Closed Cursed is the fool who's willing (Aoren)

[Achenar]

2nd of Fall, 516AV
The River flower
Evening

The air felt hot and thick, though as a creature accustomed to the humidity of Kenash, it felt far drier and breezier than he'd ever experienced before. The Tent City and its Drykas was a thing that the ethaefal could not begin to understand, at least not in his frail and decidedly weakened state. The events leading into the mine had freed him from the chains of slavery, but he still felt its indistinguishable mark all too well. He'd trudged through tall grass and trampled through a cavernous ruin with the other band of slaves, only to be met with a society he'd only ever heard scathing rumors about. But as he slowly begun acclimating, the superstitions and wariness sloughed away.

The Drykas hadn't clapped him in irons nor dragged him to a pit to leave him to die. They didn't raise a whip to his back and deprive him of dignity. On the contrary, he was left to his own devices, it seemed. Despite his celestial seeming's propensity to prevent the onset of illness or starvation, he still suffered the full effects of his malnourished and weary body come morning. And so the ethaefal found himself at the tents of the River Flower with the help of an old woman whose curiosity likely outweighed any sense of altruism.

The ethaefal stayed within their reach, doing the odd job or two for the doctors of the River Flower in return for their minor services. It kept him an arms length from the vultures, and from the dark depths of his broken mind. He was not a person anymore, for now; only a thing, struggling to survive in an environment he knew little about. His lack of Pavi only made things worse.

Still he trickled on as best as he could, hanging on to a thin string of will that kept him from hitting rock bottom. He'd gone and attempted to collect minor herbs for one of the healers and returned with a handful that was largely what she hadn't asked for, though by virtue of his race, or simply out of kindness, she hadn't thrown a fit. But as he stepped outside of the Healer's tent for a bit of fresh air, the ethaefal swayed and collapsed on his hands and knees, feeling his head spin lightly. Damned weeds... He cursed.

oocHi! Since I wasn't sure where former slaves go, if they go anywhere, I sort of assumed Achy would have a very rough time of it by himself, so he stuck with the River Flower and utilized the minor jobs for minor help thing that was described in the description, I hope that's okay!

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[Aoren]

Aoren welcomed the warmth of the day. Though the air was humid it was nothing compared to the often oppressive heat that built up inside the walls of Syliras. He recalled well the days when he was stuck inside the walls of the citadel with thousands of other people. The memory made him grateful for the fresh air that he was able to breathe so readily. Sitting atop a barrel next to the River Flower, Aoren was a bit of a curious sight. Humming to himself he would have been swinging his legs if not for the fact that even seated, his feet were barely off the ground. Over his thigh was a sheet of parchment which he was pouring over carefully, next to that a well of ink. In one of his hands he held a pen and was making sweeping strokes across the surface of the parchment forming runic sigils rooted in the art of Glyphing. He’d barely been in Endrykas a full day before seeing a need that could easily be addressed by someone of his skills.

Life in the Sea of Grass was dangerous. Predators and other threats lingered in many places. The River Flower saw a steady stream of those injured either because of their own recklessness, clumsiness or because of the environment the Drykas people lived in. The healers were attentive but there were only so many of them. To that end, Aoren resolved to provide for them a few scrolls blessed with Rak’keli’s gift of Healing. He was giving them freely with neither the expectation of repayment nor a desire for it. Truthfully, Aoren was still trying to find his place among the Horseclans of the Sea of Grass. This would perhaps be a gesture of good intention and see him transition much smoother into the community as he worked to find where he belonged. Pausing in his work, Aoren placed the ink pen in his mouth picking up the parchment to examine the incomplete Glyph for a moment. He rotated the parchment slightly to observe the flow of the script on the page as if a change of angle might unlock some obscure revelation. inspection of the Glyphic runes was interrupted by the arrival of someone who sounded rather flustered if his huffing was anything to go by.

Looking up from his small project, Aoren examined the man that appeared from the inside of the healing tent just a few feet from him. Average in height and lean in build with dark hair and blue eyes, he was a new arrival brought in the other day if Aoren’s understanding was correct. He didn’t seem at all comfortable in his surroundings. Curious, the Drykas man nudged his djed into motion awakening his senses to that which is unseen by most. In short order the man’s aura was plainly visible. On the immediate surface were feelings of frustration, exasperation, and confusion. Beneath that however, Aoren could just barely make out the scarcest feelings of relief but they were clouded by a gnawing hunger along with darker, more clouded things that he didn’t care to delve too deeply into at the moment. Besides, in the few breaths that Aoren had been examining the man’s aura, he’d likely noticed his staring.

Meeting the man’s gaze, Aoren gave him a friendly enough smile. Reaching up he removed the ink pen from his mouth so that he could speak.

“Not feeling well?” A simple enough question spoken in Common. Discomfort was plainly visible in the man’s posture, that much Aoren could tell even without the gift of Auristics. He didn’t feel Rak’keli’s gnosis compel him into motion but it was still polite to ask.

This is to separate speech!