Another Nice Night to Bleed (Gemtana)

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

60th of Spring, 511AV Nightfall Serrif had a long day…again. His days were consumed between Ildin and her combat tactics and his temple studies. Almost every moment was spoken for and honestly he didn’t mind it all that much. Every now and then he would get a day off or so. But those days were few and far between. The sun was setting and his eyes were getting tired of staring at books in the study. He excused himself after he took a few mental notes. He rubbed his aching eyes and then stretched some. He was done for the night. He stood and returned any of the study materials he had used. After doing this he headed back to the beach. It was interesting that even after all this time here he still lived in a tent for a home. It was temporary and well until he had better funding or adequate funding saved he needed to life in the tent. And truth be told he didn’t mind the tent, it was near the sea and the sound of the waves calmed him. On his way out of the temple grounds a woman called out to him and smiled. “Serrif right?” He nodded. The woman was dressed in sparring robes, so that meant she had come from the Suvai Pavilion. That also meant that Ildin could’ve sent her. She held a small bag in her hands, it was indeed very small so that meant it couldn’t hold much. It also didn’t appear to weight much as the Konti woman held it with no struggle at all. “Good Ildin told me to give this to you. Have a good night.” He nodded as the woman handed him the bag and to his pleasure it was indeed not very heavy. Serrif opened it and inside were three interesting items that didn’t puzzle him as much as really set his mind moving. Two long thin daggers in nice sheaths and what appeared to be a piece of parchment rolled up and sealed with wax. This indicated that it indeed hadn’t been opened or tampered with since Ildin sealed it and sent it his way. Although he couldn’t imagine anyone would tamper with it. That didn’t seem very Konti-like at all. He broke the wax seal and read it. Practice with these, return them to me in the morning. He smiled; she never did let up on him. First the bow and arrow in all its glory now daggers? He wondered just what her thinking on all this was. She had indeed spent a good amount of time training him in a great many facets of the bow. But he didn’t think daggers were anywhere near her specialty. Maybe she had more interesting plans for him in the long run. He couldn’t be sure her methodology here. Just of the results. And he knew he was living proof of these results. Since he met her he had changed. His mind a little calmer, his strength had doubled in the least and his skills with the bow were better than they ever had been. He also learned patience, and how to center himself. Skills that he now learned to treasure. Maybe she wanted him to be more fluid? He couldn’t again be sure but he would do as she asked; he always did. He walked holding the sheathed weapons in his hands. They were interesting looking, they had a much longer and more slender blade than normal daggers. And by the distribution of the weight across the blade they were evenly weighted as well. Interesting they seemed to be custom made by how perfectly they were crafted. As he fumbled with these new interesting items his feet carried him to the beach. Where his home was. As he got closer he could smell the ocean mist. It was salty and greeted him home. He could hear the rolling of the waves as well telling him he was indeed not that far from home after all. Once he felt the wonderful warm fine sand on his feet he knew he was home. The sun was just beginning to set. He nodded; he was home. Again his feet took him to his tent where he set everything down except for the daggers. He walked out to the beach and wondered just how he was to go about practicing with these ornate daggers. He imagined that he could likely incorporate them into martial arts and hand to hand combat pretty easily. The cool evening ocean breeze greeted him. It was indeed a nice night for such activities. He wouldn’t break a sweat. One of the daggers hilts found itself in his hand rather quickly. It was cool to the touch but that was expected. It fit his hand rather well…which was interesting. The breeze greeted him once again. His skin had been a little warm from the days activities. He liked the cool night. It was nice and greeting. He unbuttoned his long sleeved black shirt and instead tied it around his waist. The scarred skin of his chest, back and arms cooled down almost instantly with the cool night’s air. He stretched some and enjoyed the feeling of the night for a few minutes. He then decided now was as good a time as ever. Facing away from the entry path from the city to the beach he began training. First he examined the daggers. Each was identical to the other in every fathomable way. Each felt the same weight and was of the same identical make. The edges came to a very sharp point, each side of the daggers was also sharpened, allowing for cutting on both sides of the weapon. From what he could tell they weren’t practice daggers either. They were sharp defensive instruments. He strapped the daggers to his waist and then moved through his hand to hand motions slowly to get the hand of them. Each step was measured and planned allowing for somewhat fluid motion with every single movement. It was actually interesting to watch if any were. He wouldn’t know after all he really wasn’t paying attention to who was around him; likely because he didn’t think anyone would be here at this time. After a little time of measuring out every movement he then decided to incorporate in the daggers. Drawing a dagger in each hand he then went through the same movements. He wasn’t used to having these long daggers in his hands as he made the elaborate movements. And unknowing to him it would result in consequences for him that he would feel in a few moments. In the middle of the elaborate planned training he moved one of the daggers a little too close to his side and accidentally nicked it. The dagger bit right through his flesh like a knife through water; there was literally no hang as it passed through. The cut wasn’t deep by any means. But it did bleed. He looked at the wound feeling the sting of the bite. Suddenly Ildin’s reasoning became quite obvious. She wanted him to become more aware of his movements. Something he was obviously lacking. The nick on his side was pretty shallow not anything pressing. But it did bleed crimson red liquid. He felt the wound, it wasn’t bad but it was indeed bleeding. It stung and his body ached. He shoved it off and he then continued his practice. Shrugging off the pain. It didn’t matter that much anyway. Pain had always been something he had to press through his entire life to get anything he really wanted. Pain was the only thing that separated some people from what they really wanted in life. But it never separated him. No, he wouldn’t let it.

[Gemtana]

Gemtana was feeling a bit high strung after going through the processes of moving to a new city. She had had to give her information down at the harbor, apply for work, and find housing. After all this, she just wanted to relax. She made her way down to the beach, which wasn't hard to find, it was an island after all. She looked around quickly and saw no one. So she quickly removed her only piece of clothing, a black strapless bikini top and stashed it in her satchel. She quickly dove into the water, and began exploring her new home. The water was cool on her skin, she loved the feel of the water moving past her head, down over her breasts and down her tail. Her tail powered her forward, her pinkish wings steering. She couldn't breathe underwater like the natives, but she could stay under for quite a while. As her body begins to relax, she notices some pangs of hunger in her stomach. She looks through the waters for something to snack on. She swims down to the floor of the more shallow ends, and found some small coral reefs. Always a good bet for fishing. Many of the fish could seem to detect she was a predator and swam away to hide. Gemtana swam down and laid on the ocean floor behind a large fan of coral roughly the same color as her wings. She laid absolutely still, peering through a gap in the coral. She waited for approximately a bell before the creatures began to believe it safe once more. Fish of varying bright colors began to go back to their normal patterns of life. She watched closely, trying to determine which were edible. She saw a bright blue fish with black markings that looked to be all bone. She saw another that was black and while stripes with large spines protruding from it. Her gut instinct told her poisonous. Then she saw the prey she wanted come into view. An octopus walked into view, it's skin matching the white sands. She smiled, that would be good eating. She watched as it searched the sands for shellfish. She slowly moved her hand into position as it moved closer. It moved around the corner when a bubble escaped Gemtana's nostrils betraying her location. Her hand shot down as it turned to flee. She managed to grab a tentacle but it fought and wiggled hard. She maintained a strong grip and pulled it close and caught it with her other hand. She gripped it's head and squeezed until the creature stopped moving. She took her prize and swam up to the surface and leapt out, her wings hovering her above the water. She bit into the creature, it's blue blood draining down her bare chest and abdomen. She finished her meal and searched the coast. She realized she was not where she had entered the waters and saw a tent nestled in the sands. And walking toward the tent, unaware of her, was a man carrying a bundle. She watched him for a while and opened her satchel. She took out her painting book and a brush. She opened a few lids on her paints, nestled snugly into some pockets. She saw now that the man was practicing with some sort of daggers. She hovered closer to view him better. She watched as the daggers moved through the air. He didn't seem quite comfortable with them. She watched as he nicked his side lightly. She took a mental picture of that moment and decided to paint it. While most painters drew first, she preferred to paint by memory, and it seemed to work fine. She focused on the most important part first, the wound and blood. She started with a mix of red and black for a deep blood red. Using her smallest tipped brush she began. She carefully detailed the open slit in his side, a blood droplet flying from it as well as some leaking down. She then cleaned it off and switched to mixing a creamy white and slight yellow for the ivory sheen of the daggers. She lightly made one dagger streaming away from the wound, while the other was held high and away. She left both untouched by blood, a testament to their sharpness. She then began on the man's skin. She added some yellow and brown to the dagger mix for his skin tone. After a few adjustments, she had it matched up to the stranger's. She began with his hands on the daggers and worked the brush up, his arms filling in. She then began on the base of his face, careful with the details and curves. She rinsed her brush once more and began on the cacophony of colors to finish his attire and other features like his eyes and hair. After a few chimes she was done. She looked at it and smiled. It wasn't perfect, but it was in her eyes. She was thankful the paint was almost instant drying and she closed up her book. She sealed it and her paints and put everything away. She noticed he was still bleeding and figured she could assist him. She grabbed her bikini top and put it on for decency's sake and dove down into the water. A few moments search and she came up with a stretch of seaweed. She swam up to the shore near him and fluttered out, hovering over the sands toward him. She didn't want to get to close, those blades swirling as they were worked. "Might I patch you up? It's still bleeding." She didn't realize that she hadn't introduced herself and accidentally told him that she had been watching for a while. Both errors were from her not socializing much. But this man had been painted, surely he can't be bad?

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

Serrif continued to practice on the beach. Every step measured and he made a special interest to make sure that he didn’t cut himself again. He could still feel the sting of the last bite, good thing he didn’t try and make things too elaborate. He could’ve ended up far worse. The warm crimson liquid was beginning to dry now. But at the site of the wound itself it was still fresh and flowing somewhat. He wouldn’t die from it; and he had experienced far worse. The entire time though he swore he was being watched. Not like he really minded; the last time he had this feeling he ran into a Konti woman who was simply painting him while he fished for dinner. And she was indeed really good at painting as well. She captured him well and honestly he didn’t mind being the subject of a painting. He found it soothing and a little bit flattering as well that anyone would want to paint him. He turned around to see if someone was there and well only caught a glimpse of something splashing into the water. He first thought his eyes had deceived him because he swore he saw the color pink. He shrugged it off and then instead continued to practice. He then caught a glimpse of pink again, but this time two hues one slightly darker. Serrif’s understanding of other races was somewhat limited. He had encountered very few races besides human and Konti. He encountered a Kelvic girl once he got to the island and well he had encountered a Akvatari once while in the slave camp if he really thought hard about it. But his intimate knowledge was limited to mostly Human and Konti for the moment. He was somewhat startled as he caught a glimpse of her as she fluttered out of the water toward him. His reaction however wasn’t violent only because she was so peaceful looking. He remembered where he was; Konti isle. Here it was a different world. It was like there was little that could harm you. None wished to do you any harm. If he had been anywhere else his reaction may have been a tad bit more violent. However he was here on the Konti Isle. Things were different. He was startled a little. He hadn’t caught her until she started gently fluttering above the water toward him. Her colors were vivid to say the least. Colors that he didn’t ever expect to naturally happen on anything. But she was a vivid mixture of different hues of pink. Marvelous and beautiful all at the same time. His first reaction was he faced her; his entire body feet flat. She would now see the mural of his body. Deep valley like scarring that was more than apparent at this distance. Something she couldn’t easily see from the distance she was at earlier. He knew she had been watching him; he felt it. He needed to better trust his instincts. They were indeed proving to be right on more than one occasion. His immediate response faded as he looked over her beauty. She was indeed interesting. He sheathed his blades and his pulse dropped as his internal instincts calmed down. “It isn’t all that bad. Some light stitching will do the trick nicely.“ He said joking of course but she didn’t know that. “The seaweed will do fine.” He smiled some relieved she wasn’t going to kill him…Or in the least it didn’t appear like she was going to.

[Gemtana]

As Gemtana hovered closer, her eyes moved from the minor injury to the many scars littering the man's chest. She managed a timid smile, eyes casting down now, this man had endured great pains. A hand strayed to the bullwhip that she kept wrapped around her waist discretely, appearing to many as a belt. Her fingers touched it lightly then pulled away as if shocked. Her protection could forever scar a man just like this. She now appeared crestfallen. She couldn't look the man in his eyes, as the first sign of tears began to sting hers. Why shed tears for a stranger? She couldn't answer the question, but managed to keep them isolated to her amethyst eyes. "Um... Let me just... Um... Take care of that." She fluttered closer to the scarred man and alighted in the sand. She held the length of seaweed between both hands. She took one end and folded it in on itself about four times. She pressed the folded end to the wound lightly with two fingers, knowing the salt would sting but also would disinfect the wound. She then had to move closer, her torso a breath away from his skin, as she wrapped the remaining length around his stomach, covering the folded section. After few more times of wrapping, she tucked the other end into the seaweed band now formed. She checked the bandage by slipping two fingers beneath the bandage. They were snug, but not tight, the seaweed holding firm but still providing the stretch needed to move. She slipped her fingers back out and shuffled back out of the close proximity of the man, but remained close. "I hope that helps..." Eyes still downcast, avoiding showing her watery eyes, she did something without the man's permission. She couldn't help herself, but her fingers did their own thing. Her fingers began tracing the scars on his chest. She knew this could be a huge invasion of privacy, but the fingers moved along the rough ridges anyways. When she finished she hovered once more and backed away from him, then pulled out her painting book. She opened to his page. She grabbed her small paintbrush and opened the paint that most resembled the scars. She dipped the brush in and prepared the first of additions. She looked at the man's torso and began. She painted the first scar, and her breathing deepened. It felt as if she had just made that scar on the man herself. The second scar affected her further, her breathing ragged, her biting her lip. Who would do this to a man? Who could? She continued onward scarring the beautiful man's chest, feeling like a murderer. As she finished, two tear drops escaped her eyes and fell onto the paper, thankfully not onto the painted portion. She cleaned her brush and put it away. The paint dried and she put her book away and lowered herself to the sand in an awkward sitting position upon her tail. She pulled her tail to her chest, similar to one would with knees and hugged it, the tears flowing freely. How could she scar that man? Why was this hurting her so? She knew she probably looked insane before the stranger. But her body didn't care, as she slipped into the depression and melancholy of her race. While common among the Akvatari this appears standard, but to the individual it was world shattering. She continued to cry, sitting there on the beach, alone with a stranger.

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

Serrif watched her work. He had never seen seaweed used this way. And honestly he didn’t even know it could be used like this. He watched her work and her mood was almost sullen. Like something had suddenly silenced her. It was curious but he understood what had likely done it a few minutes later. He watched her work and was taking mental notes the entire time. She wrapped him up and well the salt touched his wound it did indeed sting. But he really didn’t mind all that much. He was used to wounds stinging far more than what simple salt caused. She used her fingers as a measuring instrument for how taunt it was and well it was interesting that she was using such an abstract method of measurement. And it was interesting how taunt she was able to get the bandages in the first place. And by simply tucking it into the massive wrap around his body she was able to secure it. It was interesting to watch and indeed he would be using this method himself sometime. Not on himself hopefully but on someone else who was in need. Seaweed was plentiful here; this made him wonder why he hadn’t seen this method used yet. But perhaps bandages were better than simple seaweed. He couldn’t be sure. He was used to using ripped up pieces of cloth for wrappings before he came here. She was avoiding eye contact. People usually didn’t do that unless they were ashamed of something. He wondered just what she had to be ashamed of. He had just met her; sure she had been watching him for a little while now. But he didn’t care. It was a beach after all people could come and go as they pleased. And well if he became a spectacle he didn’t much care one way or another. But what struck him as really odd was that she trailed a few fingers on his scarring. Was that what was causing her so much turmoil? He wasn’t bothered or really offended by her touching him, he merely found it curious. Then her actions afterward bothered him. Was there something wrong with her? Did seeing and touching his scars really cause her that much trouble? Only one other had ever laid hands on his scars like she had, but the results were a little different. She sat down and began painting. So she was a painter as well. He merely stood there a dagger in his hands while he felt its weight. He tinkered around with it in his hands while he watched her. She seemed distant and hurt in a way. He wasn’t sure what was going on with her right now but he knew that he somehow had a hand in it. Which made him somewhat responsible in his way of looking at it. He watched her make some motions in her small painting book. He wasn’t close enough to see what she was painting. But he knew by the way she looked over every now and then that he was likely again the subject matter of another fine work of art. He didn’t want to intrude because he knew an artist’s art was something very personal to them. So he wouldn’t intrude, and in her state he wasn’t sure if looking at her art would cause some sort of mental breakdown or something. Or cause her to run away from him entirely. And he wasn’t here to make enemies. He then saw her start to cry. She was trying to hold it back he could tell. But she was crying while painting. What was she painting? She pricked his interest but again he didn’t want to intrude. She then closed her book and stashed it; just as he was about to gain up enough courage to walk over and ask her what she was painting. It figured he would be a little late in his mind. She then pulled her tail up to her chest and began openly weeping. He was now extremely curious. What was going on with her. The only other woman of her kind he had ever seen was at the slave camp. She was constantly depressed as well. But she had good reason to. Especially after the slavers forcefully removed her wings and sold them as some prize or something like that. The woman was never the same after that day. No; she cried every day almost non-stop. What happened next….he didn’t like to dread on that he could actually feel his own spirits drop as he thought on the subject. He pushed the thought away and then approached her sheathing the dagger at his side. “Why are you so upset? The bandage job you did is actually quite impressive. I haven’t seen any of the healers at the Temple use this method yet. I plan on using it a little myself.” He tried to soften the blow by opening himself up a little to her, letting her know a little about him. And also diverting her away from whatever reason she had found to cause her this much dismay.

[Gemtana]

Gemtana's sobs grew stronger as she envisioned herself in something unthinkable. She saw the man on his knees in the sand, her whip raised. She saw herself a dark smile on her face, as she brought the whip down. The cord snapped through the air, and splayed open a gash on his chest. She brought it back down over and over until all of his actual scars appeared as open wounds. Wounds she made, and enjoyed making. She continued sobbing. Why would she do that? Why would anyone do that? Her elbow touched Serrif's leg, and she startled. Her eyes trailed up his legs to his chest, seeing that his scars were still closed. Her mood lifted somewhat. He had still been injured, but now knew it wasn't her that did it. Her pink hued wings fluttered a bit, lifting her up so her eyes looked into his. She didn't tell him she had just the day before joined the healers as well. She wanted to see his surprised face, maybe paint that too. "Don't mind me, I'm uh... A bit different..." She, despite the fact that tears still adorned her cheeks, and choked her eyes, she placed a single, light kiss on his cheek. It was more of a thank you than anything romantic. She pulled out her notebook, opened to his page. She looked at it proudly, nearly beaming, as she turned it around and showed it to Serrif. She watched his features, ready to gauge a reaction. She hoped he liked his portrait. "So you're a healer? Sounds... Noble. What's it like in the Temple?" she asked innocently, or feigning so.

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

He still couldn’t understand why she was crying so hard. What was going on in her mind that she was this disturbed. He hadn’t said anything that could cause this in his mind…had he? He didn’t know for sure but he was sure he hadn’t said anything or really done anything that could cause these kind of outbursts from her. He was still a little confused. And honestly he was a little disturbed in a way. What was going through her mind? He wanted to know, but did he really? He wasn’t completely sure but he did know she was obviously disturbed about something. He hadn’t had much interaction with her race. All he had to base her off of was the one of her kind he had seen the seen the slavers brutalize. She constantly cried, never stopped…He could always hear her whimper even when she slept. He never saw them kill her, but he wasn’t sure if she was still alive or not. Especially after they cut off her wings… He felt her elbow touch him gently. She startled and well he felt that emotion as well. She gently trailed her eyes up his body and then she fluttered up so she could get eye level with him. A bit different? Is that all she had to say about what had just happened? Different?! He was confused and her explanation of what had just happened didn’t make the confusion on his face go away. She kissed his cheek lightly and this only made it all a little more confusing. He didn’t know what would throw someone into an emotional frenzy like that. But he was sure it had to be deep rooted. It had to be. Another artist he said in his mind as she showed him her notebook. “I seem to meet all kinds of artists here in Mura; especially on the beach.” He smiled and looked at her picture. She had captured him well. The details were all there; he always wondered how one became any good at art. He wasn’t any good at it himself. But he was sure it required a kind of skill set that he just couldn’t develop for some reason. He didn’t feel a need to either. He had much more pressing skill sets that he felt he needed to sharpen. Like his skills with the mortar. “I am working under the care of a healer right now. I am not a healer until I get my first mark from the goddess herself. I enjoy the temple, it’s quiet in the right places and there is a great amount of good going on there. They help everyone.”

[Archelon]

oocWith approval from goss to help grade serrif's threads Thread Award "A flying turtle is here to help." And the Results!!!!: Serrif : Unarmed Combat 1 Weapon:Suvai 2 to start you off Observation 1 Seduction 1 *_* You just can't help it? Can you? Socialization 1 Trying to calm a distraught aktavari Lores: The look of an Aktavari(basic) Aktavari: why do they cry? Gemtana : Swimming 1 hunting 1 observation 1 Stealth 1 Drawing 1 Medicine 1 Lores: Seriff has scars Would you like some extra turtle sauce ? : Shame this ended so soon. Hope Gemtana comes back sometime