[Flashback] Roots in the Sea [Sable]

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: 31 Summer, 506. Morning sometime. Location: Kalista Island/The Temple of Laviku The sun had already risen, rays dancing off the relatively calm morning waters with blinding brightness. Giant, puffy clouds hugged the gentle curve of the horizon, promising a flashy summer storm by the afternoon, and the day had been hot even before the dawn. The night previous had been moonless and windy. Pash'nar was restless again (or always, really), and he willingly allowed himself to drift off course in the dark, under the stars. While he normally avoided any temple, let alone Laviku's, the magic-sculpted rock of an island had peeked up on the horizon and was growing steadily closer with or without his permission. Thus far, he held the god of the sea no grudge ... not like some others. Pash moored his rickety old (but loyal and comfortable) casinor further from the smattering of other various ships that littered the docks, not because he was embarrassed of the thing but because he tended to value his privacy come sundown. Or sunup, for that matter. Even before he'd finished tying all his knots, he'd debated turning 'round and heading back the way he came more than a few times in his head. He'd been where gods dwelt before, but somehow this place was still different. The dark-haired navigator also felt somewhat safer under the light of Syna, as if the mortal veil of Svefra flesh earned him some kind of favor here. Running calloused fingers over the cold, still-damp stone of the strange tunnel that marked the passage from sea to temple, Pash'nar took his time admiring the sheer power of magic (and possibly faith) that it must have taken to create such a place on the rocky island. The structure was perfectly constructed—it seemed to dampen internal sound while magnifying the rhythmic constant of the waves. Sure, he'd heard the sound before (for decades now), but never in such a way. He might have walked slower on purpose, but the tunnel ended soon enough, spitting him back out into the heat and the bright morning sun. He squinted, raising an inked hand to shield cerulean eyes and stood in place for a long time in quiet awe. Sweat made a lazy trail down his spine, rolling over the beautiful and intricate manta ray that spanned the space between his shoulder blades, only to be caught in the breeze that ruffled his vest and set baubles of sea glass tinkling in his hair. Everything that was not rock was green and growing, vibrant with life like Laviku's realm itself. Pash still had flickers of memories that reminded him of how gods lived. This place was remarkably not as fallen as himself. OOCSorry, I'm a dork and can't bump into people to start a thread.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

“Do you even know where you are?” asked a voice like the zesty drip of a fresh water spring. It came from behind him as he peered around at the mouth of the tunnel. Sable pushed thick loam over a bulb and unfolded from a luscious patch of vegetation. She was tall and too skinny, like the thin stretch of fibrous stalk belonging to the long flowers she’d knelt among. Dark soil clung to knobby knees and sprinkled from her palms as she brushed them against one another. Her bare feet pattered against warm stone, wriggling toes delighting in the transition from cool, nurturing earth to solid strength. Dark curls just starting to lighten under the ministrations of summertime Syna billowed around narrow features, and she brushed vestiges of her morning activity from a thin linen shirt. The girl watched Pash with an unblinking stare. Like a wild sprite, essence of sea caught fast within a trap of earthly flesh, she advanced on the temple’s visitor. Here, as nowhere else, Sable felt the connection between Laviku and Semele. She felt the pull of surf over its cradle of bedrock, and luxuriated in the accessibility of their patron god. And here, she noticed the awe with which this man engaged their temple. It wasn’t the expectant awe of returning home, of bathing in the comforting lull of the sea. His discovery was different from all of those that had come before.

[Pash'nar]

Reverie shattered by small, curious words, the inked sailor blinked, looking for the source of the question. He watched something living blossom from the landscaping. Greenery yielded to sun-kissed limbs and a young girl appeared from the undergrowth as if she'd been planted there. Two pairs of tide pool eyes met and it took a moment for Pash to answer, his salt-carved jaw working silently in hesitance before words seemed willing to pour forth, quiet above the crashing waves, "Aye," lines creased a still-young face as he quipped in broken Common, "I'm far from home, an' yet somehow I ain't." The dark-haired navigator winked just then, but he wasn't fast enough to completely conceal the distance in his gaze when he spoke, this time relaxing into the more comfortable syllables and motions of Fratava, "And you, are you from here?" Surely, the lanky youth was still too young to be a priestess. Then again, the gods did have minds of their own.

OOCA little short, but I think it'll be a good pace. No rush. I'm too excited to worry about how long it takes for you to reply! Hooray.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Like the nod of a heavy dandelion, Sable’s head bobbed to the side. His confused longing for home, emotions that bubbled to the surface where he thought they evaporated with a pop, instead sank back into crests of unblinking sea depth. A link to Pash’s true self, a piece that she may never fit into a larger picture of him, but hers nonetheless, gone, swallowed as surely as any rock in water. As though cued by his return to Fratava, the gangly girl swayed forth on briny breeze and led him further along the path to the temple proper. “I am home,” she said, feet padding over worn stone as only those with intimate knowledge of each jagged crack and gritty stub could. She led him through the entranceway to the temple, pausing momentarily to wave Caspian away as the young priest perked up at the patter of guests. Guiding Pash along, as though he’d been brought to the island for whatever purpose lay at the end of this walk, the placid girl led them down a sloping passage into the island itself. When they neared the end of the unbroken hall, where natural light struggled to reach, the sea urchin swept aside a tapestry of seashells. They tinkled, high and melodious before a gravelly rush drowned out the tranquil sound. The chamber, dark but glowing from somewhere, reverberated with the growl, it was damp and rough hewn. The sound faded and with it glittering illumination strengthened. Light came up through an irregular gap in the floor, and painted sea motions across the ceiling, having reflected off water into the chamber. Sable drew Pash forward, and several decorations appeared out of the stone. Seating had been formed into the walls, and a wide channel cut in segments circling the glittering gap. “Caspian says you drifted here,” she said, voice drifting in and out of water giggles emanating with the light. “Do you know why?”

[Pash'nar]

The dark-haired navigator hesitated at the girl's mention of home. This place certainly didn't carry the same meaning for him, not at all. It was familiar none-the-less, in a distant way that spoke more to the haunting dreams of his past existence(s) than his current one. Still, he followed the youth, allowing her to lead him through the magically-carved turns and tunnels of the island temple without any vocal objections. He ran inked fingers through the seashell curtain, stepping after the girl, feeling the depth of sound created by the room they found themselves in reverberate in his chest. Pash'nar heard the question, but didn't answer right away. He watched the light dance over stone and water, cerulean eyes lingering on the darkness instead. Tattooed shoulders rose and fell, rolling like the waves, "Storm's coming." He thumbed his nose and finally looked at the gangly youth, unsure of the truth that she was looking for, "And I didn't have anything better to do." Well, was that it, then? Had he really thought so shallowly of his mooring at a place where fleshly creatures met with the divine? Surely, he understood—or at least sympathized—with such an idea. Well, it was more than empathy. Salty air clung to his damp skin. He resisted the urge to scratch between his shoulder blades. "I was curious." He added, quietly, finding himself unable to hold the much younger creature's gaze.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

The cave-like chamber swallowed his first answer. The navigator’s voice simply shrank as though each air particle it caressed took a teeny piece of each word until nothing remained. His guide gave proportional acknowledgement. Bronzed skin cast in a web of flickering light, she moved around the chamber to stop opposite Pash. Her bare feet scraped wetly over gritty stone. Blue eyes popped with luminescent glow, Laviku’s essence filling her as though he’d taken two handfuls of turquoise waters over white sand in the full strength of Syna and poured them into her eyes. They were the only part of her solid in the shifting illumination. Upon his second attempt, that bright gaze found him. It softened. In the weeks that she spent here every summer, demographics came easily. Most of the men and women that ventured to pay homage to Laviku knew what they were doing. Some just wanted to see the temple, and a few were lost. Like Pash. “Most are,” a smile caressed her voice. “Go ahead and lay down.” Sable gestured to a channel cut closest to him. It was roughly his size, and deep enough that his nose wouldn’t breach the plane of the chamber floor. Light faded and that deep rumble started as a faint rush and closed in. “Wait until you’re covered before opening your eyes.” Sable lowered her lanky frame into a channel like his. Around them, the noise that had first greeted them was at its peak, reverberating through their palpating hearts. In the center of the chamber, a spout exploded, but it wasn’t visible save for only the briefest of quicksilver glints, sparkling unpredictably up and down the thick water tower. Fat and happy brine drops showered them. Beneath them, a trick of the architecture, water bubbled, popping and massaging like a whirlpool. The water cradled them, lifting them off the bottom as though they were embraced within Laviku’s palm. When guests opened their eyes the water glowed a vibrant sunny azure with silvery bubbles tumbling in shimmer. The Temple disappeared, land disappeared, and nothing existed save for the Water Father and his possibilities. His inclusiveness, welcoming anything within his depths, throwing up no barriers, extended to them within this small moment of his attention. It lasted several chimes, breath easily attainable and encouraged throughout. The channels drained slowly, noise dampening, and the room returned to that flickering, quiet place it had been for their short exchange. Sable didn’t move until he did, granted he had partook of the ceremony, and lurched dripping to her feet. “Welcome to Kallista Island. I’m Sable,” she finally greeted with warm affection, his participation opening some door to her heart. “Would you like to meet Caspian, the priest here? He can sate your curiosity on all things Laviku or Temple.”

[Pash'nar]

Pash had always felt uncomfortable around children, more so because in this lifetime, he had never been a child. Nor did he remember the childhood of his mortal seeming. If he had, he wasn't sure it would have mattered. Something about youth evaded him most of the time anyway. This one, this lanky blonde thing he willingly allowed to lead him around, was no exception to his discomfort. It was probably the whole island that made him uncomfortable, however, and the girl was just the wind in the sails. The tattooed navigator listened to her instructions, distracted slightly by their surroundings. The noise, the texture, the motions of the chamber kept his eyes from focusing on the young Svefra. Still, he wasn't so intimidated to ignore her request. He was just a little more timid than suited his appearance. He watched Sable's example, clambering with obvious caution into the channel. The water was not the issue. The meaning of it may have been. Was the experience supposed to be pleasant? Pash'nar was reminded of waking up on shore just a few fistfuls of centuries ago. Sure, Laviku had caught his pale, glowing form as he fell from the rip in the seam of the heavens. Sure, Laviku had kept brine from filling his lungs and his time from being as brief as a few heartbeats. Sure, Laviku had allowed him relative peace in his realm since that day. His grudge wasn't with the god of the sea. The memory still rubbed a bit of salt in the old wound anyway. The brief moment in silence and water and light left him longing for a place he hardly remembered. He might have felt welcomed, comforted, encouraged, but the bitter taste in the back of his mouth was from his own burden instead of the glorious experience. The water drained away and he was slow to move. The cool, rough edges of the channel's stone pressed against bare, inked skin and he sighed. He at least felt comfortable at sea. Almost at home. But not quite. Was it only because of this mortal seeming that dawn clothed him in? Was it only because of memories that haunted him? Did he find some comfort in Laviku's realm solely because it was the only thing that still felt familiar? Maybe. Where else was there for him to go? Slowly, he blinked. The blonde youth was speaking to him. It took some effort to sit up and climb out of the channel, and his eyes focused on Sable reluctantly. "Pash'nar," he replied by way of introduction, feeling a little pleasantly overwhelmed by her sudden warmth. He was sure she was too young to know the night sky reference his name represented, and he wondered if she would feel the need to ask about a surname. He had none, of course, unassociated with a customary pod. The hint of a smile creased its way into his ageless, wind-swept features, but he still felt far away in his own thoughts, "I s'pose. I don't want to bother anyone." Perhaps he did, a little. Would a priest really have any answers for the false Svefra? He would have to have questions first.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Sable nodded slightly at Pash’s answer, taking his elbow and guiding back to the temple proper. Thick ropes of slick hair dangled down the girl’s back, and simple clothing clung in wet embrace. They left wet prints as the hallway dried out the further they ascended. “We can just look around for now,” she suggested, having picked up on his slight vacancy. His discovery was different. His reaction to the bubble chambers hadn’t been quite right, either. Glancing at him sidelong, she smiled slightly and led them past Caspien. The young priest nodded, looking about ready to speak before they disappeared through an archway. “He always objects when I take people down to the bathing chamber and neglect to tell them the purpose of the room,” she admitted deadpan, hands clasped behind her back and turning her face away from the lush vegetation spilling over from the courtyard into their path.” “But I don’t think you would have enjoyed the experience any more had I asked you to disrobe and scrub my back.” That wide eyed stare pinned him again, faint mischief surfacing for only a moment, like some leviathan’s silvery silhouette far beneath a ship. The dripping pair passed into open air. She almost pointed out that he’d left his will to Laviku’s currents and the god had chosen to bring him here. Too heavy handed. “You’re Svefra. Almost.”

[Pash'nar]

The tattooed sailor's eyes widened incredulously at the girl's joke. Well. Was it a joke? Her expression stayed flat, but he was still wet, dripping, and slightly confused. He stood still for a moment, trying to decide if he felt like laughing. Did she take the liberty to introduce all the visitors she got her little hands on the same way? Children were strange, but in a way that often left him more amused than angry. He laughed anyway, a sound worn by salt water and wind, welcoming a breath of fresh air from what he felt was too much spiritual seriousness. For him, anyway, it didn't take much, "I suppose I needed one." Pash added with a half-hearted sneer, finely-inked hands reaching up to fidget with the now-thorough mess of his dark-haired top knot, "But, petch, you could've just asked." Her comment cut his laughter short, and his smile lingered for a few heartbeats involuntarily before a more serious expression rose to the surface of his unaging features, "Not almost. Was." The navigator answered the gangly youth, tide pool gaze focusing reluctantly on her sun-kissed face, "I was a Svefra once, some time ago that I don't remember. I died, I suppose, and when I slipped from Leth's fingers, that Svefra's body washed back on shore with new breath in his lungs but an old heart in his chest." Pash'nar was not one for poetics, but sometimes, he waxed a little. It was the wear of time more than anything purposeful, however. He shifted on bare feet, toes curling in the green and the dirt, fingers still tangled in dark, wet hair and sea glass beads, "I look Svefra—" His tone was self-depreciating, and it was obvious that was just the sea foam surface of his feelings on the matter. The tone of his words implied a much deeper chasm and swift currents washed over his heart when it came to what he was—who he was—and what he wasn't. He knew he'd lived his fistful of decades hardly leaving the sea like the skin he wore under Syna's light, but inside, he was too afraid to embrace any reality about a seeming he never asked to be forced to wear. His resentment had little to do with the suntanned flesh he wore by day or the memories that haunted it. The body and its quirks were agreeable enough—it was curious just how well he'd adopted it, had he been capable of objective thought on the matter. Waking up in the sea and never really being able to bring himself to leave it for long, adapting much of the same boat-led lifestyle without question. It was comfortable. Familiar. More home now than the shards of Ukalas memories he could sometimes conjure up in the dark, under the stars or glaring up at Leth's face hanging in the night sky. No, the ebb and flow of Laviku's realm was more a comfort too often, for he reserved the depths of his resentment for the wild, selfish god who'd let him fall in the first place, not the briney one who'd caught him all the same. Not that he knew how to put that into words. Not that he wasn't torn about where his loyalties—if he could even call any inklings of spirituality he possessed that sort of thing—seemed to have settled over the years. "—but even I'm not convinced I am one." Or could be, really, for that matter.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

His laughter stilled ruffled water, and Sable smiled, thanking Laviku for granting her momentary grace of wit. “You’re not,” Sable answered without missing a beat, leading from temple to shaded path. Unblinking stare sucked up their surroundings, leaving Pash’s identity turmoil for himself. His voice curled around her ears, though, and those delicate pink shells missed nothing. Least of all how easily he’d opened up after the mood had lightened. Their feet padded against warm stone, so unyielding and stable beneath bodies bred for swaying seas. Rustling leaves, chattering at them in the breeze, soared above the steady crash of waves. “Caspien said that Laviku is familiar with your vessel, its hull has parted his waters for a long time with the same sailor at its helm. Leth must keep you from him at night, though, for him not to have noticed the one with horns.” Her knowledge of Ethaefal was limited, just the basic idea. All Svefra knew to look out for them, so that, at the very least, they didn’t run them over with their ships. She had yet the pleasure of having to dodge one. “Or maybe he doesn’t differentiate between the body you claim doesn’t belong to him and the one he kept from smashing into rock.” They came to a quiet lagoon, Riemanced path switch backing through steep cliff before depositing them on a picturesque beach. Syna had worked her heat through the fine grains until each step felt a deliberate massage. Sable peeled off and moved to a nook carved in the craggy face. She pulled out a fishing net, spear, a pole and a small basket, one pair of goggles. “You’ll need these,” she said, handing off the latter tool. Only a guess, but she imagined he hadn’t been granted Laviku’s mark and the blessings associated. “And here’s these.” He’d find net, spear and pole pressed into his chest. Pash had been so amenable thus far that the little sprite felt no qualms leading him to the edge of the fishing hole. “Caspien will be joining us for breakfast.” As though on cue, the priest appeared further down the beach but didn’t near. “He’s promised to show me edible shore vegetation this morning,” she told him, moving away. Eyes the sea deep took in his tattoos and hair, lingering on his broken soul before the lanky youth turned away. Coming to Caspien’s side, the priest smirked at her. “You can’t beat him over the head with it,” he said quietly, leading her toward leafy greens smeared along the edge of the water. “What? If I was beating him over the head with it I’d just tell him flat out that he was fighting a losing battle. I think he might be melodramatic. Then I’d go sink his antique and force him to accompany my pod around the Suvan. Anyway, I did—“ her voice suddenly cut out, it had been projecting quite volubly across the water to the subject of their conversation. She threw a scrutinizing glare Pash’s way, to see if he’d caught her words. She waved blithely. “Anyway, I don’t know how to manage to get people to understand the things that you understand without just telling them outright,” she continued, too quiet to overhear. Caspien sat on his haunches in ankle deep water, drawing his pupil down with him. “See this, with the thick curl and finely shaped leaves? Anything you find like this you can eat.” He picked one of the nubbins and popped it in his mouth. “If you just tell them what you know without leading them along a sensible thought process to get there, they’ll just be following you through blind faith, if they believe you at all. Besides, you haven’t even scratched the surface with this one.” Sable frowned. “I’ve sure done a lot of work for just scratching the surface.” She followed his lead, chomping down and reaching for something that could have been a distant cousin to their current snack. Caspien nodded approval and plucked it from her fingers to eat. He then led her deeper, picking up stray kelp strands and showing her which were good. His charge stripped off a few and tucked them away in the basket, followed by several of the two nubbins they’d already been snacking on. “You haven’t even got that far, Sable. And I doubt you will. When he’s ready, he’ll come to me.” It took him a few moments to realize the sprite wasn’t following along. He turned back, cocking a brow at her offended expression. When she suddenly turned and waded away toward Pash again, he looked bemused, a little worried, but went back to collecting breakfast. “Hey! Pash!” She approached via shore, for fear of disturbing the fish too much should he be having any luck with any of the three methods she’d offered. He, after all, wasn’t terribly confidence inspiring. “Look, you’re not Svefra because we’re nothing if not a family. We’re not the only humans that sail the seas, or the only ones with tattoos, or animal companions. We’re Svefra because our brothers and sisters are Svefra. The heart that beats in your chest doesn’t change the body it belongs to. This body belongs to us, to Laviku, and we want it back. Stop being selfish.” As mysteriously as she’d appeared to him that morning, melting out of the garden, she disappeared again. Well, it would have been mysterious and elegant had she not thrown her basket of sea vegetables down in a shower of sand and whirled away to stomp off toward the temple. Arms waved and head wiggled, snatches of rant drifting back on the breeze toward the two men.