[Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Jakob pls

Stronghold of education and learning, this fortress is in one of the coldest areas of Idalos and home to many knowledge seekers in a variety of disciplines. However, unknown to most, below the city are those who suffer for the sake of science. While all are welcome, not everyone will be treated as they expect

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[Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Fri May 17, 2019 11:13 pm

6th of Cylus, Arc 719: Midnight

The crackling of flames would be the thing that would lull Jakob back into consciousness. He would feel his head pounding with a pulsating pain, but it was most notably dull. He was against some sort of thin, cushiony material, but he could feel the iron framework just beneath it. It was enough to just barely avoid a killer backache, but only just so. It's somewhat hard to think, through some layer of confusion. It was like his head was swimming through a puddle of murky water, thick with some unknown ichor. Something was wrapped tightly around his head, and it was most definitely tight. It was like something was compressing, but not crushing, the area around his temples, pulling it inwards just in the slightest bit. Perhaps it was just the sensitivity to pain that was making it feel this way, but it was like he was disconnected from his body, the more he remained still, barely conscious. He would begin to awaken.

Jakob's eyes, when he eventually finds the energy to pull himself into some sort of vestige of focus, is greeted to something far different than where he remembered being last. This was a somewhat small, windowless home. It was made of smooth rock, which was strange, considering the chipped and vandalized walls of the Tsavorite and Malachite Prisms. Perhaps he was out of his element. Looking around with a lazy gaze would reveal that the room that he's in, some sort of mixture of a living space and eating space, was devoid of most decoration. It almost looked as though no-one even lived here, or was already in the process of moving everything out of the building. The smell of something begins to hit his nose. A rare smell, this time of year. Salted meat. Cooked. Not exactly the best of things, but it was a smell one would be able to enjoy, being a native born Videnese, for the luxury of it among the workers.

A plate is laid out for him, on a small table pulled up to the side of the bed, bearing with it a bowl with a dark broth, with cuts of meat floating around in it. It was served in a trencher, and the broth was so thick that it was almost congealed, but judging by the steam coming off of it-- It was hot. He could see someone near the fireplace, crouching down, looking bewildered within a pot, seemingly confused at something. A familiar cloak was hung upon the door's hook. The figure wasn't facing him, but it bore a familiar shape to it, when he could focus. But who did he know with that frame, wearing a tunic and pants?
word count: 471
Status: Alive      Location: Viden      Corruptions: Partial Possession      Wounds: Migraines & Mental Strain
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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Sat May 18, 2019 6:16 pm

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When Jakob opened his eyes, his vision was blurry. The dim lighting of the room didn’t help much with his perception, either. When he went to reach for his head, the joints in his arms creaked, a by-product of hard labor, and rough conditions. Jakob scanned the room as best as he could, but to no avail. Whomever called this place home was accustomed to a spartan lifestyle. And that was being polite. He felt around the top of his head – a fabric, one that he couldn’t guess the make of. When the cracked skin of his fingers touched it, he would feel a sort of sticky abrasion. He looked over towards the fireplace, and quickly began to rewind what happened when he was last awake.

He looked down at himself. Last thing he remembered was taking a boot to the chest from the big bastard at the Devil’s Advocate. He’s pretty sure he was there because he was supposed to be getting a drink with his co-workers. His idiotic co-workers that got into a fight over nothing, as per usual. His train of thought was derailed, as he started wondering why he ever decided to associate himself with people like them. Maybe it was because he didn’t have much of a choice when it came to friends – he was a uneducated miner, after all. More prying eyes would consider him a criminal. They would not be wrong in this assumption either. Just a few trials ago, he had undertaken some petty thievery. Prior to that, one could believe that Jakob had a penchant for violence, especially if Jakob had told them some of his stories. He thought that no-one would believe Jakob if he was to tell how swift and decisive violence can be an adjunct to the job. He looked over to the stew. Salted meat. He couldn’t pass that up. Last time he had something that nice was the last time he went back to his parents, and they decided to spend their coin frivolously. He picked it up and blew on it to cool it down slightly before taking a sip of the broth, and getting some of the salted meat. He chewed, and swallowed. It was rather hot, but that’s fine. It wasn’t the worst thing he ate this week.

He shook his head to regain his focus. The person on the other side of the room was top priority, because he couldn’t tell why they helped him. He didn’t know who it was from this angle. Looking over to the door, he saw a familiar cloak, and was quickly able to piece it together. When he tried to speak, he coughed instead. Taking a breath and composing himself, he was finally able to say something.

“Is that you, Sybil?”

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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Sat May 18, 2019 6:28 pm


A slow blink of the eyes crosses Sybil's face. Jakob had been in and out of consciousness for a while, and it was all rather a matter of trying to keep things at a minimum for him. The moment that Sybil would start talking, the more pained he'd look, likely a migraine from the trauma he'd endured, being on the beating end of a brawl. But this time, he seemed to be slightly more lucid, rather than mumbling to himself, or making strange requests. The student's eyes glance over to him, and for a moment, simply seem to observe him from a distance. Sybil was never worried that he would die from his injuries, though any hit to the head was cause for concern, but it wasn't going to be light enough to just leave him laying on the ground of the Devil's Advocate. Perhaps, it would simply be better to not mention how he was brought here, and focus on things that were far easier to comprehend, like that there was food in front of him.

"Yes. You took quite a beating." Sybil offers, in that familiar, slightly scratchy voice. Eyes lingering on the man, for a moment, before looking towards the pot, stirring it with an iron ladle, the handle wrapped with a thick cloth, "You'd best eat, before it gets cold. I had someone from my parent's inn stop by, and make you something." The offer was something genuine, eyes slowly shifting away from Jakob. He had been through quite enough, as it were. There would be nothing to be gained from telling him much else, or at least, so the student thought, "Are you feeling alright? You've been shifting in and out of sleep for quite a while now." Comes the question. Thankfully, Jakob didn't have many open wounds. Most of it was bruising, more painful, than life threatening. He was at the point in the healing process in which the affected areas were starting to swell, especially around the joints, causing pain in movement.

As Jakob's eyes focused, the room started to make a little bit more sense. At least, when it came to perceiving it. There wasn't anything odd about it, aside from the lack of decor itself. The smell of cooking soup was strong upon his nares, something that was always welcome, especially to someone on as tight of a budget as Jakob was likely living. At the very least, the bare necessities were in this room. It was warm enough that there wasn't much to complain about. There weren't any windows to worry about someone scaling the side, and breaking in. Matter of fact, the door itself, likely leading to the outside, seemed to be made of wrought iron, secured with a lock, and a few latches, to facilitate some level of security. It wasn't particularly a safehouse by any stretch of the imagination, but it was providing the bare essentials when it came to living a life that wasn't distinctly lacking in basic needs.
word count: 526
Status: Alive      Location: Viden      Corruptions: Partial Possession      Wounds: Migraines & Mental Strain
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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Sat May 18, 2019 10:04 pm

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No matter how hard Jakob tried, he couldn’t help but think that the whole situation that he got himself into was funny. This wasn’t the first time he fought a Lotharo, but he was certain it was the third time he lost against one. . This is now the second time that Sybil was taking care of him. He noted as such, by saying “Why must we keep meeting like this?” punctuating his question with a hearty chuckle. “Thank you, again, for the help.” He was being truthful. He remembered that he was getting beaten rather harshly for attempting to stop a fight. He was unable to give as much as he got during the fight, and that was something that Jakob was frustrated about, in the back of his mind. Jakob noticed that besides being sore, nothing on him felt broken. Bruised, swelling into a pink-and-blue color, and maybe dislocated, but nothing sore.

He looked at the food. It was warm, and that was really all that he was looking for when he went out to the Devil’s Advocate however long ago. He took a moment, and realized he didn’t know what day it was. Also, that whenever he moved his arms, they would be almost unbearably sore. In fact, he was quite sore all over. Sybil was talking about Jakob being in and out of consciousness. The idea of him saying something while being semi-lucid came to mind. He remember his father poking fun at him when he was younger for talking in his sleep. Admittedly, he felt embarrassed. He wanted to know; “Did I say anything weird while I was out?” He gave a hearty smile, the turned to focus on eating. The more he ate, the better it tasted. He had to admit that whoever’s cooking he was eating was rather enjoyable. He would eat as Sybil spoke, which would end up stalling the conversation as Jakob would chew, as he refused to eat with his mouth open.

“Asides from that, what happened to your friend? The hairball. He seemed rather intent on putting me down.” He didn’t desire much to talk about how he was doing, so he tried to avoid bringing it up. He would know that he would get better eventually; this wasn’t the first time he was beaten and bruised. Thoughts danced around in his head about how he could have won that fight against the Lotharo. What he could have done differently. One thing that came to mind was the idea of catching the kick that sent him reeling. He imagined how it would’ve went after that. Maybe he could’ve leveraged him back onto the ground, getting on top of him, and punch at him until he quit. He convinced himself that it would have worked. If he ever got the chance to see that bastard again, he would do his best to be the one left standing.

Jakob sighed, and then winced. The pain was everpresent, and quickly starting to get on his nerves. He pointed over to the pot on the fire and simply questioned; “What’s on the fire? Seems it has you annoyed.”

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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Sat May 18, 2019 10:32 pm


The trencher tastes as though it was made of slightly old rye bread. Within, it held a broth, likely made of some sort of heavier animal, what with it not only being dark, but tasting thickly with the taste of meat, rather than what one would expect of something that would come from a bird. The bread was made more edible, with it, the hard crisp softening, the more that he allowed the soup to soak, or tore off the edges of the bread that contained the soup. It wasn't decadently flaky by any means, and seemed more of what an inn would give to its guests that were simply visiting, rather than staying the night. There were chunks of what seemed to be potatoes, and carrots within, adding to the salted taste, and the illusion of more meat to eat. The meat itself was in chunky cuts, haphazardly sliced, but fully cooked. It was like eating jerky, but having enough time to soak, it wasn't quite like eating leather, like he was used to.

"Well, I think it's mostly the company you keep. But I can't fully say it's all that strange, given where you seem to fraternize." Sybil offers, with a light sigh, simply sliding down the side of the wall, and sitting next to the hearth. Within, a small pot of the soup seemed to be bubbling. The sides were greased with overflow, and there were small bowls, seemingly filled to the brim, surrounding it. Sybil simply grabs one of the half full trenchers, and begins to take a bite out of it. As Jakob speaks, Sybil simply enjoys a late dinner. It was midnight, even if it was hard to even notice it, given how dark Cylus was for Viden. It was just how things worked. Glancing off to the side, for a moment, swallowing a bite of the soup and bread, Sybil simply shrugs at the shoulders, "I don't really remember it all that much. Something about Boars? I don't know if that means anything to you, but it was the one you kept asking about, the most commonly."

The mention of the Lotharro was enough to bring Sybil to a state of introspection. Really, it was a choice made out of trying to follow a fantasy of friendship that was lost quite some time ago. Sometimes, it was better to just pretend, when someone uses another for money, if it meant the facade of friendship. "Him? Well, he dragged someone out to an alleyway. Don't really know what happened after that. Heard that after I left, the Rangers had to be called in, because of how badly it was starting to spill out into the streets." Sybil simply offers a roll of the eyes to that. This was something that simply happened during the dark days of Cylus. People were bored out of their skulls, and looking for an escape. Something that alcohol offered in spades. A quick blink is given, however, "Oh, ah. The cook, over at the inn I mentioned, brought over something. Gave me instructions on how to keep it warm throughout the night, in case we needed it later."

A wince is given in the direction of the pot. A light sigh crosses the student's expressions, before simply admitting, "I don't all that much know how to cook." A light chuckle leaves those lips, eyes glancing at the remaining overflow.
word count: 587
Status: Alive      Location: Viden      Corruptions: Partial Possession      Wounds: Migraines & Mental Strain
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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Sun May 19, 2019 4:07 am

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The student was right. The company that Jakob had kept, and where he chose to keep that company, for his entire life had always been on the poor and disheveled side. When he was a child, he would get into fights with anybody and everybody. As a teenager, he did the same. When he started working, the energy that he had was able to be focused into breaking rock. But even after he was able to focus his aggression to destroy mountains, the savagery would eventually come back around, and rear its ugly head. He wouldn’t say he was good at it, and he would never want to, as he felt like that would make him nothing better than the brigands that he so despised. He could feel himself choking up at the idea of talking about it. Jakob took sips of the soup to hide the anxiety he was experiencing, when a questioned flashed into his mind. “If where I choose to ‘fratanize’ is so dangerous, why exactly were you there then, Ms. Student?” Jakob said matter-of-factly, with a dopey ‘gotcha’ smile on his face.

The student kept speaking, moving on to the subject of what Jakob was talking about while unconscious. “Yeah, Bors. The man with the messed-up face.” Jakob said, plainly. “He’s a rookid bastard. I can’t think of harsher language to describe the man. I’m certain he’s only a miner because he got bored of killing folks, or had a bounty on his head in another place and came here to hide. A place less cold, since he’s whinging about it all the fekkin’ time.” Jakob shook his head. “I was probably calling him some name or other.”

When the subject came to the Lotharo, his mood soured. “Hope they hang him,” he spoke coolly. “If he can’t control his temper enough to let up after the fight has gotten to the street, then the man has some problems. Problems a noose’ll fix. Either that or an axe.” He snapped his fingers, “Could tie him to a pole out in the cold for a few hours. Seems like that’s in fashion for the upper class these days.” After saying it, he almost immediately regretted it, but didn’t show it. That was one of the cruelest ways he had seen a man go. He coughed into a balled fist, rubbed his eyes, and then apologized. “I’m just mad I didn’t get a good swing at the bastard. You don’t hit a man when…” Jakob stopped himself, and his eyes glazed over. He would have finished the sentence with ‘… when he can’t defend himself’ but the memories of past brawls crept into his thoughts.

At that time, Jakob had a moment of introspection. Just a moment. Years ago, in a conflict between miners and goons, Jakob, and about a dozen miners, beat a goon to death. It was in a similar manner of the beating that Jakob had been on the receiving end of just tonight. The miners surrounded the poor goon and went at him with hammers and picks. Being outnumbered, on the floor, surrounded by people who want nothing less than to make him bleed. The fear that man must have felt. Whatever Jakob felt just breaks ago must have paled in comparison to what went through that goon’s head before he died. Soon after, a deep, morose feeling overcame him. He looked over to Sybil, who sat against the wall, staring at him. He sighed deeply, and set his utensils down.

He wasn't hungry anymore.
Last edited by Jakob Daud on Mon May 20, 2019 1:18 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 616
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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Sun May 19, 2019 10:13 pm


"And here I am, not a scratch on my face." Comes Sybil's retort, eyebrow raising at the implication. Indeed, while they both were in the same place, even just by looking at the student, there was hardly even a single scratch that marked Sybil's body, at least, from what could be immediately seen. A slow cant of the head is given, consideringly, in the direction of Jakob. It's more of a confused gaze, more than anything, "The question was about why we meet in such... Poor, circumstances, regarding yourself, Mm?" A light chuckle leaves the student's lips. There's nothing malicious about it, but judging by Sybil's expression during the laughter, it's more out of an incredulous response to such an assertion. As though it was funny, in on itself, rather than insulting. Sybil's posture slowly eases, leaning against the wall next to the hearth that illuminated the room long enough to allow little more than the bare minimum to be seen.

But the more interesting part of the conversation started to take root. Jakob was describing the 'friend' that he had such tenuous relations with. Boors was someone that Sybil was only tangentially familiar with. Ever since being expelled from the work camp that Jakob and his crew worked at, there simply wasn't enough of a reason to wander around looking for him, let alone trying to interact with the man. Something about him rubbed the student the wrong way. Even in the brief moments the two met, it was a matter of simply feeling uncomfortable, as though a back should never be turned upon him. The student was always a good judge of character, but something about Boors was hard to directly pinpoint. And since no genuine conversation was held, all Sybil could really chalk it up to was a gut feeling, and a gut feeling that would be followed. The student would never go off the path just to meet this strange man.

A knit of the lips cross Sybil's face once the topic of crime and punishment was brought up. Indeed, Viden would likely react swiftly to a Lotharro's violent scene. But what would happen, truly relied on whatever the presiding judge would decree, or what the master of the man would decide. Viden was known for having to deal with crime so sparsely, that there was a level of naivety when it came to those who doled punishment. There was no middle of the road choice for them, it was either something extreme, or something not good enough. The thought lingered within the student's mind, for a little while. That Lotharro was seen around the Academy a few times. Though the student had no reason to question what he even did, it was worth bringing up that the only thing that Sybil saw him do, was carry around boxes and perform the same courier tasks that the student was rather accustomed to. But never really ran into him directly.

"I don't think a hanging will be in store for him. Maybe a few lashes with a whip. Can't exactly exile, or sentence a man to death, for starting a fight in the Devil's Advocate." Sybil's head tilts, mildly, considering Jakob for a moment, studying him from this distance. Letting out a soft yawn, Sybil simply leans against the wall, resting those marble green eyes, "It's even less likely that they'd snitch on him, really. At this point, it's just a matter of getting anyone to pick him out of a crowd. ... I guess a Lotharro stands out enough to cause a stir, though." A shrug of the shoulders is given to that, idly, "But I guess it's down to how much his owner paid for him. If he's even owned, that is. But you don't see many of his kind here. It's not like the wild men actually value education, really. The ones I've met always seemed to, ah... Prefer the more blunt approach." Sybil says, with a light sigh, seemingly a bit in disapproval in the race.
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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Wed May 22, 2019 9:05 pm

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Jakob’s eyes burned. To put it simply to himself, he wasn’t happy. In a life that offered very few reprieves from the toil he found himself in, he had troubles finding solace. Longs days at work, combined with the intensive physical labor, and the constant politics between miners and their employers had long since worn him down. Arcs ago, when he first started this career, he had trouble settling into his job. The treatment of himself and co-workers had always rubbed him raw. The scrapes he got into on behalf of people that he didn’t particularly know, only that they all shared in the same suffering. He looked down to his hands. Callouses, cuts, and bruises. Most from work, but some from violence. His worn and cracked skin, that almost felt like leather to the touch. The bruising on his body, the creaky joints. The blood. He hated it. But that was life. It was all he knew.

Jakob took a breath and stared down into his soup. He was roughly half of the way done with the bowl, but he had to stop. It wasn’t terrible, he just couldn’t stomach it anymore. He didn’t understand why he felt this way. He chalked it up to hitting his head too hard, and focused back on the student. He watched how Sybil laughed – more of a chuckle - and talk about how the only times the two had met so far was as a result of Jakob being wounded. “Yeah. You’ve been there, what, twice now? The times I’ve been hurt. Actually…” Jakob gave Sybil a one over, and noticed their slim frame. Either the student was packing some incredible muscle underneath their baggy clothing, or they convinced somebody to carry Jakob. He needed to know. “How exactly did you carry me here? Was it far?” He started to laugh at the idea of this demure student slinging a miner that had roughly a hundred pounds on them and lugging them a few prisms over. “Are you some sort of guardian angel? Studies by day, saves the downtrodden by night?”

As the time passed, Jakob wasn’t feeling better, but he was serviceable. He could leave, but he was enjoying the warmth. He listened adamantly as the student spoke. He understood most of what they were saying, and disagreed with parts, here and there. “The Judges will decide what to do with him.” He shook his head. He didn’t want to admit he didn’t know what he was talking about. “I suppose we’d have to trust their judgement.” After what he said, Jakob started to focus on the verbiage that Sybil used. Snitch. Jakob heard people say that before, but he never knew what it meant. Mainly came from the more unscrupulous miners or outright criminals. He thought it was ironic, because he heard Bors say it not too long ago. “What does that word mean?” Jakob questioned, “Snitch. I hear it said by thugs, and killers. Didn’t think a person like yourself would use it.”

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Re: [Carnelian Prism] The Slow Season II

Thu May 23, 2019 3:04 pm


The sheer contrast between Jakob and Sybil was something that was quite hard to ignore. A man of Jakob's caste was, simply, a mule for labor, in the eyes of the city itself. The Citadel of Viden had very little value in those that toiled without a particular trade, giving them such a damning title of 'Precariat'. That was their existence, after all. A precarious spiral, that perpetuates itself. There was no chance of escape, truthfully speaking. The only way out was through crime, or somehow getting an education that was greater than what the average man could afford, in the lower districts. Jakob, at the very least, didn't appear to Sybil as someone without means, someone who was damned by his birth or intelligence. The student's eyes slowly trace across his form, for a long few moments. He wasn't a Precariat. At least, if he was, it was only when it came to the legality of the matter. Some sort of gleaming intellect was behind Jakob's eyes.

One that set him apart from the other.

Sybil could see it. It was obvious by the way the man spoke, as he ate. His body, hardened by labor that was likely seen as beneath many people, but profited by all, was a vessel for something else. Intelligence was not something erupted from birth, after all. And even a savant, with all the natural intellect in the world in a given trade, could be completely senseless, and functionally useless. A slow nod, is given, thinking the man's words over for a moment. "Mm? Oh, a friend of mine helped me. Well, I say helped, but really, all she did was bring up a wagon for me to use. You hitched a ride with a corpse, from the time that you left the Devil's Advocate, to this room." Sybil makes mention of easily, scratching at the chin, as the words are spoken, as though details were being actively glossed over. Sybil wasn't going to be admitting that she was a connection to the underworld of Viden. But the student was a terrible liar, and trusted the man too much to directly speak falsehoods.

The student's eyes slide to the side, at the mention of judges and just punishment. Sybil wasn't ignorant, of Viden's inaccuracy when it came to the matters of the law. While ignorant to why Viden is so devoid of publicly conducted crime thanks to the Intelligence Authority, it was clear that the Court's rulings are not particularly tempered by sound logic at all times. Experience was key, to enforcing the law publicly, and it was something that the judges that Sybil had seen, simply, did not have. It was as though there was simply two responses to the ordeal on offer by the judges. They would either act too softly, swayed by the illogical, and the sweetened stories of the downtrodden. Or, they persecute in a way that is overbearing, going too far with rulings, and giving a punishment that was either damning for something that didn't particularly require it, or something that simply likely would have been better off to simply kill the criminal.

It's not long before the student's gaze returns to Jakob, as he asks about the nature of the word that was spoken. Indeed, it was slang, and the student wasn't entirely proud of knowing what it meant, but it was a useful word. And sometimes, one needs to utilize slang to convey very specific things without having to rely on the clunky conventions of the Common tongue. "Criminals tend to think that there is some unspoken code of conduct between them. Like a sort of Gentleman's Parley, or something. You don't confess the crimes of the people that you witness. Running to the authorities, typically, is seen as snitching." A shrug of the shoulders is given, as the student's gaze settles on Jakob, "But it can be minor things, as well. Like simply calling out a student who is using tutors, against the professor's judgement on the matter. It's just telling on people to anyone that can punish them, honestly." A slow cant of the head is given.
word count: 721
Status: Alive      Location: Viden      Corruptions: Partial Possession      Wounds: Migraines & Mental Strain
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