Closed Pass The Parcel.

[Archailist]

"To the desks, then!" He could get used to this - how hard could it be anyway, copying a few squiggles that someone else had put? Sure, it would be boring and pretty monotonous, but it wasn't like there was a threat of being stepped on, or hunted by heavily-armed monks because they think you're a wild animal. The only threat you had here was running out of ink, and that was hardly going to be life-threatening. Unless one of those precariously-perched books should fall.. but while he was staring at the shelves with a rather dreamy expression, the girl was talking to him and he was being rude again. "Oh, sorry. Arch is my name, and I'm a courier! Came to Nyka for training so that I can go back to my birthplace of Syliras and join the Syliran Knights. Got picked up here to get some extra jobs done at the end of the day." A little more than needed in terms of an introduction, but he didn't mind sharing it.

The instructions she gave him confused his little squirrel mind for a few seconds, but he accepted them simply. "Got it. They come near us with books, we tell them to petch off." It was only by good luck that they didn't actually cross any monks on their way - the squirrel really would have told any of them to petch off, he was quite outspoken. As if his jittering attitude and his sudden changes in perspective weren't enough to show that the squirrel had a few minor problems with his personality shifts. It was what usually happened when one was born from clay, and had curiosity that would have killed the cat several times over.

He hopped off Naia's shoulder when he found the desk, and waited for her to move it around - for what reason was entirely beyond his understanding, so he simply accepted it and moved on, using the chair and the water-damaged tombs to hop straight onto the table and wander around the surface. He'd never even be able to reach from the chair - he'd need to write everything down while he was still stood on the table, if he was going to be as comfortable as he could get while writing. Being 5" could sometimes be a bit of a disadvantage. Pycon-sized handwriting would be impossible to distinguish by anyone other than a Pycon, unless someone happened to have a magnifying glass, and the quill itself was nearly as tall as the squirrel, so he had to hold it with both hands so that he could test his agility with the thing. Scratching out a few rather illegible letters on the table with the dry quill-tip, he seemed rather pleased with himself.

"Right.. so.. what am I doing again?" He leaned slightly on the quill, which came up to the squirrels shoulder, though not enough to damage the thing, while looking over the books and tombs splayed over the table and then to Hedyla with a small smile.

[Naia Whitewater]

Naia's Speech | Thoughts | Others' Speech

Naia pressed her lips, and looked from Hedyla to Arch. Beginning work sometime soon was preferable, but she didn't dare have the later of her helpers trying to tackle something she wasn't all too sure they could manage. "Right, Arch," she began, once more rummaging through the desks draws in search of an older blank book, giving a satisfied huff as she pulled the rather tragic, wood bound tome of the deepest corner of the the top right draw.

She was quick to sort and find an inkwell for him, before setting both before him, and beginning with the contents page of the book she'd chosen for him to use. "Think of this as a test run," she began, rubbing her neck. "After you finish transcribing that contents pages into the worn tome..." she said, words slow and drawn out, her mind and hands busying themselves as she cleared and tidied the desk, sorting piles and resources so she knew what she had to use and how much space was free.

"Then if we're happy with how you are... you can transcribe it into the nicer book..." she trailed, eyes falling and the petching book that had appeared out of no where. "Heldyla, do you know whose tome that is?" The woman seemed to stiffen for a moment, before nodding with a curious expression, "I believe so," she said, in that sweet, soft tone of hers. "Great, take it and throw it at them," Naia announced, giving an annoyed shake of her head. "These damned scholars, just because those who worked the looms were willing to spend their shift lending a hand, doesn't mean it's my job to do so as well."

She finally took seat, then, rubbing her eyes as she tried to bring a productivity to herself. The breath that left her then was heavy and irritated, and she pulled her own work - returning to the old tome in need of transcribing - towards herself, pleased to no end that the desk was large enough for two, perhaps even three, people to work on. 'Right, when Hedyla returns, I'll asl- Wait, what? Her was was upon Arch, then. Or rather, Arch's work. This is going to be a long afternoon.

[Archailist]

Watching and waiting as the girl slid about all over the place with at least some level of competence, it was all he could really do to nod and agree with her while staring down at the inkwell. "Right. Copy all that, into this." Maybe he should have mentioned.. but he didn't really know how to write. He didn't even have a basic understanding of how to read or write, the only thing that mattered was his knighthood and the training that led up to it, not scribing or mathematics or philosophy. They were all entitled to follow their own lives, but he was going to follow his.. and in his life, he'd never be using any of those skills. It wasn't something that seemed all that important when you were a Pycon; as long as you kept enough money to survive, as long as you had enough clay to eat, you were fine and that was that. It was a simple, primal life that left much to exploration, development.. left much to the rest of the world to make. No real responsibility like this, nothing dragging you down and holding you back from living the life you wanted, and following your own path. And why should anyone care what these old, crumbled tombs said anyway?

The quill wobbled between both paws as he made a few little practice scratchings over the blank book with the sharp tip, testing out long and curving letters from the book that he could find, before he finally dipped it in the pot and began to try and imitate the strange curls and squiggles. It felt more like he was trying to paint than write with the wide strokes, and his letters were wobbly and very exaggerated because he had a lot of trouble with gripping the quill steadily. How were you supposed to even grip it at all, when the thing was so big that you could have used it as a deadly weapon.. at least, that's what it seemed only good for, because there wasn't a chance that he was going to get any of the writing to a somewhat-decent standard. Maybe if he just repeatedly stabbed the paper, he might get better results. Many of the letters he couldn't understand and had to make his own interpretation, most of his substitutes weren't actual letters anyway, and others were jumbled up into incomprehensible sentences that made no sense, or with the right words put in the wrong places. It was useless, really.. and after the first line, he pulled back to admire his work and visibly deflated when he caught sight of the way Naia was staring at it in disbelief.

"Is it bad?" He guessed it was, before she even replied. The two pieces put side-by-side were utterly different.. mainly because one didn't even consist of real words, and they weren't done neatly either. "Sorry - I'm not a scribe. I'm supposed to be training to become a Syliran Knight, not their accountant.." But here he was, wasting his time anyway in a futile attempt of learning to use a skill that he'd never, ever use. "This is stupid, I shouldn't have even come here.."

[Naia Whitewater]

Naia's Speech | Thoughts | Others' Speech

She tilted her head, eyes scanning the page for some distinguishable feature. She furrowed her brow as she dwelt on several attempts at lettering, pursing her lips as she contemplated a short question or two in regards to what was supposed to be which. Arch had certainly tried his best, with many of the strange scrawl across the page taking the shape of something that she could recognize, but it was very well obvious that he'd never attempted anything of the sort before. The odd ink blotch or two kept drawing her eye, though she was unwilling to call out any on an error that she herself was prone to.

"Now, now - I've seen worse." was the first thing to escape her lips, her gaze still cool, and expression stoic. She had far too much to do to worry profusely about the feelings of a pycon that'd been roped into the situation, but neither had she the time to deal with the critter quitting on her due to a fault of her own. She took in a heavy and flipped the blank book to a fresh double page, before flipping through the pages of the tome. The one that she'd selected for Arch's little project was actually quite the little book of intrigue, a detail or two telling of Nykan myths and fairy tales - with what seemed to be a scholar's odd page of notes analyzing something that she couldn't care less about. 'A Myth regarding Nyka, I wonder just how false such a thing truly is...' "Here we go," she said finally, nodding slowly as she found a page that was largely conversation, with a majority of the writing with short lines and large spaces.

She took a short look at the pycon, trying to figure out if there was an issue to the way he stood, or if there was any other way to ease the work. "Try standing over where you wish to write the letters more, and rather than trying to move your arms or any of the sort, move your waist and body, keeping the quill firm." She gave another look to the pycon, a sigh leaving her lips as she resolved to using tactics to keep him going. "Think of it as a challenge - if you can't do this, then can you trust yourself to become a grand knight - worthy of being the subject of a tale like those that you're transcribing?"

[Archailist]

At the same time as she spoke, he was still criticizing his own work - looking at the places that he'd messed up, the parts that were at least close to what he supposed he was meant to be writing. He couldn't write, he couldn't read.. what need did he have for either, though. He was a Syliran Knight, not an accountant, not a scribe or a librarian, he didn't need to know these things. All he needed to know was how to swing a Py-Pole and that was about the end of it. And yet.. it was a new skill, foreshadowing the new skills he would be learning in the future. He should be focusing on it, regardless of what task it is - he should be pushing everything he had. "Thank you.. I'll try better this time." He wasn't kidding.

Her attempts at making the task more manageable, regardless of their true motive, were somewhat sweet. Of course, he still didn't have much confidence that he would do well.. but he felt like if he put more into it, then he could at least be proud that he had attempted as much as possible. And perhaps he might even find it enjoyable in time. That was the spirit. "This is a story? Sorry, I can't actually.. read any of it. Just squiggles and whatnot to me.." Perhaps he really shouldn't have told her that, because the moment the squirrel said it, he knew that it probably wouldn't help anything. More likely, it would make her very annoyed.. as if she wasn't already. Her demeanor was cool, but he'd seen earlier on how petched off she was.

Soon, though, he was following her advice and biting his bottom lip in concentration. Feet held shoulder-width apart and the quill dipped in ink and then practically hugged to his chest, his hips slowly moved - quite literally, since he had no bones to keep any natural movement, so he was able to slide his upper body back and forth on top of his pelvis while it stayed completely motionless - and found a slight improvement from before, in terms of his grip. In terms of the writing, it took longer.. but at least it looked slightly more legible. Even if there were similar mistakes in terms of his spelling and his understanding of the letters. Maybe if he could actually read, there might have been less.. but as it was, he didn't really know what he was writing. More of it looked like artwork than actual writing, but at least it was short. At least there were less of them than last time.. but he could still see many errors as he went along - the occasional dribble of ink as a droplet fell from the quill while he refreshed it, or a wobbling line that was supposed to be straight.. or a little circle where there shouldn't have been. But he persisted, for the sake of himself and.. whatever good this was supposed to do anyone.

"How do you even do this..." The question was half to himself, half aimed at Naia. "... And why are you even supposed to be doing this? Who does it help.." His concentration faltered and a small, squeaky curse left the squirrel as he adjusted his stance. It took a few moments before he was able to forgive it, and dip his quill in its pot before continuing again on the next line. "Who gains anything from squiggles in a book, written out over and over?"

[Naia Whitewater]

Naia's Speech | Thoughts | Others' Speech

She almost huffed in annoyance, failing to see how Arch was supposed to be an aid to her work. He was a sweet little thing, and she acknowledged that it was not his own fault - but the greatest part of her was hoping that he'd find keen interest in using the quill as a staff of some sort and try fighting an imaginary foe, they'd both be happy, at least. She shot Hedyla a look as she approached once more, a short gesture to a chair close by, and a hand placed on the book in front of her all that needed to be said, the younger woman's own sweet little smile and brisk nod enough of a response to satisfy the Svefra.

Yep, Hedyla was most certainly Naia's favourite person in the entirety of the Halls of Robes, all she seemed to have been doing as of late was prove the point further. "So, you can't read..." she began, severing her recognition of the words she saw from mind and setting herself to mechanically write-on-sight. It was slower, and not nearly written with print as fine, but she needed to put her mind to conversation and maintain some sort of tempo.

"So you don't appreciate books?" She began, finding the premise of the little pycon's troubles before finding some way to convince him otherwise. She paused for a moment, a short frown passing her expression before she passed it aside and continued onwards. "Well, what ever you appreciate and value in life, I can guarentee you that there is a book written on it."

She mediated on her own words for a moment, before setting down her quill and sending a look throughout the building, ensuring she had the little knight-to-be's attention before she did so. "Over there - the everything about the history of Nyka, and close by are logs and tomes of religion, then there's mythology, then architecture and so on. Not much to many, but if you read what it in those books you will know what laws have worked and what haven't, you'll know of every major offender to the city and how they were dealt with. You'll know the Gods, the Goddess, the Monks and what they stand for. You'll be able to look at any mural or depiction within the city's wall, and have an idea about what it represents, and perhaps even it's age depending on how far you've read. Gods, you'll even know what city has had what relationship with Nyka. Enemies, friends, trade partners, rivals... Pretty well everything."

She kept her voice soft and tender, unwilling to come off as too stern and unyielding, and wind up pressing the situation worse than better. She gave Arch a curious look, this time pointing towards her left, to a rather secluded little section, where the bulk of the scholar's activity seemed to be concentrated. "Then there is that marvelous little area," She took on a hint of her mother's voice then, the tones and playings on words that always used when she spun tales. "Science and study on the aperture," she gave a short pause before continuing, as if trying to fan the pycon's curiosity as much as her own.

"Everything that goes bump in the night has had some sort of paper written about it. Some essay or manuscript or tome recounting a shadow or voice or noise, a smell or a taste. There are writings of those who died valiantly in the Aperture, those who were daft in their ventures and those who were brave, those lucky enough to live and those who weren't." She smirk almost took form upon her lips as she gave her last little piece of information, raising her voice to ensure that it, if only it, was heard. "Only the best or most lucky come out alive. One would have to be on par with the Syliran knights to even consider going down there. And even then, I'm quite sure even people of their level - if not many themselves - have died in their efforts. If you read the tales and deaths of those that came before you, you can learn where they went wrong and why, find the right, or a new, way to do it for yourself. And you can surpass them."

That was enough to draw his attention, right? Gods, she hoped so.

[Archailist]

He thought about her questions for a few minutes, both of them in turn, before stopping the sloppy writing for a moment to look up at her. "Nope, and nope. To be honest.. reading and books don't seem something that I really need to focus in. I mean, books won't help me show the other squires and the knights in Syliras how good I am, they won't help me in the Training Grounds.. or in the field." It was a pretty common belief, he always thought - books had their uses, of course. There were always uses for something, but some uses weren't always useful to everyone. A carpenter didn't need a working knowledge of astrology, did he? A gardener didn't need to know boxing? Then why should he need to know any of the things found in these books, what good would they bring to a squirrel training to become a Syliran Knight?

But.. appreciate and value in life. Did that mean that there were books on the Syliran Knights as well? There could be books on their fighting style.. their could be tales of their valor, all manners of things in them. If there really was, then he could find a use of them after all.. that is, if he leaned how to write and read first. He looked up to her, about to ask her the question when he found her already looking elsewhere, and he followed her gaze until he came across the wide rack of heavy tomes lining an old oak shelf.

Mythology, architecture.. but they couldn't be really that fantastic, could they? Maybe with some working knowledge of the architecture of Nyka, he could find the best places to climb, a working street view of the city, but.. mythology, yeah, he could find some ancient knowledge about the monstrous creatures of the land and set his own desire to go out and find if they were true, to find the secrets that no-one else had, but... "Well.. that does sound kind-of interesting, I suppose. If they've got some on the architecture of Nyka, Syliras.. and the laws, you say? Well.. hmm.." He was losing himself in thought, the quill and the tome long forgotten under the possibilities that could come from the knowledge within these walls that he could put to his advantage. Some of it wouldn't be worth as much as others, but that wasn't important.

Something snapped him out of his reverie. "The Aperture?" The giant rip at the center of Nyka, that he'd passed countless times before but never considered much interest in. Of course, he'd heard the rumors and the tales of its origins and its powers, but.. that was about it. Hearsay and myths that were most likely concocted from an outsider in the hopes of a few coin. "Surely not all of it can be true, though.." he spoke absently, even while listening intently on every word, nearly hanging on them while his eyes widened to saucers in rapture. "I.. well, that's definitely.. interesting." He could barely control his excitement by that point, and nearly dropped the quill from his little paws. Gods, he wanted to know now. He wanted to know it all. And yet here he stood with a tome staring him in the face and he couldn't read it.. what chance would he have if he couldn't even understand the majority of what was in those books if he couldn't read the ones here?

"Okay, so.. what do these say then?" He pointed down to the squiggles and began again with his copying, taking closer look at the words in the hopes of understanding what they meant.. of course, he didn't know any of them, but he hoped that if he kept staring at them for long enough, then he might be able to understand. And all the while, patiently, he continued the slow writing of the quill, occasionally dipping in the ink and sketching out very rough imitations of what was set out. "Hmm.. mmmm.."

[Naia Whitewater]

Naia's Speech | Thoughts | Others' Speech

It turned out far better than she'd had hoped it would. Naia's look then took a further pleased turn when Arch expressed his interest in the particular little tale that he was trying to write, her smile soft but unmistakable. Stories were something she loved, and if reading a page or two would be enough to get her little helper to, well, help, then she'd not pass up the opportunity.

She shuffled her chair closer to the pycon, throwing Hedyla a glance to see whether she'd chosen to work or listen, smile widening and a short giggle escaping her lips at the sight she saw, her right hand covering her own impish look as she examined the seemtress/librarian's. Naia had never seen the her eyes so keen, the usual glassy look to her light green eyes taking on something far deeper and more engaged, her lips quirking to crooked little smile and form rigid in expectations.

The two exchanged a girlish look, before a short giggle left both and Naia let her gaze slip down the page. "Now what was... again?" she murmured, to none but herself, her tone light and playful. "This little page in particular is an argument," deciding that if she was going to tell a tale, she'd see if she could teach a thing or two.

"See these marks?" She began, her gesture clear in pointing to the punctuation denoting speech. "They're speech marks, they go around the words that someone says. Here, you can see that it is a new line every time it changes the person talking." She sighed lightly, giving Arch a moment, before shedding the boring speak and diving into the tale.

"Here, a young man is claiming that he did nothing wrong, that walls and stones bear no feeling - that life is only within those that live and breathe." Already, the gist of the tale was well known, with quite a myriad of such little tales spun by any native storyteller who sings and speaks of the living, breathing, thriving city that is Nyka. "Next you have a fair Nykan maiden, with hair dark and wild, eyes bright and full of life and wonder," she took to a dreamy kind of voice, catchign the eye roll that Hedyla gave to the sickly sweet words, "And ready to punch him in the face."

The Nykan woman snapped into a bout of laughter, her chortle high pitched and child-like, grimacing as she tried to smother it before she was hushed by someone uptight, Naia's own look shock-amusement doing little to help her efforts. The Svefra shook her head slightly, a huff of pushed through her nose as she composed herself and pressed on-wards. "Apparently, the young man doesn't take too kindly to the maiden's resort of violence, and there - this mark - is a question mark, and is used to show that a question is being asked, rather than a statement said or exclaimed."

She shook off the stern, no nonsense tone that had taken to her, hoping to finish the short part of the tale before either of her fellows forgot what was said, "He asked her what made Nyka so 'different,' before mention the Bastion of Syliras and contrasting the Monks to Knights, the denizens of the stone fortress with the Native Nykans." She frowned, then, reading ahead, pressing her lips as she shot a cursory glace to Hedyla, before returned her gaze to Arch. Oh, the plot was about to thicken something horrific.

[Archailist]

He tried to focus on what he was meant to be - writing out the 'words' to the best of his ability as she spoke.. but soon enough he found the quill lowered and his attention solely on the elder as she spoke her words of wisdom. It was difficult enough to get things done - he was supposed to be helping her, and now she was the one distracting him from getting anything done! Was there something that he'd missed? There were too many questions already appearing in his head as she dived head-first into the section of story that he'd begun transcribing into messy ink blots.

"Speech marks, right.." To him, they looked like two little lines, but apparently they were speech marks. There were quite a lot of these marks around the text, odd little things framing all of the other squiggles. Angry words, if they were arguing.. but who was arguing here, were they monks or were they adventurers, or something else entirely? ".. What kind of man was he?" It made no sense for a whole story to focus entirely around a man without even knowing who he was.. but she was trying to condense down all of the writing, he supposed. There was lots of it. Even the woman who'd been helping her was giggling at the tale, as if there was a hidden joke underneath it all.. was the story funny, or were they laughing at him for not knowing it?

And then there was another part of the story.. a woman who punched people? It sounded odd, considering the few that he'd met weren't exactly the kind that punched. And the few that he'd met were restricted to those he'd found in the Hall of Robes, not that he knew that any others acted differently. But, it was her story, not his. "Question mark.." Like a sickle, but with a weird dot at the bottom. ".. Why does she punch him?" She'd apparently missed that part out of the little story as well. It was difficult to follow the story if she didn't explain at least what was happening and why!

"Wait, wait, wait. What?" There was something important. Something about a bastion whatever that was, and some difference between monks and the Syliran Knights. It was something vital, and he was leaning over to get a good look at those words as if he would be able to understand any of them. "So, what did she say? What's the answer?" The transcribing work was long forgotten. There was something hidden in these books that could tell him something about the knights and the monks, that he could use. He was supposed to be training with the monks to become a knight.. so what did the monks know that the knights didn't? "Come on, tell me what it is!"

[Naia Whitewater]

Naia's Speech | Thoughts | Others' Speech | oocSorry for my lateness! D:

"Questions later," Naia had hushed, driving on with the tale until she herself could go back and check, continuing on with few breaks save for her routine pauses and explanations. "Wait, wait, wait. What?"

She grinned as she could only when telling a tale, wide and impish and joyful. This - this is why she found thrill in tales, why they sprung to her lips at any given trigger, why she put such care and effort into her phrasing and pacing and tone, and why she was always so eager to learn when it was through a tale that was told. It was the glint and jump and eagerness to see how things pan out, the moment when the tale is more real the world itself, when the mind reels and loses itself.
 
"Come on, tell me what it is!" Naia gave a short giggle, frown pronounced as she pointed towards the tear in the earth that divided the city. "The Heart of the World," she took proper hold of the book, then, flitting through it's pages as she poured over the prior chapters, seeking the an answer to the questions the pycon had asked before continuing on with the true shock of the tale, finding that it would serve better to have Arch and Hedyla know the characters before what befell them. "Your questions," she trailed, gesturing to her little clay friend.

"The man, for the most part, seems the chivalrous sort on the surface. Foreign and golden haired, shorter than we Nykans," It was strange calling herself Nykan - but she was, wasn't she? Both one of Nyka, and of the oceans. "Ignorant and noble, handsome." she mused to herself for a moment, little bits of information missing. "There doesn't seem to be much more written than that, not even a name - nor the woman, for that matter. She is fair, light eyed and dark haired, beautiful and wild and protective," From what she could tell, it was a recent tale, even with the age of the tome itself. Perhaps one that had only be told in song and around a hearth, only a certain variation formally written when those willing to speak it declined.

There was a short moment that passed before she recalled the other key question, moving further along in the story, hating a few mere pages before her initial reading commenced. "Women are not pretty little sights to be seen, and not heard. We can hold our own as well as any man. The reason why she wishes to punch our golden haired hero, is because he undermined her." It was rather the complex little situation, and it all arose because he essentially did something very, very, moronic, "he was smitten with her look but not her character. He tried to talk her out of her love for the city, he tried to turn her from a life where she was content with herself and her place, and live a life of dissatisfaction in a city that did not live and breathe like Nyka did."

She paused, then debating on when would be the opportune time to tell of the tale's rather grizzly ending.