"Well, I speak a lil’ common an’ I’m no’ fluent b’ any means, so we’re even there." Pash laughed. Anything to make a joke if it distracted from his terrible handwriting, though it wasn’t as if that seemed to really even get in the way between the two of them.
He found it interesting to consider that the stories he’d been told all his life about the stars would be different between races and cultures, but it made sense. No one viewed the world quite the same way, and so it could be expected that no one would view the night sky the same, either. Biqaj culture and stories were clearly different from Sev’ryn, as he’d come to understand, so he nodded and made note to ask Kali’rial what kinds of things her people saw in the stars in order to compare.
"Well, I’m sure some o’ that’s explained by th’ Immortals t’ someone. No’ that they’re all honest, either, I’d bet. I’m sure a few tell stories for themselves jus’ like mortals do, eh?" Pash chuckled, only naively aware of the conflict between powers greater than himself, but confident that even they had shortcomings and biases, no matter how perfect they longed to be seen as in the eyes of mortality. It was true that much of storytelling sought to explain the unexplainable or at least make those unexplainable things bearable, interesting, or worth remembering, "I’ve seen plenty that’s unexplainable, y’know, but at th’ same time, I know ‘f magic an’ I’ve met Immortals face t’ face. No’ everyone can say they’ve done that, ourselves an’ exception an’ no’ a rule."
Everyone had to start somewhere, even with a song or an instrument. There had been a time when the tall Biqaj was convinced he’d be nothing more than a shipwright’s son after all, and while he would always be the son of a shipwright by nature of his birth, he wasn’t bound to the shipyard any more.
Pash admitted to not knowing much about Venora or Rynmere at all, having perhaps seen the capital Andaris once or twice in his travels over the arcs, preferring to visit places that were perhaps a bit more, well, free-loving, if that was possible. Scalvoris was perhaps as frontier as one could get, he offered, and when he’d left Ne’Haer for the last time just under an arc ago, he’d simply wanted to sail as far as he could. So he did. And there had, he admitted, been no experiences in his life thus far like the ones he’d had on the island,
“Though I hate t’ say ’t, this be m’ last season here on Scalvoris.” The seafaring musician admitted quietly, setting the pen down once he’d exhausted his knowledge and memory, calloused fingers lingering curiously over the star charts instead, “Travel calls, an’ I feel more than a lil’ compelled t’ answer.”
Tutor? While Padraig appeared maybe a handful of arcs younger than himself, if at all, he was clearly more accomplished in ways that Pash was not. Had the tall Biqaj been a different sort of creature, maybe this would have gotten under his tanned, inked skin if he thought about it, but he was comfortable enough in who he was, even who he had once been, that such things washed past the hull of his thoughts without snagging at the tiller.
He might have chuckled about the view of the stars, "Nah. Th’ Orm’del’s better, but Scalvoris be a close second. Surely you’ve seen th’ view from a boat if you’ve traveled here from Rynmere? If no’, y’ should. There’s nothin’ in th’ way an’ when th’ moons are new instead o’ full, y’ can almost be blinded by th’ stars instead."
He found it interesting to consider that the stories he’d been told all his life about the stars would be different between races and cultures, but it made sense. No one viewed the world quite the same way, and so it could be expected that no one would view the night sky the same, either. Biqaj culture and stories were clearly different from Sev’ryn, as he’d come to understand, so he nodded and made note to ask Kali’rial what kinds of things her people saw in the stars in order to compare.
"Well, I’m sure some o’ that’s explained by th’ Immortals t’ someone. No’ that they’re all honest, either, I’d bet. I’m sure a few tell stories for themselves jus’ like mortals do, eh?" Pash chuckled, only naively aware of the conflict between powers greater than himself, but confident that even they had shortcomings and biases, no matter how perfect they longed to be seen as in the eyes of mortality. It was true that much of storytelling sought to explain the unexplainable or at least make those unexplainable things bearable, interesting, or worth remembering, "I’ve seen plenty that’s unexplainable, y’know, but at th’ same time, I know ‘f magic an’ I’ve met Immortals face t’ face. No’ everyone can say they’ve done that, ourselves an’ exception an’ no’ a rule."
Everyone had to start somewhere, even with a song or an instrument. There had been a time when the tall Biqaj was convinced he’d be nothing more than a shipwright’s son after all, and while he would always be the son of a shipwright by nature of his birth, he wasn’t bound to the shipyard any more.
Pash admitted to not knowing much about Venora or Rynmere at all, having perhaps seen the capital Andaris once or twice in his travels over the arcs, preferring to visit places that were perhaps a bit more, well, free-loving, if that was possible. Scalvoris was perhaps as frontier as one could get, he offered, and when he’d left Ne’Haer for the last time just under an arc ago, he’d simply wanted to sail as far as he could. So he did. And there had, he admitted, been no experiences in his life thus far like the ones he’d had on the island,
“Though I hate t’ say ’t, this be m’ last season here on Scalvoris.” The seafaring musician admitted quietly, setting the pen down once he’d exhausted his knowledge and memory, calloused fingers lingering curiously over the star charts instead, “Travel calls, an’ I feel more than a lil’ compelled t’ answer.”
Tutor? While Padraig appeared maybe a handful of arcs younger than himself, if at all, he was clearly more accomplished in ways that Pash was not. Had the tall Biqaj been a different sort of creature, maybe this would have gotten under his tanned, inked skin if he thought about it, but he was comfortable enough in who he was, even who he had once been, that such things washed past the hull of his thoughts without snagging at the tiller.
He might have chuckled about the view of the stars, "Nah. Th’ Orm’del’s better, but Scalvoris be a close second. Surely you’ve seen th’ view from a boat if you’ve traveled here from Rynmere? If no’, y’ should. There’s nothin’ in th’ way an’ when th’ moons are new instead o’ full, y’ can almost be blinded by th’ stars instead."
