Okay so I did a little sketch (using some clip art and my phone so it’s not pretty LOL) but as usual I have no idea how to get photos into HTML format. Do you have discord by chance?
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LadyAnnaLee
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Ridahne's face went blank as she blinked, surprised. "There was a previous Guardian? I...I mean I suppose that makes sense but honestly I never even considered it. I really hadn't thought about it. For some reason I thought the previous Gardener just sort of took up the job and that...well, that things were fine. That's sort of what gets passed down through history, anyway. I never expected that he might have needed a Guardian." She went silent for a moment, and then softly added, "I wish I knew more about them. Probably in the same way you want to know more about the Gardener...I wish I could learn from their wisdom and experience. But then..." she frowned as she considered, "They wouldn't have had the same problems we do now, I'll bet."
Ridahne was largely silent and thoughtful as Darin spoke, except when Darin suggested the Seed-Honored mark cover the Seed-Chained mark completely. The look of shock and bewilderment was plain on her face, but she kept her voice steady. "Cover over a mark...completely? I don't know, Darin, I know what you mean by it, and I know that you feel like that sin should not be remembered. But in the Azurei tradition, we believe that all of your experiences and choices shape who you are. Not just the good ones." She gave a soft smile. "For a culture who decides to tattoo things on their faces quite permanently, we believe strongly in the idea of growth, change, and development. It's why we have marks for marriage, but also additional, accompanying marks for becoming a widow, or for separation. The point of the ojih is to tell a story, all of it. Not just the highlights. Even my damning traitor mark, I'll have to live with that my whole life. It will always be there, because I did do it. I killed those people, Darin. Now, you can make all the arguments you want for context and justice and all of that, but you can't deny that their blood is on my hands. Now, my day will come, and I will redeem myself in the eyes of my people, and the truth of all I have done will be known in full. And I'll get that redemption mark here," she pointed to her traitor one, "and in the eyes of my people and by the law of my land I will be fully pardoned. But if you were to ask me about my story, about how I got to where I was, I wouldn't skip to that part. The pain, the ugly anguish and the loneliness and the shame and guilt was all part of my story, Darin. I can't erase that. I...I don't want to, no matter how terrible it was."
Ridahne smiled, and the warmth of that expression on her usually grim face was as rare and precious as a diamond. "I know you are quick to defend me, Darin. And to know that there's someone out there who would do that for me is worth more than I can put into words. But I don't want to hide my history. Not anymore." She considered, then added, "If you wish for future Seed-Chained to have the ability to erase their sins, then we can establish a mark that can be covered. But not mine. For mine, I will adopt the Azurei tradition and highlight the old with the new. The mark for Seed-Chained will be white, and the mark for Seed-Honored will be black, but instead of covering the white completely, I will leave a silhouette of white around the black."
Ridahne realized suddenly as she glanced back at her sketches that if there were going to be more universal marks that were meant for more than an ojih, she was going about this all wrong. Inherently, her penmanship and artistic style had a bent towards Azurei tradition. If Darin were to design the marks, she'd inherently have a human bias. "I think," Ridahne said slowly, "That whatever marks we create need to be open to some interpretation. If I draw them, they will look decidedly Azurei. If you draw them, they will be decidedly human. If this is going to last for generations, there should be some flexibility amongst cultures and mediums. An ojih mark might not translate well to an arm tattoo, or to a flag or a crest. I think what I'll do is come up with something specifically for ojih to add to the tomes and records of ojih marks, but then have another version that is identifiably similar, yet is a little more neutral. What do you think? Also, if you're finished looking around, and if you have any ideas, you can do some sketches of things you're thinking of, too. Don't worry about artistic quality, that can be refined. But just ideas." She pushed a small stack of blank pages and a quill and inkwell across the desk to her.
Ridahne was largely silent and thoughtful as Darin spoke, except when Darin suggested the Seed-Honored mark cover the Seed-Chained mark completely. The look of shock and bewilderment was plain on her face, but she kept her voice steady. "Cover over a mark...completely? I don't know, Darin, I know what you mean by it, and I know that you feel like that sin should not be remembered. But in the Azurei tradition, we believe that all of your experiences and choices shape who you are. Not just the good ones." She gave a soft smile. "For a culture who decides to tattoo things on their faces quite permanently, we believe strongly in the idea of growth, change, and development. It's why we have marks for marriage, but also additional, accompanying marks for becoming a widow, or for separation. The point of the ojih is to tell a story, all of it. Not just the highlights. Even my damning traitor mark, I'll have to live with that my whole life. It will always be there, because I did do it. I killed those people, Darin. Now, you can make all the arguments you want for context and justice and all of that, but you can't deny that their blood is on my hands. Now, my day will come, and I will redeem myself in the eyes of my people, and the truth of all I have done will be known in full. And I'll get that redemption mark here," she pointed to her traitor one, "and in the eyes of my people and by the law of my land I will be fully pardoned. But if you were to ask me about my story, about how I got to where I was, I wouldn't skip to that part. The pain, the ugly anguish and the loneliness and the shame and guilt was all part of my story, Darin. I can't erase that. I...I don't want to, no matter how terrible it was."
Ridahne smiled, and the warmth of that expression on her usually grim face was as rare and precious as a diamond. "I know you are quick to defend me, Darin. And to know that there's someone out there who would do that for me is worth more than I can put into words. But I don't want to hide my history. Not anymore." She considered, then added, "If you wish for future Seed-Chained to have the ability to erase their sins, then we can establish a mark that can be covered. But not mine. For mine, I will adopt the Azurei tradition and highlight the old with the new. The mark for Seed-Chained will be white, and the mark for Seed-Honored will be black, but instead of covering the white completely, I will leave a silhouette of white around the black."
Ridahne realized suddenly as she glanced back at her sketches that if there were going to be more universal marks that were meant for more than an ojih, she was going about this all wrong. Inherently, her penmanship and artistic style had a bent towards Azurei tradition. If Darin were to design the marks, she'd inherently have a human bias. "I think," Ridahne said slowly, "That whatever marks we create need to be open to some interpretation. If I draw them, they will look decidedly Azurei. If you draw them, they will be decidedly human. If this is going to last for generations, there should be some flexibility amongst cultures and mediums. An ojih mark might not translate well to an arm tattoo, or to a flag or a crest. I think what I'll do is come up with something specifically for ojih to add to the tomes and records of ojih marks, but then have another version that is identifiably similar, yet is a little more neutral. What do you think? Also, if you're finished looking around, and if you have any ideas, you can do some sketches of things you're thinking of, too. Don't worry about artistic quality, that can be refined. But just ideas." She pushed a small stack of blank pages and a quill and inkwell across the desk to her.
That could work. Ridahne would kind of translate the concept to something that would stylistically fit with her ojih, so it might not be a literal apple but some kind of stylized representation of one.
It’s not symmetrical. Whatcha thinking?
Rohaan felt the body he held between his feline teeth suddenly go slack, and he finally released the crazed elf. Good riddance. Rohaan wasn't a murderous sort of man--he didn't just kill for fun. But he was no stranger to it, and he would absolutely kill a man if it seemed practical. This was more than practical, it was necessary. Rohaan let the jaguar form go, and he morphed quickly back into his usual shape. There was blood on his face from where his teeth had pierced Thoburas' arm; Rohaan spat a mouthful of blood out and wiped his lips on the hem of Thoburas' robe.
"Well..." he swayed a little, exhausted as he panted for air. "Glad that's over--ack!" His face wrinkled tightly as he sensed some magical shift in the air that put an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Coupled with the blood residue, it was a horribly metallic taste that made him feel like he'd been sucking on an iron ball. He spat again, just to clear his mouth. The pulsating orb of energy morphed a little; Thoburas' visage was discernible from beyond whatever dark border kept his spirit at bay. It floated ominously towards Ash, and Rohaan tensed as if to tackle it, but the thing just sort of...melted away. He watched it go. "Huh...that's...you don't think that's a problem, do you? Also WHY are you keeping that thing?" He gestured to the dagger. "You watched all that and you wanna carry it around? Give the horrible thing to a smith and melt it down, I say." He shuddered, remembering how it felt to hold.
The shifter, ever the opportunist, began to search Thoburas' pockets for anything interesting. He did a cursory scan of the room, though if there had been much of value or interest in there, he'd personally either burned it to ash or melted it in his battle fury. Pity there wasn't any food, he thought as his stomach started to growl. Rohaan blinked, remembering with a start that both of them had been injured to some degree in the fight. For Ash, it was mostly her neck, but Rohaan managed to get himself cut with some poor idiot's sword in the fighting. It wasn't much, just a clean slice on his arm, but his shirt sleeve now sported a patch of wet silver. He'd have to clean that soon. "How do you feel? You gonna make it out of here on your own feet?"
"Well..." he swayed a little, exhausted as he panted for air. "Glad that's over--ack!" His face wrinkled tightly as he sensed some magical shift in the air that put an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Coupled with the blood residue, it was a horribly metallic taste that made him feel like he'd been sucking on an iron ball. He spat again, just to clear his mouth. The pulsating orb of energy morphed a little; Thoburas' visage was discernible from beyond whatever dark border kept his spirit at bay. It floated ominously towards Ash, and Rohaan tensed as if to tackle it, but the thing just sort of...melted away. He watched it go. "Huh...that's...you don't think that's a problem, do you? Also WHY are you keeping that thing?" He gestured to the dagger. "You watched all that and you wanna carry it around? Give the horrible thing to a smith and melt it down, I say." He shuddered, remembering how it felt to hold.
The shifter, ever the opportunist, began to search Thoburas' pockets for anything interesting. He did a cursory scan of the room, though if there had been much of value or interest in there, he'd personally either burned it to ash or melted it in his battle fury. Pity there wasn't any food, he thought as his stomach started to growl. Rohaan blinked, remembering with a start that both of them had been injured to some degree in the fight. For Ash, it was mostly her neck, but Rohaan managed to get himself cut with some poor idiot's sword in the fighting. It wasn't much, just a clean slice on his arm, but his shirt sleeve now sported a patch of wet silver. He'd have to clean that soon. "How do you feel? You gonna make it out of here on your own feet?"
Ridahne seated herself and got comfortable while the section master gathered a few books to start with. Browsing the shelves on one's own was allowed, but Ridahne knew it would be easier for her and for the archivists to just let them do it. Eventually, the Eluri woman brought a stack of tomes, indicated the titles of each, gave a neutral bow, and left Ridahne to peruse them. The books were mostly written in the flowing script of the Azurei, which was used less commonly now that common Astran became the norm. It occurred to Ridahne that the section master must be able to read them, and could likely read ojih, too. She knew who Ridahne was, but did not indicate that she felt any particular way about her presence. Ridahne knew the Archives were a sacred place of common neutrality, where all were on equal footing, but she hadn't realized just how deep that sentiment really went.
She was glad to find a quill and ink and a stack of blank papers on the desk in the room. This was going to take a lot of notes and perhaps some sketching. Ridahne had promised Darin she would create but also add her new mark before they left Lihaelen, so she hoped to at least find some history on the existing marks and give her choice some context. Ridahne opened the first book and marveled at the calligraphy and the sheer artistry of it. The script was not flowery or over embellished, but it was absolute subtle perfection. Whoever wrote the tome must have been a master tattooist to not only know so much, but to write it so beautifully. It was also interesting to see that the style of the marks she found had not really changed in the centuries since the tome had been written. Ojih artistry, it seemed, was a carefully preserved art handed down over generations.
When Darin eventually found her way to Ridahne's room, she found the elf softly humming to herself as she took a few hurried notes beside a rough sketch. It wasn't often that Ridahne sang, in fact, the only time she had while they'd traveled together was at the Farm when she'd been asked to. If it was anyone else that came inside, she would have clammed up immediately, and admittedly she did falter a little. But then, it was Darin. She had nothing to fear from Darin, no hesitation of showing vulnerability with her, so she kept up the tune until she distractedly asked, "Did you find anything interesting? What do you think of the Archives? Massive, aren't they?"
The scratching of Ridahne's quill filled the soft silence between their words. Even though her notes were a little rushed, her penmanship was as neat and poetic as her swordplay. Sharp, decisive, intentional, graceful. "I've been trying to get some context for coming up with a new ojih mark. It's...more daunting than I thought. Whatever I choose, it will be recorded and passed down for...well...for as long as Azurei culture thrives. Not only that, but the design itself will stand to be the mark of every guardian to come after me." She blinked. "If I ever re-enter Azurei society, I'll have to change my sigil..." She already had a small stack of pages of sketches, some crossed out decidedly and others surrounded by uncertain notes. "I've been trying to find a way to make the mark absolutely Azurei, but also paying homage to the other nations, and the other Children of Astra. I have thoughts..." Her words were a little distant, distracted, but pleasant. "Right now I just know it needs to be black ink. Black is a far more neutral color, and since it's the darkest, it often is associated with finality, or very important things.
Ridahne sat up straight suddenly, slapping one hand against the desk. "I almost forgot! I found something I wanted to show you." She took a book that had been lying open beside her and showed it to Darin. It was a lexicon of ojih marks, with a brief description and context for each. One was achingly familiar. A bold black mark, three pointed with gentle curves in between. The description indicated when the mark had first been conceived, where is goes on the face, and what it was for. Ridahne didn't know if Darin could read the ancient Azurian script, but she didn't need to translate; Ridahne had pointed to her own many times in their journeys. "The original treason mark," she said, as if it needed any explanation at all. "But, below it, see?" She pointed to a nearly identical mark, except this one was ringed in a halo of blue. "If all goes well, and I am considered redeemed in the eyes of the Sols and allowed to return, it will look like this." She smiled at Darin, a gleam of hope in her honey eyes.
She was glad to find a quill and ink and a stack of blank papers on the desk in the room. This was going to take a lot of notes and perhaps some sketching. Ridahne had promised Darin she would create but also add her new mark before they left Lihaelen, so she hoped to at least find some history on the existing marks and give her choice some context. Ridahne opened the first book and marveled at the calligraphy and the sheer artistry of it. The script was not flowery or over embellished, but it was absolute subtle perfection. Whoever wrote the tome must have been a master tattooist to not only know so much, but to write it so beautifully. It was also interesting to see that the style of the marks she found had not really changed in the centuries since the tome had been written. Ojih artistry, it seemed, was a carefully preserved art handed down over generations.
When Darin eventually found her way to Ridahne's room, she found the elf softly humming to herself as she took a few hurried notes beside a rough sketch. It wasn't often that Ridahne sang, in fact, the only time she had while they'd traveled together was at the Farm when she'd been asked to. If it was anyone else that came inside, she would have clammed up immediately, and admittedly she did falter a little. But then, it was Darin. She had nothing to fear from Darin, no hesitation of showing vulnerability with her, so she kept up the tune until she distractedly asked, "Did you find anything interesting? What do you think of the Archives? Massive, aren't they?"
The scratching of Ridahne's quill filled the soft silence between their words. Even though her notes were a little rushed, her penmanship was as neat and poetic as her swordplay. Sharp, decisive, intentional, graceful. "I've been trying to get some context for coming up with a new ojih mark. It's...more daunting than I thought. Whatever I choose, it will be recorded and passed down for...well...for as long as Azurei culture thrives. Not only that, but the design itself will stand to be the mark of every guardian to come after me." She blinked. "If I ever re-enter Azurei society, I'll have to change my sigil..." She already had a small stack of pages of sketches, some crossed out decidedly and others surrounded by uncertain notes. "I've been trying to find a way to make the mark absolutely Azurei, but also paying homage to the other nations, and the other Children of Astra. I have thoughts..." Her words were a little distant, distracted, but pleasant. "Right now I just know it needs to be black ink. Black is a far more neutral color, and since it's the darkest, it often is associated with finality, or very important things.
Ridahne sat up straight suddenly, slapping one hand against the desk. "I almost forgot! I found something I wanted to show you." She took a book that had been lying open beside her and showed it to Darin. It was a lexicon of ojih marks, with a brief description and context for each. One was achingly familiar. A bold black mark, three pointed with gentle curves in between. The description indicated when the mark had first been conceived, where is goes on the face, and what it was for. Ridahne didn't know if Darin could read the ancient Azurian script, but she didn't need to translate; Ridahne had pointed to her own many times in their journeys. "The original treason mark," she said, as if it needed any explanation at all. "But, below it, see?" She pointed to a nearly identical mark, except this one was ringed in a halo of blue. "If all goes well, and I am considered redeemed in the eyes of the Sols and allowed to return, it will look like this." She smiled at Darin, a gleam of hope in her honey eyes.
Some injured, bitter part of Ridahne was glad to see that it wasn't just her who was getting all the dirty looks from the locals. At least their suspicion wasn't wholly her fault, she thought. A part, maybe, but not everyone could have known who she was from either her ojih or rumors. There was too much general fear for it to be just her. Part of her was angry that these people were not showing Darin the respect she deserved, but then she knew precisely how Darin felt about accolades or attention and let it go. Still, it bothered her a little that people were not generally more excited about the Seed Bearer's presence. Outside of the Red Hand, people liked the Gardener, and honored the Seed Bearer. Even if they had all been spooked about the ancient trees of their home suddenly warping and bending at the (unintentional) whims of a human girl, would they not understand that such an event was tied to the Seed Bearer, and therefore meant no harm?
Ridahne was on edge, feeling the tension in the air as they walked, so she just about jumped out of her skin when the haggard elf woman put hands on Darin. The elf turned so fast that the bone ornamental beads in the two forward braids of her hair swung so hard that they audibly clacked against each other and her collarbone. She had one hand raised as if to forcibly and aggressively break the grip of the woman, but she stopped dead as she caught sight of her. Ridahne had never met Rochelle Pines, but she was a legend often spoken of by all the elf tribes. Depending on who told the story, she was either a cautionary tale about the dangers of actively seeking out visions, or she was revered and honored as the greatest Seer in Astra's history. Ridahne would not lay a forceful hand on her for any money, or under any command. Plus, she was ancient, even by elven standards. What could she really do to hurt anyone?
"That was really her, wasn't it? I didn't realize she still lived..." Her lucidity had always been called into question in every story Ridahne had ever heard, though the warrior got the distinct impression that she was not so far gone as people often talked her up to be. Clearly living in another plane of existence, as the Azurei would say, but not entirely delusional. Ridahne watched her go, then eyed Darin with a stern look that said, "I have questions for you, but I won't ask them here." "I will tell you some of the stories I have heard about her later, Martin," she chose to say instead.
If Lihaelen itself seemed large, it did not prepare one for seeing the Archives for the first time. Lihaelen was massive, but it was a collection of buildings and structures and bridges and platforms that formed something cohesive. The Archives, however, were so large that the building itself had to be constructed on the ground, for not even the ancient trees of Lihaelen would hold up its girth. Within a considerable radius, there were notably no fires anywhere near the Archives, and no fire was ever allowed inside. Instead, the elves of ancient Eluri had cultivated a population of uloia that made their nests in and around the structure and provided ample light. Upon entry, little jars filled with nectar attracted a cluster of the insects and served as torches. No daylight pierced the inside of the structure, because there were no windows to be seen since the sunlight would damage the documents inside over time.
Everything inside was neat, orderly, and organized. Rows upon rows of shelves of varying shapes to hold varying types of documents filled the building. The shelves were so straight that they could be looked down, all the way to the opposite wall, which was also lined with shelves. The building had multiple floors, and the second one was nearly exclusively taken up by smaller rooms. Some were filled with artifacts, also neatly displayed and ordered, while some were empty except for a desk, some writing implements, and an austere chair. The third floor had no shelves along the walls, but instead was painted with hundreds of murals depicting a wide variety of images. Some were cohesive and clear, like the section that showed what ancient war looked like before the Tree had prevented such a vast evil from occurring. Whoever had painted these had done so in incredible detail, and many of the images were uncomfortable to look at. Other murals were less identifiable, and ranged from hazy shapes of people or suggestions of places to mere blotches and lines of multicolored paint. A middle aged elf woman stood in front of a fresh canvas, her eyes distant and unseeing. She painted as she hummed or muttered to herself, clearly in the throes of some vision.
The fourth floor was much like the first with its ordered rows of manuscripts, though there were some murals hung on the wall or painted on the ceiling. There were colored banners hanging over different areas of the Archives, and it appeared that there was some color coding system to mark where to find information on specific topics. A large section of Azurei history, for example, was marked with the indigo, white, and black banner of the elf tribe. Milling around the place were a vast number of attendants, each dressed in green and silver robes, that were available for guidance or interpretation, as well as general maintenance. The entire air of the place was surreal and ethereal, especially with the light given by the uloia. But it was oddly silent, too. Not the silence of a quiet evening in the woods, or the calm of the sea on a windless day. It was nearly stifling how much noise was dampened in there, and not a single echo was heard.
An attendant, a girl who couldn't have been much older than thirty, came to greet them with a bow of polite neutrality. This was a sacred place of knowledge, and hierarchy had no place there. "Greetings. What do you seek?"
Ridahne spoke first. "I'm looking for Azurei history, specifically anything pertaining to the history and development of ojih, ojih calligraphy, and any information or vision records you have of the establishment of new markings, past, present, or future."
The girl nodded. "I will alert the Section Master. Would you like her to bring you selections in a private study? Or do you wish to browse the shelves yourself?"
"I would like recommendations from your Section Master, please. If my apprentice desires a room and would like to share one with me, allow him to do so."
The girl bowed again. "Certainly. Your room will be on the second floor, number 56." She turned to Darin. "What do you seek?"
Ridahne was on edge, feeling the tension in the air as they walked, so she just about jumped out of her skin when the haggard elf woman put hands on Darin. The elf turned so fast that the bone ornamental beads in the two forward braids of her hair swung so hard that they audibly clacked against each other and her collarbone. She had one hand raised as if to forcibly and aggressively break the grip of the woman, but she stopped dead as she caught sight of her. Ridahne had never met Rochelle Pines, but she was a legend often spoken of by all the elf tribes. Depending on who told the story, she was either a cautionary tale about the dangers of actively seeking out visions, or she was revered and honored as the greatest Seer in Astra's history. Ridahne would not lay a forceful hand on her for any money, or under any command. Plus, she was ancient, even by elven standards. What could she really do to hurt anyone?
"That was really her, wasn't it? I didn't realize she still lived..." Her lucidity had always been called into question in every story Ridahne had ever heard, though the warrior got the distinct impression that she was not so far gone as people often talked her up to be. Clearly living in another plane of existence, as the Azurei would say, but not entirely delusional. Ridahne watched her go, then eyed Darin with a stern look that said, "I have questions for you, but I won't ask them here." "I will tell you some of the stories I have heard about her later, Martin," she chose to say instead.
If Lihaelen itself seemed large, it did not prepare one for seeing the Archives for the first time. Lihaelen was massive, but it was a collection of buildings and structures and bridges and platforms that formed something cohesive. The Archives, however, were so large that the building itself had to be constructed on the ground, for not even the ancient trees of Lihaelen would hold up its girth. Within a considerable radius, there were notably no fires anywhere near the Archives, and no fire was ever allowed inside. Instead, the elves of ancient Eluri had cultivated a population of uloia that made their nests in and around the structure and provided ample light. Upon entry, little jars filled with nectar attracted a cluster of the insects and served as torches. No daylight pierced the inside of the structure, because there were no windows to be seen since the sunlight would damage the documents inside over time.
Everything inside was neat, orderly, and organized. Rows upon rows of shelves of varying shapes to hold varying types of documents filled the building. The shelves were so straight that they could be looked down, all the way to the opposite wall, which was also lined with shelves. The building had multiple floors, and the second one was nearly exclusively taken up by smaller rooms. Some were filled with artifacts, also neatly displayed and ordered, while some were empty except for a desk, some writing implements, and an austere chair. The third floor had no shelves along the walls, but instead was painted with hundreds of murals depicting a wide variety of images. Some were cohesive and clear, like the section that showed what ancient war looked like before the Tree had prevented such a vast evil from occurring. Whoever had painted these had done so in incredible detail, and many of the images were uncomfortable to look at. Other murals were less identifiable, and ranged from hazy shapes of people or suggestions of places to mere blotches and lines of multicolored paint. A middle aged elf woman stood in front of a fresh canvas, her eyes distant and unseeing. She painted as she hummed or muttered to herself, clearly in the throes of some vision.
The fourth floor was much like the first with its ordered rows of manuscripts, though there were some murals hung on the wall or painted on the ceiling. There were colored banners hanging over different areas of the Archives, and it appeared that there was some color coding system to mark where to find information on specific topics. A large section of Azurei history, for example, was marked with the indigo, white, and black banner of the elf tribe. Milling around the place were a vast number of attendants, each dressed in green and silver robes, that were available for guidance or interpretation, as well as general maintenance. The entire air of the place was surreal and ethereal, especially with the light given by the uloia. But it was oddly silent, too. Not the silence of a quiet evening in the woods, or the calm of the sea on a windless day. It was nearly stifling how much noise was dampened in there, and not a single echo was heard.
An attendant, a girl who couldn't have been much older than thirty, came to greet them with a bow of polite neutrality. This was a sacred place of knowledge, and hierarchy had no place there. "Greetings. What do you seek?"
Ridahne spoke first. "I'm looking for Azurei history, specifically anything pertaining to the history and development of ojih, ojih calligraphy, and any information or vision records you have of the establishment of new markings, past, present, or future."
The girl nodded. "I will alert the Section Master. Would you like her to bring you selections in a private study? Or do you wish to browse the shelves yourself?"
"I would like recommendations from your Section Master, please. If my apprentice desires a room and would like to share one with me, allow him to do so."
The girl bowed again. "Certainly. Your room will be on the second floor, number 56." She turned to Darin. "What do you seek?"
Rohaan could feel the blade. It was not an object, but a presence in his hand and he loathed to touch it. An average human might have immediately crumbled under that presence and given into being nearly as much of a lunatic as Thoburas, though Rohaan suspected the elf had a head start on that long before he ever found the blade. Personally, he found the enchanted steel often used against shifters more horrible and painful to bear or resist, but then again, he was a bit biased there. Still, he was itching to be rid of it. Yet Thoburas seemed to be waiting for his eventual collapse, and Rohaan saw no problem in playing along. Besides, if what he was planning was going to work, he needed to keep Thoburas' focus on him, and make him believe he still had the blade.
Rohaan had been pacing, sort of like an animal debating whether to strike or to flee, and part of that was to put some distance between him and the crazed elf. He might have taken his weapon, but Rohaan knew there were different sorts of weapons a person could use, and people were generally very good at concealing them. He didn't trust him. But chiefly, his aim was to get close to Ash. He didn't go directly for her--too obvious--but he did eventually make his way to her, giving a not entirely feigned but definitely amplified glance to assess her condition and make sure she was okay. Banged up pretty good, but she'd live. He was deeply thankful that he did not have to hint to her, or explain his thoughts to her, and she picked up immediately on what he was trying to do. With a skill he found impressive for someone who didn't consider themself a career thief, Ash took the evil blade from him.
Rohaan continued to move around the room, though his movements leaned decidedly more towards "flee" than "strike". His face was contorted in a controlled scowl, and his body appeared to quiver as if with some great effort. He shook his head. "No...I won't...I can't..." He grimaced, and whispered, "Make it stop..." in a faltering voice. Thoburas drew closer to him, closer, closer. Rohaan could see the wicked gleam in his eyes. That's it. Come and get it, you bastard.
Thoburas reached out his hand, tensing as if something was supposed to happen. Except, nothing did. The spark seemed to go from Thoburas' eyes, and he realized he'd been duped. Rohaan brought both hands up, wiggling his empty fingers with a mocking laugh. As the doubt and fear settled onto Thoburas, Ash struck. The blade had no trouble piercing the dark elf's flesh, even though her own weapon had struggled to do much of anything. At least she'd been decisive with her blow, but it wasn't a fatal one. It was entirely likely that Thoburas could only be taken down with the dark blade, and anyway, if Rohaan tried anything too aggressive, there was always a chance he'd miss and hit Ash, or that Thoburas could try and maneuver her as a human shield. "Finish him!" He growled. Rohaan chose the form of a black jaguar, and aimed a bite at Thoburas' arm in an attempt to pin him down.
Rohaan had been pacing, sort of like an animal debating whether to strike or to flee, and part of that was to put some distance between him and the crazed elf. He might have taken his weapon, but Rohaan knew there were different sorts of weapons a person could use, and people were generally very good at concealing them. He didn't trust him. But chiefly, his aim was to get close to Ash. He didn't go directly for her--too obvious--but he did eventually make his way to her, giving a not entirely feigned but definitely amplified glance to assess her condition and make sure she was okay. Banged up pretty good, but she'd live. He was deeply thankful that he did not have to hint to her, or explain his thoughts to her, and she picked up immediately on what he was trying to do. With a skill he found impressive for someone who didn't consider themself a career thief, Ash took the evil blade from him.
Rohaan continued to move around the room, though his movements leaned decidedly more towards "flee" than "strike". His face was contorted in a controlled scowl, and his body appeared to quiver as if with some great effort. He shook his head. "No...I won't...I can't..." He grimaced, and whispered, "Make it stop..." in a faltering voice. Thoburas drew closer to him, closer, closer. Rohaan could see the wicked gleam in his eyes. That's it. Come and get it, you bastard.
Thoburas reached out his hand, tensing as if something was supposed to happen. Except, nothing did. The spark seemed to go from Thoburas' eyes, and he realized he'd been duped. Rohaan brought both hands up, wiggling his empty fingers with a mocking laugh. As the doubt and fear settled onto Thoburas, Ash struck. The blade had no trouble piercing the dark elf's flesh, even though her own weapon had struggled to do much of anything. At least she'd been decisive with her blow, but it wasn't a fatal one. It was entirely likely that Thoburas could only be taken down with the dark blade, and anyway, if Rohaan tried anything too aggressive, there was always a chance he'd miss and hit Ash, or that Thoburas could try and maneuver her as a human shield. "Finish him!" He growled. Rohaan chose the form of a black jaguar, and aimed a bite at Thoburas' arm in an attempt to pin him down.
Ridahne smiled genuinely, though it was tempered by her thoughts on having an escort. She couldn't deny the wisdom in it on the Council's part, but it didn't make her feel any better about it. Maybe she was just being petulant. Even when she was a child, she never liked being treated like one. Then again, she reminded herself, she'd always been mentally prepared to have some kind of escort in Azurei--as soon as word got out she was back in the borders, her every move would be tracked and watched, if she wasn't outright accosted. Why should this be any different?
Still, some part of her was indignant. Was she not a good enough guide of the city for her charge? Sure, Mrixe probably knew it better than she did, but Ridahne knew enough. Besides, having an escort would make them stand out even more, and draw more attention to the fact that she was a traitor, a snake to be watched and avoided. Ridahne was glad, at least, that Darin liked him. She did too, in her own way, but the fact that Darin enjoyed the man's presence would make it feel less like the warrior was hovering. Ridahne hated hovering. When she was very little, her mother let her amble off by herself near their home and tag along after some of the other kids. The young elf had been overjoyed by this freedom, until she learned that the whole of the neighborhood had been instructed to keep eyes on her at all times. Even back then, it made her angry. Looking back, Ridahne understood why a child so young couldn't just wander off unattended, but at the time, it had felt like a betrayal of trust. That was a bit like how she felt now, to be honest. Like Mrixe, likable though he was, was just another neighborhood elder watching her from under their small awning.
Ridahne gave a long sigh and let her eyes close. Evidently, she was fighting a mental battle and was trying her best to silence it for the moment, or come to a conclusion. "I have no quarrel with you, Janeel," she said softly, trying her best to inject a little warmth into that statement. "I guess when you're a person whom society has burned and cast away, there's always a part of you that desires to ever again gain people's trust, and for your word to be a sufficient promise simply because you spoke it and meant it. Foolish of me to hope for that." That last bit she muttered under her breath, almost inaudibly and with a momentary flash of sadness that was difficult to see on such a a proud, grim face as hers.
She looked up at him. "But you see, Darin, unlike anyone else of great power, has earned my trust. Trust is a hard thing for me to come by, these days. I gave blind trust to the wrong people before, and it ended in the death of my partner and friend, and in the deaths of countless innocent people. All at my hand. Forgive me if I'm less quick to trust, now. It's not your fault, and I'll accept your company without argument," she said with an apologetic bow. "Besides, your presence seems to please my companion, and therefore it would be an honor to have you." She didn't wholly mean that, though she wanted to. She really did want to. It wasn't so much a lie as much as it was her own way of trying to settle her turbulent thoughts, or trying to convince herself, like if she said it enough, she'd feel it. She did hope he understood it was nothing personal. Ridahne had nothing but respect for Mrixe, but she had her own issues to sort through, it seemed.
With a warmer and slightly more genuine smile, she said, "The pastries don't hurt, either..." She plucked another from the basket.
Still, some part of her was indignant. Was she not a good enough guide of the city for her charge? Sure, Mrixe probably knew it better than she did, but Ridahne knew enough. Besides, having an escort would make them stand out even more, and draw more attention to the fact that she was a traitor, a snake to be watched and avoided. Ridahne was glad, at least, that Darin liked him. She did too, in her own way, but the fact that Darin enjoyed the man's presence would make it feel less like the warrior was hovering. Ridahne hated hovering. When she was very little, her mother let her amble off by herself near their home and tag along after some of the other kids. The young elf had been overjoyed by this freedom, until she learned that the whole of the neighborhood had been instructed to keep eyes on her at all times. Even back then, it made her angry. Looking back, Ridahne understood why a child so young couldn't just wander off unattended, but at the time, it had felt like a betrayal of trust. That was a bit like how she felt now, to be honest. Like Mrixe, likable though he was, was just another neighborhood elder watching her from under their small awning.
Ridahne gave a long sigh and let her eyes close. Evidently, she was fighting a mental battle and was trying her best to silence it for the moment, or come to a conclusion. "I have no quarrel with you, Janeel," she said softly, trying her best to inject a little warmth into that statement. "I guess when you're a person whom society has burned and cast away, there's always a part of you that desires to ever again gain people's trust, and for your word to be a sufficient promise simply because you spoke it and meant it. Foolish of me to hope for that." That last bit she muttered under her breath, almost inaudibly and with a momentary flash of sadness that was difficult to see on such a a proud, grim face as hers.
She looked up at him. "But you see, Darin, unlike anyone else of great power, has earned my trust. Trust is a hard thing for me to come by, these days. I gave blind trust to the wrong people before, and it ended in the death of my partner and friend, and in the deaths of countless innocent people. All at my hand. Forgive me if I'm less quick to trust, now. It's not your fault, and I'll accept your company without argument," she said with an apologetic bow. "Besides, your presence seems to please my companion, and therefore it would be an honor to have you." She didn't wholly mean that, though she wanted to. She really did want to. It wasn't so much a lie as much as it was her own way of trying to settle her turbulent thoughts, or trying to convince herself, like if she said it enough, she'd feel it. She did hope he understood it was nothing personal. Ridahne had nothing but respect for Mrixe, but she had her own issues to sort through, it seemed.
With a warmer and slightly more genuine smile, she said, "The pastries don't hurt, either..." She plucked another from the basket.
Berlin found Rohaan as a boy because of pickpocketing. Rohaan was starving, and thought Berlin was as easy a target as anyone else, but that proved to be very false. Berlin himself was an excellent thief, and he was more aware of his person and his belongings when in a crowd--especially a dirty port city. Those little hands did not escape him, though instead of beating him like anyone else might have done, Berlin took him in. Not only did he feed the half-feral shifter, but he trained him in the art of theft. The kid did have a knack for it, and after a little instruction in the art, it wasn't uncommon for Rohaan to just show up with an item that no one had noticed he'd slipped away to pilfer, nor was it clear when or where he'd obtained it. A little natural talent, combined with a bit of tutelage, made Rohaan a better pickpocket than most.
Thoburas was on top of Ash again, going for his trademark strangle--that seemed to be a favorite game of his--as he slavered over her like a dog watching a rabbit hop across his territory. Disgusting, honestly. There were rumors of similar behavior about Rohaan himself, but none of those were actually true. While he wouldn't hesitate to kill a man if it meant survival or escape for himself, he didn't relish the act of killing or torturing random people. Of course, some earned a special level of his wrath, but they were fewer and more specific individuals. He found the sorts that did enjoy that kind of thing revolting.
Rohaan had not come to tear off one of Thoburas' limbs, nor did he come to rescue Ash from the elf's tightening grip. But that did not mean he was idle. When Thoburas changed his mind and tossed Ash aside, Rohaan laughed. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for. "You know, some say that we don't have any souls at all, us Vokurians. I might not be much use to you in that regard...either way, I think you'll find it much harder to kill me than you think." He glanced at Ash; he was buying her time to recover a little and get herself ready. His eyes went back to Thoburas. "Do you know who I am, Thoburas? If you do, then you're either an extremely cocky man, or you're out of your depth. Because it takes a bold man to turn his back on Rohaan Ja'aisen...or a stupid one. I wonder which you are." He shrugged. "Alright then, if you're so bent on killing me, might as well get it over with..."
There was a gleam in his eyes, and he began slowly circling the elf, back around towards Ash. He moved like a man on a stroll through the garden, relaxed and confident. "Oh, hang on though..." He took the dark blade from behind his back and inspected it in the warped light distorted by the growing gate in the middle of the room. "Did you...need this, by chance? Mmm. Should have kept a closer eye on it." He needed to give Ash the blade, but he had to do it in a way that made Thoburas believe Rohaan still had it. If nothing else would kill him, Rohaan was sure that would. Once again, he would take the role of distraction while Ash snuck in for the final blow. It'd be easier to stab the wretched creature while he had his attention focused elsewhere, so that's just what they'd do.
Thoburas was on top of Ash again, going for his trademark strangle--that seemed to be a favorite game of his--as he slavered over her like a dog watching a rabbit hop across his territory. Disgusting, honestly. There were rumors of similar behavior about Rohaan himself, but none of those were actually true. While he wouldn't hesitate to kill a man if it meant survival or escape for himself, he didn't relish the act of killing or torturing random people. Of course, some earned a special level of his wrath, but they were fewer and more specific individuals. He found the sorts that did enjoy that kind of thing revolting.
Rohaan had not come to tear off one of Thoburas' limbs, nor did he come to rescue Ash from the elf's tightening grip. But that did not mean he was idle. When Thoburas changed his mind and tossed Ash aside, Rohaan laughed. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for. "You know, some say that we don't have any souls at all, us Vokurians. I might not be much use to you in that regard...either way, I think you'll find it much harder to kill me than you think." He glanced at Ash; he was buying her time to recover a little and get herself ready. His eyes went back to Thoburas. "Do you know who I am, Thoburas? If you do, then you're either an extremely cocky man, or you're out of your depth. Because it takes a bold man to turn his back on Rohaan Ja'aisen...or a stupid one. I wonder which you are." He shrugged. "Alright then, if you're so bent on killing me, might as well get it over with..."
There was a gleam in his eyes, and he began slowly circling the elf, back around towards Ash. He moved like a man on a stroll through the garden, relaxed and confident. "Oh, hang on though..." He took the dark blade from behind his back and inspected it in the warped light distorted by the growing gate in the middle of the room. "Did you...need this, by chance? Mmm. Should have kept a closer eye on it." He needed to give Ash the blade, but he had to do it in a way that made Thoburas believe Rohaan still had it. If nothing else would kill him, Rohaan was sure that would. Once again, he would take the role of distraction while Ash snuck in for the final blow. It'd be easier to stab the wretched creature while he had his attention focused elsewhere, so that's just what they'd do.
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