Ah. No, luck would not be so kind. Of course Naia hadn’t been there. Aislyn had known her to be a sailor, but she had hoped. That maybe she had gotten word of the event, or perhaps been in Alvadas at the time. The illusionist had known of the Svefra’s flighty relationship with the city, but she had believed the Mischief to be full of actors and entertainers, those more attached to the city, despite the limited amount of time it spent there. Naia had never struck her as one to join their ranks, but if she were honest, who wouldn’t choose the most interesting crew to sail beside, if they had a choice?
Oh, but now she had a story to tell. Aislyn, too, was not one to entertain, but she had always loved a good story as a child. A lot had changed since the woman’s childhood, yes, but despite her extreme paranoia, the underlying sense of childlike curiosity and wonderment had never left her. There had once been a reason she was marked by Ionu, after all.
”Ah, well, you know of the events of this season, but…” She hesitated for a moment. She had taken note of everything in the past few seasons, every misplaced shiver, every strange shadow, every shifty side-eyed glance by a figure that never seemed to stop watching. But sharing was not her strong point. Regardless, she continued.
”...but before this season, there’s been signs. Darker illusions, strange feelings. Rumors, as always. But never so clear as from the mouths of the Speakers themselves.”
She shifted the notebook slightly, so Naia could see the image she had sketched of the scene. Her fingers held tight on either side of the book, ensuring the wind wouldn’t take any liberties with which pages were shown. On the parchment was a stage, with five clear figures. All in robes, three with charcoal smudges darkening the cloth, two with lighter outfits that could be assumed to be white.
Beneath the picture was the hurried transcript of what Aislyn had heard. The handwriting was rushed quite obviously, due to the short amount of time there had been between the spoken word and the point at which Aislyn had attempted to document it. Aloud, she recited it to Naia, ending with the last three words that hadn’t left her mind since they had first been spoken, a season before.
”...They are coming.”
Then, the woman shut the book, and, for the fiftieth time that season, tried to think of some new, different way that the Speaker’s words could make sense. Who was coming? When?
Naia wouldn’t know, of course, but it was rare that Aislyn actually spoke to other people in conversations outside small chat, so she might as well take advantage of it while she could.
”After that was… Nothing. And then it was winter. And no one seemed to notice. There was a sense of paranoia, of fear, but no panic. There’s been… Nothing. No discussion. A hush, as if Ionu themself would damn anyone that dare speak of…”
The illusionist paused. The lighthearted way Naia had spoken of the gods had been so refreshing, but she herself couldn’t seem to do the same. She had always been told the gods were forces to be reckoned with, after all. Slipping the book back into her bag, Aislyn sighed,
”Well, speak of what had happened. The Speakers are Ionu’s word, are they not? But Ionu wouldn’t withhold the truth.” That wasn’t true. Even as she spoke it, she knew it to be so. Ionu was a trickster of a god, and had quite obviously proven to be an unbiased one as well. Mark or not, Ionu would absolutely withhold truth, even preferably doing so when faced with a choice. After all, lies were just a different kind of illusion.
OOCI didn’t think it was necessary to repeat the entire speech, but assume Aislyn did IC.
Oh, but now she had a story to tell. Aislyn, too, was not one to entertain, but she had always loved a good story as a child. A lot had changed since the woman’s childhood, yes, but despite her extreme paranoia, the underlying sense of childlike curiosity and wonderment had never left her. There had once been a reason she was marked by Ionu, after all.
”Ah, well, you know of the events of this season, but…” She hesitated for a moment. She had taken note of everything in the past few seasons, every misplaced shiver, every strange shadow, every shifty side-eyed glance by a figure that never seemed to stop watching. But sharing was not her strong point. Regardless, she continued.
”...but before this season, there’s been signs. Darker illusions, strange feelings. Rumors, as always. But never so clear as from the mouths of the Speakers themselves.”
She shifted the notebook slightly, so Naia could see the image she had sketched of the scene. Her fingers held tight on either side of the book, ensuring the wind wouldn’t take any liberties with which pages were shown. On the parchment was a stage, with five clear figures. All in robes, three with charcoal smudges darkening the cloth, two with lighter outfits that could be assumed to be white.
Beneath the picture was the hurried transcript of what Aislyn had heard. The handwriting was rushed quite obviously, due to the short amount of time there had been between the spoken word and the point at which Aislyn had attempted to document it. Aloud, she recited it to Naia, ending with the last three words that hadn’t left her mind since they had first been spoken, a season before.
”...They are coming.”
Then, the woman shut the book, and, for the fiftieth time that season, tried to think of some new, different way that the Speaker’s words could make sense. Who was coming? When?
Naia wouldn’t know, of course, but it was rare that Aislyn actually spoke to other people in conversations outside small chat, so she might as well take advantage of it while she could.
”After that was… Nothing. And then it was winter. And no one seemed to notice. There was a sense of paranoia, of fear, but no panic. There’s been… Nothing. No discussion. A hush, as if Ionu themself would damn anyone that dare speak of…”
The illusionist paused. The lighthearted way Naia had spoken of the gods had been so refreshing, but she herself couldn’t seem to do the same. She had always been told the gods were forces to be reckoned with, after all. Slipping the book back into her bag, Aislyn sighed,
”Well, speak of what had happened. The Speakers are Ionu’s word, are they not? But Ionu wouldn’t withhold the truth.” That wasn’t true. Even as she spoke it, she knew it to be so. Ionu was a trickster of a god, and had quite obviously proven to be an unbiased one as well. Mark or not, Ionu would absolutely withhold truth, even preferably doing so when faced with a choice. After all, lies were just a different kind of illusion.
OOCI didn’t think it was necessary to repeat the entire speech, but assume Aislyn did IC.
