Getting to know You. Getting to know all about You.

by **Firenze** on August 26th, 2016, 1:11 am

Summer 47, 516 AV

Firenze wandered around the site of tents that had been set up for the outsiders. Wind whipped at the strands that had escaped the haphazardly braided hair on the back of her head. Dark circles accented golden eyes roamed from person to person. There was a strange mix of people surrounding her. By now it should have been something the tigress was used to. Unfortunately, being yanked from home time and time again made it difficult to learn… anything. Mostly it had come down to just brushing the surface on a vast array of knowledge. This wasn’t something that she’d minded as her attention span was rather short.

Sitting on the grass near the temporary tent she listened to the heavy canvas flap lazily, fingers tore strips of soft green from the root and sprinkled it into a pile near her foot. While her hands worked idly, her body thought it best to rebel and convulse into a fit of coughing. Turning her head to the side and eyes tightly shut, her body fought to expel the sickness that had taken hold. It felt as though she’d developed a cold, despite the heat. She wasn’t a medicine woman by any means, but she did have enough common sense to know that the infection that settled into the wounds from slavery had probably weakened her immune system enough so the cold could invade her body.

Once the fit subsided and was able to catch her breath she tipped her head back and gave herself a moment. Relief washed over her as the muscles began to relax. Her head tilted back down as her fingers resumed the thoughtless task of plucking grass. Then eyes caught something out of the corner; Movement of a body on the far edge of the encampment.

It was someone that she’d only seen briefly prior, her initial thoughts nothing more than passing. The turmoil of the situation that she’d gone through causing faces and events to be a blur of memories within her mind. However, once she caught sight of the man’s face, it was hard to believe that she hadn’t truly paid him mind.

A breath hitched in her chest, only, this time, it was not caused by the sickness that rattled.

Her eyes locked onto him and followed him, hands stilled, and her body went on full alert. Ears tried to pick up any sounds that he might make as she focused. A predator locking in on prey; if she were want to call him thus. However, the man who's confident stride carried a well built physique was far from her typical type of catch.

A niggling in her mind caused her pause, a feeling of deja vu washed over her but any memory was just out of reach. She couldn’t place a finger on where she may have seen him. In fact, she knew that she hadn’t before. Firenze wouldn’t forget a face like his.

Golden eyes roved slowly from the soft scarring to the miscolored eyes. Squinting to try to get a better look Fire wondered if they indeed had an unusual sparkle or if it was the sun playing tricks. The deja vu hung thick as her attention stayed with him. Not even aware that she was staring any longer while trying to piece together the puzzle that was walking nearby.

by **Azmere** on August 26th, 2016, 1:13 am

Azmere had spent several bells in and around the camp full of the displaced refugees. The tale told by Aris of the volunteers and what they encountered bothered the archer. The motives of people like those who ate hearts and sought to enslave hundreds didn’t connect with the kind-hearted albeit awkward man. The space between one rationale and the other was filled with hundreds of possibilities which clouded the mind. The Drykas preferred simplicity and clairvoyance in his life. Though reality often obscures the truth of the world, it has never managed to prevent the archer from trying to attain a clear view of what is around him.

Today, like many days before, the world around Azmere was filled with people who are lost, hurting and suffering. This was, perhaps, always the case but recent events have forced that sight into the ankal’s backyard and he had reached the point where he was no longer willing to act. An arduous journey to the market this morning has brought him here, amidst the scattered tents (not at all like pavilions) of refugees tucked away at the arse end of the Sapphire line with a pack full of food and supplies. His idea was sound but his application was really something that could’ve used a dry run. The Drykas walked along and whenever he could see a clear need he would stop and offer some kind of relief.

First, he helped a man with a poorly wrapped bandage fix his tent. The watchman could see the small canvas slack in on corner and slouch on the opposing side. His first action was to secure the opposite line by stomping on it with his boot as if he were kicking the face of a Spearback. One this condition was satisfied, Azmere move around and knelt astride the slack line and corner. His weathered hands, calloused by years of riding and training, took hold of the rope with a white-knuckled grip. Veins rose to the surface of his arm as he flexed his muscles and poured his strength behind the technique which seemed to straighten the center pull and draw the slack between his legs. With his free hand, Azmere twisted the anchor so the hook was facing away from the shelter and then wrapped the rope around it twice. He used the slack to create a knot then stood and moved back to acquire a view of his work. The tent was straight and the man grateful.

The bandage on the refugee’s leg smelled like something had spoiled so the archer removed his pack and fished through it. He brought out a vial of water treatment, some fresh bandages, herbs sandwiched into a poultice and dried meat, tied with a piece of twine. At first, the refugee refused the gifts. The he seemed to be asking if there was a catch. While Azmere spoke some Common, the communication breakdown was smoothed over by the man’s expression. Finally, Azmere set everything on the ground and walked away. After he had made it a dozen yards to the south, a sidelong glance revealed his charity was not wasted.

The sounds of children were lost in this place which gave it an eerie silence. The rest of Endrykas moo’d, baa’d and giggled; alive and rightfully so. The Drykas were proud people, hardworking and as tough as the land they steward but the joy of life flowed through each of them and it was evident in their spirits. Azmere tried to not focus on this sullen aspect and went in search of more souls to bless. After he had given a young couple some food and suture kit to tend their various wounds, the watchman soon found that people were seeking him. A small cluster, then a ring of folk came to warily ask the strange man with the massive scar what aid he could offer.

Years in the wilds have taught Azmere many things but he was not familiar with the mindset and behavior of a mob. His personal space gradually reduced to a bubble of fowl-smelling hot air from the many mouths that breathed upon him. Azmere held his pack against his chest and handed out what he could but he shortly realized the folly in this. Some, not all, but a select few were taking advantage of this blind sharing which tainted the entire labor. A growl rumbled deep in Azmere’s chest as he clamped his left arm down over the bag and held it against his torso. With his right arm, he waved people back and created room for himself. The contrasting gaze searched the faces until he found one of an older woman, perhaps middle-aged, and he beckoned her forth. In his best Common, he asked her for assistance. “Make line of people. Injured first.” His baritone was steady and soft but commanding. The last thing Azmere wanted to do was bust someone in the face for being greedy.

by **Firenze** on October 3rd, 2016, 2:57 am

Not moving, her hands now idly picking at the soft grass again, she stalked him with her eyes. He had a pack on his back that appeared as though it were loaded down. With what, she was unable to tell. He stopped here and there as he made his way through the area. She knew little of the people who surrounded her. There had been no time for pleasantries as they’d been tossed about and beaten into laboring for the last city she’d been in. For the brief time that she’d been there, she had probably heard the name of the city but was unable to recount it.

Her fingers paused in their task as golden orbs took in the scene unfolding before her. The starry-eyed man had stopped and was straining to pull the tent for an old man back to rights. Her brows furrowed and her head cocked slightly to the side. It was a curious thing to see him helping. What kind of person would stop to do such a thing for a man who was clearly aged and close to death.

Once the tent was erected, he handed something to the elderly man. It appeared as though he were reluctant to take it. She tried to imagine what the conversation between the two might be. Or what he was being offered. Her eyes passed between them; the tall young man appeared rather insistent. When his efforts failed, he’d left the items on the ground and walked off.

She wanted to continue to spy on him, but her curiosity got the better of her. Waiting for a few ticks, until he’d wandered further off, she crept over to the older man. It was more of a slow crawl on hands and knees and a half crouch in the soft grasses than it was walking. As she approached, she slipped breath quickly between her teeth his a quick hiss to try to catch his attention. “Man. What is that?” A slender finger pointed to the package he’d picked up.

Only a few ticks away she halted in her path, not wanting to get too close. A foul smell came from him. It didn’t surprise her much, most of them probably did. Her eyes flicked over to the strange wanderer who was beginning to become surrounded by some of the children who’d been taken to the pits. Shaking her head at their naivety, she turned her attention to the package that was being unwrapped. Although one could say that Fire’s on naivety wasn’t far off from theirs, she wasn’t want to admit it. She was changed. Different. Her travels had changed her from the young cub she once was.

It surprised her though at what the man began to pull out, vials of liquid, something that appeared like a glob of herbs, strips of cloth… and meat. Although it was dried and not what she usually preferred, it caused her mouth to water. It had been too long since she’d gotten to have a decent piece of meat and her senses began to go crazy at the thought.

Not wanting to steal from the man nearby she turned her focus back to the tall, tanned man. He was in the midst of a huge crowd, and the look on his face almost made her chuckle. A hand came up to hide the smile that threatened. Her fingers tapped on the tip of her nose, and she watched his discomfort. A person would grab an item and then scamper quickly back from whence they’d come.

This time, she let out a loud laugh and then tried to stifle it again, clamping her hand over her mouth; She tried to act nonchalant looking off elsewhere. A look of frustration overcame the natives features, and he’d actually growled at the people standing around him. Firenze couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. It was probably something she would have done! His uneasiness became a cause of entertainment for the tigress. When she felt in the clear, that no one had caught her sharp laugh, she peeked back under her lashes at him.

Where the mob had once been now, a line stood.

Who was this man?

He could aid an old man, feed and give gifts to slaves, despite his obvious discomfort with the situation and yet he could manage to coordinate them and get them to listen. It was strange and yet fascinating to watch. Although, it shouldn’t surprise her. His form and the way he held himself demanded attention. Sure, she’d met men like that previously. Men who commanded attention and tried to control, but this felt… different. It wasn't loud or obnoxious. His seemed to come from somewhere else.

It was these things that intrigued her. That sense of leadership drew her. She was sure what had gotten into her head. Quite possibly insanity.

She moved toward the back of the line, standing to her full height. It wasn’t easy to hide among the crowd. Even in her bare feet she stood a head above most of them. Twirling the sack dress in her fingers, she joined the others. However, instead of trying to ignore him or pretend she didn’t see him, a trick she’d learned from the girls in Zeltiva to get a man’s attention, she continued to watch. Watching, moving slowly forward with a step at a time to see if she could get a package from the strange man who’d taken it upon himself to help the downtrodden.

by **Azmere** on October 24th, 2016, 1:42 am

It felt good to give freely. Azmere pondered the lives he was seeing appear and vanish before his eyes. He was not getting names or introductions but rather symptoms and woes. A middle-aged couple with strange eyes asked for a poultice to treat a large wound and some fruit to ease stomach pains. The watchman provided for them. Three children, filthy and huddled together as if sewn into one, never met his gaze. The oldest girl held the youngest boy while the middle sister kept her hands up and eyes down. Hair fell unkempt over her features and clothes barely covered any of them. The ankal hadn’t thought about blankets or garments for these people and chided himself internally for the oversight.

Azmere handed over some dried fruit and meat then set his pack between his boots. He stood to his full height and stripped off his shirt. The large white linen garment was enough to make some new clothes for the wee ones and he draped it over the little boy who clung to his big sister. He squatted back down and then knelt over his pack while his azure and maize stare focused on the children. Suddenly, the middle child leapt forward and gave the big man with the scars and tattoos a hug. It was brief, lasting only a tick or two of actual contact but in the wake of the children running away, Azmere was left with a blank expression on his face. He knew not how to handle such affection. The right thing to do was help these poor souls but the girl’s method of repayment almost seemed to overwhelm the archer. Quiet times in the midst of dreams might shed more light on his musings but the line moved forward and shoved the tender moment aside.

Shirtless, Azmere’s chest had healed but he had several perfect squares cut into his chest. Rather, one might observe that the pieces of flesh had been removed from his flesh creating artistic tiers over his heart. There was certainly a story behind it but the man who came next tried to ask and was sent away with a couple of onions, some dried meat and a silent refusal to answer. More and more, the line never seemed to end. The Drykas gave as sparingly as he could but after a dozen people or groups, he was out of supplies. He frowned on the right side of his face, the left side remained emotionless behind the stiff scarred tissue. The light of Syna had move to shadow his gaze but the blue and gold eyes looked up to see the crowded column of people waiting for help and he had no more to give. With sadness in his stare, the ankal turned over his open pack to show he had run out of gifts.

“No more.” The soft and gruff Common broke like a wave over the first few people in line who fell away in despair or disdain. The ankal watched them leave but then he saw something else that caught his attention. A tall woman with golden eyes and a thin frame was staring at him. It wasn’t that she was beautiful or tall that drew Azmere in to her gaze. She was certainly both of those things but her eyes…the eyes flashed a memory into his brain. The golden stare brought him to his feet, empty pack hanging from his left hand. Her eyes glittered like gold from a dream that repeated itself in pieces in the man’s mind. Azmere reached out to her with his right hand and spoke in his native tongue, unaware that he had switched back from Common. “Woman, I know your eyes. I need to meet your spirit.”

LedgerI have subtracted 15 gm for assorted food and medical supplies (Summer 516).

by **Firenze** on January 19th, 2017, 5:46 am

As she watched the curious man, and the line dwindled, a few children approached him. Sadly, when the slaves had been taken from Kenash, there was no segregation. The only thing to set you apart was if you weren’t able-bodied. Fire watched as the frail children made their way toward him and looked up expectantly.

The sight broke her heart.

In her mind, more than likely due to the childhood that she’d had, children should want for naught. She’d seen those who’d been discarded by their families and the way the orphanage had taken care of them. Once they were past age, though… that was it, no life lessons, no wise words, you were on your own to learn by your own mistake. Growing up that had been something she’d vowed, her own would feel her love and be taught by her hand.

One of the girls had lifted her hands to him, and Fire watched as he placed something into them. What he did next surprised her; he stripped the shirt from his back and slipped it over the smallest of the three. A smile began to creep across her lips, her eyes softening at the sight. It warmed her, to see someone being so generous, especially after all the cruelty she'd seen in the harsh world thus far. It made a piece of hope blossom within, right next to the dark smudge that had begun to grow in her heart.

It was curious that one could feel such vastly different feelings at the same time. Those emotions were something that would need further deliberating at a later date. Currently, attention was being pulled away from the children, now happily loaded with goods, to the man who’d provided the supplies.

Who was such a person to want to help those in such a world where survival and looking out for yourself were usually the sole priority?

Another stifled chuckle escaped as she watched one of the youngsters hug the man. If one hadn’t have been watching it would have been missed, but she’d been enraptured and noticed the fleeting flash of emotions on his face as the child squeezed.

The line pushed forward, and she took slow steps to follow, the soft grass giving way under her bare feet. Her toes wiggled and squished against the gentle earth as she patiently waited to see the strange tattooed man with the multi-colored eyes. As he stood, her eyes dropped to the skin on his chest. Unusual square patterns covered a small area. Her mind wandered, imagining her fingers running gently over the risen surface. What had caused them? Was it something of a ritual? Perhaps a punishment?

Letting her mind continue to wander while she waited, the strange man the focus of her current entertainment. Only brief distractions pulled her out of her daydreaming, mostly that of her stomach grumbling. That was until the man she’d been blatantly staring at returned her gaze entirely. Stuttering back a moment, stuck between the embarrassment of being caught and yet enraptured with the multi-color gaze.

The pack to his side was ignored by her as she focused in on the silky smooth words that came from his lips. Firenze had no idea what he’d said, but it was so intriguing and… exciting. It was unlike any language that she’d ever heard. It wasn’t until she was only a few feet away from the large man did she realize that her legs had moved forward unintentionally.

With a shake of the head and a few rapid blinks to clear her mind, she informed him, “I’m… I’m sorry I don’t know what you said.” It was after speaking did she realize now how close they were. The heat emanating from him could be felt against her bare skin. Taking a few steps back, her hand coming up to her chest, almost as though she were trying to clear the red of embarrassment from her skin. Glancing briefly around, hair blowing against her face with the gentle breeze, she noticed that the others were beginning to disperse. The golden stare flicked to the empty bag now held loosely in his grasp.

“Oh.” Taking a few more steps back, she decided now was perhaps a good time to retreat, her curiosity having gotten the better of her.

Turning she made her way back to the flattened area of grass, hoping that there would be another time that she could watch the foreign man from afar… without getting caught in the act.

by **Azmere** on February 1st, 2017, 1:03 am

Azmere watched as the woman walked away. He felt his stomach tie itself into a knot then winced when someone dropped a boulder onto it. It wasn’t a big rock, however, but a stern beat from his heart when it skipped inside his chest. The ankal felt like it was hard to swallow and found his star-crushed gaze looking to the ground. A trick of Syna, he watched as the tall woman’s shadow seemed to beckon him to follow her retreat. He took a step forward but was cut off by a middle-aged woman who was speaking in some language he didn’t understand.

She touched the scars on his chest which caused the man to recoil from the stranger. Azmere patiently and tactfully played a game of cat and mouse with this woman. She kept trying to touch him and continued to prattle on in her uncouth language. The watchman used his own hands to continually head off and block her attempts. The spinster would go for one of his windmarks so he’s catch her wrist and divert her hand away then the other hand would push her forearm so that she couldn’t pull on his hair wraps. It wasn’t like she was flirting with him (if she was, it was not working) but more like the woman was telling a story and trying to use Azmere’s body as a map.

After five chimes of this run-around, the archer was finally able to buy enough space to slip away. When he scoured the camp with his eyes, he could find no trace of the tall, thin blonde. He felt his heart skip another beat in disappointment. The refugees were starting to swarm again. With no other charity to give and not wanting to become irritated with the walahks, Azmere felt it best to leave. He methodically strode away with a slight limp in his left leg. The haunting orbs of sunlight dance in his thoughts and distracted him from the world outside. The watchman saw flickers of the tiger and the tree as he made his way back home. He was destined for another day of wandering fancies only to lead into a night of restless wonder. Azmere made himself a promise –one he proclaimed outloud though softly. “I will see you again.”

by **Rufio** on February 23rd, 2017, 6:37 pm

g r a d e

f i r e n z e

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a z m e r e

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If you feel I missed anything shoot me a PM.
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Closed Getting to know You. Getting to know all about You.