Tangled Threads

Soltaevar Velca seeks the truth. [CLOSED]

Fellsgard is the foundation of Khy'eras' history and through reconstruction, it is now a vibrant and lively city. People reside here due to mild climate, opportunities, and safety and stability. Adventures often start from Fellsgard. Read more...
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar turned up at the O’Dells’ just before sundown. He came to the gate covered in branches and thorns, that in summer would be a mass of blooms. Slowly, he strolled down the path that wove between the rose bushes, ignoring the pavers that would take a more direct route. He raised his hand to knock on the door when it swung open.

“I thought I saw you out there, Soltaevar. Come in!” Diana greeted him, smiling. “You’re lucky Dash thought to send an apprentice with word of your coming to dinner, or else he might have been very hungry tonight,” she said with a wink that completely belied her statement.

“Diana, it’s lovely to see you.” Sol gave her a gentle side hug as Dash appeared from the depths of the cottage. “Dash, a pleasure as always,” Sol said, smiling.

“Of course. I still can’t believe you want regalia for a cat, of all things,” Dash said with a mock pained expression. “I was telling my wife about it when she saw you wandering amongst the roses.”

Sol grinned. “I can’t live up to the rich merchant stereotype if I don’t spend money frivolously at least occasionally.” He followed the couple into their kitchen after hanging up his coat.

“I’m rather glad my dearest invited you to dinner tonight. Truth be told, I was afraid tonight would be dull now that Ksenia’s gone,” Diana commented, as she checked on the dish in the oven.

“Oh, was she staying here? That’s rather unusual for you, isn’t it?” Sol asked Dash, who was fussing with the teapot.

“She herself is rather unusual,” replied Dash, as he tipped another spoonful of leaves into the pot. Sol took a seat at the table, staying out of the way of their orchestrated preparations. “She came to me with experience sewing and embroidering, but little actual formal training. This week was spent to prepare her to take the exam -”

“Which you’ve scarce told me two words about!”Diana scolded her husband, her serving spoon in hand. “All you said was she did well.”

“She passed the West District test and with five apprentice slots,” Dash replied, turning to face Diana. He beamed. “She’s officially Journeyman Ksenia now.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Diana clasped her hands together. “And they didn’t give her any trouble? Did her hair stay put over her ears?”

“Oh, no, no trouble. She had Mayra as her examiner - she sends her love, by the way -”

“Why was she concerned about her ears? Is she part Fae? That would explain those lovely eyes,” Sol asked, playing with a spoon that was on the table.

Diana and Dash exchanged a glance. “No, she’s run into discrimination before, as a half elf,” Diana explained. The spoon clattered to the ground.

“Half - elf?” Sol choked out. To the best of his knowledge, the Velca line was the only elven family that had violet eyes as a common trait. He did, his mother had said his father did… “Who are her parents?”

Dash sat at the table, facing Sol. “Ksenia’s never said directly. I’m fairly sure I know who her mother -” Dash grimaced - “is, or was. She knows nothing about a father, except obviously, they’d have to be an elf.”

Sol’s mind whirled furiously. Had Inessa actually been telling him the truth before? Twenty years ago, in Ajteire, that winter they’d spent in each other’s arms - was it possible that Inessa hadn’t been lying to keep a paramour around? He put his face in his hands.

“How - how old is Ksenia?” he forced out. Dash sighed heavily.

“Twenty, or thereabouts. She has an embroidered pocket that she showed Mayra at the exam, said she got it when she was seven and that it had thirteen years worth of stitches on it,” Dash replied grimly. He put his hand on Sol’s shoulder. “Sol?”

The ringing in his ears was blocking out every other sound in the room where Sol was. Had he accused an innocent woman of lying? Abandoned her and their unborn child? He took rapid, shallow breaths as the walls began to shift.

Diana came over and pulled his hands away from his face. “Sol. Listen to me. Look.” Her voice was firm but kind. Sol slowly pulled his eyes to meet Diana’s. “Deep breaths, okay? In-two-three-four...hold...Out-two-three-four. Another. In-two-three-four...hold...Out-two-three-four. One more.” Diana guided him through the breaths.

“I - I -What have I done?” Sol whispered. Dash held him upright by his shoulder while Diana held his hands. “Dash - twenty years ago - I thought she was lying,” Sol stuttered out, looking at his friend.

“I know, Sol. You did what you thought was best at the time.” Dash said, moving his hands to Sol’s upper arms as Diana got up to retrieve dinner from the oven. “I’m not so sure I would have thought differently, had I been in the same situation.”

“I thought - she was spoiled - the inn in Ajteire where her family stayed, it wasn’t cheap - we were still building contacts in Ninraih then,” Sol rambled. He chuckled mirthlessly. “I thought she just had a thing for ‘the wrong side of the city’ type. Didn’t want to lose her companion while she was over-wintering.”

Sol dropped his forehead into his hand and leaned on the table. “Oh idols, what do I do now?” Sol asked.

Dash sighed heavily. “Well, you could try to track down your old lady-love.” Under his breath he added, “though I wouldn’t recommend it.” Speaking normally, Dash said, “I can ask my colleagues if they’ve seen her about lately. Last I heard, a month ago, she was traveling.”

“Who are we talking about, dearest?” Diana asked, her tone soft and worried.

“Miss Inessa Marcant,” Sol said heavily. “I had a - a dalliance with her in Ajteire. Twenty years ago.” Diana’s eyes widened and she slapped the serving spoon on the counter with a clank.

“You mean - that Inessa Marcant? The one you’ve talked about that never pays her bills, asks the impossible, and as I believe you once put it ‘runs through men like cheap beer’?” Diana asked, rushing through her words. Both men winced.

Sol closed his eyes. “I took her more recent behavior as proof to myself that she was just - well, using me, wanting to keep me around to wine and dine her around Ajteire and keep her entertained.” He leaned back in his chair, slumping against its support.

Sitting up suddenly, Sol blurted out, “House Marcant! They should know where their daughter is, right? I can go talk to her and find out the truth!” He put his palms on the table as Diana carried over the casserole she’d cooked.

Diana and Dash slid sideways glances to each other. “I wouldn’t. It’s common knowledge among my colleagues that Inessa was disinherited many years ago and her bills, when they actually are paid, are always paid by other men.”

Sol sank back. “How do I find her then?” He had a desperate look in his eyes.

“Ask around in the social circles?” Diana suggested. She lifted a forkful of the casserole to her mouth.

“I haven’t been around in those circles since before my mother died,” Sol said glumly. “I don’t even know if anyone even remembers my name.”

“Sol, you ninny. Do you think the ladies of Fellsgard - or their mothers - have forgotten there’s an unmarried, very rich, spice merchant in town?” Dash said with a wry twist to his mouth. “I’m pretty sure your reputation is simply that you’re elusive, which makes you all the more interesting to them.”

“I don’t give a fig about any of that, Dash. You know that. Before my mother died, I was tired of all the false flattery - and after, too busy and heartbroken,” Sol said, his features suddenly more weary than Dash had ever seen him.

“Soltaevar, at least eat your dinner. It’s getting cold, and if you’re going on a woman-hunt, you’ll need the nutrition,” Diana said, with a gentle humor. Mechanically, Sol picked up his fork and began eating.

“I’ll put out an ear for the local gossip,” sighed Dash. He held his teacup in his hands, letting the warmth seep between his fingers. “The next change in fashion should hit soon, and the furs will be coming out as well,” he said, thinking. “I can whip something up for you, assuming your measurements are still up to date-”

“I’ll just pull something out of that cavern my housekeeper calls a closet,” Sol mumbled.

“By Nilbein’s shade, no, you will not,” Dash said stiffly. “People know you’ve come to me for custom orders, and I won’t have them seeing you in last decade’s clothing.” He harrumphed and hunched his shoulders slightly. “At the very least, you need new doublets and jackets and things like that.”

“So, you’ll help me?” Sol asked, seeing a glimmer of hope.

“If that’s what you want. If you’d rather talk to Ksenia and see if you can untangle the thread at that end, I’ll give you the name of someone you should talk to first.” Dash shifted in his chair. “You’ll need to see Artemis Black. I owe him - well, rather a lot, and he’s the majority owner of the freeman’s hall that Ksenia mentioned at lunch.”

“I don’t want to turn up and flip her life upside down like that - not without being sure, Dash.” Sol shook his head slowly. “Besides, how utterly bizarre would it be to pop up after I’ve only met her once and say, ‘hello, I think I’m the father who abandoned you your entire life’?” Sol propped his head on his hand and let his fork dangle. One of the reasons he enjoyed coming to Dash’s house was that Dash wasn’t concerned about formalities behind closed doors and Sol didn’t have to worry about the straight-jacket of excruciatingly proper manners.

“Soltaevar, dear, stop playing with your food,” Diana said in mock-admonishment. She took a sip of her tea, her eyes twinkling above the rim of the cup.

Sol gave a small chuckle. “Yes ma’am,” he replied and ate the last few bites on his plate.

Dash leaned back in his chair. “You do realize how completely preposterous all this sounds, you know. The protégée that was brought to me from Artemis, of all people, might be the child you thought was imaginary for twenty years.”

Remnants came in from his nightly patrol of the garden, and collected pets from Dash and Diana before jumping in Sol’s lap and butting his head against Sol’s chin. “Hello, Remmy. It’s good to see you looking so shiny and happy,” Sol said, scratching Remmy under the chin. Remmy purred deeply and began kneading Sol’s trousers. “I know, it’s been a while. Have you been a good boy? Are you being sweet to your people?” he spoke to the cat in a gentle sing-song as he gave Remmy pets and scratches.

“He must be picking up on you being out of sorts,” Diana commented. “He’s usually only a lap cat in front of the fire, otherwise.” Remmy curled up in Sol’s lap, but kept nudging Sol’s hand every time the scratches stopped.

“I - maybe,” Sol conceded. “Well, I guess there’s nothing else for it. Dash, when do you want me to come by for measurements? I’ll pay extra, since it’s a rush job.” He stroked the top of Remmy’s head.

“After the weekend, perhaps. We’d planned to go visit Rosalinda tomorrow as it’s the first time that her and my days off have coincided in a while,” Dash replied.

“I see. Do tell her I said hello,” Sol said, looking down at the drowsy feline in his lap. “I should probably head home to my own furry darlings soon.” He looked up at Dash and Diana, a mixture of gratitude and apology on his face. “I’m sorry I’ve made a hash of dinner tonight; it certainly wasn’t my intent, and I do apologize.”

He lifted Remmy from his lap and settled him gently on his empty chair. “Thank you Diana, delicious as usual,” he said patting her shoulder as he moved by her. “Dash, thank you,” Sol said and reached out to clasp Dash’s forearm. He turned and let himself out of the house, wandering down the street. Sol hoped he could find a carriage for hire; he doubted he’d get home safe otherwise.
Last edited by Soltaevar Velca on February 11th, 2020, 4:24 am, edited 2 times in total.
Word count: 2172
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar wandered aimlessly around his house, his footsteps echoing on the stone floors. This - situation regarding something that happened twenty years ago wasn’t likely to be resolved any time soon. Though he strove to be a reasonable person, Soltaevar was not patient.

A thought struck him. Traveling, Dash had said. He remembered how Inessa had complained about the cold winters in Fellsgard; she wouldn’t head to the Irtuen Reaches. That left Verdant Row and Ajteire. Airships were fast. He could get to Verdant Row today and look for Inessa, ask her the truth, if she’d had a child by him.

Invigorated, he found his boots, sliding his feet in and tapping the heels down. He pulled the bell and dashed out into the hall, nearly colliding with his butler. “Dominic, I’m going to be traveling for a bit. Personal concerns, so please redirect any business concerns to the office,” Sol said quickly. “Oh, and Claira’s likely having kittens, so be sure to give her more meat.”

“Of course, sir. Am I to assume that this personal business will incur unwarranted expenses?” Dominic responded, his face a polite mask as always.

“I wouldn’t mark it out as an impossibility,” Sol hedged, his face turning a bit red. “Have my lightest traveling case prepared. I’ll be heading to Ninraih.”

“Of course, sir. Very good. Anything else?” Dominic inquired. He folded his hands in front of his waist.

“That’s all, thank you.” Sol sighed. He trudged over to his study, where he knew some of the cats would be dozing on the window seat, indulging in sunbeams. He dropped onto the cushion there, earning a reprimanding look from Armus. Myahel, his cautious grey, was stretched out against the glass, her fluffy stomach warmed by the sun. She’d positioned Armus between herself and the rest of the room, so that her usual nemesis Mairyl would be much more unwilling to start a spat.

Sol reached over, calling Myahel’s name softly as he stretched his hand out to her. She sniffed at him and lowered her head to be petted; Sol obliged. Slowly, he let his fingers trail from the top of her head, around her ears, down her side, and finally to her belly. She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled more onto her back to give Sol room. He let his fingers sink into the thick fur, curling and stroking firmly as she purred in a loud rumble. Armus butted his arm, displeased that he was not also receiving pets.

"Your things are ready, sir," Dominic announced from the doorway. Sol heaved a breath, gave his two cats a final scratch behind the ears, and walked to the front door. "Shall I call you a carriage, sir?"

"I fancied myself more of a wagon, really," Sol mumbled. "Yes, please, Dominic."

"Very good, sir." A carriage rolled up as if summoned by magic. Sol nodded to Dominic and mounted the carriage, slinging his case in with him.

The airship landing bustled with people. 'Like standing in an anthill', Sol thought. He'd have to buy a ticket; usually his clerks or Dominic handled this for him. Finding a board with arrivals and departures, he stared at it, trying to figure out what flight he needed.

"Mister Velca! A pleasure to see you," a short chubby man said, coming up to Sol. The second in command of the airship company, his memory offered, but a name eluded him.

Sol proffered a smile and an outstretched hand. "Indeed, I've a need to travel and everyone knows your airships are the fastest travel in Khy'eras," he said, using flattery to dodge the rudeness of forgetting the man's name.

"Oh, you are too kind! Will we have the honor of your presence aboard one of our ships today?" The man clasped his hands together, rubbing them gleefully.

"Ah, yes. I'm looking to go to Verdant Row -" Sol began to explain, but the man cut him off.

"Certainly, certainly! I must make sure such a valued customer has an opportunity to secure the best seat!" The man took the handle of Sol's case and began to toddle down the path. Bemusedly, Sol followed; if nothing else, he'd need to get his case back. If he happened to get a free ride on an airship, he'd just consider it a perk for all the many flights and countless coin spent before.

"Here we are! Next flight to Verdant Row - make way! - we'll get you a comfortable seat there - Stewardess! A wine for Mister Velca! - there, a seat in the bow by the windows. Your drink, sir - and let me know if there's anything else you need," beamed the tubby man.

"Of course, and thank you for going out of your way," Sol said with a practiced smile. So far, he hadn't been asked to pay. Did they even realize he didn't have a ticket?

He'd just taken a sip from the wine as a crew member announced the doors were closing. With the usual gentle bumps the airship glided away from its moorings and into the sky. Sol chuckled to himself and enjoyed his free wine.
Last edited by Soltaevar Velca on November 29th, 2019, 4:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 872
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

"Welcome to Verdant Row!" called the crew member. Soltaevar shook himself into alertness. The wine hadn’t been half bad, especially considering its price. Chuckling to himself, Sol collected his case and prepared to disembark. He’d check the inns and listen to the local gossip. If Inessa was here, with her love of society, someone would be talking about her.

Heartbroken Socks Inn had no record of an Inessa Marcant, or an Inessa anything. They did, however, have a desk clerk willing to make a quarter-silver by watching Sol’s case for a few hours. Handing the case over, Sol wandered over to the bookshelf nearest a group of ladies talking.

He scanned the titles absently as he tuned his ear to the women’s chatter. Travel guides, a few children’s books, travelogues that look like they’d been written before Bhelest - ah, folktales of Esyrax. Finally something interesting. He tugged the spine out just slightly to keep up the ruse of perusing the books.

“Josselyn, where have you been lately?”

“I was in Ajteire, Miss Carolyn, until a few days ago. A charming town, once you get past the dreadful climate.”

Sol picked up the book and strolled to a bench a bit closer. It wouldn’t do to look interested, but hopefully he’d glean some information. He sat down, stretching his legs out a bit, and opened the book.

“Is it true that everyone is expected to work there?”

“Goodness, yes, Miss Katrina. Fortunately, they accept coin in addition to their quaint customs, so Papa paid for us all. Did you know they live in trees?”

“Like boys’ treehouses? I scarce believe it! In this day and age, where one could have a nice comfortable home with conveniences -”

“It’s really quite picturesque, Miss Carolyn. Once you get used to the oddity of it, it’s rather beautiful.”

“Surely you must have been afraid of falling!”

“Not terribly; one of the work assignments is often to inspect the bridges and platforms for wear. I saw numerous fae flitting around, doing just that I imagine.”

“Fae? Oh dear Josselyn, were you frightened? They’re supposed to look absolutely dreadful!”

Sol suppressed a yawn. These women talked a lot for people with so little to say. It was the same sort of indulgent twaddle that passed for conversation amongst so many of the rich in society.

“They really look like children with wings, not monsters.” The voice dropped. “Speaking of monsters, there was a woman there who kept flirting with all the men - even the married ones! A man had brought her to the inn where we stayed, and she left with a completely different one!” Whoever was speaking sounded terribly indignant.

“Was that - you know, the infamous Nessa?”

“Who else would it have been, unless there are two such women in society?” the voice said distastefully.

“You said she left Ajteire with another man?”

“Well - when I left, she was certainly being squired around by a different one who had told other people he was intending to leave soon.”

“Oh Josselyn, was it - did Josef leave you for that woman?” A soft sob answered her and the other two women rushed their companion with gentle pats and coos of comfort.

‘Well, that was interesting,’ Sol thought. Problem was, he still didn’t know if Inessa was in Ajteire or somewhere else. Most travelers came through Verdant Row, particularly if they were on a leisurely vacation or traveling with mounts that needed to be fed and rested.

He put the book back; he’d only gotten through one story and he wasn’t quite sure he’d actually retained anything. He slipped out the door. There were more inns in Verdant Row, and he wanted to see if there was any more sign of Inessa Marcant.

The next inn had no record of her, not in the past month and a half; the third had squinted, remembered, and tried to kick him out immediately before he’d lied and said he was a creditor tracking down a debt. She had stayed there five weeks ago, but that was the best information they could give him.

The fourth and fifth inns didn’t have any useful information, beyond one innkeeper’s grudge from ten or more years ago. Hardly useful for tracking Inessa now, but the innkeeper seemed to remember there was a child who had looked like her ‘skulking around’ as she put it. “Miss Martha would remember, but she’s on leave.”

Sol thanked her anyway and started to wander around the town. He’d asked the five inns he knew existed, but he wasn’t sure if Verdant Row had more. He’d frequented the same one so often that he hadn’t looked for any others. Sighing, he trudged back to Heartbroken Socks. Mayhap the helpful desk clerk would be able to provide information as well as safekeeping.

-

“Only five? You’re sure?” Sol asked.

“Yeah, us and four others,” the clerk answered, looking a bit puzzled. “The one on the south end of town - Miss Martha cooks there and the food is good, but she’s off right now. Shame.”

Sol nodded agreeably. He didn’t give a damn one way or the other if Miss Martha cooked well, but being rude wasn’t necessary. He’d only spent two hours asking questions and searching. “Do you know when the next train to Ajteire leaves?”

The clerk dug around in the desk for a minute, pulling out a timetable. “Looks like next one is in an hour and a quarter.”

“Time for a drink then,” Sol said, mostly to himself. “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.” The clerk beamed. “I’m going to have a drink and then I’ll collect my case. Shouldn’t be too long.” He gave the clerk a smile and a wink before heading over to the bar.
Last edited by Soltaevar Velca on November 29th, 2019, 4:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 999
User avatar
NPC
Character
I could be anybody!
Level
01
24 / 24 HP
19 / 19 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Shapeshifter
Class: Bard
Posts: 26
Joined: June 1st, 2019, 3:02 am
Been thanked: 8 times

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by NPC »

As with nearly all evenings, the Heartbroken Socks Inn, despite being mostly managed by spirits, was a lively hum with as many people that it could fit. Numerous tables were occupied with card games and spirits drifted lazily back and forth to deliver beverages to the patrons. These ethereal waiters were oblivious to their surroundings in that occasionally, they would just drift right through the living who were in the middle of drinking or dealing out a hand of cards. The sensation of cold could be alarming to newcomers, but those who frequented Verdant Row got used to it quickly.

After Soltaevar would take a seat at a table, a spirit floated past him and murmured, "Driiiiiiink..." and then, "Caaaaaaat..." The apparition made a quick turn behind the bar and started tending to a mystery drink. Soltaevar had ordered a drink without actually saying anything at all and somehow this spirit knew Soltaevar had cats.

When the sprit came back, it dropped a drink at the table which that was distributed in a bottle that had a very round bottom and slim neck. The drink was corked at the top and the spirit slowly bobbed up and down until Soltaevar would open the bottle. To prod the elf, the spirit reached forward and placed a ghostly hand on Soltaevar's auburn hair, giving him a few soft pets.

"Gooood... kit-ty..."

Upon opening the bottle, a puff of smoke came out immediately and curled into the cloudy shape of a bird. The liquid inside hissed briefly as if the bird gave off a sort of call. The cloud dissipated and if Soltaevar leaned forward to sniff the bottle, he would find the alcohol had a rich, aged, and spicy smell to it.

"Phoenix... Fire..." the spirit said pointing to the bottle. It then ambled off to serve customers, leaving Soltaevar to his own devices.
Word count: 312
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar picked up the rounded bottle in his hand. It wasn’t terribly large, but opening the bottle had given off a smell that promised a kick. He wafted a bit of the aroma to himself - spiced, a bit sweet, and the faintest hint of alcoholic tang.

Recalling the waiter’s ghostly hand petting his head and deciding to take it as a sign of approval, Soltaevar eyed the bottle one last time. “I may as well,” he decided, and put the bottle to his lips, tipping it to send the liquid into his mouth.

The aptly named phoenix fire slid down his throat with what felt like an audible sizzle. The spices - cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and something else warmed his tongue while the high proof alcohol gave the heat of the fire. He swallowed the drink, exhaling and feeling the heat rise from his chest as the spiciness was rejuvenated.

Oh, this was a drink to sip slowly and enjoy! He leaned back slightly in his seat with a small smile tugging at his mouth. He’d have to see about getting some of this - he’d see if he could trick Dash into trying it, and maybe a bottle or two for that friend of his that Dash said could drink burly sailors under the table. What was his name again?

Sol took a slightly smaller sip, having learned his lesson with the first. He let the drink sit, feeling the spice hit and linger on the edges of his tongue, the alcohol giving the flavors more bite as the drink opened up a bit. He wondered how it would taste if poured into a glass for cognac. An experiment worth trying, certainly.

He continued on, taking a sip and letting the flavors develop before allowing it to blaze down to his stomach. He was almost through the bottle - and regretting it - before he looked down at his watch. He had five minutes before the train to Ninraih was supposed to leave. Slapping down fifteen copper - he couldn’t remember what it cost - he bolted from the table, stumbling slightly as the drink hit him. Fortunately, he’d had a number of years to accustom himself to the vertigo strong drink could have, but it still hit like a loaded wagon.

He handed to the desk clerk a half silver, and asked, “train station?” Mouth agape, the desk clerk pointed to the brick building at the end of the street. “Thank you,” Sol said over his shoulder as he bolted out the door.

Running. Running was bad. He forced himself to a fast walk, but pushed himself as much as he could. As he approached, he called, “Next to Ninraih?”

“About to leave,” the stationmaster said. He nodded his grizzled head, his bushy eyebrows over hanging his eyes like a sheepdog.

“I’ll give you double if you stop it long enough for me to get on,” pleaded Sol. The older man thought for a moment, then nodded before dashing out to wave his hands at the engineers preparing to let the train continue on its course. Sol clapped the man on the back, handed him three silver - more than he’d originally said - and hopped on the car the man indicated. He waved as the door shut and the train began to pick up speed.

The train swayed slightly as it accelerated and Sol put a hand to his head. Here he was, drunk, and on his way to a city he’d never wanted to return to. He could only hope that his trip proved fruitful.
Word count: 609
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

As the train swayed and lurched, Soltaevar felt his stomach do the same. Thought part of him felt like food was a horrible idea, logically he knew eating would probably help the alcohol absorb slower. This car clearly wouldn’t have anything; people sat in rows, parked in upholstered seats. Most were sleeping or reading quietly. He grabbed his case and headed to the next car back, apologizing as he hit elbows and knees on his way back.

The next car wasn’t any better; a number of booths lined the walls with people playing cards and games, reading, or just talking with other. No food. He saw a placard on the wall that indicated that no food was allowed in this car, and another sign that pointed to the dining car being further on. He lifted his case, only staggering a little as he trudged down the aisle, trying to avoid bumping people - and mostly succeeding, although he did hit someone’s outstretched hand.

Stepping into the next car, he saw it held compartments. Sol groaned; although these were exactly where he would have chosen to ride, right now he was focused on food, and there was none here. At least he shouldn’t whack any body parts in here was he made his way through. There was one empty compartment that Sol was sorely tempted to claim, but decided he’d just relax in whatever seat he took while eating. It wasn’t a long ride, if he remembered right. The signs promised a dining car if he kept heading through cars.

He opened the next door. Comfortable bench seating facing the large glass windows lined the car. As before, not a crumb of food to be seen. “Oh, come on, Sol grumbled under his breath. He was almost glad for the aisle created by the backs of the benches; it kept his weaving to a minimum. He half-carried, half-dragged his case through the car.

Doubting there even was a dining car on this damn train, Sol decided he was going to sit down in the next available seat and curse his life until they stopped if there was no food being offered. The door opened to the next car and Sol was assaulted by the smells of cooked meat, bread, and vegetables. He could have cried in relief. He went up to the thankfully empty counter and asked for their best, greasiest sandwich they could prepare.

After a short while, the cook handed him a sandwich with cooked meat, cheese, and an assortment of vegetables on the side. They’d also fixed him some fried wedges of potato and a vegetable puree sauce for dipping. “Ten copper,” the cook said, and pointed to the end of the counter where a Fae sat with a cash box. Sol handed them an extra five as a tip and carried his plate to the nearest seat. The first bite was juicy and delicious; the meat hadn’t been overcooked and the cook had been generous with condiments. Honestly, none of the subsequent bites proved his initial opinion false, and in far less time than he would have thought, Sol devoured the entire sandwich and the potato wedges.

Handing the plate back across the counter, Sol said, “My compliments to the chef - that was delicious.” The cook nodded and dumped the plate into a basin of wash water. “Do you have some tea - or something non-alcoholic - to drink?” Sol asked hopefully. The cook nodded and reached under the counter. Reappearing with a jug and a tumbler, the cook poured Sol a full cup of chilled tea and passed it to him. “On the house,” the cook said. Sol raised the tumbler in a salute and sat back down.

The tea was lightly fruity and a little floral, but terribly refreshing. Sol closed his eyes for a moment as he sipped the drink. He felt his head getting clearer by the minute. That Phoenix Fire had been amazing, but the timing had left much to be desired. He’d still get some for home, of course, but imbibing at home would be much calmer than a quick drink before going to that city.

He paused. Perhaps he should look up some of the trading company’s contacts out here. No sense in wasting a trip, even unplanned - and it would possibly save him time later, as well as fostering good relations with their partners. Sol searched in his pockets for a small notebook to write down those he’d need to contact.

Mistfire Trading Company had grown from a handful of trading routes his mother had originally invested in to a decently large company focused on herbs, spices, and other foodstuffs, but none of that had happened without making contacts. Contacts didn’t stay if you didn’t maintain the relationship, and though he’d sent other people from his company over to talk to their Ninraih contacts, it had been - well, a while, since he had visited himself.

Contacts for cinnamon and vanilla, anise and nutmeg. He should check on the suppliers for the citrus fruit and ginger too. Sol sighed and tipped his head back, rolling it to stretch out his neck. He’d have to find a way to balance his business responsibilities with his own personal investigation. He started jotting down who and where and when he could meet; business on one page, possible informants on Inessa on another.
Word count: 917
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

The train lurched to a stop, causing Soltaevar’s writing to skip wildly over the page. He scowled at the paper. The cook was talking to the Fae, who nodded and flew out of a window toward the front of the train. Sol scribbled down a few more names and ideas before closing the little notebook and tucking it away.

“Do we know what’s made the train stop?” Sol asked the cook.

“No. Probably wild animals, wild plants, or wild people,” the cook responded. The Fae flew back in the window and came to a stop in the seat behind the counter.

“Overgrown vines. Again,” the fae sighed.

“That’s the fifth time this month,” grunted the cook. “I’d think those damned vines would slow down with the weather getting cooler.”

“Afraid not. Well -” the Fae paused, looking at Sol. “They’re looking for volunteers to help clear the tracks.”

Sol shrugged. Better than brooding, at any rate. “Who should I talk to?”

The Fae pointed toward the front of the train. “Talk to the engineer’s assistant. Blue coat, billed cap with a silver badge.” Sol nodded.

“Watch my case for me?” Sol asked, getting up from the table. The cook nodded and Sol took off.

He’d finally made his way to the front and spotted the assistant. The blue coat did little to hide a very busty figure and the cap did absolutely nothing in restraining her whiskey-colored curls. “Engineer’s assistant?” he asked, checking with her.

“That’s me,” she said, eyeing him warily.

“Heard you needed volunteers to clear the track?” Sol held out his hands.

The assistant narrowed her eyes. “You’re dressed awful nice for that,” she pointed out.

“It makes no difference to me,” he said, sighing softly. “I’m just as happy to swing a machete in these as I would be fisherman’s gear.”

“Well, that’s your choice, then,” the woman replied and handed him a well-used machete. “Clear the track, throw whatever you chop well clear of the track. Try not to chop into the track itself.” Sol nodded and headed off in the direction she pointed.

Not far in front of the train, a massive tangle of vines completely blocked the track, tall enough that it came up to Sol’s chest. He studied it for a moment as others sawed and hacked away at the vegetation. Someone shouted at him to move on, and he moved to the left side of the tangle and began to chop at the vines there.

The vines had little suckers attached to them which gave them more purchase on the ground and tracks. Sol learned to cut those first or else he’d never move the main vine. Chopping his first piece off - a good foot-length piece - he slung it away from the tracks and into the brush beyond.

Even though the sun was going down, it was still sweaty work in the humid land. Sol felt the sweat roll down his forehead as he chopped yet another vine - how many had he cut now? He wiped his arm roughly over his face and brought the machete down on another vine. The vines had fibrous insides and Sol had begun to hate them. He had to cut and saw and hack to make any headway at all. Every vine was an exercise in perseverance and he wanted to sling some alcohol over all of them and light a match. He grumbled to himself that the resultant fire would probably catch other vegetation on fire and not actually help them get to Ninraih any faster.

With a shout, the last large knot of vines fell apart and the tracks stood clear again. Relieved, Soltaevar made his way back to the engineer’s assistant, who collected all the machetes and handed out tokens for a free ticket. Sol tucked it in his pocket and made his way back to the dining car.

Seeing him, the cook refilled his tumbler of tea. Sol raised the cup to his lips just as the train shuddered forward and the tea spilled on him. He yelped as the cold liquid hit his chest and the Fae chuckled behind a hand. Sighing, Sol held the cup out. “Can I get a refill?”
Word count: 721
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

“We’re at Ninraih station,” the Fae cashier announced as the train slowed to a growling stop. Soltaevar nodded and handed his tumbler over the counter. The tea had been rather good and he’d been grateful for it, especially after having to swing a machete.

Disembarking the train, Sol found it was growing dark. He frowned. Of the things he did remember about Ninraih, the undead was one of them. There would be no continuing further tonight. He asked one of the railroad workers if there was a decent inn about and was pointed to the one large building next to the station. Apparently, it was run by family of the station owner - nice little side business there, he thought. Approaching the counter, he noted the dining area full of a mix of people, though Fae and dark-skinned Kerasoka had become more common than humans.

“Hello, I’d like a room for the night,” he said as he reached the counter.

“Alright. I got one private room left, but it’s on the small side,” said the clerk.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Sol replied, a touch impatiently. “Do you offer baths?”

“Yep. Eight copper. Fifteen for the room.” The clerk passed Sol a small key across the counter. Sol pursed his lips as he picked up the key.

“Where’s my room, and where’s the baths?” he asked flatly.

“Third floor for your room. Three forty-eight. Baths are on the second floor. They’re marked. Towels and soap included,” the clerk said, clearly reciting a rote speech.

“Thanks,” Sol said brusquely and dropped the coin on the counter. He tried, and failed, not to stomp up to his room. Opening the door, he saw the clerk wasn’t kidding about the size; there was enough room for him to shove his case under the bed and lay his key down next to his head on a tiny shelf next to the bed, but that was it. He’d have to crawl on the bed from the foot, most likely.

Grumbling, Sol opened the case and took out the smallclothes and the lightweight robe that Dominic had packed. He’d sleep in his smallclothes so he could get dressed quickly in the morning and get on the road. Rolling his clothes into a loose cylinder, he tromped down to the second floor and found an unoccupied bath.

Helping himself to the scented soap, Sol ran hot water while he undressed. He sank into the water, letting it wash away the aches and stress of the day. Rubbing the jasmine soap over his hair, he scrubbed his scalp roughly, working out the dirt and sweat. In a workmanlike fashion, he washed thoroughly. With a side glance, as though someone was watching, he let out some of the water and refilled it with more hot water to soak for a little longer.

Once he pulled himself out of the bath - flushed with the heat and starting to doze - he dried off quickly and let the water drain. His hair still dripped and he wrapped his head with the towel as he put on his robe and smallclothes. Tossing the towel into a barrel in the corner, Sol knotted his robe closed and made his way back to his minuscule room. He crawled onto the bed, tossed the key on the shelf, and fell fast asleep.

---

Once the sun rose, Soltaevar cracked open one eyelid. Morning felt far too early. However, time waited for no man, so he maneuvered his case up onto the bed and found clothes, pulling on his shirt and leaving his pants until last. Yesterday’s clothes were folded inside-out and crammed into the case. His clothes today were much less ornate; fine but plain linen would be sturdier and less oppressively hot.

The inn proved to have only cold breakfast breads, meats, and cheeses. Sol, never at his best in the morning, grunted and took double portions, wrapping an impromptu sandwich in his handkerchief for later. He dragged himself and his case out the door to look for a guide.

There was a youngish elf with a sign: “Guide to Lament of the Willow and Ajteire”. Sol made his way over.

“How much for the full journey to Ajteire?” Sol asked, his stance relaxed.

“Two silver,” the elf replied. As they turned to face Sol, he realized that the young elf was female. “Were you wanting to go straight there, or stop at the Lament on the way?”

“I don’t think I’ve been to the Lament before,” he said, half to himself. “What’s the difference?”

The young woman shrugged. “About half a day, plus whatever time you want to spend at the Lament before going on. As far as coin, I ask for a quarter silver more for the time.”

“That’s a fair deal. I agree,” Sol said. “I’m guessing you usually escort groups?”

“No, usually just one person or a small group all traveling together, like a family,” she replied. “Call me Verlas.”

“Soltaevar,” he said, extending his hand to shake. Verlas grabbed his hand firmly and shook it twice, gravely, as if repeating a ritual she wasn’t confident performing. Sol cracked a smile. “What do we need to get before leaving?”

“A horse and provisions.” Verlas folded her sign and shoved it into a pack on her back. She sized up Sol. “Need a big one for you.” She strode over to the rental stables and began speaking to the stablemaster without pausing for Sol.

He turned up as she laid out terms. “Nine days. Big man. Carry packs too.”

The stable master thought and frowned. “Ninety copper.”

Verlas frowned but nodded. The man went back into the darkness of the stables. Sol slipped her a silver once the man was out of sight. “For the horse. I’ll cover it, but you’d likely get a better deal than me,” he said. She nodded and handed over the coin when the stablemaster came out with a tall horse strapped with muscle. His back was wide, and Sol began wondering if he’d actually be able to straddle the animal.

Verlas took the reins and led the horse over to another tied to a hitching post. “Ketham will keep your horse company. Now food.” She pulled a second set of saddlebags from Ketham’s rump and unbuckled the set on his saddle. Slinging the set over her shoulder, she waved off Sol’s gesture to take some of the load.

In the store attached to the station, Verlas stocked up on trail food and supplies they would need. Sol let her do the talking; as a local, she’d likely get a better price. A market trick he’d learned years ago - 'let your local guide haggle and they get better prices than anything you would.' After a somewhat terse discussion with the storekeeper, Sol slipped Verlas two silver. Maintaining an expression of bored indifference, she slapped the coins down and shoved them over. The storekeeper took the coins with a sigh and handed her back a half silver. She nodded once and strode out of the store with their purchases.

Verlas divided the food between the bags equally and handed the things she’d bought for Sol to him to stuff in his bags. “Here. These are yours,” she said. He took the packages and began to arrange them in the packs so they’d ride fairly evenly. “Good. Let’s get going.”

Sol hauled his packs over to the tall brown horse and buckled them onto the rings at the back of the saddle. He checked the girth and stirrups, the straps and keepers of the bridles, and that he had a halter for the night. Verlas nodded approvingly. “You know horses. That’s good. Makes things easier.”

Sol’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “I ride a bit,” he explained.

“But you have money, could pay to have it done. You do it yourself. It’s good,” she said with a small smile. She swung herself into the saddle with an easy grace that spoke of a lot of practice. Sol followed, with a practiced although less smooth motion. Verlas pointed her horse’s nose to the east and Sol nudged his mount behind hers.
Word count: 1399
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar had forgotten how much long hours in the saddle were a pain in the arse, literally. His legs weren’t that sore, thankfully, but there was clearly something about the saddle that had rubbed him the wrong way. Grumbling, he let out a sigh of relief as they came close to Lament of the Willow. The sun had almost set, but Verlas had promised that setting up camp would be easy and quick if they could make it to Lament.

Verlas led them to a campsite on the fringes of the area. There was a small pen for the horses already constructed and a flat area to pitch a tent. Swinging off her horse, Verlas pulled the tent pieces from her saddlebag. Sol scrambled down, ready to take the pieces. Last night it was obvious that his height made assembling the tent far easier for him, so Verlas took the horses while he wrestled with canvas, rope, and recalcitrant poles. She came back with the saddlebags as he fixed the last ropes into place.

“You’re lucky. Most don’t get to stay overnight at Lament,” she commented. Sol dragged the bags into the tent and fished out some jerky. He handed Verlas some and stuck his in a pocket. Flopping out his bedroll, he crawled forward on his hands and lay on his stomach.

“I don’t suppose the ghosts around here have solutions for saddle sores,” he mumbled into the fabric. Verlas laughed at him, the giggle bubbling up like a stream.

“Doubt it. I do, though. Where’s worst?” she said, stretching out next to him. Sol flushed slightly.

“Just, um. Do you have something I can put on them?” Sol said, not really feeling comfortable stripping in front of the young woman. She blinked and sat up.

“Well, yes. I’ve got a cream my mother makes. Works like a charm. Sure you don’t want help?” she added teasingly. Sol shook his head. Verlas dug in one of her packs and tossed a small container in Sol’s direction. “I’ll wait out here then. Don’t get any blood in it,” she instructed as she dodged out of the tent.

Sol made certain the tent was closed before stripping his pants off and tending to the sore spots. Luckily, the skin wasn’t broken, so he slathered the cream on thickly. He pulled his pants back on, holding them carefully so as not to dislodge the patches of medicine. He set the container on Verlas’s bedding and opened the tent flaps.

Verlas was tending to her horse, brushing the dirt and sweat of the day from his coat. He thought he heard her speaking softly to the animal but her voice was too soft for him to recognize any words. As he approached he made sure to rustle leaves and sticks with his feet so he wouldn’t surprise her.

“Thank you, Verlas. I left the cream on your bedroll,” Sol said as he drew up to the side of the pen. His horse snorted and came over to rub his face on Sol’s shoulder.

“No worries,” she said, not looking at Sol. “Told you it’s good.”

“It is, and if your mother sells it I’d be glad to buy or trade for some,” Sol said as he scratched the ridges on his gelding’s face. “Honestly, I’m tired and I’d be happy to have something light for dinner so I can go straight to sleep. Sound good to you?” He propped his forearms on the top rail of the pen.

Verlas turned around then. She looked a bit frazzled, he thought. “That’s fine for food. As for sleep -” she reached out toward him, but checked her hand at the last second. “Would you be interested in a dalliance - before sleep?”

Sol’s face grew hot. Considering a previous dalliance was what had gotten him into this whole predicament, another seemed like a bad idea. Not to mention that even if he’d had an interest in doing so, his lack of energy would have led to being more disappointing than he wanted to admit. “No, I’m sorry, Verlas,” he said, forcing himself to look at her. “It’s not -”

She held up a hand. “Don’t. If you’re going to say ‘it’s me not you’, just don’t.” She scuffed the ground with her foot. “Is it because I’m not very womanly?”

Sol’s mouth hung open for a second before he caught himself. “That’s not it, Verlas. In a different situation, maybe I would have taken you up on your offer, but out here -” he gestured at the wilderness around them. “I don’t want to lead you on and I haven’t had the heart to pursue anyone in several years,” he said, sighing. “Please do believe me when I say the issue is with me and not you.”

Verlas snorted. “Right. You expect me to believe that? That you don’t have women falling all over you?” She crossed her arms and shook her head violently.

“I don’t do much but work these days, and even when I was more sociable, they held no interest for me,” Sol said gently. “If this situation was different -”

“Yeah, well, it’s not.” Verlas batted the tent flap aside and dug in her packs hastily for food. She flung several items onto her bedding before finding one she set aside and crammed the rest back into the pack.

Sol stood outside the tent. “I am sorry,” he said. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, fine.” Verlas was clearly sulking, but Sol chose not to say anything. He stretched out on his bedroll, laying on his stomach.

“I didn’t tell you why I was heading to Ajteire, did I?” he mused aloud.

“None of my business,” Verlas said, her face turned away. She shoved the pack’s flap down and sprawled on her own bedroll. Tearing at a piece of jerky, she rolled her eyes over to Sol. “Guessing you want to talk and make yourself feel better.”

“Yeah,” he said, imitating her slang. Verlas’s face twitched into a smile for the barest moment before it fell again. “I’m going to Ajteire because I suspect one of my past girlfriends had a child by me, but I can’t find her. Ajteire is the last place I’ve heard she was recently.”

“What? Really?” Verlas sat up, her interest badly disguised. “How can you not know if you have a kid?”

Sol gave her a wry smile. “That’s kind of my fault. I had to leave, family business, and right after I told her, she said she thought she was pregnant. I thought she was lying to make me stay, we had a huge fight, I left.” He sighed and pillowed his head on his forearms.

“Since then, I haven’t really trusted anyone, and my mother, my last parent, died fifteen or so years ago. Haven’t wanted to go looking, and something casual isn’t really how I go about things,” he continued. He tilted his head to look at her. “I work in my family’s trading company. I have four cats. I talk to a friend of mine who’s a gifted tailor and get him to make me ridiculous things for large sums. Truthfully, I’m boring, he said, with a sideways smile.

“Ha!” she laughed at him. “You’re a man, but you’re like one of those spinsters with a dozen cats.”

“Only four,” he said, pretending to pout. He grinned suddenly. “They’re spoiled and they’re actually rather good company.”

“So, tell me more about this old flame,” she said, laying on her side and propping her head on her elbow. “Maybe I’ve seen her.”

Sol thought for a moment. He hadn’t considered asking a guide but maybe she’d remember, or one of her colleagues would, if they’d seen the woman in the town. “She’s got light brown hair, likes to dress nicely -”

“Is she pretty?” Verlas asked, leaning forward to pick some nuts from the bag of food she’d set in front of herself.

“I thought so, at one time. I don’t know if she still is,” he said thoughtfully. “Um. Blue eyes. Probably on the arm of some man or other. Likes company, Inessa does.” He paused to try to remember more details.

“Wait. Inessa? Was she Inessa Marrant or Marcant or Merchant or something?” Verlas frowned. “My brother had a lady like that last week he took back, said it was the longest job of his life.”

Sol snorted loudly. “That was probably her. She acted like she was better than everyone and that he was just the ‘help’ did she?”

“Oh yes! Oh, he was so angry. Almost swore off guiding for rich people. Told him that’d be stupid.” Verlas crammed her handful of snacks into her mouth.

“Well, I guess that means she’s not in Ajteire anymore, then,” he mused aloud.

“So do you want me to take you back to Ninraih Station?” she asked, her face serious.

“No, I’ve business contacts I may as well visit. I haven’t come out here since the whole mess with Inessa in the first place. Showing my face around will probably help the business, and it’s a small sacrifice to pay. Keeps me in clothes and cat food, anyway.” He shrugged.

“I’m guessing you’re a local to this area, right?” He waited for her nod of agreement. “Do you have any good stories about here, the Lament?”

“A few,” she said, a grin spreading across her lips. “The best one my brother told me,” she continued, settling into a more comfortable posture. “Many years ago…”
Last edited by Soltaevar Velca on December 8th, 2019, 3:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 1659
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar came awake suddenly. He couldn’t say if it was a rustling of leaves, a horse’s whicker, or something else entirely that had woken him. Verlas slept soundly on her bedroll, her arm thrown over her head. Sol quietly undid the tent flap and stuck his head out to see what might have caused whatever woke him.

Verlas’s ghost stories still danced in a corner of his mind as he pulled himself up and out of the tent. A few solitary fireflies danced around the edges of the campsite, spread out so that the light from one never quite touched the light of its fellows. Sol glanced around and headed to the pen to check on the horses. From behind him, he thought he heard a soft humming, a tune he almost knew in a voice he seldom remembered. Trying to focus, Sol turned his head.

A young girl’s soft giggle bubbled up for an instant before fading, as though she’d run away. Sol stood, eyes half closed, trying to bring back that voice. The wilderness was quiet save for the sounds of its domesticated visitors and the creaking of a few trees in the breezes that blew past every so often.

Sighing, Sol continued on to the horses’ pen. He let himself in, watching the animals who seemed to be dozing contentedly. Murmured voices from ahead of him, the rise and fall familiar, the cadences engraved upon his memory. He’d heard it for most of his life after all, except the most recent few.

Sol leaned against the fence, feeling the tight ache in his chest and the tears threatening his eyes. How many times in the past fifteen years he’d longed to hear that voice again, and how many times he’d had to realize he never would. He heard a soft laugh, then a diminuendo as the voice faded away.

The horses were fine, he told himself. A long day tomorrow, and he’d need his rest; clearly he needed it now, he thought, or the ghosts of his memories wouldn’t be troubling him. Popping the gate open, he left the pen and headed back to the tent. He paused a moment before attempting to open the flaps, wanting to collect himself.

A deep chuckle reverberated in his bones, sounding like the voice was right by his shoulder. A mumble that left no intelligible words behind sounded in his ear, and left as swiftly as it had sprung up. Sol heaved a deep breath before fumbling with the tent closures.

He slid back into the tent, trying to be as quiet as possible. No sense in waking Verlas unnecessarily. He rolled to face away from her and used his sleeve to wipe away the tears of memory and recognition that slid out of his eyes. He still missed them all, and he wondered if he’d ever have family to call his own again.

---

With a crick in his neck and sunlight beginning to filter through the tent gaps, Soltaevar reluctantly awoke. He sat up, stretching the complaining muscles while noticing that the tent’s other occupant had already rolled up her bedding and left.

Sol allowed himself a groan as he clambered to his feet. He repacked his saddlebags, shoving the bedding into one. Making his way outside, he saw Verlas tacking up her horse. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she said in a mischievous tone. “Thought you might sleep the day away for a bit.”

“Too much to do,” he said, a hint of grumble in his voice. “Oh, did you hear something last night?” He tried to keep his tone casual.

“Besides you sneaking out of the tent? No,” she replied, adjusting the girth on her horse. She nodded and attached the saddlebag on the near side before walking around to attach the other.

“Must have just been me, then,” he said, and picked up a brush to knock the worst of the dirt off his mount. He worked quickly, not wanting to waste time.

“I’ve heard that, here, the magic makes it easier for memories to resurface. Some people say they’ve heard dead loved ones, but they’re never close - they always sound like they’re just around the corner.” Verlas came over with the saddle blanket and saddle. “Drives some people mad if they don’t know to expect it.”

“I - I see,” Sol said, the brush hanging limply in his hand. “That would explain what I heard last night.” He tossed the brush back in the kit they had for grooming.

“What did you hear -” Verlas began.

Sol shot her a dark look. “That’s not something I want to talk about.” He hefted the blanket and saddle onto his mount’s back, sliding them into place. “Let’s get going.” Verlas handed him the girth wordlessly, and went over to take down the tent.

Sol tried to be more jovial during the day’s trek, but the voices kept spinning in his head. Some he hadn’t heard in almost three hundred years, since the curse had spread over the Kerasoka elves. There was one voice he hadn’t heard, although he didn’t know if that fact would be cause for rejoicing or grief. Inessa’s voice was not one of last night’s visitors.
Last edited by Soltaevar Velca on December 8th, 2019, 3:57 am, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 897
Post Reply

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests