On the way back to HQ, Raemos's friends had apologized, again and again, for his injuries. He didn't blame them – He was just glad to be alive. Of course, next time, he would have the proper backup. That was assured. They would not be forgetting again so soon.
It was, he felt, a shame that a noble and respectable creature like Suluksati should fall to such violence, too. It was clear that he could no longer consider her a friend, and this saddened him. It felt as though a piece of his old world was falling apart, to be replaced with a volcanic eruption of the new.
But that was just how life was, and he resigned himself to, one day, seeing the notice that the 'Defender of Dragons' had been killed. Or, even, taking her down himself.
At HQ, of course, his mother somehow caught wind of his injuries and was soon fawning over him and being obnoxious and wonderful, but he was soon – by the grace of the top-notch healers in the Guild, patched up enough to move around during his recovery.
Which was good, because Cearlan had his own issues with Raemos being injured, which he made sure they, ah, worked out. Interestingly.
While he was recovering, Raemos busied himself with small tasks here and there, materials buying, and general support – and - practice. Of course, he wanted to be out there on the field, with his men and, yes, Talon.
But he also wanted to be his best, so he did not tax himself too hard. Nor was he lazy, or even properly restful – he intended, with this rest time, to improve his other skills.
Some of his comerades were tempted to knock him over the head so that he rested properly, but this was how he rested – with good, solid work.
I know you want to hear about my injuries from the khehora attack, and I can only report that they are improving, but still have some ways to go. I have a more pressing concern, however, that I need your help with.
You've been telling me about your relationships for many years, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind if I told you about my own.
You know already, of course, that I am dating – I think I am dating – one of my Corporals, Cearlan Verhaan. He says he has met you, and I cannot believe that you would fail to mention someone like him. He stands out quite remarkably.
I am also apprenticed to his sister, Celieda Verhaan, to learn more about enchanting, and I hope that this is a productive relationship. I don't think that my acquaintanceship with his sister – half sister - will or should interfere with our own relationship, but I am worried he thinks otherwise.
Tell me, Vona, should I be worried? Do you think he is jealous? She is beautiful, to be certain, but her husband, if one can call him that, is a powerful khehorian and would likely tear me limb from limb if I made any advances. Which, as you might imagine, prevents me from doing so, ever.
She is just a friend, and Cearlan knows this as well. So... Should I worry?
Also... you have been in and out of love, and I know I have often teased you about your boyfriends, to which you have responded with rather detailed letters that are uncomfortable to read through (and you know how I suffer, my dear sister). But it is thanks to these that I can ask you these questions and have context with which to ask them.
You see, Vona, I trust you more than my closest friends here to understand the ways of the heart, and I was wondering if you thought I might be... in love... with Cearlan. Because, see, I am not sure. He toys with me, Vona. He is cruel and sometimes I think I don't like him very much at all. But sometimes he makes me feel... vibrant. He makes me feel good.
But then he plays with that feeling and twitches it just out of reach. And it hurts, Vona, it does. I don't like how he makes me need him. I don't like how he makes me feel. But then... I do? Is this good, Vona? Is this love? Because I rather don't like it.
And does he love me? I don't know... I think he might not. He wants me, but I see the way he looks at other people...
Seren's light, Vona... this is so complicated. Please deliver unto me your sage advice.
Raemos would admit to some trepidation when he began his first day as the Enchantress's part - time apprentice. Considering how... odd... her brother could be, he wasn't expecting much more from the beautiful Hybrid. However, his worries were soon put to rest: Celieda Verhaan a lot easier to work with than her half brother. It was more an assistantship than an apprenticeship, though she did teach him new enchantments and showed him the techniques that had made her so well-regarded in Tukyere.
For the most part, during the days he worked with her, she gave him an assignment and had him work on his own. Occasionally, she would come over to check on him and offer advice or praise.
Today, she had tasked him with enchanting a sword to strike harder and faster and better than its peers – and had essentially let him have at it. It was a basic enchantment – small claws, ink, and runes detailing something to the effect of 'a sword ever sharp against thine foes'. Or something. What the enchantment said specifically was not as important as the meaning and you could frankly have nonsense on there, or the sword's name, and it would work as long as the enchanter and the buyer 'understood' what it meant and the magical power source and key runes were intact.
That was part of the point of enchanting – aesthetics. What one saw and thought was equally important as what was actually enchanted, though it was based in physical and magical substance in the form of the ink and ingredients.
Raemos thought it was really awesome stuff.
He was sure, also, that there was more to this than just being a helpful assistant or student or friend. He looked at her as he carefully inked the runes along the sword. She seemed more tired than usual, not that he had known her much before, and her grace and elegance seemed less... effortless. Not false, just strained. He watched as she took a break, cricking her back with a small grimace of pain.
He looked away before her – or her khehorian husband/mate/thing could catch him looking.
“Raemos, can you mind things for a few minutes, I think I need a snack...”
Was she ill? That was his first thought. Of course, people normally didn't eat more when they were ill. He knew, from his previous and rare illnesses and his recent (or current) experience of recouperating, that he himself had a reduced appetite. He assumed that was the case for others, as well. “Of course.” he said, pretending not to be watching her for any signs of ailment, “Not a problem.”
“Thank you.” she laid a gentle, grateful hand on his shoulder before going into the backrooms, where her living quarters were.
But what could it be, if not sickness? Perhaps thought Raemos, Its a seasonal thing? he thought. But there were no real seasons in Eowyn, not beyond the rainy season anyway, and he hadn't heard of people reacting to the rain and pressure by being both tired and hungry. It has to be something else...
He smoothed out the inked runes and pushed the thought away. He really ought not to pry into or speculate on her personal affairs, whatever they may be. It was none of his business.
She returned as he was polishing the finished sword and the accompanying sheath. “Thank you Raemos.” she said, smiling at him, “I appreciate it.”
“Not at all, ma'am.” he said, bowing as he sheathed the sword and put it aside for the customer to pick up. She preferred her given name, but he was too well trained – he couldn't help it.
“If you still have time, could you help me with this one? It is an ice enchantment, and I need someone to help me handle the bow for me... It's a heavy bow, and so much easier with help...”
“Of course.” he said.
“Good. I'll teach it to you as you go, as payment for your services.”
He inclined his head gratefully. “Much appreciated, ma'am.”
“Please.” she said, smiling as she pulled out the bow – a heavy, powerful thing that was clearly an imprinted weapon - “Continue to call me Celi.”
“Very well, Celi.” he said, holding the bow as she began enchanting. He'd try to remember to call her that.
[Runes]
Posted: Thu Sep 25, 2014 9:03 pm
A nearby oblivionite village was hit hard by the maras, and they have yet to receive aid. Gaurdians send an all-oblivionite team, including Raemos, to attend to the distressed villagers. While there, he sees the civilians of his race, the non-fighters, the people just struggling to live peacefully and acting just like his family does. How does this make him feel? Does it affect his viewpoints at all? Or does he brush his emotions under the metaphorical rug and deal with the situation with regulated indifference?
My Eyes are Open Raemos Growth Quest 8000 Words
Raemos stood stiffly in the temple's battered entrance, standing at attention as the temple's priestess finished her sermon.
“... though we have been stricken, and our loved ones have passed into the nothingness of Oblivion, we still live on.” she said, “And with us, so too do they survive in our hearts. We will rebuild. We will recover. Our town will grow strong again. Our nets will glisten with fish, and our farms will provide for us. We will be strong enough to bring in that catch and to carry that produce. We are Soudana's creations, built to survive, and no weapon of stone can destroy our will.”
He felt awkward here, amidst the decorations of obsidian and cheap black paint and the cracked and battered symbol of the dark goddess above the imposing altar. He did not belong here. He was a worshiper of Seren, the goddess of light, the nemesis of this temple, these people, and the very land that supported it. Yet he was here, by order, to aid them.
“Have hope! We will rebuild. Our soil and skies are merciful, and our toil is rewarded by cool days and bright sun. Our goddess and her land watch over us, even if the city does not. And we watch over ourselves...” she gestured to the crowd, “we have, already, come far from the cracked ruin that the Mara left us, and we have done so because of the confidence we have in ourselves, in the hopes and dreams of those lost and gone, and in the spirit of those that remain still. We have a long way to go, but each of us is working towards a single goal, and so we shall get there.” She bowed gracefully, “and because of us, because of you, our town shall prosper once again.” She waved her hand outwards, seeming to encompass all of them. Raemos felt her gaze strike his own and it was a struggle to not look away. In... fear? Shame? Hatred? He did not know, and he did not like it.
“And it seems we shall have help.” She smiled, “The Guardians, true to their nature, have listened to our calls for aid.” She turned to her flock, “It is not dishonorable or weak to accept help, my friends. It is a sign of our strength and theirs. They have arrived on our soil, and we shall treat them as guests and show them how they may help us.” She seemed to look at each member of the congregation individually, and Raemos was struck by how desperate and hungry their empty eyes were as they looked at her in turn. Young and old, injured and whole, each needed what she gave them. He looked away, uneasy. “Go forth then, children of Soudana,” she intoned, closing her eyes briefly, “and take ownership of the new day we have been granted.”
Raemos moved aside, inclining his head politely as the Oblivionites went past him, trying to ignore the curious stares and smiles he received as they did so. They were strangers, battered by hardship, and they looked at him as if he was one of them.
He was not one of them.
“I assume, of course, that the others are outside unloading supplies and such.” Raemos turned to face the priestess and nodded.
“Yes Ma'am.” He said, bowing, “I am Assistant-Corporal Raemos Medrol. I was sent to notify you of our arrival and to bring the mayor of this town to my commanding officer for briefing...”
“... as my husband died in the attack, that makes me the mayor as well. For the time being.” She said, gesturing to him, “it is a pleasure to meet you, Assistant-Corporal. Please. Lead the way.”
Captain Veniros Orbikkaal, a lean and powerful Oblivionite archer, was waiting at the docks, overseeing the unloading of the ships. Crate after crate of food, medicine, and construction supplies were being carried down the gangplank to a pile at the dock.
Sargent Talon Sterben was not happy. “...Sent Medrol in there?! What were you thinking?!” Raemos heard as he approached with the priestess.
“Yes I did.” said the Captain, “he's willing, able, and polite. He makes a good first impression.”
“In a temple of Soudana?! Do you know nothing about him? You should have asked me first...” Talon's sister, Corporal Selza Sterben, nudged his arm. “What?!” he snapped, turning to her. She pointed at Raemos, her expression smug.
“Is something the matter?” asked the priestess calmly, as Talon turned to face them, “Something that I should know?”
“No ma'am!” said Talon quickly, “Nothing at all! Er...” he gave Raemos a look, “If my assistant said anything...” he trailed off.
“He was very polite, courteous and professional.” said the woman. Raemos kept his face as composed as he could.
“Oh. Good.” said Talon, obviously relieved to his sister's amusement.
“See? I told you Sargent. Good first impression.” he smiled at Raemos before offering his palm to the woman. “Madame Ooury I presume?”
“Indeed.” she said, shaking his hand.
“Then we have much to talk about.” he said, gently guiding her to the planning tent, leaving the Sterbens and Raemos behind.
“You've never been in a temple to Soudana before, have you?” said Selza once they were out of earshot, “So, what did you think?”
“Don't ask him that.” snapped Talon, growling.
Raemos shrugged, his face composedly neutral. “My orders are to rebuild this town. Not offer opinions.”
Selza snickered as her brother glowered. “Damn straight.” he said, “You two, with me. Lets see how bad the damage is.”
~~~
It was bad. Not as bad, perhaps, as it had been when the Mara had attacked, but it was definitely not fixed. Buildings were still ruins, some roofless and others with stop-gap thatching to keep the sun and rain and wind out. Rubble lay piled everywhere – there was just too much of it for the decimated townsfolk to bother moving.
Farms had been trampled, livestock had been killed. Raemos could see some of the animal carcasses rotting simply because nobody could get to them in time to process them for meat. They weren't the only things rotting to waste: fruit rotted on the tree because nobody could spare the time to pick them, trees rotted on the ground, and – worst of all – there were the bodies.
Raemos could smell them and see them, at least a hundred Oblivionite bodies – young and old, warrior and farmer - were laid out in as respectful a manner as possible, waiting for someone to be able to bury or burn them. More still – he saw – were buried beneath rubble. Here a foot, there a hand, a wing, even a limp tail extended from beneath daunting timbers and stone, pleading with the living to free them. But none could.
“That's just... sad...” murmured Selza. Talon nodded.
Why? Raemos wanted to ask, Its not as though they are suffering anymore. Oblivionites, after all, were soulless, these rotting things were just empty husks – from their beginning to their end. There was nothing sad about how they remained here, above ground. Just dirty. he thought. He said nothing, though.
“We should get started here, build a pyre...” said Talon, his hand drifting to the Soudanan symbol at his neck, “It's not right to leave these people here so... openly.”
“Yes. It could cause disease.” said Raemos, trying to be neutral. Dead bodies, uncovered and unattended, were reservoirs and sources for terrible diseases, he didn't want there to be a plague.
He got a glare anyway from Talon. What? thought Raemos, They do..
“With what wood, Tal?” retorted Selza, ignoring the exchange, “The people here have to use what wood they have for building, and they can't just go chopping down the forest.”
“Then a mass grave. Something to give these poor people a better resting place than...” the Sargent gestured at the laid out dead, “This.” and at the dead trapped in the rubble, “or that.”
“I'm thinking that should be the first big thing we do here, don't you?” said Selza, turning to her brother, “It'd be good for morale.”
“Yes.” said Talon, “I'll put the order out once we've got a sense of this town, and where to bury them. With a cairn over them, I think. To mark the grave.”
“Of course.”
They moved on, Raemos following. He looked at the rows of the dead and shook his head. Why did they bother? Why did they care? Aside from the disease, there was nothing there.
[The Shattered Town]
~~~
The reclaimation of the dead was indeed the first order of Guardian business. Bodies were extracted from the rubble until late that day.
The next day – or the disgusting half-light that passed for day in Soldul - they had a funeral. It was, Raemos had heard, unusual that it was being held after the sun had risen – most Soudanite rituals were held at sundown, or after the sun had set - but the people had insisted.
He was intentionally late to the gathering, using the excuse of sorting the supplies onto various carts destined for different tasks in different parts of the town. He was alone, and it was not much work at all. He was soon done with it, staring at the full carts with nothing else to do. He knew that he was stalling, and it bothered him.
Raemos told himself he didn't care, and that he shouldn't care. Why should he care, spiritually or emotionally, about a pile of rotting meat that had never been graced with a even the small measure of soul granted to a Sheron? But, as he stared at the neatly organized carts of goods, he felt a sense of unease.
He dismissed it, and started for the pastures, where what was left of the town's Sheron herds were being kept. He could do some good there: those animals needed care and protection while their herders were out at their useless gathering. More good, certainly, than at the useless waste of time they called a funeral.
~~~
Minutes ticked by slowly amidst the animals as he repaired the fences that prevented the sheron from wandering into the luminescent, reeking, dangers of the forest beyond. He knew he was doing good work – the animals were important, especially with the breeding season over. These gentle beasts needed to be kept safe until they could replenish their numbers, otherwise the herd would suffer and die and there would be no meat or milk for the townsfolk until they could bring in new stock. He was, however, doing it alone, and every time he realized it he remembered why, and he felt ashamed.
“I don't care.” he commented, annoyed, to a nearby sheron, “Why should I care?” He hammered in the nail he was holding and lifted the next piece of wood into place with a levitation spell. “Their goddess made them weapons. Tools. To be used and then tossed aside and replaced.” he started on securing that part of the fence, “Why have a funeral at all? Why not just deal with the bodies and be done with it?”
The sheron mooed gently and returned to its easy chewing, free of the burden of religion or opinion. He sighed and pat its nose gently. “I ought not to feel this way.” he added, miserably returning to the endless and careful tapping of hammer on nail.
“To feel what way, Assistant-Corporal?” he looked up at the voice. The priestess – Madame Ooury – stood there, dressed in dark silks and lace that had seen better, less violent days.
“Good afternoon, ma'am.” he said stiffly, going back to his work. She was the exact last person he wanted to talk to him right now. Perhaps, if he was cool to her, she would not say any more. To his dismay, she came closer, leaning against a patch of fence that he had already made.
“Good afternoon, Raemos Medrol.” she said, “You didn't come to the funeral, I noticed.”
“No, Ma'am.” he felt a pang of guilt that he dismissed with a hammer blow.
“I was rather hoping you would be there.” she said quietly. Raemos glanced at her, then back at the section of fence he was working on. Why? he wanted to ask, but did not. She answered anyway. “You seemed so troubled... I hoped that it would put you at ease.”
“I'm fine, ma'am.” he said, testing the fence before moving on to the next section. A sheron had wandered into the nearby woods and he broke from his work to gently encourage it back to the safety of the pasture and its herd.
“Are you?” she asked. He did not look away from the sheron, but he could feel her watching him. “Are you really 'fine'?” He gently gave the sheron another shove, silent as it placidly returned to it's herd mates. “I heard you - nobody who holds that much bitterness in their heart towards his own kind can be 'fine'.”
Raemos looked away, biting his lip. So, she had heard him? Why not... he had been talking out loud. You aren't my kind he wanted to say, I am not an Oblivionite. He had, however, been ordered to keep his family and his 'issues' low key and stowed away while on this mission. He had also been told, by parents and by his superiors, to not be rude. Knowing that his silence – reasonable as it was - would be interpreted as rudeness, he forced himself to speak as he lifted the next sections of wood into place. “Bitterness, Ma'am?”
“Your feelings about our goddesses intent towards us, and the way you feel about the dead...” she explained, her voice softening. “You are from Eowyn, correct? Your Sargent mentioned that it was your first time in Soldul...”
“Yes, Ma'am.” he said.
“Are you from Taliuma?”
“No, ma'am.” he said, looking out at the sheron as they milled around, “I'm from a ranch out in the desert. We raise sheron, kugel, and kargoth.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised, “How interesting!” He turned back to his fence making, trying not to think of home. Thinking of home made him feel even more alien than he already did. She handed him the next length of wood. “So tell me, Raemos.” her use of his first name made him wince inside. It was too familiar, and he didn't like it. “What happened to make you feel this way about the world and life's place in it?”
Raemos was silent, trying to sort through the words that competed for his voice, trying to find one that did not disobey his orders.
“I'm sorry if I am too direct” she said carefully,“but you remind me so much of my brother... He was also troubled... Long ago, we lived in Obsidian city with our parents.” Raemos knew the start of a story when he heard it, and he, almost reluctantly, paused in his work to listen. She leaned against the fence. “We lived in a small room in the northern slums, and we were not wealthy or connected enough to be sent to the Sanctuary. Our parents were shipbuilders for the Oblivionite navy, and worked hard every day bringing forth wood and metal into sea-going shapes. They always came home tired, but they they loved us – and each other – dearly, and they always came home after work and made sure there was food on the table . They even secured an education for us. My brother... he was a warrior, and he chose his weapon – a bow – early. My parents saved their money to buy it for him, and for several months all we had to eat was bread and lard...” she shook her head, “Me, I was no warrior. My parents had to pay nothing for me but the cost of a writing utensil and paper...” she smiled at Raemos, “Yes, I was a writer. Your Corporal mentioned your hobby to me. I still write, sometimes. Not so much since the Mara, alas... perhaps we can show each other our work.” Raemos wasn't sure what to think about Selza telling the woman that he wrote – that was private. His work was amateurish, and he was reluctant to share it, and he hadn't even bothered to bring any of it with him. Still, the offer teased at him. Reading the work of another was always an interesting, if humbling, experience. “We were tight-knit, happy, and full of hope.” Raemos watched as her look became distant. She was, he realized, re-living a part of her life, and he braced himself in dread for the next part of her story. “One day, our parents did not come home. We waited for them, and had to find our own dinner. It was hours before they told us.” She shook her head slightly, as if dragging herself back to reality, “There had been an accident at the shipyards. Our parents had been killed by an explosion in the gunpowder stores.”
“I'm sorry.” Raemos said, sympathetic. It had to have been hard for her and her brother, to lose both parents so suddenly. She nodded.
“It was a long time ago... You can imagine, though, that it affected us horribly. We were put into an orphanage and able to continue our schooling and training. I like to think I was fine – I simply delved into my writing. My brother, though... he was deeply upset. He began to train so fervently that I rarely saw him. When I did see him, he would berate me for taking the path of a writer. 'You should be a warrior!' he said to me, 'We were made to be weapons of war! To be anything less is an insult to our creator.'” she laughed sadly, “... So I took up the scepter, the cheapest imprinted one we could find. It was earthy – enchanted wood at the core wrapped with treated straw and topped with a single black crystal. I tried to train as a mage,” she summoned a flare of dark magic to her outstretched hand and let it dissipate away. “...but I could not bring myself to harm anything more than the practice dummies: when they put me in duels against my classmates, I could do little more than cry.” “Violence was not for me. My brother was less than pleased when I returned to being a writer.” She sighed. “He avoided me after that, publicly scorning me. We had been so close before, and it hurt to now be so far away. I turned to religion, and what comfort it could provide, but soon found that he had as well. Seeing my brother in the temple constantly was both relieving and upsetting. I let him have his religion...” She fiddled with the Soudanite pendent on her neck. “And instead, I wrote feverishly... have you ever read,” she asked suddenly, “'Red Spot?' It's by Midara Cilyon and its about a hastar...”
“Yes, I have.” said Raemos, surprised, “Its a good book.”
She smiled, pleased. “I'm not sure about that, but it did sell...” she hesitated, “Well, it was around that time that I wrote the first draft of it.” Raemos stared at her, awed. She was the author? It was her book? A bestselling fantasy like that? It seemed impossible. “It took me another five years to get it edited and published, but... mmm...” She smiled at Raemos, “Anyway, one day, my brother's mentor called me over to the class. He'd been fighting outside of lessons, and it had gotten bad – very bad. He wanted me to talk to my brother because this was just the first major step in a streak of violence that my brother had been exhibiting. Having not spoken to my brother, I agreed to do so.” “He told me that the other student had been weak and cowardly in training that day, and he had told her so. Of course, this led to the fight. The other student deserved to have been injured – they deserved to die – because 'imperfect weapons should be destroyed'. I tried to talk to him, to convince him to apologize, but he refused to speak to me any more than that and I - I regret to say - gave up on him. He was disciplined and allowed to return, but it was not long after that that he killed another man in a tavern fight.” “This time, he was jailed for murder. He was there for several years, and would not speak to me when I visited. He just stared balefully, gaunt and angry, from the corner of his cell until I left. He died in there – I don't know how. But I know he died with bitterness in his heart.” she laughed sadly, “How I got from my own bitterness to the priestesshood is another story entirely, but my point is, I saw your bitterness and agony when you met me at the door - it was not hard to see. And I heard it when I approached you. I saw enough of my brother in you to reawaken my old regrets. So, I ask you again, now that you have my reasons; what happened to you?” she held out a hand to Raemos, who looked at it warily, as if it might become venomous and bite him. “And how can I help you to ease the bitterness inside your heart?”
“Whats going on here?” Talons voice broke through the pleasant sounds of chewing sheron. Raemos took the reprieve and drew away, saluting his Sargent.
“Sir!”
“Is he bothering you, Madame Ooury?” asked Talon, giving Raemos a stern look.
“Oh, no.” she said, smiling, “The opposite. I was telling him a story. Did you need something, Sargent?”
“Yes, Ma'am. The Captain would appreciate your advice on rebuilding the temple and the tavern.”
“Oh. Yes. Those two buildings are so central to the town...” she nodded at Raemos, “We will talk again later, Assistant-Corporal.”
“Very well, Ma'am.” said Raemos, bowing, as she left.
~~~
As the Priestess left, Talon Sterben turned to Raemos “Assistant Corporal.” he said, his voice rumbling and bubbling with anger.
“Sir?” Talon Sterben was shorter than Raemos, and it was a source of amusement to have to look down – even slightly – at his commanding officer.
“You were not at the funeral. Explain yourself.”
“There were other things to do.” said Raemos, shrugging.
“You were disrespectful. Surely lady Seren...” Talon spat the name, “Does not encourage such blatant disrespect of the dead.” He shook his head. “You should have been present, as part of the Guardians honor guard.”
“Other things needed to be done...”
“That is hastar-s**t and you know it, Medrol.” snapped Talon, his face contorting in anger, “You should have been there, and you were not. Do not think I won't report this... this breach of civility.”
Raemos felt a chill in his stomach. “Very well sir.” he said neutrally. What if Talon's report stopped him from being promoted to Corporal? What if it saw him expelled from the guild? Surely, it was not so bad as that.
“Now tell me your real reason, Medrol.” snarled Talon, “And maybe I'll be lenient. Speak freely.” he said, clearly regretting his own words.
“Sir, I just don't see why there needed to be ritual or ceremony. They have no souls to be appeased or put to rest. I did not see why I had to be present at something that should have taken no longer than needed to bury the bodies where they would not cause disease.” said Raemos honestly.
“You idiot.” snarled Talon, “You're so selfishly obsessed with your better-than-thou attitude.” He grit his teeth. “Funerals are not for the dead – they are for the living. They put the dead to rest so they can pass on into memory and so the living can live on.” He glared at Raemos, trying to fix him with his stare, his spiny, tapered tail lashing angrily behind him even as his voice became clipped and – almost – patient. “The 'bodies', as you call them, were people's loved ones. Their fathers, mothers, uncles, children... they meant something to them. Soulless or not, they had meaning to themselves and to others, and that doesn't just go away. The funeral was symbolic, do you understand? It was to show the survivors that they had a future ahead of them, and that we would help with the past.” he stood straight and as tall as he could muster. “That was why we had the funeral, and why there needed to be ritual and ceremony, and why you should have been there. You will not be so lax and disrespectful again. Is this clear?”
“Yes sir.” said Raemos.
“Fine.” said Talon. Raemos noticed that he slumped slightly. “Come with me. We are meeting to discuss further tasks.”
“Yes, sir.” Raemos followed him down the pasture towards the town.
[Talon Sterben] ~~~
Raemos was on early morning patrol and because of his ranching background, his patrol route was along the pastureland and the sheron barn owned by the orphaned children, Cora and Raleigh Komal. The tavern had been completely rebuilt the day before, with his help, and there would be a big reopening party later, at around noon. Raemos knew he had to be there or face serious consequences – he had basically been ordered to attend. Raemos intended to do so, though he felt uncomfortable about it. He had helped out, yes, but he was not a part of the community. He was one of them, and he did not want to be like them. Their joy was not his to share.
He thought, as he had often done in the days since he had heard it, about the priestess's story: It puzzled him that her brother's fate should be so dreary. If Oblivionites were weapons, surely his behavior; obsessive training, devoted focus, and culling the weak by fighting; would have been encouraged. And yet, her brother had died, alone, in prison. It was a strange story, and it bothered him. Why, he wondered, had the priestess told him?
And her book... 'Red Spot; was about a young hastar colt, kicked out of his herd by an evil stallion and forced to find his own worth in the world. The story took him through the wild, ranches, and finally the racetrack, where he found happiness until he was injured. The climax of that story was whether they would put down Red Spot, but in the end, he was allowed to live out his days on a ranch with his own herd of mares.
Raemos wondered why she had mentioned it, other than professional bragging. Something about the story nagged at him, some hidden yet relevant meaning that he could not extract.
A loud, desperate, pained howl tore through the morning stillness, breaking his contemplation into shattered shards of adrenaline. Raemos ran towards the sound, his hand on his sword and his magic, umbral and churning, summoned to hand and ready for use. He was tense, ready for any horror that this dark land could throw at him, as he ran over the meadow and through the herd of sheron. They milled nervously as he approached the source of the sound, now an unnerving and periodic baying in the otherwise quiet dawn.
It was no horror that he saw, but a miracle. Seren's light. he thought, looking at the sheron that stood before him, straining, her hindquarters dripping with birth-fluid, She's giving birth.
Raemos relaxed. He knew what to do. He looked towards the cottage and barn to see the girl, Cora, come running towards him, her brother trailing sleepily behind. “Get some water!” he called to her, “And soap, if you have it!”
She skidded to a halt, nodded, and raced back into the barn.
He patted the sheron's heaving side. “Shh.” he whispered, “It's going to be all right.”
“What is?” asked the little boy, peering up at the animal, “What's happening to Rosey?”
“Something good.” said Raemos, taking the opportunity to check the sheron's eyes, nose, ears, and udders. She was, other than her troubles with her calf, in good condition and good health, and that meant that – with the right help – the sheron (apparently named Rosey) would be fine. “She's having a baby.”
“A baby? Is she having a baby, Mister Raemos?”
“Yes.”
“Oh! Good...” Raleigh stared at the sheron cow, his young face thoughtful, “So why's she unhappy?”
“Erm...” Raemos watched as the boy's sister came running back with the bucket of water and a thin bar of old soap. “She got unlucky? Here, stand back...” he traced runes of fire onto the bucket with his wand and said a few magic words, evoking heat into the cold well water. The runes glowed as he fed them magic and the water began to steam. He rolled his sleeves back, dipped his hands in, and washed them with the coarse soap. “I know how to do this.”
He began to help deliver the calf, a procedure he had seen done at least twenty times by his father and his sister back home on the ranch, and had done himself (with supervision) five times more. As he gently reached into the sheron, he could feel the calf's little head and shoulders. He nudged its nose, feeling the not-yet-born calf lick his fingers – a good sign. “It's alive.” he announced, more to himself than to the watching children.
“The calf?” said Cora, watching him, her empty eyes wide.
“Yes. It just needs a little help coming out. It's her first, isn't it?”
“Uh... I think so.”
“That would explain it.” said Raemos, working his hands behind the calf. He was arm deep in sheron when he realized that he was still wearing his overthings. He would have to clean his uniform later, but for now he would have to take them off – the stiff outfit would be uncomfortable, and this birth could take a while. He extricated himself from the sheron and, after rinsing his hands, removed his outer coat and shirt and put them on a reasonably clean part of the grass. “Cora, if you could bring some vinegar or herbs...” he listed the ones he needed, “And a towel, that would be appreciated.”
He arranged his garnments as best he could until Cora returned. “ah, perfect.” he said, adding the herbs to the water, “Now if you could go into town and let my commanding officer know that I'm here? Tell him whats going on.” he said, washing himself again with the soap.
“Is he the one with the rivakka tail?” asked the girl.
“The very same. Now, hurry.” She grabbed her brothers hand and they were soon running down the hill towards the town, and Raemos was soon back in the sheron cow, up to the middle of his upper arm in warm animal.
He eased his hands around the calf, gently guiding it down the birth canal with it's mothers contractions, which began to be the measure of time. He cooed sweet encouragements to the distressed animal as she struggled, the herd milling concernedly around them. The bodies of her herdmates pressed against the two of them, and Raemos was so focused that his existance narrowed to just this: the moment, the movements of the sheron's body as she tried to push her offspring to freedom, and the progress of the calf within the sheron.
Eventually, the baby sheron's nose poked out curiously into the air around it and, with one great, final, heave, slid out into Raemos's waiting arms, all slime and awkward limbs. He broke the membrane around its nose so that it could breathe and checked its gender. “Welcome to the world, little boy-calf...” he murmured, setting it gently on the ground so that its mother could, exhaustedly, inspect him. He observed them for a moment, making sure all was well, but any concerns he had regarding the sheron's parenting faded as she began to groom her new calf, licking him to his feet and taking care of the umbilical cord quickly. He grinned. “I think you two will do just fine.” he said, starting the process of cleaning the cow up – the remains of the birthing would attract predators if he didn't deal with it properly. Sheron could do this on their own, of course, but she was tired and since he was here...
“Medrol!” came the ascerbic voice. Raemos looked up from his washing to see Talon Sterben approaching, his sister and the children in tow. “Whats this about?!”
Raemos gestured to the baby calf taking its milk from its resting mother.
“Is that it? Is that the baby?” asked Cora excitedly.
“Yes.” said Raemos, “a Male. You know what to do with them, right?”
“Yes.”
“I trust you on that.” he said, patting the mother as he turned to cleaning himself.
“What did you do to yourself?!” asked Selza, “You look like you've just been through a battle... is that blood?!”
“No, not exactly blood... But in a sense, I was.” he scrubbed at his arms, his exposed chest, his back, and his face with the soap and water. “That little one was fighting to live, and his mother was fighting to help him. I just... gave it my help too.”
“But... Is that even a thing that you can do?!” asked Selza, visibly uneasy.
“What do you think midwifery is?!” snapped Talon, “What does it matter? Did you know you missed the tavern opening?”
“What?” Raemos blinked, and looked up, “I-I'm sorry sir!” he said, embarrassed as he dried himself off. He had started at about midmorning, and the opening had been at noon. It was, by his calculations of the dim sun above him, now mid afternoon. “I was busy.”
“I can see that. Do you remember what I said about attending ceremonies and about what I would do if you were lax and disrespectful again?”
“Sir?” Raemos felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Talon couldn't punish him for missing the event - he wouldn't dare: Raemos had been legitimately busy.
“You are excused this time.” said Talon, “Your new orders are” he wrinkled his nose, “To get a bath. And to not return to the base tent until you've cleaned your self and your uniform.”
Both angry and relieved, Raemos saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Yeah...” Talon saluted back, his eyeless gaze lingering on Raemos long enough to be noticed but short enough to be ignored. He turned away stiffly. “Good job, Assistant-Corporal.” He said, starting back to the town. “Selza!”
“Coming, Talon!” the strong, grinning Oblivionite woman called back.
“It's sir!” he retorted, “Or Sergeant! Get it right!”
She mocked him silently to Raemos, giggling. “Yeah, good job...” she smirked, “Nice abs, Rae.” she said, waving as she followed her brother.
Raemos watched them go, and then – scooping up his shed uniform and the now dirtied bucket – turned to the children. “Why don't you to show me to the nearest bathing or laundry spot, then?” he said, smiling tiredly. He had his orders.
[Baby Sheron] ~~~~
It had been a few days since the sheron had given birth, and Raemos had been kept busy. He was sure that Talon somehow still had an issue with him, as he kept being assigned to grunt work – lifting and such. Eventually, though, he found himself with enough of a break to check on the sheron herd and their two young ranchers.
“Hello mister Medrol!” chimed Raleigh. The boy held a much-loved hollow wooden ball in his hands, and looked to be in the middle of a drop kick as Raemos walked up to him.
“Hello Raleigh.” Raemos said, smiling. “I'm just dropping by to check on the two of you... how is the calf?”
“He's over there.” said Raleigh, kicking his ball into a mighty arc and then pointing towards the far-off herd, “Cora's with them.” “Ah. Well, I'll go over and talk to her, then.” said Raemos, waving.
“See ya, mister Medrol!” said Raleigh, running off to reclaim his ball.
Raemos walked over to the mother and calf. It soothed him to see them together: Something about having held that awkward little body in his arms had changed his mood towards the town: He was becoming more comfortable here in the dark land, and less willing to hate it. For all it's alliance to the dark goddess, it was not, he had decided, that bad of a place.
“Cora. How are they?” he asked the girl, joining her by the sheron and her calf.
“They're doing just fine, Mister Medrol.” she said, smiling proudly, “He's getting his feet and everything. His name is Kyle.”
“Oh?”
“After my pa.”
“Oh.” Raemos wondered if she was ever going to be able to slaughter that calf with a name like that. “You can't get too attached, you realize that.” he said, “Not in that way.”
“Yeah, but we only have one bull and he's getting real old...” she smiled, “So I want to keep Kyle.” she sighed, “Just wish pa was around to see him... But its just me and Ral, now.”
Raemos set a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Cora...”
“Ain't nothing you can do about the Mara killing ma and pa.” she said sadly, “Its those Orderites fault, that's what I hear. They're the ones that should be apologizing...”
A loud, sharp crack rang out, interrupting what had become horribly awkward for the young Guardian. Raemos searched for its source, a hand on his blade.
“What was that?!” said Cora, grabbing his sleeve and clinging to it, afraid.
“I don't know. Lets check on Raleigh...” he said, starting for the shade tree where he had last seen the boy. There was a sudden, shuddering shatter and, even as he ran towards it, an enormous piece of the tree, leaves and all, crashed to the ground.
“Raleigh!” Cora screamed. Raemos quickened his steps, sprinting to the toppled massive branches. He began to search for the boy, noting the wooden ball, left abandoned and caught against a root.
“Raleigh?” he called. A whimper in response - He rushed to the sound.
The boy was there, alive but prone, trapped under the branch. He was barely moving. Raemos could see that the boy's head was, at least, unharmed, and Raemos could see that his arms were free. However, he could also see that the tree had caught him along the back and legs, and there was a dark pool forming beneath him that Raemos didn't like. “Hey...” he said. They boy looked at him weakly, “You're going to be all right.”
Except he might not be. From the listlessness of his movements and the pooling blood, the boy didn't have much time at all.
“Cora, hold your brother's hands and be ready to pull.” he said, beginning to lift the branch with what strength he could muster. He struggled to hold it, even as he pulled extra force from his magic, enveloping himself in an envelope of shadows as he forced the branch as high as it would go. “Try now!” he yelled, straining against the weight. The branch did not rise smoothly, as if it was caught on something, and he knew that there was only a short window of time to get the boy out.
“I can't!” she called, “His leg is stuck!”
Raemos struggled harder. “Still?”
“Yeah!” she looked at him, her face panicked. “What do I do?! I can't lose him, Mister Raemos, I can't!”
If they didn't get him out and give him medical attention, he would die. “Cora...” he began. He couldn't believe he was saying this, “Get an axe. We're going to cut his leg off.”
“What?!”
“If we go through the tree, we'll be too late. He's lost too much blood...” he looked at Cora steadily, “Bring me an axe.”
Her face paled, but he could see that she understood. “Allright...” she said, and rushed to the house. Raemos took the boys hand. It was cold, the pulse inside it weak and thready.
“We'll get you out.” he said gravely.
She soon returned, the axe at her belt. She handed it to him. “Do it...” she said, looking away.
Raemos took a deep breath and raised the axe...
Cora and Raleigh ~~~~
Though saved from the tree and treated with first aid, Raleigh had lost a lot of blood. Fortunately, they found a doctor quickly. He left Cora at her brother's bedside, and he felt that he had done the right thing.
Troubled, he looked out at the ocean and tried to figure out how he felt. Cora's brother would be a cripple, one-legged, useless on the ranch, but his sister would not be alone. Did the latter mitigate the former? It was a complicated matter.
Raemos knew how he would feel in such a situation: if Vona was in danger, and it was a choice between damaging her permanently and letting her die, he would choose to save her life, no matter what happened. But was that the right thing? Had he, Raemos Medrol, in a life-or-death situation, made the right choice?
“Rae?” he turned to see Selza watching him. “Good job back there.”
“Mm...” he said, noncommittally.
“I'll buy you a drink later, but uh, for now?” She gestured towards the temple. “The Priestess wants to see you.”
“Oh, All right.” said Raemos, turning back to the sea.
“She wants to see you now...” said Selza, “So get your a** moving.”
~~~~
“Ma'am?” Raemos felt a chill as he entered the reconstructed temple. It had been battered before, and now that it was renewed it felt even more alien and strange. I shouldn't be here... he thought, looking up into the shadowed eves and along the cold dark-clad altar, This is not my place. “I heard you wanted to speak with me?”
“Ah! Yes! Raemos!” He tried not to show his startlement as she stood from behind the altar. She had, from the looks of the cloth in her hands, been cleaning. “Come and sit with me. she offered, beckoning, folding her cleaning cloth and putting it behind the altar, “I have tea.”
“All right.” he said, following her into the back rooms of the temple. They were decently appointed: the furniture was ordinary, draped in worn black velvet. On the wall was a tapestry of the flight of the Ysali, the event that had let Seren know that her sister was plotting against her. It was a beautiful depiction, and Raemos noted that it portrayed both the Ysali and the early Oblivionites in a positive light. But not their goddess, who was adorned with blood-stained armor and a bloodthirsty expression on her dark face. “I've wanted to talk to you again for some time, but our respective work has kept us apart.” she said, and he sat down in an offered chair and took an offered cup of tea. She sat down as well. “Perhaps that is a good thing – you seem far less troubled than before.”
He drank his tea carefully – it was hot, but good, with a delicate flavor he did not recognize. “Do I?”
“Yes.” she said. He could feel her observing him, “You seem more at ease now than when we spoke before, in the meadow.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Are you still bitter?” she asked, “Do you still feel that the funeral was a waste of time?”
He shrugged. “I don't know.” he said neutrally. He had contemplated it in the days since Talon had lectured him, but he didn't know what he thought about the whole thing, not anymore.
“If that boy had died,” she said, taking a sip of her tea, “Would you have mourned him?”
He thought for a moment. “Yes.” he said, “I think I would.”
“Would you have wanted a funeral for him, despite him having no soul and nothing awaiting him on the other side but oblivion?”
“I...” He blinked, surprised, “I would. I would want to send him off... right.”
“Yes, you would. Because you care for him. Even though he could not enjoy or appreciate the rituals, or use them to make his nonexistance anything different than it was, you would want to do this for him.” she smiled, “Do you understand now?”
“Yes.” he said slowly, as the realization sink in, “I think... I do.”
“You thought that Oblivionites were heartless as well as soulless. Automatons born only to be tools... didn't you.” she said softly, “Some parents teach their children this, and some children take it too far, like my brother. The truth is, people forget the other part of that myth.” she smiled, “Of course, you have to look at the text closely to find it, but it is there.” she leaned back, chuckling. “The truth is, the first Oblivionites our lady Soudana created were such a thing. They were alive, but they were beings without emotion or soul, weapons graced with only pure logic who would fight for her to the end. And she was pleased.” “But she soon realized that there was a problem: her warriors were so dedicated and logical, that while they would fight for her, they did not bother to worship her. They considered it a waste of time to pray or create rituals, and instead dedicated themselves to training and fighting. She desired worship from her weapons and so, when her first creations began to have children of their own, she made it so that, in the womb, the children would have a heart to feel and a soul to dream. But for her creations to be weapons, they had to be soulless, and yet a heart without a soul grows sick and dies, as does a soul without a heart.” “So, she compromised: when the children were born, she made it so that their souls were torn away from their bodies by the power of Lake Korafel and hidden away. That is why, though no Oblivionite has a soul - not you or I or that little boy – we can still feel and dream and be close enough to divinity to pray to it. We each once had a soul, and that connection to the other side still remains...”
Raemos stared at her. “I... did not know...” he said, touching a hand to his heart, “I did not realize...”
“Few do,” she said, “and few care. But that is why we are more than tools to be thrown away without ceremony and replaced with newer models.” she laughed, “We are people.”
“I see.” he said, looking in the mirrored metal of the tea tray. His own face stared back, distorted by the warped metal, dark and eyeless.... but no longer hateful and disgusting. That was the face of someone more cruelly shortchanged than he had realized. The person in the mirror, the woman in front of him, and every citizen of the town and Guardian on this assignment had had something precious stolen before they even knew it had existed.
His face, he realized, was that of a person – not a monster struggling to be a person, but a person struggling to be... what? What was he struggling for? Why was he struggling? Did he even need to struggle?
“I think I do see.” he said again, smiling at the priestess. “More than I thought I ever would.”
Raemos made his report, and it was several hours before he could return to his letter.
Dear Vona,
Well, here I am in Soldul, land of darkness. I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner: Things have been chaotic, to say the least.
I told you of my mission, didn't I? We are aiding a coastal village that had been hit by the Mara, and the government of the Oblivionites has not yet offered aid. They are compassion-less as well as soul-less, for the villagers are some of the most honest, hardworking, and brave folk I have ever met.
I wonder how fast the foul Oblivionite army came to the aid of those in the city, as opposed to the good folk of this town?
But no, of course they would aid those in Obsidian city, that foul pit of scum and villainy. Their focus is destroying all that is good and right in the world, even when it is on their own soil.
They would leave these people to struggle to harvest what they could from trampled crops and dead sheron, and to survive the winter on meagre supplies and barely-reconstructed buildings. If they don't take those precious supplies for the war, first.
Disgusting.
He smirked. That was, he thought, a very strange word to end a letter on. But, of course, his letter was not over. Vona would, of course, want to hear about the day's events.
Anyway, the Guardians will aid them. We have already aided them, standing in where their own country has failed.
It would be easier if their crops didn't decide to up and harvest themselves. Which brings me to today.
Yes. he thought, That is a good segue into things.
Today I had to deal with what appeared to be magically enhanced animated pumpkins... monsters made of plants and leaves with a pumpkin for a head. I had thought that their presence during the blood moon was just a rural legend. But – at least in Soldul – this is apparently not so.
They were not hard to fight. Perhaps when I was younger, they would have been a challenge, but after the Mara I have become stronger, and magical vermin such as these do not pose a threat to me personally... unless they evolve. I am hoping they do not. This town has enough troubles to deal with than stronger vermin. We intend to put up magical wards to prevent this from occurring again.
Otherwise, it has been fairly quiet. The town was badly destroyed, but the taven and temple were rebuilt, as was a storehouse and – today – the inn (the one that was not attached to the tavern). Farmers are out in the fields (especially now that we are dealing with the magical vermin) and fishermen are taking in what catches they can make before winter. There is a lot of hope here.
Of course, Vona, I am not going to the temple more than I must. I avoid most of the services, to the puzzlement of the priestess, who is apparently intrigued by me. I have not told her my feelings on the matter, and my superiors and colleagues have – respectfully – not told her either. I feel that my worship of Seren would not go over well here, and I want to maintain good relations for my Guild. One act, by one member, can stain our reputation. So, I am keeping things to myself and doing my worship in private.
I am about to be put to work on fabricating the wards, but I will write again soon.
I hope to have some very interesting pelts to send to you, from an uncommon animal called a Giogimar. The Priestess tells me that the two I collected are mottled purple, black, and grey in color and so should be an interesting addition to your... Pallette? Is that what a collection of cloth is called?
I am glad that your business is going well, and congratulations on becoming a professional tailor in your own right. No longer an apprentice... I wish the same could be said of me, but you are six years older... I'd expect some advance advancement.
Perhaps the pelts could be used to trim that order you received from that friend of yours with the raven-black wings? They would, I think, go well.
But back to how I got them. I was attacked by three Giogimar, unprovoked, and I killed all but one. The other escaped, to undetermined fortune, but they are fierce fighters and I had to be treated for serious scratches.
They claimed – in some form of Dovaa or dragonic - they wanted to sacrifice me to their god. If there had been maybe one more among them, or if I had been off of my game, they might well have done so.
I have read that they are intelligent creatures and worship dragons and khehora as gods. There are worse things to worship, I suppose.
Either way, I have not been sacrificed to a dragon god, and I have some lovely pelts for you. I will see about getting them shipped to you, my dear.
By the way, are you still dating that young man with the silver hair, or have you moved on? You wanted him to meet me a while back, and – though it did not happen – I was wondering if it could? You know how interested I have been in meeting the men that steal your heart, dear sister. Despite the problems it causes. I just like to see for myself the sort of men you like.
Ah. The call for letters. I must finish this one quickly that it might be sent out and reach you soon. Tomorrow, Selza, Talon, and I will be hunting down and destroying a nest of large stinging insects. Wish me luck, and know that I love you, and always will.
Necessary Culmination HUNT: Vispiri Queen x1, Vispiri Swarm x 1, Vispiri Soldier x 2 182 Words
Vona,
Selza was injured today while we exterminated the Vispiri. It's bad enough that she will be sent home with the next shift to deal with the injury and make room for fresh troops, but I think she will be fine. Talon and I are merely poisoned, and that was easy enough to treat.
But we – or rather, she - destroyed the queen Vispiri, and her brood, and they will bother the farmlands no more. I know this letter will not reach you for some time, but you know me... I am a compulsive writer.
Did I tell you the priestess here writes too? She said that, after her sermon tomorrow, she will show me her current manuscript! On hold for now, of course, but... she's the one that wrote the story about the hastar finding its way in the world, so I expect that it will be lovely.
As would seeing you again. I will let you know when I am relieved of this posting, and when I can visit you again.
Until then, with love, your devoted brother, Raemos.
[Selza Sterben posing with her drink]
Posted: Tue Oct 28, 2014 10:50 am
An Eerie Feeling Hunt: Will-o-wisp x 6, Diabi Dragon x 1 -won 770 Words
After the service was over, the Guardians did a thorough check - in with their various lookouts and scouts. Every lookout reported nothing of interest: it was a quiet day, one of those pleasant Autumn days when all is right in the world, or so it seemed until they reached the farmlands.
Raemos was not to be seen. He wasn't at the fence or in the fields, or among the Sheron, nor did he arrive after they waited for him.
It was Talon Sterben who became worried first. Despite the disagreements and tension between them, Talon Sterben would be the last to call his Assistant Corporal a shirker, and it concerned him that Raemos was not at his post. He organized a search party, and they began to seek him beneath Endeldarth's haunted boughs.
After a few hours, they found him alone in the woods, unconcious. They soon found, also, the site of his battle against the Diabi dragon, the blood the only evidence of the fight, and were surprised he had made it as far as he had. It was clear that Raemos had gotten lost in the terrible wood, burdened by his partially-bandaged bleeding arm, broken ribs, and traumatized leg bones.
It wasn't hard to get lost in Endeldarth, after all, especially during the blood moon. Finding him unresponsive but alive, they picked him up and carried him back to the village to treat him for his wounds.
Little did they know that the dragon was not the only thing that had accosted him in the woods.
Dear Vona, This place is a nest of terror and mystery, and I am awed that any mortal could ever call this haunted, bedeviled land home.
Today, I was lured away by the malicious spirits of the dead, and assaulted by a massive dragon of what I can only assume was Diabi in clan, for it countered my magic with little effort. I defeated it, obviously, since I write this while still among the living and not as some spirit of the dead.
Raemos wrote his letter feverishly with his good hand, the other solidly bandaged and held at his side. Moving it caused him pain, and he wanted it to heal. He had awoken in the night, as his doctors slept, and he knew he had to get his letter down. He knew he had to do it now.
But I do not write you about that. That was an event purely of our world, physical and terrible amidst the wonders of Magesc. I will draw you a scene from the fight against the dragon, to satisfy your desire to see the sights of this land, and because what happened next was so indescribable that I cannot – dare not – draw it.
My other story, my true story, I tell only to you, my sister, because I trust you to not think me insane. Let my comrades think I merely became lost. You shall know the truth.
I wandered in the dark forest, clutching my side as the life slowly ebbed from me. Walking was pain, the very bone at my legs and ankles bruised from the dragon. Breathing, too, was pain.
And then, before me, I saw a vision. It was a woman, beautiful but old, standing alone and strange in the middle of the wild forest. She looked at me with cool, regal indifference until she saw my face: or at least I assume so, for she was an Oblivionite and had no eyes.
As if the sight of her was a trigger for the strings that held my life together, I fell, my legs no longer willing to move. I lay there, gasping, and as conciousness began to slip away from me, I felt the woman's hand upon me, turning me over.
My vision was blurred. I could only make out her dark skin and thinned, age-leached hair, but her touch – oh, Vona, her touch was cold. Not like ice, exactly, deeper. Like distance and cruelty and love that you know cannot ever be. I could feel it as she traced the tattoo that frames my eye. And, before I slipped away into nothingness. I heard her whisper one word, one strange word.
“Sanadeyr”
I do not know what it means, and it was the last thing I heard before I awoke in the medical tent. I leave you with it, and it will be our secret, be it the scrambling hallucination of a desperate and exhausted mind, or a an actual apparition.
Raemos studied the orderite's methods thoughtfully, noting down how she called and trained the Olrawk. The more time he spent around it, the more certain he was that he wanted one of his own. Assisting her and guarding her were two sides of the same coin, and both she and he were becoming used to their roles...
But then the time came that he received a letter from home – a dire plea for his return as stone monsters ravaged his homeland and injured his father.
In his spare time, then, instead of watching the Olrawk and hoping for a song, he spent his time coordinating with his sister to meet her on his return to Eyowin. He prayed that he would not be too late.
As a result, the bird became used to Sueno being with him, associating the comfort it felt with her, instead of him.
Soon, though, it was time for him to go, and he left the girl with her new bird...
When Raemos returned from the Soldul mission, he felt as though things had changed, irrevocably and for the better. It was not just because he had been promoted, either, though he had been: he was, at long last, a full Corporal, with all the responsibilities and perks that provided. He felt he saw clearly now what he was – a tragic figure still trying to be something he was not, yes, but not cursed as he once thought he had been. No: he was blessed. He was an Oblivionite, and he was blessed by Seren's light. With every silent repetition of the phrase, he became surprised that he hadn't realized it before. He had spent so long fighting against his dark skin and eyeless face that he had lost sight of the true meaning of his life. He was not an Orderite, but Seren had shown him her mercy and maybe, one day, she would return his soul to him... for if what the priestess said was true, then he did have a soul to be returned - He had a chance to be with his family for all eternity.
That was the tragedy of the Oblivionites: that they were forever divorced from their souls. But if he, distinctly an Oblivionite, could gain... re-gain... a soul through Seren's grace, then there was hope for all races, and a chance for the forces of light and good. Because surely, if their souls and wills were no longer held hostage by their dark mistress, Soudana's subjects would scatter away. The Great Engagement would be won.
Such fantastical thoughts bubbled through his mind, occupying him on the way to Celieda's tent – his first visit since his return, and they burst with a comfortable warmth as he reached her door. “Celi? Miss Verhaan?” he called, letting himself in, “I've returned.”
She was working on an ornate helmet, covering it with runes that glowed in the wake of her hands. Her face brightened when she looked up and saw him. “Raemos! How good to see you!” she said, “I trust your stay in Soldul was not as abhorrent as you thought?”
“You are correct.” he said, moving to stand over the helmet, observing the runes, “What sort of helmet is this?”
“One to improve the strength and insight of its wearer.” she explained, pointing out the runes, “A helm for battle... would you like to assist me with it? I could use some help with lifting it...” She said, stretching. Raemos noticed, suddenly, the bulge at her abdomen: It was too abrupt, too round to be the simple consequence of food.
“You're pregnant!” he exclaimed, stunned.
“Yes.” she said, “And it is Isitar's.”
The idea was boggling. That would make whatever offspring she had... one half khehora, one fourth dovaa, and one fourth orderite... he thought, shaking his head at the absurdity of it. “Does...”
“Does he know? Yes. Does Cearlan... No.” she smiled at Raemos, gently offering the helmet to him as she sat down, a hand on the growing bulge at her abdomen. “Speaking of,” she said, as he went over the runes, finding where she left off and what runes needed, as yet, to be placed, “Does my brother know that you've returned, Raemos?”
Raemos shrugged. “I don't believe so. I haven't seen him.” he concentrated on the enchantment. He had missed Cearlan, but otherwise he hadn't thought of the Orderite much at all during his time in Soldul, aside from a few half-asleep pleasurable mental wanderings. “I think he is out on a mission?” Honestly, too, Raemos hadn't bothered to check on Cearlan when he returned. His immediate concerns had been unpacking and checking on his family. They were, he had found, well, and his mother – at least – had been interested to hear of his travels. His father had seemed troubled, but Raemos was not surprised: he knew his father's feelings on the matter of the Dark Land.
“Hmmm...” Celieda murmured, watching as he began to etch the runes into the helmet, the ink staining the metal and gleaming with innate magic, “Well, I suppose that cannot be helped.” She neglected to tell Raemos of her brother's fickle nature. He had been upset at Raemos's absence, but he had not been exclusive, visiting the beds of many others in town... much to her dismay. She had hoped that the young mage would be what her brother needed to settle down, but... perhaps Cearlan needed more time. “When you're done with that helmet, Raemos, would you mind staying a while? I recently learned how to apply ice magic into armor to make it repel cold, and I would like to teach you the base method and get your input...”
“Of course.” said Raemos, “I look forward to learning from you again.”
[A soul yearning to be free of it's watery prison]
Crafting Solo: Watch out for yourself Enchanter Rank 6-> Rank 7 Created: + Defense Arm Wraps (Arm Equip)
Raemos was taking a break from assisting Cearlan's sister, which meant that he was taking advantage of her expertise to make himself some armor. His arm wraps – an evolution from his bandage disguise of old – lay unraveled on the enchanting table, washed clean in preparation. Celieda supervised as he brought the pen, laden with ink that had been mixed with egg and the powdered beak of an exotic bird, to the cloth. Her own project, an imprinted sword, was in the process of being purified in anointing oil and would not be ready for enchanting for some time.
“Raemos...?” she said, as he etched the runes of protection into them carefully, “I wondered if I could ask you something... it's about my brother...”
Raemos didn't look up from his work – it was fiddly to enchant cloth. “What about him?”
“I hope it's not too indelicate of me to ask...” she said carefully, “But have you... slept with him yet?”
Raemos paused. “Slept with...?” he said, being falsely obtuse to hide his wariness.
“Had sex with.” she clarified, watching him, “Have you and my brother had sex?”
Raemos pondered his answer. It was indelicate, indeed, and highly improper to ask him such a thing. It was none of her business what he did with her brother.
Yes, he had slept with Cearlan. It had been awkward and strange and Raemos was still not sure if he had made a mistake that night, when he had first explicitly offered his virginity to the Orderite.
But he had known that that was what Cearlan wanted, through all the cuddling and touching and kissing. Raemos had liked those things, and had honestly been satisfied with them alone, but he knew Cearlan was not: he had seen it in the way Cearlan had looked at him, and how the older Orderite's touch had lingered – warm and curious – on Raemos's skin.
Raemos had felt as though he was doing something wrong, or was disappointing the Orderite somehow, so one night, he had decided to strip himself down in front of Cearlan and let whatever happened happen. He knew he'd been right - Cearlan had been waiting - because Cearlan didn't falter or stumble. He simply... took him.
“Yes.” said Raemos, glaring at the work in front of him. Why did she want to know?
“And was he... kind?” Her question was asked carefully, “Did he treat you with respect?”
What sort of question was that?! “Why are you asking?” he asked, looking up at her, “This isn't really any of your business...”
Celieda nodded, her hand gravitating to the growing lump of her belly and rubbing it absently. “I know, it's not. It's just... My brother is not as nice as he seems. He takes lovers, uses them, and lets them loose. I just... I want to make sure he does not hurt you...”
Raemos turned back to his enchanting, finishing the runes and, with a snap of his fingers, imbuing it with magic. He began to wrap his arms with the cloth again, feeling how the spell changed the feel of the cloth. “Well.” he said, curtly after a while, “You needn't worry.”
“All I meant was...” Celieda sighed, “Be careful, Raemos... Watch out for yourself...”
He resisted the urge to snap at her – she was a good person and he understood her concern: he was well aware of Cearlan's reputation as a playboy and flirt. “Thank you, Celieda.” he said, stiffly, “I shall take that under consideration.”
[His own hand]
Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 2:51 pm
The Fight with Cearlan Solo 748 Words
Waking up next to Cearlan was still a novel experience to Raemos. Waking up first was not - Raemos had always been an early riser, and this day was no different. He was not on-duty today – it was his free day – and he had plans for it.
A glance at Cearlan amused him: the Orderite man was not specifically in any of his plans. Raemos had very important things to do with his off day: maintain his armor, clean his bunk, go to the market, assist his parents, eat something special... And maybe Cearlan had a part in the last one, and Raemos would definitely see him in bed again, but Raemos's day was otherwise packed.
As Raemos dressed himself, he heard Cearlan moan sleepily.
“'C'mon, Rae.. stay...” A lazy hand reached out from under the thin sheets, groping for him.
“I can't.” said' Raemos, smirking, “I have a busy day.”
“But it's my day off... I asked for the same day as yours, just so I could have you all day...” Cearlan lifted his head from the pillow and looked at Raemos with big, pleading, luminous eyes.
“If that was your plan, you should have told me.” said Raemos, pulling on his boots, “I actually have plans for the day.”
“But Raemos... I want this...”
Raemos had actually been feeling pretty good towards Cearlan, as of late. His opinion on his 'boyfriend' occilated often, between frustration and adoration. It was, now, falling quickly towards frustration. “I'm sorry, Cearlan, but you are not entitled to my time, and I am not entitled to yours. Go back to bed... You've been working hard lately.”
“I want you here with me...” said Cearlan, pleading. He summoned his wings and brought the sheet away, revealing himself in all his attractive glory. “Please, come back.”
Raemos flushed, feeling both aroused and annoyed. “Cearlan... I have plans. They can't wait – I've been busy, so I had to put them off til today... They simply cannot be put off any longer.”
“But... us.” said Cearlan.
Raemos smiled. “Tonight. We'll go out to dinner, and then we can spend the night together.”
“I want you now.”
“I'm sorry, Cearlan.” Raemos was getting tired of apologies. He checked his belt and uniform in the mirror, “I have to go.”
Cearlan sat up. “I know what you're doing.” he said, his voice accusing, “I know where you're going... it's that lieutenant of yours... Talon... isn't it.” Cearlan laughed, “I've seen the way he looks at you, don't think I haven't!”
“Are you accusing me of cheating on you?” Raemos asked, turning from the door to look at his boyfriend incredulously, “Are you serious?”
“I'm right, aren't I?” said Cearlan, smugly, “You are. You've seeing someone else.” his face fell, “How could you?”
“How could I...?!” Raemos turned away from the door, “How could... You're wrong. I'm seeing nobody else. You are the only one, and I'm not lying...” he rounded on Cearlan, feeling hot and reckless and angry, “And what about you?! You think I don't know what you do behind my back?! I know whose bed you will be crawling into the moment I walk out of this door, or at the very least I can make a damn good guess!”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” said Cearlan, pouting, “Come back to bed, Raemos.”
“I know about you and Selza. And you and the librarian. And you and... anybody who will give you a second look.” said Raemos. He hadn't wanted to mention it, not ever, but he did know. And he was too pissed at the accusation that Cearlan had throw at him to care.
“Who told you that? Celi?” Cearlan shrugged, “She's just jealous. Don't listen to her.”
“Cearlan, I know I'm not the only one in your life. Don't think I haven't seen it for myself. You're cheating on me, but I accepted it because that's who you are, and I know I cannot hope to change you.” He opened the door, “So don't ever lie to me.”
“Raemos...” Cearlan stood up and walked over, his wings arched, his hands wandering, “It's not true, whatever Celieda's been saying, its not true. I love you.”
“No you don't. Stop lying.” said Raemos, holding back a little, involuntary sob. He shoved aside Cearlan's hands. “I'm going.” he said, as he stormed out.
“... And thats what happened.” said Raemos to Celieda as the ink dried on his newly-enchanted gloves.
“Do you think it might be true? That he is seeing other people?” asked the pregnant hybrid enchantress, carefully. This was, after all, about her brother.
“Of course.” said Raemos, checking the runes, “I've seen him. He thinks I've seen nothing, but I know him well enough to tell when he's... had some.” he faltered, “I've seen him coming out of Selza's room, and various other rooms, smug as a notbjaovin.” He gently fixed the stitching on one of the gloves, testing the enchantment to make sure it hadn't failed with his meddling, “And I know I haven't satisfied him. I know it.”
“I'm sorry, Raemos.” she said, softly, “I thought this time would be different for him...” she shook her head, “But I suppose not.”
“This time?” said Raemos, scoffing, “Theres only been one time – his time – and he is serious about nothing.”
“I... know.” she said, quietly, “I want him to stop and settle down, like I have. We were once so alike, he and I...” she rubbed her belly's growing dome, “So sensual and cruel...”
“You mean to say that you seduced and used people?” Raemos said, thoughtfully, “I had assumed as much, since you are an enchantress and beautiful besides.”
“Yes. I did.” she admitted, “And then I met Isitar and things... changed. Or perhaps I changed first. It is hard to tell.” she smiled at the bulge of her pregnancy, “Things are changing, and I think for the best.”
“Cearlan is your older brother, correct?”
“Yes.” Celieda smiled, “And somehow I have grown up first. Please, Raemos, forgive him some flaws, he doesn't realize, yet, how much he hurts people...” she placed a gentle hand on his, “Teach him. Be patient with him... please.”
“I'll try.” Raemos growled, “But I don't feel like speaking to him. Not for a while. He accused me, and I don't know how to forgive him for that, not yet.”
“I understand. Just... try. When you can.” she said, smiling at him, “I honestly think you will be good for him – that you can change him...”
“Maybe.” Raemos grunted. He didn't think so: you can't make a baowi change it's claws, after all. “Thanks for the assistance with the enchantment, Celieda.”
"Stop it." said Raemos to Selza. The Barbarian snickered at Raemos's face as he glowered at her.
"Sorry!" she said, clearly not apologetic in the least, "I can't help it!"
The swelling from the Khehora's attack had died down with proper treatment, but it was still there.
"Try to help it." muttered Raemos.
"I can't!" she whined, breaking down into another few fits of laughter, "Its just... your cheeks... they're already so pudgy and pinchable..." she cracked up laughing again.
To his chagrin, the priestess, who had been treating him, repressed a laugh as well.
"Not you too..." he said, grimacing as she wrapped the swelling in medicine-coated bandages.
"I'm sorry." the preistess said, "She has a point."
"I'm totally calling you chubbycheeks from now on." crowed Selza.
"Please, I beg of you, don't." said Raemos, miserable. He knew he should be thankful: he was not dead and, fortunately the Giogimar were not essential to their mission, so he only had to tell his sister her shipment of pelts would not be arriving. He watched as Selza doubled over with laughter yet again and hoped that, like many other nicknames she'd found for him over the years, this too would be forgotten...
Dangerous Waters Hunt: Peisio Dragons Esmeralda and Raemos 282 Words
“And how many dragons were there again?!” Vona asked, shocked.
“Five, by my count.” Raemos replied, taking a welcome sip of the warm tea that she and her friend had provided him. His uniform lay drying on the washerwoman's line, his wet clothes changed out for spare clothing and a cloak, to hide his face until he was protected by his guild once more.
“You were nearly killed. Again.” Vona scolded.
“And the goddess showed her mercy, and I became stronger instead.” he said, shrugging, “Thanks to Ms. Voporian, of course.”
“I wish you would stop talking like that...” Vona said, sadly, “Its one thing to be religious. Everybody is in Ashen city, but to be recklessly so?!”
“I am not reckless. It did require skill to kill those dragons, and I did not challenge them or provoke them.” he retorted, “Battle is equal parts luck and skill, and Seren, in her blessed light, granted me luck to match my skill.”
“Nevermind what I said about reckless.” the tailor grumbled, “You're an arrogant a**.”
“An arrogant a**, who is your brother.” his face crinkled in amusement.
“That you are...” she gave him a look of exasperation. “Well, since I have you out of your uniform...” her fingers twitched and her smile blossomed mischeviously, “I can take your measurements, which you have been so avoiding.”
“I haven't been avoiding anything.” he said cooly, putting the teacup down.
“Oh good.” she said, bringing out her tape measure, “Then you won't mind me making it as humiliating as possible. Consider it payback for nearly getting yourself killed.”
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