[Drykas Camp] Language Barrier (Denen)

[Oluse]

Spring 26 512

Oluse's days at the clinic has been getting progressively longer and longer with each passing day, as the group crept toward their departure date. It had become painful to go in, especially during the days. But, finally, a day off had come, and he could go meet Denen. He wasn't sure what sort of Drykas Denen would be, a Ronan liek Drykas, or a Sama'el like Drykas. Honestly, he wasn't sure which he preferred. Ronan was kind, yet firm, Sama'el was. Well he was just confusing. What sort of request was it to consider a men you had just met a father, and another a brother. The whole concept still rolled about in his mind, revealing nothing but continuations of horribly confusing enigmas.

Oluse smiled, and decided he wished Denen to be a Ronan like Drykas. In careful swing beside him swung a small wooden kit of herbal concoctions, sprigs and powders he had bought before the storm, as well as a few samples he had picked up from the clinic. He was more tan prepared to share his knowledge with his new companion. Or was Denen to be another family member? He hoped his family wouldn't grow too much more, it had gotten to the point where he was officially better at making new family members than friends.

A quick bout of questions around the tiny camp pointed him toward Denen, tending to his mount. Durno looked tamer than some of the other striders Oluse had spotted, but still he couldn't help but be caught off by the stature of the animal. Somehow Striders seemed different than the horses in the stabled, leading Oluse down a long thought process that left him a bit unprepared when he finally walked close enough to Denen to draw attention. Instead of saying anything he simply came to a stop, case firmly in palm, and looked at the horse silently, a look a receptive contemplation on his face.

[Denen Sunsinger]

It was probably safe to say that Denen was his own category when it came to what sort of Drykas he was. Ronan and Sam were men of action. The sort of men who protected and provided for. Denen was a gentler breed. His father had once described him as more tenderhearted than half the women of their Pavilion. But Denen didn't mind. He had found place with Sam and his rag-tag band. Even in the face of the storm, in the face of his kidnapping and torture, of believing for a time everything he cherished to be destroyed, he had peace. The display the youthful stallion was giving off of being tamer than the other Striders was an act. He was, when his bonded was not with him, unruly and feisty. But at the hands of the gentle healer, he was docile and protective. He chewed at a strand of the boy's cropped hair as Denen cleaned his hooves. His lips caught hold of the scarf he wore over his ears, and Denen's dark hair fell in his eyes. With a playful smile, the Drykas lad tugged it back. “None of that now,” Denen signed against Durno's flank. The horse whinnied and tossed his head, snorting in reply, to which Denen delivered a fond swat to his rump and tied the fabric back in place. He was crouched down, running deft hands over Durno's powerful legs, when the stallion wuffled against his cheek to catch his attention. Denen lifted his gaze, watching as Durno jerked his head towards Oluse. The healer turned, and flashed a quick, shy smile. Somewhere between tumbling out of clothes and into bed, Sam had told him about the newcomer. He had yet to meet him, as he wasn't exactly eager to embrace outsiders, but he knew the moment would have to come. Apparently, too, that moment was now. He kept close to Durno, who draped his massive head over Denen's shoulder protectively. His keen, dark eyes watched the human boy suspiciously, while his velvet cheek pressed against that of his bonded. “H-Hello,” Denen greeted in Pavi. Even in his native tongue, his voice was halting, clumsy. Color rushed to his cheeks, but his blue eyes were curious. Still, he did not easily forget the mistreatment the humans who had been in league with his Cerulean captors had given him. Strangers were dangerous. He had learned that the hard way. Best to keep close to Durno, where he would be safe. He had to chide himself, though, remembering that if Sama'el and Ronan were comfortable with Oluse here, he ought to be welcoming. This in mind, he scrubbed his green-tinged palm on his hip, and extended the thin hand to Oluse to shake.

[Oluse]

oocI love the pacing of your writing.

Oluse was surprised at Denen's visage. Youthful like his own, but more than that, feminine. Denen, his mouth mumbled it silently, in a fashion no different then a spoken word to the Drykas before him. The feeling of it along hist tongue, the pitter-patter of syllables it seemed masculine in it's sense. He could have sworn Sama'el had referred to Denen as a male. Oluse, showing a rare moment of tact, decided upon avoiding the subject all together. Denen's gender was of no concern to him. The Drykas was a fellow healer, and to be a companion of his on their long trip to a distant land. This is what mattered.

He gave a practiced smile, not fake, but not entirely natural either, instead a product of his professional demeanor cultivated and constructed over seasons of near daily work with patients. "My name is Oluse Fortis-saro, I'm from Denval." He looked Denen in the eyes, his brown closing slightly for a sure and steadfast expression as he shifted the heavy casing to his left hand and shook Denen's hand with the other as firmly as he could. Again, the hand seemed strong, but slender. He wasn't sure how hard to shake, so he just treated it as respectfully as possible. The dirt upon the hands didn't deter him in the least. He had always enjoyed nature upon his palms, dirt beneath his fingernails. His job forced the boy to keep short fingernails, but he wished that weren't so. He wished a lot of things, and Denen and his friend's were being kind enough to help with with them all. The best he could do was return whatever favors they would ask of him.

"Sama'el said that I should come speak to you" his voice slowed as he watched the in deliberate and confused look upon Denen's face, "and perhaps teach you a bit about local... herbs?" He ended with a questioning and confused look of his own.

[Denen Sunsinger]

"Sama'el said that I should come speak to you" his voice slowed as he watched the in deliberate and confused look upon Denen's face, "and perhaps teach you a bit about local... herbs?" He ended with a questioning and confused look of his own. Denen was accustomed to being looked at in surprise. Most people who heard of him before meeting him thought him to be like most other Drykas men. Big, strong, and rough. They did not anticipate a smooth, pretty healer. Some, too, upon first meeting him, thought him to be a woman. He didn't mind it so much, especially given his relationship with Sama'el. It was less complicated if people assumed him to be one of Sam's women. He could smile and flirt openly, then, without scorning eyes looking after him. He ducked his chin a moment to muster his confidence, before his sharp, blue eyes lifted to Oluse. It took only a moment for him to recognize the kit that hung at the boy's side. His own was in the tent, and he suddenly felt incredibly bare without it. A few signs against Durno's neck, and the Strider eased back a few steps, however reluctantly. He remembered being around Oluse's age. He'd lost his adopted mother when he was this young. He couldn't imagine, too, being alone. But then, despite how critical he had always been, Stone Brokensong had been an exceptionally protective father. If Sama'el was the equivalent of Oluse's father on this trip, he would find all the mothering he could ever want from the slender healer. He was so caught up in studying the child before him that it took him a moment to realize that he was being spoken to. His pale cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he adjusted his scarf to try and at least appear casual about it. It became evident very quickly, however, that the boy was not speaking Pavi. His nose wrinkled. Denen's confusion did not lighten at all as Oluse spoke further. He held out a hand to signal the boy to wait for a moment, and beckoned him to follow. He turned, expecting to be heeded, and made his way to the tent, where his niece was currently sorting their herbs. She looked up with a welcoming smile, always eager to meet new people. “Sandar, I need you to translate,” he signed. She laughed and stood. “You really need to learn Common, Den,” she chided. Her attention then turned to Oluse. “I'm Sandar. You have to forgive. My uncle not speak Common, and mine not very good.” Still, she smiled warmly. “Ask him what his name is?” Denen prompted. “He wants to know your name.”

[Oluse]

His greeting left Oluse in a fit of blinks, as if clearing his eyes might clear Denen's voice and teach himself Pavi. It didn't, and so instead Oluse pondered. The correct conclusion came quite naturally to the doctor, his mother had treated a deaf women in Denval for several years before she died in a fishing accident. Oluses' father had always ranted on about how a deaf women had no pace on a fishing ship, not in the spring storms. Still, she had no other livelihood, and it was her birthright, being born to a fishing family. As was Alea's. Alea, however was not given the same death sentence. Is that what this person before Oluse now had? A death sentence a long time coming?

These thoughts, however, lost there meaning as they rolled about in Oluse's mind, to a degree that he was somewhat perturbed at the lack of a proper introduction. A quirk of Oluse, his father had taught him that a true man give a true man's introduction. A shake, a firm look, and his rightful name. Instead he recognized a slight blush to the Drykas' cheeks. It was decided then, Oluse would regard Denen as a women. She had a deep voice, as a male, but Oluse didn't care. Being with the Vantha for several seasons had begun to teach him that there was more to gender than perhaps the body. There was manner as well. And, more importantly, there was station. He wondered what station amongst the group Denen was.

Any option was likely above Oluse. So when beckoned silently away Oluse did not question. He wasn't sure why this silent parade across the small camp to a tent had begun, being slightly more preoccupied with what he swore was almost an intelligent glare from Denen's horse as they walked off together. Oluse looked back, questioningly at the beast. Distracted to the degree he almost stumbled into Denen upon reaching the tent. With little grace he drew himself to a halt at Denen's side.

When the girl spoke he instinctively began to look her over. She seemed healthy, strong enough like the other Drykas. Slender, like Denen, and still not full. She didn't seem injured from the storm, however. The others must have done a good job protecting her, as he hoped they would himself if anything arose. His eyes then drifted back to Denen, searching over bare skin, and studying how his weight is held. He had needed to void Ronan of some basic wounds, and wondered if he should do the same for them. Denen was the healer, and he knew well that working on yourself could be difficult, depending on the wound.

Words did a lackluster job of pulling him back to the situation at hand, but with a half distracted manner he gave the girl an identical smile as to the one Denen had received moment before. He found it hard to speak outside of work, it had been his life. But, he decided that there two could be potential patients, and that somehow eased him. Helped him care more about what they had to say.

"Oh." He spoke in common, genuinely surprised, giving a questioning but not at all accusing. He didn't think upon weather there was reasoning behind his notable hole in linguistic understanding, simply took it as fact, and disregarded any further questions on the subject. Just in time as well, as the first question came at him.

"Oh, well thank you for translating, Sander. I speak Vantha as well if that would be easier. My name is Oluse, I'm from Denval. Sama'el sent me to speak with Denen about local medicinal herbs in the area. I brought some to inspect if she would like, and can list the proper techniques to to prepare them into tinctures, fusions, or whathaveyou." He felt much more comfortable now as he began to speak of his work. Unfortunately he likely was losing his translator completely. Still, his passion was getting to him, and with a smile he pulled his kit out in front of him, and politely asked, "Where could I open this up and get started? Unless, you two are busy right now?" He gave an almost pouting apology of a disclaimer.

[Denen Sunsinger]

While deafness had been a stumbling block for Denen most of his life, he had learned to make do. He could read lips like it was no one's business, and he had sign to keep him connected when that wasn't an option. It made life easy enough on the plains. Of course, there were times when he struggled. But everyone had difficulties. Denen was no different, and he knew this. He had managed to survive nineteen years, which was more than some perfectly formed people could say on the Cyphrus plains. He was intelligent, and that compensated for his physical lackings, at least for the most part. That Denen had managed to survive kidnapping and torture spoke volumes of Drykas durability. Despite his smallness, Denen held a respected place amongst the travelers, prior to Oluse's joining them, he had been the senior healer, marked by Rak'keli, and was Sama'el's best friend and lover, something they no longer bothered hiding amongst friends. In some realms, he imagined, he might be considered a woman. It was the role he filled in Sam's tent. He was tender and gentle, something most males lacked, but Denen took great pride in being a man. In Drykas culture, he had been one from the age of six, when Reth had chosen him. Feminine or not, Denen was worthy of respect. The Striders saw him as worthy, and for the most part, his people did, too. His Ankal seemed to be alone, but, unfortunately, that was enough to make him undesirable. In Drykas culture, after all, a man cast out of his Pavilion had little chance. Denen had been lucky to have Sam. Denen removed his scarf once they were in the tent, groping about for a tiny jar in his medical kit as he did so. Once he settled, he began dropping a soothing oil into his ears. But his eyes did not leave the stranger in the room. Sandar gestured for Oluse to sit, and dragged her own kit over. She was beyond eager to learn, having grown up watching her aunts, uncles, and many cousins and learning everything that she could. She was only sixteen, and the newness of the world beyond Endrykas—and the fact that she (still being so young) was getting to see it before any of her friends—left her breathless. Neither Denen nor Sandar had been wounded during the storm, and if they had, they likely would have tended to one another long before. Sandar was young and healthy, growing into a woman's body and out of her girlish lankiness. She was supple, and very proud of her assets. Her wide, blue eyes, a trait of the Brokensong Pavilion, watched Oluse curiously, even as she doted on her uncle as he tended to his aching ears. She tugged him over, guiding his head into her lap, and administered the drops herself, while brushing back his dark, wild hair. She had done this before, when he'd been too sick to do it himself and her brother Lelat had refused. As Oluse spoke, Sandar's hands continued to translate for Denen, though she paused when Oluse referred to Denen as a she. Her brow furrowed, and her fine nose wrinkled. “She? Denen is a man. I know he is...soft, but he has earned rank.” Her fingers toyed idly with the jagged, cropped hair that had once been Denen's pride. She knew how it injured him to be without it. For all her seeming childishness, Sandar was a clever girl, and she had been raised in the Opal clan. Medical terms were part of her daily language. Even if she was inexperienced, she often ran errands for family members while they performed surgeries. It was part of growing up in a healing family. Her fingers moved quickly to relate everything Oluse said to Denen. When the oils had settled, and the pain subsided, Denen lifted himself and gestured for Oluse to open his kit. He did the same, settling it in his lap. “How old are you?” Sandar translated this, while Denen sorted through his things and tied his scarf back into place. As he did so, Durno the Strider poked his head and forelegs into the tent, before laying down to watch them. He didn't much care for boundaries, and was, given recent events, very protective of his bonded. Denen rolled his eyes, and Sandar giggled. “I am running low on numbing herbs. What do you have here that could be used for this?” Again, as he signed, Sandar spoke in Common so that Oluse could understand what was being said.

[Oluse]

Sweet it was, how careful she was of her uncle. And the whole display caught a portion of Oluses' mind. He wondered at the medicine, and studied the administration carefully. Oluse knew that a great physician never stopped learning, and not only in situations like this, but in day to day life as well. Something as simple as a cough, or how one holds themselves could been linked to their health. His father would have been doubtful of more existential connections, but Oluse thought at times that he could perhaps even see a connection between one's interpersonal relationships and their health. A thought the Vantha had done nothing to quell.

"You touch like a healer." Oluse mentioned with a smile, eased by the thought that all present were healers. Her manner had true potential, though her concentration left room for the hopeful. One would expect such from one that could ministrate and translate simultaneously, however. Oluse would utterly fail at such an endever, he was sure of it. And so, even if he was still unsure of Denen, Oluse found more than enough approval of his niece. "What I mean to say, is that you act like a healer." He meant it too, not only a physician, but a healer. She was soft, and open, and passionate. He wondered if this was because they were related. He could tell they were close, many Denvali were the same. Oluse had never been close to his relatives. He wouldn't know where to start searching in Avanthal, not that he wanted to, and his father had done a well enough job of alienating them from their close family in Denval. Between disputes of money and the marriage of a foreigner. Perhaps this is what a niece and uncle were to be, and Oluse suddenly hoped his sister would have a child soon, a girl, and perhaps she would also be so talented. His sister would like that.

"If you continue working like that you will be a great healer one day." He wanted to promise a mark of Rak'keli to her. For she reminded him of a host of women who sported such a divine brand. But, he knew little of such things, and did not feel comfortable promising that which he had no control over. He rarely felt comfortable with anything he did not have control over, even at the best of times.

Then came her correction of Denen's gender. Oluse wasn't sure what to say. He knew not what rank she spoke of, and felt a tightness in his stomach at the prospect of inquiring. So he dropped it, and nodded. Regardless of what they said, a man had to be a man on his own merit, not the words of another. Or, truly, even themselves. Still he was sorry for such an implication. It was no more his place to judge Denen's gender than hers. "I'm sorry." Simple and concise. It was rare for Oluse, the boy who often explained much more than he must. A lesson the girl would soon no doubt learn.

Curiosity won over, catching Oluse a bit off guard. "What is that," He paused uncertain a moment. His herbalism was fine, and he could match ailments to treatments with skill, but his preparations still lacked at the best of time. "Decoction?" Perhaps it was something else, he instantly regretted his guess. And then a moment later regretted the question all together. His medicines were of noones business but his own, and if there was anything Oluse had learned in his seasons at the clinic it was the concept of customer privacy. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." He knew what he was sorry for, but it didn't come out, not in words. He was glad Denen was deaf as he fumbled. He wished the same might be true, for only a moment, of the whole world, while he composed himself. No luck, as the horses head pushed it's way past the threshold of the large tent.

With a blink Oluse looked, then his eyes went wide in startlement. The creature which had seemed to dubious of him before now lay staring from mere feet away. More than enough closeness to put Oluse on edge, and it showed in his mannerisms as he leaned away and eyes the furred behemoth cautiously.

Then through a smiling mouth of Sander came the prompted questions of of uncle. A question Oluse got to hear quite enough from the Vantha, and the answer came without hesitation, even as he eyes the horse. First, however, a strong of Vantha words came from him, his pitch and rhythm changing abruptly. Enough so to startle himself. "Oh, sorry." He apologized, shifting back into common. "I've been in Avanthal a long time." His embarrassment was enough to allow his gaze to hesitantly shift back to Sander, but not quite making the leap to Denen. "I'm fifteen, though I can assure you I am more than qualified to handle most mundane and even more advanced procedures. I was trained from a very young age by masters of the craft, and have never ceased learning." He had to fight a little within himself not to tack his usual ending of "I promise I will do everything that can be done to help, and you will be safe in my care" from the spiel.

There was a time when the question had really bothered him, but he had more than proven himself since then, and if his skills were enough for the whole of Avanthal then he could, in time, show that he is good enough for some horsemen from the south.

The second question was met with nothing but passive acceptance, however. It was an important question, countered by a concern that it was necessary in their travel. Which, of course, should be expected from a trip during the storm itself. Still, Oluse reeled a moment at the thought, the vague question. Names of herbs that gave pain relief in different tissues in different degrees began to flow through his mind, focusing beyond his own control, a domain that seemed to control itself. So he waited a short moment till the information sorted itself then smiled in slight relief as the rush let up.

"Well there are a number of local, and imported herbs that can accomplish varying degrees of pain relief." And suddenly, he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, at lest to a degree. "Of course remedies are always dependent on the nature of the ailment, but for general use I would suggest only herbs that can be ingested along with food. Cinnimon, thought the price is high here. Allspice may be a better alternative." His eyes drifted to the upper corner of the tent as he continued his trivial list. "Infusion of coriander seeds." Then he smiled and looked down, again and Sandar, since she had been the one to voice the question. "All of which can be used for cooking, and used properly can taste amazing." Tricks he had learned from the cooks in the clinics, who spared no expenses in fixing healthy beneficial and delicious meals, often times specifically for each in house patient. Oluse had hoped to one day work as a coordinator between the kitchens and medical staff, but his aptitudes had always placed him exclusively with the medical staff, with the occasional exception of his time in the cellar where he got to mix entire vats of herbs.

He continued this time without much pause, "However, for any notable pain a more aggressive approach should be used. Always check for allergies prior to administration, but some pain relief local to the north is Valerian," which he knew intimately from his time in Denval, it was his mother's herb of choice. For more than one reason. "Infusions of the dried roots can produce a fine half to three quarter yield, at best. Comes out looking like." He reached into his kit, and produced a fine quality vial, inside a yellowish liquid, murky but pure, sporting a green tint. Then remembering his preparations pulled out a small set of the dried roots. "Oh, yeah. This is the root, you want to make sure none of the green part goes in. It will counteract the effectiveness of the roots, and break down the effectiveness of the infusion. Oh," the information now poured from his mouth nearly uncontrollably, "and never boil it. Warm to a simmer at best, but never boil. It will destroy the finer oils, which you can tell because it will come out without the green tint to it, and seem more brown." He nodded a matter of factually, then looked into his kit, carefully placing the vial back, and handing the root to Sandra, then quickly producing another vial.

"St. John's wort. I hear it's a very durable plant. Prepared correctly it is not as effective at pain relief, but will not make the patient as drowsy, and will be much more 'calming.'" When he had suffered from nightmares when he was a child his mother had put him on a St. John's Wort tincture for a week. He hadn't helped, thought he had found it easier to get to sleep, and wake up in the morning. "A simple one part water and herb to five parts alcohol will produce a sufficient tincture. Though if you have a specific use for it you may want to alter the measurements to your own uses." He smiled at the vial, tilting it back and forth, letting the liquid roll around, then handing it to, to Sander. "It spoils quickly after made, especially in the cold, to try to put it off if you can, till you need it. You can keep that batch." He had spent the entire morning playing with herbs, wanting to be more than ready for the conversation, and had even snatched a dozen or so herbs from the clinic's store room. Nothing that would be missed.

He stopped and pondered his kit a moment before extracting roots of a kava plant. "A little spit and pestle," the term came out with a thick Denvali accent, one from his childhood, "and Kava roots can be reduced to a fine powder to sooth pain. It can be expensive here though, since it only grows in the south of the spires in the early spring. So I usually only use it in moderation to adorn other sedatives." He then looked for a powder result of the plant, and to his own shame saw none. "Hrm, guess I'm out." And so, he popped the root in his mouth and began chewing, letting his saliva seep out into the plant, breaking away at it's fibers. A few bites later he produced the broken remnants of the plant, and set it almost lovingly into the mortar before him. Pestle in hand he began to grind, the soft rolling sound of the finely crafted, and clearly near within the season mortar sung to Oluses' ears, as he carefully wiped the excess roots from the outside of his teeth using his tongue and then continued speaking.

"I would suggest to more than ten grams a day of Valerian, perhaps a gram or two of St John's Wort, and really no limit on Kava. Combinations can be made of the three, and even some of the better tasting herbs to create some healthy food. Just don't put them with anything too spicy, it could break down the mixture." He then gave a quick nod, feeling that was sufficient, then looked to Sander who was getting quite the workout of her hand, at which point Oluse recalled he was speaking, and then realized he was meant to be speaking to Denen not Sander. He looked at Denen as his hand smoothly continued to perform trained motions as he grinded mindlessly with his pestle.

[Capricious]

"She? Denen is a man." Oluse : XP ✩Socialization: 2 ✩Herbalism: 2 ✩Teaching: 2 Lore(s) ✩Nagging Thought: Get More Friends, Less Family ✩Denen: Female? ✩Recognizing a Deaf Person ✩Herb: Cinnamon ✩Allspice: Healing Alternative to Cinnamon ✩Herb: Coriander Seeds ✩Her: Valerian ✩Herb: St. John's Wort ✩Kava Roots: Location and Growing Season ✩Kava Roots: Uses Additional Notes I really enjoyed seeing Oluse come out of his shell on a topic he was familiar with. I gave you two socialization points for explaining your behaviors and displaying how awkward Oluse was socially. The herbalism points should be self explanatory. You were awarded teaching for how thorough you were explaining the herbs and demonstrating how to use them. If you feel I have not been fair in my grading or you did not receive a skill/lore you wished for, please PM me. I have no issues with working out the problem! Denen : XP ✩Horsemanship: 1 Lore(s) ✩Using a Translator ✩Feminine, but Still a Man! ✩Herb: Cinnamon ✩Allspice: Healing Alternative to Cinnamon ✩Herb: Coriander Seeds ✩Her: Valerian ✩Herb: St. John's Wort ✩Kava Roots: Location and Growing Season ✩Kava Roots: Uses[/indent] Additional Notes Though the thread was short, I enjoyed seeing how Denen interacted with his Strider. The behavior between the Strider and him were very believable and left me smiling! However, there were not many points to award. I gave you horsemanship for your interactions with the Strider, but found nothing else to award. I would have given you socialization, had Denen interacted more. Still, a short and sweet thread and I look forward to seeing Oluse and Denen interact in the future! If you feel I have not been fair in my grading or you did not receive a skill/lore you wished for, please PM me. I have no issues with working out the problem!