Closed A World of Words [Hirem]

[Ashar]

Jek 22nd of Summer, 514 AV The Valkalah Library Menitides Summer flowers that grow in bushes, with clumps of inch-wide flowers blooming at a time. The leaves are long, pointed, and thin, but have an attractive dark green shade when properly watered. The bushes grow and spread fast and considered by some to be a weed. The scent is flowery and attractive, but weak due to the individual flower’s small size. Gods, you're reading about flowers? Could you be any more boring? Oh quiet down, Jek replied, flipping the page. Imagine how many times I get frustrated with your thick-headed confrontational attitude. This is the first time I've had control in a while, and I'm going to make sure I enjoy it. Ashar merely grumbled as Jek kept reading about Mooneyes, a faint smile on his face as his eyes scanned the page. It was a book he had randomly picked up in the library as he was walking long one side of the room, taking the first book from the shelf that looked inviting. This was not what Jek would normally read, but he was so happy to finally be able to use his body that he cared not for what his regular reading material was. Besides, flowers were beautiful, and it was nice to be learning more about the ones he would see on Ashar's patrols. If you want to read so petching bad, go read one of those epics about the Akalak warriors of old. Those are at least worth reading - if I can't kill a Zith in real life at least let me read about it. For a while, Jek blissfully ignored his light brother, reveling in the freedom of being able to control what their body was doing. He got some amusement from listening to his brother grow more frustrated each passing moment he was ignored. There is plenty of death in the real world without needing to read about it as well, he finally replied. There is so much more to this world than violence and death that you simply don't appreciate. You protect this city without ever taking a breath to appreciate it's beauty, and it's quite tragic. Again, Ashar only grumbled as Jek continued reading. He was sitting at one of the small reading tables scattered around the library, little islands of reading in the spacious yet relatively small rooms. With his head resting on his hands, he looked down at the pages of the botany book from above, taking his time to enjoy its content. Though he had missed out on most of Ashar's time with their mother, he had the chance to talk with her on occasion and loved her work dearly. It was what led him to reading, and what inspired him to dream about writing. Sadly, Ashar would never clutter up their room with papers and pens, and their father Jenar was always too busy completing their mother's works to help. So he read. Wake me up when you suddenly become interesting. Jek couldn't help but smile as he heard his light brother go quiet. Now, finally, he could have his thoughts to himself and enjoy his reading in peace. It wasn't a perfect system he had with his light brother, but it worked to some extent. They both could do what they liked to do, though Jek felt like his turns were coming less frequently. Whether it was true or not (he didn't check daily to find out), he had to treasure every moment of his time now, for he knew at the end of the day Ashar's restlessness would cause him to fight back for his control. Though Jek could fight back, conflict with his light brother would only make things worse, so rather than fight for more time he decided to spend it well.

[Hirem]

Ledger :

Deducted from ledger:

- 3 GM for Blank Book
- 1 GM for Ink Vial
- 5 CM for Quill

Today, Hirem entered the thirtieth year of his life.

His mother had always been quick to remind him of his birthdays, keeping firm track of the date even throughout the upcoming season and offering sweet words to him whenever the anniversary dawned on them. When the Benshira left Yahebah at 21, he had retained the practice even throughout his desert travels, making sure to bow his head whenever the 22nd of Summer occurred and spare a moment to remember the past year. Usually, Hirem used his birthdays as a chance to reflect and ponder the unknown future, wondering what might await him within the next year of his life. Over time, his feelings towards the future became more tainted by dread, and for a long time his birthdays were solemn occasions that pushed fear mercilessly into his heart.

Today was different. Today, Hirem looked not towards the road yet traveled, but at the path he had already traversed.

He reflected on the journey that he had taken, through both his peaceful childhood and dutiful adolescence. He remembered his scholarly life in Yahebah, attending lectures with his friends during the days and peering deeply into tomes during the evenings. He relived the three years he had spent traveling the desert, searching for answers between the sand dunes... as well as the terrible sin that ended his pilgrimage. The last six years struck a painful chord within his heart, as he could only mourn the time that he had lost to foolishness, hatred, and confusion. Perhaps the most uplifting part of his history was the last season, which saw him leave the only home he had ever known and come to this city that he had never dared to see with his own eyes. All in all, it was a special journey that he had experienced.

One that he could not risk losing to the failure of memory. Yahal has guided me down this path for a reason, so that I might benefit from his lessons - no matter how difficult they have proven - and become the man that I was born to be. I cannot forget even a single moment of this education. To do so would be an insult to my god and the course my life has taken. So it was duty that commanded Hirem to travel to the sweltering Zhongjie Warren in search of paper, ink, and a quill. It was dedication to his faith that brought the Benshira to the Valkalah Library - not only a place where he might write in peace, but also a building that provided shelter from the intensifying heat wave. It was respect for Yahal that made Hirem seek a secluded table on the second floor of the library, light a candle, and dip his quill into the fresh vial of ink.

But it was not thoughts of his god that compelled him to write.

As soon as the tip of his quill first scratched into the blank paper, Hirem knew that this story would not be about himself. The first words that were scrawled out from his shaking hand - unused to writing despite learning it in Yahebah - were uncertain, only suggesting the beginnings of a story rather than setting it into stone. The feather at the end of the quill tickled his nose and made him yearn to sneeze, and the shaft of the writing instrument felt awkward in his sweating grasp. But as he continued to write, more ideas flowed from him, and more words were being added to the evolving text. He wrote not in his comfortable Shiber but instead in his rusty Common, for, as Hirem soon realized, he intended for this story to be read by someone. His own unfamiliarity with the language restricted his ability to write, but the Benshira didn't care; the blankness of that page emboldened him, made his head dizzy with freedom.

When he finally tired of writing, Hirem had used up three full pages of his blank book. The unease of his hand with the task was evident when one stared at his work; the margins were completely written over, the entire page a confusing mess of text, words that grew in size from letter and letter, and more than few misspellings. But rather than become critical of his efforts, the Benshira felt absurdly proud of what he had managed to accomplish. A juvenile sense of accomplishment filled him, satisfaction that he managed to complete something... even if that something couldn't even entertain a young child. Taking a deep breath, Hirem set his quill down on the table and reread the last paragraph that he had wrote, biding his time while the still-wet ink dried.

A great storm of fire filled me. Fire in the sky, on the grond. Fire everywhere. I held my arms up and felt warm. I closed my eyes and fell to the grond, weak with pain. Following the fire came darkness, a great darkness from the deep earth. The shadows fell around me, made it so that I could not see. I screamed out for help. There was no one that could hear. I fell onto my stomch, holding my sides, crying red tears onto the grond. Everything was darkness. I had to survive, but I knew not how. Everywhere, my friends were screaming, asking for help. Evil threatened us. We were falling by the score. I knew I had to open my eyes and face the darkness, but I was afraid of the fire. I wanted to give up and die on the grond. But my friends could not be left, and my god was dying in the heavens above. I realized that I would not be able to see in the darkness, that my eyes would be turned to ash by the blazing fire... and that was that I had to do. I opened my eyes and felt fire consume them, but that didn't matter anymore. It was what I had to do, and with faith at my side, I was unafraid.

I need the opinion of another, Hirem realized as he reviewed the writing. Someone more familiar with the Common language than I. Drawing himself out of his seat, the Benshira returned the quill and ink vial to a secure place within his rucksack, taking the blank book delicately into his hands. Feeling that the best place for him to find a fellow writer would probably be the library, he searched both levels of the building for possible readers. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Valkalah Library was fairly empty this afternoon; the heat wave in Riverfall was driving more and more people to rest by the river where it was cool and refreshing, and not into the buildings where the air quickly grew stuffy and uncomfortable. Finally, he found a man that might prove to be accommodating to his unusual request: a studious looking Akalak that was be completely immersed in a heavy tome on... gardening? Strange... but strange is what I am hoping for.

"Falim, friend." He murmured as he approached, standing opposite the sitting Akalak. He made sure that he didn't appear like he was demanding a request from the man, but instead hoped that he might seem friendly and personable. "My name is Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa. It is good to meet you." Feeling the awkwardness of the situation bite down on his tongue and still his words, Hirem struggled anyway to speak. "I hope that I am not disturbing your reading... but I wonder if you might have time to help me?" He took the seat closest to him, staring at the Akalak from across the table, setting his blank book onto the wooden surface purposefully. "Just a few bells ago, I first tried my hand at writing in some detail... I've never attempted it before, and am unsure of the results. Can you spare enough time to read it over and tell me what you think? Please, feel no need to blunt your words on my account; if it is worthless, I wish to know."

Word Count :

1,374

[Ashar]

Jek A soft smile graced Jek's features as his eyes traveled across the page, soaking in the information about flowers he had always seen but never known. By decree of the Council, the city was full of them, bursting out of every available plot of dirt for disdain of wasted space. It also wouldn't hurt to know the various uses of the plants, even if Jek himself was not capable of making perfumes or dyes. Perhaps, if the stars aligned and Ashar saw fit to relinquish control of their body again, Jek could find an artist to share some of this knowledge with, and watch her or him work in the sunlight. Rose Hips A summer flower that grows in small bushes that often infiltrate other bushes to grow higher. The flower is floppy and pinkish purple. It grows to 4-5 inches across, with a yellow center. In late summer, the fruit forces the petals off and a brigh red bulb grows. When it goes to seed at the beginning of fall, the fruit turns brown and the end pops open, releasing the seeds. While the flowers have a pleasant, but weak scent, the fruit is the more valuable part. It not only has a lovely scent that is popular in perfumes, its juice is commonly used as a natural red dye, and it can also be harvested for flavored tea. So that's what those are, Jek thought to himself. Hmm. Both perfumes and dyes? Might make a good gift to an artist of some sort, if only I were to meet one. Ashar's usual activity doesn't really afford me much opportunity, though. It was the sad truth of his situation. It's not that Ashar's comrades were bad people, and there were many that Jek liked quite a bit and got along with well. But they were all, nearly without exception, members of the Kuvay'Nas and either a warrior of some sort or a covert Kavran that was far too secretive to be really friendly. If Jek were the light brother, he'd be much more familiar with the artists and writers of Riverfall, the artisans who plied their craft peacefully but with no less rigor or severity than the Kuvay'Nas. It was these people Jek found most interesting, these people who could find their excitement in day to day activities rather than resorting to the adrenaline rush of danger that Ashar was so addicted to. "Falim, friend." It took Jek a moment to realize that the figure across the table from him that spoke was actually addressing him. The Akalak looked up at the man standing there, taking a moment to fully look him up and down. His garb looked like something right out of his mother's novels, leading the dark brother to believe that this man was likely from Eyktol. Clearly not an Akalak, though nearly as tall and broad as one. What stood out the most, however, was the series of closed wounds (they looked like scars, but might not have been) that covered his face, from his forehead down his cheeks and even his neck. "My name is Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa. It is good to meet you." Jek watched as the large human took a seat opposite him, still regarding his features. It was as if he'd stepped right out of one of Ashkara's books, one of the desert nomads of Eyktol, proud people who braved the desert dangers. This was going to be truly fascinating. "I am Jek," the Akalak introduced himself simply. His mastery of Common wasn't very, well, masterful. It was passable, though. This conversation would likely have a few issues, but he would manage. "I hope I am not disturbing your reading, but I wonder if you might have time to help me?" Hirem asked, setting a book that was in his hands onto the table. The pages looked blank, though Jek could see the hint of some writing on one of the previous pages. "Just a few bells ago, I first tried my hand at writing in some detail. I've never attempted it before, and am n=unsure of the results. Can you spare me enough time to read it over and tell me what you think? Please, feel no need to blunt your words on my account; if it is worthless, I wish to know." Ah, so a writer, Jek thought to himself, smiling. Speak of the devil. "I would be happy to read," Jek answered, stretching one of his large purple arms over the table and sliding the book over to his side. It might have been a bit presumptuous, but he was eager to read material from someone who might have been from the same region of his mother. If Hirem took offense, he would apologize later. For now, though, Jek's curiosity was piked, and he was too eager to wait for long. "But my Common is not fluent, so it may be hard." Delicately placing the corner of the page between his fingers, Jek flipped back to the last entry written in the otherwise blank book. A great storm of fire filled me. Fire in the sky, on the ground. Fire everywhere... Jek's eye's skimmed the page, reading at a pace he'd grown used to over the nearly twenty years of his life he'd been reading for. It was not long before he finished the paragraph in its entirety, his dark eyes lingering on the last few words. Faith, huh? he thought to himself. It was much like one of his mother's books, one in particular that told of a crusader of faith. Jek would have to reread that book sometime, he remembered liking it quite a bit. Finished, he returned the book to Hirem and his eyes brightened. "It was a good read," Jek said honestly. "Though I did not know what happened exactly. The images were very beautiful to read, but I was unclear on what the character was actually going through. What was happening?"

[Hirem]

It was a little thing, to ask a man to read his writing, yet for some reason Hirem felt absurdly anxious as he waited for the Akalak - Jek - to finish reading his draft. He had no cause to be nervous; he had given Jek no reason to expect anything of value, and it wasn't as if the success of this draft meant anything for Hirem's immediate future. But, nevertheless, a thin bead of sweat was forming on his forehead, his large hands nervously thumbing at the desk. He knew that his behaviour was ridiculous, but try as he might, he could not remain calm. Gods, I work at the Rat Hole as a bouncer... any one of my annoyed patrons can get up and stick a dagger in my back when he pleases, and no one will stop him. Why is it that I fear more what Jek will say about my writing than the godforsaken tavern and its brutish staff?

Despite his initial confusion as to what the problem was, the Benshira eventually came to understood his panic about Jek's possible reaction. It wasn't so much that he feared getting a negative reception... he was more terrified by the fact that Jek was reading his work at all. The act of expressing himself - not Yahal's will, but his honest feelings - was foreign to him. It was something that he just wasn't used to. For the past four years, his conversations with other desert dwellers had diminished to simple queries: "Do you have water to spare? Can I work for my share of supplies? Which way to Yahebah?" There was no opportunity for connection, intimacy, expression... it was all a matter of basic survival, and little else. Even in Riverfall, where he was in contact with more people in one day than the last four years in Eyktol combined, he still kept his guard tightly maintained. The only words that left his lips were the tidings of Yahal, the only craft from his hands the works of his god. He lived, not as a man, but as a vessel for heavenly deeds.

So sitting down and watching as Jek broke open the locks on his heart, and peered deep into the twisted maze that was his soul, was more than a little unnerving. I wonder, what does he make of me? This writer that speaks of faith and trials and nightmares? Does he believe me to be mad, deranged, normal, or something in between? The Benshira struggled to occupy himself during the, blessedly, brief time it took for Jek to read his draft, staring at the far walls, peering at distant book titles, glancing over at departing patrons of the library. For some time, he gazed at the Akalak to see if he could gain some insight into this scholarly mind, wondering what traits comprised a Rivarian intellectual. Not that Jek looked much like a scholar: his eyes were bright and attentive, but his body was more suited for dancing underneath sword thrusts than hefting books onto a table. He certainly looks like he can hold his own in a fight. In fact, he looks as if he can outclass me in a fair competition. Perhaps the true Akalak spirit resides in the determination to excel in everything, not just combat. Commendable.

And finally, the moment of truth dawned: Jek set down the book, passed it back to him, and prepared to speak. "It was a good read," he said, igniting a small inferno in the Benshira's stomach. But that wasn't all, and Hirem steeled himself for more. No matter what he says, I will not be disturbed. I am no great writer, so I cannot expect to create something without flaw. I will be as immovable as the mountains. He watched Jek's mouth form the words that already meant so much to the Benshira, for they were the first to concern his methods of self-expression in... the entirety of his life. "Though I did not know what happened exactly. The images were very beautiful to read, but I was unclear on what the character was actually going through. What was happening?"

What was happening?

What was happening?

He had no idea how to answer the Akalak, for the truth was that there were no characters in what he had written, and it was not a story. The poor man in the darkness, blinded by fire and beset by misery... he was no figment of Hirem's imagination. The situation he had written about was not composed of fanciful details, but instead was drawn directly from the memories that terrorized him nightly. In fact, to say that Hirem had created a story at all was completely incorrect - an old nightmare had torn itself free from his shackled heart and wrote itself onto the page, possessing his hand and forcing him to make it immortal. And it was only when Jek commented on this that Hirem realized what he had done; his eyes grew wide and his breathing became shallow as he comprehended the error. Gods, will I ever be able to exorcise the petching Prison from my mind?

Taking a moment to pause, Hirem struggled to recompose himself before the attentive scholar. Finally, bowing his head, he spoke. "The... the man in the story was undertaking a trial of the spirit in order to satisfy his god and keep his homeland safe. He travelled with several companions on the journey, but one by one they fell to the darkness that controlled the - prison." Every word that he spoke was a lie and yet a truth. "In his final struggle, the man feared opening his eyes and being blinded by the great storm of fire. But he realized that being blind was a sacrifice that he would have to undertake, for it would make him stronger and defy the evil powers that sought his demise. So he opened his eyes and let them become scarred by the burning kiss of the inferno, so that he might see his god's will done."

"But..." Shaking his head, Hirem closed the book and set it into his lap. "Was the writing itself decent? Did it flow from sentence to sentence? I might like to try more of this, in the future."

Word Count :

1,052

[Ashar]

Jek It was clear as soon as Jek had spoken that he had said something to rock Hirem. He was not sure exactly what it was, of course, but all of a sudden Hirem's breathing grew shallow and his eyes widened while focusing on something that wasn't there. His mind was clearly in the throes of rapid, almost panicked thought. Was it that he was offended? No, offense did not garner that kind of reaction. Perhaps there was more to the text that Jek had just read than he had initially thought. Or perhaps it was just that Hirem had not given it that much thought yet. Regardless, the Akalak waited patiently for an answer, letting Hirem sort out whatever it was that he needed before speaking. It was clear, Jek decided, that this writing was personal to some extent. To what extent was up to Hirem to disclose. "The... the man in the story was undertaking a trial of spirit in order to satisfy his god and keep his homeland safe," Hirem began, and Jek leaned forward over the table to listen intently. The entire tale that Hirem told: the trial that began with an effort to save a homeland, a long journey of many companions that ended with the loss of each, the darkness that had entrapped the man written about. It was all the perfect story, and Jek could see bits and pieces of it in the works of his mother. Though it was not the story that fascinated Jek. Or rather, it was not the idea of the story that fascinated Jek, for he had read it all before at some time or another. It was the thought that it was, in fact, Hirem's story that caused the dark brother to listen with rapt attention. "So he opened his eyes and let them become scarred by the burning kiss of the inferno, so that he might see his god's will done." There was a pause after that, during which it appeared as if Hirem did not know what to say. Ashar could easily guess why; he had just spilled out a large part of his life, even if only in lies and metaphors, and after finishing such a tale it was not easy to return to the topic at hand. Still, Jek remained patient and respectful, waiting for Hirem to pursue the next train of thought in his own time. Real or no, Jek was satisfied with the answer at the very least. "But... Was the writing itself decent? Did it flow from sentence to sentence? I might like to try more of this, in the future." Now it was Jek's turn to do a double take. He blinked once, not expecting a topic so... mundane seemed an inappropriate word, but it was the first that came to mind. After so long imagining that this was Hirem's own life he was describing, the idea of returning to a sample of written work was far less tantalizing than pursuing the true story that was just across the table from him. Be polite and respectful, Jek reminded himself. "The writing was good, as far as my own judgement from experience can go," the Akalak replied. "Like I have said, the images created using your words is very beauty to think of, even if the idea itself is very destructive. The inside struggle was very expressive, and the different lengths of the sentences were good to keep the reading interesting without boredom. Of course, it is not masterpiece, but I would be honestly very surprised if it were." Jek smiled. "It is a good start. I wish you to write more, I would enjoy reading." Leave it at that, leave it at that, leave it at that, Jek told himself, trying his hardest to not peruse the book sitting across from him, the massive tome of experiences and stories from a region so alien to him in its difference from Cyphrus. The thousands of pages worth of history and journey, from gods knew where in Eyktol - probably Eyktol. All the different places that had been visited and seen, all the different people met and talked with, all the different ways that had been traveled, all the different animals that were observed, events that were witnessed... "Which god is it?" Jek blurted out suddenly. "Which is the god that you would burn your eyes for?"

[Hirem]

"It is a good start. I wish you to write more, I would enjoy reading." These words pacified Hirem, convinced him that he had yet done some good in taking a chance by putting his quill to parchment. I never expected to create something worthwhile reading. I had thought that he might read my work and consider it... deeply flawed, terribly misguided, made with horrible intention? But instead, he sits across from me and tells me that the work is interesting, and I don't feel that Jek of the Akalaks can lie to a person's face. The revelation that he might just have, with nothing more than a few hours worth of writing, brightened the stranger's evening filled him with a secret delight that he struggled to keep hidden under the surface. Not only that, but Jek had actually mustered enough flattery to call his writing beautiful! His writing, this little piece of his soul on a scrap of parchment, had been deemed significant enough to be called beautiful! Hirem, despite himself, felt giddy at the compliment.

Even though he could scarcely bring himself to admit it - it seemed strange to say that he liked a hobby so mundane, what with his very colored background - Hirem was growing ever more excited by the prospect of writing. He had always known, even at a young age, that talent with the written word was something that he wished to acquire... but always he had thought only of using that talent to create something new and bold that could be added to the Penita Scrolls. In this manner, writing would become just another tool he used when offering devotion to his god. But, up until now, the idea of writing for himself had never come to mind. In fact, doing anything for himself was a strange concept to Hirem; the past thirty years had been spent in service of his family, his people, and his god. In his rush to find a role in the grand design, Hirem had neglected to become... well, as far as someone like Jek would use the term, an actual personality.

Overall, the Benshira was happy. "Thank you for your time, my friend," he beamed, bowing his head graciously to the Akalak as he set the book back into his rucksack. Already, his mind was abuzz with future plots and characters and stories, things he had only ever dreamed of but now could bring to life on the page. Next time, I don't think I will be so personal. Instead, I might like to see if I can't... live another life outside of me, even if it's only at the end of a quill. I would to like to see what's it's like to soar above the highest clouds, or dive into the deepest depths of the sea, or perhaps live in the hostile Falyndar that Siiri hailed from? Ooh! Instead of that, I should try and see what life is like from the distant Ukalas, where both Natalia and Alyra descended from. Maybe I should ask them questions for more research...?

And he might have left happy, had Jek not asked the fateful question: "Which god is it? Which is the god that you would burn your eyes for?"

He knows. He knows just as well as I, that this is no story.

Hirem's first reaction was to deny the connection entirely. Placed on the spot, he would prefer to dismiss focus instead of accepting it, and certainly he would rather remain the anonymous source of inspiration for this work than let its origin be known. It's wasn't that he was ashamed of the duties that he had fulfilled for Yahal - in fact, they were his one source of pride - but more that he was embarrassed by the fact that he was still so immensely troubled by the events in Hai. I am supposed to be a source of strength, not only for myself, but for the people that believe in the words I spread... that believe in Yahal, and virtue, and hope. But instead, I allow myself to be continually weakened by these shadows of deeds long done, by the creeping darkness that I left behind four years ago. I have to stop letting these slumbering nightmares back into my head.

He wanted to tell Jek that he was imagining some fanciful journey had taken place in Hirem's life, but he could not bring himself to lie, especially not to someone who had proven so kind as this generous Akalak scholar. Letting out a low breath, the Benshira set his rucksack on the ground, rubbed his eyes, and looked to his companion with a tired gaze. "I did not end up burning my eyes for him, friend," he began, softly chuckling despite his own inability to laugh, "but I still sacrificed a great deal for Yahal. You may not have heard of him before, but in Eyktol, he is the undisputed lord of the desert. That is not to say that he holds mastery over sand, wind, and rock; he has as much power over them as you or I. What Yahal is the god of, is faith. Hope. Belief. It is to him that we entrust our lives, when we throw ourselves into the desert wastes, and it is to him that we return when our feet find the way home."

"I - I sought Yahal's blessing for a long time," he confessed, his bright brown eyes travelling down the length of the desk, "and searched many years for a sign of his calling. I wanted to feel that I was important, chosen among my people as a symbol of what he was searching for, when he first sheltered the Benshira from destruction." Now that he was starting to talk, the words flowed easily from his mouth, as if they were waiting a long time to be confessed in plain. "That quest for his favour sent me into many dark places, not because he asked me to go there, but because I thought he was waiting for me there... and instead, I was transformed into something monstrous. It was only in the - the dark prison, that I finally understood what he was searching for. He wasn't searching for a champion, a warrior, or a hero. He was looking for somebody that believed in him."

"And that is why I burned my eyes." His gaze turned sharply to Jek's, staring him down. "Because I knew that he would trace my path in the dark for me."

Word Count :

1,095

[Ashar]

Jek Damn it. Damn it, and damn you fool. Such coarse disregard of delicate subjects should be expected of Ashar, not you, Jek scolded himself relentlessly. As soon as he had asked the intrusive question, the Akalak could see the nomad nearly freeze. The near-panic, the desperate hope of deflecting attention elsewhere in the hopes of keeping his life secret. Though Ashar couldn't understand what it was like - his life was too simple for there too be many secrets - he could sympathize with the human's discomfort. If anyone were to put Ashar on the spot about his secret dream, Jek could imagine the Kavran going berserk. "I did not end up burning my eyes for him, friend, but I still sacrificed a great deal for Yahal." Yahal. The name itself told Jek so much about the man before him, about what he thought and felt. But more than that, it told him that he was truly from Eyktol, for it was in his mother's books that Jek had first read the name. He knew little about the god beyond that he represented faithfulness and purity, and that to worship him was very different from Wysar. Faithfulness meant more than just trusting, it meant placing yourself in that person's hands. The more he listened to this Ekytolian, the better Jek understood him. And so, Jek listened. There was little else for him to focus on anyway, and the entirety of his thoughts were wrapped around the words being told to him. He listened to Hirem's journey for Yahal's blessing, his search and desire to be important. Don't we all, Jek thought dryly. The dark places in which Hirem thought Yahal would be waiting, the danger and then the understanding that came with it. To someone like Jek, who had never set foot outside of Riverfall except for the times when Ashar went on patrol, the story was one of fantastical adventure and daring. Never before had he met someone so utterly devoted to their patron god that they would venture out into the dangerous wilderness and risk horrible suffering in the hopes of finding favor. Wysar's faith was all about the self, about how one's power could come only from within the self rather than without. To the Akalaks, gods and their tokens of power, their gnosis, were simply another set of weapons to be used. To wholly invest in one's god would be unthinkable to many an Akalak, and the journey Hirem had taken to achieve that understanding through peril was marvelous. It was one of the most beautiful stories Jek had ever heard. It needed to be written. It just had to be. "And that is why I burned my eyes. Because I knew that he would trace my path in the dark for me." With his own tale finished, Hirem returned his gaze to Jek's own and began staring intently. It was almost as if he were daring the Akalak to challenge his story or his beliefs. Jek had no intention of doing either. "To worship Wysar is different," Jek replied, sitting back in his chair. Beliefs differed greatly from people to people, he knew, and perhaps explaining his respect for that would put Hirem at ease. "To the Riverian Akalaks, we must be strong on our own before even incorporating our gods into our lives. A gnosis to a common Akalak here is merely another tool. It changes as the gnosis grows and the Akalak gains reverence, but you would be hard-pressed to find an unclaimed Akalak who saw any god - even Wysar - as their foundation. We greatly honor and respect Wysar as the origin of our people, yes, and this city worships him greatly. But we do not rely on him. He is to be honored, not burdened." Jek closed his eyes, listening to the silence of the Valkalah Library. "It is one thing to accept a god's gift and use it for one's own strength. It is entirely another to put one's self in that god's hands. I cannot say whether that life is for me, but living within the sheltered walls of Riverfall means there has hardly been a need to become devoted." Opening his eyes, he looked down at Hirem. "I suppose we will have to see where life takes us both." There Jek sat, his tall purple form resting against the back of his chair and returning Hirem's intense gaze. Whether or not Hirem would take this nugget of wisdom was in his own hands. For it worked both ways; Hirem had his own form of worship and belief, Riverian Akalaks had theirs and neither was right. Yahal demanded faith and trust. Wysar demanded discipline and fortitude. The gods of Mizahar were as diverse as the people that walked its surface, and there was no one right path to tread. Probably should have said that aloud, Jek thought.

[Hirem]

In the vacuum that followed after he finished his story, Hirem folded his hands across his stomach and tried to view his story from an outsider's perspective. What did he sound like, he wondered, to the listener that did not understand his life? I must sound like a madman, for only a madman would so readily accept to the many sins that he has committed and think that the world will still forgive him. Only a madman would share the most deluded aspects of his faith with others and believe that they would prove understanding. If the Benshira, by chance, ended up hearing his own story as an outsider, he knew that he would end up treating a man such as himself with suspicion. He looked to Jek and expected to see the emotions Hirem dreaded play out on his face - trepidation, confusion, wariness. But, surprisingly, the Akalak did not seem to be put off by the tale, and instead acted... impressed.

For perhaps the second time in his life, Hirem was forced to consider the possibility that his life was not something to be considered haunted, wasteful, or a fool's quest... that strangers might hear of his story and think him privileged. The first was when Kavala, just a few days ago, thought him all the stronger for the struggles that he had undertaken, making more resolute in his faith. Thinking back on his experiences, Hirem could not admit to seeing the same thing that either Kavala or Jek saw. He could only think of the horrors that he had seen and committed, the sins that he had wrought upon others, and how dearly he wanted to take it all back. Of course, I would not dare take the chance to reverse what Yahal has created for me... this path was forged for a reason, and I would never presume to take a step from it so long as I hold Yahal dear. The idea that someone might think him wise for the journey that he has traveled was unthinkable.

Yet Jek did not react poorly to the end of his tale; the Akalak was eager to discuss what he had heard. "To worship Wysar is different," he began, eliciting surprise from the weary Benshira. I did not sit down at this table expecting to discuss religion, much less the time I've spent in Hai. But he paid Jek the same attention that Jek had been kind enough to pay him, listening quietly and digesting everything the Akalak told him. He, truthfully, had no reference for what Jek was speaking of, for he still knew little about the intricacies of Rivarian culture. Sometimes one gets so lost in their own world, that they forget that other gods, other stories, and other people exist beyond their own limited scope. According to his new friend, the relationship between the Akalak and Wysar contrasted greatly to the Benshira and Yahal - the Akalak viewed their god as more of a partner than a guardian, an ally more than a father. Which was... interesting for Hirem to consider.

That did not prevent his sensibilities from becoming offended at what Jek had to say. "A gnosis to a common Akalak here is merely another tool." he said, prompting Hirem's brow to raise. Blasphemy, he instantly thought, his mind already racing for a rebuttal. The gods are revered for a reason, and their gifts are all the more especial because they are so much more powerful than us. The fact that we are so insignificant compared to them, and yet they continue to bestow their blessings upon us, is a sign that they should be respected properly. To equate a gnosis mark with just another - another sword or a dagger is to demerit their worth! But he held his tongue, refusing to lash out so quickly at a man that had done nothing but compliment him over and over again. His viewpoint is drastically different than mine, but at least it is not so blatantly immoral as that of the Ruv'na's... I will give him a chance to explain himself.

And, listening to Jek speak, Hirem soon realized that his rhetoric was not so poisonous as he had first thought. He understood that the Akalak way was not to rely upon others for support, but instead to build and prosper all on their own... the fact that Riverfall was so magnificent was a testament to this attitude. They did not bow under pressure, but instead fought back with three times as much strength as they were confronted with. Adventures were meant to be chased after and challenges meant to be met - to face adversity with anything less than total enthusiasm was an insult to the race. Viewing Jek's opinions in that light, Hirem could see that they were only a natural extension of that same self-sufficient attitude that Rivarans undertook by their very nature. To be honest, he admired that never-say-die spirit... it was something that he desired to adopt for himself, while maintaining the same close connection with Yahal that he had always strove towards.

"I suppose we will have to see where life takes us both." Jek finally conceded, prompting a respectful nod from the Benshira. "Yes," he started, his voice low and quiet in the dim library space. "We shall have to, and see what path shall serve us better." Then, with a sudden bolt of inspiration striking him, Hirem paused and reached back into his rucksack. He withdrew the blank book that he had just returned to its resting place, and slid it across the table to Jek. "Would you..." He found the request harder to pronounce than conceive, and took a deep breath. "Would you write for me, as I did for you, about Wysar and Akajia? I wish to know more, and take your words with me when my path departs from this city. You can write anything you wish, so long as it is... truthful? Yes. And honest." He looked intently to Ashar, wondering how long this task would take. Offering him a reprieve, Hirem said, "We can meet again at the library in a week, if that were to give you more time to think on it."

[Ashar]

Jek Just within the gaps of his own speaking, Jek began to realize how odd he must sound, and how odd he was acting. Here before him was a man clearly compelled by religious devotion, and here were they discussing religion and the gods. And yet Jek's greatest fascination was not with the gods, but with the story Hirem had to tell. He so dearly wanted to read it, to learn of it and, through that learning, experience it, even if only as a secondhand witness. Little was Jek's investment in divinity, and it clearly showed with his manner of talking and the terms which he chose to describe the Riverian way. It was not, he thought, the best description someone could give, and in many ways horribly unrepresentative. Jek could only hope it was adequate. There is no way that my words, as they are now, can do this city and the Akalaks justice, he decided firmly. I spoke broadly and in massive generalizations which discounted the possibility of individual beliefs. Clearly there are those who worship similarly to this nomad, devout followers of Wysar who truly look upon him as a father to our race in particular. Perhaps it is my secular standpoint that is my deficiency when talking religion. Or perhaps simply my lack of experience in composing my words. In any event, Hirem seemed satisfied - if not quite appeased - with what Jek had to say, and for that Jek was grateful. To someone like Hirem, who placed himself entirely within the hands of his god, a place like Riverfall where each individual was expected to carry the weight of their own burdens themselves would be like experiencing night after an eternity of the day. All Jek could hope was that, through his meager attempts at explaining the belief, he had prepared Hirem for the culture of Riverfall in some small way. "We shall have to, and see what path will serve us better," Hirem said in reply to Jek's final comment. Though he kept it internal for fear of affronting his new friend, Jek sighed inwardly. Perhaps I really should have said that comment allowed, he thought. May as well say something similar now, I guess. "It matters not who is served better," Jek commented, making a gesture with his hand. "Not even the gods can be true judges of the value of our lives, for they are as varied as the mortals that walk Mizahar. I am interested less in whose method of worship and choice of god serves us better, and more so in what paths each method and god will lead us down. For the world is full of stories," - he cast a wide look around the entirety of the library, the shelves upon shelves of knowledge and experiences - "and by reading them we learn that which is beyond ourself." He smiled at Hirem. "So I am looking forward to reading the next chapter of your story, Hirem." What came next, Hirem's special request that was nonetheless a logical conclusion of their exchange, caught Jek off guard. "Would you... would you write for me, as I did for you, about Wysar and Akajia? I wish to know more, and take your words with me when my path departs from this city. You can write anything you wish so long as it is... truthful? Yes. And honest." Now it was Jek's turn to panic. For all his great love of literature, never once - not once had Jek ever actually picked up a pen himself. His father, who lived not far from where Ashar did, was writing all the time during each and every waking hour. His mother, before her unfortunate passing, had written several books which were the ones to prompt Jek to read more avidly. But never once had Jek (or Ashar, but this wasn't fighting so he was a non-factor) ever actually attempted at writing anything himself, even though so many factors seemed favorable for him to do so. "I, u-uh, I ah, um..." Jek stuttered like a child asked to speak in front of a large audience. So juvenile. "Ah, you see, I have never actually written, before..." However, the more Jek thought about it, the more it made sense - and the more he wanted to accept Hirem's request. It made sense, after all - his parents were both indeed writers of true talent, even if their renown was moderate at best. He was sure he could borrow his father's materials, at least some of them, for what really shouldn't have been a very large project. Perhaps Jenar would even be willing to take some time our of his restoration to tutor him a bit, and if even a fraction of his parents' ability to write passed on to their son it would be enough for an advantage. The only difficulty was Ashar. All at once, Jek felt his enthusiasm at the prospect of writing drop from view. Ashar was hogging their body, it seemed, to the point that Jek rarely got to come out and have some agency in his own life. Of all the time in a season, Jek maybe got a handful of days to be in complete control and not just watch from the sideline. Not to mention his knowledge of the patron deities of Riverfall wasn't exactly extensive. History was well-known to him, but not so much the religion of his own city. I can't let that bother me, though, Jek decided. This is just another one of those challenges, those personal burdens I was talking about. The strength of the self, I suppose. Ashar has his trials of strength, courage and agility that he goes through every time he leaves the safety of the city. I suppose these trials, the trials of learning, study and writing... those would be mine. And there can be discipline found in each. This request - no, this challenge - might be what sets me on a path of my very own. No longer just to spectate another's, my very own life... "We can meet again at the library in a week, if that were to give you more time to think on it," Hirem said, looking at Jek. It was clear the human was curious as to exactly how much time Jek would need to finish his request. "Only that much, huh? I'll definitely do my bes-" Jek realized something and stopped himself mid-thought. He'd been thinking to himself so much that he'd just slipped back into Tukant, the extraordinarily long sentences and word strings laid out like a line. It was a clumsy mistake. "Sorry, very sorry," he said, in Common this time. "Maybe not enough time. Like I've said, I've never written before, and also I know actually not much about Wysar and Akajia's religion. I know Wysar's moderately, but not nearly as some of the devout Riverians. As for Akajia, I know next to nothing about her. Though I have a friend who might, if I can find him. But, you're clearly a traveler. You've just come from a long journey in Eyktol, why would you stay in Riverfall? If you need the writing within that time, I will do my best." Then Jek beamed, very brightly, at his new friend. "I accept your challenge. Thank you." OOC : Should have mentioned this in a PM, but no weeks in Miz. Don't know how that affects anything

[Hirem]

OOC :

Thanks for the catch!

"Not even the gods can be true judges of the value of our lives, for they are as varied as the mortals that walk Mizahar." Jek's words were curious, and gave the attentively-listening Benshira something to mull over. Can he be correct? He wondered, lips pursed and brow furrowed. His immediate reaction was to dismiss the idea instantly, for such a thought was blasphemous to his ways. There is no truer judge of mortal kind than the gods of the Ukalas! What kind of rhetoric is this fool spouting? Thinking back on his own... tumultuous experiences, Hirem found it difficult to accept the concept that the gods were not the sole arbiters of judgement, that people like himself had some say in the matter. Mortal minds are too tangled up in themselves and their petty concerns, to grasp what true worth is. What possibly can judge the mortal life, if not the immortal? Does Jek think that he has a right to Lhex's domain? Hirem needed only to reflect upon the poisonous words of the false prophet Savra - she who had thought herself above the god of the Benshira - to know that he was in the right.

And yet... and yet he couldn't bring himself to just deny what Jek had to say. The Akalak was no Savra, did not strike him as deluded or arrogant - in fact, Jek was perhaps the friendliest Akalak that he had yet met in Riverfall. His gaze was reasoned, intelligent; his mind was sound, and his thoughts were all valid. It would be one thing if Jek were so confident in himself that he became blinded to his own humility, but Hirem couldn't detect that in his new friend. I have no reason to believe that he is any less intelligent than I, and likely more so. That left him to consider the possibility that Jek's philosophy might bear some insight, which the Benshira reluctantly tried to understand. At first, it was impossible - matters of faith meant a great deal to him, and it was enormously difficult to try and refocus his perspective on them. He bent his head forward, cradled it in one hand, struggling to make sense of it all.

He is right, in that there are many gods throughout Mizahar... but surely one cannot accept the word of them all as valid judgement? Surely, one cannot hear the words of Rhysol and think that they are blessed to receive his compliments? For the life of him, he could not try to conceive an individual that might be valuable to the world, favoured solely by the dark gods. The divinities are varied, yes, but it is obvious which should be followed and which should be scorned. Those that follow the dark gods... well, they have already forsaken their worth to mortal kind. The more Hirem thought about the matter, however, the more that he realized that he was limiting his comprehension of the argument by restricting the matter to just "good" and "evil". There are clearly gods of light and gods of corruption... but even the gods of light govern different disciplines, preach different philosophies. What may be acceptable to the Benshira may not be for those that are governed by Wysar. While I lean upon Yahal for guidance and consider that strength, the Akalak would instead call that weakness. He could begin to understand what Jek had been speaking about... but he still didn't have the faintest idea about whom should judge mortal's lives, since both mortal and immortal life could be contested in their wisdom.

Deciding to shelve this debate for now, though he vowed to return to it next time he talked to Jek, Hirem focused instead on the Akalak's reply to his request. "Ah, you see, I have never actually written, before..." The man awkwardly said, prompting a warm smile from the Benshira. And here I thought him a wise scholar... I see that we are more kindred than it first appeared. In truth, Hirem was glad for Jek's lack of skill with writing, despite the fact that the whole reason they were speaking was because he had been desperately seeking skilled help. It made the two men equals in this respect, allowing Hirem to feel more comfortable and at ease alongside the Akalak. Rivarians often intimidated him by how purely skilled they were at their chosen crafts - he had never known stronger warriors, more skilled healers, more industrious workers - so it was refreshing to meet someone that he shared inexperience with. Perhaps this might be a true test of how the Benshira philosophy compares with the Akalak discipline. I've fought against Akalaks in the flesh and failed often, but have never gotten a chance to pit my mind against one. At the very least, I believe that Jek can become a friend, and I would be honoured to help his talents grow alongside mine.

Ignoring the man's sudden outburst in the still-indiscernible Tukant, Hirem leaned in closer, reached out, and pushed the blank book off the table and onto Jek's lap. "Trust me... the act will be hard in the beginning, but once your soul begins to emerge onto the page, you will not be able to stop." He waved aside the Akalak's concerns about his limited knowledge of Wysar, staring at him with welcome eyes. "I care not for how much you know. If I did, I would instead seek a priest of Wysar, and dismiss you entirely. My friend, I am interested in what you have to say about the gods, even if the words - even if they offend me!" Hirem exclaimed this last statement, even though he felt that he might regret it later, trying to reassure Jek that he had no reason to fear the simple task of writing. He wondered perhaps if he was being too inappropriate for the setting of the library, but eventually decided that he didn't care all that much. "You have a brilliant mind, Jek. It is a crime to keep it to yourself."

Setting the ink vial and quill in front of the Akalak, Hirem buttoned his rucksack closed and swung it onto his shoulder. "I will make this easier upon you... I will meet you here in fourteen days, instead of seven. That way, you will have enough time to write whatever it is you wish to write. And in return..." He felt that, if he were to ask Jek something that would consume his available time, Jek had every right to ask him something in return. It was only fair. And I do not know the man well enough to volunteer suggestions for a task. "I will perform a favour for you, to the best of my ability. Ask, and you shall be rewarded."