Divining Our Sobriety

[Allennia]

Divining Our Sobriety (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-jT6T59rYw&feature=related)


Closed to the Sand Nomad Wohe.

Set in the Chanter of the University of Scara Brae - the Cathedral of Sand run by the Fallien Scholars and Sand Mystics.

Abhorrash held the lotus bloom up to the scintillating rays of the sun and observed its beauty with an intent expression of intrigue marring his face. With each twist of his fore finger and thumb, he steeped himself deeper and deeper into the mystery and revelation of life. Ever since he had wandered from the sanctuary of the Valley, his home, he had progressed from one strange encounter to another; he was beginning to wonder what would be waiting for him round the next corner and the corner after that.

“Such idolatry in the world and all I am transfixed by is the simplest of flowers and the setting of the sun on another day done, a set of deeds transpired to nothing - to dust,” he whispered to himself, satisfying his curiosity with the philosophical quandaries of a lonely man in a strange world. Scara Brae proved to be more of a challenge to the senses than he had imagined, or heard from the stories he had been told as a child. Where once there had been a city of splendour and magical freedom, now there stood a decaying metropolis of tyranny and stifling creativity. The notion that magic should be controlled so rigidly, to Abhorrash, was the most alien and unsubstantiated of ideas known to his mortal mind.

He looked down to lose himself in the crowd of travellers, merchants, charlatans and whores that purveyed their wares and services along the length of the Anode Bridge. Beneath him, stretched across the Northern Quarter that split the unstable regions of the Numarr Slums and the Docklands of the city sparkled the River Bray, behind him the noble houses gleamed, and to his right, on the far end of the bridge stood his destination – the Cathedral of Lemans, a part of the Ordos Milieus of Milieus Cordeaux. He sighed, resigning himself to continue with his quest, and marched along the cobblestoned boardwalk towards the chanter that he hoped would give him an answer.

“How to turn one life, into the boon and radicalising agent for another…” he sashayed towards the tall sandstone building with all the vigour of an academic, his spell book open in his left hand, the lotus still held in the right, all the while a vision of a sand storm and a robed woman burnt into his retina, into the fate bound vision of a future uncertain. With every step, his red robes flicked at the tail end and the rhyme pattern of his walk caused the runes that told an ancient tale to shimmer in the light. To the simple folk of this distant land, he appeared like a glorious sage, passing on his knowledge and passing through experience without a care for their moronic existences, yet woefully remaining part of it.

To him, his journey to the cause of his people's sobriety would take a great deal of divining. For now, the Red Mage left nothing more in Scara Brae than an echo, footprints in the sand.

[Wohe]

Wohe was free from the restrictions of The Keep, and although the love for her fellow Priestesses, her calling as a Priestess, and Jya knew no bounds, there was an innate fundamental satisfaction fulfilled in exploration.

Despised was the thick brown robe that prevented her body from experiencing the elements her face delighted in. A stiff north-easterly breeze engulfed her thick blonde hair as the light spring sun beated down gently on Wohe's furthermore tanning skin. A welcome change from the dry air and pounding heat of the Fallien desertland.

"What a glorious day", praised Wohe, "blessed be the Mother of all Creation."

Wohe's travels in Scara Brae had led to a quieter area of town, higher up from the market place. The ground had changed from a dirtpath to a uneven cobblestone bridge, a challenge for Wohe's wooden sandals. Her attention though wasn't placed on the hefty shrieks of the market nor trying to adjust her balance on the bridge, but the magnificent building in front of her.

That's even taller than The Keep, imagined Wohe, reconciling to her younger days trying to escape the giant castle.

Gazing at the grandeur in front, Wohe had felt a connection. It perhaps might of been a guilt for abandoning her fellow Priestesses and her beloved Jya. Happier times of The Keep flooded back; the time when she angered Uhsa by preparing the wrong flavouring in the soup; the first hug she received from "Nana" Ugotchi, off course in private. The reality of exile and solitude however slowly seeped back.

The smooth sandstone walls reflected the sun's drizzle well. Enticed, she drew closer to the Cathedral. Her fingers wrapped around the Glass Rod firmly. Her gaze remained solely focused until her sandals caught the wrong side of a cobblestone, upsetting Wohe’s balance. She had landed directly into the back of some passer by.

[Allennia]

In his daydream Abhorrash least expected to be disturbed, interrupted so rudely. Snapping about and raising his hand as if to strike his assailant, he was met with the bundling and tumbling form of a woman. As she tripped, he caught her with a dart forwards and a tucked knee. “My lady, you startled me!” He commented through gritted teeth and a welling rush of adrenaline.

He tucked his hand behind his back in time to hide the flames which scintillatingly flickered over his skin, and whilst retaining his form and expression, he tended to her needs, to her recovery.

“I-” he grunted as he stood her upright and delicately adjusted her cloak, “-almost took revenge on an unseen enemy – but there is no harm done.” He looked over her and wondered, even if only slightly, what hand fate had dealt him this time. “Are you injured? I would hate for such a spurious turn of events to have inflicted pain on you. But you will excuse me if I take my leave of you so suddenly after ensuring you are well, I have business to tend to in the Chanter – the house of healing. Do you have need of me to escort you there?”

In a distracted bobbing motion, the red mage scooped up the discarded spell book and lotus bloom he’d dropped in his surprise and tucked both into the bandoleer about his waist. He looked back at Wohe, and smiled a friendly smile at the woman, one which echoed the glory of the early morning sun and cast a new and solicited light onto an ageing and wizened face. “It would be no trouble to take you, after such an imposition on your form.”

[Wohe]

Wohe was caught in steady arms.

Embarrassment was only a fraction of what was truly felt. Despite living in a matriarchal society, Wohe feared the reprisal of a man.

“Please forgive me! I am so clumsy,” stuttered Wohe, head down.

Her eyes slowly made their way up and were dazzled. A man, no older than 30, had discarded his items to catch her, they lay everywhere. Wohe’s intentions however were not instinctive to pick up his books, her priority was an enticement by this Crimson Gentleman. The Gentleman spoke to her, but she did not listen, her attention remained solely on a well presented, upright, confident member of society. Perhaps it was a mystical experience; her presence on Althanas seemed solely for this man.

The Gentleman adjusted Wohe upright. He had firm hands. He spoke again, but all Wohe could think about was his grip. She caught the last of his sentence.

“I would love an escort there!” Moments passed, she gulped. “I was on my way to see clerics and their practice, I’ve heard of new developments in enchantment.”

What a stupid lie to make, she thought.

The Gentleman collected his items, smiled and began to say something else. Her attention was diverted again. His smile gleamed through her, if she didn’t know better it could have been an enfeebling spell. This was the first time the Gentleman’s face was revealed, an image that lingered with Wohe for a while. A defined jaw, thick eyebrows, hypnotising red pupils but with a strong smile. He was not ordinary, with misplaced tattoos and ungroomed beards like the rest. This was probably the first time she had met a man that was as presentable as a woman. It had never occurred to Wohe that a man need not be disgusting nor repulsive. This was her first encounter with a Gentleman.

“So,” she smiled, “what is your name?”

[Allennia]

The mannerisms of Wohe intrigued the red-mage almost instantly, delivering a first impression he too would find hard to forget in the years to come. He held out his hand to take hers and said, very simply, “Abhorrash.”

He stepped to one side and swept at the floor in a gesture that bade the lady walk first, as was the custom in their culture, his culture, and the high and low culture of Scara Brae. “Although I have many monikers, that is the simplest, and most prominent I respond to.” The sun continued to beat down as they began their brisk accruement of momentum towards the tall spires of the Chanter, its sandstone spires a pinnacle of architecture, as much as they were a prominent place of healing and scholarly mica for the artistry of ‘white’ magic.

“I am 'twixt darkness and light, leaning on the shade between the borderline blue. But I can only assume from first assumptions that you belong to the same order, or some otherworldly brethren of the nomadic clerics that occupy the temple?” His steps turned buoyant, little inflections of sudden joy carrying him on. For now, he closed his tome and tucked it neatly into the folds of his robes, hiding it away from prying eyes and easy fingers.

“Am I correct to assume, or do you hold some other celestial office I am not aware of? Colour is a true expression of a person’s identity I find, and certainly that is a notion I am beholden to.” Red was the symbol of fire, and of the rage inside, and the House he was born into, and the magic he wielded. It spoke vignettes about Abhorrash, ringing his personality to the heavens with simple indifference. He wandered what Wohe’s attire and demeanour told his mind, but was too wrapped up in the diplomacy and oratory rhetoric to pay attention to the trivial notion of caring. He was ablaze with form, dichotomy and verbosity, as ever was his pastime