A Memory I Dreamed

[Jack]

Scythe like to reap grain... he repeated in his thoughts, chuckling lightly as he momentarily scanned over Midhir's naive, curious features. "...Somethin' like that," he answered back, laughing lightly again. He would have to talk to Emmanuel about that when he got back home; that people thought they were farmers, gardeners. Considering the man left Indories to escape that servile life, the life of a farmer, that would surely be a soothing thing to hear. Jack supposed the life was just calling him back.

Moving back to the real world, he refocused his thoughts, his vision landing somewhere roughly along Midhir's jaw before spanning the length of his features and meeting his eyes again. It was obvious that he didn't actually like to make eye-contact; he appeared reluctant and fidgety when he did, often turning away or dropping his stare at the slightest provocation. "Y'know, you're kind of weird," he said flatly, pursing his lips. "Goin' through Daravin without a course in mind is goin' to get you killed. Especially as a Sil'norai. People like me treat people like you like shit around here. Even worse in some parts of Couronne; pleb backlash against their new mistress, and all."

He was born back before she became the Treveyn, when the previous House was in charge. Things were... a fair bit different back then. Now, tension and animosity was rife. Stronger than ever before, since the initial culling of the Ald'norai, he imagined.

It suddenly occurred to him that Midhir might not have even known what Couronne was. He seemed... sort of off. Like he was lost. Almost like a kid. Could he take care of himself? Evidently, but... the empathetic part of the Badlander almost began to foster a sense of worry. Maybe it was good they met. Jack would have someone to ramble off to, to share his stories and misplaced memories, and Midhir would have someone to keep him from getting killed.

Jack was honest too. He rarely lied unless he really had to -- to protect his own life. Maybe that would change now that he was in Daravin again, a veritable Empire of liars and grifters; but, he still intended to keep that honor to him. It would quickly become apparent on both ends whether he and the wolf got along... and him and Midhir, too. So far, though? He didn't mind him.

The Raider coughed, clearing his throat. "Yeah," he nodded, perking up as he beckoned for the other to follow him. The gate wasn't far, and he eagerly skipped ahead. He was glad they would be gone of this place soon -- it left a bad taste in his mouth, considering how excited he was to see it. Lucano used to be known for a lot of wonderful things. Festivals, theater... not like this. He hoped it would be the same after the virulence waned.

"Okay, so... what'd you do in Khadai? And why are you here?" The man turned to face the other as they finally passed through the gate, one brow risen as he questioned him. "Feel like you know too much about me to not reciprocate," he teased.

[Midhir]

Midhir nodded, wondering whether the farming was a metaphor or a literal thing. Jack didn't look like a farmer, though if he was leaving home in search of a doctor, he might have changed his clothes for the journey. Midhir probably should have as well, but the abbot hadn't seemed to want to help, but to let the novice fend for himself and see whether he had the skill, the determination, and the luck to survive and return. He looked at Jack's hands to see if there was evidence of manual labor. He had nice hands. They looked capable. His own were soft; though he had done his fair share of menial tasks around the monastery, his training hadn't involved labor but rather the honing of skills magical and martial, if only to pass down to future generations of monks lest those skills become necessary again.

As for being weird, "I had begun to notice that." He grinned, but sobered a bit and nodded. "I am learning to survive."

When Jack skipped ahead, Midhir hastened to follow. The wolf had largely let him set his own pace. Now he would have to collaborate in pace, in where to stop for the night, and any number of things he couldn't yet anticipate, but his intuition said that Jack was—if not safe—worthy of a bit of trust. He wasn't the first person to make this Empire sound like some cross between a hive of bees and a nest of spiders, but he supposed he could learn through Jack's eyes for as long as they decided to travel together.

"I was a novice in a monastery in the mountains of Khadai," he shared. Jack deserved to know enough about him to know whether he would rather continue alone. "I left. But that is all I know... I don't know anything about the Sil'norai except some little history, or about politics except that it usually ends up hurting people. But I'm nobody special." He spread his hands wide and shrugged. "I don't think I will get caught up in any politics or history in the making. I just wanted to see more of the world. Oh, and I'm not proselytizing against the Church. The monastery taught more of a... philosophy than a religion. I know not everyone cares about the distinction, but there is one."

He glanced sidelong at Jack, wondering if any of the information he had shared was a deal-breaker or whether he, like Midhir himself, was intrigued by difference.

[Jack]

It took someone truly weird to acknowledge that they were, without any complaint. He supposed he liked that about Midhir, a bit -- there was a simplicity to him that made him... agreeable. He hadn't taken any offense to any of Jack's more brazen behaviors, of which there were many. Most people ricocheted right off of him; it had always been that way. He himself was an outlier... severed so many directions, unable to find people with whom he belonged. Even in the Badlands, where everyone was like that... he had always been that one guy.

He got the impression that Midhir hadn't regarded him that way. For such a brief time knowing one another, that was a good sign. Considering he was in dire need of friends... he knew he had to try not to mess that up. It had been a long, lonely journey from the Badlands to here, and there was still so much more time left on the road. He worried he would only lose his mind more and more; maybe he would need someone to be there, to pick him back up when he fell, when the delusions and the stupor became too much.

He glanced at him, occasionally, as they walked. Once they were beyond the gate, Midhir answered his questions. A monastery...

"Huh," he replied with a raise of his brow, lifting his shoulders. All he had ever known was the Omen, though there were still some commoners who believed in Ulen and the Path. "Just be careful," he said quietly, glancing back toward the Halamire stood at the gate, and then along the river. A Cog sailed across the waters, headed in the same direction as them. "Bein' a Sil'norai is dangerous, like I said. And if your monastery wasn' one that followed Ulen... I'd skip that little detail with most people. The question of heresy's big these days. If people see you as the monk of another faith... expect the axe."

Midhir appeared to be a good guy, and from his perspective, the world was better with people like him out there. He did not want him to senselessly die over those... arbitrary distinctions. From Jack's perspective, the Omen was garbage anyway, and the Sil'norai belonged in the Empire. It was their home as much as anyone else.

"I'm not a farmer, by the way," he admitted, a faint smile forming on his lips as he peered down at the ground before him, appearing solemn for a moment. "I'm a killer. A killer who'd do anything not to get killed. That's why I'm here; to fix my mind. Ya see... I'm gettin' these... I don' know what to call them. These glimpses. Sometimes... they're so dark. I think the Corruption's gotten into my head. The Madness, they call it. Dunno how much time I've got anymore."

An exhale. Shaking his head slowly, he cast his eyes toward Midhir again, but again seemed hesitant to meet his own. Instead, he looked at his collar, and then along his arms. "I can't promise I'll be the best road companion. But... I won't hurt you. I think... I think I can promise you that."

[Midhir]

"The villagers warned me before I crossed the border," he assured the man. "Even so, I don't know enough about the Omen to answer all their questions if they stop me and interrogate me, but... Well, I took no vows." The corner of his mouth quirked up toward a crooked smile. "I suppose I'm impressionable and corruptible."

Of course, he felt an urge to tear down the Omen, but the church was so vast and he understood so little that he was able to keep the desire tamped down for the most part. He didn't understand the interplay of forces in Daravin well enough to know how best to balance them, or whether they had achieved some balance of their own. In any case, his power wasn't great, so the urges weren't either, but he knew that he was going to grow over the course of this year and a day before he had to return to the monastery to take his place there, or not.

He was quiet as they passed the guards and left Lucano behind them. He didn't know about its past glories, only that it had kept its doors closed to him when he was there. If they were afraid of illness, he couldn't blame them for that, but it was disappointing all the same.

"A killer who probably won't kill me?" He smiled. Farmers were killers too, by and large. It was not his place to judge a man for killing in self-defense. "That is the best offer I have had all day."

Midhir did wish he had more power, though. The Risen were given the ability to cleanse corruptions, but he wasn't powerful enough for that yet. But, in the meantime...

"If there's anything I can do to help, please tell me. I would not be the best road companion either if I let you suffer where I might have eased it, even a little."

[Jack]

He wasn't too worried for Midhir; most peasants knew next-to-nothing about the faith they so fervently espoused, so he doubted the other would be interrogated. 'Yes, Sir', and 'Praise Ulen, Sir', would be enough for any inquisitor seeking to shove his weight around. He didn't say much after the two left the town's walls, not after his somber confession at least. The more he spoke about it all, the more clouded his mind. He had barely spoken to anyone about the changes to his mind -- the deranging feeling that was coming, expanding out from his psyche. He didn't want anyone to feel he was unreliable; he didn't want them to leave him behind, or to shove a knife in his back. Even in Scythe, a part of him felt so isolated from the world. It had always been that way.

So -- it was nice to be able to be honest. Even to imagine that the person he was speaking to might have actually cared. If there's anything I can do...

He almost teared up, some. Just hearing someone trying to be compassionate for once was such a rarity. And these days? He was a sensitive soul. The sturdy exterior of the man began to wane more and more, exposing the rawness and fragility beneath.

"I won't kill you," he said, exhaling sharply. Trying to control his breath; not to let his mind run amok, let stray emotions compel him into saying or doing anything stupid. He was all stupidity of late. "Think I can promise you that. Maybe I'll talk your ear off, maybe I'll annoy you, but... think you'll get to stay alive," he said, nodding. "As for what you can do for me...? Dunno. Just, ah... I'd like a friend. You know? Think we could both use that, Midhir."

Upfront. It wasn't really like him, but nothing about this whole journey was usual, or typical. He needed a friend, anyway. Surviving was just as much about fixing whatever was marring his brain as it was finding someone to keep him upright. "And if things get fucked up and you need to leave... I get it. I won't blame you."

He closed his eyes for a moment, mind drifting back to the desert. The open sands, the Chariots, the men and women chatting at the edges of their bikes. A part of him wanted to show Midhir that world; he wondered if he would find it compelling. It was so strange, longing for that place that he considered 'home', even when he felt he had little there to go back to. This entire journey had felt like a surrender -- to 'them', to the wider world, to the established rules and vices of the Entente. But what waited for him in the desert? He hadn't found someone there nearly so kind as this random traveler in many years.

Maybe, he thought, it was time to venture out for good. To consider this the start of a longer journey. To leave Scythe behind.

"...Next town over is Liore," he piped up, parting his lips. "Home of the wheelbarrow, or so they say. Not exactly somethin' to be proud of, it's a fuckin' cart on wheels, but alright..."

[Midhir]

"I've never had a friend before," he mused. Then corrected himself, "I mean, we were mostly friendly among the novitiate, but we were friendly because we were all we had. There wasn't much choice in the matter. And the monks teach non-attachment... not that we aren't to be compassionate and caring, hm... it's difficult to explain. Perhaps that's why I'm not a monk. But I don't know how to be a proper friend; all the same, I would like to learn."

He glanced at Jack, whose thousand-yard stare seemed to transport him to that desert place and its people, or perhaps other places and other people beyond that. Midhir realized that his own life had been insular, small on the surface, though with an inner depth. Still, he thought this walkabout was going to be good for him. He couldn't rightly say whether he was going to return to the monastery at the end of his allotted time or find some new path for himself. In the meantime, however, if they were two lonely souls drifting in the same direction, it couldn't hurt to help each other out.

It would have been a lie to say he would never leave; he didn't know what Jack might do to incite his leaving, though their paths could easily diverge. Midhir didn't protest, but he offered an encouraging half-smile. Being prepared for trouble was one thing, but worrying over possibilities didn't actually help.

When Jack fell silent, he was not uncomfortable. Silence did not make him uncomfortable, though sometimes he might be in more of a mood to fill it with talk than others. But he could respect Jack's meditations, as well.

"Liore," he repeated for himself. It was a tick, perhaps—repetition to carve something into his memory. "Well, farmers probably appreciate the invention even if we don't." There was a joke in there somewhere—farmers, wheelbarrows, scythes—but what passed for humor among young monks didn't seem to fly at all outside the monastery. "Will we reach Liore before sunset or will we be making camp along the river?" He hadn't had the opportunity to ask anyone in Lucano about the road ahead, and he had made plenty of decisions in the past two months based on whatever information he gathered or experienced for himself. Having Jack might help there, as well.

[Jack]

I've never had a friend before.

The words made him laugh -- lightly, at first, and then more. He had never met a grown man who would admit to not having a single friend. How did one even go on for so long without one? Jack imagined he would have gone mad long ago if not for companions to share stories with, myths, mysteries, legends. The things he had endured. He believed Midhir, though. The other man did not strike him as a liar.

"Guess I'll have to be your first, then," he whispered, going quiet as he listened to the other elaborate further. 'Novitiate'. 'Non-attachment'. He had no concept of what those words really meant. Non-attachment... no attachments? That seemed to make sense to him, and it didn't strike him as being particularly far-off any of that religious nonsense the faiths he knew were privy to peddling. The Omen did not teach non-attachment, but they did assault the idea of pleasure, and sometimes even romantic love. The current life was not meant to be one of pleasure. It was meant for man to do his part to bring about the final omens, fulfilling the prophecies and inviting forth the apocalypse.

Love was meant for Ulen. Devotion was meant for Ulen. True, hedonistic pleasure was often punished with brutal, immeasurable pain.

He had never been fond of any of that. Mortals were given their senses for a reason; their desires, the ability to fulfill them, the ability to garner pleasure. The ability to love, and be loved. And that was how it was meant to be. No unproven garbage could teach him otherwise.

"I'll teach you," he finally followed up, nodding his head. Being Midhir's first friend wouldn't be difficult. Maybe, given his limited exposure, he wouldn't realize how shitty of a friend Jack was sometimes. It would be nice not to feel ashamed of all his vices, for once. Maybe it would take a naive guy like the other to alleviate that dread.

He did not get his joke. Instead, the man shrugged, looking up towards the clouds and yawning. "Farmers are idiots," he concluded, very maturely. "Only thing they appreciate is having their throat stepped on by Ratheran's heel." He referred to the Pontifex of the Omen, though he doubted Midhir knew him by name, or even what the 'Pontifex' was. Equally, he decided he would not bother explaining it all. There weren't enough hours in the day to go over the Omen, and with limited time until he convulsed in a back-alley until he died, he decided he would spare his words.

"We'll be in Liore in... give or take, six or seven hours. Sun should be setting by then." South Daravin wasn't far from the equator -- the sun normally rose and set in twelve hour intervals. Eighteen hours into every day, it began to descend from the sky. At six, it would rise. "We can get an inn room together, stay there for the night. Er... if you don't mind. We can do separate rooms, too," he nodded. "I'm lookin' forward to it. Been sleepin' in a tarp every night for weeks. Hell... haven't slept in a proper bed in a long time. Two months, I think," he said, exhaling. The life of a Badlander was rough, after all.

[Midhir]

As far as Midhir knew, the wolf wouldn't mind Jack being counted his first friend. The concept was likely foreign to the creature, who seemed to have been a lone wolf that decided Midhir was now its pack. He wondered if the wolf would accept Jack into its sense of pack. He wondered what that meant, having never been a part of a wolf pack before.

But he smiled again when Jack assured him that he would teach him about friendship. He could sense that there were nuances he was missing, but he didn't want to wear the man out with incessant questions so he would bide his time until he thought he had a particularly good one. In the meantime, he would be observant and learn. He couldn't speak to the relative intelligence of the farmers of Daravin, though the names Jack bandied about were kept in his pocket for later review. There did seem to be quite a bit he didn't understand, and he supposed his lack of knowledge and understanding might be especially dangerous in a bigger city with more guards and more clerics and more people with more power intent on controlling everyone around them.

He found himself bristling at the idea, though there was nobody present attempting to control him. The Mark had come to him young, and he thought that it was a part of his discontent. The Kullu lineage was all about balance, which he still respected, but the abbot did control them. They bowed to his wisdom, but Midhir couldn't remember not bowing to his wisdom. He didn't know if a year and a day would be enough time for him to make an informed decision as to whether he would bow again or he would prove to have an anarchist soul.

"I don't mind sharing a room," he said. "I've never had one of my own. Monks have cells. Novices have the dormitory. And anyway, we either share a room or we share a camp. I don't snore." He grinned, then glanced thoughtfully at the horizon. "If Liore is shut up like Lucano was, will we be able to find a room or will we have to camp anyway?"

It would probably be good to stop, though. His spare clothes could get a proper laundering instead of just a soak in the river, and then he would remain an easy person to travel with. He had noticed that many people in Daravin were less concerned with cleanliness and hygiene than the monks had been. In most cases, he let it pass as cultural and economic differences, but sometimes, it was difficult to convince his nose of that.

[Jack]

If there was one thing Badlanders appreciated, it was their space. He couldn't imagine not having his own room for that long; having to share a dormitory with some brat he might not have even liked. He also probably did not... trust people enough for that. If he had to share a room with Alice, for example, he imagined he would have been strangled in his sleep. Or maybe he would have strangled her.

Of course, that made his choice to invite Midhir to bunk with him a curious one. He just had... a trustworthy nature to him. Jack always strongly believed in his ability to scope other people out; their intentions, the type of soul they were. A liar, a truth-teller, or something in-between. Midhir came off as being... staunchly peaceful and non-intrusive. Plus, it didn't hurt that he was cute. Always easier to decide to share a room with someone if you didn't mind the sight of them. And also, apparently, if they did not snore.

"Me neither," he replied, smiling faintly. Of course, the monk's follow-up question made him wonder. Plague rarely ever kept to just one town, or city. It spread like a... like a plague. A genius assertion, he knew. "If it's closed up... then we'll need to camp, yeah," he said, sighing. "I wouldn' want to stay anywhere that would be willin' to offer a room during quarantine. My head's fucked up as it is, I don't need syphilis or whatever-the-fuck."

He didn't know whether syphills was an airborne plague. He also didn't much care. Glancing the other up-and-down briefly, he pondered for a moment. Given his isolation, he probably did not understand plagues particularly well, either. One monastery was likely... so isolated from anything like that.

Jack pulled his hand over the strap of his pack, gripping it tightly between his fingers. He was excited, for once. A friend and a traveling companion... both of those things were nice to have. And, at that, one who took care of himself well, smelled and look good. That was something he wasn't used to in the sweat-producing heat of the Badlands, but it was a welcome change. Things suddenly seemed so optimistic. "Okay... to Liore," he said quietly, that faint smile still lingering on his lips. He tossed Midhir a glance, a warmth spread across his features, as the two continued forward.

[Midhir]

It was worse than Jack imagined, in fact: rows of bunk beds, small chests for belongings that were largely just extra sets of clothing. Their life had been ascetic in nature and now it was strange to have accumulated things, accumulated coin, and carrying it all with him on his back like some sort of snail. His hair was growing out; two month's worth of bristle had become a sort of shapeless mass of dark gold, which was strange for his race, though he had met few of his race to compare himself to. He glanced at Jack's coif and wondered if he might ask the man to trim his own into a similar shape. The idea of looking a proper pair made him smile. He didn't know if that was something friends did, or if he was seeking out some sort of tribe to belong to. Perhaps he ought to find some clothes more like his as well, so people they met assumed he had the same skills and street smarts as Jack. Midhir was an honest man, but he understood that sometimes tricking people into thinking you were more dangerous than you were could prevent trouble.

"When sickness got into the monastery, we had to act fast or else everyone would fall ill," he ruminated. "If it looks dangerous at all, I would rather camp. Sometimes it's bad air, other times it's fleas, and even if the inns are open, some of their beds are likely to have fleas." He frowned. He didn't want to hate any living creature, but fleas were a nuisance he could live without. Thankfully, the wolf didn't seem to have any.

"To Liore," he agreed, and continued on alongside his new friend.

They couldn't know what lay in store unless they walked there, so it was a moot point for the time being.

Realistically, he was better off in Jack's company, which made him feel all the more optimistic about the future, which was going to include denser populations of people whose ways he didn't rightly understand. A stranger in a strange land was always in some amount of peril, but Jack was a scythe who reaped people. He hoped nobody would have to die so he could be safe, but it was comforting to know that the man by his side might also stand back-to-back with him in a fight.

To Liore.

fin.