Oops...Sorry for the length...got carried away just kept going and going and goingThe past was indeed a terribly frightening thing for him to share. He had been reluctant at first; but he needed someone like him. Not a Konti, nor Akalak could understand him like he needed. They all lived hundreds of years, and viewed him no better than a bug on the ground at times. There was little he could do about that, here among these large men he was nothing; quite a different feeling then in Mura. These races lived different kinds of lives than he did. He could only speculate on how the mortal races were used as pawns in these two peoples games. For breeders, and wombs. The Akalak needed women for a womb. They even had a special class dedicated to the women who were charged with having their children…Nakivak. He pushed the thought from his mind and shook his head slightly as he tried to get himself concentrating again…Ishara.
Even in the red light her vibrant eyes showed through it. An anchor in a way for him to concentrate on, to bring his mind back here at what was. He set his almost obnoxiously heavy cloak on the back of his chair and took a seat across from her. He was unsure where to start; her glacial hues inquiring almost seemingly begging him to go on. Tell her his story, and at the same time it was like she really understood the weight it carried with him…if only she really knew. He took a breath and composed himself. His mind walking through what tattered memories he did possess. What to tell…what to hide. It was a delicate balance between too much and too little. He couldn’t divulge everything, not here he wasn’t comfortable here; and one didn’t just simply divulge their deepest and darkest secrets in a tavern to someone they hardly knew. That would take time.
He would have to trust her; and right now he just wasn’t sure. He would start with what he vividly remembered. After the slave camp, after the scars. He would start with Mura. Because that was where
his story started. That was where Serrif was born and created. Where he took the name without even knowing what he was creating. He didn’t know who he was before the isle besides a simple number; a number was not a name.
“I set foot in Mura over a year ago by chance on a merchant vessel. I didn’t think a place like it could exist. Such places I can imagine are the cannon of children’s stories and fables.” He drew both of the ornate daggers on his chest and set it on the table with the side of the dagger facing up, the ornate bloodgroves on the dagger oriented so Ishara could see the pictures they formed.
These works of art told some of the story, helped draw visual pictures that Serrif himself could not. There was no way he could just simply convey the beauty of Mura to her. He couldn’t find the words without making it seem unreal; but Mura was just that…unreal beauty. The pictures were carved as ornate accentuation's in the Isurian Steel blades. Gently depicting some of the more famous landmarks in Mura. The two that were visible right now were the bay and the south tower also known as Rak’keli’s tower. The bay was a wonderful view even in the gentle bloodgrooves, subtle and peaceful looking. It was enough for her mind to draw an adequate picture for her. The South Tower however…it was more than elegant even with the grooves of the dagger. It depicted a wonderfully constructed tower with what appeared to be a small room at the very top, there was after all a balcony overlooking the whole of Mura. These daggers were more than just functional.
Everything about them started to tell her more and more about this man. The handles were made of carefully pieced together shells with a wonderful sparkling coating of alabone, then the separate pieces of shell were secured in place by thin strips of gold and the entire handle was dipped in molten glass giving it a completely smooth flawless surface finish. These daggers weren’t meant to be intimidating or rough. No they were elegant and definitely created at the hands of a woman…yet the killing potential of the sharp stiletto point was evident. These daggers could kill; much like him. She may not understand it right now, but these daggers were an extension of him, much like the Akalak men and the Lanaks they carried. These daggers reminded him of Mura…of where he found himself.
“The bay and the south tower, also known as Rak’keli’s tower. She resides there in her suite at the top when she is among the Konti and her sister Avalis. The isle holds beauty that is second to nowhere. Everything pure white with wonderful hints of the sea if it be seaglass, shells or coral taken from the shore.” All this was leading into what he was feeling he needed to tell her, how far would he go…how far?
There was an inner struggle here; if she knew what and who he was she could make him dance like a puppet. Pull on his heart strings and make him suffer. With a slight spurring on inside he decided to continue; she was mortal like he was. She would understand in ways the others could not.
“I worked in the Opal Temple, healing with herbs, medicine and however else.”
He turned the dagger with the South Tower on it over and on the other side of the blade was a depiction of the Opal Temple in shallow bloodgrooves. He was getting closer now to what he wanted to tell her. Little by little he was forming the pieces. Every little puzzle piece fit together well but so much of it was incomplete. So much was still missing; so he continued on. Putting the pieces on the table and gently guiding her to where they fit in the overall picture of who he was.
“However, unknowingly I had been drinking Vision Water for a decent amount of my stay in Mura. And on day I slipped into chaos. Painting horrible nightmarish pictures of my past in vivid detail. I slipped between reality and hallucinations for ten days time. And during this time I acted…unbecoming of myself. When I finally came to I had found who I really was. I…” Should he continue from here? There was still more to tell leaving her at this point would be rude.
“While in my maddened state I stumbled into a childrens ward, knocked over a candle and started a fire. But then beat the fire out with my own two hands and carried the children to safety. I bumped into a woman carrying a tray with a knife on it, which plunged into her flesh. I also carried her to a healer. Then my mentor Ildin came after me as I ran up the stairs of the South Tower looking for Rak’keli. I didn’t know where I was and knocked through her door and in my maddened state…I actually looked like I was going to attack the goddess herself. However I was stopped by her guardian serpents winding themselves around my body. Still though in the end I fought myself to not plunge a dagger into her body for reasons I am still unsure of. However I learned of her grace. She knew I could fight away my darker urges to do harm in order to do good. She touched me, and cured the madness from my body and then she marked me, and I was sent on a mission from the Order to gather information for the library.” He nodded and left the daggers in her sight for her to inspect further. But by this time she was likely less interested in the daggers.
But the puzzle was only a third of the way done. So many pieces were not present for her. Where was he before the isle? Why in his madness did he act like he did? And where did this inner darker self come from who obviously wished to do harm when he only wanted to do good. Pieces were missing her response to what he had said so far would determine just how much further he was willing to go. But he decided it would be best for her to ‘see’ the mark now. So he rolled up his right sleeve and undid a few belts and buckles to loosen the bodysuit from around his right arm. Then slowly he rolled up the sleeve. There were a few things she would notice before the opalescent mark came into view. He had other marks, but they were not gnosis marks.
Scars around his wrist like one would expect from poor fitting iron restraints; but only after months of being poorly restrained. There were others, lateral dagger like scarring and slashes as well. One could only get them from fights…or worse…torture. Horrible prolonged torture using strange and somewhat foreign tools. But finally among the battlefield she would see the wonderful swirling sigil mark of Rak’keil. It extended all the way from just above his wrist to his inner elbow. That was what she saw him touch, that was what had produced the glowing light. In all Rak’keli had decided to mark him loudly , so that her mark could be visible even among the other scars.
“She marked me, knowing well who I was. What I was and that I would heal no matter the cost. I am one of her marked now. But not yet part of her order.” 
