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[Azmere]

9th of Spring, 516 AV
6th Bell

Azmere rolled onto his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It had been a less than restful night with pain shooting from one wound to another and then back again. He coughed a bit and clutched at his side. The cold, wet nose of Grey came out of the darkness and pressed against the man’s face. Still holding his ribs, the watchman reached up and scratched at the skin along the canine’s neck making sure to be firm and consistent in his motions. “Hungry?” Azmere said as he tossed the furs aside. He quickly slipped into his leather breeches then rummaged through his pack for some smoked meat. It was left over from the wolves he and Merevaika had killed. Even though it was dark, the Drykas had a good sense of where the dog was and what he was doing.

Grey sat on all fours very near to Azmere but didn’t encroach too closely on the snack. The animal had been cracked many times for trying to take something he deemed as food. The archer had little tolerance for a thief which is how he viewed the infraction. Azmere held about half a pound of jerky in his palm and sat back on his rump. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth once. A shuffling sound told him that the dog was now up on his feet and at attention. The watchman snapped his fingers and heard the dog sit down on his bottom, the thick tail thumped on the pallet. “That’s my beast.” Azmere reached out with his palm open and up. Grey snatched the meat with his tongue and chewed greedily upon it as his ears were scratched.

Azmere finished getting dressed. He grumbled and growled at the aches and pains which made him unbelievably slow. Finally, he was ready to go and slowly made his way to the edge of the tent. He didn’t need his weapons today for he was only going to run an errand before returning home to rest. If the doctor found out that he was not staying in bed, she might be inclined to try and restrain him. He didn’t care; the archer had something that he had to do. Having encountered a god, his vision for what his life should be has changed drastically. The small issues that have tugged at the heart of the man for years finally presented themselves in a solution that was both simple and opportunistic. There’s a part of Azmere that was wondering why it had taken so long for the thought to occur. The watchman emerged into the dim light of early morning and took hold of the standard which bore his pavilion’s crest and headed into the center of Endrykas. He patted his leg twice and Grey charged and matched the steps of his master.

After a few chimes of labored walking, Azmere finally made it to the Wind-Knotted Gates. He had used the standard as a walking stick for most of the trip and had to stop several times to wince and rub one of his wounds. He took a deep breath and raised the standard into the air. With a grunt of pain and determination, he thrust the pole into the ground with enough force that it was now a stable fixture next to the decorated posts. He gazed to some of the people who were starting their day. Most had stopped to give the scarred man a quizzical gaze. The watchman cleared his throat then swelled his chest with air and pride.

“Many were lost last year. Many are now alone but this is wrong. We are Drykas and should be one people.” His mismatched eyes and their starry colors lifted to stare at the banner. “I am Azmere Stormblood, the last of my pavilion and Ra’athi of the Watch.” He leveled his gaze back to the handful of gawkers. “I will plant this flag next to the gates every time we raise them. Let it be a beacon to the wayward, the lonely, the forgotten and the scorned. There is a place for each of them.” Azmere saw one older man turn his lips in derision and took several quick steps to be within arm’s reach. The man shrunk back slightly but Azmere’s raised hand went to the wings tattooed on his back. The sneer evaporated. “I will honor my family and my gods by enfolding those without a place.” His eyes fell upon the old women who spend all day telling rumors and stories around the Gates. “Tell any who have a need to wait here for me. I will come by every sundown and lead them home.”

Finished with his speech, the archer moved through the small audience that he had addressed. His wounds screamed at him to rest and rest he shall. Grey walked dutifully behind the man whose body drooped from fatigue. For the next few minutes, Azmere’s wake was graced with the glory of Yahal and the peace the god allowed the man to spread.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Quzon]

A man moved towards the Wind-Knotted Gates, appearing so distant at all times. Pale and bulky in appearance as if some specter that wished to remain in the shadows of the previous night. Quzon wore a black tilmatli styled cloak over the loincloth and vest he wore. He looked haggard from his long travels, and carried two items on his shoulders that sapped at his strength with each step.

The first was worn around his shoulders; they bore the weight of two separate thick fifty pound iron chains, and despite the fact that his muscles strained under the weight of the body building tool. The half-Isur continued walking. The second was an overstuffed backpack typically seen by most adventurers which he carried on his back. There was something incredibly satisfying about physically exerting one's body. Sure, Quzon did get plenty of exercise thanks to his combat practice but that was action for survival. This was worship through action.

If Izurdin approved of the patience he showed through physical strength. Or if he made Myri proud through his small personal victory. Then Quzon would continue to bare the chain with pride. He gritted his teeth from the sore pain running through his thighs, pausing for a moment to shake out his legs. He could feel the blood flowing through his veins, diverting from other parts of his body to supply his lower muscle with what they needed to perform at their maximum effort.

Quzon stood with his legs at a shoulders length a part, then lowered his body as if he were sitting down onto a nonexistent chair. "Gah." He grunted as he pressed up, pushing himself out of the squat to return to his full height. "Be as a mountain." He spoke to himself in the language of Isur.

The weight that he bore did nothing to dampened his spirit. No, that dishonor rested firmly on his father Banir Gemshock Pitrius's shoulders. How long had Quzon been aimlessly searching? Perhaps he was finally ready to give up and move on for the day. There was no hope in finding the elder Isur. He'd spent bell's the other day searching after his initial arrival, questing to find the man. Quzon assumed that he had beaten the man to the city, or some ill fate had befallen his father to keep him from their planned meeting.

No matter the reason, Quzon had his freedom now. He could do with it what he wanted. But that freedom brought with it an interesting conundrum. Quzon wasn’t in Endrykas for the challenge or the culture. There was no wanderlust in his heart that motivated him. He’d come to preform a task and be satisfied by the task, but not distracted by an alien land.

A small gathering of people had caught his attention by the colorful poles tied with ribbons at the center of the city. He kept to the back of the group, but focused on the strange man who tried to be gather peoples attention.

Quzon had a hard time understanding the words being spoken. Despite believing himself to be a 'cultured' man among the savage horsemen, Quzon's knowledge of the Common language was very basic, his entire vocabulary consisting of a few choice words to get by and another set of choice words related to his work. Thus, he was appropriately dumbfounded as his eyes narrowed in agitation. He eventually caught the gist of the man's speech.

"Ah, so the horse clans haven know war recently? What enemies could decimate an entire clan?" he thought to himself in myrian. "Azmere Stormblood, the last of his clan. You seek to gather Fang-mates and find glory together. An honorable path that will lead you away from the failure of allowing your family to die."

When Azmere walked through the crowd, Quzon was still at the back of it. The Mixed blood noticed how tired the man looked. Clearly, he'd been through a hard trial. Quzon gave Azmere an intense glare when the man passed him by. While he couldn't really find the right words he wanted to say in Common, he spoke out to the man in broken common.

"Stand proud, Horseman."

[Jasmine Stormblood]

11th Spring 516 A.V.

Jasmine sighed gently as she laid on her pallet in her tent relaxing. The start to the season had been crazy for the female Drykas. Losing her place in the pavilion that she grew up in was the biggest thing so far. The woman looked out at the world around her. She had pulled away from everyone almost not wanting to get too close again. Sitting up the girl stretched and groaned gently before standing up and stepping out of the tent. She needed to socialize so the woman decided to go to the Wind Knot Gates. Maybe Yantra would know what advice to give the girl about what she could do to make her life a little easier and a little more sensible.

“Haven, Lara let's go you two,” Jasmine said and snapped her fingers causing the pair to look over and run to her.

Smiling at the pair Jasmine walked towards town while putting the leash on the two animals. She didn't need them running into a random pavilion and causing mayhem. Walking into the city Jasmine felt herself being to calm down some. Jasmine saw a strange pavilion flag beside the gates as she approached.

“Good evening Yantra,” Jasmine said with a smile looking at the old female drykas.

“Ah hello young Moonstone,” Yantra said looking at the girl.

“If I may Miss. What is going on with the strange flag?” Jasmine asked sitting across from the woman.

“The Stormblood boy uh Azmere puts it up every time the gates are up. He comes by every evening and picks up any who wish to become apart of his pavilion. It is a place for those with no place,” Yantra said looking at the girl.

Jasmine looked to the flag wondering if he really would take any one. He may be her only choice for a normal life again.

“Stay young one you're mother told me what happened. Wait for him and explain your predicament to man. He will accept you I know he will,” Yantra said and waved the blonde off.

Slowly Jasmine got up and walked over to the flag and sat down to wait looking up at Syna. She figured it was still another bell or so before the man would appear to check the gates again. Settling in she closed her eyes to rest some knowing he would want to know everything that happened. She was still baring a huge dark mark from Maxiums' punch the day her banished her. The other slightly smaller yet still purple were from the days before.

The Clan is Strength.
The Clan is Life.

[Azmere]

11th of Spring
21st Bell

Azmere was tired and still nursing his wounds. Today had been another long day but he found himself curious if he had been mistaken in his effort. He sat atop of Horse and used his hands and legs to guide the stubborn old thing through the paths of the city. The creature did not respond well to the touch of one so unfamiliar. Azmere didn’t look very happy, either. It was quite contrary to how he could have always been found smiling in the yvas when Hephiestian was alive. Such is the way of life.

The chewed up trails were still a soggy mess from the week or so of rain but at least things were clearing off. Spring had started in accordance with the tune of last season; abysmal. The contrasting eyes scanned back and forth during his lazy ride. Everything was still set up from the New Life Festival. Ribbons were still tied to all the tents and there was even a drunk or two still lying around trying to find more free food and mead. As the watchman passed the tent of his clan’s ankals a thought occurred to him. If he does rebuild the Stormblood pavilion, he will have to start attending regular gatherings with windy old men who care only for standing. Azmere shook his head. That wasn’t a fair assessment. His only view of the ankal meetings was from a traitor to his people. Maybe the ankals were just normal people like those he’d encountered throughout his life. He was getting ahead of himself…or was he?

As the archer came into sight of the Wind-Knotted Gates, he saw a figure huddled behind the standard he had planted. Azmere’s star-cut eyes fell upon tresses of golden light that seemed to take the color of Syna’s rays as she fled behind the horizon. When Zulrav blew his breath to the west, the standard flipped and the rider could see the girl. He tilted his head slightly as confusion set over his face. It was interrupted by the sound of a dog chewing on something. Azmere clicked his tongue against his teeth and then snapped his fingers twice. He turned his head to see Grey gnawing on a discarded boar leg.

Azmere patted his leg twice and summoned the dog to walk beside Horse. The Drykas kept his eyes on the dog for a few ticks before looking up to see Jasmine.
He lifted his head to her and signed a very informal greeting. Azmere was going to ask why she was leaving her family. He looked her over and opened his mouth to speak but the bruises on her face and hands told him all he needed to know. The watchman nodded with a sign for understanding and motioned for her to follow him. He turned the horse around slowly and waited. He had no strength for words but would lead her back to the middle of the Diamond spoke. There she could set up her own tent and in the morning, they could discuss the logistics of the arrangement.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Rufio]

　　

g　r　a　d　e　s

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a z m e r e

xp

Animal Husbandry +1
Observation +2
Endurance +1
Rhetoric +1
Riding, Horse +1


lores

≻ We are Drykas and should be one people
≻ Stormblood: A place for those with no place
≻ Jasmine Moonstone: Joins Stormblood

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q u z o n

xp

Bodybuilding +1
Observation +1
Philosophy +1
Rhetoric +1


lores

≻ Isurian Mantra: Be as a mountain
≻ Endrykas: The Wind-Knotted Gates
≻ Azmere Stormblood: The last of this pavilion
≻ Azmere: Follows an honourable path

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j a s m i n e

xp

Animal Husbandry +1
Socialization +1
Investigation +1


lores

≻ Jasmine seeks Yantra for advice
≻ Stormblood: A place for those with no place
≻ Jasmine: Joins Stormblood

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