The Tale of Fools.

[Albireo]

Once there were oceans Endless emerald forests Filled with sounds of magic Once so long ago Once by Felicia Sorenson Fall 6, 512 AV Restless between skyglass structures, she had been wandering since sunrise. They resembled Zintila’s stars related to her Lord, but their soothing effect was lost on the bridges and misty canyons between peaks. To passers-by she was Vantha, small and delicate in dark shades of olive skin and jet-black hair, yet that body carried an ancient struggle. To believe or not to believe? Summer’s heat and light had calmed it, laid it to sleep, but during the first days of fall temperatures dropped ever so slightly. The beast had raised its head and was blinking up to grey and more grey, thick enough to block out Syna for the day. Ache spread inside her. Without really knowing why – less than by night at least – she was browsing the Azure Market. Eyes of a fleeting rainbow color examined wares from beyond the mountains, last gifts brought in kind weather, but she saw neither woolen scarves nor leather gloves, not really. Lost in thought, she sank to the cobblestone, back rested against an azure wall. Her lips had moved and her mind spun words around her tongue before she even noticed the story boiling inside her like a pod of water left on the fire. “It’s in days like these that people go missing…” she said as if talking to herself, then hesitated. A lost child? How appropriate indeed. For the next words, her voice gathered momentum and rose crystal-clear over the hustle and bustle filling the narrow street. Wall against her back, she got up and her arms lunged into serpentine movement accompanying the story. “And these things have happened for ages and ages, I tell you, they sneak in upon you, they enter through the back door without you noticing until it’s too late.” People shot her glances, curious Lhavitians were always up for an exciting story. A small boy begged his mother to let him listen. “Once upon a time these lands weren’t divided by the large amount of water we know as the Suvan Sea. No, the border between west and east was guarded by steel and even greater forces. A war raged between these two nations known as Suvan and Alahea.” The storyteller sighed. Several people stopped at the names. Yet retelling that ancient epic of destruction brought Suria Skyglow no joy – for memory weighed heavy, far too heavy.

[Johanne]

Mod NoteWhen I began this post and thread, I did not realise that Johanne would not know that Denval was destroyed. It became too much of a foundation in the thread for me to edit it out. Please overlook that, and now that I, as a player, understand the differences now.

The sparkling skyglass never ceased to amaze the Denvali girl, who had stumbled upon this city of stars and lore almost by accident. Even by day, the towering peaks of the Kalean mountainsides, adorned with the towers and tiers and nooks and crannies of Lhavit made Johanne gasp with awe, taking pause to stop on a bridge, or a lookout and simply watch. She had never been overtly religious, had Johanne, though she had a healthy dose of fear and respect for the Gods and Goddesses with their all too human mood swings and motivations - but here, in Lhavit, she felt more holy, more pious, than she had ever felt in her life. This city, where a fallen Goddess roamed, and beings that had communed with Syna and Leth mourned, was, Johanne thought, the most beautiful city she would ever set foot in.

And Johanne intended to set foot in many, many cities.

While the sunlight that streamed throughout Lhavit was undoubtedly beautiful, Johanne could not help but feel a longing for the stars, the moon, the night, and the vibrant city life that came with it. Even having been in the city nigh on two years, now, the strange bell structure and the nocturnal habits still threw her, sometimes. Having grown up sleeping for six hours, seven hours, consistently every night, was a difficult habit to overthrow. Even with Denval now a smoking crater in the ground, Johanne still felt a twinge of connection to her old life.

Sometimes she wished there was still a Denval to return to, even though there were no stories left. But the past is past, and the present unfolds eternally, thought Johanne to herself, as she picked her way across the bustling Surya Plaza, even in the morning, even before Zintila unleashed her stars across the sky. She sighed, her feet taking her to the tucked away Azure Markets, double checking as she went to make sure she still knew the way.

Never write in your mind, Jo. The sentences sound awful if they're not put with ink to paper.

With the change in season, and the wind picking up, chilly as it swept its way in between the peaks, Johanne had looked despairingly at her cheap wardrobe. Her cheap, falling apart wardrobe. Her cloak had been worn within an inch of its life last Winter, and her thick woollen socks needed to be darned - unfortunately, Johanne had never been any good with sewing. She needed new clothes for the coming cold, lest she freeze to death in bed at the Solar Winds. Thus, her morning trip to the Azure Markets, with the sun glowing palely against the back of her neck, obscured slightly by sullen clouds.

She ducked into the lane where the markets spun off into, hidden slightly to the casual observer from the Surya Plaza. As soon as she stepped in from the wide open spaces to the cramped noisy market streets, she was assailed with colour and fabric and an overload of images. Spoilt for choice here in this city of tourism and splendour, she couldn't help but contrast it to the simplicity and austerity of her old home. Feeling for her pouch dangling from the hooks of her bodice, clutching it between spindly fingers to protect against pick pockets, she set out for winter shopping.

And as she walked over cobblestone steps, as she shook her head at goods and cloaks unsatisfactory, loathe to part with hard earned kina, she heard a melodic, gentle voice rising clearly above the bustle of the markets. It was smooth, feminine, carried easily on the slightest breeze. Johanne recognised a story in this moment, having heard the ominous beginning, people gone missing and once upon a time.

Johanne whirled on the spot, her worn boots swivelling easily on the cobblestone, before she spotted a small, thin girl with olive skin and whirlwind eyes - a Vantha. A Vantha telling a story of the sea, Suvan and Alahea. A story that Johanne could never relinquish. Feeling an itching in her fingers, longing for her pen, ink and paper back in her room, she walked over, a few feet before the storyteller, and caught her eye. Johanne nodded.

She would listen to the story, and hope beyond hope that she could remember everything as it was, remember everything so that she may spin it into a written tale later that evening.

[Albireo]

OOCSorry for the long post. I just wanted to get the story over with so they can talk. A tall and lanky girl nodded. Suria simply let the words flow, whether it was approval of her story or answer to someone else’s words didn’t matter. “They fought with steel against steel and magic against magic, no time for intrigue or subtlety for both unleashed an equal amount of force upon the other. They were locked in an endless battle with no winner.” “Into these hard times a child was born, a princess of dark and luscious beauty. She grew into a strong-willed and clever woman, pleading the ruthless regents of Suvan to leave her country. However, any diplomatic efforts remained fruitless at first. Her light didn’t shine bright enough yet. Knowing that, she gathered minions, mages and spies and advisors, around her. Kova Nivar Symkanta fulfilled her duty to Alahea.” Upon speaking the name, energy flooded the storyteller’s veins and her arms rose higher. The memory of that last queen spoke to her, through her, augmenting the beauty of the tale. “While Suvan’s armies thrived on sheer force and brutality, Kova’s Alahea counted on powerful magic and subtlety unseen to the foreign regent’s eyes. It is said that she took in an orphan as a child and kept her a secret even within her own palace. In time the orphan became her most trusted advisor and head of espionage.” Memories of white hair and sharp hazel eyes wafted through her memory. Suria breathed through them, didn’t push them away yet. “Great effort never goes unnoticed by those with powers unimaginable to ours. The care she prepared her country with impressed one of the most powerful Gods of that time: Ivak who reigns over fire and volcanism.” Murmurs arose, someone hissed. The Djed storms were still fresh inside Lhavitian minds. Suria’s voice resembled the current rising over whispers, flowing steadily and gently like a refreshing mountain stream. “As he visited her more often they fell in love with each other. With Ivak on her side, Kova knew the time had come. And thanks to His favor and the talented spies her childhood friend hand-picked and organized, negotiations were crowned by success!” “The Suvan emperor agreed to marriage as a sign of peace and new hope for both countries. The battlefields lay deserted, factions halted intrigues, everyone held their breath. Soldiers returned to the ashes of their villages and what was left of their loved ones. Even during preparations, change bloomed everywhere. It seemed like the long dark age of war was coming to an end.” She sighed. Vantha memory trailed back to lost days, words gone with the wind. “Wedding celebrations were grand and beautiful on the first day and to be continued for thirty more. However, after retreating to forge the most powerful bond in history, Galifer discovered that someone else had touched Kova before.” Some gasped. The words were leaving her lips in a hurried blur now. “In a rage so characteristic for Suvan kings he nearly killed her, then issued a punishment so terrible that Alahean guests protested fiercely and fights broke out all around the city. Naked and half-conscious from her injuries, Kova was chained to the front gates and across her chest her crime was written in letters of her own blood.” The short silence following was vibrating with disgust. “Her loyal friend tried everything in her power, sent talented spies, but they were slain by Suvan assassins. Eventually she gave her life in an attempt to have her queen removed from the gates. All efforts were futile though. She became nothing, less than the orphan she was in her first years.” Tale of the missing child… it pained Suria to speak the words. “However, Galifer had forgotten a significant detail: the nature of Kova’s lover. We all know Ivak’s rage as it has formed the stone and earth around us, it has upturned and formed the mountain peaks we now call our home. His revenge on mankind for slaying his love triggered a series of happenings known to us as the Valterrian.” Arms sinking, hugging herself, the storyteller let her gaze fall to the feet of listeners. “However, the war between Gods is a different story altogether and shall not be told today. Just remember this: Love is a powerful force, able to destroy as well as create. Never underestimate it.” And as if the words had drained her of all energy, the Vantha sank down the wall again and came to sit on cold stone. Her eyes, dull and dark, watched the listeners return to daily routine. NoteThis is NOT the true story of the Valterrian, it's just a legend based on common knowledge and rumors floating around.

[Johanne]

Johanne's mother would always yell at her for the filthy habit of playing with her fingernails. She'd rip off her cuticles, bite down her nails to the last inch, fiddle with her fingers until they were raw, bleeding and her mother's "I told you so!" was ringing in her ears. When she was truly captivated, Johanne would be still, quiet, a pillar of attentiveness.

Johanne didn't play with her fingernails listening to the Vantha.

She knew the story, of course. Even in Denval, sheltered as it was, there were the rare travellers who told tales in the inn. Some drunkards spluttered stories while Johanne carefully carved with needles and ink into their skin, staining their flesh for life. She could not pinpoint the very first time she heard the story, but she remembered it, the words silently sleeping in her mind until they were awoken with the next retelling. But everyone knew the story, vaguely at least, of the Valterrian and the woman who caused it all.

She loved it. She loved that one woman, beautiful and pale and powerful, held so much sway over the history of the world. The moment she was born, the course of the future changed irreparably. Her existence could not be denied. One had to wonder if Lhex had anything to do with it, if he dabbled in Ivak's rage or led Kova to her fate. Johanne loved that Kova lived and breathed with such intensity that the world was torn apart by her mere existence. Johanne wished she could be such a woman. Or rather, that she could know such woman intimately, and know their stories as she knew Kova's.

The girl before her told the story expressively. Johanne noted her change in tone, her movement of arms, and watched how she held the audience captive. She could feel the emotion seep through her heart and ribcage, feeling the doomed hopefulness that always accompanied this story, and the ultimate disgust when Galifer so soiled the human dignity Kova deserved. Someone beside her, an older woman, lined with age and wisdom that Johanne craved, murmured with a quiet satisfaction as Ivak avenged his desecrated lover. It made her think. Johanne had never made love herself, but if she were to find some man or woman, some person, some Ethaefal or anyone who could fall in love with Johanne for her own sake, then she would. Within a heartbeat. And she would not wait for marriage, and she would give herself wholly and fully in passion in the moment.

The Vantha's voice quietened, as she wrapped her arms around herself and surveyed the crowd solemnly. They all knew what had happened after. They all knew that for one girl, the world was sundered. And the girl's final message left a ringing silence through the air.

Love. Johanne craved it, even if it would destroy her. Love, to create and end stories.

She watched the Vantha girl sink to the ground, her shoulders drooped, weighted by the borrowed words of destruction. The storytellers carried the past in them with their tales of woe and destruction. Johanne could understand how they would be burdened with each retelling. The crowd dissipated, rejoining the bustle of the Azure Market. Johanne, though, stayed where she was, standing quietly before the girl. The story still ringing in her ears, she looked down at the girl on the cobblestone, all thoughts of winter shopping forgotten.

"You are a very talented storyteller," Johanne murmured. "You did well, for a story with so much weight in it."

[Albireo]

Little did the storyteller know that her words had inflicted such intense emotions upon one of the listeners. Had she known, her answer would’ve been different. Instead murmured words were followed by silence. Familiar noises of an ordinary Lhavitian day filled her ears, ears still ringing with a crystal-clear voice that she wouldn’t find again until a few days later. After using up her inner funds, pouring all the liquid out into staring eyes and open mouths, Suria was – once again – empty to the core. That emptiness screamed for refilling though and the compliment touched it like fresh water in a dusty old well. The Vantha tilted her head in wordless gratitude and looked up. The girl was towering over her, a lanky statue carrying a subdued sense of beauty. Curious, no? And red scratches and lines under her sleeves. Most curious. “Are you waiting for more?” she inquired and, with a small sigh, left the cold stone. One hand on the wall, she observed the girl once more. Long hair tangled and messy in the season’s chill, she still towered over Suria. Rainbow eyes melted into blazing orange and yellow. She took a few tentative steps and cast a glance back. “You were shopping. Come, let’s do it together.” Unusual, most unusual words sprung from her lips, so much in fact, that Suria asked herself… What was she trying to accomplish? Maybe she’s searching, scraping together pieces just like you, the tired storyteller whispered somewhere.

[Johanne]

The Vantha's eyes settled, from their tumultuous rainbow into the smoothest yellows and burning oranges. The story had been rife with emotion, Johanne reflected, and so it would make sense that it called for the eyes of the storyteller to reflect it. Johanne wished she could capture the colours of the Vantha's rainbow eyes in that moment, as they faded away, before the vivid palette disappeared entirely. To a tattoo artist, the colours meant the world. She would dearly love the challenge of creating the rainbow Vantha's eyes as a tattoo work of art.

In the silence that followed Johanne's statement, and the girl on the cobblestone's wordless stare into Johanne's towering form, she began to fiddle with her fingernails. She picked at the cuticles, wondering if perhaps she had overstepped, if the woman below her wished for solitude and silence in the aftermath of her story. She half-smiled, the corner of her lips lifting up, as if a silent question were being asked - would you like me to go away, specifically.

Even when the girl stood, resting against the azure wall for support, Johanne still towered awkwardly above the olive-skinned Vantha. "No, no, I'm not," Johanne hurriedly replied, her hands twisting within each other. She did not wish to overstep, to impose, to seem demanding. Johanne was a quiet girl, not shy, but rather wishing to let time and fate unfold as they will, leaving as little impact as possible upon the events she observed. She did not wish to force another story out of the girl, if it was unwanted. "I simply wanted to tell you that I thought you told the story beautifully, that's all."

The girl started to walk, taking steps away from Johanne, who stood awkwardly still and followed the Vantha with her eyes. Perhaps her compliment had been unwanted. Perhaps the story was a painful one for the girl to tell. Perhaps she had intruded.

And then she was invited to do her Fall shopping, with the girl who had regaled the past so wonderfully.

Johanne blushed, and quickly caught up with the girl. A shy smile played upon her lips. "Yes, thank you. I would like that." Johanne tugged the sleeves of her dress down absentmindedly.

"My name is Johanne," she said quietly, falling into step with the storyteller. "Johanne Verkir."

[Albireo]

The girl fiddling with her fingernails directed Suria’s attention towards the cuts again. Clean and deep, works of a determined mind, those hadn’t been suffered in a fight. Where did she hide her knife, Suria suddenly wondered. A rush of weariness: It was still a beast even if hiding its fangs. And yet… She dared not ask. The nod of gratitude had already been delivered, so Suria merely acknowledged another compliment. It felt like cushions, patting her on the head, messing up her hair perhaps, while avoiding deeper and truer words. Nevertheless the answer proved what was inside – even in blackest darkness a faint light flickered. With the storyteller’s sense living on through the centuries, the Vantha detected it easily. “Suria Skyglow”, she offered. Eyes flashed violet with opportunity, although she was looking at the front of a clothing shop at that moment. Stepping inside, she cast a glance over the shoulder: if the girl followed. “So”, she began before examining a heap of wool gloves, “your name speaks of distant places I do not know. Are you looking for more glamorous tales here?” A faint smile crossed dreamy features as she spoke. After two years, she had plunged into the beauty that was Lhavit and awakened with a deep breath from what seemed like a long dream now. Of course, aftereffects lingered, but here the stars were so much brighter, so much… Cream-colored wool slipped through olive fingers as she shook her head. While moving on to scarves and ignoring the clerk’s offer to help, she was listening for Johanne’s answer. Holding her breath, although she wouldn’t admit it…

[Johanne]

Johanne did not notice the girl's eyes drift down to her wrists, where the last of the cuts and the scars peaked out from beneath her dress. Johanne was not ashamed of her scars. She did not hide them out of embarrassment, but rather, because of the looks she would receive by the people who did not understand. Johanne was creating a work of art upon her skin, sketching stories with a stiletto knife, but the world did not see it that way. Nobody ever saw it that way, save the sailor who made her see.

She smiled slightly, her lips quirking up in a quiet, unassuming way. "Suria," she murmured to herself. "Suria the Storyteller." She liked how the name sounded on her tongue, how it held a history within the syllables, how in telling stories, Suria would become her own. Suria would become a character later, in one of Johanne's stories. Suria the Storyteller, like Johanne. They simply told stories in different ways.

Johanne easily followed the shorter girl, watching as she trailed past stalls holding gloves and cloaks, and all things for the coming cold. Johanne knew she should be finding clothes to purchase before the Winter came, but the girl began to speak in soft tones with simple questions. Johanne listened attentively, not just to the words themselves, but how they sounded, how the accent lilted her inflection. She smiled in easy response to the girl's smile too, picking up a woolen that Suria had let drop, she stroked the wool before answering with carefully chosen words.

"I am from Denval, it is not so far from here." She picked up the other glove, before easily sliding them on. The storekeeper hovered closeby, ready to make a sale, or to keep Johanne from running off with his goods. She paid no attention, though, looking down at the way the gloves fit her, though from the corner of her eye she watched Suria peruse the scarves. "I left in 510AV. It was a very small town, there are not many stories there." She sighed, taking the gloves off before putting them back in the pile. She sent an apologetic smile to the storekeeper, walking over to Suria's stall.

"With Denval now gone," and there was a melancholic glimmer in her eyes, "I suppose that makes Lhavit my home now. Though not really. I'll move on some day, try and find more stories." Her speech was soft, though Suria would not understand Johanne's love of stories, her drive to create something that truly was meaningful. She did not want to die insignificant.

"And yourself?" Johanne asked, coming out of her reverie. "Why do you linger in the city of the stars?'

[Albireo]

“Denval,” Suria whispered to herself, tasting the melody, waiting for awakening memories. Nothing stirred though. None of her recent lives knew the name, town or whatever it was. And the Ethaefal, lingering in the recesses of her Vantha mind, ignored anything that wasn’t Leth’s. Yet the girl’s words intrigued her, called upon her thirst for tales, a storyteller’s instinct. “Now gone?” A prompt to elaborate. Fabric slipped through her fingers, rubbing them rough and dry. It was what wool did, rubbing, sometimes choking. Yet the smell of mountain flowers and herbs had certainly left the air, winter was coming. Blinking, she examined the colors. Dark, flowing things called to her, but hesitation lingered. The clerk was watching like a Wind Reach falcon. “Why must I be here? My Lord resides up, way up between the stars, what better place is there to pay reverence to Him?” she asked softly. Any trace of bitterness was swallowed by her accent, strange and impossible to interpret. Then she turned, pale hands playing with a midnight blue scarf. “Johanne”, she said, “the stories, what are they to you? You speak as if they were hiding from you, eluding you. That is only illusion. It seems you don’t know them well enough.” You will, though, if your thirst is real and strong. Yes, the girl made her smile, but also made her remember days that were better forgotten and buried in age-old dust. That human stirred memories. Whether it was a good or a bad thing, Suria didn’t see, yet she ignored all mental warnings. Foolish, perhaps.

[Johanne]

Johanne sighed, looking down at her fingernails, fiddling with the loose flaps of skin until they bled. She relished the sting, and though of the artwork that she carved into herself. Denval. One day, soon, she wished to carve the Denval pier into her thigh. That was where she first learnt that stories could come in more ways than ink on paper. That was the place in Denval she missed the most.

"Did you hear of the Djed Storm, Suria?" Johanne began, softly. The story was a hard one to tell, though she did not miss her family, or the rigid society with the high expectations that Johanne had no intention of fulfilling. "The whole world was sent into chaos. The fires of Wind Reach spread across the lands, and nowhere was left untouched by the magical wrath of the Gods." She shrugged awkwardly. She was not good at speaking aloud. She always stumbled over small details, leading to awkward phrasing and embarrassment. In the face of Suria the Storyteller, her voice seemed inadequate. If only she could write it down for the girl. "No city was left unaffected. Everywhere was changed. But Denval no longer exists."

"Denval was a city, proud of its roots. It had disappeared after the Cataclysm in years past. No one knew it was there. When they looked to the west coast, all humanity saw were insurmountable mountain passes and a heap of rubble left by Ivak's rage. But we emerged. Yes, Denval emerged. And we stood strong. We were small but we were proud in our identity, our names. Our history." Johanne's eyes glowed with the history of her people. In storytelling she felt that she was one with the people of her home, though when she had walked among them, she had been a quiet outsider. "But as the Gods would have it, when the Djed Storm wrent the world apart again, Denval's luck ran out. We could survive the once but not twice. Denval disappeared. It's now just a rubble of debris again, only there are no more people to emerge."

Johanne sighed. She felt the blood trickle from her fingernails to the centre of her palm; watching the warm liquid pool above her lifeline. Every breath she took was a reminder that she had left the city the year before. If she had truly loved her mother, she would have stayed, and she too would be gone. She would be dead with the rest of them.

Johanne, caught up in her melancholy remembrances of her hated birthplace, did not hear Suria whisper to her God. She would not have understood the significance of her Lord, as Johanne had no allegiance to any God: though she was properly fearful of them all.

She looked up, startled, shocked from her own thoughts at the sound of her name. Without thinking about it, Johanne reached out her hand and felt the silk scarf between her fingers, letting the silk smooth over her muddled thoughts. "This scarf, it would look lovely on you," she murmured, as she struggled to answer Suria's question. What were the stories? The stories were nothing, though Johanne desperately wanted them to be something.

"I left my home to find the greatest story ever told. I left Denval to find drama, romance, excitement, adventures. All I have ever wanted was to tell a beautiful story." Johanne shrugged, awkwardly. "But perhaps I am not talented, not intelligent, not wise enough. Whatever the case, the stories elude me, and I am ever chasing after phantoms."