In the Shadow of the Watchtower (Evarette, Closed)

[Vanator]

TS: 23rd of Winter, 509 AV
Location: Sea of Grass
Tag: Evarette

The Watchtower dominated the area, visible for miles across the open grassland. Not many aspects of the Cyphrus landscape could make that boast. But the ancient structure, its worn stone column thrust up from the plains to hold aloft the massive watchstone, commanded the awe and respect of those who happened across it. The vast horizon and towering mystical artifact only punctuated the seeming insignificance of the creatures gathered at the tower's base.

A brisk Cyphrus wind stirred and tugged at the man's cloak, momentarily revealing a torso covered in a simple tan tunic encased in hardened leather. Amongst his tussled light brown locks, twin braids danced aside his face, their bronze and silver bands tarnished by age. Close behind stood a Strider, a buckskin that patiently waited as her master studied the old tower. Laying in the winter grass nearby, two large dogs, Luvanor Grassland Hunters, relaxed in the afternoon sun.

When the clan moved through this region, Vanator often stole away to visit the Watchtower. The large watchstone emitted a sapphire glow this time of year, visible even in the midday sun. It had become a sort of annual reunion.

The man did not venture near the tower's gate, nor seem at all interested in what was perhaps the most mysterious and foreboding feature of the Watchtower. Instead, Vanator walked to the base of the column, turned his back to the stone surface and slid to the ground. The small fighting ax thrust through his belt was removed and laid to the side. He surveyed the horizon in the distance, a stark border between azure sky and endless waving grass.

Vanator reached into a small pouch at his belt, his fingers moving aside the small cylindrical shape of his sighting lens to grasp a small wooden disk. He pulled the trinket out, a thin leather cord attached to it through a hole near the top. The dark brown pendant bore a beautifully etched circle of Drykas knotwork. He studied its familiar, intricate design, running his forefinger across the shallow grooves.

The tall Strider observed her rider for only a moment, snuffled, then turned to wander a short distance away to graze. Backlash had been to the tower with Vanator for the past three years, had seen Vanator repeat this behavior almost ritualistically each time.

Vanator's face appeared solemn, but his rugged and authoritative features were softened with a subtle peace. It was a bittersweet peace that was fleeting and temporal, the kind he only seemed to feel at this place. The Drykas closed his eyes, raised the wooden pendant to his face and lightly kissed the disk, then bowed his head. Then he began to remember, indulging himself in precious memories.

[Evarette Karmine]

A shrill whinny pierced the air, followed by the tinkling of feminine laughter, and the sound was fickle as it rode the wind-swept grasses. No sight nor other sound prevailed for the span of several heartbeats, hinting that perhaps the emergence of such sound in this vast plain was a trick of the mind. The sea of rippling green stretched in all directions, seemingly limitless and empty...Silent, save for the occasional remark of a bird as it flitted overhead.

Thunderous hooves pealed gently over the horizon, and swath of green parted to emit the dark bulk of a Nightwalker, his billowing mane and forelock strung wildly around his blocky head as he topped a small rise at a collected canter. A few satchels slung at his sides, pinned to the Yvas that belted around his midsection, and a banner of colored fabric was clutched in his mouth. Another cry, this one made ambiguous by the distance, rose up from behind the great horse. The beast hesitated, his dark ears flitting back in consideration. A movement surfaced behind him, and with a flick of his plaited tail the Nightwalker surged forward again, bowing his neck as his forelegs lifted high to shorten his broad stride. The fabric streamed out alongside him, churned by the wind and it's captor's movement.

"Ivar!" Evarette slid to a halt as she watched the stallion dance away from her yet again, combing a hand back through the length of her hair in an effort to pull the dark coils from obscuring her line of sight. Her features bore an expression of exasperation, softened by the hint of amusement that threatened to shine through. Eying the dark horse balefully, Eva watched as he slowed again, tossing her a sidelong glance as he lowered his broad skull...trailing the swatch of fabric in the dust as though taunting her. Evarette started forward again, sprinting in an effort to catch the tail end of the banner...but it was too late! Ivar's head flew up, his powerful haunches gathered, and he sprang forward, just beyond reach...leaving a much provoked Eva in his wake.

"Ivar, I swear...I will feed you to the next glassbeak we come across if you do not get back here at once! We do not have time for this...!" Her words were carried on the wind, clear as the sky above...but they were wasted on the ears of Ivar. He had caught sight of something much more interesting.

A Stryder. Grazing beneath one of the Grassland's great watchtowers, her peace had been disturbed by the riotous arrival of the Evarette and her mount. The glimmer of movement as she threw up her head to observe the approach was enough to catch Ivar's attention. Riveted, the black horse skidded to a halt a hundred paces from the mare, blowing his surprise out through widened nostrils and inhaling deeply to retrieve her scent. The banner fell from his lips, forgotten...but it wasn't long before footfalls stung the air, and Evarette rounded the stallion's side to pounce upon the crumpled article.

"Ha!" ...Evarette was holding it up to observe what abuse Ivar had done to it, when his stillness drew her attention. Indigo eyes lifted to peer beyond their position, and she froze. Her surprise mirrored that of her steed's. Her attention was immediately traded from the horse to what could only be her rider, sitting beneath the vast stretch of the watchtower. He was Drykas, of that she was certain before she laid eyes on him. No Stryder would settle for less. Instinctively, she scanned the horizon, searching for signs of his Clan...but found none. This left few options to explain for his solitary presence...

Tucking the fabric over one arm, Eva tipped her head in what could best be acknowledged as a friendly, though hesitant, greeting, as her features pursued a tentative smile. After the spook several nights ago, the possibilities that lurked ominously in the grasses of her homeland were ever present at the head of her thoughts.

[Vanator]

Lack of diligence in the Sea of Grass was a deadly mistake. But Vanator, at this place, allowed himself the rare occasion to shut out the expansion of land surrounding him and lose himself in what had been. Avas and Ruhl, the Luvanors, and his sassy steed, possessed senses far superior to his own. The animals proved excellent sentries, and the pensive Drykas warrior lay his protection upon their loyal heads.

This archaic Watchtower indeed held many memories. As teenagers, Vanator and his half- sisters would steal away on their mounts and race to the tower whenever the Pavilion passed near. Akela and he would spar and wrestle, beyond the age that most in the Pavilion thought was appropirate for a brother and sister. But out here, with Kavala egging them on, they were free to prolong their youth. Then Kavala, ever the healer, would dab their bloody lips and bruises with suave. Once the wounds were tended, the two warriors would chase their younger, softer sister, tackle her and tickle her until she cried for mercy.

Years later, Vanator would return to the tower in the company of a young woman astride Backlash, sharing the secret retreat with Tamar. The next year, as an early snow fell in a muffling blanket on the plains, the sapphire glow of the watchstone reflecting off the glittering winter blanket, Vanator asked for Tamar's hand in marriage. The Watchtower then became their special refuge.

The distant hint of a whinny and the laughter of a young woman drifted through these treasured musings. Vanator did not distinguish them at first from his own vivid recollections, so familiar were these sounds in his memories. But the indignant cough of the Strider stirred his consciousness, and he looked up to see Backlash gaze sternly to the south, her ears upright and strained forward. Immediately, the Nightwalker's thundering hoofbeats, followed by the sudden appearance of the beast, seized their attention. The dogs stood, silent but anxiously alert.

Irritated by the interruption, Vanator reached for the ax at his side, his eyes darting towards the larger ax hanging from Backlash's yvas, ready to lunge for the weapon. But the man hesitated at the sight of the girl. He watched the giant horse taunt the woman, giving rise to a begrudging grin at the battle of wills. The Nightwalker was magnificent, as black as pitch and bulging with muscle and sinew. Vanator absent-mindedly thought how Kavala would have appreciated its beautiful lines and conformation.

Only momentarily distracted by the rare sight of the Nightwalker, the slightly-built woman now became the focus of the Drykas' attention. At the distance, he could not determine who her people were. Her tunic and riding pants appeared of Drykas design, but he had never seen a Nightwalker among the clans' herds. It was amusingly obvious that the woman was not bonded to the horse, who ignored the girl's threats until he caught wind of Backlash.

As the harassed woman finally noticed her observer, Vanator slowly stood and thrust the fighting ax through his belt. He gave the woman an acknowledging nod. The appearance of a lone woman in the open grasslands was unexpected and, in Vanator's mind, suspicious. Would his father and mother actually send a woman out here to meet him in another matchmaking scheme? Surely they would not resort to such a desperate deed. Nevertheless, he returned the woman's hesitant smile with one of his own, though slightly more crooked.

He was disappointed that his personal ritual had been cut short. But as the son of an Ankal, Vanator had learned not to overlook the opportunity to make a friends or ally. The Drykas chose to make no move towards the visitor, avoiding anything that may cause her to feel threatened. Vanator simply ran his hand along his Strider's long mane, watching the large black horse and his rider, if in fact she actually could ride the noble beast. The woman had in fact piqued his interest.

[Evarette Karmine]

The man stood, and Eva's eyes followed his hands as he tucked his weapon away. A positive sign, she told herself...But something about the way he moved suggested that no matter how many mock battles she had fought with her brother, this Drykas man bested her in combat skills by a long shot. Despite this ominous observation, Evarette was inclined to believe he meant her no harm.

One hand crept up behind Ivar's ears, tightening on a plait of dark mane. The Nightwalker's ears swiveled back and he heaved out a gusty sigh, but he did not move..."Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude upon your...ah...rest." A flush of pink colored Eva's cheeks as it dawned upon her how ridiculous her entrance must have appeared from not only an outsider's perspective, but from the position of another Drykas rider. Not only was it folly to be bumbling about in the danger-infested grasslands after a great larker of a horse, but it had unfailingly placed her in a rather awkward situation. Not the first time, her mind supplied grudgingly..."I'm Evarette," her hand lowered to pat Ivar's neck, leveling the stallion's roving eye with a firm look, "and this great practical joker...is Ivar."

Ivar took this opportunity to swing his head around and thrust his broad nose against her side, a gesture that would have knocked a lesser individual off their feet. It was evident, however, that Eva had become accustomed to this sort of abuse. She braced herself just in time, bringing her arms down in her defense, and made good use of the leverage that the stallion was trying to apply against her. The stallion snorted indignantly, and Eva batted gently at his velveteen nose as it retreated along with the rest of him...Her eyes danced back to the rider a little self consciously, though they were twinkling and full of amusement. The blithe actions between Eva and the Nightwalker who dwarfed her slender frame were quite unlike the disciplined control that other riders held over their mounts. Ivar listened, but only when he thought it was prudent to do so. In Evarette's case, this had perhaps saved her hide on a number of occasions...In hindsight, she supposed this made up for all the times it had also cost her a withering amount of embarrassment.

Ivar had stepped away a few paces, and bent his head to graze...surprisingly at ease in the presence of so many strangers. Eva glanced suspiciously after his preoccupied bulk, returning her attention to the man with a shrug that seemed to suggest she'd given up. Were it not for the betraying hint of merriment gleaming within those sapphire depths, the action would have been quite nearly believable.

[Vanator]

Avas and Ruhl padded closer, their wet snouts raised to inspect the newcomer's scent. Satisfied that the woman and her steed were neither a threat, nor suitable prey, the Luvanors returned to their sunning, each turning a tight circle before settling down into the dry grass. Backlash simply shook her dark mane and snorted proudly, more for the benefit of the giant black than anything, Vanator mused.

The Drykas hunter did not miss the crimson coloring spread across the young woman's cheeks. He sensed that the last thing she expected was to stumble across someone out here on the plains. Vanator exchanged his furrowed brow for a disarming smile, reflected in his gold-flecked brown eyes, in the hopes of putting the girl at ease.

Pleased to hear Pavi tumble tentatively from her lips, Vanator's smile widened. At first sight, Evarette did not seem Drykas. There was no particular feature that would deny or affirm the fact, aside from maybe her slight build and the unusual dark azure eyes, but there was something subtle that caused him to question her genesis. There was no mistake, however, her Pavi was perfect. Besides, even as petite as she appeared, the surly Nightwalker could not get Evarette to budge. Stubborn like a Drykas too.

"I am Vanator," he nodded slightly, his smile curling up slightly on one side, "and don't worry yourself about the interruption. You and Ivar have proven...very entertaining! You have nothing to fear here." He patted his buckskin's strong jaw," This is Backlash," then gestured towards the lazy hounds, "and that is Avas and Ruhl."

Looking up for an instant at the sapphire watchstone looming over them, Vanator pushed one of his thin braids out of his face and turned back towards Evarette. "You are welcome to stay, I surely do not have sole rights to the Watchtower." Well, sometimes he thought he did. It was the courteous thing to do. Besides, Evarette was something like a breath of fresh air...dragged in by a massive willful Nightwalker.

[Evarette Karmine]

Evarette's eyes lowered to the hounds that appeared to be his hunting companions. As they'd crept forth to offer their inspection of her, she relaxed her arms, allowing her hands to dangle at her sides so that they may conduct their investigations more efficiently. She did not pressure them for affection, but instead followed them through a sidelong glance that translated her harmless intentions more effectively. She'd grown up with an eye for conversations committed between the creatures her family lived with, and as a result had always done her best to make good use of her observations. As the pair of hounds dismissed her and returned to their post, Eva's eyes found their master again.

His disarming smile mollified the surmounting tension, and Eva returned it graciously. Vanator. Eva's indigo depths hesitated over the Drykas man's features. Something about him teased her sense of recognition...but the direct source of it was as elusive and slippery as an eel. He is Drykas, there is no reason he shouldn't look familiar, Evarette told herself firmly, pushing the bothersome tweak to her recollection aside.

Vanator's observation of their antics drew from her a short-lived peal of laughter, and Evarette shook her head softly, her eyes dropping to study the bundle of fabric clutched in her arms. The residue of her embarrassment still clung to her cheeks, but she relaxed visibly. Laughter was always a welcoming balm for such emotional afflictions. She lifted her indigo eyes at the mention of his Strider, and she could not help but grin as the mare donned a haughty stance, no doubt doing her best to ensure the Nightwalker lurking nearby was beneath her notice. "She is beautiful," Evarette murmured sincerely...and meant it. She'd grown up among many, and always found herself admiring those that were long of leg and limb, built as though created to ride the very wind into the skies.

Ivar, grazing nearby, did not even so much as bat an eyelash. His sole focus seemed to be honed in on the eradication of all grass in the immediate vicinity. One could almost admire his resolve...were it not for the flit of an ear and the roll of those limitless, black pools that swung in Backlash's direction at almost every opportunity. It was those very actions that betrayed his secret agenda, and the path upon which he munched seemed angled to carry him gradually closer to the mare.

At his invitation, Eva followed his eyes up the vast height of the Watchtower, canting her head to one side as she studied the sapphire glow permeating the air. "I think," she began, half a smile curling her lips in barely contained amusement, "that after my afternoon run, a rest would be nice." With a parting glance shed in Ivar's direction, Eva approached Vanator, ducking into the shadows as she unwound the fabric from her hands and tucked it around her shoulders.

She stepped up to the base of the tower, tracing it's rough surface with her fingertips a moment as though testing the texture. It was perhaps the closest she'd ever been to one of these colossal structures. It's immensity awed her, and several moments passed in silent observation before those sapphire depths crept sideways to encompass Vanator in their well of curiosity. "So, Vanator...what is it that carries you out here? Hunting?" She guessed, a nod given lightly in the direction of Avas and Ruhl.

[Vanator]

Vanator's gaze followed Evarette as she approached the tower. He discovered he was not disappointed that the gregarious girl accepted his offer. Even though he treasured the few moments he had each year in this place of private revelry, Vanator found it pleasing to hear once again the laughter of a young woman splashing off the tower's stony skin.

Walking slowly to stand next to Evarette at the Watchtower's base, he too reached out to caress its cold exterior. At the sound of her question, the Drykas turned towards her, seeing her gesture towards the lounging dogs. A sheepish grin flashed across his face.

"It looks that way, doesn't it?" He paused an instant to examine Evarette, still unsure of what to think of the unexpected arrival. She had not seen as many seasons as he had, by quite a few he surmised. Probably barely out of the teen years. Evarette was pleasing to behold, though not in the classic sense. The appeal may have lain in the fact that her features seemed to compliment the Sea of Grass itself. Seemingly as frail as a blade of grass, yet as unyielding as its stones, and her eyes, as deep blue as its summer sky. Making his observations in the span of a few breaths, he suddenly felt compelled to speak honestly to the stranger. What reason did he have to spin some yarn of an excuse for her?

"Actually, I come here every time the clan passes this way." He turned to survey the waving carpet of grass surrounding them. "This place holds very special memories for me. So I return to honor those memories." His eyes suddenly turned darker, the smile slipping from his face, replaced with a slightly forced grin. "I'm sure you understand, everyone needs a place to escape, to step out of time for a while." His full smile quickly returned, and he shared it with Evarette. He suddenly turned his gaze away, this time to Ivar, realizing that he had revealed something very personal, to a stranger nonetheless. Maybe recollecting his memories had softened up his stoicism a bit.

He quickly turn the tables and inquired of Evarette's purpose for roaming the plains this day. Vanator's gaze met the woman's dark eyes, a hint of laughter sparkling in his own. "And what brings you and Ivar out into the grasslands? A rousing game of keepaway with your scarf?" His teasing accompanied by a widening grin.

[Evarette Karmine]

Eva was surprised by his sincerity. She barely knew so much as his name...and yet something within knew without a doubt that he was sharing the truth. Though a myriad of questions surfaced in her mind, all in pursuit of his fleeting excuse, Evarette pushed them aside as she studied the parade of emotions that visited Vanator's features in brief succession. It was vague in passing, but she was certain she'd caught a volatile hint of grief before he rounded on her with his winsome smile.

His inquiry encouraged a smile of her own making, and she folded her arms over her midsection, bringing her shoulder to rest against the stone face of the tower. His nonchalant bearing was contagious, and Eva found the words easier than usual..."I'm looking for my brother, Dorian," Eva's eyes fell to study the frosted earth as her shoulders twitched in a shrug. "He's...well, not technically missing. He left. No one knows where he went. I suppose he thought I'd sit back and take it in stride..." a wry spurt of laughter left her as her indigo depths swung up to meet Vanator once again. Eva had never been the sort to sit idly by and take the hits life dealt her. She wanted control, she thrived on the pursuit of her own destiny...the prospect of following the well-worn path of all her ancestors bored her to frustrated tears. Therefore, her brother's lack of expectations had originally taken her by surprise...didn't he know her better than that? She shook her head as her previous grin dissolved into a crooked smirk...

"He was not in Riverfall. So, I venture on to Syliras," a determined lift of her chin followed this statement, as though she wished to seem as capable of such a feat as possible. Syliras was a long way off...perhaps even longer to one who had seen so little of the world already. To Evarette, it felt worlds away, a sensation that both enthralled and terrified her. However, standing here before Vanator, something fiercely resolute within her did not want to be seen as the naive little fledgling that had just sprung from the nest. Why his newly acquired opinion of her should matter so much was beyond her...

Ivar blew out a great, fluttering sigh, lifting his head as he finished a mouthful of grass, and no doubt judging the distance between himself and the strider mare. The action drew Evarette's attention, and she eyed the massive Nightwalker's subtle antics with the hint of a bemused grin. "Ivar was his," she added softly, reaching up to tuck back a dark coil of hair that had tumbled free.

[Vanator]

As the woman's gaze turned to the Nightwalker, Vanator suddenly looked upon Evarette with a slanted respect. His hastily formed impression that she was flighty, out of place and wandering the wild plains like it was some whimsical playground, was quite misplaced. His misjudgment irked him. His father drilled him on the danger of judging a person too quickly, the benefit of a relationship damaged or destroyed before even developing. It was an important rule for an Ankal, and an Ankal's heir, to remember.

Indeed, somehow this very young, apparently unarmed woman, had traveled alone through the grasslands even to the citadel of the Akalak. And for as noble a cause as finding the whereabouts of her brother, even into the reaches of Syliria. Evarette surely had the gumption of a Drykas.

Vanator felt a slight, warm flush in his ears, a peculiar reaction that manifested itself when he was suddenly uncomfortable. The source of his discomfort was the noticeable similarity between Evarette and himself. He wrestled with the desire to reveal his own story of prodigal siblings to a sympathetic ear, and the aversion to sharing such personal matters with a total stranger. The man's dark eyes turned to Ivar, then to Backlash, feigning interest in the horse's antics while turning the dilemma over in his mind. Again, the wisdom of his father prevailed, and he purposed to make a friend or ally of this Drykas daughter.

Clearing his throat with a cough, Vanator turned his back to the tower and leaned against the rough hewn stone blocks. He tucked his left thumb in his wide belt, his right had raised to stroke his scruffy chin. HIs gaze lingered on the woman's muscular black steed. "I haven't seen my two closest sisters in over two years," he offered. Evarette may not feel obliged to act as his sounding board, which would be perfectly understandable. It felt cleansing to speak the words nevertheless. He feared most of his family had grown weary with his pining for Kavala and Akela. "They had both left the clan headed for very distant places. I admire your determination to find your brother. Family is very important, I believe. All we really have is our animals and our family," he looked out over the grasses, "even the land is simply lent to us."

[Evarette Karmine]

His words were full of wisdom, and despite the severity of the topic at hand, Eva found herself grinning up at him. Perceptive as he was, she was relieved to encounter something they shared in common...though, it was not surprising, as the devotion to family was something almost all Drykas held in high regard. "Well put, Vanator. I do not think I could have said it better myself," she praised, pressing her back to the solid wall of the tower and tossing her eyes into the sky. The bright, spangling blue was redoubled in her own azure depths as she studied the wispy mare's tails that combed across the vast bowl of the heavens.

She did not wish to pry, but the tidbit he'd openly shared triggered a host of other questions, many of which Evarette cast aside...but several she thumbed over in the back of her mind, choosing her words delicately...

"Your sisters...would you ever go to look for them?" Her eyes continued to sweep across the sky, aimless...though all the rest of her attentions were angled to gather Vanator's response. Tentatively, she pressed further... "Or, do you suppose they would not wish to be found?" ...It was a question that had been circling her own mind in the depths of this whole ordeal. She could not pinpoint exactly why she asked it of him...except that it was an answer that she could not bring herself to answer in regards to Dorian. Ever since her friend Kavala had suggested that her brother may have left Ivar behind to escape notice, to become less obvious so that he may vanish without a trace...she'd been nagged by a surmounting dread that this entire quest was cultivating into a big mistake. Eva couldn't dredge up a reason for this to be true, but at the same time, she was faced with the obvious...Dorian had not left so much as a single hint to his whereabouts or intentions, thus suggesting that he wished to remain as untraceable and secret as the wind in all it's travels.

All we really have is our animals and our family. Vanator's words of wosdom thrummed through her mind, and her heart both lifted and sank at the thought of them. The companionship of Ivar was a blessing on this cold road into foreign territory, and the pursuit of her brother gave her purpose. Without such purpose, she'd have no family...Her father was gone, lost to an explanation that even her brother could not offer without a show of resentment or anger. Gone with him was everything her family had adhered honor to. Though the mercy of other families and friends among her people was great, her only option had she stayed was to pursue an offer of marriage, to bind herself to one of the more prosperous families, so that she may live out her days in comfort and security. Which might as well not be an option at all, Eva thought cynically, for the odds of her returning so that such an event might take place were scarce indeed.

All she had left was Dorian...and the hope that he needed her help as badly as she believed him to.