❂ Ottolo ❂ Working on his self esteem and learning to fight.
Age: ~15 Birthtime: Early in the summer. Race: Wind Earthling Height: ~5ft 3'ish
Likes: Drawing, Zekiel, People reading to him, tinural and Mammu. candles. Dislikes: The dark, people far larger than he is, being judged based on his race. Stage: Prentice Currently: In Yael, recovering from several broken limbs and injuries
Personality
Quiet: Tumelo had never been one to use his words very well. He took in so much information, asked so many questions, but that's all that ever came from him. Questions about the world around him. His thoughts and feelings were never quiet made evident. He lacked the excitability and friendliness that his brother had such a great knack for. Despite his lack of words, he does hum pretty often, or whistle.
Kind: Tumelo has a habit of putting people before himself, and giving what he can to help others, especially when it comes to animals. The land is a blessing to them all, so they should take care of it. People, too, are a blessing, and they should be treated with kindness and respect.
Wary: The last year or so has not been kind to the young man. After learning that his father was such a huge liar when it came to his life, he's finding it hard to deal with people, never knowing their true intentions anymore. Everyone will be seen as posing a threat to some aspect in his life, atleast for a little while until he gets to know them.
Guilty: Frustrated with himself for not being able to save his brother and father's life, Tumelo disappeared into the Sauti wilds for a little over a year, before coming back to retrieve his mother for an extended adventure. The entire time he's felt guilty over being so weak and sickly before that his days are riddled with thoughts of "I have to be stronger, I have to protect, I have to provide". He does this now by taking care of his mother, and researching how he can become the protector he so desperately wishes to be.
History
Summary: The younger of a pair of Windling brothers. Raised by an adventurer mother, and had an adoring merchant father.
He was too weak and sickly and young to fight in the war, in which his father and brother, Lusala, perished in.
His mother lost her sight in the war, and he now has dedicated his life to giving hers the best adventure she's ever had.
----
After being abandoned by his mother, Tumelo attempted suicide and wound up in Yael.
He's been tended to by Zekiel, and is finally able to leave his bedside and explore the world around him.
He's also intent on changing his name to Ottolo, gifted to him by Zekiel.
Detailed History under spoiler.
Tumelo grew up with his mother, father, and older brother, Lusala, until he reached the age of 10. They were a very close knit family, traveling together through Sauti and peddling their wares between different villages in both Zena and their own harsh homeland. There was very few squabbles between the family, and they nearly seemed to be ideal!
However, soon the family run business began to grow bigger and bigger until his father became the master of a large scale trading company and found himself settling down in a small coastal area near the border of Zena and Sauti. The family settled there for a year or so, sustained by the constant mercantile traffic that came through their village, before Tumelo's mother had to call it quits. Having been born and raised deeply in the Wind Tribe's nomadic ways, and lacking the business mindset of her husband, she found herself miserable and went through each day as if there was nothing new ever happening for her again.
The love Tumelo's father had for his wife was far too strong to ignore the young mother's misery, so he compromised and told her that she may continue to wander, as long as she returned here on his birthday, her birthday, their anniversary, and the day their children were born. It just so happened that each of those days happened in a different season, so she would return four times a year, until her wandering spirit could stand to be still no more. After discussing this with their children, the eldest, Lusala, agreed to stay with his father, to learn the ways of their trade in order to inherit their business, and the younger and sicklier, Tumelo, chose to wander with their mother, to ensure that their traditions and history would not be forgotten amidst the sea of fortune their father amassed.
For seven years they lived this way, the father's business and legacy booming and the mother becoming more powerful as she fought her way through Sauti and adventured alongside her young son.
From his mother, Tumelo learned how to live alone. Scavenging on the vast and harsh landscape of Sauti, only taking what he needed and never more, understanding the flora and fauna better than one could learn from books alone. As used to this freedom he became, when that time came around each season to go home, it was as if nothing had changed. Father was still as jovial and business-like as ever, and his brother had grown to be charming and kind. His mother grew older and wiser, seemingly the ever wild and excitable warrior she was born to be. And Tumelo... He became entranced with wildlife and the beasts that roamed the land. They met, exchanged words of love and companionship for a few weeks, before they parted once more.
And then the war came.
Tumelo and his mother had been far north, in Zidel meeting with old friends when news of the war broke out. There was no hesitation to rush to aid in the the war from his mother, and she left in the middle of the night to the Tale Battle Camp, leaving her son behind for his own safety.
Ever an obedient young man, Tumelo stayed behind and did what he could to gather funds to atleast find something to send to his mother and father down in the war. Each week he'd receive a letter from his mother, telling of the fighting, telling of how their family was safe for now and fought side by side. And each time, he'd respond he was coming down, but even he knew he had not the means to, not on his own.
Then one week, the letters stopped coming. It was then Tumelo managed to convince his neighbors in Zidel to lend him a mount and managed to find his way to the Tale Camp. When he arrived, there was nothing but grief among the tents.
His mother had been blinded by the fighting, her eyes taken from her by the wrath of a sharpened blade, and though she was otherwise fit to fight, her senses were too dulled in this unfamiliar land. She did not have the echos of the mountain to help guide her, but she lived. Her husband and elder son were not so luck, having been slain by a rain of arrows they had no preparation for.
Grief struck Tumelo deeply, both for having lost his beloved brother and father, and for being too weak and unprepared to come down and fight. Against his mother's wishes, he packed them both up from the camp, gathered his brother and father's bodies, and began the long trip back to their settlement to bury them where they lived most of his young life.
Once they had returned to their settlement, and the dead were buried and the business was in the hands of his father's brother, secrets of his father and brothers actions began to surface. Records of traveling to far lands even though his father always told them he had settled there hand hadn't left in a long time. A long list of lover whom his father had taken and courted, though no new children were ever produced. Hells, his father didn't even seem to have mentioned Tumelo or his mother as ever having existed. There were documents upon documents of recorded deals and love letters sent to people all over Tendaji, just as his father had traveled.
Tumelo could never tell his mother, however. Her eyes were already taken from her, how could he take the fond memories from her as well? The bitterness within him grew silently, and he pushed back everything he knew about the man into a dark corner of their storage to be hidden away. Having already had the image of his father destroyed, Tumelo couldn't bring himself to look into his brother's belonging, to see what kind of life he led, and he put that, too, away.
A year or so of traveling alone, attempting to reconcile the guilt he felt for being so weak, and giving his mother time to adapt to the loss of her sight, Tumelo returned to their Merchant Settlement, and tasked himself with finally cleaning out the old memories of his dearly passed brother. Among the items were letters addressed to friends he had met on his journey and a journal.
There was so much written within that journal. Tales of the starts in Zena, of the soft grass of Tale... Dreams of a bright future that he wanted to have one day, of simply exploring and living day to day instead of taking up the trade. And in the back of the journal, there was one final letter, next to an entry that stated "If I pass... Please send this off."
Before he would begin his own Journey to become stronger and to let his mother resume the life she had led before her sight was lost, he would do this last thing for his brother, Lusala. He had to, as he had done nothing else to help him.
Kapoodles
Battle-ready Waffles
Online
Kapoodles
Battle-ready Waffles
Online
Posted: Tue Aug 25, 2015 7:08 pm
❂ Relationships ❂
Family
Lerato - Mother location unknown: A stern and fierce warrior of a woman who desires nothing more than to explore the world beyond what she knows of Sauti. She fought in the war against Oban and has lost her sight as a result. She travels with her surviving son, Tumelo, trying to find a way to be as she was once before. Despite her aggressive nature, she loves deeply and will fight for what she has tooth and nail. A cruel woman who abandoned her son in the snowy mountains of Zena, stabbing him several times and leaving him to die. Tumelo searched and searched for her, until ultimately giving up, losing his purpose, and attempting to end his life.
Udak - Father Deceased: A man who has as many secrets as his beard was long. He was known to Tumelo to have been a jovial man who lived a stationary life running a large merchant's caravan. He gave up that for a time to fight in the war against the invading Oban. He did not survive the fight. Upon his death, Tumelo learned these stories weren't true, and the man roamed Tendaji much more so than his mother did, leaving countless lovers in his wake. Tumelo is the only one who knows of this within their family, and has kept it from his mother, to avoid heartbreak.
Lusala - Brother Deceased: A young man who gained the jolliness of his father full force. He loved the world and wanted nothing more than to bring happiness and peace wherever he went. He passed while fighting in the war against Tumelo, under a flurry of arrows. Tumelo has only recently gone though the last possessions of Lusala's, to find a letter that would be delivered.
Friends
Zekiel (Acolyte) Pajore, Yael: A kind young Acolyte who has been caring for Ottolo since he had arrived in Yael. His first and only friend, who has been kinder to him than anyone else he had ever known. Ottolo sees him as the most important person in his life, and owes him a great debt.
Aquaintences/Allies
Tacrinth (Healer) Pajore, Yael: A doctor that occasionally visits Ottolo in his room. He seems cold but has very nice way about treating his patients and wanting to do what's best for them. Ottolo has not seen him many times, but does with to know him better.
Enemies/Rivals
Jolanta (Guard) - Pajore, Yael: A man who claims he's the paladin to the Priests and Priestesses where Ottolo is living at. Threatened to kill Ottolo while he laid in a bed with two broken legs. Insists that Ottolo is unworthy to be alive and is a threat to the church. Ottolo is not very fond of him.
1 Set-up Journal 1 Month's Time 25 RP Growth Points xxxxOne (900 word minimum) solo is required to show class affinity 1 Completed Class Quest
Stage 2 - Stage 3 2 Month's Time 35 Growth Points xxxxNOTE FOR RIDERS/GUARDIANS: Riders and Guardians must have a 600 word solo in this stage for picking their mount. The familiar must be bought/won/etc during or before stage 2. 5 EXP Growth Points 1 Completed Class Quest
Stage 3 - Stage 4 2 Month's Time 50 RP Growth Reqs 10 EXP Growth Reqs 1 Completed Class Quest
Stage 4 - Legendary 4 Month's Time 80 RP Growth Reqs 20 EXP Growth Points 1 Completed Legendary Quest xxxxTHIS QUEST IS PROMPTED BY STAFF! It is the only req that is not completed before posting for growth..
Red began to stain the basin that Tumelo had knelt before. Every so often he dipped a damp cloth into it and rang out the bright red blood in favor of bringing a slightly cleaner rag to his arms and legs. How many times had he done this already, maybe six, maybe seven?
He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around what he had done to deserve this. His mind raked through everything that happened, his words, his movements, his cooking, his offering of help. His mother had not yet come back from the bar after their encounter, but he was sure she'd return soon. She always did, even after saying such hateful things…
There were times his mother came out of the bar drunk out of her mind while he sat outside waiting for her. Sometimes with a man or a woman on her arm, sometimes angry, sometimes just sad... But never had she come out and done this... It was baffling to think about. A soft whimper came from his lips as he placed the rag on his shoulder now and reflected on the actions from earlier in the evening. --- This evening, the elder wind tribeswoman seemed to be going through a mixture of emotions... Tumelo did not know the date, but it was a sad one. Though the war was over a decade ago, his mother, Lerato, remembered it vividly. It was the last thing she saw before the blade took her sight. And it was this day when her eldest son and husband were both revealed to have been slaughtered. She remembered how much pain and anguish and horror she felt as she found herself unable to even look at their corpses because of a goddamn war her youngest couldn't even fight in.
She had never said it out loud, but she hated the child. She hated his weakness and fear. It was as if every single thing she tried to teach him he failed at. Maybe that was why tonight she simply couldn't take his presence anymore.
The moment she came from the rickety old tavern Tumelo approached her and she cringed at the sound of his voice.
"Mother... Would you like to lean on me on the way a back to the inn?"
"No. Don't touch me." She took a few steps, her feet uncertain. There was no doubt that her feet were slipping from under her; the alcohol in her system betraying her. For a moment Lerato was falling, in the next, she was barely inches from the ground, tiny arms holding her up, shaking under her weight. But gods was he trying.
"A-are you okay? I-I have you!" In an instant she grabbed her dagger from her hip, and lashed out at him. Once, twice, three times, four times, over and over until she felt the blade sink in a satisfactory number of times.
"Mom... W-what did I... W-" Tumelo found himself unable to do anything except try to covers his face and arms as the woman he called mother assaulted him. When she finally stopped, he began to pant, trying to force back the panic that was welling up in his chest. She loved him, he was sure of it. She wouldn’t kill him, not like this. “Mom… P-please..”
"SHUT THE ******** UP, YOU LITTLE WORM!" Her voice echoed loudly despite the snow muffling most other sounds, and Tumelo visibly flinched, clutching at a particularly deep wound on his hip. It hurt... It hurt so badly. A few drops of blood dripped down into the snow, it’s warmth leaving red tinted holes as it sank down to the ground. His arms bled, his legs bled, there was bits and drips of blood everywhere on him, and she couldn’t even see it. Did she care? He didn’t know...
“You worthless little maggot… How dare you put your hands on me!” Tumelo couldn’t understand what was happening but that knife was too close to his face. She knew where he was… She could hear him, she could feel his warmth that leaked into the frosty air, and she could smell the blood. The blood of her own. No. No, she didn’t have a son. Not anymore. “Stay the ******** away from me. I do not NEED your little weak a** following me everywhere! You are USELESS. You are nothing! You are a weak and pitiful and should just lay down and die in the snow!”
“Mother, please, I just want to help— “
“I DO NOT NEED YOU HELP!” She screamed at him, finally throwing her dagger with an expertly trained hand and lodging it deep into his shoulder with a dull thud. Tumelo did not scream or whimper, instead struck with awe and horror at what she had done. Lerato then smiled. A smile the likes that the young, sickly windling had never seen. It was so venomous and crazed
“I hate you… I ******** HATE you! The gods would have been more merciful were they have given me a rock for a child…” Her voice no longer held such anger and spite as she did when she struck him. Her voice was cold and empty, lifeless even. She didn’t care. She didn’t care at all. “Go.”
Lerato did not wait for him to respond, or to cry out for help or whimper in the snow. She reached over to his shoulder, pulling the knife out as sharply as she could, and turned back towards the entrance of the tavern. The blade that tasted her son’s flesh was quickly wiped off on the bottom of her shoe before she disappeared beyond the doorway, leaving the young one behind.
It took a long time before Tumelo realized what had happened. He was bleeding. She had cut him so deeply and said… She said she hated him. Finally, a sob came from his lips, harder than any other he felt before as he began to tend to himself. Thick, flat mounds of snow were pressed into the deeper cuts to try to stop them, and gods did it hurt. The warm blood quickly began to melt the snow in his hands, but it still took a long while before he came to his senses enough to move.
Knowing that he would become even sicker were the wounds be left exposed, he rose to his feet, trembling. The inn wasn’t too far, he’d be okay, he knew he’d be okay... --- Tumelo was well trained on how to stitch himself up at this point. Though he was weak, he would often throw himself infront of any threat his mother faced even if she didn’t want it. He knew how to go about this and shifted his position to sit before a mirror with a bit of fishing line and needle.
First stitch… Tumelo bit down hard on the rag in his mouth, sobbing into it as a sharp pain shot up his arm. He had to let the needle go to grip and clench at the fabrics he sat upon. He wanted to scream! He had no business doing such a thing to himself, but no one else was there to help, no one else wanted to, he couldn’t afford it. And that was okay, he could do this, gods willing.
Second stitch… Four different points of flesh were pulled at once, then Tumelo banged his hand hard on the floorboard below him, all but screaming at the pain in his shoulder. Immediately after his hand made contact with the ground, there was a loud thump below him, a broom handle tapping up from the floor below. He knew he couldn’t do that again, lest he risk being caught alone in the room. Lerato had all of their money, he couldn’t be kicked out, not yet.
Third stitch, fourth stitch, fifth stitch… His shoulder no longer felt the pain after the third stitch, and he somehow made it all the way to tying a knot at the end of it. But that was just his shoulder… The stitches on his hip would be so much harder.
It took so much longer to get the stitches on his hip finished, and he praised the gods that were listening that he was smart enough to lay down the extra layers of fabric and blankets below him because after the first stitch he found himself sitting in piss, gasping and writhing in pain. The skin there was so much thinner than his shoulder, so much closer to the bones that protruded out at an award manner due to malnutrition. There were moments he was so certain he had passed out from the pain, because by the time he had completed his task, the sun was peaking over the horizon.
In that last bit of night he had, Tumelo quickly attempted to clean up the room, his hands shaking terribly even then. Mother would be home soon, he knew it. He didn’t want to have her angry because the room smelled of piss, and that there was blood on the ground. Every inch of his body ached and groaned throughout the process but soon everything was clean, he was clean, and he gingerly laid himself down on the bed, clinging to the pillow his mother had used the night before. It smelled like her perfume and he just thought over and over again.
I miss her… I love her… Mother, please come home soon.. Over and over, as if it were a prayer before he closed his eyes to sleep. --- She never came. Days and days went by, but Lerato never returned. After the first day after their encounter, the innkeeper gave the small boy a message left behind by the woman. Having not been so curious as to read the note, the innkeeper did not bother to notice just how distressing the note was.
I do not want you. Stay here and die in the snow.
The instant that he found out what the note said, thanks to a kind stranger, Tumelo’s eyes began to well up. This was a lie, a horrible lie, but there was no mistaking that the slanted and jagged words were the blind writings of his mother. He dared not show the innkeeper, and hurried back into his room to wait.
The second day passed, and the innkeeper kicked the child out of the inn. He had not the money to reside there any longer, and there were other guests waiting for rooms, so out he had to go. Tumelo didn’t mind, he knew that was how the world worked, and he bowed out respectfully. He didn’t have much to go on for where his mother had gone, but he’d be damned if he would lose her. She was Blind! She needed him! Didn’t she…?
He had learned a few things from her and her harsh ways of training. Yes, it was brutal on the young mans body but he could be just as skilled a tracker as his mother had been. Though, it was far different tracking an earthling than it was tracking a wild beast. But maybe his mother should be considered one… Violent, aggressive, unpredictable… She was all those things and more. But unlike his mother Tumelo was relatively good with people, willing to interact with them to get the information he needed, filling their ears with her description, he essence until they could point him in the right direction.
With determination seldom seen in someone his age, Tumelo set off. He’d follow her trail of rampage and alcohol drippings until he found her again. Over the snow, down the mountains, he followed her, scared out of his mind, but unwilling to give up. He wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. She needed him, he was sure! He was the only child left, and she… She was the only family he had. He couldn’t lose her too…
-- Nearly a quarter of a year had passed since he left Zena. Constant delays due to waning health and becoming lost repeatedly resulted in what should have only taking a few weeks seem like eternity. He certainly did not mean to take so long, doing his best to stay on the heels of whenever his mother had gone. Initially he was left with no clue where to begin his search, but a kindly old woman was able to point out where someone perfectly fitting Lerato’s description had headed to. If only Tumelo had the mind to stay with the kindly woman, perhaps he would have been able to keep up the pace behind his mother.
It truly felt like she was doing everything her power to throw him off, winding around the cities and each of the landmarks multiple times, but the trail stayed fresh. Every time he felt close to her, so close that he swore he could still smell the perfume she wore in the air, he had just missed her. Food was so sparse, for he spent no time working like he would when he still traveled with his mother. No, every waking moment he had was given to the search, to walking as far as his feet could carry him. And when they couldn’t carry him any longer, he curled up where he could and slept for days, putting more time and distance between them. He still echoed in his mind when lost and afraid I love her… I miss her… She just… She’s scared and Lost, that’s why she keeps moving… She really does want me, I’ll prove to her that I’m strong! She’ll praise me for being able to follow her, I just know it!
By the time his feet made it to the tall, tall border separating Sauti from Matori, Tumelo was unrecognizable. His cheeks were hollowed and thin, and any remnants of baby fat on him was all but gone, leaving a sickly looking boy who was nothing but skin and bones.Once vibrant blonde hair became dry, caked with mud and a faded color that looked more like dirty sand than golden fields and his eyes had sunk so deep into his skull that one would not know he was just barely beyond being a youngling. The sun had burned down so hard on his skin that it was no longer pale, but a deep brownish red and leather like.
But by gods did he make it. Through storm and blazing sun and snow and sleet, he had made it. Though his feet bleed and blistered beyond recognition, he had made it. There was so much confidence in his heart that he had managed to finally catch up with the woman whom he loved so dearly that he didn’t even bother to ask the innkeeper there for a room. He simply stood at the highest peak he could, sitting there under the blazing sun, and waited. And the hours turned to days, and he did not move. He could see the entirety of the cliff’s surface; every inch, every direction was visible
“She’s not coming.” After months of moving nonstop, dreaming of seeing his mother’s smile and having that light within him burn just enough to keep him going, everything went dark. There was no hope left, There was no one coming for him, or someone who truly cared. Who did he have left in the word? What purpose did he have left to do?
His father was dead… His brother was dead… His mother had told him, screamed at him that she hated him, that he was worthless and should die. He was left in the snow, bleeding and crying and in pain, by the only person in the world he thought mattered to him. Tumelo truly, TRULY believed that she was there waiting for him, that she would be standing there, crying, apologizing and ready to hold him tight for the first time. He thought that he had somehow proven himself to her. Tumelo kept looking around him, hoping, pleading with the gods that she’d happen to suddenly come around a corner.
But she didn’t.
And he was alone. The blood pounded heavy in his ears as he took a step forward towards the cliff’s edge, the feeling of rocks and sand crumbling just under the edge of his toes. Maybe he could reset. Maybe he could just go to sleep, and when he woke, there would be a new purpose for him. The gods could see that he was dedicated to them, that he lived his life serving them and his mother but had reached a point where he could not go on. To be so empty after such faith was terrifying.
He wanted it to end. To start anew. His gods would care for him, right? He’d find that light again in a new life.
Tumelo look down to the sparkling waters below where he stood and took a step forward. And then another. And then another.
Unable to move from his sick bed, Tumelo finds himself Utterly bored. Luckily, Zekiel has a few gifts for him.
Posted: Tue Oct 11, 2016 6:19 am
To Find One's Path - Class Quest
Word count: 1508
How many days had passed since Tumelo had arrived in Yael? Battered and broken, he was brought to the Sanctum of the foreign people, and even before he could speak he was locked away in an underground room. The young windling couldn’t blame them in their entirety; he was a stranger with cold pale skin and hair sand, something many who came by had never seen before. And not only that, he showed up on their door step closer to death than many of them had seen so close. Surely a curse must have been placed upon such a pitiful, strange creature, they must have thought, and placed him as far away from others as possible, locking him away in the furthest reaches of the healing structure on the Sanctum’s land. There was no escape from where they stuck him. His legs had both been broken, and were he able to walk, he still would not be able to leave. Not with the doors locked and sealed from the outside...
How long had it been since he had last saw sunlight? The room he found himself in was cold and unwelcoming originally with nothing but grey stone walls on each side. The first few days were filled with nothing but a faint flicker of candles and an occasional visit from a healer or the young Acolyte, Zekiel who was made his primary guardian and caretaker. Zekiel was rather strange in some ways, but so very kind, providing Tumelo with nothing but compassion and sweetness. That in itself was so strange; kindness was infrequent and uncommon with Tumelo, yet this man came in every day with a smile and a new story to tell.
His stories seemed to be about anything, from grand stories about visitors that came to pray, to stories about some of the younglings that came through every now and again. And while Zekiel spoke to him about his day Tumelo just listened, enraptured by it all. How could someone have so many things to say over the small course of the few hours they were apart at a time?
When the man was not around, however, his hours were so silent… They were silent and bleak for the longest time and even when he was provided with small bits of entertainment like his sketch pad and a few minor toys, they lost their appeal. His mind was not that of a child’s; simple toys and artistry could not keep him occupied for longer than a few hours each day. Tumelo would not deny that he was beginning to lose himself the longer he sat alone in the darkness. But there were moments of light every now and then.
Recently Zekiel had been bringing books to his bedside. None of which he could read yet, of course, but they were picture books. Many of them seemed to be made for children’s hands, as they were small and colorful. At first Tumelo looked at them in distain, refusing to touch them out of embarrassment for his lack of literation. He hated himself for not knowing what the symbols on the page meant and for a while he found himself in a hole once more, thinking nothing but hurtful thoughts against himself and his so called stupidity.
But even self-loathing for his own mind could not delay the boredom that quickly set in and he soon found himself picking up the first book. Instantly his eyes were met with wondrous feats of color and scenery that put his own sketching to shame. The colors were nothing like what he had known back in the mountains of Sauti, but it was leagues beyond anything he could do. Everything was dark, which suited him fine as his room never got brighter than a few candle lights’ flame so were it so blinding like the pinks and yellows of his home, surely his eyes would have stung.
This particular book seemed to be about a war between the darkness and various soldiers and races. There were even turtle people, and it all screamed cuteness and adorableness from its images, but like all the best children’s stories, there was a darker side to it. The artist did not hold back with their imagery, and the battles that these people took place in were impeccably designed, even in its stationary form. From the tips of the antennae of the pixies to the very toenail of the turtle people, every detail was intricate and detailed, as if the artist studied months and months for something as simple as this. The young windling could nearly feel the smoothness of the drawn soldier’s armor against his fingertip when he traced it over.
A thought reached Tumelo’s mind while he flipped over and over and over again of that book. He could understand the words but something stirred within him as he stared at the images. These were soldiers, warriors who did not fight alone, but on the backs of beasts both large and small. Certainly it was only a fairy tale, after all there was even a tiny little pixie riding atop of a small dragon fly creature, but they all had the same thing in common. They did not fight alone. The beasts were not just some creatures to be used for mobility, no, they were creatures of power and might, who fought alongside their masters. The pictures did not need words to describe how close of a bond they had with their masters… And Tumelo found himself wanting that as well.
He knew he was not strong. He knew that he couldn’t even walk right now, but one day he would get better, that was more than certain! He would be able to walk and train and even fight! He could not do so alone, however. After all, the young windling had always been a sickly sort even WHEN his legs were working. His mind wandered over to what he had seen when he traveled about Zena, thoughts of men and women riding atop the ginormous mammu as they hunted and traversed the snowy peaks. For creatures so large and seemingly clumsy, they moved with grace, taking no risk against themselves or their partners. Even more so, he remembered their gentleness when he was just a youngling, how willing the mammu were to draw him close and share their warmth when he was shivering alone in the snow. Tumelo had expressed his desire to see the beasts again to his caretaker but could it really be a thing he could do? Would it be something someone as weak and nervous as he was could even imagine achieving?
He had to try.
The book was quickly set off to the side and the sketchbook was picked up and immediately Tumelo began to draw. He drew and he drew, pulling from the deepest recesses of his memory to what the sweet mammu that was his friend as a child looked like. It wasn’t much of a doodle, but the image was just burning and searing in his mind and he had to get it out. And when he was done, the charcoal in his hand was gently sat down, and he held the book at arm’s length.
Each line, each crevice was studied closely, and soon enough, he found himself smiling. The image he drew was a simple one indeed, with unsteady lines and horrendous shading, but damn was he proud. It was him, riding on the back of a mammu with a lance in his hand. Endless thoughts of the adventures he could have, of how he would fear nothing with such a creature by his side flooded his mind, and his smile grew wide. He COULD be strong. He had it in him somewhere, he was certain, but maybe he just needed to give it an extra push. Just something to supplement his strength and confidence, and what could be better for such a thing than his own animal companion?
Gods knew how excited he was and how his heart began to flutter at the very thought of being able to do so! He would not find himself fighting for fun, of course, but to fight in a way to protect the ones he cared about, to protect Zekiel? He would do so without any hesitation in his heart but the additional thought of a companion such as a mammu by his side… What confidence that would bring! Ah! How he wished he could get up right now and explore the grounds to see what history they had of such a thing as a rider here on Yael. Did they even have something like a mammu? Would he even be able to bring one to this land and befriend it if he were well? Could it survive in an environment that was still unknown even to him? Hell, even if they didn’t, he could at least get a lance. When his legs healed at least. AH, Zekiel couldn’t return to his side soon enough!
Tumelo slowly improves, but Zekiel decides to bring in a a healer friend. A saddening discovery is made.
Posted: Thu Oct 20, 2016 11:30 am
To Change - Solo
WARNING: Physical Abuse, Violence, Sexual Abuse (mentioned) Word count: 2000
Suffering was something Tumelo knew all too well. It seemed to come naturally to him, not by any desire of his own but by some awful twist of fate. From a young age, the windling just knew there was something wrong. Why couldn’t he find happiness? Why couldn’t he be the person his mother wanted him to be? Why was he cursed to be weak and sickly? No matter how hard he struggled and fought to be someone that was worth more than just the s**t their pack animals dropped, it never seemed to work. And for a while, he was content with this. He had brief moments of glee and contentment, lasting just as long as the grass could be seen in Zena, but he was not miserable. Throughout all of the hatred and cruelty his mother spewed into his ears, she was still there. Until she was not.
And for the first time, Tumelo sought to end his suffering. Were his gods’ kind, they would have let him perish against the stones and sea. He sought only to find himself anew after his death and to find a way to be useful and happy in the next life, but they did not allow such a thing. Instead they left him broken and beaten in the realm of strangers who feared and hated him more than anything he had ever felt in his life. They did not let him die, but they were not kind or gentle to the starving, frail, and shattered husk of a young man.
Yet there was one who continued to show kindness to him through all of his dark thoughts and desires. A young Acolyte took him by the hand on the first day he opened his eyes in this foreign land, and had yet to let go. There was such a sweetness about Zekiel, his caretaker, that seemed to push all the storms under Tumelo’s skin far, far out of reach. Smiles and laughter, which all seemed far too foreign to the young man who was often on the brink of tears, came so easily and naturally when the man was close. And when he was gone, there were few things that could tear his mind away from pondering how long it would be until he returned. That was the cause until he met Myuto.
Myuto was a strong, lean man who stood taller than most others who had come by so far with shockingly dark locks of purple hair and large crystals that seemed to be absolutely everywhere. His eyes were the same as Zekiel’s, strange and glowing, but with such an eerie glow to them that from the instant they met Tumelo felt fear. There was no doubt that the man had no fear of his ‘foreignness’ like some of the other aids he had, in fact, he found such amusement with his pale hair and paler skin. Myuto had been tasked with assisting the windling with relieving himself, bathing, and changing the sheets of the bed that Tumelo was bound to. With both legs broken and an arm that was bound to his chest, there was no way in the heavens that he would be able to do so on his own, so the windling had no choice but to relent and allow the assistance.
At first, everything went peacefully. Myuto did his job and continued on his way, leaving Tumelo alone with his thoughts and modesty. Then it began to degrade. One day, by chance the candles burned out, and Tumelo was left in the darkness for hours. A fear began to grow and well within his chest until the point where he could not stop the tears that began to fall from his eyes. When Myuto finally came in to perform his nighty duties and found the young man sobbing, he took far too much delight in it. It was so unexpected to see that the foreigner would cry and be fearful for something he had never knew himself due to the glow of his own eyes. From that moment on, he lived to see Tumelo cry.
It started off small at first, simply blowing out the candles before he left and hearing the whimpering pleas before he closed and locked the door. Soon it wasn’t enough to phase the boy so Myuto decided to use his touch. What once was gentle rolls and lifts to get the sheets from under the youth turned to harsh grabs and tosses that caused the boy to cry out in pain. His already broken bones and vivid bruises began to ache so badly that it hurt to even think. And yet that just wasn’t enough for Myuto. No, he wanted to see the tears but not hear the sounds. After all, who knew what curses or sins the boy let forth from his lips were any sound were to be made. To resolve such an issue, a soft declaration was whispered into Tumelo’s ear.
’Make a sound, make even the tiniest peep and…’ A heavy hand came down hard against the bare side of Tumelo’s face, hard enough to leave a sizable mark and split the corner of the young boy’s lip. He could not help but yelp when it happened and even before he could cover his injured face, a second hit came across his face. It silenced him in an instant as he bit down hard on his tongue to keep himself from making another sound. Immensely pleased with this, Myuto promised softly not to leave too lasting of a mark on him, and continued to go about his duties as if there was nothing going on. A schedule change must have happened because instead of only once or twice within a few days, Myuto appeared every single day at about the same time.
New bruises soon began to form on Tumelo daily, from his shoulders down to right before the bandages started on his legs. Still, he said not a word. Not to Myuto, not to the other caretakers who came and cared for him at times, and most certainly not to his kind Guardian. It was not even mentioned until a new healer had come to treat him, and had noticed how fresh some of the markings had been. And the healer, in his kindness, subtly passed it on to Zekiel. As Tumelo was treated, the other’s gentle hands traced every bruise on him, making their way down to his hips before the windling stopped him and wished him away. It was not a worry for he was used to it happening. After all, the strong always preyed on the weak, and with most certainty he was weak. It simply was the way nature functioned.
As if an apology for the pain and suffering he went through, that night the gods blessed Tumelo with such sweet dreams. Dreams of how gentle Zekiel’s touch was, of himself being healed and walking through the gardens that the Acolyte had repeatedly told him about. They held hands wherein, whispering sweet words to one another before things escalated quickly. A touch on the hip here, a press of lips against another, clothing piled up at their feet, and Tumelo felt nothing but pleasure and ecstasy within his dream world. Upon a cry from Zekiel’s lips of ‘Ottolo!’, Tumelo startled awake once more, laying in the dim light of his room and his sheets moist and sticky against his hips. He still remained aroused, longing for the dream to continue, and made to close his eyes again to return to it before a voice cut through past the sound of his panting.
” So… Creatures like you do have these sort of things happen too. Interesting…” The windling’s blood ran cold as Myuto stood up by the door, half shrouded in darkness with his hand down the front of his trousers. How long had he been standing there?! How much had he seen?! These questions raced through his mind over and over but nothing was said. He had been trained far too well.
” I bet your mouth would feel the same as a woman’s, wouldn’t it? The rest of you can’t be moved but that ugly head of yours can scoot right to the edge now, couldn’t it? Surely, since you know what it feels like you can give this nice old man who takes care of you a little break, can’t you? After all, I’ve helped you s**t and wiped your a** for months now. I deserve a bit of a thank you, don’t I?” Myuto stepped up closer, his thighs pressing against the high rising cot that Tumelo had learned to call home. His hand moved to the tie on his pants and he began to pull himself free of them.
“Please… I-I don’t-- “A mere moment after his lips moved a thick calloused hand grabbed onto Tumelo’s throat, squeezing harder and harder while the boy weakly squirmed and grasped at it. His breath began to quickly leave him, and his pale face turned pinker and pinker until it was strained red.
” Did I say you could speak, monster?!” The other man growled at him, his grip tightening more and more. His hand refused to relent, and consciousness quickly slipped away from the boy, only barely registering the last few words before he passed out. ”That’s right. Sleep. Hopefully for good this time. “
A violent gasp brought Tumelo back into the world and he coughed and choked repeatedly. The salty release of Myuto stained his face, lips and hair, and he had no telling of just how long he had been out. Darkness engulfed the room as the candles went unlit and Tumelo went realized just where he was. His cheek was pressed against the hardstone floor, and his legs lay on the ground with him, aching and throbbing. Whether he was dragged out of the bed by Myuto or he simply fell off, he didn’t know. All he knew was that there was pain and he hated himself for it. He hated so much being so weak, he hated being Tumelo and giving into anything anyone ever said or done to him. He hated being taken advantage of and hurt and left to suffer when he had done nothing wrong except to exist. He hated being Tumelo.
Something small and gentle whispered into his mind as he curled up on the ground, sobbing. ’I hope you trust me, Ottolo.’ Just earlier that day, such soft and kind words were given to him, and even now he wanted to give in to that idea. That he truly trusted Zekiel with everything he had, even if it was next to nothing. Yet Tumelo just couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t see past just how much suffering he had gone through.
But the idea of not being Tumelo any more flickered in his mind. No one here knew that name, no one here knew the painful past that he had gone through, of how many times he had been hurt simply because he lived. He could be that person Zekiel wanted to trust him. Ottolo was known here and lived here and wanted to keep living. Ottolo wanted to be strong and heal and no longer cling to the skirts his mother once wore and any memory of him being a sobbing mess. And Ottolo KNEW he didn’t deserve any of this. He had the strength that would be needed to push past the pain and suffering and come out new and strong. And Ottolo had Zekiel. And that would be enough.
For now, Tumelo would remain Tumelo, and he would lay motionless in the puddle of fluids and blood from torn stitches on the floor. But once that door opened, he would no longer exist. Tumelo would be left behind in the darkness and only Ottolo would stand in the light. He could surely manage that much.
Lesson Learned
For as long as Tumelo could remember, he had been abused and hated for being weak. After his suicide attempt, he found himself in Yael and still found that to be true.
But he doesn't want to be like that anymore. He doesn't want to be that weakling who can only cry. He finally learns that all that has happened to him was not deserved, and he resolves to change. And he will start with his name, throwing away the name Tumelo, which was given to him by someone who hated him, and changing it to Ottolo, given to him by someone he feels truly loves him.
Ottolo is presented with his first method of freedom since arriving in Yael.
Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2016 1:35 pm
To Find Happiness - Solo
Word count: 1075
The darkness that Ottolo’s eyes opened up to wasn’t much of a surprise anymore. Yes, there was still fear there, and yes, he far preferred the light of the day, but he was not about to be reduced to a pile of tears over it.
A week or so had passed since he had last seen Myuto, since he was assaulted and beaten, and recovery had been steady thus far. He had already been given the chair by Tacrith and Zekiel had pushed him around the halls of the basement several times. It wouldn’t have been the most exciting thing that happened to him, but it certainly was more exciting than that room. He even briefly saw sunbeams filter down the stairway where a window was just out of sight. Ottolo was still too afraid to go any further, afraid of seeing the sunlight only once, only briefly, then being forced into that small, dark room forever. So he waited.
The rumors he heard every now and then stated that they were prepping a room for him, and that he would be moved on the next day where the priests stated blessings were high. Something about the purity of that day keeping curses from spreading or what not, but it didn’t matter that much Ottolo. Over the past few days, he thought a lot about the gods that the Yaelians worshiped. If all that was told and preached to him was true, then these gods were far more kind than any goddess back in Zena. They brought him here, to be cared for by a kind and gentle priest, and he would even go as far to say that they were friends.
Ottolo had never had a friend before, not one that lasted longer than a mere meeting or traveling up a mountain and down the other side in a caravan. He always felt like he was a burden to the other party, just mouth to feed or body to drag along, but that feeling wasn’t there when he was with Zekiel. The man was happy to speak with him, to talk about his day and go on and on as if words were flowing from him just as a waterfall fell. And he smiled at him, a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. Not one of pity but one of sweetness and genuine affection… His smiles often seemed to tell a story all their own, changing from excited to sheepish to kinda confused, to all sorts of different expressions, and it was wonderful.
Even now, as he laid still in the darkness, Ottolo thought of Zekiel and his glowing eyes. There was no telling what time it was, or how soon it would be until he saw his friend again, but the thought of his dark hand against his own, and the lovely tint of his hair, and the way he smiles and everything else about the Acolyte brought Ottolo great comfort.
The gods were both cruel and kind, he thought to himself at this moment, his hand finding the small tintural toy that had been gifted to him by the priest, and he brushed a thumb briefly over its shell. The gods of his land were cruel to have caused him so much distress, so much pain. They were cruel in the way they manipulated his heart to twist his thoughts into hating himself and forcing him to think that he was useless and lower than dirt to anyone else. They were cruel in the way they why left him alone in Zena, keeping him from his mother and making him feel as if the only way out was death. But… The gods of Yael were kind. They were kind to have his body pulled from the sea, and kind to have had him delivered to the Sanctum. They were kind to have their healers tend to him and mending his wounds, giving him the strength to wake from what he was sure to be the last sleep he ever had. And, in their mighty kindness and compassion, they gave the care of his life and wellbeing to their servant, Zekiel.
Zekiel was truly the dawn in his life, ending the past that had him sitting in the darkness since memories first started to form. There was never anything but kindness, and compassion, and the feelings that Ottolo felt himself developing towards his guardian was so much more complicated than he could ever imagine. It wasn’t something as simply defined as by the word love. With its many forms and shifting ways, ‘love’ seemed to be far too unspecific of a word to use to describe Ottolo’s heart at this time.
Perhaps it was dependence, which was true, but that truly sounded one sided on his part. He couldn’t survive without Zekiel, but it did not feel forced on either end. It came naturally and peacefully, like a sleep pulled upon you by a mother’s lullaby. Whatever the word was for how he felt, he knew that he was happy. Not content, that might not ever be a thing for the beaten lad, but happy certainly could be used. Happiness came when he thought of the Acolyte even briefly and only intensified as he dwelled on him more and more. Such a strange and odd feeling it was but he wouldn’t give it up for the world. He’d do his best to keep himself happy, because he was sure that when Zekiel saw his own smile, he smiled as well, and the feeling that swelled up in his chest couldn’t be ignored.
As he closed his eyes to the darkness, he found himself smiling even now, his mind filling with thoughts of flowers and sunlight kissing his skin for the first time in months, and no other would be by his side that day except for Zekiel. And they would hold hands and laugh and enjoy the day that took so long in coming that it almost seemed like an eternity. And even then, with the flowers around them, and the soft breeze touching his skin, and the sun coming down to greet him, Ottolo swore that he could find no other thought than to gaze at Zekiel in such light and have his Acolyte smile back down at him.
Zekiel was his happiness, and he would not do anything that would jeopardize how fragile the concept seemed to him.
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