A Masterful Start to a Ghost Story

by **Matthew** on March 25th, 2014, 2:56 pm

He closed the journal with a bit of a thump, a small cloud of dust exploding from the yellowed pages. He blinked a few times, glancing down at the noise as if surprised that he had been the one to cause it. He peered at the journal for a few moments before gingerly handing it over to Oriah, silently suggesting that it was probably safer in her hands. He watched her as the dancer watched him, contrasting colors quietly studying the other, seeking to understand what lay hidden behind the expressive gazes. He soaked in every little detail of her facial expressions, from the quizzical furrowing of her brows to the sudden grin. He had managed to suck her in. She was the bold sort, the spontaneous sort, perfect for a sudden adventure such as this. He shelved the information away, updating the little book that his mind had created for Oriah and Oriah alone. He gave a quick nod as she informed of her intent to duck into her room, crossing his slim arms and waiting patiently for her outside. When she returned he took a quick scan of her, light blue eyes flickering over the Tamo and the sling.

At her next question he motioned, turning and naturally taking the lead through the city. He instinctively moved closer, much like he had a few nights ago, body lightly brushing hers every so often at a proximity that most would assume was a proximity among lovers. There was still a certain appearance he wanted to upkeep, and that appearance hadn't fully been set in stone back at the dance as he had originally planned. Whatever the case, Oriah was fairly new to Zeltiva, so perhaps she would appreciate the silent show of protectiveness. He was quiet as he walked them through the city streets, confident and graceful with his gait.

They approached the General Store, a large two story building that had windows covered with old sails. The inside was plain but filled to the brim with a variety of goods, from all sorts of delicious foods to common items of clothing and other everyday selections of gear. Matthew led Oriah through it, heading first for the most obvious tool he thought they would need. Moving through the old wooden counter-tops, he made his way to a selection of coiled ropes and chose one to sling over his broad shoulder. Turning to Oriah, he offered a polite smile, blue eyes finding hers yet again.

"Do you think we will need anything else? I assume the grave wouldn't be too much of a climb, but the rope may come in handy. Would you like to pick out a basket for lunch, or do you think putting some snacks in our pockets would suffice?" He paused a moment, taking a breath, sucking in the scent of all the old wood and varieties of culinary goods. He was very new to all of this, perhaps it would be best to ask the store clerk? He couldn't imagine it being too much of a journey, though. "Perhaps a torch or two, and a method to light it?"

The young student absentmindedly walked down some of the aisles, studying the selection that they had on sale. He tried to remember what his mother had taught him when he was younger, when he had been blessed with more time to run around and expend energy. Was it almonds and pecans that helped give energy and strength? Or was it dried jerky? Or both? He paused in front of a selection of dried goods, pondering the choices. When Oriah wandered near, she would be suddenly and randomly subjected to another one of Matthew's surprise questions. "What about a kiss? Have you ever kissed a boy or girl on the lips?" What did her religion have to say about that? He was painfully uneducated on everything that the worship of Yahal entailed.

If she deemed it appropriate to get the torch, rope, and some food supplies, then he would cover the entire cost if allowed and then lead her out of the store. If no other destinations were suggested, then they would soon be heading toward the entrance to Zeltiva and out into the nearby wilderness, straight for where Matthew recalled the Storm Shrine to be.

by **Oriah** on April 2nd, 2014, 8:33 am

She struggled to keep up with Matthew, oggling every other item that somehow managed to find its way into her eager, curious hands. Eventually, however, the dancer had to tone down her enthusiasm, as the shopkeeper was now eyeing her with a healthy amount of suspicion. Oriah set down a strange looking oil lamp carved into the shape of a pot-bellied man, its surface gleaming with obnoxious, false-gold paint, and marched quickly after her guide. The Benshira wouldn't be caught dead stealing--not after losing Priah to something as trivial as a ring--but the seething presence of judgment still made her uneasy.

The girl reverted her attentions forward as Matthew slung a coil of rope over his shoulders, the movement as easy and graceful as though he did this sort of thing everyday. When he turned to offer her a polite smile and invitation to add to their collection of supplies, Oriah beamed back without hesitation and glanced around the shelves. She had had something half-formed in her mind concerning practical, grave-exploring tools, but forgot it completely at the mention of snacks.

"Maybe something we can hold in a sack," she suggested, rifling through various wares--carefully, so as not to further taunt the shopkeeper--and sizing up different bags. "That way, when we finish the food, it will still be useful. And not hard to carry."

The harlot then mentioned torches, to which Oriah nodded vigorously. She'd never liked the dark much. Especially not after last night and her companion's nightmarish possession.

"I have a way to light it," the dancer offered, tapping behind at her pack. "I have, how do you say in Common..." She struggled for a moment, face scrunched in an effort to remember, but to no avail. Defeated, Oriah gestured with her hands instead, hitting them together to mimic the motion of striking flint against steel.

Hoping Matthew had understood, she followed after him as he returned to ambling down the aisles once more. She stuck pieces of edibles now and then that smelled tasty and made her mouth water into the roughspun bag. It was hard resisting the urge to stuff a candied almond into her lips instead of the sack, but scathing surveillance on the other side of the shelves was enough to prevent even the most unwitting of thieves.

That, and every time Oriah found herself within earshot of the harlot, another brazen question would be sent her way. This time, his curiosity had arrived on the subject of kisses. Fire lit against her cheeks once more. The Benshira busied herself with examining a pair of shiny apples, hoping against hope that the shopkeeper was deaf to their unusual points of conversation. There was no way around it, though; one way or the other, Matthew was going to get his answers. She'd learned this the hard way only about half a dozen times in the past ten chimes.

"Ehm," she began, clearing her throat. "Well, once, when I was small, I kissed a boy because I lost a game. It felt strange, and I kept my eyes shut the whole time."

Oriah grit her teeth a little, remembering what happened after. "Then our elders found out...and punished us with seven days of collecting fuel for the fires." She slid Matthew a grim look. "The smell of sheep droppings stayed in our noses forever. And we hated each other after that." A small bundle of dried meat caught her eye and she dropped it into her steadily fattening sack. "Marriage is a very serious matter amongst my people," Oriah added quietly, almost to herself. "Though sometimes I wonder if they are too serious."

She stayed silent for a moment as they walked on. Then the words came, unbidden, straying from her lips before her mind had time to halt them. "I did kiss a girl once, too," Oriah blurted. "My sister. After both her wounds and Syna's burning love took the last of her strength."

Why did she just say that? She shouldn't have said that. Though, curiously enough, the girl felt neither regret nor pain, as was expected. Only a tinge of sadness at how far away and faded the memory now seemed, even if she could never forget the jagged, sand-like surface of Priah's lifeless lips.

Once they were done gathering supplies, Matthew graciously covered all expenses and led them out of the store, then beyond the city itself. Now that they were fully geared and walking farther and farther away from civilization, Oriah began to feel her blood sing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. What would they find out there? Outlaws? Hungry predators? More...ghosts?

She shuddered at the last one, hoping that all of her guesses would be wrong. It certainly helped, though, that her companion walked closed by her side, the occasional brush of his confident form lending her a measure of comfort and boldness. Syna was still glowing loftily in the sky and it felt rather good to be away from the bustling city and out in the quiet wilderness, but a sense of unease pervaded. Every now and then, Oriah peered behind her shoulder, feeling as though they were being followed. But there was never anything there, not even a wandering creature or wind-blown leaf.

Perhaps she was just imagining things.

Elsewhere... :

by **Matthew** on April 7th, 2014, 10:46 pm

It wasn't only the shopkeeper that had decided to eyeball her. Matthew was now looking mildly concerned, having noted the wonder and eagerness in her open stare. He had decided he would pay for the supplies; would that end up being a mistake? Perhaps he had underestimated the amount that the young Benshira was able to spend. Matthew and the shopkeeper traded glances, the student noticing that the shopkeeper had something else in his stare. He wasn't worried, there was something else there. Matthew studied the expression for a few more moments before returning his attentions to the girl, curious as to what she would do.

Ah, he had mentioned snacks. She had zeroed in on that word, so to speak. He couldn't help but remember her little show back at the dance. He had no doubt that she hadn't intended it to be a show, but in the end she had gained an audience. It hadn't been for her dancing, either. It had been because of her nearly magical ability to inhale large amounts of cubed cheese. She glowed so very brightly when he mentioned food. Or was that just her pleasure at being able to help out with their little excursion?

He quietly watched as she browsed more of the isles, tilting his head to listen as she tried to explain a concept to him. He hesitated a moment as his mind clicked through all the different things she could mean, then blinked as his thoughts settled on what was likely the answer. "Flint. Flint and steel." He followed her as she followed him, the both of them slowly shuffling down the isle as he quietly watched her pick out a variety of treats and combine them into the bag. It was something of a trail mix of sorts, a term that his mother had taught him when they used to go on hikes out to the Zeltiva beaches every now and then. They had been short hikes that always kept the city close, but they had always been adventures to him. He loved a good adventure, though perhaps not for the reasons that most people did. There was of course the brief sensation of thrill, but it was mostly for the experience. The new experience, something an adventure almost always offered to him.

His attentions refocused on her as she explained her experience with a kiss. She had kissed a boy because of a loss at some game? That didn't make a single bit of sense to him. What sort of game was that? He was only familiar with a few of the basics that he had played as a child. Chess, checkers, dominos, all of those things. The punishment was even more hard to imagine. His young mind currently had a hard time understanding and imagining marriage. How could they hope to teach a pair of small children what it was like? Still, if you ingrained it early, perhaps it would be imbedded into them on a deeper level. He wasn't quite sure. However, the idea of Oriah kissing her sister was a lot more logical to him. Who else would you try such an odd thing with, other than someone you trusted? It wasn't until further along in mental development that the mind started associating kissing with intimacy and lust. Lifeless, though? He blinked, the additional detail clicking in his mind. "Oh. I am sorry to hear that. I can't imagine."

Matthew's value as a friend when it came to specific sorts of things was being slowly revealed, more and more. When it came to sympathy, he was useless. His apology was as generic as the ones she had likely heard dozens of times before.

"If you would like to learn how to kiss, I can teach you sometime. Just let me know." The offer was put out there and then left out there, perhaps jarring and forward to the dancer, but apparently simple and casual to the student. So they went, through small thickets of trees and to a nearby rolling hill, finding a small but well-worn path that led to the Storm Shrine. It was a multitude of rolling hills, small gatherings of bushes here and there. It could be one of many places, but Matthew decided to let Oriah take the lead. Or, really, he offered to let her take the lead. "Would you like to go to the Storm Shrine first and then search outwards, or just go ahead and begin our search? Is there a particular way you would like to go about it?" He paused, reaching for the journal to see if there were any further clues. If she was quick to speak up, he would let her take the mantle of Leader. If not, he would just proceed based on his own ideas, readily taking the role of a leader himself.

by **Oriah** on April 15th, 2014, 7:48 am

The Benshira was peeking through her satchel of food when Matthew offered to teach the finer points of kissing. She nodded absently in agreement, caught in the midst of debating whether to eat something now or expect the worst and save her aromatic collection for emergencies only. The smell of candied almonds tempted even her best, most disciplined attempts at resistance. But what if the journey wasn't nearly as smer as her companion had made it sound? Then they would be stuck out in gods knew where, with only a few handfuls of food and each other's company to survive on. And Oriah knew only too well the results of Matthew's curiosity paired with indefinite amounts of free time.

Wait, kissing lessons?

Oriah yanked both ends of string to seal the sack for fear of dropping it and spilling all of her delectable treats onto the dirt path. Blessed Yahal, the things she was discovering even existed today.

His question, however, demanded no immediate answer, which she shamelessly exploited. And not so much because of the question itself--kissing seemed a mite modest compared to this newfangled master bay shun, afterall--but more so because of her own willingness to consider it.

The devout worshiper of Yahal thought long and hard as they walked side by side in companionable silence. Over the course of her two year journey, Oriah had come to understand that, in allowing her to leave the tents and travel as she did, her god upheld a vague but impressionable message. One that suggested even if the ways of her elders were set in stone, hers did not have to be. Why else would he condone this, if not to further test and strengthen her faith?

So, the dancer had geared her goals toward learning and understanding. There was no better way she could think of to succeed in creating her own code to live by, no surer method to honor Yahal's compassion and wisdom.

Matthew was an unexpected twist in her otherwise straightforward tale. A veritable fork in the road, all in his very presence. Without knowing it, the harlot and student had become a double edged blade, with the ability to either aid Oriah in her richest triumph of faith yet or ruin her in dismal totality. The Benshira wrung the sack between her hands at such thoughts. Would she be able to swing said blade in her favor, or would she come to find her neck above the cutting block?

It was risky. That much was certain. But, she could not help but feel the risk made this potential endeavor all the more worthwhile. Caution tempered with sheer determination should do the trick. A little longer of a walk, yes, but the oasis at the end shimmered that much more brightly.

Another set of questions, however, drew the girl from her internal sifting. Matthew was now asking how she would like to approach their search, placing her in a new state of mental churning. How should they go about doing this? Neither she nor the harlot seemed to specialize in ghost hunting. Though her immediate reaction was to defer to the harlot, due to his education and ability to read chicken scratches that served as journal entries, in the end, naked curiosity got the best of her.

"I would like to see this Storm Shrine," Oriah answered without hesitating. "Have you ever been there before?"

She looked up at the foothills they would have to trek across. It wasn't a form of exertion she'd relish, but the dancer had to admit the scenery all but made up for the tedious trail. Oriah was never fond of hiking. Perhaps she was too used to the pliant feel of rolling dunes beneath her, or the caked and cracking surface of barren sand. Or, maybe she had had her fill the day Priah had returned with her to their Tent as a dried husk of a corpse. Whatever the case, she struggled to keep her mind off of it.

The longer and higher they walked, the more taxing each step grew. Now and then, the Benshira would pause to look behind them, sure she heard quiet footsteps but forced to dismiss them each time as the wind or a figment of her imagination when nothing out of ordinary met her cerulean gaze.

Closed A Masterful Start to a Ghost Story