Completed Déjà vu Part II

Birthday challenge Groundhog day 2

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Syka is a new settlement of primarily humans on the east coast of Falyndar opposite of Riverfall on The Suvan Sea. [Syka Codex]

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Déjà vu Part II

Postby Mittle on October 12th, 2022, 8:36 pm

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35 Fall 522 AV take 2

On the sixth bell, something shrieked loudly in his face and Mitt instantly shoved it away with both hands. He cracked open one sleepy gray eye and attempted to see through the haze. The tired young man rubbed at his stubble and slowly sat up on one elbow to peer around.

A big red bird sat on the altar looking smug and preening itself. So that was the source of all the commotion.

"Mmhm." Was all he could manage verbally and he rolled over to grab last night's coffee. Eyes closed again, he drank it down swiftly.

The bird squawked,

"STUPID BOY!"

Mitt stretched out a long leg toward the thing and nudged it with his foot. Shut up-he thought, but it came out verbally as "Shurp."

He set the cup down and was sorely tempted to go right back to sleep. Eyes still closed, he rolled up the mattress neatly to put it by the altar. Something sharp bit him in the shoulder and both eyes widened in surprise. The giant red Macaw bit him and flew off muttering 'Fool!'

'Stupid bird.' he thought, looking at the bite on his arm. Just in front of him, two long red feathers lay over the Izurdin figure, nearly obscuring it from sight. He put aside the two feathers right at the back of the altar, behind the stone figure. With tired gestures, he neatened up the nook into order again to begin his prayers.

He knelt naked in front of the altar and clacked the adjoining stones together to begin his silent prayer.

'I thank you for your blessings mighty Izurdin, the known and unknown. I'm grateful for this new home and its people, although I travel this journey alone.'

His body felt so heavy that every breath was a monumental effort. He slouched noticeably, his chin nearly resting on his chest. The air felt unusually hot and close, worse than the smithy back hom--back in Sunberth. He continued on.

'I'm tired, so tired that sometimes I can't tell what's a dream and what's real. I'm so very tired of crying, of trying, of grief, of any feelings really. I know that your plans for me are always fair and just. But right now I just can't move past so many emotions. It clings like a burr and I ask you humbly to be patient with me as I endure this.'

He placed the stones back to flank the figurine and stood up slowly, as if it was such a great effort. He bent and grabbed a gold Miza to carry with him.

'I need coffee.' Mitt thought fervently. Naked as the day he was born, Mitt shuffled over to the Commons with his mattress and pillow. That done, he went on to the Protea Inn. Without a stitch of clothing or modesty and clutching the money in one tired hand, he staggered over to the counter. Heedless of anything or anyone else around him, his nose zeroed in some fresh brewed coffee.

The tall naked man slouched over, leaning heavily on the counter and pushed the Miza out in front of him with a single word,

"Coffee?" His lower lip pouted unconsciously as he looked into Tazrae's eyes, beseeching her to bring him something but the one word was all he could manage. Heavy lidded gray eyes watched her walk over to get a carafe and a cup and he couldn't help but notice that she walked with lithesome grace. Damn she was beautiful.

The Innkeeper set down the cup and pitcher and made change for the Miza. He would've steeply overpaid for just coffee and a meal but morning time gave him zero brain power at all. Mitt grunted his thanks and barely made it to the closest table without dropping the precious life giving beverage.

As he poured out the coffee with his right hand, he laid down his head on his left arm. Moving the newly filled cup to his mouth, he sipped and it flowed hot and soothing, reaching all the way to his fingertips. By the time he drained his second cup of coffee, he gained the ability to lift his head and shift to a very lazy sitting up position. Mitt was more leaning into the chair than actually sitting upright though.

For some odd reason, sweat trickled down his body and it was notably hot this morning. He rubbed a long arm across his forehead and raised his eyes to see Tazrae bringing over a giant plate of breakfast that made his stomach demand food with a very loud grumble.

"Gods, you're beautiful." One might have taken it as directed at Taz, but his sleepy gray eyes were entirely fastened on the generous plate of food.

After a solid coffee fix and a giant breakfast, it was time for a shower. The water was tepid with almost no pressure sat all. The slight trickle of water seemed to be as drained of energy as Mitt himself was and he left feeling as tired as when he started.

Water sluiced off his body as he walked back to his tent to get his clothes and he shook his head to get the water out of his eyes. He reached up a work roughened hand over his head and rubbed his thick hair back and forth with a quick motion. It was growing fast and soon he'd need a cut. He couldn't imagine purposely having long hair on a place like Syka.

'Why is it so hot today?' he wondered idly as he reached his tent. Mitt's steel gray gaze caught on his pile of clothes.

'Where are my gloves?" he asked himself. Working without them wasn't a good idea.

Despite the heat, he pulled on his pants and leaned against the tent flap to put on his boots. He'd wait til he needed to put on his heavy apron and long sleeved shirt and just carried them under his arm.

A bright crimson Macaw flew off from the back, dropping two more red feathers. One glove fell to the ground but the other was carried off into gods knew where!

"Hey featherbrain! Give me that back!" he called out, moving to chase the parrot. A random breeze smacked the tent flap open and he got whacked in the face by the heavy metal fastening. Clutching his right cheek, he watched the bird take off into the jungle and then closed the flap.

Maybe he could borrow Artik's gloves, considering the man hardly ever used them. Mitt was so lethargic and depressed, he wasn't noticing much of anything. He shrugged at the bird's fleeing back and headed to the smithy with a heavy tread. With a groan, he gave a long stretch until his spine cracked, and finally put on the shirt and heavy leather apron.

WC 1,141 Cumulative 3,578, Gross 4,719
Last edited by Mittle on October 16th, 2022, 11:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.
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Mittle
"Be an anvil, not a hammer."
 
Posts: 140
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Joined roleplay: September 29th, 2022, 4:59 pm
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Déjà vu Part II

Postby Mittle on October 13th, 2022, 9:46 pm

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At just seven bells, he saw Artik with some 'breakfast' wine! Mitt hadn't been there long, but that kind of drinking was an ugly and soul deep sickness. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he removed the bottle and promptly tossed it in the garbage.

With a mighty heave, he lifted the passed out smith over his shoulders and moved him to the chair in the corner. Relieved of the sudden weight while standing in a new place, he smacked his forehead on the cupboard and passed out cold.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
"How long will it take for your so called smart son to grow a brain? This is getting tedious." The red Macaw asked, clearly annoyed.

"Have patience. Grief can change people forever, and for the worse if they're not careful." Tirlmon replied calmly.

"Well I'm not being subtle here!"

"And even -you- were young once, yes?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mitt was face down on the counter with both his mouth and nose squashed into a puddle of obvious drool.

Snort. "Hrmm? Ugh gross." Murmured Mitt.
He slowly stood up and wiped the drool off his face with a large hand.
'That was one hell of a messed up dream.' he thought, his gray eyes clouded over with confusion.

The young man's gaze roamed the empty counters but there was no sign of gloves anywhere. He chanced a look at the snoring, drunken pile of useless and saw that the man hadn't even bothered to bring gloves. Or an apron. And where the hell were his shirt and shoes? No smith could work like that--nor should he be -anywhere near- the inside of a smithy like that!

Then something dawned on him and he scowled thoughtfully. That could be me in a few years if I'm not careful. He was clearly alone on an island full of people. No strikers or stokers to help, not even a single apprentice! He was a total stranger that could live or die with not a single friend to even notice. As far as he knew, no one wanted to talk to Artik either, not that he blamed them one bit. The guy positively reeked of alcohol and what had to a solid season of sweat and body odour. He was gray, grizzled, fat, drunk, smelly and a total embarrassment to humanity.

'Maybe I should wake him up with some water?' the young man considered briefly. Putting thoughts to action he bent forward to grab a small bucket to get some water when a flying red feathered missile swept in front his nose! He dodged backward so fast that his head smacked into the center pole with a loud clang!

The bird sat patiently waiting while perching on the edge of the barrel. After a few chimes, Mitt awoke. He laid out flat spread-eagle on the floor, attempting to focus his eyes on the top of the tent. His left pupil was much larger than the right one and he sat up feeling a little queasy. He put a hand to the back of his head and felt the knot forming under it.

His vision cleared after a short while and he saw that same big crimson Macaw sitting on the quenching barrel, dangling his glove from its beak.

"No no no no no!" Mitt pleaded, putting out both hands.
"Don't do it! I know you're going to do it aren't you?!" Mitt sighed heavily as the bird dropped his glove into the vile and nasty quenching barrel and flew off with a hearty laugh.

"You could've at least dropped it in the clean water barrel!" He called out futilely at the bird's fast retreating back.

With a groan he knelt and stood upright again. With another sigh, he picked up the tongs against the quenching barrel and fished around for his trashed glove. He held it up between tongs, and made a yech sound. Viscous snotty looking oily brown mucus dripped slowly. The glove was now adorned with shards and slivers of metal slag look sharp and dangerous. Keeping plenty of space between him and the mess he swung it wide into the garbage. It hit the bottom with loud wet smack and Mitt returned the tongs next to quenching barrel.

His gray eyes resting on a cupboard near the entrance. That looked like a handy cubby hole to put important things. The young smith hadn't noticed it there before when he and Randal were cleaning. Curious, he opened it and took out what looked to be four large, well made and expensive work gloves.

He clenched his teeth together so tightly that a small muscle tic started in his jaw. Two pairs of gloves. A pair for him and dad. The young man's shoulders slumped and two rivulets of sweat rolled down his left temple, like hints of tears to come.

'I wish dad was here. So much.' he thought, his thoughts as heavy as the tremendous but inexplicable heat.

An obnoxiously loud and brazen bird voice broke through his reverie and he turned to see that damned red thing again saying,

"C'mon boy! Good doggie!"

"That's quite enough out of you!" Mitt retorted acidly as his eyes turned an angry bright blue. The bird glided effortlessly over the shoreline to rest a hundred paces down and settled on a driftwood branch.

"Alright listen up buddy. We're going to have a man to bird talk here so-" His tone faltered as he saw what had to be an Izurdin made of stone--complete with a red arm!

WC 919 2nd Total WC 2,060 Gross 5,638
Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.
User avatar
Mittle
"Be an anvil, not a hammer."
 
Posts: 140
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Joined roleplay: September 29th, 2022, 4:59 pm
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Déjà vu Part II

Postby Mittle on October 14th, 2022, 3:31 am

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"Be the anvil, not the hammer." Mitt said, a mere breath before the parrot did. The creature flew off trailing two feathers behind it to land at his feet.

Mitt picked up the Izurdin looking stone figure and put it in his pocket and then he gathered the two long red feathers Just like the ones left in the shop. And just like the ones left in his tent.

Something weird is going on here. A pounding headache throbbed in his temple and for some reason, he felt the need to do dishes and check the cupboards at the kitchen. But he'd already done that, hadn't he?

He removed his apron, shirt and boots as well as the stone figure and headed back to work to leave them in the cubbyhole at the smithy. Mitt didn't think it was this hot even back home in the... wait.. didn't he say that before? Or did he think it?

If only to get out of the sun, he headed to the kitchen, washed and dried the dishes but left them stacked. It would take longer than he thought to make note of the cabinet's handles and... But. No he must have done that before. He wrote it down on two of the journal pages he kept it in his pocket. Checking both pockets inside and out, there was leftover change from this morning's meal, two feathers, two empty pages and his marking chalk for notes. He could've sworn he'd done this before.

He went to check the first handle but then he *knew* exactly what needed fixing! I think I hit my head too hard today! The young smith put away the dishes but something held him back for a chime. The sun was at an angle for supper which meant that it would rai--

The sun's rays were abruptly shut off as the sky gave a torrential downpour. That didn't mean anything. It rained every day, twice a day. Mitt rolled his neck, trying to shake the strong feeling of unease that something wasn't right.

The tall golden haired man stepped out the moment after the downpour had ceased and struck out for the Tidepool. Time to go visit Stu for a drink. His headache was worse and he still couldn't seem to cool off. Maybe it was time for a drink. He reached in his pocket from this morning's change and took out the two feathers as well. He bellied up to the bar and ordered,

"Stu can I get something tall and cool please? I'm parched." he drew the feathers back and forth in his hands, twirling them as something tugged at the edge of his memory.

"Thanks" Mitt said when his cool drink was set before him. Hadn't there been one feather in the morning and then one in the afternoon and again in the evening? He took a very long thirsty drink and the cool liquid soothed what he swore was a raging fever. Not one smidgeon of himself wasn't sweating freely right now. It wasn't like that the first few days he was here. If felt weirdly hot. Like the rain and sunrise and nightfall made zero difference kind of smothering hot.

For what had to be the millionth time today, he swiped a forearm against his head to wipe away yet more sweat. When he looked down at his glass it was empty.
"Another please? In fact just keep 'em coming."

A few bells and twenty three drinks later, Mitt lay in the exact same position as this morning with his face resting on his left arm while he sipped. Beside him Artik slurred so badly that everything the guy said was completely incomprehensible.

"OK then smart guy, next round's on you- I agree." Mitt answered, conning a drink out of him with ease. Artik would get eaten alive in Sunberth.

The old smith garbled something, wheezed and laughed, the fumes smacking Mitt in the face.

"Woof! You reek!" On the verge of a laugh, nausea reared its ugly head and Mitt stumbled away from the bar in a hurry.

"I don't feel so good." he gasped and turned left out the door, just barely making it around the corner before he vomited. Hard. Was it a good thing he'd only eaten breakfast and nothing else? Heaving again, he wiped his mouth on his arm and leaned heavily on a nearby rock.

"Nope. Definitely nope."

WC 740 Total WC 2,800 Gross 6,378
Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.
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Mittle
"Be an anvil, not a hammer."
 
Posts: 140
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Joined roleplay: September 29th, 2022, 4:59 pm
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Déjà vu Part II

Postby Mittle on October 14th, 2022, 7:15 pm

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Mitt lifted a heavy gaze at the sound of approaching footsteps and grunted an acknowledgement.

Artik looked like he was walking toward him but he was strong, vigorous and clearly not drunk in the least. His proud bearing was immaculate and clean as he stood tall and calm in front of the kneeling young smith.

The young smith's eyes widened at the sight of a blatantly vibrant, healthy and sound Artik.

"Wait hold on--you're a"

"Yes, I appear as an old, washed-up, drunk, slovenly, pervert wretch. Someone to instantly dismiss quickly and reject as not credible."

"But you just--we, I!" Mitt couldn't force his mind to form even a single cohesive thought about how the older smith appeared mere chimes before.

An Ixam crawled up nearby, moving out of the water and Artik put out his hand and in a shushing motion to Mitt. Pausing, it tilted its head to the side appearing to watch and listen intently. Both men just looked at it blankly and it slowly moved off leaving the tell tale claw and tail drag tracks down into the jungle.

Only once it was well out of sight, Artik sat down on the rock beside Mitt. The guy didn't stink at all!

His expression must have been clear enough to read because Artik answered it.
"No I'm not a drunk or any of the other things. It's the visage that Syka gave me. I can't tell you too much right now as the sixth bell will happen in just under two bells. Besides, the animals listen. If it slithers, flies or crawls, it hears and knows exactly what's going on. They're the only ones that are never affected by these waves."

"You have lost your slag driven mind!" Mitt responded with total disbelief. "That's paranoid crazy talk!"

"If it's so crazy, talk to me after the..hmm.. is it the second or third? Talk to me more today/tomorrow after the third scale is dropped for the first time. "

"Scale?" The strong memory of the red feathers flashed through him and then he understood. "It's red feathers for me." He held up the two crimson feathers from his pocket with a wry expression. "And always with an injury attached!"

"Oh so you got a bird! I got a snake." He nodded. "Yeah so that's two constants for you. What's your third one? Mine are a big black snake that drops iridescent scales, I keep going to the smithy to sleep at night and wake up there with a hangover and the third is going to the Tidepool every night after supper."

"I keep going to the kitchen to wash dishes and fiddle with every cabinet handle, cupboard, drawer, hinge, nail and screw in the whole room.."

Artik nodded thoughtfully.

A Tern wheeled high above them and the men fell silent, watching it glide on the thermals before leaving.

"So like I was saying. This island has constant magics that mess with the people that try to live here. Spells that make you not know reality from fantasy, people changing species, losing memories, vanishing, the list is endless!" he paused a moment looking around him for signs of wildlife before continuing.

"My theory is that this is the Gods' and Goddesses' playground or some sort of testing place. The moment I started noticing, people only saw me as a drunk and never credible enough witness so everything I said was, is, believed as a drunken lie. I've noticed that the Monolith never changes no matter what torture the Gods plan next. Someone that looks around your own age could have already lived through Goddess knows how many lifetimes to become ancient beyond words. Things here are rarely what they seem. People are losing their minds and this strange loop is only one of the hundreds, maybe thousands of things borne by the people that live here!"

He paused for a lengthy time, taking a long drink of water from his water skin. For a moment Mitt could swear it looked like a liquor bottle but then it shimmered back again.

"You see it too?' Artik asked, his eyes on the waterskin/bottle.

"C'mon this way, I'll show you what I've been doing to help keep at least a shred of sanity on this cursed island." Artik glared upwards and shook his fist at the sky.

That particular stretch of beach looked familiar and then it struck him--that was the driftwood spot where he found the crude stone Izurdin figure!

"Hey I know this spot! I go here every day now and find a stone figure of Izurdin. A scarlet Macaw leads me to it and drops feathers."

Now it was Artik's turn to look surprised.
"I'm the one that anchored the driftwood here so that I'd remember for the next day."

"What does a hunk of wood mean to you?" Mitt asked curiously.

"Shift your viewpoint like you're arriving from behind the smithy."

Shrugging, he walked to the opposite side and moved over three steps. It was an anvil! It was a perfectly shaped anvil!

Artik laughed. "Yep. That's why I put it there every morning as my wake up reminder of this insane same day loop of eternal hell."

"Hold on, I think that's what my stone is about, I'll go get it."

Mitt ran to and from the smithy with the stone in hand and returned shortly after. The young smith edged it into the place as he remembered it. From every damn morning he could recall.

"That's a great idea to help us remembe--"

WC 928 Total WC 3,728 Gross 7,306
Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.
User avatar
Mittle
"Be an anvil, not a hammer."
 
Posts: 140
Words: 179346
Joined roleplay: September 29th, 2022, 4:59 pm
Location: Syka
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
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