Solo A Prayer for Still Waters and Troubled Minds

[Orin Fenix]

73rd of Spring, 515AV

Orin couldn’t sleep. The hammock below him tossed and turned in a way that made his stomach churn. However, that wasn’t the root of his sleeplessness. He’d had slept in more uncomfortable beds than this and would likely sleep in worse to come. No, he’d been sorely troubled of late, by thoughts that he tried not to dwell on. Usually he threw himself into his work or distracted himself by spending time with his few acquaintances. But those releases were denied by him. He didn’t have the ability to decide when he could cook. That was entirely in the hands of the elements. And the storms and the waves hadn’t been treating him all that kindly recently. And of course, he’d left almost everyone he knew behind in Syliras. His departure from the fortress had been so sudden that he’d only had time to say his farewells with a few people. And even though Orin hadn’t spent much time on making close connections during his stay in the city, somehow those he had formed managed to make a deeper impression than he’d realized. After the novelty of at first being on a ship, then of their brief stint in Riverfall had worn off, Orin had found himself horribly depressed.

Obviously he wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight until after he’d settled his nerves. Growling under his breath, he swung himself upright, then stalked upstairs, the worn wood of the ladder familiar under his fingertips after days of long practice. Even in the dark, he had no trouble, despite the lack of candlelight or lanterns to see by. The soft illumination provided by the moon was enough. Finally, he emerged into the open air and started pacing around the edges The sea during the night was black, yet speckled with the reflection of the stars. It was beautiful, undisturbed by the touch of anything alive except for the ship passing like a dream through the evening, suspended endlessly between water and wind. The waves undulated softly, rocking Orin like a mother holding a child. But even that wasn’t enough to quell the storm silently raging within him.

He felt lost. Spiritually, and mentally, he had no idea where he was going. Always, before, Orin could point to something in his life and it would be his purpose, so to speak. But he’d gotten on board this ship in a panic, with no thought for the future and now that lack of foresight was collecting its due. Never in a million years would he have imagined himself toiling away as a ship’s cook and yet here he was. And though he’d wanted adventure and travel, to meet new people and sample exotic cultures, so far it seemed to be nothing more than a lot of tedium. But he was trapped and didn’t see a way out. Going back to Syliras seemed like the coward’s way out, when he hadn’t accomplished anything he’d set out to do. But he didn’t think he could move forward without a clearer image of what he wanted out of his life. And that in turn wasn’t something he could figure out until he’d sorted through the issues from his past and present that, until recently, he’d been so good at ignoring. To use one of the few nautical phrases he had picked up, he was rudderless, drifting without a shore in sight and no direction planned.

It was terrifying, the great unknown beyond the life he knew. Nothing seemed clear cut. Everything seemed to be hidden behind veils and he’d never been particularly adept at winnowing out the secrets of the world. While he recognized now that he’d been stagnating back in his kitchen in the tavern he’d come to regard as home, it had been the comfortable sort of standing still, the kind that required no effort on his part. Growth of any kind hurt, and Orin currently stand tall because he had weak roots and an even weaker spine.

Physical exertion had served well in the past to help Orin settle his restless mind. The gentle walk around the deck hadn’t been doing much to help, so he broke into a jog despite the dangers involved in moving too quickly on a ship at night. He sped up, faster and faster, trying to outrun his own mind, dodging around masts and jumping over coils of rope. He wasn’t bothering with proper breathing or anything but the next step. Unfortunately, having not prepared himself properly, a sudden cramp in his leg sent him sprawling across the wooden planks, bruising his elbows and knees as he topple forward. Cursing, Orin pulled his legs together in front of himself, then stretched himself forward, biting his lower lip to prevent himself from crying out. Eventually, the pain subsided, and he climbed to his feet. A lesser ache in his side had crept in while he’d been focused on his leg, and Orin figured that further running wouldn’t do him any good.

[Orin Fenix]

With that in mind, Orin figured now was a good as time as any to attempt some of the exercises he’d seen the sailors engaging in during their frequent training sessions and contests on deck. The captain wanted every member of his crew to be in fighting trim. Orin had been too shy to actually participate and after a few pointed remarks, the captain hadn’t forced the issue. Still Orin had seen enough to at least know the theory behind the strange movements that had been designed to strengthen the body’s muscles.

Getting down to his hands and knees, Orin gingerly held himself up, before straightening his legs. Parallel to the deck, he tried to lower himself in one fluid movement as he’d seen. However, his pelvis dipped significantly lower than the rest of his body, and hit the wood well before he’d planned. Groaning, Orin remembered the advice to keep his own body as flat as possible, moving as one. Despite the mistake, or maybe because of it, his arms were screaming in torment, already shaking with just one motion. Pushing himself back up to his waiting stance, Orin repeated the dip, this time taking care to make sure his chest touched first, lightly brushing the floor before he laboriously raised himself back to the ready position. One more dip and push were all he could manage before he collapsed in a heap. Closing his eyes, Orin felt ashamed at his performance. He’d known he was weak, but contrasting his three push-ups with the countless number he’d seen the sailors do in one continuous set, he realized exactly how far he had to go. At least he was feeling better about doing this alone, in the dark. Thinking about all those eyes who might’ve watched him was, frankly, humiliating. While there were people up and about right now, lookouts and such, chances were they didn’t spare Orin more than a cursory glance before moving on with their duties. For that, Orin could only be thankful.

Rolling onto his back, Orin bent his knees and planted them firmly onto the deck. This next action was typically done with a partner anchoring the feet, but Orin had also learned how to do it without aid. Keeping his arms above his head, Orin threw them forward, and used the momentum to propel himself into the air. When his torso was nearly perpendicular, he let himself down, hitting the deck with a soft thump. Already his abdominal muscles ached from just one repetition, and he angrily threw himself into the work, wanting to prove something to himself, he didn’t know what. After just fifteen sit-ups, though, he found himself unable to move any more without excruciating pain. Groaning, Orin just lay there, staring up at the sky above, until he felt capable of getting on his feet without shattering something important.

Holding his sides, Orin took a few senseless steps, trying to get his body to respond properly to his commands. Working out had never left him feeling quite this strained before and he didn’t like it. Finally, after an indeterminate time passed and he was feeling more like a human being and not a punching bag, Orin brought his hands up to and made fists. Turning his body sideways to the left, but keeping his feet planted straight ahead, right ahead of left, he settled his weight on the balls of his feet. Then, not daring to go at all quickly, he threw his left fist cautiously ahead, trying to remember the proper stance from long ago. Unfortunately, he forgot to bring his left leg with him, so the punch lacked force. Mentally kicking himself, he brought his arm back in, and made sure everything was in place again. Then he went at it again. This time, though, he moved his leg far too early, before his arm was actually moving anywhere, and it went completely off target.

[Orin Fenix]

Apparently even his body was betraying him in his attempts to find peace of mind. Third time’s the charm? He attempted one more punch, and this time while the motions seemed correct as far as he could tell, he only put a halfhearted effort into it. Shaking his head, trying to clear it, he flipped sides, bringing his right hand close. Simply standing there for a moment, Orin took a series of deep breaths, trying to find his center, but it eluded him, as it so often did these days. Finally, he felt he could wait no longer. Recalling his errors from before, Orin threw his punch with more care. Unfortunately, he was so hyper focused on not making a mistake that he tensed up, and his shoulder twinged in complaint. Tonight, nothing seemed to be going according to plan.

Giving up on his arms, Orin moved onto his kicks. He’d never really learned what, exactly, made a kick better or worse, so here he was operating almost entirely on instinct. He brought his left leg up, and shot it forward, with no technique or thought put into it. This proved to be an enormous error in judgement, as his already weakened muscles at first protested, then gave out entirely. Wobbling, off balance, Orin toppled over, and slammed his behind into the wood below. Instantly agony shot into his body. Hissing with irritation and blinking back tears, Orin levered himself to his feet again, and starting walking, trying to dull the ache. Eventually, it settled down somewhat, but wouldn’t go away entirely. Orin predicted that would hurt quite a bit the next morning, and for many days to come.

His attempts to work with fists and feet having gone awry, Orin pulled out his daggers, setting the right one in a backhanded grip and settling into a defensive stance, hands raised up to protect the most important parts of his body. He'd been attempting to use both his blades at once and had not been meeting with much success. It probably didn't help that he wasn't very good with them to begin with. However, he could only improve if he kept at it, day in day out. Still that didn't make it any easier to force himself and his body to move in ways that felt incredibly awkward and ungainly.

In the state he was in, he wasn’t going to be up for anything fast, but that was probably for the best. His abilities had been so poor recently that Orin felt he should return to basics. Tonight, he wanted to work on precision and perfect form. And besides, since he wasn’t on an even floor, it would probably have be good for him to have to constantly be adjusting his balance. Finally, when he held everything in readiness, he ever so slowly started his first practice attack.

Moving his right hand in a downward arc, Orin stabbed an imaginary opponent with it. At the same time, he pivoted his hips, moving at a glacial pace, and brought his left hand around in a slash. However, the two attacks proved to be entirely contrary to each other and Orin found himself with his arms tangled slightly even though he wasn’t moving at even a fraction of his normal speed. It was just that his arms got crossed in the middle and he was having difficulty in readjusting to make it work. Sighing, he reset. After a few attempts, though, it was clear that it simply wasn’t feasible.

[Orin Fenix]

Recognizing that anything this fancy was unlikely to work, Orin simplified his pattern. He switched his right dagger to a forward grip, then brought both up to his chest, similar to where he’d hold them if he was about to throw a punch. Then, still keeping everything at nearly a standstill, he struck out with his blades moving contrary to each other, tracing an x-shape in the air that would hopefully cut across the chest of anyone who might be standing in front of him. Still, even with all that, his right, dominant hand, completed its follow through and return far before the left. Frowning, Orin tried to work through what exactly was going on when he next proceeded through the attack. Finally, he discovered that he wasn’t actually moving his arms simultaneously at all, but instead moving on a fraction of an inch, and then the other. Mentally, it seemed, his brain refused to work with both hands at once, and no matter how many times he ran through the extremely simple figure, it didn’t improve. Now with even lower spirits than before, Orin put away his blades, no more successful with them then he had been.

The worst part about it was that Orin couldn’t figure out if the roadblock, so to speak, was because of his mind’s issues connecting with his body, or just an issue with his clouded thinking. Never before had the disconnect between his martial skills and his brain been so pronounced. He’d never really been good with physicality but he’d worked at it doggedly until he had at least some modicum of skill. But now all that seemed gone, and in its place he was simply left with the sinking realization that he needed to sort out his life before proceeding with his training.

He knew his past held too many painful memories to examine closely, and that going down this road would just lead to dangerous truths, but it seemed that he didn’t have much choice in the matter now. Making his way over to the rail, Orin looked up at the stars, trying to find some meaning there. But he wasn’t an astrologist, and so the movements of the twinkling lights above didn’t speak to him. So he looked inward instead, taking a stroll down memory lane, armed with the knowledge that nothing there could harm him unless he let it. First, he considered his father. The pillar of his childhood, and the one person he’d tried so hard to please, not figuring out until it was too late that Orin was a failure to Alexander just by dint of who and what he was. The last remnant of the woman who’d left him, heartbroken and alone. Though Orin had no recollection of her, not even a scent or the fleeting remembrance of a warm embrace, he was told he had her eyes and her smile. Towards the end, Alexander hadn’t even been able to look at his son, the pain was so bad. And the last time they were together, he’d hurt Orin so much that he nearly died, and spent seasons recuperating from both the emotional and physical wounds.

Somehow, Orin had dulled his senses of that time, unwilling to confront them. Since then he’d stumbled along as best he could, faking his ability to get through life until he couldn’t tell where the lies stopped and his personality began. It was all so tangled together, love and hate and self-loathing twisted around each other in a never-ending dance. Tears streaming down his cheeks, Orin broke down into huge shuddering sobs that went through his whole frame. It was too much, all at once, and too long since Orin had allowed himself to let go, and the weight of all his troubles nearly crushed him.

But he was too stubborn at his core to give up that easily. Somehow, over time, though his outside was soft, Orin had molded himself into something that turned into steel as needed. Dragging himself out of the depths of his despair, he clutched at the wood beneath his fingers, using it to come back to real world. Wiping his eyes, Orin stood straight and locked his knees, refusing to bow his head. Feeling the need to speak aloud Orin started talking to the one who was starting to become one of the constants in his life and a source of much of his inner tenacity. ”Hi Priskil. Me again. You’re probably sick of listening to me but I need you. I’m...not well. I know that, inside, even though I go around most times doing fine in other’s eyes. But sometimes, it just gets...too much, you know?” Remembering his audience, Orin let out a soft chuckle. ”Of course you know. You, more than anyone.”

Although he never really was good with words they nevertheless helped shape his feelings and thoughts into a more cohesive form. And since he was seeking clarity, he needed that. So he let himself meander on, switching from subject to subject almost at random. ”I wish to one day give back to you what you’ve given to me, you know. The ability, despite everything this cruel world throws at me, to keep my head high and strive to turn each day into one slightly brighter than the last. You know, I admire you for your unwavering faith. So if you ever feel yourself as plagued with doubts as I am now, I want to say that my door is always open. For what it’s worth.” Pausing, savoring the sea air and the spray as it reached him, Orin smiled, though it felt ragged about the edges. ”Although we both are probably laughing at the idea of me helping anyone right now.”

”I just...don’t have anything to support me right now, is what it seems. You know, back in Syliras, I could find relief in certain places, but now I’ve no one to rely on but myself. And without a stable foundation the building can’t keep standing, you know?” That comparison seemed especially apt considering how many mental walls were crumbling lately. ”It’s going to be better once we land. I’ve nothing to base that assumption on, but it has to be. I feel it in my bones. I think all that I really need is company. And I can get that, from you, but it’s not the same.” His only option was Sylvette, but she was all tied up in the knot of Orin’s inability to commit fully to relationships. Of course, until that was sorted out, he hardly could count on friendships to be a source of stability in his life. Leaning forward on one elbow, Orin ran a hand through his hair anxiously. ”When did it all get so complicated?” But, as always, there was no response to that but the soft hush of water hitting the wood below.

Still, somehow, Orin felt calmer. Even though he’d changed nothing, he’d worked through nothing, he’d regained his emotional footing. Maybe all he’d needed was a good cry. Or perhaps it was because he’d reaffirmed to himself that hope was still out there for him. Whatever the reason, he suddenly felt the strain of his activities hit him all at once. Energy drained out of him and his eyelids dropped even as a yawn practically split his skull in half. ”Thank you, for everything, Priskil.” And with that, he turned to find his hammock before he passed out on the deck.

[Liminal]

Lovely

+2 Dagger
+1 Prayer