Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Marrick stands watch at Mithryn when a familiar rider approaches

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Marrick Corvis on December 9th, 2014, 4:45 am

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Winter 85th 514 AV 9th Bell

The night was cool. The day had been long and a watch on the wall was warmed with a flagon of heated mead. That was where Marrick held his perch, his longbow strung and laid across his chest. He leaned comfortably seated in between two of the large stones that jutted up in the battlements, his buttock warming the stones. He held his watch, his eyes focused and keened. He was ready for anything. Assured that the rim of the cup would reach his lips he lifted the hot flagon to his mouth and sipped at the spiced mead. It wasn’t strong, as alcohols go. But it sure did keep away the cold.

Drunkenness on the watch was not tolerated. Discipline was paramount in the order, and Marrick was no exception. So he sat, and sipped. Next to him sat a coal heater that held a small jug in boiling water. It steamed happily and the Kelvic was grateful for the additional heat. As he rested at the ready he saw a torch approaching along the battlement. No doubt one of the men on their rounds. But, better safe than sorry.

Marrick notched an arrow and shouted. “Who walks the wall?.”

A familier chuckle escaped the man’s lips and the Kelvic slid from his post to greet his Patron. With a sigh he offered him his own cup to which Ser Whitevine slid his fingers into the loop on its side. “ho ho ho, not too much of this Little brother.” He said before taking a greedy swig and handed it back.

Marrick smiled at his patron. The two of them had been growing closer and closer as time went on. The man trusted him to listen, and the Kelvic didn’t want to disappoint him. Ser Whitevine was a young man, but wise. If only more folk in the order had sense. David would make a great political leader one day like his father, but he knew the blade well.

“Not too much yerself… Ser.” Marrick said with a grin before he nodded ascent and slung his behind back into the quickly cooling stones. “It’s been a quiet noight ser. Nae a thing o’ note teh report. Save fer a pack o’ wolves callin out about twenty chimes ago.” Marrick took another sip of the fortifying mead in his cup. The torchlight was making it hard to see though. “Could yeh do me a favor and put that torch out, or cover it or somthin. Moy eoyes were adjusted fer the noight a few tics ago.” The Kelvic said without turning his head. He didn’t want to look directly at the torch his Patron carried, favoring his eyes natural ability to see movement and shapes in the darkness.

“Of course little brother.” Ser Whitevine held his usual weighing glance for his squire as he doused the torch in the boiling water the jug sat warming in. The man stood there in silence for a moment as he tugged his cloak a little closer about his shoulders.

“Was there somethin yeh wanted teh talk teh me about, Ser?” The dark haired squire said as he kept his nose aimed outward. An overcast night was especially hard to stand watch. But the road was lined with a pale stone that did well to illuminate any dangers that approached. On top of that, fresh frost left the ground looking as if it had snowed while they weren’t looking.

“Aye, little brother.” Ser Whitevine said as he leaned his back against the stone that the Kelvic leaned against. “I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. You’ve made quite a bit of progress in the last year. You were greener than puppy shyke when I met you a year ago.” Ser whitevine’s confession started loud and drifted to a whisper as he spoke.

Marrick wondered what the man’s face might look like at that moment. His curiosity was silently stabbing him while he struggled to maintain his focus. “Aye Ser? Oi don’t think about it too often. Especially these days.” The Kelvic loosed a long sigh to quietly release some of his stress. These days since fall had been a terrifying roller coaster ride of bad happenings and strange adventures. It had kept him focused. The one distraction he had dared take was to visit Oriah, and perhaps take the occasional ride. He had ignored his Kelvic abilities almost exclusively since last winter.

“Aye, these days are dark days little brother but Syna will rise tomorrow and the light that shines from her breast will fall on your cheek.” Ser Whitevine’s voice held an inflection to it that could only be him smiling. Marrick smirked along with him, even giving him a subtle chuckle before taking another sip of his mead.

The exhale he let out made misty waves into the darkness of the night, but as his eyes adjusted he could still see it as the low light off the snow provided a minimal luminance. “Thank yah, Ser. It means a lot comin from a Whoitevine.” The Kelvics eyes spied some movement at a subtle curve in the road. Someone rode hard toward Mithryn’s wall, on a lightly colored horse. “Roider.” Marrick said cooly as he drew an arrow and notched it over his hand. He set the string in the notch on the back of the shaft and waited patiently. He stroked the softened goose feathers of the arrow with anticipation.

He heard Ser Whitevine ring the bell, but something seemed familiar about the rider. Something… soft, and sweet, and tender.
Last edited by Marrick Corvis on June 26th, 2015, 11:06 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Oriah on December 9th, 2014, 8:33 pm

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"You are...you are sure about this, Sera?"

Mora merely gave her squire an unreadable look before responding, "Yes, I am. Pack your things, little one. I will ride with you part of the way to ensure you get there safely, then split before the outpost watchers can see me."

A year ago, Oriah might have tried to ask why. Gods and goddesses knew no one could blame her for wanting to. But she was a fresh, green thing no longer, having trained with the Chaktawe long enough to know questions would only beget more questions. If Mora wanted her to know something, then she would know it in time. And not a tick sooner or later.

Repressing a sigh, the Benshira did as she was told and packed her meager belongings. Some of her more precious and unwieldy items, like her drum and dancewear, she would need to keep in the outpost. Surviving Winter was hard enough on its own; she didn't need the constant worry over her less practical possessions added on top. A quick tying of her pack and strapping of belongings onto Pie's saddle later, Oriah was ready to go.

"Don't forget to cover the traces of our fire," Sera Mora noted as she checked the straps of her own, towering mount. Anwin bore it all with practiced patience. "Remember, dirt first, else the snow will create steam and give our locations for miles around."

Oriah nodded at this bit of basic survival and used a stick to dig underneath the fresh layer of snow. Bandits and other outlaws weren't the only ones they had to guard against. Many of the more clever inhabitants within the woods knew the smell of smoke often meant humans were nearby. Most chose to stay away. But a few, hungry and desperate predators would risk danger for a chance to eat flesh. Any flesh.

Once the squire had safely put the fire out, her patron inspected it with a nod and then signaled for them to mount. Oriah got into Pie's saddle wordlessly. Her heart was still beating wildly at the very thought of getting to see Marrick so soon. It had been a long, long time since they'd last been in each other's company. Winter had a way with keeping people apart and making life generally miserable. But not tonight! Tonight, she would get to see his warm, handsome features at long last...

There was, however, the issue of the letter. Oriah had known her patron and Marrick's to be familiar with one another, but it hadn't been until last Spring that she discovered Mora frequently sent letters to Ser Whitevine. That would explain how the two of them remained so well informed of each other's squires.

Shrinking against the cold as they rode through the woods, the Benshira let the subject be and thought nothing more of it. Mora's letter was tucked safely within her armor. She would deliver it then go straight to finding Marrick.

Knight and squire rode in companionable silence, focusing on keeping themselves warm through the exertion and not getting lost in the dim light of Leth's reign. Both of their mounts were grateful for the exercise. It wasn't often that either got to gallop so freely during the Winter, since it was as painful for their riders as it was fraught with danger. It took less than a half a bell to reach the point where Sera Mora would take her leave, the temporary pause in their riding causing Anwin and Pie to stomp their hooves in mild irritation.

"This is where I leave you, Squire Azari," Mora smiled cryptically under the pale light. "For a little bit. Then we shall meet again, hopefully both warmer and happier on the morrow. Be safe."

And then she and Anwin were gone, melting into the darkness as easily as one breathes or blinks.

Swallowing with no small amount of anxiousness, Oriah nudged for Pie to continue forward. She had not the slightest clue where her patron was going or about to do. But she knew what she was going to do, and that was to find Marrick as soon as possible.

It was much easier riding through the fields and within another half a bell or so the Benshira was slowing to a trot before the gates, looking up nervously for the inevitable sights of archers nocking their arrows, the pointy ends aimed directly at her head. It was too dark to make out any faces, only general shapes against the occasional glow of a brazier along the walls. She swallowed again as the bell rang and signaled her arrival. Oriah would be accepted into the outpost with ease, of course, but it never failed to make her just a little bit intimidated every time she watched these procedures unfold.

She touched the letter at her breast, waiting with bated breath to be addressed. As she had predicted, it was a relatively smooth and quick affair, but Oriah was glad to be done with it all the same as she led Pie calmly through the gates.

No sooner had she dismounted and fumbled to hold onto the reigns when none other than Ser Whitevine himself stepped forward to greet her.

"Well, well," he smiled, all courteousness and charm, as usual. "What do we have here? Mora's little bird come to visit us all on her own, in the dead of night. To what occasion do we owe the pleasure?"

"G-greetings, Ser Whitevine," Oriah managed to stammer back, using her free hand to withdraw the letter from underneath her armor. Some of the knights on guard tensed at the movement, but relaxed once more as her actions proved innocent enough, glancing at one another in dread. Who delivered letters at this bell, if not for urgent and dire news?

"This is for you, from Sera Mora," the Benshira explained. "She said it was nothing to be alarmed over, but to give it to you as soon as I arrived."

A flicker of surprise--and something else, or was it just her imagination?--lit the knight's face as he accepted the letter. "Thank you, Squire Azari, for fulfilling your orders to the letter. I hope the ride wasn't too harsh this late on a Winter night. If you need a place to stay and fire to warm by, you are more than welcome to rest here."

"Yes," Oriah nodded in relief, "That would be..."

She lost all train of thought as she caught sight of Ser Whitevine's raven-haired squire. Stars may have quite literally danced in her eyes, and her tired expression instantly melted into a warm smile.

"...Marrick!"


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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Marrick Corvis on December 20th, 2014, 2:40 am

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As the rider drew within forty paces, Marrick drew the arrows fletching’s to his cheek, though only until he was sure it was her. Ser whitevine called another squire to relieve them, and the pair descended the stairs. David seemed abuzz with anticipation and the Kelvic could practically hear his Patrons hands as they rubbed together. Ever since he had delivered Sera Mora’s letter last summer every time Ser Whitevine received any post he got just a little giddy. It was unusual, but pleasant. His joyfulness often lead to a more relaxed day, or perhaps even an afternoon to ride, or read.

As the large gate was opened Marrick found himself contemplating on whether or not this was the right time to tell Oriah what he was. Confess it all. How he felt, what he was, and if his little heart could manage to take her rejection for omitting the truth from her all this time. He wouldn’t blame her for being mad at him, though he hoped that she wouldn’t. The Kelvic let out a long sigh that billowed from his nostrils like smoke in the cool evening air. He slung his bow and took a soothing sip of his mead.

They descended the lamp lit stairs slowly until they were at the gatehouse door. The old weathered bit of oak creaked on its hinges as it swung open and they were waiting outside the gate for the guards on duty to lift the bolt.

When Ser Whitevine stepped forward, Marrick found himself wanting desperately to hover but he held his position as was his duty. He leaned casually on his bow, his lips pressed tightly together to keep him from saying hello. She had another letter for him? The dark haired squire listened closely to his Patron, and was glad that he was being so polite. David was a good man. Marrick found himself warmed with gratitude to be his squire.

When the invitation to stay the night was extended a little smile crept its way onto Marricks lips, and he stepped forward as if on cue. Ser whitevine was about to wave him forward but something in the glance that he shared with him told the squire that Ser Whitevine knew this was not a time he would need to give orders. David knew that Marrick would take care of Oriah.

“That would be me?” Marrick teased as he walked to Oriah’s side. “Hey there Oriah.” He said softly, through a compassionate smile. She looked exhausted. Almost as if Pie had ridden her this whole way. Though the Kelvic knew the notion to be silly, the reversal still amused him. His eyes flicked from the reins in Oriah’s hand to the cup of hot mead in his and he lifted it up to her. “How about a trade eh?” With a casual switch he replaced the leather lead in her hands with the cup of hot spiced mead and nodded to his Patron. “Oi’ll be sure she foinds food’n rest Ser!” He said with short salute.

Oriah Azari was here, and Marricks smile showed no other emotion than the sheer joy he felt for that fact. “Lets get Pie stabled at the Managerie n’ foind yeh somethin hot teh fill yeh up.” Marrick said as he gestured toward the Garrison. He was quiet for a moment as they made their way from the front gate until they managed to walk past ear shot of the wall, and the front gate. Their boots made loud noises against the cobble stone streets, along with the noise from Pie’s clopping hooves. “Oi’m so glad teh see yeh. It was all Oi could do teh keep from smotherin yeh when Oi saw it was you.” He said with a grin. His hands were full which annoyed him slightly. He wanted to hold her hand again as they walked, but perhaps it was better not to display their affection so openly. “Yeh look loike Sera Mora had yah roide all the way from Evantoide teh’day.” His voice was dripping with Empathy, as he knew well what a long days ride cost a person in terms of energy. “Oi’ll bet theirs nothin yeh wan’t more roight now than a warm bath, somthin teh eat, and a bunk with a warm fur loined blanket.” As they walked through the quiet evening streets, torches lit their path. Though Marrick didn’t need the light. He knew the streets well.

When darkness didn’t fill the silence, the Kelvic listened to Oriah as when she talked. He found himself hanging on her words. Even a little bit dreamy eyed now and again as he imagined how warm she would be beside him, if they shared a bunk. Unfortunately that sort of shenanigan was not allowed amongst the squires. Knights were another story they had an income. They could afford any mistakes made from excessive coziness. The thought made the Kelvic heave a long sigh and encouraging thoughts of telling Oriah the truth about him again surfaced in the back of his mind.

He realized in that moment that he had been fantasizing. Awkwardly he cleared his throat and nodded to whatever Oriah had been saying.
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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Oriah on January 16th, 2015, 2:15 am

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She was tired, she was cold, and she was hungry. And at the sight of Marrick's tender smile the Benshira felt like she could jump back into Pie's saddle and ride full speed to Hai and back.

When he handed her the steaming mug in exchange for her mare's reigns, Oriah accepted it gratefully. The mead was warm to the touch and exotic to the senses. She inhaled it deeply first, savoring the heat and spiced aroma, before taking a careful sip. Liquid ambrosia spread slowly from her stomach to her limbs, inducing pleasure second only to seeing her fellow squire's joyous features. Oriah wasn't sure what caused it. Whether it was his happiness, hers, or just a fortunate heritage, but nothing looked quite as comely as Marrick did then.

At the mention of something hot for the belly, the Benshira hummed in agreement. "Hot food would be good," she replied, "and Pie earned her rest. We ride the whole way here, no stopping."

Patting the piebald mare affectionately along the neck, Oriah fell into a familiar, comfortable silence beside her human companion. Spending so much time out in the woods made even the most gregarious and chipper individual feel dampened. It was good to be by Marrick's side, even when no words were spoken.

But silence was rarely something she found need to worry over in his presence. Marrick was unfailing in his high spirits and frankness, and it wasn't long before they were on full display once more. He's glad to see me, and he wanted to... It took Oriah a while to hear the rest of what he was saying. She was too busy being stock on what exactly Marrick meant by smothering. It was a strange word, made all the more novel by his lilting accent. Wracking her brains, the Benshira tried to piece together on her own what the definition might have been. Was it the same as putting out a fire? She may have heard that term used once in relation...but what could that have to do with seeing her? Maybe it was another Common saying. One that had to do with throwing sand or water on someone to celebrate a happy reunion.

Before Oriah could ask for any clarifications, Marrick was talking about a warm bath and bed. She had to physically resist the urge to groan outload at the very thought. "The ride was not as bad," she assured, doing her best not to reveal how badly she wished for a hot bath. It'd been an entire fortnight since the last time she'd indulged in one. Oriah would have taken a pummeling if that's what it cost to be warm and clean again.

Fortunately, that wasn't the case. She hadn't even needed to ask; Marrick thought it all out on his own. It was as if his considerate nature knew no bounds. Blessed Yahal, if her Tent kin knew a man like him existed, the womenfolk would throw a feast solely in his honor.

"But I would not mind bath, food, and a bed," Oriah added with an inevitable sigh. "I don't think Lady Winter and I like each other very much."

Which was about as obvious as Leth's radiant form hanging against the black backdrop of the night sky. She was a desert dweller. Things like snow and frostbite were as alien to her as Rhysol's taint. But it was different for Marrick...he had been raised in the City of Lies. Walked cold streets and slept by an even colder hearth for who knew how many years.

But he's here now, she reminded herself. He's free. And he's happy. Without thinking, Oriah walked just a hair closer to her raven haired companion, steaming mug of spiced mead still held appreciatively in her hands. The cup was undoubtedly the warmest thing on her person at the moment. Yet, for some reason, it was not the cup that drew most of her attention, but Marrick. He exuded a kind of affection few things in life could ever rival. And, unsurprisingly, attracted it right back from almost everyone around him. Especially from Oriah.

"Are you hungry too?" she asked, eager to secure his company for as long as possible. "Maybe we can eat together? Bath can wait, my stomach cannot."

At that very moment, Marrick cleared his throat and nodded with a little more gusto than usual. Oriah took this to mean he was in fact quite hungry. Excellent, perhaps this would mean she would look less like a wild animal when they finally did eat. First things first, however. They needed to bring Pie to the stables, brush her down, and ensure the mare had enough to eat after.

When they arrived at the Menagerie, Yves the Page was already bounding up to them, all long limbs and easy smiles. "I heard you were coming, Ori, it's been so long! And hello to you too, Marrick!"

Oriah laughed and threw her arms fondly around the young girl, who returned the hug without a tick's worth of hesitance. Ever since their last encounter with Archailist and his troublesome puppy, both Benshira and Kelvic became fast friends. It was hard not to like someone as congenial as Yves, and they had plenty to offer one another in terms of woodland and animal knowledge. "It's good to see you too, Yves," Oriah beamed. "And Blessed Yahal, I swear you grow more every time I see you. You are almost as tall as me now!"

Yves grinned. "That's because you don't come to see me often enough. But I'll pester you about that later. I can see poor Pie here is in dire need of some good rest and tasty oats. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Pie stepped forward to nuzzle the page's familiar features and receive pleasing strokes to the forehead. "You two go on, Pie is in good hands now. I'll come bother you later for stories about the Bronze Woods. I've got one or two myself I've been dying to share, so don't think you can hide from me!"

The Benshira bumped her shoulder against Yves's playfully as she laughed once more. "I wouldn't dream of it, as you Northerners say. Thank you, little sister."

Then she looked up at Marrick, eyes still over brimming with mirth.

"Time for hot food?"


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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Marrick Corvis on February 22nd, 2015, 5:16 am

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Marrick could see that she was happy to see him, and it warmed the ice that he’d been fighting away from his soul with little sips of the heated mead. Pie was polite as usual and the Kelvic took a moment to steal a small handful of oats from his hip pouch in offering to the slender mare. After a brief snuff at his upward turned palm she lipped them from his hand like a noble woman sipping tea. When the little treat was gone and all that could be heard were the clop of Pie’s feet he stroked the mares shoulder gently as much to soothe himself. It was as much a reminder to him that Oriah was there, and he was not asleep on his watch in the midst of a fitful dream.

With a low chuckle Marrick smiled at Oriah’s words of Lady Winter. “Aye, Oi’d be willin teh wager good Mizas that snow lost it’s appeal the first noight yeh slept in its grasp.” The Kelvic sighed softly in memory of nights in a cold cell, or cage with nothing but hatred for his captors to keep him warm. It frustrated him to no end that Sera Mora had been keeping Oriah out in the cold like a prisoner to her training. Though he was grateful that she had brought the lithe Benshira back here to Mithryn, back to him.

As they reached the gate of the Garrison Marrick nodded to the guards and the obvious insignia that both squires bore brought them a neutral stare for a tic or two and a nod in passing. The cold it seemed did nothing to bring smiles. Both of these men could use a nip of something hard to light a fire in their bellies. thought Marrick. Gate duty was one of the worst shifts at Mithryn. At least on the wall there was a wind break of sorts, while gate duty was like stripping nude and jumping into the Avitar while it was filled with chunks of ice flow from the Cobalts. The thought made the Kelvic shiver, and shrug away the sensation.

At the mention of Oriah’s belly he laughed great gusts of mist into the air. He had forgotten how much they both loved food. If the gods were kind, perhaps they’d grant Marrick old age with her and they’d open a restaurant. They’d serve all sorts of hot food. Red meat, and roaring fires. Malted beer and mead would flow like the rushing rapids of the Avitar. The image danced in his head a moment like butterflies on the wind until Yves took Pies reins.

When Yves took Pie from them he smiled and nodded to her. “Yves, thanks fer takin Pie. We’ll save yeh a seat at the table. I heard from Juniper that we’re havin some sarta barley n’ kale soup r’ stew tenoight.”

As Yves lead Pie away she waved over her head casually and shouted. “I don’t care what it is, as long as its hot!”

Marrick smirked at the womans back as she walked away, Pie clopping away happily at her side as Yves found her a warm stall, and something to eat. When he turned his gaze upon Oriah his smirk grew to a smile. “Aye, toime fer hot food.”

As if by second nature the Kelvic took Oriah’s gloved hand in his and walked with her to the mess hall. A long sigh escaped his nostrils in long wispy tendrils. “Oi can’t say how long Oi’ve been wantin teh do that. Oi don’t care that theirs a glove in the way.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze just before he let go and opened the door for her to walk in. He followed behind her like a loyal hound before he latched the door behind them. He shook off the cold from his cloak and draped the sides over his shoulders to free his arms of the burdensome cloth.

Behind the counter a large pot burbled happily and wafts of some heavenly broth-like substance carried promises of warm full bellies. Marrick was hard pressed not to abandon his companion like an eager child looking through a window at a display of chocolates.

Other squires milled about, some talking, others eating. A few were off in a corner playing cards while they sipped at their tea. The servers were busy bringing in trays of milled bread while the cook stooped over the pot with a large ladle. Marrick nudged Oriah in the elbow and indicated toward the cook with a jut of his chin. “Jun? Juni?” he called out to the cook who looked up over her burbling pot of magical hot food and grinned.

“Marrick.” When Juniper's eyes shifted to Oriah her grin seemed to broaden to an excessive amount. “Oriah! Blessings from above. I never thought I’d see the day!" With quick scuttle, she had wiped off her hands and run around the counter to give the Benshira a warm hug. “I was worried you’d never come back! The only news that we hear is from Marrick!” The page then fixed the Kelvic with a sour purse of her lips and he knew that she was about to tease him. “In fact, you’re just about all he talks about when he isn’t telling the pages stories, training, or bossing us around.”

Marrick’s cheeks turned a shade of bright crimson and his brows rose until he felt they had disappeared into his hair line. It took a moment for his wits to come back and his focus to coalesce. “Why you wee tit!” He said with a smirk that could have lit a fire with its smolder.

Juniper gave Oriah another quick squeeze before she ran back behind the counter and gathered two large wooden tureens. “So your back?” the page said with a mirthful grin, and a gleam in her eye. She ladled two large scoops into each long bowl as she spoke. “I hope it’s for a while. Marrick’s been getting full of himself!” the little page gathered up a couple of hunks of bread to go with their soup while she practically lapped up the deathly stares the Kelvic gave her. “So Bossy!”

Marrick huffed out a sigh and grumbled softly a moment before he retorted. “Just because I told yah teh dress yer bunk differently, Oi don’t deserve a sisterly amount’a teasin, Juni.” Marrick took his bowl and smirked at the little page while she simply smirked right back at him.

As Oriah took her bowl, Juniper gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled. “Really good to see you again Oriah.” It was all she had time to say before a few exasperated squires behind them coughed to remind them that the mess hall was for feeding people, and the page it seemed needed to get back to work.

Marrick shook his head a little in incredulousness, and wandered to the nearest bench to sit and eat. He felt ravenous. It was almost as if his belly were an empty chasm waiting to be filled. He set down his large bowl, with anticipation weighing heavily on his shoulders. With a lick of his lips he smelled the brothy soup and dipped his spoon into the dark brown liquid. Little vegetables, and bits of meat swam in the spice scented sea while Marrick stirred. It was still a little too hot, but that made the wooden bowl all that much better for warming his hands.

“Oriah.” He said as a half-hearted opening to a sentence only partly formed in his mind. He wanted to ask her so many things. He wanted to kiss her. Sylir’s peace he wanted the taste of her mouth again, but not here. Marrick wasn’t a massive exhibitionist when it came to affection, but it had become harder and harder to resist simply sweeping the Benshira off her feet and planting a hot and wet passion filled exclamation of his feelings flat on her mouth.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Would yeh, loike something hot teh drink?” He said instead as he rose to his feet. His normal happy attitude seemed to be melting away, and the thoughts that ran through his mind began to distract him from the moment he had been dreading since he had made up his mind to reveal to her that he was a Kelvic. She would look at him differently. Or so he kept telling himself, while the better half of him struggled against that idea. He took the opportunity to try and hide the obvious plastering of pre-ocupation on his face, and got them both a cup of hot tea. Good soothing tea. Yes that's what I need. Marrick thought desperately.

When he returned he set down Oriah’s tea near her dish and joined her on the bench. The distance between them felt extreme. Sly as a fox, he slid closer until their hips touched and their elbows could have interlocked had they the notion. He worried that he made her uncomfortable, yet he wanted to be there and nowhere else. A slow and gentle sigh escaped his nostrils as he absentmindedly stirred his soup. For once in a long time Marrick found himself un-inspired to speak. Instead he took some advice from his Patron, and listened. He let Oriah talk, only to break his silence with the occasional agreement, or comment.
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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Oriah on February 26th, 2015, 6:03 am

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Oriah paused for a moment, then laughed freely at Marrick's wager against snow. Her basic grasp of Common, coupled with his lilting accent, made some jokes harder to understand, but it was not for lack of trying. And eventually the Benshira did manage to figure out what he meant.

"A poor wager," she joked back, grinning. "because I have never liked the snow."

And it was true. Truer than true. Oriah remembered the first time she saw snow in Syliras, she was mesmerized for all of two ticks by the pale white flakes before another gust of frigid, biting wind sent her huddling back into her furs.

With Pie in good care and Yves more or less properly greeted, it was finally time to head to the kitchens. Marrick's hand found Oriah's as they walked down to the mess halls, and though the Benshira found that this simple gesture warmed her more than ten mugs of spiced mead could in one sitting, she was also no longer bewildered by it. Rather, she had come to almost expect his touch. She relished the rare sense of comfort, safety, and belonging that it offered, welcomed the feelings with a contented sight not unlike her companion's, though hers was more silent, as if it were some kind of prayer whispered in gratitude.

What did surprise her, however, were the words that came with the gesture. Oriah looked up at Marrick, breath caught in her throat. Did he really mean that? Had he truly been looking forward to something as simple yet touching as holding her hand for all of this season?

There was no time to ask. He'd opened the door and was waiting for her to enter first. Smiling and hoping he wouldn't notice the pink in her cheeks, Oriah nodded in thanks and stepped into the warmth and din of the mess hall. Both squires shook off the cold from their clothes and boots before shedding their outerwear in relief. The Benshira had always and would forever be a child of Syna; the cold suited her about as well as feathers suited pigs.

Being an infrequent visitor, Oriah lingered by the door for a few ticks, letting Marrick call for their boisterous cook and friend. She had been a more than social enough creature before taking upon this squireship with Sera Mora, but after so many seasons spent wandering around the Woods...well, it was enough to turn even the most gregarious of folk into partial hermits. At the very least, it made her feel a little disoriented, seeing so many people in one setting. Fortunately for the deprived squire, there wasn't a sour face amongst this lot. Most enthusiastic of all was of course none other than Juniper herself. The lass quickly wiped her hands before embracing Oriah, all smiles and exuberance at seeing this particular, familiar face.

"Is that so?" the Benshira laughed, her mirth winning out against her pity for Marrick's suddenly tomato red complexion.

At the cook's next question, Oriah nodded, still struggling to restrain some of her amusement for her companion's sake. But then Juni made the assumption she would be staying long, and suddenly the squire's good cheer wavered. Even if she hadn't received any direct orders from Sera Mora, Oriah doubted her stays would ever be longer than a day or two at a time. The last thing her patron had told her, other than to be safe, was that they would meet on the morrow.

One night...just one night with the person she had come to adore more than all others. It was almost laughable in its tragic absurdity.

Fortunately, Marrick and Juni were too preoccupied with teasing one another to notice the lapse in their friend's gaiety. Oriah recovered quickly enough to join in on the tail end of their good natured jabs at one another. "Like true brother and sister," she quipped with a gentle shake of her head.

The line behind them had grown, however, and there were other squires impatient to receive their meals. Oriah gave Juni's arm a small squeeze to return the lass's sentiments before moving to follow Marrick to an open spot at the tables. She was as eager as the next ravenous squire to dig into her meal; the smell alone was making her head swim with hunger.

As soon as they sat down, she picked up a spoon and had a heaping pile of hearty halfway to her mouth when Marrick blurted her name.

Oriah froze. Then she slowly lowered the spoon, sensing that whatever her companion wanted to say was something of great import. Her heart thumped just a little faster and her eyes remained glued to his, soup utterly forgotten. What was it that he wanted to tell her?

Something akin to struggle flickered across Marrick's handsome, honest features. He cleared his throat. Oriah waited with bated breath.

A wave of confusion swept over her as Marrick stood and asked if she wanted something hot to drink. The question was as kind and considerate as ever, but it didn't seem to be what the other squire had intended to say. Not knowing how else to react, Oriah replied, "Yes, that would be nice."

And then Marrick was off to fetch them tea, leaving the Benshira to sit for herself for a while, perplexed beyond description. By the time he came back and she had thanked him for the tea, Oriah had done her best to push the matter aside. Only one night, she reminded herself. It would be better not to waste such sparse time together fretting over the unspoken, but somehow this didn't feel so easy to dismiss. She could see it in the way his recent high spirits had dwindled. Whatever it was, it would have to be addressed, Oriah decided. Preferably once they'd both eaten their fill and they could speak somewhere less crowded.

Despite the earlier incident, Marrick seemed no less inclined to be near her, for which the Benshira felt grateful for beyond description. His heat beside her felt twice as good as the hot broth traveling down to her belly. For a good full ten or so chimes, Oriah couldn't imagine feeling any happier or more content.

Once she'd done a good amount of damage to her portrions, the squire found herself opening up with a flood of words. There was no one to talk to in the woods beside her patron, who was about as social as a grandmother tree, and the familiar hustle and bustle of the people around her drew out her much too neglected loquaciousness. She spoke mostly of the harrowing trials of Winter and a little of training, though the Benshira suspected Marrick was no stranger to the cold. He seemed to tolerate it well enough. Oriah, on the other hand, found it completely miserable, and it was one of the few things she could be driven to complain about.

"Once," she divulged, swallowing another mouthful of broth. "I forgot to put a hole in my shelter, and I almost choked myself to death with my own fire."

The squire had meant for it to be an amusing story, but now that she said it out loud it did sound rather morbid. Realizing she'd been talking for the better half of their meal, Oriah felt the heat rise along the back of her neck and ears again and stuck a spoonful of soup into her mouth to cover her embarassment.

"So what are these stories I hear you're telling to the pages?" she asked between mouthfuls of delicious soup, mildly ashamed of her table manners but far too famished to remedy them anytime soon.

Clack, clack. Looking down in surprise, Oriah only just noticed that her bowl was completely empty. She glanced back up at Marrick, chagrined, and added, "But maybe I will have to wait until after my bath to know. I'm afraid if we go back for more soup there will be none left for the others."


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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Marrick Corvis on March 10th, 2015, 2:47 pm

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Marrick was right to be silent. Oriah told him of her time in the wilderness. He knew the cold well. Like one might know a brother. She spoke of shelters, of snow, and her horse. Her appetite was strangely soothing to him. He liked to watch her eat, between spoon-fulls of his own soupy broth. When she blushed in embarrassment of her stories, he couldn’t help but smile at her bashfulness. A rosiness that suited her cheeks he thought, though it could barely be seen beneath the tender golden color of her skin. A shade lighter he thought than the last time he had seen her.

The Kelvic had just taken in another mouthful of warm brothy delight when she asked him what stories he had been telling the children and he nearly spat it up. With a stifled snort he choked down what he had, and cleared his throat with a couple of coughs and smiled awkwardly. “Oi tell the wee ones all sarts a’ stories. Stories of adventure, n’ true love. Heroic sacrifoice. Oi read teh them from the books some toimes when they ask fer the Tale of the three lizards n’ the hungry hawk.” Marrick smiled. “Oi even read that piece of the Penita the old man sold me on occasion.”

As their bowls emptied, Oriah seemed a true wearied wanderer. After a full belly, and bath rest would be her companion. Marrick smiled affectionately and took her empty bowl and spoon. He stacked the utensils with his own and delivered them to a waiting wash bucket. Marrick wished Juniper a good night before he met Oriah at the door back out into the cold. Once his cloak was secured and he saw that his fellow squire was ready he unlatched the door and pushed it wide dulling the warmth that once filled them. Out they went back into the darkness of the Garrison’s training yard. “Oi’ll walk yeh teh yer bunk. So yeh, can switch out any gear yeh need.”

Marrick puffed a misty breath into the air as they walked toward the Frist Dormitories on the Northern wall. Each step through the tortch lit yard required a little effort and he squinted through the low light. He tried to fill the darkness with a little conversation. He wanted more than anything to drag out the night. “Yer bunk has lain empty since Sera Mora took yeh away. Oi’ve troied meh best teh keep any mice out of’it and teh keep the dust off, but yeh understand Oi’m not always around teh keep an eye on the thing.” He chuckled softly to himself as they passed under the second floor walkway to the stairs that lead to the second floor. “It’s droy’n warm, that’s d’main thing.”

The Kelvic huffed as he led her up the stairs to the western door. The latch clicked hollowly as he lifted it, and shoved the door in with a loud creak. He held the door open to a couple of complaints from other squires at their nearby bunks before he stepped through after his companion and latched the door shut again. “Sorry, lads. Oi’ll throw a couple more logs ont’a the foire.”

Marrick led the Benshira to her bunk and smiled. “Moine is jest a couple down.” Marrick felt the most overwhelming desire to embrace her right there. There were only a couple of people in the room. If they got uncomfortable they could leave. Yet, some waning bit of wisdom told the Kelvic that Oriah might not appreciate him advertising their relationship to the world. Rumors liked to travel fast in the Order and the last thing they needed was some sort of scandal.

“Yer trunk has some basic linens yeh can change intah if yeh want a change’a clothes.” An image of Oriah undressing before his eyes made the Kelvic’s vision gloss over for a moment as the fantasy took over his thought process. With a jarring shake of his head he drove away the distracting thoughts as they tried to invade his brain and take over. He noticed that her eyes were on him and he coughed to try and shrug off how awkward he felt. “The baths are on the first floor of the southern wall. Now, Oi suspect yer toired, so Oi won’t take up any more of yer toime Oi think.” Marrick shut his eyes and mentally kicked himself at passing up a chance to monopolize his best friend. A woman he loved. Though somewhere in his heart he knew it was the right thing not to overwhelm her. She’d been on Pie’s back for what was likely a long day’s ride. Trail dust, and gods know what else was stuck to her skin and she was probably exhausted.

His eyebrows furrowed in compassion for her as he leaned in and gave her a gentle squeeze. He pulled away with a sigh of longing before he spoke. “Oi have a couple things teh take care of before Oi turn in m’self. Oi’ll see yeh soon Love.” With a smile Marrick gave the Lithe Benshiras shoulder a squeeze and headed for the door. Just before he pulled the latch he waved to her and stepped out into the cold darkness.

Marrick was only a step or two away when he buried his face in his gloved hands and sighed out the feelings that made his stomach tumble over in knitted knots. “yeh bloody ejeet.” He told himself before gathering his wits. He pounded the bottom of his gloved fist into the wooden pillar a couple times before he took a deep breath and gathered his wits. He did indeed have chores. One last thing for the evening. He had to report in to Ser Whitevine before he turned in for the night.

The training yard was dark, but he knew where he was going. He had left Ser Whitevine at the main gates. As he carefully made his way over the uneven flag stones he saw a torch headed his way. A squire was on his way from the gates back to the dormitories. Surely he’d seen the Kelvic’s Patron. As the young man approached Marrick halted and raised his hand in greeting. “Squire, do yeh come from the gates?” He saidl with a tired edge to his voice.

The man holding the torch halted and nodded. “Aye. I was just there. What’s the matter?” he said with a look of concern.

“Oi was lookin fer Ser Whoitevoine. Meh Patron. Does he still stand watch?” The Kelvic’s voice was full of urgency.

“Ser Whitevine,” he said as if he was unsure if that was who Marrick had asked for before he continued. “-was relieved about fifteen chimes ago when another knight arrived at the gates. The two left together from the gate, headed to the Whitevine Hearth.” The kelvic quickly saluted him and nodded before he carried on his way.

Marrick’s gaze shifted with his whole body as he turned his attentions toward the southern wall. “a visitor?” he whispered to himself as he quirked an eyebrow. “What the bloody hai?” Regardless, the Kelvic still needed to report in. Like a grey ghost he tread over the cold cobblestones on his toes, the slightest crunch of the gravel gave his progress away. Whitevine Hearth and his Patrons lodgings there shown with the occasional lantern, or candle light from the little windows.

The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he walked along the slatted wood and finally up to his Patrons door. He drew his cloak about him in an effort to keep warm, and he halted there unsure of whether or not he should bother his master. It occurred to the Kelvic that he might be interrupting some sort of meeting, top secret conversation or both. He lifted his closed fist to the door and was about to knock when his birdlike curiosity got the better of him. “Shyke.” He whispered to himself as he gave into his nature. Silent as the grave he crouched down low and listened at a crack in the doorway.

At first all was silence save for what sounded like the rustling of linens and the creek of an ash slat bed. Ser Whitevine was just asleep, of course! That was all. He had retired early, and the knight he had met was just some messenger. Marrick let a long sigh escape his lips in releif. He knew he would likely be chastised for not reporting in before Ser Whitevine went to sleep, but he was alright with that. He was about to stand up to his full height when he heard the sound of a woman’s moan. It was almost as if she were in pain. However, three years as a slave doing all that a master or mistress desired left him with… experiences. Marrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ser Whitevine had a woman with him. In his quarters!!!

It wasn’t entirely out of the question of course. The knights could bed whoever they chose, assuming both parties were willing. But if it was another Knight. This could be the juiciest gossip he’d ever witnessed. His curiosity hit him full force and he struggled and failed to pull away. He lifted his eye to the crack in the door and peered into the waning candle light of his Patrons chambers and he searched for what he knew not. An answer to the burning question on his mind. Who in the hai was his Patron with?

His keen blue eye fixed on movement in the dim light and he began to make out their shapes. He could identify his Patron, and the vague shape of a woman pressed against him. The Kelvic’s attentions were morbidly fixed on the passionate struggle that was unfolding before him. He watched fascinated and transfixed as his master’s hand caressed the woman’s dark hair as he kissed her. At last when Marrick thought they would surely suffocate one another their lips parted, she spoke, and the breath caught in the Kelvic’s throat.

“David, are you certain the woman was asking about Niblet?” the sound of Sera Mora’s voice came to his ears clearly and the Kelvic stifled a gasp. Though, the nature of the situation drew him uncontrollably forward. He couldn’t help but press just a little too hard against the door, which complained at him with a loud creaking noise. The Kelvic pulled away from the door and glared at it for giving him away.

Loud footsteps could be heard coming his way from inside and Marrick’s mind raced on where he could go without being seen or heard. Left was too far, and he’d certainly make noise as he ran along the cold floor boards. Running right presented a similar problem. That left the rail behind him, and an eight foot drop. If he became a Raven his clothes would be left behind and that would get him into the same situation.

Marrick ground his teeth and set his jaw. He knew his choice was get caught, or take a dive over the rail. With a swift about face, the leather of his boots made a soft shuffling sound against the floor. He half crouched and leapt leaving behind only a couple scuffs in the wood. One hand met with the rail and he guided his momentum up and over. He used his other hand to catch the floor boards and slow his swing down to let go. The world became weightlessness as it always did when he had no wings and he fell.

A subtle tickling sensation tugged at his belly, encouraging him to turn into a Raven. He very nearly reached out and touched that part of himself if only to prevent an injury. Marrick felt the ground rush up to meet him and he crouched into the fall to help lessen his momentum. But as he felt his knees buckle, he let the remaining energy disperse into a tumble. He tucked his extremities in as far as he could and his roll brought him under the walk way.

He tumbled up against the wall just as Ser Whitevine’s door opened and his awkward position left him staring at the floor boards where his Patron surely stood searching for him. Marrick couldn’t breathe, or dared move. He prayed to Sylir to quiet his heart for fear that it beat too loudly. He tried to become one with the Shadows in his mind, and waited. Above him, he heard the door creek a couple of times as someone’s weight was laid against it. Likely as someone looked about in search of an intruder that was no longer there. At last, after what felt like an eternity. The door closed and latched shut.

Marrick slowly righted himself to sit against the wall with his shoulders and back aching from such a hard tumble. He exhaled a breath of relief into the dark night and hung his head before he ran his fingers through his hair in a soothingly long stroke. His breath came again to him at first in deep exaggerated gulps until he breathed normally again. What he had just witness burned itself into his mind and though he might have tried to forget it the things that tied It all together still haunted him.

What did Sera Mora mean by a woman asking about me?
He thought, pulses of epiphany tearing through his mind like lightning through a stormy sky. What were Sera Mora and Ser Whitevine doing together? This next piece fell into place and thought back to a letter or two delivered in summer, and fall. The contents of which Ser Whitevine read and grinned boyishly at. Marrick realized that their correspondence must have held more than a hello.

As he lifted his head he took a deep breath and exhaled. Inside he felt dirty. Outside he felt like he’d been tenderized by a butcher. Oriah’s intention to take a bath felt like a good idea. With a few soft groans he righted himself and stole through the first door in the wall into the men’s side of the baths.

It was late, and not a mouse stirred. As usual the bathes smelled of soap, and scented oil. The odor alone was enough to put the Kelvic at ease. It made him feel that this was the right idea more and more with each step he took, and each article of clothing he took off. The room was sparsely lit and warm. His shoulders slumped as he stowed his equipment under a bench. The stone floor felt wetted, and cool against his feet. Which quietly slapped against them with a dulled rhythm until he knelt at the central baths edge.

Curious as always he dipped his hand into the water and felt the heat rush into his fingers. The feeling caused him to take a deep breath and exhale in comforted pleasure. Yes, it was a good idea. He thought before he slid into the hot water with a sloped slosh. Now the only thing he had to do was soak and think.

“Sylir, forgive my vanity for peace is what I seek, and as my ancestors are my witness this bath ~ is peace.” Marrick’s whispered prayer didn’t even echo out of the hot water he burbled in. Yet, that didn’t matter. He sunk to his nose. Submerged, almost every inch in the hot water. He felt every ache, pain, stress, and worry seep out of his very pores. Though one thing still gnawed at him. Who was the woman Sera Mora spoke of?

Trying very much to forget, Marrick shut his eyes and simply let the calm heat of the water buoy him up. He very much felt like he might fall asleep. A real fear of drowning began to take hold and he searched for a proper perch. At last simply using his elbows to anchor himself to the rim of the pool of water. His long dark hair played against his neck and shoulders like a soaked rag and he at last felt like he could genuinely relax. He wanted to just let go. It felt like he had been grasping at everything so tightly. It felt nice to simply forget.

His eyes had begun to close comfortably, and he even felt that strange sense that he was empty as he used the breathing technique his Patron had taught him to find peace in meditation. Yet, that fragile peace was shattered by the sound of the front door opening. His back was to the entrance of the baths and he listened for what sort of foot falls the person who entered made. They sounded like the familiar clap of a standard issued squire’s boot. Marrick relaxed a little, breathing easily again, and tried to ignore their presence. Another bather was little interest. That was until the intruder spoke.
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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Oriah on March 12th, 2015, 10:09 pm

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Oriah snuck a sideways glance at her companion, smiling in spite of her exhausted and sated condition. It touched her deeply to know that the other squire had been keeping her neglected bunk inhabitable. However small the gesture, however busy Marrick may have been. It felt good beyond measure knowing someone thought of her even when she was gone. That she would always have somewhere to return to, a safe place nearby, with a warm heart to welcome her return.

The Benshira followed her companion up the stairs and through another door. Their entrance let in a cool gust of wind, inciting protests from the other squires present. Oriah gave them each a half amused, half apologetic look, grateful that Marrick always seemed to know how to appease the easily disgruntled.

For most of their short journey she walked by his side, but at times a passing squire or narrowing of the hallway would force her to fall behind and make space. And each time, Oriah's eyes traced across the lines of Marrick's back and shoulders, her hands resisting the urge to reach out and wind themselves around his arm to address the irrational fear of them being separated.

Or perhaps it wasn't so irrational, given the inevitable briefness of her stay.

Once they finally reached the room, Marrick explained that there were fresh linens for her to change into, should she desire to do so. Oriah noted the strange look that passed over her companion's face and waited for him to continue. He coughed, flustered for some reason, and resumed giving her directions for where the baths were located. The statement that followed soon after, however, brought a small frown on her tawny features, even though she knew full well Marrick only meant to be courteous. It made sense that he would give her privacy and time alone after a hard night's ride. But for some reason her heart and mind disagreed yet again on how things should unfold.

Fortunately, the look of compassion in his eyes and the gentle squeeze of his hand on her shoulder wiped away most of her conflicted thoughts. He had errands to attend to as well. It would be selfish and unsquire-like of her to keep him all to herself. Plus, he had promised to see her soon, and that was as good of a thing to look forward to as any.

Oriah nodded and smiled back. She gave a little wave in answer to his as he ducked out, heart beating rabbit-fast as the door shut behind him.

The Benshira let out a rush of air as soon as Marrick as out of sight and ran a hand through her unruly mop of hair. Blessed Yahal, she knew it was the right and proper thing to do, letting him go about his usual business and she on her own. But scorching sands was it hard to follow through sometimes.

For a good while, she just sat there on her neatly made bunk, doing nothing. It felt good to be doing nothing. And it felt even better to be doing nothing with a roof over her head and a bed beneath her worn frame. The room was not as warm as it could be yet, since the hearth was unlit, but it was infinitely cozier being in here than being out there.

"Just focus," she reprimanded herself after an indeterminate amount of time. "You don't have all night!"

With quick and deft motions, Oriah gathered a set of clean clothes, some essentials from her pack, a spare towel from the trunk. She brought them to her nose and inhaled the simple, fresh scent of clean linens and sighed happily. Words could not describe how grateful she felt for these basic luxuries.

Forcing herself not to run all the way to the baths, the Benshira quickly made her way from the rooms and down the halls. Her mind was so filled with thoughts of warm water and fragrant smelling soap and the delicious feeling of not being caked with dirt that Oriah completely and utterly failed to read the signs. She just waltzed right into what sounded, felt, and looked to be like the baths, little clouds of steam drifting forth from the hot water. The squire had done something terribly similar at Soothing Waters a few seasons ago, but at that moment she had no awareness left for anything but the prospects of a most heavenly cleanse.

In less than three chimes flat her old, dusty clothes were set to a pile beside her clean ones. She tucked her boots behind and carefully wrapped her borrowed towel around herself. Steam swirled like mist, filling up almost every empty space in the room. Oriah stepped through it as though it were a dream, her barefooted steps gentle and quiet, before unraveling the towel and slipping into the water noiselessly. She was about to offer a prayer of thanks right then and there to all the gods and goddesses she knew, when some of the steam cleared to reveal she was not alone.

It took the Benshira a good moment or two to find her wits again. And when she did, it was only because she had made a choking sound before she could consider slipping back out and escaping Marrick's notice altogether.

"B-Blessed Yahal, I'm sorry Marrick!" she sputtered, instantly bringing her arms up to cover herself as her head swiveled left and right to see if any other males were present. Not that it was really necessary. There was enough steam to obscure most of everything and the water itself was far from clear. "I didn't read the signs...again...why do I never read the signs...?"

Flustered beyond belief, Oriah stared at the water, not knowing where else she could keep her eyes. "If you could--that is--um..." Bringing one arm out of the water she slapped her hand around against the warm stones, searching for where she'd left her towel.

"I will leave, just...turn around, perhaps?" She let loose a mild swear and turned around in the water. Where in Hai had her towel gone?


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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Marrick Corvis on March 14th, 2015, 5:35 am

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Marrick’s heart skipped a beat. He had completely and ashamedly missed Oriah’s entrance, her presence, and her disrobement. He half covered his face to hide his smile, which faltered somewhere between awkward tight lips and a beaming grin. The Kelvic shook his head at her, and how awkward she was. Why was she sorry? Modesty was one thing but this. She had for lack of a better term, fallen into his lap. This was almost as if it had been divine providence.

The dark haired squire saw that she was panicked. It unfolded painfully and as much as he wanted her to find her towel and be comfortable, Marrick saw this as a chance for him to see if their union was truly possible. He saw her scramble for to find her towel in the darkness and the steam. In the blink of an eye she’d find it again and this moment would pass; awkward and shameful for them both. The Kelvic could not have that. There wasn’t much else he could do, accept stop her.

Marrick didn’t think. He didn’t wait. With a slow glide through the water he slid his arms around her naked frame and squeezed. Fear gripped him, and he felt as though his belly were filled with slippery fish. He held her, not daring to let go until her tenseness diminished. He did nothing but press himself against her back, firm and still. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that every inch of their nakedness was touching, hidden as it was in the darkness and the warm water. He was alright with that, but he knew she might not be.

All that he could hear was their ragged breath through the hot, wet, and dimly lit room. There was so much that he wanted to tell her. So much that he wanted to do. So much missed time, and he felt as if he’d been more silent than a corpse all evening. Dismissive even, and that wasn’t how he felt about her.

When his breath at last came more easily, he rested his head against hers and spoke but a whisper in her ear. His breath practically licked at his companion’s tender earlobe as he tried as hard as he could to annunciate each word in the Benshira’s native tongue.

“Entah Ha’bibi.” His words came slowly in Shier, but they were not false or fail. A long pause filled the void with his feelings. “Entah Ha’yati” He shut his eyes against the raging whirlwind of doubt and insecurity that tried to drown him in its darkness. Bravely he stayed them off, if only long enough to repeat himself in common. “You are my love. You are my life.” He whispered soft as silk in the Benshira’s ear.

His heart pounded in his head and he tried more than ever simply to be. To exist within himself separate, but awake and alive. “Yeh’ave naught a thing teh be sorry fer. Nor ashamed of.” A soft sigh escaped his lips and his squeeze relaxed.

As the rooms mist seemed to whirl about them, an old memory popped into his head, of the last time he saw so much of the woman he loved. A large tent in the fall, and a dance. “Yeh told yer friend Zelia once, that Yahal lead you teh Syliras step by step. Oi thank him every day that he lead yeh teh me. In that way Oi would argue that yeh read the soigns perfectly.” Marrick sighed softly and released her slowly. Each brush of his hands and arms against her wetted flesh was pleasure beyond measure for him, and a breath of longing escaped his lips as he simply sank into a slump beside her. The water was hot and comforting, but the lack of her physically in his arms left him wanting.

“Besoides.” The Kelvic said as his eyes closed reflexively. “It’s dark outside and both baths look the same.”

Marrick stretched out, and gave Oriah some space. “Yeh can go if I’tis what yeh want, or yeh can stay and Oi’ll wash yer back. We can talk, n’ tell each other everythin we havn’t said these days apart. We can share sweet kisses until our djed mingles with one another’s.” the dark haired squire, at last held his tongue and left the decision to the woman he adored. “Oi’ll keep meh eyes closed, if I’tis what yeh want.” Like the heaving of a great ocean he breathed, slow and steady. The water surrounded him, and he waited in silence. His heart still beat like the pounding of a massive drum, though he tried to calm himself. All about him was silence and the occasional slosh of water. He wasn’t sure what Oriah would do, though he knew that her best judgment would guide her actions.

The Kelvic meditated on what he knew of her. She was a kind soul that loved food, and took pleasure in simple things. A good bath, a warm meal, or good company. His fellow squire was a pure soul. Perhaps one of the purest. She deserved a choice. A decision. Did she want him the way he wanted her? Could it even be boiled down to something so simple? Marrick tried to let go, and relax. He kept his eyes shut, and laid his head against the cool stone that surrounded the large warm bath. It was Oriah’s trn to speak, and his to wait.
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Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

Postby Oriah on March 29th, 2015, 5:48 am

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All the air left her lungs when Oriah felt the other squire's arms envelope her in an unexpected embrace. She could feel his broad chest press against the naked expanse of her considerably slimmer back, his lips startlingly close to her right ear. The Benshira's heart was doing its best to burst free from her ribs. The air was suddenly thick. Too thick. It felt almost impossible to breathe.

I'm going mad, she thought to herself. A few seasons ago I would have jumped out of this bath in an instant, naked or no. Then tried to give him the scolding of a life time. He didn't ask, didn't warn me, and it is so far from proper...

But the more Oriah tried to build up reasons against staying in the intimate embrace, the more she was forced to realize her resentments stemmed purely from herself. Her own fears, misgivings, and temptations. Marrick had done nothing wrong, she knew this. In fact, in all the time they had known one another, the Benshira couldn't recall a single time her fellow squire had acted out of spite or greed. Most people were fundamentally good, she believed, but Marrick...Marrick followed a rare sort of personal compass she could only aspire to possess. He never strayed. Not even for a brief jaunt. Or at least, she'd never seen him do it. And she loved him for it.

Oriah, on the other hand, had her god and an entire way of living to answer to. It wasn't that she saw herself as limited. Rather, she saw herself as being held accountable. Corruption laid not in a slip of tongue or minor temptation. It laid in a hundred slips and a hundred more tiny temptations, each leading its victim farther away from a life of purity a little at a time. Slowly, steadily, until you wake up one day so far removed from your goals that you no longer remember how you got there. It was a process of erosion. Erosion f the mind, will, and spirit.

Yet, Oriah was also taught to trust her instincts. She had relied on them all her life and made it this far in one piece. It had to count for something.

If this wasn't temptation, though, then the Benshira wasn't quite sure what was. She wanted to stay here forever in the simultaneously comforting and enticing warmth of his naked embrace. No, not true, Oriah had to amend. She wanted, the squire began abashedly admitting to herself, to perhaps...to maybe...feel more than being held. But it was out of the question! Or was it? Blessed Yahal, she wasn't even sure anymore...

Then Marrick said those fateful words, and Oriah fought the urge to weep.

She never thought she'd hear those words in her life time. The Benshira had turned her back on her Tent and walked North for so many years she no longer held expectations for anything stable. It was fortunate that the bath house was so humid and misty. It meant Marrick wouldn't be able to see the tears streaming down her face.

Oriah had her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders still drawn from the initial shock of being held. But as Marrick loosened his hold, she relaxed a little as well, lowering her hands just enough to catch some of the warm bath water and gentle rinse her face. Meanwhile, her companion told her of how he thanked Yahal every day for their meeting, his hands most regrettably and deliciously brushing against her bare flesh as he drew them away.

She didn't know how it was possible for one person to be so frank and so tender. It was as maddening of a mystery as it was blissful of a blessing. But one thing was painfully clear: he'd claimed her heart long before any of these words had been said. Hearing them merely gave her the courage to do what she did next.

"You are," Oriah said in a hushed voice, turning slowly in the water so she could meet his pale, blue gaze, "the worst temptation I ever face."

Likely not the most elegant of responses, but her basic grasp of Common could only afford so much tact. Still, the Benshira found the courage to continue, arms still held across her upper half. "And somehow you're also the best. I thank Yahal, too, not just for the chance to know you. But for every day you are alive and well. And even more for every day we can spend together."

Oriah chased the last of her fears away and moved closer, sending small waves around them in the water as it lapped against their chests and arms. "Sometimes," she continued, struggling to find the right words, "temptations are bad. But sometimes they are good. Natural. Like wanting to rest after much travel, or smell a flower with a nice scent. It took me many years to understand this difference. And you...you are like..."

She had to fight the impulse to use her hands to help emphasize what she was trying to say. "...like drinking cold mountain water when thirsty, or eating a very fine meal cooked by a friend, or helping someone who has just fallen stand. "

"You are right," Oriah all but whispered, eyes wide with emotion, her arms bumping gently against him as she drifted ever closer, unable to help herself, "and you are good. I think Yahal wish for me to know this. To see what goodness look like in someone else."

Tentatively but willingly, she reached out and rested both head and hands against Marrick's chest. "M'inshufi," the Benshira replied in kind to the other squire's first utterance. "And you, mine."

His words--coupled with the warm water and her own confessions--washed the rest of her worries away. Oriah moved her arms to wrap around his torso and held him much in the same way he'd held her only moments ago. Closing her eyes, the squire melted into his warmth, feeling drawn inexplicably toward him as if he were a funnel and she falling deeper and deeper. Something was there, tingling within her senses. Like a strange, unspoken question wiggling its way into her heart, the answer to which was effortless and total acceptance.


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