A Helping Hand

[Thimryl]

A Helping Hand

25th of Frost, 124th Year, A.o.S.

➸ Thimryl found himself along with the rest of Harbinger company in the eastern part of the deme Hinya, as it was their turn in rotation for patrol in this part of deme Hinya. Cabarets, salons, and restaurants lined the strip, as shops and boutiques lined the district with the bustling of business. He would often steal glances into some of their windows, mentally shopping for himself, but knowing that he would never spend the coin unless it were for a good reason.

Making his rounds, he came upon another patrol, the usual guardsmen and women of his company. "Have any excitement yet?" one of them asked, to which he shook his head with a shrug. "All quiet on this side, nothing to make a fuss over at least." to which he replied, mentioning a few arguments here and there, but nothing that warranted de-escalation, merely a stern look or shout to break it up.

The other patrol suggested he get used to the peace within the home of the Hytori as they were sometimes called, and to get to know the locals better and whatnot. Taking them up on their advice, Thimryl continued his patrol around the deme. It held its charm of its own, but even with its uniqueness, it still was like any city to him, and not even Hinya could replace the familiar charm of his home of Limánia.

Thimryl was certain could make his mark in this place if he continued with his training and research, and if nothing else make a very decent living, contributing to society and serving the realm. As a plus, Hinya was in the capital, were he was certain the important eyes and ears were that would see and hear of his future accomplishments in hopes of elevating his station.

As he continued to walk his patrol route, he would occasionally stop to converse and get to know those he didnt already know, speaking to shop owners and employees if they had the time to do so. Each one was interesting to listen to, as they all held colorful viewpoints, some good, some he resonated with. In any case, it was reaching almost an hour left of his patrol when he noticed a familiar face. It was the tailor he met who knew Turuher. Once he had recalled the man's name, he called to him with a quaint smile. "Good day to you sir Filaurel!"➸

"Common Speech"
"Mythrasi Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Filaurel]

The business of the Hapertas, as any business, required logistic support. To make dresses and pants and suits for the paupers and popinjays alike, Filaurel required endless supplies- fabrics, of course, and thread, and tools. Then, of course, there were the creature comforts for the solitary creator himself, his daily bread and wine, soaps and colognes. The building required upkeep, in the form of appropriate charms and salves to keep out pests like moths and rodents. The effortless perfection of Hytori affairs required superlative efforts, always and forever.

So it was that Filaurel Len'Alen was returning from a supplier with a small basket of such necessaries. Though he had arranged for much of his needs to be delivered to his shop and home, some things couldn't be done that way. Besides, if he never left his shop, he'd never see what new things were on offer, and he'd never feel inspiration at all.

Filaurel bobbed very lightly above the ground. As usual, he held himself just above the pavements and wore a trailing robe, such that only active scrutiny would reveal his unusual mode of locomotion. It wasn't that there was anything illegal about floating, but he had no wish to be stopped and questioned by strangers. It was a touchy subject, and moving himself around via Kinetics consumed much of his focus.

Still, he managed not to drop himself or his basket when he found himself hailed. Instead, he carefully, slowly, rotated to face the speaker. The man was well-built and well-muscled (not uncommon among the Hytori, who naturally tended towards physical perfection), with short, curly hair. The man dressed as a Harbinger, and the look of him sparked memory in Filaurel's mind. When could he have seen...? Ah! But of course.

"Len'Lavian, wasn't it?" the tailor called out, his voice well-natured and friendly, "Turuher's friend. Fair skies and fair meetings, even on this cold afternoon."

This Frost hadn't been particularly bad--and in fact, the weather in Silfanore was generally moderate throughout the year--but the northerly winds bore the echo of snows. It was a season for dark colors and heavy clothes.

"On patrol, are you? You know, when I served in Aerion, we used to dream about a posting in Silfanore. All the great beauties of the realm, architectural and otherwise, and who would dare to raise any disturbance under the shadow of the Phoenix King's own home?"

[Thimryl]

A Helping Hand

25th of Frost, 124th Year, A.o.S.

➸ A smile flashed over Thimryl's features as the tailor acknowledged him, giving a the soldier a greeting that tickled him into a chuckle. "Indeed, fair yet cool, sir Len'Alen." he answered, politely bowing to the tailor. He came to stand next to the man, seeing his face once more and remembering the way it looked. His voice resonating in his ears, Thimryl mentally categorized what his song sounded like.

It was calm yet sophisticated, like a violin or lute strum. His song would go well with string instruments. He was surprised to learn that the Filaurel used to be a soldier, surprisingly, but he supposed you couldn't judge a book by its cover. "I would not have pictured you as a soldier, but thank you for your service. My mother is from Aerion and served for quite some time before retiring and having me and my siblings." he noted, nodding in agreement to the latter statement. "I pity the fool that would risk their life in such a way to threaten the peace." he added.

He held out a hand to offer to take the basket Filaurel was carrying, and if the tailor was so inclined to allow it, he would hold it with the utmost care. "Part of me wishes for an enemy for us to face, it would give me a chance to test my mettle in actual wartime, see if I'm cut out for this life." he said, ruminating what it would be like to go to war, the glory to be had, but then the songs of loss and the carnage that would ensue from such things caused his enthusiasm to die.....quickly.

Trying to think about other things, he turned to Filaurel to lead the conversation. "Would you be willing to share your experience as a soldier? I'm curious to know what it was like during your era of being a soldier." he inquired, bright eyes eager to hear looking to the elf. ➸

"Common Speech"
"Mythrasi Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Filaurel]

Yes, Filaurel thought, he certainly didn't cut the image of a soldier any longer. Even if one didn't notice that he wasn't moving his arms and legs, their condition had surely deteriorated without any real exercise. If, by some miracle, his condition lifted tomorrow he doubted he'd be able to pick up a spear without the aid of magic any longer. No, regardless of what happened, he did not expect he could ever return to Aerion.

"In truth, Thimryl..." the tailor's voice was a bit distant, though it wasn't clear if that were reminiscence or simple tiredness, "In service, I felt much the same way you did. Even in Aerion, the fights were largely for show or sport. We drilled hard, yes. I had the benefit of tutelage from men who had seen real war, of course... but that was the war of the lys."

It had all seemed so important, back then. Sol'Valen had once been an empire, a great empire. The greatest empire which Ransera had ever seen, and perhaps the greatest which could even exist now, after the Sundering. To have seen the records and heard the stories of such incomparable glory, then have to turn to face a nation which--though undoubtedly beautiful--was no larger or mightier than its neighbors? It had felt like destiny that he would be part of the army, that he would be called, at some point, to be a hero to reclaim some of that lost glory.

But dreams had a habit of fading quickly when one woke. Now, Filaurel couldn't even feel an echo of the rush he'd once gotten from those grandiose illusions.

"I started in a ceremonial regiment, but I got myself transferred to patrols, hoping to fight... bandits, monsters, roving somethings. Some danger in the countryside. But the few deployments I saw held minimal danger. The fact is simply that Aerion's mastery of war is vastly superior to the threats the realm has faced for the past fifty years. My squad... we longed for real combat. We wanted to be heroes."

He'd had a long time to think bitterly on those old dreams, as Len'Alen's Curse stole them from him. For years, he'd resented that most of all, feeling like he was almost there. If he'd just been given a chance, if they'd only had a real war, he could have been a hero. He could have stood in Silfanore and received medals from the hand of the King himself, he could have...

But as the years had gone by and no new wars arose, Filaurel had been forced to admit that his dream had been far, far from his grasp. Distance, he supposed, lent objectivity. Now that he could never be a hero, he understood fully just how impossibly far he'd always been.

"I left for medical reasons. I suppose, if I had not grown ill, I would be in Aerion still, but as you say, I doubt any real chance for heroics would have presented themselves. Sol'Valen is simply too... safe. Well, I appreciate that more, now. Hard for a tailor to make a living in a war-torn land."

[Thimryl]

A Helping Hand

25th of Frost, 124th Year, A.o.S.

➸ Thimryl could agree with every word spoken by the older elf, as he too longed for the chance to prove himself in battle, as what other reason was there to be a soldier. But hearing these revelations caused the fledgling to come to the realization that maybe he too was grasping too far ahead of himself. He couldn't help that, however, it was in his blood; his mother was a warrior from Aerion after all and he always believed that his drive to be a soldier, to be a hero of Sol'valen was something he was born with.

"I am sorry for your preemptive retirement. My mother went through the same thing, though her reason wasn't illness, but motherhood. Her Aerion blood is where I believe my desire for heroics and combat comes from." he jested, just now noticing that the man's legs didn't move like one did with walking, but more so, he glided across the ground. Curiosity seemed to line his thoughts as Filaurel continued, remarking about the peace that they enjoyed. He nodded in agreement to that notion as well. "There is no peace like that under the wise guidance of the Phoenix King. We are lucky in that respect, and I almost pity the other mortal races as they will never know such peace as Sol'valen peace." he added.

In all honesty, he could agree that the peace was great, cause it allowed him to hone his skills, having time to perfect his form and technique. He could only be grateful for such an opportunity, regardless of whether his blood yearned for a chance to test his will when it came time for it. Could he really kill someone if it meant the survival of his people? It was something every soldier had to come to terms with. Some were natural born warriors, and in Thimryl's case, he felt his natural warrior instincts just needed something to help wake it up. ➸

"Common Speech"
"Mythrasi Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Filaurel]

"Ah, well..." Filaurel agreed with the sentiment, but it felt too much like grandstanding, so he demurred, "Certainly the other realms of Ransera must have their own charms, quaint though they may seem in our realm. But I will join you wholeheartedly in a prayer for His Majesty's continued reign."

That seemed quite appropriate to the tailor- after all, even the most outspoken foes of the Sol'Eiran regime were concerned more with the boundaries of the realm than the welfare of it. It could hardly be argued that Sol'Valen was blessed and prosperous beyond the dreams of the younger nations. It was only in the dreams of the old days, the glory days, the dominion over the world that any Hytori could find fault with the present system.

"In any case, young Thimryl, I take heart in the continued defense of our realm when I see such bold soldiers still enlisted. In fact, in the spirit of that appreciation, I wonder if you might accept the gift of a dress uniform from me, in the event that you are called upon to attend one of-"

The tailor's deep, calm voice was cut off suddenly as he fell sideways. More than fell, really; it was as though something invisible had bowled him over, knocking him cleanly into a tree. Filaurel crumpled to the ground, plainly stunned, insensate. Only panicked coughing from the man proved that he was still alive.

In spite of the sudden violence of the moment, there was absolutely nothing around, not a soul in any direction. Had he been assaulted by magic? Was some spirit marauding abroad?

At once, Filaurel knew what had happened. For just an instant, something had broken his iron control over the Rune of Kinetics, a sudden chaotic spasm which had sent him tumbling to the ground, swatted by the very aether he was manipulating. But it was no power foreign to him, no. He recognized the feel of it, the cold, deathly grip suddenly sliding around his spirit, and gone just as soon. The Curse of Len'Alen had returned for its prodigal victim.

"Ooh..." the tailor moaned, still splayed out against the bole of the tree he'd collapsed upon. His voice was as strong as it had been a moment prior, but there was a foreign note to it- despair.

[Thimryl]

A Helping Hand

25th of Frost, 124th Year, A.o.S.

➸ Thimryl nodded at the tailor's offer to make him something in case he, well he didnt know what the man was going to say as he suddenly tipped over, falling into a nearby tree. The soldier was certain that nothing had come to assault the man, and he didnt feel any form of magic around them, so he couldnt tell what could have displaced Filaurel like that. Pulling out the Onyx broach, he gave it some aether and called the spirit residing within it out. ➸

"Look for anyone suspicious for me, please, I'll give some more aether if you do." he bribed, the raven appearing spirit cawing before taking flight to scout the perimeter. In the meantime, Thimryl set the basket he was carrying down and rushed to the aid of the tailor, using himself so that Filaurel could brace himself and get a solid footing to stand. Though his voice resounded with the strength of a man in his prime, Thimryl couldnt help but notice there was worry in that tone.

Something happened to the man, and Filaurel was well aware of what it might be. As much as he wanted to know what happened, he felt it was better not to pry on the subject. Besides, they weren't that well acquainted anyway, so it would be a wise decision to share such information just yet. "If you want, I can carry you on my back the rest of the way. Can't have a fine strapping young elf like yourself bruising yourself up, the woman of Sol'valen would have my head." he jested, trying to lighten the mood, extending a hand if Filaurel accepted the offer. If not, he would be content helping the man get to where he was heading all the same.

"Common Speech"
"Mythrasi Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Filaurel]

"-nay, do not panic!" Filaurel said, his voice still a bit strained from the sudden collapse, "But stay with me a moment. I will recover."

Or will you?

The agonizing thought cut through Len'Alen's mind. It had been like this before, and he'd gotten better- but years ago. So many years, in fact, that he'd begun to accept on some level that the time of these sudden collapses and spasms was over. Even though he knew full well that the ailment was progressive and irreversible, he had allowed himself to live in the moment and imagine those days in the past.

And the time would come, would inevitably come, when he would not recover from such an attack.

"...it is a known condition." Filaurel expected that Thimryl had put that much together, but he felt the soldier deserved some context, at the least. "I am paralyzed below the neck, and I use a Rune to compensate." It was always kind of a surprise to Filaurel how few people realized that; at the start, he'd imagined that all of his efforts to blend would be fruitless, that everyone would be picking up at all times. But in fact, people just didn't usually pay that much attention to others. Even if something seemed off, few wanted to really explore the matter.

"...but I seem to have temporarily lost control of it." Hopefully it was only temporary. "Let me sit just a few minutes longer, and perhaps I can recover..." But he could feel that it would take more than a few minutes. That spasm had expended much of his aether, and even if he regained control he would need time to recover to a useful extent. No, as much as he hated the thought of it...

"No, I am sorry. That is my useless pride talking. If you could help me home-"

[Thimryl]

A Helping Hand

25th of Frost, 124th Year, A.o.S.

➸ Thimryl nodded in compliance with the request to remain by his side. He could see the worry painting the man's facial expression as he waited for Sir Len'Alen to regain his composure. He remained silent as the tailor explained his current condition. It would explain how it seemed he moved without disturbing his robes, but it also showed the soldier how resilient the man was to continue living and making clothes despite the handicap. He was in awe of Filaurel and saw his determination as a celebrated quality of the Hytori people.

"It's no trouble to see you home safe, Sir Len'Alen." he noted, smiling as he knelt down to place the man on his back. Though he had only done something like this, similar to the drills of simulating carrying a wounded soldier or civilian, he would walk as slowly as he could, so that he didnt tire out too quickly or cause any discomfort to Filaurel as they moved. Once the tailor obliged him, they would make their way to his house, Thimryl carefully kneeling down to pick up the basket as they went.

"Has this been something that always ailed you, or is it recent? Maybe some of the healers could take a look at you, see what is the cause of such affliction." he pondered, trying to offer solutions. It pained him just a bit to know that a potential friend could be so heavily stricken as not to try and help him. He also thought about what his life would be like if he were afflicted like Filaurel was. How would he handle life, his life, if he were paralyzed so severely, so much so that he would need magic just to function normally?

It was a question that could cause one to put things in perspective for sure. "Also, there's nothing wrong with having pride, just as there's nothing wrong with asking for help." ➸

"Common Speech"
"Mythrasi Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Filaurel]

The other elf's earnest words squeezed a bitter laugh out of Filaurel, but that didn't signal any lifting of his spirit. He lay limp as Thimyrl positioned him, trying his best to marshal the vortex of ugly feelings whirling inside his own head.

But why? For what? Even if he was cordial to the soldier, Filaurel would continue to rot.

"This is what ended my time in the army." Filaurel's voice was quiet, but he managed to filter every one of his angry feelings out of his words. Whatever else happened, he would not simply sacrifice his dignity. "A familial disease which paralyzes the body, and then the soul, slowly over time. There is no cure."

Yesterday, Filaurel might have said "there is no known cure" for he had not quite given up on the notion of finding one- but just now, despair had overtaken him. He'd gone months, years even, since a spasm like this one. He had never forgotten the disease, of course- it shaped his every waking moment, in ways subtle or blatant. Nevertheless, he'd gotten comfortable with his lot, imagining that he had plenty of time to work on things.

It seemed not.

"I seem to have lost control of my Rune, which I use to move about." the tailor confessed, "But I hope... and I believe that it is only a passing matter, at least for now. Perhaps tomorrow morning I will have recovered from that." He knew he wouldn't get much sleep that night, though. Not with all of this on his mind.