Solo [AO]A Reminiscence A Dream

[Moritz Craven]

10 Summer 521

Mind clear, Moritz rested silently in bed. In the moment he was in the half awake and half asleep state he sometimes managed to achieve, somewhat aware he was not awake and of his surroundings, but only partially.

In his half awake state he felt fur up against him, and reached out to pet Naymon his large furry hound that often slept with him. As he did he sensed a lurching motion, wondering if perhaps the house was once more playing some trick or such and was shifting his bed.

There was a thick salt scent on the air, attacking his mouth, leaving him wondering if his mother was trying to cook something.

Then there was an even greater lurch, and he felt himself slipping out of bed. Eyes darting open he tried to roll and grab outward with his hand, only to realize he wasn't on a bed but a small bunk and banging into a wall as he reached out with his fingers. Unable to stop the young kelvic rolled clear of the bunk to land on the floor of the cabin with a loud thunk, letting out a sudden yelp of pain from the impact on the floor and smacking his hand on a wall. Or ceiling? He had been turning and moving and the quarters were close, so he wasn't sure what he'd struck.

Lifting himself upward Moritz peered into his bunk, finding a leopard sleeping in it. It was then he realized Naymon was not there, and that he had ended up sleeping in the same bunk as the other kelvic on the trip due to the limited quarters. Or perhaps because they were both a bit lonely... Whichever the case it being the other kelvic not Naymon made sense, his mind being more logical slowly as he more fully awakened slowly realizing this. Naymon was back home with his mother, not there. But having slept with Naymon so many times nestled against him in the comfort of his home, it made sense his half asleep mind would assume the same was happening then.

As he thought back on the dog Moritz realized it hadn't been that long that she'd been around, though to his young mind the two or so seasons felt like ages. His mind thinking on her he couldn't help but slip back to the memory of his meeting her. Finding her in the pet store... Her lolling tongue, greeting him as only a dog could as he tried to pet and stroke her. It had been an awkward attempt but Naymon had enjoyed the attention, and had happily come home with him.

She had been a loyal pet, glad to be around him, loving to romp... And like his city Lhavit he had abandoned her. He could tell already his mind was in a melancholy place, lost in past thoughts and those he left behind, and so resigned himself to it.

His mind went back to napping with Naymon, her resting in his bed, laying out in the yard in some grass under the shade of a tree... She was a good dog, but she was not suited for the jungle. She was, after all, a mountain hound. Made for the cold and such weather. Not for the hot blistering of the jungle.

Leaving her behind, Moritz re-reasoned then, had been logical. And yet... Thinking on her furry face licking at him, happy to see him, he felt an odd aching of something missing the more he thought on her.

He had to leave her if he wanted to go. And yet, it made things no easier even if the logic was there. But then, he knew, understanding logic and agreeing with it were two different things. And caring for something or someone, that was not a logical thing, and so did not easily follow such logic and reasoning.

Speaking quietly to the air, he tried to smile but end up with more of a grimace.

"I miss you Naymon. I'm sure you miss me... Someday though we will be back together..."

WC: 681

[Moritz Craven]

His mind clearly distracted Moritz gave up on thinking on anything useful, and instead tried to clear his mind. Meditation, Moritz thought to himself, would help. If one was being illogical, weighed down by emotions and feelings and thinking backward, then surely calming and cleansing meditation would help.

Sitting on the floor of the tight bunk area Moritz crossed his legs and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. This was a bit tricky, as each breath brought a fresh blast of salty air into his mouth. The entire boat seemed filled with it, drenched in it, coming off from the salty water.

The rocking of the boat and other distractions also did not help. But then, surely that made it better practice if it was harder? And would mean he was progressing all the more if he managed to ignore things and meditate anyways.

Trying to avoid using his nose to inhale, Moritz took in a deep breath through his mouth, slowly exhaling out of his nostrils till he felt his chest was empty. After a moments pause Moritz pulled in another breath, steadily inhaling in his mouth, only to repeat his slow exhale. As he did this and tried to get into a rhythm, Moritz focused his mind on nothingness. Blank emptiness, blacker and emptier than the darkness behind his closed eyelids.

As he did this for a chime, and then two, he felt a bit calmer, but also though back onto other things. It was like his mind was a hole in the ground in a rain, the more he tried to empty it the more things rushed in. Sounds, smells, thoughts, impressions. The breath of the kelvic on the bunk near him. But as he thought on such things he once more tried to peer into them logically. While they are first glance seemed random, logically there was a rhythm and pattern to them all. After awhile he sensed a vague pattern in the water slapping against the side of the boat. In the kelvic slowly and steadily breathing. The more he sensed the patterns of the things, the more he felt he understood them, and the more he felt they were not distractions. They were simply... Planned events occurring around him, at a somewhat set frequency and duration outside of his control and full understanding. But, reasonably speaking, there would be someone who understood and controlled them. Or some thing. The wind, the seas, whether divine or otherwise, had to have some method to their actions.

As he continued to meditate another face slowly began to emerge in his mind, that of his combat instructor Kyra. She had also taught him how to meditate, more as a means of combat and focus, but still had trained him in the basics.

His mind empty for a moment without preamble various memories of the woman rushed into his mind. Most of them seemed to involve bruises or him lying flat on the ground after she put him there.

WC: 501

[Moritz Craven]

Trying to empty his mind, focusing on empty blackness while trying to meditate, Moritz felt pulled into memories of Kyra who had taught him the ways of combat.

She was a whirling mix of speed, grace, and directed fury, when she fought. Each action seemed filled with intent and importance, nothing wasted or missed. She acted, as he recalled her saying, at the appropriate time. Not before, nor after. Rather when the moment was right.

While in the moment her specific words did not ring freshly in his mind, her actions and perceived intent did. She was not one for hiding her feelings or intent towards other people. She was blunt at times, but clear with people how she felt about them. Where they stood. Who they were in her eyes.

A deep breath pulled in steadily, then a slow exhale from his nostrils. He tried to push the thoughts away, but more rushed in to replace them. And the more the gap of emptiness in his chest seemed to swell and grow. It had started as he thought on Naymon, but grew now as he thought back on Kyra. Kyra Shallon. Ex Shinya, retired, but seemingly no less skilled for her age.

He had first met her at his school, when he was much younger even by kelvic standards. Something involving a snow, some kind of magic blanketing the city in it of which he could not recall the source. After that she had offered to see him again, and appraise him.

That, Moritz recalled while almost feeling the lumps and bruises, consisted of her trying him in various combat styles and knocking him down repeatedly with ease. But in truth she was more checking his resolve, and to see if he would give up or keep rising and trying. Thinking back on it he was less sure if it had been resolve, or stubbornness. But then, thinking on the two, was there a difference? One, resolve, tended to have a positive connotation, while stubbornness was seen as negative. But regardless the outcome was the same. What then mattered, logically speaking? Intent, or action and outcome? Thinking on it he felt the intent was of more importance, but knew there would be some who would not see things that way.

Eventually he had convinced her through stubbornness or resolve that he was worth training, and had accepted him as a student.

Wincing mentally Moritz remembered that while those bruises had been the first, many more had been earned during her lessons. Fighting with blades of wood, with the body, flips and rolls, avoiding strikes, parrying, striking, punching, an odd hodgepodge of combat styles had been her instruction. He felt better for it, but knew it had not been easy. Thinking on her for a moment he face was solid in his mind, and while stern and harsh at times was one of caring to him. She was harsh because she knew he could take it, and because she wanted better for him.

Such thoughts though as he pushed one face out of his mind brought him back to his mother. Oddly her face seemed a bit hazier in his memory, but her actions were much less clear than Kyra's had been.

WC: 542

[Moritz Craven]

Thinking back on his mother Moritz knew he did miss her, but in a different way than Kyra or Naymon.

But then, thinking on it fairly, their relationship had been quite different. If nothing else she had accepted his choice to leave, to go on his journey to the jungle and search for Morwen. She had fought at first, but in the end had accepted his logic and reasoning in his decisions. Or, Moritz considered, she had simply realized his mind would not be so easily shifted as others were, and decided to accept them for knowing to disagree further would require more than just words.

If she had not given in, Moritz pondered, combat would have ensued. And her being a spiritist and not overly skilled in more physical combat, he knew that combat would take the form of summoned spirits and spectral beings.

He vaguely knew of his birth, of events that had occurred then, but did not know much of the specifics. She had apparently fought a strong fight then, but not in the way Moritz would fight. Not with blade or fist, but... Other methods. And more indirectly, using ghosts and such to fight rather than her own abilities.

But, Moritz considered, was different bad? Different was just different. Not inherently better or worse. Some fought with bow, or blade, or fist. Some used magic, throwing spectral limbs akin to a ghost as Shinya used. Or other magics he knew less on.

Even himself being able to use magic in some ways, technically being a Spiritist and able to use Pathfinding from the witches gift, he did not in truth consider himself a magic user. He had some magic, but he was not a mage.

Such was just a small subset of who he was, and not the main part. His mother embraced her nature as a Spiritist, let it stretch across who she was. What was more she expected Moritz to do the same. But that was not who Moritz was, and more stubborn than resolved, he was not one to change his path just because someone else wanted him to. Even if it was his mother...

Rather than seeing her face clearly in his mind her actions seemed to ring much louder.

When he was young brow beating him to wears show and clothes like a human. Even though he was not one. As he grew older wanting him to learn how to handle ghosts, to go to school, and to once more become a normal human son rather than the Okomo Kelvic he was.

Yelling at him and bringing him to tears when he asked why, when he asked for understanding, only to be yelled at and told to do as she said. This didn't really work on Moritz though, and if anything made him question and want to ask things more rather than less.

As he grew older such fits and fighting and yelling seemed to grow less common... But then, he reasoned, in truth they had been more like two passing ships which occasionally grew within sight but mainly were distinct and apart. Now his ship was literally much farther away, leaving him unsure how he felt about his mother. She was blood, and he did not want anything bad to happen to her... But he still did not know what he felt about her.

WC: 564

[Moritz Craven]

Lost in thought as he was, thinking back upon the numerous woman both human and non that had impacted him in his life, Moritz realize he had missed on underpinning it all.

Pushing things aside, he realized there was another who had been important to him, who had cared for and watched out for him all his life. Infinity Manor. Though a living building and technically gender-less, he had always felt a maternal nature from her. Caring and working in his interest. Making sure he was free, able to move about, was not harmed, nor stuck. Growing things for him to climb and jump on as he grew and explored, and keeping the hectic house full of ghosts calm for him.

In fact, as he thought on it, he felt of all the woman in his life Infinity Manor was the one he missed the most distinctly. He had been born there, had grown there, and had lived his entire life there. While others had come and gone, both people and spirits in his life, Infinity Manor had been a constant. A caring being who watched out for him.

Feeling a wetness on his face Moritz opened his eyes in his meditation, wiping away the wetness. Of all the things he missed, of all the people, of all thing places... His home. Infinity Manor... Perhaps that was the most. It was certainly more of a parent to him than his mostly absent and entirely erratic and feral father. And his mother... Well she was but a passing thing for the most part. Parenting in spurts and gusts as she did.

The Manor though... It had always been there, loving and caring for him... And he knew in truth it was the true parent he missed and was afraid to be away from. The one he wanted to return to, and see again.

More wetness sprouting unbidden Moritz worked on his breathing to no avail, doing his best to wipe away the wet saltiness on his face. He hadn't really realized until then just how central the Manor was to his life and upbringing, but he realize then just how critical she had been. And that thought just brought more tears, and seemed to conclude his failed attempt at clearing his mind and meditating.

WC: 383