RP:Maybe the Past is Instead Forgotten

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: Odhranos, growing restless for want of something to do, asks Inks if there are any decent books in the shop and if she could read one to him. From the jumbled selection that master-smuggler Riktonfounsal “Ricky” “Kraken” Oohjmaeyik (better known as Pa' O) has gathered, the pair stumble across a book that reveals some earth-shattering truths to Odhranos.

Shop Beneath the Dunes, Oohjmaeyik Tailors

Odhranos has gotten rather adept at navigating about the shop floor of Oohjmaeyik Tailors. Unbeknownst to Ma O, the terramancer has been surreptitiously adding a hoard of tiny metal staples to the underside of the floorboards. Entirely unobtrusive, but incredibly useful. Now what was once a daunting expanse of darkness and ankle-bumping obstacles is revealed in a delicate grid of silvery glimmers. Objects of known placement are demarcated with double outlines of silver, saving the terramancer's bruised shins from a world of pain, while the movements of the shop's animated mannequins now register in the steely web as discrete vibrations, allowing Odh to weave his way through the automatons with ease as he makes his way to his usual stool, perched in the far corner of the room to the front door. Odhranos smirks, proud of his fruitful endeavours, but the pride wears off as he now finds himself without a task to keep himself busy. The shop largely tends to itself, Odh doesn't have any hand in the business end of things, and the mannequins see to any and all chores that need doing, leaving a certain terramancer at loss for a job. Mrs Oohjmaeyik, bless her heart, has done everything she can to keep him busy when she can, having him help with simple tasks such as baking or stocking, but what Odhranos truly yearns for, what his academic heart cries out for, is some literature to stir his soul. The terramancer settles his chin in his hands and sighs. He could go to visit Khitti's bakery and read some more of the one book that he is capable of reading, but the whole matter of his newly appointed role as Archmage still hasn't entirely settled in his mind, and he would rather not confront it just yet. Odhranos sighs again, despondent for lack of purpose.

It just so happened to be a delivery day, which meant Iintahquohae was busy with Father and their crew unloading crates and barrels full of imported jewels, unspun silks and wool. Nearly each parcel that left one of the Kraken's fleet of eight ships had a false bottom, carrying items that were obviously not for their shop's trade. The Oohjmaeyiks made no real effort to hide what they did – With Mother and Father devoted to Ascendi Olric the Just, they instilled into their daughter that she should never lie. Naturally that meant they simply let Odh know what was going on the first time one of the ships came in and they started carting in swords, artefacts, hard to acquire foodstuffs and the like. Their somewhat twisted interpretation of what the Olric represented made sense enough to them – If they were arrested for what they did, then so be it, but for now they just lived what they believed was an honest enough life. I With all of the noise of taking inventory and unpacking boxes occurred downstairs, down the roughly hewn network of tunnels in the earth beneath the sand that eventually opened out to the somewhat hidden cove the family kept their small fleet anchored, the shop itself was quiet.

Inks emerged from the door at the shop's far end eventually, carrying a wooden box of Larketian Grey and teapot filled with water for herself and Odhranos. She's laughing at herself; getting the tea out of Larket and into her hands took the most roundabout means ever. “This box has probably seen the entire world before it finally got here,” she exclaims, approaching the terramancer. “Mo ghr- er, Odh,” she greets. She isn't sure why, but whatever that phrase was seemed to have stuck. “I finally got you some Larketian Grey. It took -forever-. I'm so sorry.” She pulls up a seat beside him and busies herself with attempting to heat the teapot on the desk, magick-ed heat coursing through her palms while she holds them against the body of the teapot. It takes more time than usual, given her weakened abilities with the Xalious Tree still damaged, but it's eventually hot enough to start steeping leaves. Pulling open one of the desk's drawers, she retrieves a pair of cups. “How is your...Archmage...Tome?” Was that what it was called? The thought was still bizarre, thinking that she sat across from the Archmage. “We brought in a few books with ink that's fairly textured...I thought maybe you might want to take a look at them. I dropped them off in the 'library'.” she tries to emphasize the word so it sounds like it's in air quotes. In reality, it's a spare bedroom-turned storage room for books they happen to get their hands on. Usually they went to Satoshi or Svilfon, but with the two gone, they remained piled up beneath layers of dust. It seemed as if most of the items her family collected for the Coterie were in that state. Except for Kasyr's cache of weapons. That constantly needed to be restocked. “Would you like to take a look?”

Odhranos perks up as his silvery spiderweb dances with someone's approaching footsteps from the dwelling below. The footsteps sound lighter than Pa O, and quicker than Ma O's, but with the number of others that frequent the lower chambers of the shop on non-tailorly business, Odhranos can't confirm who it is approaches, so he gets up from his stool to greet whoever it is. When he sees a familiar stone halo bobbing through the doorway, along with that bright happy laughter, his mood soars. "I'll never understand how that unruly place manages to produce such a refined tea. It really seems unfair." Odh seats himself again once he hears Inks dragging a seat over, and he watches intently as the round-bellied teapot glimmers as it is imbued with heat. "You're getting good at that." He comments, leaning across to bump his shoulder against Inks'. "Thank you for going to all that trouble for me." Odhranos has shown a remarkable difference in how he expresses his appreciation lately; thanks are often punctuated by gentle bumps of the shoulder or a light touch on the back of Inks' hand, almost as if he is reminding himself of her presence. The change is unconscious, but noticeable. When Iintahquohae asks about -his- Archmage tome, Odhranos pulls a face. "I've been avoiding it, to tell the truth. I still feel weird about the whole thing, some part of me reasons that if I put off reading that book, then I can put off having to come to terms with bearing the title that comes with it." He grimaces, then levels Inks with a serious face. "Not to mention… I feel somewhat sad about reading the only book available to me cover to cover. It feels like it's the last book in the world, and if I finish it, there'll be no more. The notion… doesn't bear thinking about." Odh shudders, then raises his eyebrows with curiosity at the mention of new books. The idea of learning to read by texture is enticing, but at the same time, Odhranos has barely acclimatised to walking about. He doesn't know if he has it in him right now. He looks crestfallen, but when an idea occurs to him, he faces Inks with a thoughtful expression. "Would…" He turns away, a little embarrassed before continuing "Would you read to me? If you're not busy?"

“Right?! I'll try to get more if I can.” She wonders if writing a letter to Queen Josleen asking for tea would be odd. It might be an easier way to get her hands on more Larketian Grey, but she is certain the queen of Larket has way more important things than shipping her boxes of tea. Odhranos' comments and the sensation of his shoulder bumping hers make the heat emanating from her hands falter a little bit. One would think living together in for as long as the two of them had would make Inks feel less startled by the brief periods of physical contact between them now, but she still became somewhat flustered. “You think so?” she asks, removing her hands from the teapot once it's hot enough. “I can't believe that I'm able to manage that still, what with the tree and everything else...” Trailing off, she frowns at the terramancer's crestfallen expression. There had to be some way to get him reading again, and some way to help him feel more comfortable about his new title. “Well, you know I'll be nearby to support you, Archmage,” her tone is an attempt at being humorous, but it falls flat. Just as she is about to apologize however, Odh asks to be read to. “Absolutely!” she exclaims. “How about now? Father and the others are practically done. I can run downstairs and grab a few books -” She is already on her feet, walking backward for the door as she says this. “Wait here! I'll be right back.” And down the stairs she goes, through the candle-lit hallways to the dusty book room. Without looking at titles, she grabs a stack of interesting-looking, and intrestingly textured covers off of the shelves and piles strewn about the floor to haul back up to Odhranos. Moments later (thanks vampiric speed), the door to the shop floor creaks open, and Inks is back, stack of books gently set down upon the desk. She sets them out so their covers are turned to face him. “There's....” a pause to count the books, “maybe ten or eleven in front of you, all different sizes.” Moving to sit beside him again, she reaches out to guide his hand over to one of the book covers. “Why don't you pick the one you want me to read from?”

The mention of the Xalious tree prompts a frown from Odh. Yet another thing on the long list of worldly calamities that needed righting. It seems like a lifetime ago when he and Inks had found the tree in its decrepit state of decay, sparking the chain of events that saw him kidnapped. Odhranos shook his head to dispel the dark thoughts of what followed that day. One problem at a time. A small smile peeps out at Inks' attempt to cheer him up, then a broader one when she agrees to his request. "If you're sure it's not too much-" Inks is already gone, and out the door, with blistering speed that surprises even Odhranos. It occurs to him that he keeps forgetting that Inks is a vampire; that sort of thing gets forgotten in the day-to-day mundanity of life. But every so often, she casually splits firewood with her bare hands or near blinks from one side of the room to the other and Odhranos is reminded that she is something more than human. A brief thought concerning the word "lifespan" briefly flits through his mind, only to be dispelled when Inks comes flying back with a treasure trove in tow. Odhranos leans forward as he sees the weight of these tomes glimmering before him, and he accepts Inks' guidance in laying his hand on the first book. Scrunching his nose in a thankful smile, he picks the book up and traces his fingers over the cover, seeking embossed lettering, or some sort of figure of relief. He traces his finger around the outline of a letter, and after a few moments, discerns it to be a "V". Another few moments pass, and the second letter has perplexed him. He frowns, then extends his hand out forward. From the far side of the room, where before had been seemingly clean floorboards, every speck of sand that had been trekked in that day was swept up into a sphere, which floated across to the terramancer, only to be promptly plopped onto the cover of the book. "Aha! Much better!" A delighted cry from the terramancer, who now reads "Vessels of the Rynvalian Fleet" as clear as day, impressed in the sand he had just gathered. "That damn "e", the font was misleading. Let's see what else we have." The next four books are quickly evaluated, a range of topics from landscape horticulture to an encyclopedia of Venturil wildlife. However, the sixth book causes Odhranos to pause. The sphere of sand falls to splash against the floor with his surprise, and his fingers trace the embossed script with disbelief. "Mo déithe…" Odhranos whispers, then he opens the cover quick as a flash. His fingers explore the page, but finding no purchase, his face scrunches up in brief disappointment, then back to amazement. "Inks, look." Odhranos holds the book up for his companion to inspect. "It's in Oileanian." The terramancer's voice is hushed with quiet wonder.

“I hope there's something here you'll like,” Iintahquohae says, while giving Odhranos' hand a gentle squeeze. “The titles are – oh!” Before she can tell him what she brought up, the sphere of sand materializes seemingly from thin air to her, and spread over a book cover to inspect it. She marvels at the ease in which Odh is able to do this, and is internally grateful. Sand all over the shop can be a nightmare, but with the terramancer sweeping it up as if it were nothing, it doesn't feel that way to her as much any more. Just as the thought crosses her mind however, Inks blinks at the sand once it falls to the floor. She mistakes the words he whispers for possibly a swear in Oileanian. Did he not like what she had brought up? Was there something offensive about one of the books' titles? She peers over the covers of the books, finding nothing particularly odd about them. Frowning, the seamstress offers, “I can get some more books if you don't like any of these -” Then she sees the cover of the book in his hand, and the frown disappears. “Is it?” With care, she takes the book from Odhranos and opens to the first page, squinting at the text. The script is legible, but she doesn't understand a word and the various accent marks she sees are lost on her. But it's a language he knows. Naturally, this seems like the perfect book to read to him. “I wonder when Father got this! I can try reading this to you, if you want,” she whispers, hesitantly. “Though I might butcher the language, so don't laugh.”

“An Éirí Amach Chloiche” Odhranos murmurs as he passes the book across, pondering the significance of the name. “The title translates as “The Stone Rebellion”, but I don’t remember any such rebellion mentioned in all my years studying history as a child.” Back when his life was railroading him straight into a lifetime as a diplomat, Odhranos had been drilled with every date, name and fact from the coloured lineage of Oilean, right back as far as word-of-mouth accounts of the great clanships and their endless voyage. But the Stone Rebellion was not counted among them. “For being the first other person to try to speak my native language in almost two decades, I can forgive a few mispronunciations.” Odhranos’ words are teasing and his face is brightened with a smile, but there is a tinge of sadness in that smile. A hint of homesickness, long forgotten, a void Odh perhaps hopes that this fragment of his culture can fill. “If you read out the words as best you can, I can try to translate them. But it has been a while, so I might be slow.” Leaning his chin into his hands, Odh sits forward expectantly, his excited smiling face now leaning towards Inks, though the terramancer has no sense of how close he is.

"Prrrractice, naturally. Sure, Kas rolls his R's better than I do, what with his accent. I'm sure he could teach you if you asked." Odh smirks playfully as he settles on his stool, ready to listen. His smile softens as Iintahquohae begins hesitantly speaking in a language that has been distant from his mind but close to his heart for a long time. If there are any mispronunciations, Odhranos is too enthralled to notice; too swept up in the waves of nostalgia brought on with every word. He interjects occasionally, when some words prove too awkward or the pronunciation too cumbersome, but as a whole he merely listens, as the story takes shape, a picture painted in the colours of Inks' voice. That alone is enough for Odhranos, but when the sand strewn about the floor stirs and slips like silk across the desk, he raises his eyebrows with curiosity. His intrigue turns to delight, writ large in his smile as he scoots his stool over to see the sand-scratchings better. Taken by a flight of fancy, Odhranos rests his chin on the desk and drums his fingers against the table. In response, the sand leaps and dances, as miniature figures emerge from the dust. There is a portly bald Macon-esque figure, with his polished shiny bonse, while about him, equally pompous looking cronies sneer across as the more modestly dressed commoners, bearing their Oileanian circlets proudly as they face off across the field of sand. Soon, streamers of sand, twisted into fillagree to suggest flame and wind and other magics began flying across the desk. "It's no story I ever heard of before, so I'd suspect it's possibly an obscure folk-tale, but don't let me interrupt you; you're doing fantastic! Sing on, Seamstress, weave a tale to leave the bards jealous!" Odhranos turns his chin on the desk and beams up at Inks', delighted in this humble homely performance.

"See-ooh-ban?...Oh!" Odhranos devolves into laughter. "It had to be the most difficult name, didn't it. It's pronounced like this...see?" Odh draws "Shiv-awn" in the sand and shuffles aside to let Inks' see. "Siobhan…." A heavy pause stalls Odhranos before he follows up with what is on his mind. "Its my mother's name… actually. Siobhan ní Charraig an Rí." His tone is more subdued, but then a sly grin tugs at his lips. "I'm sure she'd love the thought of sharing a name with a rebel leader, that'd rightly irritate her." Odhranos breaks from his snide recollections when Inks' starts transcribing the ocean maps into the sand. He leans closer, studying the maps more intensely. "This… looks a bit like An Aigéan Thior, but not as I remember it. Which is odd, because the Aigéan Thior was only explored a little before and during my lifetime; the clanships mainly crossed the oceans west and south of there, until they found Oilean. Why would an Oileanian legend be set in a region of ocean they never visited?" Perturbed, Odhranos gestures for Inks to keep going.

Iintahquohae is certain her face has turned scarlet once Odh starts laughing. “Wha- How is -THAT- pronounced Shiv-awn?!” she exclaims, laughing and feigning offense at the correction. She considers launching back into reading when he falls silent, but pauses the moment he speaks. “Your mother?” This being one of the few times the terramancer has spoken of his family, she perks up and considers closing the book to ask more questions about him instead. When he gestures for her to continue however, she refrains from prying about his family and turns the page to continue reading. “The...Okay, so it looks like Siobahn and some of the people in stone armor found Brónach, and executed him.” Brutally too, if the illustration is accurate. They split the earth beneath him and sealed it once he fell into the chasm. After this defeat, the nobles lost hope and fled to the coast. Turning the page, her eyes light up, believing she may recognize something. “I think these are the clanships?” Again, she tries to replicate the drawing in the book by drawing on the sandy desktop. “They fled the commoners.” While she doesn't understand the text, some of the pictures are fairly gruesome, but she describes or replicates them as best as she can for Odhranos. Massive boulders hurled from the coast at the fleeing ships, impossibly high walls of earth around cities and towns further inland to keep people out, she thinks. “It's as if they abandoned all other magic but terramancy,” she murmurs.

While he can’t help but grin at Inks’ reaction to the pronunciation, his mirth is quickly doused when she continues to read. Her drawing of the clanships is scrutinized intensely, as if Odhranos is trying to drag some sort of answer from the simple sketches, finding only questions instead. The drawings of the rebels’ terramancy are regarded with fascinaton, but Odh keeps returning to the clanships, those huge catamarans as they left the shore and the wrath of their earth-wielding aggressors behind. When Inks comments on their abandoning of terramancy, Odh hums pensively. “The Oileanian mages never knew terramancy. Outright had no knowledge of it, which surprised me when I came to Lithrydel and discovered my affinity for the art. I never understood how I could be proficient in a magic that had never been seen in my...bloodline…” Odhranos freezes, then turns to condenses and solidifies, allowing him to lift the drawings from the table as etchings in plates of stone. He traces the sketches with his fingertips, burning the images into his mind’s eye. “Unless... it was purposely forgotten. Of course…” Spreading the stone tablets back out on the table, he reorders them. The rebellion, the execution of the king, the fury of the earth made manifest and the exodus of the nobles, turning to the sea and turning their back on the land. Seeking somewhere else, a sanctuary from the earth itself. “That’s why we wandered, for so long.” Odhranos’ voice is barely a whisper as the weight of history asserts itself on his soul. “Oilean wasn’t some promised land, it wasn’t the fabled reward for innocent wanderers. It was a sanctuary for tyrants.” Odhranos covers his face as he tries to reconcile this revelation. “Oppressors that the earth rejected. So they rejected it in kind and hid beyond the sea. My ancestors...were told that we wandered because we sought some kind of enlightened haven. When...in truth, they were hiding from those they abused.” Odhranos sags back from his crouched position and lies flat against the floor, staring blankly toward the ceiling. A dry laugh erupts from his chest, rocking his body against the floorboards. “And now an exile of the exiles wields the magic of his ancestor’s victims. How ironic.” Odhranos covers his face and groans, as he struggles to come to terms with this discovery. “Everything I was ever taught is now untrue. I don’t… Xalious fend, I don’t know what to think.”

It doesn't hit Iintahquohae as quickly as it does Odhranos when he begins connecting the dots. To her, this was a distant, old story – oceans away, potentially myth for all she knew. When the terramancer's reaction does begin to make sense, she is at a loss for what to say. What could one possibly say to someone else who was essentially, casually told that the knowledge they had of their entire history was a lie? “I...” The seamstress starts, then closes her mouth. Reassurance wasn't her strong suit, especially with something as heavy as this had to be. The disconnect is even more apparent when she tries to search for something relatable, to try to spin it into something reassuring. To find some sort of bright side. She hadn't the foggiest clue where her birth parents came from, what lives they lived before she washed ashore. Slowly the seamstress closes the book, audibly so Odhranos knows, and sets it down. Taking his hand in hers if he'll allow it, she gives it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe...maybe you don't need to dwell on the past here,” she tries, but to her it sounds dismissive. She tries again, frowning. “I mean, it is good to know the truth here, right? It means you can grow from it. Be better than them. You are already. I have never seen you lift a finger with the intent to harm your own people – the Guild, I mean. If anything, you're more like what I bet Miss Shiv-awn-” she hopes this elicits some smile from him, “- was like to the other terramancers. A...” Her tone becomes hesitant, concerned she sounded too flowery with her words. “...beacon of hope. Something to aspire toward being instead of looked down upon like dirt.”

Odhranos simply lies there, staring upward blankly as his mind swirls with disarray. He feels untethered, as if this knowledge had severed his connection to the past he had believed, leaving him adrift as some strange not-person without an origin he could claim as his own. Odh floats like this, in this odd sense of confusion, until a hand slips into his own and he is suddenly located again. He begins reasserting his sense of self. He is Odhranos Kerrigan. The surname “Kerrigan”, bastardized Common of his original clan-name feels alien and strange, so he retreats from it, trying again. He is Odhranos, a terramancer. Now his magic itself feels odd, a gift that he never knew he had, suppressed by his nation in fear of their past. He tries one last time. He is Odhranos. Inks’ hand is gently squeezed in his own. He is a teacher of magic. Slowly, identity begins resolving itself within him. He is a member of Xalious’ Mages Guild. Odhranos’ other hand clasps around Inks’, as if to draw strength from her presence, to anchor himself once and for all. One final time, he asserts himself; for who he is and what he is. He is Odhranos Kerrigan, Terramancer and Archmage of the Mages Guild of Xalious. A moment passes before Odh finds himself grounded again, triumphant in who he knows himself to be. Finally, it is beginning to feel right. He sits up from the ground, still holding Inks’ hand, then he leans across and wraps his arms around her, wordlessly.

Iintaqhuohae isn't sure how to take his silence. Was it shock? Is he upset? “Odh,” she whispers. “Odhranos?” No response. She holds onto his hand for as long as he'll allow. When he moves, she remains still, uncertain if what she said had struck a nerve or not. The sensation of his arms wrapping around her is a welcomed surprise that she quickly reciprocates, a hand reaching to gently stroke his grey hair. Perhaps what she said was helpful in some way. At a loss for what else to say, she simply holds him close, head resting against his shoulder.

Odhranos bunts his forehead against Inks’ shoulder, simply grateful for her presence, not only in helping him ground himself but also in being there for him, ever since he walked out of Xalious. “I said in that meeting with the Guild that I was done running from my responsibilities, but I didn’t fully understand that myself at the time.” Odhranos leans back, with his arms still draped around Inks’ neck and he frowns solemnly. “I can’t keep running from my past either. It is what it is, and it’s a part of me. Accepting that is the only way I can make a future for myself. A future for us.” Odhranos pauses, then his cheeks flush and he adds; “The Guild, I mean.” He is momentarily flustered, but he shakes his head to clear his fluster. “My ancestors may have been Oileanian, but they were also these terramancers, these people of Siobhan. And if I can follow in her footsteps, in her legacy of freedom, then I will be proud to call myself their descendant.” Odhranos turns his head, to where the weight of the book imprints itself on the sand on the table. “I think that this book is a good place to start.” Odh turns back and grins at Inks. “It seems rebellion runs in the blood”

“Us-?” Us? Did he really mean-surely she misunderstood. They're just hugging because they're friends right now, and their faces are definitely -not- very close to each other. Almost certain her face has started to flush like Odh's, Inks averts her eyes and pretends to adjust her glasses. They were sitting on her face just fine, but maybe it looked less unnatural than she thought it did. But he can't see, remember? But he might notice the slight change in her body language, considering their proximity to one antoher. Silently cursing at herself, the seamstress tries a smile and hopes it isn't apparent in her voice that she is also a bit flustered. “It's a good look for you,” she comments, then internally screams. Why did that sound flirtatious?! “- the uh. The rebellious-ness, I mean. I bet the Guild will be very proud of their rebellious Archmage. I know I am.”

Odhranos laughs brightly as he lifts his arms and clambers to his feet, offering Inks a hand. “Then I’ll be the Archmage that incited rebellion, if that’s what it takes.” Odh glances towards the desk and nods firmly. “I’ll need to learn everything that I can if this is going to work, starting with this book, then anything else I can get my hands on. When your father is free later, I’ll ask him if he has any contacts that can source books on military tactics and military history.” A certain serious aura has surrounded Odhranos, now that reality is setting in, but it is offset with a smile sent Inks’ way. “Thank you, Inks. For this, for everything until now and everything after.”