To Be or Not To Be...Benshira (Azar)

[Abashai]

TS: 66th Day of Winter, 509 AV
Location: Syliras
Tag: Azar


The bank of ominous gray clouds that had loomed over Syliras had been driven in by a brisk wind from the sea, threatening the city with a winter rain. Abashai moved along its streets with some purpose. He and Nya had enjoyed several days and nights alone together in the cave home after sharing their marriage vows. The couple had reveled in each other, allowing themselves a few days of bliss, ignorant of the rest of the world.. But as Nya revealed more of the task that Zulrav had laid upon her, he sensed her urgency to begin the search. Abashai had made a commitment to Nya not only to be her lifelong mate, but to espouse her daunting quest as his own, and Abashai had learned how much it truly weighed upon his mate's spirit.

Abashai's destination this day was the Ironworks. If he and Nya were going to end up traveling far, there were some preparations he wanted to make. His khopesh had suffered some nicks from its recent use, and he desired for someone of skill to mend the desert sword's blade and hone its edge. He also considered examining some armor as well. So, with the sickle-sword thrust through his belt, the benshiran strode through the streets, watching the skies as the clouds blew in.


Passing through the crowd, a familiar face caught Abashai's attention. It was a pair of eyes, actually. Dark-lined and bright blue, as crystalline in appearance as his own, set against honey-tan skin. He had seen the woman at the fire festival, catching his attention there as well. There was something very...Benshira about her. He was certain in fact she had the blood, though her dress and cut of hair denied any desert heritage. If the young woman was Benshira, he would like to speak with her. After all, at least for now, he still represented his people on the Cultural Council.

Abashai altered his course, turning around and picking up his pace to catch up with her. Coming up beside the unsuspecting girl, several paces away so he would not startle her, he turned to look at her as he matched her pace. He had an idea. "Falim, my name is Abashai, I saw you at the fire festival." He spoke in his native Shiber.

[Azar]

Azar was on her way out of the city. She’d been cooped up in a tavern all day, hiding from the gloomy sky. It had started with an itch, a little pesky annoyance pricking on her arm. The itch grew and transformed into a restlessness that forced her limps into motion. She’d begun pacing her quarters and grinding her teeth. As the hours progressed, Azar felt fear for her sanity; the transaction from rural wanderings to urban life was beginning to take a toll. So, rain or shine, Azar decided she needed some fresh air and a view of nature.

The woman was dressed in her norms: a white blouse and a brown bodice, as well as loose leather pants. Her left arm, like always, was bandaged from palm to elbow in fresh, clean linen. There was a small hunting knife clasped to her belt, but that was the extent of visible weapons.

She surged through the street, racing the weather; trying to get some treetop coverage before the rain hit. Azar suddenly stopped and half turned back towards the tavern. She’d forgotten all about her horse. The guilt settled keenly in her stomach, twisting it into a knot with a fiery poker.

Desert Rose must be worse off than I am.

Azar started to push her way back, to retrieve her companion so that both of them could have some relief. But then she recollected that Rose hated rain, she was a desert horse after all, and would unlikely enjoy anytime spent outdoors in weather such as this. Azar slowed and once again redirected herself. This time she detoured down a larger street.

As she walked in the direction of the main gates Azar glanced, out of the corner of her eye, the Benshiran man from the Firefestival. She forced her eyes straight and her expression mundane. Azar made her pace steady and casual, if he wanted to talk to her; fine, she could always deny desert relations. If he didn’t notice her; better then fine.

So focused Azar was, on looking directly in front of her, that she didn’t notice Abashai until he spoke from beside her. She started slightly and didn’t entirely register that he had spoken in Shiber. She opened her mouth, replying, “Hello,” in her native language before her mind caught up to her mistake. Azar’s mouth snapped closed and she briefly looked away; so much for denying Benshiran blood.

“I saw you there too.” She answered, in Common Mizaharian and glanced back to him, “I’m Azar”. There was barely a hint of an accent in her voice; she’d practiced hard.

Azar kept up her gait as they traveled down the street.

[Abashai]

Azar's curt response was not the congenial Benshiran welcome Abashai had expected. He noted her first reaction was a Shiber greeting, but her demeanor indicated she was not particularly pleased to meet him. Strange too was her transition to Common, which was nearly void of a desert accent.

As Abashai matched Azar's brisk pace, he found himself feeling a bit awkward. For a moment he considered stuttering a blithe pleasantry and turning about, leaving the benshiran woman to her business. But he was always curious about benshirans in Syliras, anxious to hear what news they may have from Eyktol, the interesting tale of their journey north, the reason why they came to the city. But his people could be stubborn, perhaps Azar was just uninterested.

He continued, this time in his thickly accented Common. " I do not mean to be rude. It's just that, well, I noticed you were alone at the festival, as you are now. I represent the Benshira in Syliras on the city's Cultural Council. I am also responsible for aiding newly arrived benshirans get settled in, helping them in whatever way I can." As Abashai spoke, he looked at Azar, to read her response, only occasionally glancing up to ensure he didn't run into anyone or anything at their quick gait.

"I just believed you were Benshira, though I can see you have embraced the culture of the North." Abashai's comment was bold, but delivered in a matter-of-fact tone, without judgement. "I wanted to introduce myself, let you know I am here if you need anything, even if its just a willing ear."

[Azar]

Azar slowed her pace and turned to regard Abashai. An odd feeling had descended on her, much like the one she had experienced at the Fire Festival; she missed her siblings. Her expression momentarily shadowed but she resurfaced it quickly and said, “I usually don’t like being associated with anything Benshiran, I left Eyktol a long time ago.”

She scratched the back of her neck as she considered if she should walk away or continue speaking to him. After a momentary pause, she did, “I hadn’t heard about the Culture Council. It sounds like a good organization though; it can be overwhelming in a new place.” Azar was slightly uncomfortable but the feeling started to fade; human interaction was normal, socialization was fun. She had just needed a little reminder.

“It’s not so much that I’ve embraced the culture,” she said, defensively, “It’s just that it suits me better.” Azar chewed lightly on the inside of her cheek, “I was on my way outside the gates, and you were obviously going somewhere . . . but if you’re genuine about being a ‘willing ear’, I wouldn’t mind swapping desert stories. Doesn't have to be right now, though.”

[Abashai]

Abashai was pleased when the woman eased her gait and turned to speak to him, though his heart sunk as he listened to her words. For a benshiran to want to deny being Benshira, a proud and tight-knit society, was disconcerting. Abashai himself had softened on some of the more rigid traditions of his people, seemingly unnecessary while living in Syliria, but he could never totally turn away from them. But he has also met a lot of people since he left the desert. Sometimes people have good reasons for what may seem unreasonable. He would give Azar the same benefit of doubt.

As the two of them continued through the streets, Abashai observed her more closely. The older benshiran did not miss the subtle irked expression that crossed Azar's tanned face when he introduced himself, but the woman's expression softened slightly as they spoke. She surely had some interesting stories that brought her so far from the desert, and alone too.

Abashai flashed a wide smile, "I have time." He knew Nya was working on her Reimancy. They had been practicing together, but he knew his growling frustration distracted her, so he reluctantly allowed his mate some time alone. "I am always looking for an excuse to get out of the city anyway." He placed his hand on the hilt of his khopesh, trying to keep the blade from striking people as they made their way out of the city.

[Azar]

Azar was quiet for a moment, thinking of her siblings; wondering how they were. She shrugged her shoulders, dismissing them for now. She’d have plenty of time to think about them later. She managed to laugh, “I haven’t been in Syliras long, but I also make excuses to leave. Although I’m not too fond of forests, they do when I need a break. I just wish I could include my horse; all of this confinement is probably killing her and it makes me guilty. She's a desertbred.” Azar glanced towards the gates, “Where do you suppose we should go? We could just wander the road, but a while ago, in the Bronze Woods, I ran into a man who had been attacked by bandits, so I’m not sure if that’s safe.” She noticed Abashai’s khopesh, “A weapon like that would scare away most bandits, though.” She smiled.

She considered her next question, “You seem to be pretty successful here, if it’s not too personal, why did you leave Eyktol?” Azar thought back on her own reasons for leaving and wondered if she would share them if he asked. She'd told only one other person. Azar turned slightly to look him over; so far he had seemed genuine and his appearance didn't contradict that. Maybe she would tell him, just leave out a few details.

[Abashai]

At the mention of Azar's horse, Abashai's replied in a sympathetic tone. "I have a Desertbred too, a mare named Sus. She had never been stalled until I came to Syliras. But we are not here all the time, and when we are, I take her out as much as I can. Maybe we could take our mounts for a good run sometime."

As the two Benshira passed through the gates, Abashai nodded to the guards, both men he had become acquainted with over the past couple seasons. Glancing over at Azar, he continued. "I too was uncomfortable at first in the forest, so different from the open desert or the grasslands, but now I enjoy being in the woods. My mate and I actually live in the Bronze Woods."

Abashai glared up at the gray blanket of clouds overhead, their darkening underside threatening to release a torrent. He did not like winter rain. It chilled all the way to the bone. " Why don't we head up the road just a ways, I think we will be safe this close to the city." Though Nya's territory deep within the woods was kept well patrolled by the Talderian Forest Cat, the Kabrin Road was only sporadically guarded by the Sylirian Knights. He had heard of the occasional brigand attack, but had never encountered any himself.

At Azar's remark regarding his sword, the desert warrior laughed. "I would hope it would deter bandits, but I have found others who were not so intimidated." Then, turning onto the wide northern road, he continued to answer the woman's question. He thoguth it was fair to ask the reason for leaving his people. It was a question he usually asked new Benshira in Syliras, and one he had already planned to pose to Azar. The woman had already opened the door. He was also tempted to ask about the bandage wrapped around her arm and hand.

Abashai took a moment to carefully consider his words. He gave the young benshiran a sidelong glance as he spoke. "I left the desert over two years ago. I had been a wanderer. I...was not part of a Tent, really, so I would travel between gatherings of Tents. Everything I owned was lost in a sudden,severe sandstorm, all but my father's Pentias scrolls. A wise Rapa convinced me it was a sign from Yahal that I was to leave the desert. To go on a sort of journey to learn to trust in our God and find my purpose." His eyes darted towards Azar, trying to gauge her reaction, wondering if she found the story...unusual. "My journey brought me to Syliras, and here I have been for two seasons."

Abashai was patient when it came to conversations. Though he wanted to inquire of the curious woman's own path north, he paused as they turned onto the wide road toward the forest. He would afford her the opportunity to ask more questions if she desired. Once very secretive about his past, he now was more comfortable sharing with select individuals, thanks to Nya. He was beginning to sense that Azar could be one of those individuals.

[Azar]

“Oh, too bad they are both females, we could have had a chance in mating them,” she laughed, “I’ve heard that Eyktol horses sell for good money, although, ironically only outside of Eyktol.” She smiled at the guardsmen when they passed and wondered if one of them was the one who had pointed her in the right direction upon her arrival. It had been the first time she had ever tipped someone. After a moment of silence at his invitation she nodded, “Yeah, my horse would like that.”

Being back on the road was making her feel a little shifty. The sight of the massacre had not fazed her too dreadfully when she had first stumbled upon it, but that night and nearly every other since had plagued her with gory dreams. Azar did not fight with a blade, and she regretted that she had forgotten to wear her leather armor and vambraces, “Let us hope we do not cross paths with people not easily intimidate then.”

She lifted her face to the breeze, and for once, the overcast weather contented her. It was nice to feel a chill on her neck, to shiver. Apposed to the hot weather of her past, and her preference, the cool wind refreshed her mind and shocked it into working properly.

When she heard how long it had been since he left Eyktol, Azar nearly froze in place; the chilly air could not sort out her thoughts now. Only two years? “I would have thought longer,” she mumbled. Her mind whirled, only two? He seemed so integrated and so much more at ease than she felt in Syliras. “I left when I was fourteen, about six years ago.” Suddenly admitting to the time she had been away made her gut feel heavy and sick. She tried to think of things she had accomplished during the years, and came up empty. She had truly done nothing but travel and steal.

Azar pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling slightly dizzy. It wasn’t right; the way she had been living. “We were opposite then, I came from a very large family, but still the same, I guess. You started off as a wanderer, and that seems to be what I’ve become.” Azar stopped walking and chose to lean against a tree for the remainder of her speech. She would tell him a summary of her history without his initial asking, for maybe then he wouldn’t ask questions she’d have a hard time answering.

“I had eleven brothers and sisters,” she laughed, “I was stuck in the middle with my sister Natula.” Azar paused, the heavy feeling deepening, “Natula was more than just my sister, and she was also my twin, though we were not identical. She was a close friend.” Her face turned sober.

“I traveled north to Cyphrus; spent a lot of time there actually. It took me a long time to get there, though. I had been near Yahebah when I left. Eventually I dipped towards Falyndor, but I didn’t get very far inland. Frankly, the country scares me. About a year ago I arrived in Sylira but stayed around the eastern bay there, I can’t quite recall its name. Only recently I’ve found myself in the capital.” She pushed herself away from the tree, “That about covers me. Yours is much more interesting. I’ve never spoken to a Rapa, nor have I received any signs from Yahal,” Azar shifter her gaze away from his, "Or any other God for that matter." Better safe than sorry. "What was it like?" She might as well keep the subject bounced at him.

[Abashai]

The benshiran man was amazed to learn that Azar left her family at such a young age. The world was a dangerous place, especially the desert. He could not imagine what she must have experienced to force such a desperate action. Abashai thought of Zaira, his beshiran friend who too left her family after the death of her betrothed. No doubt, whatever Azar went through contributed to her present denial of all things Benshira. The fact that she had survived was a testament to her resourcefulness, or that some god watched over her.

Abashai paused with Azar as she hesitated and moved to lean against a large tree. She suddenly did not appear to feel well. He noticed again the bandage and began to inquire about it when the girl began to speak again. Azar's tale of her journey fascinated Abashai even further. How had she made it? Did she travel alone? What dangers did she face? He had so many questions. The woman who appeared so unassuming surely had quite a number of interesting experiences under her belt for one so young.

The desert man saw Azar's brightness dim at the mention of her sister. Twins were usually very close, Abashai knew, and to be apart from her twin sister must be difficult for Azar.

Though Abashai had many questions, Azar had managed quite well to control the conversation, steer the dialogue in accordance with her comfort. Abashai smiled. Indeed, Azar was quite a clever girl, surely a trait that helped her get this far alive.

The question the young woman posed to Abashai was more personal, catching him a bit off guard. He took a moment to consider his answer, his hand absent-mindedly caressing the pommel of the khopesh at his side as he studied the dirt at his feet. Abashai had had his share of encounters with the divine, perceived the influence of gods upon his life. He wondered if all mortals were as much a pawn in the hand of the dieties as he and Nya were. The benshiran did not regret the manipulation of his life. He had been blessed in many ways. But he knew also there would be much demanded of the bondmates as well. Finally he looked back at the blue-eyed girl and replied.

"I do not actually 'hear' from Yahal. It is more like an affirmation I feel in my heart. But I did speak with him, in a way. Shortly after I started my journey, I came to the Redstone Cliffs. There I met a man who had recently lost his wife and all he had, I am not even sure how. But three tsanas had taken up at the ruins of his tent. He was desperate to retreive the remains of his wife, to give her a proper burial. I promised to help him. I slew two of the savage beasts that day." His eyes seemed to disengage from Azar's gaze, losing focus as his mind's eye watched a vision from the past.

"After the battle, a messenger of Yahal came to me, as a man who face was hidden by a cowl. He simply told me that 'faith is believing not that Yahal exists, but that Yahal is good.' Then, because of my faithfulness, I recieved these." He raised his hands, palms out, towards Azar. In each palm was what appeared to be a tattoo of a Shiber chareacter, the first character in the word 'Yahal'. His voice dropped, a tone of humility lined his next words. "That day I became one marked by the Holy One."