Open A Swingin' Good Time

[Ebrashi]

Tenday Festival - Swing Beach
Summer 10, 523 AV
Sunset

Ebrashi stood in his tent and debated with himself about a great number of things. He had put on his white linen pants but had pulled the bottoms up from his ankles to just above his calves. He was barefoot and shirtless with his family armwraps in his open palms. The left one was delicately yet efficiently tied from the back of his hand, over his wrist and up his forearm. The right one was repurposed to cover from his bicep down to just past his elbow in a series of criss-crossing lines that neatly tucked into itself.

Golden eyes looked around the humble tent then to the pair of thin arms stretched out in front of him. The tribute to a family lost was there; the mark of a god was there, too. This would do for tonight and it was a bit more attempt at being presentable than Ebrashi normally made. In truth, his one shirt probably smelled of ashta and sawdust. The thought gave him pause. He lifted one shoulder then the other to his nose and inhaled. The Benshiran was used to gauging odors. It was one of the ways he could ascertain information about his animals. Tonight, however, he was trying to determine if he’d been too far removed from his last splash in the ocean. The caretaker had no fancy oils but he smelled of residual sea salt, a tinge of musk and a hint of sawdust.

“Good enough.” He muttered to himself. Ebrashi walked over and stood by the bedroll where his other gear was neatly splayed. He quickly decided to don his headwrap as a belt. The bright blue fabric was twisted and folded in a pattern which gave him several places to hold items. The first was his kukri. The next one was the horn flute -a divine miracle that he was able to find it amongst the wreckage. Finally, he grabbed up his three javelins. THe thin but broad shoulders shrugged. There might come a use for such things. It was a party and Ebrashi didn’t know what to expect so he just decided to take the gossip for what it’s worth and go.

It was a long walk from the far side of the settlement to Swing Beach. Ebrashi followed the road through the jungle that went past many establishments and noticed others making their way or businesses and homes closed up as the owners had already left. The going was slow since he had elected to not wear his boots. The golden eyes didn’t display any anxiety over the decision, however. The young man was hoping to find some kind of revelry, maybe even a bit of mischief, this evening. It had been so long since such an occasion had lent itself to him. For all of his time in Syka during the spring, he could not bring himself to make a public appearance. Work and home, that was the routine.

Ebrashi journeyed onward and realized that he should have left sooner because it would be dark by the time he arrived. By the time he passed through the Bungalows, it was growing dark and the sounds of mingling voices, some light music, and the softly crashing waves could be heard coming down the path as it mixed with the symphony of the jungle coming alive in the cool of night. The sure hands passed the javelins back and forth in front and behind his body. In the long straight parts where vision was clear enough, the Benshira would practice a bit.

He took two javelins in his left hand and one in his right. Ebrashi sighted a point some fifteen feet from his position, raised the weapon next to his ear and then would time his release with his steps. This was easy since he wasn’t making a full range of motion with his arm, rather, the former slave simply extended from his elbow and directed the shaft with his fingers. The javelin flew true enough and landed roughly in the spot that was intended but it did not stick in the ground as Ebrashi had hoped. After a few steps, he would be near the fallen hunting utensil so he simply dipped down with his legs and recovered it with a quick swipe.

The next time he had a clear path, he would try again. This time, Ebrashi focused more on his hand’s grip and release. A more centered start was the first adjustment and it felt much better. On the release, Ebrashi forced his fingers to stay together so that he pointed at his target like the tip of a bird’s wing. The result was much the same with the distance being very accurate and the tip did land in the dirt but at too shallow of an angle to bury itself in the sand. Walk. Retrieve. Repeat. After the fourth attempt at this, the javelin finally stuck into the ground on its own. Ebrashi whooped out loud. A childish grin crossed his face and his hair fell over his eyes as he strode towards his weapon. The steel felt cool in his hand as he yanked it free from the sand.

There was a bounce in his gait as Ebrashi cleared the jungle at the Commons. He was in a fine mood and looked up to see the last rays of Syna fade from the clear sky. The festival seemed to be building as the night crept over them so the son of the desert followed the sounds. When he finally arrived on the beach, he saw small pockets of people gathered here and there. Some sat in swings, some stood near fires and stoked them as food was prepared. Others talked in voices loud enough to allow the emotions to radiate to the ears of those nearby.

The golden eyes scanned the area for a familiar face. He took a deep breath and let it hiss slowly through his lips. In his native tongue, he spoke to himself a small bit of encouragement. “This is masha, hak tsipor.” His left hand held the javelins, his right was free to reach up and sweep some hair from his vision. “Go and meet your new family.”

[Valentina Adair]

Walking through Syka proved more difficult than Val had originally expected. Someone used to paved roads, markings at every angle and a general sense of varied neighborhoods made a place like the one she now found herself in incredibly complicated. She found herself this evening watching out to see as the sun began to drift away. She tried to find a way to look out to sea the same way that the old captain had.

Admiring something is done over minutes not seconds, her mother had made her know, you look at something and fixate it in your mind. Finding every piece and perfection that speaks to you and you ask yourself why? Why this piece, why this feeling.

Val moved her gaze away from the water. Her mothers old words were pushed out of her mind. This far away from Ravok, Valentina could decide how long to admire something, not her mother.

Stepping onto the soft beach side was refreshing, it felt so strange the first day, not being expected to wear elegant boots or slippers everywhere. Hard edged rocks proved to be a poor new discovery for her. At the moment such rocks were not present, thankfully. Val moved her feet and walked away from her previous spot.

A sleeveless pewter colored tunic hung around her body. The weather here was very different from her home city on the water. Thankfully, her family was mostly incapable of providing any help when shopping her dancing mentor had suggested looser and more flowing clothing to match the climate. Val was incredibly grateful in retrospect, as the climate did seem to agree with her. She had a sturdy leather belt that wrapped around her waist, it held a pouch with a few coins in it as well as the scabbard of her sword.

The only other notable piece of clothing was a dark purple shawl currently wrapped around her shoulders and neck. It resembled a poncho currently. The sewn engravings left open holes around much of it to allow air through so it wouldn't grow too hot. As you went further down towards the edges of the piece the purple dye grew lighter, almost reaching full white at the corners.

Val could see the night beginning as the sun started to pull away. The fires seemed to grow larger from the beach the festival was at. When she first heard about these festivals Val was of put by it. Every ten days, surely it would grow dull? In Ravok the festivals and street shows are extravagant events that bring in travelers from all over to gaze at their cities greatness. This was on a beach.

All the same, Vals curiosity got the better of her and she found herself walking into the main body of the festival. There was no clear beginning to the festival. People were scattered all over, small circles of two to six could be seen standing together on the beach. Others stood around fires currently roasting and cooking food. And others lounged on the swings, rocking elegantly back and forth.

The entire place all seemed very jovial and happy. As a festival should of course; but for Val it was strange to see such joy without all the spectacle. Standing still looking at all the different groups of people suddenly made Val incredibly nervous.

How by all the gods was she expected to go meet anyone here. A brief moment of panic and embarrassment flushed as she imagined herself embodying the aloof new girl too easily. Her conversation on the ship when she first arrived she played that part too. In Ravok it was fine, even expected that she would fade into the background of her family at social events. This was different. She would be different.

With a sense of purpose she pushed her feet forward vowing to not let herself be cast to the sidelines here. Val’s eyes glided across the festival. Groups of two would most likely be close knit with strong ties hard to break down. Larger groups would be better, cast a wider net and all that but she was worried that too large a group would have the exact effect she was looking to avoid. Val smiled to herself, she sounded like her father, treating every social event as a game of subterfuge and alliance making.

Eventually her eyes found another fresh face to the festival. It seemed she wasn't the only one who got her a bit after the festivities started. Golden eyes and pale blond hair stands out amongst the greens and blues of the environment. He had brought some javelins along with him, so she didn't feel foolish bringing her blade. Not wishing to think too hard, she strode towards the man. Be direct, straight forward and friendly, She thought to herself, make a friend and don't look like an idiot.

“Greetings!” She said when she eventually reached the man. She stood directly in front of him and quickly extended her arm for a handshake. “My name's Valentina, this is my first festival and we should be friends.”

Nailed it.

[Tazrae]

The deeply tanned woman tossed where she was sprawled on the huge wooden bed that faced the sea. Her skin stood out as deeply bronzed against the pale linens of her bedsheets. She wore no covers, nor indeed any clothing. The heat didn’t allow for such things since Summer had Syka firmly in its grip. The enormous four-poster carved monstrosity Tazrae slept upon was tucked up under a Drykas-style pavilion that had three of its multiple sides rolled up so the dwelling was all but open to the wilds. It was erected on a richly stained deck tucked into the palms where the sand turned to underbrush at Garden Beach. The brisk onshore breeze tossed her caramel-colored curls as she rolled once more, groaned, and cracked open an eye. Her turquoise gaze blinked towards the sea, then playfully shoved at one of the Ixam that had decided her bed was more comfortable than a sand nest at the base of a palm trunk. As she shifted, sitting up, more of the reptiles scattered. The entire bed had been full of juvenile and just newly hatched lizards that had been curled in exotic scaled balls – nose to tail – and indeed explained the rather large size of the bed. As she slipped out of bed, a waterfall of jewel toned creatures exited with her, most heading out to the beach to catch some breakfast in the surf.

Taz didn’t sleep well these days. Her days ran long – well into the night – and when she finally went to bed, nightmares plagued her. They were memories she was trying to forget, to be more accurate. It made the Innkeeper reluctant to head to bed, and restless once she was there.

Larger full-grown Ixam roamed about, lounging under the palapa or sedentary sprawled out in the weak morning sun. They whistled and clicked greetings to The Wildling as she slipped on some clothing and checked on the small still-sleeping infant that slept in a gently swaying bassinet. She gently woke the infant, picked her up for a cuddle, and tucked the child up against her chest. Together, mother and daughter set off on the path that led from the Pavilion to an Inn that was tucked into the jungle about a mile away. At the Inn, the woman would put on a kettle, took a quick shower, and feed the infant as she planned out her day. Khari was a quiet child, completely unfussy, though she had been up most of the night which is why she slept in so well that morning. The baby happily accompanied the Innkeeper as she inventoried what she needed to have ready for the Inn guests as they rose, and gathered ingredients from the Inn’s enormous kitchen to get meals for the day started.

Only part of the Ixam horde followed the pair to The Protea, though they stayed outside the Inn while Tazrae cooked.

Tenday was happening today and Taz wanted to make sure she contributed. So, to that end, she decided to make a huge pot of mango coconut curry chicken. The rice was the easy part and she got that started immediately. She’d picked up a huge bag of it for the larders of The Protea from James filling her order in the Mercantile, and she’d simply steam it in one of her enormous kitchen kettles. The mango coconut curry, however, would be a fun challenge. It’d been a while since she’d cooked for so many at once, but she knew the food wouldn’t go to waste even if it wasn’t all consumed. Such dishes got better over time, and even a day later she could serve the leftovers at the Protea for Lunch or Dinner. Well decided, Taz stashed Khari in her little carved seat that Randal had made her and tuck her up in the corner of the counter. It bounced if the baby kicked and had a bar across its front with dangling bobbles that let the baby have something close up to look at. Hopefully the baby would be thoroughly entertained while the woman cooked.

Taz moved about the kitchen, which in all the remodeling, hadn’t changed overly much. The only difference The Protea had a new level which was a luxurious upstairs. The Innkeeper needed to hire a maid, someone to do the washing and cleaning of the rooms to free her up for more time as a Ranger. But until then, Taz handled the whole thing, including, it seemed, whipping up some curry. Curry wasn’t a dish exactly, but rather a custom mixture of spice. And everywhere Tazrae had been, the curry was flavored differently with various levels of heat. The cook herself liked a depth and richness of flavors, layered if possible, and enough heat to warm her insides without discomfort. Her spice blend started with a core of Coriander, Turmeric, Cumin, Fenugreek, and an assortment of ground chili peppers. She loaded her large mortar and pestle with those basic spices, then perused the others she had available – contemplating what she was in the mood to offer the group at the gathering.

The trick to good curry was adding in additional spices to supplement the core flavors. Taz ground the core spices she had in her large stone mortar using the thick pestle. Then she took a moment to tickle Khari’s chin before she started humming a sweet tune and thumbing through her spices. The Innkeeper went by instinct, selecting fennel seed, mustard, and garlic. Then she went back and added ginger, clove, cinnamon, and caraway. Then, pausing as she hummed, she added in nutmeg, black pepper, and curry leaf that was dried to tone down its bite. When the mixture was ground into the core, she set it aside with a smile.

Once her powder was made, Taz got out a huge kettle and began to heat the bottom of it. She added the powder to the kettle, pulled out a huge pitcher of coconut milk, and combined the powder with the milk. Then, heading to her ice box, Taz pulled out a huge tray full of deboned chickens. The woman had butchered six of her flock the day before, all young roosters that were starting to cause problems with the hens in her coup. She took a few minutes to cut up the deboned chicken, and added it to the pot. Then she retrieved a bucket of mangos which she carefully skinned, quartered, and added to the kettle. She added salt and pepper and slowly began to bring the mixture to a boil.

Meanwhile she checked the rice, found it fluffy and ready, and set it aside. Then she reduced the curry carefully, slowly, thickening the mixture with a bit of roex to get a good consistency. She tested a small bite of chicken, added more salt and pepper, and let it continue cooking. When it was all but done, Taz pulled it off the heat and rested the huge pot near the equally large rice pot down and beside the stove where it would stay warm.

Then, she laid out breakfast for the guests, letting them sleep in and wake when they liked. Her dishes were all platters of fresh pastry, bowls of fresh fruit, and tall pitchers of squeezed juice. The items were left out on the deck – in the shade – with plates, silver, and drape cloths protecting the food from wandering insects. When breakfast was done, Taz hung a sign noting that she was at The Commons giving out food. And with that, she went to get Bree’s attention and hitch her favorite Ixam up to the cart because there was no way she could carry the two enormous pots to The Commons on her own. Bree was gracious, easy to tack up, and hitch. And before long the two companions were headed to the Commons where they unloaded their contribution to the Tenday at the Communal Kitchens where it could stay warm. Bree was set free to mingle and visit with her friends, leaving Taz take her mandolin and join the other musicians to play a bit while people wandered in. Kamrae showed up, took Khari from Taz, and vanished into the crowd to play with her niece. Taz didn’t mind. The twins were sharing the raising of her daughter since Kami couldn’t have children, and Tazrae often had adult commitments.

Taz nodded greetings as she played to those she knew, and studied intently the newcomers she didn’t recognize. She played a game with herself, trying to decide who was a tourist and who was just fresh off the boat to live here. The new faces all seemed friendly, interesting, and she looked forward to getting to know all the folks that had just joined the Settlement. Most of the reason Taz came was to play and sing with the other musicians. She didn’t actually have to interact, if she didn’t want too. She could watch, observe, and speculate. It was almost more fun than the reality.

[Ebrashi]

There was suddenly a large amount of life thrust into Ebrashi’s circle of comfort. The smells of exotic foods caused his nostrils to flare in curiosity while the sounds of musicians coming together in a foreign but wonderfully blooming symphony tugged at his heart. His right hand slipped down and brushed along his flute as if beckoned to draw the heirloom from his waist and join the revelry. These things were all he could handle until a young woman presented herself to him and demanded that the young man attend to her as well.

Ebrashi was used to festivals and parties in the desert but that was a lifetime ago. He found himself to be quite nervous now that he’d been exposed in this new place. The pounding in his ears was that of his own heart but the repetitive beat gave him the pause needed to ascertain more information. Coolly, golden eyes scanned the tall, athletic frame bound by a dusk-colored tunic and a sword belt. Eyes and hair were dark but the maiden’s expression was energetically kind. Her skin was clean and relatively unscathed. The confidence she exuded mixed with the small amounts of finery and a posture of belonging that reminded the young man of some of the more important people from his tribe. Maybe this woman was important here in Syka. Matthias had not mentioned her but there was no way the founder could’ve explained everything in the short time they’d shared.

The Benshiran extended his right hand and took the one offered to him as he drew in a breath and met her gaze. Ebrashi responded in kind and tried to curb his anxiety by falling against his accent. He certainly preferred Shiber but Common wasn’t a difficult language. He didn’t know nearly as many words but he didn’t have to hide or mask his comfort in one language to use the second. Gently, he wrapped his slender hand around hers and held it for the duration of his greeting.

“Valentina, I am Ebrashi M-.” He stopped midspeech and looked down slightly which allowed his pale hair to cover most of his eyes. “Just Ebrashi.” He smiled, released her hand then used it to brush the locks away from his face as he adjusted his posture to be more upright.

Handshakes were awkward things. The tanned youth could still feel the woman’s fingers on his skin even though they no longer touched. His clan was fond of holding hands among family but also of touching foreheads. It was a kind of gesture that was restful, intimate, yet pure and unassuming. Ebrashi was thinking on how to follow up his own introduction when his stomach growled loudly. The rumble was plainly audible but the young man felt as though one might even be able to see the disturbance through his skin.

Ebrashi blushed, cheeks warming up like coals beneath a kettle. Embarrassment aside, he could not recall the last time he ate and so the survival instincts his forced servitude had built up inside of him kicked in and the golden orbs began to scour the fires for a source of one of the amazing smells. There was a table being filled with dishes that steamed in rapidly vanishing wisps of deliciousness. There were also platters of fruits and several jugs of beverage being added as well. Without any more distraction, Enrashi looked back to Valentina and caught her piercing stare with his gentle amber gaze.

“Would you like to share a meal with me?” His youthfulness revealed itself here, a fragility in the question that bent intonations like reeds in the wind. Ebrashi did not want to be rude but he was hungry. He also had no real friends. Matthias and Lars were really nice people but the ashta handler doubted he held any special place in either of those lives.

Seeing the acknowledgement from Valentina, the Benshiran man opened his right arm in an ushering wave for the woman to walk beside him across the sands towards a meal. Each step was cool as the Syna’s fire had fled from the granules between his toes.

“Where are you from, Valentina?” Ebrashi casually continued the conversation as they arrived at the small feast. His eyes twinkled over the choices as he lifted one of the fruits he’d been given before but his mouth salivated for something else. He stared at the dish and touched a finger to one of the people serving the food.

“Please, could I have some of this?” He pointed to a creamy dish near some rice. “What is it called?” His accent dripped from the Common almost as much as his taste buds for the food strewn before him. The middle-aged man smiled and dished up some rice then dumped a decent helping of the mixture from the bowl onto the cooked grains.

“It’s mango curry chicken over rice.” The man’s smile was warm and matched the heat from the bowl as he passed it to the herder. “Tazrae made it for everyone.” He motioned towards a half ring of musicians. “She’s the one with the mandolin and bright eyes. You might’ve seen her running the Inn as well.” The man paused a moment but not too long as to linger before he went about serving someone else.

Ebrashi waited for Valentina to get something to eat before he would begin eating. Slavery hadn’t beaten the manners out of him. A slight curl on the side of his mouth framed a childhood memory. Manners were beaten into him by his family a long time ago. That’s not to say it wasn’t perfectly unbearable to hold such a bounty and not be able to devour it whole. His stomach gurgled once more and so the young man closed his eyes for just a moment to let it pass.

[Valentina Adair]

Festivals, parties and feasts were nothing new to Valentina. Her family was often invited to or hosted such events. Just arriving at the location would be a procedure in itself. Are we taking guards, if so how many? Does having guards make us look weak or is it a sign of our strength to show us projecting our power? How many knives should we hide under fathers suit?

Roles and duties would be given out to her siblings of who they should make a note to speak with and who to avoid. The most important rule; is to never, under any circumstances, make yourself look like a fool in front of one of the five families. Nitrozians were often seen at all festivals as one of the richest families needed to always maintain that status. As for the others Val was rather thankful to not have to see a single one of them here, if lucky, maybe never again.

Val was brought back into the moment as the man took her hand. She smiled at that, happy he had decided she was not a fool. The handshake lasted for a moment and she gently placed her other hand over the two, giving a small squeeze before they released the embrace. Dropping the hands back to her side she opened her mouth to say something before the soft rumble of the man known as Ebrashi’s stomach growled. This would be the kind of thing her father would have been furious had she done, immodest, vile and lacking good temperament. A glutton for food would lead to a belly of secrets to spill out. Her father had once yelled.

However here on this beach, Val felt herself smile as Ebrashi’s cheeks flushed. Their eyes met as she looked down at the source of the noise then back up as he spoke. She felt her own cheeks grow hot for a moment but set down the feeling. The amount of shirtless people on this beach was slowly becoming a problem. Val thought and concluded she had never seen this many people with so little clothing on in one place ever.

“I fear if I stand here any longer my stomach will be making the same noises.” she said, hoping to set the young man’s bashfulness at ease. “In fact, I would love to share a meal,” she answered. He was young. He also did not speak the common tongue as his native language she deduced. Val was almost certain he was one of the Benshira. She actually could speak Shiber decently but decided not to press anything yet. After all, Val had already felt foolish showing her lack of understanding the Akalak. Maybe later she would bring it up.

He extended his hand out towards one of the many areas of food to gesture the two off. For a brief moment Val began to move her arm up to lock with his, which was common to do when walking with a man in Ravok. She stopped herself thankfully.

As the two walked towards the food she felt a nervousness grow inside her as he asked where she was from. Sadly, the best answer at the moment seemed to be to lie. “I'm from the Sylira region” she said, not exactly a lie but it was obviously not an answer. She continued, “My family own land and have their hands in lots of different trades. We traveled around a lot. Selling silks and fabrics mostly.” it sounded convincing in her head. “This is the farthest I have ever traveled and the longest I have ever been away from those I love.” the last sentence lingered in her gut as she thought about it.

“And what of you?” She asked as they approached the food. Val waited patiently as Ebrashi spoke to the man about the meal. Following their eyes when they spoke of the chef. Tazrae, with the mandolin in the small crowd of musicians.

“Portia, right?” She asked. The man looked back to her confused. “The inn? Captain James told me about it on my first day. Oh if I could have a bowl too please.” The man smiled and fixed Val a bowl of rice as well before handing it over.

“Portea.” he corrected her. Val nodded and thanked him.

Val took the bowl in her hands and turned to find Ebrashi looking at her, clearly waiting for her to have food before he began eating. She felt herself smile at that, simple kindness goes a long way.

“Your manners are on point.” She stated with a small laugh. Her eyes drifted slightly off to the side as the musicians played their song and a few danced on the sands. Val returned her gaze back to her companion and continued, “My father would often scold me and my siblings for having too much of a desire to eat. Rushing to eat before everyone was served and you might have thought you just killed the family dog with how furious he would be.”

Val went to begin eating. Just before she slightly raised the bowl up and towards Ebrashi and said, in Shiber, “Eat well.” hoping she didn't just mess up her phrasing she took a bite of the food and instantly fell in love. The flavors married in her mouth as she went in for another bite. She smiled and nodded her head towards Tazrae even if she wasn't watching.

“So, are you a guard or something?” Val found herself asking as he gestured to the javelins on Ebrashi. “Or are they for hunting fish and stuff?” A piece of rice had found its way into the strands of her hair and she swatted it off while the conversation continued.

[Tazrae]

There were new faces in the settlement. Taz noted them as she joined with her fellow musicians and set a counter tune to the song that was playing. Her fingers danced across the strings of the mandolin. Once, a very long time go, she’d fancied herself becoming a musician and doing this for a living. Now, she just played for fun. And truth be told, she enjoyed it all the more for not making music her career. Being marked by Rhuas didn’t necessarily mean she had to become a songstress. Instead, she was a bard. And that was something wholly different. Acute hearing, perfect pitch, being able to carry sound above and beyond what others could. It was all handy and fitting, here in her new life.

Taz noted the Benshira – a slave freed from the iron Tiger – and the human woman that had an accent that was not exactly Syliran at all. Taz wasn’t an expert in deception nor could she sense lies, but having been to Sylira and Riverfall, the accent didn’t match either place. Well-spoken, the beautiful young lady sounded educated and aristocratic. That fit only a few places that Tazrae could think of. Her mind automatically went to the dynasties of Kenash and the plantation families there. Was the woman an escaped second or third daughter of a dynasty, set out on her own to see the world? Taz wasn’t sure. Still, she tilted her head, listening, even as she played. Rhaus’ marks made it easy for her to hear… to hear as if she was sitting beside them. Ebrashi. Valentia. She thought Ebrashi was one of her people by the color of his eyes and the burnished hue of his skin. Val was paler, lovely, with bright intelligent eyes that Tazrae seemed drawn too.

Tazrae’s eyes and ears moved on, leaving the young couple to their own devices while she scanned for other new people. Her eyes widened as she noted her sister with Kami’s husband, each holding an infant in their arms. Taz wanted to growl. The Ixam that lived just under her skin shuddered, all its scales fluttering to the same sort of razor-sharp fluff a cat would bristle to when angry or scared. Taz was glad the deep immediate irritation didn’t show above the surface. She took a breath, then another, missing a note, as she regrouped mentally. Her twins were together, here, and her sister and their father had every right to be enjoying the babies. She’d promised to share. And in making that promise, Taz took a moment or two to sooth the beast just under her skin that wanted to snag the babies out of their aunt and father’s arms and take them back – deep into the jungle – and never let another human close.

Stu, playing next to her, nudged her and gestured forward. “Sing something Taz…. Then we’ll take a break and eat. You can go meet those new people you’ve been so intently watching over.” He said, with a knowing smile. Taz colored darkly, coral highlighting her cheeks. Stu was a priest and missed little. She should have known.

Nodding, the musicians rearranged themselves as Taz thought a moment, her mind playing on what she was in the mood for. The world was full of mystery. That was a theme in her life lately. And while she wanted to know everything in the form of answers to questions that often flitted through her mind, she had to acknowledge that not everything was within the understanding of humans. People's always had a desire to seek understanding in the world around them, but at the same time they had to assert a certain insurmountable mystery of things unknowable. People cannot always find the answers they seek, regardless of how hard they look.

Taz shifted her mandolin in her arms, strummed a few lines to que the other musicians into what she was going to sing, and then began her song.

“‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveler,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:’”

The image was a powerful one, and Taz poured her heart into her alto voice, hoping to connect to the audience and wash her emotions out across theirs. She stayed on tune, transmitting the sense of longing, of desperation, and of resolve that the song represented.

“And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveler’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.”

She drew out the song, painting a picture of someone owing a debt that they wished to pay. In her mind, the traveler had went well out of his way to keep his word, even though his efforts were futile. And yet, were they? Taz liked to think someone was listening… someone heard him keep his word.

“But no one descended to the Traveler;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.”

Everyone had heard the silence. One didn’t need to be a bard marked by Rhaus to understand that there were creatures of shadow and light that observed and noted and made themselves known in a thousand subtle ways. The ghosts of Pavena were like that, quietly haunting the city that had died so long ago. Listeners prowled throughout the bones of the old research facility, waiting perhaps for people to come home that never would arrive. Taking a breath, she launched into yet another verse, drawing the mystery closer, making it more intimate for the audience.

“But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:”

What were the creatures of shadow? And how did they relate to the living? Only spiritists knew. Taz scanned the crowd, her eyes alighting on a lone aging woman who gave her a nod, as if to acknowledge why she would look the lady’s way. Taz saw a shimmering image beside her – as people often did – of a beloved sister stolen too soon by the violence of a brutal priest of evil. The Innkeeper was surprised the woman hadn’t found rest yet, especially with her sister there. But then again, the priest hadn’t been caught yet either. He could be anywhere, wearing anyone’s face… so they kept watch… made sure all was well… or as well as it could be. Staggering her breathing, she continued the song, adding more to the mystery, deepening the shadows by lowering her alto.

“Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveler’s call.”

Taz loved songs that told stories. She loved them from the simplest to the most elaborate. And above all she loved songs that left more questions asked and unanswered. They entertained her more, made her think, and stimulated her brain.

“And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;”

Everyone could relate. Banging on a door and suddenly getting the sense that no one was home. That feeling was universal. The listeners were real. Something heard. Something witnessed. Just because it couldn’t be seen or heard by human senses didn’t mean things like the listeners weren’t real. So she inhaled and let more of the song out, putting it out there for the settlement, asking questions with a vague mysterious story.

“For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.”

The man, the traveler in the tale, reacted to the listeners. He acknowledged them. He gave them a message to pass on to the living humans he had tried to connect with. In a way, it was a message to the new people. Syka was open minded. Syka embraced the odd and mystical. The people here were willing to bridge the gap between the living and the dead, the seen and unseen. Would they listen? Would they hear it? Taz wasn’t sure.

“Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spoke
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.”

It was a good song; a solid song. It was a song that taught a lesson and sent an invitation out at the same time. Taz extended that invitation in her own way, by singing it today, in the here and now. And when the last note died away, she set her mandolin aside, nodded to the rest of the musicians, and went to make herself a plate and visit with some of the people she knew… and meet some of the people she didn’t.

[Ebrashi]

Ebrashi was forcing himself to be patient. This social interaction with Valentina was giving him some anxiety. This well-spoken, outgoing woman who looked rather lovely despite her sword and somewhat rakish appearance gave him pause. He was a nobody and certainly didn’t have the presence to stand in a conversation the way that this stranger did. The young man made note of her gracious allowances for his grumbling appetite and menial questions. Valentina did not seem out of place at all, and by contrast, the Benshiran believed himself to shown for the outsider that he was by being in her presence.

Javelins in one hand and a bowl of food in the other, the latter seemed to be seeping heat into his form which did not help his aching hunger since it served as a constant reminder of an empty belly. Golden eyes scoured the beach for somewhere to sit or lounge so that a meal could be had. Like a parting shot in a duel, Valentina’s question surprised Ebrashi. With the dancing light of the fire at his back, it was easy to let the shadows hide his brief but sorrowful wince that the mention of family created. Like a whirlpool in the raging sea, there was a vacuum where love and relationships had once been. Tonight was not the occasion for such things, at any rate.

Ebrashi smirked when she complimented his manners. He was, not so long ago, a rowdy teenager who loved nothing more than to irritate his siblings and mother with belched sonatas and symphonies of hastily gobbled meals. He opened his mouth to share a tale from his life with his family but his jaw simply paused a moment as if to catch flies. The faint light in his gaze faded and he nodded politely to his newfound companion in response to her compliment. He turned his golden eyes away but not too soon as to miss her gesture.

“Eat well.” Her words rang a bit clumsily in Shiber but it was not incorrect. To hear the softness of her voice; the sweet tinge of a woman’s intonation in his native tongue- it sent a chill up his spine and he nearly dropped his bowl. Ebrashi’s eyes widened as he turned fully towards Valentina. His heart leapt and ached like a fire was chasing the organ through his chest. The swell of emotions may as well have been the storm that capsized the slave ship. Two times, he opened his mouth to respond but could not. Finally, after several ticks, the teenaged young man exhaled slowly through his nose then responded in kind.

The restraint that had been so important all those months ago was remembered. Ebrashi reigned in his adolescent mind and forced the million or so questions to the side. He raised his javelins slightly while keeping the tips pointed down. With a casual glance to ensure that he would not puncture his own feet, he heaved all three down into the sand. The steel shafts twisted around themselves in a strange sort of array while the force mixed with their own weight buried the pointed tips into the beach. Satisfied with his placement, the Benshrian man used his hands to delve into the strange, saucy concoction in front of him.

Sweet. Spicy. Smooth. HOT. The serving he gave himself from the large spoon required some kind of venting so his opened his mouth in a small ‘o’ and puffed air around the food to cool it. Ebrashi knew he couldn’t just spit it back into the bowl- not that he would want to, anyway. It was absolutely delicious and his gaze used the information provided by the server to locate the woman with the mandolin. It was about this point when he felt a strange rush in his core. The intertwined tattoo of fire on his arm seemed to tighten in conjunction with the phenomenon. It was rage!

Ebrashi knew the emotion all too well but this was not his; it belonged to another. Was it the musical chef? She didn’t look as if she was angry. The young animal handler looked at the musicians around her but none of them looked mad, either. The tune the troupe played was light but Tazrae missed a note. It wasn’t catastrophic but immediately after the score’s vacancy, the powerful waves of anger disappeared. Maybe it was the mandolin player. The sensation in his arm faded and allowed the young man with pale hair to center himself on the music.

Ebrashi took another bite, blowing on the spoonful first, then turned back to Valentina. She had asked him a question and a moment;s panic rose in his chest. He hadn’t heard it because of all the distractions. Fortunately, he saw her hand ending its motion towards his javelins. Whatever she had inquired, it was related to his tiny spears.

“I stay over by the sawmill.” Ebrashi had cheeked half of a bite to answer quickly. He then took a moment to chew a bit more then swallowed. “I didn’t want to come through the jungle without them- though, I’m not very skilled at wielding them.” He smiled weakly. He thought himself skilled at almost nothing and tried his best not to laugh at himself. “We can try to spear some fish with them later, if you’d like. Though, you’d probably do better than I would.” His eyes dropped to her sword briefly then bounced back to her face.

As music shifted and words were sung, Ebrashi studied the countenance of the woman. Her features were dainty but well-proportioned and there was a sharpness to her that warned of a strong woman underneath. While being from Sylira, the dark hair and eyes reminded him of some similar women he knew from the desert. The thought was comforting this time- not painful, and for that, Ebrashi was grateful for her company.

The music caught him once more, however. There was something powerful in the alto voice that strung out phrases and stanzas. The crisp tone was amazingly clear despite all of the ambient noise and it reminded Ebrashi of some talented singers and yard-spinners he had grown up with back in Eyktol. His face turned about the beach while he shoveled in more food to locate the source and was surprised -and yet not- to find it coming from Tazrae. Who was this woman?

She played so well, cooked amazing food, apparently ran an inn, and was also a magnificent singer! The herdsman allowed himself to be swept away by the tale being told and filled his body’s desire for movement by steadily eating the supper he’d been provided. The song was sad but revealing. Ebrashi quickly identified with the traveler on some level but not wholly. The melody was wonderful and he found himself idly humming along. He brought his flute but wasn’t about to play anything, however, the notes he toyed with were not to match Tazrae’s voice. Instead, he was searching for the middle harmony that the bone instrument might -in his mind- compliment the tune.
When the song was over, Ebrashi stood still but forced his voice to rise above a host of other sorts of applause and accolades. Any body of work that splendid deserved praise.

“Javeya! Javeya!” He lifted his bowl high to emphasize his point then brought it low only to discover he’d eaten everything. Ebrashi pivoted in the sand and took a step towards the server who had helped him earlier. “What should I-” He was cut off and the empty vessel was plucked from his hands.

“We’ll handle it, lad.” The gentleman explained with a smile. “Go and enjoy the party.”

Ebrashi was dumbfounded for a moment but the man paid him no mind and made the bowl vanish into a bucket then set about assisting other festival goers. With a second pivot, the tan-skinned teenager was back by his javelins and Valentina. The golden eyes settled upon her once more and the full belly smile made him look almost as if he were under the influence of some kind of drug.

“Where did you learn to speak Shiber?”

[Valentina Adair]

Years of forced social interaction, though sheltered, seemed to have bestowed upon Val the ease of mingling effortlessly. Whether the people in Syka were naturally amiable or her upbringing had gifted her the necessary skills, she couldn't tell amidst the fervent merriment that had been enveloping her in these new social circles.

Ebrashi had inquired about her blade, prompting a playful response, "I'm no skilled swordswoman myself. If we were ever accosted by brigands—or, let's say, pirates—my instinct would be to find safety behind you." The compliment felt both pragmatic and conducive to fostering a closer bond. A useful weapon in any noble womans arsenal, as her mother would say.

Curiosity piqued, Val posed her own question after a brief pause, her cheeks momentarily flushed with a hint of embarrassment. "Have you ever been in a... you know, a fight?" she asked. "To be honest, fighting isn't something I'm meant to do, but I'll let you in on a secret," she continued playfully, leaning closer to him, her voice hushed beside his ear. "I've never had to draw my blade on anyone." Pulling away, she couldn't help but smirk, adding, "I reckon I might either freeze up or unsheathe it so hastily that the blade ends up flying into the air, leaving me even more exposed to attack."

As Ebrashi took his leave to fetch more food, Val relished the moment to stand still, basking in the moonlight and savoring the music, even if her attention wandered slightly.

Contemplating the song she had just heard, Val found herself uncertain of its intended meaning. Her upbringing had acquainted her with foreboding melodies, a far cry from the buoyant tunes that filled the air tonight. She chuckled softly, realizing such a song wouldn't have fared well in her old home, where religious undertones were paramount. Nonetheless, she clapped with the others, appreciating the musical performance.

In stark contrast to a typical night in Ravok, spent amidst opulent ballrooms, adorned in silver and finery to match her family, tonight's festivities exuded a refreshing informality. Observing the scantily clad attendees, Val couldn't help but feel overdressed and even a little embarrassed by her comparatively modest attire.

Ebrashi's final question snapped her back to the present. For a fleeting moment, she entertained the idea of revealing the truth about the Shiber tutor, but dismissed it as imprudent. "Trade," she said suddenly, clearing her throat for a momentary pause before elaborating, "We needed to hire a Shiber tutor for the rest of my family, the important ones," she added with a hint of resentment she hoped appeared authentic. "I was an afterthought, but I'm quick to learn," she said, realizing a little too late that Shiber referred to the language and not the race. She hoped Ebrashi wouldn't notice her slip.

With a cheerful smile, Val leaned into the festive atmosphere, remarking, "If I may indulge my curiosity once more, why did you come to Syka? Everyone I've met so far seems to have an intriguing story to tell."

Val would move over and with much more confidence than Ebrashi deposit the bowl to the same man who took it. Saying a word of thanks and a nod of her head of course, it wasn't the same as giving a dirty dish to a servant but the actual moment felt the same. She strolled back over to Ebrashi and smiled. "Had I not stepped infront of you this evening I assume you had plans for the night? Merrymaking, swinging, spear fishing, flirting and I imagine many more thoughts had crossed your mind on the way over." She stated, "What say you that we go act on some of those. I wore pants with the intention of moving in them. Shall we go find trouble?"

[Tazrae]

Tazrae made her way through the Sykan crowd, keeping to herself and ducking out of the way of some of the people who were involved in various activities. There was food, drink, and a multitude of fires throughout the beach where various things were going on. It was the way of Tendays to wander from fire to fire, visiting and sharing stories, catching up, or joining the larger crowds for dancing when the musicians were playing. The young bard’s heart was still on the song she’d sung, but also she couldn’t help but notice how people looked away as she passed.

It wasn’t their fault.

They didn’t know how to act around her now… not after the events of the season before last. And last season, her Inn had been closed for remodeling, letting everyone off the hook for interactions since Tazrae had spent most of her time alone in the deep jungle with only Ixam for company. It had been the best thing to do, sometimes taking Khari and sometimes leaving her with her childless twin who more than thought of the baby as her own. Kami’s blood ran through Khari’s veins, creating the strangest of situations that made her twin’s thinking somewhat true.

She was the one black ewe in a herd of white sheep… and it made her something of a shadow. Syka was her home and these were her people. But why did she feel so distanced? Taz wouldn’t have traded the events of that day seemingly so long ago for the world. It had given her the children. A huge chest had been delivered that she’d opened thinking it was a shipment from her aunt in Riverfall. It hadn’t been. It had been a trap that had sucked her into a Dominion where she lived an entire year in a single day, only escaping by the sheer luck of the Gods and returning to Syka exactly one day after she’d left as a whole different person… a person with a newborn in her arms. The whole Settlement knew the story, but accepting it and knowing what to say to her or how to let her ease back into the niche she’d created for herself was two different things.

Taz had lost touch with being the Innkeeper… the person everyone talked too and opened up with. For her it had been a year and a half. For them, she’d vanished overnight then had come back a stranger. She wanted to reconnect… Taz really did. But she didn’t know how to do it. She was like one of the creatures in that song she’d just sang. She was a Listener. Unseen, unheard, but sensed and often acknowledged, even if in weird ways. She stewed about it, about being a Listener, when she wandered into the Communal Kitchen and made herself a plate. She nibbled quietly off of it, not taking a seat and not settling down, as she roamed around. Randal walked by her, paused, and gently squeezed her shoulder before moving on – seeing that she was eating and brooding – something he was well familiar with in the expressions of the women in the Settlement. Grace gave her a nod and made her promise to drop by and see her, which made Taz smile as she finally selected a seat on one of the swings to finish nibbling the contents of the plate.

Bree wandered up, settled beside her, and glanced around. “New people.” She commented, the torchlight causing her emerald scales to blaze in the luminaries. Her scaled sister was beautiful in the darkness, so in control of her motions and every action deliberate.

Taz nodded, plucking a fried plantain chip off her plate and nibbling on it then offering one to Bree. “I haven’t talked to most of the yet. I’ve just listened. I was going to go meet a couple of the newcomers, but I think they are about to go off and dance when the musicians start up again. There will be other times.” She added, glancing over at the fire a few blazes over that contained what was her immediate family. Kami and Nyle were eating, each one holding a babe they gently rocked. Bree followed her gaze as Taz took a moment to hone in on what they were talking about before turning her attention back to the Ixam.

“Our way is better. Lay the eggs and watch the strongest survive. Your children are fragile and need too much attention. I’ve laid over twenty eggs this season. Could you imagine having to raise my hatchlings like you have to raise your babies?” The large green and blue creature shuddered deliberately, flexed her crest, and flicked out her aubergine tongue in disdain. The whole thing made Taz laugh lightly, brightening her mood slightly.

“Its not as bad as all that. Besides, I enjoy your hatchlings. Sure, they break out of their eggs ready and willing to hunt, but they do prefer to be cooked for.” Taz said, then fed Bree another plantain chip as if to prove the point. The Ixam loved the fried vegetable, something she couldn’t produce on her own or even hunt for. Even as Taz made to offer her another, the emerald creature arched her neck and leaned over Tazrae’s plate, relieving it of its remaining chips far faster than the bard had chosen to feed the to her.

“Manners.” Taz said softly, still chuckling.

Bree shrugged. “I’m a jungle Ixam. We have none.” She said, stretching and glancing around. “Did you go talk to the new Benshira?” She asked.

Taz shook her head. “No… I think he only knows Shiber well… and I have no idea how to explain a daughter of the Kois not knowing her native tongue. The young woman he’s found though can speak it. She’s been very evasive as to where she’s from, but I think she’s plantation Kenashian. They might as well be aristocrats.” Taz said, gesturing at the pretty woman talking to the man. Ebrashi and Valentina. I’ll go meet them later… or maybe they will drop by the Inn. I’m seriously thinking of calling it a night.” She said, glancing over the nearest fire to the one her sister occupied. Bree followed her gaze.

“I’m not sure why they bother you.” Bree said softly, nuzzling Tazrae, who reached out after setting her plate aside at her feet and wrapped an arm around Bree’s neck. “He’d marry you, you know. And I don’t think Kami would put up a fuss about it.” The Ixam noted, nuzzling Tazrae’s cheek gently. Taz smiled and shook her head.

“I’d never do that to Kami. For all that she’s a Kois, those two are in love. I understand that. And I don’t love him. I think I’ve proven myself a useless judge of where to give my heart and have it spit on. I like useless gutter rats that scurry for cover the first time life gets rough, remember? No… I’ve got a life here, and a good one. I’ll see where it takes me as a single woman, with children, and lots and lots of Ixams.” She said, reaching out to scratch Bree’s cheek and along the crest of her neck. Bree was a good friend, an excellent mount, and a superior advisor. Bree preened under the attention, arching her neck and licking the wind with her tongue.

“Then let’s call it a night. Let the two newcomers dance and make merry. We can light a bonfire on the beach, sleep out under the stars there, and know that all is well because the Tenday happened and everyone was accounted for. We can get up in the morning, wander back to The Commons, and see to any cleaning that might be needed all before the sun rises. You can do breakfast, set something up for lunch, and we can catch some real rest when the sun is high.” The Ixam suggested.

Taz nodded, rose, and walked with Bree back to the kitchen to return her plate. Then together, the two of them headed north up the beach, walking back to The Protea to build that fire and watch the stars circle the sky.

OOC: Thanks for the thread. I’ll let you two have your fun and see you in another scenario!