Is this what I called home? (Open)

[Erasmus]

Timestamp: 1st day of summer // 511AV Needn’t anybody decipher the Symenestra race to such a fellow as this; he understood the ethnicity as much as he was positive a pebble would sink when dropped into water at a deeper depth. This fact constituted a fragment of his deranged puzzle: to categorize himself he can think of the proudly deleterious spider-like creations known as Symenestra. The traveler was also versed in the geography he roved by, the twenty different breeds that could potentially all fear him, and the somber lurking monsters that made even his shadow look like a mouse in comparison to a Myrian Tiger. He perceived the verifiable truth; there were probably substances in the wilderness, tripling in numbers every second, sizing him up each elongated moment he remains pondering preventive ways to not be digested by nightfall. All this knowledge and more were within Erasmus’ black-nailed fingertips, yet the most important things he needed to know came up missing. The theoretically gaping hole he hid so artfully was forged; he has blindly concluded, in the year 510AV. What defied entrance into this cunning lad’s brilliant cranium was ironically the soul person he was born to be, the memories of how he gained all his past skill, the truth of why he left Kalinor in the first place, the relationships he had vacated behind, the family he belong with, the faces, the voices, the journey, and the yore. Upon standing he glared at the surrounding scene that withholds all he could not for the life of him materialize. The landmarks he had relied would trigger a recollection simply left him emptily echoing inside as a neon light of fury ricocheted against the hollow shell that desperately yearned to be full. ‘It’s complicated,’ though if he knew the complication of his mystery it would not be a problem whatsoever. His side of the story was taken back in a single year’s width of time, the complicated part is the reason he cannot go back in his mind to remember why, when, where, and how amnesia set in. What would you do if you woke up one morning and had not an iota of identity? Erasmus was lucky to have scraped up the intelligence he could manipulate to falsify he is not insane, for example: his first name is Erasmus, his age was 18, he came from Kalinor, and he had been gone about four years. Erasmus exhaled all the demoralization from his outward appearance; it would do no good to have Symenestra wondering… or noticing him at all for that sake. Then again, he only had with him a knife and a bow, not the ideal defensive mechanisms to wield alone in the forest that reeks of death. He trudged through the surrounding outer-edges of Kalinor with all items possessively on his person, setting up camp was another adventure for another time of day; he needed to see others of his kind, to actually be entering a city for once felt like a child’s first trip to a candy shop. Certainly this was not his first time… but he cannot recall all the others, therefore he had slight trepidation of how his company would be received. Perhaps he had been a murderer in his past life? Not likely, but possible. Erasmus didn’t know what to expect, so he thought bitterly they wouldn’t recognize him at all. Maybe the name Erasmus had gone extinct the moment he left Kalinor at age fifteen… he hoped he could salvage all information he searched for here. ‘Not likely, but possible.’ Erasmus had came to a pile of sparkling sand abandoned beside a crackling fire that licked up his familiarity with the cultural landscape. The Woven Gates. This was no flashback, just a resurrected form of knowledge, something he felt he had read about book once, not seen in person. Would flinging the colorful luminescent grains in the heated pulp of fire classify him as the most invaluable Symenestra here? Without a doubt the more respectable way of entering the underground city would be to find your own way, climb up without troubles. It was not be elevated like a heavy useless human. With a child’s persistence however, he still lingered in that spot with his vermilion eyes fixated, fascinated even. He wished to feel the dusts sift through his lean fingers; curiosity prodded the male to witness firsthand how the dancing fire would pulse with radiant beams. It would probably be the only embrace he could feel in Kalinor, who knows what people waited for him… if any did at all. The fire would shout his existence, would prove he is no rambling ghost looking for a former body. In the past Erasmus had questioned this… it wasn’t possible for him, with the flesh and blood unmistakably there, and still thoughts had plagued him the first few months of living without a direction. He stands silhouetted by the heat of the pit, his arms crossed loosely over his clothed chest with his head held at a level of confidence. The humility in his eyes, the eyes he manipulates to seem so soft and innocent when manipulating other races, gave off a more submissive vibe. Where do you go when you are so lost you cannot find steps to retrace? You go to Kalinor of course.

[Poison]

Four years had passed since Erasmus had left the underground city of the Symenestra, for reasons that escaped him now. Winter had made to spring, and spring had made way to summer four times. Four times the leaves of the trees in the forest above Kalinor had turned brown and fallen. People had been born and died in the time that he had been lost on the surface. Surrogates had been captured, imprisoned and died a painful death to ensure the continuity of the Symenestra race – and somewhere, in this strange city, a family had mourned what they considered the death of their son who had left for the world above and never come back.

It was dark in the cave that marked the real entrance to the city of Kalinor, below the Woven Gate. But as Eramus flung the sand into the fire, it flashed green and golden for a moment and filled the cave with an eerie light, alerting the guards to the presence of a visitor. A sound suddenly cut through the relative silence that had engulfed Erasmus until now, and a guard climbed down the rope that dangled from the gate.

Before too long another Symenestra stood in front of him. He wore the typical black exoskeleton armor that so many of their kind used to protect their fragile bodies, and a cloak was wrapped around his shoulders. He didn’t appear to be much older than his early twenties, with brilliant white hair and golden eyes, a graceful being, as all Symenestra were. He looked at Erasmus curiously, obviously not recognizing him.

„Who are you, if you don’t mind the question?“ he asked, tilting his head a little to the side as he did so, already concluding that he probably didn’t belong to one of the more prominent Webs, otherwise his face would have seemed familiar. „And what is your business in the city? Have you come for Chemah vo ranekh, the Morning of the Moths? The festivities will only begin in a few days. You are a little early for them.“

[Erasmus]

Erasmus’s bare feet caressed the ground in silence as he took two steps forward. Faces, he didn’t remember faces. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time his eyes had come across a being of his same race, the feeling of familiarity was new to him. The words spoken by his acquaintance briefly explained this Symenestra knew nothing of Erasmus; it also scratched the surface of his blanketed intelligents when ‘Chemah vo ranekh, the Morning of the Moths’ was inquired. “Festivities?” He couldn’t quite grasp the meaning or the purpose of this name… though he knew every Symenestra in their right mind would be affiliated with the particular holiday. He craved to be one of those ‘sane’ and lucky majorities; he hungered to be a true Symenestra and not an embarrassment to the spider-like kind. Pride rested on the shoulders of them all, pure and strong… their heads held high. Erasmus felt like a rat in the mist of swans, so useless without an identity, without a mask of white feathers covering his differences. Would you not look away in shame if you couldn’t remember your own specie’s way of living? It tortured him, burned at his inner core. Never mind, it’s worthless to wallow in your problems. He wasn’t a man found drowned in the ocean of difficulty, he was the one swimming until his arms turned brass with the determination to walk on land once again. Why had he needed to know his past anyway, could he not have make an alias and new life? No. there was something important that made him reach for anything possibly able to give him back a fraction of his former life… he was not only missing history, he was missing something bigger… something more valuable than the even the oxygen he breathed. After brushing the colored sand from his hand he touched the glass-beaded string slung around his thick neck. The responding voice was smooth as the newcomer spoke his native tongue; words came to him naturally and without fault. He studied the man’s face with blank recognition, a slight and forced grin slipped up the corners of his mouth. Erasmus brushed the first question behind with a muffled chuckle unheard as it had passed under his breath. “I used to live here, I came back to try and find why I had left Kalinor in the first place. My name is Erasmus. Perhaps you could inform me, what is this… Morning of the Moths’? I’ve lost all intelligence of the term. Life is my scavenger hunt; it’s a rather long story.” He stood respectively straight, the bags and packs stuffed full of his possessions were imperfections contrasting his orderly facial expressions and calm outward mannerisms. “Many apologies for disturbing you with the dust and what not. I had hoped someone would remember me.”

[Poison]

„Festivities“, the young guard confirmed with a smile on his face. It was obvious that he was looking forward to the holiday. In fact he seemed almost overly cheerful and enthusiastic. „You must have been gone for a long time if you don’t remember that“, he observed. For a moment he looked as if he pitied the other man, and then he gestured towards the rope he had just descended from, inviting him to follow him into the city. „It’s going to be great! I think it’s going to be even bigger than it was last year! My sister is going to try and see if she’ll be chosen as the Moth Queen, and my mother is going to make a tapesty for the weaving contest!“

„Find out why you left ...?“ he repeated and abruptly looked at Erasmus again. That statement confused him. It didn’t make any sense to him. „Why don’t you remember why you left? Did you lose your memory?“ He furrowed his brow, and then he asked, „Do you still remember the name of your Web, Erasmus, your parents? Do you maybe need a healer? There is a mage working at the Nest who might be able to help ...“ He took a step towards Erasmus and studied his face closely, and then he shook his head. „I’m afraid I don’t remember you, but somebody in the city might.“ He gestured towards the rope again.

„The Morning of the Moths is the biggest celebration of the season“, he answered Erasmus‘ question. „It lasts four days, and we celebrate the latest harvest of the Ranekissra cocoons. We use the cocoons to create our silk. Surely you still remember that?“ He couldn’t imagine a person that didn’t know the product that the Symenestra were most famous for. „There are contests, there is music, and we weave cloth.“

[Erasmus]

The clothing this traveler had on his back was simple enough, not as extinctive as some might prefer. A thin layer of cord armor was hidden beneath a grey velvet shirt, the sleeves ended just above his elbow. That particular shirt had fit loosely over his shoulders, it had came down a few inches below the hip. His pants were simple silk breeches that stopped at the knee. The light clothing was exceptionally convenient for him to wear while he climbed, however the backpack and rucksack as well as many other possessions added weight. Erasmus liked the friendly fellow, perhaps it was because the greeter had suggested a doctor instead of an insane asylum. His acquaintance was obviously rather eager to participate in the Morning of the Moths’. The information he gave Erasmus was stored in his mind and each new piece made a picture of what it might be like. As the Symenestra talked on Erasmus couldn’t deny those ‘festivities’ did indeed make him desire to climb up the rope and wait for such events to unravel before his own greedy pupils. “I did indeed lose my memory… or at least that’s what I’ve concluded. My intelligence is limited; if this mage can help me I’ll do anything to pay for even half of it back. It kills me to be so blind, friend.” With a quick smile he thanked the gatekeeper before scaling up the rope as quickly as he could. Erasmus made a mental note that next time he did this he would leave some of the bigger items in camp… once he had one. As he stood at the mouth of Kalinor a sigh of relief escaped his lips. He was there, he was finally home. Kalinor opened its arms to Erasmus once again. After so many years of absence the city still clung to some of his old life’s skeletal remains… finding them would be the difficulty.

[[ So do I just put “end thread” or something? =P Thanks Poison! ]]

[Poison]

„You have my pity, Erasmus“, the guard remarked as the young man confirmed that he had indeed lost his memory. „It must be hard, not knowing who you really are or what your life has been like up to this point. Your intelligence doesn’t seem to be limited though, if that comforts you. I can’t detect anything unusual about the way you talk. Maybe that strange mage at the Nest can indeed help you.“ He stepped back to allow Erasmus to climb the rope first, and then he followed him. Erasmus could notice that the guard was a skilled climber and was as fast as he were moving across a horizontal surface rather than climbing a rope. He was obviously doing that quite frequently.

Once they were both on the other side of the gate, he turned to face Erasmus once more. „I wish you good luck, whatever happens, my friend. If you get your memory back, could you visit me here, at the Woven Gates, and let me know? I’m most interested in your fate.“ With that he assumed his usual position next to the upper end of the rope where he would be watching for visitors and make sure that nobody that wasn’t welcome in the city entered it.

Kalinor looked incredible. The houses were made of stalactite like materials, shaped like coccoons, like raindrops, attached to the ceiling. There were no streets, but thick ropes connected the buildings. The Symenestra moved along them as confidently as if they were moving on a flat surface, as if they were walking on the ground and not on ropes high above the cave floor. While the houses hadn’t been decorated yet, and the Symenestra hadn’t dressed themselves for the festival yet, there was a noticeable air of excitement, and many of the pale, graceful residents of Kalinor turned to face Erasmus and greeted him or asked him how he was.

Not one of them recognized him though and adressed him with his name. It seemed, whoever he had been before, he hadn’t been very well known.

[Erasmus]

Magnificent. So decisively one of the woven cities’s forgotten child’s eyes studied Kalinor with the awe of a complete stranger. Yes, his mind still betrayed him even then. No matter how far he traveled it seemed answers wouldn’t surrender to anything even Beneath the ground under the sun. The pure beauty of this place took him back, stole a heartbeat; he caught his breath as a smile, a genuine smile this time, crept across his face. It appeared at first as if teardrops had seeped from the ceiling and frozen in place to be inhabited by the spider-race, streets of thin fabric wired to anywhere he could possibly go; it was a Symenestra’s absolute paradise. A city suspended in the dark air of a musty cave… yet all the money or possessions in the world, with or without memories, could not have told him just as good as this sight: at last he was finally home. “Thank you.” He turned to face the guard, his only current connection relating to his own race. “I’m at a loss on how to exactly get to the Nest, if you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the right direction… and I don’t think I’ve caught your name in all of this my new friend.”

[Poison]

„You don’t have to thank me“, the young guard replied and smiled. „I would have done this for everybody. My name is Avadon. Avadon of the Anice Web. As for how you get tot he Nest ...“

He stopped and turned around, looked at the silken roads and the buildings hanging from the ceiling as if he were trying to come up with the best way to reach the Nest.

„It’s not too far from here actually. Just follow the red strand – it’s something like the main street of Kalinor, in case you don’t remember – and then turn left. You won’t be able to miss it.“

He extended his hand and pointed in the direction where the Nest was located so that Erasmus knew which way he had to go.

„And that mage I mentioned, I just remembered his name. He’s Swyph Quercus. Just tell them that you are looking for him. And again, good luck my friend. My Viratas bless you.“

[Erasmus]

“Swyph Quercus,” he repeated to himself in the youthful tone of an intellectual genius, (It seemed Symenestra always sounded as such.) “I won’t forget." Biting back another ‘thank you,’ force of habit, he started on his way in the direction Avadon’s kind gesture had suggested. However, before he stepped out of hearing distance he called over his shoulder, “I wish the best of luck to your sister winning title of Moth Queen! Perhaps we’ll meet again at the festivities sometime.” Though the guard had been correct when assuming Erasmus didn’t remember his routs, the ‘misfit’ of sorts had definitely not lost his finesse in the arts of nimbly navigating the thin yarn-like streets. He followed Avadon’s directions, limberly crossing the red road with ease as he happily greeted other passers. When it was time to turn left he did so in a manner that would suggest he’d traversed this road a thousand times... though truthfully he grew excessively more agitated at the lack of familiarity. Knowing enough about his race, he concluded this isolated rain-drop was most likely where they kept surrogates; still no personal memories came to mind. Erasmus clambered to the entrance of the Nest and let himself in, any other species would have died trying... but the spider-people were in their very own element upon entering Kalinor. Erasmus had to remind himself that this was a prison... had he ever sent a woman into the death-sentencing fortress? Probably not, or more people would recognise him. In the past, apparently he had been a nobody. He observed the laced atmosphere and calm vapours rising to meet his senses, knowing this serenity kept impregnated surrogates calm. It was a cruel and clever trick, oh how he enjoyed marvelling the wonders his blood helped to build! Erasmus watched a lithe Symenestra woman come from one of the halls with her arms occupied by folded sheets. “Excuse me; I’m looking for a Swyph Quercus. Is he available?” [[ If I need to change anything please let me know! ]]

[Macabre]

The woman’s honeyed eyes flicked over Erasmus’ form in a silent appraisal before she dipped her head in a single nod and gestured for the boy to follow.

There was an overwhelming smell of incense rising from the candlelit room, where Swyph sat cross-legged on the floor opposite a young blond; their eyes locked, his lithe hand lifted to the line of her jaw. Their repose was eerily silent; the woman had stopped sobbing some time ago. Her bloated midsection told of the source of her former anxiety. When the young attendant pulled back the curtain and let a waft of the sweet, thick incense-laden air drift out, Swyph’s eyes darted to the source of movement.

He said nothing.

A bone-pale hand dropped, and the young human snapped from her trance all too quickly. The tears came back with a sobbing vengeance, and she sunk forward to lie on her side, clutching at her distended stomach as Swyph stood to approach the pair of interlopers.

Swyph was a man of his late twenties. He was dressed simply; ivory robes adorned his sword-thin figure. His silver hair was cropped short around a set of feral vermillion eyes that were set deep in a gaunt face. They poured into Erasmus, dripping with djed, assessing him in cold silence.

“This is Erasmus, ser. He asked for you.”

The Symenestra nodded once, and despite not saying a word, Erasmus could feel the question burning in the deepest reaches of his consciousness, searching meticulously for its response even before he could part his lips to answer.

Why are you here?