The Skeleton And The Artist (Trista pls)

[Malia]

Location: Sunset Falls
Timestamp: 42nd of Summer, 510 AV

The waterfalls had a special appeal that caused Malia to remain at their foot and observe the natural beauty of water masses reflecting Syna’s rays. How long had she been buried in Sahova, beyond foot-thick walls that protected its inhabitants from one another? About a whole season, she mused. Time to start breathing – figuratively speaking, of course – and enjoy nature again.

Letting her backpack drop into the high grass near a bunch of reed, the pale Nuit in traveling clothes stood motionlessly for a moment. Sometimes she wished to be a fish, living a short, simple life in the cool waves and plunging into that majestic expanse of flowing water. However, since she considered herself an unnatural mixture of human and ghostly traits, she couldn’t even take a bath. Cleaning activities had to be carefully planned and monitored to elongate the life of her current body. So what was a Nuit to do, being confronted with a scene of such serenity and beauty?

She had a fairly good idea of how the Nuit of Sahova would have handled the situation, but this particular one took out her lyre and started plucking a few strings. As always, the soft sound calmed her and added an otherworldly touch to the scene. Paradise wasn’t far wherever music was present. Music calmed mortals down, made them sad, angry, nostalgic and peaceful. Music held power over the living. Perhaps over the undead too, given the effect it kept having on Malia herself. In theory she had more important errands to run than to sit there, watch Caiyha’s creations and pluck the lyre. But the reality proved to be different.

Soon the shadow of a smile crept on her features. When hearing the soft notes her own hands produced Malia couldn’t help but forget everything she existed for. Then she only existed for the beauty of the world – or so it seemed.

However, first signs of decay were undoubtedly starting to show. Her hands resembled claws of skin and bones with barely any healthy flesh left. The deep bags under eerie, pitch-black eyes couldn’t be concealed so easily anymore. Arms and legs were the most skinny body portions, despite the black clothing they were covered with. Malia had to find a new body – before leaving for Taldera, very soon. But what kind of appearance was she searching; which kind of persona did she want to assume next? Pondering over all those issues, her attention drifted away from her immediate surroundings.

[Trista]

The Cobalt Mountains were a new sight for Trista, and she flew lower to take in the scenery from a closer vantage. They weren't the towering daggers of the Zatoskas, but they had their own rugged charm, and she was not immune to it.

It was worth painting, actually -- although due to an odd confluence of talent and happenstance, Trista knew that she would be able to paint it perfectly at any point in the future, without having to refer to any sketches or notes. It was both her gift and her curse, the one fact about herself that she had never told another living soul.

She was lost enough in these thoughts that she couldn't pinpoint the moment when she first heard the music. It wasn't loud, but it was clear, and eventually the melody pulled her out of her introspection. A lyre, by the sound of it, and since that wasn't an instrument whose sound carried well, the player must be quite close.

A glance down revealed that this was an accurate assessment. A figure -- it was difficult to tell what sort -- was nearby, at the base of a waterfall whose low rumble threatened to overwhelm the music, though it didn't quite do so. There seemed to be just the one person around; an interesting thing, Trista thought, given that most non-flying beings took a dim view of traveling into the wilderness alone.

A flick of her wings and Trista was down almost at ground level, hovering some ten inches above the banks. Quietly, trying not to make her appearance any more startling than she knew it would probably be, she said, "Your music is beautiful." Nothing else, not yet, simply a brief expression of appreciation for a stranger's art.

[Malia]

The slight smile vanished as soon as Malia spotted the creature descending from the sky. Fortunately she had recognized movement at the corner of her eye and discovered the unusual silhouette soon enough to keep her surprise hidden. She saw a humanoid being with a furred tail and butterfly wings – moreover, in the brightest blue and with equally fancy red hair. The quiet voice didn’t seem to belong to such a gaudy appearance.

Malia nodded, visibly appreciating the compliment. “Thank you.” Digging in memories, she realized that she had actually heard about such a race before. The Akvatari they were called and their reputation as artists was legendary. Perhaps the compliment meant more than Malia was used to, coming from an Akvatari. After a short pause and without giving further thought, she spoke up. “I guess this assessment is made by someone who understands the trade.” There was a slight questioning edge to her voice, but not more than that. As much as the Akvatari’s demeanor was filled with melancholy – as much was Malia’s voice and expression filled with, plainly, nothing.

Apart from the particular drive that brought sense to her existence, Malia wasn’t driven by anything except curiosity. Sometimes. Even that curiosity she hid as well as possible. While continuing to play the lyre, she watched the hovering woman. She sensed that she couldn’t force a conversation, so instead she waited for the Akvatari to give in to her own curiosity. Of course, it was an expectation she couldn’t be sure about, but she had learned to discern those beings that were more curious and tolerant than others. Those were the most harmless creatures to her, the ones she could safely exchange a few words with.

[Trista]

"I'm something of a musician, yes," Trista agreed, still barely raising her voice above a whisper.

It took her a moment to fully process Malia's identity. The other woman was one of the undead -- but did the undead wander the wilderness, stopping by waterfalls and playing the lute? Apparently this one did, but it was very much at odds with Trista's mental image of the cold, scholarly hibernators that the Nuit ought to be.

One thing that wasn't different, however, was the strange lack of expression in the Nuit's voice and face. It was unsettling, and in another place, it might have been enough to convince Trista to continue on her way. Here, however, there was little to threaten her, and so her curiosity got the better of her.

"Are you...playing anything in particular? And...is this usually where you play?" The questions were awkward, certainly, but Trista didn't know how to make them any better. What on earth are you doing here? wasn't usually a good conversation starter, and so this was the best she was going to do.

[Malia]

Having as much time at hand as she did, Malia tended to categorize it just as others did different pairs of socks. Because she focused on relaxing and enjoying some free time, she took an interest in Trista’s statement that she was a musician. Perhaps Malia could learn something from her? The Akvatari were known for their exquisite art and music, yet just as notorious for their melancholy. Malia found herself examining that exceptional individual more closely.

Plucking some more strings, just to hear the sweet sound, she began to answer the asked questions. “No. I play just for the sake of playing. Of course, playing a real melody would be nice, but I have not tried that yet. First, there is no song I want to copy; second, I do not know how to read sheet music.” She thought of the small package of instructions Sina had sold her together with the instrument, but left it inside its leather bag. She wouldn’t ask for a favor, not yet, not until she knew how good her opponent was, at least.

At the mention of the location, Malia looked away and gazed at the waterfalls. Small droplets of water were hurled into their direction, but Malia had settled far away so that the liquid didn’t stain the lyre or fasten her skin’s decay. Thin fingers caressed the strings once more. Sometimes she just ran her fingers across all of them, one after another, up and down. She liked to think that she needed to familiarize herself with it, which string made what sound, but in fact she hoped to teach herself playing without any sheet music or instructions.

“I have just come back from a journey. Syliras is my home now”, at least for two seasons which was like two days to her perception, “and when I came across this place I decided to sit down and rest a bit. I’ve never been here before.” How she tilted her head made it clear that she meant the waterfalls, not Syliras or the wilderness.

Then her black gaze settled on the Akvatari. “I would appreciate it if you sat with me and told me something about your journeys. Where you come from and where you go.” Her tone was smooth and soft now, almost inviting, although the change was subtle and barely recognizable.

“I am Azola”, she added politely, refusing to extend a hand though. The Akvatari would know why.

[Trista]

"Sitting" was sort of a relative term, but Trista set herself down on the ground and curled her tail in front of her, which was her closest approximation. "I'm Trista," she said, not extending aa hand either, but giving a courteous nod.

"My travels?" Trista had to stop for a moment, thinking about how to frame the answer. As a trained writer, raised in a culture that valued storytelling highly, the thought process was one that came unbidden to her mind.

"I come from Abura," she began. There was a shift in her voice too, from uncertainty and deference to something more confident, something more likely to hold an audience's interest. "The city of a thousand spires, set between the barren desert and the endless sea. I was born there, raised there, and completed my initial schooling and training in the arts. My travels, such as they are, began when I journeyed to Mura, where I spent a year studying Konti art and language. I returned to Abura, but felt that I had left something undone, so I left the city of my birth once more."

A small, self-deprecating shrug. "I am not a great warrior, a famed scholar, or a conquering explorer. I'm one Akvatari who's spent a long time in lands that are strange to me. And yet...I've bargained with a nameless specter in a space between reality and dreams for the soul of a long-dead princess in the deserts of Eyktol. I've been back to Mura and conversed with Avalis. I've seen the city of the Eypharians in its ruined glory, flown over the cliffs of Riverfall, and visited the city of Dira herself, where all the architecture is colorless and the very ground shifts beneath one's feet. I don't precisely know where I am going, but I can tell you that in the places I have been, I have seen and heard much."

"Though not as much as you, I am sure." She lowered her eyes briefly, and when she spoke again, she seemed to have exited storytelling mode, at least for the moment. "I don't know whether you want to talk about it, Azola, or whether you have more questions for me, but I'm sure you have seen, done, and known far more than one such as myself."

[Malia]

OOCSorry for taking so long. And then I produced a long-winded rambling post. ^^; I hope to be faster from now on.

When the Akvatari, Trista, paused, Malia realized that she would experience something more stylized than a simple traveler’s report and set the lyre aside. She wouldn’t get to play it more that day, or so it seemed, so she packed it back into the protecting leather case and shifted a bit to find a more comfortable position. Every inch of her thin body assumed the posture of a listener.

Then Trista started. It was almost like she painted the images into the thin air between them. Malia could see everything she mentioned clearly. Abura, the city only Akvatari and other winged creatures could maneuver. Of course she had heard of it. So she was a trained artist, even studying at Konti Isle. The daughters of Avalis were known for their rich culture and talent in art and healing. When she mentioned leaving her home once again, Malia got the impression that Trista was someone who couldn’t stay in the same place for very long. She seemed to be a constant traveler, featuring the perfect equipment for such a harsh and exhausting life. To her, it must be easy and enjoyable, right?

But then, Akvatari were known first and foremost for their melancholy. Did that mean they couldn’t enjoy life and all its little pleasantries?

However, Malia’s attention quickly returned to the story. What came next sounded even more interesting. Half of the words didn’t make sense upon first hearing them, but slowly their full meaning trickled into the Nuit’s perception. She had experienced much. Even though she would be hard pressed to admit it, Malia started respecting the Akvatari more than she had in the beginning. Someone who had traveled so much of Mizahar’s surface had experiences to pass on. Moreover, a traveler to the core could only be open and neutral. Malia supposed she wouldn’t get problems if mentioning what she really was – perhaps the Akvatari had even seen one or two Nuit before, with or without realizing it –, but, more importantly, being suspicious was unnecessary.

The tale continued, unveiling images of distant cities and places. Mura and Avalis, the desert, Riverfall and a city of black and white … Most of those sounded familiar, although Malia had never seen any of them herself.

The conclusion was interesting. And then Trista added a question. Malia looked away and sighed, although she didn’t need to. She simply tried the reaction out, because it came to her mind. After all, she wanted to pass as human, so she had to practice displaying human emotions, right? The body couldn’t be called human, of course, not yet. Very briefly she wondered how it would be to get an Akvatari body. But after Trista’s life story, she wasn’t so sure whether she could endure … Never mind.

“It is interesting that you had contact with Avalis”, she commented and fell silent. Just for another while, though, the question was simply too tempting.

“Your instinct is right. I probably have traveled more and longer than you”, probably, indeed, “but I have not seen any of the grand cities you know. I mostly stayed in the wilderness, hiding from criminals and gangs. Traveling is dangerous … unless you have wings to escape, of course.” She paused to contemplate her next words. “There is more I can gain from nature than from cities. No matter how impressive their architecture is. What do you think? What is it that you are searching for?”

Though she didn’t say it aloud, Malia did consider the Akvatari as some kind of scholar. Weren’t they all? Artists. Abura featured a famous library, didn’t she? And even if it didn’t, Malia was still interested in Trista’s opinion. She felt strangely at ease, forgetting everything she usually had on her mind.

[Trista]

"Life is dangerous, and precious few are the people who get out of it alive." A brief smile at the old proverb, and a sense of empathy for the flightless woman who had spent a long time hiding.

The last question froze her momentarily. What was she looking for? It was something she had asked herself constantly since she was old enough to be self-aware, but the answer was as elusive as the wind.

"Sometimes," she said quietly, "I think I'm searching for inspiration for my art. Sometimes, I think I'm searching for a good way to use my gifts from Avalis. Sometimes, I think I'm trying to find wisdom and knowledge in all the corners of Mizahar, or visiting foreign lands, or trying to see as many beautiful things as possible before I return to Lhex."

She looked down. "All of these are, in some sense true. But none of them are entirely true -- or rather, none of them convey the whole truth."

The same storytelling gleam was in her ice-blue eyes when she raised her head again. "The Akvatari call ourselves the children of the sea and sky, but neither the sea nor the sky claims us. I am nobody's daughter, not in a way that is fully true. We live our lives attempting to impose order on the inherently chaotic, to give meaning to an existence that carries no inherent meaning of its own. We are lost, and we are alone, and each of us sails through life in a ship that admits no other passengers. Maybe I'm searching for an answer to the non sequitur questions of existence. Maybe I'm trying to forget the crushing absurdity of life. Or maybe I'm just sad, or tired, or lonely."

One corner of her mouth twisted upward briefly. "That's probably both more and less of an answer than you wanted. But what of you? Why do you travel, and for what to you search?"

[Malia]

Another proverb, another tiny slice of wisdom shared between strangers. Malia started feeling at ease with the Akvatari. She truly was more of a philosopher than a scholar, more of a drifter than a traveler. Indeed, she didn’t even pretend to know what she was searching for. Goals were elusive and the objects of one’s goals just as well. Malia’s own goal had remained kind of steady, but only the shell, the words she described it with. Find this person and kill that person. But the objective behind her goals was constantly changing. First she had thought about revenge. Then she had justified her personal revenge with justice. And after so much about her had been altered by Uldr, what was left to believe in now?

Inside her a lump of black hate was building up. That was everything she could be sure about. A tiny part of her was probably hoping to get an answer from that man. She hadn’t seen him for a season, a flicker of time to her, but still ... There was something else.

Regarding the things Trista had mentioned, she did detect some kind of pattern, or seemed to. “The whole thing is always more than the sum of its parts”, she commented in a low voice. Just as she was more than the words she spoke and the gnosis marks on her body or Trista was more than her art and her search.

So, Malia felt the truth of those words more acute than apparent on her face. And then, when Trista spoke of the unsure origin of her people, her story reminded Malia of the Nuit as well. Although they were rumored to be created by Uldr, nobody could be sure. Malia personally thought of immortality as a generous gift from Tanroa, and felt nothing for Uldr but deep hate. He wasn’t a father to his race in the least, more of a jailor or torturer. And even before knowing all those things about her patron deities, Malia had always been alone with her problems and questions. Of course, her Master had answered some of them, but some were too private to be even uttered. Some questions could only be ignored, because hunting answers to those would only end in despair. Malia knew it, had been there and done that.

It was then that she realized that the Akvatari might have a luckier disposition than other races. And although it most likely didn’t help her opponent, Malia shared her thoughts with Trista – if only because that was how a philosophical conversation worked. “It seems to me that as an Akvatari, you are both blessed and cursed with the secret of your existence. It is a challenge: Maybe the meaning of your existence is the search for your origin. It provides opportunities. In the end the reason is individual.” There she fell silent, wondering whether she had expressed her thoughts correctly.

Finding the right words was more difficult than she had thought to. She usually contemplated things a lot, but never spoke about them. Who would be interested to hear them anyway? An Akvatari ... but not so much a human.

Yet the last question didn’t catch her off guard. The focus of a balanced conversation should always swing back and forth, like a pendulum. Malia found herself enjoying the exchange of views. In more than one way, Trista reflected Malia herself like a mirror, raising new questions, but also suggesting new opportunities. Of course, the Nuit lacked the storytelling ability to decorate the truth appropriately. Nevertheless she tried. “I travel because I cannot stay. I search because I have not yet found anything. I still do not know what my connection to Tanroa means. I try to defeat a person that has destroyed a life in the faraway past. I try to save a person I do not even fully know–“ She stopped herself. Where did that sentence come from? Of course, there could only be one person she thought of and had accidentally mentioned.

But that person must not be mentioned by Malia. Not yet. It was wrong to involve oneself too much into the matters of the pulsers. She pressed her lips together, this time to feel the slight pressure.

“I guess nobody knows what they are looking for. I do not want to pretend wisdom. Obviously we are similar”, she added and let silence take over again.

[Trista]

Trista nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. It had occurred to her before, that the journey might itself be the destination, but it was different to hear someone else say it.

"It's better, I've been told, to admit you don't know something than to pretend to knowledge you don't possess." On this point, she and Azola seemed to be in complete agreement. Then, she raised one eyebrow curiously. "Tanroa?"

There was a level on which this made sense, the idea of one who was essentially immortal worshiping the goddess of Time. However, Trista had an idea that, if the Nuit were religious at all, they would be followers of Uldr. She'd never really met a Nuit to test this assumption on, however, and she was fully prepared to admit that her hypothesis was in error.

There was more in the few sentences that Azola had given her, particularly the obscure part about defeating one and saving another. But one question at a time was enough for Trista. She learned by listening, despite her curiosity, and she found that people tended to say more if you just let them talk, rather than interrogate them. Trista folded her hands in front of her for the time being, focusing on her strange companion.