Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was a calm night aboard the as-yet unnamed ship, but not so calm that they weren't making steady progress towards Taliuma. Naita sat on the deck, looking up at the uncountable points of light that decorated the void of the night sky. They were old friends to the Khehora, the only sense of place that existed in the middle of the ocean. They had guided the Stormwinds in their marauding, and they had guided her in her lonely wandering, and now... they guided Ebalia and their little group as they floated on the waves, at the mercy of the weather and the wind.

“Hiyuu,” she called to the young bonded, “Get over here and look up.” she stood on her hind legs and pointed with a claw, up at the night sky. “You see that? That bluish star there? That there's the tip of The Sword. See the stars below and above? That's the rest of it. But the tip always points ye West.” she grinned, “useful, ain't it?”

Naita chuckled. “There ya go, already on yer way to being a great navigator.” she gave the bonded an affectionately rough nuzzle. Bonded or no, he was cute. And sharp as a tack. She'd heard that bondeds weren't so smart, but maybe it was just that the dumb ones were more likely to be taken by magescians? Whatever, she didn't care.

“Aye.” she said to Ebalia, as she set down the anchor, “He'll learn the way as well as I, an' he'll be better with the winds, too.” She pointed to another one. “Now ye remember what I told ye about that one?” she asked. It was a bright star, part of the Talon constellation, and it always came up in the East and was brightest at morning and evening, just before day or night.

She would love to have a proper star chart, or one of those magescian things called books, if Ebalia could read them. She was sure that, despite the teachings of her old clan, there was more about stars to know – more that she would need to know.

“Did I tell ye the story about the sword constellation I learned when I was a wee orakoi?” she asked him, suddenly remembering, “Me ma was an elder, so she had loads o' stories to tell the lot of us... I dinna remember if I told ye that one, though...?”

“Nawt. East.” she corrected, giving Hiyuu a playful little bop on the head with her muzzle. Naita flicked her tail at Ebalia, pleased that the Oblivionite wanted to hear the story too. “Well...” she barely repressed a chuckle at the ayrala's exhaustion. Orakoi. And the night was so young, yet. It was a good story, though, and they still had a lot to go through about the wonders of the night sky...

“Oh, aye then.” Naita said, lifting a wing as an invitation – she had her own internal warmth, but on a cold night, it was much better to have another body handy to bounce that heat back to you. She glanced at Hiyuu again to see that his fight against sleep had been lost, the little beastie firmly and soundly asleep. She'd move him somewhere comfortable later.

Well, since Ebalia wanted to hear it too... why not? She'd be better in the telling for the practice. “Well, a long time ago, there was this Oblivionite hero... Tall-light? I dinna remember his name, but he were a right beast, killing Orderites in that great war ye Magescians have goin'.” A war she, personally, cared little about. “He nearly won it for ye's, or so I've been told. Anyway, the Orderite leader killed him herself in some kind o' an epic battle, but he were the goddess Soudana incarnate. Th' dark lady was right pleased at the death he caused, and not so much about his death, and since he had no soul, she had no way to bring him back again. So she built him a tower, I think – I seen it, aye, on Soldul.” she realized, amused. Twilight's pillar? Was that his name? What a dumb name – she liked the idea of Tall-light or Two-light herself: made her think of the sun and moon, or something 'mystic' like that. She snorted. “Mighty big thing, that, but being as he was her hero and all, she did a little extra: the dark lady took his sword and threw it into the sky so's none else could wield her favored's blade... or steal it, or whatever ye'all do with the weapons o' the dead.” She looked up, grinning at the constellation, “An – here's the kicker – she stuck it facing east so that, every morning after the nightly battle between 'em, Seren'd have a nice reminder of when her people were fallin' left n' right to this Oblivionite's blade. An', you know, sometimes that sunrise? When it's especially red, low-down in the sky, especially if a storm's approachin? That there's her blood, 'fore she cut herself on the blade as she rose.” Naita chuckled. “An' she keeps doin' it... Then again, there's loads of stories about sunrises n' 'sets, so I'm thinkin' that gods just be real repetitive about what they do...” she looked up at the sky, “Must be real borin' to be a god.”

“Yer welcome to 'em! I've got plenty o' stories!” Naita said, pleased. She tucked her wing around Ebalia like a blanket against the chill ocean night. “What about ye?” she asked, “I'm still awake yet, so do ye have some stories tonight?” She rested her head on her paws and looked over at Ebalia, as expectant as an Orakoi.

It was fine if she didn't obviously. Naita could talk all night and still come out of it awake, but obviously a story was better...

Naita was always up for a story she didn't know, and she watched Ebalia with interest as she began her story. Soon, however, Naita's good mood began to fall. She felt her magic warm to her anger, upset by what she was hearing.

Her own sire had left before Naita's clutch had hatched, but such was his way – he was a wandering khehorian, free with his affections, and her mother had been too high ranking to wander with him, not that she'd wanted to. But her mother had had a clan, and was one of it's elders to boot. The woman and child in the story had no one. Had nothing. The father should not have done as he had done.

And the mother...

Steam issued softly from Naita's mouth as she repressed a growl, the white of her teeth edging above her lips in a silent snarl. Naita wasn't sure about what a courtesan or a prostitute was, but she knew that the words 'malice,' 'cruelty,' and 'mother' should never be together in the same sentence. That any mother would treat her offspring in that way was inconceivable to Naita. In her clan, she had been taught, every orakoi was precious. Sure, sometimes she'd needed a little knocking around, but they'd had reason to do so. Sure, she'd gotten on the caretaker's nerves more than once, but she'd never felt malice from them. Or cruelty. And she hadn't even been blood-kin to some of them.

Naita didn't want to interrupt the story, but she couldn't help an igneous rumble of rage at the part about the slashing of the child's face. How could it have gotten that far? How could any parent have done such a thing? Was this something magescians did? Not even dragons attacked their own hatchlings so, and dragons were violent to a fault. What the hell was wrong with the twolegs?!

Her rage cooled to an angry approval as the child took their revenge. “Hope they made sure she were dead.” mumbled Naita, “Hope they made it last...” Naita couldn't even begin to empathize, to imagine herself in that situation. It was so bizzare, so unreal, so fantastical that such a thing could have happened, ever, to a real person. Fictional or not, though, Naita hoped the child got some justice.

But the story was over. The child was in the wind. The mother was dead – hopefully – but the father... “That ain't it, is it? Tell me they got their sire, too. What 'appened to 'him?” growled Naita, protesting a little as she broke the silence, “That b*****d deserved to get stabbed n' gutted and stuck w' rusty nails an' barnacles an...” she trailed off, her pupils dilating at the sight of the scars.

Naita had never thought much about Ebalia's mask. Honestly, Magescians put so much strange cloth on themselves that she'd just thought of it as more cloth. But now that she saw what it was covering... she hissed softly. She could see why Ebalia would want to cover it.

But why was she showing her now? Naita met her gaze, acknowledged her threat. “Sure...” she said quietly, not quite understanding why she was being threatened, why she wasn't supposed to tell, “Won't tell nobody.” Honestly, she wished already that she hadn't heard it.

She watched Ebalia intensely as the Oblivionite settled back on her side, shifting her wings out of the way. She was warmer than before with her anger, her magic stoked by the horror of the story.

But why had she been told? Why the scars? Why had she been threatened? Naita was confused as she watched Ebalia.

And then it began to click, bit by bit - nobody had ever said that Naita was a particularly bright khehora.

Ebalia had no family. Ebalia had mentioned that she lived 'on the street' which Naita supposed had to mean that she had no lair. It was the only thing that made sense. Ebalia was deadly and focused. And she had those scars.

Those scars.

“Oh.” she exclaimed, shuddering all the way down to her tail, “Oh.” That was really all she could say. Sea-hag's balls: Ebalia was the child in the story, or was supposed to be. If that story was true. But the scars were there. The rage was there. How could it not be true. How could something like that be made up. “Oh... Matey... Please tell me that ain't a true story.” she pleaded, “Please... tell me there were some... I dunno...” she trailed off, studying Ebalia's face anxiously. “s**t. It be true, don't it...”