Open It's So Much More Than You Think!

[Alyria Riptide]

Evening, 2nd Day of Fall

It was a balmy evening on the island, and although there was scarcely a breeze thanks to the Settlement Founders forethought, the Commons deck was high enough in the treetops to capture enough of the cooler winds as they drifted gently across the foliage. Around the deck, there was a spattering of people. Some sat in groups, chatting quietly and eating of the small haul of seafare and jungle fruits that had been left for all. Luck would have it, that a barrel of sweet fermented fruit wine had come to term, and it's owner had shared the drink round for trade.

Alyria had offered up four dried herrings and a dozen smoked oysters in exchange for a small flagon. Seated by one of the temporary tables against the railing, lit by a spitting tallow candle housed in half a coconut shell, the blonde fisherwoman decanted a little of her wine into a functionally carved wooden cup and sipped thoughtfully as she stared out across the calm waters of the coast. The sounds of children playing in the swings under the deck drifted to her ears, and smiling softly, she glanced down at the worn old map she had spread on the table before her.

There were new markings on the map, just small notes and scribbles Alyria had written up. Things that made sense to her. Her father, could he even be called that, had made references in the columns to landmarks that at first reading made little sense. However, Alyria felt like they were riddles, hidden messages that in her mind, strongly aligned to certain landmarks in Syka, in The Maw.

Not that she had seen or verified these landmarks, but she heard the stories. Stair Step Falls...The Sunken City...The Ruined Citadel. All of these mysteries to be explored, and if she understood the starchart on the back, it was actually leading her to one of these places. To what though? That was the struggle. Her fathers marking and ramblings were so vague and confusing, one might mistake them for drunken scribbles or a poorly written poem confessing love for a monkey.

...Or a woman. The handwriting on that particular one was bad.

Regardless. Alyria, on her rocky and lonely sail to the shores of Syka was convinced they were more than that. She was after all, his blood regardless of the fact they have never met. If anyone should be able to decipher the words of her Father, it should be her.

Sitting back in her chair, one leg crossed loosely over the other, the human-svefra mix pushed her hair back out of her face and glanced up at the stars, sipping on the wine. She'd left her half dreads loose tonight, a woeful idea considering the humidity of the nights in the jungle. Her white tunic hung daringly off one shoulder, a mistake in purchase and a size too large, belted loosely round her middle.

Tapping the wooden cup gently against her lip, staring up at the stars, Alyria found herself lost in thoughts about maps and treasure and adventure.

[Rakhasta]

One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. The world seemed to lurch and give in odd ways with every step, the Eypharian throwing his many arms out this way and that as he made his way up the beach. What had seemed like a boon once, how easily he took to life upon the sea and taking little time to acquire his sea legs, now was perhaps the strangest curse the man had ever suffered. For though he knew the ground beneath him was not moving his very senses refused to believe it. The waves of the sea refused to leave him even though he now stood on dry land, and he pondered between stumbles and lurches if this was not some cruel hex placed upon him by the god of those seafaring humans. A fisherman had greeted him on the docks when he arrived, and had between fits of laughter at the noble Eypharian's humbled state managed to point him in the direction of the Syka Commons, a sort of gathering place where he could get the lay of the land. It was that place he set forth to now, heading in the direction he hoped the fisherman had pointed if this odd ocean curse had not thrown him too far off course. Left. Right. Ri- The world spun suddenly and he stumbled sideways, colliding into a thin palm tree with his shoulder. He grasped at it drunkenly, trying to find balance as he cast his gaze around. Though the world still rolled and bobbed it was less so now that he stood still. He could see the beach from here, the inviting waves lapping the beach as if to taunt him. Looking inland though he saw lights in the trees, rather higher above the ground than he had expected. The fisherman had said the Commons was "in the treeline overlooking the beach", and if that was it the words certainly made more sense now. Rakhasta narrowed his eyes, gripping the tree with four determined fists. He would defeat this maritime curse, walk into the Commons and have a drink, or by the names of the many and varied Gods he was unworthy to be so much as azmashe - the dirt stuck to ones sandal after walking long hours. He pushed off from the palm, swinging his arms with iron determination as he forced himself onward. Right. Left. Right. Left. Onward you filthy wretch. The lights above bobbed and swung about with every step, the sand seeming to give way beneath him, but he forged onward. Soon he passed through some small collection of trees and came upon a wide yet simple wooden staircase, the shallow steps leading upwards where the flicker-light of candles could just barely be seen and the mellow hubbub of community sounds could be heard. One, two hands gripped the stairs railing as he stared up the ascending wooden planks, which seemed to tip side to side with a gentle rhythm. "A curse I lay upon the man," he muttered under his breath in the tongue of his people as he struggled up the stairway "who chose to bring to Mizahar the vile contraption of stairs, for he is no friend to me, and is in truth some monster or fiend worthy of the most cruel contempt." Finally, after no small effort he made it to the top, and was aware of several pairs of eyes falling on him where he stood. His hair was unkempt and windswept, his face speckled with sand from where he'd fallen many times on his way here. His clothes were simple and in many places sweated through, far from the opulence he was used to and preferred. And finally he noticed that he was the only Eypharian in sight, with not a single body here having more than two arms. He swayed on his feet, trying to look somewhat dignified despite his terribly haggard appearance, his six hands occasionally flicking out to help him keep his balance. He cast his eyes about, looking this way and that, in hopes of finding somewhere to sit. Perhaps someone here could tell him more about his new home and what he could expect from it. With luck they might even have a map.

[Alyria Riptide]

Alyria mused as she gazed at the stars, the children's voices below accompanying her thoughts in a way that was almost whimsical. There was however, something else carried up the stairs by the breeze. A voice not at all childlike, and not in any language she had heard before. Drawn from her distracted mental wandering, the young svefra mix turned in her chair slightly to take in the figure that ascended.

She blinked a moment, not entirely taking in what she saw.

It was a man, dark haired and looking altogether a mess. His youthful face was dirtied with sandy grit - almost as though he had dived into the beach with gusto - and his clothing appeared none too clean. Yet, it was his appendages that drew her blue gaze. Alyria hadn't been well traveled in her time, and whilst she had heard of the so told beautiful race of Godly descendants in the desert, this was her first encounter with them.

It was a little impossible not to stare.

With a small shake of her head, as though to break herself of the rude gawking she was doing, Alyria noticed the man swayed. Was he drunk? Or perhaps ill. Given the haggard appearance she was inclined towards the latter. The blonde fisherwoman took a large gulp to finish the last of her cup of wine and placed it on the table, before gesturing to the man.

"Are you alright there?" She called out in Common, unsure whether she should stand or sit and her brow slightly furrowed. What if he didn't understand her? He hadn't been speaking Common earlier.

[Rakhasta]

The world tilted left, and Rakhasta grasped the railing to keep from tumbling just as his eyes fell on a woman who seemed to be staring directly at him. She motioned and called out to him, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to bring the world back into focus and study her. Her hair was sunbleached, seemingly tangled and knotted in some places and braided in others, but the tangles seemed oddly intentional. Beads were woven into them, and they fell in thick combination strands unlike any he’d ever seen. Her face had several pieces of jewelry embedded in it, as if she were one of the Myrian savages, but they seemed sleek and metallic not unlike the earrings the palace concubines of home often wore. Is she a whore, then? he wondered. Aside from the jewelry she didn’t look the part. Her garb was that of a worker of some sort, and her hands showed evidence of labor. Come to think of it, she didn’t look unlike the men and women who had manned the ship ensuring his passage here, the ones who spoke of this sea-god that had cursed him with waves in his mind. All the better. Perhaps she can help me lift this curse. He stepped forward, hesitantly letting go of the railing as he cautiously put one foot in front of the other once more. He balanced carefully, the wooden floorboards being simpler to maneuver upon than the shifting sands, and slowly made his way to her table. “Am I…? No, I am not well, and if you can you must help me.” He swallowed, pulling the chair out with one hand and bringing himself to sit as he moved his mind to using the Common Tongue. It was not his native language, and it showed in a certain lack of eloquence, but he could passably make conversation. “If you can I will be most grateful, and I will not forget. My name is Rakhasta of the Southern Winds, and I am new to these northern lands. Upon my first sandy steps I became afflicted with some awful curse I have not known the likes of ever before…” Sitting seemed to be doing him some good, the constant shifting of things affecting him far less than when he had tried to keep his footing on his own. He slowly came to realize how very thirsty he was, and a wide frown sundered his brow as he rubbed his dry tongue against his gritty gums. The sand was salty, which didn’t do him any good, and atop that he couldn’t remember the last time he had fresh water. ”But...before I speak of it more, where can a man find drink?”

[Alyria Riptide]

Alyria listened intently, her brow now furrowed with concern for the many-limbed stranger as he staggered into the chair beside her. His words, spoken thankfully in Common, had an air to them of dignity and regal grace - far from the disheveled and tortured figure seated before her.

Drawn into his story already, the young woman leaned forward with a frown. A curse, he said, since coming onto the sandy beach of Syka. The svefra born was curious to know more. What sort of curse? Was it the reason he was so unsteady and....sandy? An illness somehow wrought into the very grit of the coastline, not yet discovered?

What if it was contagious?

Broken from her musings, the blonde nodded and drew her water skin from her belt, pouring a large serve into her wooden cup and moving it towards the man. As she plugged the end, the young fisherwoman nodded at his appearance.

"Well met Rakhasta, albeit under less than savoury circumstances. I am Alyria Riptide, and I freely share my water with you. Here, drink, please!" Placing the water skin on the table, the blonde gestured to the smaller skein already resting there.

"I also have wine, if you were so inclined." Alyria leaned to rest her elbows on her knees, hands knitted together.

"Please Rakhasta, tell me more of this curse that has befouled you. I can only imagine that it might be dreadful, and indeed if you describe it perhaps we can seek medical aid." Her brow was drawn again in concern, for the man and the settlement. If he were indeed contagious, it could be disastrous for the still growing settlement.

Goosebumps ran up her arms at the thought. Gods forbid.