12-16-2019, 03:06 AM
Within yet another temporary home, Remnii sat in stark contrast to the otherwise warm wooden tones of her guest room. The shock of pale blue and white of her own person served as a continuous reminder of just how much she stood out. One hand propped her head up, serving as a makeshift pedestal for her chin. Her other hand was busy turning over a dark, shimmering, stone. Both faint flickers of candlelight and the ambient light of her eyes caught the star-like sparkles within the stone.
Remnii gently set her sending stone back onto the table. Yet, she could not help but stare deeper into it, as though it would give her any semblance peace or answers. She chewed upon her bottom lip, harder than usual. A chapped, darker blue, mark had begun to appear in a faint ring below her actual lip-- a symptom of both thinking and studying hard.
While she had intended to review the day’s lessons, nothing of the sort had gotten done once she retired for the evening. Unsurprisingly, the night was proving sleepless. Names, concerns, and yet another wash of loneliness came unbidden to her mind as she reflected upon the night’s events.
Arthak. At least he is alive.
Remnii’s finger toyed with the stone that she’d painstakingly smoothed over but a few months ago. It provided little to no comfort, as it was cold to the touch and unresponsive in just about every way she could have needed. What was on the other end of the stone now, too, offered little solace-- two demons, only one welcome.
With an empty sigh, she looked up toward the mirror above the table. With the darkness of the room behind her, the only other glow that caught her eye (besides the flicker of her own) was the gentle, dimmed, light of M’uru.
A warm, bittersweet pain crept into her chest. Remnii’s stomach turned. With as much care as ever, perhaps even more, she removed the circlet from her head. Running her hand over the simple, twisting wire that Arthak had worked so hard on-- ever so careful to attempt something so foreign and delicate. Its certain imperfections and the clear effort of trying something new stung in such a sweet way.
She bit her lip and fought its quivering with a slight grimace. Instead, she drew her circlet into her arms and held it close to her chest, grief apparent on her face.
“I suppose I cannot wearr my hearrrt in the open as much as I’d wish.”
Setting Arthak’s creation upon the table next to the sending stone, Remnii reached to the side and picked up yet another circlet. It was a delicate, expertly crafted, piece of work. Brilliant yellow-gold with soft, swirling, filigree stems were dotted with beads of gold, some fashioned into chains that draped over her ears. It had been sitting proudly next to a matching set of jewelry, all gold: earrings, tentacle clasps, a tail clasp, and a crystal necklace. Talath’s expertise was clear and deeply appreciated.
Though she smiled in the mirror as she put it on, it did not fully reach her eyes immediately. Still, that smile slowly crinkled up to greet her cheeks as she donned the completed headpiece for the first time. Spending the money had been well worth it, as a loathe as Remnii was to say it aloud, the presence of more jewelry on her person met a deep, long forgotten, need. That something almost felt primal, as a Draenei.
Wordlessly, she adorned herself with the rest of the set. Remnii only winced slightly as she attached the chain and cuff that would dangle from her ears to her renewed piercings. Muscle memory was kind to her, everything slid on. Her motions were nearly reverent, despite her grief moments ago, as it was like returning to a small piece of home.
Once adorned, she met her own eyes in the mirror once more. A more complete Draenei stared back at her in the mirror. She finally, as quietly as possible, moved her seat back and rose to her hooves.
She turned herself around in the mirror, both studying and admiring herself and Talath’s work. Mirrors were still a novelty, after all.
Remnii nodded without even meaning to, approving and thankful. The figure she had witnessed upon the Viciator; a near-unrecognizable, haunted, caricature of herself had melted away. Azeroth had been kind to her. The gaunt runaway had been replaced with soft curves and a supple figure-- how she’d always looked in her mind’s eye. Yet, the deeper blue, tired, lines under her eyes remained in every reflection. Those were new. Somehow, she did not mind the change.
Is this how you feel, Vakas? With the weight of the world on your shoulders and few to share it with? Unable to shift the tide of the world-- feeling so big, yet so small in a ceaseless cycle?
“I am sorry, Vakas, if it is.” Remnii offered to the air, just above a tender whisper.
Turning, she reached for Arthak’s gift. With the circlet held close to her heart she crossed the room to her meager belongings. One handed, as to not disturb her hold on the headband, Remnii dug to the bottom. Down past the memories of Draenor, stolen back for her by yet another far away loved one, and past her rations and bed roll, Remnii came upon a parcel wrapped in simple cloth.
Though such loose wefts, the clear lavender sparkle of her mother’s dress and the stark glint of amethyst crystals shone through. She lifted the dress out and undid its unceremonious wrappings. Laying on top of it, a shock a lovely gold, too, met her eyes. Her first headband. Now, she nearly had collected a whole outfit of her mother’s, of Nuuri’s. Yet, she had no body to wear it. No mother to understand better, to dry her tears or to shoo away a deepening well of questions and confusions involving the legacy of the Prophet.
Remnii swallowed a lump in her throat. Besides the outstanding moment of meeting the Archbishop by necessity of presenting herself formally, she’d opted never to wear the dress (or look at it, for that matter). Shaspira’s venom had sunk itself too deeply into the antique dress. Now was not the time to start redeeming it, the sting was too fresh, the danger too immediate.
Meanwhile, both circlets she’d worn until this point sat heavily on her head and on her heart. Remnii smiled to herself, a little wry, thinking herself perhaps too sentimental as she handled each piece.
A golden circlet, thick and nigh indestructible. Forged in the old ways, Nuuri’s headband provided some kind of exceptional metaphor of a golden childhood. She’d worn it in memorial, to honor her mother, to carry an extra piece of her Vakas’ heart wherever she went. It seemed the right course of action, as it was so easy to recall his face softening, warm, ever so loving yet still heartbroken, as he looked upon her with the circlet on her 100th name day-- her first full year marked upon the Argussian calendar. Now, to even begin to know the difference between heartache and grief in her father’s eyes?
Remnii knew she would never let the beautiful piece out of her hands again, yet it was too much to wear.
Arthak’s circlet, on the other hand, forged of iron, polished until it shone silver? Its simple, twisting arms and tapering edges were all made by an Orc who’d been plunged into a war her inherited all too quickly. His attempt at gentle jewelry, along with his attempt to stay above proverbial water, seemed one and the same as she was now removed from his direct plight. The head piece’s well executed, yet visibly uncomfortable construction, spoke volumes of her time with the Warband, her limited time with M’uru.
This, too, was too much with inevitable war looming.
One silver, one gold, each piece served a perfect, terrible, reminder of the passing phases of childhood to the present. While both were sacred, neither was safe from grief. Thus came her resolution.
Her third circlet held no stakes, no pieces of loved ones in jeopardy, no threat of loss. A clean slate felt desperately needed in this foreign place. A new chapter of her life was forged in looping, delicate gold-- akin to an unpredictable line she felt herself walking amidst near-strangers.
“In the meantime,” Remnii spoke warmly to her prized possessions, beginning to pack Arthak’s creation, and M’uru’s warmth away with the rest, “I shall simply have to keep my hearrt close closer, saferr, until I’m rready, yes?”
With an earnest chuckle, and a small smile, the priestess winced at her own expense, “Perrhaps I should keep my poetic attempts to myself too?”
Remnii gently set her sending stone back onto the table. Yet, she could not help but stare deeper into it, as though it would give her any semblance peace or answers. She chewed upon her bottom lip, harder than usual. A chapped, darker blue, mark had begun to appear in a faint ring below her actual lip-- a symptom of both thinking and studying hard.
While she had intended to review the day’s lessons, nothing of the sort had gotten done once she retired for the evening. Unsurprisingly, the night was proving sleepless. Names, concerns, and yet another wash of loneliness came unbidden to her mind as she reflected upon the night’s events.
Arthak. At least he is alive.
Remnii’s finger toyed with the stone that she’d painstakingly smoothed over but a few months ago. It provided little to no comfort, as it was cold to the touch and unresponsive in just about every way she could have needed. What was on the other end of the stone now, too, offered little solace-- two demons, only one welcome.
With an empty sigh, she looked up toward the mirror above the table. With the darkness of the room behind her, the only other glow that caught her eye (besides the flicker of her own) was the gentle, dimmed, light of M’uru.
A warm, bittersweet pain crept into her chest. Remnii’s stomach turned. With as much care as ever, perhaps even more, she removed the circlet from her head. Running her hand over the simple, twisting wire that Arthak had worked so hard on-- ever so careful to attempt something so foreign and delicate. Its certain imperfections and the clear effort of trying something new stung in such a sweet way.
She bit her lip and fought its quivering with a slight grimace. Instead, she drew her circlet into her arms and held it close to her chest, grief apparent on her face.
“I suppose I cannot wearr my hearrrt in the open as much as I’d wish.”
Setting Arthak’s creation upon the table next to the sending stone, Remnii reached to the side and picked up yet another circlet. It was a delicate, expertly crafted, piece of work. Brilliant yellow-gold with soft, swirling, filigree stems were dotted with beads of gold, some fashioned into chains that draped over her ears. It had been sitting proudly next to a matching set of jewelry, all gold: earrings, tentacle clasps, a tail clasp, and a crystal necklace. Talath’s expertise was clear and deeply appreciated.
Though she smiled in the mirror as she put it on, it did not fully reach her eyes immediately. Still, that smile slowly crinkled up to greet her cheeks as she donned the completed headpiece for the first time. Spending the money had been well worth it, as a loathe as Remnii was to say it aloud, the presence of more jewelry on her person met a deep, long forgotten, need. That something almost felt primal, as a Draenei.
Wordlessly, she adorned herself with the rest of the set. Remnii only winced slightly as she attached the chain and cuff that would dangle from her ears to her renewed piercings. Muscle memory was kind to her, everything slid on. Her motions were nearly reverent, despite her grief moments ago, as it was like returning to a small piece of home.
Once adorned, she met her own eyes in the mirror once more. A more complete Draenei stared back at her in the mirror. She finally, as quietly as possible, moved her seat back and rose to her hooves.
She turned herself around in the mirror, both studying and admiring herself and Talath’s work. Mirrors were still a novelty, after all.
Remnii nodded without even meaning to, approving and thankful. The figure she had witnessed upon the Viciator; a near-unrecognizable, haunted, caricature of herself had melted away. Azeroth had been kind to her. The gaunt runaway had been replaced with soft curves and a supple figure-- how she’d always looked in her mind’s eye. Yet, the deeper blue, tired, lines under her eyes remained in every reflection. Those were new. Somehow, she did not mind the change.
Is this how you feel, Vakas? With the weight of the world on your shoulders and few to share it with? Unable to shift the tide of the world-- feeling so big, yet so small in a ceaseless cycle?
“I am sorry, Vakas, if it is.” Remnii offered to the air, just above a tender whisper.
Turning, she reached for Arthak’s gift. With the circlet held close to her heart she crossed the room to her meager belongings. One handed, as to not disturb her hold on the headband, Remnii dug to the bottom. Down past the memories of Draenor, stolen back for her by yet another far away loved one, and past her rations and bed roll, Remnii came upon a parcel wrapped in simple cloth.
Though such loose wefts, the clear lavender sparkle of her mother’s dress and the stark glint of amethyst crystals shone through. She lifted the dress out and undid its unceremonious wrappings. Laying on top of it, a shock a lovely gold, too, met her eyes. Her first headband. Now, she nearly had collected a whole outfit of her mother’s, of Nuuri’s. Yet, she had no body to wear it. No mother to understand better, to dry her tears or to shoo away a deepening well of questions and confusions involving the legacy of the Prophet.
Remnii swallowed a lump in her throat. Besides the outstanding moment of meeting the Archbishop by necessity of presenting herself formally, she’d opted never to wear the dress (or look at it, for that matter). Shaspira’s venom had sunk itself too deeply into the antique dress. Now was not the time to start redeeming it, the sting was too fresh, the danger too immediate.
Meanwhile, both circlets she’d worn until this point sat heavily on her head and on her heart. Remnii smiled to herself, a little wry, thinking herself perhaps too sentimental as she handled each piece.
A golden circlet, thick and nigh indestructible. Forged in the old ways, Nuuri’s headband provided some kind of exceptional metaphor of a golden childhood. She’d worn it in memorial, to honor her mother, to carry an extra piece of her Vakas’ heart wherever she went. It seemed the right course of action, as it was so easy to recall his face softening, warm, ever so loving yet still heartbroken, as he looked upon her with the circlet on her 100th name day-- her first full year marked upon the Argussian calendar. Now, to even begin to know the difference between heartache and grief in her father’s eyes?
Remnii knew she would never let the beautiful piece out of her hands again, yet it was too much to wear.
Arthak’s circlet, on the other hand, forged of iron, polished until it shone silver? Its simple, twisting arms and tapering edges were all made by an Orc who’d been plunged into a war her inherited all too quickly. His attempt at gentle jewelry, along with his attempt to stay above proverbial water, seemed one and the same as she was now removed from his direct plight. The head piece’s well executed, yet visibly uncomfortable construction, spoke volumes of her time with the Warband, her limited time with M’uru.
This, too, was too much with inevitable war looming.
One silver, one gold, each piece served a perfect, terrible, reminder of the passing phases of childhood to the present. While both were sacred, neither was safe from grief. Thus came her resolution.
Her third circlet held no stakes, no pieces of loved ones in jeopardy, no threat of loss. A clean slate felt desperately needed in this foreign place. A new chapter of her life was forged in looping, delicate gold-- akin to an unpredictable line she felt herself walking amidst near-strangers.
“In the meantime,” Remnii spoke warmly to her prized possessions, beginning to pack Arthak’s creation, and M’uru’s warmth away with the rest, “I shall simply have to keep my hearrt close closer, saferr, until I’m rready, yes?”
With an earnest chuckle, and a small smile, the priestess winced at her own expense, “Perrhaps I should keep my poetic attempts to myself too?”