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[Scand]

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DATE TBD

Scand sat upon the ground, gathering up as many of the berries as he could and placing them back into the basket. A small group of people whispered to each other as they watched him, their modesty for show only as he could clearly hear what was being said, whether by the grace or chagrin of Zulrav, Scand couldn't decide. As his fingers fumbled clumsily with the small bits of preserved fruit, he did his best to ignore them, but his ears were not to be told to stop hearing simply because his heart would have preferred the silence.

"He's the one then? You're sure he's not just a slave?"

"Have you ever seen a slave so pathetic? Of course it's him."

"To think, his only son..."

"He won't inherent it. Zulrav would not be so cruel."

"You think he will take him?"

There was a slight hush littered with the hiss of whispers as the gossips moved to speak more quietly upon Scand's potential demise at the hand of a merciful god. He clenched his jaw, focusing on the task before him while his thoughts ran wild, weaving waking dreams that quickly turned to nightmares. He found it difficult to continue retrieving the berries from the chilled earth beneath the haze of images that flooded through his brain in a visual monologue depicting a thousand instances of his death, and a thousand more of what life would be like for those left behind him. Things would be better for them. For all of them, if he were to die, but Scand did not want to die. He wanted to live, free and away from those he knew he could do nothing but disappoint. He was a curse, but it was a curse he held to with resolve - though many, if not most, called it stubbornness. He was Drykas, but he was the wrong sort of Drykas. He could not obey his father, and though the Ankal had not been brought into the dispute directly, he was more than aware that the family's pavilion was to be passed to his eldest sister's husband, a true Drykas.

Scand was not, nor would he ever be. He could not fulfill his purpose to his people, as there was no use for purposelessness. He was not even considered a man, something he was reminded of often. His heart, as his sister had once said, had been twisted by a cruel turn of fate, no longer of their people, but of the world beyond. She was right, of course, but Scand did nothing about it. He preferred his heart the way it was, the way it was intended to be. It beat alongside everyone else, but it did not rush with the thrill of battle nor did it warm him in the arms of a woman. He was aberrant, a child derelict, kept under the tent of his family for no other reason than that his father did not have the heart to cast him out. Scand was weak, they all knew it, and to be without a family, lost in the Sea, was a death sentence for all but the strongest of what had once been his people. If Ristryn had not loved him once, Scand would have died long ago. He had little doubts about his father's feelings, however. There was no love there any longer.

Turning his face from the whispering group, Scand moved to rub away a trail of warm water that had spilled from the corner of his eyes, taking a few ticks to blink back any further tears before setting about his task once more. It didn't always sting, the shame he brought on his family by his repeated refusals to return back into the fold at the cost of his own beliefs, but when it did, Scand could feel it tear at his heart like a dull knife, battering it about his chest, toying with him and taunting him with the pain. He could end it; it was as simple as taking a wife and siring children. In a blink of an eye, he could begin to redeem himself, to return to the noble path of the continuation of his people. His sisters would welcome him with smiles, and their husbands would take him on their hunts as a brother. And his father? It would take time, but he would learn to love him again, to see him as a son and not a worthless mistake, a blight upon his family.

"Is he... crying?"

"Gods, to think... A Skycrown?"

"Hardly. It is barely even by blood."

"Oh? Do they intend to banish him?"

"They would do well to do so. Walthari would make a fine head."

"The Sunwell?"

"He is the third son, a blessed family they are. He would do the Skycrowns honor."

Fumbling with his basket, Scand stood up with a hasty jerk of motion, some of the berries spilling back onto the ground, but before they hit he had already begun to move. He wasn't sure where he was going exactly, but he knew he needed to move. Running would have been the best, but the bounce of the woven basket against his thigh as he toted it along suggested it was best to keep to a fast pace than an all out sprint for fear he would spill the rest of what had become the meager load. As he moved, Scand weaved between the tents and people, hot tears finding the chill of the day to be too cold to weather, leaving streams of icy wetness against his skin as they traveled down to drip from his chin. He kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to make contact with any of those he passed. This, however, also kept him from seeing where he was going.

He bumped into the stranger with enough force to knock Scand off balance, teetering backwards as his head whipped up in surprise to stare a the back of the head of the man he'd collided with. In the successful attempt to keep himself righted, his unsuccessful attempt to keep the dried berries in their place in the basket sent them scattering across the ground once more. A small sound of despair sounded in the back of his throat as he gazed with dismay at the empty basket, though that only lasted for a tick as he realized the man had turned around. Immediately, he recognized him as the horned man who had arrived only a short while ago. While not nearly as tall as his muscled companion, the man before him had a presence, an aura about him, that made him just as - if not more - impressive than his blonde haired, blue eyed companion.

Bowing his head in apology, Scand quickly searched for the proper words in Common, his hands signing foolish, lack of attention as he found them. "Sorry! Did not watching where to go." He offered the man a slight smile, as he signed oblivious walker along with "I am problem for you, sorry." His face was reddened by both cold and the only recently halted tears, which he realized still shone beneath the winter sun in a slight sheen. Hastily, Scand used the back of his hands to wipe the moisture away, dropping the basket in the process. Stooping down to pick it up, he spilled the last of the berries back onto the ground, which seemed to only further illustrate just how useless he was. Taking a quick breath, Scand blurted out, "I always do fool things." His hands quickly signing useless dreamer, something that had been a bit of a recurring joke in his home once. He would have thought it odd to say something so personal to a stranger, and one he had hoped to potentially impress that he might take him with him upon his departure; but something about the way the horned man looked at him made him feel as though it wasn't quite as bad as it could have been.

In a much quieter and reserved manner - an attempt to save what face he could - Scand bowed his head in deference, "I am Scand, again sorry." apologies in all things. People around had already begun to chatter regarding Scand's blundering display of the depths of just how inept he was. His face flushed a darker shade of red at some of the more jeering tones.

Pavi | Common

[Caelum]

Caelum was not looking where he was going. In his hands he held a tangled knot of ribbons in a variety of colors, patterns, and textures. The majority were satin, but there were a few made with lace and others of cotton. There was even one of braided leather that most would not have called ribbon but the ethaefal knew better than to argue with his little girl. Earlier in the day he had taken Lillian with him to pay a visit on Moraina, his old friend in the Watch, and to pass the time with her discussing with her the fates and whereabouts of his scattered descendants. At some point between there and their tent, Lillian had managed to lose all of her ribbons. Now why the toddler had thought it a good idea to stick the lot of them into a pocket of her cloak to begin with was beyond Caelum. What mattered, of course, was that they were lost and he had to find them. To this end, he left Lillian in Aoren's care and gone on the hunt. It was possibly the least impressive hunt of his life. It brought him to an abrupt stop when the young man bumped into him. Instinctively, his free hand came up to catch the man's arm to steady him as the momentum curved him around on his heel. His hand fell away swiftly, however, and he didn't realize he was frowning. It a shadowed expression in citrine eyes and hastily he pocketed the knot of ribbons. As the stranger expressed his apologies with an almost painful degree of embarrassment, Caelum also became aware of the looks and low remarks being cast their way. "No true dreamer is a fool," he remarked in Pavi, a mutter meant for the youg man. He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly in expectation to the tittering onlookers and managed to convey a look of such incredible disappointment that the chattering wilted around them in shame. It was so pointed, in fact, that at least two of the whisperers signed apologies as they straggled off. Exhaling, Caelum looked down at where Skand was still gathering up the dropped berries. With a tug to the worn leather of his riding pants, he dropped into a corbie's crouch to assist him in gathering the berries back into the basket. "Caelum," he introduced himself shortly. He spoke it as if he were born to it, but limited his signs so as to finish collecing the berries. "No harm done." And when Skand finally looked at him again, he offered an easy smile and dropped the last of the berries into the basket. "Are you on your way somewhere then?"

[Scand]

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When the man spoke, Scand blinked, confusion sitting blatantly atop his flushed cheeks. His Pavi was as natural as any of those born into the Drykas, certainly not the accent of one who had only just arrived in the city. His eyes skimmed over the swift motion of his hand concealing whatever he had been holding into his pocket, but his curiosity only lasted for a moment before what the man had actually said hit him. He chewed on his lower lip for the few ticks it took for the man to clear the chatter with a single raise of his brow. Scand turned to watch the others myriad of reactions to the reprimanded, most of them moving on with their business while a few of them even apologized, though it was explicitly to the sculpted horned man. Some of those departing glanced back at him, whispers in their eyes but lips sealed for the time being.

Slightly bewildered, Scand slid down, weight on the balls of his feet as he moved to gather up the dark dots of the berries scattered across the ground, head bent in deference as he did so, not wanting to cause the man any more trouble than he already had. To his continued surprise, the beautiful man, with a sharp sigh, crouched down across from him to help gather up the mess. Scand plucked the berries from the worn grasses in silence, trying to move quickly so as to leave as few of the small dark spots for the other man to gather. As he moved, however, he found the man's fingers and arms to move with a far more precise and efficient poise, making short work of a task that would have taken him a handful of chimes. At some point, he'd stopped picking up the berries to simply stare at the man across from him.

He was of an unearthly sort of beauty that Scand found incredibly alluring. The soft sheen of his hair, the firm line of his jaw, and the gentle glow his skin and eyes seemed to have, as if they were drinking in the light of they day and letting it linger within them as if savoring the sensation of the winter's heat accented by the fluid curve of his pine green horns created an image of perfection. Scand had hardly thought much upon the concept of flawlessness, but when confronted with one of its proponents, it was difficult to deny himself the indulgence of its consideration. The only thing about the golden skinned man before him that might have been a blemish on the face of what would have otherwise been the embodiment of the ideal was the man's pensive frown. It appeared natural, an austerity of nobility: stern but not unkind, a thoughtfulness often associated with those who's minds tended towards the abstract and philosophical. Scand nibbled on his lower lips has his eyes bore the image into his mind.

There were many forms of power, among them beauty and wisdom, which his savior - if he could be called such - seemed to carry with each easy shift of his shoulders as he finished collecting the berries and depositing them back into Scand's basket. He wanted to touch him, to reach out a determine that what he saw was not a dream, but rather a very real encounter. Scand let the little dream run its course; his hand reaching out to gently press against the lips of the man before him, the brief moment of uncertainty then an explosion of light and color and- He spoke.

Scand shook his head, blinking several times before returning his stare to the gentle, open curve of his lips. Caelum. He spoke it as those who were sure of their name, confident in its inherent truths. Scand repeated it several times in his own head, nodding as he did so. With the berries returned, Scand took hold of the basket and rose back to stand, gratitude in his posture and motions. "I..." Careful to keep the basket in hand without spilling its contents, Scand signed a quick running nowhere. Clearing his throat, he gave a small bow of respect. "Thank you for your help." Generous kindness. "I was..." He paused, unsure what to say exactly. Something about Caelum made him feel safe, similar to the sensation of wrapping up in warm furs to stave off the cold.

"I was running away." Not liked for good reason. He shook his head, offering a small, sad smile. "I made a mess back there as well." Tripped, fell. Berries fell too. With a small tilt of his head, his body shifted more towards a stance of curiosity. "Your Pavi is very good." You come from outside the Sea? He had a hard time believing someone who was not of the Drykas to be so fluent. His manner of speech was eloquent as well. There was no falter in his tone nor hesitation of his hands.

oocI hope that works for his Ranuri mark influence? I'm not super clear on how it works, so let me know if I get something wrong! : )

Pavi | Common

[Caelum]

Once the berries were safely restored to their basket, Caelum unraveled back to his feet. A hand scraped across his mouth and jaw, rubbing at the dark gold bristle there leftover from a few days ride. He blinked at the backs of the stragglers, something at once curious and derisive in his expression. It managed to clear itself by the time he returned his attention to Scand. "Running away from what?" He asked, quite to the point. It would have been easy to accept the young man's apology, turn a shoulder, and walk on; but Caelum had never much been one for easy. It was a constant source of irritation and worry to those few souls who knew him well enough to genuinely care for him. "Or is it a who?" He wanted to know and, as they were standing there, his noble carriage was ruined by a slouch. On the way into it, a tilt of his head expressed dry humor for their earlier audience. A hand slid into his pocket to retrieve the tangled knot of ribbon and he turned it over in his palms in order to start tugging and picking at the knots again. Lillian was all of four but could probably manage it herself, though her fingers were certainly small enough to make the attempt. It was a matter of timing, however, because she would take a whole bell when her father didn't have one to spare. It was the manner of children, and sometimes females too. Slowly, a smirk crawled over his face. One hand lifted to signal an absent gratitude, but it might eventually become apparent that this man's hand signs and gestures were not altogether normal. Yet, somehow, they were easily translatable into whatever it was he was attempting to convey. Of course, when he first learned the language of Pavi, the horselords of Cyphrus had not been completely nomads. In that time, the world had undergone great changes, and so had he. "My Pavi is very good. I don't live here, if that's what you mean, but I am a citizen of Riverfall to the west. I've recently come from there to conduct some business and pay a call on some old acquaintances," he explained, amiable and relaxed. A bright blue ribbon was pulled free of the knot and he handed it right over to Scand for safe keeping without looking up from his work. "You know, I sailed aboard a maritime merchant's brigadine for years. I should be better at this damned knot thing, shouldn't I?" He bit back a sigh and blinked up from the tangled ribbons to look again at Scand. "Where are you going with those berries? If you stole them from a bear and that's what you're running from, we really ought to get a move on, don't you think?" A self-amused grin was flashed Scand. Caelum had a horrible sense of humor.