.
21st of Summer 517 AV
Eamon had arrived with the last trip the Veronica had made last Spring, and the Ethaefal had been so overwhelmed with starting out in a new land that he hadn’t quite realized what an event the ship’s arrival was. The announcement that the ship had been spotted spread out to the farthest corners of Syka, reaching even Eamon, who was slightly isolated from the settlement, choosing, as he did, to set up his sloppily pitched tent near the clay pits that would supposedly one day be the core of his business. That was moving much more slowly than the Ethaefal would’ve liked, as there was a lot more involved in starting a pottery studio than he’d imagined, especially considering that he had no one to guide him and his skills at pottery were paltry. He was sitting with a bucketful of the muddy clay in front of him at this moment, his human hands holding a large lump of wet clay, as he attempted once again to make an actually passable object made out of clay.
Eamon scooped out of portion in the center of the lump, throwing it back in the bucket. He did that a few more times, until there was a hollow portion in the center. He started scraping his hands along the edge of the hole he made, which didn’t go all the way through the clay, although, trying to widen it evenly across. Unfortunately, his efforts in this regard weren’t exactly stellar. Although he didn’t manage to poke a hole fully through the clay this time, as he had in the past, it was incredibly uneven, with varying thickness all around. The Ethaefal sighed, discouraged. His efforts weren’t really improving at the rate that he had hoped, and it was getting to the point where he might not ever be able to make a living as a potter. The unfortunate truth was that he wasn’t exactly cut out for anything else. Eamon slumped, wiping the sweat off his brow with a muddy hand and unknowingly leaving a streak of clay on his forehead.
This dark train of thought was interrupted by shouts that radiated outward from the center of Syka. Eamon perked up, straining his ears. He wasn’t expecting anyone to come all the way out here but there were settlers scattered on the outskirts, and apparently whatever was going on was news that everyone should hear. When he finally made out the message, Eamon’s eyes widened and he sprang to his feet. The Veronica had been spotted making its slow but sure way into port, and everyone was gathering to welcome back the sailors. More than pleased to drop his current project, Eamon pushed his sloppy attempt at the bowl back into a ball, inserted it into the bucket, and put the bucket back in his tent. He decided to get cleaned up first, and emptied some of his waterskin over his hands, watching the brown runnels flow down to his wrist, until it was clean enough to satisfy him.
The Ethaefal didn’t bother to bring his whole pack with him. Since he was simply heading into the commons, it didn’t seem necessary. Still, he was sparingly feeling a bit peckish, and although he didn’t need to eat, strictly speaking, as long as he spent enough time under the moonlight, he did sometimes simply enjoy the taste of food. So Eamon grabbed a chunk of bread, some cheese, and some meat, all of which he’d gotten from various others around the settlement. He’d have to start providing pots of some kind soon in order to pay them back for their services, but since he was still in the process of settling in and since pots weren’t strictly necessary for survival, he had a bit of a grace period before he should be truly concerned. He was making progress, even if it didn’t look like it. He slipped an eating knife into a loop in his pants and then set off.
The Ethaefal didn’t start eating quite yet. While his memories of his arrival were foggy, as he’d been overwhelmed with the crowds and the sensations of settling into a new home, he felt that it had been slightly festive, so he was anticipating that he’d like to have something to munch on when the ship actually got here. The Ethaefal actually arrived after the ship had pulled up to shore, and people were unloading the new cargo. It wasn’t festive, not quite yet, but there was a huge crowd and there was certainly a lot of energy all around.
Eamon hung back, not sure if there was a procedure or if this was a sort of free for all. As he waited, looking for familiar faces or an opening in the mass of people, a voice spoke at his side, one that sounded like a young girl. “You look lost,” came the sweet voice, and Eamon turned, shocked. He hadn’t seen or heard her approach, and he hadn’t heard of many children in these parts. Syka was a bit too brutal for it to be safe to have children around.
Of course, his astonishment grew when he realized that this girl wasn’t an ordinary child. No, she was something else entirely. Although he had only just barely been inducted into the arts of Spiritism by Alesa before her death, even he could recognize the swirls of color and energy, as well as the faintly transparent outline of this girl for what they were: Soulmist. Eamon’s heart immediately squeezed in sympathy for a life cut off far too short. “I am, lost, a little bit. Maybe you could show me around?” He would do what he could for this poor ghost of a child.
She beamed at him, her Soulmist settling down somewhat now that she had a task. “I’d be happy to! I know most everyone around here. M’names Veronica, what’s yours?” She began skipping around Eamon, excited to meet a new and friendly face, and he turned to follow her as she circled him. It was odd that she was named after the very ship that had just sailed into the harbor. Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence.
“My name’s Eamon. And before you give me the grand tour, how about we share some food?” Eamon held his breath, not sure how she’d react to this suggestion.
Sure enough, she pouted. “I don’t have much of an appetite, ever.” Eamon watched as she faded and grew slightly darker, the Soulmist within her swirling more dramatically, obviously responding to her mood.
Eamon pulled out his food items from earlier, “I think I can make something you’d like. Here, watch this.” Ghosts often had odd reactions to, well, pretty much everything a living soul found normal, and so Eamon would have to approach this carefully. He broke off some of each food item, and put the meat and cheese on top of the bread. Then, he pulled out his knife, and before Veronica could protest, he sliced open his middle finger of his left hand. She gave a slightly shocked cry, but before she could do much else, Eamon held up his hand after sheathing the knife. “It’s alright, this is part of the trick!” Veronica subsided, but she still watched him warily. Eamon massaged the cut, dripping blood onto the ingredients. Once he was satisfied they’d been coated enough, he popped it into his mouth and chewed vigorously. He never knew exactly how long to keep it in there for, but eventually it transformed into a cool substance and he spat it out into his hands. It was a pitifully small amount, and it was weak, but Veronica immediately zeroed in on it with a frightening intensity.
Eamon held it out to her and she snatched it eagerly from his hand. Tossing it into her mouth she didn’t bother chewing and just swallowed. Immediately she seemed more solid, and happier, although maybe it was just his imagination. “Thanks!” She chirped. “Now follow me.” She gestured at him to emphasize her command before darting into the crowd. Eamon found himself rushing to follow her tracks.
word count1364 + 10151 = 11514
.
