It's a Spoke's Life, Ent It?

Meeting Sarinah and Tristaan

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Aziza
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Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:37 pm

Roalis 2, 2718 - Near Surwood
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The kenser moved forward at a slow plod, the heat of the day weighing down heavily on the creature. Aziza felt it too, the oppressiveness but at least she had shelter with her; she could hop out of the driver's seat and take refuge in the kint with her mother. The poor beast didn't have that option though, working for as long as the wick prompted it to do so. It was a good hard-working animal, liable to keep going until it dropped but Aziza wasn't inclined to be cruel.

"Tsuter heat this, ent it, Kalila? Poor girl. Get you some yats and water soon as we get to the river," she assured the animal.

She watched the slow swishing of its clipped tail, the kenser trying in vain to rid itself of pesky flies. She tried to help, either leaning forward to fan at the buzzing insects or jiggling the reins to shoo them away. It was a pointless attempt really, the little black bodies crawling over its rump and flanks even while it was on the move. The plan was to get the animal some relief soon, the young spoke guiding the creature in the direction of the shore with careful tugs on the reins, tongue protruding between her teeth as she concentrated.

"Wo chet!" she cried before they grew too near to the water, reinforcing the command with a firm tug so Kalila came to a halt. She hopped down and moved to untether her from the kint, not wise to lead a kenser to water when it was still hitched. Freed of its traces, the kenser was happy to walk of its own accord to the river, Aziza remaining by its side until it reached the shore before heading back to the kint, muttering to herself the whole time.

"Hot. Some witch I am, can't keep cool, Hulali, pity me. Daoa! Gimme the rag for the kenser, ye chen?"

"Here, hama. We denkin'? Where we at?" Nazia replied, handing out a worn blanket. She started coughing while Aziza rooted for the bag with their food, the woman drinking greedily from the waterskin.

"Near Surwood. Over water there," Aziza retorted, slinging the blanket over her arm and snatching up the bag of meal. She tugged it open, making a face at some of the insects she found crawling in it and doing her best to pick them out. "Not benny this. Cheap spitch," she complained, her mother making a beckoning gesture.

"Fill that, hey?" Nazia remarked, handing over the waterskin and taking the bag of meal in exchange. Aziza took it but stayed still, watching the vroo cast. She held the bag in one hand, eyes narrowing to slits as she gazed at it intently, waving her other hand over it.

"Kill for me, hama," she murmured, the insects reduced to twitching black shapes that soon stilled, the meal around them shrivelling a little but not looking the worst for wear. She passed it back, Aziza making a face as she went to pick the crawlers out. "Ne, hama! Just git! G'wan! Won't do you no harm!" she scolded, shoving a bowl into the girl's hands and shooing her out.

"Nasty, daoa!" she muttered to herself.

"I heard that, Aziza!"

The girl chuckled, heading back to the water. She dipped the ragged blanket into the water, squeezing it out a little before throwing it over the kenser's back, tugging it around to cover as much of its heated hide as possible. It had begun cropping at the grasses, seeking nourishment near the water's edge. It didn't look like a bad feed but she couldn't exactly follow its example. Instead, she scooped some water from the river into the bowl, sitting down while she cast a spell to purify the water, tongue protruding between her lips as she concentrated. "Hesta, mona. Clean it for me, ye chen?" she asked, willing the bad things to come out, silently pleading with the mona in her mind and watching things float to the surface as she squinted at it.

After a couple of minutes, she thought she had it all and so dipped her hand carefully below the surface at one edge of the bowl and splashed the detritus over the lip. She'd seen those who could just make it go away but she wasn't good enough with the spell for that. Besides, there was no point pushing the mona. She mixed the meal and remaining water together to form a kind of thick paste, eating it with her fingers while the kenser refreshed itself.

Once her meal was over, she freed her hands of grime by dunking and shaking them in the river because she began to strip off, removing blouse and skirt while she threw water over her dark skin. She knelt at the shore, tugging at her undergarments so she could dribble water over the covered areas. She was just considering removing the extra layers altogether when she realised that the kenser had taken her skirt into her mouth and was trying to eat it.

"Ne, you mung kenser! Vrunta! You clocking- Gimme that!" Aziza called out, jumping to her feet to try to pry the garment out of the beast's animal. Kalila chose this moment to be disobedient, moving rapidly - for a kenser - in the opposite direction. "Kalila! Daoa! The kenser's eating my skirt!"

"Don't let it!"

"Daoa! Help me here!" she shouted back, finding herself giggling. It was more than a little funny, she could appreciate that, especially as the kenser did its best to keep its mouth out of reach, the partially clad woman shuffling and darting around it, barefoot and with her breasts practically falling out of her undergarments. She probably cut quite a sight.
word count: 997

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Tristaanian Greymoore
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Wed Jul 11, 2018 3:57 pm

2nd of Roalis, 2718
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Thoughts of Vienda still clung heavily to Tristaan's burdened mind, and the scars of a broken and battered childhood in the soot district seemed to ache as if suddenly fresh, reopened wounds. He'd spent over eight years avoiding the city, running from abandonment and cruelty, only to find himself coming full circle in a totally unexpected sort of way.

This was different, the dark-haired passive reminded himself. Everything was different.

Better.

Oes. Better.

He didn't have to go into Vienda proper if he didn't want to—no one would make him, of course, especially since Baldur had plans to set up just outside of the city gates in hopes of avoiding an extra layer of paperwork necessary. Not that they wouldn't have permission, and, Good Lady, it wasn't as if Sarinah wasn't going to want to go see the sights—

Still better.

The dark-haired passive mulled over too many thoughts as he walked, hand in hand with the lovely witch his thoughts felt so warmly consumed by. They'd wandered a bit further from Surwood proper than usual, mostly at the cajoling of Tristaan's Crow's fami, Loyan and a few other wicks. They'd dragged them away from the Circus and from the trees, rowing a few boats across a narrow dip in the Arova to the opposite shore for a little caoja on the beach, a bit of swimming, another bonfire, more music, and probably a night camping under the stars. It was a farewell of sorts, the Crow aware they'd enjoyed the passive's reuniting company for quite some time but that he and Sarinah would be leaving with the Circus soon enough. It had been a full morning, and he felt full of too many thoughts.

The past two seasons far from Old Rose Harbor had been a whirlwind of feelings and distractions, and yet the days had all felt like one long respite. Broken bones set and healed, wounds ceased aching, and scars faded. It was so comfortably easy to fall back into spoke life for the passive, welcomed by Guaril and other familiar Red Crow faces who'd thought him dead, enjoying the company of Sarinah despite her own struggles with her family, and kept busy with odd jobs for Balder and his ambitious Circus. It almost felt too good to be true, especially with the kind of feelings that danced without caution in the scarred hull of his chest.

Breaking away from their friends for a brief respite together, Tristaan brushed shoulders with the lovely witch, grey eyes straying to the way the sun sparkled off the river,

"Macha, it's goin' t' be hard t' leave Surwood, ye chen. I didn't know how badly either 'f us needed this place 'til we got here." His grin was wistful, aware that his tone carried the weight of all that was on his mind but not sure any of it was necessary to share, "M'haps I'm still jus' afraid o' Vienda. Mung though 't may be, I can't—"

His words were cut short by the sounds of unexpected shouting. A woman's voice carried along the beach as if carried by the Arova's current itself, the heat and humidity of Roalis already creeping into the day, making the air thick and tangible. While not all of the words carried faithfully, the passive tensed to listen, catching at least the words help among the rest.

A copse of trees and some undergrowth was really all that stood in their way, and Tristaan was quick to cast Sarinah a conspirator glance, announcing his strange internal need to make sure everything was alright with his expression. While he didn't reach for his weapons, he quickly picked their way through the trees that grew all the way into the water, and was entirely unprepared for the scene that awaited them on the other side.

The first vision that met him was a kenser, trotting at quite the pace, colorful skirt in its wide mouth, munching contentedly in its escape. The creature spotted the passive and the witch, and while it didn't balk at their appearance from the tree line, it didn't slow down much either. Glancing for a moment past the beast, Tristaan saw much more of a dark-skinned woman than he probably should have, or would have normally without a more personal invitation, obviously struggling to chase the creature while maintaining some very loose definition of decency considering it was consuming what he could only assume was her clothing. Beyond that, he would have noticed the kint and the camp had he not sought to stay focused on the immediate action, though he struggled to know whether that focus should be kept on the kenser or the witch.

It was and yet it was not the passive's first instinct to look away, not because he was overly curious so much as concerned, so much as he was so very taken by the woman with him. Had he been some other, more laoso, sort, perhaps he would have made a different choice. But, thank Alioe, Tristaanian Greymoore was too often too balach for his own good. And so he looked away from the dark-skinned witch wrestling with her dignity and toward the creature escaping with a tasty bit of said dignity. Still, the munching beast of burden sped up toward the trees, snorting with the fabric in its teeth preventing any other noise of victory. Tristaan was quick to snap his attention toward the large creature, his swift reflexes allowing him to reach calloused hands toward the bridle that dangled from its broad head.

Not fast enough, the kenser tossed its head defiantly and all he found purchase on was a bit of fabric, fingers curling into the skirt and feet scrambling to keep his narrow frame from crashing to the ground,

"Wo chet!" Tristaan hissed, his other hand reaching for the creature's flank, only to be denied again by the swat of a tail. It would have been humorous, watching the passive stagger and grunt, had the kenser not leapt a bit faster and sent him crashing to his face, "Oh, ne y' don't! C'mere."

He almost laughed after the thing, scrambling to his feet and jogging after it, willing to turn his back for a moment or two on his lovely witch and the woman who most likely wouldn't appreciate his presence in her current state anyway. Well. Maybe.

The kenser picked up her pace, crashing toward the undergrowth, only to have the delicious skirt get snagged on a few branches of a young tree. Tugging and tossing her head in a desperate attempt to yank the colorful fabric free, Tristaan carefully moved to take advantage of the distraction, reaching to snatch the bridle and get a taming hold on the beast, bracing himself for resistance.
Find comfort in friends,
every wound they can mend.
Passive Proverb
word count: 1197
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Sarinah Lissden
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Location: Vienda
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: Passively invested
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Thu Jul 12, 2018 8:53 am

Roalis 2nd, 2718
SURWOOD
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Sarinah smiled as the passive beside her brushed gently against her shoulder, squeezing his hand as she looked over at him. They’d been gone from the Rose now for two whole seasons, two whole safe seasons in the arms of the Crow and the circus troupe, and now they faced the prospect of leaving the protection of the festival grounds. Long gone were the revellers, but Tristaan's fami and a few other wicks remained. With the caring pressure of their friends, the couple found themselves dragged away from the common grounds to take a trip across the river to a small get together. A sort of farewell that left the brunette with a bitter sweet feeling.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave.

“Oes, really clocking hard kov. I feel more home than I ever excepted and I…” She reached over with her free hand, stroking his cheek with her thumb and leaning over to place a chaste kiss on his mouth, sighing softly.

“It’s okay to be afraid Tristaan. I ent ever been—“ Her sable gaze turned from him, drawn by the sound of shouting. Scanning the beach, the dancer looked at the man with a raised eyebrow, knowing far to well that look on his face. She nodded, following close behind with field drawn close. Her little flash of sparks in the harbour had been monumentally lucky not to backlash on her, but regardless the woman had nothing but her magic and her fists.

“Oh.” The witch said with genuine surprise and confusion, stopping short at the unexpected sight of a half dressed mugrobi woman and her kenser as the animal kept out of reach with an article of clothing. The beast turned then, picking up speed and headed directly towards the tree line they had just emerged from, snorting with all the bold defiance of a gioran. Sarinah dodged out of the way, even as Tristaan grabbed for the free hanging reigns and woefully missed. She winced, half reaching for the man as he fell to the ground, holding herself back as he took chase. Turning, Sarinah found herself alone with the strange half dressed woman.

“Uh….hesta chip! Ye need a pinna manna help oes?” She called with a friendly wave, removing the thin black shawl from her shoulders as she approached slowly, eying the kint just beyond as she held the garment out. The dark skinned woman’s field brushed her own softly, stronger than her own but not galdori strong. She released her breath a little more and grinned wryly.

“Ye got a rather excitable beast over th’ way, ye chen? But no fear, Tristaan’ll catch her for ye. Ent no doubt there.” The brunette chuckled, tucking a strand of thick hair behind her ear and looking away to protect the wick’s modesty.

“Ye come from the festival rosh? Travelling through?” She asked awkwardly, looking behind her for the passive before turning back with a smile, unsure what else to say to the stranger. It wasn’t every day you ran into a half naked mugrobi in what was respectively the middle of clocking nowhere.

word count: 554
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Aziza
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Thu Jul 12, 2018 1:11 pm

Roalis 2, 2718 - Near Surwood
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"Ye'd better dust or I'll cott ye, Kalila!" she threatened the kenser, trying to work out how to grab the thing. She was barefoot, her shoes still by the river - all the good they'd do her there - and so running was a little bit impaired but it wasn't as if she'd never done it before. It was just a little awkward, trying to take chase in her current condition, especially as she didn't want a half-hearted sprint to drive the creature into a more frantic run. The ground here wasn't bad for running on but if it got into the trees, she'd have roots to deal with and whipping branches, which was hardly ideal. If she could circle it and just herd the animal back towards the kint, perhaps there was a way to bribe her into letting go. She didn't want the skirt to get ripped after all, something that would be all the more likely if she simply tried to yank at it.

Aziza hadn't expected her shout to bring strangers so when they burst out of the treeline, she stopped dead, mouth literally hanging open and it wasn't the only thing... She tried to imagine how this scene must look to them and snorted. There were better ways of making a first impression she supposed but the first awkward hurdle that so often affected new acquaintances had probably been soundly leaped.

They stared at each other for maybe half a minute before action returned to them, the man going after the kenser that hadn't wasted the opportunity the distraction had provided. The woman approached her though, her greeting leaving Aziza torn. He could probably grab Kalila without her aid - she was likely to be more of a hindrance - but when he moved to pull at the skirt, her anxiety levels rose.

"Hesta, oes. I ent gonna say ne," she replied, eyes darting to the one she called Tristaan.

"Hey! Easy with that! I still need that to wear, not turned to spitch!" she told him, taking a step in that direction, not caring about the jiggling flesh that might be on display although she belatedly recognised the purpose of the shawl being held out to her. She glanced down, saw her state of dress and simply stuffed things where they ought to be and tied the garment shut again.

"Ne, don't need that. Here, I need to- Kalila! C'mere!" she shrieked, turning her attention from Sarinah with comparable ease, apparently not realising the rudeness of her actions. She marched after the man and animal, discovering that the kenser had gotten her skirt tangled in the branches. It was going to be shredded. Her mother might be able to repair it to some degree but without the skirt, she'd be confined to heavy pants and in this heat, it wasn't an option.

Determinedly, she circled around, aiming for the front of the kenser, hoping to box her in while Tristaan came at her from behind. She had to keep one eye on the ground, ensuring she didn't get her foot caught anywhere as she reached her destination, making a grab for the bridle so she could keep Kalila in place.

"Wo chet, Kalila! Easy now, easy. Lemme at that, not yours and ye know it," Aziza informed the kenser.

"Aziza! What's the trouble?" her mother called hoarsely from the direction of the kint. Kalila's head whipped around, skirt dropping from her mouth before she manoeuvred herself to head back the way she'd come.

"Hulali, gimme patience! Why she likes my daoa so much, I ne know. Mujo ma for help," she explained with a shrug, more concerned with her damaged skirt than the man who had actually helped. She worked carefully to extricate it from the branches, frowning at the holes she found and tried not to widen further.

"Aziza! Hama!" The shout was closer this time, the woman walking from the kint, leaning heavily on a walking stick and panting for breath as she tried to hurry over to the trees, the kenser following her happily.

"Daoa, ne worry, I'm good! This benny kov and his rosh helped me. Get back in the kint. Git!"

"Don't tell me to git, boch!" she threw back, coming to look at Tristaan and Sarinah, dark skin seeming to pale visibly when she saw the state her daughter was in. She stopped, taking a minute to catch her breath. "What ye ne wearing? Get some clothes on ye!"

"Trying, daoa, trying," Aziza muttered, getting the skirt free at last and slipping it on. At least now her legs got more air. She moved past her mother, heading for the water to retrieve her blouse.

"Epaemo, she can be a mung boch sometimes. Not put out, I hope? You are benny people, fair benny," Nazia apologised, bowing to each of them. "Join us, benny kov. You and your macha rosh, oes? I am named Nazia and I open our kint to ye."

She was bowing again when Aziza returned, properly attired this time. "Aziza, make tea. Mind your manners. Did you even bow to these macha people?"

The young Mug witch spread her hands defensively, a smile spreading across her features. "I ne do everything, daoa. I can make tea when I have a fire," she pointed out, watching as her mother turned back towards the kint, muttering something about the young being the ruin of them all. Belatedly, the girl bowed to Tristaan and Sarinah. "Epaemo, I only mind my head 'cos it's fixed on. I am Aziza, we're at denk, not here for caoja and I ent got ne manners me!" she added with a laugh, gesturing for them to follow her back to the kint.
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Tristaanian Greymoore
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Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Fri Jul 13, 2018 4:17 pm

2nd of Roalis, 2718
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The passive hissed in frustration at the creature who seemed very bent on making sure the article of clothing was as damaged as possible, if nothing else. The dark-skinned woman appeared to join him in the chase of her kenser, Tristaan recognizing her accent as Mugrobi if only because he'd been across the sea and back more than once in his lifetime under Hawke's thumb. He wasn't trying to make matters worse, but once everyone found themselves tangled in the trees, he was sure he was no longer helping quite in the way he'd imagined,

"Epaemo, chip. I jus'—" Calloused hands were finally brushing over fur and he attempted to throw his hip into the creature to keep it from stepping on him or kicking him when another woman's voice rang out and stopped the beast of burden in its tracks, "Well, then. Boemo."

That was easy.

Smirking at the woman in need of her clothing's statement about her kenser and her mother, Tristaan withheld a chuckle at the family life that unfolded with a lack of concern for an audience of two.

Family relationships were curious things for the dark-haired passive to watch, for his own memories of his early childhood weren't unhappy. He loved his sister and he'd felt loved by his parents as far as he could vaguely remember their faces, their voices. He'd been ignorant of his mother's suspicions, and when his sister passed her test to enter Brunnhold, he could still remember being elated at the bittersweet understanding that he had two years of being an only child until he could join her, until they could become Seventen together.

Only he didn't.

His last memories of his family life were unpleasant and cruel, the sudden distance of his parents when they'd tested him early and determined him a passive. He remembered watching his mother walk away and disappear into the carriage that left him on the streets of Vienda like garbage.

Tristaan didn't know real family again for nearly a decade later, when the Red Crow took his escaped self in and called him their own. Those memories were still so fresh, renewed by the reunion with Guaril and his tribe. His meaning of family had changed over the years—tekaa had taught him that blood meant little. Relationship was everything, and he'd since set down worrying over what he'd say or how he'd act should he ever find himself in the presence of those who once called him their son or their brother. Mostly.

Exhaling to clear his thoughts as he made his way out of the copse behind the animal and its sometimes master, back to Sarinah, he greeted the older woman with a mirroring of her movements, only vaguely familiar with some of the customs of the Kingdom of Mugroba. His simile was more sure, more genuine,

"Junta. Name's Tristaan."

He left space for the olive-skinned dancer next to him to introduce herself, not one to pass up hospitality when offered, even if it was conversation with strangers. It was a far better option than wrestling with his thoughts of Vienda, that was for sure. He smiled in greeting at Aziza as well, adding another, "Junta," to go with his next words, "Mujo ma for th' welcome. Sorry we weren't nearby soon 'nough t' do a better job rescuin' your things. You're manners be jus' fine after a pina manna o' excitement. Dze."

The dark-haired passive chuckled, walking next to Sarinah as they followed the witch toward the kint she shared with her mother and their somewhat cantankerous kenser,

"Did y' both enjoy th' festival this year 'r are y' jus' passin' through?"
Find comfort in friends,
every wound they can mend.
Passive Proverb
word count: 665
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Sarinah Lissden
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Location: Vienda
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: Passively invested
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Mon Jul 16, 2018 7:06 am

Roalis 2nd, 2718
SURWOOD
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Blinking and stepping out of the way, Sarinah watched the woman rush towards Tristaan and the kenser, left holding her shawl to no one as the mugrobi woman stuffed her modesty back in her remaining clothing. Throwing the black garment back around her shoulders, she followed behind with a slower step, watching the two with some mild amusement. It was clear that Tristaan was trying his best not to make things worse, and yet, the kenser clearly had full intent to make it considerably worse.

At the sound of another voice, the brunette dancer glanced back at the kint, noticing then the older woman. The womans mother by the sounds. Glancing back towards the kenser, Sarinah’s slight smile turned into a wide grin, unable to stop the small amount of laughter that escaped her as Kalila the Kenser quite obediently made her way back to the older wick. It was almost as amusing to listen to the back and forth banter between the two, the dancer unable to avoid throwing the passive a raised brow at the situation.

What the tocks had they interrupted?

Waiting for Tristaan to introduce himself first, the brown eyed dancer bowed in return to both the woman with a warm grin and subsided chuckles.

“Hesta Nazia, Aziza. Sarinah, that’s me rosh.” Falling in beside the grey eyed passive as they walked, she nodded in agreement at his comments.

“Ent anything to apologise about chip. I probably should be the one sayin epaemo for laughing but clocks…ye have a handful with that kenser.” As they reached the kint, the witch moved to start gathering firewood, keen to help where she could. Throwing it on the ground near where the fire would be built, Sarinah nodded at Aziza.

“I can start the fire Aziza if ye want to find the tea? Ent nothing worse than having to fiddle around when ye have unexpected company.” Moving around the riverbank, the rusty spoke found cattail reeds, pulling the fluffy tops off for kindling along with some dried grass and smaller twigs. Searching around the bank, using her shawl as a makeshift carry-all, Sarinah collected an assortment of medium sized rocks to create the hearth for the fire.

Returning to the other three, she dumped her findings on the ground, before proceeding to set up the fire. Rocks, twigs kindling and then a collection of the medium firewood she’d obtained. Kneeling close to the kindling, the olive skinned wick collected her field and with a quiet breath of monite she requested a simple spark to ignite the starter. The mona reacted, though to say it was successful was a minor understatement, the spark more of a small contained explosion. The witch swore and fell back on her rump, looking at the others with a small embarrassed laugh.

“Epaemo, my vroo’s a pina moony. At least its lit, oes?” Moving, she fed the flames more twigs until a healthy blaze was established, standing and dusting her hands on her skirt with a sigh.

Like riding a moa. Once you knew how, you didn’t forget.

word count: 547
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Aziza
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Wed Jul 18, 2018 8:33 am

Roalis 2, 2718
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Introductions were made, the witch discovering the names of her would-be helpers. Tristaan hadn't succeeded in bringing the kenser to bear, in fact, he might have made the situation worse, but he had meant well. She could appreciate the effort. The woman he was with, Sarinah, she seemed less hands-on, perhaps less outgoing although the witch couldn't be sure. However, there was something interesting about the man, very interesting. He talked like a wick but he wasn't one, not a proper one; he didn't have a field. Sure, he could be a parse, wick-born but with no access to the mona, or he could be what her own people referred to as imbali. It was possible that Tristaan was golly born. As far as she knew, golly imbali - passives, they called them - weren't allowed to wander around free. They locked them away, she'd heard so he couldn't be one of those. Unless there were a few on the loose after all. Maybe he was neither, a human who'd managed to spend enough time among wicks to learn Tek, to yach one... Her gaze turned to Sarinah, reading their relationship in a particular way, assuming.

"The kenser - name's Kalila - has always been a handful, chip. She likes my daoa, has since we got her. Had her... dze... three maw? Got her when we came here, came to Anaxas. Don't have kensers in Mugroba. They're mung. Ne hama there, me and her," she explained to Sarinah, flapping a hand in Kalila's general direction with a 'dze'. She grinned when the other witch offered to make the fire, nodding her head gratefully.

"Oes, mujo mujo ma, rosh. I'll get the tea," Aziza added, turning her attention to the kint and smiling at Tristaan as she passed. She went to root around for the tea leaves. Her osta, Hanaa, crept out from the back, stretching her lithe creamy body before she slunk over. She rubbed herself against the Mug witch's legs, winding around them in a way that threatened to trip her.

Aziza let loose a spitting hiss, short and sharp, dismissing the creature who was currently being a nuisance. The osta sat, wetting a paw and washing her dusky purple face. She stretched her back leg up, cleaning it briefly before she trotted off, little feline going to investigate Tristaan. She sniffed curiously, inclined to linger if he pet her but otherwise choosing to wander of towards the water.

"Just passing through. My daoa ent got the strength for festivals most times. She got sick few maw ago, not the same since, ye chen?" she explained to him, shrugging as she found the jar containing the tea leaves and gathered some cups and jars. She headed towards where Sarinah was setting up the fire, Hanaa trotting after her.Her mother had gone to sit near the water, shoes off so she could dip her feet into the cool liquid. the kenser was nearby, cropping away at the grasses again and evidently behaving herself. Nazia's eyes were closed, exhaustion writ large on her features as her lips moved, a crease between her brow that signalled her concentration; she was praying.

Aziza arrived in time to see Sarinah's explosive fire starting, the Mug jumping in surprise. The ignition was loud enough to bring her mother out of her introspection, head whipping around as her body slipped, legs sliding further into the water, skirt fanning out and sinking as it became laden down.

"Vrunta!" she exclaimed, trying to right herself, to drag herself out of the water. The spoke set the tea things down, rushing forward to help her mother out, grasping her carefully under the arms and pulling her back. "Ah! Aziza! You're hurting me, hama!"

"You're okay, daoa. Ne worries, you're safe now, do ne complain. You can dry off, ye chen?You're welcome," she responded sassily before turning her attention to her guests. "Wo chet! That was mant vroo for a pina thing. Moody, oes," the witch commented, brows high on her forehead as she considered Sarinah and her... impressive display.

She smacked her head with her hand. "Hey! A water pot! I'm fair mung, me! Clocking forgot! Gimme a minute," she called, jogging back to the kint in a jingle of jewellery, rooting in the back until she found the pot, grabbing some bowls, nuts and meal while she was at it before she headed back. She came back, grinning broadly as she set everything out, dipping the water in the river and taking the time to purify it with magic. She coaxed the mona to her side, convincing it to clean it for her, her voice friendly, familiar as she waited for it to clear.

Once it was clear, she set about positioning the pot, the bottom already scorched from similar uses in the past. She left it to come to the boil. She measured out leaves into the various containers, setting out bowls and taking the time to kill the crawlers in the meal, hoping they wouldn't see and judge her as she put the mona to use again. Her relationship with it had always been pretty good and so she was confident that it wouldn't make her brail today, even if she called on it again. Best to give things a rest for awhile though.

"So... were you at the festival then? Having a bit of a caoja, oes?"
Last edited by Aziza on Tue Aug 21, 2018 5:45 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 943
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Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 114
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor Bound (Again)
Race: Passive
: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Writer: Muse
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Fri Jul 27, 2018 2:49 pm

2nd of Roalis, 2718
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Tristaan was talked out of making himself useful once Sarinah offered to help with the fire. He'd not quite succeeded in assisting with the kenser, either, but at least he was decent enough at a friendly greeting to both Aziza and her daoa, Nazia. Used to scrutiny and confusion, even among wicks who didn't know him, the dark-haired passive no longer paid much attention to lingering glances in an attempt to discern his actual heritage. It only mattered in civilized places outside of Old Rose Harbor and around Seventen, honestly, and they were far from both of those things here.

He stood somewhat in the middle between the women and their activity, smirking at the commentary on Kalila, "Ent really had much luck with kensers m'self. I don't think brains was ever th' point 'f tamin' 'em for use, t' be honest." Tristaan chuckled, squatting for a moment or two at the sniffing of the osta, giving the feline a friendly few pets until the creature decided it had received enough attention from strangers and meandered off, leaving him to watch Sarinah gathering rocks near the riverbank.

Perhaps he should have helped her. Perhaps he should have made himself take that task on as his own, but after the past few days, he was aware that he'd be more likely to get in the way, to say the wrong thing. The past few weeks since the announcement about traveling from Surwood to Muffey, from Muffey to Bad Aisling, and from Bad Aisling to Vienda had made the passive increasingly uncomfortable, and in his stupidity, the lovely witch had been forced to put up with the brunt of his worry and fear. A tension had built between them, an unspoken expectation, a need for clarity that Tristaan had continued to put off, to ignore. She longed to know what she was in his life—another distraction from the past he ran from or someone to share the journey with?

He knew the answers. He knew them and more, the feelings that fluttered in the scarred hull of his chest had often danced lightly on the tip of his tongue.

And yet he refused to say them.

It dug at them both, crawled under their skin even when they were touching, and whispered in their thoughts even when they talked quietly in the dark.

The dark-haired passive had let his fears gnaw at him, and in his overly cautious pain, he'd neglected what was more important. He'd hurt Sarinah and he was far too in over his head to know how to fix things properly. Or, if nothing else, he was too stubborn and too cautious to do the right thing for once in his whole cursed life. Well. Almost.

Tristaan didn't know what to say, but he'd decided on what to do. Calloused fingers strayed to his vest, traveling first over the familiar lump of the broken pocket watch that hid in the proper pocket before he felt the faint crinkle of soft cotton paper. He'd shown Loyan's drawings to Winslow just a few days ago and the old clown had laughed at him as he usually did, grinning and promising the passive that he was more than capable of working with them, of inking the design into his skin alongside the mark that proclaimed his lack of worth.

He just hoped it wasn't too late to do the right thing.

He just hoped that he hadn't waited too long.

Sarinah returned and he offered her a smile, moving to assist her in arranging the rocks and setting up for a fire. It was as he dug in his back pocket for the small tin of flint and steel he carried there that he felt the shift in the lovely witch's field and was reminded of what was at her disposal that wasn't at his—magic. She spoke words he couldn't, but a bit of the unexpected happened!

It was all Tristaan could do to scramble out of the way of the poof of fire and rush of hot air,

"Wo chet! Dorian's done gone an' inspired you a bit there, eh?" Tumbling from his lips with a grin and a laugh, settling again just as everyone else did. He couldn't pretend to understand how the mona worked other than it had refused him, but even Aziza seemed to have a comfortable relationship with vroo and he was left the odd one out for several moments until the young Mugrobi spoke up,

"Oes. We've been on Surwood since 'round th' middle o' Bethas. Th' festival be over now, but some o' m' Red Crow fami 's stayed on a bit with us an' we're 'bout ready t' set out with a Circus 'round Vienda. Had a bit 'f a caoja today as a bit 'f a farewell, I s'pose." The passive summarized for everyone, though he left room for Sarinah to extrapolate on her role in the Circus and any one of the other performers, of which he wasn't a part of other than finding ways of supporting their acts. Meeting the mahogany gaze of the olive-skinned dancer when he mentioned their leaving, his smile faltered and he knew he had more to say that would have to wait just a little longer, that couldn't be shared here with strangers.
Find comfort in friends,
every wound they can mend.
Passive Proverb
word count: 946
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Sarinah Lissden
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Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
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Wed Aug 08, 2018 5:42 pm

Roalis 2nd, 2718
SURWOOD
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Sarinah laughed a little, cheeks red as she checked that she still had eyebrows. Her eyes turned to Aziza with a wince, watching the younger mug rescue her poor mother from the river.

“Epaemo again. I ent great...” Her gaze drifted back to Tristaan, unable to stop the wide grin at his comment, making a tsk sound and resting her hands on her hips.

“At least Dorian’s breathin’ it on purpose. The mona and me, seem like chalk and cheese. Dze, ent to worry. As long as it’s lit, and I have eyebrows. I have eyebrows, oes?” She asked the passive, patting at them again just to be sure. As the grey eyed man explained their own recent story, Sarinah saw his smile falter as he mentioned the farewell, and her own faded.

They needed to speak, it was clear, but Alioe if the man hadn’t all but shut her out there. He enjoyed her company, he enjoyed her body and mind, it just seemed that it wasn’t quite enough. Taegan had told her that sometimes what is forged in the heat of the moment can grow cold when the dust settles, giving the brunette a friendly trustworthy shoulder to lean on whilst she clung to some small measure of hope that Tristaan wasn’t going to go his own way before long.

Blinking back tears that threatened to come, Sarinah looked back at Aziza and Nazia with a well practiced smile.

“Oes rosh, it’s our last good caoja before we hit the road and head towards Vienda, ye chen? I’m an aerial dancer, acrobat I suppose, and we have Dorian who breathes fire and eats swords and does moony things with his body. Taegan is our daring animal tamer, his chrove Clarabelle is the main feature though. Terrifyingly large blackback that one. We also have Winslow, he’s our clown and resident old grumpy kov. There’s Kellie-Mae an’ her band, they’re new. And of course Balder, the ring master. Most kind and caring natt I’ve met. We’re still accepting new acts, anyone is welcome, ye chen? It’s like a fami, one strange fami.” The witch’s smile softened, her mahogany eyes drifting to stare into the fire for a moment, before looking back at the Mugrobi wicks.

Are ye headed somewhere in particular? I ent sure if ye have been there yet, but if not, avoid the Rose. Old Rose Harbour. It’s trouble, full of too many lasao tofts.” Her face was serious, smile faded and looking into their eyes with a clear warning. The Rose was bad news, no matter who you were. Aziza had a beautifully unique look to her, and there was no doubt in Sarinah’s mind that Scarlett would love to get her hands on someone so exotic.

Looking back at Tristaan, she offered a quick smile.

“Though some good does break through the thorns.” As the tea was steeped, the brunette glanced at the purple osta that wandered the camp as though it owned the place, tipping a finger at it with a curious tilt of her head.

“Ent seen them in that shade before. Did she come from Mugroba too, or here?”

word count: 570
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Aziza
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Joined: Wed Jul 04, 2018 6:29 pm
Race: Wick
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Writer: Maximus
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Wed Aug 22, 2018 3:00 pm

Roalis 2, 2718
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The witch's handling of magic was so inept that it reminded her of children discovering their fields. It wasn't that she hadn't seen people handle the mona poorly before. More complex magic, sure... but starting a fire? Even by wick standards that was easily done. The only way you screwed up simple magic so badly was if you had an issue with the mona - not something she'd seen happen with wicks before although she'd heard tales - or you had to be very, very distracted, usually emotionally wrought. At least... that was her experience. She knew all about emotionally wrought. A few years before, she'd been greatly distressed by some old lecher in a bar and when the barkeep had gone to throw him out, Aziza had been desperate to get rid of him so she'd tried to give a helping hand. She hadn't been in the best mindset for casting at the time and so the man had been thrown into the doorframe and had his head split open. Hardly her finest moment but that had been a simple spell, a simple push, that had gone very, very wrong. The Mug witch wondered how Sarinah had screwed it up so badly.

The witch's own words suggested that her relationship with the mona was a shaky one and Aziza found herself wondering if it was possible for someone to simply be incompatible with the mona, even if they did go in for all that respect, silly phrasing and noble uses stuff. Would it be rude to ask about it? She didn't have a scientific mind, simply a curious one so she wasn't inclined to interrogate her, just see if she'd done something to piss the mona off or if things had always been this way. Asking if she'd pissed it off might be a bit upsetting though. She found that some people could be quite sensitive about this sort of thing. What was more, something unsaid seemed to have passed between the strange witch and passive, and the mood of the moment was uncertain. The last thing she wanted was to jam up the wheels by interfering in the wrong way.

"Are ye an' the mona really at odds wi' each other?" she questioned, giving her mother a whack on the knee when she heard her mutter that they certainly weren't benny. "I mean, did it jus' never take to ye? Not that I think it dint like ye, jus'... are ye really tha' different?" Aziza rushed out, almost tripping over her own words, letting loose an embarrassed, self-deprecating laugh, smiling sheepishly in her awkwardness.

Nazia rolled her eyes, giving a shake of her head. Hulali, her daughter sometimes opened her mouth just to change which foot was in there. Aziza caught her mood and answered with her own eye roll and a stuck out tongue.

The water began to boil, the young woman pouring it out to brew the tea, nodding her head along as others spoke.

"Oes, the Wick Festival's Bethas, ent it? We ent ever been," Nazia murmured, her daughter nodding along in agreement, tongue protruding as she concentrated on her duties as hostess, the osta far too interested in the whole process for her liking. "Red Crow, eh? I know it. Well known these parts. We was- well, it dint matter. Ye wou'n't know it and the tribe ent..." the older Mugrobi trailed off, her dark eyes glazing over with tears, sorrow haunting her features.

"Ent much of a tribe anymore, she means. Most of 'em's dead and gone, carried away by Hulali where we can't reach 'em. Not yet, ye chen?" Aziza interjected, passing out bowls of food. "But oes, a caoja's fair benny. Ent often got a chance to get to a proper one but... they're benny for growin' closer. Fami, brunno, and like."

The dark-skinned girl scratched Hanaa between the ears, her expression pensive.

Vienda? She wasn't keen on the place, certainly wasn't a place for wicks and the mention of blackbacks drew a shudder of memory from her. No, she didn't have a fondness for Vienda or the Seventen and their foul beasts. She'd seen what chroven looked like when they were supposedly tame but went wild; it wasn't a terror she was likely to forget in a hurry. She didn't envy them being near that thing or heading to the capital to entertain the odd sorts that seemed to coalesce around the city.

Her brows went up when Sarinah issued her warning about Old Rose Harbour. She certainly had fond memories of that place and they were likely to head there soon to weather the dry season. Sure, she knew that there were rough types there - hadn't she allied herself with some? - but they had never really bothered her. People came in all colours and creeds and she just accepted them. Except for judgemental gollies, of course.

"I've always liked Old Rose," she responded, her voice carrying a trace of hurt as if the witch had suggested that she could never go there again. She looked to Tristaan, wondering if he shared the same ill opinions of it that his rosh seemed to hold. "Do ye think it that bad? We'll be settling there again soon. Do every maw come Dry Season."

"Oh oes, ye like Ol' Rose, I chen," her mother muttered darkly, disapproval clear in her face. "Laoso sorts will ne put her off. Like to make her dust right towards 'em. Dint bother tryna dissuade her."

The woman reached over to pick up tea for herself only to have her daughter slap her hand away. "Ye'll take what ye're given when ye're given it," she snapped, passing cups to Tristaan and Sarinah first, even setting aside her own cup before she passed one to Nazia. The woman had to bring the likes of Benton up in front of strangers, airing her disapprovals that way as if it'd protect her from retaliation. "I've told ye afore. Dint look down on laoso when the gollies dint see us any better. An' some o' those laoso bin kind to ye, ye chen?"

The young witch tutted before calling over the osta, the creamy creature arching her back and stretching her dusky purple face up to Aziza's hand as the girl cooed and reached out to pet her.

"She's from Mug, oes. She was less'n a maw when we came here. I've seen the Anaxi ones and I like her better. She's smaller but she's sweet and clever. Wouldn't trade her. Certainly better'n that beast," she added, jerking her thumb towards the kenser.

"Dint talk 'bout her like that. She's sensitive," Nazia snapped, lips pressed in a firm line. She was in one of those contrary humours. If she said that her skin was black - well, brown - then her mother would likely say that it was actually as white as snow just so she wouldn't have to agree.

"Ye git where I'm coming from, dint ye?" she asked Tristaan, gesturing back to Kalila. "Ye know they ent sweet animals, 'specially that one.
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