Murmurr: A Tragedy of Two Lovers

"You special five will have the chance to experience my life. Through the lens of people close or intimate with me, you may find your lot different based on the life you live. All will be observers, you may have your chance to direct fate but that is not your goal. You will experience joy, love, loss, anguish, despair, and curiosity for a world unknown. More importantly, you will fail, you will fail this challenge.It is how you rise from it, how you learn that a true king may be found. You must accept failure, but you must also try with every fiber of your being. For if you do not find peace, you will be doomed to face the same fate as me."

The djinn had spoken to them in a voice that was so laden with melancholy that the room they were brought to seemed to turn blue. As she sobbed though, they would see the room glow more. It led up to a grand throne, with fountains on each side streaming towards the entrance behind them all. They stood on a long red carpet with golden threads embroidered on the side. It guided them forward to Murmurr, who floated down onto her seat. The djinn sat there, for they had one moment before their challenge would start.

"Be honest with me, tell me the life you lived, the life you wished to live, the life you never wanted. I must know your own pain, for I must apologize. I must make you suffer, you must feel what it is like to live and to die. If you wish to cower out now that is fine, but you will experience in her more than what you might think."


What was strange, as she spoke, before she had mentioned a fifth figure. One who started to approach a big broad man, with blood on his fist. Potentially from the mage they had met earlier, his beard was just as red, if not deeper as if stained by the blackest of blood. "I don't have to tell ya nuthin, I came here for the power of kings and I'm gonna claim it. I'll be damned if I let any more black beasts kill my crew, now don't make me use force on you too ya damned bi-"

Before he could finish speaking he would vanish. Murmurr spoke once more to continue "Well I know enough to know the type of life he should live, now is anyone else next?"

You have 48 hours to post, if not Murmurr will use magic to summerize your life, but she wishes to hear your words

In the warmth of the Rukh, he felt a longing that he had not felt since his younger days. It was almost as
if his mother had come back from the dead if not for one more time to embrace him. When he had
came to he had been in a different room and judging by the fabric on his body in a different type of
clothing. He could not identify the fabric for some reason it had foreign if not unknown to him. As a
former homeless brat, he did not get to experience different clothing or even fabrics so for a moment he
took the time to take in the feeling on his skin. The blue haired half-giant began to look himself over for
a bit as he wanted to take notice of what he had been wearing. The top felt a little heavy which was
probably due to the materials that went into it. Using his right hand, he would run it against the material
and smile for a moment. It had been coarse yet soft almost like a sheep. The coloration of had been
black along the outer edges and the sleeves while the crest and inner woven area had been blue. It felt
like an elongated tunic yet definitely made for a warrior – if he had to wager the Djinn knew of his
background.

Nestled in the center of the tunic had been a plain yet fashionable buckle style belt and as he finally
looked down, he could see that he had been wearing some type of poofy, yet comfortable black pants.
The boots that he had felt were not any different than what he had worn before, but the smile never left
as he was finally happy to have something new. Looking up he would finally hear the words of a woman
as she spoke about something that truthfully, he could say he lived all his life. For their test was not one
of strength or cunning, but presumably shouldering the failure of their own life and rising from it. Each
word had sat precariously in his mind as she continued to speak, his eyes never left her as she spoke.
Only for a moment they did to look over to the others in the room, two of which he was quite happy to
see. Turning his head back to Murmur he would notice the brute of a man stepping forward and
declaring he would say nothing to her before disappearing. Maybe this was not the challenge for him
but whatever had happened may he find peace.

Looking to the others he would step forward offering a bow to the Lady of this tower and more
importantly the one who would be listening to this story,” Thank you Lady Murmur for the kind words
and the clothing… I cannot speak for everyone, but this is a gesture that I have not had the pleasure of
receiving so I thank you for it. You asked for us to give you the story of our lives both the life we wanted
and did not want, correct? My story isn’t long or even interesting but it is my story. I was born to a
human mother and Imachukk father, whom at first did not want me due to looking like my mother. I was
a disappointment in his eyes as he constantly tried to procure more children that would take after him.
Even with other women that were not my mother. For as long as I could remember I would only see him
only once every blue moon, not to check on my mother or my well-being but only to see if I had “finally took after him.” I was taken from my mother at that point to his native lands where I was raised as an Imachukk though for me it was probably the worst years of my life. In essence i was a glorified trophy, shown off by him but berrated and bullied by others due to my looks. Being a bastard or a half-breed. Day in and day out the other kids would abuse me and other parents would tell their children to avoid me. I had gotten to the point where fighting had became all that I had known and i constantly did it."

He would pause for just a moment as he took a breath to allow Murmurr to take in what he had said before continuing," It wasn't until i had became somewhat of an adult did i leave the abusive and toxic nature of his home to return to my mother. I had felt bad that she did not see me after I was taken by him nor that she could have anyone else with her. As i came back to her lands with naught but a smile on my face, i was torn from that happiness when I found that she had passed on and became one with the Rukh. It was...a rough time for me at that point because i had no one there and i refused to go back to my father so i wandered the land and sea on my own for years. That's essentially how I got here in a small roundabout way. I have no where to call home, but the sea and travel. If I could have it any other way I would have stayed with my mother and lived a peaceful life with her. None of the abuse. None of the hate, but I realized later in my years that maybe this was destiny. For me to grow."

After a moment he would die down and step back, knowing that hearing himself speak on his past was...rough at least for him, but for every painful night he had it made him better in every way possible.

Khalik waited for his turn to speak, tentative to the tales of his fellows. Their tales were so... depressing. And the mention of fate? Khalik almost balked at the notion, but— no— he held his tongue. "Make friends, not enemies," he'd heed his better words. Perhaps it was his age finally showing; or, perhaps, it was the affluent garbs which doctored his sophisticated behavior. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the Old Man's inexplicable ability of pyrokinesis.

Either way, the carefree vagabond stilled his errant tongue until an oppurtunity presented itself. When it did, he would step forward in confidant airs. Upon center stage, the fool flourished a bow to his audience, Murmur, and introduced himself. "Khalik, my dear lady. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he spoke as he flourished a regal bow. "My life has been... unique, as any life should be..." His posture would loosen as he rose to meet the Djinn's gaze. "My family is peculiar, one could say... They had their rules, their traditions, and you were expected uphold those old bylaws at all time. You were to never falter, never deviate from the plan. It was all rather," Khalik would press a hand to his throat as if rubbing a sore spot. "Suffocating."

An awkward cough would steer this train into junction.

"Ah, excuse me, my lady— but I cut my past free, and I can't say there's much I regret of my decision," well, maybe just one. "These days I simply roam to wherever my whimsy fancies, and I quite like that. No ignorant fools to breathe down your neck— only the wind at your back."

And with a bow, the young assassin departs back to his fellows. His heart and head empty of his youthful sobriety.

"I have listened deeply to your woes, to your struggles. I know the lives you must live, how you must grow. And I must tell you, for what is necessary for you all I believe may be all too cruel." She would say, weeping. Her eyes were still closed, only the third eye stayed persistent in it's gaze. Keeping locked on to Gero as if to urge the man to share his story before it was too late. Murmurr would pray for a moment, words softly passing her lips before she would explain what each of them would go through.

[color=#9900ff]"To you, my dear deposed noble, knew power and loss. Your was as you say in proxy to someone else, so you know what it is to suffer at someone's hand. For you, you shall know love, you shall know kindness beyond any most have seen. You will see how it twists, how foolishness blinds even the righteous. For you Zubaidah you will know what it's like to wield true power, and the consequences of when it's used incorrectly. You will now be the hand, you will have to bear the guilt. Do you accept to bear this burden, to face life with turns you cannot expect, trust that comes from strange places and false faces[?"/color]

As her words were finished with the Parthevian she would turn to face Rokurou. The Immuchak's path was one that may seem muddled, but she knew what he had to face. "For you my dear boy, I am certain the path that will educate you the most is one of glory. Rokurou I understand you have known peace and happiness and it has been stolen from you. So you will be faced with ignorance, true peaceful ignorance. You shall have pride, glory, and greatness pushed to drive you, you will see how the rise brings upon the fall. Do you accept the pain, the risk that you too may rip happiness from another?"

The last to express themself was the last to be addressed in this current line of conversation. Murmurr's weeping eyes seemed perplexed at first. He had shared the least. he had kept in a part of his pain. The breeze seemed to return, brushing his skin as she analyzed his life with her magic.It was a bit unfair, but it was to contextualize his tone.

"Khalik you seem like a sweet boy, the life you have lived, both sides I feel have tempered you well. Still, there is a journey that I believe you should face. To have absolute freedom, to be so disconnected from it all you have no choice, to no safety no peace. You shall have freedom so vast it will split your soul apart to the point of crushing loneliness. Only you will be able to save yourself, and you will have to do it with no love within. I am sorry, but do you accept to learn, to reshape the world you see for you to understand a life greater than your own?"

All they had to do was accept, to utter they would take this journey. If not, then they would be kicked out of the dungeon. Waiting for another to fill their spot, but if they were to accept. Then Murmurr would send them forth into their new life immediately.

48 Hours Until my next reply, you must verbally accept your new fate in order to move on.

Funny how a mere mention could evoke a memory so real that it truly felt as if the wind was at Khalik's back again— like an old friend wishing to catch up... OH. There is no "memory," for the gales truly stir about him in this magical doxxing, not that Khalik would understand or know the intricacies. It did strike odd, Murmurr's speech that was, but the vagabond chalked it to being one of the many blessings bestowed upon ascended magical beings... He's not entirely wrong either, merely ignorant to how invasive the Djinn truly was.

"My lady," a grin folded the corners of the drifter's lips. "Your proposition is of much interest; true freedom is often experienced, let alone achieved in a lifetime." Slim fingers gingerly stroked his chin, wringing his mind upon the challenge.

The trade? Khalik would recieve a taste of so-called true freedom— AND DEPRESSION— and Murmurr would gain... a potentially worthy challenger. Seems a tadbit lopsided of a deal, but that's not what bothered him. Freedom, an abstract ideal ever elusive to a pen, yet it compels Khalik to wander all the same— to cut the strings that bind. Yet, Murmurr's challenge implied paradox, and has the wanderer dwelled in the contradiction, his excitement turned lukewarm. Introspection was cumbersome, it was work— the boring kind, and Khalik does not do boring work for free. So why accept this offer? The Djinn's favor was not guaranteed, neither was his life, but the latter was hardly pause for concern. Freedom. To what ends did he give chase to it. The answer to that question was— "Gah, I accept."

It was an exasperated resignation that was given air. "I did not trod in wet socks— did not nearly suffer burns," a frustrated gaze ran-through the codger before returning to Murmurr's third eye, softened, "to duck my head and run. To return so... unceremoniously." A quick breathe settled the vagabond's focus then, strongly, he announced his intentions: "If it's my mettle to be tested than let it be so."

Whether he turns up dead or alive, he had chosen to brave these dangers long before stepping foot ashore. This was his choice. This was his freedom.

Glory?

The word had puzzled the male slightly, enough to were the esteemed Djinn would be able to see it form against his otherwise calm features. A tale of glory had been his path and truthfully it was something so foreign to him that he did not understand it . He listened to her words carefully and intently taking in each one to process it slowly with understanding. His path was something that he had never gotten to experience or even taste. To have this shunted onto him would certainly break his understanding of who he was as a person but this.... this was the push that he needed to become something more. To become something his mother could be proud of and something to be better than the monster that had been his father. His eyes moved to meet Murmurr's as he gave her a small bow and began to speak," I thank you for the opportunity to experience something that I have never been able to, even if it is to be a painful teaching it is something I will undergo to become better. To become more and learn. You asked if I was willing to accept the pain and risk of ripping this happiness from someone...and truthfully the thought of it scares me. However, I know this to be a test that was strain my resolve and the ability to push past and grow from this so I accept this," his eyes would never leave hers as he showed his own determination and unwavering will despite the odds. This could very well break him, but this was something he was willing to risk.

Of the responses she had gained from her challenges Murmurr could not help but speak. There was certainly diversity among their replies, but nonetheless, they were all interesting. The first she addressed before their leave was the Elderly Gero. Her tongue was slightly sharp, but her tone was more curious than anything. "I am glad you share some insight of yourself, I will say though you do misunderstand my question. You tell me things I already know, I do not need guidance in dealing with my troubles. If I were, to be frank, I want answers to prevent the world's death. You may not believe me, but it has happened twice and it will happen a third time if we cannot figure out how to fight it. I think you have wisdom, but to be a wise man one must know more than themselves, than their pride. So you shall have no name, no home, nothing but love and dirt upon your back. You too shall know a life of love, true love. Unadulterated, pure, kind, and carrying love. The whole world will be against you, but I know you will rise, you beyond your own years will be humbled to be a sage more than a warrior."

Next, turning towards Zubidiah, she smirked at her comment. "That's what I like to hear, test me, keep testing me and yourself until you are sick of this world. You will live here longer than you already have. Also, I hope you're looking forward to truly meeting Marax, I know he should loveplaying along." Her eyes glanced over the two young gentlemen. Khalik and Rokurou, both boys had a path ahead of them. She smiled, calmly like a mother looking upon her child. "You're both right in that you will be pushed, I'm sorry that this is the fate you will see, that you will face. I do know what is the correct answer, but often we must find it to actually believe it. That extends to all of you, if there is one hint I can give. Do not look for answers for me, I want to forge a leader, to share what I do know. I'm giving you my solutions, so you may form a better path for yourself. For the power you have to face the threat to come, is but a fraction of what Solomon carried.""

Those were her last words, then the world went black. She had sent them off to their lives, to start their new journeys.


There was light, piercing through a thin silk veil, it waved over the young girl. She was helpless, she couldn't move, and there was no control of her own body. Yet, it was peaceful, the world was warm, and birds seemed to herald the call of the morning. Their song was ever so gentle, chirps and cheeps that rang in harmony. Voices seemed to talk in the background, shuffling amongst large marble halls. So this was peace? That was what Zub first faced. and then in a blink it was gone. When she looked around again she would see her hands, resting on a wooden desk.

They were small, still pudgy with signs of her youth. Her skin's scars were gone, so was everything else she had faced. She would hear a whisper "So this is your life here, soon we shall meet my king". Then again, a voice would speak up but a different one. It was shrill that of an older woman strained from years of wrangling the youth. "I don't know how your father expects me to educate you! You might as well be an invalid, sure you may only be six years of age but you can't even focus on basic mathematics!"

The frustration in her tone was clear, as she paced around the room it would glow into view. It was a spacious study, with carpets and tapestries decorating most of the space. Bookshelves followed the walls to the windows. They were wide, open with a view of a field just below the cliff in which the palace seemed to rest.

"Well what do you have to say for yourself?" the tutor would ask, flustered beyond belief.  Zubidiah only knew one thing, her father's name was Joab.



For a moment, Khalik would feel something he might not remember. It was a thing most children forgot as they aged. The softness, the helplessness of being embraced. A mother's love, for many, was the purest thing in the world but then came a hand, one strong that brushed his cheek. The skin was rough, hairs pricking baby Khalik's face. It was gentle, despite its abrasiveness the handle had touched the young babe as if it was porcelain. This was to him, the most precious thing in the world.

Then it was gone, there was a flash, a bolt of lightning so fierce it gnawed into the earth. Rain pelted against you Khalik's legs, they were too short to be running in this kind of mud. The marsh seemed to grow, mud running down hills, filling the earth as everything began to succumb. Still, there was that strong hand pulling him. It was that same that gently loved him before, now it pulled, suffocating the boy's arm. It was not to hurt him, he could tell, he could see the fear as he held on for dear life to young Khalik. He saw nothing but chaos in the eyes of his father.

Then again in a blink, it was gone, except now the eyes of the man were quiet. He was in a field, wet as the storm turned to a drizzle. He had to be far from where he was, his body only more bruised than before. Something burned in his chest, there was no clue, no understanding of this life he lived. The only thing he knew, was he was now alone.


Not many people got to have first memories that would sing so clearly from when they were young. Rokurou was the exception to that in this life, for from birth he had one clear thought. One scene seemed to last. It was more than just a feeling, a sense of comfort. It was a laugh, a great smiling face coming from a seeming giant of a man. His body was riddled in scars, armor off to the side hiding behind some cloth. His beard was cleanly shaven, small knicks plastering his lower jaw.

That face kept laughing "I am a sorry mah dear, I don't mean to ruin your moment I'm just ah' so glad 'ee[ nearly as ugly as me." That was it, someone laughing so happy that he wasn't an ugly baby, or at least not as hideous as the boisterous man. Then, he would get some sleep, time seemed to flow on. Then there was a shock, it was one that jolted the young boy. He awoke to a childs physique holding onto a wooden sword.

Before him, on the ground had laid a figure twice his size, a boy with a face as rough as the man he had seen before. Something would tell him, that this was his family. He felt that it was the only thing he knew. He didn't know the training grounds he stood on, or the desert that that stone fortress seemed to reside in. He could see palm trees over the edge of stone walls, he could hear that familiar voice one again.

"Good job mah boy! Taking down your big brother with such a strike! Come on boys ya wanna go another round. And, Goia, give your brother the choice to choose, you can't just come after him vengefully." He would turn to Rokurou, wondering what his son would say.


There was a rattle, it creaked and wobbled back and forth. It soothed the crying Gero, that's what he would feel. Gentleness, the blanket that wrapped around him, the soft light of a dimly light candle. The sweet melody of women singing as she cradled him. Their cart wobbled over the road as rocks and rough paths would sway them. It was not enough to break their home, but it was enough to rock the young child back to sleep.

Then again, something rattled and creaked, this time it was the sharpness of them coming to a stop. It would wake Gero, this time he was older, now a young boy. He was still too young to be considered anything but a child, but in this life there were all sorts of things he would be exposed to. Light would flood into the cabin of their wagon as the back would open up. It would illuminate a woman, wrapped in cloth of purple and blue, with a shawl covered in gold coins, leading down her skirt. "Come on darling, it'll be show time soon, you know your father was excited to visit this city." Then, rushing up to the cabin was a man in a short emerald jacket, with matching harem pants and turban. They were showmen, Gero knew that, and he would know this was his father Ali and his mother Swan.

His father spoke to him, a voice filled with excitement, filled with love for the family before him. There was nothing but happiness radiating from the man, he exuded as he opened his arms for a warm embrace. "Come here my family! Time to share some joy with the world!"

You have 48 hours to reply to your life, your story will be moved on if you do not post. Keep in mind, you may face things you do not like if you do not post.

Silence fell upon him as he listened to the others, more notably the elder male that did not give a story. Whatever he felt in his heart of hearts was not what Murmurr was requiring, but even in her benevolence she gave him a chance to amend his mindset and see the bigger picture. His head would slowly swivel to the other two who had honestly garnered much of Rou's respect and in that aspect he wished for their success in this trial. When Murmurr turned to speak to both himself and Khalik a smile would return to his face as he nodded and spoke up," Be not sorry for this. It is an honor to go through this and an even greater opportunity to find an answer I have long since wondered for many years. Hopefully through this rather I pass or fail I come out a stronger, more willed individual," and before the lights of the world went dark he would turn to Khalik and Zub," Let us three meet after our experiences to share a new story together alright?," and with that he would lose the light of the world.

He did not know nor feel how long the passage of time had been for him, but as his eyes opened he felt a light and warmth foreign to him. Developed yet small eyes scanned the room as blobs became shapes and faces looked like squiggly lines. It played like a scene he had already known, but something was different...off even. As the small, but heavy head moved slightly he could see the visage of someone familiar. That warmth was unmistaken as he was held by none other than his mother. It seemed like Murmurr had indeed given him a new life but something felt ever so different. He heard a voice that was indeed familiar but this...this was not the voice he had known it to be. His big baby head turned to look and there he saw it.

His father. A wail was slowly forming in his throat as it seemed that the past would repeat but then he heard something different. Something genuine. His father had acknowledged him, looks and all. If a baby could make an estranged face he would but instead a babble came out followed by the worlds cutest smile. This was different. Something that he had secretly longed for- the approval of his father.

The scene was cut short as the lights of his world went dark and once they came back he would not feel the body of a babe. No he felt bigger, longer. It was like a dream within a dream as he looked around until he felt the familiar weight of a training sword in his hand. Ahh this felt his body around the time of him hitting his growth spurt. On the ground was another unfamiliar body, but he knew him...His brother. At least in this life that is.

He had just won his first bout against his brother and his father was proud. Not angry. Not furious. Proud. What was this feeling? A foreign concept of pride and acceptance by someone who had abandoned him before. He was now treasured. Praised. The feeling welled up inside of him as he swung the blade and smiled, almost grinning from ear to ear.

"I can do this all day."

"Wait... Who's Solo—" BAM! DEAD— NOT DAD, but kinda Dad... DEAD DAD!

Dungeons are crazy.

Khalik's mind, storm-blown like the Heaven's above, raced to fill these new shoes cuffed to his ankles. What in tarnation just happened? The wanderer had just been reborn— he could follow as much, but it was the shenanigans that follwed which gave him conniptions. Who did they flee from? What did they flee from? And what was this? Skinny fingers ever so gently traced his blackened scars as the boy pondered upon this lot Murmurr parted to him. Was this a slave's brand? No, it couldn't be. If that was then why was he left by his lonesome? Regrettably, he would drop the matter for now, and return to it some other time.

The sky continued to spit upon the "newlyfound orphan," dampening his head. Tiny hands rose in protest, but did little to shelter him from the downpour. An audible groan echoed through the droplets, "How lovely. She upgraded me from wet socks to wet everything. Hoo boy, I hope freedom from either disease or medical debt is apart of this true freedom she saddled me with."

With a hefty sigh, the boy turned to his deceased 'Father.' Khalik himself didn't share the most amicable relations with his own dad, but the memories implanted in his psyche turned sympathy from him all the same. Not a tear rolled as he shut the dead's eye, but a muddled, elusive 'thing' rattled his lung. He wouldn't ponder it, he hadn't the luxury; for he was on the clock. The job for today: survival.

The youth craned his head hither and there, ruby eyes meticulously surverying this strange land. Footprints, landmarks, sharp sticks or stones— anything which could let his little fingies grasp ahold of the situation— grant him an edge, he would take stock of.

"You're going down twerp!" he couldn't have been much older than Rokurou, he was likely 9 years of age but he seemed big for his size. It was unclear how he had been overpowered, maybe he was just an idiot or had a bad temper. This time Gola was gonna earn the family pride.

"That's me, boys! Now get at it!" their father roared. Gola charged, his feet digging into the ground as he approached on his smaller foe. The goal was to try and crush him. So with a mighty heave, he twisted his body, planting his right foot into the ground and swinging through with his sword. Both hands were on the blade, he wanted to hurt the young boy. It wasn't just malice, it was for pride, he couldn't be upstaged.

How would he deal with that? Did he really think he could win in a contest of raw power, he just needed to deny him that chance to react.

Gero, The Story Teller's son

The young Gero seemed complacent with his parents, they seemed none the wiser of how he could actually feel. They were just a family happy to be together. It had been their first show in years, with the recent crackdowns from certain humans, different cities were finding trouble with peace.

As Gero was carried he would see them walk past tents, occasionally seeing crowds of people, some human others beasts, reptile men, walking statues, and even a large green blob that rolled around. Then, they were before a large scarlet tent that lead to a stage, that's where they would perform. First, it was time to prep for the show, so they trotted through tight wooden corridors draped with loose cloth and lights to make it more homey.

Once backstage, candles seemed to light up everywhere. There was a great mirror and a trunk with all of their stuff. Gero would see his father go up to it, and with a smile, he would ask the boy a question. "Since it's your first show on stage, should I tell the story as a poem, or should I bring a puppet on stage today? We want the crowd to feel a little extra happy today.

"Your father is busy he has a guest over for a meeting. And I do not care for what you learn in your other lessons. This is exactly why your father hired two tutors! Your father will be along for lunch soon after he's done. Now, run along and find your brother, or go freshen up the choice is yours!"

The other people she mentioned alluded her, she felt she knew them well but their names were all a haze. A voice had spoken to her, a pestering, once she remembered just recently, seemed to sing out in the halls. Both the bathroom and her brother's room went out the north-facing exit of the study.

She would have to leave out of that one way or another in order to go where ever she preferred, Zubidiah could hear the rukh tell her one thing. Her father's guest, her tutor, and even her brother were all figures she had somewhat known. There was more mystery to her tale than originally shown.


As Khalik would move forward through the marshy plains time seemed almost nonexistent. The rain had died out, and slowly the grass would dry out. The fact that it did meant more of the day was going by then he could be sure of. Normally the world dragged on for a child, yet this day was almost a blur. That was until the sun began to set, in the distance there was two lights.

They split in two directions, Khalik would remember something. His father had kept saying they needed to get somewhere, to find someone. Then, something about it being too late, that was something his father had been saying just before he seemed to expire. The two lights seemed to glow brighter. One a city down, leading to a valley as the ground would slope, in the other direction the plans lead to a mountain village. It was easily 3 miles, they were just barely on the horizon.

The size of neither could be grasped, but either offered shelter. That was something he had nothing of, he could try and fend in the wild but how much did he know? Would the skills he had for survival transfer over the same? Khalik had no guidance for his life.

You have 48 hours to reply until my next response, I will give a 2 post warning for when you will move onto the next memories.

Khalik looked to the cities on the horizon. From here, they were beacons of light on a growingly dim first day. Of course he would take shelter in society; he was just a boy! He doesn't possess child-like proportions because he is just a child, and clearly none special. If he had been, dear old dead wouldn't be laid out to dry like the mud beneath him.

Speaking of mud, Khalik would dig his fingers beneath the soil, toiling to collect the dampen clay-like substance. He called it an earth bath, he had invented it just now. What does it do? Well, it's the most crap shoot disguise he could muster: a kid who fell in the mud; all to cover up that enigmatic blaze. A slave's brand? A cultist's lambs? Whatever it was, it was no good. Khalik could extrapolate that much.

It may have been sloppy work, but he made it quick and plenty diry. Streaks of mud clung to his skin— from his arms up to his cheek, and even his brow. Soil was flung haphazardly across the chest in splatters and clumps, muddying his brand's image. Once thoroughly latherd and coated in mud, the vagabond leaped to his feet and resumed his pace.

His destination was the lower city, and he would trek like hell to reach it before dark.

Twerp? It was almost poetic hearing that word once more, but from a sibling. A smile appeared on his face as he took a stance, foreign to what his father had taught him. This was something from his own life, something that in any circumstance he would not use but the pride he had felt when it came to being the center of attention for his father swelled within him. Sliding his right foot back he would grip the wooden sword gently, his left hand resting on the bottom of the hilt while his right hand remained firm on the hilt itself. Though his body was younger than when he had learned this technique he could feel that this body would adapt to the fluidity of the movement. As his brother came closer and swung, another breath was taken as the icy white eyes of Rokurou would shimmer just for a second and with a burst of speed he would strike. One to the leg throwing him off balance, a second to his sword hand weakening his grip on the sword itself and the last would remove it and poise to land upon his neck. 

The ensemble of movement would cause a small whistle of the wind as he took in another breath and smiled," Looks like this twerp takes the win today big brother," his eyes would move to his father as he waited for the praise and the smile. The win was his.

After Zubaidah would change her garb and freshen up for the day it was time for her to move on. By the time she had finished, it was no one but here. The tutor was gone, vacated to go on to potentially help someone else, maybe another one of her siblings. Still with halls so empty, they seemed to be endless.

Most of the hall was blue and white, with smooth marble floors. The walls were lined with paintings she was too short to see, statues of past warriors and of magnificent beasts seemed to guard the path. There was no guidance, but instinct knew where to take the girl. To see her father, to see her brother. They had all this splendor, but the halls felt warm. Whether it be sunlight or whatever vague emotion seemed to linger in this life.

She walked and walked, the halls seemingly different but the same. The paintings, statues, scones, curtains, and rugs would change but it was still one long, never-ending path. That was until, on her left a familiar voice would speak. One she had only the chance to encounter once. A man, clad in nightly armor.

"Hope your lessons went well little sparrow, that is if you want to play together. I got some time after the meeting with dad." He said, a smile hid by his helmet but the warmness he held radiated out towards the little girl.



The young Khalik would find the journey he took sent fire up his legs. Each step sent the shock up his little limbs, but with time it would fade into nothing but numbness. The pain could only last for so long, his body was almost on autopilot to survive. The path downward started to grow, seemingly never-ending. Each step brought him two steps back. the light grew but he never seemed to reach his destination.

The rain sprinkled, washing him slowly as the night dragged on. Then within a blink, it all seemed to pass. The rain had finally stopped, the boisterous city which seemed so far away was now upon him. It's warmth, the clamor of thousands of voices washed over him. No one cared to pay attention but there were few at the city borders. It was a quant little city. There were street vendors working late into the night. People walked around, dressed in loosely hanging robes with fine adornments of silver. The stench of liquor and perfume wisped its way over to the boy. A voice speaking up. "Oh boyo are you lost?" the gentle voice spoke. A woman approached him, bending down to offer him a kind smile and her hand.



After a swift draw of blows the two brothers clashed. Their toys swords for a moment would feel like the real thing as fire seemed to grow. Rokurou had proven he was more than just a boy. His skill with the blade was more than enough to humiliate his older brother. The older boy had a face that glowed red like hot steel. Their father held a smile filled with joy. While many fathers may feel shame in their eldest losing he was proud of both of his boys.

He would scoop the both of them up with his big arms, they seemed so small as they were held. A boisterous laugh bursts right next to their ears. "Gyahahahahaha that's my boys!, looks like we need to have something to eat after that! Your mom's made roasted elk!" Their father roared. He seemed excited over the dinner, carrying them both inside with him even if he were to protest. Towards a wooden longhouse, they would hed, crowds gathering around it.


Ali a first seemed excited at the idea of his son wanting to tell a story. Yet within those same words, the boy would watch his father's expression become sour. It was only for a moment. A blink in time that passed in a blink. It was something he couldn't just let be though. Leaning down in front of his boy he placed his hands on his shoulders.

"My boy, I would love for you to tell a story, I think you would do wonderful. I would be careful please, the people here are wary of words of magic. King David's people have not been kind to many of the people here. I do not wish them to take anger out on you."

True caution seemed to reside in this man's voice. He was trusting his son, wanting to give the child a chance as the opening act. Still, Gero could feel the fear that emanated from him as he gripped with all his strength "Even worse, we do not wish to invite any of his kind here, we can't lose another home."

With those last few words, the choice was Geros.

48 Hours until the next Proxy post, if missed you will be skipped and your story will have a random occurence.

A weary plod carried him here; into this glowing sea of decadent smells all too obstrusive for a child. Each step was a stumbling gait that dragged him along. Each step was like lightning stripping the muscles. Each step was a reminder of why he skipped leg day. Perhaps, if he made it through— when he made it through Murmurr's trial, he would ammend that. Those flabby calves had stall his flight one too many times... What was he doing? A blink, maybe two, and a woman stood before him, finely dressed like the rest.

She reached for him with tenderness, yet dull rubies only turned from her. Exhaustion overshadowed the inquisitive glares he passed around the block— less "kid in a candy shop" and "more addict on the streets." Eventually, his eyes settled on the woman before him again. An inscrutable mask of stoicism held his expression, a poker face carved of fatigue and drained of emotions.

"Where... am I?" Yeah, he was pretty lost. A baby chick thrown adrift.

A grin appeared on his face as he looked at his brother, so hot in the face he could start a fire but it felt so good... So satisfying. He had won and more importantly he had succeeded in making his father happy. He had never seen this side of him before and when he was picked up he hugged the man with all the strength he could muster. Was this what it felt like to have someone be proud of you? Someone who had hated you with such a passion that you were never wanted... but now they did? He never wanted this to end honestly. As food was mentioned he could feel his stomach rumbling as he chuckled sheepishly and was carried off by his father. Seeing the crowd of people he would look up to his father and question," Da why are all of these people around our house??"

The woman would give Khalik a stare like she had seen a lost puppy. It's not like parentless or strange kids were common but she had seen it enough to feel pity for the young child. While she smelled overwhelming, and seemingly covered in all sorts of aromas she gave off an aura of warmth. She offered a hand to the young Khalik. "You know, I can't really give you a home but I'm sure I can at least get you a meal and maybe a place to sleep, how does that sound?"

It was a generous offer. From all the boy could tell from her tone, her posture she meant it. Still, the more time passed the more things the boy would notice about the city. While the people didn't exactly seem poor, they seemed way too carefree. There were those kissing on the streets people hanging off their balconies nude. Vendors seemed to be imbibing strange liquids while they worked. What exactly was this type of place that he had stumbled into? Was the person his dad had been looking for here? Was anything good for the young boy here?


"Why my boy, they are here for all of us!" Rokurou's dad would say with excitement. The big man's laugh was infectious, roaring out to plenty of the people around. Maybe they enjoyed the energy or they found the young boy as charming as his father did. He would pat the young boy on the head lovingly, ruffling it as they approached the cabin, others following behind them as the grand doors opened leading to a giant dining table. It could fit a small army certainly with how big it would look to the young boy.

In droves the people would line up, they sat on thick oak chairs around the rectangular cherrywood table. On it, the pattern of a winding snake seemed to go all the way toward the back wall where the table met one of similar design but horizontal and shorter. There sat five chairs, one for his father in the middle, and to his left sat his mother. A tall woman with gracious blonde hair, and eyes like pure silver. To her left sat his brother Gola. Rokurou knew he was meant to sit at the chair on the far right, but he could not quite remember why the chair directly to his father's right was empty. The only thing certain from this point was the hungry faces waiting to dig in which seemed to wait, patiently as if for some signal to enjoy the feast.


Ali and Swan would trust their son, his curiosity was good but it also scared the both of them. As the young boy walked up to the stage all manners of eyes fell upon them. The pair gripped each other, seemingly in an embrace but their hands held tightly to the cloth on one another. He was too young when they had first fled, but it was scary to think he might have to relive it all if they were to tell him. Still Ali did not believe it was safer to protect his child with ignorance. It was things like that which led to the suffering of many.

The crowd to say the least was captivated by the articulation of the child. Maybe it was because he was raised by orators. Surely he had a knack for the skills, yet it came across as the words of a philosopher. There was no end to the story, there was no resolution there was but only the question of what to do. He asked them, what is right and what is justice no one could speak up when being asked such a thing by a child. How could they say, they had no justice, no one fought for them at least not in this corner of the world. Ali wasn't sure what to say either, but he did know his son had set the most excellent mood.

"Fine people, my son's story poses an interesting question does it not!" he would say, waltzing out to the stage as Swan followed with a harp playing gently. He placed his hand on his son's shoulder, looking down upon him with a smile. Warmth once again radiated onto the boy, his father looking up. "I shall tell you fine folk what brings us here, I know many can be wary of travelers. But I know we all face the same struggle, I will tell you of one I know well. A tale where love helps guide the way. A story where hope is a shield against all that is wrong."

[center|Zubaidah, The Pantomime Princess[/center]

Furcas would lower his hand, patting his little sister on the head. She always seemed so enthusiastic, she chirped so much since birth that he's called her sparrow as long as he could remember. "Of course I have time to play with you, I'd never offer unless that really was the case. Now come on, Father is still talking with lord Gamigan. They need to be left alone while they discuss things. You and I are going to go to the garden, we can either play with the animals or we can practice together." He would ofer his hand for her to hold, once she took it he would lead the way.

Once again she would walk down halls too familiar, everything blending into one another. She was too short to see some of the finer details. Other things would look gigantic in their own right. Words of the Torran were written across all manners of statues. They definitely lived in a life of luxury, comfort was no stranger to any of them. Still, for a place so big the halls seemed rather empty at the moment. There wasn't a maid, a butler, or a guard in sight. They just keep walking, walking for what felt like an eternity and then they were there.

A great garden of metal, it was a work of art, something made by many of the great smiths in their city. They had all manner of flora made from all sorts of metallurgy. There were mercury sunflowers, iron roses, and even copper palms. It was something to behold, the sun seemed to bounce around redirecting the heat inward. It was a marvel, and the show of light created a rainbow in the sky above. This was where they would spend their evening together. That was until their father was available.

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