Open Adapting to Exile

Thomas tries to play mundane

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Built into the cliffs overlooking the Suvan Sea, Riverfall resides on the edge of grasslands of Cyphrus where the Bluevein River plunges off the plain and cascades down to the inland sea below. Home of the Akalak, Riverfall is a self-supporting city populated by devoted warriors. [Riverfall Codex]

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Thomas Cosa on March 15th, 2015, 2:20 am

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54th of Spring, 515 AV
Rookery Park


"Disgusting animals," Thomas scoffed, watching the famous silk gulls from a comfortable distance. He was impressed, at first, they were pretty birds. A pastel blue, an almost faded colored that seemed to melt against the sky when they flew, Thomas had almost understood the city's fascination. Almost.

He'd been quite content watching the gulls for a bell, watching the birds fly to and fro, bouncing around the sky. They dived into the sea seemingly at random, pressing their long wings into their sides, a pastel bullet into the dark green-blue of the Suvan. Sometimes they came out with fish, sometimes they didn't -- he did notice that they hardly gave up, even after a succesful catch. Tenacious things, he'd thought, smiling.

Then, of course, he grew bored. Their actions became repetive, and bird-watching had dulled. The squawking sounded more like a constant whine, no longer like a peacful ocean background. Passing people intruded on his quite with stupid conversation and screaming children.

"It's fine, Thomas, you're fine," he sighed heavily, a nervous hand gripping the cold metal of Stranger. He wore the golem around his neck, as always, the magical jewels sparkling in the late afternoon light.

He'd lost so much, for being so stupid. Could Riverfall ever be the refuge he'd hoped it would be?
Last edited by Thomas Cosa on March 22nd, 2015, 1:28 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Ayatah on March 15th, 2015, 10:02 am

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The Myrian still felt like an intruder in this peaceful city of culture and giant blue men. Her own sense of discomfort frustrated her endlessly; I am a scholar, but a savage. And yet, each time her dark eyes met those of a passer-by, Ayatah felt that they were judging her, reading her heritage as if it were documented in front of them on a slip of parchment. Her bloodline was no secret; she had proudly declared herself as Myrian all throughout her life, and only recently had she begrudgingly accepted that being half-Eypharian was not such a bad thing either. But now it wasn't just herself she had to consider.

She had a son.

The five-year old orphan had been with Ayatah for just over two seasons now. They were happy; both filled a void in each other's life that had been left by something else. For Aya, the half-Myrian, half-something-else boy had become the child she'd had ripped out of her body three years ago. Kuame lightened her life in a ways Ayatah hadn't entirely realised had gone dark. It all sounded very dramatic and poetic, but she couldn't deny it. In turn, Aya hoped that she had replaced the woman who had birthed the boy and left him at the Zeltiva orphanage.

Their decision to move to Riverfall had once been a casual comment, but now they were here. Kuame had settled in far quicker than his adoptive mother. When the boy was in school, Aya drifted about the city not quite sure what to do with herself. Today, such a pointless venture had led her to the Rookery Park.

The first time she glanced up at the Silk Gulls, Ayatah found herself frantically grabbing at her back, preparing to retrieve a non-existant bow and arrow to shoot one down. Slowly, eventually, her hands stopped grappling at air and she lowered her arms back down to her side, horrified at her typically Myrian-esque instincts.

Old habits die hard.

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Thomas Cosa on March 16th, 2015, 11:17 pm

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The suddeness of the woman's actions caught Thomas off guard -- and his curiosity, although, he noticed he seemed to be alone in that. The other passerbyers tensed up around her, and if they had children, they were quick to shoo their oh-so-precious-gifts in the opposite direction, the parents quick in tow. She didn't seem overtly dangerous, and her behavior wasn't that out of the ordinary. Strange, he decided, but nothing to worry about; at least, as far as he was concerned.

"They don't seem to like you very much," Thomas said, turning back to the cliffs. He couldn't help be surprised at the reaction she'd recieved -- especially considering the Akalaks obessions with women. Why was this one different? "Which, I think, is interesting. I'd imagine the Akalaks couldn't help themselves around someone like you, but you've done a decent job at scaring everyone off," he snorted, "These birds, though. I hate them, and yet the giant blue men can't seem to get enough of them," he sighed, shrugging. "But I'm new. Maybe you know -- what are these birds doing so right, that you seem to be doing so wrong?"

OOCSorry for the short post

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Ayatah on March 20th, 2015, 9:16 am

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For several ticks, Ayatah's eyes remained fixated on the Silk Gulls, which by now had resumed their squawking and diving. Her stare was hard -- was it the Gulls she was angry at, or herself? Aya wasn't sure.

The male's voice sounded far off, but in truth Ayatah found herself standing beside him. He, for some reason, had remained when the protective mothers had dragged their children away, clucking amongst themselves about dangerous women and isn't the city entrance guarded so people like that don't get through? With a sideways glance towards her only companion, the Myrian shrugged off an answer. "They're not Myrian, to start with." She replied simply.

Then she sighed, her frsutration billowing out of her in the jet cold air that she pushed out from between her cheeks. "I'm new too." Now her tone was warmer, inviting further conversation. When was the last time Ayatah had actually had a conversation with someone who was older than six? Could she even remember how to socialise with an adult?

Maybe I should tell him the story of Marty the Myrian Tiger. That was Kuame's favourite, but Ayatah guessed that this pale, very mature individual would not appreciate the comical tale. "What brings you to Riverfall?"

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Aoren on March 20th, 2015, 3:34 pm

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The sea had an interesting sway over Aoren. While he was certainly not looking to embark upon another long journey out among the waves of Laviku’s domain, he always found himself drawn to the sea whenever possible. In Syliras he had spent time at the docks. He had walked along the rocky edge of the Suvan not far from the walls of the castle. In Zeltiva he had spent a great deal of time meditating near Matthew’s Bay either to clear his head or simply enjoy it.

Riverfall didn’t seem to be any different for him in that respect. He had visited the beaches of the city even during the cold of Winter. He walked barefoot near the very edge of the water, the rise and fall of the tide washing up over his ankles. His back was straight with head held proudly as he gazed out over the waters in thought. A thumb brushed across the palm of his hand, both of which were clasped behind his back.

A whisper flittered across his consciousness.

By now he recognized the gentle nudging of the Lily of Avalis having spent time around other Seers. The blessed mark of the Goddess of Foresight sang to him alerting him to the presence of another of her followers. He found himself scanning the beach to see a dark haired woman speaking to an even darker haired man. At a glance, the woman reminded him of a barmaid he’d once met in Syliras who hailed from lands very far away.

The man was unfamiliar to him but it didn’t take long for Aoren to realize that it was he, Avalis had touched. He overheard pieces of their conversation above the call of the gulls and the lapping of the waves. While he did not want to be rude, Aoren was very curious. He had been a boy when he’d realized the rarity with which Avalis marked any but Konti was something to appreciate. Guiding his steps in the direction of the odd pair he made his way over to them interjecting as politely as he could.

Excuse me?” He came to stand just a foot or so opposite of them both resulting in a loose triangle formation. Aoren wasn’t put off in the least when he’d heard snippets about something regarding Myrians from the woman. He’d met a Myrian before and it had been an altogether pleasant experience. He was not ignorant of their heritage though or the reputation that they were fierce warriors. It was something he could respect. He’d seen firsthand just how bitter and dangerous the world could be.

I couldn’t help but overhear that you are both new to Riverfall? Perhaps I could be of assistance? I have not resided in the city for very long but long enough to at least point you in the right direction if need be.” Aoren had yet to gain Kuvan status in the city but it was a goal that he was working toward achieving the current season. It would take time. The Akalak expected all citizens to be able to defend the city but he was already conditioning himself for the challenge ahead.
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Adapting to Exile

Postby Thomas Cosa on March 21st, 2015, 2:15 am

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"Myrian?" Thomas echoed, the word layered thick with a strange familiarity. She'd called herself one, in a sense, that much was obvious to the animator -- although why the Akalak would find such a thing offensive, or apparently dangerous, Thomas hadn't the faintest clue.

He watched as she sighed, her body relaxing, her tone warmer than before, again striking Thomas with incredible curiosity. He casted easily enough, the familair warmth catching in his stomach as he stirred his Djed awake, breathing in, pulling in his magic along his body, small goosebumps prickling along his skin as he dragged the spell into his eyes. His smirk curled into a pleasant smile, watching the myriad of colors colaesce over her, a veil of emotion, of smell, tastes, and textures. He caught the tail end of something -- a sharp cut of bright yellow, burning up, eating away at itself, shattering into the deep green of her aura.

"I wasn't happy where I was," he shrugged, lying, an iron intensity grabbing him as he searched her aura, skimming along the surprising roughness, like tree bark, easily catching the varying colors and smells, even if he wasn't confident enough to name them, not yet. "So I left. It wasn't much of a planned thing, really," he said, "More of a I-need-to-get-away-now sort of deal, y'know?"

He opened his mouth, the beginnings of a question almost escaping him before he was shot with a feeling of immediate security. A warmth flooded him, a sense of home and acceptance, something Thomas hadn't felt at all during his time in Sahova, something he hadn't felt since Mura.

His eyes shot pass the strange woman, arriving at the source, as well as his magic. Thomas imagined a Konti, and was surprised, ironically, to find another huiman at his source. Another human mage of all things, the newcomer's bright with magical shine, impressive for Riverfall. He met the man's startling blue gaze with with a cold apprehension, their sharing of a gnosis not completly overiding his mark as a mage, and as such, not trustworthy.

"I have a question. Why don't they like Myrians here?" Thomas asked, bluntly. He wasn't on Sahova anymore, and now there wasn't any point in pretending polite conversation. It was refreshing, almost, to be so sincere.

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Ayatah on March 23rd, 2015, 10:20 am

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Ayatah was further surprised at the tone with which her companion had repeated her race. Did he not know about the Myrian people? Aya had assumed the reputation of her cannibalistic people had expanded across the seas. Yet again, she regarded the dark haired male with genuine curiosity. He was not from Riverfall, and she guessed he did not hail from Zeltiva either. The people there were all too aware, too prejudiced, of the Myrians.

Her curiosity piqued further when he seemed distracted by something. Paranoia crept up her spine like a cold spider, and Ayatah glanced behind herself. She had expected to see a law enforcing Akalak approaching, to reprimand the Myrian for her strange action earlier. But no: she saw nobody of importance or intrigue, though another male did seem to be approaching the duo. Perhaps he was an accomplice of the first male, but a quick glance to his pale face betrayed no sign of recognition to Aya.

The newcomer spoke, offering his services as a tour guide or verbal map to Aya and the other male. Immediately she was suspicious, but the half-breed tried to push this instinct away. Not every city welcomes foreigners just to boil them in a giant pot later. In fact, hadn't she chosen Riverfall as her and Kuame's home because of the lawfulness of the place, its safety?

But any query Ayatah had about Riverfall did not make it onto her tongue. A question from the dark-haired male once again aroused her curiosity. So he really did not know about the Myrian people. For a moment, she was silent. It was tempting to lie: The Myrian people are so kind, so intelligent, that all other races feel inferior in comparison. But what were the chances that both males didn't know about her maternal people? If the other man knew the truth, her lie would be caught out. And if they were both unaware of the reality, Aya would feel somewhat guilty if they went to Falyndar to meet these genius jungle people, only to have their insides pulled out and gorged upon by her relatives.

And so Ayatah decided to tell the truth: "Because we tend to kill and eat anyone who wanders into our jungle home." Her explanation was accompanied with a helpless shrug, as if she was describing nothing more than the weather.

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Aoren on March 24th, 2015, 4:54 am

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The blunt tone with which Aoren was met from the dark haired man brought a small smile to his face.

Straight to the point, this one.

It was a trait that he could appreciate. Aoren himself had his blunt moments but they were typically only when he was seriously irritated. He tended to be a man of patience. He was about to respond when the woman spoke up answering the question before he had the chance. The Drykas tilted his head in agreement. What she said was not untrue if the stories were to be believed.

Although, I’ve found that Myrians outside of the trees of Falyndar are not altogether unpleasant people to be around. I’ve shared drinks with a Myrian, even partook in a game with one. The Myrian people also have a reputation for being very gifted fighters.” He shifted to a comfortable stance clasping his hands behind his back nodding to the woman.

As for why Myrians might not be liked in Riverfall?” The Drykas man shrugged his shoulders. “There are few Rivarians that I’ve met so far who aren’t willing to give an honest person the chance to prove themselves.

While Aoren hadn’t resided in Riverfall for very long he had been met with a great deal of friendliness. The Akalak were generally respectable and approachable if you abided by their laws. He was aware that he was not entitled to certain things in the city until he gained Kuvan status. That was one aspect of the society he wasn’t accustomed to but he was working toward gaining that respect. There was the possibility that due to his previous association with one of the respected merchants in the city, he was simply oblivious to Riverfall’s pitfalls. Curious about the newcomers, Aoren nudged his djed into motion. With the relaxed intake of breath he willed his djed to his eyes peering first at the woman. Within short order a curtain of colors misted about her form. The smoke of her demeanor flittered across Aoren’s consciousness.

Resolute.

That was the word that emerged in Aoren’s mind if he had to describe what he was both feeling and seeing. It was an admirable thing as far as he was concerned. He believed that whatever a person believed, they should be strong in their convictions. His gaze then came to rest upon the dark haired man. What Aoren found was…interesting. The slightest arching of one of his own eyebrows was accompanied by the acknowledgement that whoever this man was, he was touched by magic. The traces of it drifted across the mist of his aura.

As Aoren's hold upon the powers of Auristics settled something else came into view. That which the man wore around his neck radiated an aura of its own. The magnitude of that aura implied it was anything but mundane. A small smirk touched Aoren's lips as his gaze drifted from the jewels to meet that of his fellow mage. The Seer and Healer said nothing. Nor would he. His interest in both of these people however had increased.

Curious. Very curious.
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Adapting to Exile

Postby Thomas Cosa on March 24th, 2015, 6:01 am

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"Wonderful, then, that we didn't meet in the jungle," Thomas said, his tone dangerously sarcastic. "I don't think that explains why they don't like you here, though. Unless they're stupid enough to think that you're stupid enough to do something like that here, in a park, for all the world to see," he paused, a cruel, sharp twist of his mouth reading snarky mischeif, "I mean, if you were to do such a...savage thing, you would have the decency, I'm sure, to do so in the privacy of your own home?" He smiled at the woman, although his magical attentions stayed with the avalis-marked stranger. In his mind, anyone with magic was more of a threat than someone without, no matter the reputation.

"Still, I suppose I can't blame them if your race has such a reputation. I won't hold it against you, though, I promise," Thomas winked, trying his best to hide his irritation as the sense of electricty tingled in the man's aura, a hazy mirrored imaged signaling a use of auristics; the animator flinched as he caught the sense of delicious curiosity, soaked in deep ambers as it sparkled about the crown of the stranger's blond hair. He would know, now, that Thomas had magic, and probably that he was using -- if anything positive, he commanded the stranger for having the know-how to keep his mouth shut. "I don't think I caught your name, ehr, names. I'm Thomas Cosa, orginally of Syliras."

He nervously held his hand up to his neck, his fingers interlocking with the pretty metal of Stranger's body. The mage, whoever he was, would undoubtly know Stranger wasn't any collar, but who he recognize the creature for a golem? If the Akalak already took such a strong stance against the woman for her race, how would they treat him for living on Sahova? The Myrians may eat people, but Thomas would have welcomed over anything an apprenticed dealt with under a nuit master. Hai, he didn't even want to think what the slaves did to survive. No, he decided, better to keep with Syliras. No one needed to know about his time on the undead isle of Sylira.

"So the Myrians have a bad rep, but you seem to think they'll give her a chance," Thomas nodded at the man, his magic creeping along the man's aura, poking and prodding at the brightness for any clue as to who he was, and more importantly, what other magic he had. There was a steadiness to his aura, an anchored security. A light bloomed over his face, masking a familiar mark, something he had seen on Mura frequently, but couldn't place -- a healer's mark, perhaps? "And what about humans, huh? Do we get a pass? What do the Riverfallians -- is that the right word? Riverfallians?" He asked, geniuely curious, "Anyway, who do they like? What kind of people are they?"

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Adapting to Exile

Postby Ayatah on March 24th, 2015, 7:06 pm

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The blonde male mentioned his previous dealings with Myrians, and for obvious reasons this captivated Ayatah's interest. Her dark eyes slid to his face, investigating him as if she could extract more information about his anecdote from his very being. Her stomach knotted as she considered who he may have met. Perhaps her old lover, whom Aya had been estranged from for over three years now. The last she had heard about Razkar of the Shorn Skulls was that he had come to Zeltiva whilst she was on an expedition to Darva. Instead of chasing after him upon her return, Ayatah had done nothing. Later in the season, she had heard he had not been alone, but had been accompanied by a woman. Though the Myrian had felt something close to jealousy, no heartbreak or upset had ever touched on her conscious.

Perhaps now she would gain more information on the whereabouts of him. The distance and neglect may have ended their romance, but she was still curious. Tenatively, Ayatah spoke: "May I ask the name of the Myrian you met? There are few of us beyond the jungle that I'd imagine I know them." Her request was accompanied by a flighty, brief smile that went as quickly as it had appeared.

The rest of the blonde one's words bought her some comfort. So the people of Riverfall were not as prejudiced as some against her maternal folk. This was certainly a good sign, for both Aya's well being and, of course, that of Kuame's as well. The little boy carried many traits common amongs the Myrian people, and so it would not be hard to imagine he might also experience some discrimination. But not in Riverfall.

Hopefully not in Riverfall.

She returned to the conversation just as the dark haired male - Thomas - offered his name and two following questions. It struck Aya as strange that he was concerned about the reputation of his own breed. The human people were by far the most numerous, she guessed, and so surely there would be no singular way to describe them. But then, she herself was proof that the Myrian people were not all mindless savages -- right? Somewhat distantly, she proffered her hand to Thomas, and then to the still unnamed blonde male. "I am Ayatah of the Scattered Bones." Her name was first first spoken in her native Myrian tongue, before Aya subsequently translated it into common. "Aya." And then she fell silent, waiting for an answer from the newcomer to Thomas' second question. Whatever he believed Riverfallians appreciated or valued in a person, Aya wanted to make sure she could mould herself to mimic it.

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