RP:A Talk of History
From HollowWiki
Summary: Brennia stops by Uriphiel's chambers to delve into the man's history; An attempt figure out their shared connection.
Date of Writing: March 30th, 2020.
Devere College of Baric Arts - [Favoured Wing]
This is a hall full of secrets and other locked rooms, but if you have a key you would find only one room opens for you by the hum of the musical shaped key and it is a home made up entirely of your own needs. As a guild member or a professor you would find your own room harboring not only a large plush bed along with some pieces of lounge and storage furniture, but a workstation of whichever you’ve requested to be there. A desk full of papers, a room covered in bookshelves, a small potions lab or just a luxurious room with no spare in detail to make it unique to you complete with your own large washroom and a magically enhanced bathing tub for the utmost relaxation. Relax, take in the sights and sounds, maybe venture out on your own little balcony complete with a few patio pieces, you deserve it!
-
[Uriphiel] The sound of metal upon stone filled the quiet hallways of the College of Bardic arts; Singing a song of hardship and toils to any that might be nearby. A soft glow of light seeped out from a door slightly ajar, and inside the golden winged avian known as Uriphiel-Shar was sitting in a comfortable chair near the lightly burning hearth. In his hands he held a chisel and a rather large piece of fluorite, with a damp cloth nestled in his lap. He was concentrating, shaving the stone piece by little piece. Every now and again he would take the damp cloth and rub it over the stone’s surface before returning to the task of carefully shaping it for future use.
-
Brennia is walking back to her living quarters after saying a plain goodnight to her naga bodyguard, Thedez, with a sizable stack of papers and is yet to change out of her teaching outfit; smartly dressed in another shin length pencil skirt that begins at her waist and has a silky burgundy shirt tucked in where said skirt starts accented with flowy lace sleeves. Her hair is pulled up in a neat bun and large circular eyeglasses test atop her nose as she’s reading and walking down the corridor. Simply wearing mascara and a nude shade lipstick, but now a thin layer of concealer attempts to cover her dark circles under her solid teal gaze. These days she isn’t nearly as vain as she once was, but it helps to keep people from asking if she’s been sick and she’s sick of the vague answer that automatically bubbles up. The once curvaceous woman is still slight in her figure and by now she’s had a tailor take in all of her clothes, giving up the endless fight of putting the pounds back on. Her large black lackluster wings hug tightly to herself as her heels lightly click upon the marble floors and something catches the corner of her eye in the dim firefly sconces. Pushing the glasses up the bridge of her nose and slowing her steps as she nears the large door before her knuckles gently rapp on it. A gentle clearing of her throat before her smoky alto timbre asks, “Shar Uriphiel?” Gaze dropping to the item in his hand being illuminated in the light of the hearth. Her wings stir ever so lightly behind her in her discomfort and her heartbeat elevates slightly because she still isn’t sure what to think of the stranger. Is she safe?
-
Uriphiel did not answer at first. He was so wrapped up in his work that nothing else in the world existed. Every movement of the chisel was deliberate. Each wipe of the cloth is as important as the last. He had to get this exact. Just as he saw in his memory. When the smoky vocal tones of the Dean broke through his concentration, the blonde man looked up. The crackling fire of the heath reflects off of golden irises. “Brennia,” he greeted, giving the woman a polite nod. “It has been a spell. Is there anything I can assist you with?” His gaze fell upon the fluorite and he returned to work, awaiting the woman’s response.
-
Brennia won’t be entering his space without an invitation, so she just continues to stand at the door as she opens it a little wider and adjusts the stack of papers tucked in her arm. “It -has- been a spell… end of term and all,” she lies and it might be obvious in the second uncomfortable shift of her dulling black wings. Truth is, she has been avoiding him and that’s been a challenge, seeing as he lives at the college as well. It’s high time that maybe they are both due some explanations. “No, well- maybe.” She sighs softly for it's been a long day, “I believe there are some things we can discuss now that there are no prying eyes or listening ears.” Out of habit, she glances down the hallway on one side and then up the other, but she still won’t step foot into the man’s room unless otherwise instructed. Knowing that no other professors are up at this hour and they are alone, essentially. Somehow that scares her a little, but now is not the time to let her deep past creep up on her and freak her out anymore.
-
Uriphiel can sense that there is some form of tension in her words and his work is halted for the time being. He wraps the stone and chisel in the damp cloth and sets it upon the end table next to his chair. “And what is it that you are looking to discuss?” he asked with a concerned look upon his face. The avian lifted his hand and waved the woman in, gesturing toward a seat on the other side of the hearth. “Please, come in and have a seat. Although, this is your building, so I am not certain that you need much in the way of permission to do so.” He felt a mild comfort around this woman given her assistance in securing his position with the Empire’s ranks, so he gifted her a rare, yet temporary, smile. “Have I done something to offend you? Have I overstayed my welcome? I am quite happy to find lodging elsewhere if you wish. Or if it is monetary compensation, then that can also be arranged.”
-
Brennia is invited in and graciously accepts with a soft, “thank you.” Once she settles down in the chair opposite him and sets the stack of papers on the floor, she allows a moment of quiet to rest between them because she knows in her bones that she’s just being overly paranoid from past traumas. When he smiles at her, it seems odd, but at the same time it felt nice to have earned that maybe. Her warm smile is found easily once again and it pokes dimples in her dark skinned cheeks, “not at all, Uriphiel. Firstly, I must apologize... I haven’t been a very good host and it is unfair to you.” Her wings shift again as they try to fold tighter to herself as if trying to hide because there aren’t many avians that actually attend the school and the ones that do are young, so her dull wings along with the dwindling appearance goes unnoticed by them, but it’s the older ones who can tell through the luster of each other's wings that something is amiss. Her ankles cross and tuck off to the side while her hands rest upon her knees as they talk, “your mannerisms and the language we share are rare. These are old customs from the Island I am from, an island where only avians are allowed to visit and live that is on the other side of this planet. I ran away years ago and when we spoke to each other in my native tongue, I’ve been worried that my past has come to haunt me once again, but,” her teal hues lock to the man across from her and on instinct, she admits, “I have a strong feeling that you are far older than Island Vere… if I may, Uriphiel, how old are you?”
-
Uriphiel shook his head and brushed off her first concern. “Hardly. You are busy. This I quite understand. It has afforded me time to establish myself and begin preparing for life anew.” Golden hues gently run over Brennia’s form, taking in the changes since last they met. He had been so preoccupied by his work that he did not at first see that she was unwell. He resisted asking about her health for the time being, as it was quite apparent that something else was bothering her this evening. He listened closely, giving her time to lay the foundation of the conversation. He had been so preoccupied with his duties that he had completely forgotten about that moment in the chamber of Raan when Brennia spoke the language of his people, however bastardized. “Well,” he began, having to think it over. “By last count, I was coming up to four hundred and sixty seven years. However, I think that you are quite clever and know this to be not the answer you are looking for.” Uriphiel adjusts his position in the chair, slightly leaning forward while interlacing his fingers upon his lap. “If the historical texts are correct and the Rise of Arrecation began much longer ago than I initially thought, then technically I am over twenty one hundred years old.” He definitely did not look that old. Either there was more to the story, or he was lying. “I have not heard of this island, Vere, in all honesty. Although, I must admit, I too found it strange that the words you spoke that day were familiar to me. They were different, broken; And yet the underlying meaning came to me as if I were looking upon one from my home, Bardriel. There is a connection. This I know.”
-
Brennia has looked like this ever since her rescue from the goblin farms, but it’s just easier to hide in oversized sweaters. She doesn’t take her gaze off the man for one second as she listens and lets the words settle in her mind. “I am,” she takes a moment to think, how old is she? It’s a complicated matter anymore and she decides to keep it simple because explaining what happened with Raven would take them into the morning, “two hundred and thirty.” Total shot in the dark, but her age is something she hasn’t concerned herself with in quite some time, “seems to be quite a gap of time there for yourself. Would you care to elaborate?” The bard asks in genuine curiosity as she begins to relax some more and with that, the tension of the room vanishes. “Yes, Island Vere has some very old originating texts that I was tutored on as a child. I remember some tales about Bardriel, but I always thought it was merely myth.” She gently places her eyeglasses at the top of her head like a headband as she continues, “I ran away from my home and their small minded ways because they wanted to remain cut off from the world. Other than that, in order for me to inherit the crown from my father and rule, I had to be married off first.” At admitting this, her wings shift again and she adjusts the long flowy sleeves of her blouse, “it has been quite some time since I divulged that information and I wish to keep that in the past where it belongs if it’s all the same to you. I want to focus on Schezerade’s future in Lithrydel.”
-
Uriphiel, for a moment, seemed a little surprised when she revealed her age. He wouldn’t have put her over one hundred and fifty. Although, this thought would not be allowed to linger, because in the midst of his inner monologue, Brennia’s request for clarification would bring him back to a time where he truly felt fear. His brow furrowed and the expression upon his face painted a scene of sadness; Or perhaps an acute sense of anxiety. “I can,” he started, allowing his eyes to fall upon the lightly dancing flames of the hearth as memories came over him like a crashing wave. “I come from a time when our people prospered. A time when we held reign over the dominion of shy with seven mighty cities that spanned all across the lands. We were strong. Rivaled only by the saurians - who at the time had many times attempted to reclaim the sky for themselves and failed. I had been serving with the Bardiel Royal Empire for many decades when many of the great nations began to come together for the greater good. There wars of course, but the most civilized of races could see the folly in such ways the more time went on. It was unnecessary fighting. There eventually came a time when it was decided that there should be a unified force of law keepers. Those that could travel the lands and uphold order and diplomacy between the great nations. A grand lottery would be held, a means for choosing six from among the united nations greatest warriors to serve as Knights for their respective kingdoms. I was not the initial choice. No, that honor fell upon another. However, they, like many of our kind at the time, were of an old blood mindset. They could not fathom watching over other races, such as humans, or even the saurians. And so, I was the runner up.” Uriphiel held his breath for a moment, trying to determine what, if anything would be of relevance. When he had chosen the intended path this story would take, he broke the silence. “For a time, things went well. Our name was quite renowned - the history books seem to have buried this name, but that is neither here nor there. In any event, we felt truly in power. That is, until an Immortal by the name of Arrecation appeared in the land. We were approached by the Archmages that had put our band of Knights together, instructed that we were to ride south and meet this threat head on. We felt we were invincible. That this threat was no threat at all. So, we rounded up our armies and rode south until we came upon the enemy. We were not prepared for the horrors we encountered that day on the battlefield.” There was a sense of apprehension in Uriphiel’s voice as he went on. His hands began to tremble, but he quickly masked this by fixating on spinning his insignia ring with determination. “Needless to say, but we fell to their army. Imprisoned. Forced to learn that our homelands had been sieged. Eventually our fate had been decided. One of our members, our great leader - she was killed in a cruel manner. I can not speak for the others, but my fate was not quite so lucky. I was thrown into a portal, a rift between worlds. It was… nothingness. Complete and utter nothingness. I could feel myself floating, and yet I touched nothing. No earth below my feet. No sky above my head. Nothing I could see at all, for it was the blackest of black I had ever experienced. And the silence. How I curse the silence. It was in every sense of the word, nothingness. To make matters worse, I could not move. Not a finger. Not an eyelid. It was as if I were paralyzed. Yet.. I could sense the passage of time. I could not know how much had come and gone, but I know that it had been long. I am uncertain as to how I find myself free. I like to think that my prayer to the Gods had been my only salvation. I remember a light. And the longer I stared upon it, the brighter it grew until it enveloped me fully. The last thing I remember was waking upon the outskirts of the town called Larket, with a woman, a bard, coming to my rescue. In fact… she mentioned your name now that I think about it.” Uriphiel finally found solace within, pushing the sensation of that hellish void back down where it belonged. He lifted his eyeline to meet Brennia’s “No. I can promise you, Bardriel is far from myth. It was my home once. I am sorry that you had to suffer such hardship, and while I intend not to pry too deeply into your affairs, might I ask - What is this island, Vere? What can you tell me about it?”
-
Brennia sits quietly and only listens while Uriphiel talks. The explanation takes her on a journey that she didn’t expect and her heartstrings are tugged on a little even though she doesn’t give even a hint of any emotion on the matter. It puzzles together in Brennia’s mind as to why he doesn’t mind the busy bustling college then, the noise reminds him that he’s out of that darkness and silence. “A bard? Yes,” she knows quite a few, “there was a time where I was the leader of the bard’s guild of Lithrydel, but after being lured into a trap, my bodyguard and I spent a year or so on a goblin farm and we were fed potions in the day to keep us working in conjunction with a different one at night to keep us, along with the others, asleep.” Her wings shift slightly again, “so I am no longer the leader and unable to take up leadership at this time because of my absence and the toll such tonics took on my body.” She glances down at the stack of paperwork at her feet and touches on the feeling that even running the silly bard college feels like a lot these days. “You… want to know about Vere?” She idly plays with a diamond stud earring on the lobe of one of her long tapered ear, “an avian man with mocha colored skin, shoulder length black dreadlocks and massive wings the shade of onyx stone ruled the island as Count Des’Monde Smyth, for a few hundred years, but I knew him as my father. He proudly kept up the tradition of elitism and exclusion from the outside world because, as I said, only avians could set foot on the island, but it could barely even be found if you hadn't already come from there. Of course the markets, prominent families, citadel protecting the royal family and epicenter of the island occupied the floating portion. A lot of avians where I am from have skin tones similar to mine,” avians are mostly pale or grey skinned beings, yet Brennia is mixed so her skin tone is more of a caramel color, “but most importantly, almost everyone has a tattoo, if not many to indicate their ranks within the island.” Given the fact that her body is nearly covered head to toe in an intricate tattoo pattern, it was obvious that she was royalty. “White sands, crystal clear blue waters, breathtaking Mountain views and lush greenery accented with tall palm trees,” her gaze finally broke from him to gaze out the window of Uriphiel’s balcony doors. She didn’t realize she would ever miss the place, but of course she did… it was her father that she didn’t miss, “Count Des’Monde- I mean… my father, he became power hungry and it drove him mad. Putting his daughter and son in danger, blackmailing other avians and erasing my mother’s memories anytime they had an argument about his erratic actions, but most of all, he didn’t care what happened to the island as long as he got more power and I began to see the irreparable damage he’d caused his people.” Her wings shift again in guilt as her voice became softer and quieter, “and I ran away like a coward.”
-
Uriphiel quickly chimed in when the woman asked of the bard, “Yes, Raphaline I think her name was?” He interrupted her no further, instead rising to his feet while she revealed her own horrid turmoil. He walked over to a cabinet on the southern wall and opened the door, looking over the various bottles that had been concealed inside. “I thought your appearance seemed off,” he commented, finally selecting a bottle. It was a red wine of a more recent vintage. “Perfect.” Uriphiel pulled free one glass and set it down, before looking over his shoulder and raising a second wine glass as if to ask the woman if she would like to partake. If she accepted, he would pour her a drink, and if not, then he would have no hesitations with drinking alone. Uriphiel was not one to usually imbibe. In fact, it would be a cold day in the pits of Hell before anyone ever saw him drunk. However, every now and again, especially after reliving a painful memory, he felt that it was appropriate to have a glass or two. “I am sorry to hear that,” he began, pouring some wine. “I hope that with your freedom, that your road to recovery is swift and without further penalty. Your College, I have enjoyed my time here. Everyone is quite friendly. Your staff, as I stated to another, is quite lovely.” Uriphiel returned to his seat with his glass of wine; Only offering Brennia her own if she had accepted in the first place. “Yes. I do,” the blonde man answered her second query. He listened closely, taking in as much detail as he could of the island. There wasn’t a whole lot to go on, nothing that seemed familiar - at least, nothing that was specific to his homeland. Most of the avian societies were exclusionary at the time. It was only when she mentioned the tattoos that he grew more curious. While he himself did not have any, he did recall many of the older warriors were host to very intricate designs scrawled all over their bodies. “Cowardice? Perhaps. Not everyone is built to take on great challenges. Some of us take different paths in this life. Whether it is to take up sword and shield, or to follow a noble, artistic life - such as you have done. Have you ever thought of returning? To face your father after all this time?”
-
Brennia had a short sweet smile when Raphaline was mentioned, “yes, Raphaline,” the name sounded like gold coming off the bard’s tongue, “dear friend of mine.” When she was offered wine, oh how she misses the delicious taste of it, but she gulps hard and looks at her hands on her lap as the fingertips lace together, “no thank you, Uriphiel. Due to living on gruel laced with dulling potions and being under a sleeping draught every night, it started to break down the lining of my stomach until it left a hole. So after surgery, I cannot eat more than a couple ounces every few hours and I have no alcohol tolerance anymore,” she took a deep breath slowly before looking at the fellow avian. “No one except Thedez and my partner know about it, I’m sorry to just lay that on you, but I’m so tired of constantly lying about it,” a soft raspy chuckle follows. A warm smile returns as he describes his time at the college, “I am glad you’re finding your stay acceptable.” His last question was unexpected and now she wishes that she took him up on the offer of a drink, but she’d get stupid drunk all too fast and that is not a light she cares to be seen by Uriphiel. “After a few years of hiding out, I did with the help of a disguise, but I came to find out my dear friend Quillian started a republic there. Turns out the man my father arranged my marriage with had plans on killing me during the honeymoon and when I ran out on my wedding day, he took matters into his own hands. He killed my parents and my brother,” without really thinking about it, she realized her left hand was now resting palm side up on her lap and she gently pulled the sleeve back to reveal half of her family crest on her arm, but her deceased brother has the other half on the inside of his left forearm to complete it. She never knew how she’d managed to bear this weight on her shoulders all this time, it didn’t feel any lighter! Did she just forget it? Her old cynical ways attempt to creep back into her soul and the thought of having one sip of wine couldn’t hurt? Maybe it’s the dim flickering light of the hearth, but it seems that just for a second her tattoo pattern swirls in on itself and then freezes back into place. That kind smile breaks across her whole face as she softly chuckles into the silence again and with a quickness, she swipes the side of her finger under her tired eyes, “wow, I’m sorry Uriphiel.” This conversation really got away from her and she picks up her papers while standing up, but fumbles some and they scatter on the floor. “Ugh, look at me,” pulling her glasses back down on the bridge of her nose as she gets down on her knees to quickly start picking up the papers, “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” Her wings shift again in embarrassment.
-
Uriphiel took a long draw from his glass of wine, sun kissed lids falling over his golden gaze. Heaven. “It is of no mind, really,” he answered to her first apology. “Lying about it is only lying to yourself; And after time, when the weight is thrust upon your shoulders, eventually it will become heavy and crush your very soul. To let loose the word of truth, is to cast aside that weight and be free.” The blonde man opened his eyes, each flickering of flame causing small glimmers to dance around his pupil like tribal warriors celebrating a successful hunt. He lifted one leg, hooking the ankle upon the opposite knee and he listened further to her tale of woe. Surprise swept over his face when it was revealed of the dastardly plot against her life. Then to discover the gruesome end in which her family met? It was unfathomable. Uriphiel felt the pang of guilt in his stomach and it worsened when he saw how distraught his conversational companion became. When the papers were scattered to the floor, Uriphiel quickly rose to his feet and settled the glass upon the end table beside him. “Oh, no. I sincerely apologize. I said I would not pry, and yet here we are. I did not intend to stir up such sorrow; And for that, I am quite sorry.” He held out a hand to help her back up when she had fully gathered her papers. “If I may say so, I offer condolences for your loss.”
-
Brennia kept that smile painted across her lips no matter what as tears swell on the rim of her eyelids, “not at all, Uri,” accidentally shortening the name in the rush to gather the papers and skitadle. “I’ve grieved, made my peace and pulled myself out of the dark place my soul had settled into back then, it’s just been some time since I thought upon such things.” Her cheeks flush as she has to tilt her head back to look way up at the taller man and at a closer proximity, the fellow avian can see how her eyes are a little bloodshot from lack of sleep. “Thank you. If there is anything you need, let me know,” she tucks the papers securely to herself and her wings shift again before she turns to make her way out of his suite.