[Flashback] A Sinking Star [Solo]

[Rigil Kentaurus]

25th Day of Summer, 503 AV Korin seemed to be dozing when the boat sliced through the thick waves that crept up on them so suddenly. It occurred so swiftly. The instance he opened his eyes, revealing the semblance of ruby colour that seemed to take everything in, he saw his various sailors moving to and fro, lowering the sails and rushing along, fighting against the sudden rolling waves which struck against them. Immediately, Korin pushed himself up, the heavy weight of his fur cloak seeming to provide a difficulty in moving around and balancing himself with the rocking ship. “C’mon, lads!” he shouted out, swinging around a mast and grabbing a rope to tether it to a nearby hold. Tying it up with a deft skill, he was about to shout again, but someone beat him to it. “Captain, there’s somebody overboard!” a young voice called out. Korin’s eyes swept towards the young boy on the prow and quickly made his way towards him, weaving his around the various sailors. When he reached the prow, he looked over and saw a golden skinned figure, naked and thrashing in the waves. “Morwen’s wrath!” he cursed, leaping away from the prow and grabbing a rolled up rope on the side. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he rushed towards the prow again. “Get out of the way, Dariand!” Dariand hardly listened but assisted his captain, unrolling the rope. A large noose was formed along the end and then Korin hurled it over the prow and it splashed into the water. A gold hand grabbed the rope and while the other sailors fought against the hurling waves, Dariand and Korin contested in a tug of war, pulling the rope and the naked figure from the deep blue of the waters. Moments passed and it seemed that the weather was a malevolent spirit, its desire to whip up discord on Korin’s ship certainly working. Finally, the tall golden figure grasped the prow and attempted to climb up against the ledge. Dariand let go and went towards the stranger, grabbing the figure from beneath his arm pits and practically hurled him on the floor, even as the ship shifted its weight from one side to another. “Are you crazy!” came Korin’s voice. However when he caught sight of the full figure before him, his mouth hung open. Everything seemed to pause for the captain, until Dariand took a step forwards. Then he blinked, strands of white hair flowing over his eyes. “Get him into my room, be quick, lad! Bundle him up. Get some hot water too.” Turning to his crew, he then shouted, “We’re heading back to the shore, gentlemen! Heave ho!” Korin followed Dariand and the strange golden figure, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated over this new find. As an old Vanthan, he was certainly familiar with who this stranger was, but never had he ever seen one in his life. Was this an omen of good luck? Or a portent of doom from Syna? The winter was coming. As he entered his room, he saw Dariand lay the man down on his bed and wrapped in bundles of woollen blankets. Almost five blankets, he realised. “Who are you?” was the first question Korin asked him. The Ethaefal opened his eyes and looked at the Captain, deep sorrow seemed to be evident in his green eyes. “Rigil. Rigil Kentaurus.”

[Rigil Kentaurus]

30th Day of Summer ,503 AV It was the ninth occasion when Rigil found himself on the side of the deck, vomit spewing from his mouth as he groaned out. Leth had transcended the peak of his crowning, yet the grey clouds had prevented any illuminating light to come through. Many sailors laughed and slapped his back as he performed his obligatory bodily function. Tears seemed to stream down along his cheek and he raised his gloved hand, wiping a streak of it away. Righting himself up, he wiped slivers of vomit with the back of his hand and coughed, taking a cup of water and drank it in one go. Sighing aloud, his attempt to maintain control over the sensations which seemed to explode within him was somewhat failing. “You know, for an Ethaefal, you’re not so bad, Rigil,” the captain approached him, a faint grin playing on his face. Rigil looked up and chuckled aloud, shaking his head gently. “Well, I’ll try to take that as a compliment, but unfortunately I don’t have any experience to judge that statement with,” he replied smoothly, laughing aloud. He smacked his glove upon the ledge and then turned around, folding his arms across his chest. Rigil recalled his first day on the ship. He remembered the piercing cold which nearly killed him. If it had not been for Korin, he would have died. He knew it. His luck seemed to have taken leave of him without his permission. Out of all the places to fall into, it had to be the frigid cold of Taldera! When Dariand had grabbed him and wrapped far too many blankets to make him appear more bloated that a dead corpse full of water, Rigil had been lost in the mental realms. The transition from the ethereal form within the embrace of the Ukalas towards the corporeal figure of mortality was too much for him. It seemed as though the very basic applications of his body was so difficult to comprehend. It was only when Korin asked him his name that the shape of words parted from his cold, blue lips. He shivered as he spoke it, but there was a faint embrace of warmth as he pronounced every syllable. It felt as though the very name he mentioned provided him with its own cloak of comfort. “You’re on the west coast of Taldera, not so far away from Avanthal,” Korin had explained to him while Dariand carried a mug of hot ale. Rigil drank it slowly, his hands shivering while the clouds above them rolled as though mimicking the rolling waves that plagued them. He looked up to study the Vanthan Captain, noticing the man’s eyes and the rather rich furred cloak he wore. Apparently this man was some rich captain, he realised, though from which memory he seemed to gather that conclusion, he did not know. “I’ll be honest with you, Rigil Kentaurus,” continued Korin. “I’ve never met an Ethaefal before. So it’s really true then...you folks do fall from the skies?” An amused smile etched along Rigil’s lips. He nodded his head again, but simply continued to drink. The ship continued to roll along with the hurling waves, feeling the giddy sensation of rising and falling. “So it’s true...so it’s true,” murmured Korin at this one way conversation. Dariand began treating Rigil, paying a hot soaked towel and wrapped it over his forehead. “This is beyond belief. I need to head back to Avanthal then. This is big news, Rigil Kentaurus. Big news!” And so they had been travelling back to the large stronghold of the Vanthans for five days since Rigil’s descent into Mizahar. On the second day, Rigil’s almost chronic condition of seasickness seemed to plague him, but that seemed to occur during the night times, when the grey clouds veiled Leth’s ambience to be embraced by the dark vastness of water surrounding them. Rigil’s first transformation into the semblance of his human form was seamless. The moment Syna disappeared and the shadows and darkness were embraced by the chaotic ocean, the Ethaefal’s figure decreased in stature and it was evident that he had become a human. The tapering of his eyebrows drooped down into a frown, something which many sailors attributed to how much thinking Rigil seemed to do. They had, on more than one occasion, teased him that his head might burst and that hopefully it would burst in his human form moreso than his Ethaefal. After all, shards of horns would be very very dangerous. He became used to the jovial nature of the sailors. For Vanthans, they seemed to be rather nice people. He had expected them to be grim and sour, attributed to the toughness of the cold weather which plagued them on more seasons than one. “We’ll be arriving at Avanthal soon, perhaps in around three Bells,” came Korin’s voice, which burst through Rigil’s ruminations. “Thank you, Captain Korin,” he said, bowing his head slightly, even if it seemed rather awkward. Vomit stains appeared upon the large clothes he wore. With over three clothes being worn, he supplemented that with a large woollen blue cloak and a hood that covered his head and protected his ears from the cold wind. “I truly do appreciate all you have done for me. If you were not there...I...” “Save it for later, mate,” Korin shrugged in a nonchalant manner and waved his hand dismissively. “Here, I have a name for you. Piotr the Scribe visits Avanthal this season. He should be in the city when we ship in. If you find him, maybe he can help you start your new life. Truth be told, I don’t see you living here, mate. You’re of Syna and we’ll see little of her here.” “But it is summer, surely she’ll appear?” Rigil asked curiously. “Of course you will, but she won’t linger all too often. Not even Leth will grace us with his light. It’s the clouds...the heavy weather of fog, rain and snow and sleet. No... it is Morwen, the Goddess of Winter, who protects us.” With those last words, Korin turned away and then began tending to his work. He left Rigil looking over the starboard ledge, watching the waves pass him by. Before, in the grace of the Ukalas, he felt invulnerable, complete and whole. Now he was simply a lost soul in the domain of Mizahar, a realm of chaos.

[Rigil Kentaurus]

31th Day of Summer ,503 AV Avanthal “Take that!” a sudden voice cried out. “And that!” Patterns of random scrunched up papers seemed to rise and fall in a parabola and strike a hunched person’s head, as though the man in question was fleeing for his life. Some would argue that he was, in reality, fleeing not for his life, but more so for his reputation. He wailed and fled away, bumping into Rigil’s human form. Rigil took a step back and balanced himself with his back foot, before he pivoted around to avoid another hit from the retreating figure. He turned to look towards the fire camp, where a nice warm fire crackled. Surrounding the fire were a few older looking men and women, seeming to banter and argue with each other. He took all this in while the man the voice belonged to kept on shouting out, as though the rant was a volcano erupting. He seemed short, standing at around 5’5”. The man wore a rough, brown wool robe which was slightly short for him. They revealed more of his ankles than was usual. However, those were covered by thick covered fur boots. His eyes were narrowed, blue and intense. When he saw Rigil, a frown creased upon his forehead and he threw another scrunched paper and tossed it at him. Tilting his head to the side with ease, the paper missed its mark. “What was that for?” Rigil called out, flexing his fingers as he approached the crowd. The murmuring conversations stopped and he paused, somewhat hesitant now. “Oho, so we have some wassat for person coming now, eh!” his voice was coarse, something Rigil had not expected from a group of scribes. “Ladies and gentlemen, I do believe we have a man who believes he’s smarter than me, does he?” “Hey, wait a chime...I never said that!” Rigil declared, but was suddenly interrupted as the short figure brandished a rolled up scroll. He then leapt up and clashed the scroll on the back of Rigil’s head. “Never said that?” the man scoffed. “Oh yes, they all say that, don’t they? But Old Piotr knows what people are thinking, doesn’t he? Yes, I can see what you’re thinking, little man!” Rigil thought that was cutting it rather short. Little man indeed, the man was shorter than him! He was about to speak, but then another...smack! “And no interruptions!” Piotr yelled. “I know why you’re here. You wish to become Piotr’s student. Why, I’ve the mind to just throw a bag full of gold into the mud and see who would be the first one to dive in! I bet you’ll be seeing lots of self important people obsessed with their ego grubbing around in the mud, for a bag of stinking gold! Well, I give them this!” He showed a scroll to Rigil and all but poked it at his face. Rigil took a step back and faced his hands out, shaking his head. Piotr was making his way to him with another scroll being brandished around. “No no, you’ve certainly got the wrong person, I was sent here by Captain Korin,” he quickly said, hoping this time the crazy man would not interrupt him. What had Korin got him into? “Korin?” Piotr stopped in his tracks while the other scribes look on, seemingly amused by the mention of the captain’s name. “Yes,” came Rigil’s reply, seeing that Piotr was finally finding a sense of clarity. “He told me to come to you. Said you would help an Ethaefal.” The deep brown eyes of Rigil stared at Piotr interminably, as though a moment of hope would be dashed away like water turning into foam by its collision upon the rocky shores. His shoulders rose up and down, realising that he had based all his hopes for a prospective life in Mizahar on a scribe he had had never met before, all from the advice of a sea faring Vanthan who probably knew less about the world than he did. Such logic was rather flawed, he concluded. Then suddenly, he felt Piotr’s gaze run over him. It felt like a wave of energy seemingly to emit out its own forcible wrath. He swallowed a lump in his throat, fearing Piotr would throw another rolled up paper at him and kick him away. “Korin! Of course, the good lad remembers me, see I taught him his letters, didn’t I?” the old scribe turned to his fellow colleagues and they all nodded his head, though some just booed and returned to their conversations. “Come now, lad. Come closer. Let Old Piotr see if you truly are an Ethaefal, eh?” Not knowing what to expect, Rigil acquiesced to the man’s command and took a step forward. When Piotr touched him, he felt nothing but cold hands. Yet Piotr’s eyes seemed to grow round, the clarity in his blue eyes were deep and manifested shrouds of intelligence which Rigil could hardly contest, even with his experience with Syna in the Ukalas. “Unbelievable...an Ethaefal, here of all places,” murmured Piotr and there was a distinct wave of awe in his voice which surprised Rigil. “Lhex is up to something, I dare say. Korin has the right of it, lad. What’d you say your name was?” “Rigil Kentaurus,” he replied quickly. “Indeed, an apt name. A name of a star. Oh this is marvellous. At last, Eyris has spoken to me, at last! Did you hear that, my friends!? We have an Ethaefal in our midst. But...” Piotr turned to regard Rigil again. He frowned, not liking what he saw. “You’re in your human form. You wouldn’t be able to tell me of the Ukalas and your goddess Syna.” “I probably could if you would be able to take me under your wing, to teach me what I need to know to realise my vocation in Mizahar,” Rigil spoke clearly, the words coming out of his lips parted from him by its own accord, yet it felt right. “It’s a deal then,” Piotr said, clapping him on the shoulder. “There is so much to teach. About Eyris, about languages, the races, history, religion, societies, geography...oh too much! Listen up, everybody. Rigil Kentaurus is my student and I shall teach him what I can. In return, he will tell us about Syna and the realm of the Gods!” He had no idea what he was getting himself into, but Rigil knew there was no other alternative. Piotr seemed to be intelligent. He raised his hand and traced his finger over the skin in which the old man had touched him. How was it by a simple touch the man had been able to realise who he truly was? He looked confused and then he made his way into the fire camp, sitting by Piotr’s side. “And so we shall begin on history. How well do you know about the Valterrian, Rigil?”