Closed [The Sanctuary] Downpour (Kavala, Vanator)

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 68, 513 AV

Nineteenth Bell

No job. No troupe. No taverns willing to give Jorin a permanent home. It was the most depressed he'd been in some time, and for the first time in at least three seasons, it actually showed on his face. Normally, the young actor kept up a brave front. For whom, nobody knew, perhaps just for his own stubborn pride. But today, he just couldn't bring himself to do his usual act.

The storm clouds gathered in the sky, blotting out the harsh summer sun that had made the last few days so unbearably hot. Jorin barely noticed, though, as he trudged along aimlessly, his eyes glued firmly to the ground. He heaved a heavy sigh. Maybe he should leave this city, he thought. But no, where would he get the money? It was dangerous in the wilds; he'd never survive alone.

And then he found himself before the gates of Sanctuary. He'd heard of this place: a place of calm and serenity, a true sanctuary for injured animals. What a nice place it must be.

The clouds began to rumble, a deep, resonating boom that vibrated the air and warned of more to come. The air took on an almost electric tingle as storm winds began to whip through, buffeting Jorin and making him wish he'd just stayed home that day.

Then without warning, water rushed down like a torrential flood, soaking Jorin from head to toe. The clouds, now taking on an angry dark grey mien, rolled and rumbled above. Jorin just barked a humorless laugh. Of course. How utterly appropriate.

He dashed for the safety of Sanctuary, but the gates were shut. Of course they'd be shut.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" he shouted as loud as he could, drawing upon all his experiences as an actor, whose voice has to carry to the back ranks of his audience. There was no response. Desperate, with the rumble above becoming almost a deafening roar, Jorin tried once more.

"Please! Hello? Anybody?"

[Vanator]

Gray clouds had rolled in, mercifully blotting out the rays of Syna's burning sun. The air remained a smothering blanket, thick with moisture that clung to one like a hot cloak. The rumble of distant thunder out over the Suvan promised a needed rain, and the residents of Sanctuary left chores to make sure things were secure. Summer storms off the sea could be severe. Animals were moved into kennels, mews and barns, and any loose objects light enough to be caught by wind were secured. All residents were accounted for, and the gate was shut to prevent intruders from slipping in while the staff was sheltered, or to keep any animals that somehow get loose from escaping in the storm.

A stiff breeze blew in, the cooler air carrying the scent of rain and dispelling the humid weight of the air. The others had taken to shelter when the floodgates of the heavens opened up, but Vanator was still rolling out the last wooden barrel to place at the corner of the boarding barn, where it would catch rainwater off the roof. The downpour was just that, and the Drykas' hair and clothes were instantly drenched. Shaking his mane, Van turned to head towards the entrance to the Within when he heard the voice on the other side of the gate. Running towards the entrance, he heard the call again, a plaintive plea of a stranger.

Pulling open the doors only enough to peer out, Vanator saw the water logged young man. The visitor was unfamiliar to the Denusk, rather nondescript, and unarmed. "Get in here." Van directed in a voice raised over the din of the heavy rain. Shutting the gate behind them, Van pointed to the boarding barn. "Follow me!" The barn was closer, and in there the Armsmaster could see what the man wanted, and discern if he were a threat before taking him any further into the Sanctuary.

Opening a large wooden door, Van gestured for the guest to enter. The windows had been left unshuttered, allowing the refreshing storm wind to stir the hot air inside. Several stalls were occupied by horses, mounts left by riders for some attention from the facility's groomers and healers.

Van shook out his tawny hair again, spreading a spray of water droplets from his head. He also peeled off the drenched shirt, revealing a tanned, broad-shouldered torso adorned with several scars and three Lakun marks above his sternum. Around his neck was a twisted gold torc. He hung the wet shirt on a peg rack with some leather straps.

"What brings you out here on such a glorious day, stranger?" Van finally greeted the man with a welcoming smile, and a wary eye.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 68, 513 AV

Relief flooded through Jorin as the gates of Sanctuary opened a bit, revealing the face of a tawny-haired, lightly-tanned man. After taking in Jorin's state, the man motioned him into Sanctuary, and Jorin quickly complied, having absolutely no desire to spend any more time out in the storm than he needed to. Jorin nodded dumbly when the stranger directed him to follow him. Anywhere was better than out here, he reasoned.

He found himself in what looked to be a barn. There were horses there, presumably placed there by people who wished them cured or taken care of. Jorin was more preoccupied with his wet clothes, which he knew from personal experience was not very good for his health. Taking a cue from the stranger, he removed his shirt and started to wring it out. He noticed the man was well-muscled and toned, and several marks of some kind on his chest. Jorin did not know what those marks signified, nor did he feel it was his right to inquire, so he kept silent.

The man shook his head, his long hair sending droplets of water in all directions. Then, he hung his shirt up as Jorin was busy wringing the last of the rainwater out of his own clothes.

"What brings you out here on such a glorious day, stranger?" the man was asking. Jorin just sighed heavily.

"Honestly, I don't really know. Mainly I was wandering about without purpose after being thrown out of yet another tavern. At this rate, I'm going to run out of taverns to try."

He glanced out the windows, at the rain pouring down, and chuckled humorlessly.

"You know, it was one of those days. One of those days you wish you'd just stayed in bed. Got up late, still couldn't find work, got thrown out of yet another tavern ... you know these Akalak really don't appreciate Zeltivan poetry! ... and of course, as I was wandering about, trying to think of what to do next, the sky opens up. I'm half expecting to get struck by lightning if I go out there again."

Jorin grinned tiredly, as though getting hit by a bolt of lightning was somehow a funny thing. Perhaps it was, in that situation.

Jorin then glanced down at his hand, still clutching his book. His book ... it was filled with his poems and sketches. For nearly the entire season, he'd been painstakingly writing the poems that came to his mind, putting them down in this book so that he could show his parents, new friends ... and now, as he saw the ink running down the waterlogged pages, he knew it was all gone. The book was ruined.

Jorin barked a bitter laugh as he dropped the book and closed his eyes. Of course it was ruined. Because everything was going wrong today. Why shouldn't Lhex take what little happiness he had and step on it too? Sighing, he smiled at the man. It wasn't his fault.

"Thank you for letting me come in, good sir," he said, giving him a tired bow. "My name is Jorin Ertihan. I ... I was once an actor of the Traveling Thespians troupe. Nowadays, I suppose you might call me a wandering entertainer. Though, if the taverns are to be believed, the value of my 'entertainment' is questionable." Jorin grinned good-naturedly at that little jab at himself. The heavens roared once more, as though to punctuate his statement.

Glancing out the window, Jorin wondered if he should compose something for this. He stared forlornly at the ruined book of poetry. So much time ... what was the point of composing now, with no way to write it down? Still, the urge to compose was strong, so as he looked out the window, Jorin softly recited.

"Down pours the heaven's wrath
upon this tiny place
Angry clouds blot out the sight
of Syna's friendly face

Lighting flashes like dagger hands
as the heavens open wide
And rain pounds a merciless beat
on ground that Syna dried

On a day where everything went all wrong
And the heavens themselves have wept
I find myself sheltered here
Where peace and harmony slept..."

Jorin shrugged. The poem was awful, it was true, but then again so was the day it was describing. It was oddly appropriate. Turning to the tawny-haired man, Jorin offered his hand in friendship.

"So what do you do around here?" he asked.

[Vanator]

The young man removed his wet shirt as well. He was not out of shape, but the stranger did not possess the harder physique of one accustomed to physical labor. At first, as the guest spoke, Vanator wondered why he was being thrown out of bars. Fighting, stealing? It was hard to be so bad that an akalak would throw you out of his tavern. Then, Jorin revealed the reason for the tavern-owners lack of hospitality. Poetry. Not that the Riverians were not people interested in art. It was just that the Drykas had a hard time seeing the Akalaks in the Blue Bull sitting quietly pondering over the prose of some northern bard. In fact, the though made him smirk as he imagined a mob of deep-hued skinned warriors picking up the small man and tossing him out into the street. Yeah, that would make for a bad day.


Vanator reached for a pitch fork, his gaze following that of the drenched poet as the man's eyes dropped down to the dripping wet book. "I hope that wasn't important." The Drykas quipped as he stepped into an empty stall and shoved the fork into the old straw inside. The stranger introduced himself. An entertainer. The Drykas were not uncivilized, their oral tradition actually revering those who kept their unwritten history, lore and folktales alive. They enjoyed singing, Pygmy was a singer at the Trough. Even dramas, though those were performed by foreign visitors mostly, like Jorin.

"Akalak's can be a tough crowd to win over. You may have picked the wrong city to entertain. Or maybe you need to change your material. I am Vanator Denusk. This is The Sanctuary, a facility for the care of animals and Kelvics." The Drykas tossed the fork full of straw and dung into a small three-wheeled hand cart in the aisle. Thunder clapped outside after a bright flash of lightning seen through the windows.

Jorin recited a lyric, not bad to the untrained Denusk, and he wondered if it had been penned already, or if it was off the cuff. When the poet turned to ask him about whad he did, Van reached and grabbed another pitch fork. He tossed it to the man.

"I shovel crap, we all do. And that didn't sound bad to me." He added with the slightest flash of a grin before turning again to his task. "How did you come to Riverfall anyway?"

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 68, 513 AV

"I hope that wasn't important," the man had said. Jorin just heaved a heavy sigh.

"Not anymore, it isn't," he quipped back, wincing at the slight bitterness in his tone. It wasn't this man's fault, he kept reminding himself. Sighing, he plastered a smile on his face. Best to just make the best of things. No amount of crying would bring his book back. He would have to figure something out. What would he tell Rinya?

"Akalak's can be a tough crowd to win over." the man was saying. Jorin gave a short laugh.

"Yeah, that's for sure," he grinned.

"You may have picked the wrong city to entertain. Or maybe you need to change your material." he continued. Jorin shrugged.

"Maybe. I just think I haven't found the right venue, perhaps. I'm looking into the Amphitheater ... they don't usually hire. But that doesn't mean they can't," Jorin replied.

"I am Vanator Denusk. This is The Sanctuary, a facility for the care of animals and Kelvics."

Jorin smiled and gave a sweeping bow, as he was wont to do. It looked a bit strange, without his shirt on and missing his usual billowing cape. Jorin's hand went automatically to where the cape would be and his face displayed an annoyed grimace when he found it missing. Sighing, he completed the motion - the show must go on, after all - and responded with, "Then it is an honor to meet you, Vanator Denusk. Once again I apologize for my intrusion. I will leave as soon as Zulrav sees fit to permit me."

To Jorin's question about what he did, Vanator simply replied while flashing a quick grin, "I shovel crap, we all do. And that didn't sound bad to me." Jorin just laughed good-naturedly at that. "Oh I think you'd find some burly Akalak in the Blue Bull who'd disagree," he replied, matching Vanator's grin with his own.

Catching the tossed pitch fork, Jorin looked at it, and back up at Vanator. "You know, Vanator, after the day I've had, shoveling crap seems oddly appropriate. Besides it's the least I could do to thank you for getting me out of that storm."

With that, Jorin attacked the old hay with gusto, moving it and the dung inside into the same barrow he'd seen Vanator shovel it into. Anything to get his mind off things. Besides, exercise was good for the mind! His father had said that, and his father was rarely ever wrong.

"How did you come to Riverfall anyway?" Vanator had wanted to know. Jorin just shrugged.

"I came with my troupe," he responded, while shoveling some more crap with the pitch fork. "It's really not that interesting a story. My troupe had traveled across the Kabrin from Syliras, although we started in Zeltiva. When we got here, we set up to do a few shows in the Knirin Gardens, near one of those gazebos, you know? I might have gotten into a bit of a ... disagreement with the stage master. So now I'm directionless, although I do keep trying to busk as best I can."

The physical exercise certainly did make Jorin feel better. The rhythmic motions, the sweating, he could swear he could feel the tension leave his body. Maybe there was something to this. As he stood momentarily, wiping his brow, he looked outside to see that one of the straps on the doors had come loose. Realizing that a strong wind could cause some pretty severe damage, he handed his pitch fork back to Vanator.

"Hey, that strap's loose, it looks like," he said as he rushed for the door. Fortunately, he had no shirt on, so it wasn't like he'd have to get soaked all over again. "I'll be right back, Vanator!" he promised as he dashed out into the rain.

The sky was rolling up ahead, angry clouds gathering. "Come on, come on," Jorin begged as he struggled with the wet strap holding the doors. "Got it!" he crowed as he tied it off. Now to go back...

A massive bolt of lightning struck a point a few meters from Jorin's feet, the crackle of electricity jumping to all nearby metal. Jorin felt like someone had punched him in the gut with a battering ram as his diaphragm spasmed and his lungs paralyzed. His body impacted the ground with a sickening smack; every muscle involuntarily tensed, searing jolts of agony blossoming in his head.

The surge of electricity momentarily scrambled his thoughts and for a brief time all he could see was white. Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. Jorin could feel a painful tingle all over his body, as every muscle cramped simultaneously. His limbs twitched uncontrollably, then went still.

His breath came out in ragged gasps as he lay there on the ground, staring at the blackened earth where the lightning had struck. Fortunately it hadn't struck him directly, but that was cold comfort to the young actor, who was now crawling on his stomach, trying to reach the safety of the barn. Every inch was a mile. His vision wavered, his lungs felt like they were on fire.

It was molten steel in his veins. A thousand needles in his skull.

Then, the red haze descended, and there was nothing.

[Vanator]

Vanator continued to scoop the fork into the dung-laden straw and tossing it into the wooden hand cart. Jorin seemed nice enough, if a bit naive. He had pitched in to help and that said more to the Drykas man than his words. He was an entertainer from the north, and perhaps a persnickety one at that, seeming to have lost his job after an argument with a stage manager, whatever that was. The poet was a soft man, Vanator was certain, though Jorin was not arrogant or aloof like other "cultured" folk who have come along.

When the stranger handed the pitch fork back to Vanator and insisted on fixing the loose door strap, the Drykas nodded. A helpful man this one was indeed. Van leaned the fork against the wall and went back to his chore, watching Jorin from the corner of his eye. Then came the blinding white flash and earth-shuddering boom. Even Van, inside the barn, was stunned for a tick before his sensed recovered. Looking out through the partially open barn doors, the Denusk could see Jorin face down in the mud, the rain pounding him.

"Petch!" Van cursed as he dropped the pitch fork and ran for the door. Stepping out into the downpour, he stood over the man. "Jorin?!" He yelled over the din of the storm. The man moved a bit, crawling towards the doorway before collapsing in the mucky dirt. "Shyke." Van muttered as he reached down and grabbed the man by the upper arm and dragged him unceremoniously through the doorway back into the shelter of the barn. The Drykas flipped the man over onto his back, his body covered in so much mud and dirt that his injuries were hard to discern. He patted the man on the face smartly, trying to bring him back to consciousness. Van would have to fetch Kavala to look at him if he was more that just stunned.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 68, 513 AV

Jorin groaned. Or at least he tried to groan, but it came out sounding more like a croak. He coughed, only to immediately regret that decision as his mouth felt like it had been filled with copper mizas.

Every nerve ending was screaming, and Jorin could feel the needles still stuck in his head, white hot points of pain all over his body. His muscles were still sore from the unexpected jolt they'd received. He heard Vanator speaking, but it sounded like he was underwater.

Jorin gulped down a few breathfuls of air, as he tried to get up. His muscles quckly protested, and he gasped and fell back. No, bad idea. He had to take this slower. Trying instead to clear his head of the fog it was in, and his ears of the ringing he was hearing, Jorin leaned back, taking as deep breaths as his burning lungs would allow. After about a chime, he cracked open his eyes.

Mizahar swam back into view, the bright speckles and swirling colors solidified into the tawny hair and concerned face of Vanator. The barn. How'd he end up back in the barn? The last thing he remembered...

Pain shot up from Jorin's chest as he attempted to move. His mouth opened to shout in pain, but only ended up coughing instead. Each cough sent shudders of agony radiating from his chest. Did he crack a rib when he fell? It certainly felt that way. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jorin waited for the pain to somewhat subside before opening them again.

"Well ... that was ... shocking," Jorin quipped, giving Vanator a pained smile. "Please ... don't hit me ... for that pun ... painful enough ... as it is ..."

Jorin's words were gasped out between painful breaths. "I'm OK," he insisted, despite every muscle in his body arguing otherwise. "I'll be ... fine just ... need a moment ... catch my breath ..."

[Vanator]

Van settled the stunned man against a small pile of hay. Jorin made some disturbing sounds, but he was breathing, and that was the most important thing at the moment. He was soaking wet, they both were, but Vanator detected no singe marks on the poet or his clothes, indicating he was some distance from the lightning strike. This too was a good sign.

Jorin tried to get up, and the firm, discouraging hand of the Drykas was not necessary as the man collapsed again. "Don't try to get up." Jorin was still not full lucid, Van could discern. "Give it a chime, catch your breath. Then we can see where you might be injured." The Denusk shook the water out of his hair then peered out the window. The storm still raged, the rain beating against the roof, the lightning sharp and thunder close.

Jorin tried to move again, the wince of pain and grimace easily seen on his face. "Don't move!" Vanator insisted more firmly. The pain seemed to have brought the poet to full consciousness, and he quipped a joke about his predicament. Van shook his head at the bad pun. "You don't know what may be hurt. Once the storm passes, we will have Kavala or someone look at you. I don't know enough medicine to be of much help to you."

He gave the man a small smile. "You sure picked a Hai of a way to get out of pitching manure."

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 68, 513 AV

Jorin grimaced in pain some more as he spoke, but he still heard Vanator's voice above the roar of the rain.

"You don't know what may be hurt. Once the storm passes, we will have Kavala or someone look at you. I don't know enough medicine to be of much help to you."

Jorin did, in fact, know a smattering of medicine. Barely anything really, just some mnemonics for how to tie a bandage, what to check for, and a thing or two about catching one's death by cold. Going by what he was feeling, Jorin did not think he was badly burnt anywhere, due to not having any searingly-hot patches of skin which was what some people had said a burn would feel like.

He was quite sure he must have cracked a rib though, since every breath was difficult and he could still feel the intense stabbing pain in his chest. If he'd broken a rib, he'd probably be coughing up blood, though like Vanator he wasn't really a healer and didn't know that for sure. Besides, while bruised and sometimes even cracked ribs from a missed block in choreographed swordplay was common enough in theater, broken ribs were not.

"You sure picked a Hai of a way to get out of pitching manure," Vanator continued, with a small smile. Jorin smiled back as best he could, but it turned into a grimace a moment later. It was difficult for him to maintain any other expression for long. The pain in his chest wasn't very pleasant to deal with.

"Hey now ... I liked ... pitching manure," Jorin insisted, as he brought one arm up to try to balance himself. The searing agony arcing through his muscles had died down some, and he was able to prop himself up a little better. "I'm telling you ... Vanator ... It really did ... beat singing poetry ... to dour Akalaks." Jorin meant to punctuate the statement with a shrug of his shoulders but ended up just nodding his head, as his shoulders were far too sore for the action.

"Kavala ... I take it ... healer here?" Jorin asked. With his breaths still short and ragged he could barely get the words out. His bleary eyes turned to the storm raging outside. Was Zulrav really this angry at him? What had he done wrong?

[Vanator]

The man was clearly injured, wincing with almost every breath. Van too surmised damaged ribs, but the absence of blood was a good sign. It looked like getting knocked down from the near-strike did more damage than the actual lightning itself. But yes, Kavala should look at him.

Van stood and walked over to a barrel, picked up a ceramic pitcher and wooden cup sitting on top of it. Pouring water into the cup, he took it back to Jorin, crouching and offering the drink.

"Kavala is the proprietor and owner of the Sanctuary, the head Healer, and my sister." Van replied standing to peer between the shutters at the pouring rain. "Our efforts are focused more on animalkind and Kelvics, though she is quite adept at ministering to people too." Van could have tapped the Sanctuary web, see if Kavala was near, or contact her, but there was no sense in making a fuss until the rain stopped, the poet seemed to be stable.

"So, besides poetry, do you do anything else that....might not aggravate an Akalak?" Van inquired, looking down at him as he reached for the pitch fork and resumed his task.