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[Asher Claveson]

Autumn - 4 - 515 AV

The day was coming to a close, and the heat hadn't even been that dreadful. The clouds were few, and there was a pleasant breeze that brought up the sweet smell of the grass surrounding the city. It was a beautiful day, the perfect juxtaposition to Asher's mood. The more bold he grew in seeking out answers, in seeking instruction to finally read his wife's Book of Letters, the more people he found who did not wish to give him exactly what he wanted. And he just didn't understand it. He's offered money to Inarta, to scholars from Wind Reach, to translators, and they all say the same thing: “This is a private language, and it can't be taught to just anyone.”

Well, call him selfish, but he wasn't just anyone. He was married to an Inarta, one who taught him to speak the language with him only having to ask the once. She taught him everything she knew, all the sayings she grew up with, and was fully intending to teach him how to read the language. If all this didn't qualify him, then what would? Would he have to dye his hair red, trick someone to teach it to him and explain it away as an Inarta who never learned to read? He didn't want to be dishonest about this, Meyarra would have never stood for it. But just yesterday, he was this close to saying that he was hoping to learn to “teach it to his daughter, give her something to remember her mother by”. That's how dark his mood had been. All day.

But he was getting his hopes up again. He could do nothing but, especially since this was quite possibly his last chance at learning the language here in Syliras. The Inarta said he'd meet and discuss, here in the Rearing Stallion tavern. Asher made sure he wouldn't drink this time, that any mizas he spent tonight would be to persuade the man further. He called himself Brian, a name his “simple mother” gave to him. He had smirked at Asher's request, shrugged and said he'd think about it and meet him later. So of course, here he was, waiting on a man who swaggered more than he probably needed to, who gave a dismissive wave in farewell. He really hoped it wouldn't come to this. Needs must, though.

“Ah,” a voice boomed behind Asher, causing him to turn and confirm it was Brian who sauntered in, his ridiculous smirk plastered on his face, “you're really serious 'bout this, eh? Thought you'd change your mind.”

Asher sighed as the conversation drew the attention of practically the whole tavern. He tried very hard to keep something like this quiet in the past, as he always got a multitude of frowns in response if he ever bothered to speak up. He waited until Brian sat before replying, “I'm not the type of man to change his mind when he really wants something.”

Brian laughed, loud and brash, and Asher couldn't help but twitch and flinch at the volume. “You and me, both, then. And what I really want right now is a drink. Hey, gorgeous,” he seized a barmaid's skirt and tugged her closer, “how's about you get me and this fellow a couple mugs of ale, yeah? Best you got in the house.”

Asher clenched his jaw at how wary the girl was, and he nodded reluctantly when she looked to him as if in confirmation. Best he give this man what he wants so he can get what he wants. The barmaid said, “Sure thing,” and tugged her skirt back to go get them the ale.

Brian chuckled, leering after her as she turned away from them. “Quite a sight, quite a sight. Y'know, may just try my charm on her. Make her feel all special.”

Asher frowned and murmured, “Yeah, I'm sure she'd feel real special, being charmed by Ser Customer on a regular evening.”

The Nari - along with the heavy sarcasm, no doubt – caught Brian's attention. He narrowed his eyes, his mouth twitching as he considered... something. “Didn't think you'd know Nari already. Thought you were looking for some lessons. Have to say your accent leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I am looking for lessons, but I'm looking for reading lessons. My wife taught me everything I know in how to speak it-”

“What, and now you wanna send your ex-wife an apology letter in the language of her home to make her crawl back in bed with you?”

“I- no. That's not what I-”

“Trying to impress some other girl?”

“No. My wife left a book for me, and I would like to read it.”

“That a fact?” Asher knew the man hardly believed him, but it wasn't for a lack of trying. The man was just an idiot. Brian held out a hand, waving his fingers as he said, “Lemme see this book. Gotta know it's actual Nari, you know?”

Asher grumbled, taking the book from his pack and opening the cover to the first page. Judging by its brevity, he guessed it said something along the lines of who the book belonged to. It would serve as proof enough. “Just this first page. This book is rather private, so I-”

“'For my heart's wings,'” Brian read out loud, almost too loud, and the phrase made Asher's breath shudder out of him. Those words, they were Mey's. Whenever she felt affectionate – or when she was angry at him but still willing to talk – she would always call him that. And here this fool was, spouting it out like it's some crude cuss. It was worse when he snorted and said, “Wow, must've been quite the love story. Heart's wings, who calls each other that these days?” He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, friend, I don't think I'll be teaching you.”

Asher froze. “What? Why?”

“I'm not gonna get all mixed up in your ridiculous infatuation with your ex. My advice? Move the petch on, grab one of these girls for a night perhaps.”

“She's not my ex, she's my wife!” He could hear his voice rise in volume, feel the eyes he was drawing back to himself, but he didn't really much care. His mood was growing darker, his anger becoming hotter. He wanted answers, and this... this bastard wasn't giving him any. “These are her last words to me, and the least you could do if you're going to drag me around like this is to teach me some basics, the Nari alphabet at the very least!”

“Why should I? If she ain't your ex, why not have her teach it to you?”

“Because she's dead!”

“Well, thank the gods for that, because anyone stupid enough to get between the sheets with you is-”

That was the last he wished to hear from the petching man, and he gave no restraint to the kick he sent under the table, forcing Brian to fall to the floor with a loud thump. How dare this man call the death of anyone, especially Meyarra, a blessing?? How dare he toy with Asher when he just wished to read?? These thoughts circled his head, repeating as he grabbed the smaller man and practically carried him out the tavern and threw him to the middle of the street.

“If I ever,” he yelled in fury, “ever see your petching hide ever again, I will skin it from you while you beg for mercy! Take your diseased prick someplace else, you bastard!”

Brian, though shocked, didn't seem overly perturbed as he brushed himself off. “You're petching crazy, you know that?”

“I don't care how crazy you think I am, you numskull, I will ruin your life more than the Djed Storm ruined mine, and I will smile all the way to the dungeons for a job petching well done!” That seemed to do the trick, he thought, as he watched Brian's face turn disturbed. Within a few seconds, the man walked down the street into the dark. Quickly.

Asher's blood was on fire, even as he stepped back into the tavern to straighten the chaos he caused at his table. He thought sitting and keeping silent would have helped. It's helped before. It wasn't helping then. He'd spent years, years wandering this city in the hopes someone would give him some sympathy and teach him to read the language he'd heard in his home and fallen in love with, but no one bothered with sympathy. He was tired, so tired of the endless battle, of getting nowhere. Would it always be this way in Syliras? Would he always be resigned to this limbo of a life? Well. His childhood was the perfect answer, wasn't it? Fine, he thought. If he couldn't seek knowledge in Syliras, he'd find someplace else. Perhaps that city Mey was from. What did she call it?

"Sir?" Asher's head shot up to see the barmaid standing there, two mugs in hand. "You still want the ale?"

He stared at the girl, then down at the mugs. "What the hell. Yes, thank you."

[Darya Backrush]

It had been nearly four days since Darya had first docked her casinor at the Great Harbor and she felt was though the sheer size of the city was going to be enough to keep her entertained for at least a season. For most of the day she had been exploring the outside roads and even ventured inside where the majority of the businesses were to view the shopkeeper's’ wares and watch craftsmen ply their trades.

It was all so different from the world she was used to. The small glimpses of the land people’s lifestyle she had gotten when she was younger and still under the sheltered hand of her pod was nothing compared to what she was seeing there. The way they walked, the way they talked, and the way they treated each other was all so strange. The Sylirans all treated each other with a certain respect that never went beyond acquaintances, as they enjoyed being strangers with their neighbors. They would talk briefly in passing but not much more than that and the ever vigilant Knights could be seen anywhere at any given time. It was odd...If not unnerving.

In all honesty, she disliked being inside the stone buildings for too long. They were a bit cramped and the air did not flow as freely therein. The thick walls seemed to contain all of the strange scents of cooking food and the voices of hundreds of people made Darya feel as though she was in the middle of a beehive. While it was interesting and new, it was not something Darya was fond of. She preferred her rocking seas and open skies.

Where should I go next…? She pondered as she once again ventured out into the streets, only to see a man toss another out of what appeared to be a Tavern. Furthermore, he was practically screaming in some strange language loud enough for the whole city to hear him! What could have the offender done to the man to incite such a rage? She could feel her own curiosity stir and she quickly made her way to the tavern the angry bloke went back into in hopes to get him to speak. The worst that could happen was that she too would be thrown out of the tavern on her arse.

The sign above the Tavern read ‘Rearing Stallion’ with a picture of a horse standing up on its hind legs with its forehooves in the air. The guard she had spoken to the other day had mentioned such a place to her is she desired a room and drink. The sounds of music and drunken voices carried out each time the door was opened, beckoning to the young Svefra to come in and join in on the festivities. She gladly obliged.

The inside of the Rearing Stallion was lively, though not yet crowded since the day was still at its peak. The heavy scent of pipe smoke and ale tickled Darya’s nose as she stepped further inside. A smile was on her lips as she looked around at the different patrons and the room itself in hopes of finding the fuming man; which, of course, did not take long at all since many of the people gave the man a wide birth in fear of earning his ire. Not that Darya cared about such things. She wanted to know why the bearded bear of a man acted to violently….or was it a common behavior of Sylirans?

She casually made her way over to the man’s table and took a seat without care of if he wanted her to sit there or not. “Ya got yer self a good throwin’ arm, ‘ere Mate.” She pointed out as she leaned back in her newly acquired seat with her arms resting casually on the table top.

The man seemed rather hardy upon closer inspection. If she was not mistaken, the man had seen hard work in his life. However, it was his eyes that held the majority of her attention. There was something…off about them. If she had to put it to words, they seemed rather dim. “So, what did tha’ lad do tah get ye to toss his arse out like a rotten fish?”

[Asher Claveson]

Asher finished off a mug and a half before he finally slowed his drinking. What little friends he had would probably have disapproved of such behavior, but he didn't particularly care at that point to receive approval from anyone. He finally had enough of approval. He was officially an outsider to his own city, and it didn't even sting the way he thought it would. And why should he? The city's residents treated him with little sympathy, and that was in the best of times. What was the point of staying where he would be treated like a maniac? Never mind that he could have possibly lost his sanity between the Djed Storm and now. Either way, he was beyond tired of the Sylirian treatment.

Just as he finished off his second mug, someone plopped themselves down right in the seat Brian took. A young woman, and one wholly unperturbed by the glare he sent her way. Without so much as a greeting, she spoke, “Ya got yer self a good throwin' arm, 'ere Mate.” So she must have seen the commotion from outside. Upon reflection, who didn't? It was getting close to evening, but there were still many walking about. And he yelled probably loud enough for all of Syliras to hear. At one point, he might have felt humiliation, shame. Now? He didn't feel too much of anything. Though that could just be the ale talking.

“So, what did tha’ lad do tah get ye to toss his arse out like a rotten fish?” The woman asked him after a moment of silence. From anyone else in Syliras, such a question would sound like the sort of chiding you give a child. But this woman, he was beginning to realize, was not a native to Syliras. For one, she smelt of the docks without actually smelling of the dead fish scent that usually pervaded the air.

Asher snorted, pouring himself a third mug. “What, besides him being a prick?” It wasn't very polite to talk at others in a language they didn't speak, but again, he didn't really care. It would take more effort to care at this point. Still, the woman deserved an answer, so he went back to Common. “He started hurling insults and treating the barmaid like she was less than human.” He hesitated before he decided it wouldn't hurt to tell more. “Made some promises to teach me Nari and decided to instead call my wife's death a blessing.” He shrugged, giving the woman a sarcastic look. “No big deal, yeah?” He went back to his ale, taking a couple gulps to quiet himself. It was still a challenge to speak about such things, though definitely not the challenge it used to be, when the grief was still raw and the people were less than tolerant.

[Darya Backrush]

The Svefra frowned slightly with her head tilted to the side at the sound of the strange language once again. The rest she recognized as common but she did not know in the slightest what the other language was. She was certainly going to ask the strange man about that later but as he continued to talk, the young woman merely nodded respectfully.

“Had I been in ye boots, lad… Well… Bein’ toss o’erboard would ‘ave been tha least o’ tha scurvy cur’s snags. Fam’ly is import’nt, more so when yeh fam’ly an’t ‘ere anymore. Though… Wha’s exactly is tha’ ‘Nari’, eh? Tha’ funny tongue ye keep speakin’? I ne’er heard o’ it ‘fore.” She asked before she waved over one of the barmaids and requested a mug of dark beer. She fully intended on making herself completely comfortable while talking to her table companion.

“Is it common fer ya land folks ta talk teh each o’er like tha’? I mean, my pod was n’er teh nicest lot but we stood by each o’er. An’ teh same went fer teh o’er pods we came across. We’re all fam’ly under teh Sea Father.” Her blue eyes never strayed far from the man sitting across from her as she waited for her drink. Even when the barmaid brought a frothy mug back, Darya’s eyes only shifted slightly to give her thanks and a flirty wink at the woman. Once she was gone again, the red-haired Svefra held out her hand to the other man.

“M’ name’s Darya Backrush, jus’ so yeh know. Wha’ do I call ye, eh?”

[Asher Claveson]

Asher shook his head, “Wouldn't have minded to bruise him up a bit, but the guards don't take keenly to you exacting your own justice. Knighthood is all about propriety and honor.” He snorted, running a hand over his face. He really didn't need the trouble that came with upsetting the guards. Then his father would likely be dragged into things, and Asher could hold up to many things, but being reminded that his father practically disowned him was not one of them. As if he hadn't lost enough family against his will.

When the woman asked after Nari, Asher smiled slightly. “Nari's the language of the Inarta. My wife was one. That man back there, Brian, he was another. My wife taught me to speak the language, but I never really learned to read it. I was hoping Brian would help out but,” he gave a shrug, “looks like I've hit a dead end there.” The barmaid was waved over, and Asher made sure to put in another order of ale, two more mugs. He wouldn't mind getting a little more than buzzed, and if this woman was going to take issue with that, she could move elsewhere. Though something told him she wasn't the type to begrudge a man his drink.

As the woman spoke about pods and families, Asher blinked in muted surprise. He had guessed she wasn't from around here, but someone who had been traveling the seas enough to call them home over the land? He preferred the land over the water. The land didn't try to kill you as often, and then it would usually be your fault. He considered her question and he answered, “There are many people crammed into small spaces, putting the safety in numbers before much else. Not to mention there are so many gods to believe in, everyone has their own idea of where and why they belong. Often times, that sort of thinking can separate you from others, for better or worse. That sort of thinking can make people hateful, prideful.” Asher frowned and added softly, “Sometimes it even makes you forget that family matters.”

The drinks were eventually brought around, and Asher decided he sort of had enough to be sullen and melancholy. He didn't really have much time to think about it, even, thanks to the woman sticking her hand out over the table and introducing herself. He smiled a little wider, clasping her hand in a firm shake. “Asher Claveson. Pleased to meet you. What brings you to Syliras?”

[Darya Backrush]

Darya’s attention was held completely by her new drinking partner. The way he spoke was, of course, different from and her pod but it was interesting none the less. Plus, he seemed to know quite a bit about the city and its people...A native perhaps? The way he spoke of the knights certainly held the tone of someone who was familiar enough with them that he was not frightened by them and it earned him a chuckle from the Svefra. “Thas wut I’ve ga’ered thus far since gettin’ ‘ere. I was startin’ to ponder if ‘Stay out o’ trouble’ was a common greetin’ ‘ere in Syliras.” She mused to the man briefly before slipping back into entertained silence as he spoke of the strange language, Nari.

She had heard of Inarta from Pods who have been that way but she had never met one in person before that day. It was sad to hear that the man’s mate was gone but at least she did leave something for him to remember her by, if only a little bit. Darya respectfully nodded her head in understanding. Though the bit he said about forgetting about family rubbed her wrong. “I’d ‘elp yeh if I could, Mate. But alas, I know nothin’ ‘bout wut yeh seek. There be no other Inarta ‘ere in Syliras?”

She then leaned forward on the table and met the man’s gaze with sudden seriousness. “Though, as fer fam’ly… They are always import’nt. I dun know ‘ow yeh land folk see things but fam’ly means survival on teh sea. Ye live wit ‘em, laugh wit ‘em, an’ cry wit’ ‘em. When we lose fam’ly, we dun weep fer them ‘coz they ne’er left attall. They jus’ returned ta sea to aid us. Ye see? I dunno wut ye land folk believe but I knew fam’ly is important. Ay? ” She then leaned back in her seat just as the maid walked up with their orders.

Darya thanked the barmaid with a wide smile before she took a long swig from her mug. She let out a loud “ah!” when she got her fill and sat the mug back down to return her attention to the man, the sternness of before seeming to have never existed When her hand was taken, she beamed up at him and shook his firmly. “Asher, ay? ‘Tis m’ pleasure. Laviku lead m’ ‘ere, teh Syliras. I left m’ pod lookin’ for adventure an’ now I’m ‘ere. Ay? I dunno fer how long… Mayhaps until teh Spring. Sailing in cold wea’er is beyond m’ abilities fer now.”

[Asher Claveson]

Sorry!I'm sorry for being away for as long as I have. I moved in last week to my new apartment, and started school this past week. I'll make sure that I post weekly, probably Saturdays.

Asher nodded in recognition to Darya's words, though he admitted to himself that he didn't know as much about sailing as she did. Fall mornings tended to be freezing, so it didn't sound surprising to know it was just as cold out on the sea. He considered her words about family and couldn't find anything to disagree with. With Meyarra, he felt like he finally had family. They laughed after the same things, cried together over tragedies and heartaches, lived together in a harmony Asher never thought possible. Waking was no hardship as it had been when he lived with his parents. In fact, he had looked forward to waking early in the mornings. The prospect of leaving the bed was another thing, but gazing at his sleeping wife, soft in ways that she very rarely showed when awake, it was better than dreaming. Of course all that was taken from him.

He supposed it wasn't as hard for Darya to grieve, with the belief she and her pod had about life and death. Asher probably wouldn't have had too hard a time with grieving himself, but... “It would have been easier to move on if her body had been found,” Asher mumbled under his breath, determined to keep others from hearing. No one here wanted to be reminded that others suffered during the Djed Storm. Everyone insisted that all Sylirans were safely moved to the caves, and those who passed were only those who had served the Knights. Those who passed died with honor. All else were just “missing”. He had been disillusioned at first, insisting that Mey had to have survived. He searched within and without the city, for any sign of her. But as more time passed, it soon became a hopeless cause. He became a hopeless cause.

“Mey's the only Inarta willing to share her native tongue with me,” he pressed on to keep the focus off what he said before. “Apparently, the language is heavily protected. Shouldn't be taught to 'outsiders'.” He shrugged. “I'm at a dead end. But only if I stay here.” He couldn't stay here much longer anyway. There was nothing for him here any longer. It was time to leave, to start something new. It was daunting, but he was tired of being scared.