Cracking the Dam [Poison]

[Mara]

Spring 52, 512 AV

The day was lengthy, full of tiresome undertakings that had left Mara bursting with a deficit of hope. He had been permitted to aid with a birth this day; the delivery of a hale and hearty baby girl. The child was full term and full of vitality. What her name was, he could not state, nor did it matter. Her existence had been a traded one, a child for a mother. A theme that was more than familiar it was routine. He was growing hard-hearted, trying to see things as they did. It was the re-birth of life from an agreeable subject; a welcoming sacrifice for that of a child. His gut still twisted at the spectacle of the light dwindling from her eyes. He was revolted further that he could still unearth the magnificence in it. In the surrender she gave. Whether she had been misled or not, she had wanted for her suckling. She had beamed genially at the sound of her daughter’s first shrieks, even as the venom was seizing its footing. She had treasured her murderer, with the very last of her. A death similar to this seemed a favorable one. He tried to imagine finding someone that he could love strongly enough to end his life for theirs.

His contemplations began to float towards his mother as they often did and he could abruptly feel the variable weight of her last testaments pressing down upon his torso from within the confides of his silk robe. Her journal had been less of an ease to him than he had wished it would be. Instead it had become something of a preoccupation, an endless nagging at the back of his mind, even when his fingers were digging into fresh and distracting work, something that had always eased his whirling thoughts before. Instead he was plagued by her thoughts and her wants. All of them were encrypted in a language he had so little knowledge of. Even the understanding he had was not in writing, simply tongue. What made his venture all the more maddening was the lack of assistance. His very existence seemed to irk many full-blooded and proud Symenstra. That was acceptable by him. He did not feel the need to be acknowledged. They had given him enough, by allowing him passage, a home, and a job. Still his defeats only surged. His constant treks between his place of work to the Cribellum, were beginning to diminish him into an even lankier shell of a body. He barely rested and usually pinched on a second meal or skipped it all together.

He fingers slid into the long silk robe that daintily adorned his thinning frame and grasped the leather spine of the journal. His feet knew the way. They had memorized the path even in the brief months he had subsisted in Kalinor. He recognized the way from the Place of Purging to the Cribellum on virtually impression alone.

The weaves of road were beautiful and fragile if looked at carefully, just as its people. His steps fell heavy upon the trail, heavier than that of any with uncontaminated blood. The structure came into sight roughly a half bell later and his chest constricted around his heaving lungs. He could only assume it would be another fruitless evening, pouring over the very information that would continue to elude him. Still he kept coming back to the same quandary, with what fragment of hope remained.

As he entered, he slipped to the back, readily fumbling with the pages of his mother's pages. He pried from the shelves a small number of books he had begun to use as references. Some filled with terms he could identify as medical only by the diagrams at their margins, and could only continue to guess at what he was reading over. A handful of the words he was fairly certain of. He seated himself at a back table and rested his forehead in his palm and began to read, the same scrambled code he had been considering for months.

[Poison]

Even now that Mara had been in Kalinor for a while, the Symenestra stared at him as he walked to the Cribellum. While some were tolerant and of the opinion that all people who bled were worth the same, most treated him as if there was something mildly unpleasant about him. His blood was thinner than theirs, tainted, weaker. His venom was useless, and he couldn’t climb as well as they. Each time a Symenestra woman lay with a human their race was being weakened. Had Mara not possessed a useful skill, had he not trained as a doctor, there might have been open violence, but as it was there were mostly cold looks and an awareness that was worth less.

The Cribellum was a quiet and peaceful place. Harvesters that had returned to the surface regularly came here to write down what they had leaned during their time away, but nobody ever talked a lot. This was a place of learning. Some of the books that could be found here were centuries old. In a world where books were still considered a rarity, a luxury and expensive the Cribellum contained a veritable fortune.

The librarian, an elderly Symenestra male with pure white hair looked at Mara for a moment as he entered, as if he were wondering about something, but then he just shrugged his shoulders and returned to the work he had been doing before. A few books needed to be sorted into the correct shelves.

Mara was left alone for the first little while. The other people in the library had no interest in talking to him or disturbing his studies. After about half a bell a young woman sat down at the table next to him though. She was just out of her teens, a slender, pretty thing with snow white skin, black hair and eyes of liquid golld. If Mara ever visited the Temple of Viratas, he would recognize her as one of the High Priest’s assistants.

She had a thick book. From where Mara was sitting, it was unfortunately impossible to see the title. For a while she just leafed through it, and then she looked up and studied him for a while. „What are all those books for, if you don’t mind me asking?“ she wanted to know. Her voice was low so as to not alert the librarian. „Are you doing some kind of research?“

[Mara]

If Mara had detected the prolonged glowers as he crossed the threshold and accommodated himself in the sanctuary of information he failed to display it. His eyes secured solely on his objective. Already he knew how to go about his business with little disruption to others. He did not resent this and in fact often favored the seclusion. That was only on an emotive level though. The lack of give-and-take of philosophies was what he grieved for the most. The aptitude to ask questions openly and liberally if he so required. His only purpose was to inaudibly assist where he was desirable, and remain as a stepchild to a deceased parent, left only with a family loosely knotted and not exactly appreciative of his hindrance. It was his final years in his hold in Avanthal all over again.

He wrought over the same watchwords repetitively. He had presumed the meaning of a few words, 'blood', 'surrogate’, ‘savior', were amongst them. He could select them from the thick-spine books he had scrounged, and within his own mother's writings. It was not much, but it was headway. The only drawback was that he had learned this days ago, and now been searching for new indications, new cyphers of something. A lament escaped his nibbled and pinked lips. He tweaked his fingers over the passage of his nose to calm the creeping headache that was tensing about his temples and brow.

His hand glided to the side of his face in a rough pressure across his honeyed skin, helping clear his eyes. Just as he had, he detected from his peripheral someone seat themselves in adjacent proximity to his workspace. Had this been any other library, in any other city, this would be common place and no need for concern, but this was Kalinor and no one had sat within close radius to him on his many visits.

Still he persisted, not desiring to aggravate a perhaps set up situation. A forgiving feminine voice slithered into his ears from the company seated a table away and his crown rose in alertness. He looked over to her, brows upraised in discrete disbelief and he surveyed the room for any other being the inquiry could be directed to.

Upon finding no one, his face settled into a immobile guise with flecks of lilac in his crimson eyes that gave away the caution that bubbled from within. He looked over her fine and sculpted features and found them familiar. He may have seen her in passing, he could not recall. Kalinor was not a heavily populated area; it was very likely they would have happened upon one another at some point.

He uncurled in his chair and loped a weary hand through his rich and messy locks until they rebellious fell back into place. "Uhh...sort of." he replied his hushed tone an octave bellow even hers. "Just curious I suppose." a meager amount of confidence rose up and smoothed his frayed sentiments. Glancing back down to his pile of strewn literature and spare notes scribbled upon scraps of paper tucked into the journal in his possession, he mumbled "Without much luck..." expecting that to be the end of their exchange as he slumped over his labor again.

[Poison]

The young woman nodded as she heard Mara’s words as if she were completely content with his reply and went back to her book. For the next couple of chimes the only sound that could be heard in the Cribellum was that of pages being turned and quills moving across paper. The librarian cursed softly once as he dropped a book and it landed on his foot. He glanced at Mara as if he personally blamed him for his misfortune, and then it was completely quiet again.

„You know …“ she murmurred after a while. „Maybe I could help.“ She closed her book, rose from her chair and walked over to him so that she could take a better look at what he was doing. „You seem kind of desperate.“ She narrowed her eyes and peered at his notes and the journal in front of him. „This is Symenos, some kind of diary …“ She looked at the librarian who had gone back to sorting the books.

„You know, I don’t agree with the way he’s treating you“, she told him. „Your blood might not be as pure as ours, but according to our god all beings that bleed are worth the same and should be treated with respect.“

Realizing that her behaviour and her comment might be interpreted as rude, she abruptly pulled back and straightened herself. She blushed and looked at him apologetically. The High Priest would likely have a few things to say if he were here.

[Mara]

Mara remained constantly vigillant over his work with enduring reserve. Browsing through the same slices of text, recceing for something anything he may have neglected. There was not anything. He might categorize not any of it. Even if he could have heard it recited aloud he may have been able to take away more than what he had. He upheld his head against the heel of his curled palm leaned upon the counter. As the hardcover tumbled from its residence and landed inhospitably upon the librarian’s foot, all in the room curved their necks, including Mara, to put name to the interruption of racket upon an unperturbed expanse.

The glowering look of accusation was swiveled frankly toward Mara. Mara appeared perplexed, with wrinkled brows and pursed lip, as if to understand the very irrationality of his casting of stones. He bowed away briskly to avoid any further scuffing of the Symenestra's bruised ego.

A diminutive time succeeded and the peal of the female neighboring him spoke up again. In this instance, he was more than taken off guard, he was a tad concerned. She was truly proposing to help him, with no coaxing, no incentive. It seemed improbable. Still she loomed over the table, deducting what was obvious to him. He was undeniably despairing, and this was without a doubt a diary written in Symenos. His judgments were hash, with no merit, so he withheld them. She had given him no purpose to doubt her, and he was too deep into this challenge to turn away an offer, even if it was later established to be an unsuccessful one.

He slanted over the book eager for any clue she could offer and she spoke up again. For a moment he was so misplaced in his own point of view the remark baffled him. It fastened rapidly into place that she was denoting the librarian and his apparent disapproval for Mara, as well as the principles of the Symenestra's god.

He shook his head "I really don't mind. It usually comes with the territory." his answer was a hasty brush off, eager to return to his journal. "I appreciate your sentiments however." he smoothed her obviously ruffled feathers and the apologetic look she offered him. He was too preoccupied to feel slighted, and likely wouldn't have otherwise. If she truly felt this way, then that was an admiring thought in itself.

He skimmed away from her, drawn back to the open journal. "So, you would actually help me?" he pointed a black-tipped finger to an unspecific line of wording. "I would be grateful. This seems to be a code I cannot break without any assistance." he heaved a sigh from parted lips. "I can barely understand the language when spoken, but the writing is much more difficult. It's very unlike what I was raised with." his voice rung with the subtle pull of melodious syllables, a faint Vani accent that still lingered on his well-spoken Common tongue.

[Poison]

„Yes, of course I’ll help you“, the young woman replied and rolled her eyes. „Why shouldn’t I? If I don’t help you, you’ll likely sit here for the rest of your life and won’t be any wiser.“ She doubted that any of the other people here – least of all the librarian – would come to his aid and translate the journal for him or teach him more Symenos so that he could read it himself. Daratur, the priest that presided over the temple, had told her that she should treat all people as equals. Viratas wasn’t only the god of blood, but also the god of community. If she helped a halfblood with little to no gain for herself her god would definitely be proud of her.

As he started talking about a code, she furrowed her brow and took a closer look before she shook her head. „This isn’t a code, but it’s not completely standard Symenos either. It’s more like a dialect. He – or she – has an odd way of spelling a few words.“ She took her chair and put it next to Mara’s so that she could sit while she was reading the journal. „It’s actually a pretty nice handwriting, very elegant. That person could have worked as a scribe. My own handwriting is always so messy!“

She sighed loudly, and then she went back to reading the journal. Every once in a while she furrowed her brow, narrowed her eyes or smiled a little. „Okay, the writer is definitely a woman“, she informed him after a few chimes. „Or a very, very feminine man, but I kind of doubt that. By the way, would you mind me what you were raised with – and where? You have an accent, but I can’t quite place it.“

While she waited for his answer she took another look at the page she had just been reading, and then she suddenly blurted out, „Where did you get this from?“ At that the librarian looked over to their table disapprovingly. The young woman looked back for a moment, and then she shrugged her shoulders and focused on Mara again.

[Mara]

Mara did not laugh, for it was true. He would have lain to waste here in this very library hoping for some epiphany or enlightenment that would never come of its own accord. Her reasons for helping him were no longer of importance. If she would feed him the information, he would have offered up his soul for the knowledge with how deranged it had driven him.

Even her very first bits of information he devoured like a starving animal. His canines peeking out to tug brutishly upon the loop run through the delicate flesh there. He regarded the page rigorously trying to see it as she perceived it. His mother used a dialect of Symenos? How could he have possibly identified that? That might have explained why some words appeared comparable but he could no more piece them together than a blind man reciting what it is to look upon a spectral. In the same it clarified even that some would gaze at him strangely on his few attempts at Symenos tongue, besides the pronunciation he had only followed her communication of the language he remembered, peppered with bits he picked up once arriving in Kalinor.

A smile threatened to pull at his lips as she chatted of her handwriting. He could not help but feel full of pride for such an insignificant and unapparent reason. The only logical reason was that it was his mother and to discover she was good at just about anything besides lying idly in bed was worthy tiding to his regards.

Mara would glance between this now self-proclaimed translator and the journal on several occasions, trying to discern what she was reading. He was absorbed so intently on her tracing finger that he flinched when she spoke again. He nodded at her valuation, not particularly pleased with that bit of information as he could have told her that, but allowed her to continue with no snide commentary.

He unfastened his bolted mouth to form an answer when he was cut off by her ejaculated query. He withdrew in his seat noticing he was leaning toward her finding their faces uncomfortably close when they gazed up to catch each other's sights of chilled crimson melting into molten gold. He took a breath and composed himself from an insignificant distance now "I brought it with me, from Avanthal, where I lived before coming here. It was my mother's, Senesea." he gulped down the sorrow that lay in the sore spot that was his mother and his birthplace. This was not the time to speak of anything but the task at hand. It had been far too long a wait and he was far too fixated.

His curiosity overthrew him mercilessly and he could not play aloof "Why? What does it say?" What did she say? He would have possible been persuaded into begging if it came down to it. Until then his eyes glinted a curious and doe-eyed stare of a questioning youth with a chunk of splintering lip drawn between his jaws in hopeful wake of need answers.

[Poison]

„Senesea“, she repeated and furrowed her brow as if she was trying to remember something. But then she shook her head. „The name sounds familiar, but I’m not sure where I have heard it before. Which Web did your mother belong to? Do you remember? The journal doesn’t say, at least not on the pages I’ve taken a look at so far …“ Senesea had likely not considered that somebody would be reading her journal one day when she had started writing it, and thus there had been no need to explain everything. She had of course been familiar with the details of her own life.

„She mentions that her Web were Esterians and that her mother had proudly given her own life to keep the bloodline pure. They expected her to do the same, but she had no interest in dying, not even for her own child. She didn’t believe that it was Viratas‘ will. She seems to have been rather desperate. I think she was looking for a way out …“ She sighed. „There are a lot of people that misunderstand what Viratas is all about in this city, I’m afraid.“

„She seems to have gotten into some trouble during her time in Kalinor. Your mother wasn’t exactly a quiet, well mannered woman, Dra …“

She furrowed her brow, realizing that she didn’t know his name.

„This journal is very, very interesting. I wouldn’t mind studying it for a couple of days, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to give it to me. I’m Sarya by the way, and I work for Daratur, our current priest of Viratas.“

[Mara]

"No." his answer was crawling with discomfort. Senesea had told him next to nothing, not of her web, of Esterian's or of the very nature of his own reproduction. Many terms he had learned in Kalinor were still newly acquainted, but made little sense when pinned upon the corkboard of his scattered life. "She never mentioned it." His palm caught his dangling skull as a curdled sigh slithered between divided vales.

It had only crossed his train of thought a handful of times that he may have family still alive within Kalinor. To him it meant little. What would they want with a bastard half-blood? It was not worth the trouble, even less so in the wake of news that she had been in some trouble within city. If they still subsisted here, the defamation of his actuality would only alarm them and with him he would bring the manner of her passing.

Looking for a way out? He did not even know where she had been when she had met his father. Where had she escaped to and what was her motive? This was as frustrating as sorting through it on his own for he was not in control of the answers he received only being fed the crumbs and scraps she could drop from table of information she held.

"Marvasa." he quickly added with little thought, just a hurried attempt to push their conversation along. "Dra-Marvasa." he stayed fixed to the weathered papyrus with no more thought. It only occurred to him once she had muttered her request and offered her own name that he had not asked.

He smoothed himself over, leveling his posture and looking her over more vigilantly. She worked in the temple, he had laid eyes on her before, and he just had not recalled it. Dark hair and deep gold set eyes brimming with vitality and promise, with fair and petite molded features to accentuate it all. Had he not been so jaded and so disassociated he may have pursued her. Asked her for a drink in hopes of something more, but Mara was not this man. Most Symenestra began to blend together after some time, and lost their novelty. Even still she could be considered a fair gem, but his relations had always stemmed from unhealthy reaches and he found he had difficulty relating or even being tolerated by his subtle changes and easily retracted affections.

He swallowed hard and offered her a creasing smile in his stony facade. "I suppose, it wouldn't do any harm.” His eyes slid between a paling rose to thick magma “I think I can trust you Sarya." his words dripped with a courtesy they had not offered before, and her name rolled from his tongue like melting grease. “As I said before, I am Dra-Marvasa, and I work in The Place of Purging.” His dark irises drifted to her hand resting casually upon the journal of his fixation.

"So when can I expect to see you again?"

[Poison]

Sarya sighed as Mara admitted that he didn’t know the name of his mother’s web. „That makes matters a little more complicated“, she murmurred and scratched her head „If I only knew where I’ve heard her name before. I feel as if I should know her … argghh …. there’s no point in trying to remember. I need to do some research. Maybe somebody at the temple knows. They keep track of everybody in Kalinor.“ She sounded a little frustrated. She’d already gotten involved in the Senesea’s story.

„I’m pleased to meet you, Dra-Marvasa“, she said as he told her his name. „Did your mother name you? ‚Marvasa‘ doesn’t sound like a particularly human name.“ She furrowed her brow and looked at the journal again. It had been a while since she had read something as fascinating. There weren’t many accounts of women that had ended up on the surface and given birth to a halfblood. And Senesea had been a particularly interesting woman.

„Oh, thank you!“ she said and smiled all over her face as he allowed her to keep the journal. „I promise I won’t damage it in any way. You can definitely trust me. And you work at the Purging, you say? As a doctor? How do you get along with old Hellebore? I’ve been told that he can be a little difficult at times.“ Her excitement was getting the better of her so that she was speaking quite a bit more loudly which earned her an angry look from the librarian, but she ignored it.

„Two or three days“, she replied. „That should give me enough time to read the journal and do some research – if you’d like me to ask around a bit. I think people will be more inclined to speak with a fullblood. Sorry, I know that all that discrimination must be hard to deal with. But let’s meet somewhere else, in front of the temple for example. I think we would drive the librarian crazy if we came back here and started talking again.“