Marks that Made Us

Log Info

• Title: Marks that Made Us
• Emitter: Seldan
• Characters: Seldan, Cryosanthia
• Place: A11: Festival Grounds
• Time: Monday, March 09, 2020, 12:52 PM
• Summary: Seldan is practicing in the festival grounds, and believing he is alone, strips down to the waist. However, he is not alone. Cryosanthia is practicing her spells on the archery range and is unhappy with her progress, or lack therof. Leaving, she runs into Seldan and marvels quietly at the image tattooed on his back. The two speak, and Seldan asks if he can see her markings. Cryo agrees, although she strips with some reluctance that is more than modesty. Her marking tell a tale, which Seldan in his tired state, isn't able to fully read. He expresses sympathy for her suffering, and conversation returns to how he received his, its meaning, and marking. Cryo is astounded to hear he communicated with thousands of his ancestors. She expresses a curiousity towards her own, but also a fear that her past is full of uncivilized sith-makar and a beastial white dragon. Even though her actual experiences of her ancestors have been largely comforting. Finally they speak a little of Ezil, who might benefit from Seldan's persepctive, and the farmer Seldan plans to help, who could use a few unskilled workers, but not a lot.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A11: Festival Grounds *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The sweeping Festival Grounds serve many purposes. For much of the year they serve as practice grounds for training knights, for the games of children who pick up ball, bat, and begin a game of stickball. During other times, they're filled with colored tents, with performers for some of Alexandria's many festivals.

Along one side are a set of permanent bleachers, and at either end an archway. Each archway is carved in the style of a grand entry and marked with images of of Daeus, with rearing horse and flying pennon. Here, the god stands depicted in his roles of defender and knight-warrior. Recently, the Lancers of Serriel have taken to practicing here, along the knights and warriors of other orders, and a small number of them take a select pride in the upkeep of the grounds, alongside the Daeusites, Navosians, Gileans, and other mixtures.

Littering the grounds are places for archery, target practice. Here too, scheduled a few times a month, is the space given for ridden sport, organized recently by the arvek nar. The reigning champion's name is displayed in an upright lance at the end of the field, a silent challenge for next month's contender.

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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Seldan       5'11"    187 Lb     Human             Male      Red-blonde Eldanar man wearing Eluna's colors and symbol.
Cryosanthia  6'7"     245 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos.
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It is late afternoon, and the last of the horses have been untacked, groomed, and led to the stables. Arms practice in a variety of forms, and by a variety of groups, is shutting down, as the sun descends towards the horizon. There is one lone figure left at the pells in this misty grey late afternoon, and even Seldan appears to have been here for some hours, judging by his state of dishevelment. He wears, not armor, but a thick vest that appears to be weighted in some way, and the practice longsword he uses is proportioned as his own, but made of solid lead with a heavy wooden core, and fully blunted so as to hurt none.

He finishes his last attack sequence and steps back, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his free hand. He nods satisfaction to himself and turns away to a small pile of gear left near one of the benches - clearly his, for the familiar robe lies atop them. Without looking to see if anyone else is around, and clearly believing himself alone, he strips off first the weighted vest, and then the sweat-soaked white shirt beneath it. Few humans seem inclined to do any such thing in the cool dampness of the early spring, but it does not seem to bother him in the least.

So stripped, an observer watching him will see several things. First, he isn't a big man, but muscular and rock-solid, a man who works hard. Second, a pair of small gray-black dots on the point of his left shoulder, and a few odd scars here and there. Third, a complex series of arcane and divine sigils drawn in blackest ink, running from the back of his neck down his spine, covering parts of his shoulder blades, and disappearing into the belted waistband of his sweaty trousers. The crescent and sphere of Eluna stands at the center of it all, at heart-level across his back, and would seem to be the diagram's center.

Cryosanthia has also practicing on the Festival Grounds, in the short range archery section. She is in her usual armour kit, with her rapier out. Dropped in a fencer's T stance, she has her blade forward and her free hand held above her head. She makes an Arcane Gesture, then points, a pale Ray shoots from her finger and strikes the target. Next, she follows with a different sequence of finger wiggles, and a dagger appears in her hand. She throws this, it strikes the target reasonably accurately, then melts away. She murmurs, "That's the last of those," and switches back to shooting Rays.

Rays of Frost, presumably, from how the target ices up. They seem weak, like a beginner mage's Magic Missile. She can maintain a decent barrage, one every six seconds or so, except when her gauntlet catches on her armour. Leather can only be so supple.

She's been in her own world, although it's not apparently a very joyful one and she is dissatisfied with her performance. It's on her way out that she notices a man, her nostrils flare and recognizes him as Seldan, by scent first then sight. She carefully approaches. The tattoos draw her attention. She stares silently at the dots and images, watching how they move over the muscles. Lost in conemplative thought, she remembers to say, "Peace on your Scabbard," before her silent presence extends into an awkward lurking.

How did he not see her? Seldan starts and turns immediately at the call, but the greeting can only be one being, and he does not seem to take offense. "And peace be upon your nest, Cryosanthia," he greets in return. It is worth noting that the only sword in evidence at the moment is that heavy practice sword. Clearly, his intent had been a strength and stamina drill, not a display of fine technique or fancy skills. His chest still heaves a little, but that is fading quickly, and he pushes a soaked lock of hair away from his face. "You also work, I see. That is good." His eyes, though, linger on her tattoos in turn, as if seeing them for the first time, and entirely unaware that she was doing the same. "Are you then finished?"

"Yes. This one was trying to be more effective with my magic. It doesn't seem to improve with practice." Cryosanthia admits, shrugging her shoulders and exhaling. "It is useful and fun for everyday things, but I fear it will never be more and wonder if I'm wasting my efforts.'

She stares at Seldan's chest, which isn't unusual as blinking seems a rare or conscious action for her. "Only markings on your back? They make a great image. It is strange to see you without your armour. You are fine removing it?"

"For such work as I wished to do this day, the armor does not serve me, for it is light and does not hinder me. Not so that," Seldan nods at the weighted vest lying on the bench. He was working while hindering himself, deliberately, it seems. "Do not despair of improving your magic. At times do we all find ourselves in a quandary, and must change how we approach the problem to find success."

He turns away, making a swift gesture and uttering an arcane word, then passes a hand over the vest, that is clearly wet and laid out on the bench. "You noticed those? They are fine work, done for me when I was ill. I ... knew not where I was, or when, or really who. The diagram keeps me anchored within the Realms, where I belong," he explains carefully. "But ... I had wished to ask you something as well." Suddenly, he hesitates, becoming diffident.

Cryosanthia is watching Seldan as he moves and explains, her head following his gestures then returning to him. She nods as the conversation returns to the artwork imbedded on him. "I did. It is an advantage I never considered of smooth skin, that it could be a tapestry. It is unsettling to see you without any armour, your body seems flayed to me, or like a capybara skinned for supper. I fear you might burst like a soap bubble if I touch you. I know people are more solid than that, but scales or clothes are how I oft see them."

The sith forces herself to focus on Seldan's face. Her eyes glitter in the faint afternoon light, her tail swinging happily behind her, "Sure, ask away? Is something wrong?"

"It is indecent among softskins, to be unclothed in public," Seldan explains, seeming to be much more comfortable meeting her eyes. "I had intended only to change to a fresh shirt. But no, I will not burst for the touching." Setting aside the spell for the moment, he watches her directly. "You had shown me your tattoos, and I must admit that I had looked them over only swiftly, not wishing to stare, but ... may I look more closely?" Again, that diffidence - almost as if what he is asking may offend.

"It's odd, but that mindset has found a place in mine. I am much more hesitant to disrobe in Alexandria and was quite embarassed when Ezil came upon me with half my armour off. I can't explain why." Cryosanthia says, taking off her short cape. Her armour seems to be a bit more work, she has to pry at a rivet to remove her torso pieces. The arms come off easily once that is done. Underneath she has a thin silk shirt, white, which doesn't appear damaged by her scales. She stares at one of her arms, and the shirt vanishes, turning into two sleevelets that go from elbow to wrist and vanish under her gloves. "Merek made this for me, it's neat."

Revealed, she is shapely and muscular, although they're odd in comparison to human ones. She holds an arm across the front of her chest, explaining this away, "I don't have to, but feel I should. Do you wish to see my legs? I would have to remove the kilt."

On display, it's very obvious the markings on her were not gently or artistically made. They look like painful scars and ruin the appearance of her white scales. They have a darkness to them, which looks wrong, and many are Sildanyar symbols for spells.

GAME: Seldan rolls spellcraft+1: (6)+11+1: 18
GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/arcana: (2)+10: 12

Seemingly forgotten is Seldan's own state of dress, and he shakes his head. He speaks another word, then studies the tattoos again. "Your captors inscribed spells into your flesh, Cryosanthia." The words hold an undercurrent of anger, but not at her. "May I see your back? I will not ask you to further disrobe here. But ... there is something else ..." He passes a hand over his eyes, shaking the sweat from them and his hair.

"I... know." Cryosanthia says, her tail hanging down and resting on the ground. "They glow when I'm casting a spell, the one I'm casting glows the most. It's the worst sort of telegraphing."

She laughs a little, although it's not really a happy sound. She turns around. Her back is likewise a mess, symbols placed where there is space. Arranged not in an artistic way, but in a manner more arcane in intent. Symbols for channeling, some used in magic object crafting.

Her tail curls around her ankles.

GAME: Seldan rolls spellcraft: (5)+11: 16
GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/arcana: (3)+10: 13

Seldan looks closely for a few moments, then shakes his head, passing his hand over his eyes again. "Forgive me, Cryosanthia. It has been a long day," is all he says. "Perhaps with more study and a fresher mind, I might learn more. This much only am I certain of: I mislike what I see, in those brands upon you. The intent is arcane, not merely artistry. Perhaps one more versed in the crafting of magical items may be able to read it more fully." He turns aside, gesturing over his similarly soaked shirt, and the dirt and sweat vanishes from it. He makes a similar gesture over the vest, then dismisses the spell with a gesture that suggests that he has no interest in continuing, despite some things still being soiled.

"Thanks. They... hurt. It was a bad time. But what doesn't kill you makes you stranger, right?" Cryo says, managing a little mirth in her voice. She concentrates on her sleevelets, and they turn back into a shirt which covers her, front and back. She turns around in time to see him give up part way through cleaning. "Hey, I can do that."

The white-scale sith wriggles her hand through some arcane gestures, and then her gloves glow. Just her gloves, a soft blue-white light focused around the marks on the back of them. She waves her hands in small circles afterwards, concentrating on the vest, making all the dirt vanish. "I love these things. They don't itch at all when I cast."

Next she retrieves her armour pieces and puts them on, having to pound the rivet on her chest piece to get it all solidly together. A quick reattachment of her cape and she's back to her usual attire., "Some water might help, are you getting a headache?"

Seldan blinks, startled, as she turns to cleaning his gear. He raises a hand to forestall her, but too late, and lets it down, smiling instead in response to her joy. While she dresses, he does the same, donning the now-cleaned shirt and tucking it in, then adding the robe. "Do not worry for me," he answers the last question, although the words might as well be Brightscale for "yes". He sets the cloak aside, though, sill pinned, and sets the vest and practice sword with it. "You have my gratitude for the spell," he says carefully.

"Oh I don't mind, I love having an excuse to use these. I'm washing all the dishes at the Fernwood now." Cryosanthia grins widely, her mouth open showing all all her sharp teeth, and her eyes glittering. "They're simply fun, do the motion and it goes. I'm happy with my real spells, they just always seem like a struggle. Like, my arms are too tired from swinging a sword, I can still do the movements, but it's slow and clumsy. I cast a lot, because... afraid I'll get stuck in the mud if I don't. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense."

The palescale watched him dress, her eye ridges crease a little. "So, you don't remember how you got yours at all? It was there when you woke up? After an injury, illness? It is really beautiful. The human version of Elune is so nice."

There's a deep sadness in Seldan's eyes as he looks back up at Cryosanthia, along with definite signs that he is not feeling his best. "It should not be so. Not for you, and not for any who cast magic as we do. It is your birthright, and touching that should be no struggle. Would that I could read the rest of it. It might provide a clue."

He passes that hand over his eyes again, rubbing his face in his hand, and not incidentally pushing that lock of hair away from his face. "I spoke to you of how I came to be in Darshan's debt, have I not?" he asks quietly.

She is stilled by the sight of sadness in his eyes. Uncertain, unsure how to respond even as she listens to his words. It files away in her mind, there is something wrong, but is quickly covered by her desire to escape her tragedy, keep it in the past. Her expression is one of worry, and she quickly latches onto a change in subject.

Cryo bobs her head at Seldan's last question, "This one knows, yes, but... we would not apply the ink to someone asleep, unless... that is part of the cure?" She blinks.

She moves closer, offering an arm for support.

"Not normally, no, such would not be done," Seldan agrees, looking meaningfully down at the pack at his feet, and pointedly pulling his hands away from it, to fold them in his lap. "I have known that my sword held mysteries for some time, for when first I touched it, it was as if a thousand, thousand voices all spoke to me at once, trying to teach, to share, to chide, to cajole. I ... remember nothing more of that day, nor of the two or three that followed. I knew not where or when I was, only that I was trying to make sense of all that I was being told. At times, I was even unsure of who I was, so overwhelming was it. I was ... also ill with plague at the time, and when I awoke ... it had been done. The person who had my care had intended to stabilize me in place and time. I ... yet cannot explain what happened, and I tell you only that which I know for certain."

"A thousand voices?" Cryosanthia seems stunned. She's only heard five, who were overwhelming enough on their own. "All in your head at the same time? One dream was enough to leave me thoughtful for days, I can't imagine trying to sort through all of that. So the symbols arose on their own, while you slumbered? Or that was how they anchored you?"

Suddenly the sith-makar grins widely, hissing a quiet laugh, "Good thing it was on your back then, right? In case you weren't happy with it?"

"Even so. The symbols anchor me to all that is," Seldan explains simply. "I do not dislike it, and it means a great deal to me, for it was Malik that did it. I hold no ill will for its nature. I think you to have no such troubles. You have spoken of but one known to you?"

Cryosanthia listens, exclaiming, "Oh, Malik, I've met him. I think he said he lives with you."

Then, a question, which will be hard to answer. Her tail slows its sway as she picks through her thoughts. "Yes. She is... she was. I saw her in a dream, which I don't think was only fancy. A white dragon. In her lair, very happy about it and flying, so joyfully. It's not... what research has told me they are. No recognition, no communication, just the feeling of her, being."

Seldan considers that, thinking hard about the words he's been given. "I do not always hear mine, save for those that occupy my blade. At times, I may not know their names, though some do I know. More I know by their wills. I know not if they hear me, but at times, may I get a flash of ... something. When I think, when I seek knowledge, at times are there things that they know, and may be able to share. I know ... little more, although do I research my family turee, I may at times learn more."

"I would have to speak to the Keepers, to find out mine. Clearly I have more ancestors than the white dragon. I would hope they would have something to tell me." Cryosanthia muses aloud, her tail back to a regular swish. "The sith-makar were not very worldly, until a 100 years ago. Our battles with Charnath, the earlier in isolation for centuries. My ancestors would be tribal, warring with the other tribe-scales, the Ko-jodakh and the Nar-sektoth. Their advice might be only, 'kill softskins', kill the others. I don't know..."

"It is always your choice, to listen or no," Seldan reminds Cryosanthia with a smile that is just a little bit rueful. "Not all of my ancestors are worth the listening, as you have doubtless heard. Fear not to touch your past, for in it you may find peace, but you yet remain in the here and now, no matter what befalls. Do you understand?"

The white-scale sith-makar nods, leaning her head slightly, she grins. "This one would not say that, in the hopes they might speak to me eventually, but I might think it."

She looks down at her feet, scrapes the ground with her claws, curls her toes then extends them. "My near past I dislike thinking of. This may be colouring and causing the worry of the far past. That I will dig up unpleasant, and digging more will be more. It is true, that all I felt seeing her were good things. The evidence is... it was good? My fears are, I have missed something. I can't imagine... slipping from time... that...oh! Have you spoken with Ezil of these things? The fractured past?"

From the look Seldan wears, he probably has not. "Fear not to seek for knowledge, even if it may prove unpleasant to know. If it so proves, then at the least you will know the truth, and it will not find you unawares. Knowledge is precious, and even does what you learn not serve you, it may yet serve another. One of my ancestors served the Bard King. Such details would I not know, and yet, the knowledge serves me, that my ancestry does not bind me to the service of but one deity."

"On the matter of Ezil ... no. I do not lightly speak of such things, for not all understand. There are those who would mistrust me, or think me cursed. It is true that such an event was not without its benefits ... for there are things that I know, and I know not how I know."

She listens, nodding, taking the words to heart, smiling happily afterwards, "Perhaps I will find some such gems, ancestors of import involved in things. Maybe a heroic warrior or speaker, that could be nice." Her hand trails in the air, as she considers possibilites.

She turns and looks at Seldan, touching his arm gently. "I mean, to Ezil not of your personal experience, but the perspective? He has seen terrible things in the Vast. He fears his future, he makes choices inspired by phantoms, he's left his family and committeed to having only casual friends. This one has sought alliances for him, he should have a Caste, the human version. I worry he will drift to be like that Farmer."

Ah-ha. Seldan's furrowed brow clears as the miscommunication is righted, and he listens, to the end. "Fear drives him," the paladin explains quietly. "So it is with many a man, but does he not let his faith exceed his fear ..." The brows furrow again. "He must also turn to his faith. No man stands alone, not we of the Light. Does he not do so, he walks more alone than even he knows. Would you have me speak with him?"

The sith-makar nods, looking directly at Seldan. Her phrasing accidentally formal, "This one would. His faith is strong. Yet, this one sees him cut off. It is a concern."

She smiles awkwardly, hearing herself, "I would not give his secrets away, only say he saw things, and while he says he has gotten over them... "

She throws her hands up in the air, and dances backwards away from Seldan, swishing in front of him, "We're all a little bit broken, aren't we?"

"So we are, I suppose." Seldan nods carefully, in the way of one not wanting to move too quickly. "And yet, that is why we all stand together. Each may aid another, and mend the hurts of others, as they can. It is a part of my service to Eluna, and to all of the peoples of Ea, that I go where I am needed, and do as I must. I shall see what I may learn, for I have been boosted, and in turn boost others as it is given to me to do. How else might I aid you?"

"He may need help then, he may also think I worry too much, a careful approach, I think." Cryosanthia says, her small dance over but still walking in reverse in front of Seldan. Her head is turned enough she can see over her shoulder and her path. "I... not sure what I need. I will have to think on it. Some of what you've said, perhaps when you are rested. A talk with your sword would be wonderful, but that is for curiosity's sake. I wished to help if I could, did you find more on the werewolves or the ghost? Should I look through some of the books you were reading?"

"In truth, I had focused more in the past day on restoring the farmer's home," Seldan admits with a chuckle, watching Cryosanthia dance around. "More hands and eyes make lighter work, and I think that I will not seek the library this evening. Though it the quest of a few ..." H

"You worked on it without me?" Cryo opens her eyes a little wider, "This one would have come. This one would have made Ezil fill his Vardo with food. It would have been an adventure!"

"I did not," Seldan reaches out a reassuring hand. "I seek those skilled with stone as well, yes, and guards as well, for the place is well out of the way. Fear me not, I had meant not to startle. I only seek skilled workers."

"Ah! So it is not missed. Good. I shall be there for the holding up." Cryo smiles brightly, "This one can seek unskilled workers, if you wish. Then I should have no worries asking my friends."

"The aid of any as may be willing would be welcome, although I would not have so many go through the village. I would not draw more eyes than is needful. Seldan returns the bright smile with a less-bright one of his. "I should be on my way," he adds. "Night falls, soon. You have my thanks for the aid."

Cryo bows, nodding slowly, "I understand, I will resist the urge to bring all and sundry. Thanks also, for your assistance and assistance to come. I appreciate that you care. It means a lot to me."

"You are most welcome." Seldan stands, and picks up the vest, slinging it over his shoulder, followed by the pack, and then the heavier sword. "If you eould have me look again, come the morn, you need only ask, although perhaps one of your shamans might do better." He turns towrds the exit to the festival grounds.

"I'll... yes. I'll think about that. Peace on your Nest. Scabbard! Peace on both of them." Cryosanthia stands, watching the man leave and letting what he said sink into place. Her thoughts tick over, and she watches the sunset as well. The shadows growing long, the shift of colours from the visible spectrum into what she sees with darkvision and low-light. It's always a magical sort of transition, worth watching when there are things to think about. She's left with more questions than answers, but the conviction to seek those out.

"Hey, time to go." One of the groundskeepers points out.

She scampers off.