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 Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 5:30 am
Detraeus meant to visit Martrae’a first. He’d fully intended to. It had been his reason for travelling west from the coast and deeper into the swamp land approaching lake Koralifel in the first place. Instead, when he arrived in the area, he found himself vacillating, wandering the surrounding forest and debating.
Despite having lived with her for three years in his past, it had been three years since now, and he had not left more than a single note to her in regards to his state or whereabouts. He knew nothing of her circumstances, other than that she’d been alive the last time he checked her residence, and at the current date, he did not even know if she still lived in the place she once had, let alone if she would care for his company should he come calling. He had behaved, with her, as he had with all others: distant, aloof, and uninformative. He’d pushed her away, and given her no cause to care.
So what right did he have to expect her to, now?
Grimacing, Detraeus clicked the reins of his hastar and guided it off in a different direction. He was not sure why he cared what happened to his ‘half brothers’ by blood. He didn’t. Much. Or, if he did, it wasn’t to do with any purported relation to him, but a sense of heavy responsibility by conduct: he had seen their mother executed. Regardless of the lack of weight he put in any relationship he personally had with her, and regardless, again, of whether or not she was guilty or deserved her sentence — which he personally considered to be no question at all — it did not relieve him of responsibility in regard to her children. He knew what it meant to have no means of support. To live in an orphanage. To have nowhere to turn.
However well (or poorly) he had coped with said situation himself at the time, he would never wish it on another child of Soudana and, while it was not his task to house or look after every oblivionite orphan, he felt it within his range of duty to account for the direct results of his own actions. Or at the very least that it potentially did. What to do from there, however, and what was within reason as far as asking assistance from an outside party? Those, to him, were mysteries, with answers as irresolute and intangible as a fact pattern conjured in a dreamstate.
He headed instead for familiar, physical territory: the tribeland of Malta’s clan, along the outskirts. If fate was favoring him — as it often did not — he thought, perhaps, he might at least find an excuse for distraction in the form of someone who would speak to him without bitterness or judgement.
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Posted: Tue Sep 23, 2014 8:04 pm
Malta's return to the tribe had been one of surprise and cynicism. They had, she had learned, given up on her coming back alive... not an unlikely event, considering her inability to take care of herself regarding the harsher aspects of the world. Still, it was one that she hadn't even thought of. The thought that she could have died – and she knew that, without Castor's intervention – she probably would have – was sobering. She had had fun in the city, exploring the alleys and getting braver – just a little – in the process. Coming back, though, she had to face the reality that she was still defenseless and vulnerable, and it was not a reality she liked very much, or was comfortable with. Not anymore. Still, what was she to do about it? Life was slowly returning to its usual routine, her sleep schedule slowly readjusting to the haphazard, mostly-crepuscular rhythm of before (though her actual sleeping was difficult because of the renewed noise... she hadn't realized how noisy the forest was.) She was back to making potions and wandering off in the daytime. She was forbidden from leaving the tribes lands alone, for the sake of her safety, but that did not stop her from needing to be out there doing something. Herbs needed to be gathered, new stands of trees and plants needed to be noted... and she needed to exercise so that she wasn't such a fat, out of shape weakling who could barely run from rock monsters. She'd tried running laps that day, and – thoroughly exhausted and sore from only about a minute or so of running – was taking the oppurtunity to rest on her sunning rock. It was a nice rock, near to the lair grounds and flat enough to be tolerable to lie. It sat in one of the few areas of open canopy in the swamplands and caught the diluted sun of Soldul, absorbing it into it's black surface, warming it nicely. She lay on the big black rock, her wings partially unfurled to allow the sun to hit them. Her tailed curled partially around the rock, tapping slightly as it waved gently with her passing, idle thoughts. Her head rested on her foreleg, the glow of her eyes mostly lidded. It would be hardest, she thought, to get used to being treated like an Orakoi again. In Obsidian city, amidst the alien Magescans, she had been respected for her abilities and her size, even feared (though how anybody could fear her was baffling). She had even been invited to Castors sacred rite-of-passage ritual, his tattoo that signified what he had done for her. There, even her pitiful nature was important and honored. Castors parents had liked her, and had treated her well. It had been nice. It was hard going back to the tribe and the puzzling, two-sided way they thought about her - revered crafter on the one paw and disgraceful weakling coward-runt on the other. She supposed she had to, though. This was where she belonged. With a sigh, she began to let herself fall into sleep...
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Posted: Thu Sep 25, 2014 11:45 am
Malta never looked like a leaf.
A massive, mossy green boulder on the other hand, was another story, and Detraeus accredited it to her innate magic and affinity for the atmosphere of flora that she — even at her size — managed to blend in at all. So much, in fact, that if he had not been on the eye out for her, he might have missed her altogether, despite being sprawled out in the broad light of morning.
Perhaps.
He preferred to imagine not.
Regardless, he did spot her, and slowed his hastar as he did, bringing it to a restless pause beside Malta’s chosen rock and debating, with an indecisive flick of his wings, how to proceed. Good fortune that he’d found her to begin with — he made a mental note to accrue some more reliable means of contacting her in the future, though he liked to think he’d never need to lean on such a means — and it seemed improper to wake her. Besides, he was in no hurry.
Patience, in time, delivered all things. So, he dismounted, giving a quiet tsk of reprimand when his mount snorted impatiently, and settled half his weight on an empty section of the rock, resigned to wait. He didn’t — thanks only to the nosiness of his hastar — have to wait long. The moment he shut his eyes, it seemed, his mare moved forward, nosing her snout up curiously close to Malta and giving an inquisitive sniff. Before Detraeus could catch the reins to withdraw her snooping, the ‘damage’ was done.
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Posted: Thu Sep 25, 2014 12:44 pm
Malta, tired as she was, had assumed that the slight rustling was a small animal, perhaps the bouken that lived in a burrow somewhere nearby. It was only when she heard a loud snuffling that Malta realized that that wasn't the case. She startled, her head raising up quickly with a noise between a 'chuff' and a 'yip' and finding herself snout to snout with a hastar. She blinked. “Hi.” she said to it, managing to slow her racing heart and relax. It was just a hastar, not a danger. Except... This Hastar had a saddle and pack, which meant there was a person nearby. She scanned the area around her, standing up fully, her wings half unfurled and tensed, ready to try to fly away. She was not afraid of Oblivionites – or at least not nearly as much as she had been before – but she still didn't know if she wanted to meet one alone and unprepared in the woods. She relaxed, though, when she spotted a familiar shape, along with a familiar scent, nearby. “Detraeus?!” she exclaimed delightedly, shaking the sleep from her body, “Hello! This is a surprise!”
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Posted: Thu Sep 25, 2014 1:36 pm
Detraeus opened his mouth, considering — momentarily — that perhaps he ought to apologize for waking her. But then, he hadn’t woken her, the hastar had, she didn’t seem particularly bothered anyway, and as little as his general temperament put him in the mood to hand out apologies frivolously, he was even less in that state now.
So, the thought went unvoiced. Instead, his attention turned towards his reasons for seeking Malta out to begin with, and he frowned, hesitating. Though he’d managed to come this far, standing before her, face-to-face, made the prospect of actually broaching any topic, even a minor one, and engaging in…discussion therefrom, seem simultaneously ominous, onerous, and all but impossible. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come to begin with. What in Soudana’s name was he supposed to even say?
‘Yes, surprising. Definitely. Say…while we’re on that topic, how would you define ‘love?’’
‘What do you know of Magescian mating rituals.’
‘Is copulation required to sustain a romantic relationship?’
‘Suppose that…someone, nameless, tells another someone, nameless, that they are in ‘love’ with them…and the other someone leaves the continent with a manifestation of intention not to return…on a scale of bouken to kraken, how damaging is that interaction, and how best might the person remedy it…?’
‘So, if a man almost kills his only friend…’
Detraeus grimaced.
He absolutely shouldn’t have come. He was making a fool of himself. How did casual conversations function for an extended period, let alone less casual ones? Perhaps he could wordlessly convince her to do all the talking without…direction? Or he could leave. Perhaps he should leave.
With abrupt stiffness — aiming to move before he could second guess himself entirely and flee back into the treeline — Detraeus reached out, gripped a small sack strapped amidst his things, yanked it loose, and tossed it unceremoniously before Malta.
“Tell me what you know of poisons.”
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Posted: Thu Sep 25, 2014 5:12 pm
Malta was a little taken aback when a clothen container was suddenly thrown before her nose, which it assaulted with a variety of scents, not the least of which was... Groda Mushroom! She yipped delightedly and nosed the bag open to take a look at the find! Used to gruffness, she happily took the present in the spirit it was given (sort of). “Oh! Thank you!” she said, closing the bag again with awkward claws and pushing it towards herself so she wouldn't forget it. “These are really for me? I've wanted to use them in recipes for some time now, but nobody will go with me to catch groda...” Her earfins perked up. “You want to know about poisons?” she asked, surprised, “Really? Uh...” it was unexpected. Aside from treating them, what would magescians want with poisons? Some of the tribe wanted to use it as a weapon – coat their claws with some poison or another and use it to damage their enemies, but others in the tribe said it was dishonorable. When they asked about poisons, it was usually an order to either make or cure them. They didn't care at all about different types or about the amazing way they worked. “Well... I know a lot about poisons! What in particular do you want to know about them?” she asked, eager to tell him whatever he wanted to know.
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Posted: Fri Oct 03, 2014 6:57 pm
Detraeus relaxed a fraction. Poisons. That was a safe subject. And Malta seemed more than willing to start off on that tangent, given sufficient direction. Where to start, though? He was genuinely interested. Though he hadn’t used a great variety of them himself yet, he knew their usefulness, and knowledge from an expert did appeal to him.
“Fast acting,” Detraeus said. “Those which slow reaction time or seize up muscles…anything that can be applied to a blade or arrow tip and depended upon to remain effective.”
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Posted: Sat Oct 04, 2014 8:16 pm
Malta nipped at her claw thoughtfully. ”Sure!” she said, her tail twitching happily as she settled down again. Detraeus was a safe person, and he wanted to know things she knew a lot about. This wasn't the best thing ever – that, in Malta's opinion, would be bread with fruit and meat and nuts baked into it, served with butter, and eaten with Detraeus or Castor or some other friend of hers. That would be just perfect! Talking about poisons was pretty damn close, though... and she did know a lot. She knew of poisons that stuck to blades, poisons that went through skin, poisons that killed quickly – too quick for an antidote, poisons that killed slowly with plenty of time, and poisons that did not kill at all. She knew of poisons that stopped pain, and poisons that caused it, and poisons that caused paralysis and sleep in the whole creature, or something more local. She'd even heard of poisons that were safe on their own, but when put on claws or metal became capable of great harm. And she knew how they worked too, and was happy to – at even the slightest encouragement – tell Detraeus some of the interesting details (possibly until his nonexistent eyes glazed over). She was exremely happy to talk about it – almost paradoxically so for someone as meek as her, considering the subject matter was, well, death and incapacitation through chemical means. But it was her subject: potions and poisons - something she knew a lot about. It was a subject that delighted her beyond the practicality of use, and she was happy to share it with her friend. ”... and it's undetectable, even by magic!” she said, grinning. She was having fun – more fun than she remembered having since... she had no idea. Speaking of ideas, in the ensuing lull in conversation, she had one. “Detraeus, do you want poisons? For yourself?” That would make sense! “I can...” the idea blossomed into something Malta quite liked, “I can make them, you know...”
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Posted: Thu Oct 09, 2014 10:49 pm
Detraeus listened attentively, making mental note of everything that sounded even remotely helpful, and tucking away the spare pieces of information for potential future reference. All of it interested him, and blessedly distracted him. At least, it did while she was speaking. Unfortunately, as soon as her words came to a significant pause, his mind flit back naturally to the reasons he’d come — however foolish they seemed to him in retrospect — and he frowned. When she asked another question, he blinked, shaking himself out of his drifting thoughts and re-focusing his attention on her.
“I—yes.” He blinked, not used to having open offers handed to him without price tags attached. “I would appreciate it…though, are you wanting coin for your efforts…?” His brow furrowed again and, as abruptly as it came to him, he let the words fall out of his mouth, figuring that would be the only way they would ever make it into the air: “What do you know of romance? Or Magescian courting rituals? Or…” ‘…the function and relative necessity or lack thereof of intercourse in a romantic partnership…’ His pulse thudded messily against his ribcage, his gut lurching and roiling ominously, and he swallowed back the rising bile of panic in his throat — not now — in order to force the remaining words out. “Mating…rituals…generally…”
In the immediate aftermath, he visibly cringed, and only just managed not to instantly amend his questions and request that she ignore them. The words were out. What was the worst that could happen?
He opted not to dwell on that thought.
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Posted: Fri Oct 10, 2014 6:42 am
Malta was startled by his question about coin. She had first been paid in coin while in Obsidian city and was trying to reconcile it with her knowledge of value, and the value of her craft. The Settlement had mainly bartered goods and services for other goods and services, and trade was vibrant there as every khehora brought something unique to the trading cloth.
Here, she traded her services for the protection and respect of the tribe, such as it was.
She still had most of the coin the alchemist had given her, and had no idea what to do with the shiny little circles; she didn't even know that she had been ripped off, and that she was owed far more than she received. Of course, given that they were pointless in general, it didn't matter much to her in the end.
She had just opened her mouth to tell Detraeus that no, she did not need coin, and maybe somehow articulate that she was just happy that he wanted something that she could do, when he asked his other question and threw her off completely.
'What do you know of romance?'
“I know that it has little at all to do with poisons...” she said, slightly flustered, At least I hope so... she thought. Poison in romance was a strange concept for her – although she supposed... Best not get into that...
It was a huge shift in mindset to talk about romance from poisons. On the one hand, Malta knew very little – personally – about romance. She was young, and had never been courted or courted herself. But she knew enough about the theory to give advice – though she had noticed that everybody knew about the theory and gave advice. Her advice, though, seemed to work, which was heartening.
It was obvious, though, even to the usually cheerfully oblivious khehora, that he was agitated. Clearly, this was an important question for Detraeus (and why wouldn't it be?!). That meant she had to help him. If Detraeus wanted to know about relationships, then she would try her best to give him what he wanted.
”Well, I've never been courted...” she said, a little awkwardly after a slight silence, ”But I do know a few things...”
But could she deliver? Could she give him what he wanted? Could she help him?
She had to try.
“Mainly about khehora, though.” she admitted, “I don't know how different it is, but um...” she sought out the words, “I know that 'romance' is a spiritual bond between people. It's built on respect and love and it...”
Gosh this was hard to articulate.
“And it takes a while to come to, uh, fruition...” she searched for an example... and found the perfect one. “Like a tree! It grows slow and strong and eventually it becomes something wonderfully beautiful...”
Malta was a bit of a romantic about romance.
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Posted: Fri Oct 10, 2014 11:57 am
Detraeus frowned, listening intently, but shifting awkwardly at some of the words, well aware that ‘respect’ wasn’t signified very well by his departure as it had been. But he did…love Araceli? He was fairly certain he did. He couldn’t imagine that the feeling was anything else, and he’d certainly never felt — nor did he expect ever to feel again — anything remotely similar for anyone else. But then, he had never loved anyone before now, so what basis did he have for comparison? He had never loved or been loved, and felt at a loss.
“Suppose…” He shifted his weight again, tail flicking across the rock uncertainly. “Suppose two persons dislike each other. They fight at first, but then grow to know each other, help each other, and…begin to exchange some gestures of affection. They become…protective of one another, and eventually arrange to live together after a period of a year. They share a dwelling, meals, and company for another full passing of the four seasons, and the one grows…particularly attached. He feels…comfortable in ways he never had previously and knows he would kill or die for the other’s safety. But words of affection are not exchanged. Or…not ‘love’ in any case. And on a particular night, someone betrays his trust…and when he comes to the other, he discovers she knew of the betrayal and did not inform him. She purports to…‘love’ him for the first time then…despite her lies. And he…leaves, insisting that she never lay hands on him again, and departs to a separate continent…but his emotions remain stubbornly intact.”
He eyed Malta, weighing the degree of her understanding and stretching his wings with a restless flick, uncertain if he’d even voiced his point articulately enough. He was unused to utilizing so many words at once, and it felt strange to say the least. But these were, he supposed, extraordinary circumstances. He looked away, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, barely above a murmur.
“Supposing that her intentions were genuine at the time…” ‘…despite her actions to the contrary…’ “Has he severed the ‘tree’ at its roots? Or is there…some method to salvage it, supposing he has no means to put her from his mind otherwise…”
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Posted: Fri Oct 10, 2014 10:33 pm
Malta gave him an odd look. It was obvious (even to her) that he was talking about himself and another. Which meant he had an 'other'. Which meant that he was getting relationship advice from Malta about this other: She tried to focus her energized mind into the task at hand instead of mentally squealing in delight at the thought that her friend might have an 'other'. That was so great for him! Malta felt very important, being asked for help in such a personal and important thing as the mate he was courting!
Except... It sounded... Very complicated. The stinger on the end of her tail rapped against the stone thoughtfully as she listened to Detraeus's tale and wondered if she dared to offer help, or if she was – being newer to this than, apparently, Detraues – completely out of her league.
As she listened though, she decided that she was not actually so out of her depth - After all, things seemed to be progressing the way they were supposed to!
The really strong relationships she'd seen (which, admittedly, was not much at all) had all started out from dislike and had gradually grown into something. That was very strong, slow-grown respect and love, if ever she knew it. Sure, he (or the theoretical person in the story, since Detraeus was clearly a little... shy? It didn't fit with him, but who knew, with warriors, what lurked beneath their hardened surfaces? Malta had been surprised by her cousins more than once: Just because everything about her was on the outside did not mean that others did not carry those same flaws and softnesses and foibles inside them...) hadn't said certain words, but it sounded, otherwise, strong.
This healthy-seeming relationship (from what Detraeus was describing) had a dramatic twist, though: A lie, a betrayal, and angry words... all recipes for drama and trouble.
She contemplated his question, trying to find the best answer to give him... but it was no good, she needed more information. She would have to pry.
“Not necessarily,” she said finally, resting attentively with one paw over the other, “Trees are sturdier than you think, especially when they are so well-grown...” She wondered, briefly, if she was overextending the analogy. She decided she wasn't – trees were a very good analogy, and only got better the more she thought about them.
“Um...” She hesitated: She didn't want to go too far and spook her friend in such a sensitive moment, but she had to pry “Might I know what the friend did to betray this man?” (If Detraeus didn't want to put himself in the story, she wasn't going to force him to.) “It makes a lot of difference.”
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Posted: Thu Oct 16, 2014 11:29 am
Detraeus bristled, tensing, and the spines on his tail rippled like a quillboar on edge. It flicked along the rock, twitching before curling around his legs, and he diverted his gaze elsewhere.
“Lied,” he said at length. Which was true in a sense. At least, it certainly felt true to him. Though Casseth had never outrightly told him he was half and half or three quarters oblivionite and one quarter dovaa, he had given Detraeus every right to assume, knowing Detraeus’ objections to anything else and willfully omitting information. For Malta to get an adequate sense of the situation, however, perhaps the simple statement alone wasn’t enough, and thus, after an extended period of hesitation, Detraeus elaborated. “He wasn’t what he pretended to be. Let a friend…trust him…without giving full information.”
He shifted his weight, stretching his wings a fraction. Restless.
“She knew what he was. She knew, and she didn’t tell m—anyone.”
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Posted: Thu Oct 16, 2014 1:32 pm
Malta rumbled in somber encouragement, concerned – mainly – about the way Detraeus was reacting to his own words. He seemed very tense, very stressed. Clearly this friend had meant a lot to him. But aren't friends supposed to mean a lot? So, losing one would be upsetting. She knew she would be upset if something happened to Detraeus himself, though she couldn't imagine being betrayed by him. Not by a lie, anyway... “So this friend pretended to be something he wasn't, and she knew and did not tell... the other person.” Malta summarized, “And then the other person found out... I think I see...” Truth was, she didn't. The muddle was a little clearer, but Detraeus was not being forthcoming. She knew there was more to it than what he was saying. It had to have been bad... she thought, Whatever the secret was He was so nervous, though: to press further would be like stacking stones: there was a chance for everything to come crashing down, everything meaning their friendship... And then she would know what that betrayal felt like for herself. If she wanted to help him, though, she needed to know more. And if she wanted to know more without driving him away, she needed to be careful. “Was it the information that upset the other person, or the lie itself?” she asked carefully.
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Posted: Thu Oct 16, 2014 2:10 pm
“The information,” Detraeus snapped in spite of himself.
It wasn’t Malta’s fault, and part of him cautioned that he oughtn’t let it appear that he thought it was, shouldn’t direct his anger in her direction, but instead temper himself. The deeper she drove into the topic, however, the more his tangled emotions resurfaced from where he had shallowly — and apparently ineffectively — buried them, and the more impossible it became not to delve into them.
“He knew how I felt — he’d known me for four years. Trained with me, ate with me, allowed me to trust him despite—” The muscles in his back bunched as his teeth grit, his wings folding inward like gripped fists. “He had watched me slaughter birds,” Detraeus growled beneath his breath. “Saw me behead them, cut their bellies open and watch their innards paint the arena floor with their poisoned blood. He knew…but he let me think him my friend for four. Years.”
Leaning a fraction to his left, Detraeus spat over the edge of the rock before sitting back and grimacing as he flexed his fists against the stone. It figured, he supposed. All this time, and never a word on Casseth’s mother. The woman might as well have not existed for all they spoke of her. Runaway part-bird hybrid. He snorted.
“He was one of them. All the time he knew me and before that, he had Seren’s blood in his veins…” Detraeus frowned and refolded his arms over his chest, gaze passively studying the forest floor below. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a murmur, barely audible. “I should have killed him. I could have…I don’t know why I didn’t.”
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