Snow Night

[Coryn]

31st Winter 515AV

To escape from the confines of the walled city and the bustling crowds that sent her Ranuri gnosis alight, Coryn had come to the Mithryn Outpost. The farming community was much quieter than Syliras, but Coryn’s appreciation was still modest, to say the least. She spent the majority of her time in the local tavern, which had not exactly changed her surroundings as much as she had hoped her visit would. Though smaller, the Fool’s Errand was little different to the Rearing Stallion. There were still the drunks, and the individuals who spent the night stewing in their own foul mood and self-pity.

The only difference was that Coryn was not working. And though this certainly relieved her of her usual bartending duties, she still felt little joy as she sat a table in the tavern. She blamed part of this desolation on being further inland than normal. Perhaps her kind were not meant to stray from the water into which they fallen. There was a fear that she might miss something, that Leth himself may return to the Suvan to pick up the daughter he had let slip. But she wouldn’t be there, and he might shrug before going back home, figuring that she preferred this world over the one he had shared with her.

Don’t be ridiculous, Coryn thought bitterly as she watched her glass of wine through narrowed silver eyes. Leth had not showed any ounce of pity or regret yet, and why should he now? Her mind briefly flickered back to that night, early on in her new life, where she had sat on the beach and cut her skin with a shard of dirty glass. She’d wanted to punish herself, and eventually decided that death would be better than this life. And then she’d been saved by none other than Nikali herself. Self consciously Coryn touched the side of her ribcage, beside her right breast, where her gnosis mark lay. Nikali had given her something to live for, and though Coryn’s mood had lifted significantly since that meeting, she was still bitter towards Leth. He had let her go, and she was lucky Nikali had been there to catch her.

“You want anythin’?”

“No.” Her eyes did not rise from the wine glass. At nighttime, Coryn did not feel the need to eat or drink like she did during the day. But she made an exception for wine; the way it fuzzed her mind was pleasant and relaxing. “Thank you.” She added absently as the barmaid huffed and walked off.

All this time, Coryn had complained that she was desperate to escape from Syliras, but now she finally had, but to little avail. The people here in the Mithryn were all busy with their work and their lives, and she envied them deeply. They had something to live for, be it their families or their livestock or crops. Could Coryn be a farmer? She chuckled at the ridiculousness of that idea and shook her head, pulling the wine glass to her lips and taking a deep sip. Of many things Coryn was unsure, but that she would never be a farmer she was certain.

ledger-5SM for 1 simple Room for 1 night @ the Fool’s Errand
-5CM for 1 glass of wine

[Rhov]

----

Dark clouds loomed overhead outside the Fool's Errand, the threat of storm apparent in every winter's winds. The icy air cut to the bone, peeling through layers of wool and warmth with unrepentant legality. Rhov's breath trailed visibly from his lips, and the Chaktawe wondered how Sylirans could withstand this cold every year. At least the Dune Seas of the Eyktol the chill of the night was a swift reprieve from the burning gaze of day. Here, however, the cold seemed to infiltrate every aspect of life during these frigid months. The air, the water, even the people changed as the temperature dropped. All of it mystified the desert dweller, the stark difference between environment and cultures still dividing his perspective despite the months he had been in Syliras.

Rhov released a sigh of sharp relief as he swung the door to tavern open. Warmth flooded his senses almost immediately; a curling, comforting hand which soothed his numbing skin. He shut the solid oak behind him and walked up to the rough wood of bar. After the intensity of the last few days, Rhov needed a drink to warm his belly and dull his mind.

"Mug of warm ale," he ordered the barkeep, placing a few coins onto the counter-top. The bartender's eyebrows shot up at seeing the decidedly foreign looking man, but Rhov simply rolled his eyes and turned his back to the man. At the birth of the new year, the Chaktawe had elected to make an effort to represent his culture despite his surroundings. He had shorn his scalp clean, barring the line of hair which trailed from his widow's peak and back into a warrior's wolf-tail. His black warpaint, once an occasional feature, had now become a near-permanent apart of his attire. It was only because the cold of the Winter months that he had not altered his dress further, but even the current changes drew stares and murmurs from the conformed citizens of Syliras. Rhov was glad for the way his new style made him feel closer to his people despite their distance, but it aggravated him that humans proved so quick to judge the differences between them.

"H-hey, you're one of them bird-folks, ain't 'cha? Not the red-'aired ones, but the spooky-eyes. Whaddya call 'em, Chak-something?" a fellow bar-patron inquired, alcohol wafting from his breath. Rhov wrinkled his nose in response, irritation beginning to claw its way to the forefront of his mind. "Is it true that you guys l-like ravens. But, like, reeeeealy like 'em?"

From the suggestive waggle of the man's eyebrows, Rhov quickly understood what he was implying. The Chaktawe turned and glared hard, the absurdity of it inciting anger in the youth. He was half-tempted to take his frustrations from recent days out on the poor drunkard, but restrained his urges. He was already on thin-ice with the Order due to the incident involving his last bounty, and he doubted he could get away with a brawl on his record. Onyx orbs turning desperate from some escape from this conversation without causing a scene, he saw the striking figure of dark skinned, horned women. She truly was a stand-out from the regular fair which found themselves inside the Fool's Errand. Dark skin and long tresses of coal-black hair, she stood in stark difference to the lightly-colored appearance of most Sylirans. Emerald horns which twisted out of her temples decried her as non-human, but Rhov found himself most intrigued by
a different factor of her appearance. Her eyes, a piercing indigo which flashed brightly in the warm glow of the fire, spoke of defiance and of challenge against the norm. She seemed lost in contemplation, while rest of the room swirled around in activity. In her, Rhov saw an escape from the drunkard to his side and an intriguing opportunity.

"I've found someone I need to talk to," he informed the man at the bar, grabbing his mug before leaving. It wasn't much of an excuse, but Rhov wasn't much of a social animal. The alternatives were either lying or combat, both of which the Chaktawe could not bring himself to commit tonight. Regardless, the drunk seemed to accept his explanation and soon found interest in another human.

Rhov walked towards the woman with a hunter's focus, every step bearing purpose behind it. He sat down at the table without permission, eschewing politeness for direct confrontation. Placing the drink down on the table, the Chaktawe faced the woman directly. Obsidian eyes crashed into indigo as the youth looked at her, curiosity apparent in his gaze.

"My name is Rhov, and you seem different from most Sylirans. Why?" he questioned the stranger, either unaware or uncaring of the social awkwardness of the situation.

Ledger-4cm for ale.

[Coryn]

Coryn was still debating what exactly she would dedicate her life to, but she had come up against yet another barricade. She had no idea how long her life would be, or how long her physical health would last. The kind individuals who had pulled her out of the water, and the others who had watched over her at the medical centre, had claimed that her kind did not age. At the time, aging had been an entirely foreign concept to her, but now she understood the idea better. The grey-haired farmers around her had not been haggard old man forever. Once, decades ago, they would have been as youthful and spritely as any young lad could hope to be. Coryn, by comparison, would forever be frozen in the age she was now. In fifty years, there would be no silver hairs on her head, or wrinkles on her skin.

This posed a serious problem: with apparent infinite time stretching out before her, Coryn had innumerable choices. So she had ruled out being a farmer – but that still left an mind-bobbling amount of options. Too many, Coryn thought apprehensively as she took another fuzzy-tongued lap at her wine. She felt that she needed to make use of her gift from Nikali – the Goddess had saved her, after all. The desires of others filled her every day, but in the evening when her thoughts were her own, Coryn was as confused and frustrated as ever.

And so she drank, and in impressive quantities.

Despite the dour nature of her thoughts, Coryn was nevertheless vexed when someone spoke to her and, not only that, sat at her table. Coryn looked at the male with blasé, almost irritated, interest. Another voice, another unwanted companion. It was only when she noticed the endlessness of his eyes did her interest spark. Another freak!

No, perhaps freak was too strong a word. But this black-eyed stranger was the first other oddity Coryn had seen since her regretful arrival into the city. She felt an immediate kinship with him, some empathy that she did not feel towards the more usual looking people around them. “I am not a Syliran.” Was her simple reply, accompanied by a shrug that seemed to say is that not obvious? Her silver eyes scanned the male up and down, taking in his entire appearance. Everything about him was foreign, even to Coryn who had existed in this world for barely a season. Clothes, hair, accent… her brows knotted together minutely as she paid attention once again to his face, particularly the black splashes of paint that stained his skin. What was the purpose of which decoration? It was hardly attractive, or even artistic. “Why are you different?” Her directness could have perhaps been considered rude if she was not simply mirroring his own blunt question. But candour was something she appreciated. Far too many people spent their time dodging subjects and treading on egg shells.

Finally, almost as an after thought, she gifted this stranger with her name: “My name is Coryn.” She said into her wine glass before taking another gulp.

[Rhov]

----

The bitter-sweet taste of the stout brew before him washed over his mouth as Rhov raised the cup to his lips. The woman's initial reaction was to be expected, and the Chaktawe had long grown used to the fact that he tended to raise people's hackles with his presence. However, as soon as the girl's eyes met the sea of black that were his, her expression changed almost instantaneously. Gone was the barely constrained contempt at being interrupted, replaced by an energetic curiosity that Rhov found infectious. The youth smirked slightly to himself at the woman's frank response. Yes, I suppose that was obvious.

Her intelligent, indigo eyes seemed to take in every facet of his appearance as they jumped from point to point on his body. For most others, especially Sylirans, some might be offended by the blatant staring. Rhov, however, appreciated the act; seeing the inquisitive look which infiltrated her gaze as supremely practical. It struck Rhov as strange that two outliers like themselves would find such fast friendship in Syliras of all places.

"Because I refuse to abandon my people's traditions," The youth explained. "I am a son of the Kalanue Tribe of the Chaktawe. Where I'm from, seas of sand stretch as far as the eye can see, and it is only by our own ingenuity and the Crow-Brother's grace that we live to see tomorrow." His eyes drifted momentarily from the olive-skinned woman's shapely face to the roaring fire of the inn, thoughts of home piercing through to the forefront of his mind. It had been so long since he had been home, back under the burning sun and the stark-streaked nights of Eyktol. Syliras was filled with wonders, but nothing compared to the land he had been raised in. Even now, after months of living among the copper-colored trees and by the stark sapphire of the Suvan Sea, Rhov still felt estranged from the country and its people. It had been a complete culture shock to the Chaktawe during his first few weeks here, and every event seemed to outperform the last in terms of grandeur. While the beauty of this land and the accomplishments of its citizens were undeniable, Rhov could not shake the feeling that he slept under a strange sky. Perhaps the clash of perspectives and incomparable living conditions between his race and the humans of Syliras was responsible for the youth's inability to integrate into this new land? Or perhaps Rhov was simply too damned stubborn to yield even the slightest concession of his culture for another? Either way, the Chaktawe missed his home all the same.

Rhov nodded at the mention of her name, making an effort to remember her name. It was such a rare treat to meet another soul who was also a stranger in a foreign land. Rhov wondered how the horned woman had ended up in the sprawling metropolis that was Syliras, or why someone so exotic had chosen to stay confined to the normalcy of Stormhold's stone-gray walls. She struck him a caged bird, wings clipped by unknowable circumstances. Truly, he felt a connection with the girl, and desperately wanted to know more.

"Coryn," the Chaktawe started, feeling out the strange syllables of her name. "Where do you hail from? What are your people like?" His raven-black eyebrows knit together in curiosity, rippling the dark edges of the warpaint which stained his skin.

[Coryn]

Chaktawe.

It was a word that Coryn had never heard before, and she shaped it on her lips, smiling at the sheer foreignness of it on her tongue. Her interest sparked further as he explained his homeland, his people. It sounded utterly unlike the Syliran culture, which Coryn found stifling and uptight. A sea of sand? Fascinating, but something the young male said confused her:

“The Crow-Brother? Who is that?” Crows were those filthy birds she had seen feasting on the half-rotten corpses of dead animals, and Coryn’s nose wrinkled with mild disgust. Whoever happened to be brethren of those gross birds was someone she had little interest in befriending, and so it was with mild contempt that Coryn added, “and how does he people your… people?”

She watched his face carefully, drinking in the intense foreignness of his appearance, though clearly his attention was elsewhere, hanging on the fire behind her. The expression he wore seemed littered with regret, almost sadness, and yet again Coryn felt an unspoken alliance with this stranger. She too missed where she had come from, yet her home was ethereal, could not be described in the language that she now spoke. To compare her world with that of this Chaktawe, with his seas of sand and brother of crows, was impossible.

Which bought about another concern for Coryn: what culture did she belong to? What traditions could she cling to, like Rhov had done? Though she knew she had slipped from the world she once belonged to, each time Coryn tried to recall what that world was like, the memory of it danced away from her mind. It was intensely frustrating, knowing that she so deeply mourned a life that she could not even imagine, let alone describe to this stranger before her. Likewise, there was no trinket or tradition of that life that she could show him. His clothing, his war-paint all somehow represented his people and his former life. What did Coryn have that was equivalent?

Self-consciously, she touched her horns.

Ah, of course. She smiled wryly to herself, a bittersweet realisation that her horns were the single greatest indication of where she had fallen from. But even her horns appeared only at night – did that mean she only possessed the culture of that mysterious, ethereal world under Leth’s gaze.

Shaking her head, Coryn sipped at her wine yet again. There was no use in thinking such pensive, miserable thoughts. She had left the city to escape this exact endless depression, and yet here it was, sitting across the table from her with a pair of black eyes that she had never seen before. “I come from far away.” She murmured into her glass, and then louder: “And my people are… unknown for the most part.” A shadow of a remorseful smile flickered across her lips. But then something else caught Coryn’s attention, something outside the window. The darkness of the night was flecked with falling pieces of white that Coryn initially thought were torn pieces of parchment.

“The sky.” She was on her feet now, her brows knotted in concern and a hand pointing to the misted window. “Look.”

[Rhov]

----

Rhov smiled genuinely at Coryn's questions despite the latent contempt that infiltrated her words, her inquisitive nature shaking him out of the melancholic thoughts which roiled underneath the sea of his mind. He took another deep draw of his warm ale before turning his attention back to the horned woman's queries.

"It is hard to explain, in your language at least," the Chaktawe began, fumbling for the right words. He racked his brain for the right word to describe his people's relationship with their chosen god. "To outsiders, he is known as Eywaat, Lord of the Birds. To the Chaktawe, he is Crow-Brother. He is family. Not by blood, but by action," Rhov struggled to explain, wishing so much to simply state what he knew in his native tongue. "Does this make sense?"

Onyx eyes peered curiously at Coryn as conflict seemed to overtake her face. Had he said something wrong? Done something that affected her? Rhov suppressed a disgruntled sigh which threatened escape from his lips. Talking to others had always been hard for him. It required a certain amount of openness, of trust in the strangers around him, that he lacked. Alcohol had of course helped in the past, but for Rhov those adventures in inebriation had always ended poorly. With a gentle smile, the Chaktawe touched the spot on his chest where the visage of a stark white snake eating its own tail coiled above his heart. Well, perhaps poorly isn't quite the right word.

Rhov felt relieved as the woman seemed to shake herself from whatever depths she sank herself into. The cold, collected control that Rhov had observed Coryn exert returned to her; that momentary vulnerability vanishing in an instant. Good, the Chaktawe thought to himself, she does not wear weakness well.

Her response to his prior question, however, only served to puzzle the youth more. She had dodged his inquiry, placing him off-guard. Their conversation had been open for the most part, speaking with frankness that was such a rare commodity these days. And now her answers turned vague. Mired in uncertainty. Far away? A people unknown? Perhaps Rhov had ventured to far, skimmed over a sensitive subject? Or was it that Coryn truly didn't know? Truly, the horned woman was proving to be equal parts enlightening and maddening to Rhov.

At her gesture, Rhov inclined his head to the window. First, he thought the sight to be a trick of the air, a wayward reflection casting an awing illusion. As the Chaktawe looked closer, he realized what he saw was no illusion, but in fact a startling new reality. Fluffy white specks floated down from the heavens, crashing against the tarnished glass of the inn and staining it with frost. It proved a sight Rhov had never seen before, another new wonder that remained absent from his homeland.

Rhov stood up suddenly, rapt in the sight which flitted with carefree abundance outside. "Come," he stated abruptly to Coryn, abandoning the warmth of the inn and her company for the blistering cold of the outdoors. The Chaktawe felt the curious gazes of inn patrons follow his movements at his sudden departure, but he stalked onward to the frigid fall of this mysterious substance. He could not understand how the rest of the inn had not done as he did. How could they treat such an unexplained mystery with such normalcy?

The door to the Fool's Errand swung open with little effort, and Rhov stopped only a few feet out from the building the building. Quiet snowflakes whispered across his bronze skin and found home in the tangles of his hair. Cold and starch white, the substance shifted from what seemed like its solid state to a liquid one as it crashed against the heat of his body. The chill of the strange, fluffy clumps quickly began to overtake him, but still Rhov stood awestruck.

Normally, the bounty hunter held himself to be strong and stolid. Normally, he found little joy in the experiences that Syliras had to offer. Normally, Rhov yearned for the familiar sights and sounds of his homeland.

But in this rare instance. In this strange calamity of cold that wrapped itself around the land and infiltrated every aspect of his being, the Chaktawe could not contain his exuberance. A deep, joy-filled laughed bubbled out of his body and a child-like happiness lit his dark eyes aflame with glee. Rhov could not control the laughter that spilled out of him. Something about the white flakes which crashed from the sky above like slow sand from a rock shelf filled the youth with an unexplained cheer. A resounding whoop flew from his lips, and Rhov allowed his feet to fail and his back to crash against the immovable earth.

There he lay, blinking the white from his lashes as snow slowly began to surround his form. "Perhaps Syiliras has happiness still to be found," he said to himself in Tawna, words like wind striking against the silence of the frozen air.

[Coryn]

Coryn indeed followed the Chaktawe, silent and brooding at the starkness of his order. Still, she was more intrigued than she was annoyed and the strangeness of what was happening beyond the window pulled her towards the door. She was less hurried than he, however, taking a more apprentice and wary approach to the snowfall. This seemed as new to him as it did to her, and the Ethaefal was more than happy for him to investigate the scene before she deemed it safe for herself. Let curious fools serve their purpose.

She lingered by the door, one hand outstretched to catch whatever it was that was falling from the black sky. A large snowflake landed on her hand, and she hissed at it’s coldness, but by the time Coryn snapped her hand towards her chest to investigate, there was but a miniscule amount of ice left. “Water.” She declared quietly, lifting the pool of cold liquid to her nose, then her tongue.

Her silver gaze flickered to the black-eyed male. He was covered in the stuff, though no sooner had she focused her attention on a single snowflake did it melt away, darkening his strange, foreign clothes with spots of damp. She continued to watch him, still wary despite the apparent lack of danger or sickness caused by the weather. Clearly the woman was engaged in some internal conflict, whether to join her companion in the snow, or to simply remain in the sanctuary of the tavern doorway.

The decision was made for her when the male hooted with laughter. For a tick she grinned, deciding once and for all that there was no possible danger.

But then he fell, as if the male’s legs had suddenly given way underneath him. Coryn rushed over, kicking up snow behind her in great clouds. Was he dead? Had the falling whiteness killed him? If so, why she she was she running to his side, the side of a stranger, and putting herself at the same risk? Beside him, Coryn fell to her knees, her iced fingers touching his chest to find traces of life. She needn’t look long, because the male was quite obviously alive and very well. Abashed at her panic, but nevertheless breathless with relief over their mutual safety, Coryn explained herself: “you fell. I thought you’d died.”

She looked around her, and for the first time Coryn noticed the many other people around them. Children were laughing, lunging great handfuls of the snow to each other. Others seemed to be making sculptures out of the stuff, though as yet none of the artworks resembled anything more than an indiscriminate lump of white. Whatever it was, this whiteness was as far from dangerous as could be. Quite the opposite: it seemed to be bringing out the very essence of joy from those around her. Slowly her attention was pulled back to the black-eyed male. She was still kneeling at his side, the dedicated nurse bringing a not-so-sick man back to life.

And then Coryn laughed. Be it the relief that he had not died, the coldness that was currently gnawing its way through Coryn’s calves and knees, or just the sense of drunken happiness that seemed to have blanketed over the Mithryn Outpost, Coryn found herself feeling weightless with joy and relief. Beautiful emotions washed through her, feelings she could not yet name or even recognise. She wanted to run, to play, to laugh, to have fun without the weight of her identity - or lack of identity – slowing her down.

“Come on.” She said, standing up suddenly and offering her hand to the male, “let’s have fun.”

[Rhov]

----

The quiet crunch of footsteps against snow shook Rhov's focus from the sky to the approaching form above him. For an instant, his body tense taught, every muscle ready to defend his person. It was a reflex at this point. He had to be guarded, to have his walls raised high, in these recent weeks. Winter had been a time of constant conflict for the Chaktawe. Rhov never slowed down, not for a second, for fear of falling behind. For fear of being left behind again. The few friends he had made the seasons prior had all gone their separate ways, traveling to distant lands and seeking adventure wherever it lay, but Rhov's Searching had bade him to stay in Syliras.

A hushed chuckled bubbled out of the bronzed man's lips, sending away the rapidly disheartening thoughts into the spiraling snowfall overhead.. Even now, in the midst of this wondrous time in his life, shadows chased the edges of his mind. Eria is right, I need to relax a little. Enjoy what I have. Take it one day at a time.

His obsidian gaze met the breathless form of the woman he had only met minutes before, her knees crashing to the ground as she rapidly searched for signs of life. A single, raven-black eyebrow raised itself quizzically at Coryn's searching hands and panicked visage. Curiosity transformed into hilarity as the serious woman explained her reasoning, and Rhov could have sworn he saw the faintest brush of embarrassed red dash her cheeks as he laughed at her expense.

Dead? And I thought I was out of sorts here. He smirked soundlessly, amusement apparent in his eyes. She truly mystified Rhov, such a daunting and fierce figure of a woman overwrought with concern for a complete stranger. The Chaktawe doubted he would have shared the same sympathy. Alien in appearance and personality, Coryn came to Rhov like an oasis in the deserts of his homeland. For so long, he thought he was alone in his outlandishness. Now, however, there seemed to be someone else that he could relate to, someone that was just as lost as he was in this city of knights and nobles. To share that directionless drive, that aimless need to assert oneself in new and foreign circumstances? It made Rhov feel instantly connected with the horned woman. It was a type of spontaneous friendship the youth had not felt in a while. For the first time in a long while, Rhov felt happy enough to smile.

It appeared his exuberance infectious as Coryn laughed into the night air, a melodic sound that rang out into the storm above them. White flakes peppered the dark hair of the woman, and her emerald horns stood out stark amidst the light snow. Violet eyes sparking with joy, Rhov decided that the woman wore happiness much better than despair. The youth's small smile broadened into a grin as he saw Coryn's once dark mood shift to something more positive. He hadn't often had the experience of seeing happiness overtake someone's being. No, he was much more familiar with inspiring darker emotions into people. Anger. Fear. Desperation. All such were what either he or his prey were exposed to in his hunts. But the happiness on Coryn's face? Rhov enjoyed being some part of that far more than he expected he ever would.

So as his hand slipped into hers in order to stand, in the very moment their hands touched, Rhov wanted nothing more than to make Coryn as happy as possible. To hear that enchanting laugh again, and to see her dark cheeks go rosy with delight.

OOCHope I gave you something to work with for your Ranuri Gnosis! Sorry it took so long to reply.

[Ball]

Coryn

Socialization +1
Observation +2
Anthropology +1

Lore
Rhov is a Chaktawe
Anthropology: Culture defines a person?
Snow = Water Frozen
Rhov died from snow... Nope Just fell!
Philosophy: Questioning one's purpose in life

Rhov
Please be sure to update your Ledger for Seasonal Expenses regarding Winter 515, they must be in place or this to be graded. Please resubmit for grading once complete.

If I have missed something please PM me. Please mark your grade request as graded. Sorry there was not much to grade here. As the thread was so short. I apologize