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 Posted: Wed Oct 07, 2020 11:12 am
Stage 2 Solo 1 To say that it was common for Finnufarinel to contract mass spread diseases would have been an understatement.
Just as poor hygiene was a common issue among Oban’s less fortunate, so too was easily spread illness. While the “kinder” gentry tried their best to stop the outbreaks before they occurred the sheer number of poor travelers coming in and out of the country meant it was near impossible to keep sickness at bay. Such things were just expected at this point; certain illnesses would take over in the cooler months while others attacked when the sun was at its highest. Those with healthy immune systems and access to basic cleaning facilities had little to fear while everyone else was left to wonder when they would be next.
For Finn it was never a matter of “if” he would get sick, but rather of “when”.
It happened on a windy day when the sun was warm and the air fell thick around him. Finn had been wrangled up with the rest of the ‘riff raff’ by local guards in an attempt to corral the sickness in the poorer parts of the city. At first he hadn’t really felt sick. Just a sense of fatigue, one that never really left his emaciated frame, and a sense of irritation brought on by the heat. He didn’t like being shuffled in like cattle to be checked over by men that had no business touching him. So many were systematically bathed, given medicine, and checked that it was almost like they were being prepped to be sold off. And when anyone tried to run off...well, they were given a few more bruises than when they’d originally shown up and Finn didn’t need any more of those. If the worst part of all this was being given a bath and a free bowl of broth then he could suffer through it.
Those that checked out were given explicit instructions on how to avoid the outbreak while those that showed symptoms were taken to a makeshift infirmary. Finn would have had to be blind not to see the sick ones. They scratched at their skin like the mites had been eating at them to the point where not only were they covered in gouges, but a rash had spread. On Oban skin it looked red and angry; swollen, tender to the touch and inflamed. Finn thought on Matori blue it made them look almost purple and bloated, like a drowning victim. When a healer would touch a magic palm to their skin the patient always hissed at first, like the cold was tearing through them, but soon enough relief would wash over. At first he’d assumed he was safe; after all, Finn didn’t have a rash, even if his skin did itch. He simply attributed the discomfort to the fleas that normally clung to his unwashed flesh and passed it off.
However, when it was his turn for inspection, Finn knew he’d been infected.
The Oban who checked him went over points he already knew; he was malnourished, covered in mirage of scars and barely healed wounds as well as a sufferer of bones that hadn’t healed straight. Finn had already known that from the start. He’d never been able to fully straighten the fingers of his left hand since he was thirteen years old and his nose was perpetually broken. What was new about that?
“I can tell you’re running a fever. Do you feel anything else? Does your stomach hurt?”
“It always hurts,” Finn groused. What was there to say, really? How was he to know what were symptoms of this disease and what was normal for someone like him?
“Any vomiting? Headache?”
“Yes.” Again, what was normal and what wasn’t? Dehydration was a common enough factor in headaches and vomiting was also a symptom in eating rotten food. It was as normal to Finn as the sun setting in the sky.
“Come along, then. We’ll help you.”
What other choice did Finn have? If he ran off they would find and beat him in the street before dragging him back. It was clear enough that the nobility would tolerate no less than absolute compliance with any sort of treatment. He may have been able to squeak by if he was a native, but being from yael made him a definite minority here.
Giving in to the urge to scratch, Finn picked at the skin on his arms as he was shuffled off to the infirmary. At the very least they were given cots to sleep on with fresh blankets and warm broth. All of which came at a price, however; he first had to undergo a bath.
To say that Finn wasn’t happy about that would have been an understatement. He tried to get by with the least amount of water he could until a burly matorian completely submerged him in the medical concoction. Whatever sort of bathing oils they used had a minty scent that opened his airways and made him gag. His first reaction was to strike out with fire, which scared a number of workers, but not the burly man. If the scars on his arms were any indicator he wasn’t afraid of fire then his stalwart attitude surely was. He held Finn as he screamed and attacked, providing a much needed buffer for those just trying to get the boy clean.
By the end of it Finn could barely lift himself out of the tub. His energy was spent on magic and the struggle was real. Thankfully his ‘captor’ had a gracious heart. He lifted the boy as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of flour and carried him over to a fresh, warm cot. The bedding may have proven too hard for most, but for a man who had grown used to sleeping on frozen stone and cracked earth it felt wonderful. The simple fact that there was a blanket at all just made it almost serene, even if it was harsh and scratchy. Finn may have fallen asleep were it not for the sickeningly cold sensation slathered on his bare chest. Just as quickly as he panicked it dawned on him that it was a salve for the rash - when had he developed one? - and that the woman applying it was clearly very elderly. Despite his rage Finn...held back. It was one thing to get angry at an old woman, but something about hurting her just...didn’t sit well with him.
“Your fever is pretty high. You should rest now and save your energy.” Her touch was light and gentle; something that Finn hadn’t felt...well, ever, honestly. Not that he could remember anyway. She smoothed the salve across his skin with such a practiced hand that he may have believed it was her bare flesh if he hadn’t seen the gloves. At the end of the day he was infectious and she, like everyone else here, was simply doing their job. There was no real kindness here; just a false one that the nobility wanted to market.
Still...it felt nice so Finn was content just to let her work.
[1203]
[4]
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Posted: Tue Oct 13, 2020 2:16 pm
Stage 2 Solo 2 How long had it been since Finn last thought of Ivyn?
After meeting Katori it was all he could think about. Something about seeing a girl that resembled him so much just brought back memories Finn had thought were buried. It hurt more to think about his passing than it did his own parents, and maybe...maybe it was because Ivyn had been the first person to actually give a damn about him. It came as little surprise to Finn when he woke up for the second night in a row covered in a cold sweat and breathing heavily in his little alley way.
In his dream he’d seen those eyes glowing like the mid-summer moon before the rain. His chest felt unbearably tight and Finn could swear the alley was twisting around him. “What do you want, Ivyn?” He murmured, reaching up to clutch at his bare chest. It felt as if the spirit of the long dead healer was trying to kill him on the spot, but that couldn’t be right. If anything the Zenan native had been buried on Yael, so...why was he haunting him?
You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain. You didn’t do what you promised.
“I didn’t promise you a damn thing!” Finn’s shout echoed in the void. He didn’t, he really didn’t...So why didn’t that make him feel any better? Why couldn’t he find any peace knowing that it wasn’t his fault that man had died?!
“You could just live, could you? You just had to go see those monsters for yourself even when I told you not to go.” If he had just stayed in the city he could have learned all he wanted about the elaria from a safe distance, but no...Now he was gone and Finn...Finn was haunted by memories.
[314]
[1]
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Posted: Thu Oct 15, 2020 5:02 pm
Stage 2 Solo 3 How long ago had it been since Finn’s eyes could glow?
In all honesty he hadn’t noticed the change himself since he so rarely cared about his appearance. When did he ever have access to a reflective surface, anyway? It was only when one of his ‘coworkers’ commented on it that he took pause.
“I thought yaeli’s eyes were supposed to, you know, do something. Yours are just burnt out.”
At first he’d been mad and rightfully so; the Oban’s he fought against in The Pit regularly used his differences to pick him apart. This was only one in a long line of grievances they’d found with him and yet this one...this one stuck. When did the change occur? Had he felt it and just forgot? Finn asked around, but most people either assumed he was being cheeky or was just genuinely stupid. How could a yaeli not piece it together? It was maddening! And finally someone was ‘kind’ enough to tell him.
“It happens after a yaeli leaves Yael for a while. I’m not sure why, but if you stay gone for a long time then it just kind of...goes away.”
So that was it. He’d been gone for too long and now his eyes were devoid of glow. Wasn’t that one of the signature markers of his people? Some kind of blessing from a spirit? What does it matter to you? It’s not like the Gods ever helped you out. And it was true; they’d certainly never shown him any favors so what did it matter now? And yet, it kind of did. To him it was a mark of pride and now that it was gone he felt somehow robbed of yet another part of himself. Was there no way to get it back? You’d probably have to go back to Yael. And yeah, that wasn’t happening.
[318]
[1]
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Posted: Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:03 pm
Stage 2 Growth Solo [Finn's suffered more than his fair share of trauma. Most of the tragic events in his life were out of his control, but since his move from Yael the tides have changed. He was given a fresh start the moment he set foot on Oban soil, but instead of digging in and trying to make life better for himself he became resigned to his horrid life. Now, with memories of a long dead friend on his mind and his brother pushing for a brighter future, Finn has decided to make a change. It's little steps, and surely he'll have a lot of work in front of him, but he's finally ready to try.]
Finn, quite frankly, hated Oba.
Ever since landing in this miserable country he’d suffered from one ailment or another. At first it had been little things like lack of shelter, a misunderstanding with the guard, etc. and then gradually it had escalated into actually trusting someone to take care of him only to be stabbed in the back. He’d been foolish then; hopeful even. At that one point in his life he let his guard down just enough for one man to slip in and once he’d been properly gutted Finn was once again tossed out in the street.
Opening up to anyone else after that had been difficult. Even when seeing his brother again after so many years Finn wanted nothing to do with the man. It wasn’t as if he owed Tacrith anything, or vice versa. They were practically strangers to one another at this point in their lives and yet Tac kept coming around. But why? He’d offered Finn food when no one else would and even tried over and over to help the man find decent work. At the time Finn resisted; what else was out there for someone like him other than The Pit? It wasn’t glamorous, but it was work and it wasn’t as if he had any real skills to do much else. Finn couldn’t read, he couldn’t write, he had a short temper, but he wasn’t stupid. The sorcerer was just as much his father’s son as Tacrith and the same quick wit that had consumed Parheath ran strong in his blood. While the elder may be booksmart the younger was street savvy and maybe that was enough to get him by.
He’d been content to die in The Pit and maybe that’s why Finn kept dreaming of Irvyn. Every night for the past week his dreams had been consumed by golden eyes that would chase him everywhere he ran. At first the whole thing did nothing more than confuse and anger Finn, but slowly he was starting to understand.
Irvyn would be so mad if he’d known what Finn chose to do with his life.
Even on his death bed the iceling had wished nothing more than for Finn to take charge of his life. He wanted Finn to take steps to become the greatest sorcerer he could, and all he’d managed to do was run away from Yael. At the time it was enough for Finn, but now? With Tacrith constantly pestering him and his body starting to wear out from near constant beatings? Well, Finn was starting to rethink his options.
He’d taken a risk and quit his job at The Pit in favor of a new job at a nearby stable. The pay wasn’t nearly as good, but at the very least he’d be able to work on a steady reputation. Finn hadn’t yet told his brother about the occupational change. He wasn’t honestly sure what Tac would say, but surely it would show some kind of initiative.
There was little he could do about his smell or the scabs on his skin. After all, Finn was still homeless. He still couldn’t afford to find a tutor, but he was willing to try bettering himself. For Irvyn.
[547]
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Posted: Thu Dec 01, 2022 10:02 am
Stage 3 Solo 1 Writing a letter to Tac was harder than Finn could have ever imagined. At first it had been a struggle to figure out exactly what he wanted to write, and then it quickly became apparent that some of the things he wanted to say he couldn’t because he lacked the necessary skills to do so. Asking anyone else would be embarrassing and then they would want to teach him which Finn most certainly didn’t want to deal with. So he just…sat there staring at the ink mottled paper with a deep set scowl.
For a few days while he and Katori prepped themselves for the trek up North he worked on the letter. Day by day he chipped away at it like a novelist working on their greatest masterpiece or an essay they couldn’t find the inspiration for. He wished there was a spell that could just send the information in his head to Tacrith instead, but for now all he had was this infernal paper. Instead of starting fresh with new sheets he would get out a few key words on a dirty, ink blotted sheet then add a few more on the back, grab another, and repeat. At the very least he was getting all the important information down so hopefully Tac could glean something from it.
He told him about chiavi that nearly gutted him, about the avalanche and Katori’s selfless – selfish tendencies. Told him about the endless bickering on the road, about how utterly mad she could drive him in the span of a breath, and all the little things that got under his skin. Then there were other things. Finn wrote about how he’d never known anyone as strong as she; after all, who else could have punched a sermal clear across a field? She worried him which was worrying in itself and he…admitted to being scared of that. Scared of worrying about someone elses safety and what that meant. Eventually she wouldn’t find him amusing anymore or she’d grow tired of his attitude, just like everyone else, so why hadn’t she? Why was she still going with him when she could still stay with her family? And why did he like that so much?
He’d been flirting with her and he wanted Tacrith to know that. Why? He couldn’t hazard a guess, but it felt important. It was something he’d never done in his life; that souls half his age were already masters of. Having someone around that could make him feel like trying was as new as it was terrifying and so as the nights grew long Finn wrote more and more. Eventually his letters became less mottled messes about his travels and more about Katori herself.
He just…couldn’t figure it out. The yaeli wasn’t afraid of death or spirits, like so many from their homeland, but whatever this was had him spooked. While he knew there was no way for Tacrith to get to him before he left he asked about his brothers opinions on it anyway, as best he could.
Eventually Finn had less of a letter to send South so much as he did a small box. Inside were a variety of healing herbs he’d picked up along the way with absolutely no descriptions because he hadn’t bothered to get them, and a wad of scrawled text. With any luck Tacrith would be able to decipher it and maybe Finn would have some answers waiting for him back at the sanctuary by the time he got back.
If he made it back at all, that is. He made sure to let Tacrith knew the location they were headed and beyond that…well, it was in the hands of fate.
[618]
[2]
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Posted: Thu Dec 08, 2022 8:45 am
Stage 3 Solo 2 Finnufarinel sat in the middle of a large, wooden stall with his spell components scattered around him. There was no place in the Sanctuary’s living spaces where he felt truly private and while the stables weren’t much better they at least offered space from others. He’d taken over an empty stall, covered the exposed upper portions with thick blankets and made a sort of nest to hide away in. He preferred things this way. Staying in places where travelers came through was easy; bedding down in established homes with families came at a higher cost.
He'd been treated as a beast for most of his life anyway so why not truly embody it for a while? At the very least he could practice his craft without fear of scorching someone’s floorboards or ruining a perfectly good soaking tub.
Tugging on the edges of his blanket, Finn nestled himself back into a mound of fresh hay and lifted his father’s runestone into his hands. Tacrith carried a similar rune, though of slightly different hues, and both were supposed to keep the boys safe. In his eyes the man had failed. His magic hadn’t been strong enough to truly protect either one of them and now both men carried the scars of their childhood.
Looking across the stall was Ivyn’s staff. It held a variety of protection runes, all of Zenan craft, into its edges but its master died. Once again something that was meant to save others had been left in the hands of a mangled, wretch of a man who cared more for his next meal than the lives of many. Finn didn’t remember his father, or any of his teachings, but he could remember Ivyn. The iceling always wanted better for Finn, had even tried to bring him back to Zena with him before he’d died, and then the gods came him just the same.
A lone globule of light floated around Finn’s makeshift room and landed above a map. He pinned it to the side of the stall with nails he’d found lying around, then circled the space he needed to find with chalk from his bag. From what he’d been able to gather from local couriers the Grysteig family resided in a small village in Secer. At one point they’d been big news, but after financial ruin came on them they left Zidel for the mountains. Finn had been warned a multitude of times against going by the locals and for good reason. It was said that the area was nearly impossible to get to without a guide, especially with Winter quickly approaching, but Finn would get there. Even without Katori’s help he’d find Secer and more importantly, he’d find Ivyn’s widow.
Ekkia Grysteig.
Leaning forward, he dipped his finger in a patch of mud near his feet and darkened the circle once more. Ivyn Grysteig was the scholar and adventurer; his wife had, thus far, never left Secer so it was unsure if she was even there. Finn had no idea if she had other family there, if Ivyn did, or if there were children involved. So long as he had a name he would just have to build on that and hope for the best.
”You have a talent. You’re wasting it slumming around like this.”
Maybe he was, but he’d been happy that way. Now that he’d started to apply himself there were expectations that not only others were putting on him, but that Finn was setting up for himself. Every day he practiced his letters more, he found himself giving more time to assist in chores, tried his best to get better at holding conversations as brief as they may be….It was hard work, small though it was, but it was good.
And it was all thanks to Ivyn.
Using his rump like a shovel, Finn scooted as far down into the hay as he could without completely taking away his cushioning and allowed it to collapse around him. With a blanket surrounding his thin skin and now the hay to insulate him the Yaeli was positively toasty. The only thing sticking out was his head, which he contently laid up against a pillow he’d stolen from the main house. He didn’t know whose it was; some sort of blue thing with little mammu in the stitched pillow case, but it smelled nice.
He was safer here, by himself, surrounded by animals that would scream if an intruder came. If need be he could burn the place to the ground with all this excess hay and now that the globule had been snuffed out he was in complete darkness. There was a peace in that that Finn had almost missed during his time on the road. He’d slept in city alley ways for so long that the hustle and bustle were nothing to him, but here, in the quiet, he could remember the ocean.
It was his only childhood memory that wasn’t tainted by Llyr. He could remember a kind woman scooping him up into her arms and dipping his toes in the waves. There was no sound, no smell, but just a touch…Soft, plump arms and a hug that promised love.
She never would have let any of this happen to him, and he hoped that someone like that would have been happy with where he was. With a smile on his maw, Finn settled back into the hay to drift into sleep.
[911]
[3]
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