• PM To Join • Awakenings

[Kali'rial]

23rd Saun, 717, Early Morning?

Wake up...

It was the unfamiliar lack of ocean sounds that roused her at first, the gentle crashing of the waves on the side of The Muse and the seabirds absent in their sonata. Had they sailed away from the docks? Perhaps the seafaring Biqaj had moved them out on the open water to take advantage of the cooler breezes.

No wait, that couldn't be right. There was no ebb and rock from the waves. This wasn't the sloop. Somehow she was on shore. Was she dreaming again? Kali'rial felt the a mild ache in the back of her head, a possible indication that no infact this was the real word. The Sev'ryn felt like she was clawing her way through a thick molasses of confusion as she tried to wake up.

Where was she?

Why wasn't she on the sloop?

Where was Pash?

Slowly, it came back to her in bits and pieces. The storm, and the violent rocking of the boat. The sailor beside them, struggling to get back onto his own vessel. She'd intended to offer assistance, but the unbridled tilt and list had thrown her. Clinging to the rail, she'd been blinded by the flash of lightning and the deafening crack of sound. The brunette remembered a sharp and sudden pain in her abdomen, before it was dark.

Even then, she remembered more. She'd dreamed, only it had been more than that. Her Nonna had greeted her, in the depths of her unconsciousness, guiding her into a strange and terrifying journey to finally discover that her familiar was calling her. There had been bright light and deep drowning depths. She remembered Desnind, Rhane, Ne'haer and other places. Blue pinpoints of light on a map of the world. Calling to her. Guiding her. Vividly now, she could recall the map burned into her minds eye and the deep wise voice that had spoken to her in the darkness. The huntress needed to wake up and mark it down before she forgot.

Again a name came to mind then as she struggled through the memories and addled dreams. A face that had been on the same tossing and turning ship as she.

Pash.

"Qu'ama..." She called in a soft hoarse voice, her dry throat cracking her voice and leaving her with a strong desire for a sip of water. Opening her eyes to see where she was, the southerner found herself more lost then before. It was an unfamiliar place, somewhere new and clean and clinical. Frowning Kali moved to sit up slightly, groaning in mild pain and placing a hand to her side and closing her eyes again. There was a tenderness there, not dreadful but enough to make the Se'vryn realise that the sharp pain she'd felt was probably more than just a niggling problem. It was hard to keep the memories and dreams separated at the moment, but she needed to know he was okay.

She needed to know he was here.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

It had only been by U’Frek’s kindness, Zanik's strength, Moseke’s mercies, and a few other smatterings of decent, willing Immortals pitching in that they had made it back to the docks after the storm a few trials ago and that Pash had not fretted too much over Kali’rial’s well-being as Faith had assistants from the Order bring a stretcher to get her from his thankfully undamaged sloop and into town. Okay, so, he’d fussed a bit, truth be told, exhausted and worn thin enough to reveal a surprisingly protective side for someone who appeared too often to mostly care about himself and care so little about material things. The dark-haired Sevir was qy’akot, family in his heart much like his friends, and he’d required a little bit of talking down to let everything smoothly sail its course back to the Order once they’d moored at the docks. He had wanted to follow after all was settled, but instead finally after a bit of to-do had admitted his need to finish looking after his sloop—securing it and making sure that everything was stowed and safe just in case the storms picked back up again, lest The Muse be damaged.

There had been some destruction at the docks again during the weather that had injured Kali, even though everyone had just begun to feel a bit recovered from the monsters that had attacked just over a ten-trial ago, and so the severe storms had definitely left discouragement in its wake.

When Pash could finally make his way to through Scalvoris Town and to the Order, he did, pausing to ensure he’d tugged on his vest and brought his lute and domain bag, careful to pack some clean, dry clothes for the dark-haired Sev’ryn as well as some necessary snacks. He was thankful for the trouble of allowing him to stay in the same room with a cot and a little chair and the offer of food and drink as needed, though there was no motion of the sea and there were far too many people in and out and everywhere else for the tall Biqaj to feel at all truly comfortable. He was quite a sight in his mostly sleepless vigil, singing and making hushed conversation, strumming his instrument, nervously consuming his snacks all restless but sincere.

That said, he’d made himself as useful as he could: getting out of the way for healers on their shifts to check on Kali’s well-being to wander the halls with his lute and find children to cheer up or people to encourage. The storms continued into the next trial and he’d gone back out in them to check on The Muse at least once, though it was with obvious reluctance.

While sickness and blood and trauma in general tended to make him uncomfortable (if not downright nauseated when not in the thrill of the moment), he was there for a reason and those feelings seemed to keep much of his normal fear at bay. Still, the first trial it was easy enough to stay hopeful, to wait with a patience that was otherwise out of character for the insatiable Biqaj, adrenaline and bravado his fuel. As that trial drew to a close, discouragement and worry sank into the hull of his chest and his eager restlessness became more listless and broody, puppyish devotion and eager smile fading only a little as he continued his determined watch at the side of his unconscious lover even though his body was tired and sore. An edginess settled in the next trial and it appeared as though he would sleep very little, not wanting to rest in fear he’d miss out on Kali’s waking—

Except he did.

—Had anyone asked him later, he would admit his suspicion that he was pretty sure someone snuck a little something into his tea, finally, just to make sure he actually slept instead of played at it given the grumpiness in his tone and the bags under his eyes, for the blissful several breaks of sleep he had been enjoying were definitely not the kind of sleep he’d been getting the trial before, if ever.

Kali’s voice stirred him, though, awkwardly sprawled as he was in the low cot that was a few inches too short for the length of the tall Biqaj and a whole lot more uncomfortable than home,

“Mmm’aye.” For a few trill, Pash was groggy, confused, and annoyed at being awake, but the discomfort of where he was sleeping was the second reminder. The first was, of course, the familiar words of his lover,

“Kali!” He was perhaps a little too loud in his excitement, sitting up too quickly, upsetting the little cot, and awkwardly scrambling to be next to her with a smile. There was water in a pitcher and he'd pour her some, waiting, a pent-up eagerness blossoming warmly in his face. Once she was finished, his hands were greedy for hers, the hushed baritone of his voice implying that he’d been waiting longer than she’d most likely expect. He held back inundating her with well over a trial and a half of words, containing it all with what limited willpower he was capable of, lacing fingers with hers and placing a soft kiss on her forehead, “S’ good t’ see y' awake, qua’ma.”

[Kali'rial]

23rd Saun, 717

The sound of the seafaring minstrels groggy baritone was music to her ears, encouraging the young Sev'ryn to open her eyes again to look for him with a smile. All of a sudden he was right there, beside her with a loud exclamation and scrambling, offering a blessed cool cup of water and taking her hands with gentle sounds that helped the brunette shake off the grogginess of sleep. If she didn't feel so out of it she might have laughed. Finishing the water, relishing the cool liquid on her throat, she placed it beside her and looked at the man beside her.

Immortals, she felt her heart skip a beat, love swelling in her chest at the sight of him.

"It's good to be awake." She said quietly, her eyes slipping shut again as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before opening again and looking at the sailor with a slight frown.

"Where are w- Oh no! Pash, is The Muse alright?" Her blue eyes widened and she moved to sit up quickly, before hissing with a little discomfort and pressing a free hand to her side.

What the...

Frowning deeply now, the brunette looked more closely at the bard, noticing the drawn weariness of his face and the bruising here and there on his body. She saw on his inked arms a series of healing cuts and the sleepless dark circles under his eyes. Regardless of his smile and soft kisses, there was something going on. He was far to eager to see her awake, like a forlorn puppy.

"What happened Pash? Why aren't we on the sloop?" Glancing suspiciously at the cot that the taller Biqaj barely fit onto, Kali'rial felt the sore spot on her abdomen, noticing now she was no longer in the woven dress she'd been wearing during the storm. Turning her blue eyes down, she moved the sheet and lifted the garment she was now wearing to examine the area. There was a freshly healed ragged scar, around two inches across, not too far from her navel. The huntress ran her fingers over it with a sort of reverence. The sharp pain on the boat that she'd felt before things went dark, it must have been from whatever had caused the scar. Lowering the garment, the huntress looked back up into the eyes of her lover.

"Aídà, how long have we been here?" She asked in a serious tone, searching his tired face for answers, slowly realising that things hadn't gone all that well after the lighting strike.

Worry gnawed at the Sev'ryn as she waited for his reply, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answers. Her head throbbed mildly at the back, but she ignored it, focusing on Pash with her full attention.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

"Sssh, ’s fine. Th’ Muse be fine, rajo. No need t’ get—" Pash moved to keep her from sitting up too quickly, but he hadn’t expected it. There was no hiding the tiredness from his features, no matter how much brighter his countenance was now that Kali’rial was awake and talking to him. Instead, he smiled softly and shifted to give her the moment of self-exploration she required, watching without hiding the guilt that gnawed at his insides as she touched her scar.

His own darker glance lingered even once she returned to looking at him, a frown creased into his somewhat haggard face,

"Aye, well. ‘Bout that. It’s been ‘bout a trial an’ a half, m’haps two. I don’t know what break it is," The tall Biqaj admitted shyly, unsure of even when he fell asleep if he was honest, "An’ when th’ ship next t’ us got hit b’ lightnin’, th’ mast shattered. Some ‘f th’ big bits got stuck there," he nodded where her hand had been, "an’ everywhere, but y’ also hit th’ boom an’ were knocked cold. Faith said it were a concussion, which isn’t an uncommon injury when sailin’."

Pash smirked, but it was self-deprecating. He clearly felt at fault, as if somehow the risk and the hurt should be his responsibility alone, as if somehow he didn’t get her belowdecks soon enough for her own good. The past trial and a half or so had left him plenty of time to feel the weight of such guilt, unsure of when she would wake up and if she would truly be herself when she did.

All the seafaring musician wanted to do was curl up in her bed and hold the dark-haired Sev’ryn, but the bed was far too small and he was very sure it would have been frowned upon by the Order should anyone arrive to check on them. So his hands wandered instead, desperate to hold her,

"There was nothin’ I could do for you, obviously, an’ I took th’ risk t’ carry you belowdecks lest th’ storm jus’ wash y’ right off th’ deck. Th’ other sailor gave me a hand, he did. An’ thank th’ Immortals, qua’ma, jus’ as I made it back up on deck t’ sail us t’ shore, who did I see in a sorry lil' rowboat fightin' th' storm? Y’ can guess, eh? Qes, Faith in her Order cloak an’ a poor miserable fisherman rowin’ her straight t' us in those horrible waves. Only th’ Immortals themselves can work such things out, I’m sure ‘f it."

The gratitude and excitement in sharing such a turn in their story brought a bit of moisture to his lagoon blue eyes and a break in the hushed baritone of his voice, which was still rougher and more hoarse than it should have been, given just how loudly he’d sang himself through the storm, "So, she did all th’ work t’ keep you alive, no’ me. If it hadn’t been her, Kali—"

Pash’s shoulders sank like a scuttled ship and he looked down and away from his lover's periwinkle gaze, his eyes washing over where shrapnel had been,

"If it hadn’t been her, I don’t really know what would’ve happened, qua’ma. But I’ve spent th’ past trial thinkin’ on it far too much, waitin’ for you t’ wake up. Th’ storm was bad, an’ I had t’ sail farther from town for quite a distance. She said y’ could hear me, though, an’ she made me rest a bit by singin' t’ you."

Pash offered a weaker smile, thankful but worn thin by his own worry and self-doubt, by sleeplessness and the storm,

"But y’ seem alright now, maybe? Still sore, eh? Me, too, but I weren’t really hurt, no’ like you. I’m sorry, Kali. I should’ve told you t’ go belowdecks sooner.”

[Kali'rial]

23rd Saun, 717

A trial and a half? Two trials?

Kali'rial listened intently as Pash spoke, a bit overwhelmed by the truth. The brunette knew that she'd been out, there was no other way to explain the sudden gap between the lightning strike and now yet she had thought it had been perhaps bits or breaks, not trials. As the bards story continued, the huntress could see it in his face that Pash wore the blame for her injury, and it made her angry. There was no fault here, not for the Biqaj.

Faith, of course, a beacon of hope and life in the dark and terrifying storm. Kali couldn't help but smile, taking one of his wandering hands and squeezing it even as the man looked away. There was no doubt in the Sev'ryn's mind that without Faith's intervention she might not be here. The scar on her torso wasn't a small nick or gash, it was deep. Even healed over, she could feel it inside, a tenderness that would take time to go away and perhaps never truly disappear.

Quiet now, m’ lil’ child,
Quiet now, though th’ winds blow wild

Smiling despite the guilt and fear she could see written on the sun kissed face of her lover, Kali'rial recalled now the faint whispers that had invaded her dreams.

"I heard you. I heard you singing somewhere in my dreams, even though I didn't realise it at the time." Grimacing, the brunette forced herself to sit up properly, holding the calloused hand of the Biqaj as she searched his weary face.

"Like you I think. Sore, a little shaken, but I'm okay. Qu'ama, you had nothing to do with this. Do you genuinely think that I would have listened had you told me to go below? That I would have left you alone to battle the beast? We're in this journey together now, remember? You told me that." Her smile faded then, glancing around the room before her blue eyes held his with a ferocious seriousness.

"I saw things when I was dreaming, my Nonna was there in Desnind with me and spoke to me. Oh, Pash, she touched me. I felt the warmth of her hand in mine." Tears burned her eyes, her voice becoming excited as she told the sailor her dream.

"I walked through the jungle, then through Scalvoris Town. It was empty, and dead. The fountain wasn't running and the stars shifted in the sky like they were on a black curtain. I was on the docks, then...somewhere else. I don't know. A beach, near a walled city. There was a boat, or rather, half a boat in build I think? I went inside and was on a boat in a raging storm." Swallowing hard, the Sev'ryn closed her eyes against the terror she'd felt in her dream, but pressing on with her story.

"It felt like I was in that storm for trials, waves taller than any building I've ever seen. One crashed into the boat, and tore it apart. I..." Opening her eyes again, the huntress looked at her lover again with a deep breath and welling eyes.

"I was drowning aìdá, in my dream I was drowning. I could feel my lungs burning as I sank under the waves. I don't think I've ever been that terrified before, not like that. Then though, I could breathe again, and I could hear a voice." She was crying now, but not out of fear or sorrow, her smile shining through the tears.

"It was him Pash, my Osẹ-bori, calling to me. Speaking to me. He wants me to find him qu'ama. I saw markings, a map! I need a map, and a pen!" The Sev'ryn said urgently, her hand squeezing his tightly in her eagerness.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

“Heard me—really? Faith said y’ might could. I jus’ thought she was trynin’ t’ help me relax a lil’ ‘bout you. I’m glad.” Pash smiled at her admission in relief, her hand holding his. The thought that his singing had mingled with her dreams was comforting, though it was her insistence that, of course, nothing that happened that trial had been his fault that shoved the cargo of guilt overboard in his thoughts. He sighed, relaxing with the exhale, knowing she was right, knowing that it wouldn’t had mattered who was on board—whether a stranger or the dark-haired Sev’ryn he loved—the risks during a storm were accepted by everyone. It was just the way things were at sea.

His smile warmed, creased further into his tired, sea-weathered features at her promise of their togetherness, though her expression became serious and he listened, fingers tightening their tangle with her own.

She’d dreamed while unconscious, vivid and real. Her grandmother had been there again, as she so often seemed to be—Kali’rial’s loving Elder always keeping in touch with her through dreams. This time her dream had turned frightening and intense but without the beast or the wagon. A boat and a storm, drowning, only to be called by her familiar? Pash blinked, following along her story intently, his imagination trying to see her words. She squeezed his hand to bring him back to her attention,

“Callin’ you? I don’ have a map o’ everythin' here with me, but hang on.” He turned and reached for his domain bag, slipping for a bit or two from her grasp to open it and dig out a weathered leather journal, setting it on her lap. He fished out a small inkwell and pen, setting them both on the little dresser next to the bed he’d held vigil by before he set his bag back down, “I can … kinda draw ’t. Bear with me, eh?”

Pash’s laugh was self-deprecating. He could draw only marginally better than he could write, but he knew well enough the shapes of the continents and islands of Idalos after eight arcs of sailing that he could sketch them from memory, fumbling with the inkwell and the pen before opening his journal that was mostly full of other sketches, ideas, constellations, and as few words as possible. Starting with Scalvoris, he doodled a somewhat sloppy map between the spread pages, the spine of the book dividing Idalos in half as he narrated his drawing, marking with dots Scalvoris Town, Andaris, Rharne, and many of the other cities he knew all the way down to Desnind and where he kind of remembered Athart was (for he’d gone to find it on a map or two after their shared dream with U’Frek a ten-trial before).

Once done, he offered her the pen, unsure of what she was about to show him. His map was admittedly no work of art, hardly accurate, but illustrative enough for the dark-haired Sev’ryn to use in conversation between the two of them,

“Your familiar talked t’ you in your dream? What did y’ see?” He’d wait and watch, her excitement clear and vibrant, Pash’s curiosity hungry as always.

Ledger

Blank journal 5gn
Inkwell 2gn
Ink pen 1gn

[Kali'rial]

[quote="Kali'rial"]

23rd Saun, 717, Early Morning?

Kali'rial watched intently as the sea-weathered man pulled out writing implements, smiling a little at his comment and laugh. To be fair, the dark haired Sev'ryn was not any better at all. She knew how to read words and maps, but her ability to make the scrawls was pathetic at best. Especially given the slanted swirling script of Xanthean. It was never really required on the trade routes. Poppa had done the ledger writing and Nonna had done the negotiations. Kali was just there to hunt and tan.

As Pash drew a minimalist version of what they could both refer to as a 'map', the huntress nodded at his narration and markings, familiar with the top down view as it was etched in her mind.

"It only spoke briefly to me, if you can even call it speaking. I could hear it, in my head but all around me. Like an echo but..." She wiped her face with the palms of her hands and shook her head, unable to describe the sound properly.

"Don't let fear hold you back, or we will never find each other. That's what it said. Immortal's what does that even mean?" Taking the pen, Kali turned the book and marked X's on the places that had burned before her.

"I saw these markings, here, on a map of the world. Lit up like blue stars." The cities would roll through her mind over and over like a mantra.

Scalvoris
Rharne
Desnind
Ne'Haer
Andaris
Etzos

Handing back the book and the pen, the Sevir leaned back on the pillow and closed her eyes with a frown. Her head was throbbing mildly with the dregs of her injury.

"I need to go there Pash. To those places. Why, or what will happen, I don't know. But I have to." Opening periwinkle eyes again, the huntress looked at him with the frown still on her face. It was a lot of travel, and a long time. Granted he had said she would never be alone, not to Desnind and not here in Scalvoris, but would he be willing to sail around the world.

Was he willing to go home himself? Kali'rial knew some of his past, he'd told her things. It didn't necessarily mean he was prepared to go back. The sailing bard had been away from home for a long, long time.

"It's a lot to ask..." She left the sentence open, unsure what to say next.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Clearly, the two of them would not ever hope to become cartographers, not professionally. While they were strangely enough both well-traveled, neither of them had chosen paths in life that required decent penmanship or artful illustration. Still, they managed to create a visual representation of Idalos that between the two of them, at least, was understandable. Pash watched her mark cities he knew and while her order was perhaps more because of memory than travel logic, she put the pen and book back in his hands when she was finished, clearly tired by the effort of remembering,

"That’s a fair ‘mount o’ travel, ot djal. Well over two seasons, m’haps three, dependin’ on how long we stop for, an’ what happens on th’ way. No’ all o’ these places ‘re friendly—I’ve heard tell all o’ Rynmere has outlawed magic. Etzos be a godless place. Rharne, well, it’s been a long time an’ I’ve changed." The seafaring musician made statements, not criticisms, dipping the pen back into the inkwell and dribbling a bit with his unpracticed ease on the night stand, the floor, and his pants before he began to draw lines in an order, to trace a route. He numbered each line as if creating legs of a larger journey, writing his estimate of how many days’ sail it was in fair weather and without complications between each leg. His uneven charting went from Scalvoris to Andaris, from Andaris to Rharne, from Rharne to Etzos, and from Etzos to Ne’Haer. He paused, pen leaving a pool of ink where his home city was poorly marked, black bleeding through to the next page,

"A lot t’ ask? Ze, but—" He sighed, setting the pen down in the crease between pages and the journal on the small table next to Kali’rial’s bed, hands coming to a listless rest on his knees, "—listen, qu’ama, I left home, left Ne’haer for th’ last time jus’ less than an arc ago an’ I didn’t leave on th’ best o’ terms."

The seafaring musician frowned then, memories darkening the lagoon blue of his irises to a more stormy hue, and he sat back in the chair, not away from her so much as away from his own words. There were things he didn’t talk about, things he kept to himself, failures he carried with him that had come to light over the past two seasons in ways he’d never expected. Clearly, saying the words that followed in his hushed baritone hurt to say out loud, so long had they been guarded in his own form of slowly suffering silence,

"Were y’ in Desnind any in 716? Did y’ hear o’ th’ attacks on Ne’haer? Th’ Immortal conflict there? Th’ shadow beasts an’ violence all but leveled th’ city, an’ I lost friends, family. M’ da'at—m’ father—was injured an’ one o’ m’ brothers was killed." He’d never spoken of it before, not even to Kali’rial whose story, whose loss of her parents early in her childhood, he knew. He’d kept this all entirely to himself, not because he had no feelings on the matter, not because he didn’t think she should know, but because of the shame this admission carried with it—and it was hard to otherwise shame the tall Biqaj about anything, anything else but this— because he was here, in Scalvoris, as far away as he could possibly be and not there, in Ne’haer, with his family. He paused as if to make sure that this unspoken realization trickled like water into the cracks of stone between them, his calloused fingers curled into the fabric of his pants and the expression on his tired face hard, guilty,

"I came home somewhere in th’ middle ‘f it all, havin’ heard while sailin’ elsewhere, but I came home too late t’ do anythin’… too late ’n m’ eyes at th’ time. I didn’t feel like I could rebuild m’ family’s business, let alone rebuild m’ family. It was too much an’ I didn’t want th’ responsibility. It was too hard. M’ da’oat—m’ mother—begged me t’ stay because we both knew da’at needed me—me—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I ran. I sailed here—"

Pash paused and looked away, aware that he sat next to her in a small bed a small, hot room provided by the Order. He’d spent a trial and a half mulling over far too many of his choices while the dark-haired huntress he’d professed his very real love for had laid unconscious. He’d admitted to thinking of home, to missing it, to want to go back just a handful of trials before, on the beach, under the rainbow skies. How he managed to smile and enjoy himself at all with the anchor of his choices should have been a mystery, but it wasn’t. It was simply who he was, how he’d learned to deal with things. Walk away. Sail away. Leave it behind. But he knew, he knew one thing:

"—it was wrong. I was wrong. Like leavin' you t’ go in th’ jungle, like so many ‘f th’ trouble I’ve gotten m’self into. Leavin’ was th’ most wrong I’ve done. An’ I don’ know what I’ll go home to, but it’s a’right. I know now that I should, no matter what."

This had been a slow awakening for the tall Biqaj, a wildfire in his heart now that had begun as smoldering warmth. As he’d slowly made choices that weren’t just for his own self-interest, as he’d swam through the darkness of his own hurts and feelings, he’d found himself grasping at something brighter, something else. In that fumbling, in that need to do better, to take action on what mattered, he thought often of his family: how he loved them, how they loved him, and, most of all, how he’d hurt them.

This journey that Kali’rial was called on, this path her familiar was inviting her to sail and follow, was not a short one. It would, as he said, take seasons, perhaps an arc, but perhaps taking the long way home was better, somehow, for the seafaring musician. Maybe he still had some things to do, inside, before he could face his family. He hoped they were still waiting for him, he did, but he would understand if they were not.

He’d told Faith he loved her—out loud to someone else—and he meant it. He did. But he also felt woefully undeserving, especially after her injury. Looking back at his lover, he reached for the book and the pen again, rolling his sea-built shoulders in a dismissive, self-deprecating shrug,

"You’re no’ askin’ too much o’ me. I’ve no’ asked enough o’ m’self over th’ arcs, I know that now. But, chasin’ this familiar o’ yours will be hard an’ dangerous if this b’ th’ route. It’s th’ ‘round way home for me, but if y’ must go that way, I’ll go with you. I’ll take you, though m’haps knowin’ me better makes me less o’ someone y’ should travel with."

Off Topic

Well, I guess I’m making bits and pieces canon. I didn’t mean to hijack your recovery thread with such things, but Pash is telling the rest of his story to surprise even me.

[Kali'rial]

23rd Saun, 717

Watching the sailor as he spoke about timings and the state of affairs in foreign lands, Kali’rial kept her peace, knowing he was talking it through rather than discouraging the journey. As he wrote, the brunette shifted again to sit upright again, watching the paper as Pash left his curious marks. The Sev’ryn had seen trade routes on maps before, but had never seen someone build their own before. It was fascinating, and perhaps a little bit daunting seeing figures written beside the lines.

Eventually however, the inked man was done, placing his handiwork on the bedside table and resting calloused hands on his knees. Aurora eyes stormy, Kali scanned the tanned bard’s face as he spoke, her brow drawing into a frown as his painful words strummed strings that were all to familiar. How had he not told her this before, in the seasons they’d been together the brunette’s understanding of Pash’s family was a slightly strained but pleasant one. Of course now however, the time away from home made more sense. The Biqaj had run, overwhelmed and frightened by the homecoming he had sailed into. The Sev’ryn could understand, in her own way. She had run, not from home but from the truths that Pash had opened her eyes to. From the emotions that had always been there, but were never truly explored.

Reaching out to place a hand over his own, Kali looked at the man who was baring his heartache to someone for perhaps the first time since it happened. She swallowed hard at the mention of the jungle, not allowing those bitter thoughts to add any more blame to the seaworn minstrel.

”No.” The huntress said softly, stroking her thumb across the back of his hand before squeezing it gently.

”Knowing you better makes you exactly who I should travel with.” Moving slowly with a small grimace of pain, the shorter brunette shifted to turn and face the sailor, legs hanging off the bed so they were almost knee to knee. She pulled his other hand closer, book and pen still in his grasp, to hold them both in hers before them as she looked into his dark and stormy gaze.

”Áìdá, this was destined, surely. Our meeting, our relationship. Our love. Perhaps Moseke or U’frek conspired to have our path’s collide so that we could both heal our souls. I, with my Familiar and you, with your family.” Kali chuckled, shaking her head at the absurdity of her own words. Only a few seasons ago she would never have said something so ungrounded and peculiar, but it felt right. It felt more than right.

”I was on my way back to Desnind during 716, with Poppa and Nonna, so didn’t hear of the attacks. I’m so sorry Pash, for your loss and your pain. It will be dangerous, our travels, I know. But I promise, I will be there for you all the way back and beyond.” She smiled, looking at the taller man with open and fierce sincerity.

”We will sail this, storms and all, together.”

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Pash shifted in his seat, not really wanting her to sit up as such movement clearly still caused her discomfort, but she sat up anyway, reaching for his hands. Genuine and bold, her words elicited a sharp inhale, both of surprise and curiosity, for no, those kind of sentiments were something he wouldn’t have expected to hear with such sincere conviction from the dark-haired Sevir who had once been much more serious and dismissive. Just not in his presence, it seemed. The subtle changes they'd made with each other filled the hull of his chest with a swell of warm water, and he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment as he took her in with an almost heated admiration, though his baritone words were quiet,

“I don’ want t’ pretend t’ know what th’ Immortals discuss ‘r if they really consider us much more than playthings despite th’ favors they choose t’ give t’ mortals like us, but if there be a map ‘f our lives drawn by a steadier hand than yours ‘r mine, then qes, it seems as though our paths were inked onto th’ same parchment without either ‘f us knowin’ until here an’ now.” He grinned at Kali with an expression that bordered on the bittersweet, chagrined to share one of the few things that shamed him and yet obviously inspired and encouraged by her words.

“There will be more than storms, I’m sure. As I said, it’s hard t’ sail by yourself, let alone with someone else.” The tall Biqaj leaned closer still, calloused fingers entwined with hers, “Sea beasts, knowin’ our luck, an’ hunger if we don’ plan right ‘r I don’ fish well. An’ th’ regions you’ve marked all come with their own … challenges.”

He smirked, having heard rumor of Rynmere’s stance on magic, having his own memories of Rharne to confront, and aware of the godless atmosphere of Etzos. Whatever he’d left behind in Ne’Haer he’d have to face once he got there, but knowing neither himself nor Kali'rial would have to face any of these things alone was a comfort and a strength,

“There’s n’one I’d rather do all that sailin' with than you—“

Just like herself, a few seasons ago, he would never have said anything so committal and confident, but it felt right. It felt more than right, and his lagoon blue gaze was bright and just as sincere.

“—This journey o’ your familiar won’t be easy, but qes, all ‘f it will be better together. You an’ me.”

He meant it, he did, and while it should have made him uncomfortable, it didn’t. It warmed him instead, filling him with a sense of contentment that was incomparable to anything he could remember feeling before. It was true, whatever this between them was meant to be, and it was a journey in and of itself. He’d make his mistakes right again and she’d find her familiar, but there was more than that to their quiet assurances. This was more than just a promise to be traveling companions, to stick with each other through the storms, but an entangling of their lives that wasn’t in bedsheets so much as in their hearts. And Pash was more than just a little comfortable with the current that drifted, strange though it felt.

The seafaring musician returned her smile, kissing her again with a more needful sort of lingering, grateful that she was more than just awake but alive, more than just talking but planning. He squeezed her hands and pulled away, making to sit up, admiring gaze washing over all of the dark-haired Sev’ryn he loved before returning to her face with a slow exhale,

“But first y’ need t’ keep gettin' some rest an’ I need t’ find someone t’ tell them you’re awake. I’m no’ sure if Faith be here, but someone should check up on you, ot djal?”

If she’d let him, he’d stand, stretching with an obvious weariness and a groan. With another press of his lips to hers, he’d turn and wander to the door, cracking it open to peer into the hallway and see if there was anyone’s attention he could find. When he saw they were alone, he turned back to let Kali’rial know he’d be back with a member of the Order, aware she’d probably have to stay an extra trial or two more just to make sure that she was in the clear from her concussion and that all her wounds were healed.

Off Topic

I figure we don't need to make this longer by dragging Faith in ... I feel like we know Kali's fine in the future and as such we probably don't have to keep going. I think we need to sit down with some real maps in Vhalar and plot our course like properly prepared travelers.