PM to join The Telling Stars [Naemon]

[Edric Wingard]

The 73rd of Winter, 513 A.V.

There were no clouds tonight.

A lone figure stood silently, his back pressed against the roughened wall of the mountain as his arms and ankles crossed elegantly before him. His head, so delicate in its bone structure, leaned back carelessly against the freezing rock, allowing him to stare openly at the large expanse of black above. The inky darkness was overwhelming; its absence of colour prevalent as it greedily collected the light from the day and horded it close to its chest, plunging Mizahar into darkness. Leth was selfish in his adoration of Syna; determined to rip the remnants of her love from the unworthy creatures below. Listlessly, he watched as the only sign of the god’s softness sparkled brilliantly in the skies; the twinkling stars reminiscent of the light of hopeful souls from many years ago.

Wingard did not actually know the history or the creation process behind the glittering orbs above him, if he was honest. Although such ignorance was not unusual either; a thought that brought a bitter twist to the lips of the Kelvic. Wind Reach, although beautiful, was not educated on many things beyond hunting, archery and Epicureanism, so it was not hard to imagine his own lack of education on such a subject. It irked the eagle regardless though, as he yearned for answers to the questions that consistently plagued his mind. Sighing quietly, he pushed that self-pitying feeling to the darkest depths of his mind as he returned his meandering thoughts back to the skies and Leth. To him, the Avora liked to think of the stars as reincarnated beings of the world. Those souls that rested forever in the skies’ embrace embodied the hopes and dreams of those below that truly needed guidance. Each star was a martyr that wished to provide solace for the weak and pitiful in order to eventually inspire them to continue forward and not perish beneath the harsh reality of the world.

It was an idealistic view that he would never dare to share with anyone as he knew the foolishness that must exist in his head for him to even believe such things, but Wingard also understood the importance of spirituality. Having spent so many nights on his own, he knew the darkness of his own thoughts well. He knew of the despair that festered in the open sores of the lonely, oozing its poison so clearly that one could mistake it as sweat from overexertion rather than the silent assassin of happiness. This darkness, it was corrosive and unforgiving, and it took pleasure from every weakened wail of pain that spilled from the fragile one’s lips until it claimed the life it had initially coveted. Yes, Wingard understood the need to find an outlet for such negative emotions; he understood escapism.

The skies, which had always been his home, were the natural place that he would escape to. As a young fledgling, the brilliant light of Syna had soothed his bitterness over not finding his bond mate. It was not until he was far older did he understand the beauty of the night as well. Leth, so cold compared to his lover, was intimidating, but beneath his intense presence laid a man that guarded his domain with nurturing fingers. The night was a time of relaxation and recharging; its darkness frightening but necessary for one to rest. Slowly, the eagle began to see the small nuances of beauty that Leth provided until he finally completed his first solo flight under the cover of the night.

It had been a breathtaking experience of silence and contemplation. Rather than commit to the aerodynamics that he praised the sun with, Wingard had found himself flying slowly; dipping his wings into the bay as he scaled the skies and futilely reached for the stars above him. Here, he praised Leth gently and luxuriously. While Syna’s celebration was energetic and excited, Leth’s was calm and tranquil. Each midnight flight soothed the turbulent feelings of his soul and silenced the demons that plagued his mind. It was the relief he needed, and in many ways, the night helped him get over his own faults as a Wind Eagle.

Blinking as the stars continued to twinkle; Wingard dragged his head languidly to the left to observe the growing crowd beside him. They were perhaps twenty feet off from his location and he heard the boisterous shouts of disbelief escape his people at what he assumed was an entertainer. Absently, he recognized the fact that he could no longer feel his back, his skin chilled deeply from resting for too long against the frozen stone of their mountain. Heaving a great sigh at such an obtrusion, the man pushed himself up from his position. For a moment he stood still watching as his breath materialized before him before finally drawing his curious eyes back to the crowd. He was interested in what sort of entertainer would be found this far from the protection of the Inner Tunnels, so the eagle slowly began making his way over to the crowd, his intrigue too strong to ignore.

Pushing his way to the front of the crowd without meeting much resistance, the creature simply quirked a brow and tucked him hands into his pockets as he observed the ‘entertainment’ before him.

Curiosity killed the cat.

[Naemon]

The way time slipped through mortal hand’s was interesting. They had no idea what was happening, but they so ferociously wished to define it. Time was a thing of the divine, something governed by the moon and sun, but not as a reality, rather as a perception. The illusion of time created through cyclic processes was perhaps one of the most interesting phenomena in mortal history. Gods made concepts real, and concepts were made real by their gods, in an endless wheel of circular logic. It was a thought that would be a tad out of the reach of most mortals, but Naemon wasn’t exactly mortal at the moment.

He would be, come day time, but now, he was the image of Leth, and enjoying his time with understanding. Long horns and smooth limbs gave way to shimmering silver eyes, but for now, his appearance wasn’t the focus of tonight’s events. No, today he had managed to gather a small crowd of Inarta (a few other humans, but mainly the scarlet-haired eagle folk), and he was educating. It was also an easy way to make money, people tended to be loose with their spending if it involved giving money to someone who’s face was quite literally divine. A faint smile twinkled across his features, like a star shooting through the skies of Mizahar.

Naemon was about to start speaking about astrology properly, when a small child ran up to him, bumping into his leg. A pile of trash that was about to get a good hit across the face, what an insolent pile of-… His thoughts stopped for a second. The child was crying, and holding a single meager pinion. “My mommy has been on a hunting trip for very long, and daddy and I are scared that she’s lost! Could you tell me what the stars say, please?” Naemon’s anger melted away and fell from him like snowmelt, and he bent down to take the pinion. “Certainly, my dear child. I shall read the stars for safety of hunters, just tell me, what season was your mother born in?”

The child wiped at her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible answer. “Mommy was born in summer…” Naemon patted the child on the head, and proceeded to turn around, to where his astrology supplies were laid out. He realized that he had inadvertently aged the child a day, but that was alright, a day was merely a poof of air in a far greater system of existence.

Examining the stars carefully, Naemon let Leth guide his hand. Drawing a few lines and tracking the next predicted collapse of a star, Naemon had a flash of proper knowledge presented to him. ‘The Fate of the Hunter-Mother Born in Summer While Hunting in Winter’, it took a little bit of reading and extrapolation, but he was quite sure he got an accurate message from the gods.

Turning to the little girl, Naemon knelt and gave her a small sheet of paper upon which he had drawn a star map with some calculations and lines drawn on it. “Your mother is extremely lucky to be born in summer, for the stars say that hunter-mothers born in seasons other than summer face almost certain death. However, the hunter-mother birthed in summer merely faces temporary obstacles, and will come out of the cold with rewards and quarry piled up to her chin.” The little girl’s face lit up, and she hugged the lanky figure’s leg. Naemon gave a little giggle, not unlike a particularly bright glimmer of moonlight, one that wasn’t particularly common, but was pleasant to see nonetheless.

“Would any others curious of their fates care to come down and see the star-meanings of this season? It wouldn’t take too much from me, and it’ll certainly help you! All for just a few meager pinions! This is practically charity work, really.” Giving what he assumed was an inviting smile, Naemon gave a quick motion, one that insinuated openness. It was best to welcome the customers with as much fervor as possible, of course, otherwise they wouldn’t be satisfied with the level of your craft. And stars were not something to be left to charlatans, people needed accurate information.

[Syveris]

It was night, and once more she had done nothing of use for the city. Syveris walked slowly through the Inner Warrens, her lips pressed together as she thought about everything. It wasn't like her to think too much about things, but that had gotten her into trouble. Syveris grunted, adjusting her katinu around her. The season had been chaotic at best, with all those accusations and the famine.

The Despised had been executed, and she was still alive. And yet, the Avora felt like the events hadn't been left behind yet. People didn't get out of the way when she walked through them anymore, and mostly, she had become once again ignored by complete strangers. But there was still a part of her mind that wondered if there weren't still those who thought she was guilty, and only declared innocent because lack of proof. Worse still, Syveris still couldn't decide if she was innocent or not. Because, even if it wasn't on purpose, wasn't she still guilty?

The doubt was there, even after everything was finished. And the fact that the Glass Reverie was still closed only added to her sour mood. She couldn't work with her craft, and each time passed on the Arms Gallery only made her feel like a waste of space.

Someone bumped into her, and the Avora groaned, ready to scold whomever had done that. However, the girl only kept walking, talking excitedly with her friend about some kind of star reader.

Could stars be read? Syveris frowned, her curiosity picked, and she followed the two girls through the Inner Warrens, keeping enough distance so they wouldn't notice her, until they reached a crowd gathered around something.

Syveris sighed, not so eager anymore. However, one look up made her curious again. There were no clouds that night, and all stars could be seen perfectly. The Avora had never thought too much about them, though. For her, the stars were a fact, something that existed but held no special meaning. She, like most in Wind Reach, was not religious, but more than that, she didn't care about Gods and Goddesses. For her, they were strangers, and although sometimes she heard people talking about stars being connected with the divine, she had never cared.

But now she was curious. She had never thought someone could read something like the stars. Squeezing herself between two Inarta, she made her way towards the front, bumping into someone.

"Sorry." she said, not looking at whomever it was. Instead, she was too busy glaring at the man on the middle of the crowd. He was drawing something, but Syveris was surprised by his looks. He was tall, with pale skin and silver eyes, much like the stars themselves. Two horns adorned his head, and the Avora couldn't stop looking. He was nothing like any other race she had ever seen, and she couldn't guess who, or what, he was.

When the man finished drawing, he offered it to the child, together with some words about his mother's fate. The Avora watched, impressed, not sure how he had done that, and not sure if she believed, either. There were many people who could lie very easily, she had learned. However, even with her distrust, when the man offered to read others fates, her hand made its way to inside her katinu's pocket, before she controlled herself.

The smile was inviting, and the man seemed trustworthy, probably because of his strange looks. But still, Syveris didn't even want to know her fate. For her, knowing it could just make everything worse right then.

Her fingers played with the few pinions she had on her pocket, wondering. On one hand, she didn't want to know. She didn't even trust completely the man. However, on the other hand... she was curious to see if he could really read the stars.

With a sigh, she looked at her side, wondering if the man besides her would ask for a reading. He was also tall, also clearly not an Inarta, and had an air of power around him, so intimidating that Syveris would have taken a step back, if not for the thick crowd. The Avora quickly looked away, wondering why she was seeing so many strange men in one single night.

[Edric Wingard]

The man before him – although he was not entirely sure if gender applied the same way for this creature – shone so beautifully that the Kelvic found himself slamming his mouth shut and grinding his teeth together in order to not to gape like a dying fish. Breathing slowly through his nose, the eagle took his time gauging the figure before him; taking note of the gently arched antlers that adorned his head, curving back so elegantly that Wingard was sure they’d be a prized possession upon any hunter’s mantle. Cocking his head to the side as his innate beast was known to do, the Avora took his time studying the creature before him; drinking in the twinkling eyes and transparent aura that seemed to surround him.

It was an easy admission that Wingard acknowledged over his ignorance to the origin of the being that seemed to mercilessly entertain the stunned and enchanted Inarta. Quickly glancing around him, he noted the wide eyes and happy grins that his kinsmen sported over the novelty of stargazing. Like a proper storyteller weaving tales, this creature was drawing in his crowd without shame, charming the audience with his uniqueness and glittering eyes that whispered of many journeys. Even the Avora found himself being pulled in with the crowd, his weight settling onto his toes as he leaned in to better hear the stranger. His mind was hungry for the knowledge this creature seemed to hold and Wingard coveted it. He wanted to know what this man was; he wanted to know if there were others just like them or the culture that they held. Yes, he wanted –

Abruptly losing his train of thought, the man jerked his gaze over to the perpetrator. A thin Inarta seemed to have taken advantage of his unbalanced state and wheedled her way to the front like he had done mere moments before. Inwardly grimacing as she intruded upon his personal space, Wingard eased his body in the opposing direction before sending a rather intimidating glare at the man that was settled comfortably in the space he wished to acquire. The Inarta scowled back at him, but he shuffled to the side anyway; obviously fortuitous enough to avoid an unnecessary skirmish with the seemingly volatile titan that towered above him like a skyscraper. Letting out a quiet sigh of relief when his bubble was no longer threatened, the eagle turned his attention back to the stargazer and the recent arrival of a child.

It was pathetic to look at, he mused silently, watching as the child sniffled and stuttered its way through the disappearance of its mother. Immediately, the Kelvic wrote the woman off as dead; it was winter, after all, and for one to be out independently and gone for so long really just spoke of death. That woman’s corpse was probably feeding a pack of animals by now and it was with a dangerously dark humour that he thought about the irony of them catching that predator and then feasting upon its flesh. Did that in some way count as cannibalism? An unbidden smirk graced his lips as he silently appreciated the cycle of life but he did not bother stating his thoughts out loud as it hardly really mattered. These people were investing money uselessly into a hopeless situation, but it was not his pinions they were wasting or his time either, so he silently observed the interaction between the unique creature and child.

Wingard was more interested in the enigma, anyway. As he stated that he could read the stars, the Kelvic was intrigued on how such a process could take place. When he looked up into the spanning skies, all he saw was beautifully twinkling specks of light that seemed to decorate their canvas in an adventitious pattern. Tilting his head upwards just to clarify something he felt was true, he listened intently as the man told his prediction. As the claim wore on, the eagle found himself tilting his keen eyes back towards the teller with pursed lips. His eyes were slightly narrowed, indicating his distain, but he kept the rest of his emotions in check; his sharp features remaining rather passive and relaxed as he chewed over the fanciful statements. Craning his neck to the side, he attempted to catch a glimpse of the slip of paper that he had given the child and for a moment he attempted to match this apparent 'star pattern' to the flinting specks above but failed terribly. Did this creature, and frankly the Inarta as a whole, believe what this man was stating? There were many ‘hunter-mothers’ that were born in the summer and to say that merely because they were born in a specific season ensured their mortality was ridiculous.

Scoffing inwardly, the man darted his eyes around to study the reactions of his fellow observers. Some, he noted with distain, were lapping up this foolishness with a look of adoration that made the Kelvic want to vomit. Did they really believe a statement of “rewards and quarry piled up to her chin” when they were facing one of the worst famines that Wind Reach had ever seen? Letting out a low growl, he continued watching those around him, seeing as they reacted positively to the elated child and proceeded to clap over such predictions. Others, he also saw, were hesitant to believe this sort of ability, and Wingard couldn’t help but inwardly thank the gods that he was not surrounded by such complete idiocy.

Drawing his eyes back to the stargazer, the rapture studied him shrewdly; not bothering to weaken his gaze as his eagle eyes measured him squarely. He silently wondered if this creature actually believed the deceitful lies that spilled forth from his lips, poisoning the already tainted minds of his ignorant people. Why could such a man feel so confident by speaking ambiguous statements that really held nothing but fantasized evidence? From the corner of his eye, he watched as the girl that had initially intruded upon his personal space fiddle with something in her pocket and he mused over her intelligence level. The concept of paying for such lies did not interest the man in the slightest, but Wingard once again found himself intrigued by this man before him.

His life, and evidently his scamming brain, was quite different from his own. If anything, he wanted to continue to observe and understand how it worked so that he could simply categorize it away once he acquired such knowledge. Tired of waiting to see if anyone would step forward and pay for false hope, the Avora decided to take matters into his own hands and sate his curiosity. There were far too many people around him, so the sooner he was capable of gaining answers, the sooner he could return to more important things that did not require close occupancy with others where he was quite sure he was inhaling more carbon dioxide than oxygen on each inhale.

“Stargazer,” he seemed to abruptly say, his voice smooth and melodic with each crisp trill of their language, “What are you, and where does your kind hail from?”

He once again stared openly, catching the eye of the enigma easily as he waited for a response; his body language relaxed as he stood with his hands in the pockets of his bryda, his head cocked to the side. He was watching him with the intensity of a hunter - and studying him like a bird would his prey.