Quote Originally Posted by Raz_Fox View Post
Dinner at the Olm was something of a disappointment, it must be admitted. Although there was plenty to drink - something very heady procured from the juice of a cactus which the scarred man offered to Kalandor, as well as pure, pleasantly-cold water which Fayruz insisted on drinking - there simply was not much to eat. Most of it was a meal of dried desert roots, with a few desert quail roasted in their own juices offered up for Fayruz and her brother.

The people - who called themselves the Fayheran, a mark of their devotion to Fayruz - were beginning to grow lean, that much was certain. The weather was unseasonably hot, even for the desert, and dry. While there was enough for them all to drink, courtesy of the great river at their doorstep, the plants they scavenged from had begun to wither and die, and the beasts of the land were staying farther and farther away from hunting parties. Quiet, fleeting looks shared between Fayruz and the soldier betrayed that this was something that weighed heavily on her heart - even with half of their number headed out to reclaim the rocklands in the name of Fayruz and a united people, Fayruz could not conjure up enough food to feed the rest.

But Fayruz did her best to make her brother feel welcome; she invited musicians and dancers from her tribe to come up and perform for Kalandor, and they were all quite talented indeed! She offered, as well, to play her harp for her brother after they finished eating, to remind them both of the White City and what they must continually strive for. But they were doubly interrupted as the last of the quail was finished. The first was a bright beacon of light shining off far to the east, too bright to be any star. Fayruz turned her head to stare at it, and frowned. "A dragon?" she asked herself, softly. "Or something stranger... or a sibling?"

The scarred man, meanwhile, turned his head, then leaped up with a cry and pulled a child into the circle. The soldier started up, clenching his fists. "What are you playing at, Gamesha?" he cried.

"This child," the scarred man replied, "Ain't one of us. And he smells like rotting bodies." The scarred man leaned in, and breathed in deeply, and nodded to himself, licking his lips. "Like the ruttin dead."

Fayruz rose, making a gesture to place the child down, which the scarred man did. The scarred man then sat down next to Kalandor, his body loose and still, but his eyes more intent than they normally were. Fayruz, meanwhile, came down to one knee before the child. "I'm sorry," she said, softly. "Gamesha doesn't mean to hurt anyone, not any more. I know he's scary, but he's not going to hurt you... even if you are made of clay."

"My sweetest sister," the child replied, in Avyra's soft voice. And now Fayruz looked more deeply, and saw a spark deep within that clay child, one that smelled like the bodies of the slain at Dol Mazzah, that seemed as soft and elusive as silk, and she knew that Avyra was alive, and she began to cry with joy as the child continued.

"It is a joy to hear that you have survived these trials and are strong in your own right. I am so glad that you have finally found a true foothold and are secure in yourself. I, too, have found my destiny...I promise, sister, I will come to visit you soon. Be well."

The clay child fell silent, and Fayruz looked very seriously at it, blinking back tears. "Can you take a message to my sister?" The clay child nodded, and Fayruz said, "Tell my wonderful older sister that I am protected here, and that I know that Haramhold and Kalandor and Faden are all alive and well." As the child nodded, and vanished into the night, Fayruz drew herself up and said to Kalandor, smiling tearfully, "Avyra is alive!"

Kalandor enjoyed the meal immensely. It may not have been large, and I't may not have been good in comparison to divine quisine, but having lived as various insects for the last several days, anything that isn't raw and bleeding or tough and dry is a plesure, for which he offers his complements and his thanks. He knew, though to a lesser extent, the curse that is living in an arid land.
As for the musicians and dancers, it was true they where great, and Kalandor complemented them as such, and offered to show them a tune of his own devising, a simple song which he acompanies with his staff, which somehow forms a hollow with a single string in front of it, which changes in length, acting as a lute, his voice taking many changes, and, once where the wolf is refferenced, his very throat seems to shift, and he manages to replicate with perfection the wolfs longing howl, which lingered in the air as only the haunting wolfsong can. When Fayruz offers to take up the harp in song, Kalandor is only to pleased to listen, and then, to lead the entire group in song and dance.

Upon the coming of the light, Kalandor merely responds with "The light could well be anything, but let us enjoy ourselves this evening, and concern ourselves with our difficulties on the morrow." Thinking internally that she could well use the rest and fun. He would probaly lend her some of his energy, for it was no use working herself to exhaustion. The Arival of the clay child left him silent and watching, to see Fayruz interact with her people and the respect with which her people deffered to her, something he would well love to enjoy such, but knew that he would not if he desired to truely live amoungst his people and live his own life. When the clay child and Fayruz talked, Kalandor listened intently, and smiles in response to Fayruz. "My dear sister, do you honestly think any of us could do anything otherwise. Some of our hardships may vary both in type and ferocity, but we would not be given any more than we can handle." To this, Kalandor quickly curses internally for invoking Finagle. "But come! Let us celebrate, to our love ones and their succeses." Kalandor embraces Fayruz, and she can feel his joy radiating from him, warming her heart as a fire warms the cold man, and she feels a small part of his power enter her, nothing major, but it removes her pallor, making her skin glow with vibrant colour instead of being an exhausted white, and where Kalandor to feel exhaustion, he does not show it, nor does his skin reveal it. Looking to the child he rests his hand upon the clay childs shoulder, smiling. "Give Avyra my regards, and should you rest to travel from here now or later, go with my blessing." He turned back to Fayruz, smiling, "Now come sister, I think I saw a dance I would like to learn, and if you havn't learnt how to dance as these buetiful girls yet, I may have to slow you down a little." Reaching out he grabbed her by the hand, and everyone in the tent started to become infected with his exuberance.