to know is divine


Age: 24 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
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#1
Recovery was not a straight road, but rather cragged and twisting, like something she recalled from what felt like a distant dream. The journey forward had been arduous at first - arriving in her condition the witch had been slow to leave the confines of a room allotted to her when the infirmary had seen fit to discharge her. She wasn't helpless, it turned out, just a bit forgetful. She just needed a bit of rest.

Rest she did. The body had been repaired stitch by stitch, mended and tended with poultices and bandages far better suited than the thick wet wool of her cloak. The real healing, however, came with sleep and in her waking hours a growing restless depression that made her long for some manner of exploration, images of cobblestone streets fleeting and dismissed as figments from the vivid dreams (fevered or not) that had accompanied her since her arrival. Instead, she was more interested in the streets outside and it hadn't taken her long at all to begin exploring, at first to trade for essentials, among them a few bobbins of thread and needles, the cloth with which she had sewn herself a shirt and simple slacks, and the walking stick that expanded her navigable areas of the city.

Eventually it even bore her to the crippled dome, a stir of parchment-scented air stirring something inside of her, drawing her inside. She entered like a cautious animal, sniffing the wind as she gingerly stepped forward, softening the clatter of the cane as best she could as though the mere (literal) whiff of books incited some kind of pious respect that did not seem otherwise natural to the girl. She looked to the open roof with a frown, wondering how many countless tomes had been damaged in the exposure shadow. Wondering how many of those tomes she might have actually been able to make out.

She carried these queries with her, advancing into the rows of literature with growing confidence, inspecting rows of books, praying for a recognizable script among them accompanied by the slow tapping of the cane and the limping drag of her left heel.
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
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#2


Are
A warrior's path is not only to strengthen the body, but mind as well. Sounded kinda poetic and was a good enough excuse to stretch aching legs and let fingers rest for a day or so. The stand and shop would still be there as the sun rose again, as would the half finished fencer's boots and the handful of other projects left shelved.

Sweltering heat and boredom was enough to drive the curious cobbler clad in the now well worn padded leathers from the streets and into the confines of the Atheneum. Among the cool halls and musty tomes he wandered aimlessly for an hour or so. Straps and belt echoing creaks and groans through the otherwise eerily silent rows.

His fingers knew what his mind needed and refused what his heart wanted. A warrior was his path, what had been would rest for now, stones wouldn't go anywhere, not until he was ready. Until he was worthy.

The regular echoes of wood on marble roused him from his waking dreams. Suddenly the treatise on spear fencing seemed far too dry, what with the disturbance of the silence drawing closer. Someone new, unfamiliar. The cobbler caught a glimpse between bowing shelves and felt a pang of guilt as he peeped like some dagger in the dark. Manners, a better man would at least give good tidings.

"Heil ok sæl!" he managed to muster, voice tentative as if re-learning how to form words after days of silence. He uttered his usual greeting as he rounded the corner, making sure to stand straight, eyes up and clad in a smile unfitting one dressed more for battle than for studying.
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 24 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 1 - Strg: 6 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 10
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#3
Clack, scrape, drag. She did not exactly make her entrance or movement a secret, exploring the shelves like a lost child as she felt her away along the bindings, fingering the knobby ends of scrolls that bristled from nooks and crannies. She felt frustratingly dim as she did so, finding that she did not, in fact, understand the organization of this place at all and that she had somehow gotten trapped in what seemed a never-ending font of information about how to stab a man with a pointy stick, information that seemed fairly universal.

Exhausted already by what little progress she had made in her exploration she looked around dimly for some sort of bench, her expression sagging a bit more symmetrically in a moment of defeat. She was tired and admittedly frustrated by the physical limitation of discomfort and injury though she had come quite a way already. Even worse the volumes upon volumes of athletic prowess and exploits seemed like some sort of spiteful cosmic joke, one that stung a bit more than she cared to admit. Hobbling about with a stick, a shoulder that would reasonably demand more time still to fully mend, and an absolute divorce from whatever personal strength or capability she had bargained for in the past but not the physical ramifications of it, she couldn't see herself stabbing anyone - at least not so gracefully as they made out in the few pages she had skimmed.

It was as she began to slip into a distantly haunted expression, dwelling on the realization of her situation that she was delightfully interrupted, snapping her attention toward the stranger's voice. Pulling her right shoulder forward she hugged the arm to her belly, guarding it jealously as she leaned into a nearby wall for support, watching him sharply with no effort made to conceal the jagged red scars that carved from her hairline down across her cheek and the bridge of her nose, nor the patch that covered the right eye. She focused, repeating the greeting beneath her breath as she squinted against the gloom at the buckles and leathers with her good eye. Though the language wasn't entirely alien she doubted that it was familiar, either, and hesitated to draw conclusions as Jigano's warning rang in the back of her mind. Instead, she offered a thin, tense smile and the best poker face she could manage. She didn't understand this place and was hesitant to make assumptions or take risks - perhaps he was some sort of official or guard of some sort. Perhaps she had broken a law- Mel didn't know any laws. Mel didn't know anything.

"Afternoon - it's a lovely place here. Are you, um..." She brought her right hand up haltingly as though watching for his reaction before completing the motion, toying with the fish pendants nestled in the collar of her shirt. "You're not... official, are you? Do you work here? Maybe... security?" Perhaps it would be difficult for some to find that smile threatening - it was almost dog-like in its sincerity, reminding her of the pleasant panting of hounds piled around the fires she had read about, though experience told her those hounds could also tear out your throat with only seconds of notice, if that. "Melinoë, I'm Mel - I can be here, yes?"
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
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#4


Are
Another stranger, another strange stranger. Although she seemed far less likely than the last to be at his throat if he let his guard down for a moment, not that that counted for much had Are come to understand. Understanding. Trying and failing was better than never trying at all, so he tried. Yet he couldn't seem to place either the name or face somewhere, no little flashes of an image or snippets of a voice rang with recognition in his half-boiled head. It could've been the heat or maybe the simple lack of all his faculties was the culprit keeping his mind out of touch with what he could swear he should've known. The face, scarred as it might've been, and the voice, they both came together to make something the cobbler couldn't take his mind off. As if he stood before a spectre of his imagination, an amalgamation of loose faces and voices.

He laughed, nervous as he realized he'd been staring. Relieved there was no magical fire or regular cold steel to greet him, not that he'd been expecting it. Had he?

"Are, cobbler, warrior, but mostly cobbler as of late." he quipped, offering another smile, a more sincere one. One not filled to the brim with tension and swirling thoughts taking up most of the little presence of his eyes. "'Bout as official as a cobbler went digging around for books'll ever be. But no, promise you, I'm nothing of the sort, don't even know if there are any, haven't been here much. For good reasons... he laughed again, bur weaker as he remembered his well chosen words said in anger. Words he knew very well the silver-haired bard would launch back at him the moment the chance showed itself. Or he wouldn't, content with knowing Are knew, only needing a smug smile and a meaning look.
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 24 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 1 - Strg: 6 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 10
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#5
Silence grew between them as the warrior, quite intimidating with a solid foot on the tiny witch, stared her down. Though she was not unfamiliar with being dwarfed by others, she was also not unfamiliar with injury on their part, evidenced by her arrival and the tapestry of scars that covered her from exposed fingertips to toes, though a majority of it had been concealed beneath the native cloth she'd meticulously tailored a loose-fitting outfit from during her consignment to a cot. Memories of some sort passenger riled her thoughts, prickling the hair at the nape of her neck. Every wasted muscle in her body drew taut as she prepared for the worst, distressed to remember that in her new reality there was no passenger. No secret weapon. No trump card...

Are's nervous laughter was the firing pin to her wound-spring countenance, the sudden noise causing her to jump quite badly. She recovered, visibly insulted by the show of weakness, and took a moment to straighten her clothing, preening to regain the image of a cool and collected countenance though that didn't mean she took her eyes of of him.

He was nice. He scared the shit out of her, but he wasn't unfriendly or cruel and she found that his smile was much more reassuring having heard him speak something of a common tongue. She even smiled back, the grin small and sheepish as a flush of color rose in her cheeks, the embarrassment that followed her startled reaction being wrestled with and tamped down to regain some sense of control, her silent staring giving him more than enough time to explain himself. In fact, she wished he had spoken longer, scrambling mentally as the conversation-ball returned to her side of the net.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Are." Courtly formality colored her greeting, the kind you'd expect of someone used to rubbing shoulders with nobility or big money. Her body still ached from the exertion of being absolutely terrified of the giant though she nodded her head in an approximation of a bow, unwilling and unable to do anything more to express the manners that had been pressed into her from a young age. By admitting his own lack of authority Are had bolstered her into assuming her own, allowing her to set her embarrassment aside to have an actual conversation. "I could say the same, being laid up for the last season doesn't leave much room for exploration." Flashing a toothy grin she addressed the frustrating reality of bodily injury with good humor and a short chuckle.

"It is good to know this place is fairly civilized - better that it has a cobbler. It's a shame to underestimate the value of a good pair of boots - from what I have seen of the terrain I suppose that you make quite the killing." And really, where was the lie? Walking here had been hell on one and a half feet which might have biased her opinion, though Mel was exceptionally grateful that after a bit of drying her boots had pulled through from their river adventure, a bit worse for wear but workable. "Pitiable is a man with no shoes, or worse, bad shoes."
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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Posts: 301
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#6


Are
Her way of speaking, the manners and the whole way she seemed on edge rubbed off on the warrior-cobbler. Not backing away, just not closing the distance beyond a good armsreach and a half. Just enough to not seem standoffish while still allowing reaction to action, not that he was one to assume the worst. It was just that ever present niggling doubt gnawing at the edge of his sanity telling him 'better safe than sorry'.

A deep breath, relaxing muscles tensing up at the awkward exchange of stumbling pleasantries and slight misunderstandings putting the situation on thinner ice than was necessary. The cobbler-warrior breathed a sigh of relief and a small chuckle at her musings and little saying. Something that his father could and probably had said, a whole world away and life ago. Still the same cobbler though, just with a bit more ambition.

"Oh I'm still working on the killing part!" Are said with mirth with his own quipping note on the state of his professions splitting his attention. "Although I'd hesitate to call Caido civilized, but it's at least making an attempt at it. Few seem to share what passed for courtesy back in Midgård though, I don't even know your profession, Melinoë! You seem the book learned kind though, digging around here among moths and mold!"
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 24 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 1 - Strg: 6 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 10
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#7
Awkward gave what awkward got and awkward was what they had in spades.

It was comedic in an absurdist way, though Mel didn't think that laughing at someone that looked like they could step on you by accident if you got underfoot was the ideal display of diplomatic intelligence. Still, she could see the humor of it, and it helped especially as she mentally reassured herself that this strange shoe-warrior was not actually a threat. She was getting rather good at lying to herself since arriving on Caido. Sometimes she felt like it was the only thing keeping her from simply giving up.

Are even supported her lie with a joke, to which she responded with a decidedly unladylike snicker, raising her right hand to cover her mouth. Before lowering her right arm to her side she rubbed at a point between her eyebrows, clearing her throat as he foisted the topic back on her. Like many things, she did not know what to say, dark eyes darting away toward the floor, then back to him with an expression of bewilderment. "I... s...uppose...?"

Profession. She hadn't thought seriously about a job, not because she was lazy, but rather overwhelmed. "I don't... really know. I suppose I'll have to decide soon, won't I? I wasn't much use when I first arrived, this is one of my first days out, actually. The leg is finally cooperating." Stomping her left foot she gave a sheepish giggle. "Maybe tailoring? Maybe books?" Her heart sank as she considered her options. They sounded so... sedentary... so... boring. Maybe once these might have satisfied her but then again, once she had been an entire person.

Melinoë cracked a grin. "Suppose that's the benefit of waking up in a new world - you be whoever you say you are... So long as you have the skills to back it up."
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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Posts: 301
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#8


Are
Damn outlanders. was the first thing that sprang to mind, eliciting a giggle as he quickly realized his glass house was looking mighty drafty. Not the one to speak of not fitting in, he bit his tongue and instead entertained the idea of what exactly the woman seemed to arrive at for a conclusion. Her statement had Are laughing again. For him it hadn't even been a question of a new start, just a matter of patching together an old one still left in tatters. Tatters now slowly tailored to befit the new man that had emerged from the portal, a man far less meek than whatever had been thrown from Midgård.

"You seem the resourceful kind, yes, I take it you could be whatever you set your mind to." he said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He stroked it, furrowing his brow as a thought presented itself. Even before he had voiced it he knew it was more a testament of hospitality than anything else, yet somewhere he hoped something could come of it. "I take it you're also book learned though." Are motioned to the plethora of tomes and scrolls weighing down the surrounding shelves, most of them complete gibberish to him, but enough of them valuable that he braved the Atheneum despite whom he might run into. "A cobbler's life ain't that exciting, but it's steady work and you'll never go hungry as long as there's people with feet still in Caido."
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 24 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 1 - Strg: 6 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 10
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#9
She liked him - he was a good egg. Full of jokes, even when he was trying to be supportive, the cobbler's good humor making light of a grim situation. Fixing him with a small grin, she tried her attempt at the jokes as well. "I'm going to be an incredible general, then." She flexed an arm only a bit larger around than her stick before breaking into a giggle. That would be a shit show.

Laughter made it easier to relax, the witch starting to unwind, perhaps truly starting to believe herself when she said that Are wasn't a threat. At his query she looked up and around, scanning the shelves before giving a short nod. Books felt like home. Books reminded her of a fuzzy and distant cage that she only scarcely could make out from a childhood that she recalled as well as one might a dream the night before. The more she focused on it, the less she recalled and it came to her most clearly when she didn't try at all. "After a fashion - the words make sense but I doubt I've seen any of these before. It's huge - it's an entire new world of information, isn't it? Have you been up to the top?" Her cadence became somewhat more lively as she spoke, a hint of wonder entering her voice. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Wonder what's in here just waiting to be found?"

Breathing a sigh, the witch turned her face back up to the enormous cobbler, responding to his optimism with an approving hum, though she still did not want to live in this half-cracked building. While one might have thought she would have had enough excitement with her arrival, she no longer recalled the events leading up to it so clearly and so had no lessons to learn from it. "I'm sure I'll figure something out, there isn't much choice, is there? How long have you been here?" Contently secure for the moment, she remembered her legs, achingly uncomfortable but still working for the time being. "You could hold that thought a moment - do you know a place to sit?"
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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#10


Are
He laughed with her as she loosened up and the initial awkwardness seemed to drain from the conversation. A nod and a crooked grin was all the answer he had to her lofty goals, although he could absolutely think of worse leaders than one that could at least read. He reserved his further judgment for the future, mostly, he still believed in his gut, and it was getting over the uneasy introduction too it seemed.

"I am not a man of books, and I seem to have a hard time seeing eye to eye with the one who leads them also it seems. What I'm trying to say is 'no', I keep to leather, leather and steel as of late. Although there probably are some truly magnificent secrets hidden in here." he rambled on, not fully sure as to what point he was trying to make beyond desperately trying to stop the moment from becoming tense again.

About to answer her inquiry, he caught himself and his lack of attention as Melinoë pointed out what should had been apparent from the beginning. "Uh, yes, of course! Sorry, this way, I think." he stumbled over his word, trying to recollect if he hadn't passed an alcove or two just a moment before turning the corner. He stopped himself before running off and offered an arm in support, remembering to show courtesy befitting of a better man.
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 24 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 1 - Strg: 6 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 10
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#11
Though not overjoyed by the news of Are and Jigano's failure to see eye to eye, she presented no criticism or a lick of discomfort for the admission - this place seemed the sort to trade in misunderstandings like currency if she understood their fate. With no common threads but their humanity she could understand that communication might have its shortcomings. She herself was still fascinated by the common tongue they shared and an entire new world of books. "Disagreements happen."

The witch offered a patient smile as the shoe-warrior expressed extended the good manners of an able-bodied man in the form of a supportive arm, though she did not immediately take it. There was something about her forced reliance for the past season that made her feel guilty about, to second-guess it. Wetting her lips she glanced up at her acquaintance and back again at his arm before politely shaking her head, giving him a reassuring pat instead. "I'll be alright - just lead the way. I wouldn't want to slow you down." Being a solid foot shorter than him, she hoped that he would see the reason in her words and not press the matter, though he didn't seem the sort. With short legs - short, sort of bad legs - Melinoë was practically the main character in an escort quest compared to him, though thankfully with a better sense of navigation.

She glanced away, a tinge of shame entering her expression as she bore a shy grin, getting a head start on him by a few paces. Clack, scrape. By virtue of standing rest she'd subdued the drag, managing a decent pace for a girl with a bum leg. "So, sorry, how long have you been here?" She only sounded a bit uncomfortable, gaily showing off her ability to indeed talk and walk at the same time. Imagine if she could only get her hands on some gum - maybe she would be Caido's next major general.
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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#12


Are
Not one to press the matter, Are forged ahead between shelves and little piles of books left out of place. Although he remembered to pace himself to not stomp off and leave his new-found friend in the dust, long legs and an eager mind made for spotty consideration. He managed to not leave her too far behind though, as he guided them back to the alcove his mind had recollected correctly, a place to sit, for one at least.

"In Caido? Oh, a season or two. Although it feels like a lifetime ago we set out on the lake, it was though, sort of..." he said, voice trailing off into thought as he remembered those fateful moments of rough seas and plain bad luck that had sent him down to the depths. The contemplation didn't have a chance to grow brooding though, as he came back to it making an offering gesture towards the one seat. "By all means, I'm able-bodied enough to keep on my feet." Are said and perched himself on a non-descript mound, squatting down and trying to pick up where he left off. "I take it you're a bit fresher, no?"
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 24 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 1 - Strg: 6 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 10
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#13
The implication of Are's story of arrival caused a shiver to run down her spine like fingers of cold water. Though she was certain she had survived the river, the eerie familiarity of a watery mishap and the accompanying fear of drowning twisted her guts up inside and turned her blood to ice. With a grateful murmur the witch accepted gracefully, though sat a little less so, apologizing to the chair's mild protests. her anxiety showed in nervous preening, patting away real and imagined displacements of clothing and hair as she focused on choosing her words carefully.

"A bit - it was spring when I arrived - Flowerbirth, right?" She began with a nervous giggle. "I've been managing by only the grace of charity - this place you've built coming together like this, it's impressive as much as I jest. Still it feels much of the time like I've only just arrived, there is so much new and unknown, it's sometimes a bit overwhelming." The admission did not bring her shame - she was certain everyone that had once been in her position felt the same at some point, nobody woke up into a new world knowing everything. "We're making the best of it, as I don't suppose we're leaving any time soon."
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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Posts: 301
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#14


Are
Yes, of course, Flowerbirth... Einmánuður, spring, there was so many names for the same thing he could barely keep track of them all, yet only one of them spoke of something resembling what he knew. New life to what was once dead, and was it not the same he saw in the dead world he had arrived to? Outlanders spread like seeds for the wind over the increasingly fertile lands of Caido as the sun again shone it's gaze upon it and gave new life.

He nodded absentmindedly at her question and her answers. Overwhelming indeed, but they had both still found softer soils to take root and climb towards the warmth, by the grace of others or by one's own hands was irrelevant when faced with the fact that they where both alive. To Are there was solace to be found in that simple fact. Alive, a second chance where he shouldn't even had been given a first one. Death seemed fickle like that, even more so after he had actually spoken to Death and found them a far cry from the cold hate of Hel he so knew.

Coming back to it by her finishing statement Are perked up as a voice from home spoke through his throat. "To make the best of what one has, that is life." he said and looked down at himself, at the man he had become in just a few short months. "We all have gifts from the gods and ancestors, but what we do with them is our choice. Waking up here, we where given a second chance to do with our gifts as we please, for here we are nothing. King and beggar alike, all just outlanders." Are said, voice gaining strength and after a moment he shone a smile. "If there's any place cobblers become warriors and cripples become generals, this is it." he laughed at his own joke as the absurdity of his own short life struck him.
Force and magic use OK.
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