Birdhouse in Your Soul [Imogen]

[Destyn]

Birdhouse in Your Soul

35 Ash, 122

► Show Spoiler

Destyn had been enjoying the break from Kalzasi that the expedition represented. He was still able to check in with his little family regularly, with the aid of the Amulet of Wandering Torin forged for him, but he much preferred the comforting chaos found under a canopy of trees than the neat symmetry of man-made homes. He really only returned to Kalzasi for the cuddles, at this point. Mostly he spent his time nearby, albeit not necessarily in the company of, the expedition party that had set off on the deck of The Duck earlier in the season.

Like most days he spent in South Ecith, today Destyn was exploring and foraging. He liked to acquaint himself with the new flora and fauna to be found so far afield of the lands he once roamed with his whilom clan. The energy was so different here, and life was more densely abundant given the warmer climate. He had yet to see one, but the notion of the Ecithian 'primals' about which he'd heard, fascinated him. Even without having encountered any, he felt as though their presence was infused into the very land.

It was nearing sundown and, after a day of snacking on berries and buggies, Destyn decided he was keen on a larger meal. He flitted up to pluck a coconut from atop a palm tree, then he flew over to a rocky area and flew up high so he could drop the coconut onto a boulder. Or so he attempted, though he missed the rock on his first go of it.

"A dhiabhail!" He cried in vexation, as his coconut tumbled unharmed onto a patch of grass. He dove down to try again. The second attempt hit the rock, but only did superficial damage to the shell of the coconut. It wasn't until the fifth try that it broke in half and, by that point, the Fae found he had an audience.

"Oh, hi!" He grinned to the veritable green giantess towering over him, "Want half of my coconut?"

Birdhouse in Your Soul

[Imogen]

After the strange encounters in the cavern of shadows, Imogen Ward had decided to take one of the endless nice days to simply relax. Two hours she had spent dozing in the impromptu hammock she'd built out of her extra tent, and then a lazy late morning failing miserably to catch fish in the shallows. Having sated herself with the remaining fruits back in Carina's camp, the Ork decided to spend the afternoon roving on the hills. She was reasonably sure that nothing dangerous laired in the vicinity, and it would give her a chance to continue her impromptu surveys.

It was a disappointing fact of Animus that, though it provided no end of aid in hunting food, it was a bad way to conserve energy. Early on in her travels, she had thought that gathering a great store of fruits and nuts, shrinking, and eating until full would be a canny way to require fewer calories. Unfortunately, the act of transformation inevitably ended up burning more than the difference, and it was actually quite uncomfortable to try to consume sufficient sustenance while in miniature.

So it was that she trudged through the hills in her native form, white tail waving behind her. Her sparse patches of opal scales glittered even from a distance, but even her light green skin stood out in the foreign environs; more evidence, to her mind, that Malgar had formed the Orkhan in the northern continent. She wondered vaguely if that was why there were no primals this far south- perhaps the wine of suffering had soaked into the very earth of her people's native soil?

Whatever. That was a problem for... she wasn't really sure, Galetira? Whoever was in charge of weird metaphysical horseshit in Ecith.

Her useless musings on the great mysteries were quite suddenly interrupted, however, but a much more immediate one- a large brown sphere falling out of the sky on a nearby hilltop. Although she was not known for her great perception, it took her only a few moments to locate the source of the strange event- a figure hovering above, diving down after the fruit. It was unmistakably the fae boy she'd met briefly on the beach a week prior. Playing some sort of game, perhaps? She decided to investigate further.

The scene above repeated itself. By the time she'd reached the fallen boy, he had managed to crack open his prize and was grinning ear-to-ear like a madman. He offered her part of the coconut, which she gingerly accepted, raising it to the level of her eyes and squinting.

"This is the hard fruit with sweet water inside, isn't it?" Imogen inquired. Her voice was about as high-pitched as Orkhan voices got, which was still contralto at best, and she spoke with a precise Zaichaeri accent as she examined the thing. "How do you eat these, again? The white flesh, right?"

The Ork raised her pointer finger and manifested a small claw from the tip, which she used to carefully peel a thin layer from the interior. She snagged the bit of coconut flesh on the same finger and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Mmph! That's pretty good. Thank you, ah-" she was sure she'd heard the boy's name on the beach. But what was- wait, she had it. "-Dessynril? Right? I'm Imogen. We met at the beach party thing last week."

[Destyn]

Birdhouse in Your Soul

35 Ash, 122

Destyn beamed up at her.

"Yesss! But all the water already fell out because I dropped it, so just eat the white part. Or maybe you could eat the brown part, too. Your teeths look strong!" With that, he leaned against the boulder he'd used as a coconut cracker, and scraped some of the goodies out of the bowl nature had provided from him to eat from.

Since they'd met, Destyn's clothing had deteriorated significantly. His breeches were tattered at the bottom, so ribbons of torn fabric danced against his upper calves in the breeze. He'd cleaned them earlier, but there were stains too deeply set to remove completely. His torso and feet were bare. She'd probably seen him in a little vest earlier in the trip, but that had been abandoned shortly after their dismissal from the Duck. If she caught a glimpse of his back, she might note that his two sets of translucent wings were protruding from a spine that looked as though it was made of tree bark.

"Destynrael, but you may call me just Destyn. This is, I think, easier." He paused to enjoy a bit more of his coconut, as he eyed the Ork up and down.

"I remember you, Imogen. It would be hard, I think, to forget you because you are very large." He observed sagely, "I have not before met many Orkhan, but my clan was friendly to those who crossed our paths in Karnor. We would trade goods and stories with them. Do you have any stories, Imogen?" He tilted his head, mantis-like, awaiting her reply.

Birdhouse in Your Soul

[Imogen]

Destyn, yes, that did seem easier.

The fae boy was certainly living up to his kind's reputation- a bit manic, apparently heedless of nicety. She hadn't seen many fae'thalen in her time in Zaichaer; quite aside from the fact that government policies treated them like an enormous nuisance, the eccentric folk seldom rushed to live in the ramshackle boarding-houses or apartments of the city. She wondered vaguely if the metals of industry would poison Destyn as the old myths said.

She understood that consorting with fairies was meant to be a Thing for a witch, but the Sunsingers had been more interested in practice drills and guard rotas than forest rites in the black of the new moon. Maybe the Kindred did that sort of thing? Yes, she could see Angela dancing nude about a circle of mushrooms. Imogen grinned a bit at the image.

"Destyn, mmm. I'm small for an Orkhan, actually. When I was last in Drathera, I met a woman who was over nine feet tall, and had wings like a dragon's." Still nothing like the fierce aspect of the actual dragons, though. The image of the ancient Librarian who dwelt in the heart of the city still appeared in her dreams, from time to time, though she was reasonably sure that was only memory and not an actual sending. Meeting a dragon of that size simply made a lasting impression.

Speaking of which:

"Stories? Absolutely, I know a lot of stories. Spent the better part of a decade cleaning the Pfenning Theater, and I've seen a hundred different performances. The story of the great black dragon; the dwarves and their ring of river-gold; the last great knight of the old dynasty of Aileor, and his ill-fated love with a spirit... all very sad, actually. The Zachaeri, they seem to find great solace in an atmosphere of grandiose mourning. Um. I know some funny ones, mostly about pirates. Pirates are, apparently, enormously jovial folk, and unaccountably lyrical."

None of that seemed quite right though, and after a moment of reflection, Imogen realized why.

"Ah, but we're in Ecith now, it seems. My family came from the northern shores, so I know a few traditional stories from here, too. That seems more appropriate; also, the Ecithian way of storytelling is a lot shorter. Let's try..."

The Tale Of The Vonaid Koid

A long time ago, before any god save Aedrin had set foot on these shores, there was a great and golden paradise atop a high plateau. Because the land was so high, all of the plants and animals were close to Ysadrin as she traveled the sky each day; so close that they themselves began to shine with the same beautiful hue. Even when the sun set, the whole of the wide land was limned with soft light, and it is said that no dark or unrighteous thing could dwell there long. Though this was before the time of words and naming, people now call the land Vonae'goid.

Among all the creatures of Vonae'goid, the fairest and most noble were the Goidif'uv, the noble herd of beasts with golden horns and pure white hides. And greatest of that herd, it is said, was a mighty stag who rivaled the hills in size, a shining and eternal beast. So beautiful were the stag and the goidif'uv herd that the stars themselves would descend nightly in the skies to marvel at the creatures, to brush their hair and sing echoes of the cynosural choirs. Thus it was said among the people; do not hunt in the upper reaches of the northern mountains, for the shepherds of the sky keep watch over that land.

But one day, there was a great wrongness in the world, which shook the earth and chastised the seas and made the stars weep until their eyes were red and sore. Then, when the vision of heaven was clouded, a foreign dominion came upon the land of Vonae'goid, a thing of wings and thunders and secret hopes. The Goidif'uv fought against the dominion, but it was a creature too proud to fall to the blows of any living thing, and their struggles only multiplied its feathers. Finally, only the great stag remained to face the dominion.

For six days and six nights, the stag contended with the dominion. Yet ultimately, though the stag was dreamt of Aedrin and beloved of Ysadrin, it was mortal. Staggered, bleeding from a thousand wounds, the stag fled down the mountain, and into the lowlands and jungle beyond.

There, on the plains below the heavens it had once ruled, the sky filled with water. The stag, which had lived its life above the clouds themselves, was not fit for the lowlands. The pelting rains burned against its wounds, and it cried out long into the uncaring night. Pestilence set in, and its wounds grew red and angry. It scabbed over with black armor like rock, seeking succor from the wind and water which did not understand the pain they brought their cousin. For years it frenzied, pulling up the earth until it had raised a great shell about itself.

But though this dulled the pain, it could not stop it. And for ages since, it has screamed and writhed within its womb of rock and soothing lava, as though seeking to dig out of the earth the careless majesty it had once gifted the skies. From the hissing cracks of the earth, it has formed twisted mockeries of its brothers and sisters, and yearly, when it can no longer contain its rage, it tears a hole through the mountain and rampages across the land, burning and trampling as it goes.

This is the story of the the pitiable Primal; Vonaid Koid, the Blood of the World.

Imogen finished the story and peeled off another bit of white flesh, letting the ocean breeze whistle sweetly for a few moments before asking:

"There you go, how's that for half a coconut?."

[Destyn]

Birdhouse in Your Soul

35 Ash, 122

Destyn's eyes, which were already rather large, widened to an even greater extent at the mention of a larger giantess and this with draconic wings.

"Oh wow!" He exclaimed, instantly wondering whether dragon wings would be more of less efficient than his own. He certainly had a lot of critiques about the reckless flight of the Avialae in Kalzasi, finding his own appendages far better for precision and manoeuvrability. He thought to ask Imogen, but decided against it, because she bore no wings of her own at present and he didn't want to make her jealous. She probably wouldn't have been able to answer his questions anyway.

"Zaichaer?!" He physically recoiled at the mention of the realm that had felled his clan. "I did not know you were from there! I do not like that place. It was very cruel to me, and I think their god called Industry is very evil and destructive. I hope you do not worship it...." His brow furrowed, but his expression eventually softened as Imogen spoke on.

"You talk funny." He decided, "But it is a good funny and I like it." Even if he didn't understand phrases like 'unaccountably lyrical', they sounded pretty to his ear and it made him want to learn their meaning.

"Yay!" As Imogen launched into her story, Destyn immediately hopped up to seat himself atop the bounder, criss-crossing his legs and watching her intently as he munched down on more coconut. Given that he'd just blithely plopped down right on top of the wet spot left by the coconut milk, it was easy to see how his little breeches had been distressed to their current state.

"Vonae'goid..." He slowly repeated the foreign word, after it had been uttered and then "Goidif'uv." His pronunciation was off, but he was keen eared enough that it wasn't completely butchered. "Cynosural choirs." Was the next term he repeated because, though the words were common, they were foreign enough to him that he didn't realise as much.

Destyn audibly gasped, eyes glassing over at the point in the story where the stag was wounded. By the end of the tale, as Imogen glanced up from her meal, she would find the Fae openly sobbing. Tears soaked his cheeks and his body was wracked by the weight of grief yielded by the story. The mention of Zaichaer had already driven his thoughts toward trauma and grief, so the subsequent tale that seemed analogous to his woes, salted his deepest wound thoroughly.

"It is..." He sobbed, "I think..." Sniffle, "A very good story." He wiped at his face with the back of his forearm, "Thank you for telling it to me, Imogen."

Birdhouse in Your Soul

[Imogen]

Wow, Imogen immediately thought, I'm so much better at storytelling than I realized!

This was not a worthy reaction to the obvious pain of another, and shame immediately flooded Imogen as she realized that Destyn had, in fact, been deeply affected by her tale. She'd planned to stick the ending with a bit of boasting--the hallmark of a real Ecithian warrior-poet, after all--but quickly changed her mind. Imogen sidled up next to the fae boy, though she made sure not to actually touch him, unsure how his people reacted to such things.

"No, no, thank you for listening, Destyn" she replied. As he fought more tears, she frowned, trying to think of a way to wrap everything up nicely. The way it was now, the story of the Vonaid Koid really was an awfully Zaichaeri story. Something beautiful was destroyed, everyone who tried to help was at a greater loss than when they'd started... no wonder Destyn seemed unhappy with the whole culture.

What was it her uncle had always said about Ecithian stories? They were joyful, but not because joyful things happened in them. They were meant to revel in every part of life, to impart to mortals the joy of giants, which was without birth or death. Joy no matter how things went...

"It's all right, you know. Sad endings can't stay sad forever. Some day, I'm going to go back to Koidhouo’uv, and I'm going to help the Vonaid Koid accept the world, and it won't hurt any more." Imogen's words carried a tone of such absolute certitude that you could have built a house on them. "I swore that to Raxen, and you're not allowed to lie to him, so."

One might have accused Imogen of sophistry, of planning murder and calling it therapy. Yet, was it false? The Primals of Ecith could not die, not really. She'd tussled with Gihah's spirit a thousand years after the great monitor had been slain. Killing the wounded antelope would do nothing more than take away its pain for good.

"Anyway, my family lives in Zaichaer-" Did they, any more? She hadn't been able to confirm that with the Sanctuary before she'd tracked Ansel and Aurin north. "But we're witches, you see, so the scientists and government don't think much of us."

"Anyway, Destyn, where are you from?" He'd known Zaichaer, so it had to be Karnor, somewhere. "What's your life like?"

[Destyn]

Birdhouse in Your Soul

35 Ash, 122

When Imogen drew close enough, Destyn dropped his coconut half and nestled against her, wrapping his slender arms around her in an embrace. Sometimes consolation made the tears come faster, he found, but that was because it encouraged him to let himself just feel. Giving in to his grief, the weeping waned that much faster and soon sniffles supplanted sobs.

"You are welcome for me listening." He replied, his voice a bit breathier now. "I feel, um..." He tried to think of how to express the emotion in Common, "...closer to whole than I was before you told it to me." He wasn't sure that made sense, but it was the best he could do at present. He didn't think anyone was ever complete... at least not in life, but he believed that certain milestones brought one closer to wholeness. He had bonded with The Duck over common grief, and he felt deeply for the stag as well.

"I want to help you when you do that." Destyn said, pulling back from hugging her to look up into her eyes with a wide, hopeful gaze. "I want to help the... the... the Vonad Kaud, too!" Sure, that sounded right.

"You know Raxen?" He tilted his head, "I know Arcas. He saved me once, and I prayed to him. But then he got taken away, and they do not know if he is alive, so... I pray not as much now." He shrugged one shoulder, feeling a bit ashamed of his negligence.

"Ohhh, you are a witch. That is fun. I like witches, so it makes sense that Industry does not. I think we are very not the same, Industry and me." He slid down the boulder and picked his coconut half up, wiping off the dirt it had accrued when he discarded it.

"My clan wandered the forests of Karnor. We did not stay in one place. We just roamed and roamed all the time. But after my clan was killed, Arcas took me to Kalzasi and I made friends there. I live with them, but I do not like cities. They are dangerous and, uhm... Stifling? Stifling." He nodded, sagely. "I want them to move somewhere nicer, but for now I can spend time here and visit them when I want to with this." He tapped the amulet adorning his bare chest with his index finger.

"Did you come by yourself or do you have friends who are here with you? I came by myself, because my friends did not go on The Duck. When I talk about it, they do not understand what I am saying." He wrinkled his nose, in annoyance.

Birdhouse in Your Soul

[Imogen]

Following Destyn was something of an unusual mental experience. He spoke, in many ways, like a child- which wasn't such a bad thing, Imogen was used to looking after younger folk in the safe houses while their parents had entered the Coven Market or were otherwise skulking about in places they shouldn't be. But it was not quite the same. Thankfully, Imogen Ward found ignorance a comfortable and common companion, and had little problem with discarding conceptions which weren't working out.

Still, she almost spit out her coconut when the lad asked her if she knew a god.

"Do I know Raxen? Oh, uh-" She supposed it wasn't out of the question that this fae boy could have met the Novalys prince. Perhaps he didn't understand that, with that one exception, nobody met gods, really. "I've prayed a few times, but I don't usually care to bother the Triumvirate. They're busy gods, I don't want to take up their time if it's not important."

That was the nice part about praying to Ysadrin. Imogen wasn't at all sure what happened to dead gods, but she figured hearing prayers couldn't waste their time any longer. If they could even hear them.

"Well, I'm sure Arcas would be happy to hear from you, wherever he is. I can make you some light any time you want him to hear." She didn't think a new demigod could hear a prayer from all the way across the sea, but sometimes you had to say things even if just to be nice. To illustrate, she clenched her fist, allowing her Reaving to manifest about her clawed hand, until tongues of silver fire arose from it.

Hearing the story of Destyn's family was interesting, anyway. Faerie bands wandering the forests was a common tale, though the tenor of those stories tended to differ a lot by where they were told. Par for the course, most Zaichaeri recitations tended to end with the seduction of beautiful women and a sword-fight in which both parties perished.

(Looking at Destyn, one could certainly imagine part of that truth, at any rate. Ahem.)

When Destyn drew her attention to the odd amulet he wore, Imogen's gaze sharpened. Drawing upon all of her mystic lore, her dark knowledge and her mastery of the arcane, she quickly determined that: "Oh wow, that's a nice pendant!"

It segued well, too. "Actually, it's quite interesting. I was in Kalzasi myself, looking for clues about where my friend Carina had gotten off too- but when I came through the doorway, the Duck had brought her here too! Look, she gave me this ring." Imogen presented her right hand, on which a golden sun ring, studded with little gems, twinkled. "She thinks the Duck wanted to bring us together, which has very confusing theological implications but was a very nice gesture in any event."

Imogen sighed. "It would be very nice to just stay here for good, but I made other promises to other people, so I will have to leave sooner or later. A lot of life is just going to places you don't really want to reach and leaving places you'd rather not depart."

[Destyn]

Birdhouse in Your Soul

35 Ash, 122

Destyn blinked, his head tilting sharply in the opposing direction from the way it had just been oriented, startled by her reaction to his question about Raxen.

"Why would prayer bother the gods if it is reverent? I know that some people pray to ask for things, but I do not. Arcas gave me something already. He saved my life and started my new one. So I thank Him and pray that He is well. Yes... I think I would like to speak to Him again, thank you, Imogen." He smiled at her demonstration,

"I must meditate upon what I wish to say. But I will let you know when I am ready."

He grinned broadly at her apparent approval of his amulet.

"Is it not?!" He agreed, beaming and slightly bouncing. "My friend Torin has made this for me. He is a human who lives in Kalzasi. He practises, um... Forgery?" Sivan had corrected him once when he used that term, but Destyn had known Common for longer than Sivan and was absolutely certain that 'forgery' was a real word.

"So he forgeried me this amulet." He glanced down at the sun ring, as Imogen reciprocated their impromptu show-and-tell. "Carina. I do not think that we have met. Was she at the the picnic of the small rock man? She must be a very special friend to give you such a gift. We are lucky to have such friends." He noted, with a broad grin. By this point it seemed his sorrow at the story had wholly dissipated. Perhaps this Son of Summer was as mercurial as a Searing day wherein a thunderstorm might give way to a cloudless, sunny afternoon.

"I think your friend is maybe right and The Duck does these things. When I was not leaving my cabin, The Duck made me emerge and meet other people who were being also, um... counter-social. But... What is a 'theological implications'? Is this another primal???" His eyes went wide at that notion.

"This is city-thinking, but it now traps me, also. I only go to places I do not want to because people I love will not quit them. It is most, uhhh... vexatious. If they simply listened to me, we all would be much contented...er. Just like when I told Torin he should not forgery fake Avialae wings, when fake Fae wings are much better. They even sound better, hear it? 'Fake Fae'. This sounds like a thing."

Birdhouse in Your Soul

[Imogen]

Keeping up with Destyn's shifting mood was a challenge; perhaps the answer was to... simply not? His excitement and sorrow were both infectious, but her breed was not made to flit from feeling to feeling like dragonflies or hummingbirds. They were more like... uh, really large floating birds of some kind. Huge geese, maybe, but with less honking. What was this metaphor about, again?

Whatever. She had used up all of her wisdom for the day anyway.

"Fake Avialae wings? For what, a costume ball?" Still, she took Destyn's meaning right away- as a smuggler herself, she'd worked with more than one forgery expert, even if none of the ones in Zaichaer ever tried their hands at costume like this Torin fellow. "Nice piece, anyway, anyone would think it was 'smithed. I imagine your friend makes quite a bit of money at his craft."

Money, of course, was yet another one of those chains the two had been complaining about. Friendships, honor, oaths, money, love, revenge- an elaborate network of ropes which kept a life suspended in the chaos of the world, providing a semblance of order. She'd thought a lot about that when she came back from Ecith to find Zaichaer in ruins.

"Well it sounds nice, just being able to tell people where to go, what to do, but I don't think it would make anyone very happy. I visited the village my great-grandfather came from, not long ago, and it was beautiful and comfortable and never gets so cold that the air hurts your skin, but my friends wouldn't want to live there, and I'd rather be with them than live in paradise without them." Imogen sighed. "Still, we may as well try to have a little bit of everything we want, eh?"

The Orkhan witch roused herself from that deepening sense of melancholy. Orks could sit for hours just mulling thoughts like that, but nobody ever got anywhere by running in circles. She sat up, then pushed herself to her feet, towering in the midday sun.

"Well, enough dawdling, I suppose. There's a whole day ahead, and a lot of jungle right here that nobody's ever explored. Just think, maybe we could find something really interesting, which nobody's ever seen? That could get your friends' attention, eh? Why, just the other day I flew all the way up north to the edge of the desert, and I saw some weird stuff, like ghost snakes, or beetles made of iron, or the glass butterflies."