PM to join A Monkey's Uncle (Pulren)

[Keene Ward]

The twenty-sixth day of winter, 514 AV.

Keene had been heading down to the Testing Grounds that morning for his daily walk when a sound from within one of the many rooms that lined the halls of the Quarters caught his attention. It sounded similar to the dragging of metal against stone, though it was loud and quick in both presentation and resolution. He was not used to any of the members rising - or at least actively generating noise - as early as he did in the mornings, and his curiosity got the better of him. He had been nearly starting down the stairs before he turned on the ball of his foot to adjust his direction back towards the door that the noise had come from. Incidentally, the room was also one that belonged to the trident wielding Palaren. Keene had formed some opinions regarding the man, as they had been together when the citadel had been on lockdown, however after his experiences with Noven - and even the short time he'd spent with Bitzer - Keene was finding his presumptions on the nature of the members of the Scars were often far too wrong to be relied upon with any sort of assurance. Instead, as his boots quietly struck against the cool stone of the hallway, Keene stopped outside the door and let his knuckles rap lightly, but firmly against the wood in two swift strokes.

"Palaren?" The man had, upon their meeting, offered the suggested name of "Uncle". The familial indications of the title, however, were of the distasteful sort that Keene had decided to avoid. He had no reason to let his dislike of the title extend to the man who had offered it, but it did little to put the man in any favorable light. Keene supposed that what he thought of them wasn't particularly high on the group's list of things they were worried about; and despite their alien natures, Keene had found them to be a refreshing changes from the short briefings with Atziri and the stuffy condescension of the majority of the other Sahovan wizards. There was something about them that was, both regrettably and impressively, human. Though he had interacted with few humans outside of his mother, the island had been so void of what he had once considered the natural flow and ebb of life, that to suddenly be re-immersed in the interaction was something of a surprise to him - whether pleasant or repulsive, he couldn't quite decide.

Another light rap against the door. "Are you all right?" There was absolutely not a modicum of concern in his voice, but under the soft, cool tone there was a hint of curiosity. Whatever the man had been doing, he'd stopped as Keene had approached. There was a muffled sound that Keene took to be an invitation, so with little hesitance, Keene pushed the door open to squint into the semi-darkness of the little broom-closet excuse for a room. The candle light was far dimmer than the hall outside, and while he couldn't make out many details, Palaren seemed to be on the floor. Taking a step back, Keene gave the man some room with a raised brow.

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[Pulren Marsh]

Seven..Scrrreeek
Eight..Scrrreeek
Nine..Scrrreeek
Ten..Scrrreeek

What might be a revolting and off putting sound to some was a sweet melody to the Zeltivan, the sure and constant sharpening of his tines against the stony floor. He had a suspicion that the undead and their cronies were not so interested in the harsh scraping sound nor the marring of the stonework of the floors of the 'Quarters'. Funny name for guest quarters, more like storage. Of course, that's what the giant laboratory was. If you weren't doing the experimenting, you were most likely being experimented on. So, just get put back in storage somewhere until someone or something came around for you.Sitting on the floor on his furs, the pack his pillow of sorts, Pulren watched the greater light coming from under the door as he pushed his trident against the ground.

He longed for combat, the use of his limbs and spirit. Rotting away in a box seemed like something he might be doing at some point later in life. It was a little premature currently. Flipping the tridenet over to get the other side of the tines, the screaming of metal and stone's union continued as he thought about the crashing waves of the Bay. Mathews, not Baroque. With all of the strange happenings and sights to see on Sahova, the simple grating of steel on stone was comforting. So comforting, in fact, that his name and a rap at the door was unheard consciously, the full attention on the particulars of the grating noise.

A small break in activity ensued and Pulren was all ears. He suddenly heard a voice asking him if he was alright. It was as if there was now some kind of room attendant checking on him. Probably one made of magical materials or unliving flesh. The trident's angry fork rose in answer and Pulren answered with a kind of 'Eh?'. Waiting for the arrival or the attack, he started to get his leg up under him in case he had to charge out and attack.The door creaked open and he relaxed, finding young Master Keene in the place where some kind of nightmarish creature made of his paranoia would be instead. A step back was taken, which Pulren surely appreciated.

Rising, he stepped out, the light of refracted day reaching him along with torchlight. "Keene." Looking to the left and right of the Wizard, he gave him a look up and down. "Did you come to release me from this little room you people call guest quarters? Inhospitable, to say the least." Turning as Keene spoke or didn't, he began to gather his armor and slide it over his head, his boots and arms coming in line to follow. "Seriously, what brings you down to this little part of the dungeon?"

[Keene Ward]

Palaren stood with his trident in hand, a stone in the other. Judging by the way the man held himself, he'd been previously seated, though what the noise had been Keene wasn't sure. The man seemed relatively relieved, asking what Keene was doing there and dropping a hint that he had a similar opinion to Keene's regarding the state of the Quarters. There had been no longing for his old closet once he'd left citadel for the more spacious and warmer cavern in the mountain. Of course, he'd been staying in them over the course of the Scars' time on the island, and was fully aware of how uncomfortable they were. He'd been sleeping relatively well despite everything, and while his body was pretty sore most of the time, he figured it could be worse.

Palaren addressed him as his eyes flicked over Keene's person. "Release you?" The other man moved back into the cramped space, donning his armor for whatever reason. As he thought about it, he'd never seen the other man out and about without the defensive garments on. "The island isn't meant to be hospitable." As Palaren turned to offer his question of what Keene was doing there, Keene frowned. "The Dungeons are in the adjacent building." Shaking his head, he decided to let Palaren's strangeness pass for the time being. "I heard a sound." Beyond that, he wasn't entirely sure why he'd taken the detour. Curiosity was a strange force at times, and as it was the only thing that allowed him to make arbitrary judgments he was comfortable with, he supposed time spent with the trident wielding man would be as interesting as if he were alone. "I was going to take a walk along the prairie if you would like to join me."

The invitation was hardly warm hearted, but it stood for its purpose none the less. It seemed Palaren was poorly suited to being cooped up in the Quarters with nothing to do all day. Keene had seen to both Noven and Fallon's needs as they were, and he found no reason to treat Palaren any differently, though he supposed he already had by taking the first step where he might have followed. He waited calmly for the reply, completely fine with either answer. There was nothing in particular he wanted to know about the man before him, but there was also nothing in particular he didn't want to know about him. It was the balance between interest and apathy that had allowed him to make the suggestion, as it would have typically been something he simply would have ignored.

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[Pulren Marsh]

Of course there were actual dungeons. Even more fitting that Keene would speak of them as if he were their tour guide. Well, he would serve as a guide on the day of Pulren's release, so why not? The guy wasn't the most emotional person he'd ever seen. No, actually Keene was clearly the least emotional person he had ever met. Even Bitzer had her rages and smirks. This guy was animated stone.

"A sound? Oh, yes. I was sharpening my trident on the stone floor. Whetstones really don't work so well for tridents, you know? I suppose you could individually grind each tine on the stone, but that's pretty ridiculous, right?" He knew he was not going to get any kind of jovial or kidding answer, so he just continued on, closing up his closet door as he secured his armor's straps. Soon, he had his shield and weapon at the ready, looking at his guide with anticipation.

"Prairie, huh? I sincerely doubt it is as serene as the mind tries to make it sound, but if it is larger and more ventilated than this box I've been in all day, let's do it!" Seriously, how much worse could it be? On Sahova, with the sights he had seen and the experiences he had experienced, that was quite an open ended question. Nevertheless, it was the question of the day and it beat rolling around on the cold stone floor and thinking, thinking, thinking. "Lead the way, good guide."

[Keene Ward]

Keene nodded as Palaren explained, taking care to stop the nod once the other man asked him a question. He didn't know how to respond, as he knew next to nothing about weapons. The fact alone that they had to be sharpened was a bit of a sensible revelation to him; whether it was ridiculous to grind each tine individually or not, he had no idea. When Palaren continued, Keene was glad for it, as it allowed him to avoid answering the question that the other man didn't seem to expect an answer for. He took a moment to regard the man's weapon as Palaren finished getting ready. The trident was a strange thing, and even though he'd seen it used in the caverns below the citadel, Keene still wasn't sure about the mechanics of it. It seemed like a very long poking stick to him, which, in a way, he supposed made sense. What all it could do, however, he imagined was relatively to the wielder, similar to reimancy. Having never used a weapon before and only recently introduced to the idea of hand to hand combat, Keene was sorely unaware of how a battle of weapons functioned. If he couldn't freeze it or impale it within the first couple ticks, he just figured he was probably going to lose or die.

Palaren appeared excited enough to accompany him, and Keene nodded at the man's statement of readiness. The man was correct in assuming that the Prairie was hardly a peaceful place, but Keene found no reason to add anything to the assumption, as Palaren would find out for himself soon enough. There were times the the grassy expanse was relatively quiet and undisturbed, whilst other times explosions and creatures ran amok. Though he did not necessarily consider himself Palaren's guide, the title basically encompassed what Keene had been doing for the others to the point where he didn't correct him. He took the lead a step ahead, moving at a steady pace down the stairs and out the doors. As they entered the courtyard's swirling mists, Keene let his steps come a bit quicker. Both Noven and Bitzer had seemed less than ecstatic about spending unnecessary amounts of time with the spirits of the dead. Figuring that Palaren would feel similarly about it, they stalked across the winding path to the Vestibule. Once in the massive hall, Keene again let his pace relax some. He wasn't sure if the other man wanted conversation or not, having never been good at picking up on those sort of things, so he thought it best to offer an invitation. "Do you often sharpen the... tines on the floor?"

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[Pulren Marsh]

It nodded. Correction, he nodded. Pulren started to wonder if the process to become a Nuit was some slow and ponderous one, something that seeped from the stones of Sahova even. Keene was not only dull, but his very mannerisms were so detached that the fisherman started to wonder if he was alive at all. His eyes darted from left to right as they headed out, his mind still trying to push away the paranoia of seeping Nuit sickness. The pair descended down some steps and across a courtyard, though Pulren noticed Keene's pace quickened at that point. He thought to ask, but perhaps it was best to just follow suit.

Soon they entered a massive hall, the size causing Pulren's mouth to fall open briefly. It would probably have stayed that way were it not for the lingering idea of Nuit sickness. A small sigh escaped his lips and it was responded to by his guide, giving the Zeltivan a little bit of hope that blood flowed through the veins of the man with him. A chuckle came with the question and he had to stop as the idea became far too funny. A moment later when the breath returned, he gathered himself. "No, not at all, Keene. I only do that out of sheer boredom in the Quarters. While we are on the topic of ridiculous things, let me ask you one. Does one become a Nuit by simply being around others? Sorry, man, but your starting to make me wonder if you aren't a Nuit in training. If you hadn't asked me the question you just did, I would have possibly asked you to prove you weren't one." He said it in a joking way, but he had the suspicion that the idea of a joke was completely lost on the Sahovan.

[Keene Ward]

Keene blinked at Palaren's response, pausing at the doors as he regarded the man with a blank stare. He could identify nuit, more or less, but how the race was created, he didn't know. He doubted it was something like proximity, though he supposed it was possible. They weren't human, whatever they were, and whether they had been human once or not, Keene doubted they were "trained" to be what they were. "I don't believe so." He pushed the doors open, taking a turn towards the right in the direction of the path that led down to the Testing Grounds. He continued then, a hint of curiosity in his soft tone. "You think I'm not human?" The question lacked all animosity, if anything it sounded a bit more like a statement. He wasn't sure what exactly other people considered to be human. To Keene, humanity wasn't something measured, rather it was something innate. A human was a human just as a rock was a rock or a tree a tree. He imagined that a human was no more or no less a human, regardless of its actions. A tree could not be a rock, not matter how much it wanted to; though he supposed trees didn't want much of anything.

As they traveled down the shallow decline, Keene let his curiosity get the better of him once again. "What is a human to you, Master Palaren?" The best way to know what other people thought was to read their journals. The second best way was to simply ask. With the latter was much more prone to on the spot improvisation, it was closer to the truth than attempting to glean what one could through sheer introspection. He doubted he and Palaren shared a similar view of humanity. To him, the man was too expressive, wasteful even, with his energies. Smiling, jesting, making idle conversation - they were all things he found unnecessary. If there was nothing to be gained, there was no point in doing so.

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[Pulren Marsh]

The long stare in response to the question almost brought Pulren's mind back to the original guess, but when he did finally speak, it left him further down the hole. Their journey then continued, the pair moving out into a more expansive and open area, which would surely lead to Prairies, in the Zeltivan's mind. As he looked at the small and well cropped coif of the man before him as they walked, he responded to the question, though he hoped for more answers. "Who knows what to believe on this accursed island, Keene? The fact that you would readily live here when so many other humans are shipped here after their death to be wagons for Nuit..." Pulren sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry, Keene, I get a little carried away. It's a pet peeve of mine."

With more questions, it would be more answers from Pulren. If Keene liked to listen and walk, that would suit him just fine. "A human, to me, is someone who, despite his differences or his upbringing, realizes that while we are the most populous of races, we are also the most disjointed. There is little to no pride in being human and it just sickens me to see the ships that come here delivering preserved corpses by the hundreds for experimentation and riding. They were people, damn it!" He slammed the shaft of his trident into the ground to punctuate his emotions on the topic. "I don't know where you came from originally, but surely you had family. Imagine those people never being laid to rest properly. Even worse, one of these ghastly creatures inhabiting the bodies of the freshly dead! if that doesn't have any effect on ye, how can you claim that you are human, Keene?"

Though his emotions were charged, Pulren did find the serenity and peace of the walk pleasant.

[Keene Ward]

He found Palaren's idea of the "facts" to be odd, but only as misinformed as one was who did not have the whole picture. Keene was guilty of conducting similar assumptions all the time, and he did not fault the other man for it. It didn't change the fact, however, that Keene had chosen the island not for its populace, but for what it had to offer. He did not find the company of nuit to be necessarily more preferable than any other race, though - for the most part - the efficiency of how Sahova was run was both familiar and convenient. In a way, Palaren was correct, but Keene still found the statement strangely at odds with his thought processes. He had chosen where to go but not where to live. His path was his own, but the boundaries were clearly defined by Sahova.

Keene's frown sat steady on his features as Palaren continued, further elucidating on his "pet peeve" as well as giving his own impression of what it meant to be "human". Keene listened quietly, his pace steady but slow enough that little effort was needed to speak and walk at the same time. Keene found he didn't follow Palaren's logic at all. He spoke of humans as if their lack of unity was something to embrace - or perhaps simply remember. He was right - or at least of a similar mindset as Keene - that humans had little to be proud of. Yet, Palaren seemed to think that the pride was something to be had, while Keene found it distasteful and foolish. What good was pride when one did not have the skills to support it? There were so many humans in the world, that pride in their humanity was at a premium, and for good reason. The nuit were a deathless race seeped in decay; endless years before them to accomplish goals that a mortal could only dream of. Then, there were the humans: piddly, pathetic, weak and foolish, too caught up in their own humanity to notice how little time they had to do anything. Of course, not all humans were as such, Keene fully understood that. Yet, even Palaren with all his frustrations, had no power to change anything about what bothered him. It was something that Keene found to be a recurring trope in all things: the will but not the means.

Then, Palaren spoke of what bothered him most about the island. By the time Palaren had reached his last question, they had reached the boarder to the prairie. The expanse of the land spread out towards the horizon, dots of trees scattered along the hazy line. A small breeze, heavy and hot, ran through the scrubby grasses, and Keene took the opportunity to turn and stare at the man with a shallow frown and a perplexed gaze. He wondered if Palaren had even heard himself speaking, as his logic was so clearly flawed at that point, he assumed even a young child would have been able to come to a similar conclusion as he. The dead were just that: dead. They were people; once their lives were over, that was that. The dead remained as such, thus they were called the dead. What was done with the bodies was hardly of concern for anyone. Even he, in the depths of his despair, had been fully aware that there was nothing within the cold, hard body of the passed. Whatever had made them them was no longer there, ergo corpse. If there was another race that could used the discarded shells that the mortals left behind to survive, Keene found it wasteful to demand that something be forced into uselessness when it could, in fact, be recycled.

As he regarded Palaren with his thoughtful frown, Keene shook his head. "I claim nothing." According to Palaren's idea of what a human was, Keene clearly did not meet the man's criteria. To Keene, however, Palaren was simply a fool who was unable to see beyond the petty chains of sentimentality to see beyond the subjective. It was a shame, he supposed, but not something worth dwelling upon. He turned then, gazing out to the gentle rolling hills and softly waving grasses. There was movement in the distance, whether friendly or hostile, Keene couldn't tell. Deciding it was best to avoid whatever dangers they could, Keene led the way at a slight angle. Usually he mulled over his thoughts, letting his mind take him where it would. With Palaren, however, Keene had already begun a conversation about things they both seemed invested enough in. Palaren, however, seemed far more adamant to prove his standpoint than Keene, making it difficult for him to respond. He chose a piece of Palaren's logic that had been bothering him, rather than to respond to his last question in earnest. "What do you believe happens to a body after death?" His tone was soft, but not without curiosity. Understanding the man's thought processes would help him determine how he'd come to the conclusion in a much more detailed manner than asking him outright.

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[Pulren Marsh]

They were finally approaching the Prairie, an event the Zeltivan had certainly anticipated, considering the near absence of his companion's conversation. he hoped that he had at least inspired him to think about things. That seemed likely as Keene looked like he enjoyed mulling things over. At least there was the hope that he enjoyed anything at all. The Prairie itself was nothing impressive, though he did find it interesting that the air was humid and warm. It was Winter everywhere else, but this magical island even had a hold over the weather. It was blasphemous in Pulren's opinion. Screwing around with Syna's gaze or Zulrav's embrace was just damned foolery in his opinion. Only the dead and their masters would be uninterested in the effects of weather, something that troubled Pulren further about Keene.

The consistent frown on the man's features was troubling as well. It was actually annoying as petch, but since he was a guest and had no idea how to get back to the Quarters without Keene's assistance, he figured that he would have to tone down his arguments to mere annoyance. When finally asked a question, Pulren wiped a bit of sweat from his brown and looked long at the Wizard. "To the Gods, of course. That is where we came from. I don't know where you were born, but I hail from Zeltiva. We believe in Laviku there, the Ocean Father. As you should, in my opinion, as your entire island, with all of its fancy magic, could be so easily swallowed by the ocean that surrounds it as I could a grape." He took a long breath after such a stream of words, his eyes parting out to the ocean and then up at the skies for guidance from his betters in this.

"I also believe in Syna who lights our skies by day and Leth who lights our nights. I believe in Zulrav, who is the Father of Storms. I believe these things because I was brought up to believe them and because I have seen their existence and have no reason to believe otherwise. If you are getting at the idea that body doesn't matter anymore so let Nuits run around in it..." He looked down at the ground and shook his head. Disgusted thoroughly, he swallowed the spittle he wanted to send at Keene's feet. Tone it down. Be friendly, he's done nothing to you. His inner voice of reason tried its best, but Keene's logic was maddening.