SUMMER

Angkar: Wet season. Precipitation is common during the late afternoon and evening hours. Vegetation grows significantly during the summer, but flooding is a danger due to the monsoons that ravage the country. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Extremely hot and dry. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Relatively hot and dry, but with a chance of thunderstorms from time to time. The heat may cause forest fires.

Soto: Hot and humid, tree cover is dense while ground growth is restricted. Thunderstorms see the most amount of rainfall during the season, and it can be very windy. On occasion, there are flash floods that can destroy homes and farms built on flood plains.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

March 30th, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has changed hands and is now under new management! If you have any questions, please direct them to DaringRaven! As for the rest of the announcements, including a season change, you can find them over here at the following link!

January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


WHAT IS ELENLOND?

Elenlond is an original free-form medieval fantasy RPG set on the continent of Soare and the Scattered Isles, which are located to the south in the Sea of Diverging Waters. The four chief nations of the western side of the world—Ashoka in northern Soare, Soto in western Soare, Morrim in eastern Soare, and Angkar, the largest of the Scattered Isles—continue to experience growth and prosperity since the fall of the Mianorite gods, although power struggles within the countries—or outside of them—continue to ensue.


QUICK TIDBITS

  • We accept any member who wants to RP here;
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  • CURRENT EVENTS

    Angkar: To honour the reinvigoration of the ancient city of Mondrágon, the majestic Queen Eulalia has permitted the opening of a Coliseum where people from around the world and all walks of life can test their combat skills against one another. Many have already done battle in search of honour, glory, prizes and money.

    Ashoka: In an otherwise peaceful times, Ashokans are beset with the relatively minor inconveniences of wandering undead and occasionally-aggressive giant rock worms. There has also been some controversy over the recent re-legalisation of human sacrifice.

    Morrim: Rumour has it that Emperor Leofric de Hollemark is mustering forces for a war. Though the threat from Soto’s forests has passed, the forces previously employed in watching the forest now linger at the border. Rumours also circulate of a small group that has been dispatched to make contact with the tribes of the Do’suul Mountains.

    Soto: The Sotoans have defeated the fey and liberated themselves from Méadaigh’s oppression! Preliminary efforts have been made at rebuilding the city of Madrid, which had been captured at the beginning of the war. However, the Sotoans are hindered from recovery famine. Méadaigh’s magic caused summer to persist in the Erth’netora Forest through the winter. Her power has been withdrawn and the plants die as if preparing for winter – even though it is now summer. The Sotoans must sustain off what food they can get, what creatures they can kill and what can be imported into the city from Morrim and Angkar.

    For a fuller description of our most recent events, check out our most recent edition of The Town Crier!

    daringraven
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    Qayin Graves
    SHADOW
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    Kestrel Sumner (Shadow)
    Kindle Blackheath
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    Welcome to our home, a world in which anything can happen. From sprawling deserts and vast forests to massive volcanoes and luscious hot springs, Soare and the Scattered Isles are beautiful places just waiting to be explored. For the brave and the bold or the cautious and the wary, creatures of all kinds roam the earth, looking for adventure or for a place to call their own. Species of all kinds - the well-known and the unknown - thrive here, though not always in harmony.

    Elenlond is an original medieval fantasy RPG with a world that's as broad as it is unique. Calling on characters of all kinds, the sky's the limit in a world where boundaries are blurred and the imagination runs rampant. Restrictions are limited and members are encouraged to embrace their creativity, to see where they can go and what they can do. It's no longer just text on a page - it becomes real.

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    Worlds Collide; Baqi <3
    Topic Started: Aug 23 2014, 01:53 AM (709 Views)
    Ylsa
    Member Avatar
    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    High noon. It was a particularly hot day, which was the only thing about Soto that had never sat well for Ylsa, and today the market in the lower quarter was thick with people. It may have been her own fault for not having risen earlier, but the day was beautiful despite the heat. The sunlight cast a hazy shadow on her face, her head carefully covered in a loose, silken grey scarf. She made every compensation she could for the temperature, though she was looking for a shady place to set up her own little corner to sell some things. Most of those places were already taken, of course, but Ylsa didn't mind shuffling off to an inconspicuous side somewhere, perhaps beneath a tree in a less crowded part of the district. A smile formed. Yes, that sounded perfect.

    Her sudden turn created a slight breeze that ruffled her lightweight clothes, all in the same grey as her scarf, the top cropped for comfort in this weather, the skirt long and plain and fanning out with her hair. Ducking through the pleasant shade of an alleyway, even with all its filth picked around by her dainty sandals, was refreshing, and there were one or two other people making use of it as well, on hunched over on the dirt, smoking something. "Shish?" He offered as she eyed his pipe. She smiled, and shook her head no and continued on her way unharassed to the next street over, after wisping around debris. A lone lady in a small network of alleyways, burdened by a satchel and a basket on one arm, might have been a tempting target. But Ylsa never really felt in danger, not because she could handle any threat, but because even the wicked could cling to superstitions.

    The people here never bothered her. In fact they were generally rather nice, although that may have been partly out of fear. The people enjoyed having a witch to make use of when it suited them, but the rest of the time they were equally happy for her to mind her own business, and they theirs. This was all well: people needed to be comfortable. They needed space at appropriate times, and sometimes that happened to be when they didn't really need you after all.

    She emerged on the other side with a hand to her brow to block out the glare of the sun. There was a pretty little corner on this street with a fountain, and that fountain was a tempting place to set up a small blanket with her things laid out, quietly minding her own business until someone needed something -- whether it be incense, advice, or just a smile and a conversation. Just because they didn't need you for one thing, doesn't mean they might not need you for a friend.
    Edited by Ylsa, Aug 23 2014, 01:55 AM.
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    Baqi
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    "…'Ey. 'Ey!"

    His panicked voice rang out through the crowd.

    Baqi ducked and weaved 'round the market-goers, weaseling through stalls like a wild ferret. His new tunic flapped with the wind, hair whipping from the pace of his run.

    "'Ey! 'EY! Come back!" It had become more of a desperate shout, too piteous for the thief to even bother turning around. Try as he might, he couldn't see the guy's back no more -- musta thrown a cloak on or somethin, or ran into an alley, because as soon as he burst outta the crowd of people, gasping, the guy was gone.

    Baqi whipped his head around and panted, head abuzz, wanting to shrink in on himself and collapse.

    Poetic justice, huh?

    Years of stealin' off people in the streets of Eldahar, actin' like a dirty thief… or rather, bein' a dirty thief--there were no what ifs 'bout it. Karma had finally taken a nice dump on his head, and in a foreign city, no less, a big, sprawling, foreign city, full of pasty-faced people givin' him funny looks and bein' way too tall and draped in strange fabrics and --

    Shit! Why'd he come here?

    Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, Baqi turned a slow circle, moaning quietly to himself and pacing outta the group of people, boots weird and constricting and unfamiliar. He wanted to cast it all off and go clatter up the walls in sandals again, but as Lady Sig had said, didn't wanna attract too much attention. Had to blend in and all. The whole thing was a fiasco -- him bein' here, him gettin' some starry-eyed dream of exploring a mystic south, but really, he was just lost 'n confused. Couldn't read any of the signs, stuck out like a sore thumb with his mucked desert accent and bulging brown eyes.

    …Shit.

    Sig was gonna get him bad, probably. Getting nicked like that. Him! A thief! Getting stolen from -- what the hell? Shouldn't he have known better? Baqi ground his teeth together, anxiety balling up in his chest, wanted to writhe away from the crowds and find a nice, isolated tree to stick himself under. Wasn't like he could turn into a dog and get a scent on the guy… too many stalls, too many people and smells and crazy sights. First time he'd turned into a dog here, he'd had a sneezing fit from all the pollen, hit on the nose with dozens of flower smells, and incense, and a hundred different types of trees 'n pastries 'n bushes…

    It was a lost cause.

    Shoulders slumping, the djinn edged out of the marketplace, staring down at the floor and moving absently towards the sound of running water. The gurgle was soothing, a sort of rhythmic burble that drowned out the mutters of stall-goers and merchants. Leastways, he didn't know the way to a park from here. Didn't know the ground from his ass here, really. He didn't feel like turning invisible and scrabbling up a building to check out the streets, either -- still felt tired from that chase, breathing harder than usual, legs itching in their new pants. Shit.

    Defeated, the djinn slumped onto the edge of the fountain, hardly noticing the grey woman a couple feet away.
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    Ylsa
    Member Avatar
    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    There was no shadow cast by the fountain yet, as it was only a little past noon, but Ylsa made her place where there soon would be. In the time it had taken Baqi to slink away dejectedly to the fountain, Ylsa had laid out her blanket and her small sitting cushion, and now was arranging bundles of incense. Her burner, in the simple shape of a slightly flattened stone chalice, she placed in front of this cushion. Her stock was simple enough: incense sticks, resins, and solids, all carefully hand made and used not solely for fragrance, but for devotion and protective purposes. As such most were heavy and overwhelming in close quarters, but the sticks were thinner and had been scented by oils -- some of which she also carried, for those who were too sensitive for smoke.

    Her scarf slipped off her head, and she straightened herself out as she grabbed it and shook it out... and then, she stopped.

    The individual strands of her hair pulled themselves out to reach, ever-so-subtly, in the direction in front of her. Slowly she lifted her head, scarf in her hands, and raised her eyes. A dark-skinned stranger, and for all the disguise of his rumpled clothing, he looked as harried and desperate as he felt, his hair recently ruffled, his feet shuffling almost clumsily, fidgeting. From a distance he looked screwed up, but up close anyone could smell his fear, and he would likely attract disaster in time. But what Ylsa was focused on was the trail his life essence, his spirit, was leaving behind, and how that essence expanded beyond him. To Ylsa's astonished eyes it appears as though he had a halo all about him, but it had been yellowed like the smoke residue on low-class parlor ceilings. His trail faded out from green at his back and heels, to a pale, almost angelic blue. Or perhaps that was the smoke.

    Once she realized she was staring, she modestly lowered her gaze and wrapped her scarf again about her head and neck. He wasn't from Soto, that was apparent -- and he wasn't mortal, either. Trepidation and panic pooled beneath him, and all at once Ylsa felt horribly sorry for him. The stranger was tangible, but he was also incorporeal, and she knew how that felt, to be neither here, nor there. To be caught in an endless loop of what you hate most, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it -- that you couldn't change unless some pious soul took pity on you. And being of the same stock as that which frightening myths and tales were made of, who would want to? Some.

    Who would think of it? Few.

    Ylsa knelt upon her blanket, and rearranged the setting so that the burner faced him, and within it placed her most delicate blend of myrhh and rose, crumbling in a heavier type used in ritual -- specifically, to honor unseen spirits. Not looking up to catch his eye quite yet, she half-lidded her eyes and held the stone burner up in offering -- in Baqi's direction -- before lighting its contents. The granules glowed and reached out in thick tendrils, perfuming the air. Ylsa cupped her hand above the smoke, and gently blew beneath it to send some of the scent the djinn's way, as there was no breeze. The smoke dissipated slightly, but continued in pale ribbons, just touching his ankles. She set the burner down and allowed it to continue to bless the air around them, curling up her legs beneath her and watching the people go by. After a few moments, she glanced back up at Baqi, and spoke in a low voice of hospitality.

    "You seem troubled. Would you like to talk about something? No judging, no unwarranted advice." She promised with a wink.
    Edited by Ylsa, Aug 26 2014, 04:05 AM.
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    Baqi
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    He was lost in his head, as usual. Staring right down to the gaps in the cobblestones, thoughts swimmin' like fish in his empty skull. Maybe he shoulda been figuring out ways to get back the coin purse, or make some money, or at least get somewhere to clear his head…

    But really, he was tired. Just kinda defeated after a while about the same old, same old. He'd fallen so many times his knees were all cut up and full of bruises and scars, and after awhile, sometimes you didn't wanna get up anymore. At least not for now. At least not for an afternoon, or a couple days, even.

    Shit.

    If he'd been in Eldahar, well… no problem, not really. He knew where everything was back there, didn't feel so helpless and lost. Really, it wasn't a big deal, not if he thought about it clearly. He could sleep as a dog anywhere -- payin' for an inn wasn't an issue. And he could eat trash, so that wasn't the issue either. Fact was, he screwed up. Again. On something so simple, too. And now he was in debt to a lady that scared the shit outta him, and--

    The smell of smoke wafted towards him.

    Myrhh and rose.

    Baqi looked up, blinking. He knew it from the temples, knew priests all over burnt it for special offerings, services. Usually somethin' bout spirits, things they couldn't see… and it was expensive, real expensive. So why was the lady wasting it on him…?

    He stared at the grey woman, and she stared back -- not meanly or anything, but it made him nervous anyway, bein' looked at like that. As if she could… as if she knew…? He twitched a bit, knocked his feet together and looked away, watching the tendrils of smoke curl around the floor. Could she--could she see him? See what he--?

    He looked up again when she spoke. Her voice was low, calm, melodic -- and her eyes were kind, weren't the kind to narrow in anger or slap him away. The djinn hesitated, taken aback by her offer -- why did she care?

    Baqi put his hands together and fiddled with 'em, biting his lip. The unexpected kindness had struck him, made his toes curl up in his boots, made him almost choke up of a sudden. Fact was, he'd been having shit days since he left Eldahar, all bunched up with nerves. He'd hoped, maybe -- maybe the wide-eyed kid he was would come back if he went on an adventure, as he always said he would. The first djinn to travel the world, he'd promised himself, except now he was older, and broken, and too unsure of himself to be that kid again.

    "I…" The words stopped up in his mouth, blocked by an unexpected lump. Baqi swallowed and dropped his eyes to his lap, hands fidgeting there. "It's… it's nothing, really, I… j-just. I'm a long way from home, lady. Thought there might be somethin' here. Somethin' better. But fact is, it's all the same, nothing's… changed, really." His voice dried up to a husk, and he bunched up his brow, watching his feet swing.

    Same debts. Same dreams. Same fears. 'Cept now there's more trees 'round you, Baqi.
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    Ylsa
    Member Avatar
    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    Still he fidgeted, though he seemed to be trying hard not to. All his body language suggested he was in some kind of trouble, but even without the trouble he was miserable. It's all the same... Ylsa lowered her gaze to the burner, and the smoke coils therein: so this guy was lost, isolated, probably without any friends here to help him out, and in trouble. It was as though she could feel his hopelessness, and it wrenched her heart. To be cut off, to be sentient enough that you could feel your own misery...

    "That does sound troublesome." She admitted truthfully, carefully trying to avoid the idea of his unhappiness driving him to madness and chaos. He didn't even seem like the type to cause trouble. He just wanted to be happy like everyone else, or else he wouldn't have sought out change of his own accord.

    Well, she had promised no unwarranted advice -- just to listen. All that was left, then, was to continue asking questions and hope perhaps they helped him somehow. After all, everyone had the capacity to find answers within themselves... even lost and frantic spirits. "What kind of changes would you like to see? Are they outer changes, or inner?"
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    Baqi
    Member Avatar


    He waited a bit after sayin' it, feeling the words hang in the air. Normally he wouldn't really say much. Normally he'd just try to shrug it off and not make a big deal outta it, not burden anyone with his shit. But she'd asked, and… well, he didn't have anyone to talk to. Didn't have anyone in the whole of that city, except his employer, and she…

    He swallowed, shook off a shudder. Wanted desperately to be back in Sabe's house, curled up on the floorboards and chewing on some old bones. But it was ages away, halfway across Soare from the way he saw it. Worlds away.

    The djinn looked up skittishly at her words, biting his lip. She looked thoughtful, kind. Had a different aura 'bout her than other humans, gave him a different feeling, though he'd never bumped into anything like it. Fiddling with his hands, Baqi blinked, suddenly stopped.

    "I…" It stumped him. He didn't know what to say to that, really. What kinda changes did he want? He didn't know really, hadn't ever thought about it -- had kinda just expected a change of pace 'n place to get him going. "I… I'm not sure, lady. No one's ever asked me that before."

    It was never 'bout him, really. He never had a say in anything. Back with the djinn, the Elders determined what was best -- they could see auras, knew the potential inside of each and every one of 'em, guiding 'em here and there. It's just the way it had to be. When you were out there in the desert, choice didn't really factor into anything. You did what you were good at, and that was it -- it was the only way you could survive. So he was a good scout, and that's what he did, really, only he'd always felt like he wanted more, felt somethin' in him that wanted to get out, whisk him up and outta there.

    It's because you spend too much time imitating men, the dunes had whispered. Soon you'll be thinking just like them, living with them…

    Was he a djinn, really, truly? Or had he spent too much time in those streets? Fact was, he felt wedged between worlds, not really fitting into either, skittering around and trying to look for a way in but never finding one. It put a big weight on his chest, made it plunge right through his spirits, sunk him down, down.

    "I…" Baqi rested his chin on his hands, brow wrinkled up. "I guess I… well, I wish I wasn't so… afraid. Of everything." He hesitated, chewed on his lip. "Bad nerves. Sick of 'em. Sick of… not belonging anywhere, y'know? Not…" He faltered, ran his hands over his face and lost 'em in his hair, scratching nervously. "…Not bein' good. For anything. For anyone." His voice tapered to a whisper, almost lost in the burble of the fountain.
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    Ylsa
    Member Avatar
    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    Trying to keep an objective viewpoint about this young scruff's apparent situation was hard. He'd said he was lost, but it seemed like he was lost in so many more ways than someone who was visiting a foreign country, and she couldn't help but feel her heartstrings tugged at. However, she knew that for his sake she needed to stay appropriately detached: he had nothing to prove, or disprove, with a complete stranger. Wording her responses was important, for words carried very heavy meanings for some.

    In the pause in his dialogue, an older lady stopped by the little blanket with its humble wares, and bought a single bundle of the sticks. Two coins. Pretty good. When the customer had gone, Ylsa turned back to face her newest client, and once again was surprised by the halo around him.

    But as he spoke, the light dimmed, turned greyish, and Ylsa couldn't help but lower her head slightly, feeling horrible guilt for him, and a kind of growing anxiety -- or excitement? -- at having met one who seemed to be in more or less the same pickle she herself had been in so many centuries ago. Sadness, kinship, and feeble hope all swirled up in her chest (much of it no doubt residual from the guy himself), and she couldn't take it anymore. Ylsa stood up from her cushion and carefully picked around her wares to get closer to him. Once she reached him she smiled one of empathy, not sympathy, and drew her arms about him with reassuring firmness in a hug.

    She waited a couple of seconds before she let go, trying to leave some of her peacefulness on him so he could enjoy it for a short merciful while, then returned once again to her seat, continuing the conversation as though she never added any unexpected or awkward components.

    "Are you sure its a place or person you feel you should belong to?"
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    Baqi
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    Baqi paused when the old lady shuffled over, feelin' wretched, embarrassed. No one needed to hear that, really. It was his problem, always had been -- shouldn't be throwing it all over people. He kept his eyes down, skirting here and there, watchin' the little old lady give a bow and shuffle off with the bundle.

    As the words burbled out, he saw the grey lady's head dip -- felt a sudden wrench of shame. The djinn fiddled with his tunic, twisting the hem of the fabric and feeling its coarse, Sotoan fabric 'neath his palms -- nothin' like the light white shirts of Eldahar, yet another reminder he'd strayed too far, where he shouldn't be.

    Maybe the Elders were right. Maybe we aren't meant to leave the deserts.

    After all -- all his troubles had started when he disobeyed them, thought himself above the holy law… how did his head get that big? How could he have thought like that? Been so selfish -- thrown everyone in danger because he was… angry? All the reasons crumbled to dust, blew away in the wind, left him as he really was.

    Stupid. Selfish. Traitor.

    Of course they banished him. He deserved every second of it. He'd never be able to look at 'em again, never be able to face up about what he did, never be able to live with the fact he survived, when… better djinn than him had gone. More powerful, more promising, ones that shoulda lived to become Elders themselves, cut down because he --

    Wretched, the djinn fought the tears, the guilt choking him sick, fingernails digging into his scalp.

    Next second, he felt warm arms around him -- drew him in close, snug, tight. It threw him way off -- startled him and made a painful lump fly to his throat at once. Made his heart ache, burn, try to scream no, no, I don't deserve this, made him want to push off those arms and run away, forget it, not bother the lady anymore -- but instead he crumpled into it, lip quivering, tense, ready to bolt.

    The moment stretched, brittle-thin -- then a sort of… warmth flowed into him, left him with a shaky peace, just enough to stop the burning in his eyes, soothe his bunched up chest. The djinn felt his arms go limp, flopping down by his sides, head buried into the strange woman's shoulder.

    Then, slowly, she pulled away -- left him feelin' empty, like a blanket had been ripped off him, or he'd been shaken roughly awake; still, though, the peace lingered, made him pause for a long second, fists bunching in his shirt again.

    Breathing shallowly, Baqi dropped his eyes to the floor, not sure what to say or do. He felt frozen, rooted straight to the cobblestones, Ylsa's warmth trailing after her like a ghost. The smoke still curled, flowing off the stone burner and blooming by his feet, lending a sweet smell to the air. Stunned, the djinn blinked, at a loss for words, fidgeting there, tangled up in a thousand feelings and thoughts that clung like burrs, made him itch and sting.

    Her voice broke the silence, then -- but it wasn't harsh or wrong. Just kept going in that natural burble, smooth as a stream, like nothin' had happened in that moment at all. The djinn fidgeted, caught his hands together, struggled and flopped like a fish goin' upstream, wrestling with those words.

    "I…" A swallow caught in his patchy throat, made it bob up and down. He cast his eyes back down, shaking his head, bangs shivering 'round his tan face. "I'm… not sure, I…" Was he ever sure of anything, really? Had he ever been sure of anything in his life? "…I mean, what else is there?" His throat closed up again, and he hid behind a tangle of hair, picking at his thumbnail. "I-if you don't belong to… any place or… anybody… what are you? What do you do?" He hadn't been able to find the answer to that -- had been roamin' around for years, looking for somethin' under dusty rocks and city alleyways and seedy bars. Practically been in every nook and cranny of Eldahar 'cept the Moghul's palace itself. And… for what? Where was it? What was he lookin' for?

    "I just…" He shook his head, wringing his hands, fought with the words as they trembled off his lips. "I don't wanna be alone, lady. I… I don't wanna be alone."
    Edited by Baqi, Aug 26 2014, 03:44 PM.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    "I don't wanna be alone, lady. I… I don't wanna be alone."

    It wrenched at her very soul, and the telltale sting of tears threatened to cloud her vision. This incarnation was an emotional one! But then, she decided it might be hard not to feel emotional around such an earnest and lonely individual -- not when you had your humanity.

    Humanity.... it was more than just being a human.

    "Well..." She said softly, thoughtfully: it wouldn't do to argue a point, as all arguments proved was contention, and most people were sad and low on themselves already. Simple discussion was best. "No one really wants to be alone, even if they say they do. Perhaps... what they really want is someone to relate to. Someone who makes them feel neither too much, nor not enough." Thunder rolled in the distance, and clouds were gathering nearby. It would storm soon, and how.

    Ylsa frowned at the interruption, having only just set up her things. Maybe it wouldn't be here for a while yet. She continued, "I've always thought that the only things worth being a part of are the things you can not see with your eyes open. These are things that last forever. Concepts. Ideas. The places and people follow shortly thereafter, usually." Her smile deepened a bit. "Then you start to understand that no matter where the wind takes you, you'll always be home, and if you can close your eyes and feel the passion such ideas and concepts stir in you, then you aren't alone either. Does that make sense..?"
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    Baqi
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    No one really wants to be alone.

    Baqi bit his lip, nodded at those words -- fidgeted with his hands again, as if he might wring comfort outta the air itself. Maybe it was hidin' somewhere in the fabric of his shirt, skittering around where he scratched himself to scabbing. Someone to relate to.

    He remembered the spark he felt in the tavern -- felt like a world away, when he met the metal giant and they talked about their old home. The desert. A guy who got it, a guy who knew what it was like to be plucked outta where you belonged, thrown in the middle of nowhere. Afraid, unable to take root, wedged between this and that. Who got how much he missed the deserts. Who gave him… comfort, in a weird way, to know someone was out there, fighting whatever evil went unchecked. To know he wasn't nuts.

    Thunder rolled and made him jump at the sudden noise, already on edge. The djinn blew out a shaky breath, brow bunching up at Ylsa's words.

    He wasn't a smart guy, really. Never thought of himself as a big thinker, never really sat down and got deep about shit. For a second he took it literal -- what, like bein' a part of the djinni again? Ghosts? -- then bit his lip some more, wondering what she meant, exactly. Ideas being home? What kinda ideas would ever replace the deserts, though, the shifting dunes, the laughs of old friends?

    "I…" He fiddled with his hands, stumped. Blinked a while, then suddenly thought 'bout Glede again -- full of tales about Nailah and the human gods, the way they guided him, apparently. Maybe he could believe in some kinda god, only he'd never been religious, not really -- wondered what it'd feel like to have faith in somethin' else, to be full of hopes and dreams. His had all scattered, broke like glass, flew in shards too small to put together again. He didn't know what would ever make him feel that way again, ever make him wanna wake up and be full of that passion the grey lady talked about.

    "I just -- I wouldn't even know where to begin, lady." Despair cut through his voice. "I don't think… I don't think I have anything like that. No idea where to begin. I ain't… smart. Not like I've got some grand ideas for the world or somethin'. Really, I just…" He twisted his hands around, eyes cast to the ground.

    "But I wanna be something more," he muttered. "I feel so damn useless all the time. Just… nobody. The wind." He put out his palms, took a hard look at 'em. They were rough from climbing stone--rough from bein' cracked in the heat of the summer, scraped up, dirty from work. "I can do tricks, I guess. I can… heal people a little, but nothin' more than some scratches or bumps. But sometimes I wonder, lady, if…"

    I can be a Grand Djinn? His lips twisted at the thought, and he almost heard the mocking laughter. Still came fresh, real. He'd never be as powerful as that. Never be on that level. Coulda lived a hundred, a thousand years, and what? Baqi? Dusty, fucked up little Baqi, part of the old songs and tales?

    No way.

    He closed his palms, smashing down the dream for his own good. His heart hurt, and the djinn shook his head, opening his hands again.

    "I don't know…" A whisper. For comfort, he reached into the pool of his spirit, spread out his fingertips and watched as white flames bloomed to life at the ends of 'em, as if his fingers were candlesticks. The pure flames flickered, danced around, joining together and pooling in the middle of his hand. It was a beautiful light, calmed him down when he stared at it, gave off no smoke or heat or nothin' -- a spirit fire, part of himself, shimmering like a desert mirage.

    "…Maybe I can get better at it. H-help more people. Then…" Baqi tapered off, staring at the holy flame. Then what? Maybe he wouldn't feel so useless. Maybe then, he'd be able to justify why he was still here.
    Edited by Baqi, Aug 27 2014, 01:22 PM.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    It was time to stop heavy questions.

    Sometimes she wished others were tolerant enough to let people cry in public, without worrying about being looked down on. To let men cry at all, really. This one, he needed it badly, needed to let it out before it made him ill, but he tried so hard not to. An idea struck her then, but before she could further think on it, the young man did something she wasn't expecting.

    For long moments Ylsa stared at his hand, and the soft white flame at his fingertips. Suddenly, it was as though she had been transported back in time, before she ever had a body, and she remembered how that fire burned. Slowly she stood, approaching him again, this time from right in front, and she knelt before his hand and outstretched both of her own, controlling her trembling. The flames licked her hand and it felt blessedly cool. For a minute she forgot to breathe, and seemed hypnotized by the fire like a moth.

    "Powerful medicine..." She murmured, mostly to herself. This flame, this could banish the wicked from host bodies without the need for lengthy ceremony or ritual. Wondering if he had and idea the potential he possessed, Ylsa stood slowly again, her skin tingling. She forced herself to look up to the sky, then back down to Baqi with a sleepy smile. "It's going to be raining soon. Would you like to come to my house for tea and food? It's cooler there."
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    The lady approached, silent as a shadow. Baqi saw the movement outta the corner of his eye and looked up, surprised when she knelt and put out her hands. Stared real wide-eyed, a moment of silence passing between them.

    It was an important silence, an important moment, but he didn't know why right that second -- only saw something in her eyes, something different, almost like she knew djinni magic. And the incense earlier, that smell for spirits…

    He'd normally want to break into a run, leg it outta the way of sorcerers and witches who wanted his soul, wanted to chop him up and use him like the metal man had said -- the way the mages in the City of Oracles had snapped up his own people, used 'em as magic wells. But he didn't think this lady would do it to him, for some reason. She was… different. Like, soul-different, somethin' else that put her aside from regular humans. She looked it, but was she, really?

    She murmured somethin' he didn't quite catch, blinking. Medicine?

    "…Huh?" The djinn breathed, slowly withdrawing his hand when the lady got up again. He curled his fingers, and the flame pooled back into his skin, joining the rest of his spirit. Unconsciously, he looked up when she did, frownin' at the ugly, gathering clouds. Shit. He'd have to find a place to hide, and soon. He hated rain…

    Her offer surprised him a little, made him jump, still amazed by her continuing kindness.

    "I…" Baqi closed his palm, held it absently to his chest, nodding with a shaky smile. He was kinda glad the questions seemed over now, at least -- his head was whirling around a thousand ways, but somehow he felt less alone. "I-I'd love to, lady, I -- do you need help with… y'know?" He gestured clumsily to the mat and all the little bundles of sticks, incense and pots. Figured it was the least he could do after all of that, when she didn't even know his name --

    His name! He blinked at the sudden social smack to the face. Introductions had flown by completely.

    "I--I just realized, lady, I -- I didn't even catch your name." He slipped off the fountain and stood, hunched somewhat. Not an impressive height to begin with, but now he looked more sheepish than ever, extending a hand nervously to… shake? Wave? What did these Soto people even do? "…I'm Baqi. It's. Nice to. W-well, thank you, lady, for… everything."

    They left in a confused mumble, red searing his cheeks. Overhead, the clouds grumbled their disapproval.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    If she knew of his suspicions, she did not respond to them. Instead, her smile grew and she clapped her hands together in joy, before reaching out to shake his. "Wonderful! Oh, I'm sorry, I always forget about introductions: I'm Ylsa. It's an honor to meet you. Would you mind, terribly..?"

    Together they wrapped the bundles in their respective cloths and rolled the blanket up, tucking it and the cushion into the basket with the other things -- save for the stone chalice, which still glowed and scented peacefully with its contents. Ylsa carried her satchel and the chalice, allowing Baqi to take the basket -- this way too, when she led the way, he would receive the smoke in her wake. Clouds were starting to gather as they wound their way through the same path she had cut earlier. This time, the shish-men were gone, replaced by a single, elderly shish-lady. The din of the market was close by.

    "I remember back in the day when just about anyone would invite a stranger into their homes for tea and a meal, perhaps in exchange for stories or song. Hospitality was once sacrosanct, now you can hardly get someone to give you directions, even with all the mushy, flowery polite words in the common tongues. People don't receive as much kindness as they should... its all rotten tomatoes and chamberpots these days, it seems.

    "I just don't understand it. Most people are already sad, why would anyone want to make it worse?"

    Her words were meant to comfort Baqi in his thanks to her, but as if right on some ironic cue, they were assaulted almost the moment after they emerged from Shish Alley: a dark shape, seemingly come from nowhere, sailed towards them, landing just above their heads with a deafening clang that made Ylsa jump and gasp in shock. A metal tray clattered to the cobblestones, still with some greasy, bloody residue.

    "....oh." Feeling her heart settle down, she leaned down and picked up the tray, lifting her brows and smiling to Baqi with some kind of obscure, shared knowingness -- this wasn't the first time either of them had had something thrown at them. The chalice in one hand, bloody tray in the other, she led him through the throng of customers towards one of the butcher stands. "Mister Elsing? Pardon!"

    A very large man in a bloody, nightmarish looking apron turned towards them with a serious frown, a young male assistant behind him. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two. "Hrm. New client?"

    "New friend."

    "I bet." The line between his bushy brows said quite plainly what he thought of a female who took different people to her house every week to conduct gods-knew-what secret transactions. "Want something, or just here to entertain people?"

    Ylsa's smile stayed the same. She handed the tray to him, and his frown deepened. "We found it over by Shish Alley. Hit the wall right above our heads. It's not dented or anything, though." There was a heavy silence as Elsing took the tray and slowly turned round to glower fiercely at his assistant, who was trying very hard not to look in either Ylsa or Baqi's direction. "Mister Elsing?"

    The butcher turned back, his expression dark. "What?"

    "Could I have a pheasant, please?"

    Elsing snarled at her sleepy smile and turned to fill the order while she fiddled with her satchel. Eventually, she handed the chalice to Baqi to hold for her while she rummaged, procuring a few coins and trading them for a headless, plucked pheasant. "Good afternoon, sir."

    Once they had left the vicinity of his stand, they both could clearly hear Elsing presumably shouting at his assistant, followed by a clang. Ylsa winced.

    "Are the butchers so friendly in Ashoka?"
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    The lady mighta been strange, Baqi reflected, but he liked her.

    Ylsa.

    Maybe it was the incense or somethin', but he felt more at ease than he had the whole journey -- maybe it was the simple fact he'd made a… sort of friend outta the blue, eagerly helping her roll up everything and handing it over. He carried the basket like it was a precious thing, not daring to drop anything, keepin' an extra lookout as they went through the alleys 'n near the market place. His cut purse felt like a pulled tooth, nothin' hanging on his belt anymore. How embarrassingly stupid of him…

    Didn't have a single penny on him now, couldn't pay back the lady in any which way. He felt guilty 'bout it, since she'd been so nice. Figured the least he could do was heft anything she needed. He found himself nodding along to her words, listening. She had an easy voice to listen to, put 'im at ease, all smooth and calm like the shallow brooks he'd seen in the forests, awed by the soaring trees 'bove him.

    "That sure sounds nice," the djinn sighed. Couldn't imagine a world where everyone -- everyone was that nice. All his life, he'd been told to stay away, be suspicious, only trust his own people. Told out there was an awful, awful place. And, well, he'd seen enough of its shit to believe it, but mingled in there was a whole lotta good, too. Harder to find sometimes, but…

    The djinn squinted at the sky through the rise of buildings, itching and wishing he could be out there, just wandering around the country. That'd been nice. Walkin' on open road again, no people bustlin' everywhere, just the clouds for company.

    "I dunno, lady." He shuffled along, following her flowing grey clothes. "Maybe it's somethin' 'bout cities. Too many people all stuffed together like that. Ain't right." Baqi shook his head at her question, feelin' much the same. Fact was, he didn't get it, either -- hadn't ever wanted to kick out at someone or scream at them for no reason, ever hurt him as bad as people did to each other, all the time… "I don't know, I don't ge--"

    He jumped when something clanged to the floor, coulda hit 'em right in the head. Shit! Almost instinctively, he'd leapt back, seein' the movement before he even noticed what it was -- and assuming it was aimed at him.

    What great timing.

    Heart hammering, the djinn bit his lip, blowing out a sigh at the bloody, nasty looking tray. It upset him, vaguely, but the lady's smile didn't budge for a second.

    "Shit," Baqi puffed out the breath in his cheeks, arranging things in the basket that had cluttered together when he jumped. "…The hell's wrong with people…" A squeaked question to nobody, mostly under his breath.

    His anxiety came back as they darted through the crowds, stopping in front of a butcher who looked like meat wasn't the only shit he chopped up. Baqi averted his eyes, starin' hard at the floor and fidgeting while he 'n Ylsa had words.

    Well, callin' it a conversation would be too nice -- more like the guy accusin' her of being a whore and the tension winding up like a scorpion ready to strike. Uncomfortable, the djinn shuffled around, poked at a little bundle of incense stickin' outta the basket, and put the cloth over it again, coughing under his breath.

    The djinn stole a glance at Ylsa -- then found her chalice in his hands of a sudden, holdin' it close. It felt… warm in his palms, 'sides just the incense, like it had somethin' living in there. Some magic, maybe… felt soothing, right, nestled there. Finally, the lady got her dead bird, and they got outta there -- couldn't help a wince at the screaming, though, grabbing the chalice a little tighter.

    "What crawled up his ass 'n died?" The djinn commented absently, once they were outta earshot. Brow furrowed, he almost gave a little start when the lady called out where he was from -- then relaxed. It was pretty damn obvious, really. He stuck out like a sore thumb, looked like he'd took a wrong turn in the desert somewhere. Felt like a weirdo stuffed into Soto clothes, all scratchy 'n heavy. Plus, his accent was the dumps. He'd never heard so many people talk so fancy, drawlin' shit out.

    "W-well. We got all kindsa butchers, practically. King's the best one, people like to say." The djinn grimaced, as if Orion might jump outta some pit and throttle him right there just for thinkin' it. "…I guess I'd be pretty mad if I had to chop up meat all day. Smells."

    The djinn shrugged, breathing in some of the incense. They were leavin' a trail, and some people were turning heads to figure out the smell, makin' him a bit nervous. He felt somethin' patter on his nose, blinked and looked up to see that the skies were grey, sprinklin' em from above.

    "Uh-oh," Baqi commented, carefully sticking out his palm to feel it. A drop burst on his hand. "…Rain. We close?"
    Edited by Baqi, Aug 29 2014, 09:44 PM.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    Drip.

    "Still about twenty minutes away," She admitted apologetically. "There's a longer route but there's more cover from the rain. Come."

    The drops weren't plentiful yet, but they were very large and heavy. Ylsa took him away from the main avenues people took to the common areas, and towards the beginning of a ravine. The sides were steep and impossible to climb up or down, with only lush, confusing ferns for purchase. As a result some locals some time ago... probably sixty years ago?... built in a wooden staircase with narrow steps, each wrapped tightly in wire mesh to prevent slipping in conditions like these. The entire structure turned sharply at every opportunity and though the rail was sturdy there was only enough room for one person to walk comfortably -- safely. Ylsa took up the lead. "You are right, you know." She piped over her shoulder at long last. "People aren't meant to live so closely together. They're like seedlings: too close together, and they can not grow. We all must have respect for one another. We can live in harmony this way."

    The trip had taken roughly five minutes longer than Ylsa had projected. The rain above them was beginning to worsen, but was filtered through the broad leaves of these trees to the same semi-sparse, large drops of before: taking the main streets would have left them soaked through and dripping.Soon through the thick flora of the forest, Ylsa brought them to a small, modest shack that the natural greenery of the forest had grown over and around, and let them in. Outside the vines and ferns were growing on the flat roof, and had been carefully pushed out of the windows -- made of glass and kept clean -- and the front door, which was a charming purple-red. Inside, was a different story.

    Books.

    Books everywhere.

    If there weren't books taking up the shelves that lined every square foot of the walls, all written in any language one could think of, then there were ancient art pieces, small statuary, artifacts and religious fetishes. Ancient-looking masks, scrolls, and staffs hung from the walls or leaned up against them. While the place was definitely full of things that ought to have made it smell old and maybe rotting, it was not so: Ylsa had been building and maintaining this house for three lives now, and the only smells were paper, herbs, and incense. The kitchen , complete with a stone oven, sat upon a raised landing of old wooden flooring -- the rest of the house was on a lower landing, covered in lush, soft, painstakingly clean, not to mention colorful and exotic rugs and carpets. All furniture seemed to match the theme of cultural assortment, ranging from two cushioned winged chairs to a chaise lounge, and sitting mats. In the far right corner was what appeared to be a heavy trapdoor. In the far left, the floor had been carefully cut away in a wide semicircle, a tree growing down into a lower floor, and up and out into the forest. On its sides some ferns and bromeliads had grown, upon one of which was hung an open kettle, which now was rapidly filling from the rain. Balanced on the lip of the above opening could be seen a bucket. Presumably this was where Ylsa got her fresh water.

    "Make yourself comfortable," She invited, closing the door behind them with the same constant smile. "There are towels on this shelf below the window here, if you'd like to dry off. Ohhhh, good afternoon, Kirky-face," The woman paused to give a kiss to a very large lizard, sitting very still on yet another shelf just above their heads. It slowly turned its head towards Baqi, and watched him suspiciously as Ylsa set about firing up the oven.

    On the landing below, four very large housecats -- each one not too terribly smaller than Baqi in his canine guise -- stood and stared at the visitor with large, perked ears and curious eyes.
    Edited by Ylsa, Sep 1 2014, 12:03 AM.
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    Baqi
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    Drip.

    Baqi winced.

    Gods, he hated rain! Hated the way it felt, bein' wet in general, lookin' outside and seein' nothing but grey… fact was, it was depressing. Rain in the desert was rare, except for the summer months, maybe -- but here? Shit, every afternoon seemed to pour down at the same time. Streets practically drowning in rain. Puddles everywhere, and well, the poor bastard that got caught walking' downhill would get muddy water up to his ankles.

    Give me dry sun any day.

    Baqi nodded, biting his lip, and trailed after Ylsa like a nervous dog. Soon enough they came to a… ravine that looked like a jungle down there. Practically the No'bu, even. Ferns exploded from everywhere, but there was a canopy above 'em, at least. Some rain pattered through and ran down his nose, wetting his hair, but least it wasn't blowing gales in his face. Baqi bit his lip, edging down the steps 'n trying his best not to slip, fling everythin' outta his hands and end up in a wreck at the bottom.

    "Uh-huh," he agreed absently, sliding one hand over the railing and feeling for the next step. Ylsa bobbed ahead of him, leadin' the way like some kind of grey forest spirit. "If only more people thought the way you do, lady…" It was more of a trailing thought, murmured out to those vines and shivering leaves, the yellow light dappling down to the path. The djinn let out a shaky breath, feelin' more at ease now that they were outta the huge crowds and maze of the city -- here the air smelled cleaner, fresh, though the humid breath of rain still hung around, and thunder grumbled above the path.

    Careful, careful -- they both made their way down, till at last the djinn felt ground beneath him, boots squishing through the dead leaves 'n mud of the forest. Finally. He could feel rain trickling down his face and wetting his collar, wanted to shake it off like a dog, but -- no, no.

    The burner had died out to thin, grey wisps -- but now his clothes smelled like it, and as they entered the house, Baqi put it down carefully on a table, unable to help but gawp at the decor.

    "Wow," the djinn breathed, putting down the basket as well -- now that his hands were free, he felt weirdly self-conscious, like they had nothin' to do. He wrung them, keepin' them by his chest, craning his neck around to look at everything. "It's like a library exploded in here or somethin'." A faint smile tugged his lips, but then he realized -- with a jolt -- she mighta taken that the wrong way. "N-not that it's! Well, it ain't messy, I didn't mean to say, uh --"

    Embarrassed, he bit his lip before he could stumble anymore, glancing at Ylsa before taking a few nervous steps towards a mystic-lookin' scroll. Next to it was a big, carved wooden mask, like somethin' outta an old story -- he kept his hands clenched in his shirt, tried not to touch it.

    He'd always liked books, for some reason. Well, scrolls and maps, mostly -- he could read a little bit of Ashokan, but no common at all; felt ashamed of a sudden, a street rat starin' at things he couldn't even understand. Coughing, Baqi peeled himself away from the wall, shuffling in a bit further.

    "Never seen a house like it." He blinked at the tree growing right through the room -- reflected on how different it was from Sabe's. All tucked in with Eldahar's twisting alleyways, all fancy 'n polished inside, but pretty… empty. "Feels more like a… temple." Smelled real nice, too. The kinda house that put him at ease, made him wanna sink down and have a cup of somethin', just sit and relax.

    Then he saw it -- a big lizard, squattin' there, and -- wait, she just… kissed him?

    "Whoa," the djinn breathed, scampering forward, then hanging back at Ylsa's pet as if he expected the thing to start breathin' fire. "You raising a dragon, lady?" That was the only explanation, right? He'd never seen a lizard that big -- sure, got all kinds of nasty snakes 'n bearded lizards in the desert, but not like… well, it was all spiny, and didn't the stories say that dragons came from the South, and the mountains, and --

    His mind swirled around with fairy tales as he took a towel, clenching the fluffiness between his fingers and awkwardly patting himself dry.

    "T-thanks, um… Ylsa," the djinn tasted the name on his tongue, tentatively sounding it out. Huddled partly behind the towel, mopping up the rain in his hair and peering down the landing. He smelled something familiar, something…

    Cats!


    He almost barked outta instinct, had to clap a hand over his mouth and pretend it was a cough. Shit! They were the biggest damn cats he'd ever seen, 'cept for the black ones prowlin' the No'bu. Baqi's leg itched; he almost wanted to turn into a dog right there and chase 'em, had to ruffle his hair under the towel a bit more and tear his eyes away, back to--Kirky-face? interesting name--the dragon again.

    No chasin' cats in someone's own house, he scolded himself, fixing the iguana with a beady stare of his own. That's rude, Baqi. Shit.
    Edited by Baqi, Sep 2 2014, 04:36 PM.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    Ylsa had laughed heartily when he compared her house to a library explosion, and as she prepared the pheasant she carried on conversation. "You don't need to worry about picking things up and looking at them," She reassured him, her voice filled with mirth. She brought him a plate of various fruits, then bustled to the tree to unhook a kettle that had been hanging from it, which sloshed generously with water. A little of this she poured into the tray with the pheasant, then set it on top of the oven to boil. "After a very long time collecting and breaking things by accident the shock and sadness becomes a bit redundant. Oh, um, this is Kirk," She introduced first the iguana, then the cats.

    "These are Erzi, Jadzia, Geordi, and Odo. Odo's a big ol' grumpypuss," Odo, who had the least impressed expression of all the pets -- save perhaps for Kirk the doorman himself -- yawned and licked himself to show how fascinated he was by the visitor. The other cats sniffed around Baqi's ankles, growing more curious by the minute. Erzi puffed up and slinked away with Odo. Kirk buggered off up the tree to sit on the roof. Ylsa frowned at them. "You guys are assholes. At any rate, Kirk likes to think he's a dragon. You've seen him now: he has that incredulous, snooty glint in his eyes."

    Only Jadzia and Geordi remained with Baqi and both seemed quite comfortable by him. Rain began to pour heavy and strong, but it was muffled by the greenery on top of the house. Some of it pattered down through the hole with the tree, and it seemed obvious that this was how Ylsa got her water. The rain fell down into some lower level, likely wherever the trap door in the corner led.

    "I don't mean to sound rude..." The woman began, fetching a towel for herself as well and taking part of a mango on the plate, "...but, your spirit is strong. What manner of creature are you? Where did you learn to hold that white fire?"
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    He felt relieved when she laughed, worked at a smile. Lost his hand in his hair, just fidgeting and combing it outta the way, biting his lip at the collection of… stuff. Some of it looked Ashokan, even, some sun things here and there -- the djinn ran a finger lightly over a tapestry, the elaborate little bumps and knits, wonderin' what it said.

    "Wow. I've never seen so much stuff like this… what's it all mean?" He stared a bronze statue straight it in the eye. It had a ferocious face, too many arms -- some kinda human god? He'd never seen anything like it before, not like the gods of Eldahar or the nomads.

    Baqi turned when she introduced the zoo of animals, freezing still when the cats brushed up around him. Nope, nope, nope. Every bone in his body wanted to go down on all fours 'n bark at 'em, but only Sabe and the black-haired lady really knew he could turn into a dog. Anyone else would think he was batshit, and he didn't wanna freak out the lady by transforming all of a sudden. 'Sides, the cats were huge, and if he turned now, they'd probably gang up on him and eat him.

    He felt a bit of triumph, almost, when two of 'em puffed up and walked away -- the others seemed alright, though, hangin' around him. Should he pet 'em? Normally didn't, normally just stayed away from cats or chased 'em down the alleys -- but figured it'd be rude to flat-out ignore them. Awkwardly, Baqi sunk to a squat, hesitantly reaching out a hand, like a guy shakin' the hand of an old enemy. He gave Geordi -- or was it Jadzia? -- a small pat on their fuzzy head, feelin' a bit like a traitor to himself.

    When he got up again, Ylsa handed him a plate of fruit, and the djinn's mouth popped open at all the different colors of 'em, the shapes 'n sweet smells. Eldahar had an oasis and grew some, but it was mostly lemons 'n figs 'n other fruit that could deal with the pounding sun. He'd never seen some of these before, and lifted up an orange one in curiosity, taking a bite.

    Oh, wow.

    It felt… slippery, but pretty good, nothing like he'd ever tasted before, and as he was tryin' to figure it out, the lady asked her next question, almost makin' him choke.

    "O-oh." Baqi spluttered through a bit of mango and coughed, tapping his chest with his fist -- after a second, he was alright again, eyes plunging down to the floor. How'd she? Well, of course she knew something was up, the incense 'n all… His paranoid thoughts flung themselves back to the tavern, back to the metal guy talkin' about how djinn were dissected in the City of Oracles. He felt fidgety all over again, stealing up a glance at Ylsa.

    She didn't look like the type that would go psycho and capture him for magic. Fact, he didn't think she would harm a beetle if she could. Plus, you're not in Eldahar anymore. Even people in the desert cities don't believe in djinn! So why would a southerner know?

    "I'm…" he scratched his head again, grimacing. "I'm a… well, I dunno if you got a different name for us down here, but up in the deserts, they call us djinn. The nomads call us demons 'n tricksters, but that ain't right, lady. Fact is, we're a lot like people on the inside, just our looks are different. You got bad ones, good ones. Got our own gods 'n villages. And uh… each one of us 's got magic, you could say, only it ain't like humans who go and learn it in books. Just part of us, y'know?" He shrugged, blowing some hair outta his eyes. Felt weird to be talkin' about it, and the dragon was starin' at him, so he looked at the fruit instead.

    "Um… most djinn don't look like me, really. To humans we look invisible. Most times we take the forms of animals 'round people. I'm, uh…" He poked at a blueberry, catching it between it could roll off the plate. "…Well, where I'm from, it's considered a bad sign if you can take the form of a man. Means you'll leave someday. Say your heart's in two places, 'cuz the forms we take are who we are."

    A weak smile twitched on his lips. Blew away in his sudden sigh, shoulders slumping.

    "…Guess they were right, huh." Baqi tried another slice of mango to distract himself, deciding that he liked it. Maybe he could bring back some mangos for the guy. Had he ever had mangos? If he had a tail, it woulda started wagging at the distraction of the fruit, and the djinn forced himself to look up again, swallowing the bite as well as the sad mood comin' up again.

    "But, um," his voice was slightly muffled; he chewed, finished the rest of it. "As for the fire, lady… um, it's just a part of me, I guess? The Elders always said that the Creator made men outta clay, and djinn outta fire." He shrugged again. "The Great Djinn could heal anything with their fire, bring people and animals back to life, even. …But they don't exist anymore." Another grimace.

    The sorcerers of the desert had plucked 'em off one by one. Forced 'em into hiding. Corrupted their magics into necromancy.

    He shook off the dark thoughts with a shudder, tryin' to paddle out, distract himself.

    "…So what about you, lady?" His wide, dark eyes looked up to her again, blinking. "I mean… I noticed… you're pretty different from people. I dunno how to explain it. But you ain't like any human I've met so far."
    Edited by Baqi, Sep 4 2014, 12:06 PM.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    There was such a great deal of trepidation in his voice that for a few moments Ylsa was concerned she had asked a bad question, or otherwise a tricky personal one far too early in their acquaintanceship. She hung on every word as he explained, and found herself both intrigued and greatly saddened by his explanation. A djinn..? And so cut off from his own collective, so isolated, atomized, miserable. It was the opposite issue they had been discussing on the stairs: sometimes people lived way too close together. In this case, they lived too far apart. She hadn't heard of any news of the djinn in at least a hundred years... the Mianorites, Andromalius... these things all had such a far-reaching effect, it seemed, that no one country alone suffered by it. What had happened to the Greater Djinn...?

    "Well I haven't met a djinn in.... goodness, two hundred years? Three?" Excited, Ylsa shifted on the couch, trying to follow Baqi's example and distract from the dark implications of his explanation with a smile. Still, though, they hung in the back of her heart, and made her feel uneasy. "Well, my kind have never mingled with yours -- sort of a rule, we're very isolationist. Or rather, we were. Until we were causing trouble for mortals.

    "I'm not certain there's a word for what I am anymore, but we once were called hari-onago by some. Female spirits with barbed hair, who frighten mortals that stray too far from proper values, and punish others for their debauchery and lack of attention to our world, by trapping them in our hair and killing them. Females killed by us, become one of us, or another spirit they have unwittingly designed... through their actions and words in life." Though she spoke of it candidly, it was clear she no longer agreed with the hari-onago method. All the same she couldn't resist raising a small lock of her hair, playfully tickling Baqi's nose with it to demonstrate its mobility. "We are mostly mindless horror machinations, given shape by the superstitions of mortals. It's.... well, it isn't much of a life. Quite dull and repetitious, if you're conscious of it. I know after a while, I was."

    The kettle on the oven began to whistle, and up Ylsa jumped from her seat to remove it and prepare some tea. "I'm not entirely sure how it happened... I used to really hate people, you know, but sometimes I would meet a nice one, someone who didn't just honor me to keep me away, but someone who actively gave me praise. Gods and spirits alike need praise. Anyway... I started going a bit native, I suppose, all that good influence, and then... poof! One day I found myself being born, and I grew up, and I died... and was born again. Its happened so many times since, and I remember it all. I wonder if any others were given life..?"

    In the middle of her tea-preparation, something started scratching violently at the door, and she dropped everything to open it. In bolted a smallish grey fox, wet from the rain and shaking itself off everywhere. "Oh! Good manners! Hey--!" Before waiting for a towel the creature made a mad dash for the lower landing to sniff around Baqi's heels, then clambor up into his lap, wagging its tail in joy as though he was a best friend the little fox hadn't seen in many years. Ylsa made a face that was halfway enchanted, halfway miffed. "That would be Bones. Could you dry him off for me, please? Since he's already adopted you and all."

    A laugh was tacked onto the end of that request, and she finished the tea and brought it to the couch, setting it on the table (mindful of the excited grey fox), and sitting back down. She poured Baqi a cup, and it was milky and sweet and pleasantly spiced. "At any rate, I've been making it my duty to learn as much as I can about people, and spirits alike. To help both, since I'm able. I've also made a practise of banishing unwelcome, darker spirits like the one I once was. That fire of yours..." There was a heavy pause. Bones sat in Baqi's lap and gazed up at him adoringly. "...that fire, I've only seen it a few times in all my centuries. If you can learn to work with it, you can banish greater spirits, harm them... you have an incredible gift, Baqi."
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    Baqi
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    Two hundred years? Soon as she said it, his eyes snapped up wide. Was she really-- wait, what? She didn't look a day over her twenties, even. But now that she mentioned it, the djinn noticed a sorta… agelessness 'bout her, the feelin' of a soul that's been around for years humans couldn't even count. Sure lit a spark for his curiosity, which was currently blazing outta control.

    The djinn sat up a bit straighter, fidgeted, hands clasping almost in expectation. "T-two hundred--?"

    His question was cut short by her explanation, though. At first he listened, ears pricked, expecting, expecting --

    …Well, he didn't know what he was expecting, exactly, only that it wasn't… that.

    Baqi's heart flew to his throat, brows wrinkled up. He didn't exactly keep the horror from his face as Ylsa spoke plain about it all, just laid it out as if they were discussin' cookies or the weather; found himself fidgeting bad, fingers looping and clawing at each other, shrinking back in on himself. But… but how? A sudden panic welled up inside him, as if he suddenly expected the world to shatter -- as if the lady's hair would turn into barbs 'n pin him straight to the mat, and her mouth would open into a tunnel of teeth.

    Was this what it all was? Any second now, would she try to eat him just like that? She'd already lured him away into her neck of the woods, and, and--

    The djinn gave a startled squeak, practically scrabbling back when the lady's hair tickled his nose. He clutched it instinctively, peeping above his hands with wide, boggled eyes. Wondered if he should make a sprint for the door right then -- not like he'd been keepin' tabs with spirits, hadn't prayed since… well, shit if he knew, shit, shit!

    "I-- I wh--- I--" Baqi blabbered, not really sure what to say, voice muffled by his own hands. His hair shivered over his face, and the djinn blinked rapidly, throat catching. He watched as the lady crossed over to the kettle, tryin' his best to wrap his mind around it. An evil spirit turned into a human…? But… Hackles raised, the djinn stooped a little, weighing his options. He didn't wanna bolt out just like that and lose a friend, perhaps the only kind person he'd met in Madrid so far. Plus, the fire hadn't hurt her, so…

    "N-never heard anythin' like that, lady," the djinn offered meekly, slumping down into a seat. His eyes stayed wide, though, and he felt half-ready to fly off his mat. "L-like reincarnation, huh…?" He bit his lip, gaze focused on the grey lady, her tumbles of hair suddenly menacing. "I mean… I heard of p-people comin' back to life, things walkin' that shouldn't walk… s-seen it, even, but-- but a spirit becoming a person?" The question hung off its own cliff, practically ridiculous, and the djinn curled a finger under his chin, blinking. Elders sure never talked 'bout it. "That's somethin' else, huh."

    Next second, a grey blur shot in; Baqi jumped, relaxing as soon as he saw it was a fox, and blew out a long breath, hair fluttering around his face. The little thing scrambled onto his lap, and he didn't exactly mind (though he was pretty wet), giving the guy a little scratch behind the ears.

    "H-huh?" The djinn broke his stare with a blink, looking up -- suddenly remembered the towel by his feet and snatched it up, not exactly wanting to disobey. "Bones, huh? S-sure thing, lady, uh--" He felt a little better starin' into those big brown eyes, felt like if the fox trusted Ylsa, then maybe he should too. Blowing out again, Baqi began rubbing at Bones' wet fur with a towel, giving him some sympathetic head 'n back scratches besides. Shit. Nothin' worse than bein' toweled off. I getcha, guy, he found himself thinking, not blaming the little fox for squirming a bit. Rain isn't fun for anybody. 'Cept plants, maybe.

    After a bit, the little guy's fur puffed up, and the familiar smell of wet animal stuck to the towel, but the djinn didn't mind. He paused as a cup of tea was pushed into his hands, wrapping his skinny fingers around the warmth and sniffing it to calm himself down.

    Ylsa's next words put him at some ease, at least -- didn't sound like she wanted to hurt anybody. Whatever… hari-onago thing she'd been might not've existed anymore, was just some echo from hundreds of years ago. The tea smelled good, and the rain howled 'n smashed its fists outside -- plus, the little guy had curled up in his lap, staring at him with great big eyes, and the djinn didn't want to leave. Felt ashamed, even, for thinking anything bad of the lady, head hanging limp.

    Banishing spirits, huh… His eyes skirted the room, found the incense and mystic-looking shit all around, strange scrolls with stranger symbols. Baqi blinked into his tea, cheeks burning, squirming more than the fox in his lap.

    "M-me?" It was a squeak. Nothing more, nothing louder than he deserved. Him? Banishing greater spirits? He heard the laughter in his head, suddenly thought of the big tin man with his sword, the rasping voice rumbling about banishing spirits -- that was a banisher, that was a powerful guy, b-but… him?

    He felt so small, smaller than ever, watching the spices swim round and round in the cup, a lump lodging in his throat.

    He'd practically thrown out any thought of revenge. Never had 'em, really. Never thought he could ever face up to the evil thing that'd killed them all, the thing that made him wake up screaming in the night, the thing that breathed down his neck even though it was in another world, now. The thing that threw him onto the streets 'n gave him his first puff of lho, the thing that made him feel like jumping into the Origa and ending it all forever. He never had a thought of revenge, because he couldn't ever see himself being strong enough to fulfill it -- wasn't like the guy in Eldahar, wasn't like Sabe, who could swear a vow 'n follow up on it. He was like an ant standin' up to a beast, a man screamin' at a god. Pathetic. Useless.

    For a second he almost cried again, biting his lip hard. One hand wandered over Bones' fur, over and over, a soothing gesture.

    "…I'm…" He shook his head, words stumbling in his mouth. "…I… lady… I ain't anything, really." Baqi lowered his eyes, hair falling over his face. "Just a lesser djinn. I dunno if… I could ever do a thing like that." Voice quivering, the boy curled his fingers in the fox's fur, scratched his grey neck. "I don't… I don't even know how. I can't go to the City of Oracles or nothing--they kill djinn there." He shivered at the thought, knew very well that the desert sorcerers would seize on him for a source of magic. "…A-and I can't go back to the djinn, exactly."

    Baqi's throat closed up at the thought; he shook his head, hair skewing everywhere, hands fidgeting on the cup. To hide his quavering lip, he took a sip, swallowing hard. It tasted as good as it smelled, went down nice and warm and soothing, and he blew out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping.

    An incredible gift…

    He stared down at his hand as if noticing it for the first time, dark tan against Bones' fur. Felt the callouses on 'em, saw the dirt under the fingernails and raised hairs here 'n there. Holy fire, huh…

    Baqi blinked, bringing himself outta the muck of his thoughts, back to the mat and fox and lady looking at him kindly from behind the teapot. He hated to impose on her, ask when she'd already done so much, but…

    "…How?" The djinn bit his lip, brushing some bangs behind his ear. One wide eye stared out at her while the other still hid behind a sheaf of wet black hair. "I… how did you learn how to do it, I mean?" Eagerness crept to his tone, made him fidget. "…I… I wish I could. I--I want to learn. Be somethin' more than… this." His lip twisted, and his eyes darted down, down, as if disgusted with himself, a gesture to say lookit this piece of shit, right to the muddy buckles of his boots 'n the rumpled, wet shirt 'n up to the scuff 'n cowering shoulders.

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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    It was a miracle she was able to keep her face straight, even as her eyes stung and her throat ached with the desire to cry, or hitch in a shaky breath. It wasn't as though she hadn't ever spoken with people who had confidence issues, but this was no mere confidence issue: this djinn truly hated himself. She couldn't hear the voice in his head telling him how worthless he was, how despicable, but gods she could feel it, could see it even, in the chewing of the lip, the down-turned gaze, as though too ashamed to even look a friendly stranger in the eye. He had been frightened by her tale, even though she had been perfectly hospitable -- Ylsa didn't blame him for being scared, but that added to his apparent unhappiness made it seem like he had been cowed by every living thing that laid eyes on him.

    "...life hasn't been kind to you." She finally managed to say, expending great effort to keep her voice steady. The effort had a quieting effect on her tone, which was just as obvious as having sniffled, but in the end she decided to scrap the emotionless act, the psychology of her current mind winning out, and one solitary tear escaped an eye. Wishing she could have taken his hands instead, she laid both her own hands on his shoulder in earnest. "You aren't worthless, Baqi. I don't know you well, but I know you aren't, because no one is. I've seen it, time and time again, that no one is worthless. Anyone who says you are is lying and that's all there is to it. Having flaws is not weakness. Being smaller and easily pushed around is not weakness, and making mistakes is not a weakness: that is life. And it is not your fault."

    Bones whined slightly and shifted in Baqi's lap, headbutting the djinn's stomach lightly in affection. Ylsa sat back and used a corner of the fox's towel to dab her eyes (careful as always not to get little hairs in them), made a little sniffle, and moved on -- as much to keep herself from weeping further as to save her new acquaintance's mood. A smile crossed her features, and she clasped her hands in front of her.

    "The closest thing I can do that compares to your fire, is smoke magic." Her voice was lighter now, as though pleased he had asked her the big How. "I have to relearn everything I do each time I'm born again -- every life is different, after all. But every time I do have to learn from the beginning again, I start with Control, and for that I like to get creative. Now, I'm not sure how similar the pneuma and a white flame are..." She leaned across the table in front of them, taking up one of the many bowls half-full of the ashes of incense and herbs lying around, and held it up for him to see, a playful twinkle in her eye. "Hold up your hand, and summon those flames again... there you go. Now, make sure you keep it going, but don't look at it for a few moments.

    "Instead, focus on this bowl. Note its shape... its small abnormalities, its depth, its size... make a mental note of all that, then close your eyes. Wait a second... then, remember it. It's made of your very own white flame... it is weightless... devoid of substance... but it's still there, as long as you can keep imagining. As long as you can keep imagining, you will hold it in the palm of your hand... bring that hand forward, now..." (She guided his arm where his hand would be in his line of sight.) "...when you open your eyes, it doesn't leave, but even so you must be willing to accept its absence. When you feel you are ready, open your eyes."
    Edited by Ylsa, Sep 11 2014, 01:04 AM.
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    Baqi
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    Life hasn't been kind to you.

    Guilt stabbed his guts as he noticed a tear leakin' out of the lady's eye. Shit. Shit, I didn't mean to make her cry… When she laid her hands on his shoulders, he almost blurted an apology -- but her words cut him off.

    You aren't worthless.

    A lump clogged his throat, made it hard to breathe. Everythin' in him said no -- everythin' in him rebelled against what she said, grabbed him, practically forced him to shake his head. But the words knifed through, shocking and alien to him, wrong, wrong -- almost like she'd spat on the Head Priest, ripped up his books. It was wrong. But they pinned him there, made him feel practically naked, scratching to cover himself, duck his head, hide under a table and mutter against it. He was a bat 'fraid of light, trees blocking the sun, a fish flopping away from water.

    Nice words like that weren't for people like him -- much as he wanted it, much as they flowed over 'im and cleared up the dirt, it wasn't true, it just… wasn't. Tears burned his eyes, blurred Ylsa into grey fuzz. His shoulders trembled with swallowed sobs, bitin' his lip hard.

    It is not your fault.

    But it was. It was, wasn't it? He'd gathered up his friends. He'd broken the sacred laws. He was exactly the reason they were all dead, exactly -- if he hadn't… if he didn't… The room spun sick, blood throbbing in his skull, burning. The guilt of it burned a hole in him, tangled right up in his chest, made him feel like a guy had took an axe to it -- he hung his head, shaking, floating away from the hands on his shoulders and the little fox bumpin' his stomach. Suddenly the house had drained away, just left him and his memories, the monster in his chest weighing him down.

    "It's…" Guilt strangled his voice, left it weaker than a reed. "It is my fault… I did somethin'… real bad… and…" Baqi's lip quivered -- he tasted blood, sharp 'n red on his tongue. He couldn't say it, couldn't force any of the words out. She'd see how horrible he was; she'd see, and then she'd get it, then she'd see exactly what a piece of shit he was. Instead he shook his head, hair ruffling, hunched.

    "...Why do good things happen to bad people?" Whispered to nobody, really. He was the one that shoulda got it, wasn't he? Instead, he was the only one still kickin', wandering round and round in circles. "T-the human priests say that Ma'at is fair. He's the Judge, ain't he? He's supposed to be fair." His teeth clenched, as if they'd hold everythin' back, be the pearly gates thunderin' down on the words surging outta him. "Maybe… I can't help but think-- I deserve it, don't I? I deserve every second of it. That maybe… livin' a happy life just ain't a thing for me. You know? M-maybe I'm just a prisoner, livin' out a sentence." A nutso's half-laugh tumbled outta him. The djinn put the tea down and caught his forehead with one hand, shaking his head.

    "'M sorry, lady, I… must sound… crazy or some shit, I…"

    Baqi forced himself to look up, sniffing loudly -- put a trembling hand on Bones' fur, pettin' him until he didn't shake so bad. His eyes went blotchy-red, nose dribbling, and the djinn wiped it with the back of his hand, lookin' away in shame. Focus, focus…

    When she started talkin' bout the pneuma, he sat up a bit straighter, tryin' to shove the dark thoughts back under the carpet. Focus guy, just focus… shit. A shaky breath left him as he nodded, trying to focus on each one of the lady's words to drown out the buzzin' in his skull. He felt shaky, emptied somehow -- like somethin' had rattled him up, tried to shake out the contents 'n given up, leavin' him with a mess of words in his mouth he felt too afraid to say.

    Nervously, he held up his hand, palm-up -- tried to grab hold of the flame again; wasn't so easy this time, not with the mess inside of him. He had to wade through the muck, struggle, pluck out the thread of magic. A weak, flickering white flame sprung up in the middle of his palm, and the djinn bit his lip as it split into three of 'em, their dancing somber, slow.

    "O-okay lady…" he didn't really get where it was goin', but was grateful for the distraction, starin' at the bowl like he'd never seen one in his life. It buzzed in his head, and he saw it without really seein' it -- forced himself to shake back into reality, squint at the edges 'n color 'n size, a little crack that zipped up the corner. The djinn took a slow breath, graspin' onto the sight -- then closed his eyes, trying to keep it goin'.

    It's made of your very own white flame…

    It shaped in his hands, swirling, a sculptor buildin' a bowl for the first time.

    …But it's still there, as long as you can keep imagining.

    The words nudged somethin' in him, hit a chord he didn't feel right away, like smackin' a funny bone. The buzz, the wait, then the pain. For a second he forgot 'bout the bowl and its chip on the edge and the green glaze veining through the cracks -- his mind slipped 'n went to forgotten faces, faces he didn't want to think 'bout, faces only the djinni could see. They were still alive somewhere in there, locked up in his head, still smiling, still laughing, maybe -- only he ever remembered the screams, the faces all twisted, muddy.

    When you open your eyes, it doesn't leave…

    The flame in his hand quivered, lost shape -- rippled into somethin' else.

    ...but even so you must be willing to accept its absence.

    Baqi opened his eyes, stinging -- like someone had thrown cold water in his face, broke him into a new world. He couldn't look -- he couldn't, because he knew what he'd see. And yet it drew him down, down, like some kinda rope in his eye, cranin' his head to his hands. In his palms quivered familiar faces -- dancing with djinni fire, their smiles rippling, features like man for a second, then not, morphin' with animals and flame itself. How he saw 'em. How he wanted to remember 'em. How he…

    His face twisted -- crumpled, and the djinn clenched his fist; the fire snuffed out in his palms as he grabbed his head and rocked forward, curled tight into a ball. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, drowning under the sudden, crushing wave.

    And he wept.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    Ylsa gently persisted with the lesson, even as she saw -- rather, felt him struggling with his emotions. His aura changed to a sad, rainy grey. Since he had first sat upon the fountain he had been choking something back, and going on with the topic at hand would be a cruel way to get him to release it -- who knew how long he'd been holding them back? It was known that a good hard cry every so often was good for the soul, but it was just as important to try and arrange the manner of release: right now, he needed to come to it on his own. It had to be slow, natural, as easy as possible, and discussing an unhappy subject could cause the reaction to be explosive, damaging, and painful to the one who already ached so horribly.

    When he began she set the bowl down quietly on the table and placed her hands in her lap, waiting a few moments. Then, she lay one hand upon his back; gradually began to slide it across to his opposite shoulder, to hold the closer one with her other hand, and Bones the fox looked on, pressing his small body against Baqi's leg like a trained, patient therapy dog. Holding him gently but firmly by the shoulders, Ylsa slowly pulled the djinn into her lap and squeezed his shoulder. This time she did not cry as well, but encouraged him to weep instead. Her voice was low and almost maternal: "Keep going... good."

    What caused him to grieve so bitterly? Perhaps it wasn't her business to know -- perhaps it was only her business to allow him to do what he needed to do, and to keep him company as he did so. The grease that had accumulated in his hair and the state of it became more apparent and explanatory to her: this had built over time and time again of neglect, an attempt to hide behind something, to disguise his awkward, perpetually guilty features. Hair was telling. His was impure, his spirit tainted with some unknown substance that had festered like an infection. Over how many centuries, millennia, this had been happening was a mystery to all but him. A painful, vampiric black hole.

    After whatever amount of time that his choked sobs would allow her to be heard, she continued in the same motherly tone: "If there is anything you have ever wanted to say, but were too afraid to, you can say it here if you want. Your heart isn't being weighed on the Scales of Truth. No one is judging you. No one of consequence is listening. You're in the hovel of a witch." Her smile came through her words. "I have no stones to throw."
    Edited by Ylsa, Nov 7 2014, 08:25 PM.
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    Baqi
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    He couldn't stop -- air sucked greedily down his throat, shuddered up as sobs, his whole body shakin' with the force of it. It was like some dam had busted open, and now all of the rot spewed outta it, all of the pain roaring down his veins and skull and drowning him under it. A black tide swept him under, pulled by a sea of screamin' faces and the swiping grips of memory, and now he was in deep, deep -- trembled like he was going to smash into the shore, fly apart into bits.

    His knees dug into his eyes, causing black 'n red dots to bloom in his vision, teeth clenched, nails digging -- and suddenly a soft touch found his back, slid to his shoulder. He didn’t deserve it. Grief knifed through his ribs—Baqi flinched like Ylsa’s fingers were hot brands, cringing. He didn’t deserve it—he didn’t—

    Ylsa pulled him into his lap and his resolve watered, went to nothin’ — he practically crumpled, fingers fisting in the cloth of her skirts, desperate to cling to anything, anything at all; he couldn’t breathe, like all the wind had been knocked outta him, racked by grief. He didn’t know he could cry so hard, shuddering, gulping, their names cracking on the edge of his voice.

    Aaminah…

    In’am….

    Isma’il…


    The desert howled, wind like knives, blood mistin’ the air — an agonized scream cut across the red sky, filled his lungs, filled his heart ripe to bursting. Couldn’t run from it anymore — couldn’t turn back, the sun like the eye of a beast, watching his friends die. Shadows, whipping, flickering. The smell of slaughter all around him, the scream of a Dead behemoth, sand pouring from its joints…

    In’am, In’am, there one second, padding over the dunes — and then his laugh choked short, red bubbling out of his throat, and he was staring at his dead eyes, grabbing him, shaking him, screaming —

    Isma’il screamed, and her scream went on forever, the kind he’d never forget in his whole life, the kind that would echo till the end of the world. His fault. Tremors wracked his body, eyes glazed, mind somewhere far away, outside the crackling fire and pattering rain and Ylsa’s touch. Sand blasted over the dunes, flew up into the stars, and Isma’il was gone again, disintegrated to dust.

    Nadiyya… He murmured their names like a prayer, for forgiveness, maybe, for repentance — didn’t know, just had to say ‘em, had to say ‘em so someone else knew they’d once been, lived, and he’d been the one that took them away — they didn’t deserve to die there in the desert, lost and forgotten; he’d carry ‘em around forever, he swore, he’d pay for their souls till Khalid left ‘em, opened his jaws for him instead. He’d lay down in those teeth when the time came, didn’t deserve anything better; the guilt crushed him, left him choking, fingers trembling across his chest. Truth is the way to salvation. The metal paladin’s words swung down like an axe, bore down, down — split him right in the middle, made him curl up and shake, vomit rushing into his mouth. He cried till there was nothing left — only hiccuping, dry heaves, eyes swollen half-shut, face red and pounding; the need to confess pulsed up in him like a monster, clawed at his ribs, bulled up his throat.

    If there is anything you have ever wanted to say, but were too afraid to, you can say it here if you want.

    He couldn’t run from it anymore.

    “I killed ‘em,” the djinn burst out — his voice cracked, reed-thin, all the force and air leaving him in that second. All his blood went to water, limbs suddenly limp — his head was ready to float away, thumping, pulsing hot with blood. Baqi’s face contorted, screwed into a mask of pain — shattered with the truth, the bright, searin’ truth that plunged like a dagger, shot him true.

    “I killed ‘em,” he sobbed, fingers tangling in his hair; curled away from Ylsa, like his touch alone would poison her. “In the desert… the Elders… the djinn, they have laws, they have—” it didn’t matter how much he explained, how many words fell outta his mouth; they all added up to the same thing, the same truth. “Sacred laws, ‘bout—places not to go, words not to say; there’s bad djinn ’n sorcerers out there, badlands where only Dead go…” For a moment he couldn’t speak, mouth hanging open in a choking grimace — could only shake his head, nails digging into his scalp, pricking into his skull. “—P-p-places… and one s-summer, one s-summer we were m-migrating to the oasis, and ‘r-round there, lady, ‘round there are all kinda badlands you have to go through, abandoned temples ’n tombs, r-ruins…” His voice trembled, faltered like a dyin’ flame, guttering down only to lick up again. The djinn was looking somewhere else now, eyes far and glazed, lips jumping and mumbling. It was another world. Another time, another Baqi, a kid he couldn’t even remember being.

    “My—my friends and I… we weren’t afraid of nothing, lady.” No. That was wrong. “We… I wasn’t.” A lump blocked his throat. He couldn’t remember bein’ that way, felt like he was looking in on someone else’s memories. Remembered bein’ angry all the time, kicking away rocks and sneaking up to nomads’ fires, close as he dared, even as Nadiyya grabbed him and pulled him back.

    What are you doing? Her hushed whisper shivered across the dunes — one human snapped his head up, black eyes locking right at ‘em.

    “Hear something?” The man had grumbled to his friend — but the two djinni had fled already, him laughing, Nadiyya horrified.

    You know you’re not supposed to get close to humans!
    What’s it matter? They can’t see me. I’ll just pretend to be one of ‘em.
    You’re a bad djinn! Stop throwing sand at them! Do you want the Elders to scold you again?

    He didn’t care. Didn’t care about nothing, not since his parents abandoned him, not since he knew he was alone — watchin’ from outside, ducking in and out of his friend’s households and punished by the Elders. He was no one’s kid. Came from the wind, they had a saying, from the sand. Nowhere to go, no one to guide him, really — and when he’d had his age day, he learned he could turn into a human. Bad sign, the whispers went; said maybe he’d come from a human man or woman, a halfling, a false djinn. A djinn with the heart of a man couldn’t live in their world, no way, no how — he’d leave one day, as was the fault of his spirit. And he’d heard alla this, and it’d only flared the anger in his heart, the loneliness, made him wild and untouchable, running after shadows, stealing food from nomads and tasting human drinks, laughing when it made his head float away.

    Do not go there, the Elders would say about a place, and he’d go — only on the outskirts, first, toes sinking into the sea of sand. Then closer, closer, till he could touch the shadow of the largest column, the broken and maimed ruins. He would stand where the light died and feel triumph, feel like he could do anything, living outside their rules and fears.

    He didn’t know what he was spewin’ anymore — the words came out in a confused wreck, mud outta his mouth, shaking, trembling, halting.

    “I went scouting… exploring… went places I shouldn’t, ever, places where not even humans went, and I don’t know why— I don’t know why, I — I convinced ’em… I led ‘em there, my friends, I…” He couldn’t speak, throat closing, shakin’ all over; his head spun — the room whirled in sickening colors, fire popping way too loud, smell of incense too heavy, a nauseated sweat breaking out on his forehead. Nadiyya was right. He was a bad djinn — always had been, always would be. How could he have been so stupid? So stupid, so reckless — He didn’t have any reasons, could never justify it, never forgive himself. He’d done it. He’d done it, and he shoulda died; he shoulda died the first time he disobeyed the holy word, first time he stepped foot in the House of the Ifrit, where broken tombs jutted from the sand like teeth, and the wind brought decay; if he had listened, they’d be alive… they’d all be alive —

    “Every time I went alone, it was s-safe. Nothing—nothing hurt me. Nothing happened. I thought the Elders were fulla shit. I… I lied. I said there was treasure. I said… I…”

    He tricked them. Nadiyya followed because she feared for him, wanted him to stay safe; In’am, who could turn into a jackal and loved to laugh, took his sister, Is’mail; and Aaminah, strong, silent, the one he always wanted to prove himself to, always shamed by a bad look from ‘im — that’s why the lie about the treasure had blurted outta him. He wanted to prove he wasn’t just some reckless kid. He wanted to — he wanted to…

    It didn’t matter.

    He wanted to kick himself, woulda knocked his kid head, screeched at him till his lungs bled dry; he woulda given anything in the world to keep ‘em alive, to take their place instead. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, lip quavering, mouth hanging open in a croak. He didn’t have to finish. Couldn’t — the silence said everything, the jumping frog of his chest, knuckles white.

    “It’s my fault.”

    His voice came dead. Baqi’s eyes glazed, unfocused, teeth chattering. It hurt, but it felt right — it felt proper to say, striking true, immutable, the truth of it piercing him to the ground and cutting him open to bleed out, be ripped apart by vultures like he should be; stop hiding from it, stop pretending like it would all go away if only he stuck his head underground, buried it in lho and hash and gigs, ran and ran and ran till his lungs were ready to burst.

    “The Elders said… I was a bad djinn. That I’d amount to nothing, be nothing, that I was wrong, wicked, evil.” His throat bobbed, bristling with stubble, one fist clenched. His eyes quavered, tight with pain, still brimming with tears — and Nadiyya’s scream echoed in his head, swelled up like a chorus, pinned him in an alley while the faces of his friends loomed around him, cornered him, forced him to look into their eyes. Atone. Atone, atone…

    “And they were right.” A squeak. Wasn’t that the truth of it? They were right all that time, and he’d been blind to all their wisdom — he’d been blind, and stupid, selfish. Nothing but a kid, one that betrayed the people that cared about ‘im, used ‘em, tossed ‘em to the wind for his own pride — a pride that meant nothing, wasn’t worth anything; he swore he’d never think of himself above anything, anything at all — because he knew exactly what he was, deep in his heart. It thundered with truth every time it beat, reminded him that he had survived instead of his friends — that he walked the earth instead of ‘em, that he stole their lives, robbed them and their families. And nothing—nothing he could do would ever atone for that.

    “I’m a liar, and a thief, and… I’m a murderer.”
    Edited by Baqi, Jan 23 2015, 09:42 PM.
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    Ylsa
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    For as long as space endures/ For as long as living beings remain/ Until then may I too abide/ To dispel the misery of the world...

    Tears flowed in an endless tide, and she could feel them through the cloth on her legs. Ylsa feared his thin, ragged form would break with the sheer force of his grief, and held him as steady as she could, like a mother would a child. It was hard, so hard not to weep with him, even the wind picking up outside seemed to hiss and heave as though it was sobbing, but she kept it down.

    I killed 'em. She could hear his heart breaking, again and again, relentless. A break that could never be fixed; a wrong that could never be righted. Had he, really? Did they die by his own hand?

    I led 'em, my friends... Something painful was lumping in her throat, but her face remained composed. He continued, and she let him, the tea forgotten by both on the table in front of them. Her skirt was damp, but it would dry. His soul likely never would.

    I’m a liar, and a thief, and… I’m a murderer. Not by his own hand, maybe... but he had been close enough, close enough to hate himself for it. In her heart Ylsa could see it all, vague and disjointed and wretched with misery. She could see him how he was seeing himself, a dumb kid who thought he was special, and that part she understood. Hadn't she been that way once, twice? Still to this day, at times? Hadn't everyone? But no, not like this: the blood was on his hands, his face, it left a stain on his skin and his clothes that could never be washed out or changed.

    Her thoughts turned unbidden to her last life, to Isabelle. Sweet, sweet Isabelle... forever lost from some back alley job, while she -- he, at the time -- wasn't looking, wasn't taking care of her like he'd promised. He had tried to fix it, tried to redeem himself, tried to save her, but only ended up losing that life uselessly and pointlessly. Jool would never know where Isabelle disappeared, and there wasn't a year that went by that she didn't go to the girl's empty grave to apologize, to leave flowers. To let her know she was sorry, that she always loved her, and always would. It was, perhaps, her only true regret, and it was guilt, but nothing like this...

    No, this wasn't about that. Ylsa brought her attention back to the present, but understood that in her own way she was trying to relate to Baqi -- and yet, she knew she never would be able to. No one could possibly know how he felt, there was nothing to equal that kind of guilt, to equal self-loathing. Nothing but more of the same. It pained her that for once, she did not know what to say. She had invited him here to comfort him, but what could she do? What could anyone possibly say to something like this?

    There were a hundred questions, and no answers. But perhaps, she thought, she wasn't supposed to have any answers. There wasn't always an answer to be had.

    "I know it hurts. It hurts more than anything, more than I can possibly imagine," She confessed, controlling her voice carefully. He didn't need someone weeping when he had so much of it to do himself. He didn't need to feel more badly. "There is nothing anyone can say that will make it hurt any less. You may never forgive yourself, Baqi, but that's fine." Her voice was earnest, somehow personal. She wanted more than ever to reach out and take his hand, as she was wont to do with clients, but her touch seemed to bother him at the moment. "You don't have to. But if you want to, you will."
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