Ryzom

Time. It passes so quickly and yet so slow. A short time can bring such large and irrevocable change. Inaro Ricci looked up from the patterns he was scratching in the forest mould to watch the setting sun sink behind the hills of Yrkanis. A few short weeks and summer would turn to autumn. How could a whole life change within the space of a single season?

It was early summer when Inaro first saw the kami. Up to that point he had spent little thought on the priests and their dogma. Sure, he’d gone with the family to join in the regular worship of Jena, but she meant nothing to him other than a vague sense of unease at the odd glimpse of a faceless karavan. And when the strange creature appeared in the woods, he didn’t associate it at first with the kami.

The priests always described the kami as twisted, evil creatures, but this being was filled with a kind of wholesomeness and peace. The first time Inaro saw it, it was just a flitting shape disappearing amidst the trees. Curiosity piqued, he had come back whenever his duties allowed to try to find the creature again. It always seemed to appear when he wasn’t looking for it. He’d be gathering mushrooms and there it would be, for a brief moment, off in the trees. He’d try to track it, but when he got to the place it had been there would be no sign – except for a particularly succulent patch of mushrooms.

It didn’t take many days before Inaro realized what the creature was, and stopped trying to catch it. He came to look forward to seeing it, though, more for the sense of inner peace that filled him than for the tasty fruit or juicy young bodoc that were left behind where the kami had been. But there was little outer peace. Full summer had brought the startling announcement that Jena was to arrive soon on Atys!

Inaro tried to stay out of the building controversy. He kept silent during family discussions and nodded dutifully when required, but it was not the will of the gods that this should be able to continue. Soon after the announcement came talk of the building of temples and war between homins. In the rising patriotic fervor, the Ricci family began to take more notice of Inaro’s silence and began pressing him for an explanation. And so, he had explained, or had tried to.

And that thought brought him back to the sunset, and the events of the past few hours. The karavan had come to lead their followers to begin work on the new temple. Inaro’s family, the family that had expelled him days before, was there cheering with the worst of them while Inaro sat back on a grassy knoll and watched, his heart filled with forboding. To his surprise, another came and sat in the grass beside him. In quiet words she spoke of the far desert where the kami were loved and revered, and of another family to which he might strive to belong. A shadow fell across them, and Inaro looked up to see a proud desert warrior scowling down at him.

“This is what you called me here for, Gamic?” Another frown, directed at the woman beside him. “He’d better be worth it.” Uncertain of what was happening, Inaro pushed himself to his feet as the black haired man eyed him disdainfully from head to toe. “Well kid, if you’ve got anything worth packing you’d better go pack it, but you’re carrying it yourself and it’s a long walk to Pyr so it damn well better be worth it. Sunrise we leave Yrkanis Stables. If you’re late, don’t bother trying to catch up.” The warrior turned on his heels and stalked away. Inaro looked back to the woman, Gamic, and found that she too was gone.

And so he sat, watching the sun go down. He was no longer Inaro Ricci. That name had been stripped from him by the man who had first bestowed it. Inaeroth, he was now, the Exile. These woods were no longer his home. The rising sun tomorrow would see only his back as he set his face to the desert.

Whoops - forgot to link the picture that goes with it...

Yrkanis Sunset

A lovely telling my friend, I would like to hear more of your words.

// Drakfot

rabcaz wrote:A lovely telling my friend, I would like to hear more of your words.

// Drakfot

Thank you for your comments . I hope to learn more of Inaro's story, but for now I have some of Radsul's to tell. http://www.ryzom.com/forum/showthread.php?t=18958

As the sun dropped quickly behind the Pyr citadel, Inaeroth led a tired packer up to the Cerakos stables. Fortunately, the folk of the city were at their evening meal, and there was no one around but the stable boy to notice the somewhat decrepit state of the packer and its threadbare trappings. Inaeroth heaved down the loaded packer boxes one by one and dumped them in the corner of the stall while the elderly mektoub thumped and scuffled its trunk around the manger, hunting down the last remnants of a hay bale. At the noise, Inaeroth glanced into the manger and scowled. Surely that was half full this morning when they set out? He’d have to have another word with that stable hand. He was sure the man just laughed at him behind his back, though. First selling him this poor excuse for a packer, and then continually shorting him on the bales. With a sigh, he pulled his purse from his belt and shook its contents into his hand. A quick count showed enough dapper for another bale, but precious little else. Well, that ruffian of a stable hand didn’t deserve a tip anyway.

With the packer munching happily once again, Inaeroth’s rumbling stomach reminded him that his own mealtime was past. Grabbing up his gear, he trotted off towards the guild hall and the promise of food. As he passed through the Cerakos Gate, though, Inaeroth glanced to the west and the fading light, and his pace slowed. It wasn’t quite as late as he’d thought, and Rashan might still be loitering in the hall after the evening meal. Maybe he could do without supper just yet, he thought as he ducked into the baths, ignoring the scowl and the outstretched palm of the attendant at the door.

A short time later, Inaeroth was feeling that it had been well worth delaying his meal. The hot water had soaked away the tensions of the day in the desert, and clean clothes from his pack felt better than the dusty leather he had been wearing to hunt and harvest. The meal would be cleared away from the common table in the hall by now, but there would be plenty left in the kitchen to make his satisfaction complete. Shaking his head and chuckling at the irony that he, Inaro Ricci, was looking forward to a chunk of bread and a slice of cold capryni in the kitchen, Inaeroth stepped back out onto the street. The smug smile on the face of the bath attendant didn’t register until Inaeroth swung around the corner and pulled up short at the sight of Rashan leaning against the wall with his thumbs hooked in his belt.

“Empty handed? I thought I sent you out for supplies.”
Inaeroth’s stomach settled with a mournful groan. “They’re at the stable. I’ll haul them in at first light.”
“Tomorrow is for turning them into dapper. You’ll have them stowed before you eat.” Rahsan’s hand caught Inaeroth’s shoulder as he started to turn back towards the stable, and Rashan continued speaking in a low and menacing tone. “And you will not jeopardize my contacts with your cold-arsed stinginess. A little bit of dapper in the right sweaty palms turns into a healthy purse.” He patted the bulging pouch at his own belt. “Today’s lesson.” The hand on his shoulder helped propel Inaeroth back in the direction of the gate. Once a safe distance had passed, Inaeroth’s mutterings became faintly audible. “One day I’ll show you, Rashan! I can make dapper as well as you!” And as he pushed into the musty dark of the stable he considered how much he might get for today’s harvest. A portion went to the guild, of course, but there should still be a good bit over. He’d have to check back with Ulylus Boeran and see if she still had that rilonus vest he’d been looking at the other day.

Inaeroth tugged at the corners of the cloth, trying to make it lie straight on the worktable while he marked the pattern. The weavers never seemed to do a good job with the fibre that he brought in to them. The cloth they gave him back always seemed to wrinkle and fray when he tried to work with it. Another pull seemed to get rid of the last wrinkle so he quickly slapped his cutting pattern down and looked around for the marking pencil. The pencil, however, was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, Inaeroth reached over and pulled his cutting knife from the piece of adriel bark he had been whittling at and set to cutting around the edges of the pattern board.

At last the pieces were all cut, though Inaeroth had had to redo a couple when the knife had snagged and pulled the cloth out of alignment with the pattern. Perhaps he could talk the weavers into giving him a refund for all that scrap caused by their loose weave. Inaeroth kicked the mound of discarded material into a corner and turned back to contemplate the pieces of a vest laid out on the worktable.

“Inaeroth! You make clothes in the Matis styles?”

Inaeroth spun around at the sound of footsteps through the door behind him and the voice of the Samsara’s newest recruit, Mermydae. Trying to keep from looking at the scrap pile and the heap of his previous attempts at tailoring, Inaeroth nodded. “Yes, I do a little.”

Mermydae came into the room and touched the green fabric lying on the table. “Do you have any blue? These old clothes are almost worn out, and I’d like a new suit in blue. Or how about red?” she asked, picking up a roll of cloth from a shelf and holding it up in front of her. “Do you think red would look better?”

“No, no, blue is nice,” Inaeroth stammered, and sighed softly in relief as Mermydae replaced the roll in Rashan’s storage shelf. “Yes,” she said, “I think you are right. It should be blue. How long will it take you to make it?”

Inaeroth fought down a rising feeling of panic and strained to keep his voice steady. “I’ll need to gather a few materials. I’m not sure how long it will take, but it shouldn’t be too long.” “Well do hurry,” Mermydae smiled as she left the workroom, “I am long overdue for a new suit of clothes.”

As Mermydae’s footsteps faded down the hall, Inaeroth allowed his panic to surface. A full suit of clothes? He’d only made boots and a few vests before, and the thought of presenting Mermydae with any of those attempts made him shudder. What should he do? In desperation, Inaeroth grabbed up the cut out pieces from the worktable and ran to his room for his pack.

“Varo?” Inaeroth spoke hesitantly from the training room doorway in Avalae. Varo Gidera was an expert crafter and trainer, and had shown more patience with Inaeroth’s half-hearted attempts than most of the other trainers. Varo looked up from her work, and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Inaro, what can I do for you?”

Hesitantly, Inaeroth pulled the cloth pieces from his bag and held them out. “Could you help me work through this vest pattern again? It just doesn’t seem to turn out right.” As Varo took the material and spread it out on the table, her face set in a resigned grimace. “If you work like this, Inaro, it never will. Throw this lot in the scrap pile and let’s start fresh.”

It was a long afternoon, but Inaeroth was determined, and by the end of it Varo Gidera was both pleased and surprised at her student’s progress. “If you had put this much effort in to learning the first time, Inaro, you would be a master tailor by now.” Inaeroth flushed and nodded. “I suppose so. Ah...” Inaeroth paused for a second before blurting out, “... tomorrow could you teach me to do pants?”

It took a lot of effort, and far more time than Inaeroth had hoped. Each night he feared to receive word from Mermydae that she had found someone else to make her new clothes. But that word never came, and after many long days and sore fingers, Varo at last stood looking with a smile at the outfit Inaeroth had laid out on the table. “I think you have finally got it, Inaro. This is an excellent job. Would you like me to put it up for sale in my shop?”

“No,” Inaeroth replied quickly, “no, thank you. I’ll take it to Pyr and sell it there.” With great care he folded the blue material and stowed it away in his pack. “And Varo?” Inaeroth gestured towards a rack of more elaborate clothing as Varo looked at him inquisitively. “How long would it take for you to teach me to make those patterns?” Varo smiled and shook her head. “A long time, Inaro, so let’s start soon and not try to do it all overnight, OK?”

The unfamiliar sights and sounds of Fairhaven swirled and clattered around Inaeroth. There was so much that was new and different, and everything seemed to move so fast. The windmills especially drew his gaze and held it as they spun with the wind off the waters. So enthralled was he with this strange machinery, and so hesitant the voice, that it had repeated his name three times before he noticed.

“Inaro?” Inaeroth looked around in puzzlement. There should be no one here that would know him by that name. “Inaro!” At last Inaeroth’s eye fell upon the source of the voice, and his jaw dropped in surprise. A small, blond-headed Tryker was looking up at him with a cocky grin. “I thought that was you walking around gawking like a gnoof.” Inaeroth regained control of his jaw, and his face split in a broad smile. “Hi Irving. So this is where you disappeared to?”

Years rolled back in Inaeroth’s memory; why it was almost a decade, or maybe more! The small Tryker had been even smaller then, and had seemed more so in the tall city of Yrkanis. But what he had lacked in size he made up in self-assurance and bravado. The bright blond head was often the one leading the way either into another adventure or away from pursuit through the byways of the forest capital, and always with that grin and a barbed quip to cast at whichever disgruntled townsperson was chasing the small band of children this time.

All thought of Inaeroth’s purpose in coming to Fairhaven was forgotten as he fell into step alongside the Tryker and they headed towards the nearest tavern. Many memories were relived and schemes schemed over mugs of ale, but to one question neither had the answer. “Whatever became of Aken?” The two friends looked at each other and shrugged, both thinking of the dark-haired girl that had inspired most of their youthful adventures. Her family had left Yrkanis around the same time Irving’s did. Neither had heard from her since, and the circle of friends had slowly dissolved as families and fortunes went their seperate ways.

As the two talked, a sense of determination developed. They each had skills useful to the other, and Atys was ripe with opportunity... and who knows? Maybe they would be able to find some trace of Aken and the others and at least find out what had happened to them. As the last of the ale was downed a handgrip sealed the partnership as the two friends reformed the old Clan Aken-Lotus.

It was only as Inaeroth made his way unsteadily back to his lodging that it occurred to him. He had a new family that would require some explanation. Through a long and sleepless night Inaeroth sat on the side of his bed and searched for the right words to use to tell Kostika and the others that had been there for him when he needed them.