Solo Unexpected News

Sometimes, news hits you out of nowhere

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The westernmost tip of Kalea, Wind Reach is home to an amazing group of people and their giant eagle mounts. [Lore]

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Unexpected News

Postby Oresnya Cacao on March 5th, 2019, 5:18 pm

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Unexpected News
Spring the 10th, 519 AV

The past has a way of coming back around. Most people think it’s gone once it has past, that like all things its passing marks its end, but the past is not something that dies. It is as infinite as time itself, finding its origins at the beginning and growing grander and deeper with every passing day. But the past remembers, and as if folds in the fabric of time fall back on itself, there are times when the past rears its head, repeats itself, and allows the follies of humanity to duplicate themselves. Not always are these reminders of the past a bad thing though.

Sometimes, news has a way of coming when one least expects it.

That’s exactly how news found Oresnya on this particular day. It was Market Day, and her eyes were buried in what a trader had to offer, digging through the many fabrics and raw thread she could work with while he tried to haggle her into buying everything that remotely caught her attention. Her hesitance stemmed not from the quality of his product or the skill of his business acumen but from the knowledge that her funds were limited. In Kalinor, she might have been able to borrow from someone else, but here, she had no one who would trust her to pay it back. The thought of trusting her was perhaps more foreign than even she was, and so she was forced to stand on her own, to survive by her own means without the generosity or aid of others.

Still, the deep tones of some of the thread took hold of her memory in no gentle way and dragged it back to the depths of Kalinor where every silk seemed to be stained in some similar shade. The greens so dark they put forest hues at dusk to shame, the amethyst so vivid they matched her eyes, the blues so deep the depths of the ocean would swallow them up and claim them as their own. These were the shades before her, and they were the shades that Kalinor’s famous ranekissra silk tended to take when in the hands of the Warp and Weft’s most skilled. And in that single thought, she was transported back to the lightless caverns of her home, to the woven pathways that hung suspended over the deep caves like a web, and though lightless, it wasn’t colorless. There was far too much in Kalinor to not leave one in wonder at the sight of it. The stalactites, the tear drop buildings, the multicolored woven silks, the aerial dancers, the webbed pathways, the surrogate house.

Despite its beauty, Kalinor’s reality held its share of horror as well, one that caused Oresnya to shudder as a chill crept its way up her spine. She remembered being at Yora’s bedside as the child she was bringing into this world slowly killed her from the inside out. Even in death though, being who she was, Yora would not let sadness dominate thoughts of her. Instead, her smile and the joy she brought soon burst to the surface of Oresnya’s mind like the whales she had often witnessed breaching on the ocean.

It was perhaps this nostalgia that made these fabrics most tempting of all, and she was about to break at the given price when someone tapped her shoulder, breaking her concentration on the rapid-fire dealings at hand. In a moment, she was wrenched from memories devoid of light into the bright surroundings of the open market, sunlit and warm. She blinked several times to clear the light and nostalgia away, and the person tapped her shoulder again impatiently. Oresnya turned to see another Chiet holding an envelope out to her.

“A letter was delivered for you, Widow.”

“For me?”

“Do you see any other widows here?”

Shrugging, Oresnya took a peek at the words on the letter. And immediately ripped it from the man’s hand, shoving two pinions into his hand before greedily reading the words over and over again. Those words, that looping lackadaisical script, could only belong to one person, Malto Shed, the first mate of The Bonnie Dot. It was easily recognized as Zek, their captain, always had Malto write up any business arrangement because he had the steadiest hand, the most beautiful handwriting of anyone aboard. Considering his company, that wasn’t a hard thing to do, but Oresnya had to grudgingly admit that his style rivaled even Yora’s. The words on the envelope were simply her name and how to identify her.

Oresnya Cacao of Kalinor. A Symenestra. Currently in Wind Reach.

She broke the seal on the bundle to find what it contained and poured over the words in the bright light of the sun that poured over her. The first of the many letters inside was from Malto himself. She knew by how she was addressed. Malto was nearly twice the age of the second oldest sailor aboard The Dot and, as such, considered everyone to be children.

Greetings, kid.

Not much has passed since we left you on those shores, but when we were passing a northbound ship, Jon thought we should send a letter to let you know we had made it through the worst of that storm safely. He said he saw worry in your eyes when you left, and he said it wasn’t for yourself. Well, don’t you continue worrying yourself over us, because we weathered the storm and only ended up soaked for our troubles.


Oresnya hadn’t realized she had been worried about them until now, but as her eyes reread those lines again and again, she felt a weight lift off of her. A silent prayer went out to Laviku. It came as a jumble of thoughts as tumultuous as the sea in storm, but unpredictability seemed to be something Laviku understood and took in stride. There was gratitude in her prayer, thankfulness for his mercy, for staying the storm long enough for The Bonnie Dot to reach safer waters, for tempering the waves, for the gentle touch he had on the hull of her beloved ship, for the strong winds that had guided her out of the storm with sails still intact and mast still flying The Dot’s flag proudly. There was with it, too, a rage and lightly masked threat of what she would do if his hands were ever to act contrary to this benevolence. It was a useless thing to do, but the heart often never concerns itself with reason. Afraid she would anger Laviku with these thoughts, she sent another heartfelt prayer of thanks to him for the worry he had lifted.

She read on. I told you once that the ocean never changes. I believed that when I said it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said it at all. But I’m not so sure any more. Every day, The Dot’s timbers groan under my footsteps and complain against the seas waves a little more than the day before. I can’t blame the old girl. My body does the same.

But that’s not why I say the ocean is changing. It is different for your absence.
The Dot knows it. She can feel it. The crew is quieter than we once were. Even the sea itself seems to have grown silent. Ularu spends less time on board and more time in the water. She says it’s a necessity of being Charoda, but I can see it in her eyes. She’s looking for something every time she’s down there. Only problem is she doesn’t know what it was she lost. She doesn’t realize it was you.

News has a way of catching one unaware, and that’s exactly what happened to Oresnya now. The sudden sting of tears bit at the corners of her eyes and began to blur her vision, giving her the very real, very immediate need to continue reading this alone. Stepping away from the booths, she found a more secluded area, and her unwanted presence did the job of clearing out the rest the Inarta there. There was still sunshine, warm upon the nape of her neck as she hunched over the letter and continued to read.

Ayar doesn’t know what to do to bring her back to the way she used to be. Zek’s already grown bored of yelling at everyone and seems to sulk most of the day. Vristara’s eyes haven’t changed from that stunning green since you left. Jon hasn’t quit moping. I told him the only woman that would never leave him would be the sea, but he had to go fall in love with you anyhow. To be honest, it’s affected his cooking, and I think the poor cuisine may be at the heart of everyone’s melancholy. Alika and Shektl seem to be the only two unaffected.

I do have to admit, though, that Eleazar has been doing his part to keep everyone’s spirits up. Whether he learned it from you or you from him or the two of you together fed on each other, I’m unsure, but his brightness still remains. It may be a bit more forced now, but his attempts to make us smile don’t go unnoticed. And I must admit, more times than not, he’s successful.


Oresnya smiled that rare smile meant for those she cherished most, a smile she had not smiled since she had entered Wind Reach. Her family away from her web, her home away from Kalinor, The Bonnie Dot and her crew had grown closer to her than anyone she had ever known, closer even than her brother Deshvelon and her sister Yora, a feat she thought impossible. Only now, with their absence, did she understand that, and her heart ached for the sea. She had to take a moment to dry her eyes and smiled once more for Eleazar and his unending optimism.

No. Don’t you worry yourself over us, kid. We’ll get by, and though the ocean is changed for your not being in it, she’ll still be here waiting when you decide to return to her. She’s not going anywhere, and our travels will bring us back to Wind Reach before you know it. The Dot will always have room on board for you.

Awaiting your return,

Malto.


Only at the end, at the close of the letter, did his perfect penmanship waver, as if saying farewell for the time was a strain on his spirit. She held the letter close to her heart and sent a dozen prayers to Laviku, Rak’keli, and Viratas, begging them to preserve Malto’s life and health until they met again. It took her several chimes to pull the pages away, so she could read the next one.
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Oresnya Cacao
The sanctity of blood. The honesty of venom.
 
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Unexpected News

Postby Oresnya Cacao on April 14th, 2019, 3:40 am

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The next letter was in different handwriting, a tidy script. Though not overly flowing or beautiful, it was neat and organized compared to many she had seen. It was the hand of a studied notetaker, a scientific hand, a doctor’s hand, steady and exact. It was Vristara’s, The Bonnie Dot’s healer.

Dearest Oar,

The days are getting longer the farther we get from home, but I suppose it is always that way when one is headed south and coming out of the depths of winter. The additional warmth makes things feel less like home, but maybe that is just because we are headed away from you. None of us quite understood what it meant when we left you behind. Now we know.


Vristara was a Vantha, a fact she had kept well hidden for the first few months Oresnya had spent on board The Dot. Once that fact had been revealed, the woman’s fondness for cold weather suddenly made sense. Whenever the weather was at its most frigid, when everyone else wanted to be in the safety of below deck, Vristara was out on the bow of the ship with the wind in her face and the full bite of cold against her skin. On those days, she said she could taste Morwen’s presence. That was the only time Oresnya ever saw Vristara in a spiritual frame of mind. Vristara dealt in the concrete. Hers was a scientific mind, analytical. The one thing Vristara dealt with worse than spiritual matters was emotional ones. Perhaps, part of that was the Vantha need to communicate with the color of their eyes, but Oresnya was sure she’d be awkward regardless.

The crew is well. They’ve all shed a few of the excess pounds we picked up during the autumn due to tight provisions, but they’re all still healthy. I’ve made sure of it. Well, everyone except Alika. I’m treating him for a broken arm. He got the upper hand in a sparring match with Shektl and started boasting about it. She quickly reminded him he isn’t as good as he thinks. It should be pretty well healed by mid spring.

Anyways, there’s not much else to tell you. Since we’re headed south, that means it will be some time before we see you.

Your…


At the close of the letter, there were several marks after the penultimate word as if Vristara had set quill to paper several times but couldn’t decide on which word to use. In the end, she had left it blank and signed her name after.

Oresnya shook her head and spoke to the letter as if it was the Vantha. “Friend would have worked just fine, Vristara. I’ll miss you, too.”

Tucking Vristara’s letter behind the rest, Oresnya went on to the next one. It was short and written in Malto’s hand, though Oresnya could immediately tell it was not from him. She smiled at its simplicity. It read, “Hi” and was signed beneath with a few overlapping circles with a large X through them. There was a short postscript afterward in Malto’s hand again.

P.S. That was all Shektl wanted me to write in her letter, but I thought you should know she added another scar to her body. She said it was for the sister she lost.

That last line caught Oresnya off guard, hit her like a blow to the midriff. The tears threatened again, and this time, she couldn’t stop them. More than ever, she wanted to be among them again, to let them know she was sorry for ever having left them. Guilt struck at that thought, because she had made a promise to herself and to Yora that she would come to Wind Reach and not leave until she was certain Yora’s memory wouldn’t fade. But even after two years aboard The Dot, there were still things she didn’t know about her family there. Oresnya had never known Shektl had felt this way about her. In fact, she hadn’t even thought that Shektl considered her a friend. The Myrian had almost never spoken to the Symenestra, though to be fair, Shektl hardly ever spoke to anyone at all.

Hoping the next letter would cheer her rather than drag her further into her doubt at her decision to leave the ocean, she opened it quickly. This one also contained a single sentence but was written in large, sloppy letters that took up so much space the sentence ran the length of the page three times in a mixture of small and capital letters.

Oar, I’M gLad I dIdn’T kILL you. aLIka

Relieved that the letter was light hearted, Oresnya laughed and smiled, wiping away her previous tears. She remembered that day he had held a sword to her throat and those few months she had spent in the brig, uncertain of whether or not they would trust her, guessing at whether or not they would kill her. They hadn’t, and she was glad for it. Apparently, they all were too. That threat had come over the accidental revelation that Vristara was Vantha.

She read it again a few times, each time appreciating a little more how much effort it must have taken Alika to write that single sentence. All of them had something important to say to her in one way or another.
User avatar
Oresnya Cacao
The sanctity of blood. The honesty of venom.
 
Posts: 100
Words: 127395
Joined roleplay: July 3rd, 2018, 3:38 am
Race: Symenestra
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Medals: 2
Featured Character (1) Mizahar Grader (1)


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