Orin put away his regular blades and pulled out his throwing knives. They were thin pieces of steel, and he put one in each of his hands. He might as well practice throwing more than one at a time while he was here. Holding them as best he could, Orin pulled his right arm back, then threw it forward, releasing the blade slightly past the apex of the half-circle it was making. His left arm followed suit, and his eyes followed the trajectory of the blades as they went wild and wide and missed the logs entirely to slam into the sand.

The seabirds circling above cawed and seemed to be jeered at his piss-poor efforts. Ori shot a glare up at them as he scrabbled in the sand to retrieve his weapons. His complete and utter failure at nearly all of his combat abilities certainly wasn’t doing much to improve his mood, which had been the whole point. Orin briefly considered giving up and moving back into the Hospitality House. But, he firmed his wavering resolve. This, all of this, everything that had happened to him, wouldn’t break him. Sure he was hurting, but he’d been burned before and had the scars to prove it.

[Orin Fenix]

With that thought, Orin repositioned himself a decent distance from the wood, and started trying to throw two daggers in succession again. He never quite managed to hit anything he was aiming for, not even close, but each time the weapons seemed to get a little bit closer to the mark. Or maybe he was imagining it. Still, by the time he finally decided to give it a rest, the impact marks in the sand did seem to indicate that Orin had made at least a little progress. Seizing onto that fact as a justification for the time he’d spent on what was probably a hopeless task, Orin put away his weapons and then simply stood.

He’d never been much one for complex thought, preferring to seek out simple solutions. Maybe because he’d always sensed that focusing too hard on his life, on the events that made him who he was, would break something in him and he wasn’t sure if it could be repaired once broken. It was terrifying, and he shied away from it. But still, he clearly wasn’t doing well, and without anyone to talk to but himself, he wasn’t going to get better.

Orin thought he knew what loneliness was, but losing his bondmate had been an agony so painful it was almost exquisite. Part of him was gone, and if he’d lost a limb he didn’t think it could be this awful. Somehow, this, on top of everything he’d endured, seemed to be one stone too many, causing an avalanche of emotions to spill out of him. And that avalanche had trapped him beneath it, crushing him, holding him down.

Faith was tricky. Orin had always believed that a god or goddess or required ornate rituals and rites or sacrifices that were too great wasn’t worth worshipping. And so, he’d made his own way through the quagmire of his life, until it grew too thick with anguish for him to continue. So now, he was stuck, left without the proper outlets and proper mechanisms to get him through this crisis. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Although he’d tried his best to distract himself, it wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough these days. ”I’m sorry.” His words came out in a choked whisper, though he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for or if this was a prayer or something deeper, more of a plea. ”I’ve tried so hard to…beat this. To be…happy. And, sometimes I feel like, like I don’t deserve to be happy.” Wiping his eyes, Orin sank down and pulled his knees up to his chest.

”Isn’t that a terrible thought? That I’ve…done something, somehow, to piss someone off. Someone up or out there, or wherever you reside, whoever you are.” He laughed, the sound dark and low. ”Why? I know, I know, it’s a dumb question, asking why me, to beings of immeasurable power, who probably don’t notice one unimportant human, who couldn’t care less if I was happy or sad or alive or dead or anything really. And maybe that’s the worst part of all. The thought that all this isn’t part of some plan or some sort of divine joke or even bad luck but just…how life is.” Closing his eyes and curling into himself even further, Orin’s voice became even softer. ”That no one cares…that no one has ever cared.”

With that, Orin let go completely, dissolving into great wracking sobs. He tasted salt on his lips, while the world went on without him, the waves lapping at the shore, the clouds passing across the sun, the birds circling so high above. He sobbed, and sobbed, until he felt empty, drained. Wiping his eyes, the water caught his eye. Without quite knowing why, he stripped quietly, down to his underclothes, and waded out until the water was at chest height. The air smelled of brine and his feet sank into the bottom of the ocean as seaweed brushed his legs.

Taking a deep breath, Orin plunged himself below the water. The water seemed to sparkle with an inner light even as it stung his eyes. He seemed to hang there for a moment, motionless, before his lungs demanded he fill them again. He surfaced with a splash, coughing slightly. Taking a few steps further, Orin struggled to keep himself above water, now unable to touch the bottom without submerging. He paddled for a bit, the plunged under again, keeping his eyes closed against the water this time. This time, instead of floating, he sank down to the floor, and he pressed off from the bottom to shoot up into the air again. One last time, he allowed himself to be carried beneath, and one last time he emerged into the world above the water.

Paddling wildly, he made it back to where he could walk, not that he’d been that far out. He felt different somehow. Cleansed maybe, the water of his tears and the water of the sea mixing, so similar and yet so different, connecting him to the wider world. And maybe that’s all he’d been searching for, this whole time. He wasn’t healed, not even close. He wasn’t even happy, not yet. But he was tranquil for now, even if it was the tranquility of storm clouds before the downpour. Yet the rain only lasted for so long before the sun shone again. He needed to remember that.

He didn’t smile, but the lines in his face did soften. And he looked out, to the far horizon, and uttered simply ”Thank you.”

[Aladari Coolwater]

Your grades have been spotted!
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Orin Fenix

■ Running +1
■ Acrobatics +1
■ Unarmed Combat +2
■ Bodybuilding +2
■ Endurance +1
■ Weapon: Dagger +2
■ Swimming +1
■Weapon: Quarterstaff +2

Lores

Lore of Akvatari: Enjoy Hunting and Eating Raw
Lore of Akvatari: Always Sad
Lore of Akvatari: Love Music
Lore of Socialization: Even People I Hate Provide Contact
Lore of Bondmates: Severing Bonds Feels Like it Kills Part of Yourself
Lore of Running: Harder on Sand
Beating the Mental Pain with Physical
Lore of Quarterstaff: Heavy and Hard to Maneuver
Lore of Acrobatics: Balancing a Quarterstaff's Weight With Movement
I Can Do Better. I Will Do Better.
Lore of Combat: Technique First, Speed and Power Follow Later
Lore of Unarmed Combat: Thumb Outside of Fist
Lore of Dagger: Drawing in a Slash
Lore of Bondmates: Losing a Bond is Makes More Than Loneliness
Lore of Philosophy: Water Connects Us to the Wider World

Additional Information

None.

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