Closed Memories Bound In Ink [Oresnya]

What memories are waiting to be remembered?

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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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Memories Bound In Ink [Oresnya]

Postby Solstice on July 22nd, 2019, 6:31 pm

Summer 32, 519
21st Bell

Heat and tempers had risen steadily as Summer dawned and worked its way towards its apex. The resurgence of the Beast had sent much of the city into a frenzy, and everyone wanted a piece of the action. Each and every craftsman class was being worked to the bone. The Endals wanted more. More weapons and more armor with which to slay their foe. More decorations, more jewelry, the better to show off while they sent the monster to Dira. Felicity and her apprentices had not been spared from the heightened workload and the craft room was a mess of activity. Felicity took care of the many basic required garments expected of the city, but being an Inarta of exceptional talent meant that she was frequently expected to do special custom work as well. When an Endal ordered, an Avora obeyed. Felicity, as well as the best of her apprentices, had been working late hours ever since the news of the Beast had worked its way into the knowledge of the common public and the frenzy had overtaken the city.

So what did this mean for the solitary widow of Wind Reach? Oresnya might be Felicity's apprentice, but she was far from considered the best of them. Up until now, Oresnya's modest sewing skills had been put to use in repairing tattered Dek clothing. Basic hemp brydas and vinati had found themselves under the Symenstra's still unsteady hands. In these interesting times, the consistency of the previous season's had remained true, but different. What had changed? Instead of a few thin piles of cloth looking to be mended, the Symenstra now had stacks. Occasionally even a few Chiet garbs had made their way into one of her piles. Long hours, stiff aching hands, strained eyes. These were the rewards that followed Oresnya at the end of her work day when she returned to her room for the night. And so it had been for several weeks previously.

That evening, after the dinner bell had rung and the lights illuminating the rolling caverns had dimmed in reminder that Syna had fallen, Oresnya's return to her room was heralded by something out of place. On top of the Symenstra's bed sat a tightly rolled scroll. The sheet of parchment had been tied closed with an intricate bow of a fine red silk, likely the finest Oresnya had seen since she had come to the city. On one of the hanging pieces of ribbon, Oresnya's name had been written in a long, looping common script. Threaded between the folds of the ribbon was a fragrant pink flower with tiny circular petals and teardrop shaped leaves.

Should the Symenstra open the scroll, she would find a message written in precise, carefully written Common, a far cry from the usual scratchy, clawswipes of Nari. The sweet fragrance of perfume, a gentle, unobtrusive floral scent, would rise up off the sheet of parchment as she read.

Oresnya, the letter greeted her.

A little bird told me that you search for stories of your sister to help keep her memory alive. Though you do not know me, I have watched your progress in Wind Reach with great interest. The children of Ivak are far from kind to those from the outside, yet you have managed to carve out some manner of survival here. I sympathize with your struggle to survive here for the memory of your sister. So, little Weaver, allow me to offer you a hint to uncover some old memories. Seek out Kavisan in the Enclave. Should he choose to, he will be able to help you. However, convincing him may take some work. Have faith in your abilities, and you will surely succeed. I look forward to seeing what you uncover.

The letter was not signed. Instead, a small red flower had been drawn in red ink in the place of the signature.

The night was growing late. Beyond the confines of Skyinarta's cavernous walls Leth had grown high and bright. And there was no denying the exhaustion Oresnya felt after many long days of work. What would she do? The author of the letter waited to see with eager anticipation.
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Memories Bound In Ink [Oresnya]

Postby Oresnya Cacao on July 25th, 2019, 3:51 am

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Oresnya should have been exhausted. Long hours had melted into longer hours, and each day ran into the next with less and less time to catch up on the sleep that had been lost the day before. Her fingers were constantly at work, but unlike the fingers of her fellow seamstresses, the long Symenestra digits were built for this constant motion. Her durable nails kept her skin largely out of the way of harm of the needle that was constantly darting in and out of the cloth she had had placed before her to mend.

To call it darting was a generous exaggeration. Oresnya was unaccomplished at sewing. What little she had done was nowhere near as good as her weaving, and her weaving was amateur at best. Still, it was a steady pace that kept the piles on her work station stable. As the workload increased for Felicity and her apprentices, more was added for Oresnya to finish. She couldn’t say the piles were getting any bigger, but she didn’t seem to be making any headway either.

No matter how accustomed she was to the task at hand though, the steady stream of it wore her fingers down. Joints began to stiffen until eventually she began having to take small breaks between pieces to stretch her fingers out. Small breaks slowly lengthened until, she wasn’t sure when it had finally happened, they had become long ones. Not wanting to let Felicity down and give the apprentices a chance to belittle her for something, Oresnya continued on, slowly working through the pain, but by the end of each day, her hands were nearly cramped shut.

All things considered this was a mild concern. Cramping fingers were something she could deal with. Compared to the cramping of a starving stomach, this pain was nothing. Food had been more plentiful for her this season, and she had no self-imposed starvation to keep it away. The weight she had lost last season was nearly all back. The gaunt lines were rounding out. Her eyes were no longer sunken, and the outline of her ribs beneath her skin was a gentle rise and fall, not the skeletal appearance she had finally reached before she had broken her fast mid spring.

So it was with a full belly and a happy heart that she stumbled home though the halls of Wind Reach for some much needed, well deserved rest. When she made it over the threshold of her home though, she immediately noticed some things were out of place, shifted about and moved. This was no surprise. It hadn’t been the first time her apartment had been gone through while she was away, but a quick scan told her nothing had wandered away. Something was off though, and it took her two more sweeps of the room to identify what it was. Perhaps it was because she never used her bed, but rather the hammock that hung up in a corner, that it took so long to spot the neat scroll that sat in the center of her bed.

So enthralled with its sudden appearance, she didn’t even manage to close the door behind her as she paced quickly across the room and picked it up, marveling at how well put together it was. Every detail was perfected, intricately designed to highlight the care and class of the person who put it together. At first, Oresnya was sure it was a mistake, that someone had carelessly delivered it to the wrong room, but upon closer inspection, she found her name written in an elegant script on the red silk ribbon that held it all together.

Giddy as a child opening their first present, Oresnya pulled on the ends of the bow, unraveling it in a single motion, and as she did, something fell away. Halting her rush to see the contents and discover who had written this to her, she stooped down to pluck up the thing that had fallen. It was a small pink flower, and as she held it closer to her face to inspect its little petals, a scent filled the air that reminded her of the ocean. It wasn’t so much that the ocean smelled sweet or the flower briny, but both felt fresh.

Even as she continued to unroll the scroll, the ache in her hands that she usually spent an hour massaging away dissipated in an instant. Her eyes read over the words written in the careful Common as a sweet perfume much akin to the flower rose from the page. Several times over, she read the words, each time her spirits lifting more. Here, unsolicited, was direction for the search that had brought her to Wind Reach in the first place. It was everything she had hoped for, but even in the hope it gave, there were more questions than answers. Whoever had sent it had watched her as their letter proved with subtle hints. Though she had done little weaving since her arrival, this person knew that much about her, that this was what she preferred. But despite having watched Oresnya, the letter’s sender did not identify themselves beyond the hints that were carried in the letter itself. The red silk ribbon, the pink flower, the floral perfume, the red flower drawn at the letter’s end. All of it seemed specific, but Oresnya couldn’t place anyone in Wind Reach who they all belonged to.

That mattered little right now though. Here was her first clue. This was what gave her meandering search direction. Oresnya should have been exhausted but instead felt more awake than she had felt since the season began. Tucking the little flower behind her ear, she climbed up her wall to where her one solid memory of Yora laid safely tucked away in her hammock. Pulling the book from the safety of the pack that stayed up out of the reach of anyone not Symenestra, she scampered back down the wall.

For a brief moment, she considered the sleep she needed. For a brief moment, the swaying hammock above her called to her, telling her she was tired, its gentle rocking motion reminiscent of her mother and of the swaying caverns of Kalinor and her childhood. The dim light of her apartment spoke of the night and the stars and of the dreams those were meant to weave. Everything said go to bed. Everything but her heart and her mind, both racing wildly with thoughts and dreams of their own that someone here, someone tonight, could tell her something about her sister.

Her mind was made up. Tucking the letter away on the bed, she clutched the book to her chest and stepped back out into the hall. Bob, Viratas bless him, hadn’t set out for the night, though his demeanor said he was ready.

When Oresnya popped back out through her door, Bob’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing, Widow?”

She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “Sneaky things. Suspicious things.”

Bob shook his head. “That’s not funny.”

“And you’re boring.”

“Where are you going?”

This was something Oresnya didn’t mind being honest about. In fact, she needed directions. “To the Enclave.”

“It’s too late for reading.”

“Reading keeps me from eating people.”

Bob smirked and even gave a tired laugh at that, but seeing that Oresnya was set on going, he motioned for her to follow him. The two made their way through the halls of Wind Reach, and Oresnya found herself enamored. While they weren’t completely devoid of people, the halls were much quieter, and the bustle and hurry of the day was gone. There was a contented quiet, the kind that only existed without people, the kind that was inherently nature’s. Sound still existed, but it was lulling, speaking of more quiet to come. Even the few people who were about fell into the trance it created. Bob’s tired feet shuffled softly, his toes occasionally scraping out an odd noise to break the monotony, but even these shifts were in time to overarching theme of calm.

The travel to the Enclave took them longer than Oresnya was expecting. Maybe that was due to her anticipation. Maybe that was because the Enclave sat deep within the mountain. Either way, they reached it through the winding tunnels, and once there, Oresnya dismissed Bob.

“Go sleep, Bob. You need.”

Nodding tiredly, he trundled away without another word, leaving Oresnya to ponder the door before her. There was no choice to be made. The door was there, and she was meant to use it. Pushing it open, she found herself standing before a desk, unoccupied, keeping to the silence of the mountain at night. Oresnya stepped in, still clutching the Viratassa to her chest as the fragrance of old pages filled the air around her, and she was reminded of its many teachings.

Whispering a line of it aloud, she broke the holy silence of the night. “Isolation is lost in the offering and acceptance of blood's sacred chain. This chain may be heavy or light, but it is not one of bondage. Even its greatest weight is made bearable by the many hands that lift it.”

It rolled out in Symenos, the language she’d learned it in, and hearing her mother tongue brought Oresnya a peace she’d not felt in some time.
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Memories Bound In Ink [Oresnya]

Postby Solstice on August 2nd, 2019, 6:38 pm


The dim glow from the lights illuminating the caverns cast long shadows against the walls. There weren't many people wandering at this time of night; mostly just sleepy Avora and empty-eyed Dek. Aside from the pitter-patter of sandals scratching against stone, the city's halls were silent. Much like the Eagles to whom the city owed its survival, when Syna slept so did the city. For one whom had mostly known only the rush of the daylight hours, the darkened caverns seemed an entirely different world. The caverns wound in the same way, the same paths led to the same places. But one might think that a turn down a familiar path might lead somewhere entirely new, as if magic compelled the halls to twist and shift. Perhaps it was some illusion of the dim light and empty caverns. Perhaps not. Regardless, Bob's senses did not lead him astray and in time Oresnya was indeed standing before the doorway leading to the Enclave.

When she pushed opened the heavy stone door a rush of air greeted her arrival as the pressure adjusted to the outside. If Oresnya knew books well then the scent would be familiar to her. Parchment, ink, and the glue and twine binding them together all combined to create a musty, nostalgic scent. A bitter smelling touch of mold, impossible for even experts to snuff out completely, also lingered. Guarding the threshold of the Enclave was a massive table that stretched from one end to the other of the bowl-like cavern marking the entryway. In the daylight hours, this table was filled with bright-eyed and busy gingers, consulting catalogs detailing the titles and locations of books and rushing from desk to library to find and deliver them to their intended.

Tonight, however, the room was quiet and nearly empty. Oresyna's prayer echoed softly in the silence, unheard by any except perhaps the God that it evoked. In the corner of the room, unnoticed by Oresyna's brief glance, a single Inarta girl sat, her tiny frame dwarfed by the massive stone chair where she rested. The girl was probably only just out of the Yasi caste, her freckled face and long copper curls still smooth and bright without age and work having diminished them. Her elbows sat on her lap and her head was propped up in her hands. Her sky colored eyes were heavy lidded and half closed. She seemed close to nodding off completely when the loud thud of the door swinging closed caused her to bolt upright.

"Hello, welcome to the Enclave," she chirped in rush of Nari. The words carried the rhythm of someone who had recited them countless times before, till the phrase had lost all meaning in the strength of habit. "How can I help---" but the girl's words ground to a rapid halt as habit vanished in the wake of shock at the unexpected creature standing before her. "...you," the girl finished, mouth falling open. The unabashed stare in which she beheld Oresnya was very familiar to the Symenstra by now. However, this stare held a touch less horror and disgust than was usual, and was instead replaced with an overwhelming, open-mouthed fascination. The Inarta were a blunt people who did not sugar-coat word or action. Perhaps this less-than-hostile, less-than-fearful reaction to the Widow was a welcome change of pace. Perhaps it was no different than the bare faced gazes of hostility that followed her daily routine.

"You're the Widow!" the girl chirped when her surprise was overcome by her natural predilection for talk. She leapt to her feet and moved towards the Symenstra with rapid steps. Like a chattering sparrow, the girl's words fell upon Oresyna in a rush. "I saw your fight in the Fighting Pits last season! It was wicked! Everyone thought that apprentice was going to kill you but then, bang! You bit her! It was so exciting! I was on the edge of my seat! Are you going to do another fight again soon? Tell me if you do! I want to grab a front seat!" The amount that Oresyna would able to understand from this hurricane of Nari was likely to be on the lesser end.
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