Closed Orison Gone Awry

[Lorcan Gregory]

　
　
　

18 th Fall 516 av
17 th Bell

Ducking beneath the golden pavilion tent flap of "The Raised Sun", Lörcán emerged into the heavily clouded, muggy climate with a puckered brow. His gut swirled with sparring emotions; his mind conflicted, foggy. He thought he would feel elated after securing himself a job within the city; he was taking steps to live with the second chance at life he had been given - so why did he feel shamefaced and guilt-ridden?

Every morning he awoke drenched in bed sweats; every morning he would lay in his tent on the verge of screaming. All he had was his name; even then he couldn’t be entirely sure it was real. Swept within pensive thought, Lörcán could lose himself for Bells searching his mind for clues, for a glimpse of a memory; only to be crushed a little each time when he returned to the present world with nothing but maddening frustration.

He was continuously dithering between searching for his past and living on with the present. If he dwelled on probing for his memories for too long, he would cease to live. If he moved on with building himself a life, he instantly became overwhelmed with remorse, pain and iniquity. Besides, how could he build a life when he was nothing but an empty shell of doubt?

In the end the need to survive, the need to eat, forced his hand. That is what had taken him to the Topaz clan this day, although as Lörcán mindlessly wove his way between the erected pavilions towards the Wind Knotted Gates he just couldn’t shake the swarm of ignoble feelings constricting his heart.

Suddenly a flood of bodies caused Lörcán to jump back a step, his mind snapping back to the world of life. A stream of Drykas all seemed to be headed towards the Wind Knotted Gates - curiosity swept Lörcán’s feet into step after them. A concept he was slowly discovering about himself; he was one nosy parker!

Flicking his sorrel gaze over the assembled crowd, Lörcán wove his way closer to the centre. Scowling at the towering height and broad shoulders of a long-golden haired man obscuring his view, Lörcán ducked around to the man’s side. Apprehensively folding his arms across his broad chest, Lörcán settled his sights upon a small group of elders stood before the towering sacred poles.

He had never spent a great deal of time before the hallowed vision of colourful threads. The magnificent spectacle of multiple hues as the threads whipped and slapped in Zulrav’s breeze was enchanting. As his brooding gape followed the pirouetting colours, Lörcán couldn’t help but wonder what they were; what did they represent? Why were they so special to the Drykas people?

Alas his pondering thoughts were dragged to the centre group of elders as one woman’s quaky voice rung out over the gathered Drykas, fabric wrapped around her crown of short greying hair. To Lörcán it was a symphony of waving hand gestures and conjumbled words he did not know. Pavi, the native tongue of Endrykas completely alluded the foreigner - highlighting his loneliness in a sea of the unknown all the more.

“Many of you know me as Yantra the “Matchmaker”, but today I do not bring good tidings.” The speaker’s hand signalled to another senior on her left; a longstanding hunched woman whose whitened, blind eye rose Lörcán’s brow in surprise. “Ferem comes with a warning. After much conference, we elders agree that the coming Winter will be a hard one. We urge all those that can to forage, hunt and store as much food as you can for the coming season. Join us now in prayer for providence and bounty!”

Shuffling from one foot to the other, his face scrunched in bewilderment, Lörcán grew restless of listening to a language he couldn’t understand. He glanced at the Drykas around him - all seemed to nod in reverence. Lörcán surmised it must be a matter of great importance to captivate the crowd’s sombre attention as it had.

Leaning in close to the tall, blonde beside him, Lörcán’s inquisitiveness got the better of him as he softly mumbled to the man in the only language he knew - Common - simply praying the Drykas could understand, “Psss! Do you know what’s going on?”

[Brocton Firestone]

Brocton, and a few other hunters slowly started gathering around earlier this morning to begin a brief meeting of what was meant to happen in future terms, of course others are welcomed as well, but Brocton was more interested whether or not he could still be able to hunt outside the Tent City of Endrykas. After all, that's the important thing of being in the Emerald Clan, those are mostly the hunters, though, Broxton knows a few members who aren't really hunting material, but are important in other ways besides hunting.

It was quite muggy outside, damp even, nonetheless it hadn't bothered Brocton. The hunter was adamant about the future, he really wasn't sure what to expect. His theighs surged with pain, but he ignored it, it seemed he had done quite a bit walking, and Brocton needed to regain his muscles once again. He recalled the day; when he, Rufio, and Khida went with a group of hunters, only to be ambushed by a pack of wolves. He cursed under his breath as he remembered the bite on his theigh.

Can things get any worse for the Drykas?

A small group gathered by the Wind Knotted Gates for this meeting. Not only were the Emerald Clan members, but their were a number of Topaz, Sapphire, Ruby, and Amethyst who have all come to see what's planned ahead for them. Brocton was a little nervous, and anxious at the same time. He could be eager even, just a little though.

“Many of you know me as Yantra the “Matchmaker”, but today I do not bring good tidings.” Yantrha spoke with a stern subtle tone that had gotten almost everyone on edge, there was a few mumbles coming from the other Clan members and Brocton was getting even more nervous himself.

Brocton glanced over to Yantras left. He remembered, Ferem, from Summer. A long journey to Itones tower, she sent him, Amunet, and a Watchman named Lodai, that Brocton was sure he was related to one of the Stormbloods, or at least is a part of their Pavillion.

“Ferem comes with a warning. After much conference, we elders agree that the coming Winter will be a hard one. We urge all those that can to forage, hunt and store as much food as you can for the coming season. Join us now in prayer for providence and bounty!”

Ever since this Summer, Brocton believes in the Godly realm around them. He knew not to give them disloyalty as they rule the world of Mizahar. For sure, you can make your own choices and everything, but St the end, the Gods are what determine your path. Brocton brushed a mass of blonde hair from his eyes to the top of his head.

There was a man, who caught his attention, and it looked to Brocton that he didn't know how to speak Pavi. Brocton didn't know much about the Common language. He can formulate certain sentences. Other than that... he really didn't know.

“Psss! Do you know what’s going on?”

"Going on?" Brocton repeated in common. He signed Prayers, but then he didn't know if the man understood Pavi. "Prayers? Trouble... Winter be, dangerous?" Then instinctively, he signed danger awaits, cold. Then he face palmed his forehead and sighed. "You speak.... Pavi?" Brocton asked the man curiously, though if he did, would the man ask him what's going on? Brocton was getting confused.

[Lorcan Gregory]

　
　

The sweet replication of common flowing hesitantly from the golden giant swept through Lörcán in a rush of gratitude. Even if the man's common tongue was fragmented; communication was still viable.

Turning his piercing, sorrel gaze onto the flailing hand gestures Lörcán furrowed his brow in focused concentration. Perhaps if he attempted to read the hand sign the Drykas used in conjunction with their words, he might be able to decipher the foreign language. Communication with the horse clan nomads was a fumbling game of charades!!

“Prayers? Trouble... Winter be, dangerous?” Lörcán's eyes followed the giant’s hands as they made shapes in the air. In complete consternation he attempted to mimic the finger movements, “This means danger?” Looking down at the manoeuvre of his hands Lörcán's face bunched, “No that's not right.” Before attempting to again mirror what he had seen, but his mind’s eye failed him and he lost all memory of how to create the words with his fingers.

Glancing up his frustrations melted as the blonde giant all but face palmed himself, tickling out a light hearted chuckle from the amnesiac. “You speak... Pavi?”

Frowning, it was Lörcán's turn to sigh as he shook his head in defeat; his unruly, shaggy mop flopping into his eyes, “No. No Pavi. I am,” Lörcán paused and decided to condense his common eloquence into singular words to better aid the Drykas as he ran his fingers through his thick locks. “New. I'm new to Endrykas.”

Lörcán espied the surrounding crowd bow their heads in reverent orison; a lugubrious silence suddenly weighing down the atmosphere around the Sacred Wind Knotted Gates.

He wished to converse more with the Drykas by his side, yet he felt as though uttering a single word would be a colossal act of disrespect. Once again though his hyperactive spirit of enquiry gave fuel to his voice; in all but a coarse whisper, his gaze flicking over those closest to the estranged pair, cautious to not disturb their prayerful thoughts.

“Who do they pray to? Why?”

[Brocton Firestone]

TITLE

Brocton listened to the young man as best as he could. He was getting extremely confused. What was he supposed to tell him,he was really confused and Brocton could find a way to resolve this confusion.

“No. No Pavi. I am, New. I'm new to Endrykas.” The younger man said as Brocton listened, he didn't know why anyone would want to visit Endrykas now, especially now, when things are just about to get worse for the Tent City. This is definitely not good. Endrykas guests shouldn't get involved with Zith matters, and even though they're not totally frequent at this time, it's still dangerous and they could attack again at any moment. The hunter's side burned a bit as he twisted his head to listen to some other Drykas man pray. Brocton would be praying to, but he has to talk to this man here about what's going on. It was kind of annoying.

Then, the man began to sign? He tried to sign danger, but the man failed. Brocton cracked a smile. "We pray to gods." Brocton said, he signed, pray, respect, "must respect the gods. They are our mentors? They... tell what - what to do?" Brocton said in common as best he could. He hoped that Lorcan would understand. Though, there was high hopes that Lorcan did not... hopefully he did. It would definitely save Brocton with little to stress about.