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Solo: Trigger One

It was hard to keep the anger that writhed inside him under control as he watched swirls of red fade into pink in the bucket. Why wouldn't anyone listen to him when he kept saying that he didn't want to fight? He wasn't broken nor slow nor even keen on practicing the machoistic styles the others his age were so set on participating in. Yes he was fast, yes he was passable at hitting things from a distance, no he was not happy to hit something that was alive and willing to return his weak blows with something that would break bones.

And for the love of the Divine, NO he did not want someone bigger, older, and meaner than him to become his tutor! But of course his pleas were ignored and Matron Ana had assigned him a Firani Dovaa who was just about to be moved up in ranks to be his tutor while he healed up from injuries his stupidity had caused. Just because Miri was scared of strangers didn't mean he didn't follow the gossip that went around. He knew his new 'tutor' had problems. Big ones. Like having a hair trigger temper that being a part of a Fire elemental clan didn't help.

His first 'meeting' with the man had shown him this and his bruises still throbbed with that bone deep ache that meant that they'd be staying on his hide for a long time. It didn't help that he was so pale that even the most decorative of bruises looked bad. Matron Lilianya was going to have a field day with this and he liked his hearing as it was thank you very much! Which meant that he was going to be hiding from the one person he enjoyed spending time with. Maybe he should take the time to go on a journey or something. Matron Ana was always pushing him to go out and try his hand at dragon slaying. Maybe now was a good time as any to do so.

Heaving a heavy sigh Miri dabbed at the still bleeding cut along his hairline, the only injury he had that couldn't be hidden by his clothes. Lero was very good at only hitting him in places that he could hide the evidence, so to speak. He was also very good at finding all the places that hurt more than others did.

Ismiril found it harder to continue being angry the longer he tended to his hurts, and the more his anger simmered down, the more tired he realized that he was. The absence of the emotion left him feeling drained and oddly sad. It was as if the entire situation wasn't worth getting upset over. He would either have to endure the training and succeed somehow or he'd fail and end up dying in some dragons maw. Neither option appealed to him but what else could he do? He was only twelve summers old with no experience other than what he'd learned to take care of himself, and that wasn't enough to make a living. He didn't know anyone who would be willing to take on an apprentice and even if he did, he didn't know if he'd excel in it.

But for now he'd take everything one day at a time. Starting right now. He needed to soak his bruises or he'd be in a lot worse pain come morning.

Solo: Life is how you live it.

Matron Lilianya was gentle as she examined the top of his head, fingers prodding the swollen flesh around the base of his antlers before wiggling the bone slightly. It was hard to ignore the sharp intake of breath, the whine of pain, and the shudder that the motion had produced. "It looks like you'll be fine with some rest," 'And a great deal of pain tonic' was left unsaid. She said as she rubber a fingertip over the jagged break in one antler with a thoughtful frown. The bone hadn't bled as much as she thought it would, so there was some hope that it would regrow a little. But it was a slim chance and most likely it would need to be filed down and rounded out. It was a pity that he was unable to retrieve the broken part, as a healer would be able to reattach it with little fuss. "The more I hear of your 'tutor' the less and less I like him." She said with a definitive air, reaching down to scoop up some heavily minty smelling paste to smear around the base of his horns.

In her lap Miri was crying silently, his breath hitching with pain as he held a cold cloth across his eyes. The light hurt his head and his skull was pounding with a pain that matched the rest of his body. He tried so hard not to move, as it seemed as if every tiny movement triggered a spark of pain that slid down his spine and branched out to touch ever limb. " 'm n-not s-strong 'nuff f-for h-him." He sobbed, voice trembling with the effort it took to speak coherently. "N-not f-fast 'nuff o-or go~od 'nuff without m-m-maaagic."

"Oh child, you are good enough! I don't know why Ana is pushing you so hard towards becoming a warrior." Lilianya exclaimed, smoothing down the flyaway blond locks in Miri's loose wavy hair. The light pressure of having his hair pulled back had been nearly too much for the boy, who'd just barely escaped having a concussion. Lero was not going to get near him again if Lilianya had anything to say about it. Not after putting Ismiirl through the torture he called that days training. There was no reason in the world that would excuse smashing a twelve year old apprentice's head against the ground, let alone hard enough for one of his horns to break!

"You could do so much more in some other profession." She continued, pushing the cork back into the jar of salve, where it settled with a wet pop. "You'd do well as a cook or a teacher. I know you love to learn so perhaps being a scribe or historian would be more welcoming." She would be having some words with Ana about her choice in trainers, as well as her call in judgment. It was clear that Ismiril was not suited for the role that he was being forced into, that it was doing him more harm than good at this point. Even if he were to 'toughen up' how much of the original shy child would remain and how much of the cold hardened warrior would take over. It was clear to Lilianya just what would have happened to Ismiril. He would have either died trying to please them, or he would have broken into so many fragments of himself that he wouldn't be able to function outside of hurting others. Neither prospect pleased her.

"W-what do y-you mean?" Miri asked, voice breaking in time with the throb in his skull. Breathing hurt, sitting still hurt, moving hurt. A dark thought crossed his mind, whispering that things wouldn't hurt so much if he wasn't alive. After all, the dead looked so very peaceful. Pain drowned that thought out as he tilted his head slowly backwards. He'd stopped crying from the pain but he couldn't stop the hitching of his breath or banish the heat from his eyes. He felt like bursting into tears again at how unfair it all was but refrained. All crying did was make his head hurt worse and his eyes ache, his nose stuffy and his mouth dry. It wasn't worth it and if he could help it he wouldn't shed another tear unless it was really really important.

Lilianya watched those dark colored antlers waver as Ismiril tried to deal with his pain, her electric hued eyes nearly glowing with how wound up she was. She plucked another cloth from the bowl that was sitting next to her hip, wrung it out, and exchanged it for the one that Miri was clinging to. His sort moan of pain tinged relief was welcomed and helped to distract her from plotting the downfall of one very sadistic Dovaa. But that relief was short lived as the vengeance in her heart, spurred on by how much she loved this child, reared back to the front of her mind.

She was ever so glad that the child couldn't see her right now, or he'd probably burst back into tears. Slowly Lilianya forced her tense muscles to relax, one group at a time, her dark gaze aimed at a stop on the wall in front of them. Her voice was calm and steady and deceptively light as she began to explain what she knew.

"Every society needs people who do the mundane things. Farmers for food, Tailors for clothing, Scribes and Historians for our history, Writers for the circulation and creation of the written word. Teachers to teach people how to do things, Guards to help keep the peace. Things along those lines" Lilianya replied, settling her hands loosely around Miri, "I was a Warrior when I was younger, but eventually it became too much for me and I decided against continuing to live my life that way. I became a caretaker here because I was good with children and I'd raised my two brothers and my sister, so I knew what I was getting into." She smiled down at him, even though he couldn't see it. "I've never regretted my decision."

"C-can I do that too?" Miri asked, voice small, "I don't want to fight anymore. I want t-to do things that don't involve m-me getting hurt o-or hurting someone else."

"Of course! We'll sit down when you're feeling better and talk about all the different things you can learn to become."

-----

It was nearly a week before Ismiril could scrape together the brain cells needed to sit down with Lilianya again. He had ended up with a mild infection in his broken horn that resulted in fevered chills and hallucinations. He'd heard that Matron Lilianya had nearly very literally ripped into Matron Ana and Trainer Lero about their treatment and attitude towards him. The orphanage had still been aflutter over the events that when the gossip had reached him, it hadn't been altered too much. Miri was appalled. He didn't want anyone fighting over him, he wasn't worth Matron losing her job, her livelihood over.

When he told her this Lilianya had only teared up, stroking gentle fingers over the smoothed over lines of his horn. They'd had to file it down and clean it up while he was unconscious. "No child, you are worth it. You're worth every tear I shed and all the blood and magic in my body." She murmured, brushing his bangs away from his face. It hit him then, how old Matron Lilianya looked as she spoke to him. It was as if the entire situation had forced her to age years in a span of only a few weeks. It made his feel horribly guilty, being the cause of so much stress, so much suffering.

Such thoughts must have shown on his face because suddenly his cheek was being stroked by her thumb, the nail carefully trimmed down and smoothed over. "None of that now. What I do with my life is for me to decide, much like how it is with yours. I will not have you doubting yourself or deciding that you aren't worth the struggle." Lilianya said, her voice layered with chastisement. Miri winced and looked at his lap, or at least tried to. One careful finger curled under his chin and forced him to look back up at her.

"Ismiril, you can go far, I know this. I've seen your grades and how you interact with others. You're intelligent, and you've a passion for learning and a kindness that can take you far once you've learned how to hone it. I've, ah, had some words with Matron Ana about you. The results were less than stellar but, I was triumphant in the end and have made the old biddy listen to reason. Your lessons with Lero have thus come to an end. It is up to you now, to figure out where life will lead you." She smiled down at him and dropped her hand from under his chin. "I've yet some friends left in this world, and speaking with them yielded some contacts that will be valuable to you. There are some Masters in the city looking to take on an apprentice. If you so choose to learn more about them, I've got some papers with their basic details, as well as some things about the field they are in. It shouldn't be to hard to make an appointment for you to formally meet them either."

Hope, such a strange feeling after so much despair, began to well up inside him. Was this how the others felt once they chose to become what they were, when they realized that they were actually good at something? He licked his lips and leaned back, hands fisting on his braid. He had a choice on who he would go with, if they took him in the end that was. Matron Lilianya chuckled and carefully ruffled his hair, "Don't look like that, you'll do fine. It wont be a walk in the park, but I'm sure you'll succeed." She flipped his bangs back and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now let us get some lunch in us and we can start going over those portfolios. Foresight is forewarning, if I've gotten the saying right." She chuckled and stood, easily hefting his slight weight to settle him on her hip, as if he were naught but a chubby child.

Squeaking Miri clung to her dress, half afraid that she would stumble and drop him, though her gait remained smooth. He half buried his face into her shoulder, wincing at the muffled snickers he could hear from those who still tormented him. Look at the liddle baybay Miri, getting dotted upon again. Why not just ask Matron Lilianya to adopt him if he wanted to be her son so badly. All of the usual tripe he had to put up with. The only satisfying thing he heard during the journey was the crackle of electricity and the yelps as people were zapped. They should have known better to be staying those sort of things within her hearing range. He was glad that his face was hidden, it wouldn't do to show just how much he was enjoying listening to them get their just deserts.


Being so close to her, Miri was privy to all the unflattering things she grumbled about the children in her care, and how she would end up changing such attitudes. It struck him then, just how much Matron Lilianya did for the orphanage. Sure Matron Ana was around, but it was mostly Matron Lilianya that had a direct influence on the children. The older ones, those who had started their training, dealt with Matron Ana and the other combat specialized Matrons. He hadn't known anything about a non-violent path until now. What...what happened to the children who didn't want to fight?

The thought plagued him as he sat down to a bowl of meat and veg stew, warm buttered bread with a crispy crust, cold tea and some candied fruit to take with him. It wasn't a meal that the others got to have often, and he'd gotten first pick. It was almost as if everyone knew that he...wouldn't be there much longer. He bit the inside of his lip. It wasn't like that, right. Right?

The Master Log

If he'd been doing this with anyone else, Miri would have sworn that he'd felt just how hard they would have been rolling their eyes. As it was Matron Lilianya just continued with her embroidery as Miri agonized over the deceptively slender looking book placed in front of him. This book held a list of Masters that were actively looking for people to apprentice to them, to learn their crafts and carry on their work. There was absolutely zero pressure for him to choose from anyone in the book, or for him to choose at all that day, but Miri felt as if there was a weight across his shoulders. Pinning him down to the chair and slowly crushing him the longer he sat unmoving.

There was a teacup near his left hand, it had been steaming what felt like only a few moments ago, but by now it long since gone cold. Matron Lilianya was working her way through her third cup almost as quickly as she was the spool of thread.

Huffing a breath Miri reached out and took the slender book and settled it before him. It was bound loosely and in such a way that would make it easy to take it apart and put it back together. Studying the work Miri wondered how long it had taken someone to come up with such an idea. He flipped to the index, noting that the Masters were sorted by Craft, then Clan and Gender. He supposed that it was a good idea, because some clans didn't get along depending on personality traits.

He asked if it was alright for him to take the book apart and Matron Lilianya told him that it was, that it was the reason why the book was made that way. So that potential apprentices didn't have to just memorize things about people they might not end up working alongside. That eased a knot of tension he hadn't known was there and made picking at the binding that much easier. Carefully he sorted the papers into piles. Crafts he knew he wasn't going to be good at, ones that he thought were interesting, and ones that he knew he could do, with the right training. The pile that he wasn't interested in was larger than the rest.

He picked up his cold cup and sipped at it, reading over the first Masters information. Something about him pinged him wrong, and so he was placed in the Not Interested pile. Others were placed with him based on personality or clan type. He shouldn't be so picky about Clan types, when he himself hadn't even picked his clan. But, he knew deep down that there was a small selection that he would pick from. There was no family tradition or expectation, nothing to hold him to one clan at all. Just, his own personality and affinity and now, this potential Profession. It was scary in a way, how he was literally choosing how his life would pan out.

Shaking his head he picked up the pile he'd selected and was surprised to see that most of the 'Definitely Would Do' held most of the same theme. Matron Lilianya just smiled at him and told him that she knew just how much he loved history, and that it shouldn't have come as such a surprise. Now he just had to pick a Mentor and talk with them until he found 'The One'.

The Choice: Part 2

There was an excited flush to Matron Lilianya's cheeks as she bustled him down to Master Talim's temporary office. Today was the day where he'd do two things, two important things in a Civilian Dovaa's life. He was going to choose his clan as well as formally declare himself Master Talim's latest apprentice. During his last visit with Master Talim, Miri had expanded on some things for him. Why he thought leaving the Orphanage would be freedom compared to the ball and chain lifestyle of a Chronicler. Chained to a man who dabbled in research and often times moved from place to place with nary a moments notice.

It had been so simple, there was no one to call him worthless, to rub his face into the dust. He could already tell that Master Talim wasn't like the others, he wasn't going to chew him out for every little mistake. He wasn't going to hurt him with words or actions. This had pleased the older man like nothing else, and Miri could tell that it was taking everything in the older male to not scoop him up and hug the ever living fluff out of him. He reminded Miri so much of someone else that he was finding it hard to point out just who it was.

By the time that he and Matron Lilianya made it to Master Talim's home, the Dovaa was already outside, enjoying the early morning light and smoking on a pipe filled with a fragrant sort of herb. He quickly tapped it out though once he caught sight of them, and blew the last bits of smoke away from them. "Good Morning!" He called out cheerfully, and smoothed down the muted green robes he was wearing. Miri felt very self conscious next to him, in his beige robes with the purple sash. His normal clothing for everyday wear. At his side Matron Lilianya stifled a giggle and reached out to smooth down Master Talim's hair.

"Still so ruffled after all these years. Did you cut your hair yourself? It's sticking out everywhere." She asked, watching as the locks she'd just smoothed down sprang right back up. Master Talim huffed, "You know I do sister, now come, we've got a little Apprentice to make an official one." With that said he scooped Miri up and held him to his chest, and gave him nary a moment to process just what had happened before they were airborne. He yelped and clung tightly to Master Talim, afraid for a moment that he was going to be dropped. But the man held him tightly, and started to point out the different districts, distracting Miri from the fact that he was flying. For the first time.

Steady wing beats told him that Matron Lilianya was following beside, though she didn't say a word. The trip to the Celestial Fortress was short, but they stopped just shy of actually making it there. Master Talim banked sharply to the left and drifted down, landing in what appeared to be an overgrown garden. There was a Dovaa male sitting on one crumbling stone bench, carefully peeling the skin of a shiny red apple away in one long peel.

Matron and Master both bowed to the man, who seemed to take no notice of them, before Matron Lilianya pressed a kiss to Miri's cheek and handed him a loosely closed plain looking bag. "Here, I know your...disgrace of training didn't give you the foundation to gather these yourself, but it's alright to lean against others. This is a momentous occasion Ismiril. Be yourself and remember that you are doing this for yourself, not for Kael nor myself, not for the parents who gave you up or to prove that you are worth so much more than those who hurt you." Matron murmured, her eyes tearing up with pride as she stood witness.

"Remember what you told me, about the fire in your soul. That drive to keep going despite everything that had happened, the unwavering determination." Master Talim grinned at him, "I dare say you're going to be a force to be reckoned with soon."

Distracted Miri glanced down into the bag he held, and almost dropped it. It didn't contain the Gaili orb that he thought it did, but Firani orbs and...and tears. He could feel tears prickling his own eyes at the gift. His Mentor and the woman who he thought of as his mother had read him right. Had heard the words he'd never been able to say. They knew his soul better than he did, and he'd only just met Master Talim. But, they were siblings, so of course they could read him.

They'd proven him wrong about his wishy washy clan choice, proving to him that it really was alright for him to become what he wanted. His passion had been banked up until that point but, but not anymore. With a deep breath he reached in and pulled out two of the five Firani orbs and held out the bag for Matron Lilianya to take. One he felt it being taken he made his up to the man, knowing somehow that he was his leader.

Marcus Ysaride had move on from skinning the apple, to cutting chunks of it off and slowly consuming it. He had given the trio a moment to gather themselves before the little one presented himself. His hands were bare of the clawed gloves he was said to wear, but the purple wings and curved horns, the blue hair and eyes, they were his mark. Just as the blue scales that flowed over his skin signaled that he was a Peisio. But despite the fact that he was an immortal, his leader, and a man who was quite formidable, Miri didn't feel afraid of him at all.

"My Lord Ysaride, " Miri began awkwardly, "I am Ismiril Keifuin and...and I'm glad you're able to listen to me." He stuttered a bit and swallowed, turning the Dragon Souls over and over in his hands, silently drawing a bit of strength from them. "I...I wish to declare my intentions to join the Firani Clan and..and my Apprenticeship to Master Chronicler Talim." He wouldn't look back, he wouldn't look back. He couldn't hear if they'd left him over the pounding of blood in his ears, but he was so sure he would have.

The smile that curved Ysaride's lips was pleased, and without much fanfare he placed both the apple and the knife down on the bench next to him, revealing the small plate that had a core on it. "Firani hm? A tiny thing like you must have the embers of a banked fire, just waiting for the right spark to start the blaze." He said, voice smooth. He reached out to pluck one orb from Miri's hand, and held it up to the light. Another pleased sound escaped him as he gave it back. "Well then, Ismiril Keifuin, Apprentice to Master Chronicler Kael Talim, take your soul and crush it, and be welcomed among the Dovaa as a proud member of the Firani Clan."

It came as a rush, feeling phantom flames licking against his skin, warmth and acceptance and love. Was this what it would be like, to finally come home?

Miri: Read the Book

Months had passed since he'd first picked up the feather quill that Master Talim had given him to practice writing with. Since he first inscribed an acceptable copy. Since he'd learned how to control some of his flame. Okay, so he was still working on the control bit, but he no longer would set things on fire with a sneeze. It was a plus that was celebrated with cold juice and expensive cheese with thin sliced meats that he didn't know the origins of, and crackers that he could taste the stone it was ground on.

Master had cajoled a friend of his to teach Miri how to control his flame, and the woman came by whenever she wasn't bogged down teaching the new firespitters to her clan. She'd told him time and time again that he'd learn faster if he just joined the classes, but Miri wasn't ready to leave the solitude of the office. Which thankfully had been changed to something much, much bigger. He even had his own room (which he technically shared with an older apprentice but still), and he was allowed to keep his own hours, so long as he was up at dawn to start working.

Or rather, up at dawn to make breakfast since it turned out he could cook better than both his Master and Apprentice Ysli. Though the green would forever be better at healing since his talents were healing.

Yawning Miri gulped down another mouthful of the god awful tea Master insisted on buying, to help wake them all up after a late night that lead to an early start. Behind him he could hear the scratch scratch of a quill as Master worked on copying an old contract that had sparked a bit of a trade war several centuries ago, a replacement for the documents of some guild or another. He wasn't allowed to really know what it was about. Ysli was transcribing on of Masters old research journals on some plant properties. It sounded far more interesting than Miri's stack. Which was now on the most boring subjects ever. He'd much rather go back to learning how to farm and how to mix dung for optimal yield.

He heaved a silent sigh and flipped shut the book, having finally run out of things to write. Carefully he sprinkled sand onto the ink to help it dry faster and set it off to one side, pulling over a clean sheet of parchment. The next book proved to be quite...deceptive. It was a manual about reproduction and hormones and...sexuality categories.

Blushing Miri held the book at arms length. It was...dry, just as dry as the rest of the tomes he'd been working on but still. Swallowing he pulled the tome close, noting that it was only a few years out dated, and began to read. He was supposed to be writing as he read but this, this warranted a first look. He wouldn't get scolded for reading it first, knowledge was knowledge and this. Well. This was something he should already know. He wasn't quite old enough to have children yet, but the urges were supposedly going to start any year now, and Miri would rather he know just what sort of changes his body would be going through, without having it hit him in the field. Nothing let getting caught with your pants around your ankles, as his new teacher liked to say.

The book was dry, so very dry but that wasn't enough to derail him from the, frankly gross, method of reproduction. A woman was supposed to hold life within them for a number of months, keeping herself safe and healthy until she, well, popped. The images sketched in the book were unflattering and quite frankly, nightmare inducing. But the speculation on how the other races reproduced bordered on fantasy. Oblivionties surely didn't have spikes of all things on their genitalia. Nor did he believe that Orderites were both genders, like birds sometimes were. That would be saying that Dovaa laid eggs, because they could shift into dragons when they were old, wise, and powerful enough.

Shaking his head Miri refrained from skipping ahead and came across a page that detailed sexual disorders. Things like incest and necrophilia. Shivering Miri forced himself to read, almost gagging at the blunt images scrawled out underneath the passages. Then he came across things such as Gender Dysphoria, or how a male or female might believe they were born into the wrong body. Steps they took to correct that assumption, and how far they would often times go. He saw nothing wrong with boys wearing dresses and makeup and perfume. He had to remind himself that the words in this book were outdated and quite obviously wrong with their heavy handed opinions.

He did however re-read the passage on identity, and wondered if he could get his hands on a more accurate version of the tome. A throat clearing behind him pulled him from his woolgathering, and with a sheepish smile, he went back to copying the bland (and incorrect) tome.