On Caoja an' Fami

Sarinah and Tristaan arrive at Surwood Isle

Open for Play
A large island and a few smaller isles in the Arova River, this hub of nomadic wick life is home to the annual Wick Festival.

User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 139
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Raksha
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Sat Jul 14, 2018 10:31 am

Bethas 27th, 2718
SURWOOD ISLE | MORNING
Image
As the passive took her hand to lace his fingers in hers, Sarinah offered him another warm smile and a shake of her head at his comments about trouble. If anything, she was the trouble, but the upstanding kenser would never admit that, it seemed. She saw it, heard it in his tone, the reluctance to explore further exactly what this was with his friend around.

What was this anyway?

Allowing herself to be dragged gently along with a chuckle, the brunette scanned the area that Loyan gestured to with one hand. She saw little yet to define the Crows against everyone else, but then she wasn’t as familiar with the tribal markings as she was with Yellow Eye. As they entered the crescent of kints and the warmth of the fire brushed their skin, Sarinah glanced at Loyan before briefly gauging Tristaan’s reaction. Seemingly unperturbed by the possible reaction, she shook her head.

“Ne kov. I’m Yellow Eye. Ent really a swimmer myself to be honest. Still, takes more than swimming to be a Deep Water I’ve recently learned.” Her dark eyes glanced at the scarred passive again, smile turning ridiculously shy and a blush colouring her cheeks at his comment.

Oes, the heart does do what it wants. That was painfully true. Even if it left death and pain in its wake.

The witch felt a shift in the man, turning to face him as they slowed to a near stop. Her other hand moved to rub his shoulder, and with a tsk she leaned to kiss his cheek.

“We don’t have to do this Tristaan, ye chen? We can just dust ha—“ Her quiet words were cut short as Loyan yelled loudly, causing the dancer to wince and turn around, following the passive as he led them onwards and squeezing his hand. There was no perceptive field around the man, but it was clear he was nervous. As much as she had been about seeing her parents. At least, if the world was about to fall apart a second time, she was here for him.

“Then he’s the only man that ye should ever call that kov.” She said softly in return, studying the beautifully carved door of the kint they approached, if only for a moment before it burst open to reveal a tanned, gnarled older wick. He was made of sun-leathered skin and warm brown eyes, a stark difference to her own. As the passive released her to embrace his father-figure, Sarinah bit the inside of her cheek and glanced away, fighting against the anger at her own fami.

Tristaanian?

It was the first time she’d heard the passives full first name on someone elses lips, and admittedly it was a stark slap in the face. A reminder that the man was not always a wick, that once upon a time he was a galdor. Looking at the ground by her feet, the brunette let a small smile grace her lips as she thought of how far beyond the golly life he was. A tekka, through and through. Whether he believed it or not, it was clear to the witch the grey eyed man was at home in the arms of his da.

Y’ent drifted jus’ t’ get hitched, didja?

Sarinah’s head snapped up, brown eyes wide and searching for Tristaan’s reaction, even as she stammered over her own words with a laugh.

“Ne, ne kov. We ent—it’s really—“ The lithe woman had turned scarlet, laughing and unable to meet the grey steel of his eyes as the passive tried to recover from the comment. As he introduced her to the man, Sarinah ducked her head in greeting, tucking raven locks behind her ears with an awkward smile. Guaril’s delighted face changed, clearly reading far further into Tristaan’s words than anyone else might have. She tripped over her words a little, shaking her head with another small laugh.

“Junta Guaril. Ye boch’s fairly benny at making it look like he ent a balach to the core, but oes, it went something like that. Trouble, that’s the Rose’s favourite tourist attraction, ye chen?” She smirked at her own joke, before shaking her head again.

“Ne. I suppose I was for a while, but I ent anymore. I was a spoke as a boch. Grew up with my…in the kint. So travelling is what I always knew, for a mant manna maw. Left to settle roots somewhere away from the cities and the nomadic lands. Somewhere…homely. Only, didn’t get that far. Been in the harbor for at least five maw, and would have been there longer if it weren’t for this mung kenser.” The brunette teased, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow at Tristaan before grinning broadly. She looked back to Guaril and shrugged.

“Ent really a spoke, or a tsat right now. Ent really sure what I am.” Sarinah finished softly, throwing a quick peek at the dark haired man before looking down, thick locks hiding him from her line of sight as though planned.

Ent sure what I am. Or what this is.


Tags:
User avatar
Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 176
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 15
Race: Passive
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Ever th' balach.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Jul 27, 2018 1:25 pm

27th Bethas, 2718
Image
Guaril watched the pair stumble over the definition of their togetherness with a weathered, patient sort of smile. Or perhaps a knowing one. The old wick was hardly a stranger to the dark-haired passive, and while they'd only spent a handful of years together in all truthfulness, he was quite confident that he and he alone knew Tristaan better than anyone else. Until now, it seemed. Mostly.

He laughed at Sarinah's assessment of the man he called son, shaking his head even as the magic-less offspring of galdori smirked and rolled his grey eyes, "I ent done nothin' that didn't need done." He quipped with a mixture of honesty and humor, smiling slowly with a hint of coyness, "It weren't as simple as we've made it sound, but y' know I ent ever good at simple, da."

"Ne, y'ent but I wish ye were, boch." Guaril grumbled. He shrugged at the olive-skinned witch's confusion, "Yer young an' ent gotta be 'n a rush t' figure all that out, rosh. Tsat 'r spoke don't matter—tekaa be tekaa no matter where they live. I wish more folks saw 't that way, but these be hard, stubborn times 'round here, eh? Tristaan ent got that figured out yet, either, have y', boch?" He teased, laughing and shaking his head at them both. Whatever he saw that they couldn't or wouldn't, he was far too a patient man to say just yet, "C'mon, let's go sit b' that fire Loyan's got goin' an' let him fix some yats."

The older wick waved the pair back toward the fire where they could all find somewhere to sit together, the younger, dark-haired wick smiling at their return. From a few other kints, other Crow in their small family group would wake once Tristaan's friend began filling the campsite with the smells of a hot breakfast and warming tea—bacon and eggs, a few vegetables fried in whatever grease was leftover, and fresh bread from one of the many vendors crowding Surwood Isle with their delicious wares.

The dark-haired passive was clearly not forgotten, and everyone who joined their little meal had to smile and greet him. A few had hugs, a few had their doubts, but no one cast Sarinah a wary or unwelcome glance. In fact, the lithe dancer was welcomed with the same warmth Tristaan was, even if she turned down the hugs and warm handshakes. There were mostly older wicks, save for Loyan and his young family. Conspicuously missing were the generation of Crow around Tristaan's age, save for two or three. He hadn't been the only one of the tribe to join a tyat kuatano, but he'd been the only one to return.

Not that anyone said that out loud. Not now. Not here.

Whatever story there was to tell, it wasn't necessary over breakfast or when welcoming guests. Instead, most of the questions the tribe had for them were about how they arrived and where they were staying, who they knew and what they wanted to see. It was no small matter of excitement once Tristaan shyly admitted to the pair having nowhere to stay, Loyan's wife insistent they settle with them for as long as they were on Surwood, and Guaril making it clear in his own gruff, loving way that they both had no choice in the matter anyway. Arrangements could be made, and there was much chatter about how to make it.

Bochi couldn't stay away from the man, like some magnetism attracted them, and by the time everyone had eaten their fill and still weren't ready to leave the comfort of the fire in the Bethas chill, Guaril was more than content to share too many ridiculous stories of Tristaan's awkward youth so long as they both could listen, making sure the passive had his mouth full of food whenever the old wick dug up something particularly embarrassing just to make sure he couldn't stop him. It was a very stark contrast to Sarinah's welcome with her people, and it would be clear as to why the dark-haired man called them fami and why he'd taken so well to living his life like a wick, even if he'd never claim to be one.

It shouldn't have mattered, and even Tristaan, somewhere inside, knew that truth. Identity was a slippery creature for the passive, and he'd yet to get his calloused hands around who or what he was supposed to be with a firm grip. The heritage that he'd felt was stolen from him still weighed him down. The label and its connotations that had been inked into his bicep and branded into his heart weighed him down and made all of life more of a burden. And the carefree, open life of the Red Crow tekaa that he'd been invited into years ago sang him an inviting song he was still afraid to answer.

ABBC3_OFFTOPIC
Sorry, I thought I'd just wrap this up so we can move onto new things. We can always memory thread more Surwood goodness later.
Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
Passive Proverb
Post Reply Previous topicNext topic

Return to “Surwood Isle”

  • Information
  • Who is online

    Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest