|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Apr 24, 2017 9:10 am
▼ x Devoted to Prayer x ▼ Every day ended the same. During the last hour of his evening, Xelannis sat at his desk, took out a fresh sheet of parchment, and set his quill to paper. In the years since he’d joined the Sanctum, the ritual had become an important one. His days weren’t always exciting and unique, but there were always one or two things that transpired from morning to eve that he’d have liked to share with his mother, were he available to have a conversation with her consistently.
His family home wasn’t far. They lived along the outskirts of Pajore, close enough that it would take little more than an hour to reach them on foot. Initially, it had been burdensome for someone older to escort him. Now that he was blossoming into a growing teen, he could make the journey himself, but it was inconvenient, to say the least. It didn’t take long, but whatever time he used to visit his family was time away from his duties, and that wasn’t a luxury Xelannis could afford often.
Instead, he wrote to them every day. This practice was less troublesome. It gave him an opportunity to unwind at the end of the day and to reflect upon its happenings, it kept him in communication with his family, and perhaps most selfishly, Xelannis had always loved to write.
That was part of the reason he’d been brought here, after all.
In his earliest years, before greater motor function had properly developed, Xelannis had built pyramids. He’d made them with his toys, with his pillows, and with the food on his plate. There was nothing odd or special about it. Children loved familiar things, and to be able to build something was an accomplishment. Because it was likely the only activity Xel knew how to do and succeed at consistently, it wasn’t strange.
But it became stranger as he attended school and learned how to do more. The other children in his class laughed at him for ruining notebook pages by crumpling and arranging them into pyramids, for stacking stones during outside activities, for being ‘troublesome’ and inattentive when their teacher spoke. While he’d never felt it around his family, an unasked for sense of dread set in any time Xelannis’ fingers itched to build. They would laugh at him. They would destroy his projects. They were cruel for reasons he didn’t understand, and being around them made him anxious.
But Xel wasn’t allowed to simply not attend his classes. Instead, by the time he was eight summers old, with a functioning vocabulary and a growing knowledge of script, his teacher presented him with the first notebook that belonged to him, instead of the school.
Drawing pyramids wasn’t like building them. In fact, when placed on paper, they weren’t pyramids at all. Just three straight lines. They meant nothing. It achieved nothing. He could’ve used the paper as he had previously, but then the other students would see, and they would laugh and belittle him again. Instead of lines, he ‘built’ his formation out of familiar things- names: the names of the students in the class, with his least favorite at the bottom, tolerable children in the middle, and his teacher at the top.
This page was for his class. The next was for his family. A third was for people he met at the market. A fourth was for church. Everyone could go into a pyramid. Everyone could be classed to an appropriate level. He took his notebook everywhere. He wrote down the names of anyone he met. He asked questions and learned of people who he’d not been interested in before. One of those people was a young man from his church. The man never spoke in the sermons, but he was always there, and always watching.
He approached Xelannis’ mother after one session. They spoke for a handful of minutes, but they parted quickly enough, and the family returned home without further incident.
It wasn’t until later that evening, after all the others were in bed that Mikeya crept to her son’s bedside and perched on the end. “The man at church asked about you today. You… have spoken to him a few times, Xelannis?” He had, of course, in his efforts to expand the size and number of pyramids he could create, so Xel nodded. He remembered her face so clearly now, even if it hadn’t meant much to him, then: the way her chin was downturned, how she’d wrung her hands, the pinch in her brow. “You are so young,” she’d whispered. “And I would never have imagined losing you… But neither will I be the one to keep you from your chosen path. If the Sanctum thinks you belong with them, then we must do our part to service the gods.”
Xelannis hadn’t understood then, not really. But the next day his mother had taken him to meet the priest at the same place they’d been in before. His siblings had come along, and the whole family was there to see him off. Never before had he been separated from them for more than the length of a school day, and for a time, he’d felt unwanted, abandoned, and lost.
But the people of the Sanctum were very understanding, and the sheer number of new faces gave him the opportunity to add many pages to his notebook.
Now, he didn’t see his mother very often, and when he did, she always had a somber, almost apologetic look about her, as if trying to convey what she couldn’t have when he’d been only an eight-year-old: ’Please don’t leave.’ Xelannis shook his head as a knot formed in his throat. There was nothing to be done about it now. He was happy with his role, and it felt like something he needed to do. Still. He folded his parchment over once, twice, so that it had two neat, crisp lines running horizontally through it. He did miss his family even now.
Devoted to Prayer Status ▼ Complete Word Count ▼ 1000 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 3
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 26, 2017 6:45 am
While shadowing his friends to the park, Xelannis meets a small creature of nightmares and a young woman from the mainland, the first of such he's ever seen.
She Came By Ship Status ▼ Ongoing PRP Post Count ▼ 2 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 0
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 26, 2017 6:46 am
After being caught dozing in the courtyard, Xelannis is instructed to escort an Acolyte on her trip to the market.
Naps and Beeswax Status ▼ Ongoing PRP Post Count ▼ 4 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 0
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 26, 2017 6:48 am
Xelannis and his fellow priestess-in-training have the misfortune of being late for their morning prayers. But at least they're together.
Ring A Bell Status ▼ Ongoing PRP Post Count ▼ 4 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 0
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 27, 2017 7:50 am
While returning from the library, Xelannis stumbles across a lost young man seeking to prove to his betrothed's in-laws that he isn't possessed.
Her Mother's Demons Status ▼ Ongoing PRP Post Count ▼ 1 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 0
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 27, 2017 7:53 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 08, 2017 4:15 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 08, 2017 4:20 pm
The fainting girl from the crowd has her own bookshop, apparently.
By Its Cover Status ▼ Ongoing PRP Post Count ▼ 4 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 0
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2017 2:46 pm
▼ x Weather the Weather x ▼ "Hold your arms out straight to either side of you." The command came with a coaxing tap to one of Xelannis' limbs, encouraging him to lift the appendage at an angle perpendicular to his body, then the same on the other side. As he shifted marginally, just enough to glance down at gnarled hands and the thin strip of cord within them, a pair of bulging glowing orbs rose to meet his and fixed there. In the same instant, she brought a hand up to flick the underside of his chin and push his attention forward once more. "And don't move, boy. I've no time to waste on mistakes of your own doing."
Xelannis' eyes narrowed, and he had to work not to grimace at the curt demands and rough accosting of his person. It wasn't as though he'd ever been fitted for anything before. How was he supposed to know how to stand or how little to move? All of his clothes had always been provided by the Sanctum, the well-worn garb of other young boys who'd once been around his age, size, and rank within the temple. Though these new robes in particular still didn't come from any coin Xelannis had, it was the first time they'd ever been made for him specifically, designed to fit his own person in every way. It should have delighted him.
It initially had.
Only the day before, Cleric Taymun had come to tell him that an appointment had been arranged for Xelannis to meet with a tailor. Taymun was a thin, bespectacled man, tall as a weed, and surely not more than a decade older than Xelannis himself. He served as the closest thing to a mentor Xelannis had, though he was far from the only one who kept watch over the younger generation. He'd claimed that the woman Xelannis was to meet was a very special variety, unlike anyone else that resided within their great country. Taymun had also stated that no pupil of his could hope to progress without meeting her at least once.
At those words, Xelannis had assumed that she was a crafter of ceremonial robes, that what she fitted him for today would be what he wore on the day of his official welcoming into the proper ranks of priesthood and out of his life of being a 'child' apprentice.
Perhaps it was still true, but Xelannis suspected ulterior motives now. She was trying to break him, with short words and impossible-to-accommodate commands. His fingers clenched into fists where he held his arms out, already starting to sting from the unreasonably lengthy continuation of the position. From where he stood atop the tailor's stool, Xelannis could not actually see Cleric Taymun, and neither did the man make any noise. He didn't need to. Xelannis did not have to look or listen to feel the obvious amusement in the room. It heated the back of his neck and stained his cheeks a rosy red. It might not have been so bad, except that Taymun was not the only one amused.
The tailor, Miss Wettheas, had brought an assistant. She was a short little thing and plumper than most Sanctum girls (not that many weren't, as temple food tended to be bland enough to encourage consumption of only what was necessary), though still far from being hefty. When his gaze had first landed on her, he'd thought nothing of it. She was no one of import, and no more attractive than any other girl he might have passed on the street. When Miss Wettheas had corrected him for his first misstep, and the assistant girl had grinned at his confusion, Xelannis thought he might even dislike her on principle.
Then at his most recent mistake, she'd laughed, and whatever frustration he'd had for his embarrassment was chased away in the wake of the next realization. Her laugh sounded like wind chimes. Soft, breezy, and musical, it was among the prettiest sounds he'd ever heard from another person's mouth.
No one had given him her name. At the start of their encounter, Xelannis expected it was because she was nothing, a lowly assistant, only there to observe, hand her mistress tools, and record the numbers asked of her. It was usually compulsive of him to ask, but irritation at her amusement and his own pride had kept him from speaking to her. In light of the sound she'd made, he couldn't help himself.
"Girl," Her attention flicked from the pad of paper in her arms and the quill in her hands up to his eyes. She was still smiling. "No one has been so kind yet as to give me-"
"If you're moving your mouth, you aren't being still, apprentice." Miss Wettheas enunciated the word sharply and flicked her measuring cord a little too briskly around the curve of his waist. It was enough to sting, though not so much that he dared to wince, and certainly not enough for him to ask if he could please stand more naturally because his arm muscles weren't strong enough to hold this position indefinitely. The tailor continued on her business. Xelannis pinched his lips shut and remained quiet, even as his eyes lingered on the girl.
She tucked a wispy violet lock behind her ear and jotted down the next series of numbers Miss Wettheas called out.
The cord moved from the low end of his hip to his ankle, and as the woman stooped to hold it steady against his skin, Xelannis plucked an invisible quill from the air between two fingers, and, still careful to hold his arm away from himself lest the unnaturally intuitive tailor feel the movement, began to mimic writing with it. He gestured vaguely and shortly in her direction afterwards.
The assistant blinked at his fingers. For a moment Xelannis thought that she didn't understand him, or if she did, she didn't care to answer. Then, she dipped her head. The real quill she held moved steadily, slowly, and pointedly, as though she were taking great pains to make her words legible. She held it up to him once finished, and Xelannis tried not to fidget for a better view or look too obviously interested.
'Sammara'
At Xelannis' smile, hers seemed to broaden.
They did not get a chance for further interaction during the rest of the session. Xelannis wasn't so foolish as to open his mouth again, and he imagined that if Miss Wettheas was as brisk with her as she was with him, Sammara likely wouldn't risk any longer of a note than that. She kept to her work, and Xelannis felt an inexplicably renewed sense of purpose toward not appearing too weak.
That didn't stop them from looking, though. As the moments ticked by, it started to feel something like a game. He couldn't speak and couldn't move. She couldn't speak and couldn't move in any way that would draw obvious attention to herself. But her gaze would sweep from his toes up to his bared chest, and if he managed to look affronted by the apparent lewdness of it, she only laughed. Xelannis couldn't be offended by that.
"It will be done in two days." Fingers tapped to the top of his wrist, and after a blink of surprise toward Miss Wettheas, Xelannis slowly lowered his limbs back to his sides. Weirdly, it didn't ease the incessant burning in his muscles, and he rubbed absently at his shoulder. The old tailor tossed her measuring cord at Sammara, who proceeded to pack it and her notes away. "I will have them delivered to you once finished, and you need do nothing else. As always, the Sanctum has already graciously compensated me for my time here and service." Her eyes flicked assessingly down his frame, and Xelannis couldn't reach for his brown undershirt quickly enough.
"All you Sanctum boys are so thin," she groused. "Weak and pitiful from doing nothing but sitting, studying, and reading." Miss Wettheas tapped his stomach, now thankfully clothed. "You'd do well to train your body half as much as your mind. Lurin did not give us muscles to let them whither away."
Xelannis tried not to itch at the place she'd touched. "Excuse me," he hedged uncertainly instead.
Miss Wettheas shook her head. "I expect it of the girls, but I always hope the boys will have an eagerness to burn extra energy. Our deities are in balance. They keep the cycle of sun and moon and have given us the earth and the sky. Training one aspect of your person while neglecting the other is wasteful. And waste is a sin." Xelannis blinked. She turned and stepped away from him. "Next time you need new robes, I hope to be able to work with something... more substantial."
The flush in his cheeks, on the back of his neck, and out to his ears remained even after the tailor and her assistant had departed. It hadn't helped that as Sammara had stepped past him, she'd quirked a brow and smiled in such a way that had suggested she might agree. Xelannis couldn't be sure that was what it meant, as they hadn't had open opportunity for communication, but he suspected as much, and the suspicion somehow left him feeling quite inadequate.
"She's a bit rude, isn't she," Xelannis hissed softly to Cleric Taymun as the pair trekked the path back from the ring of the Outer Sanctum where they'd been visited and back toward the inner courtyard.
Taymun didn't seem as effected as Xelannis. "Oh, it is the same complaint she always has," he admitted. "She told me something similar during my first fitting, and always after she speaks, I think she might be right. But then I remind myself that our study is born not of a selfishness to improve nor of a desire to mold ourselves into what pleases others, but of a necessity to perform what tasks that gods have placed before us. There is, unfortunately, little time in the day left to tend to exercises of a more physical nature."
"That aside, you performed quite well, I think," Taymun admitted with a quietly delighted hum. "I half expected your temperament would lead you to whine and balk, and she in turn would refuse to fashion anything for you at all... I would have made you wait another year, if you had."
"You wouldn't have," Xelannis accused.
"Why not?"
He thought it was obvious. Cleric Taymun wouldn't have held him back because of an upset tailor witch, who prided herself on making young men feel uncomfortable in their own skins and who refused service to a boy based on his inability to hold his arms at his sides for eons on end. Xelannis massaged at his shoulder again.
When he didn't answer, Taymun did so for him. "Discipline is important. Miss Wettheas can be a tough taskmaster and an ornery old woman, but she is still your elder and deserving of your respect and compliance where you are able to give it. She would not ask anything impossible or wrong of you, regardless of how it felt at the time. But whether I would have held you behind or not isn't so important for the moment. I am pleased you didn't offend her too deeply, and I expect that your perseverance in this trial and eagerness to advance means that you are, in fact, satisfied with your role?"
If Cleric Taymun's only goal here was to ascertain that he could stand and be still and quiet at the order of old women, then Xelannis might not have been so concerned. He glanced to the older man as though he'd said something foolish, because if this question was only just now being posed, then it was a waste of time and breath. "Of course," he replied without hesitation. "It is all I have ever wanted, and all I've ever been prepared to do. I could never hope to be so satisfied with anything else on this earth."
Taymun's hand snatched out to stall Xelannis' steps before he could move toward the doors that would take them into the courtyard. "Then you would do well to remember that young men of your stature have no business eyeing young women with musical laughter."
Any ounce of haughtiness left in Xelannis' chest dried as quickly as a puddle under the desert sun. He blinked owlishly at the older priest, eyes slightly widened and lips parted.
"There may come a time when it will be appropriate to divide your efforts between service to the gods and the blossoming of a family. But you are still young. Your apprentice studies may be nearing completion, and I agree that you are well prepared to take on more, but you are still far from being as knowledgeable, and as disciplined as you need to be to concern yourself with inviting another so intimately into your life." Cleric Taymun's fingers moved to grasp his shoulder. "It may be such that you are never truly prepared, and that, too, must be something you're willing to accept." His gaze bored like nails drilling into Xelannis' own. "Is it still?"
"Y-yes." He couldn't help the way his voice trembled, and Xelannis instantly wished he could wrangle back the confidence of earlier. He cleared his throat, gave a curt nod, and tried again. "Yes," he stated more assuredly. "It still is. More than a family, or children, or a girl, my greatest wish is to serve the purpose that has been before me all my life. It is all I have ever wished, and I have long since decided I would gladly surrender anything in service to the gods."
Taymun's fingers were firm where they clasped him, and the older man hadn't once diverted his gaze since he'd caught Xelannis. Now, it seemed searching, searching for the truth in his words and the hope that this teenage boy could manage just that. At length, he gave another firm squeeze of reassurance to his shoulder and nodded.
"Good. See that your conviction remains as strong for however many days you walk this earth and into the beyond."
Weather the Weather Status ▼ Complete Word Count ▼ 2368 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 8
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 22, 2017 11:14 am
▼ x Take Note x ▼ Everything he'd said to Cleric Taymun had been and still was the truth. Xelannis had never given more than passive thought to any one individual, and it didn't seem like too much of a burden for it to remain that way for eternity. He had no interest in girls or anything that might arise from having one at his side. Not at the moment, and perhaps not ever.
That didn't stop him from writing Sammara's name down in his little black book. It was compulsive, he told himself. There was no help for it.
Though even as he did it, Xelannis was fully aware that he didn't consider the tailor's apprentice to be of the same quality as any other that he'd learned little more than the name of. People he knew nothing about always held a place at the bottom of his pages, and they worked their way up from there. They were not special or important enough to stand above others.
Sammara didn't start at the bottom. Her name didn't join the page with a dozen or so other market merchants, nor the page of people he met at the Sanctum, nor the page of teenagers close in age to his own. Sammara had a page all to herself. He wrote her name once in his own script: light, brisk, neat, and familiar. Then, just beneath that, he tried to mimic hers. It was something he'd never done before. There'd never been reason to. But the nature of their encounter lent itself to such that he had little else to record about her.
The sound of her laughter, the glint in her eyes, the quirk of her smile, the set of her body, the role she'd performed, and the darkened, deliberate, somewhat sloppy way she'd scrawled her name on her notepad.
'Sammara'
They looked nothing alike. Xelannis' brows knit, and he frowned down at the page. His writing and hers looked nothing alike. His first etching of her name and his second attempt looked nothing alike. But most importantly, Sammara's writing did not look like anything similar to his attempt at copying it. He tapped a finger to the wood of his desk before quickly scratching down a note to himself that it, in fact, wasn't quite like hers. A short list of differences followed.
Sammara's letters had been thick and messy. They'd dragged together as though she'd never quite managed to lift her quill from the page. While he'd watched her, Xelannis had noted the deliberate care she'd taken to write slowly and legibly for him, as though even those messy letters had been unusually neat by her standards.
He couldn't replicate it, try as he might. And he did try six more times. It was never the same. If he tried to write too slowly in the hopes that going at her pace would yield better results, his letters were shaky. If he moved too quickly, his fingers took up the familiar rhythm of his own writing. If he thought too hard and applied too much pressure to get the darkness of her letters right, the ink stained through the page and onto the next. It was never right.
It was on his eighth attempt, as he angled his quill deliberately so that more ink spilled through the etching groove and painted more broadly with each stroke, that the word obsession flit through his mind.
Xelannis stilled, then cast an abrupt glance over his shoulder as if someone might have been there to whisper it to him.
'Obsession,' had been what his first teacher had said. The same woman had given him hist first notebook, but before that, she'd spoken to his mother, while a very young Xelannis sat on the floor stacking empty inkwells. '...a compulsory obsession with stacking paper...' He'd thought nothing of it. He'd been a child, and the word was unfamiliar and unimportant.
Though his teacher must have said it at least once in class, as well, because Xelannis remembered the other students taking up the chant while they were outside behind the schoolhouse.
They couldn't have been any more familiar with the word than he was, but they didn't need to be. It sounded like an insult. It was something the teacher had said to Xelannis alone. And that was enough to make an already strange and ostracized boy even stranger. Fuel for the other children, when they grew bored of antagonizing him physically.
Obsession, obsession, obsession.
It had made his eyes sting with the threat of humiliation for reasons he didn't understand. It had made him clutch his books close to himself, drawing away from others in every way he could. He'd looked around and wondered if it was really so bad and if all of his peers had truly believed that he was actually so different than them. His cheeks had flushed, and he'd wondered if he might be sick.
He did now too.
Xelannis snapped his book shut and shoved it to the far side of his desk. It was true that joining the Sanctum had ended any teasing of almost every variety. None of his peers here were quite so cruel. Even young, they'd all held a mutual respect for each other and their individual peculiarities.
Sammara, however, was not of the Sanctum. If she was to be like anyone, she wouldn't be like him; she'd be like the children from the schoolhouse. It wasn't her fault, he knew. It was just how she'd been raised. She didn't understand the way of things in this place or the people who resided here, and because of that, she would think him just as strange as the schoolhouse children had from when he'd been much smaller.
Everything he'd said to Cleric Taymun had been the truth.
Xelannis had never believed otherwise, but with that word, 'obsession,' came the stark reminder that there wasn't much of a choice on the matter. He didn't get along well enough with people who weren't like him, and if he tried, it would only be a disappointment to everyone involved. There ought to be no more thought given to this girl, her laughter, or her script. Even though she was unaware of it, he'd given her more attention than was acceptable. The evidence ought to be expunged.
He flipped open his book again, touched his fingers to the page, and pinched at the corner of it. If it was gone, so would his thoughts be of her. If it was gone, there would be nothing left of this brief 'obsession-'
There came a knock to his door, and a muffled voice followed.
"Uhm, Xelannis?" He didn't recognize it, though it sounded very young and effeminate, likely one of the child pages who ran errands during spare time between studies. When he didn't answer, it continued. "There is a girl here to see you... She had a package, but when Priest Aamoss told her he'd send for someone to bring it to you, she insisted she wanted to give it to you herself. She hasn't left yet..."
If he thought he'd felt sick a moment ago, it was nothing as compared to now. Two days. He'd been told his robes wouldn't be ready for two days, and though it wasn't a lengthy period of time by anyone's standards, it had still only been half that. But he couldn't imagine anyone else having anything to deliver to him. Xelannis swallowed and opened his mouth to answer.
"Should I tell her you're indisposed?"
"No," he snapped sharply, snatching up the door handle and flinging it open with a ferocity that had the much younger girl flinching back in surprise. She blinked warily up at him and looked for a moment as though she might press to see if he was certain. But he spoke first. "Thank you for fetching me. Is she near the Outer Sanctum entrance to the market? I don't need to be led, so you're free to return to your other chores."
The young page looked hesitant, but with a quick bow of her head, she scuttled away, leaving Xelannis to walk alone and in silence, mind racing, as he started off to find her.
Sammara looked almost exactly as she had the morning before, down to the exact state of her attire, it seemed like. Xelannis eyed her from the hallway, watching her as she patted her hands against her thighs in impatient expectancy as she waited for him. Her attention was off to the side, curiously trailing groups of people who passed her, and occasionally craning her neck to try and peer through doorways which she would likely never be granted access to. A small box sat nestled between her feet.
Her gaze turned forward, and Xelannis began moving again an instant before she caught sight of him. Sammara broke into a grin, plucked the box from the ground, and strode in his direction as soon as their eyes met.
How should he address her? With comfortable familiarity? Businesslike, maybe. Or formally detached? The tailor's apprentice looked as though she was pleased to see him, and there was a sort of anticipation and hurriedness to her steps such that Xelannis didn't even have the full span of the room to dwell on what he ought to say or how it should sound before she was in front of him, smiling.
"Xelannis," she chirped, tone a smooth alto and ringing. It was the first time he'd heard her voice, let alone his name on her lips. Xelannis bit his tongue. "Is that right? I'd only heard it once when the other priest introduced you to my mistress, so I was afraid I didn't remember it correctly and wouldn't be able to find you. Or worse, I'd say it, and they'd think I meant someone else and fetch the wrong person." Her gaze drew from his feet up to his face, in the same way it had when he'd stood near-naked before her. "Looks like I got it pretty close, at least, though." When he remained silent and staring, she tipped her head. "You alright?"
Though her words didn't sound quite as educated nor formal as would be expected of someone who'd grown up within the temple, her voice, much like her laughter, was beautiful.
Xelannis ought to have sent that page to tell her he had no time to meet today.
But he hadn't. Instead, he nodded. "You said it properly, yes. Though I must admit I wasn't expecting you today, and maybe not even tomorrow. I suppose I wasn't expecting you, at all. I hope what you saved in time wasn't a detriment to the quality of the work." Belatedly, Xelannis thought it may have sounded like an insult, but if it was, Sammara didn't seem to mind.
She rolled her shoulders carelessly. "With the weather changing, we've gotten many new orders in for people needing warmer clothes. Because we're getting busier, we've got to pick up the pace a bit. Miss Wettheas wanted to make sure yours was done in time for your... big thingamajig. But I promise, no expenses spared for you or corners cut." Sammara offered him the box, still grinning. "Anyway, so here you go. I've been out way longer than I should've been, so I need to hurry back, but I'm glad I got to see you."
"'Way longer,'" Xelannis repeated, frowning. He didn't think he'd moved especially slowly once he'd been told she was there, and the walk wasn't long, despite the size of the building. "How long have you been-?"
She dragged a hand back through her violet hair as she thought on it, then shook her head. "Just a bit," she admitted. "Those guys didn't seem like they wanted to send someone to find you, though. Said you might be busy, so I did spend a few minutes convincing them. Anyway, sorry." She turned her back to him, beaming and waving over her shoulder as she went. "If I don't go now, I'll be in too much trouble. Thanks for coming to meet me! Until next time, okay?"
Why she thought there'd be a next time, he couldn't say, but Sammara bustled away from him and out the door in the next minute.
It wasn't until Xelannis was back in his room, unpacking the box so that he could inspect his new garments that he became aware of more in the package than he'd expected. A slip of paper drifted out from between the folds of his new robes and landed on the floor. Xelannis didn't even have to stoop to pick it up to recognize the scrawl.
'My Nana's shop serves the best fried limbara in all of Pajore. If you're looking to put some meat on your bones, that'd be the place to go. If you need any extra incentive, I'm there every other evening as a server, this one included. Come around whenever it's convenient.'
Heat climbed for Xelannis' ears, and he scanned the short message several times.
Had he ever been invited anywhere before? And by a girl he'd hardly had opportunity to speak with? Not just any girl, he reminded himself, but the girl he'd tried to erase from his recollection only earlier that very day. Xelannis turned the page over, and rubbed the parchment with his fingers. 'Come around whenever,' she'd said, so there was no reason to rush. He could think on it and decide if it really did any harm to keep contact with her.
For the time being, he slid her note between the pages of his book, just behind the sheet he'd scrawled her name across so many times.
Take Note Status ▼ Complete Word Count ▼ 2285 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 7
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 24, 2017 10:23 am
▼ x Family Dynamics x ▼ The Sanctum's mess hall was sizable enough such that it could seat nearly every member of their order between the rotation of only two groups. The place had no special appeal to Xelannis, as he still despised being surrounded by large sums of people, regardless of whether they were priests or not. He usually preferred to collect his meal and spend time in the more serene locale of the courtyards, with the sun at his back.
But as Sammara had so helpfully pointed out, the weather was changing, and with it came a briskness and chill to the wind that managed to chase Xelannis back inside. It wasn't his norm, but he took up a post with the only other three apprentices who would advance in rank alongside himself: Davoss, Rynah, and another young man named Cihan.
Even though Xelannis did not often take his meals with the little group, they were all familiar to him, all friends in as close to the word as he thought he had.
They were also well into their discussion by the time Xelannis sat down. "-out of Pajore and into Jodove. I'd never traveled so far in my life-! Oh, hey, Xel," Davoss greeted with a grin as Xelannis took a seat. He then promptly resumed his tale. "Priest Rawell allowed me to accompany him out to meet the Uhrias' most recent of-age daughter." Davoss eased forward here, dropping his voice to a volume that would stay between them and waiting for the rest of them to lean in before continuing. "He said that woman births new babes as sure as the moon's cycle, every nine months, on the dot, and that she'd been doing such for as long as she's been able. The very day that each of her children turn four, she summons a priest to tell her if her toddler is chosen."
"The Uhrias?" Rynah clarified, the glow from her eyes glinting from the glass of her spectacles and obscuring her eyes completely. Her own tone was low, curious but secretive. "They lived here, I thought? In Pajore? With the large estate not so far from temple grounds. I could have sworn several of their children had been brought in over the years..."
"They extricated one of their daughters from the family, for being too open with her affections, I think it was. She moved to Jodove and has been trying to get back into her family's good graces by having a spawn worthy to send to the Sanctum." He leaned back and shrugged flippantly. "They never are, but can you imagine? She must have had at least a dozen children, and all in the hopes that one of them, someday, will be sent here!" For a moment, Davoss was silent, as he frowned down at his bowl. "Wouldn't you hate to be those kids, though? Being chosen is all she wants out of them, and through no fault of their own, they can't live up to her expectations. I can only imagine what it feels like."
Xelannis' gaze lingered on the expression of the boy across from him. It was a wistful sort of sadness, and Xel thought he understood why. As an orphan himself, Davoss probably would have done just about anything to win the favor of adults who'd come seeking to adopt children from his former home.
He was an upbeat and good spirited lad, and if he'd ever had the opportunity for a real family, he would have done anything in his power to give his parents whatever they'd wished. To not have the ability to change such a disappointing result would have stung him, Xelannis knew, and he was sure the other young man felt sorry for them.
When Xelannis spoke, it was with the quiet gentleness he usually reserved for those much younger than himself. "I can't speak to their family dynamics exactly," he admitted. "But I would think that in a household with so many children, who have all undergone the same treatment and have been a disappointment each time, that their similar experiences would foster a sort of solidarity amongst them. In my experience, brothers and sisters are naturally predisposed to band together, anyway. I'm sure they are content with each other, if not with their mother."
"That's right," It was the first time Cihan had spoken since Xelannis sat down, and he clucked his tongue and nodded as if he'd had a great realization. "You're the oldest from your family, aren't you, Xel? How many kids did you say your mother had?"
The corner of Xelannis' lip quirked up in a barely restrained, lopsided grin. "I believe she is at thirteen now, though I've never met the youngest two."
Davoss expression shifted in an instant, from close to somber to aghast in the blink of an eye. "Thirteen?" He prompted incredulously, voice suddenly high and glowing irises wide. "Your mother, she's not- She doesn't-? Not like the Uhrias woman, right...?" The other boy finally managed to get out after much stuttering and stammering.
Xelannis' own grin didn't dissipate. "No," he retorted. "I don't think she's allowed any of my siblings to be checked by the Sanctum since myself, actually."
It wasn't important to say, but his mother wouldn't have allowed another of her children to be taken from her. She may have had a great many, and there was no denying that with his father available only rarely, she had no one at home to help her, but Mikeya Ghevont loved the bustle of a full house. After going through the process of carrying and birthing and raising them from infancy, she was not of a mind to surrender her children to anyone else.
Not again, anyway.
"Good," Davoss hummed, letting the tension melt from his frame as he eased back. "That's good... And you think the Uhrias brood will be alright? I suppose there'd be nothing to do about it even if the answer was no, but there are just so many of them, and it would be such a waste if none of them did anything with themselves..."
Xelannis opened his mouth to say that none of them could even hope to know how the future would unfold for them, but Rynah must have read his thoughts. She kicked him beneath the table, the toe of her boot right to his shin, so that whatever he might have said instead came out as a garbled yip. Rynah shot him a scowl, then turned to Davoss. "I'm sure they'll be fine. The oldest among them must already be of age to start caring for the youngest on her own. She wouldn't let them be damaged too harshly. Right, Xelannis?"
His smile was only slightly meeker than it had been moments before, but at his female companion's harsh look, Xelannis only nodded. "Right. It would be her duty as eldest, to care for them."
Family Dynamics Status ▼ Complete Word Count ▼ 1153 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 4
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 26, 2017 4:33 pm
▼ x His Duty x ▼ "Look at you." Fingers brushed over Xelannis' forehead, gently dusting a waved lock of hair sidelong, behind his ear. Mikeya cupped his cheek, then skimmed her fingers down the loose fabric of his robes where it draped from his shoulders. "So handsome. So grown up." A smile painted itself across the older woman's lips, sticking there as though stretched thin and pinned down at each corner of her mouth. His mother always managed to look so terse when their eyes met, despite how infrequently it occurred.
With a more lighthearted smile of his own, Xelannis reached an arm around Mikeya's shoulders and tugged her near to him, careful not to jostle the bundle she carried with her free arm. His infant sibling, whose name Xelannis didn't know and whose face he'd never seen, let out a wary babble at the proximity of a new stranger and tucked tightly to his mother's chest.
From behind Mikeya, Xelannis' younger sister, nearest in age to him among all his siblings, rushed forward to embrace him herself.
Though the small ceremony indoctrinating new priests was a private affair, meant only for those progressing forward and the mentors who'd guided them, Xelannis had written his mother to inform her of the day it would occur, as he'd written to her every day since he'd left home. The vast majority of those letters, all of them up until he'd turned fourteen, had never so much as reached her eyes. Young wards of the Sanctum were not permitted to keep contact with their families, through visits nor messages. But to a young boy of eight, who'd never had a friend anywhere but in his own home, the separation was impossible. Mikeya had never seen his letters, but Xelannis had written them anyway. In an unfamiliar place with an unexpected lifestyle change, those daily notes felt like the only contact he'd had to normalcy and to what he'd been raised to do up to that point.
She'd received this one, though. He hadn't necessarily expected her to do anything with the information, but since his family home was within Pajore's city limits, the trek was not a long one. Mikeya and the two children she'd brought along had met him outside Sanctum grounds once the ceremony was complete, while Xelannis bubbled with expectant delight from his new rank and excitement for what he could achieve going forward.
"We're so proud of you," Mikeya continued once his sister, Cherillysa stepped back. Her tone was soft and airy, quiet such that none save for him could hear the words. "And so pleased that you're happy and doing well." The words sounded as deject as her smile was false, and not for the first time, Xelannis wondered what was actually flitting through his mother's mind. 'Regret' was what he most often considered it to be. Today, at least, the tone was easy to ignore, in light of other events. Her fingers reached for him again, as though compelled by some power beyond her own will.
He stopped her short.
As pleased as Xelannis was to see his mother and sister, he had eyes only for the newest member of his family. It was always a blessing, he thought, to welcome another young life into the world. This one was especially special, as selfish as it was to think it. This child was his brother. When his mother reached, Xelannis caught her fingers in his own and guided them away as he stepped in, reaching himself to brush a hand against the back of a light-violet dusted head. "Who is this young man?"
The 'young man' squirmed to look at him at Xelannis' touch, and his chubby, pouty face managed to contort into a particular sort of displeasure by the contact. There was only a single instant where Xelannis thought nothing would come of it.
Then the infant shrieked and clung with both curled fists to his mother's blouse, whipping his head to bury back against Mikeya's shoulder.
Xelannis retracted his arm immediately and kept both hands tucked behind himself to dissuade further contact. The outburst wasn't exactly unexpected. It stung, but he was an unfamiliar figure in this child's life, as he had been when more than half of his other younger siblings had been born. Introductions had been taken in various ways previously, and this one wasn't even the least common. Not unexpected, but it still forced his smile to take on a more purposeful fixedness.
"Oh, sh. Hush, hush," Mikeya soothed as she swayed back and forth to try and calm the boy. Her gaze darted to Xelannis, then away, as she rubbed at her infant son's back. "His name is Vakeyin. I can already tell he will be a very temperamental boy. He's had so many people poking at him that I'm sure he's already had quite enough and is ready to be left to his own devices for a time."
It was her way of telling him not to take it personally. But how could he not? Even if Vakeyin was frustrated with the antics of the older children he lived with, it wasn't the same as being frightened of a stranger, which was what Xelannis was to him and most of the others that had been born within the past decade: a stranger. He pinched his tongue between his teeth and tried to remain composed.
'They'll need someone to look after them.' 'They'll need someone to set an example.' 'They'll need you, Xelannis.' As soon as Cherillysa had been born, his mother had imparted that wisdom onto him. He'd been no more than a toddler himself, when he'd first heard those words, but he'd taken them to heart because being someone worth looking up to had felt like the only goal he could accomplish and the only role he could fulfill.
They'd needed him, and it felt as though it should still be true.
There was no point in dwelling on it now. Instead, Xelannis shifted his focus to his younger sister, who was looking at him with a wide-eyed, expectant half-smile. The last time he'd seen that look on Cherillysa's face, he'd been holding two cookies in his hands, one obviously for her. When he turned so much as half his attention onto the younger woman, she bounced forward, snatching up his hands in hers. No more than a beat passed before she spoke. "I'm getting married," Cheri chirped, grin broad and eyes shining.
At her expression, the disappointment from moment's prior had lightened, and Xelannis had wanted to smile at her glee.
Then the words sunk in, and something like a stone sank into the pit of his stomach, dragging down all the giddy bubbles in his chest and smothering them in a dark abyss. "Married?" He whispered softly, as though the word was foreign. It wasn't uncommon for sixteen-year-old girls to marry, particularly when the match was chosen by parents for the betterment of both families. But he'd never expected his mother would accept such an arrangement for her children, and the darkening of her expression suggested as much was true.
"Tell this foolish girl she is too young, Xelannis," Mikeya ordered briskly, the tension in her expression snapping into something more obviously displeased. "Tell her the Sanctum would not condone this. She'll listen if it comes from you. I've tried. I've warned her I would pay for no such union. I've told her no boy would be welcome in my home, and I've told her we can't afford to send her resources so she can live with a young man who is no more prepared to face the world than she is herself. They think they want to travel, and it is the most absurd-"
His mother trailed on, but Xelannis was already shaking his head slowly and uncertainly.
He agreed, certainly, that he didn't want his sweet little sister marrying a boy he knew nothing about. This was the first he'd heard of any such thing. Though opportunities to inform him of a developing relationship within his family home were few, surely someone would have seen fit to tell him before marriage was on the table?
He should refuse her. As an older brother, it was his duty to see to Cheri's safety and happiness and well-being. From the few moments he'd heard of this plan, it didn't sound like much of a 'plan' at all. It sounded like the pair had no money, nowhere to go, and only optimism to fuel themselves. Ill-prepared teenagers... The thought frightened him. But as little as he knew in support of it, he knew only as much against it, and there was not enough negative to tell her the 'Sanctum wouldn't condone it.'
His fingers pinched at his sleeves where he held them behind himself. "I can't outright deny her access to a priest to officiate such a union," Xelannis mumbled, keeping his gaze diverted from the two women before him. "It's not my place to prevent her from marrying, so long as the boy isn't a criminal, nor forcing her into it..."
Mikeya's hand snatched up his chin, wrenching his gaze to hers. "She is your sister," she snapped firmly. "You are her older brother and not a fool. You must know this will not progress as well as she thinks. It is your duty to guide her. Cherillysa will listen to you if you tell her no."
It was the second time in as many moments that that particular phrase had come from his mother's mouth. 'She will listen to you.' Xelannis expected it was true. Perhaps it was so because of their relationship, but more than likely it was only because of what he was. Cherillysa would heed his words, though not because she respected his opinion as her oldest brother. Xelannis' eyes narrowed, and acid bit at the back of his tongue. Mikeya didn't want his opinion as a brother, only his rule as a priest.
"Mother," Cheri hissed, reaching for her mother's arm. "Why can't you be happy-"
Xelannis held his hand up to his sister for silence. Once, he'd told Cleric Taymun that 'More than a family, or children, or a girl, my greatest wish is to serve the purpose that has been before me all my life.' His purpose here was not to criticize and worry over the life choices of one girl, close to her as he felt. He eased out of Mikeya's grip and settled a pace back, putting space between him and his mother and sister as he eyed the younger girl. "I want you to be careful with your choices," he admitted. "But if you are happy, and if you are sure, then I can't offer any resistance beyond my own concern. If you wish it, it is within the realm of my ability to direct you to someone who can preside over such a union-"
"Bite. Your. Tongue." No words had ever been fiercer from his mother's mouth. Her arms had taken on such a stiffness that Vakeyin squirmed in her grasp. "I came here so that you might talk reason into this girl, not so that you could send her away. If you are so preoccupied with your life here that it overshadows concern for your kin, you might as well keep to yourself."
"I am concerned! I-"
"Be quiet. Come, Cherillysa." His sister hesitated. She took a moment to dip into a quick bow and mouth a silent 'Thank you, brother,' before Mikeya snatched her arm and whisked her away from him. His mother stormed away, taking his little brother and sister with her. She did not look back.
Xelannis' heart stuttered to an unsteady beat in his chest.
Never had he considered himself to be separate from the woman who'd birthed him and the other children she'd had. He didn't live with them, but they were still his family. All of his goals could be accomplished in such a way that it satisfied everyone. Xelannis had always assumed he could perform well in both regards...
But he couldn't. To have ever thought he could divide his attention successfully was foolish, and perhaps more importantly, selfish. So many of his other peers had given away their past willingly, yet Xelannis still clung. He'd done so for long enough, and had lived with the hope that he could maintain his role of 'big brother' til the end of his days. But it was a selfish thought, and counter-intuitive to his role. The only thing he could do was what he'd always said he'd done, and give all of himself fully.
Xelannis inhaled a shaky breath, pried his fingers from the fabric of his robes, and dusted both hands down the front of his chest, as if smoothing away the agitation and upset of seconds prior.
It was all there was left to do.
His Duty Status ▼ Complete Word Count ▼ 2152 Growth Summary ▼ Xelannis was not taken in by the Sanctum until he was eight years of age. Unlike many would-be priests, his home life was a healthy one, with his essentially single-parent mother taking care of him and the five other children she'd had at that point (by the time of this solo, where he is eighteen, she's had a total of thirteen children). During those years with his family, he attended a school where most of the other youngsters considered him 'strange' and tended to belittle and ostracize him, leading Xelannis to forge his strongest bonds not with his peers, but with his siblings. As eldest among them, he'd always been raised with the idea that it was his duty to look out and care for all the others that came after him. Even after being taken in by the Sanctum, Xelannis was just as proud of his role of 'big brother' as he was of being a priest. However, here he is reminded of the fact that the distance he has been forced to keep over the years has made it such that the vast majority of his younger brothers and sisters don't even know him, let alone are actually comfortable with him. He's essentially had an inconsequential role in most of their lives, someone they hear about, but never have to deal with and don't exactly care for, and he in turn, hasn't done anything for them. Cherillysa is two years his junior and one of few Xelannis had the opportunity to live with and experience in 'full' for several years. He cares deeply for her, perhaps more so than the others because of their closeness in age, and wants the best for her. Despite her tender age of sixteen, Cheri is eager to marry her most recent boyfriend and settle down and start a family. Xelannis' mother, Mikeya expects him to adopt some authority and forbid her union to another man. He wants to. If he were in any other position, Xelannis realizes that he likely would do everything in his power to prevent her marriage. If Mikeya had come to him even a handful of months prior, before he spoke with Cleric Taymun, he would have said exactly what she wanted to hear. But he recalls his words from earlier, that 'more than a family' or anything else, he is most eager to serve the gods. Abusing his position to forbid one girl to marry just because they are blood related is not befitting one of the gods' servants. Even though he personally doesn't wish to see his sister so quick to give herself away, he can only offer caution that she not be too hasty, rather than outright refusal. Feeling betrayed, and having been relatively uncomfortable with him since his departure, Mikeya informs him that he oughtn't bother writing to her anymore, if he doesn't feel as though he is 'part' of their family enough to do everything he can to keep them together. It essentially signals an end to his steadfastness in maintaining the belief that he can live, work for, and devote himself to the Sanctum while still performing his role as a 'big brother.'
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 27, 2017 6:05 am
With his newly acquired status as an Acolyte, Xelannis is granted permissions to take on more tasks. Unfortunately, these tasks still seem to be related mostly to those which older, more capable priests aren't willing to take on.
Seeking Blessings Status ▼ Ongoing PRP Post Count ▼ 1 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 0
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 9:02 am
▼ x Not Indefinitely x ▼ "They're sending me to Jodove," Xelannis explained on a quiet sigh as he and Cihan skirted along the outermost perimeter of bookshelves within the Sanctum's library. Though the pair had passed the time of their lives filled with required readings, there was no denying that the numerous tomes within these walls could keep a person occupied for decades. And Xelannis had already decided that between the cessation of letters to his family, as well as this new information that he would be sent from the city he'd never once left in his life, he needed something to distract his attention.
The look Cihan shot him, with his eyes blown wide enough that they might pop from his skull and his brows so high on his head that they disappeared into his hairline, did not help matters. "They haven't cancelled all the mission trips?" Cihan prompted, his own voice perhaps a bit too high for within library walls. Xelannis had to struggle not to grimace or shush the other man. "I'd have thought that with all this commotion- And to Jodove of all places! Wouldn't Ilidan be safer?"
All questions Xelannis had voiced himself, as he stood before Cleric Taymun and tried to formulate a reason he should be allowed to stay. Even then it had been agreed that yes, Ilidan would technically be safer, being that it was the farthest from the Alkidike and farther out of the deep woods where the Dretch presumably resided, but 'safer' places were not where his presence was needed. So long as the gods saw their mission as necessary and useful, any priests they sent along would be protected by Lurin's grace.
"No, not cancelled," Xelannis murmured. "Even 'more important than ever,' is what I was told. Our smaller sister cities are generally tended to by fewer priests, since their lesser populations don't generally require a handful of the Sanctum's learned to guide them. However, uncertainty, misinformation, fear, and confusion have led many more than is normal, and many more than Jodove's limited priests can manage, into something of a state of panic. They requested that aid be sent, and the Sanctum agreed."
Cihan didn't seem convinced. Xelannis hadn't been either. "Then surely Ilidan is in as great a need and would be a better option for someone younger and less experienced?"
Xelannis skimmed a finger along a rim of hardwood shelving that held dozens of books and looked to the various selections of literature lined there. What was Jodove's library even like? Nothing by comparison to what was here, he was sure. "No, again," Xel retorted. "Ilidan has recently acquired a new priest, and already has so many less residents to begin with that sending more of the gods' chosen to them would be wasteful of our time and efforts."
There was a beat of silence, in which Xelannis kept his focus on the shelving as they walked past, and Cihan seemed flustered enough to hold his tongue as he tried to formulate more reasons why no one should be sent out of Pajore.
Xelannis understood his concerns. Among the four of them who had been promoted to Acolyte most recently, Cihan and Xelannis were the two who had yet to leave on any assignments. With Xelannis being given his first, it meant that the potential for them to send Cihan off as well still lingered. It was a thought the other boy didn't want to face, and Xelannis didn't blame him for it.
Xel didn't want to face it, either.
"But it won't be indefinitely," Xelannis asserted as much to himself as to Cihan. "Taymun assured me that there was a plan in the works to have the Dretch situation resolved, and that it would only be a matter of time before I might be able to return home. If the gods are good, the abominations could be banished from our land in a timely fashion."
Cihan blinked and flinched back as if he'd been struck, his glowing orbs fixing on Xelannis' face once more. There was all sorts of new knowledge to be gleaned from this encounter, apparently. "A plan? What plan?"
"I couldn't say," Xelannis admitted with a shrug. He wasn't important enough to know the details.
After a few more seconds of wide-eyed staring, Cihan made a muted noise of acceptance, eased his posture, released a sigh of his own, and dipped his head acquiescently. The information that he could be sent away was unwelcome, but not so strange once explained and certainly encouraging that the Sanctum hadn't given up trying to find a solution. If it had already been decided upon, and it sounded like it had been, there was nothing left to do except agree. Anything else would be wasteful of his efforts. Along with his expression, Cihan's voice dropped to levels more appropriate to their setting. "I will pray for your safety and that of those with you each morning and night. May the gods guide your actions such that you are able to overcome whatever trials are set before you."
"And you as well... Although." Xelannis turned his gaze from the shelves as the duo stepped out into an aisle way and pinned his gaze to the friend at his side. As he did, the corners of his lips lifted, and his teeth flashed mischievously. "We haven't left yet, hm? There is still every possibility that you may be asked to come along as well."
"Do you think so?" Cihan queried abruptly as his head snapped around to land his gaze on Xelannis again. "No one has informed me of anything, yet. Though I suppose there is still time before you leave. But you don't imagine they would send out more than one group, do you? It seems to me that the travel would be the most dangerous part, so better to send anyone they needed out in one defensible unit, rather than trickling a few people into Jodove at a time..." Words and questions spilled from his lips in a blur, and Xelannis had the distinct impression that Cihan was worried more about the issue of safety rather than the stark contrast of Jodove to his home in Pajore.
Xelannis wasn't concerned about safety, at least not much. He was comfortable and happy and capable here. Changing that after knowing nowhere except his home city for his entire life was daunting to say the least. Besides, there were matters to attend to in Pajore, or rather, people, that he didn't expect would be interested in uprooting themselves to follow him...
He'd still never visited Sammara.
After she'd given him her note, Xelannis hadn't thought there'd been any pressure to act hastily or immediately. Sammara's words had invited him to 'come when convenient,' and he'd had the matters of his family and promotion to contend with before he could give one stray girl too much of his thoughts. A meeting between them hadn't been convenient before, and there was a great possibility that it still wasn't.
It was still a chance worth taking, in the interest of knowledge, to see what could happen. With the metaphorical clock ticking his time in the city away, there was no longer time for procrastination.
Admittedly, as Xelannis sat at a table in a pub named 'Skullkraken' that very same night, with exuberant hollering all about him, greasy food crumbs dusting the floor, and a swelling sense of anxiety, he wasn't so sure if knowledge was worth the effort he'd had to go through to find the place. Sammara hadn't given him any more direction than 'best fried limbara in Pajore,' and this was where he'd come up with.
None of the food service maidens looked like Sammara. This situation was one that made him incredibly uncomfortable. Even the name of the locale was one that lent itself to having a rougher band of customers than Xelannis was accustomed to dealing with. He wondered if he ought to leave with the thought that he had at least attempted to find the girl. And it couldn't be his fault that her information was so minuscule that he hadn't been able to meet with her.
Then a woman approached his table, far older than Xelannis would've expected to find serving food anywhere, and gave him a sweeping from head-to-toe look.
With that look, he immediately recognized her.
Sammara's Nana.
The old woman looked things over in the same way as her granddaughter, with a somewhat judging pinch to her brows and eyes that seemed to roam nowhere and everywhere at once. It was significantly creepier when she did it. Xelannis tried not to fidget.
"We ain't usually get boys from so far up as the Sanctum seeking out a meal here." Her voice, despite her age and apparent haggardness, also held a certain resemblance to the girl Xelannis had come to find. It wasn't anywhere near as raspy as he might expect someone who spent their days working surrounded by fire smoke and hard alcohol to have, and instead was clear and high. Like Sammara's.
Xelannis blinked once, as if startled to have been addressed at all and had to pull himself together before he could respond. "Then it oughtn't come as a surprise that I'm not seeking a meal. I was told a girl worked here," he explained. "One by the name of Sammara."
He only had to look at her to see the forced neutrality of her expression. There was an instant before the mask fully settled into place that she seemed as amused as he'd ever seen the girl that was currently the topic of interest, but it was gone quickly. She clicked her absurdly long finger nails against his table and clucked her tongue. "She ain't here tonight. Only works every other day." The words came out with a sort of bite that seemed to say, 'Shouldn't you have known that?' And he wondered if Sammara had actually informed her Nana that she might be expecting someone.
The fact remained that he ought to have been aware of her schedule. It was the only other notable piece of information he'd been given in her very short letter asking him to meet her again.
Anxiety warred with disappointment in his gut, and the two were joined by a softer, though somehow as equally unpleasant notion that his adventures this night had been for absolutely nothing if he didn't even speak to this girl. There wasn't much time in his schedule to spare, and one venture out into this absolutely abhorrent pub was likely all he could handle. Xelannis wasn't sure if he could convince himself to do it again, after having no reward from his first attempt.
Then, abruptly, he was smiling up at the old woman, grinning in such a lightly mischievous way that Nana was suddenly on guard.
"Can you give her a letter?"
He kept it short, being certain to make it absolutely no longer than the one she had given him previously. He used his own quill and half a slip of parchment from the notebook he carried with him and wrote with quick, neat, thin scrapes of ink to paper. Despite how lacking his message was in length, by the time he'd finished, Nana had grown bored of waiting and abandoned his side in favor of tending to other patrons. Xelannis left the note on the table, folded with one crisp line right down the middle, and confident that no one but Nana would take it.
'I think next time, I would like to choose the location of our meeting. There is a garden full of venomblossoms lining the back edge of one of the outer courtyards. I'm free on the solstice, at high night.'
Sammara could only stand to be grateful that Xelannis wasn't half as ambiguous as she'd been.
Not Indefinitely Status ▼ Complete Word Count ▼ 1978 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 6
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Dec 28, 2017 9:34 am
A weary young man comes into the Sanctum seeking spiritual solace after the fallout and mayhem involved in the appearance of the Dretch and the individuals they've abducted.
Spiritual Housekeeping Status ▼ Ongoing PRP Post Count ▼ 0 Growth Points Awarded ▼ 0
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
