Flashback Conscience [Torias]

[Uleru]

The 14th of Spring
Year 460
21st Bell

Four days ago

There are not many things on land that are blue. Uleru figures that this might have been intensional. It would make people appreciate the sight of the sea even more, yes? She imagines a counsel of gods meeting across a table while the world is still new, and imagines these colossal entities and powerful beings bickering endlessly about the color of flowers. Of course, Laviku would demand that all that is blue would belong to him. As he well deserves, obviously. She imagines his seaweed beard shaking in indignant rage as he is forced to make concession on the color of blueberries, and her chest tightens to keep from giggling.

Its the color blue that drove her ashore today. For the first time in a very long time, she has found something even more luminous than the water. She is is stretched out on the grassy bank a few meters out from shore, arms outstretched and a smile pulling at her mouth as she tries to catch one of the dozens of bottle blue beetles that swarm around her. They glitter like jewels, these things! Like sapphires have grown bored under Semele's skin and so grew prickly legs which which to walk across her back instead.

Her gills gasp in delight when she manages to close a transparent hand over one of the creatures. Through the back of her fist she can see it probing her palm, its wing casing clicking irritably.

"Oh, arn't you beautiful", the Otani coos affectionately, hand pressed to her eye to better see this oddity.

There is no warning for the spear that cuts through the air. And no sound as the weapon's heavy head finds purchase just above the mouldings ear, burying itself through her and a half a foot of ground beneath her.

But then the world stops as the Otani lets loose a shriek from the lowest trench. Panic and anger washes her voice as she instinctively tries to pull from under the weapon, crushing the beautiful blue beetles she came to see. While her hands claw at the wooden handle to try and pull it out, her only thought is of the water so far behind her.

“Laviku! Laviku, help me!”

A veil of iridescent blue rises from the ground, clicking disjointedly, while another spear parts the cloud to sink itself through the mouldings back.

"Holy shit," a woman’s voice can be heard, yelling over the ungodly scream. "Holy shit. Diane, I hit it! Holy shit!"

Now

The trough they keep her in is not big enough for her. Everything below her knees hang over the edge, and her neck is bent at an impossible angle so that only her eyes can see over the tepid water. But thats not entirely true. There is plenty of water with which to change her size, but to do so feels like a concession. Like she is adjusting. But she is not adjusting. Her whole body vibrates with tension.

The caravans have stopped for a few days just outside the walls of Nyka. They keep her behind her captors caravan, just out of sight of the cooking fires. And they leave her alone most of the time. Except for when they feed her twice a day, and change her water every morning.

Change her water. Like she’s a fish.

Her color has stayed at a rolling, pulsing grey for days now. There is a storm brewing under her skin. She can see it when she holds her hands over her eyes. Her hands wander to her face now and she presses the heels of her fist as far into her eyes as she can. Through the watery substance she lies back and imagines that she is viewing Syna's quivering light from deep in the ocean, watching this hot grey storm battle itself far above her. To far to get to her, she tells herself. She'll just float in Laviku's arms until it's over...

Uleru tries to hold her delusion even as the rustle of grass and clothing slices through it like a knife. They've already fed her tonight, what do they want? She pulls her hands away from her face and looks warily from over the lip of her container. The sturdy figure of her female captor fills her vision and the the mouldings color gives a molten spasm. She is leading another, larger man the Otani has never seen. He carries a thin torch to battle the approaching night.

"-no, you'll never believe it", a reedy feminine voice explains excitedly, "We caught it on the shore with a two spears and a quiver of crossbow bolts. You should see what it did to Diane and Jared when we tried to bring it back to the caravan. I had no idea what it was at the time, but look:"

She steps aside to give him a full view of the Otani, arms sweeping dramatically as if presenting a priceless work of art, not a dull grey creature in a trough. The man just raises a brow and nods, looking considerate, though saying nothing. The woman looks put out by this lack of response but quickly bounces back.

"Wait, wait, watch this."

She takes the torch from him and holds the flame out to the moulding like an offering. Uleru hunkers deeper into the bowl, dragging as much of her legs as she can into the water, but doesn't respond. The woman moves closer and only gets a thin, boiling hiss of warning out of the creature. Finally, with an exasperated sigh the she raises the torch high and cracks it hard against the side of the trough.

Uleru's body immediately erupts into a poisonous shade of red as she pushes against the far side of her narrow vessel. Her face collapses into a gargoyle-like mask and an unearthly screech escapes from her gapping mouth. How dare you, her mind hisses with venom, how dare you!

The man lets out a low whistle, "damn, and somebody would want it as a pet?"

The woman laughs then, and its not a cruel laugh. She sounds pleased. Uleru realizes that she is only doing this to try and impress him. She goes on to lazily wave the burning stick at the angry red creature a few more times, watching the sparkling eyes follow it and proving both to Uleru and the man that she is not afraid, before lowering the head and stomping out the glowing ember.

"Only the rich old bats do, or so we figure. Not many of those up here though, so we'll try to sell her in Zelvita. Figured the University might want her."

There is a throaty chuckle as the man shoves his hands deep in his pockets. "All of Zelvita is piss poor, love. All you'll get is a bag of beans and a fond farewell from that lot."

"What else are we going to do? I'm not selling anything even remotely religious to these Nyka nutters, or I might be strung up for blasphemy or some bollocks. And there's no chance I'm traveling very far with her. Did you see what she did to Jared? Boiling steam right up the facepipe. No, I'll pawn her off as soon as I can and leave it at that."

The voices grow fainter as the two leave to bicker elsewhere. With them gone the grey seeps back into Uleru's body like a poison, and she turns back to stare at the purple sky.

"Laviku, take me home", she whispers.

[Torias]

I hypothesize that most who look upon my fragile, withering form and recognize a Nuit in corpse clothing do not spare a thought to the creature I was when I was truly alive. The greater majority of Nuits began as humans, who succumbed to obsessions with the scientific and magical, though a significant few were victims of a larger, ancient evil. I suppose I am usually granted an assumption that falls within either category. Both are sufficiently dramatic. My memories are not written on my stolen flesh; I cannot expect them to be illuminated by Syna, or Leth. It is Akajia and myself who hold the tales of my past. I should not think that will ever change, until the day when I am truly dead and only the Mistress of Shadows alone remembers the name I abandoned. A high perch in the skeletal clutches of a barren tree, budding new leaves with the recent birth of spring, lended a perfect panoramic view of the Celestial Seat. The sun was making haste into the horizon, leaving a residue of gold dust glittering on the rooftops. It was still a particularly strong glare to the Symenestra’s sensitive eyes, and he longed for the radiant, colorful sky to slip into a more comfortable indigo. Torvias Aconite was a man who cherished his privacy, and he was finding none of it at the local hostel. The affront to his personal space was enough to drive him into the sunlight, leaving him to contemplate his chronic affliction of compromising for lesser evils. He was able to locate a large oak near the edge of the city, providing him with a view of the ocean, the rocky coastline, and the rusting ceiling of the city of Nyka. There he began battling his cynicism the most efficient way he knew how: applying charcoal to paper. Lines were etched onto a yellowed canvas reminiscent of the local architecture, flush against the hillsides not unlike the waves of the ocean. To a Symenestra, the city seemed upside-down and quaint. It would be a shame if he left without one or two sketches of the place. Lost in his own artistic thoughts, Torvias stole frequent glances from the city through his narrowed eyes, ironically as golden as the searing sunlight. The sea scented wind played at the edges of his paper and strands of his cobweb colored hair. A short tail sat stiffly on one shoulder, the evidence of a dispatched annoyance. How dare you?! Erupting from thin air, the shriek drove directly into his heart, stopping it for an instant. Torvias gasped aloud, fortifying his grip on the branches of his perch. His length of charcoal, briefly forgotten, fell from his hand and struck a low bough, splitting into shards before it hit the ground. Still catching his breath, Torvias glared down at it. “Zlynge!” The shriek echoed itself once, and then it was quiet. “What in...” At first, Torvias was simply going to ignore the scream and stay safe inside his own paradigm. Whatever that was, it was hardly any of his business. He knew Nyka was home to some gruesome traditions, even by Kalinor standards, and it was not his place to interfere. He was a bit shaken, that was all. Hardly a grievous wound. But the silence that pervaded was more unnerving, as the scream he’d heard continued to resound in his ears. How dare you?! It was Common tongue, the language of most surrogates. The language of the girl called Neita who Torvias had recently been associating with. How long... how long before those words were tearfully screamed at him? Gods. Rubbing his chest, Torvias made another personal compromise: a decision to investigate. His drawing was folded and tucked into an inner pocket, and he then stood on his branch. That shriek was too strange for him to ignore. It would not allow him to sit quietly without battling his conscience, and thus had to be confronted. And besides, it made him lose his charcoal pencil. ---- Keeping to high places - rooftops and the crowns of trees - Torvias kept to where the shadows would favor him. A cowl had been drawn over his light hair and pale skin, but his silhouette against the sky and the glitter of his cat-like eyes still gave away his position regularly. Fortunately for him, the humans below were busied with trivial conversation and forced humor - the sort one employs when trying not to feel the gravity of his own sins. Torvias knew this method well. His accursed curiosity kept the Widow from forsaking his intentions, so he continued to stalk the rooftops looking for something he wasn’t sure he would be able to identify. And, just as he expected, what he found was nothing he could have expected. At first, Torvias thought she was bathing, but he quickly realized she could not possibly be human. Her skin was oddly colored, and semi-translucent. He was reminded of the way light refracts in a pool of water, turning it luminous and slightly opaque. What appeared to be scales shimmered more clearly on the surface of her, but she fit no memories of the creatures Torvias had previously encountered. Perhaps a Konti, or Charoda? But he had only read about them. After a long examination, he made a decision he knew he would regret later. “You look dreadfully uncomfortable.” His sharply accented Common drifted from a hidden place, only fractions louder than a whisper and meant only for the two of them. “What have the humans done to you?”

[Uleru]

“You look dreadfully uncomfortable. What have the humans done to you?”

A fine mist gasps out of the Otani's side as her gills push a surprised breath. She sits up in her trough, letting water spill down her torso and lap over the sides. Who is there? Eyes wide and jewel bright she tries to pierce the gathering dark. But she cant see a thing, and her phosphorescence wont shed light for another bell or two. The accent was strange and foreign, but she has heard it before. Whatever he is, he is not human.

And he must be hiding in the shadows. The shadows here on the land are different than the shadows in the ocean. The water shadows can sneak up on you, and lull you in softly with slow gradient from blue to black. Its mysterious, that kind of dark. Enticing even. But the shadows on the land are made of harsh lines and intent. Where a flicker of a flame can be a summon for the dark to attack and blind you. The shadows don't wait for you here, but drag themselves over with the lessening of Syna's light.

She doesn't much like these shadows.

"They ripped me out of my fathers arms", she begins, answering the question posed by the dark. "They are dragging me farther and farther away each day."

There is silence and she fears that the man might disappear. He might melt back into the shadows and then what? She will be bound for Zelvita in a trough. Pulled by horses and kept by land-dwellers across a bone dry land where she is not meant to survive. But this man is not one of them. And if he is not one of them, he can help her.

A rush of feeling vibrates through her body like a drum. This is it. Her one and only chance. But what would it take? What does she have that is worth her life? Her mouth opens and closes like a babe as she tries to find the words, the promises, the things that the shadow man would want. Think Uleru, think!

"Gold." the Otani whispers in a rush, "I will give you gold rimmed stones from the belly of a drowned ship. I will find you raw gems and ribbons of pearls fresh from stone and shell. I will give you my promise and my word. My sex and my love. I can show you the deepest caves and the brightest pools. Colours you've never seen and creatures you cannot name." Her voice doesn't rise in pitch or volume, in fact, it hasn't changed much at all. But a rising crescendo of passion and desperation is being reached, and it pulls at her tongue and bites her words. "There are crevasses in the world nobody else knows. Ruins from before the Valterrian and the bones of those you died there. There are creatures taller than the lighthouses and creatures that glow like fire. I could show you all of it. I can give you an audience with a God and tell you the secrets the ocean never shares. Please! Please, anything you want, everything you want, I will give it all to you is you take me back!"

[Torias]

This was all too poignant to be accidental. Her words could have come from any woman held within the Nest back in Kalinor. The gods were surely having a jest at Torvias’s expense, and now they sat waiting to see what he would do next. Perhaps the four here had discovered his intentions and wanted to test the extent of the corruption of his soul. Or, they might have been trying to teach him a mortal lesson. They would be disappointed. “You can do all that.” There in the dark, two pinpricks of light, which could have been mistaken for a trick of the eye, flickered once and began to move. Torvias’s slender frame stepped evenly into the moonlight, clad in snug fitting silks and a violet tunic. When he pulled the cowl away from his mouth, his long fingers were tipped with sharp, black nails. “But you cannot free yourself from those men?” His golden eyes lifted in the direction he had seen them, wary for their return. Satisfied for the moment, he looked down at her again. Aside from her foreign nature and strange composition, she was not entirely unpleasant to behold. One of her offers particularly stuck out in his mind. “I see no chains or ropes holding you here,” Torvias observed, as calm as he was when he stepped into the light. It was a practiced effort; his heart was screaming for him to run. He suspected a trick. “I think I have read this story before. I am to believe I’m the prince rescuing a damsel in distress. I may have been cast for the wrong part.” And yet the look of her desperation rooted him in place. She was no problem of his, and whatever fate befell her, for better or worse, would have no lasting effect on Torvias’s own life. It may have been better to steel himself against this. Soon, he knew, he would be inflicting the same misery on the girl named Neita, if he was not killed in the effort. And it would be for the good of his race. This girl here, if she suffered, would suffer for nothing. “I will help you.” A glance around his surroundings for something to cover her with. Finding nothing, he sighed and removed his tunic. His drawing crinkled softly inside as he pulled the garment over his head. What was left undeath was a willowy figure, too thin and too tall, wrapped snugly head to toe in fine fabric. An inner satchel was revealed strapped to his chest, made of netted fabric that made its contents visible. It was filled with minor things like pieces of charcoal, slips of paper, two empty glass vials and one full, and a metal trinket that reminded the Symenestra of home. He stooped toward the trough, offering his tunic. “Here. We must hurry. I can’t afford to be killed, today.”

[Uleru]

Strangely, the first thing she notices is his eyes. Not the thin body, long pale arms, or the insidious nails. His eyes are the palest gold and seem to gather the light into itself. It reminds her of the creatures that live in the deep water caves, where the glow of their eyes is all you can see. His eyes are not as evil, or as dangerous, as that comparison may imply. They are simply piercing and watchful, almost feminine in their beauty.

The Symenestrian hands her his tunic and a warning, but the moulding shakes her head and refuse it. The garment could possibly help her if she soaked it. It would keep her wet and make breathing easier. But how long would it take them to get back to the sea? The thought of suffocating while wrapped in the thin garment sends shivers down her spine. Besides, the reason nobody watches her is because she is too noticeable, and too unsteady on land, for her to escape without being spotted. No, that wont work.

"I cant survive without the water", she explains breathlessly. "I cant leave if I cant take the water with me. But I can and I will find a way to get you what you want." It doesn't slip by her that he never named his price.

A musical chime as the Symenestrian impatiently shifts his weight draws her attention to the pouch on his chest. She catches sight of two glass vials glimmering innocently inside. Uleru's gut constricts at the thought of what she has to do, and the kind of vunerability she is putting herself in. But what choice does she have?

One comment about the story, of heroes and damsels, strikes her as grossly comical right now. He might consider himself the villain, but the villain doesn't rescue the princess. Whatever this messed up story might be, he has cast himself in his own role. And if he is not the hero, then this is where the princess gets locked away for the rest of her years.

"That," she points to one of the vials, her eyes hard and her hand surprisingly steady, "I can fit in that. Carry me out and they won't notice you."

Without waiting for his agreement, or even his consent, she lowers herself back under the water. If she pauses she might think about it and lose her nerve. What would stop him from stealing her away and selling her himself? There was a reason she never shifted shape or size with these humans. She is not only hiding herself away, she is making herself more portable.

But, really, what choice does she have?

Changing size takes a little longer than simply changing shape. And it has the rather disturbing effect of her folding in on her self. She loses the human visage and is pushed into a shapeless form, getting small and smaller, until she is simply a small drop of water. The Otani shimmers into her brightest blue so that he can see her and pick her up.

[Torias]

As she began folding in on herself, Torvias shot back to his feet and stumbled several steps backward. This was magic, wasn’t it? Morphing perhaps? Since he was a child he had been brought up to both fear and pity mages. They drank and spat a poison stronger than Torvias’s own venom. Still grasping onto his tunic, the Symenestra stared, a look of horror frozen on his face, while the creature lost her features and her form. She melted into her trough as if she had been made of wax. To say Torvias was disturbed was to describe Avanthal as chilly. Was this magic? Or was this creature never humanoid at all? He had heard of shapeshifting creatures, but this resembled nothing he had ever read about. No one back home would ever believe this. Then she was gone, and it was quiet. Suddenly alone, Torvias made another quick glance around, as if something in his surroundings would lend him some form of aid or clue. He swallowed his fear and gathered enough of his courage to approach the trough again to see what had become of this damsel. A glow. Like a glint of light from a copper-rimmed coin in a fountain. That was all. The rest of the water was placid and lifeless, a little dirty but perhaps almost drinkable. That. I can fit in that. Torvias’ clawed fingers drifted toward the satchel strapped to his chest, clinking against the glass of one of his vials as he drew it out. His amber eyes never left the point of light, tiny, foreign, and quivering inside such a mundane basin. Not entirely certain what he was doing, he removed the vial’s cork and knelt down, dipping his hand and vial into the water, capturing the light inside the small container. The vial was held up in the moonlight, where he could take a closer look at the unnaturally luminescent remains of the creature he had been speaking with. A thought briefly occurred to him that she must have been magical in nature, and considered whether she might have some application in philtering potions. “Strange,” he whispered in his native tongue. “Not the way I anticipated my night would go.” The vial was corked and tucked back into his satchel, and afterward his tunic was hastily adorned. Surely the men would return soon to check on their prize, whatever it was, and Torvias doubted he would be greeted as a friendly stranger. Light on his feet, as was the signature quality of his kind, the Symenestra once again ascended nearby structures in a quick flurry of limbs and claws. He did not move as nimbly as he did last time, exhausted by exertion and his attempts to process exactly what he had involved himself in. His mind was caught in riddles and circles, asking the air vain questions. It was impossible to think, but he remembered what she had said: I can’t survive without the water. Fortunately, there was an ocean conveniently nearby. All traces of the day’s color had drained from the sky by the time Torvias reached the docks. At this time of night, there were no fishermen or sailors preparing their vessels for sea. It was only the Symenestra and a nightly chorus of insects. Stepping up to the ocean’s edge, Torvias reached into his tunic and drew out the vial again, still glowing to prove that it was not simple, innocuous water. He knelt again, uncorking the bottle in the seawater and allowing its contents to smoothly escape. She could have very well left him then. Quite honestly, Torvias would sooner be rid of her than be ensnared by whatever world she had crawled out of. Still, he wanted to see if she would retake her previous form. He sat himself on the sandy, wooden dock, removing his cowl and exposing his face and neck to the salty winds. His almost-white hair caught the moonlight well, thin and wiry as the rest of him.

[Uleru]

Uleru supposes she should have died a thousand tiny deaths when she was caught in the small, enclosed container. If she ever related the experience with her kin she is sure it would be met with horror and jittery movement. Like hearing a story of a man getting is lips ripped off and running your tongue over your own to ensure that they are still there. But she didn't suffer like how she should. Not really. Maybe she was just too numb to feel it anymore.

Uleru stays in this catatonic haze until the air rushes into the vial as the cork is released. And finally, blissfully, she falls smoothy back into the ocean.

Her initial feeling of euphoria is almost explosive in nature. She expands herself rapidly, spreading formlessly and paper thin in order to touch as much of the water as possible. The Otani are truly never meant to be anywhere else. The moulding can do nothing for a few chimes but roll languidly in the still water, drinking in the feeling of being so connected with everything.

But for all her frolicking she has to recognize that she didn't make it on her own. She owes the man who brought her here her life. Much like how sailors give tokens for safe passage, she has to give him tribute. A tribute for a Symenestrian, no less. A race with a dark history and a darker reputation. Who knew there could be such evil saviours.

The Otani pulls herself firmly back into her favourite shape before she surfaces. She rises and treads water at the foot of the dock, looking up at where the Symenestra sits. The phosphorescence in her body has begun to glow, and she unconsciously borrows the gold colour of his eyes to reflect on her skin. As she gets closer her glow reflects off of his marble skin like a candle, creating a strange mirror effect between the two of them.

"Thank you."

It is the most simple of statements. Simplistic gratitude. And for the first time she smiles at him.

"Guess this does make you the hero. My name is Uleru." She holds out her hands and beckons him into the water with a laugh that bubbles from her chest like the sparkle in a glass of champagne. "Will you play with me, shadow man? I wont let you sink. I can't, can I? I owe you a debt. Oh, what a large debt. What will you do with it?" There cant be a price on this freedom. She will do anything he asks of her, you can hear in in the ease of her tone. Like this is as predictable as the tide rising in the evening.

"What does the Symenestra want?"

[Torias]

The approach of the golden water-woman was absorbed unsteadily. Torvias straightened, stiffened, and forgot to entirely close his mouth. Her gratitude was almost too much to bear, much like her suffering had been. It was as if she was thanking him for preventing the Valterrian, or creating the oceans. Perhaps it was now that it struck him: he was in the presence of something that was never mortal. Something about her somehow felt divine. Thinking that she might have considered him her savior felt so difficult, knowing that he did not deserve the respect that came along with it. Torvias rubbed the back of his neck with a sinister hand and swallowed. “Yes.” The word was breathed more than spoken. His fingers briefly grazed over the subtly raised skin of his Cheva’s mark. For a moment, his eyes fell. “A rather unwieldy role. My name is Torvias.” He looked up up again, staring at Uleru’s offered hand, his eyes catching the light of her and reflecting it predatorily. His gaze was instilled with new confidence and the return of his natural suspicion. What did he want? What does any Symenestra want? “There is little I desire that you could give me,” he told her honestly. Uleru had said she had been ripped away from her father. A statement he hadn’t forgotten. “But I would like to know what you are. And I would like to remember what happened tonight.” He reached into his tunic, pulling a few small objects from his satchel. One was a length of charcoal, and the other was a slip of folded paper. The latter was unfolded, and he drew up one long leg from the side of the dock, using it as a more-or-less solid surface. After spending a long glance to take in the shape of her face and the length of her hair, he began to sketch down the major lines. “What did they want with you?” he said without moving his eyes back to her, except the short stolen looks to remember how she looked. “If you already know what I am, you know that I must be capable of worse.”

[Uleru]

"Torvias. Tor~vias", the Otani sounds out carefully, rolling the name on her tongue like a sample of wine. She doesn't like it. It sounds so stiff, not quite a name a child can grow into.

She mimics his facial expression as he rubs his neck. It's guilt, she's seen it before, but there is something else too. Regret? Remorse? Unable to decide she continues to relay the emotion on her features in hopes of understanding. But when he stiffens defensively his expression shuts down, and the moulding lets it go.

He asks her what she is, and Uleru endeavours to tell him honestly. Of course a Symenestra wouldn't recognize her. Especially one this young. She rarely sees his kind since they prefer their caves to the open air, and they most definitely do not like the sea.

"I'm am Otani", she begins simply, tapping her lip as she thinks of how best to convey how the Otani feel about themselves in a way he might understand. He doesn't strike her as dim. Quite the opposite in fact. But how they view themselves and how the humanoid races see them can be very different.

"We belong to Laviku, the sea king. He made us. He made me. We serve him in all things." A very technical explanation. This is what the Otani are, sure. But the reality is far more personal, she frowns and studies the stars as she speaks.

"He sees through my eyes. Sometimes he will act through me, give me direction and tell me what to do. But that is rare... He is my father and I love him more than I can explain."

"And those humans wanted me for my body. I'm monstrous, see? They don't understand me. They don't know where I keep my mind when they cant see it. Humans are curious, thats all. But humanoid curiosity can be a corrosive thing, cant it", she raises a translucent brow at him. He came to investigate her out of curiosity, after all.

"And you can do much worse than them, of course you can. But so can jellyfish. Thats what you are, you are jellyfish. They poison what they touch and cause pain when they eat. The world could go on without jellyfish, and it could go on without Symenestra, but while they are both here I don't begrudge them for what they do."

She studies him as his sketching gets more elaborate. He is such a dour man. Yet still a child from her point of view. He strikes her as elegant and insidious in body and in nature. And tough even with his fragility, like a much heavier man has been stretched taller and thinner. He's quite beautiful, really, but there is a deadly quality to this beauty that would put anyone on edge.

"Thats why you're here, isn't it, Tor~vais? Jellyfish must eat and the Symenestra must go on. You're here for a woman, aren't you?"

[Torias]

Otani. The word meant nothing to him. It was perhaps narcissistic of Torvias to find that strange, as the Symenestra commonly consider themselves educated and well-informed. Travel was a part of his native culture, and it was tradition upon return to catalogue one’s experiences at the Cribellum. It was difficult to believe Torvias had merely stumbled upon something rarely seen by his own kind. If he was however, that would assure him some proud bragging rights. For a moment, he paused his drawing of the Otani’s likeness to write something at the top of the paper. In fine, but small lettering, he put: “The Otani, Uleru.” Torvias then continued adding detail to her wet hair. This girl, this thing, was Laviku’s servant. His “daughter”. The gods did seem to enjoy their pets, as evidenced by the gnosis marks occasionally granted to mortals. By the sound of it however, the Otani had a more direct link to her god than a mortal chosen to carry out his will. Torvias had no special opinion of Laviku, except when he begged peace with him when sailing over the oceans, but he did wonder if this would change Laviku’s opinion of Torvias Aconite. “Humans are arrogant enough to believe that they have right to lay claim to what they see,” Torvias replied in half-agreement. He wasn’t sure what Uleru meant by where she kept her mind, or whether he had the capacity to understand what she meant. She was like no creature he had ever encountered, perhaps possessing senses and abilities he couldn’t begin to conceive. He began applying detail to her eyes. Though he appeared to be listening, he made no remark on her comparison of Symenestra to jellyfish. It is easy to forgive a jellyfish when it does not prey on you. “I am here for my family.” Torvias sounded mildly defensive. “Also, the scenery is nice. The weather not unpleasant.” He retraced the lines of her irises, making them more prominent and expressive. “I simply find your lack of fear unusual. You may be the first outsider I’ve met that does not shrink away from me.” The eyes finished, he began finishing off the contours of her jawline. “Not that I mind.” A stray glance of his eyes catches hers. “You’ve had previous encounters with Symenestra?”