[The Scholar's Forum] A Tale To Lift Your Spirits (Wrenmae)

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on April 29th, 2012, 7:26 pm

90th Day of Spring, 512 AV
The Scholar's Forum, Zeltiva University
Afternoon

The Scholar's Forum was quite a bit sturdier than many of the simpler structures in Zeltiva. It had been built before the Valterrian, and had to be rebuilt after that catastrophe. After standing for the last five hundred years, it wasn't the sort of place that would be broken easily, storm or no storm.

But the same wasn't true of the simple wooden benches that lined the area. They weren't ancient, pre-Valterrian structures that had stood the test of time. They were benches. Thus they hadn't stood up against the storm quite as well. Quite a few of them had been tumbled and thrown about during the storm, and the wood was cracked and broken.

There was some kind of gathering here tonight. Minerva didn't know the exact details. Something about lifting the spirits of Zeltiva's citizens with tales of the city's heroes. Something like that. She wasn't much for stories, but she did enjoy a good hands on project. When she had heard someone was needed to repair the benches to provide seating for the event, she had volunteered.

She has dragged the broken benches off to the side, and brought just one of the undamaged ones to check its measurements. For now she was just measuring all the sides, jotting down the numbers and sketching up a simple plan. There wasn't any truly complex work to be done, but every job still started with a good blueprint. So she carefully checked her numbers and drew a design plan for the pieces she'd need to cut, and the way they'd fit together. Once the measurements aid drawings were complete, she'd be ready to get to work.

by **Wrenmae** on May 10th, 2012, 4:24 am

It had never taken much to grab the interest of Wrenmae Sek. Still shaken from his lack of memory, the young man had latched to the idea of a story, of a cavalcade of stories, and that breath of rumor had brought him here. Now he haunted the front door, watching the Zeltivans move in and out. Their tittering brought him back to better times, Alvadas, the double-talk of the market place and the antics of the buskers. He almost smiled, brushing too-long locks from his eyes and catching one critically. He'd need a haircut soon. The evening was to be lightened with tales of bards and volunteers, consoling and regaling in these troubling times.

Recently registered with the University, the mage was at a loss. Part of him wanted to participate, but the other had no idea what to speak on. It had less than a week since he'd arrived here, a boat from Sunberth with no memory of his departure. Only the arrival and the eerie sense of time lapse kept his brain puzzling. Honestly the implications were staggering. What was he? Who had he been? He was vaguely aware of his passage, like a sun-addled sailor on a derelict ship. He'd been conscious for brief moments of the experience...but what did it mean now? Apparently he was himself, had awoken as himself these past few days unhindered...but...what if it wasn't permanent? What if some fate of memory lapse befell him again? What was he capable of? Who had he been?

A girl worked on moving a few of the benches, absorbed in her tasks, she bobbed between angles, sending the stripe of green in her hair swinging as well. Somehow, that slice of green caught Wrenmae's attention, drew him.

He approached the girl shyly, rubbing the back of his head.

"Erm," he said at last, breaking the silence between them with an awkward beginning, "Can I help...maybe?"

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on May 10th, 2012, 5:07 am

Minerva shifted her foot a bit. It still ached. Today was her first day off her crutches after the broken foot, and she was still limping around a bit, but she was managing. She might not want to do any heavy lifting on her own, though. Well, maybe, but there was a good chance she could recruit someone to help her.

Just as she was thinking this, a young man appeared before her. She hadn't been paying attention, and had no idea he had actually spoken to her. She had been absorbed in her work and hadn't heard a word that he said. But when someone was standing in her workspace, they got put to work. That had been how her Granddad ran his shop back in Sunberth, and that was how she ran things now.

So when someone was standing there with empty hands, she lifted a stack of boards and shoved them into his grasp. "'Ere, 'old 'ese," she said, pushing to her feet. She limped over to the nearest benches and pulled them over, setting them up next to each other so she could lay the boards across them. "Stick 'em right 'ere," she told the stranger, gesturing to the benches. Then she pointed to a stack of boards off to the side and said, "'Ose too. Right 'ere."

Once the boards were in place she started making measurements, and etching lines to mark where she needed to cut. She then started sawing, so focused on her work that she didn't really think about her assistant, as long as the boards got where they needed to be. She was humming softly as she worked, keeping a critical eye on her cuts to make sure they were straight. The end pieces she cut off were set aside in a neat stack; she'd be taking those home with her. Minerva never threw ANYTHING out.

After the cuts were made, she lined up the boards perpendicular to each other, so the shorter piece could form the leg of the bench. "'Ere, 'old 'is right 'ere," she told her assistant, grabbing his hand and placing it on the intersection of the boards. "Keep 'er nice an' straight." She started nailing the pieces together with quick strokes of her hammer.

After the first piece was connected she groaned and sat down on one of the other benches. Her foot was aching. "Oy..." she muttered, pulling off her boot and rubbing at her foot. "Stupid, achy, piece of... ugh..." She was getting damn sick of this pain. Though she was probably lucky to even be back on her feet so soon, after getting her foot run over the way she had.

by **Wrenmae** on May 12th, 2012, 5:53 am

Honestly, he put himself on autopilot. The girl began ordering him not moments after he offered to help and, surprised, wide eyed, he followed them without much else to say. Honestly, after the events last night in the library and him ending up in Zeltiva by way of amnesia, any direction was better than none. He worked with quiet harmony, following what she told him with almost mechanical efficiency. Put the board here, hold it down, angle it slightly, throw something in another pile. Honestly, his thin arms weren't made for this kind of lifting and moving, but he grunted through it, less looking for thanks and more looking for release.

There was freedom in work, the simple process of forgetting where he was, what he was doing, the whole explosive confusion of all that had happened. He embraced that, no, straddled it. He almost didn't realize when she'd stopped working, falling back onto a bench. Her cute face scrunched up in pain and she rubbed her foot, muttering under her breath but never quite to the point of cursing.

Wrenmae took a moment to completely leave his trance, staring with a glassy kind of ambivalence as she nursed the old injury...at least until it struck him that he hadn't her name yet, hadn't introduced himself. It was the cut of green hair in a nest of red that directed him, it demanded attention.

"I...erm, are you ok?" He asked after a moment, shaking his head vigorously and setting the wood in his hands aside, "Do you need help?"

He pushed himself forward, kneeling down to help support her foot, albeit gingerly, smiling shyly.

"Now that we have a moment, I'm Wrenmae...Wrenmae Wilmot." He rose and took a seat beside her, watching the people lingering in the area, "What's your name...and where are you from? I don't recognize that accent."

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on May 12th, 2012, 6:04 am

"Aye, I's fine," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Done 'ealed up right nice, she did. Just a lil sore still, is all." She shrugged. Considering she was supposed to be off her feet for six weeks, she felt herself rather lucky that it had only been just under three. She could deal with a little aching, considering that.

She gave him a smile of thanks, and stretched her leg out to rest her foot on one of the benches for a moment. She'd get back to work in a minute. "Nice ta meetcha," she said, slapping him on the shoulder. "I's Tock. I's from Sunberth. Trash 'ole, 'at..." she winced and shook her head. She never much liked talking about home. She almost wished people would just stop asking her about it.

"An' what accent?" she asked with a frown. As far as she knew, she didn't have any. "What's wrong wit' the way I talk, mate? Aye?" She had dealt with that sort of question one time too many as well. Often it came with the implication that there was something wrong with her, or that she wasn't smart enough to speak common right. Which she thought was nothing but a load of horse shit. She talked just fine! And she knew she was a genius, whatever anyone else said.

After a moment passed, she looked up to the stand where the speakers gave their performances and asked, "Oy, ya know what 'is is all about? Some show o' somethin'? Didn't get the details. Jus' doin' the work, aye? Aye." She usually didn't care one bit why a project had been placed before her. The work itself was its own reward.

by **Wrenmae** on May 12th, 2012, 7:00 am

OOC :

She talked fast, a sort of rattling jocularity reminiscent of the guttersnipes he'd lived with in Alvadas...or Sunberth. She mentioned it was where she from and Wrenmae almost asked her about it, guarding his tongue when he saw the edge of anger flash between her glances and snake between her tone. Best if he didn't press. "Err, nothing," he said quickly, waving his hands in front of him, "Nothing at all...it was just interesting, that's all...like...like..." he grasped for something to compare it to, something pretty, something complimentive, "Like poetry, I guess, I mean..." He paused, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and took a moment. "I just meant to say that the way you speak is interesting, unique...I was just curious, meant no offense by it."

He sighed, rubbing his hands along his face and repeating an inner mantra castigating his stupidity in poorly phrased words and greetings. "It's stories," he said in answer to her, looking up at the performers, "They tell tales, both true and false, to liven people, teach them a lesson about something...it's a popular pastime in Alvadas."

[color=#00FFFF]Cute kid, Zan muttered from within Wrenmae, stirring up from his momentary slumber in the pit of his master's stomach, We gonna make a move on her? Gonna shiver her timbers? Batten her hatches? Raise her mainsails? There was a pause. These nautical innuendos doing anything for you? I've got more, plenty more, and if we're still playing sailor, I'll paint you a picture all night.

Wrenmae absently slapped at his stomach, grimacing at the sudden pain.

Manoman, you're a fun one, Zan laughed from inside him, I got a shield of YOU, dummy! Course I could pull a vomit-visit if you REALLY want to see how hard you have to work for a friendship.

No, no, that's fine Zan...thanks for your input,

More than happy to oblige, Oh Captain, My captain, the familiar bubbled happily, Knock her dead...like a storm, or the boom.

Wrenmae kept himself from smiling.

"I was just in Sunberth," he revealed, scratching behind his head absently, "Spent three seasons there before coming here but..." he trailed off, shrugging, "I don't remember most of it."

He offered a helpless smile and shrug. "What brought you to Zeltiva?"

Smooth, his familiar commented, why not ask her a favorite food, or song, or pastime. Wake me up when your conversation crawls out of 'formality' zone.

Wrenmae resisted the urge to punch his stomach again.

[/color]

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on May 12th, 2012, 3:49 pm

Her eyebrows shot up when he compared her words to poetry, her jaw dropping open for a moment. Then she grinned, a sparkle touching her brown eyes. "Oy, thanks, mate!" she said, smacking him in the arm in a friendly manner. "Oy, maybe I done should get up 'ere and talk when the thing starts. I could do some poetry..." She looked over at the podium, thinking about it for a moment. How hard could a poem be? You just had to put words together the right way. It was just like building something; you simply needed the right tools, the right parts, and the skill. She could build a poem, easy peasy.

She took no notice of any odd behavior from Wren during his 'inner debate,' having not the least clue there might be something more than meets the eye. She got lost in her own world often enough; she wasn't really the type to notice or care of someone else got lost in his.

"Ain't nothin' 'ere worth rememberin', mate," she said about Sunberth. "I's tryin' ta ferget 'er, too." She didn't realize the more literal meaning of his statement. "I's 'ere ta learn," she waved in the general direction if the University. "'Eard 'is were a great place what fer ta study magic an' stuff. An' she's been a might fine beaut' so far, she 'as." She nodded, pulling her boot back on so she could get back to work.

She knelt back down next to the benches, using a carpenter's square to make sure the leg pieces were on straight and nailing them firmly in place. Then she took one of the trimmed off sections of board, measured it, carefully working out forty-five degree angles to cut it into a right triangle. This was then attached on the underside as an extra brace between the seat and the leg, increasing stability. When the first bench was ready she set it upright and sat on it, wiggling her tush a bit to make sure the bench was stable, before giving an approving nod.

by **Wrenmae** on May 21st, 2012, 6:20 am

Watching her work, Wrenmae found his words didn't hold the same timbre they usually did. He couldn't talk as he once had, he stumbled over his explanations and sentences as though they were pitfalls and gnarled roots. He smiled when she looked up at the podium, imagining her voice booming out over the assembled, her accent giving fire to her words...poetry or not, it would be worth listening to.

She spoke of forgetting Sunberth, and he looked down at his hands as she glanced back the way of the University. His palms had witnessed untold troubles in that city, perhaps even facilitated some. He couldn't remember, not anything, or rather, barely anything. It was winter, then suddenly Spring. He had blood on his hands. Whose? Where? Why? These answers were not forthcoming, and his familiar did not speak of them. Stuffing them in his pockets, he followed Minerva's continuing speech and nodded, agreeing. Zeltiva was a place of higher learning. While here, he would be studying the depths of his own magical ability while seeking a solution for his fractured identity. He dared not speak of it to anyone, not yet, not when Erudite had told him of the asylum where they kept he mages that went insane or overgave. He was one of them, a cautionary tale in physical form...but every part of him bucked the label. He wanted nothing to do with his other selves, with the cold, methodical, brutality of Shroud or the whimsy of Weaver.

Instead he wanted to concern himself with himself, nothing more and nothing less.

"What sort of magic do you learn in the University?" he asked shyly, helping her test the bench she'd just finished, "I've signed up to take some classes as well, but I'm a bit nervous...my last instructor didn't much care for my presence, so learning from him was hard." Wrenmae shrugged. "I've mostly learned all my magic on my own, so I'm not sure if I'm really classroom material."

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on May 21st, 2012, 1:48 pm

Tock moved on to the next bench. It was mostly intact, except for a broken leg on one side. She pried it off with her crowbar, and started measuring and cutting a replacement. "Oy, my ol' instructor didn't much care for me neither," she replied to Wren with a frown. "Blimey ol' fart! As if its MY fault 'is damn cat got sick! Useless little pissmonster..." She grumbled and gave the nails a couple good extra hard whacks.

"I's studyin' Animation an' Magecraft," she continued as she worked, adjusting the new leg and making sure it was straight. "An' gonna start Glyphin' an' Alchemy soon, too. Gotta learns 'ow ta make, well, everythin'." She didn't much like the idea of ever needing someone else to do something for her.

As the afternoon carried on, she eventually finished up all the repairs. Once they were set, she asked Wren, "Oy, gimme a 'and wit' 'ese, aye?" She grabbed one end of w bench and nodded him towards the other. With the two of them working together, it wouldn't take long to get everything set up to ensure the audience had plenty of seating. Students from the University were already starting to wander over and mingle about while waiting for things to start.

Once all the benches were in place, Tock planted her fists on her hips and looked everything over with an approving nod. "Ya stickin' 'round fer the show?" she asked Wren. "I's thinkin' I jus' might. She's jus' poetry, aye? 'Ow 'ard can she be? Jus' buildin' somethin' what wit' words 'stead o' wood, aye? Easy peasy..."

by **Wrenmae** on May 22nd, 2012, 6:03 am

Catching the other end of the bench and lifting, Wrenmae absently assisted Tock in moving the benches into better position. The room was sorted in an inverse V shape, the benches all tilted to give the most room to the pulpit and the area around it. Already gaudily dressed performers lined the walls, tittering and practicing their voices for the event. Students drifted in alone or in packs, murmuring with unconscious regard to the solemnity of the room before taking seats.

Wrenmae shifted a bench innocuously to the side, adjusting it in degrees of perfection rather than simple placement. His mind was elsewhere, straddling the surface of his new world. He was in Zeltiva now, enrolled as a student. He had done things, terrible things back in Sunberth. By the grace of his own broken mind, he'd been allowed to forget them, or perhaps to never remember them, but the city did not assuage his fear of relapse. Eventually the Blight would kill, or bring suffering to this pristine city. He'd have to leave, as he always left, and those he'd built relationships with here would be no more.

Memories. Memories and dust.

"I signed up for Animation this semester," he responded to Tock, taking a seat on one of the back benches, "Alchemy as well. I wasn't sure what else to try my hand at, only that there's so much magic to learn and what feels like so little time." He laughed, "I mean, I guess I have all the time in the world to learn it, but I haven't attended school before...I'm not sure what to expect."

The first performer stepped to the stage, all pomp and poise. He raised his hands, hushing the audience, as another man stepped up from the front row to address the students and bystanders.

"Welcome, one and all, to the 32nd annual end of the year Yarn. In such difficult times, we come together to share performance art, volunteered to warm our souls from the chill of unease. May you be frightened, laugh, cry, and cheer. We offer these stories for your, Lady Qalaya, and may we all remember this night from today onward."

A polite torrent of applause followed and the first performer stepped out to begin his story. A certain hush fell over the audience, Wrenmae listening in rapt attention as the man began a tale on the history of Zeltivan founders.

Leaning toward Tock, he whispered from the corner of his mouth, drawing a darting stare from the people ahead of him, to which he quickly smiled and mouthed an apology, "I'd love to hear some of your poetry, I may even put in a story or two myself. Perhaps when the line of volunteers dwindles down, we can slip in?"