"A Conflict of Religions"
45th of Winter / 516 AV
Tenth Bell
45th of Winter / 516 AV
Tenth Bell
That morning, Aislyn had sat at a table, her mother stroking small whiffs of hair away from her face as she wrote notes in small print into a worn journal. She had sat there, in a chair with one leg that was just slightly too short, causing it to rock back and forth as her mother worked. She had sat until she didn’t need to sit anymore, dragging herself up to the land of the living, and after she stopped sitting she had put on an act to paint the day like any other. The forty-fifth. A multiple of five. She knew, because each day that passed was another tick in her journal, to document the passing of time. Each tick represented another twenty-four bells, dragging on, endlessly. Well-spent or wasted, each tick mark was the same.
That morning, she had looked into a mirror to watch red eyes fade to green, dark brown hair to bright red. Scars across the skin replaced with freckles, half a foot added to her height. She had gotten up that day like it was any other, like she wasn’t, in fact, planning to go out and murder anyone that stood in her way. Because that was what Ionu wanted, and Ionu’s wishes were Aislyn’s goals. That morning, she had gotten on her knees and prayed to her deity, and as the first strains of light had broken through her window, she stood up on her feet and did as her deity said. There were no doubts, no room for hesitation. Without Ionu, there was no ‘Maya’, or ‘Thief’, or ‘Anjani’. Without Ionu, there was no Aislyn. She had asked Ionu for much, when Ionu had asked little in return. She had no right to question the word of a god. Of several gods.
And so, she hadn’t.
Like every other season, on every fifth day, she had walked with the Sheathewhisps from the Sanity Center to the headquarters, biting her lip in a corner of the room as patrols were assigned. Her hand had rested upon her rapier, watching the fluctuating faces of various members as bodies shuffled in and out. On days that ended in five, she was on patrol. On days that ended in zero, she ‘trained’. The woman never did pay much attention on the latter days, and even as seasons had passed she knew she hadn’t gotten much better with either sword or bow because of it. But still, she stuck around. Not many did, and even fewer now that Morwen’s Edict had fractured the city in two. When the ‘Whisps had publicly taken Ionu’s side, a good half of the members- even the regulars- had up and left, leaving Aislyn and only a handful left to walk the streets of their city. The patrols barely graced five people if they were lucky, now. One day it had just been Aislyn, walking the streets alone.
Now was no different, the patrol consisting of a ragtag group of people Aislyn barely knew, despite the fact that she recognized the names and faces as much as the next person along. There was a man she knew only as Terras, some sort of dog Aislyn had been informed was, in fact, sentient, and a woman who Aislyn almost recognized, with chopped black hair. Then there was the mace-wielding man “Anjani” somehow always found herself on patrol with who had a knack for declaring himself pseudo-leader of the “team”. A few patrols led by the mace-man had passed before Aislyn had actually learned his name. He introduced him only by his last name- Fones. And, of course, he made sure everyone knew it. Even as people had begun to leave, as their patrols became lonelier as the winter stretched on, his ‘leadership’ never changed. Nothing ever did.
This was not the same group of Sheathewhisps that “Anjani” had joined. But still, she stuck around. After all, busying herself away with pointless tasks was one way Aislyn distracted herself from the otherwise inescapable hatred of all life she seemed to be plagued with. Anjani was her escape. She didn’t think of anything outside of “Anjani”, and that was how she became Anjani. Nothing that had happened before had happened to her now, only what had happened to “Anjani”. It was the purest form of denial.
When the four person team- including Aislyn herself- made it outside, Fones took it upon himself to give a briefing of his own. Ersal was staying with the training group that particular day, leaving them unsupervised outside of their assigned orders.
“I’m sure, my friends, you’ve noticed we’ve had a bit of-” He paused, feigning thought, “-trouble with succeeding in our goals as of lately.”
Aislyn was only half-listening, barely ticks after he had begun. Even her eyes found themselves distracted, following the wind as it blew along the grasses that had grown across the streets. Aislyn hadn’t exactly had much luck with figuring out what city she was present in at any given time, but a lot of wandering and a lot of listening had given her a little more of an idea. The shiny one was Lhavit- the city she’d read about before. The big castle was Syliras, and the grassy one was...
Her train of thought trailed off, her gaze wandering. She was meant to be listening to what Fones had to say, of course, but she had no interest in doing so. He had a way of talking around things, and even more exasperating talking himself in circles. This came into play most especially when it came to Morwen’s Edict. There was no hunt, no murder or even capture. There was only the goal. The patrols, that winter, were to be solely focused on said goals. Her eyes fell upon the buildings lining the adjacent street from where she was standing. She recognized one of them: the Tattered Thread. There was a moment of consideration before Aislyn sidestepped Fones’s speech in favor of crossing the street. It wasn’t the first time she had separated off from her patrol group, and it would most certainly not be the last. The self-appointed leader of the group didn’t miss a beat, continuing on his spiel about responsibility and loyalty.
They knew nothing of loyalty.
It wasn’t exactly a terribly long walk, and soon enough Aislyn was pushing open a cold wooden door to be greeted with the soft chime of an overly cheerful bell that announced her presence. Of course, Aislyn hadn’t exactly planned to announce her presence, considering the circumstance, but it didn’t matter. The place seemed empty enough. Eerily so, actually. There were wooden boards leaning against the windowpanes, on which torn curtains were pulled across. There was a chair overturned not far from the boards; a strange sight, especially considering how dark the shop had been made with the curtains being closed and all. The walls were lined with cloth of every colour, expanding endlessly on the white walls. She remembered this store. Its colourful clothes, and most importantly, its owner. The man that had referred to her as ‘ma’am’ and offered her a selection of skirts and shirts with a practiced expertise. A man whose eyes had flashed from a dull pink to a bright yellow when she had walked into the store. A man whose eyes had become an aggressive green when she had bartered her price. Two years, it had been. But she didn’t forget.
Maneuvering herself around the overturned furniture and abandoned racks of clothes Aislyn delved deeper into the store, her hand resting on the hilt of her rapier. Beware the eyes, strike to kill. Protect the city by Ionu's will.
Perhaps she'd complete Fones's goal after all.
That morning, she had looked into a mirror to watch red eyes fade to green, dark brown hair to bright red. Scars across the skin replaced with freckles, half a foot added to her height. She had gotten up that day like it was any other, like she wasn’t, in fact, planning to go out and murder anyone that stood in her way. Because that was what Ionu wanted, and Ionu’s wishes were Aislyn’s goals. That morning, she had gotten on her knees and prayed to her deity, and as the first strains of light had broken through her window, she stood up on her feet and did as her deity said. There were no doubts, no room for hesitation. Without Ionu, there was no ‘Maya’, or ‘Thief’, or ‘Anjani’. Without Ionu, there was no Aislyn. She had asked Ionu for much, when Ionu had asked little in return. She had no right to question the word of a god. Of several gods.
And so, she hadn’t.
Like every other season, on every fifth day, she had walked with the Sheathewhisps from the Sanity Center to the headquarters, biting her lip in a corner of the room as patrols were assigned. Her hand had rested upon her rapier, watching the fluctuating faces of various members as bodies shuffled in and out. On days that ended in five, she was on patrol. On days that ended in zero, she ‘trained’. The woman never did pay much attention on the latter days, and even as seasons had passed she knew she hadn’t gotten much better with either sword or bow because of it. But still, she stuck around. Not many did, and even fewer now that Morwen’s Edict had fractured the city in two. When the ‘Whisps had publicly taken Ionu’s side, a good half of the members- even the regulars- had up and left, leaving Aislyn and only a handful left to walk the streets of their city. The patrols barely graced five people if they were lucky, now. One day it had just been Aislyn, walking the streets alone.
Now was no different, the patrol consisting of a ragtag group of people Aislyn barely knew, despite the fact that she recognized the names and faces as much as the next person along. There was a man she knew only as Terras, some sort of dog Aislyn had been informed was, in fact, sentient, and a woman who Aislyn almost recognized, with chopped black hair. Then there was the mace-wielding man “Anjani” somehow always found herself on patrol with who had a knack for declaring himself pseudo-leader of the “team”. A few patrols led by the mace-man had passed before Aislyn had actually learned his name. He introduced him only by his last name- Fones. And, of course, he made sure everyone knew it. Even as people had begun to leave, as their patrols became lonelier as the winter stretched on, his ‘leadership’ never changed. Nothing ever did.
This was not the same group of Sheathewhisps that “Anjani” had joined. But still, she stuck around. After all, busying herself away with pointless tasks was one way Aislyn distracted herself from the otherwise inescapable hatred of all life she seemed to be plagued with. Anjani was her escape. She didn’t think of anything outside of “Anjani”, and that was how she became Anjani. Nothing that had happened before had happened to her now, only what had happened to “Anjani”. It was the purest form of denial.
When the four person team- including Aislyn herself- made it outside, Fones took it upon himself to give a briefing of his own. Ersal was staying with the training group that particular day, leaving them unsupervised outside of their assigned orders.
“I’m sure, my friends, you’ve noticed we’ve had a bit of-” He paused, feigning thought, “-trouble with succeeding in our goals as of lately.”
Aislyn was only half-listening, barely ticks after he had begun. Even her eyes found themselves distracted, following the wind as it blew along the grasses that had grown across the streets. Aislyn hadn’t exactly had much luck with figuring out what city she was present in at any given time, but a lot of wandering and a lot of listening had given her a little more of an idea. The shiny one was Lhavit- the city she’d read about before. The big castle was Syliras, and the grassy one was...
Her train of thought trailed off, her gaze wandering. She was meant to be listening to what Fones had to say, of course, but she had no interest in doing so. He had a way of talking around things, and even more exasperating talking himself in circles. This came into play most especially when it came to Morwen’s Edict. There was no hunt, no murder or even capture. There was only the goal. The patrols, that winter, were to be solely focused on said goals. Her eyes fell upon the buildings lining the adjacent street from where she was standing. She recognized one of them: the Tattered Thread. There was a moment of consideration before Aislyn sidestepped Fones’s speech in favor of crossing the street. It wasn’t the first time she had separated off from her patrol group, and it would most certainly not be the last. The self-appointed leader of the group didn’t miss a beat, continuing on his spiel about responsibility and loyalty.
They knew nothing of loyalty.
It wasn’t exactly a terribly long walk, and soon enough Aislyn was pushing open a cold wooden door to be greeted with the soft chime of an overly cheerful bell that announced her presence. Of course, Aislyn hadn’t exactly planned to announce her presence, considering the circumstance, but it didn’t matter. The place seemed empty enough. Eerily so, actually. There were wooden boards leaning against the windowpanes, on which torn curtains were pulled across. There was a chair overturned not far from the boards; a strange sight, especially considering how dark the shop had been made with the curtains being closed and all. The walls were lined with cloth of every colour, expanding endlessly on the white walls. She remembered this store. Its colourful clothes, and most importantly, its owner. The man that had referred to her as ‘ma’am’ and offered her a selection of skirts and shirts with a practiced expertise. A man whose eyes had flashed from a dull pink to a bright yellow when she had walked into the store. A man whose eyes had become an aggressive green when she had bartered her price. Two years, it had been. But she didn’t forget.
Maneuvering herself around the overturned furniture and abandoned racks of clothes Aislyn delved deeper into the store, her hand resting on the hilt of her rapier. Beware the eyes, strike to kill. Protect the city by Ionu's will.
Perhaps she'd complete Fones's goal after all.
