Ebrashi's Plotnotes

[Ebrashi]

***Have Lars introduce Tenday in work thread***
**Job threads**
-Bathe an Ashta or two
-Guide one in a delivery
-----start trying to climb on them, use them as an exercise platform


Play with baby lizards - have one steal something, chase, play with young'ns, get surprised by mama ixam. Mama is passive observer - does not fear Ebrashi and so remains very calm. Makes impression.

Music thread - play a song to Leth with the waves, an epitaph to his family

Weapon thread- fight a slaver? Why?

Shielding - ??? Gossamer to find list of PC/NPCs to teach

Make a friend

Do a challenge

Be sad. Look lost. Talk to Syna, Rhaus, Leth. Complain about the humidity versus the desert heat. Sand is sand.

Use Shiber phrases:
a/ah - When affixed to a word ending it makes the word "of", when before a word it makes the personal possessive
Abarr - Father
Acham - Brother
Ben - Son
Chag - Locust
Eba - City
Emed - Sword, ALSO Truth
Falim - Hello
Hak - Little
Hem - House or dwelling
Hik - Spit, a common swear
Javeya - Beautiful
Kiban - Scapegoat or sacrifice, in legal terms one who takes the punishment of another
Mahim - Goodbye
Maskam - A title of respect, usually referring to a learned person
Masha - the Weaving, also a term for the high counsel of Wadrass or, more generally, the nightly gathering of family
Rakva - a non-Benshira, somewhat derogatory
Rapa - holy teacher
Shir - Faith
Tsipor - Bird
Yah - god, referring to Yahal

"Shiber is a somewhat slurred sounding language with an innate rhythm. Outsiders note the common use of the "Sh", "Ah", "El" and "Y" sound. Consonants are often paired for unique almost glottal sounds. While the language seems rushed when spoken, it has a startling beauty and liveliness when sung."

[Ebrashi]

HERD

Bull - Tuka
Old Bull - Lato
Cow - Halla
Calf - Tukalo
Cow - Khila
Calf - Lakhil
Heifer - Mira
Heifer - Meena
Heifer - Byna
Heifer - Rahira

[Ebrashi]

Ashta Duties: Cleaning Pens, Keeping them Fed (escorting them out to the jungle to eat - taking them to the jungle with carts to cut foliage to feed them when they are at the saw mill). Lars primarily uses them as cart animals to deliver lumber and to move lumber around. Think one of those huge excavators that has a claw on the boom? Anything one of those does, he talks the Ashta into doing. You'll have to do first-aid, tend wounds, keep them happy and occupied.... light training of the younger ones. Most of Lars' animals are young He has two bulls and six cows. They are a tight unit and do everything together. Their 'keeper' has to also make sure they don't damage too much around the mill.

Job threads: 1/2

Observe slow walk of bull versus quicker steps of cows and associate to power/confidence. Involve Lars in the equation to help build Ebrashi up from a weakling.

[Ebrashi]

Secret :

Fall 45, 522 AV
Slave Camp near the northern coast of Eyktol
Late Night

“Keep it down, scum!” The stench of the slaver’s hatred was palpable in his voice. Guttural flem mixed with salty saliva to form cruel tones around crueler words. Ebrashi had been raising his voice to try and cheer up what he believed was a dying man. The once dark skin was ashen from lack of proper care. Only deep crimson streaks around the corners of the cracked lips showed any signs of brilliance and life. Even the deep eyes of the large human seemed to be losing their light. Still, Ebrashi sang in his native tongue- softly but quite audible in a slave cage.

“The river of doubt gave birth to a beautiful stone
And in my hand I held it and I knew I was on my own
So I picked it up and I held it to the sky
And in my reflection, I knew I was all alone
Then I saw this girl with the most beautiful hair
She had it wrapped around her for clothes she did not wear
I asked her for a lock and she complied,
After leaving gorgeous footsteps in the sand as if she didn't care.”

The words rose like a storm on the dunes. By the time he reached the chorus, Ebrashi was full breath serenading any who chose to listen for all would surely hear the lower ranged tenor creep eerily along the weathered wood. The tune was in a minor key so drops and holds held a haunting sentiment.

“Well, she was the prettiest girl I ever saw
And the stone lay still without a flaw
The feelings I had defied the law
As I c-”

A firm rap from the back of a sun-scorched hand silenced the young man. The audible snap of the blow rang through the sudden silence like a clap of thunder to announce the coming storm.

“I told you to shut it, whelp!” The man lifted a balled fist into the empty belly of Ebrashi. The sheer force folded the youth’s body around the strike then left him dangling from his chains as he struggled to find air. The man spat on the face of his victim. His saliva was thick and coarse and it felt like hot mud to the slave. Defiantly but weakly, he raised his disgraced face towards his assailant.

“Broken stock and dead stock don’t sell.” He fumbled through in Common. The amber spheres met the bright blue gaze of the Svefran man. The clash of colors felt like fire and ice though there wasn’t much bite to the flames.

Another hand blurred past the face of Ebrashi. The crack turned his head and strained his neck but the anger was only the beginning. The mockery and sacrilegious followings became the start of many sleepless nights for the herder. The slaver strode over to where the Oryx were held and stared at Ebrashi until their eyes met again. Only then, did he proceed to abuse one of the animals until it broke. Cowed by the violence, Ebrashi could only look away and try to blot out the sounds of the senseless murder. Harder still was the inability to ignore feeling hungry when they were all forced to smell the roasting meat hours later.

“Thank you, son.” The dying man said to Ebrashi. “The gods watch men like you.” It was much later at this point but the aftermath of his bravery was still felt in body and soul. The golden-eyed teen only shook his head.

“Then why don’t they help us?” Ebrashi whispered to himself.

*******

Fall 85, 522 AV
Slave Camp
Midday

In the heat of the desert sun, the dry sandy air mixed strangely with the saltiness coming from the not too distant ocean. The Benshira captives from Ebrashi’s tribe were not familiar with the coarse moisture and it bothered some of them by making things itchy. The young man felt the abrasiveness to the contrasting elements on his own skin but it was the least of his worries today.

The slave camp where they’d been for the better part of a season was buzzing with activity. It seemed like there was going to be some kind of ship arriving soon which would ferry a large portion of souls and goods to a destination where the payoff would make the entire enterprise worth the inhumane cost.

One of the taskmasters was moving along the large crate built into the side of the rocks which sprouted up from the sands. Ebrashi, like the others, did not make eye contact. Sometimes, that helped to prevent one from being selected but today didn’t seem to matter. Bodies were being pulled from all over and the usual sounds of work were being replaced by shouting, cheering, wailing, and weeping.

“You!” The dark-skinned man spat. He was muscular, covered in tattoos of a savage nature, and wore very little clothing. In fact, he likely held more weapons on his belt than articles of clothing on his whole body. His strong arm was extended into the cage’s space with a thick finger aimed at Ebrashi’s pale hair. “Get here.” The finger shifted from pointing at Ebrashito indicating where he was supposed to stand which was right next to the cage’s gate.

Sheepishly, the lad held his gaze down as he shuffled his feet through the small crowd of folks who shared in his confinement. Once he was close, the gate was opened, the heavy metal click of the massive lock and skeleton key made Erbashi wince. He was trembling slightly.

The taskmaster grabbed his charge by the hair and yanked Ebrashi from the cage out onto his hands and knees in the sand. “Today, we find out if you’re a man or a bitch.” The venom in his tongue was painful but the foreign accent butchering Shiber was almost as bad.

Moments later, Ebrashi was tossed into a pit that had been dug deep into the ground. There was a ramp of sand and mud on one side that was heavily guarded but the rest of the ring was lined with slavers and other free peoples all gathered with money in their hands and vitriol in their stares.

Ebrashi was not alone, he realized in standing up. There were six slaves in the pit. Most looked as he did - confused and scared. One man, a Drykas from the look of his markings, stood tall and held the air of a warrior. He had a wooden club that was held in a white-knuckle grip. Ebrashi shrank back against the wall of the pit then his golden eyes went wide as more weapons were tossed into the ring; a sword, a spear, a javelin, an axe, and a shield. Several of the other slaves rushed to grab armaments but not the young herdsman. He remained still.

As the flurry of motions took place, the man with the club moved like a ghost in the blur. One timid but large man had made a dash for the spear but he was lifted from the ground in an arc of blood as the club cleared his jaw from face. Ebrashi felt his trembling intensify as tears stung the corners of his eyes. One by one, men were killed by the club-bearer. It was automatic how cleanly he swung his tool. Each landed blow added more grissle to the head giving the weapon an almost sentient kind of malice. When there were only three men left in the pit, Erbashi sank down in a crouch and refused to watch the final death of his tribesmen. He buried himself away from the gore and wept into his arm as the footfalls of his executioner moved closer.

The roar of the crowd had grown with each passing kill but now they had changed to boos and shouts of ‘coward’. Ebrashi was paralyzed in his fear. He had never thought, nor had the occasion to have a nightmare where such a death would be his end. As the shadow stood over him, the world spun to a halt and the herdsman braced for the last thing he’d ever feel.

Shockingly, it never came. Guards took the Drykas away and Ebrashi was hauled off to his cage. He was smacked and kicked all along the way but he was alive. Through tears, he tried to make sense of what happened but it was the role of a slave to simply not know and accept his situation. As he fell to emotional exhaustion that night, all Ebrashi could see were the faces of the men who died and his tears fell even as he slipped into a dark black hole of unconsciousness.

**********

Winter 13, 522 AV
Slave Camp
Sunset

Ebrashi stood near the edge of the pit. He had been placed in the fighting arena a dozen times but he never picked up a weapon. Today, there were no spectators, no gamblers, just a few guards and the taskmaster and the Drykas warrior. Everyone was waiting for the young man of slight build to pick up a weapon.

Sleep had been a fickle thing for Ebrashi. The number of faces of men and some women who had been laid low in this place had grown so long that he could not filter through them all and still rest. Why he had been spared to this point was recently made apparent; the taskmaster had been given a bet to turn a coward into a killer - something about Myrian toughness was challenged and that’s all the young Benshira was able to ascertain.

Lashings with short whips, accostings by staves and prods, and all sorts of blows from hand strikes were used as tools for motivation but Ebrashi refused to play along. He might have been a coward in the sense of combat but when your outcome was death or death, it was not hard to stand by your convictions. The last few days had been a series of private sessions where he was given weapons to use and practice against posts and bags. That was not something he refused, however, every time he was led to the pit to face another being, the slave disobeyed his masters and never took hold of any weapon.

The tears were dry. The hot sensation of panic was extinguished. All that remained was a stoic expression, tired, but unwavering. Ebrashi would not fight for sport. He hated the Drykas man for killing so many but he did not blame him for the circumstance. Amber orbs narrowed in the dying light at the taskmaster. The Myrian was at his wit’s end with the exercise and dismissed his men except for one other heavily tattooed guard and the Drykas warrior. The look he fed to Ebrashi was unsettling.

Moments later, the single guard returned with a Benshiran slave woman. Ebrashi had not seen her before but he gauged her to be around his age though her coverings and the gathering darkness made such details nigh impossible to determine. The woman was thrown before the warrior on her hands and knees and the taskmaster took hold of Ebrashi with a powerful grip that wrenched his arm behind his back and forced him to his knees. A knife was placed against his throat and the other guard came over to lift his head and force open his eyes.

Ebrashi watched. He stared in horror as the girl was taken and abused by the warrior as if no more than a doll. He kept the amber gaze focused on everything that the torchlight revealed. He watched to close himself away but he would never forget those screams and sounds so he relished the chance to bring the sad symphony to life. The taskmaster narrated and encouraged the slave to accept that this woman was a kiban for his defiance. Her cries eventually went silent and Ebrashi was laid into the mud beneath him created by his tears and shouts for her release. Though, like the young girl, he’d grown silent long before the ordeal was over. However, the young man was not giving up. He contained his hatred and let the sights and sounds fuel a fire deep inside him like the pit of magma beneath a volcano. Soon, he told himself. The time for retribution would come soon.

Later that night…

Ebrashi was in his cage when the abused girl was carried in and dumped through the gate. He was on her before the lock was even clicked. Thin arms of tanned skin, grey in the cold light of the desert moon, folded the broken body up onto his legs as he tried to settle her spasmodic reactions of fear and confusion. For over a bell, he simply cradled the young woman. Tears ran down his cheeks in his guilt.

When she finally looked up at him, her deep bronze stare was glassed over. She spoke in riddles and nonsense but Erbashi softly explained that she was no longer in any danger. This made her laugh weakly as she reached up a bloody hand to touch his cheek. In her weakness, the girl made a brave request of her impromptu caretaker.

“No one is safe here, acham, and I will not bear the child of a killer.” The silence that lingered beat a hole into the tattered soul of the young man. He shook his head trying to find words to convince this woman of some other course of action but she smiled in a peaceful expression and gave him a single nod. “You can give me my freedom.”

The truth was that the young woman was already dying. In the process of her assault, she’d sustained internal wounds that would’ve prevented her from surviving more than a few days. Maybe it was a woman’s intuition, maybe it was some kind of divine providence; regardless- the conviction in her broken whispers mated with the stillness in her gaze and convinced Ebrashi that this was something he was destined to do.

The golden eyes were wet with his body’s saline but the fear and doubt was slowly being forced from their light. The young man shivered slightly but only because his heart was breaking. He adjusted his arms beneath the woman so that he held her against his form like a lover; gentle and strong. Ebrashi leaned down and kissed her forehead with his lips and whispered a soft prayer for the girl.

“Tell me your name.” He whispered.

“Adara. It means the beauty of fire.” She replied. Her voice was as the shifting of sand upon itself. The slightest sound but perfectly natural. Erbashi smiled as tears ran down his cheeks and with his right hand, he stroked back a few strands of hair from Adara’s face. Bruised, broken, dying- she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Inside his chest, Ebrashi’s heart erupted with so many emotions that he wanted to cry, scream, tear down the cage and so much more all at once. He did none of these things, however, for none of them would serve Adara.

Sensing turmoil in the young man, she touched his cheek again and Ebrashi leaned into her fingers. “The gods will bless you for your mercy and strength, javeya acham.” The words caused another round of explosion within his core but Ebrashi simply took her hand and pressed his lips gently against her palm.

With a sudden but smooth action, he wrapped Adara’s arm around him and hugged her tightly against his chest. He could feel the softness of her skin mixed with the heat of her life; blood, breath, and tears as he pressed her into his flesh. Ebrashi wept silently as golden eyes wandered skyward to silver light. How could the gods reward something like this? Fortunately, it did not take long. Adara seemed to struggle for a moment or two but her injuries had left her so weak that she soon went limp in Ebrashi’s arms. The moisture and heat from her mouth and nose had ceased so he gently laid her down into his lap and stared at the peaceful expression on her face.

“Mahim, Adara.”

In the time that followed, he cried and sobbed but refused to let her go. It wasn’t until morning when some of the other slaves - a few who had seen but the rest had been told of the act- convinced the young man to release the girl so she might be laid to rest. The instant she was taken from his sight, Ebrashi’s demeanor changed. A shadow fell over the young man like his youthfulness had been scorched by the fires that raged within.

“Soon.”


************

Winter 15, 522 AV
Slave camp
Midday

Ebrashi held the weapon in his hands. He ringed his palms against the smooth shaft in opposite directions feeling how the wood pulled and bunched his skin beneath its hard shape. Golden eyes burned holes through the taskmaster who stood at the edge off the clearing on the ramp with his guards. “Soon.” He said to himself.

In preparation for another attempt to get the young Benshira to fight, several sacks filled with sand had been tied to posts and placed around the pit in a rather random array. The herder had chosen a javelin as his instrument of death. He’d handled one a few times before and the size complimented his lack of build far better than a sword or spear and certainly more than an axe or club. The amber orbs focused on which targets were closest and how he might go about dealing with as many targets as possible. A plan presented itself and Ebrashi was about to begin when the coarse voice of his handler interrupted his schemes.

“Do I need to have another of your herd mounted and bred for you to act, rakva?” The slaver and his guards laughed. Ebrashi ignored them. He was no rakva. He was a ben of the desert and his cause was now the righteous judgment of these wretched men.

Ebrashi exploded into motion. He charged the nearest target and stabbed the sack with the javelin’s tip. He removed it by yanking backwards and used this momentum to pirouette away back towards his next goal. He raised his hands to one side and swung down in an arc. The Benshiran released one hand and squeezed tighter on the other. This allowed the javelin to twirl which saw the tip slice through the sack and free the sand within. As he continued to move at a brisk walk, nearly a jog, Ebrashi recovered the weapon with both hands and gripped it firmly in the middle with his right. He hoisted it up by his shoulder then planted his feet to hurl it at the sack which was furthest from his present position. At roughly twenty feet, he could have struck the sack if not near it but the young man double clutched it at the last minute so he could force a horrible and rather pathetic throw. The javelin skipped on the ground five feet from the intended post. At this, the taskmaster and his goons erupted in laughter.

“Well, well…” The scoundrel teased. “Lucky for you, your opponent prefers to kill his victims up close.” The Myrian turned away then stopped. He spoke over his shoulder. “He likes to petch them that way, too…” More laughter and it was all Ebrashi could do to not give chase right then and there.

“Soon…” He whispered with his face pointed at the ground.

[Ebrashi]

Shadow Self notes::::

hallucinate and fight shadow
have shadow introduce idea of reimancy - unable to properly serve Ivak without it, etc
Shadow Self is the extremes of emotion (volcanic vs apathetic) teach Ebrashi to find balance between the two and thus seek balance in other aspects of his life (joy/sorrow, light/dark, etc)