[Flashback] Bestest Birthday (Solo)

[Colt]

23rd of Fall, 498 AV “Easy, boy. Lean back. Relax. One hand on the yvas, one on your leg. No, keep it there.” The day was overcast, but summer’s warmth still sat comfortably on the grasslands. Breezes danced with each other, tousling the hair of the two travelers. One was tall and defined with lean strength, who sat atop his horse with practiced ease. His companion was a boy with light brown hair and a face still round with baby fat, who sat atop his horse with distinctly unpracticed unease. He fidgeted fearfully, doing his best to follow the man’s instructions without toppling from his position. Despite the obvious age difference, they rode abreast of each other like equals. Or perhaps it was the man making sure the boy didn’t kill himself. Daha’s hand shot like a snake to catch Khasr’s arm before he fell, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation with the other. When he was quite sure that the boy was not going to die, the hunter took one of the child’s hands and placed it in the correct position on the yvas and moved the other one to the correct position on his leg. Suddenly, as if by magic, Khasr was stable in his seat. “Oh…” Daha’s glare eliminated the need for sarcasm.

[Colt]

It was Khasr’s birthday. His mentor had “commandeered” him two days before, and they were now heading east. Beyond that, however, Khasr had no idea, and he had long since learned that questions must be asked carefully if Daha was to give a straight answer. He was riding a calm old pinto mare that seemed totally unaffected by the boy’s multiple fiascos, but she was following Daha’s big black stallion more than she was going where Khasr told her to. Daha pulled up and the mare stopped. Khasr waited for him to speak. “Where should we rest?” he asked. Khasr scanned the horizon, and after half a minute he pointed to a tree in the distance. “Why?” Daha asked. “Trees mean shade and water, and sometimes animals if we’re hungry,” the boy rattled off. Daha nodded in approval and spurred his mount forward.

[Colt]

Khasr dismounted gratefully but ungracefully, then followed the older hunter in leading his mount to drink from the stream beneath the tree. When the horses had claimed their fill they walked over to the tree, a tall oak, and sat in the shade. Daha sighed as he reclined against the trunk, and Khasr lay quietly on his back next to him. The two of them were silent. There was nothing to say. In the quiet, a faint whistling drifted over the plains, to faint to hear if not trying to listen. It bore the skeleton of a tune, existing, yet too quiet to truly identify, and Khasr felt something deep within him. It was a feeling as cool as summer rain, gentle as the flap of a butterfly’s wing, and as sweet as a single, crystalline drop of honey. It flooded his senses, yet was still unbearably quiet. It felt as if he was the song. “What is that?” he asked, voice the barest whisper. “That,” Daha replied, tone equally quiet, “That is the Song of Rakivas.” “Rakivas?” the boy asked. The hunter turned his head, eyeing the child incredulously. “Surely you know of him.” “I do, but… how?” “You’ve not heard the story?” “Well…” Khasr looked away, “…not all of it.” He looked at his companion hopefully. The man sighed. “Then listen up, boy. I’ll not tell this story again.”

[Colt]

Almost five hundred years ago, the world was at war. The gods fought, and their blood fell from the Ukalas like rain. This land was once mountains and rivers and trees, but in the throes of battle it was torn and burned until it was nothing but ash. The people, fearing for their lives, prayed for respite, and Semele heard them. She swallowed them, keeping them safe inside her, and provided them with the bounty of the underground to keep them alive. And they waited. What? Of course I don’t know what they ate, Semele just provided for them. Don’t ask questions. The godwar was coming to an end, and the earth goddess was very sad. All around her, everything was broken and bloody. She could not imagine anything ever being beautiful again, and she protected the people in her womb even more fiercely, determined to never let their beauty die. She would make sure they survived even if nothing else did. Her lover, Zulrav, did not like to see her so sad. He told her that life always goes on, and that everything would heal, but Semele would hear none of it. Unable to comfort her with reason, the god of the wind began to sing. He sang and sang, and eventually Semele began to sing with him. At first her voice was soft and sad, but Zulrav’s tune of hope slowly made her spirits rise. Her voice became stronger, more determined, and together they created a symphony of wind and earth. As they sang, breezes and dirt mixed and mingled, and as the song reached climax a foal burst forth. The claybank colt looked around, seeing the ashes of the land, and decided that such a thing would not do. And so, it did what every horse is born to do: it ran. Every footstep gave Semele joy, and wherever it strode grass spring up, and every whip of its little tail gave Zulrav joy, and so wherever it ran wind blanketed the land. The song is still sung, and it will never fade so long as wind blows through the grass of Cyphrus.

[Colt]

“You can only hear it if you’re a Drykas,” Daha finished uneliquently. “But… what if you’re a different race?” Khasr asked breathlessly. His mentor looked at him. “The Drykas are those born on the Sea of Grass. Race has nothing to do with it. You must be tied to the web to hear it, for the web is where the song lingers.” They fell into silence again. The ghostly melody had faded, and Khasr felt loss tug at his heart. “Even if you are a Drykas, you can’t always hear it. It’s been five hundred years, after all.” Khasr sighed, and his mentor chuckled. “Come on, boy. We’re not there yet.” “Not where?” Daha didn’t answer, only smirked as he mounted his stallion.

[Colt]

“We’re just about there there.” Khasr jumped as Daha’s voice broke the silence. They had been riding for the better part of an hour and every one of the boy’s attempts at finding out where they were going was either answered unhelpfully or not at all, and after he’d given up all speech had ceased. So, at this new conversation, Khasr decided to ask an indirect question. “How far?” Daha’s eyes were sparkling when he looked over his shoulder. “Just over that ridge there.” Khasr looked to where he had indicated, and when he listened he jumped when he realized that he could hear noise. A lot of noise. Voices and horses and metal and leather and steam. They came to the top of the hill, and Daha chuckled as his companion looked out across the land with wonder. “Boy… welcome to Endrykas.”

[Colt]

Everywhere he looked Khasr saw something new. There were tents everywhere, all selling things. There was pottery, clothing, food, livestock, leather, armor, rugs, even flowers. And the people… he had never seen so many people in his life. He stuck close to his mentor, as close as possible without physically touching him. Everything was loud, very loud, sights and sounds and smells crushing in on him. A hand on his shoulder. He looked up into dark grey eyes. “Alright there?” Daha asked. Khasr swallowed and tried to nod, but it became more of a twitch. “This way.” Daha pulled him between two tents. “Sit down.” The boy did so, so relieved he didn’t even notice the pain of how sharply he sank to the ground. Daha knelt next to him, rubbing his back patiently as Khasr put his head in his hands. The painful throbbing and blood rushing through his ears slowly subsided, and he allowed himself to just sit there, resting. “Ho there, friend.” Khasr was too tired to be startled at the unfamiliar voice, despite the fact that he hadn’t heard any approaching footsteps. The city was simply too noisy for that. “Ho there,” Daha responded cautiously. “I don’t think—great Zulrav, is that boy alright?” “A little claustrophobia.” “Ooh, that’s not a good thing for this place.” “We gathered that.” “So, er… I haven’t seen you two around before.” “That might be because we haven’t been around here before.” Khasr grinned into his knee as the stranger shifted awkwardly. The silence became uncomfortable until the stranger had an idea. “Hey, if you need to go somewhere I can help you. I know every layout of these tents there is, and I can get you places without too many people.” Daha fell into the silence that meant he was thinking, and Khasr nudged him discreetly. The huntsman nodded. “Sounds good.”

[Colt]

Khasr looked up to Daha’s extended hand. He clasped it with his own and was hoisted to his feet. He kept the grip as he swayed slightly, but retained his stance in a few moments. Once stable, he turned to look at the stranger. The first thing Khasr noticed was that the man was pale. Very pale. His limbs were long and thin, he had a startling shock of platinum blonde hair, and looked to be somewhere in his thirties. His eyes, however, were the deepest blue he had eves seen. They were the color of the sky on a summer day. Khasr smiled weakly at the man, who beamed back. He turned his gaze back to Daha and held out a hand. “Sravan Jewelcarpet, Ruby clan.” “Daha. Emerald,” Daha replied curtly, making no move to shake his hand. Khasr caught Sravan’s eye, trying to convey apology through his gaze. The man saw it and nodded. He might have been trying to be subtle, but the shift in Daha’s weight let Khasr know that the hunter had caught it. “This way,” the Ruby clansman said, turning. As they started after him, Khasr tugged on Daha’s sleeve and signed. His mentor nodded and pulled back while the boy pulled ahead. Sravan turned and smiled at his new companion. “Sorry. He doesn’t trust easily.” “Think nothing of it,” the man assured, waving dismissively. Looking back, he lowered his voice. “Is he always like that?” Khasr knew that Daha could hear them, but humored his new friend. “Most of the time,” he whispered back. Sravan chuckled. “I pity you.” “I don’t.” Sravan gave him a confused look, and Khasr smiled mysteriously as he returned to his mentor’s side.

[Colt]

Sravan was leading them to a place called “the Whet Stone” at Daha’s request. Khasr thought it sounded like some kind of eatery, but he wasn’t even sure what a whetstone was. “Here we are.” They had stopped on at the head of one of the paths that lead into the main street. Daha tossed Sravan a grimy miza. “Here.” Sravan shook his head and held it out. “I assure you, I didn’t do this to get paid.” “If you had, I wouldn’t be paying you.” Take it, Khasr signed from behind him. Sravan nodded. “Thank you,” he said graciously. Daha grunted and pulled Khasr into the street. They were suddenly surrounded by moving people once again, but it was more manageable this time, and Khasr found security in Daha’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him. The crowd was thinner, and it was a mere few moments before they emerged into an open space. Khasr gawked, and felt Daha smirk. He let the boy stare for a few seconds, then turned to face him. “Remember what I’ve told you. You need one close-range weapon and one far-ranged weapon.” Khasr nodded, and Daha stepped aside. “Then choose.”

[Colt]

Khasr wandered between the rows upon rows of weapons, looking reverently at each and every one of them. A woman, most likely the shopkeeper, approached and exchanged a few words with Daha before turning to him. “Now,” she said, “let’s see if we can’t find something that suits you.” She took a sword from one of the tables and handed it to him hilt-first. He grasped it, and when she let go it immediately clunked to the ground. He strained and heaved it into the air, trying his best to imitate what he had seen Daha do with his own sword. The hunter chuckled and stepped in, stopping Khasr’s swing. “No, you’re definitely not a swordsman,” he assured, amused. Khasr sadly relinquished it. “Try this,” the woman said, handing him a little spear. Khasr took it and tested the wait, trying to look like he knew what he was doing, then twirled it. It felt better than the sword. He looked up to see the woman with a thoughtful expression, but Daha was shaking his head. The woman looked at him plaintively. “Oh, come now. He did a decent spin.” Daha shook his head again and took the spear away. “No. This is not for him, either.” “Well, how about this, then?” She handed him a staff. The boy stared at it for a full ten seconds, wondering how it worked, before it was taken as well. The woman sighed. “Let’s see if the rangers shine for him.” They were led through a different side of the tent, this one filled with long-range weapons of all sorts, shapes, and sizes, to an open space at the very back where a lonely target stood out of the way. The woman started small, handing Khasr a sling. He’d seen such things before and knew how they were used, and so he tried to swing it around. He did not succeed. He got some more shaking heads and the weapon was removed from his possession and replaced with a small axe. Both Daha and the woman shuffled well out of the way as he wound up for a mighty throw, and— —dropped it. The two adults let out large sighs of relief and swiped the axe before Khasr could try it again. Next was a bow. It was just his size, but he couldn’t even draw it back halfway. It was taken away before he popped a vein in his forehead, and he was given a few minutes for his face to return to normal. After three more, Khasr was very irritable, and stomped off to be by himself. He plopped down between the tables, unwilling to go too far from his mentor, and hid his burning face in his arm.