a nighttime flight
Chaele
Zamara Iosu


Age: 21 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#15

A brief contemplation flashed over her mind of averting her eyes, hiding her gaze from the gore to come. Yet, some piece of her logical mind tugged at her to watch; to witness this beast giving its life for her benefit and show the shaman that she meant to survive after all.

She watched the careful movements of this woman so well-versed in the ways of the wild. She noted the way she crouched down so low as to crawl across the mud and keep hidden by the foliage. She looked on with widening eyes as the magic was summoned and… something happened to the boar.

Zamara was by no means knowledgeable about the art she herself possessed; the other Abandoned she had before witnessed had been few and far between and more often than not wished nothing at all to do with the dancing girl that could but make a few lights appear. Her talent seemed to be nothing more than cosmetic in nature, leaving her wondering what it might have been were she more powerful in it. And as she observed how fast the animal seemed to expire despite the short length of the blade used, it was clear that Chaele had somehow spirited away the boar’s life itself.

Cautious once more, the young girl greatly hesitated before moving again. There was still no reason to suspect that Chaele intended to use this terrifying ability upon her and she seemed to genuinely wish to aid her- but even still, Zamara had no intention upon upsetting the woman. She limped forward when bidden and dipped to help bear the boar’s weight to…wherever she was being led to next.
Zamara
Chaele Omriwin
Shaman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#16
in tenebris est veritas.
The small hog’s limp head knocks against the back of Chaele’s legs as they carry their half slowly through the underbrush, blood painting her skirts and leaving a negligent trail behind them. But they know that the two cannot move fast together, and they are prepared to defend themself and the girl from scavengers. The camp is perhaps a five minute walk from the river, doubled by their slow progress.

Zamara might smell it before she sees it: the smoky odor of a cold campfire, the acridity of drying tannins, the faint perimeter of piss. The clearing is small, the dirt barely visible between the machete-cut shrubs, and Chaele gives the largest space to the dead thing. A small ring of stones encircles a pile of ash just beside it, and a crude wooden structure holds a few hanging furs just opposite. With a huff they dust their hands, then gesture an invitation toward a low, knotted root that is the closest thing to a chair.

“Now.” Their pack is shrugged off and set aside, their hunting knife retrieved and wiped clean with a rag. After a long moment in examination of their new burden, Chaele turns toward their kill and kneels beside it. “You have nowhere to go, no one looking for you, and you are not prepared to live in the wilds.” The knife cuts into the carcass with little ceremony as Chaele begins to lift the skin from the muscle.

There is a soft curiosity in their voice as they inquire, “Tell me what happened.”
Zamara Iosu


Age: 21 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#17

The dead pig proved heavier than the girl had anticipated and soon she found herself struggling to keep up the pace rather than focus upon the revulsion she felt from contact with the corpse. Though her limp was fading, Chaele moved with an assurance through the brush that would have had Zamara scrambling to match it on even a good day. More than once she pondered how agonizingly slow this pace must be for the experienced survivalist and frequently sent apologetic glances towards her fellow Abandoned.

She had almost expected a rickety cabin perched upon bird-like legs, or perhaps some sort of ancient cave, but the place where Chaele claimed to lay their head was surprisingly practical and almost primitive. Even the chair she was ushered towards was a product of nature itself and Zamara struggled to find a comfortable perch upon it.


The young dancer chewed her lip beneath the assault of fine points tossed her way until she was veritably cornered. There was no escaping from her past this time and so with a heavy heave, Zamara let it unravel.  

“...a girl like me doesn’t flee from a good situation, you mean. You have the right of it, there. I…hmm.” She adjusted her position upon the knot before lifting her arms as though about to worship rather than orate. A beat later, the slender arms twist inwards upon themselves as they fall while her fingers weave complex patterns- a dancing gyration of torso only. Soft, twinkling lights began to then descend upon Zamara’s lap, coalescing into the vague silhouette of a feminine figure going through the precise motions of ballet. An illusory display to augment the tale she told.

“I had a family once. Not…not a happy one, but a family still. I thought I’d be with them for a lot longer than I was, but I guess only the happy ones are together for a long time. When my father died, none of us knew where to turn. When he was alive, he had certain…contacts. Contacts that I thought could help me find a wage, but the one they had for me wasn’t one I should have accepted. I had to do things that I won’t speak of in that gambling hall…but they also had me dance. And when I danced, I was free. I left because I wanted to find a place where I could be free all the time, not just for part of a night. I suppose I could have planned it better…is that difficult?”

The wispy dancer had dissipated in the wake of Zamara’s interest in Chaele’s actions. Despite the gore involved, there was a distinct methodology in what they were doing and she was finding it more and more fascinating.
Zamara
Chaele Omriwin
Shaman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 1 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 12 - Int: 0
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#18
in tenebris est veritas.
The blade stills, the blood pools, the shaman’s hands hang limp as the story goes on. The little illusory dancer captivates their attention, and not just with its beauty. It is rare to see such magic, the honest and present sort that defies reality with its uncanny truths. Chaele eagerly entertains the notion that Zamara was drawn to this place not only because of her instinct to flee an unfortunate circumstance, but because perhaps she felt the ley lines, the threads of power that cross this realm. It is the burden of their kind, to sense them.

They find no words to respond to her story otherwise, pieces of it drifting through the shaman’s understanding with somber sympathy. Their own story had not been so dire, but it is all the more reason to rescue Zamara from hers; cursing their instinct for charity, Chaele is eager to make use of it as the final question is spoken. They gesture to the carcass with their blade, resuming the project of disassembling it.

“It is easier with every iteration, as all things are. The skin is attached to the meat by only a thin filament, see--” They slice carefully at the inside of the animal, holding the fur up to better show Zamara the technique. There is a line around the neck and ankles where the fur remains. “Though it is more complex around the head and feet. Those will require further attention, which I can show you after we eat.”

Once the skin is adequately removed, it is used as a sort of blanket to protect the meat from the ground. Chaele glances toward the ashes in their fire circle with a small sigh, as she supposes that the illusionist probably has little skill in lighting a fire. Luckily there are some cut logs and kindling stashed nearby, which the wild woman begins to arrange within the little circle of stones. “It is said that true family are the people we choose,” she mentions after a few moments of thoughtful work. Smoke begins to rise from the leaves and twigs as they add, “I like to think that home is just the same. It is not a single place, but rather something chosen. Something built.”
Zamara Iosu


Age: 21 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#19

Silent in her rapt attention, the young woman had leaned forward upon her good knee in order to gain a closer perspective upon the work being done. She had certainly passed things being butchered; how could she have not while living on the poorer streets of Haulani? Yet those had all been at a distance and may as well have been illustrations upon a scroll. The experience of it close up was as illuminating as it was nauseating. Tendons pulled and then snapped like taut harp chords over and over made her think about what lay beneath her own skin- and the thin layer that connected it to her muscles beneath.

There was a metallic smell hanging in the air as blood was drained and the pieces of the carcass sorted to where they ought to be and oddly Zamara no longer felt sickened. It was as though Chaele’s words and methodical, practiced actions rendered the situation into more a protocol than mutilation and soon even the smell became something she was just used to.

“This is where you chose, then? To make your home? Have you lived here long? Have you ever been beyond these lands?” As the barrage of questions finally finishes spilling forth from her, she reddens with embarrassment.
Zamara
Chaele Omriwin
Shaman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#20
in tenebris est veritas.
Chaele does not skip a beat. As soon as it seems the fire will persist, they drag the triangular spit toward the skinned animal and begin to remove the hind legs. “My home is everywhere,” they explain, hanging the meat onto the wooden apparatus. “This is a temporary camp, as they all are. I live as one with the land, which is not a single place. In a few days, I will have spent my welcome and I will move elsewhere.”

The evening has all but begun now, the yellow light of a sinking sun elongating the shadows of the trees. The shaman tilts their head in appraisal of the other woman, noting her discomfort and curiosity and embarrassment. Each is a symptom of something deeper, something that Chaele recognizes in her own past: the keen awareness of one’s own fragility, the quiet hunger for strength and purpose, the desire to belong to something greater. Perhaps they have made a mirror out of this pathetic creature where there are only illusions and weakness. Or perhaps this is what it is to see promise.

“We will feast on a fatty shank tonight, but most will be dried and used as rations... so you will not have to eat any more maggots for a while.” There is a small stretch of a grin in their voice, almost teasing, as they strip the carcass to its bones and innards. Gesturing to the referenced pieces, they continue, “We will make you a waterskin out of the bladder. The eyes and kidneys will enrich a stew. The heart and lungs will make good bait for a trap. And the bones and intestines can be used for divination.”

Then they stand, wrapping their hands around the poles of the now weighted spit. “Help me move this over the fire.”
Zamara Iosu


Age: 21 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#21

”Divin-” The dancer began, yet was cut off quickly by the stoic call to action. She was still reeling from the difficulty that came with trying to discern if the shaman was indeed making a joke or not.

Zamara surprised herself when she found she was able to put a bit more weight upon the injured heel already. With only a slight limp, she made her way over to provide the aid required of her. She placed a shoulder beneath the pole to provide the strongest foundation, met Chaele's eyes with a nod, and together the two hauled the apparatus until it was properly set in place. This seemed to draw a soft smile across Zamara's face, who found a simple pleasure in completing a necessary task.

"This is all so new to me…" She whispered with an awe of the wilderness around them. "I don't know how good I'll be at living here, but I promise to try as hard as I can. But ahh…are we safe here?"

The dancer's eyes took on a wariness as the full weight of a lack of walls began to set in.
Zamara
Chaele Omriwin
Shaman

Age: 28 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#22
in tenebris est veritas.
Chaele releases a sigh as the spit is set in place, stepping back to dust their hands and take a moment to assess the camp. Their work is never over; in the next breath, they are crouching beside the fire and tempting it into something warmer, fuller, brighter. The embers glow and burst, firewood engulfed in an aura of shine and shadow. The crackling heat does well to disguise the eager grumble in their own stomach as they direct a pointed look at Zamara through the smoke.

“Were you safe in Torchline?”

The shaman may not look it, but they know what it is to judge the integrity of a lock, to quicken footsteps in pace with the setting sun, to sort what food can be eaten from what must be given for ‘protection’. They can guess what insinuations were made in the dancer’s description of her benefactors, and they can assume that she will be better off defending herself from less savage, more bestial predators.

“Survival in the wilds is not easy. The land gives and takes as it pleases, and those who would harness it must learn to appease it.” Chaele has tugged a leather tarp from their pack and begins to harvest the rest of the carcass into a pile atop it. The knife is raised high as they hack into the joints between the bones. “But if you like, I will teach you.” After all, they had not been without their own mentor.
Zamara Iosu


Age: 21 | Height: 5'9" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#23

To neither of their surprise, Zamara proved largely useless in the next task. She lingered upon the outside circumference around the fire being born with the light steps of someone wishing to help but uncertain of quite how to. She ended up mostly observing and the young dancer noted how different this process was to the fires she had stoked in her own life. There was no chimney to focus the wind, no ready-to-use logs that were cut into perfect shapes, no iron pokers to jostle things about. It was as though Chaele were engaging within a contest of skill versus the elements themselves to harness the life-giving warmth they both would be relying on this night.

She does not answer the shaman’s question when it is asked of her. Zamara was not sure exactly how to answer it. Her mouth hung slightly slack as the thoughts that might have been clever slipped away from her like the rising embers lifting from Chaele’s fiery accomplishment.

They seemed to take pity on her and continued on with their guidance even while dividing their prey with extreme skill. And when the question finally came- the very one that she had been hoping to hear; Zamara’s heart still managed to skip a beat in relief.


”If…if you will not mind doing so, I will try my best to learn from you. And to be useful, if I can.” The words leave her slowly as she chooses them with great care.
Zamara


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