• Solo • [Garden of Lost Echoes] Winter's Whisper

[Woe]

30th of Cylus 722

At the cusp of Cylus and Ashan, Woe often was struck with a strangely pleasant melancholy. It reminded him of winters long gone, early ashans spent in his younger years finding out who he was. Considering that he knew he was Mortalborn now, he supposed he was still quite young. Nevertheless, the time between the end of Cylus and the Dawn of Ashan was just... special, to put it plainly. Woe had no better words to use than those. It wasn't a feeling that required any golden words or flowery language.

Woe sent a silent thought of appreciation to Ziell, one of his patrons, for the gift of allowing him to traverse the wintery landscape unscathed by the cold. He wasn't on a idle stroll, though. He was seeking out a woodworker, someone who was reputedly skilled enough to carve the whisper wood he'd felled a few seasons prior. Her father, the shop owner, had recommended he look to the Sweetwine. She was said to make pilgrimages there around the same time every year, in honor of their lost loved ones, that had affected her so deeply.

Woe didn't know the nature of her mourning. If part of her clung to sorrow, it would be easy enough to track her down with the aid of Breen, who took point as he strolled through the Sweetwine. Sod stood perched upon Woe's' shoulder, humming as he doffed his scalp and saluted to the various plant life surrounding them, dormant though they might be. Woe could almost hear them whispering their sweet dreams as they rested, dormant in the frost of deep winter.

He rather hoped the woman knew what she was doing, but by reputation she had gone this way before. He doubted she meant to offer herself to nature by exposure, although there was always a risk of relapse with depression. So Woe's task and intention was two-fold. Ascertain the mood and mental health of the woman, and then supposing she was alright, commission the carving of an instrument from his whispering wood branch.

Breen, do you... smell anything?

Breen whined as he loped ahead of his master, sniffing the ground and tracing the emotional energy that hung on the tracks. Master, yes, but it is not sorrow. Perhaps something related though? I have not the words to recommend.

Woe could think of a few words that came to mind. He too had lost someone too young, to accidental death. A freak accident, an allergic reaction. It'd nearly torn him apart when it happened. Werthom. He thought, perhaps if the woman needed counseling, he could make a connection on that basis.

Azira Neis knelt before a grand and leafless tree, as they entered a clearing. A large gardened covered in frost now, but that must have been quite the sight during Spring and Summer. Woe stood at the outskirts of the clearing for a moment, admiring the tree, and giving the woman a few more moments before he interrupted. Breen sat on his haunches, dutifully waiting for his master to make the advance, though Woe could tell the diri's spirit ached with longing to comfort the woman.

[Woe]

A moment's pause gave Woe all the impetus to go forward with introductions to the woman. She didn't appear to be injured or unduly exposed yet. But she had spent several bits in the chilling Cylus weather, which was enough to worry him. She would need warming up, and he had somethings that could help toward that end.

Woe walked up to her, bidding Breen to stay behind for now and bask in the sad spirits that seemed to cover this grove in a miasma of sorrow. Breen was happy enough to do so, for now. For Woe's part, he stood beside the woman, making no effort to cover the sound of his tracks, lest he alarm her. "Hello." He said. "I'm Woe. You must be Azira Neis, the wood carver?"

She shifted in her kneeling stance before the great tree, in the midst of her meditation. Woe ventured further to ask, "May I join you?"

Finally, Azira opened her eyes, looking up to him and nodding. "Woe, that name sounds familiar. You were one of the ones at the Glass Temple during the troubles of two cycles ago?"

Woe nodded to her, and then took up kneeling beside her. With a swift motion, he unhooked his cavani cloak, the blue cloak with a hood that signified his rank in the Order of the Adunih. This he wrapped around the both of them, but not before asking, "May I?"

She shrugged and nodded. Once they were properly sharing warmth, Woe took the very pineapple of usefulness from his pocket Sombran dimension, and with a plain gesture set it in front of the both of them. It provided both light and warmth to the both of them, as much as a roaring campfire without the open flame. It surely lived up to its name in this instance.

For a few moments, Woe just knelt there and listened to the whispering echoes on the wind of the bare branches of the tree. He thought he could hear the voices of long-gone acquaintances. Although at times the emotion of remembering them became a little too much, he was able to compose himself. "I can see why you come here." He said, simply.

"Sometimes I wonder if the tree could talk, what it would say." Azira murmured.

"We can find out, or rather I can. The Soul-Forged have an ability to speak with any plant. Although what it says may not make sense to our mortal logic." Woe felt comfortable confiding in Azira this bit of information. "Please don't share that fact with anyone, by the way, if you can keep it in confidence I would appreciate it."

"Sure." She said, then gave him a sad smirk. "But only on the condition that you use it now on this tree. I wonder... What it feels, what it thinks about the people who visit this garden. It used to be my sanctuary alone, until other people found out about it, and began seeking out rumors of reincarnation of their loved ones, or else just to hear their voices again... I want to know what the tree thinks of... everything that has changed."

It was a long request, but one Woe was intrigued to indulge.

[Woe]

Woe gave some thought to how he'd phrase his question to the tree. He was still getting used to the idea of conversing with what he'd formerly considered soulless and thoughtless constructs. But as time went on, and he explored his ability he came to admire the strange poetry of a plant's cadence of speech and its simple wisdom. Woe thought on it a bit more, then asked, "Tree, what do you think of all that has happened here, and what do you know of the echoes that whisper their voices to the wind around your branches? Is it true that lost loved ones can be reincarnated by lovers under these trees?"

Woe had heard that particular rumor, upon seeking out the grove. He didn't lend it much credence, in his opinion there was but one outcome from death, and that was the soul moved on. It seemed unnecessarily rapacious and wrong to attach one's soul to a newborn, taking the chance to live away from a new soul. It wasn't right.

The tree groaned audibly before Woe, a maudlin tone before answering in a few words. "People come, people go. More come here of late. Their wishes and disappointments, regrets and sorrows feed the concepts within this place. Compounding what has already been." Woe nodded, and thought on it a few more moments. He turned to Azira, and took her bare hands in his. Her hands were cold, so he rubbed them with his own to warm them up. It wouldn't do for her to get mild frostbite. "It says that people experience here only what they bring with them. I'm not sure if the tree understands why we hear the echoes of lost loved ones in its boughs, but this appears to be a focal point of sorrow and regret."

He rubbed her hand tenderly for a few more moments. As he had told her what he heard, he examined her face for context clues, trying to figure out what she might be thinking. He thought he saw the dawning of understanding, or dare he say epiphany. "It doesn't do to immerse yourself in sorrow all the time; it can be good for the soul, but one must move on eventually."

He drew out the whistling wood from his pocket dimension then, only engaging her hands with one of his, as the other pulled it out. The branch was wiry and weirdly formed, but could be made into a fine implement or instrument, or so he thought. Her eyes went wide when she saw him pull it from nothing. "Is that... Whistling wood?"

"I have to confess I didn't come here just to talk to you. I was wondering if I might get your shop's services to carve this piece of wood into a recorder, or flute of some sort."

She seemed to think about that for a few bits, and finally nodded her head. "I can do that. It will cost you, to work such wood, but I can make you a very good recorder from this wood."

"Alright." Woe said, and left her with his cloak and pineapple of usefulness. "You can keep those items as collateral until we make the exchange of nels for the product. That is, if you intend to stay for a while longer? It wouldn't be good for you to freeze before we had the chance to do business."

The pineapple would surely keep her safe for the time being, until she made it back to her shop. She nodded her agreement, and smiled.

So, with a wave, Woe left her in the clearing of the grove.



Trials later, a package arrived at Woe's house in his islet. It was a well-carved box, with precise molding and lines decorating its exterior. Inside, he found his Order cloak, wrapping up the pineapple of usefulness, and a fine recorder of whistling wood. The recorder came attached to a long string of beads that were woven through with strong twine. Each one was intricately carved, just as the recorder was. This was obviously meant to be hung from his shoulder, and allowed some slack so he could pick up the recorder and play it whenever he wished.

Once the deliver was made, Woe sent along the requisite nels for the masterwork recorder, back inside the box to the maker. It was a good sum, but worth the quality of product produced and collateral returned.

Woe was sure his family was in for some torture, as he learned to play this instrument...

[Jackalope]

Experience: +10 xp

Knowledge:

Appraisal: Assessing the quality of a musical instrument's artistic appeal.
Psychology: The psychology of loss is mitigated by the illusion of closeness to the lost.
Psychology: Hearing the voices of long lost loved ones can soothe a troubled mind.
Seduction: Turning another's thoughts of sorrow subtly toward another subject.
Seduction: Holding hands is a tender gesture more likely to get through to sensitive hearts.
Socialization: Sharing the warmth of a cloak with someone who is very cold is a kind gesture.


Skillplay: Appropriate to level.

Loot: 1 Masterwork+ whistle wood recorder.
Injuries/Overstepping: None.
Renown: None. We’ll see what Woe does with his new recorder, though.
Wealth Points: -10 WP.
Collaboration: no
Magic Experience?: No.

Comments:

Woe talks to the trees, and they listen to him. Eat your heart out, Clint Eastwood!

This was an interesting thread, and made what would otherwise have been a pedestrian commissioning of work a fascinating and character-revealing read. The description of what it was like to interact with a tree was fascinating. I’m not entirely sure of Woe’s paraphrase to Azira, though.

You also do a good job of conveying the cold, and how it affects the two characters differently. That pineapple is indeed useful!

I hope we hear from Azira again! Well done.

Enjoy your rewards!