Shared Misfortune [Dazen]

[Elymas]

2nd Fall, 511 A.V. The loss of autonomy, of one's freedom was never a welcomed thing. Elymas was certainly not happy with the turn of events which had led him, somehow, to be walking through an orchard in this near palatial residence he had been deposited in. 'Home' she had called it, with words like honey, falling from ruby lips that Elymas did not trust. She had smiled, and it had reached her eyes. The near gentleness with which he had been treated was as befuddling and unsettling to Elymas as the habitual cruelty he had become accustomed to while living with the Zith. Because she couldn't mean it, of course. She had to want something from him. Elymas had been instructed only to settle in, to grow accustomed to his surroundings. They'd talk more later. And then she was gone, in a flurry of sweetly scented winds. It had not taken long to explore the room he had been given, small but more than sufficient. Luxurious, compared to the cavernous hell that had belonged to him for years. He had even sprawled somewhat self-indulgently across the cot and slept. When he awoke he found food waiting for him, which thoroughly sated his empty stomach. And then.. what was there? Nothing in the immediate environ, so Elymas stepped out of his quarters. He expected to be scolded at the very least, perhaps punished for such audacity. No one seemed to notice. Those that did, did not care. He pushed the envelope further until, eventually, he found himself beneath recognizable stars, breathing an air that was rich with the taste of waters he had never seen. Everything about the place felt foreign, but Elymas pushed on. Waiting for that cautionary glance. Nothing. So it was that he found himself in an orchard, examining his forearm by the light of a full, beautiful moon. The ladies in the slavepens had bathed him well, but they couldn't be bothered to sit and pick splinters from his arms. He had managed to fill his arm with them in all of the scuffle over Xnnn a while before, but had never been given the opportunity to right the dull ache in his flesh. Quietly, he sang. It was almost a murmur, so intended for his own ears it was. Not a very vocal expression, anyway. It was a prayer. An internalization of hope that he still needed. It was enough to distract him as someone else happened upon him.

[Dazen Gyre]

The air even tasted dry, to Dazen, as he was "let go" within a certain part of the giant housing complex. He had immediately tested the limits of this supposed freedom but was met by fierce resistance from guards that had problem telling the slave exactly what and where his place was. The windows that overlooked parts of the dry city would be impossible to jump from and land safely at the bottom. Dazen was trapped, whether he liked it or not, in a prison that deceived his mind into thinking it was his new home. The house was dry, the walls were dry, the air was dry, yet the sky decided to a perfect blue; a shade of blue that reflected perfectly in the Svefra's eyes. He attempted to force his mind to escape the arid prison as Dazen looked upwards and pictured the familiar cool waves of the sea licking at his toes. His hands sprawled out on either side of his body as they kissed just the surface of the cool sea below. Dazen's daydream was interrupted by a rough cough as his body adjusted to the dry air that lacked the smooth humidity that he grew up with. No matter how many plants, ponds, fountains, or steaming vats of water Dazen saw, those didn't make up for the air quality of the Suvan Sea. His curiosity led him to another part of the prison, where he heard a faint male voice singing in the background. Dazen's sense of direction led him to a little open space within the prison where there trees bearing fruit, and even the sunlessness of the evening that followed his day of exploration didn't evaporate the overbearing heat of this new city. The man that was seated by himself without another person nearby; was the man singing to himself? Dazen tilted his head as he recognized the darkened flesh of the man (and the lack of extra arms) as another human like himself, but something about his clothes and that face with closed eyes made Dazen think he may be of a race of people that called this desert home. "What are you singing?" Dazen asked as he folded his arms over his chest and looked down to the man. Blue eyes looked back up to him and Dazen was unable to read the initial response as he stood there beside the tree that was swollen with fruit. "Is it a prayer to the multi-armed gods, so that they may free you from this ridiculous place?" In those moments of silence of no response from the man in front of the Svefra, Dazen's lips curled into a smile as he shook his head and looked down to the simple dress that was still snug around his waist. "Or perhaps this is your home, for all I know. Every giant palace needs a gardener, right?"

[Elymas]

After all that he had been through, Elymas was too weary to startle too much when the stranger came upon him. He merely glanced up, his fingers pausing in their effort to pluck unwelcome wood from beneath his skin. He took in the image of the younger man, almost a piece of art, standing before him. A slave, obviously. What free man would be humiliated in such garb intentionally? Two arms, too, seemed indicative of his likely position in this strange new place. "Prayers, yes. To Yahal. This is not my home." Elymas was beginning to feel as if home was no longer a location at all, even if he did fiercely miss the wife and children he had left behind. The brothers, the sisters, the nephews and nieces and on it went. He missed everyone who lived in his tents, in those around him. He missed the dry, dusty lands of his people. He missed morning prayers and the laughter of children, the dull business of tending sheep, the ritualistic sacrifice. Gods, but he missed it. But home, he was discovering, was something inside his breast. This tangible, living thing that kept him alive, though he awoke each day with at least a small desire to die. To find release, to be with Yahal. Elymas, after a moment, smiled. Perhaps the first sincere one the poor lad had been met with since his captivity. He then returned his gaze to his arm, and the unwelcome intruders there. "How did you come to be here?"

[Dazen Gyre]

"Who's Yahal?" Dazen asked simply as he sat down on one of the benches in the pretentious orchard. The dress that he was forced to wear was little protection against the retained heat from the bench under his posterior as he sat down and looked over to the man that was plucking something from his arm. The thought of prayers never entered Dazen's mind - why would he pray to Laviku when there would be no possibility of that god reaching him in the middle of the dry desert? His eyes looked over to the small fountain that was splashing against the wall and he smirked, almost feeling the mark of his god on his arm cool his anger. The distance from his home and from the place that Dazen drew his "power" still hadn't settled in his mind. He still felt like this was nothing but a temporary situation and that he would be able to be swimming back with his brothers and sisters in a matter of days. Who, in their right mind, would keep someone like Dazen away from the water? What purpose could he serve in the desert? It's not like he could call forth waves of water to feed the thirst of a dry desert. "I came here on a boat. They cleaned me like some sort of prize and now, here I am, sitting by the only sign of life in this dry city and wondering what I'm doing here." Dazen leaned back on the bench, his softened palm reaching to the back of the bench, gripping it hard as the muscles along his arm tightened under the clean flesh. The more that his thoughts went to where he was from, the more that his heart seemed to be in pain at the thought of waking up in a small room. In a room that didn't move, in a place that was absolutely silent. Would he ever be awoken by the clicking and chatter of dolphins again? Of the sounds of the rough waves rocking his home, his brothers and sisters running on the deck above him. Dazen sighed softly as he paid a little more attention to what was in the man's arm, but couldn't quite identify them from his vantage point on the bench. "What happened to your arm? Why didn't the other slaves clean those out when they brought you here?" Dazen smirked just a tiniest bit as he looked at the man's furry face. "They didn't shave you either. Lucky."

[Elymas]

Who was Yahal? The question pierced him to the core, and those wide blue eyes of his quickly darted back up to the face of the companion who now sat near him. Elymas considered him for a moment, wondering how best to answer that. His eyes were alight, as if he held a secret, a very dear one. This wasn't a secret that Elymas was intent to hold on to, though, and given half a chance he'd be willing to tell Dazen all about the wonderful God he served. As it were, Elymas was also sensible and knew that overwhelming the young man with so much information all at once could only turn him away. And so he measured his words, even as he managed to pluck a long, bloody sliver of wood from his arm. The extraction hurt, but there was great relief in it's absence. Only a handful more to go. "Yahal is my God. The God of faithfulness, of purity. Yahal is... good." It was hard to believe, sometimes, that any of the gods might have their better interest in heart, especially with the mess they made of things. But Elymas spoke with a cool confidence, a warm faith. "I was sold at auction. The girls there cleaned me, tended my wounds very well, but there was hardly time for a few splinters. And the Lady has only just brought me here." Elymas shrugged a broad shoulder, wiping his hand along the coarse and simple tunic he had been given. Much improvement over the tattered rags he had been wearing when he'd been captured. Again. There was only a tiny bit of blood on his fingers, from where his arm was aching and raw. This hand he extended. "I am Elymas."

[Dazen Gyre]

"If he's the god of good, why does he make you suffer something that is not good?" Dazen asked as he looked to the thorns or splinters of wood that were embedded in his skin. Though Dazen realized that his own god had forsaken him the second that he let the young Svefra's feet touch the intense heat of this never ending desert. Those logical thoughts were locked away for the moment as he watched the bloody hand approach his own. With no hesitation, Dazen took it in his own with a smile as he nodded over to the wounded man. "Dazen Gyre." With the hand still firmly in his own, he pulled the man closer to him with a firm tug to try and get a better look at the wounds on his arm. He smirked softly as he looked up to Elymas for a moment before letting his hand go, ignoring the blood that had smeared over his fingertips. "I could help you with that, you know. Slivers are a common thing from where I'm from. Some of the boats we get are not in good shape, and you get slivers all over your feet and hands if you're not careful. I got pretty good at getting them out myself. Getting my Lia to do it was worth more pain than it was worth. She had this little tiny metal tool," Dazen said as his eyes vanished from Elymas for a moment and focused on some nondescript spot on the ground as his mind recalled the warm and comforting image of his Lia. He pressed his index finger and thumb together to impersonate the little tool he pictured in his mind. "Very effective at getting them out, but painful when she had to dig in the skin."

[Elymas]

"Yahal is not making me suffer. Misfortune falls upon everyone. Perhaps he will redeem me from my situation, perhaps soon. Until then I must remain faithful. I must find what wisdom I can glean from my miseries." Elymas did not sound like a religious zealot when he spoke. Instead he said as much with a calm assurance, a certain peace that belied certainty. As if they were discussing the color of the grass of the temperature of the breeze. When the newcomer spoke of home, of splinters and things that did not make complete sense to Elymas, the Benshira only listened. And then, when he was finished, Elymas offered a golden arm in the direction of the prettily decorated youth. "I would gladly accept your help, Dazen Gyre, if that was an offer." Elymas smiled. A shadow of the warm, comforting expression it had been in the presence of his playing children, perhaps, dimmed by the miseries of this life. But it was not insincere, never. Elymas exuded a certain kindness that he might find difficult to camoflauge, and this instance with Dazen was no different. "I'm afraid the angle at which they penetrated is terrible for my other hand to approach. I've only made a bloody mess of things, but they've long since been sore. Funny, how a tiny piece of wood can cause such pain."

[Dazen Gyre]

'Misfortune falls upon everyone.' Dazen could refute this statement; he, too, was suffering. Maybe that was part of all the gods' plans, to make their subjects have a little suffering mixed in with their day to day lives? He wondered for a moment at how long he would have to suffer before he was saved from this dry prison. "For one thing, you might want to find someone sooner that can take these out for you." Dazen said sternly, a tone that was rarely used by the young Svefra and sounded out of place coming out of someone so young. He reached out for Elymas' arm, gently, and placed it in his lap as he sat beside him. Dazen examined the wooden slivers that were just under the flesh of his skin. If his Lia was here, she would be able to take all these out in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, Dazen and Elymas had to rely on the Svefra's experience on the receiving end of removing splinters. His quick and overly-clean and manicured fingers managed to pull out all the thicker slivers without much trouble, but the smaller ones and the angle that they slipped under the surface of the skin made them just more troublesome to deal with. As he worked on trying to pry the smaller ones out, he stopped for a moment and thought he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. But as courtesy, he thought it'd be better to ask than simply assume. "I hope you can tolerate the, uh, discomfort. If I'm going to get the rest out," Dazen's blue eyes looked down to the bloodied splinters that he carelessly tossed to the ground, "I'm going to have to dig deeper."

[Elymas]

Elymas released his discomfort in hissing breath. It only hurt as much as it did because it hadn't been tended properly, and was nearing infection. The physician who had treated him upon his arrival had been so focused on the gashes and open wounds he was sporting that a pink forearm went unintentionally overlooked. With the onset of hours, that pink had become an angry red and it ached. It ached before Dazen touched it. It hurt like hell when he did. "Ah, yes," he bit out, glancing away from his bloody arm. He set his jaw, and gave a nod of assent. He'd suffered far worse than this while a captive of the Zith. He could remain quiet, and still, while the young man in all his good intentions dug furiously at his sore arm. Within a few moments, when Elymas was breathless and almost sweating, Dazen seemed to be finished. Elymas nearly slumped against his shoulder in relief. "Gods, that hurt," he confessed. It was no blow to any pride of his to admit to his pain. Already he could feel the relief of their absence, though, and so he sat up again, wiping his brow with the back of his other hand. "Thank you, Dazen."

[Dazen Gyre]

Dazen chuckled as Elymas leaned against him once all the little slivers were free from his arm. The arm looked far worse than when he started but now the arm would be able to heal now that it was free of the foreign objects. Dazen wrapped an arm around Elymas and hugged him to his body and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, just like his Lia would after removing a difficult splinter or popping a joint back into place after Dazen would pop it out by roughhousing with his brothers. "You're all better now. Just keep it clean and it should be okay." Dazen let Elymas move from his body as he looked down to the arm and the blood that was still flowing from it. It was easier to deal with those wounds back home, as Dazen could just dip his arm in the water, but here ... Water was scarce. "I don't know what you can use to make it better here, but I'm sure someone does. Sand doesn't look like it's very good at helping with healing." Dazen noticed a bit of blood on his finger tips and brushed it off on his kilt casually, not really carrying that it stained it slightly red. "So what do you do around here? Do you have a job or something?" Dazen didn't really want to talk about what he does around there, as he felt kind of weird explaining that ... role. "If your job is to watch the trees grow I guess you're doing a good job ..."