Listen, and Remember

[misbegottendreamer]

Who: Drelasa Veloth and you
What: Starting a new life, one again.
When: April general
Where: Various
Warnings: To be listed in individual threads, will include mild mentions of blood and other injury


The Sound of Nails, A Hymn to the Winds [OTA Infernal Arms and Armor]

It isn't fancy work, but it's honest.

She works the metal with a tireless arm, occasionally putting a bare, clawed, gray-skinned hand to it and humming to test its structure. If she's satisfied, she begins extruding nails from it; if not, she continues to fold and hammer it, all the while singing softly to herself.

"I pray for the herder
That whistles to his guar at play.
I pray for the hunter
That stalks the white walkers.
I pray for the wise one
That seeks under the hill,
And the wife who wishes
For one last touch of her dead child's hand.


I will not pray for that which I've lost
When my heart springs forth
From your soil, like a seed,
And blossoms anew beneath tomorrow's sun."



A Voice Cries Out For Nerevar [OTA, Empty Pockets]

Back in Skyrim, she would spend every evening she would performing at inns and taverns to collect what coin she could. She's not sure what the custom here is, but she's heard the Empty Pockets is the most acceptable place to perform publicly. When an opening comes up, she takes her place and begins to sing her little heart out, with a voice long-trained in carrying across the Ashlands.

"Luhn-silvar, hortator,
Azura'm gah'amer,
Panthi-seht, sharmat-dra,
gahjuli Nerevar
Osuhn almese sut ohm
yalif sul devahr,
Nerevar."

She seems to have woodwind accompaniment, though it's unclear from where it's coming from.


The Wounds We Bury, the Things We Carry [OTA, any clinic]

"Excuse me?" she asks, walking into a clinic with her hands clasped. Her bandages are sodden with blood.

"Would it be possible for me to get these changed, muthsera?"

The Music of the Spheres [OTA, a hillside near town]


This is the hillside where she first danced in the air, beneath unfamiliar stars, without the help of the more familiar magics. She comes out here every few evenings, to sing to the stars and dance beneath the unseen heavens. Perhaps someday she will learn their names, but she hasn't found a book on the heavens in braille yet, and harmonic navigation doesn't work for reading words off a page.


Wildcard: PM me on Discord (redheadednimbus) if you have other ideas!

Comments

music of the spheres.

[abhorrently]

It's beautiful, Fever thinks, stepping quietly on her way back home. She's caught for a moment to watch the dance, enraptured by how free the woman looks, a little envious but in general admiring.

She walks closer, since she hasn't been noticed, and that's when a stick cracks under her foot, a sharp and clear sound that gives her away. Oops.

[misbegottendreamer]

The womer freezes, song stopping as she listens intently, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

"Who's there?"

[abhorrently]

Caught. Damn, this is what comes of not paying enough attention.

"Only a passing stranger. Don't stop on my account - it's beautiful."

Play it off, act like you weren't watching like a fool, and this will be all fine.

[misbegottendreamer]

"Are you from the Village?"

She's keeping her cards close to her chest right now- she can smell rain and storm on this newcomer, and she can hear the resonance of available magicka.

[abhorrently]

Perhaps it's for the best that this woman cannot see the flicker, the flinch that runs through Fever at that.

"From Pumpkin Hollow? Yes, at present."

They destroyed that place, ripped it apart, tore the heart from it as Ava had torn the heart from 2's chest-

[misbegottendreamer]

She senses the half-elf's physical tension, but isn't going to pry.

"You might see me there, at the Empty Pockets or working at the Infernal Arms and Armor. My name is Drelasa Veloth. I am something of a newcomer here. And what may I call you, sera?"

Her features are completely concealed, but she sounds like a dark elf.

[abhorrently]

As quickly as it came, it dissolves, relaxing as Fever realizes she was merely overthinking that simple word.

"Fever. Well met, Drelasa. I'm also newly arrived, hence the at present."

Now introduced, she brings herself fully into the open, voice closer but footsteps no less light than they were before.

"I'm stationed at Town Hall for my working hours, but I tend to go where it please me in all others."

[misbegottendreamer]

"Is there a place you find to be a particular comfort here? My explorations are rather slow, and I'm far from having learned all that the island has to offer."

[abhorrently]

"Plenty of them, but tell me what sorts of places hold your interest to start with, and I can narrow the scope of them down."

[misbegottendreamer]

“Well… I am a storyteller, muthsera Fever. I spend much of my time gathering the songs of others. I also enjoy learning about the history and traditions of whatever place I am currently inhabiting.”

[abhorrently]

"You've already got the Empty Pockets open to you, so that's one place. Beyond that, the library has some things and might have enough stories that you haven't heard. And Town Hall itself has records spanning back - there's history there. But more than that, it's people I'd point you towards. Those who have been here longer than us newcomers."

She folds her arms loosely, shifting her weight on her feet - it makes a subtle sound, the slight movements.

"I found Reverend Clayton at the Temple to be most willing to speak of things that came before. There's also Yorick - he's also at Town Hall, though you'll need to make sure he hasn't been promised to something else or another to pin him down, he might be able to help in the sense of any traditions. I feel like he could rattle them off for you. Though..."

She pauses here, careful.

"There's someone I recently met, who may have stories of her own, but may also benefit from being told them, if you're willing to search a little for her."

[misbegottendreamer]

“I’d be perfectly willing, muthsera. Though I would ask… what do you mean by saying this Yorick is ‘pinned down?’”

[abhorrently]

"Just that he's busy and often helping other people. He accepts a great many tasks given to him, even more than he should."

[misbegottendreamer]

"Ah, I see. I mistook your meaning. Where I come from, there is often gossip as to who can and cannot be trusted."

"That matter aside, could you tell me more about this person you think I ought to seek out?"

[abhorrently]

"Her name is Elsie. You must go near the forest, on the border between the town and the wilds, and there is a tree with her name in the bark. Much hangs from the branches, and should you stand there and call her name, she will hear. Wait, and she will come."

A pause.

"I have a feeling she'll like your songs."

[misbegottendreamer]

"Do they make much noise, those things hanging from the branches? I will not have much success looking for a name, muthsera."

[abhorrently]

"Some of them do. But I'm also not averse to leading you down the path. Once you know it, you'll be able to wend your own way there when you like."

[misbegottendreamer]

"I would greatly appreciate that."

[abhorrently]

"Consider it a done deal. So long as you tell me a little of what you were singing of."

[misbegottendreamer]

"Of course. It would be remiss for me to not share, as a storyteller. Shall I tell you now, or while we travel the woods. Or, are you ready to head out on that venture now?"

[abhorrently]

"Tell me now? She might be asleep at this hour - and I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to meet and find you again."

[misbegottendreamer]

She nods.

"I was singing an appeasement to the House of Troubles. Where I come from, there are many, many spirits that play a hand in the workings of the world. Some, we pray for their influence. Others, we pray that they will not oppress us. The Four Corners of the House of Troubles are a part of our world like anything else, and like the Three Good Daedra, they are our ancestors, but we must have the strength to overcome that which they burden us with."

[abhorrently]

Fortunate Drelasa can't see, or she would have noted instead how Fever's eyes widen at the mention of Daedra.

"In my travels, I've-" (met one, know him, carry his words in my mind) "heard a little of the Daedra. But not enough to know who makes up the House of Troubles, or the good ones. If you would pardon my ignorance, I'd be happy to hear more, to understand you better. Pay a little more respect to the spirits and all."

cw: slavery mention

[misbegottendreamer]

"Of course. The Three Good Daedra are Azura, Boethia, and Mephala. My people have looked to them throughout our history to guide us through or struggles. Through Azura, we persevere through harsh days and dark nights for the promise of the beauty of dusk and dawn. Through Boethia, we raise rebellion against tyrants, and remind our leaders that no power is absolute. And through Mephala, we learn the cunning to scheme and outwit our adversaries, to survive and outlast through cleverness, rather than brute strength."

"The Four Corners, on the other hand, present challenges that may lead to our downfall, but by learning to negotiate with them, we grow stronger. There is the First Corner, Molag Bal, oppressor and schemer, who would make slaves of all mortalkind. There is the Second Corner, Mehrunes Dagon, who brings wars and natural disasters. There is the Third Corner, Malacath, so consumed by a thirst for revenge that he becomes self-destroying. And the Fourth Corner, the most dangerous and most unknowable, the most unreliable and yet arguably the most benevolent, is Sheogorath, the Prince of Madness."

[abhorrently]

It's good Drelasa can't see her. But there's a shifting in her stance when that last name comes out of the woman's mouth, a tiny, tiny inhale of breath. Something perhaps perceptible to one who spends her days listening.

"...Some of those names are indeed familiar."

She needs to keep going, to not trip over her words, and yet, and yet-

"It sounds like in ways, they harmonize. Molag Bal and Boethia, for one - their domains at odds and therefore complimenting each other. And you called it negotiation." Grasping at something, anything to prevent herself from being too obvious, from perhaps misstepping. She misses the barely there weight of the dagger, not for the violence it would wreak, but the touchstone it had become. "The deities of my birthplace were numerous, but some offered equal problems to wrestle with. Tyranny, slaughter, loss - and others extended their hands. Endurance, renewal, protection."

She's babbling. Breathe.

"What I mean to say is, even here...I know they can hear you."

[misbegottendreamer]

She finds this response curious. The fact that this womer admits that she is familiar, not just with Daedra, but with some specific names, surprises her; none of the other elves she has met here seem to be familiar with the Velothi temple, or with the faiths of Tamriel in general.

And she certainly didn't miss that funny breathing upon her uttering the name "Sheogorath."

She decides not to pry immediately.

"I have no doubt about that. I know they are here, even if they do not speak to us or wear mortal guises."

[abhorrently]

"One of the priests seemed a little less certain when I spoke to him about other divinities, but he might have been being cautious. Unwilling to give an answer for fear it would be false."

But she had gotten what information she needed. What was necessary to feel comfortable building the home altar that she did. And that was enough, for her - to reach to not the myriad gods of her birthplace, but the one that actually responded.

"But that's what faith is, right? Even if they don't speak, we still know."

[misbegottendreamer]

"You are also devoted to the traditions of the place you came from, then? I know it is my task to tell you about my songs, but if I might ask, muthsera, would you tell me a little about the gods you keep?"

[abhorrently]

"Devoted might be a strong word for it. I'm no priest, no cleric. My head's full of holes - my memory isn't an intact thing."

It's no secret to keep from people. It inevitably comes up - but her tone isn't sorrowful, more just...relating a fact.

"What I know about traditions - about anything, really - it's a gamble if it's untouched."

[misbegottendreamer]

"It's a tale I've heard many a time. I, too, am no priest, but that does not mean I haven't seen seen as a figure of faith. My people are scattered, their heritage at risk, and I carry what I can of my race and my House on my back."

"If what you keep does not deserve the word 'devotion,' so be it. But do not think that word is reserved for a certain class or creed."

[abhorrently]

She's quiet for a moment, taking in the weight of Drelasa's words, before she asks a different question.

"How do you make sure you remember it all?"

[misbegottendreamer]

“It is quite a lot to remember all at once. I commit the important parts to song, and that serves as a Mnemolic device for everything else. But my memory is not perfect, and I imagine my history does morph into legend with time. But oftentimes, legends are vessels for the lessons we most need to keep, so that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Yes, she did say “Mnemolic” and not “mnemonic,” but the meaning is translating as the same thing.

[abhorrently]

"How do you decide which parts go to song?"

There's curiosity in her tone, a wonder that's not just dry and intellectual but honest intrigue in listening.

[misbegottendreamer]

“There are names. Signs. Symbols. Icons that sit at the heart of a greater image. If you can remember a story’s name, you can recall its chapters. If you can recall its chapters, you can begin to recall their contents. This structure is what makes a song- a call to remember, and our response to that call.”

[abhorrently]

"Do you choose the symbols, or do they come to you when it comes time to make a new song?"

[misbegottendreamer]

“Some of them I come up with when I’m coming up with a song. Many of them, however, are repeating ideas that appear again and again throughout the history of the word, written, spoken, and sung. There are heroes who wear different faces, different names, different eras, and different souls, but they share the same tale, the same theme, the same lesson. Those are the symbols we keep again and again, sometimes without even knowing.”

[abhorrently]

There's a quiet there, as Fever absorbs that, looks up into the night sky. When she speaks again, it's softer.

"I know we've only just met, but...would you ever consider teaching someone? I don't want to forget things again. Particularly those that haven't come to these shores. And it'll be a long time before I can see them again, if I ever can."

Anything to not lose herself again.

"I'm sure there's something I can come up with in equivalent value for you. I'm an accomplished sorcerer, after all."

[misbegottendreamer]

"I would be happy to teach you what I know, muthsera. I wouldn't ask anything in return. You already do a service by doing all you can to remember those distant to you, in time and space. My mission is to remember so that the forgotten do not give rise to angry ghosts. If teaching you means you can remember, I benefit just as much as you do."