Night-Blooming Flowers [Flower]

[Sivan]

"Yes," he said, intrigued when the creature decided to make a point of communicating more clearly, more complex ideas. "Sivan Sunrunner. My surname is... ah... Rivach for sun runner. Rivach is the language of the Dratori. I don't know if you know both. My Hytori name is Sivan Len'Myren. I mean, my parents weren't married but the Hytori preferred I use my Hytori name when I was with them, so... You can just call me Sivan. The rest of it is just bullshit, anyway."

He considered the creature's attempts to communicate.

"You don't know your name. All right. That's all right. You're Fae'ethalan, I think. Our wilder cousins." He smiled, trying to be comforting and supportive. He knew how frustrating it was to be unable to communicate. His Common was garbage, but he had mostly only spoken to IX and their master when they were traveling outside of Sol'Valen, since they were the only ones who didn't piss him off regularly. Well, they did, but they were sort of his people, so they were allowed.

"If you're Fae'ethalan, you probably speak Valasren. It's just another derivation of Vallenor like the other elven languages. But it seems like you understand Mythrasi fine, which is helpful. At least you can understand me and I'll do my best to understand you." He found himself giving the creature a hug. "I know. I know it's frustrating. But I see you. I'm paying attention."

He paused to consider.

"You know, at first, I thought you were just suffering from hypothermia, which you seem to have survived. I mean, I'm not a physician, and I didn't, like, check all your parts. I just had to get you warm. Hopefully you can feel your toes. But I think maybe there's something else wrong. I mean, hypothermia can probably make your mind weird for a while, but... would you mind if I take a look at you magically? To see if something's wrong?"

[Flower]

He watched Sivan, processing what was said to him. Already, he knew more about this stranger than he knew about himself. Parents. Where he had grown up. The languages he spoke. He didn’t know why he himself understood what was being said to him, just that he did. His brows knitted in frustration. When he tried to think about his parents, a sudden, sharp pain surged through his brain. He winced, and his arms curled over his head until the pain dissipated. When at last he lowered his arms, he trembled.

At least some aspect of his attempts at communication had not been in vain. He was able to convey that he did not know what to call himself. His head tilted slightly as he listened. It was difficult to focus, truly, on what was being said, for while he understood it, his brain seemed to struggle to keep pace with the conversation and to hone in on specifics. Eventually, he simply found himself smiling and nodding. Sivan was pleasing to the eyes, like sunlight filtered through glass or fabric. The sun seemed to glint on Sivan’s skin and hair, and for a moment, he watched in fascination.

Oh. He was asked a question. Slowly, he raised his hands to show that they were not hurt, and he moved the blanket to show his bare feet. They, too, were unmarred by frostbite. Hypothermic though he might have been, it seemed that he had avoided any major damage to his extremities.

For a moment, he hesitated. Trying to make certain he had heard the words of the question right, he took a deep breath and nodded. He was uncertain of what this inspection might entail, however. But, maybe, this might help him to understand what had happened to him, or maybe have some clarity about who he was.

He sighed, brushing a bit of hair from his face, and peered towards the opening at the tail end of the wagon, where he could see vague shapes of other travelers. He managed to crawl forward, so that he could poke his face out, but he immediately drew back in, shocked by the contrast in the air temperature. He scrambled back, bumping immediately into Sivan. With a glance back, he smiled apologetically.

His features twisted in thought, and he stumbled over the words, “...You go home?” Maybe Sivan lived near his own origins! Maybe he knew someone who might recognize him and could explain what was happening. Surely, someone had answers, if Sivan could not find them with magic.

[Sivan]

When the fae seemed to be in pain, Sivan just held them. It would be ridiculous to ask if they were all right. Communicating while in pain would be even worse, more frustrating. They seemed to come out of it none the worse for wear, even going to the canvas flap to peer outside. Their reaction seemed oddly violent, but he supposed it had gotten quite cozy in their little cave among the merchant's wares.

"No, I don't really have a home anymore," he said, "if I ever really did."

He knew he was being maudlin. He had certainly never been homeless, even if his father had been indifferent to his existence once his mother took them away to her people, and her husband had never taken to him as he did with the children he and Sivan's mother had made between them. Suffice it to say no place had felt like home since his dim memory of youth in Sol'Valen. When he returned as a man, that feeling was nowhere to be found.

"There's an alchemist in Kalzasi whom I want to learn from. It will help me take care of IX. So maybe it will be home for a while, anyway, while I learn."

He paused. "Here, turn around," he said, taking the fae's hands in his own and turning them around so they were facing him, kneeling between his legs. He spread his hands to show they were empty of weapon or threat and brought them up slowly to rest on the sides of the fae's face, poured his aether into one of his runes, and looked into him. He wasn't sure how long he sat like that, delving for information. He was no master of the arcane arts, but merely a student. For more than passing understanding of things around him, he was forced to meditate upon a thing and plumb deeper.

Shivering a bit, he came out of it. His hands fell to his lap and he met those strange eyes with his own.

"You are healthy. I mean, you are recovering from the cold, but in general, you are healthy. There is a darkness on you, though. I can't really pin it down. It... warps when I try to look more closely at it. So, maybe some sort of magical affliction. I can try a couple of things tonight when we make camp... I don't know that it will fix anything, but it might lend some insight so we know how to go about helping you."

[Flower]

He watched Sivan for a long while, his head tilting, eyes wide in curiosity. Though he could not remember whether or not he had ever had a home, he did understand the sense of not belonging. Part of him wondered if he would even be able to remember this exchange. How deep did the memory loss run? For a moment, he closed his eyes, trying to think about those things he could remember.

None of them faded. None of them retreated behind a mental fog. Perhaps it was not quite so far-reaching, after all. He turned around when he was bid to do so, offering his hands. He had no real comprehension of how such magic worked. Even if he remembered his own past, he would not have understood how Sivan reached out and tried to study him.

The answer did not offer much except what might have been. Perhaps there might be clearer answers when they reached their destination, wherever that was. When his hands were at last released, he pulled his legs close to his chest, shivering, and rested his chin on his knees. It was difficult for him to imagine whatever scenario it was that had led to his current circumstances. To have wandered alone in the mountains was foolish, certainly. The reality of his near death was evidence of this.

But Sivan seemed to think something might be done for it. Perhaps there really was a solution.

He nodded in reply, and let himself sink down, suddenly feeling overcome by exhaustion. His body sagged back against Sivan’s, and he let his eyes close. Sleep claimed him almost immediately. Though he was vastly improved, there was still quite a long way to go before he was fully recovered. Those faces flickered in his mind’s eye once more, voices echoing over what seemed to be a great distance. A woman’s face was clearest, but her words came as though spoken through water. He felt her grief, as though it burned through him relentlessly, a part of who he was as a person. Why was she so sad, and why did he feel as though her sorrow was his fault?

And then, there followed that laughter. He flinched away from it, driven like tiny, woodland creatures before an uncontrolled fire. But it didn’t burn. No, this fire froze. The blue flames that enveloped him chilled him to the bone. His body shuddered violently, and a sudden fever seemed to overcome him. As he tried to push away from the laughter, it frew more severe, more piercing.

His voice broke from his lips in a shrill cry, and he jolted upright.

“NO!”

[Sivan]

When the fae slept, there was little for Sivan to do but the same. His bones were the quiet creature's bedframe, his flesh their pillow. And sleep wasn't so bad. If he was too surfeited with slumber to find it again when they camped, well, he could meditate, seek out the spirits, or even wake his aidolon for another perspective. He dreamed of the spirit that had called him from his late-night piss to save this fragile creature. Perhaps it was more than a dream; sometimes they came to speak to him there as well, the ones who knew him. But regardless, he could not remember what the spirit said. That would require a closer communion, especially if it expected him to take care of the foundling.

He would. Sivan looked out for number one, but he wasn't going to leave the creature to fend for themself. Anyway, their magical amnesia was like a puzzle to solve, and he liked puzzles more than he liked most people. And having a warm companion was a nice change from IX, who was his friend, but was not warm.

The elf dozed until the scream tore loose, the loudest thing to have come from the fae's mouth, startling him awake, all his muscles tense. Aether poured into his rune, lighting the creature up with their own essence. He couldn't see anything wrong beyond the bruised blot that sort of overshadowed their soul.

"It's fine!" he called to the voice checking in on them from without. "We're fine!"

Then he took the sylvan face between his hands and tried to force a calming eye contact.

"You're fine," he said. "Nightmare? I get those too sometimes, but they're allergic to daylight."

[Flower]

It took a moment for him to return to his senses. Warm hands closed in on his face, shielding him from the icy fingers that sought to claw his mind from him. His own hands shot up. In spite of his diminutive size, his grasp was surprisingly strong. He held to Sivan’s wrists, and for a long time, he simply stared up at him, shaking like a leaf in a wild spring storm. At length, the tension left his limbs, and he simply slumped forward and wept. He did not understand why he was afraid, but he knew, somehow, that the ruthless laughter was tied to the loss of memory. He knew that woman’s face, though part of him understood that it had been a very long time since he had laid eyes upon it.

He just wanted to understand. He wanted to know who he was. Did he have a name? From where had he come? Did he have kin, a home? Or was he like Sivan: alone in the world and simply trying to do right by himself?

His arms curled about Sivan, seeking the warmth he offered: the one thing which had become familiar to him. Everything else, even the things he understood, seemed foreign, save for the reassurance of warmth. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed. His head hurt, and whatever clarity the dream might have offered quickly dissipated, vanishing as strangely as it had manifested. Tears flowed freely. He was not ashamed of them. Physical and emotional exhaustion had taken their toll on him, leaving him shaken to the core.

Eventually, he pulled the blankets close around himself, and cried himself to sleep. Childlike in his trust, he held close to this relative stranger, his sole anchor in the world spinning beyond his control, beyond his understanding. This time, no faces troubled him, and the laughter abated. There was simply the deep, welcome embrace of slumber, nature’s remedy for the weary and distraught. Whatever terrors troubled him seemed to slip away into nothingness, leaving behind them only a body succumbing to the surge of mental and bodily distress.

Soon enough, this caravan would lead them to a city, and yet another world that was far beyond his understanding. But for now, there was rest. When they made camp that night, further efforts would be made to make sense of whatever it was that plagued the Fae’ethalan. But for now, sleep claimed him.

The rest could sort itself out in time.

End.

[Mirage]

Sivan

Lores
Summoning: Communication Through Concepts
Summoning: Guardian Sprites
Summoning: Communication in Sleep
Survival: Improvised Bedding
Survival: Treating Hypothermia
Persuasion: Coaxing
Persuasion: Comforting
Persuasion: Encouraging
Semblance: Delving
Semblance: Physical Health
Semblance: Magical Afflictions

Loot: I suppose +1 companion?
Injuries: N/A

Points 8, can be used for Semblance

Flower

Lores
Survival: Making Camp
Survival: Building a Fire
Survival: Putting up a Tent
Survival: Hide from Danger
Survival: Crying out for Help
Survival: Self Assessment
Persuasion: Pity Me
Persuasion: Non-Verbal Communication
Investigation: New Surroundings
Investigation: Context Clues
Investigation: Curiosity

Loot: N/A
Injuries: Undetermined at this time

Points 8