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Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

Somewhere along her travels, Sylvan heard tell of the festival being hosted by some Feudal clan or another. It seemed too long that she'd been out for the sheer pleasure of enjoyment so she decided it couldn't hurt to head to the islands. Her mood was sour, which was a change from the good humor she'd found herself with in increasing increments--at least in her private time.

The arrival in Zento was uneventful, a simple matter of a quietly chanted spell. Immediately she was surrounded with the busy sights and sounds of the celebration these islanders held. It should have lifted her mood, helped her relax. But everything was just too much. Colors were too vivid, sounds too loud, even the laughter of the celebrants in the streets was more than she could bear. Sylvan took a few deep breaths and managed to find her way to the tea house.

Sylvan's head was swimming, and it was barely within her capability to be cordial to the Matriarch Ceinwyn and her escort. The two women shared a bit of laughter when Sylvan was asked if she would be joining in a fashion show, and Sylvan declined in her not quite polite manner; she reminded the Matriarch she did not strut, to which Ceinwyn replied "No, Sylvan. You stomp." How true, this little insight on Sylvan's nature.

The mayhem was too much for the weary Sylvan, and she returned home. Her mood was even more downcast than it had been and by this time she felt physically ill; she quietly cursed the absence of her healer. With dragging feet she went to her private rooms, and was surprised to find she had company. Too quickly, the tension rose between herself and the man who waited for her arrival despite the mutual gladness to see one another.

With fractured sentences and a skittish demeanor, Sylvan said what she had to say. The pounding in her head and the queasy feeling made this all the more difficult to do; a fine sweat shone on her brow.

The reaction she received was surprising.

Arahim · Posted: Thu May 21, 2009 6:50 pm Post subject:

There were pieces within her that ground upon each other fractiously. Some had been broken, and had begun to heal. Some would never be whole again. Many... would never be broken, and for this Arahim had admired her.

She was often at odds with the world in a way that, even at his very worst, he had never been and never could be.

In all, Arahim understood Sylvan in a way that no one else did.

He also grasped the idea that what she had just told him, would change everything, and in spite of his growing sense of excitement, wondered how this new piece would fit.