Closed Ravens Far From Home [Nayato]

In the Wildlands nearly two days ride from Syliras.

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

Ravens Far From Home [Nayato]

Postby Heddar on January 17th, 2015, 7:10 am

8th, Winter, 514 A.V.
Late Morning


Bakr lead Moema to the stream. He and the beautiful mare had an odd relationship. Though both had genuine affection for the other, Moe’s willingness to obey was definitely lacking in the eyes of the half-blood. She would often toss her head and snort in a notably indignant way. She was thirsty though, so the task at hand was easy.

The horse followed her rider eagerly to the raised bank of the stream. Bakr was careful not to fall in as he too knelt to drink from the flowing water. It chilled his dusty fingers as he dipped a cupped hand into the gently flowing spring and lifted it to his mouth. Bakr sighed as the water coursed through his body. He felt the chill seep down his throat and into his chest, but it was refreshing.

As his mount greedily slurped up more water, the desert-born rider gathered his water skins from her saddlebags and began to refill them. With water that moved this fast, the chance for disease was significantly lessened. He was not worried about filtering it. When he was done Bakr returned the skins to their proper place and stretched his back.

He felt the soreness of the ride crack free of his bones and muscles as he looked about the clearing. For about three hundred yards along the stream there were not trees between it and the road, leaving a nice little spot for a wayward rider and his faithful companion horse to rest for a bit. The wonderful and agitating thing about wandering was that the destination was not so important as the actual travel.

If he was true with himself he would admit that he was not really wandering. For a while now he had been pointedly staying near the great stone city of Syliras. Especially since winter was setting its roots in the land. Morwen did not touch his homeland, but here in Sylira she reigned in this frigid season. He needed to be careful or he might freeze and leave Moema to starve. The Eyktolian Desertbred mare was a keepsake that hailed from the same golden sands that he himself called home. The connection was the reason he had purchased her in the first place.

Moe neighed and stomped her hooves in the soft earth. Bakr looked askance at her. She shook her head and he saw the dark, beautiful eyes flicker towards him before she turned away.

“What is it Moe?” Bakr asked the horse as he approached. He laid a gentle hand on her neck to sooth the disgruntled animal. She did not answer, as always. Their conversations were decidedly one sided. She settled and Bakr found a particularly soft patch of grass and plopped down, digging his heels into the dirt and pulling a wooden flute from where it was tucked into his belt.

He began to play, play being a very general term for blowing into the instrument. He had absolutely no skill with the thing. He had bought it on a whim in Syliras upon his very first visit to the city. He experimented with the sounds created by the hollowed wood. He would play a note for an entire slow breath. Then he would move his fingers around one of the five holes and a different sound would come out. He found this was music enough for him. Although he had bought the thing many years ago now, he had not gave it much attention, or not enough to justify the long ownership. As he played, he found himself hoping to be skilled at the instrument one day.
Last edited by Heddar on January 18th, 2015, 11:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Ravens Far From Home [Nayato]

Postby Nayato on January 18th, 2015, 8:14 pm

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8th Day of Winter, 514 A.V.


Obsidian eyes looked towards the top of his tent for chimes that seemed like bells, it was ethereally calming.

"Nayato."

A name flashed across the forefront of his thoughts like drums sounding into the midnight black of his night colored eyes, piercing his consciousness and drawing his will into action. The curious voice that called out to him etched into his mind, tapping lightly across his consciousness.

"Nayato?" The voice beckoned softly. Nayato's eyes shifted slightly, shaking as reality filled his view. Their was a familiarity to the voice calling out to him as he listened to their words. "Nayato". His lips moved. He knew the voice to be his own as he fully awoken. Within the dept of his mind a Jaleh's voice, like fine silk, spoke to him. "Wake up. It's almost time."

Nayato did his best to hide the surprise of being awoken by possession, but it showed plainly on through his voice. "Jaleh, you could have simply spoken to me." he spoke in Tawna, enjoying the rare fact that the ghost understood his native language. He had grown to enjoy the ghosts friendship upon meeting her at the start of his squire training, feeding her soulmist, and finding no discomfort in allowing her to follow him around.

Already clad in his full plate armor that he slept in, Nayato stood up from his bedroll and exited his tent, feeling sore as his legs stiffened against the second consciousness that filled his body. He stared at the predawn sky, watching Syna's light paint vibrant colors of orange, blues, and lavender across the horizon. "Is it still stunning?" The voice asked, barely a whisper in his mind. Nayato smiled to himself, ignoring the the tense knot in his shoulder muscle. "It's always an inspiring way to start the day"

He glanced around the campsite finding Osawa, his Akinva Deerstalker, laying by the burnt out campfire. The large dog lifted its head as Nayato walked past it to the tent his Patron Knight slept in. He spoke out in common for the first time since he had awoken. "Ser Brimholt, first light of the seventh bell shines." From within the tent he could hear the man awaken from his sleep, gruffly talking himself out of waking up. Of all the knights that Nayato had met, Ser Cagus Brimholt was an oddity. Laid back where others were strict. Cunning where others prided straightforwardness. A thief turned knight.

Ser Brimholt spoke with sleep filled words. "'I'm up... Why don't you go catch us something to eat, then we can get back to patrol." Jaleh removed herself from Nayato, freeing him of her Possession. He watched her as he responded to the knight. "I'll be back soon." He returned to his tent to arm himself with his weaponry. Setting his Khopesh into its sheath on his hip, setting his dagger and tomahawk into his belt, attached his buckler shield to his right forearm, and slung his quiver over his shoulder to wear on his back; Inside of which carried his short bow. Then put on the helmet to his armor.

He glanced over to Jaleh as he walked to his horse, watching as the sharp edges of her ghostly figure blur and her entire body grew noticeably transparent. "Do not strain yourself. I shall ready soul mist for you when I return." The ghost smiled as she appeared to vanish from existence.

He placed a foot into one of his Eyktolian Desertbred's stirrups, pressing down as he held onto the saddle horn. The horse neighed at the sudden excess of weight her armored rider cast onto her, taking a step to one side causing him to step back down. "Calm girl." He stroked down her neck with his hand before attempting to mount her again.

Nayato sat squarely in his saddle, sitting tall and relaxed with his shoulders back. He found the task of wearing full plate heavy armor while riding on horse back to be a challenge. After removing and storing away a gauntlet into a saddlebag. He held up the reins, both reins in one hand while the slack rested along his thigh. Nayato reached forward with the reins in his hand towards the Tsutla's ears, slowly tapping the heels of his boots against the horses body to get her to move forward into the wild lands.

While Nayato wasn't the best of riders, he chose to control the reins in a one handed style for a reason.

As a Chaktawe, the ability of his people to sense movement through their fingers caused him to feel constrained when both his hands were completely covered. He could feel the movement of the dancing trees with each winter breeze and the rustling of leaves. He could feel the actions of small animals along the ground before his obsidian eyes could see them, feeling the disturbance of air through his fingertips then casting his gaze towards them.

He spent sometime just riding until he heard a faint sound of music. It was an odd collection of noises, not a song, though maybe a signal? He reached behind him to remove his shortbow from his quiver, holding it in his free hand as he closed in on the sound. After entering into the clearing, he watched a man playing a flute through the visor of his helmet.

The squire pulled back at the horses reins to slow the creature to a halt when he neared the stranger. ""Hail fellow, well met is the day?" he spoke out, deciding to use the greeting Ser Brimholt preferred to use on him.

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Ravens Far From Home [Nayato]

Postby Heddar on January 18th, 2015, 11:33 pm

Bakr was lost in the sounds born of his instrument. It was Moema who first noticed the stranger. She snorted but he was too lost in his task to take notice of her warning. Eventually he was made aware of the newcomer by his greeting.

“Hail fellow, well met this day?”

Bakr glanced up to find the armored man looking down at him from atop… an Eyktolian Desertbred? The white face of the horse could not be mistaken by someone who had grown tall with those horses. The man seemed to be a knight, he certainly wore the armor for the part, but his weapons seemed… different. There was a curve to the scabbard he bore that was not native to this land. There seemed to be more to this man than met the eye. Bakr stood and tucked the wooden flute into his belt. He bent at the waist slightly, a bow of respect, though not low enough to show deference. “And to you. The day is indeed good to know that suck knights as yourself are about protecting these wild lands.”

He moved to Moema, grasping her reins. He laid a gentle hand on her neck so as to reassure her that all was well. Bakr, however, remained on his guard. One did not survive in the wild by trusting strangers, though he was indeed appreciative of the knights of Syliras. This could be a pretender or a brigand, Bakr had no way of knowing for sure just yet. Nevertheless, he treated the encounter as an innocent one, but ready to draw or flee if need arose.

“We are lucky, friend. Both of us seem to have in our possession strong mounts from the deserts of Eyktol, far to the south. Such beasts are a true sign of fortune.” Bakr smiled and pulled his hood from his head, the black ponytail shining in the sunlight. “Tell me of how you came by such a wonderful beast?”

The man, for his part, looked every bit a knight as Bakr had ever seen. Clad in a full set of plate armor, he struck an impressive sight. Not only did he bear a bow and quiver armed to the teeth with munitions, but a sword and shield and axe as well. Bakr found himself hoping he had not done anything to be deserving of this warrior’s retribution.

Bakr stepped forward and let his hand fall, not to the hilt of his blade, but to the leather of his belt. He didn’t want this man to think he was spoiling for a fight. “I am called Bakr, son of Mahdi of the Sons of Aysaw, and Jacha of the Kalanue. I am very honored to make your acquaintance, Sir knight.” He placed a callused hand to his heart, as if to confirm the sincerity of the statement.
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Ravens Far From Home [Nayato]

Postby Nayato on January 19th, 2015, 7:02 am

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One might have found it unusual that Nayato began to openly chuckle at Bakr's introduction rather than immediately acknowledging it. He was not a man to openly express his intense emotions, almost always internally containing them by expressing them through vivid extremely judgmental thoughts upon meeting strangers. With Bakr, however odd it may be given their unknown relative relation to one another, he was a little less terse. He paused for a moment to inspect the mixed-blood, very deliberately.

Those are Benshiran eyes

Nayato took note of the mixed bloods hand in proximity to his weapon. Suddenly remembering the distant past when he watched his elders clash with the Benshira over ownership of wild Bowbacked goats. He couldn't blame Bakr for his caution, not when a perfect stranger was approaching him in the wilderness."You are correct, I am of the Syliran order of Knights. However, I am only a squire." His dismount from his horse was a slow one, taking care to ensure his footing in one of the stirrups before swinging his leg over the saddle to set onto the ground.

Straightening up, he glanced to his horse, running a hand over the mare's dark brown coat along her neck. The Squire lifted a hand to place his bow back into the quiver then proceeded to remove the helmet from his head, allowing his jet black hair to fall down to the length of his shoulder blades. He turned his gaze towards Bakr with a smile on his lips.

"I am Nayato of the Kalanue Tribe. And I first met Tsutla by chance among the Redstone Cliffs... and she has been a good friend to me for many years." The symptoms of his previous ghostly possession tugged at the muscles in his neck. He rolled his head for a moment before putting his helmet back on, lifting the faceplate to keep his face revealed.

He spoke in his native language of Tawna, "You are a long way from Eyktol, Cousin. I can only assume you are trying to make your way through the world as an... entertainer?" the squire inquired of the man , prompting a quick but faint smirk to curl across Nayato's lips despite the fact that what he heard before didn't count as music. Only motioning a hand towards the flute.

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Ravens Far From Home [Nayato]

Postby Heddar on January 19th, 2015, 8:59 am


Bakr cracked a smiled and a hearty laugh escaped his lips before he could stop himself. “Why yes, that is how I have come into my fortune!” He indicated his horse and saddlebags with an upturned palm. He appreciated the humor well. The sight of another Chaktawe this far from home warmed his heart, even though he had originally set out to distance himself from both the Chaktawe and Benshira. And he was of the Kalanue. That meant family!

“No I too am in a state of… learning?” Bakr said in a tone that was more serious. Moema bent to drink from the stream again and he watched her momentarily. The water made a faint song as it flowed over smooth rock and oaken root. The forest framed their conversation with its own subtle noises. “I bought the flute on a whim and have no real knowledge of its art.” He smiled again, crossing his arms over his chest. “As I’m sure you surmised.”

He walked closer to the Chaktawen squire as he returned his bow to quiver. He was eager to learn of his homeland. How long had Nayato been from the Kalanue? But manners dictated lighter conversation for now. They may be of the same tribe, but they were still almost compete strangers. “What brings the might of Syliras out into these woodlands this day?” Bakr asked conversationally. He thought it odd to see one of his mother’s people in such distinctly Syliran attire. He always imagined the desert garb and a flock of goats when he thought of the Kalanue. But this Chaktawe was all warrior.

Bakr snapped his fingers deftly. “Ah forgive me! Please come and join me for a meal. I have bread and dried meats, nothing exquisite though.” He turned and walked back to Moema and the saddlebags. He rummaged in one and produced a half loaf of bread and a bundle of dried meats. “Please do me the honor.” He said as he offered them to the squire.

Nayato was probably out here serving to protect Bakr in his wanderings, as well as the rest of the Syliran people. He wanted to make a point of showing how grateful he was. The halfbreed had no delusions about how much the knights’ presence protected him from predator and villain alike. Though somewhat proficient with his blade, Bakr had not thought to dedicate his ability and livelihood to implement its use in protecting others. His motives and ambitions were much more introverted. But perhaps this Nayato had found himself in this foreign land for much the same reason Bakr was?

The halfbreed was eager to learn what would bring another of his kind this far north, though he knew not to pry into the man’s life.
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