Sea Watchers (-Open-)

[Ishara Dossari]

As Serriff's body was tucked against hers, Ishara narrowed her eyes in concentration. She was not accustomed to such...intimacy. Even her interactions with the man she was to marry had been chaperoned, and as a result there had only been the exchange of the briefest of embraces. Feeling this man's body up against hers, Ishara was uneasy. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to channel her jangling nerves in a more positive direction...the task at hand. She listened carefully, adjusting her stance and gripping his left arm exactly as he'd directed. The action only reaffirmed her handicap, as her fingers were not even able to close fully about his arm. Her grip was still steady, though. Firm. Almost desperate in her desire to prove herself. He settled his weight atop her shoulder, and Ishara's legs strained against the burden. She leaned forward to test the waters of this maneuver. He was heavy, of course...but the angle at which they were positioned seemed to help a great deal. She nodded as his breath stirred the hair against her cheek, and captured her lower lip between her teeth, steeling herself... "Go Ahead." Ishara readjusted her grip, conscious of holding him in the spot he indicated, and hoping she wouldn't do him any damage. Her legs gathered beneath her, and she lunged forward, backing the maneuver with everything she had as she strived to pitch Serriff over her shoulder and into the snow at her feet. "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

“You can do this.” He said one more time as he then felt her readjust her grip and ready herself to throw him. She was far stronger than he gave her credit for.

He could feel her gage his weight carefully. Just as she should, he didn’t mind being thrown around a little. He remembered the first time Mistress Val’mera had thrown him. He hadn’t expected it at all, especially from the fragile looking Konti. But she had done him in. They had been practicing with daggers. ‘Focus Serrif, watch your opponent carefully’ But it only took a second of inattentiveness and she had him on her back and only a blink later on the ground. It was a rude awakening but knowing you were going to get thrown was far more pleasant in his mind.

And suddenly he felt her body tighten up, and his legs lifted from the ground. This was it, she was going to throw him. Her concentration and determination helped her a great deal. He was heavier than she was. But proportionally it was nothing compared to how much he outweighed Val’Mera. That Konti couldn’t weight more than a hundred pounds when wet. This woman was in the same position; trying to throw a much larger man over her body. He felt himself roll easily over her body and then there was nothing under him; he would meet the snow…only the snow was hiding something for him…

Winter held many surprises, especially with the storms that had blown through. It was harboring a hidden dagger meant especially for Serrif it would seem. As Ishara threw Serrif to the ground his body met the soft snow; as well as the hidden pointed rock below. He crashed easily through the surface of the snow it was almost a comforting feeling as the snow in this slightly shaded area was slightly thicker than most. There was no way for either of them to predict this, but a sudden sharp pang of pain shot through his body he knew he had hit something that was not snow. He closed his eyes some on impact and gritted his teeth a little. Well…he should’ve checked the area before the woman threw him onto the ground. A lesson well learned.

He leaned forward and nodded. “Well done, and if you throw your enemy onto something you can even kill them.” He said making play of the current situation; even though he felt a decent amount of pain right now.

As he leaned forward she would see that he had landed on a rock. Yes it was sharp but thankfully she hadn’t thrown him onto it with a ton of force; because if she had it likely would’ve impaled in his back. At the very least he had a very vicious bruise on his back from the rock itself. He sighed some and felt the pain…he wasn’t bleeding. No it was more of a dull pain in his lower back. He nodded, the pain was indeed his to have. Now…what to do about it.

“Don’t worry,” He said heading off any statements of apology. “it happens…now to undo it.” He said as he exhaled slowly feeling every pang of the pain slowly. Yes, time to undo it.

He rolled his right arm over some so that his underarm was exposed to the sun. Gently he touched his arm with his left hand and focused. Deeply focused pushing the pain away from his body and channeling warmth, grace…Rak’keli’s grace to fill his body and pour over his wound. Rak’keli’s mark shimmered in opalescent light that she could even see underneath his white bodysuit that clung to his body. She would then see a slight glow where she would have guessed the rock had hit him…what was happening?

He nodded and then brought the focus away. And as he opened his eyes he smiled. “There we go…” He stood and stretched his back out some. “good as new.” This would likely generate some questions.

[Ishara Dossari]

The landing was not at all what she expected. A moment of elation at her succes was quelled by the grunt of pain and tightening expression that worked over Serriff's features. His body twisted in discomfort, and it dawned on Ishara that she had thrown him directly atop some hidden object in the snow. So much for graciously accepting lessons in self-defense...She was going to be fortunate if he so much as tolerated her after this! "Oh! Curse it, are you alright?" His next words mortified her, but she was too concerned to pay any attention to the blush stinging her cheeks. She could have killed him, he could have died...She knelt by him, brows knitting together in distress, "is there some one I can call for, er--" she glanced briefly at his horse, "or--or retrieve, or maybe we can get you..." Ishara trailed off as Serriff reached around to where he'd been struck. "Oh, you probably should not move much--" She blinked in surprise. As his hand worked over the area he'd been struck, his breathing stilled, and an eerie sense of quiet overcame him. Then, he began to...glow...Ishara swallowed and scooted back a pace or two across the snow, unaware of the cold snow stinging her fingers and palms as she scrabbled backwards. When Serriff stood and stretched, proclaiming he was 'good as new,' Ishara notched a skeptical brow up at him. "What...did you just do?" she murmured quietly, not even flinching when Raj trotted up to butt her affectionately with his narrow muzzle. "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

He was glad to see that she was so happy at her accomplishment; even if it did put him in a momentary place of discomfort. She fell to his side and spoke with him, obviously worried. But she didn’t need to be. She had plenty of reason to be even if she didn’t know who he was…what he was or who he was marked by. It took a clear concentration to use Rak’keli’s gift, but he was pretty calm under pressure and pain. Something that he judged by her expression she had never seen before now. He was used to Mura where all the women were marked by Rak’keli or Avalis. Even in the sanctuary most if not all the staff were marked by Rak’keli. But this woman…she had never seen this before. Which explained her reaction quite well.

”I have a gift Ishara. While in Mura I met and was touched by Rak’keli, goddess of healing and compassion.She touched me literally and marked me as one of her sworn healers. And now by her gift I can heal, literally heal wounds. Not all wounds but small things like that jolt on the rock…bruising…rashes…I can even reduce the appearance of some scars. Even cleanse deep wounds.” That wasn’t much of an explanation so he figured there were indeed times that visual stimulation was worth far more than words. Something his time at the Sanctuary had taught him…seeing was believing.

So just like that he continued talking to her gently, not angry at all…why wasn’t he angry? It was puzzling almost how composed he was with her. “I’ll show you Ishara, but only if you wish to see my mark.” It was almost like a sweet gentle challenge to her.

It would certainly give her a better idea of who this man was…what his man was. A healer but that was only the start of a very long story. Just the latest chapter in his walk. He was a healer now but he hadn’t always been one. No, he had been other things. Many other things that would seem to lead one away from being a healer, helper, or a man of medicine. All of which he was. But how could she know? How much did she wish to know about this seemingly interesting stranger who had happened upon her in this open grassland? He was odd, but his words were cool, calm, serene…pleasing even. He wasn’t angry with her, no; he rather seemed to enjoy her presence.

He reached down his somewhat fortified right arm and offered her a hand up. She could see where the mark had been when it was glowing. But she couldn’t even see a hint of it now underneath the layered clothing he wore. Had it really pricked her curiosity? He was willing to show her the mark, and more. He would help her up and she would then feel the strength this man possessed. Easily and evenly pulling her to her feet. At that moment she would be standing only a foot away from him his emerald depths looking down to her inquiring just how much she wished to know…really.

[Ishara Dossari]

Ishara gazed up at Serriff a long, thoughtful moment, hesitating. He'd been touched by a goddess? It was an amazing gift he described, one she faintly recalled hearing of in stories that traders brought back with them to the camps of her people. But that was all she had ever dismissed them as...stories. Never did she think to see one of these marked healers right before her, nor did she ever expect to witness the gift he described. His hand shot out, derailing her train of thought, and she took it without really thinking. He brought her up fast and easily, outweighing her in size and strength, and as he did so she lurched forward a step...and blinked as she was eye-level with his chest. Her gaze crept up, and her mouth went dry. Suddenly, all she could think of was Abyar. His eyes, his hair, his face, his hands, the smell of him, his voice...it all swam before her and she blinked as Serriff went blurry. She cleared the thickness from her throat and took a reeling step back, tugging her hand free of his. "I..." her arms wrapped around herself, as though protecting herself from some blow she could not see but felt deep within, and she nodded, her eyes tracing the shapes in the snow where they had both landed. "I would not wish to offend you, but I am...curious. I had heard stories, but..." her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, and the grief slid partially away as she forced a smile, meeting his eyes once again, "it is a surprise to find they are no longer just stories." "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

His mind prepared for what he was to tell her. Forming a timeline piece by piece. To understand the current one had to first understand the past as well. The story of him being touched by Rak’keli would make no sense if she didn’t understand the setting. Nor would it make sense unless she understood who he was…where he had come from. She was curious indeed, he could see it in her eyes. Even in the tone of voice she had with him. Was his mark and his gift really a thing of stories for her? He hadn’t considered that healers were rare outside Mura. While on the White Isle he was unique because he was male, but similar because of the mark he wore on his right arm.

He was glad she was curious, intrigued even so he posed her a simple question. One that passed his lips easily and seemed to drift gently to her ear enticing her.
"Do you really do wish to know?" A simple question.

“Tell me Ishara.” He said gently as he looked into her glacial eyes. “one must understand the past to understand the present, so would you like to hear my story? Maybe he wanted to tell her because she was truly curious about him. Or it could be because she was human, and seemed to treat him with a sense of respect and dignity instead of insults and belittlement.

He had no idea what her culture thought of stories, not how they related to people. But he could guess that she had heard a great many stories in her lifetime. But never had she heard a story like his, one that detailed a Goddesses true purpose and sense of compassion. He had quite the story to tell. And as of yet none else had truly heard it for what it was. He didn’t know how she would judge him for it. But this heavy truth had been sticking with him for some time now. All he wanted to do was share it; and let it stand on it’s own; which it could surely do. He was greater than the sum of his past names, his past lives, and his past actions. But they did help define him; almost like a candle helps navigate a pitch black cave. It can illuminate but only so much.

[Ishara Dossari]

His story... Ishara has the feeling that something much deeper was at play here. Among her people, stories were sacred, stories carried legends and lessons and learning, stories were to be treasured and passed along with great care in the telling. Here this man was wishing to share his with her. A frigid wind kicked up, tugging at the thick clothing they wore, sending flurries of late winter snow pooling around their feet. Ishara glanced up at the clandestine sky, sucking in a deep breath and trembling despite her layered garments. This was not a place to lay bare the telling of one's truth self. "How about..." Ishara's glacial eyes, as cool as the post-winter landscape surrounding them, swept back to Serriff, "how about we turn back to the city, and find a nice spot with a mug of warm tea?" Her smile wavered, caught between reassurring and cautious, and one graceful brow lifted in inquiry. She wished to hear this man's story, but she felt the telling deserved a setting appropriate for it. Somewhere safe. Somewhere they could both be a little more at ease. Somewhere not in the midst of biting cold and chilly winds. "Then I would hear your story, Serriff. Whatever it is that you wish to tell, I would hear it." "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

OOC: I mentioned in my prev. post that Isha had tugged her hand free, so I wasn't sure what to acknowledge of his gift? I figured ending this thread here, after your next post, we could open a new one in Riverfall for the telling...how does that sound? Great writing with you, as always.

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

NoteAh missed that little detail edited my post to fit, alright then we can end this one here and start another. Maybe one more post each after this one or something? Then we can sit down in some civilized warm place for a meal and a drink. On another note I like the new picture, but I liked the old one too ^_^. I’m a little torn.

She wanted to know. With a nod he acknowledged her request to move somewhere else. It was chilly here, especially with the wind whipping the heat away from their bodies like it was. He nodded to her request, but out here it was just them, in the city there would be others…others would listen. But out here it was just them. He weighed it all in his mind and decided that he may not be able to show her everything he wanted to, but he could show her enough. The last person who knew it all…left him. Even though she said she wouldn’t, even though she swore she would never leave his side. She had even bought him a bow, paid for half of it. So he still carried it like a memoir of her. It weighed heavy on his heart, but he learned an important lesson…Never love a Konti. She would see a small bit of sorrow cross his face but only for a moment…she would likely know what that meant…he was remembering something.

He nodded and then came back to her here, his thoughts transferring back to now. “That would be good, it is rather chilly here.” But he was used to far worse, thoughts flooded again and he anchored his attention for a moment in her eyes.

Those glacial pools like water in the desert. He remembered reading that somewhere…he didn’t know where. He had read plenty of books in the library in Mura. And those words were more than accurate, they reminded her of water. Just like the endless water that stretched out before him in Mura on the beach. He could almost hear the rolling of the waves as he nodded to her. Again indicating he approved of her idea.

“Yes, let’s get out of this weather.” It would be a quick ride into town if she wouldn’t mind riding in the saddle with him. But he didn’t know how she felt about personal space. Especially between opposing sexes. He didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings between them; not this early into them meeting each other.

“Do you want to ride or walk in?” He asked leaving the ultimate decision up to her on the matter. He didn’t much care either way. Truth be he didn’t really mind the cool weather either. But, good company and a good meal would be more than welcome.

[Ishara Dossari]

It was brief, but Ishara thought she caught that flicker of...pain? Regret? Sorrow? Uncertainty swallowed up any questions she might pose, and she held her tongue. Ishara would have to know of him better before she could label such emotions as they made a pass across his features, quickly swallowed by his self-control. Glancing from the white horse and back to Serriff, Ishara nodded her ascent. It had been ages since she was astride the back of a horse, and though it reawakened pangs of home sickness, she considered it a welcome reminder of the days joyfully spent astride one of her brother's desert horses, racing across the sand. Though not as skilled or knowledgeable as her brothers, she could ride better than most of her friends, and shared their love for the sand-bred equines of her homeland. "I would appreciate a ride in, Serriff, if you're offering." A long whistle pierced the air, calling to heel the graceful sighthound that sprang from the tousled grass, his plumed tail streaming like a banner behind him.

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

There were many things he could not even begin to know about her. But given time one could find out all kinds of things about someone; and if you watched closely enough certain things gave themselves away. Body language told things that simple words could not; would not. When people tried to hide things, their bodies betrayed them; giving tells, signs, and dropping hints to what was really going on. Her eyes grew distant and for a second her face said it all…Something about horses called back very strong memories to her. He didn’t know why this was so only that it was.

He couldn’t begin to imagine the feelings that a simple white Frostmarch caused her. He didn’t know her; but again her body…her emotions gave her away some. It was a craft he was trying to perfect more and more but it was sometimes very difficult to notice the small things. Especially since she was from another culture and such things were different from people to people. He couldn’t quite read her correctly; but all he knew was horses were a strong memory. One he was glad to help her live if it brought her any joy at all.

“I am.” He walked over to Hasmere and took his winter cloak from the saddlebag. He would need it for the ride in if the wind was to continue on like this.

He settled himself back in the saddle leaving room in front of him for her to settle in. He leaned over some and offered her his hand to help her up along with a smile.

“Come now, guide Hasmere into the city. I have a feeling you know how to ride.” Yes he had been paying attention, and from what little he could glean she knew something about horses…maybe even more than he knew.

For having worked at the Sanctuary for so long he still only understood the rudimentary things about riding. Ishara however seemed to have an affinity for horses. Or at the very least horses seemed to be a very powerful memory for her. Maybe she worked with horses back home, or enjoyed taking long rides across the sunset. He couldn’t be sure. But if she came into the saddle she would notice something very interesting. Hasmere navigated snow like her sand-bred horses handled sand.

Hasmere loved snow, and handled through it almost like it wasn’t even there at all. Where many horses would stumble almost clumsily through the ice and snow Hasmere merely marched. His every movement smooth and graceful especially at the hands of a skilled rider…which Serrif was not, but Ishara…well she would know how to handle a horse.

For stability Serrif reached around and gripped the saddlehorn with one hand while holding his bow in the other. He wasn’t sure how well the woman would be able to handle the horse. But he was optimistic. She now held the reins to Hasmere squarely in her hands. What she decided to do was up to her now.