to know is divine

Age: 23 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
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#15
Even Mel cracked a grin, laughing into her wrist at this as the anxiety bled from her and the fear of water subsided again a mere murmur. The following silence was pleasant and familiar, her attention drifting into the room and its shelves, studying the cascading rays of sunlight and suspended motes of dust, preserving that brief bubble of hope before they crushed it again by way of discussing reality as they knew it.

"When I raise my armies you can stand among them," Mel teased, clearing her throat. "That won't be for some time I suppose, however. I'm only barely on my feet - it'll give you time to train." Certainly this was for his benefit and not her own that she delay her plans of becoming the very model of a modern major-general. Honestly, she didn't even really know what being a general entailed off the top of her head, though perhaps that was the rock-to-the-face talking.

Levity settled from the air, and Mel took the opportunity to further her agenda of discovering all she could. Are looked capable enough and had been here for some time that she reasoned he must have some experience outside of the ruins that had been the sum of her first-person knowledge of Caido. "What have you learned then since being here? Jigano told me of squirrels, gods, spirits, labyrinths..." She counted on her finger the various cautions that had been thrown her way. "Do you have anything to warn me about? There might be a promotion in it for you."
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 6
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#16


Are
He laughed with her, although not fully able to shake the feeling that he was talking with someone touched. A feeling he, on the other hand, had barely been left without in any conversation since the day he was snatched from the claws of Ägir. Not even the most mundane of topics had been left unaffected by the passing, a simple discussion on the nature of thread and stitches left him with an uneasy sensation of the whole world being just slightly off kilter. A quarter turn from Midgård, a touch misaligned, and the very same feeling sent a sting of unease through the cobbler as the conversation shifted from amusing joking around to something more to the point. Unease not completely washed away by a call back to the joke.

A smile, the smile, not quite reaching the eyes that where left with a touch of ill-hidden worry. A sigh and a deliberate effort to turn the mind around towards the question itself instead of the landslide of little doubts it managed to set in motion, was he any better a man than had arrived? Any more learned, enlightened, or strong? A truthful answer, maybe not one Melinoë asked in word, but in spirit. What had the mighty shoe-warrior learned about the world that had been thrust upon him?

With a moment of introspection came the rest of what had been set in motion, a veritable torrent of all the wonders of the new world, all ready to be blurted out in a long string of rough, norse-tasting, rant without point or any clear end. Just a meandering flapping of one's jowls as his mind poured it's contents on the unsuspecting victim listener that hadn't fully grasped the breadth of what she was asking.

"My keen warrior senses tell me you're not interested in hearing me rant and rave over sinew and fur, nor do you seem particularly interested in the mundane life of keeping Caido shod, so I'll spare you." Are said after a few moments deliberation with himself, enough time to winnow chaff from grain and come up with something more interesting an answer than a craftsman's headaches. "Monsters, creatures, gods and spirits is all things to be wary of, and something I have far less knowledge of than the Loreseekers or Monster hunters. My comment on those would be redundant, although, what I do, know is people, at least I like to think I do." another pause, a moment for Are to gather his thoughts to something resembling the wise guidance his father had been so keen on. "Good folks, everyone I've met so far has something good in them, but those that care for more than grain and health of their children can get lost on the way to what's good. They're out there. Far more dangerous than any ol' bear or wolf, for that's the bite you don't see coming 'til it's too late." he said, grumbling in his rough dialect and trying his damnedest to not confuse more than necessary.

"Trust your gut is what I'm saying, I guess."
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 23 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 1 - Strg: 6 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 10
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#17
"You don't know that." The witch's response came flat and monotone, fixing him with a blank stare. A small silence grew between them as she let the words rest uncomfortably there for a moment, sweeping a hand up to rub the familiar place between her brows, pushing hair away from her forehead. "You don't know that, I might. I can imagine that a book detailing the process could be quite valuable to future generations, not just those you take as apprentices. The opportunity to share their craft and knowledge on such a potential scale would be an honor for some, I imagine." The question was, of course, if Are was such a person. Another heartbeat of sober silence passed as Mel shrugged her shoulders simply, head cocking to the side as a wry smirk tugged at her lips.

"I know what you mean, though. Don't think it falls on deaf ears." Few things ever did, though what conclusions and consequences she would wring from Are's cautions were entirely her own. The knowing grin lapsed into an expression usually reserved for particularly interesting or unusual specimens. "What is it you care about, then?" It was her gut that told her that it wasn't simply grain or healthy children or even shoes. It was a question he had practically begged her to ask. She'd wait at least to introduce herself before asking who exactly had bitten him, the warning sounding to her as though it could have come from a place of experience.

Nosy or curious? Where did the line lay between the two? Did it matter if she didn't appear overly interested in checking on which side she had landed.
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 6
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#18


Are
He muttered some barely audible apologetic words under his breath, set enough in his ways that he couldn't really see the point to write about what hands needed to feel. Yet courteous enough to not push his perspective any further, knowing full well when faced with a wall he wasn't keen on bashing his head against. Gods know he had tried that and failed a fair few times in the new world.

The smile was enough to have him back to better humors again though, reassurance giving him a little wind in his sails and keeping him up the same river for a little while more. As he concerned himself as to what a witty retort could be, he again got interrupted in his deep thought by a very straight question. He knew the answer very well, at least at it's core. How to make it justice while still keeping his intent hidden behind a slowly growing shroud of suspicion had him pondering his words a little while.

"Me? My cares are simple... or was, at least." the lie was promising at first, but the facade fell as soon as it required him to look up from his own shoes. A stiff, crooked smile and a sigh enough to admit defeat at his own hands. "Sorry, I try to not trust too easily anymore, no knowing where the daggers might come from, not as of late. You see, I care for more than I should. My wife, for one, that is my battle to fight still, she is missing and I need to find her." he said, leaving the second part to rest 'til further notice.

"Signe. A strong woman, somewhere out there, I know it, yet I can't seem to find her anywhere. Now with other conflicts growing I don't know how I can still search for her with what has taken form..."
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 23 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
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#19
It was strikingly romantic, Are's words touching a chord in the witch that softened the critical scrutiny into a gentle understanding. In her lap her hands folded neatly, her gaze averted toward the floor in respect for her acquaintance's struggle, though there was an undeniable hint of discomfort in her gestures and manner, though if it came from being unable to relate or relating too much she couldn't say.

"You'll find her." Mel tentatively broke the silence that had developed after being left speechless by the revelation of her acquaintance's struggles. Clearing her throat, she drew back into her seat and turned her attention up from the tile work. "You will find her. It was nearly winter when I left-" the water was frigid and burned her skin on impact, driving the air from her lungs as she struck the riverbed, white silt rising up in contrast to the ribbons of blood illuminated in the light of the twin moons "- and spring when I arrived. I have no reason to believe that our... dimensional abductions must follow any linear rules in spitting us out into this social petri dish."

The more she spoke, the more confident she sounded, shaking her hair out of her face as she swept it back from her forehead. "It's like you said, you have to trust your gut - but all of this? Distractions. They'll come and go, but Signe..." She considered it, pronouncing and weighing the name with careful consideration. "So long as you can recall her memory, I'm certain that one day you will find her."
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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#20


Are
Her words, empty as they might've been, warmed a heart left blind and frozen by the passing. The act of reaching out, even a tentative one, left a little smile on the cobbler's face. Posing as a warrior granted only armor against spear and arrow, against a touch of compassion he was left defenseless. He found himself again pondering what Mel's words had brought to the surface. A swirling, churning whirlpool, and in it's center laid his greatest fear: being lost in what had been. No, he had to move forward, to fight the currents dragging him down, even if it hurt.

But the more he fought the further he sank and as every window of escape slid shut he found himself a warrior no more. Just a lost cobbler, fumbling in the dark in search of his beacon of light.

"Yes. A memory. That's all she is, but no less alive to me than the day I last saw her. That's what they all are to us now though. Memories rapidly fading, and with it the pain of never seeing home shores again." he said with a sigh, melancholy wrapping it's dark fingers around his mind and squeezing what little joy out of the life he had carved out for himself. Although, there was still fight in the man. A warrior not yet ready to lay down and slip into memories. "But we keep them alive, don't we?" Are stated, chuckling and shaking his head at it all. "I do now. Signe, may her name live on in a world far from our own. In song, and in stone. Say, Melinoë, what names are you keeping alive?"
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 23 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
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#21
Mel watched mutely as he wrestled with the reality of their situation, wetting her lips and worrying the notch in her upper lip. There was nothing she could do but watch... and be there.

He spoke of being homesick and of longing, things that she had intentionally tried not to think of herself, and yet she found a crippling emptiness that threatened to see her collapse in on herself like a house of cards. Melinoë did not have a home shore to return to. Even if they might have found a way to return from whence they'd come, where would she go? What would she have?

Are spoke her name, and she shook her head. "Huh- oh- no-" Blinking she turned toward him, having rested her chin on her knuckles. "I don't even have my own name to keep alive, much less anyone else's." Distracted or distraught - the hollow ring in her voice might have been interpreted either way. She had not spoken to anyone about the concept of memories or her tenuous grasp on her own since arriving, the topic made her feel almost as vulnerable as Are must have recounting his missing wife. "Memories sometimes come to me but it's like... looking at a street through the moth holes in a curtain." Her brows knit and her throat clicked as she swallowed, her gaze darting away. Her face felt hot as she grappled with the words that came next, trying to control them something akin to trying to stay on top of a bucking bull. "I'm the one who died, I'm the one that will be forgotten. Not them." She managed to maintain a civil volume, though it was clear the turn in conversation had stirred up an unresolved seed of grief concerning her own vanishing. The thought that she did not know if those faces she recalled in snippets of her past come to surface even recalled her. Had there been a funeral? A stone? Did it matter?

She pressed her lips together and chewed at the notch in her lip, focusing on a distant point on the floor. As her cool came back to her, she sniffed a breath and shook her head, attempting to pretend that she had not nearly burst into hot angry tears. She was fine. There was no proof, Are's story would never hold up in court if she could only put back together the cool stoicism and posh flippancy she'd come to rely on in times of emotional turmoil. "I have a name on me - Flynt. Whoever that is."

And so it was like a magic trick - emotional outburst? Never happened!
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 6
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#22


Are
He reared a touch at her display of what could only be proper grief, sadness but for what Are wasn't sure. He barely understood his own feelings past a few words of wisdom he'd snatched up, how could he be expected to understand what someone so radically different to himself was experiencing. A polar opposite, but also an absolute reflection of himself; a stranger lost in a strange land, with nothing but a pocket full of disjointed memories and a scent of what used to be, quickly fading with every new breath.

Still he nodded. "Nothing is still something." he said and looked up. To make the best from what one has. "A blank slate. A chance to begin again. You can make it mean whatever you want, Melinoë. With no wife or workbench to call your name, who's telling your story but you?" Are tried smiling, instilling what little positivity he could in the situation, for when there was nothing left, only hope remained, and Gods be damned if that would ever leave him.

"I wish I could give you a cause, answers, and a direction but whatever the stars and sun tell you, but what I can give is advice, as regurgitated as it is." he smacked his suddenly dry lips and leaned back a touch, leather creaking with his shifting. "My father, a very wise man, once said that when we have nothing we make our own fortune. Now I'm not nearly clever enough to see all the facets in that and it might lose some of it's meaning when it's not in the old tongue, but there's something there if you look hard enough."
Force and magic use OK.
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Age: 23 | Height: 5'3" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
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#23
Oh shit, he was on to her. The pressure and heat of emotion swelled again in her chest and behind her eyes as Are tried to carefully soothe the grief their conversation had unearthed. And still there was some comfort in his attempts - perhaps the shoewarrior was not wise as his father and perhaps he felt far out of his depth trying to patch emotional dams, but he was good at trying and at the mention of workbench and wife, she laughed, still focusing on that distant point as her head tipped to the side and she raised a hand to carefully to shield her face from him, burying her nose and mouth into her palm with a sigh. Her opposite hand curled at her chest around the staff, toying with the wooden fish idly.

"Oh, Are. Your father would find your translation satisfactory, I imagine." With a breathy sigh she pulled her hand away from her face, wiping away any evidence of emotion, appearing entirely dry-faced despite being apparently overwhelmed. Sniffing, she blinked at him, no trace of tears in her eyes, nor the color in her cheeks. Perhaps he had heard a sniffle or glimpsed a glimmer of wetness on her cheeks before, but had he? Had he really? "You're right. We make our own destiny - I think we agreed a warrior and general, yes? And along the way you'll find your wife..." She glanced to check on her companion. "You might start by finding an artist to portray her - for reference. Who knows who wound up here, I'm sure someone can handle a portrait. Even it's not exactly like her it could be a place to start. Maybe someone might recognize her from the image."

Ah, yes. Dead wife - the emotional equivalent of pocket sand.
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 11 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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#24


Are
Slow to catch certain things as he was, even he could see the emotions he had stirred, but instead of offering any more comfort beyond the rough hewn wisdoms he averted his gaze and instead let the silence reign for a moment. When she finally broke it it was with enough harmony that he dared look up and even meet her words with a little laugh.

Back again to somewhat serious matters it was though, a suggestion Are hadn't given any more thought than to simply dismiss it as too easy. Too impersonal and not what she would have wanted had she been there. No, not a vain one, she would probably had chewed him out even more over what he was planning though. So much labor, time, and resources 'wasted' on commemorating something he instead should be looking for. A life not lost, but left behind. One hanging on by a single thread, a thread still kept alive by the memory. "I appreciate the suggestion, I really do, but I wouldn't know where to even start looking for an artist. All I know is craftsmen and farmers, a handful of warriors also, but not a single one to spend any time on something beyond what's needful." he said, catching himself in the lie even before the words had left his mouth, but the one he knew not among the practically minded he'd rather not bother with such a sensitive subject.

"No, she wouldn't want that, as a matter of fact, she's probably going to give me a good scolding for dragging a stone all the way from the woods just to scribble my incoherent ramblings on!" Are said and laughed at the thought of having his proud achievement displayed in a far more pragmatic and practical light.
Force and magic use OK.
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