Weary Traveler (Open)

[Ronin Invictus]

13 Fall 513 AV

Ronin had been traveling for two season, and he was now a few days into his third. He traveled all the way from the sands of Eyktol, through the harsh desert sands, and into the vast grass plains north of the desert, his original home. He did not stop there however, continuing his slow, meandering journey into the region of Sylira. He was not in a hurry to be anywhere, he did not have anyone to visit, he only wandered, as if he was a lost spirit. The only guide he followed was the road that had began in Sylira.

In reality, he was running away. Running away from past memories of the desert and those he met there, for he could never see the one he cared about most ever again. The cheetah sought to out run his troubles, and he could not stop, else the pain will catch back up to him.

The new lands he encountered on his journey were amazing to the Kelvic, he was especially awed by the high mountains as he approached Zeltiva, as well as the trees; the sheer number of them amazing. And when the color of the leaves had started to turn their beauty was unmatched by anything the young Kelvic had ever seen, but these sights only served for a temporary distraction. The hole that once held his bond-mate felt as fresh as the day she killed herself.

Today, he had encountered his first city since he started traveling, he had only encountered small villages thus far. The high stone walls looked much different than the one in Ahnatep, and were not quite as ornate, but the architecture held is splendor in its own way. He was allowed through the gates without much problem. He figured he would at least look around a bit, he had heard many good things about the city of Zeltiva after all. He had enough money to gain passage on a boat if he so wished, but he was not quite fond of water or swimming, so riding across the ocean on a boat was not something he thought he would enjoy. Instead he opted to just roam around the streets, maybe stay for the night.

[Phyolea]

Phyolea glanced nervously over at Serra Danelle, the innkeeper for World's End Grotto. Ordinarily singing would be a joy. She even sang in front of her peers back home in Charbosi. However, this wasn't home. To make matters worse, she had to sing in Common. Common was just not as... melodious as her native tongue. Singing in Common was much more challenging, especially when singing in air rather than water. Phyolea looked around the room. The inn had been meticulously maintained, even in lieu of the coup d'état. It was like a haven compared to the chaos outside of the doors. The crowd was filled with races and faces unfamiliar to her. They generally looked grim. Would song lift their spirits?

Phyolea closed her eyes (though her eyelids were translucent) and sang a song about Laviku. It was based on the tales that many Charodae pass to one another. Phyolea had translated some of her home songs into Common so that she could lift the spirits of others during this rough time. So she sang of his mercy and of his might. She sang of hope and of the beauty of the sea. She poured her heart into the lilting notes of her melody.

[Niall Hammerfist]

Niall’s boots felt as though he’d worn through them already. They were brand new, and at this moment he was considering taking them off and throwing them over his shoulder. The cobbled stone of Zeltiva’s streets had been wearing his legs and feet out since he had gotten here. He had experienced a minimal amount of getting used to the way the stone felt in harsh contrast to the sand and dirt roads he was used to walking. It had been a long day. He’d travelled all over Zeltiva looking for work. Roaming bands of idiots were still killing each other in the streets and all he had wanted to do was find work. It was hard enough dodging the collateral damage of the Coup, but doing that and finding work was frustrating, his hands ached to put hammer to metal, or cook Iron into steel. Niall was almost ready to offer his services for free just to get his blacksmithing fix. But for tonight, rest and some food was all he wanted to see in front of him. That was what awaited him at the Worlds End Grotto. It’s sturdy wooden door hung wide on its hinges and the sound of singing and laughter could be heard inside. The smell of food and drink wafted over the threshold in seductive waves, enticing him inward. The small shed was full of horses, and Niall reconsidered going inside. A hearth room full of people didn’t seem like a good time tonight, but his stomach protested its needs to him. With a sigh of resignation he crossed into the Grotto common room. Inside, the room was packed with people. At first glance he saw no one he knew, though the place was pretty full, if there was someone there they would make themselves known. For now though he would partake of meat and mead. The fleeting thought of food and drink made Niall swallow hungrily. Though as he made his way to the only unoccupied table at the back he passed by the window to the kitchen and saw the roasting meat on the spit, and the frothy cups of cold malt beer poured from the keg. The young Isur felt his patience and resolve to wait for food melting away like a dollop of butter on a biscuit fresh from the ovens. Niall shook his head and took his seat, the thought of food weighing on his mind. He watched the sea of people like a hawk searching for the nearest server. At last, a young boy sporting a tray of Kelp Beer that dwarfed him in comparison darted into the common room. When the boy had delivered his last flagon, Niall waved him down. With the skill of a server he dodged his way through the crowd to where Niall sat, tray under his arm and a look of urgency on his face. “Mug o’ Kelp Kiddo, and a cut of that lamb back there, please.” Niall said loud enough for the boy to hear over the din in the Inn. He tossed the lad a silver Miza and nodded to him thankfully. The Isur was excited. He hadn’t had lamb in a long time and the thought of the tender spicy sweet meat on his tongue made him feel almost feverish in anticipation. With great effort he tried to distract himself with the patrons of the Inn. Quietly he listened to a crowd of people at a large table near the front of the Inn singing a drinking song. “Drink yer fill me lads! Drink fer ever more, The man’o war is come tah make them fly to Kalinor!” The cheery tune was foot stomping in its rhythm, though they sang with slurred speech. Or perhaps it was just some regional lilt to their tongue, the young Isur was unsure. Though, it was heartening to see so many in high spirits. “She’ll bowl ye down with canon, she’ll trounce inta dust. If yah live to tell the tale, you’ll die from shackle rust! OH! Tha man’o war is comin, she flies her sails high. With sabers raised and souls ablaze they send yah down to die!” Niall’s large brow was raised in concern at the openly aggressive nature of their little tune, and made a mental note to steer clear of their table, or wind up on the right side of it in a fight. By the time their tale of glorious murder died to howls and clapping the boy had returned with a cold flagon of beer. He set it down with a smile and nodded to him before running off again. He grabbed the pewter flagon in his hand and raised it to his parched lips, at last taking a sip. The beer was cool and complicated. The hopps they had used was a subtle bitterness suppressed by the salty plant flavor of the kelp. It reminded Niall a little of cucumber bread without any sugar. It tasted harty and instantaneously refreshing. However, not something Niall would drink on a regular basis; at least, not until he was blacksmithing again. Something about a cold brew with lunch or dinner after a hard day in the forge was revitalizing. Niall was admiring the relief work in his pewter flagon when he noticed that the inn got quiet all of a sudden. When he looked up from his beer a young woman had stood up on stage. She was, strange looking. Another sea race Niall had seen. ‘A Charoda?’ He thought. He had heard people talking about one in the market the other day and he was curious to say the least though nothing prepared him for her voice. It was Melodic, beautiful, and full of emotion. She sang of Laviku, of hope and mercy. Niall thought of all the lives he’d seen snuffed out before him, and it made him feel a twinge of sorrow and regret. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened to him if his father or Yalani had survived. A soft sigh escaped his lips and he drowned his thoughts with the beer in his hand, taking a long draft on the cold brew.

[Phyolea]

Phyolea was relieved. It was time for an intermission. She had sung of things that she had wholehearted believed... until she arrived in Zeltiva. She had been in Zeltiva for over a week. Yet, it felt like an eternity. The chaos of the coup d'état had resulted in more violence than she cared to see in a lifetime. She had learned that life was sacred. Why, then, was there so much bloodshed? Did land dwellers not realize their worth? Were they always ruled by greed and avarice? She had hoped that singing would distract her from the world outside. She felt better... at first. Then the feeling turned into something she had never really experienced before: cynicism.

Phyolea sought to be seated and to forget the stage for a while. Fortunately, she was not due to get back on stage for a while. She wasn't even sure if she had done well enough to keep the job. Nor did she care. The inn was crowded, so Phyolea had to content herself with sharing a table with strangers. She sat next to a land-dweller who appeared male. The man feasted on foods that she could not eat and drank of some strange substance. Phyolea was curious in spite of herself. What was in the mug? She had seen other land dwellers drink it and become merry. Phyolea stared at the man silently, not realizing that some land dwellers would find her staring rude.

[Niall Hammerfist]

The Kelp Beer was bitter to the last drop, as it flowed over his tongue. Though the long swig he took filled him with warmth, it left him with little comfort. As he lowered his flagon half full to the table he realized that someone had joined him. The entertainer who was singing her mournful lament a moment ago had joined him at his table. He’d been in cities before where strange folk would sit amongst one another and make conversation, but his new guest brought back bitter memories. As his eyes darted to meet the gaze of his guest, the Isur could see that for lack of a better word, she was mesmerized by the dink in his hand. Niall took her in. At least the Isur assumed it was a She. Her voice had been feminine. Though, she was the first Charoda he had met in person, so he was unsure. He cocked his head to the side observing her smooth features, giving this creature the same attention she had given his Flagon of Beer. She had gray skin, a shade somewhat darker than his own, and it had a polished leather look to it. The Isur imagined she would feel clammy to the touch, though he had to admit he was rather curious about what that experience might be like. Her eyes were dark but lively and intelligent. Her head was crested by fins, and long tentacles that Niall felt reminded him of the dreadlocks that many of the sailors wore at the docks. Her eyes were similar in color to her skin, though darker. She reminded him of the dolphins he had heard the local sailors talk about. The awkwardness of the silence at the table was felt acutely. Until at last he broke his gaze from his guest a moment and waved down the server. When Niall could see the he had the boy’s attention the Isur pointed to his cup and raised two of his fingers on his hand indicated two fresh flagons of beer to be brought. When the boy darted off purposefully to the back, he turned his attention back to his guest and fixed her with a thoughtful gaze. “Mercy, might, hope, and beauty.” Niall said as he raised his flagon in salute and polished off his beer. When the last of the bitter liquid had flowed over his tongue he continued. “You sing in common well.” A slight sadness showed in the furrow of his brow, his face reflective of his feelings. The Isur inhaled softly as he laid his flagon down “Your words could have stirred the very foundation of the mountains miss.” He sat quietly a moment observing his empty cup waiting for the boy to bring him his refills. He smiled softly remembering the kindness of a Jamoura he would likely never meet again and turned his gaze back to his guest. “My name is Niall Hammerfist, son of Sulos. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The Isur’s common held the slightest of Isurian accents, as he bowed his head to his guest. Patiently he waited for her response.

[Phyolea]

Phyolea was in a daze for a bit before she realized that the man that had been feasting next to her was speaking directly to her. He had complimented her singing. Phyolea still had trouble distinguishing between the different land dwellers... This one seemed like some sort of human. However, she didn't know if that was accurate. She studied up on the land dwellers, but her former curiosity had given way to something resembling aversion.

Phyolea stared blankly as the man continued his compliment and finished his beer. “You sing in common well. Your words could have stirred the very foundation of the mountains miss.” Phyolea vaguely wondered if she still had a job. “My name is Niall Hammerfist, son of Sulos. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Phyolea managed a smile. She had seen so little kindness outside of the University that she wanted to be sure to cherish it. "My name is Phyolea. I have a surname and parents, but they are far away from here." She extended her webbed hand in greeting. "Forgive me for asking, but are you... human?" She remembered that her smile tended to alarm some humans, so she closed her lips and awaited the man's response.

[Niall Hammerfist]

Niall removed his gloves and laid them on the table, revealing his black matalic left hand. “A true pleasure to meet yet another of the water folk of Mizahar.” He said with a grin, as he took Phyolea’s hand in his human appearing one to better feel her skin. It was similar to what he thought it would be, though warmer, and dryer. Her touch reminded him of extremely well oiled leather. He then presented his blackened hand to his guest. “I am an Isur of the Pitrious clan.” His grin lessened to a pleasant smile. “All Isur have a hand like this one, though they vary in color.” With his final words about his arm passed his lips, the server boy returned with an eager smile and his two fresh flagons of beer. Niall laid down a silver miza for the boy and the lad took his empty cup and hurriedly departed. Two flagons on the table Niall sat back in his chair. With his metallic hand he took his fresh flagon. He eyed its contents thoughtfully and then turned his gaze upon his guest. Casually he pushed the other flagon toward her. “For you… Don’t drink it too quickly.” With the other beer offered, he took a swig from his own. Its flavor was beginning to dull from the alcohol, and Niall made a mental note to slow down a bit. “So what brings you to Zeltiva miss Phyolea?”

[Phyolea]

Phyolea eyed the flagon that had been offered to her. She had been curious about this kelp beer for quite some time. Would it be like having a liquid meal? Her curiosity piqued in spite of herself. It was as if he knew her curiosity was at play when he cautioned her not to drink it too fast. She discovered that this kind man was an Isur. She wondered if he was familiar with the mountain region behind the University. She wanted to explore the pass that lead through the mountains, but the climate would kill her. She marveled at the Isur of the Pitrious Clan, named Niall Hammerfist if memory served her well. His arm was well muscled, but it differed from most humans. She found it to be beautiful.

"What brings you to Zeltiva miss Phyolea?" asked the Isur. "I've come to study." Phyolea took a sip of the contents within the flagon. She had overheard people say that it was terribly bitter. Some had even called it disgusting. Phyolea found the taste refreshing. "I need to learn how to heal people. I want to learn to save lives." Her face clouded for a moment, but she took another sip of beer and continued. "I also want to learn everything I can about the surface. It is very different from my hometown, Charbosi." She shuddered involuntarily. The beer was cold. "But there has been so much violence since I got here. I am ready to go home, but I won't leave empty handed." Phyolea shook her head as if to clear it of its thoughts and looked at the Isur.

"What brings you to Zeltiva, if I may ask? What are the mountains like? I would love to see them!" The seas had mountains, but they were not like the mountains of the land. She wanted to learn more.

[Niall Hammerfist]

“A student eh?” Niall smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve considered signing up for a few courses in the fall, maybe I’ll see you there.” She was quite a complicated creature, this Phyolea. She wanted to be a healer, and to learn all she could of the surface. Being a healer was a hard life and would take many years of study. Not many professions would call a person to that sort of life. When the Charoda mentioned her home town of Charbosi, Niall swallowed a mouthful of beer from his flagon and gave his guest his undivided attention. He frowned at the mention of the violence of the Coup’ and sighed, long and heavily. When she asked him what had brought him to Zeltiva he smiled genuinely, again, a bit of warmth filling his face. “You are a curious one aren’t you Miss Phyolea. So many questions I don’t quite know where to begin. I came to Zeltiva from my homeland far to the north in Kalea.” ‘to kill the murderers of my father’ he thought to himself as he took a sip from his flagon. “I’m looking for work as a blacksmith.” He took another sip from his flagon and laid it down on the table. “The mountain pass is dry, and at the moment, likely getting cold. Beyond the pass, lies the rolling and winding road that leads to Syliras, a mighty city of many walls. Syliras dwarfs Zeltiva not only in size, but population as well.” Niall saw in his guests eyes a thirst for more so he closed his eyes and continued. “It was not often that I would look back when I walked to Zeltiva, though when I did, the road was bathed in sunlight. The mountains were covered in bronzewood trees, and fur. Green and gold are a lovely combination of color.” He thought of his painter friend Vernadel a moment, absentmindedly playing with the pearl that was hidden in the sleeve of his shirt. “The mountains themselves become hazier as you move further away from them.” Niall described, before he picked up his flagon again and took a swig. “The surface as it is, is a very dangerous place. The night is stalked by hungry predators. And men raise arms against one another in petty violence.” His face took on a look of slight disgust as his mind found a particularly painful set of memories. “Though as most folk go, we are not all bad. Many people simply wish to work, and live their lives as free men and women.”

[Phyolea]

Phyolea nodded as the Isur spoke. She could appreciate the imagery he created for her. The land dwellers had a different sort of beauty than her hometown with their daily access to the sun. She had enjoyed watching the sun rise and watching the sun set on the horizon. She never really bothered making the trek to the surface back when she was home.

What the Isur said next invoked a period of deep thinking. "The surface as it is, is a very dangerous place. The night is stalked by hungry predators. And men raise arms against one another in petty violence Though as most folk go, we are not all bad. Many people simply wish to work, and live their lives as free men and women.” Freedom. What did this word mean to the land dwellers? Could the land be free when factions fight? Phyolea had many questions, but stayed silent as she peered into the flagon with so little tasty kelp beer left.

Phyolea felt more at ease. In fact, she began to feel more at ease than she had since arriving in Zeltiva. It was a bit of a strange feeling. She felt warmer than she should, though her beverage was cold. She was in the mood to sing and dance... though the dances she knew could not be replicated on land. Or... could they? Phyolea fought the urge to find out.

Phyolea finally spoke. "There does seem to be a lot of similarity between our cultures. I hadn't really stopped to appreciate the beauty found here." Phyolea finished the contents of the flagon. "This delicious beverage... it reminds me of home somehow." Phyolea remembered a strange word from earlier: blacksmith. There were still some Common words she did not know. "You will be a blacksmith? Does that mean you will make beautiful things?" Phyolea found herself becoming overly fascinated with Niall's arm.