[Ridge] Elevation (Ronan)

[Oluse]

As Ronan's explanation stretched steadily on Oluse's irises darkened in pace. From confusion to outright fear...

it took a long moment before Oluse finally attempted to bolt up, taking a clumsy step away from Ronan. The movement resembled a small cascade of step finally coming to a shaking halt as he reached the side of the cliff.

His heart leapt to his throat, his pulse increased and hand tightened around his jerky. Magic... Ronan had been using magic, looking into some unseen force, and likely altering it. There was no saying what Ronan had divined, and what he would do with this information. Just the same, Oluse's fear did not originate in logic, but in upbringing. Magic was dangerous, all kinds. He had still not grown accustomed to Rak'keli's gnosis used so freely, and he consciously approved of the goddess' wisdom and judgement.

He was only distantly aware of his back foot breaking through the dry patch of stone upon the ledge. The visage of Ronan seemed to ascend without warning upward toward the heavens. Oluse gasped as his arms flung out forward, only to have the breath snubbed in an instant as his diaphragm met with his own knee as he tried to remain upright and lean impossibly forward past his last grip on the edge.

His muscled were sluggish under the strain of his exerts to climb the ridge, and his lack of practice left his agility and balance null.

It felt very slow, the sensation as he began to slip backward, into the wound of the valley below.

[Ronan]

Ronan did not expect Oluse's reaction. His eyes lit up with fear, and he bolted up from the ground. At that point he must have slipped, for he stumbled backwards. Windmilling arms didn't help as he succumbed to the earth's pull and began to fall back.

Ronan nearly stumbled himself as he lurched forward. He moved quickly, rushing to the edge of the precipice with arms outstretched. His hands wrapped around Oluse's legs, so that he was almost hanging upside down. Ronan crouched to the ground, careful not to be pulled forward. With all his might he tried to pull Oluse back up. But he needed the boy to act of his own accord too.

"Stay strong," he said firmly, "can you reach your hands up and grab my arms or something?"

His words were garbled slightly by the strain of holding him. A droplet of sweat sidled across his brow.

Why did things like this always happen around him? He sighed a little. The Web couldn't have warned him of something like this. Something so unfortunate and yet life threatening.

He only hoped Oluse had the sense - and the strength - to act on Ronan's instructions. If he didn't... well, his position didn't owe well to Ronan continuing to hold him. And he might not be able to continue in such a position for much longer.

[Oluse]

Oluse went from irrationally wanting to be as far from the Drykas to grasping upward toward him in a matter of just a few short moments. No thoughts passed through him as he braced one now scraped hand against the steep ledge aside him, and the other fingertips stretched upward toward Ronan who couldn't spare another arm to grab with.

With a deep forced breath Oluse constricted his abdomen to bring himself higher, though even through the nerve deadening adrenaline now rushing through his blood his sore muscles refused his command. Failed he dropped back down, Ronan wavering dangerously above him.

Stubbornly he ignored the defeat and grabbed at the back of his own legs, bending his elbows and straining his biceps as he slowly drew himself up. It seemed to the boy like an eternity of burning agony and fear, but only ticks later he found his right hand firmly around the nape of Ronan's sweaty neck. With a heave and strong yank from the Drykas Oluse pulled his center of mass higher and the two sprawled back onto the side, Ronan still holding without thought to Oluse's arm for fear Oluse might take another random plunge if he let him go.

Oluse broke the contact first, yanking his arm from the Drykas who had saved him, stumbling back away from the edge. His mind raced and nothing but fear filled him. Ronan's help, his magic, it all bled together, the ledge, the sun above. Everything suddenly seemed dangerous to the young man.

"D-don't." His heavy Denvali dialect stuttered out in panic, the sound of his own voice pulling his mind forward somewhat. The sound seemed so odd, scratching, foreign, as if it spoke without his command.

His palms pressed against his own chest, as if confirming that he were truly still alive, emerald eyes glued wide on Ronan, as Oluse took another quick step backward.

The last of the dislodged stones finally collide with a distance shattering impact far below in the valley, and the recognition of the sound churned Oluse's stomach. He felt sick, as if he might regurgitate. He resisted and tried to address the fire still bumping through his body.

"You." He manged only in Denvali again before realizing his thoughts were still too scrambled to speak freely. He couldn't tell if he meant to say you saved me, or something about his use of magic. Had Ronan been the one to force him off the ledge, with invisible forces? No, Oluse told himself, Ronan was a good man, he wouldn't want Oluse dead. Nobody wanted Oluse dead. Unless, he needed Oluse for some magical spell. This would be the perfect time to kill Oluse off, now that they were finally away from the group.

But did he say all of the Drykas practiced this magic? Oluse's hands scrambled along his chest. Where was it? Hot metal met with the Denvali boy's hand as he found the whistle to strung about his chest, just above the thick waterskins strung there.

He grabbed at his life line, the whistle, and held it half way to his mouth. He did not sound it, not yet anyway.

His adrenaline slowly declined, and his mind raced with the new supply of blood to his mind. The caravan, the family they transported, were they in danger? Had the Drykas been the ones to kill their loved one?

No, he told himself. No.

"You're a witch?" Oluse let out suddenly this time in common speech, before he even registered that the question was coming. The words had an edge to them, loudly emanating from him, likely stretching in some diminished form down into the valley, as an incoherent echo returned from the opposite ridge.

Sweat held Oluse's hair to his forehead as he scanned the surrounding ground for a good sized stone. Could he take the Drykas man? He had a knife, and who knew what sorts of magic he could use. Ronan was between Oluse and the ledge though, that was an upper hand. Still, Ronan hadn't really tried to hurt him, did he? The questions seemed moot, he could not know, he could not even trust his own thoughts if Ronan was a mage.

[Ronan]

Oluse tried initially, but could barely lift himself. Ronan's heart pounded, visualising the boy falling at every turn. He strained trying to hold him, arms beginning to roar like fire.

The second time was more hopeful. Oluse took a different approach, and through using his arms, Ronan's neck, and a forceful pull from Ronan himself, they finally sprawled back onto the ledge. Ronan panted, relief welling inside him.

Suddenly Oluse broke away though, something dark and wild in his eyes. When he spoke in the negative, Ronan frowned. It sounded negative at least, the Common tempered slightly by what he presumed to be a Denvali dialect. What was wrong with him? Ungrateful little... Ronan had just saved his life!

All of a sudden, he was backing away and readying a whistle. Thunder touched his face. All happiness drained and changed to discordant fear and madness.

"A witch? What on Mizahar are you talking about!?" Ronan's voice lost its usual soft edge, more demanding in tone now. "I just saved your life, buck, maybe I should have left you dangling?" He didn't mean it. Ronan wasn't a harsh person, but he was simply in shock and disgust over the boy's outburst.

Suddenly, it clicked. He had heard witch used before, as an insult to those Drykas who had gone beyond the threshold of control. He was referring to Ronan's use of Webbing, but what had he done wrong exactly?

"The magick? Is that what you're referring to? Are you stupid? Truly, Oluse? I searched the Web for our safety!"

[Oluse]

oocOk, so yelling at Oluse, makes his brain explode as we are about to demonstrate for you all
Shame filled Oluse in equal measure with persisting fear. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and exertion a bright red in the sunlight, his eyes still pitched with a distinct shadowed emerald shade, stuck there as if they may never shift again. Not ever moving like true Vantha eyes.

He panted as his mind slowed, as he lowered his whistle and let it clink lightly against the weighty pendant bound around his neck, a reminder of his past, of his self inflicted curse. Ronan was right, was he not? Oluse was being an idiot, but he had been so afraid. His eyes burned as if something pressed into them from within, he knew instantly what this meant. It had happened again, his eyes changed, and with them emotions churned in his chest. He had truly begun to despise this peace of Avanthal which refused to let him loose no matter how far they ran. In fact, the frequency of the occurrences had been increasing steadily since the storm.

Diverting his eyes from Ronan he gave himself a long moment to piece out what to say, only one thing seemed appropriate. "I'm sorry, Ronan." It felt as wrong to apologize to the Drykas in common as it had to thank him just a bell earlier. His voice was shameful and quiet, but clear and earnest.

Ronan had done so much for him, brought him into this already encumbered troupe, showed him how to maneuver Velox, taught him that horses could be more than Oluse could have ever imagined on his own. He taught him the word for thank you in his native language after sharing his fears for his own homeland, and offered countless smiles to Oluse as Oluse tried to cope with his departure from Avanthal. He had never thanked Ronan in a true fashion for this, and then he did the opposite, insulted him. Oluse wanted to know what was wrong with him, what caused him to drive everyone he cared for away.

Oluse's mouth opened, always a recipe for disaster, and croaked incoherently for a moment before finally forcing words from his heart. "I'm not really Denvali." He did not know why he said it, he had no idea how it was relevant to what happened between he and Ronan, but he felt compelled to speak, and so he did. "I am an outsider, my grandfather was Vantha. I am just a mutt, and magic," he stuttered into silence for a moment as he shifted uncomfortable. "Magick runs through my veins." He looked pitifully toward Ronan, then down to his own wrist, dark blue veins running along it pulsing with his still increased heart rate.

"Your people know what it means to be full of magick, you say nothing about the Gnosis you earn, you think nothing of the magick that you harness. But that just isn't how things work." He stops looking suddenly apologetic.

"No that isn't what I mean. I just mean, well, I mean that it doesn't make any sense to me. How you people can just accept that you are full of something so... so perverted." He hated how his words sounded on his tongue, it seemed it all turned foul in his throat. "Everything I say about you is true of me." He despised himself, he wanted it to just go away, the eyes the throbbed onward as he spoke, the magick of the frozen city. "It all fades, it is not consistent. You can't count on any of it." The magick faded, and so did his family, all because of magick.

His speech grew less focused as his mind began moving faster than his mouth could speak. "I tried to do the right thing." The man was not supposed to get hurt, he was not supposed to die. Oluse thought he could trust him. "Adarin was supposed to know the right thing to do." Yet he had used Oluse, had lied to him. Perhaps he did know right from wrong, and purposefully ignored it. "I can't just take things on word anymore." Nobody could tell him what was right and wrong any longer. "You can't tell me how to feel, and I can't trust someone like you." He felt he could trust Ronan, then again he had felt the same about Adarin. "You are too trustworthy to trust." He stopped, his words catching even him as irrational now. He looked confused at the ground for a moment. No, speaking was not getting anywhere.

"I'm sorry. I just don't know. I mean, I can't just accept that your magic is safe. I can't trust that it's all ok that you people do... webbing." The Drykas word came awkwardly foreign from his lips.

[Ronan]

Ronan felt terrible, he truly did, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't understand. Though personal magick use was new to him, it was not unusual. He was a Drykas. He had grown up around the Web, and the glyphs that his kind drew.

Oluse looked chagrined for a moment, the feeling didn't seem to last. A defiance crept back into those eyes, and Ronan watched carefully, suddenly unsure of the man. It had taken an instant, but he felt like he barely knew Oluse after all.

Finally, he spoke again. Ronan listened as he always did. An apology, and then a story. He spoke matter of factly, as though his view of things was the be all and end all. But what did he know of the Drykas, truly? Nothing.

"There is no perversion in magick," he said quietly, suddenly feeling like he was under attack. He had taken offence he realised. "It is all around you, and denying that is beyond foolish, Oluse." Saying his name after seemed to soften his words.

Soon it evolved into something more though. Ronan stood, folding his arms across his bare chest. There was more to this. A problem with trust was at the heart of it all.

"Who was Adarin?" he asked carefully. It seemed Adarin was the key.

[Oluse]

Oluse's brow creased helplessly at the question. He had never shared the story of Adarin with anyone outside of Denval. He had never truly had the opportunity to even confront his family about the event. About that tragic night that he betrayed his people and family in ignorance, when he trusted an evil, or perhaps just foolish man. Not as dreadful a thought as daring to believe he was right. Oluse's emerald eyes glimmered in the sunlight as he looked defensively at the Drykas standing with demands before him. He asked himself if he truly should revealed that had happen. They were far out of any city, and none not even their troupe would know if Ronan decided Oluse was too much of a burden, if he tossed Oluse from the peak. He still understood so little about these ranger's ways.

On the other hand, if he withheld the information Ronan may be even more inclined to rid himself of Oluse, or even worse may mistrust him. Perhaps Oluse deserved such, his foolishness had caused so much death. The concept of lying to the Drykas did not even cross the young Denvali man's mind.

"We don't," he began than stopped, avoiding eye contact with Ronan then paused, rephrasing with shame. "I mean, the Denvali don't much like outsiders. We were free from the rest of the world by in large for generations, secure in our own private piece of land and sea. It was hard for us, I mean them, my ancestors. On one side, my father's side." His fingers and eyes shifted uncomfortable as he spoke in a near mumble, with small explosions of clarity when he recalled he should speak clearly to his interrogator.

"Still, it was our land. We worshiped with little thought of the outside world, we toiled in our fields, married who we willed, and carried on the best we could, in relative peace. It was so simple before you outsiders came. I mean, well before outsiders like us, and my mother. Things changed after that." These were thoughts he had heard from Adarin, the other older men and women as his father spoke with him, tended to their bodies. The idea of aiding their souls, their hearts never came up in the walls of his home growing up. Oh, how his father and Adarin would snarl at some of the things that had filled Oluse's mind during his stayed in Avanthal.

"You say magick is everywhere, but we were safe from it before we opened our docks. The storm, I don't know." He still could not believe the words Alea had spoken, the thoughts she entertained. He shook his head disgusted at himself, at the world as his stomach churned uncomfortable as unexplored emotions resurfaced from his past. Tears fought for his eyes, but he resisted, he was still too scared to give in. His eyes would not change, and Ronan's insistence would not fade.

"Adarin." He explain. "He was a true Denvali man. I think he knew a lot about the time before the outsiders came. He always spoke about Denvali strength, and I-" A short, quickly stifled sob emerged. He was unsure if he could could bring himself to say these things. "He taught me, and told me I had a place in Denval. He told me about my mother, about her lineage." Shamefully he looked up, exposing his eyes. "The same lineage that infects my blood now, thanks to that storm."

Mouth opening for another word his lips quiver and he is forced to push another shaky breath out before continuing. "I believed him. I thought he was right, that I could belong, that somehow I could overcome my body, the truth of my heritage. But Virates knows-" Another short gasp for air, fighting the tears.

"Ronan." He gave a fearful look, clearly pleading. "Please, don't make me tell the rest." His head shook back and forth with desperation. "Please, I promise I won't speak another word the rest of the trip. I won't hurt anyone just please, don't hurt me. Don't make me say it. I don't want to-" Tears began to cascade from his eyes, his face contorting unattractively in helpless fear.

[Ronan]

This time he remained quiet and didn't argue, using the chance to listen to Oluse. There was an impetus behind every cause. It was something Ronan forgot often enough.

Yes, he had heard a little of this before. Denval had been isolated for a long while, cut off from the rest of the world. Though foreigners ventured to the grasses sometimes, it was not frequent, and sometimes Endrykas felt a little enclosed from the rest of the world. The wilderness in Cyphrus was dangerous, and many merchants would only travel so far as Riverfall.

Oluse looked scared. Genuinely frightened. And when he spoke the word magick, it seemed he wanted it out of his mouth immediately, since it left such a vile taste there.

When he began to break down, Ronan moved forward shaking his head. His hands rested on the boy's shoulders, and he willed him to stop crying. "Then don't tell it. I didn't mean to upset you. It is your story to tell - and you choose when to recount it. But... I will say be proud of who you are and where you come from. This blood business is foolish. I know a woman called Kavala. I only met her recently. She is a Konti, and no one could say otherwise upon looking at her. But she is a Drykas too. The grass billows in her heart, and no one can take that away from her, no matter what her blood dictates."

He turned away partially, loosening his grip on Oluse's shoulders. He still didn't understand how this linked to magick. Not properly. But the strange fear inside of him prevented Ronan from pressing the issue any further.

"We are more than flesh and bone and blood."

[Oluse]

Oluse's tears did cease when Ronan took hold of him, though not out of comfort. He wasn't accustomed to people touching him. Since he had left home there was Alea, who struck him, and well his patience who he came in contact clinically. Aside from that there was just Maevon, and that was hardly a pleasant memory. Everything seemed somehow connected to those defining moments, to death. And Oluse felt that ever moment Ronan touched him they both inched closer to death, Oluse just had to wonders who's?

He fixated on the thought that he did not have to continue, Ronan was going to let him keep his secrets and this relieved so much tension. In fact, this immense release came as the throbbing upon his eyes faded. As Ronan watched Oluse's eyes shifted back to their natural chromatic spectrum, and Oluse relaxed somewhat. There was no telling, even by Oluse, whether to shift caused the release of emotions of vica versa.

Ronan words stuck him suddenly as more angering than scary. He made it sound like blood meant nothing, that it was just some fluid running through one's veins, that heritage meant nothing. "Virates-" He halted his words, checking himself against the objection. This was no time to argue, this was time for inquiry. He honestly had no idea what Ronan was speaking off, and he couldn't quite place at what point he had become confused.

"Wh-what do you mean? How is there more than that?" Truly he did not understand.

[Ronan]

Oluse stopped crying soon enough, and his eyes settled back to normality. Ronan watched him, blinking heavily. He was a troubled boy, and he seemed so... unaware of things. Had Ronan seemed like that to others when he had abandoned his pavilion?

Had the boy never heard of a soul? Was he truly this clueless, that he took everything at face value, and only believed in what he could see before him?

"The soul."

It was all he could say. If Oluse didn't understand, he truly didn't know what else to say to make him. It seemed they had very different views on life, Ronan and Oluse. And that was fine, but it made the communication of certain ideas difficult.

He let go of Oluse's shoulders and took a step back. Souls were fundamental to the Drykas, and to the Web. He wondered if Oluse had even heard of the concept of past lives. Would the idea of souls reincarnating frighten him? Make him stumble off a ledge again? Ronan really wasn't sure.

A shriek filled the air, and Ronan looked up to see a hawk swoop through the sky. It was beautiful, as he watched it soar, seemingly carried by Syna's rays. So much promise. But what was promise if you were so unaware of what the world had to offer?

He looked back to Oluse frowning.