A Day of Memories

by **Aoren** on April 29th, 2013, 5:31 pm

87th day of Spring, 513 AV

Aoren jolted awake. His heart was pounding in his chest. His ears were filled with nothing but the steady beat of his blood pumping through his body and no matter how deeply he breathed he felt as if he couldn’t get enough air.

Another nightmare.

He sighed and pulled his knees up to his chest shivering in the dark of his apartment. He wasn’t cold. Aoren didn’t think it was possible to be cold within the bowels of Syliras City. The perpetual heat of burning torches, hearth fires, and candles tended to keep the chill of the earth at bay. He ran a hand through his hair. He’d started letting it grow out more rather than short cropping it. The brown hair fell in front of his eyes briefly before he brushed it aside.

The nightmares were becoming increasingly more frequent. He closed his eyes against the darkness as if somehow that would make the nausea and terrors abate. It was never the same nightmare but it always involved the same shadowy undertone.

Aoren was running. He was fighting to get away from the wretched claws of a broken past. He could feel the icy breath of memories scratching at the back of his neck. Their jagged claws grasping for him. He couldn’t understand them but he knew that they were important.

A chained woman weeping tears of blood. Tears filled with the bitterness of a mournful life.

The rage of a mountain bursting with anger and fire.

All the world was being consumed by fires. The death of thousands. Cities reduced to rubble. Mothers crying out for their children. Fathers dying to save the lives of doomed sons. It was a massacre of such cataclysmic proportions Aoren could scarcely take it all in.

And there he was at the center of all of it. A powerless observer to the catastrophe ripping the world apart.

“Aoren…”

He felt as if he were going to go mad. The never ending screams of the dead and dying that formed a cacophony of shattered, discordant wailing drilled themselves into his head. Someone was calling his name. A woman. Was it the chained woman?

“Aoren…”

The claws of things that have passed caught a hold of him. He was being ripped apart piece by piece. The bitter echoes of a lost world poured their wrath into the depths of his soul. He felt as if he were going to explode. Again the woman was calling his name. He could hear her more clearly. Where was she?

“Aoren!”

Aoren jolted awake. He hadn’t realized that he’d drifted off again. Shivering he decided to get up out of his bed. Taking a deep breath he ran a hand through his hair and stretched. It was going to be a long day. With little more than a few seconds of concentration he ignited a small sphere of flames in the palm of his hand. The azure fire illuminated the compartment in an eerie light. He didn’t really need it. He knew every nook and cranny of his single room apartment like the back of his hand. He flicked his wrist at the fireplace, the sphere in his hand jet toward the dry wood resting there. The wood caught fire within a few moments and before long the fireplace was crackling with life. He padded up to the hearth and rest his hands upon the mantle. He stared into the tongues of flame that licked at the wood. His breathing slowed to a more manageable pace. His heart stopped pounding in his ears.

The nightmare was always the same. This time however something had woken him up or rather -someone- had woken him up. But who?

Was it really a nightmare? He was beginning to doubt that. In any case he needed to get out of this enclosed space. He could hear the bell tower ringing near the surface. Five bells. It was still very early in the morning. Mistress Blackleaf wouldn’t be expecting him until the seventh bell at sunrise. Aoren took a calming breath then turned on his heel and went to sit in the center of his apartment. He folded his legs together then rest his hands with the palms open and facing upwards on his thighs. He straightened his back and began the process of clearing his mind.

First breath.

He focused on easing the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t roll them but rather let them relax and slacken with the rhythm of his breathing. He felt the knots in them and did his best to loosen them by calming his nerves.

Second breath.

He could feel the ache up and down his spine. The pain of thrashing in his sleep had definitely taken its toll on his body. He focused on calming the aching muscles of his back. He wasn’t adept enough at meditation to be dramatically successful but he knew enough to take the sting of most of the pain away.

Third breath.

He didn’t close his eyes. He focused on the fire in the hearth. He let the dancing of the flames catch his attention. The only sounds in the apartment were his breathing and the pop of the wood as it burned. It wasn’t long before Aoren found himself contemplating the mystery of his dreams. Were they dreams? He didn’t think so. His mind drifted to the lily that was branded on the back of his right hand. It was both a gift as much as it was a burden. He hadn’t quite mastered the ability to block out some of the visions he received from the Goddess of Foresight. So he dealt with them as they came. Sometimes they were as simple as seeing a memory from someone’s past. Sometimes he saw the past of an object. Other times he saw pieces of the history of the place where he was. Always disjointed and never of any practical use. He ignored the vast majority of them. There were times though that he couldn’t help the visions as they came.

Such as in his dreams. When his mind was unguarded and he was helpless to keep it from wandering. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that his nightmare was actually a vision of things that were. Of what precise moment in time? Aoren hadn’t the slightest clue. He wasn’t adept enough at navigating the threads of fate to discern that truth. He had no idea who the people he was seeing were. He didn’t know the location. All of it would lead back to the chained woman though. The woman weeping bitter tears.

Who was she?

Those were questions for another time. The young Drykas took another of his calming breaths and that train of thought was lost. He eventually let his mind go blank. The only conscious thought being not to have any conscious thoughts. Ironic in a way that he had to focus on keeping his head clear in order to clear it. At times it seemed counter-productive but then there were the moments when his mind truly focused on nothing and everything at the same time. They were brief but it was in those moments of clarity that Aoren found he was able to be at peace.

The distant chime of the sixth bell roused him from his trance.

When he found that he could meditate no longer Aoren rose from where he sat. He took one last look into the fire in his hearth then turned to wash himself. Aoren disrobed then took the cloth resting beside his wash basin. He cleaned himself thoroughly but quickly then dressed himself in clean clothes. As he tugged on his boots Aoren thought about the day ahead. He was looking forward to continuing the craft of an apothecary. Mistress Blackleaf was a tireless and excellent teacher when she was not busy tending to the many demands as Syliras’s Master Apothecary. As her associate he took great pride in his work. Most of it consisted of cleaning the shop, collecting the herbs she needed for her potions and sometimes delivering the orders placed by higher members of Syliran society. Aoren found the study of potions to be an invaluable asset to an aspiring wizard albeit Aoren was not a conventional wizard by any means.

When he was finished preparing for the day ahead he took one last look around his apartment and went to the door. Before opening the door he summoned a sphere of Res and called the fire within the hearth to his palm. With a thought he willed the fire to dissipate from there. He watched the embers flare and die out in the air leaving his apartment in darkness. Stepping out into the corridor he closed the door to his apartment behind him and began making his way through the halls of the great Fortress City. He took his time walking through the halls. For hundreds of years this vast fortress had served as a bastion for humanity. It had withstood the tides of time and at the same time tested the mettle of those who would seek to conquer it.

“What a place to call home…” In truth though, Aoren was tired of the same old walls he’d been surrounded by his entire life. For all of its safety and strength, Syliras was a city very set in its ways thus it made learning and growing a little difficult at times. Such was the price of living as a glorified guest in an exceptionally large castle fortress. He walked along pondering these things as he made his way toward the surface where Mistress’ Blackleaf’s shop resided. Aoren sometimes felt like an outsider. There was much about himself he didn’t understand. He knew where he came from. That was easy. Physically everything about him bespoke a Drykas heritage. Even some of his mannerisms though he knew little about the people themselves except for the occasional word from a traveling stranger. All of that aside he was beginning to feel as if Syliras was not quite where he was meant to be. He would leave but there were things he needed to do before that. Questions that he needed answers to.

In short order he had made his way to the surface and to the door of Stormhold Salves. Mistress Blackleaf wouldn’t be there for at least a few more minutes. Being the proprietor of the establishment she always arrived early to begin the work for the day. Aoren posted up near the door on one of the barrels close by. He wasn’t an uncommon sight around the shop. Most of the customers recognized him by now. He didn’t have to wait long. She was wearing one of her more traditional Eypharian garments along with a hooded cloak. When she reached the door to the shop he stood and gave her a smile.

“Good morning, Mistress Blackleaf.” She nodded to him with her usual pleasant demeanor.

“Good morning, Aoren.” She never spoke to him very much, a kind word here or there, a gentle instruction when he was in error. For this, Aoren was thankful. He wasn’t much of a vocal person and grew uncomfortable with conversation if he had little to say. He followed her to the rear of the shop where her laboratory was located. Aoren was always quite content in the lab. He was always careful with the glassware because he knew it was expensive but he enjoyed learning about the various herbs, spices, and ingredients used to create the many ointments, salves, and potions available on the store shelves.

“The Knighthood has placed an order for Clubmoss Salve. They use it to aid in their physical exercises. Tell me, Aoren, what are some of the uses of Clubmoss?” Aoren thought for a moment. His mind was reaching back to the lesson the Apothecary had given him not long ago on the practical applications of the plant.

“Clubmoss. Found most commonly on Konti Isle. It has white spongy cones that produce spores. The spores are what can be used to create the paste applied to sore muscles.” Sahfri Blackleaf smiled over her shoulder as she removed her cloak and hung it up on a rung nearby.

“Very good. The paste is thick and it doesn’t readily rub into the skin of the area where it is applied. How might one combat the thickness of the paste?” Aoren pondered for a moment. The answer was simple but the after effects would lessen the effectiveness of the salve itself. Mistress Blackleaf turned to regard him for a moment.

“You look puzzled. Speak your mind.”

“Well, the answer is obvious. Dilute the paste so that it could be rubbed into the skin and absorbed more quickly. That would lessen the effectiveness of the salve though and someone would have to apply more of it to get the same result as it would be without being diluted.” She nodded and began collecting various tools from around the laboratory in preparation to make the order that had been placed.

“Precisely. How might one augment the relaxing properties of the Clubmoss so that when you dilute it the effect still remains strong?” The young man considered this question for a moment. He walked over to the bookshelf where Mistress Blackleaf kept her manuals on Philtering, Herbalism and Medicine.

“The only other plant I can think of might be Stint Green. The mint properties in the leaf of the plant would produce a cooling sensation and aid in the process of helping to reduce pain and swelling.” Sahfri smiled and nodded.

“You’re beginning to think like an apothecary. Clubmoss by itself can be very raw and unpleasant to handle when applying it for any sort of medicinal purpose. The spore paste when diluted loses some of its intensity but gains the appeal of being absorbed quickly into the skin. Augmented by the properties of the Stint Green leaves this is balanced out. Now go into the back and grab the sack of the Clubmoss spores and I’ll gather the Stint Green leaves. Go on now, off with you. We’ll need both sacks and make sure that you make a requisition order for more before you leave today.” Aoren nodded and went to do as he was bidden.

He went to the furthest room in the shop, the storeroom. Inside was kept those materials Mistress Blackleaf used to practice her craft. At least, what could be safely stored outside of the greenhouse. There were ingredients that could only be picked fresh, those she gathered herself, and the ingredients that could be stored for long periods of time. Aoren typically handled the latter of the two. He wasn’t yet adept enough in the handling of herbs to deal with live ones. He quickly located the sacks of spores, the brown rucksacks were labeled in visible black ink. Aoren hefted two sacks over his shoulder. They weren’t uncomfortably heavy nor very big. Both were maybe 1lb. He exited the storeroom going back to the lab and deposited the sacks gently onto the worktable.

Mistress Blackleaf was likely still in her garden gathering the Stint Green so he set to work on assembling the tools he knew they’d need. He grabbed two mortar and pestles, shears to cut up the leaves, the philtering apparatus, and as an afterthought he went into the storeroom to grab some White Willow Root for good measure. When he returned Sahfri was at the worktable browsing through one of her manuals. She glanced up at his entrance then to the roots he held in his hands. A smile touched her lips.

“White Willow root. Excellent thinking. It’s not entirely necessary but it will bolster the effects of the other two plants. We’ll add it to the mixture. Now then grab the buckets, get water from the well and fill the beakers.” Aoren nodded. He grabbed two buckets from the corner of the room and exited the shop with them. Thankfully the water well was not far from the shop. People were beginning to mill about the square. Each one going about their daily business with their own problems, their own hopes and dreams. He paid little attention to the Knights that patrolled the square. He caused no trouble and troubled stayed well away from him. Most of the time. Aoren quickly filled each bucket of water then made his way back to the shop. When he returned Mistress Blackleaf was helping a customer. Aoren paid little attention to the man. He went to the work room and set one bucket on the floor. Hefting the other up he filled each beaker respectively.

As Aoren turned back to the second bucket he caught a glimpse of the man’s face and froze. He knew that face. The man paused as he was about to exit the shop after having purchased who knows what. As if he felt the eyes upon him he glanced back at Aoren. When his eyes made contact with Aoren’s the young man felt his heart pick up pace.
His breathing seemed to slow.

All he could hear was the pounding of his blood in his ears.

A black haired man with a scar over his lip and a single eye bleached with blindness. The other was a brown so dark it almost seemed black itself. There he stood. Leering over the unconscious form of a red haired woman. She was alive. Only just.

“Ileera..” Aoren whispered her name. He shook his head not realizing that he’d gone into a trance. What he’d seen was a memory. Today was filled with memories. He’d never slipped into a vision so suddenly before. Usually he had to sit and focus on what he was looking at or for. But as Ileera was so close to his heart, as he knew her so well…she was the easiest person for him to see. It was then that Mistress Blackleaf touched him on the shoulder. He started at being touched and jumped slightly.

“Are you alright, Aoren? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” In a manner of speaking, Aoren had. He nodded and ran a hand over his face. The man was gone. Where? Probably to wherever he’d been hiding and there was nothing Aoren could do to him. Not in the city. Not with the Knights patrolling every nook and cranny.

“I’m…I’m fine. Who was that man? I haven’t seen him around before.” A partial truth.

“He is a sailor on one of the trading ships that comes in now and again. He stops in the shop sometimes to pick up supplies for his crew. He never says much. He just comes in, requests what he needs, pays then leaves. Why do you ask?” Aoren touched the back of his right hand. Sahfri Blackleaf, a keen observer, didn’t miss this. She glanced at the Seer’s Lily then at Aoren and nodded.

“Come. We have work to do. You should put whatever you saw out of your mind. You would not do well to dwell on the life of a seafaring trader.” Only Aoren couldn’t. That man was the only link between him and the only family he’d ever known. He could find out who the man was. Sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

Aoren set to work on lighting the fires beneath the beakers. He grabbed a candle but before he could ignite the tinder Mistress Blackleaf stopped him.

“Practice, Aoren. You know this is the only place in the city where you may be able to do it freely.” The young man paused. He was distracted at the moment. Unable to truly focus. He was wary of using his reimancy right now. The apothecary continued what she was doing but spoke as she worked.

“Go on. Set the candle down.” Aoren set the candle back in its holder. “Now do as I say. Stand up straight. Take a deep breath.” He quirked an eyebrow slightly at the Eypharian but nodded and did as he was bidden. “Roll your head from side to side. Back to front.” Aoren did so. He felt some of the tension brought on by the circumstance ease. If only a little.

“Take a deep breath. Focus not on what you may or may not have seen. Focus on my voice.” Aoren did his best to put aside the memory of Ileera unconscious and at the mercy of that man. Whoever he was. He heard the tinkers of tools as Mistress Blackleaf worked on the salve, he heard the growing din of civilization as Syliras grew ever more busy with the rising of Syna in the East. And then he heard Mistress Blackleaf’s words.

“Close your eyes and describe to me the Skytwine flower.” Aoren quirked his head.

“Mistress Blackleaf, I don’t see—“ She stopped what she was doing and placed a set of hands on her hips. She fixed him with a stern stare and Aoren swallowed. He closed his eyes and envisioned the plant she requested.

“Bright blue with a yellow center. Almost light a sunflower but much smaller and it doesn’t reach the same height.”

“And the leaves?” The young Drykas sighed but focused and continued.

“Green but they appear gray because of the fine hairs that sprout from the leaves.” Sahfri Blackleaf nodded. Aoren couldn’t see it but the rhythm of her working helped to ease his mood.

“What are some of its uses?” He thought on that for a moment. He remembered reading about the flower in one of her manuals about various herbs and plant life. Searching the compartments of his memory he finally found what he was looking for.

“It helps with tootache but is more commonly used as a glue or sealing agent. Sometimes it is used as an incense because it is a very common flower and highly inexpensive.”

“And how would we make it into a remedy for toothache?” He pondered for a moment until the answer struck him.

“The easiest way would be to apply it right on the tooth. As a paste.” Aoren felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked down into the face of the apothecary.

“Better?”

Surprisingly enough, Aoren did. It was a simple exercise. A basic form of meditation that much he knew. Focus on something that forces you to think abstractly that you can calm the storm of a troubled mind. He nodded and Mistress Blackleaf gestured to the burners.

“Light the burners.”

Aoren took a deep breath just for good measure. He brought a hand to rest over the flame of the candle and conjured his Res. He focused on igniting only the outer layer of the Res and attracted the fire of the candle to that layer. It was immediately set on fire. The azure flame glowed brightly. He willed the sphere to split in two. After a moment it did. Each sphere drifted over to a burner where it ignited the fires beneath the beakers. Three in all he lit each one with measured patience focusing on lighting only the burners themselves on fire and nothing else. When the task was finished he recalled the spheres to his hand and joined them back into one fireball. Closing the palm of his hand he let the Res dissipate extinguishing his magical fire.

“Now lets get to work on these salves.”

Aoren nodded. He needed the task. It would do him good to focus on something repetitive for the day because tonight he would be doing a great deal of thinking on other matters.

A seafaring trader. He knew where he needed to start looking. He would start inquiring around the docks. But that was for another day.