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 Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2015 4:06 pm
✹Yet Again✹
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✹ Kaalnia, Iroia, Votzhem ✹ 271 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Another Alkidike warrior, another broken heart. Votzhem almost wondered if they made a game of it, leading him on and breaking his heart. He was sure there were bets on how long he could keep it up before he either gave up on love or left the tribe. He was not naiive enough to think that there weren't people who supported the latter option, even after his deeds and service to the tribe.
And he had done a lot, more than some others he knew. More than some of the ladies that used him and tossed him aside. What was it that chased them off? His hybridness? His looks? Was he just not good enough? He thought he was at least nice, considerate even.
Maybe it was that Elder, the one that had tried to kill him, but surely she could not reach so many women so easily...
Well, either way, he had no luck, and thus he found himself dateless to the winter festivities. A shame, but what could he do? Kaa wanted him along, and there was a possibility – a vague, tremulous possibility – that he might meet someone there.
Goddess, at this point it didn't even need to be an Alkidike. Just... somebody. Anybody.
He crumpled up the note his latest ex-lover had given him, and threw it into the cooking fire. Just... no more of this. No more crying into Kaalnia's shoulder. Too often, there was no interesting leaf woman with a full meal to save him from that fate, and he was done crying. He was done with being hurt.
He was just so done.
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Posted: Sat Jan 31, 2015 6:01 pm
✹Tis the Season✹
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✹ Dyakida, Iroia, Votzhem, Sauron, Sezarra, Ruelash ✹ 231 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem was helping Dyakida to close up shop after the festival, putting away the unsold weapons into carefully labeled bags with Kaalnia's help. He was doing his duty to his tribe this way, which was good, but his mind was elsewhere. Very much elsewhere.
He couldn't stop thinking of the game, or of the small folded green cloth he now had tucked away in his pocket. It wasn't his color, and he wasn't going to wear it himself, but he wasn't certain what to do with it. He could give it to a lover, sure, but what was the guarantee that she wouldn't simply break his heart and leave with it?
If someone were to take it, they would also take the positive memories that went with it... the game, the festival, Iroia... She was a positive memory, for certain. The way she'd cheered him on had been genuine in a way that Dyakida's had not been. Iroia had believed in him. Votzhem appreciated that.
He didn't know what he would do with the scarf, but he figured, as he finished packing Dyakida's things away, that he would hold onto it for later. Maybe, just maybe, the next girl wouldn't dump him. Maybe, just maybe, he could find someone worthy of giving these memories to.
He scoffed: and maybe he could catch a freaking Suhurama – that was about as likely.
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Posted: Tue Mar 17, 2015 7:49 am
✹Ready, Set...✹
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✹ Iroia, Votzhem ✹ 229 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem's trip back to the Alkidike settlement was slow and thoughtful, nothing like the urgency that he had left it with. The message had been no emergency, but an invitation to a date. It was remarkable how little he had been expecting such a thing, as if somehow he no longer believed himself to be worthy of desire. Which was not true. Mixed features aside, he knew he was handsome. His mothers had said so, and – if he had had reason to disbelieve them – the assertion had been backed up by other people. He was a freak, but he was good looking.
He knew he should know better by now, or at least have become more cautious about his feelings, but he did feel something for Iroia. They had had a lovely run, full of fun and thrill. Votzhem hoped for more runs like it, and maybe other times together. He was willing to give her a try.
But what if she's like all the others? he asked himself. He'd been abandoned too often to really trust the feelings he felt for her. This, like the others, was likely to end.
He would enjoy it while he could, of course, if that was the case. But there was another worry gnawing at him – the matter of her race. It was a matter he chose to ignore.
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Posted: Sat Apr 18, 2015 4:36 am
✹Rain isn't the Only Problem✹
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✹ Iroia, Votzhem ✹ 486 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem did not like to be beaten up, but if they ended in the way that this one had, then he might be more willing to experience it. Despite the risk of running into his double, he stayed at Iroia's camp – he was just injured enough to make staggering back to the Alkidike settlement in the dark of Jahuar's night a very unattractive proposition.
It was, though, difficult to sleep after what had happened. In the blank darkness of the tent, Votzhem touched his finger to his tingling lips, worriedly thoughtful. In the afterheat of battle, he had kissed Iroia, and it hadn't felt like such a burden at the time. It had, in fact, felt right.
But things had cooled down, and in the constant white noise of the rain, Votzhem thought about it – really thought about it.
As a hybrid seeking acceptance, he was already precarious. His main advantage was that he was born of Aisha and that his mother had friends here, but they were distant friends, alienated by her 'betrayal' of her tribe and relocation to the far away mountains. He was willing to take his falls with grace and be respectful and polite at times and fierce at other times, the balance of the Alkidike tribe. He was willing to give his life for his sisters.
But he knew they would never accept him fully, no matter what he did. And that was fine – that was all right. He understood that. He had expected something like it, but he had also expected to find love there, to dilute his hybridness with the blood and soul of his chosen tribe. He had expected to find an Alkidike mate.
And now, he was in love with Iroia, an earthling and leaf at that. Well, love was still uncertain – his bruised heart was wary of calling it that. There was no denying, though, that he at least liked her, respected her, and was very attracted to her. And what did that mean?
She was not Alkidike. Did that mean that he was betraying his tribe? She was not Ice. Did that mean he was betraying his heritage? She was not even wind, which would have been acceptable by Ice standards. She was leaf. And he liked her.
There was no way he could not betray his tribe. Either he sullied them with the expression of his male-ness or simply by his very existence as a male hybrid. But was this an acceptable level of betrayal? Lakshmi and Vennan would love him no matter what he did (Vennan in her own quietly disapproving way, of course) but – and here was a very urgent question – would Aisha still love him if he took an earthling mate? Was this wrong?
It was a question he could not answer, not even in the uneasy dreams he was lulled into by the rain...
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Posted: Wed May 27, 2015 6:13 am
✹Training✹
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✹ Solo, Votzhem ✹ 956 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ “Fifty three... fifty four...” Votzhem grunted as he forced his body up off the hard wooden floor of Kaalnia's home, over and over again. “Fifty five, fifty six...” his arms strained against his weight, though he was not fat by any means. He had never been. Now, though, chiseled muscle lined his arms and body, forming smooth curves over his bones.
“Fifty seven...” sweat beaded on his blue skin, pooling in the creased muscles of his back and arms, and finally, dripping to the ground. It did not steam – there was enough moisture in Jahuar's air already, and it would take no more. “Fifty eight.” he concentrated on the wall, his brow contracting as he forced himself to finish the set.
“Fifty nine...” Just one more, one more and he would be done with this exercise for the day.
“Sixty.” he slumped, gathering his legs into a seated position as he gasped, panting for air. “Sixty...” he repeated. It was the most he could do at this time. Tomorrow, he would try for seventy, and try for that for a week or so until he got it. He stretched his arms, feeling the burn in them, but he wasn't done yet.
He stood, bare save for a loincloth that covered his male parts. There was no need for more modesty than this in his Sister's house – Kaalnia didn't care, though there was once a time when he would have been nervous and wary. When he had looked at her and felt his heart skip and his face flush. But that time had long passed – there was no hope for a man to woo her into a committed relationship, or any Alkidike for that matter. Kaalnia was a force unto herself, never tamable, though her daughter came the closest to it. He grimaced at the stray thought. That time was passed, and now, for him, Kaalnia was a slightly older sister. They were close. They were friends. He picked up a heavy, rounded stone in his hand. He lifted it, beginning his count again. “One... two...” he murmured as his arm curled and uncurled, bearing the rock up and down.
He knew that there were Alkidikes that favored men. He'd met some of them, had seen their loyal, very-definitely-male lovers, had even – for some – met their children, bouncing halfbreed balls of joy that would forever be relegated to the sidelines of their own tribe. Somehow, though, he hadn't found one that favored him. They came, they stole his heart, they bedded him, and maybe it lasted a little longer after that. But always, always they left him. Sometimes, they left him for other men. Other times, having sated their curiosity about men, they left for a woman – a Sister, sometimes, or another earthling. He never learned. Here, he had started the cycle again, his heart in the hands of yet another woman, and some part of him couldn't help but wonder when Iroia would drop him and sleep with that creepy doppelganger friend of hers. “Ten... eleven...” he grunted, his thoughts far from the muscles that burned in his arm as the rock moved up and down, up and down.
What was it about him that stopped his romances from being permanent? Was it his personality? His looks? Something about the way he was in bed? Was he too bold? Too rough? Too gentle? Too quick? “Forty.” he finished his count and switched the rock to the other hand, beginning his lifting again.
Or was he just too easy? A slut? He didn't believe that being cheap and easy was just the realm of a female – a man could be so, too. He didn't think he was. He felt something for every one of the ladies he had courted, had loved every one of them that he had taken to bed. He hadn't propositioned them immediately upon meeting them, as some people he knew did, and he hadn't thought entirely of the possibility of bedding them. Sure, he'd thought of it, but he had loved them for who they were... until they had revealed the cruelty that broke his heart. And his heart had broken, with each one. It had hurt. No, he was not a slut. He was not easy. It was all too hard to be easy. “Twenty.” he grunted, his dreads soaking through with his sweat, his face flushed.
He loved not wisely but too well. He was too easily enflamed to love – and he knew it really was love, not just lust, that drove him into each encounter. Every single time, he fell in love with a woman. He fell in love with their voice, the way they moved, the way they said words, the way they looked at him, the thoughts they chose to voice. Every time, he imagined them moving forward into a future together, something more permanent than a one-night stand. But it kept ending at that single night, maybe another if he was lucky.
He put on a gruff face to defend himself from the pain, but... he exhaled, setting down the stone, his curls done for the day... It didn't help. His heart kept swooning and breaking. It was as if he never learned from his mistakes.
Votzhem grabbed his coat and a towel, ready to head down to the river and bathe off all the sweat he had produced, to cool down before getting on with his day. He could train his body. He could becoming muscular and able and graceful as any good Alkidike warrior should. He could do all of that, but he could not train his soul. He could not stop loving.
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Posted: Wed May 27, 2015 6:35 am
✹Prejudice✹
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✹ Versatile Solo, Votzhem ✹ 240 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem was pretty sure that he hadn't killed any of the Alkidike that had opposed him. He'd been trying to keep from doing that – that he had beaten the crap out of a whole group of them was enough for his ego: it was proof his hard training had paid off. Still, he knew that the moment they started spreading rumors, he was in trouble: it'd be his word against theirs that he hadn't attacked unprovoked. He would be painted as the ambusher instead of the ambushed, and his troubles would only increase.
He knew, also, that he probably shouldn't have said the things he had. But Amaei, Cetii, and Yanah had all hurt him deeply. He had resisted hurting them in return for so long that it was hard not to lash out when they surrounded him with their friends, weapons bared. All was fair, he supposed, in love and war, though now it seemed like both.
He sold his goods to the appropriate people and began to pack his things. He'd tell Kaalnia about the event later, and he was sure she would agree – he needed to get out of here for a while. Hadn't Iroia been saying something about his doppelganger wanting to go back to Zena? About wanting to go herself? Well, damn. He missed home. Why not think about going with her? Why not actually go?
What reason did he have to stay?
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Posted: Wed May 27, 2015 6:48 am
✹Born of Aisha✹
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✹ Versatile Solo, Votzhem ✹ 316 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Festivals were tiring, but in a good way, and Votzhem was able to go to sleep with ease. As he had decided that he was – despite all his troubles – proud of his Alkidike heritage, so do had he really, truly, fully decided that it was time to leave Jahuar. Not permanently, or at least, he hoped that it wouldn't be permanent, but for a time. He was optimistic that the unpleasantness with the extremists would burn itself out, or otherwise lessen. Not so optimistic to think that life would be perfect on his eventual return – that would never happen. Life was harsh and unpleasant wherever you went, whatever you did, and it was no picnic in Sauti that was for sure. No, it wouldn't be perfect. Maybe he wouldn't even be happy living there. Who was to say? No, his hope was not for happiness or perfection, but just for a little moderation – something a little less cruel. Something a little more like Kaalnia.
Honestly, there was nothing more he could do except for lay low and wait for it all to blow over. So he would do it. He would hope for the best. And he would take each day as it came, and make the most of it. He knew that was what Mother Aisha would want him to do – the Tree had made it obvious, suffusing the air with her wish that her children – all of them – be happy and do what was best for themselves. This was best for him. And, with Her approval, he would do it.
He would start packing in the 'morrow, and tell Kaalnia once he was mostly done, so she'd be less likely to talk him out of leaving. He had decided, and Votzhem, once he made up his mind, didn't change it for anything less than a major event.
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 6:43 am
✹Side Trip✹
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✹ Iroia, Votzhem ✹ 162 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ His eyes glided over Iroia as he waited for her to follow him over the rough rocks and the barely discernable path to his home. Lately, he had been feeling a hunger whenever he had seen her, a very familiar hunger that made him feel warm and, also pleased. But ever since they had awoken together in the cave, that hunger was ever more difficult to put aside. He looked at her now, and he knew how she sated that hunger, how she moved, how she felt beside him.
He held up his hand to help her up, and felt the warm hunger inside him surge as she took it. Obviously, this was neither the time nor the place for any activities, and Votzhem was mature enough to not want that at every opportunity. But, as Iroia got her bearings and started walking just ahead of him, he watched her with undisguised adoration.
He loved her. That was all he really needed.
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Posted: Sun Feb 14, 2016 7:26 am
✹Sweet Mother✹
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✹ Class Solo ✹ 2413 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem was cold. He floated like a petal in a void of semi-wakefulness. If something in the void could be content, then he was content, happy to remain in that peaceful space serenaded by his own heartbeat, his limbs heavy and satiated with nothingless.
But he was cold.
He would have to wake soon.
“Hey, what do we have here?” A sharp jab in the ribs was his first inkling of wakefulness. It hurt, and he felt himself flinch. Actually, he hurt all over. Everything felt broken and bruised and it all ached. His head, slowly, began to split into a headache. These were all injuries sustained, he began to suspect, in the crushing whiteness that was the last thing he remembered. The jab, though, was new. That had agency.
“What do you think it is, Iiv?”
“I have no idea.” Another jab, “But it's alive, whatever it is.”
Votzhem listened to the voices warily. Something about them made him reluctant to trust their intentions. The inflection perhaps? The lack of compassion or concern?
“It looks kinda like an Alkidike.”
“They're all female, idiot. And green.” a scoff, and a slight blow to Votzhem's pride. As if nothing of his could be left undamaged. “Didn't you get a good look of them on the battlefield?”
“Aye, saw a lot of bug ladies. I'm telling you.” A rough touch to his antenna – Votzhem resisted recoiling. He wanted them to think he was still unconcious, or that he was weak. He needed them to underestimate him until he knew their motives. “This is one of them.”
“Allright, N'ben. If you say so. It's a freaky one, if that's what it is. Blue. And not a lady.”
“Hey maybe he's some kind of halfbreed.”
“Is that even possible?”
His face was pressed into the snow, numb on one side, and he opened his eyes just a crack, just enough to see two shapes looming over him on the pure white snow. “So, what do we do with whatever they are? Leave them here to die?” Votzhem prickled at the utter lack of compassion in their statement. It was not teasing, nor was it a joke of any sort. They were serious. They would leave him to die. Fortunately, he knew he was healthy enough to take care of himself, but still, it was unnerving.
“I think we should bring him back to camp. I bet the others will get a kick out of watching him get beat up and die.”
“I suppose.”
Votzhem already felt like he'd been beat up and wasn't keen on more of the same. Nor did he particularly want to go with these two. At all. He mustered his strength and the moment he felt a hand on his shoulder, he leapt to his feet, grabbing at the blades attached to his belt.
“Whoa! He's getting up!” The two earthlings – he could see now that they were fullblooded earthlings – reached for their own weapons.
“So shove him back down!”
“I'm not coming with you.” he said coldly, drawing his blades and falling into an Alkidike battle stance. His muscles pained him, beaten and battered as they were, but he could see now that they were not decent hunting folk of the wilderness. Their ratty garb and the steely look in their eyes marked them as the lowest of the low. Bandits.
“I guess we do leave him here to die, then.”
“Guess so.”
They attacked and he dodged their strikes, slashing out with his swords. “I don't think so.” he said, Aisha's power filling him with will and making him faster than the capable killers. He attacked again, scoring a hit on one of them and following up with a relentless slash to the chest, and a smooth transition into a very fatal stab.
“N'ben!” the other called out, as their companion fell, bleeding. Dying. They moved back a few paces, aiming an arrow. “You'll pay for that.” they snarled, reflected sunlight glinting in their blue eyes.
“Why?” Votzhem returned to his stance, moving steadily as he watched them, waiting for an opening, “You people are the lowest of all things. No one will miss you.”
He didn't even bother to dodge the spittle of the bandit – it landed harmlessly a foot away as the arrow launched from the bow with it's deadly song. He dodged and lunghed, feeling it graze him as he shoved the bandit to the ground. His swords flashed in the too-bright daylight, and it was all over.
The silence of the moment was overwhelming, but Aisha's presence mitigated it somewhat. She was there with him, and he was not alone. She soothed him and, without words, urged him to be safe. He stood, a little shakily, and walked away from the bandit's bodies in the gently falling snow. He had never fully lived off the wilderness before, but he knew it would provide. He was confused, he was afraid, but he had to survive. He had so much to live for, after all.
~~~
Votzhem didn't stay put. He wasn't looking to live in this place, but to leave it, and he constantly searched for a way free. There were paths here, and he traced them back to a small village. It was abandoned, gutted, fire-touched and devoid of people. “Bandits.” he growled, as he walked through the ruins. Most things of value or use had been raided away, and the bodies had been long scavenged by the opportunistic predators of this harsh land. The scavengers were blameless – they did what they had to to survive. Votzhem could not fault them that. The bandits, however, were disgusting, and he knew exactly what he would do if he found one wandering.
Many feet had trodden down a path nearby. It was a wide path, cutting through the snow that coated the abandoned place, and it led up into the crags and mountains. Votzhem had misgivings about the path, but he decided to follow it. It was, indeed, the only other path he could see from the village. But he did not use the path – he wasn't stupid.
He climbed into the rocky crags and made his way along it in the shadows of the rocks, where he could hide if needed. The path climbed through a pass, and he was glad he'd taken the subtle route as he glimpsed a crossbowman lingering in a nearby crag. A bandit. He wanted to sneak up behind them and kill them, but the thought filled Votzhem with discomfort. Justified though it may be, it didn't feel right.
He took extra care to sneak by them, curiosity and the sound of raucous, echoing cheers driving him forward towards a view of a mountain fortress. It was, he presumed, a nest of bandits, their protected mountain hideout where they hatched their cruel plots and brought the spoils of the innocent. /Scum/ he thought, climbing to a vantage point where he could peek inside.
What he saw nearly made him fall to his death in shock.
He saw an arena, cleared of all but a group of people who were clearly not bandits. They were disheveled and tormented, holding weapons that were barely much more than a rock attached to a stick. The cheers grew in intensity, and he could see that five earthlings faced a familiar, tall, antennaed shape.
Kaalnia?! horrified, he watched as she defended herself against their charge, the blade in her hand cutting them down in frenzied flurries of attacks. He knew that she wouldn't have wanted to kill them, not these innocents, but he could also see the archers and the raucous celebration of the bandits. She had no choice. He watched as she spilled blood on the dirty mud of the bandit camp, and watched as, her fight complete, she was beaten and forced away. The dead were dragged off, but he knew who was truly wounded. He had seen it in her face.
He had to help her.
“I'll save you, Sister...” he murmured through tightly grit teeth, “Just hold on.”
New combatants entered the ring and, unable to watch any more of the bandit's fights, he turned and slipped back into the crags. Just hold on.
~~~
After seeing Kaalnia like that, Votzhem knew he had to intervene. She was his friend, and his Sister besides, and he couldn't leave her there to die as some bandit's lost bet. However, assaulting their compound head-on was suicide, and Votzhem was too attached to life and living to give it up so easily.
So, he started slowly, with the bandits that strayed too far along the game trails and hunters paths. Then, as they began to stick closer to the camp, he picked off any that dared to patrol, wander, or take a leak alone. He used stealth and strategy to whittle them down, terrifying them with guerrilla tactics. And death.
Votzhem had no qualms about killing them, philosophically speaking. Bandits were scum, criminals who had turned their back on morality for their own gain. Killing them was doing a favor to the world. However, it scared him how much he didn't care about the ones he killed. They were, all of them, earthlings, after all. Some were mixed, some were purebloods, but all of them were earthling. He was part earthling and, for all he told himself that these monsters were less than him, not even people, sometimes – as he murdered them – he wondered.
By the time that they began actively hunting him, however, his uncertainty had crystallized into something else. Yes, he was half earthling, but in the end he was a warrior. Warriors, by nature, killed, and he was getting very good at that. Remorseless, he continued to taunt them. He was a flash of blades in the dark, a comrade’s scream on a moonless night, the creator of grisly trophies. A monster.
They deserved it he thought to himself. He did not enjoy fighting, to be sure, and he was constantly on the lookout for a lucky bandit that had somehow tracked him down. As well as, of course, the perils of surviving in the harsh wilderness. Sometimes, he wondered if he was going about it the right way, if anything he was doing was morally sound. But every time Aisha's energy flowed though him, empowering him to cut down another bandit, he became more certain of the answer.
He was in the right. He was not a monster.
Finally, his lonely efforts had progressed to a point where, though the bandits guarded their fortress with ever increasing wariness, there was an unavoidable vulnerability in their defenses. It was an opportunity he could exploit, and he decided to take it. He slipped in, purposefully, to where he knew Kaalnia was being kept.
Once he'd started to become a serious threat, they'd stopped their gladiatorial games. But before that, Kaalnia had been punished. For what reason, Votzhem didn't care. The point was, she was still alive. Thin, lacerated, and dull of eye and skin, but alive.
Fog seeped into the air as he freed her and hoisted her on his shoulder. She greeted him with a thready little chuckle, and Votzhem took heart in the fact that she'd recognized him, even if her voice was weak and hoarse. He'd soon fix that. He could care for her forever, feed her on hearty foods and tend to her until she was well. That was what one did for Sisters... but they would have to get out first.
Fog made him a blur as he escaped into the night. He heard the cries of the bandits as they tried to trap him – they knew of their own vulnerabilities – but he'd been expecting that. He dodged their cold, grey silhouettes and ran into the cliffs – Kaalnia was lighter than he'd expected, and he could go fast. He changed his path multiple times to hide his trail, and eventually found his way to the abandoned village storehouse he had claimed as his shelter.
He laid her on a pallet and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. They were safe.
~~~
Inescapable thoughts crossed his mind as he watched his Sister sleep. He was a halfbreed, Alkidike and Earthling. He had left Jahuar because the Alkidikes refused to accept him for his earthling blood, and he had killed many earthlings because they had captured an Alkidike-blooded sister. He had, in effect, betrayed both sides of himself. What did that mean for him?
Mother Aisha loved him, and even though he had returned to Sauti to escape the harshness of his Sisters, he had not betrayed her. Her love had told him as much as her energy had bolstered and protected him. She loved him, and wanted him to live. Any mother would.
And that meant that one of his bloodlines pulled far stronger than the other. He had no ties to his earthling blood, and everything that made him an Alkidike pulled him home. It kept him alive. He knew, now, that no matter what his Sisters said of him, no matter where he went, he would always be connected to Mother Aisha, and be a warrior of the tribe.
But... a frantic thought. What of Iroia? And his children? In deciding that he was an Alkidike, mind and soul, in acknowledging his debt and connection to Aisha, was he somehow betraying them? It kept him up all night, and he asked Kaalnia about it when she woke.
”Nah” she told him, as if it was absurd. Of course he wasn't betraying them. He loved them, didn't he? He could do whatever he wanted, and as long as he didn't harm them, then, according to Kaalnia, it was not an issue at all. He should, she told him, stop thinking about silly things and start thinking about how to get back to Jahuar.
So he did, though Kaalnia's recovery came first. Jahuar, though, was his destination. He knew he would never be fully accepted in his own tribe, but the truth was, he didn't care anymore. He was accepted where it mattered, and now he knew, with certainty, that his Great and Beautiful Mother Aisha, who had decided to bring him into existence, accepted him. And he, now, accepted himself. That was enough.
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Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2016 5:24 am
✹Barter and Haggle✹
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✹ Versatile RP, Votzhem, Kaalnia, Vallenhyyr ✹ 224 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem ran the soft fabric of the 'shorts' (if they could even be called that) through his fingers. Soon, he would see Aisha but this didn't make him nervous. Yes, returning to Chibale would be rough and complicated, emotionally, but that wasn't the problem. He could do that. Mother Aisha loved him. She would welcome him home.
Iroia was the question. She had risen like a star in his mind and kept returning to his thoughts. Soon, he would not be able to avoid reuniting with his wife again... but it had been a long time. He had changed. Would she still love him?
He didn't want to think about the inverse – that she had changed, that he might not still love her. He refused to believe that his heart was so fickle, not when it hurt so. He needed to see her. He was afraid to see her. He had to see her.
He would see her.
He didn't tell Kaalnia anything, but he was sure she knew how he felt. That was what she did – know him, through and through. It was obnoxious and exasperating, but it would help him here. She would know just how to push him and prod him to meet with Iroia. He had to count on her.
He didn't think he could count on himself.
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Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2016 11:03 am
✹Remembering the Past✹
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✹ Versatile Prompt ✹ 792 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Sometimes, on clear nights in the mountains, Votzhem had thought about the extremist uprising. He had left Jahuar back when their movement was just whispers in the trees and ambushes on the paths. Aside from being ambushed himself, once, Votzhem had had no part in it. He had chosen no side in the fight. Instead, he had hid with his wife and newborns in a remote mountain village, in a sense choosing Iroia over the turmoil of his tribe. He had known it was the right choice, then, but in the mountains, his Sister injured beside him, he wondered whether it was really the right thing to do. Should he have fought?
Of course, he could not have raised his swords against his sisters. Even though they had spread lies about hybrids, called him a weakling and a mistake, and outright attacked him, to face his sisters with the intent to kill was anathaema. Blasphemy. So he had abstained, taking himself out of the fight entirely. It had not been his place.
But it was the principle of the thing and, back in Jahuar, though, he knew that he could not make that choice again. He had decided to devote himself to Aisha and, though it hurt him to the very soul to say it, he knew that when his Sisters next stood in battle, he had to stand with them. No matter what they fought for, or who they fought. He was, after all, a warrior of the Alkidike, a child of Aisha whatever the tribe might think of him. It was right there in the name – a warrior must go to war, just as a fish must go to water or a bird to the sky.
He would stand with his tribe. But when Iroia went to war, where would she stand?
This question came to him suddenly one morning, as he trimmed and re-braided his beard after a thorough scrubbing of his face. Iroia remained asleep, not one for mornings, and in the brief Jahuaran 'silence', he realized that he did not know the answer.
He was aware that she – and Ruelash, her obnoxious partner – were veterans of the Oban war. They had fought together on that battlefield, sewing terror amidst the Obans from the shadows and shedding their fair share of blood in the midst of that chaos. He could imagine them now – knives from the shadows, ending lives... ferocious storms of blades, slicing through their foes... It was one of the things that made Iroia beautiful, that ferocity, that cunning duality.
What if there was a war, and she chose to fight in it? What if the side that he had to support, his own tribe, was not the side that she was on? If he had to fight her, what would he do? Could he be a warrior when his own wife was his foe? Could he face her in battle? He did not think he could. Of course, she probably could take him – easily beat him, probably – in a fight, (or would even choose not to fight at all) but that did not change the philosophical nature of the question.
Could he fight his own wife? The woman he loved? The mother of his children? Could he fight her family, her friends? Her? Would his ability to do so make him less of a man? Would his inability to do so make him less of an Alkidike? He could only pray that such a situation would not occur, but there were no guarantees. The Alkidikes had allied with the Earthlings against the Obans and the Extremists, but who knew where their allegiances would fall next?
The will of conquerors lay restlessly sleeping in the hearts of the Amazons. For now, they got along with the other races, but in the end, they believed that Tendaji was theirs. The Extremists were just the ones that had spoken up and done something about it. What if others did the same? What if the Alkidikes invaded other lands en force? What if the Alkidikes decided to purge the hybrids, a not impossible option? What side was he on? What would the sides be?
He finished his braids and looked at the ungracefully sprawled form of his sleeping wife. He could never hurt her. Never again. He had made that promise to her and to himself, and he could not break that promise. But, of course, situations might arise where his promises and duties would pull him in different directions. Whatever might come in the future, he would have to make his decision and take his side in the moment. He had no other choice. War could not, after all, be planned for.
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Posted: Fri Apr 15, 2016 7:41 am
✹Sins and Virtues✹
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✹ CYOA, Votzhem ✹ 188 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ i]Votzhem's advisors didn't take too kindly to being dismissed and stolen from. Leading a nation of bandits and outcasts was like treading on eggshells – sometimes, it was smooth, other times, not so much. Votzhem learned this at the point of his advisors blade, his last thoughts not of his family but of outrage as blackness overtook him... Ironic because, in that moment, in that strange way that dreams have, the advisor was Iroia, and she grinned as
Votzhem clawed his way into wakefulness, finding himself drenched with sweat in the hot Jahuar air. He wasn't proud of the dream he had just had, but he didn't remember it, only that, for the most part, it had been unpleasant. He turned to where Iroia still slept, his scars hurting with phantom pains. He would be extra nice to her today. Maybe a breakfast in bed...? Maybe he should find something for Kaa, too...
Hmm...
That did mean he had to get up, though. He levered himself reluctantly out of bed and set to trimming his beard, as the remnants of his dream faded into a moody dusk.
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Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2016 3:55 pm
✹And Then She Fainted✹
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✹ PRP, Votzhem, Iroia, Kaalnia ✹ 131 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this safe, and it took him a while to realize why - he was in his wife's arms, in the heat of Jauhar, alone and in comfort. It was almost too good to be true, but the pain of healing wounds assured him that he hadn't perished and drifted into some afterlife dream of Aisha's. No, he was alive, and this was real. He was home.
Well, not precisely home. This place was not the place he and Iroia had settled for themselves, far off in Sauti, but they were here, together, and that would be enough. He snuggled into her, seeking more sleep, and he had hope for a bright future together.
"I'll never leave you." he whispered to her, "Never again."
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2016 8:56 pm
✹Walls Between Mountains✹
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✹ Ruelash, Votzhem ✹ 241 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem watched Ruelash sleep, eyes wide and black in the darkness. He'd had his chance, and this was his decision. He was sticking to it.
He could have killed Ruelash, but he didn't. He could have let him go, but he didn't. He could have pushed him, but he refrained. He could kill him now, slit his throat in his sleep, but he didn't. He wasn't. He wouldn't.
Ruelash was family, blood kin and soul kin. If Votzhem respected the Sisterhood of the Alkidike, he'd have to accept that this man was just as much family as any Sister was. More, perhaps, in a way.
Ruelash had finished his pacing only a few minutes before, but Votzhem took his place in their nighttime camp. A tiny glow was beginning on the horizon, and Votzhem regarded it quietly. Ruelash had protected his daughter, had raised her to be independent and wily and free. He had saved her and raised her. Votzhem owed him for that.
He whistled for Seri, who fluttered off of his stand and perched on Votzhem's arm. The half Alkidike unsheathed one of his swords and presented it to Seri, before pointing down the slope. ”Seek.” he declared.
The sailscale squawked and, accepting a scrap of meat for his trouble, sailed down the slope into the darkness. Votzhem sheathed his sword, put another log on the fire to revive it, and sat down to wait.
Votzhem paid his debts.
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Posted: Fri Jan 06, 2017 9:57 pm
✹Creepy Crawlers✹
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✹ Arronthain, Votzhem ✹ 182 Words ✹
✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ ✹ Votzhem's heart felt warm and free and fluttery for the first time in a long while. Iroia made him feel happy and loved and home, but seeing his son learning from him - learning well - and finding success did something wholly different. It unlocked a joy and fierce pride that made him feel lighter than air, infallable, capable of anything.
This, he realized, was the joy of parenthood. He wondered if he would feel the same way with his daughter. He wondered if either of them would want to hear of His mother - the Mother beyond mothers - Great Aisha herself? Would they want to visit her, claim some of the heritage that they were owed as his children?
They weren't born of her flowers, but maybe, by the blood she had given him, they could still hear her call? It was a hope that, once born, did not die easy. He seemed to get along with Arronthain. He would test the waters, and see what stirred.
In the meantime, he had a cat. He'd have to deal with that.
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