1st Cylus, 720
Quick were the people to arrive at the bar, to flood the restaurant and occupy most booths. Kinship and joyful chatter seemed the cure for the endless night and freezing cold. Meads, beers and wines were now held in hand instead of flickering torches or dim lanterns, and the miserable expression of displeasure now served as compost for wide smiles and eager laughter. Someone had pulled out a fiddle and flooded the hall with it’s melodic whine, and the wide walls now held what Zekuseeyros thought was something akin to hope or bliss. In truth, the only thing he felt delight for was his early arrival and his claiming of not only a portion of the bartop, but of a highly demanded stool as well. Joy came in little portions for him, and when it did, he felt immensely grateful. He thought of Faldrun and of his father for a moment, sent them a quick thank you through thought.
The aukari sipped Firebeer through a homemade straw made to slide through a small slot in his helmet. Being prisoner inside that metal bucket for many arcs now, the eccentricity of his solution was only matched by its ingenuity. Although claiming many curious glances and a good portion of jests about the matter, long ago he had forgotten to pay much mind to them. A good sip of firebeer was worth whatever jibe that came. It came in slow portions, this reward of his, often preceded by a good amount of time scribbling down in his grimoire - a most peculiar task to undertake at a bar. Why so would a warrior of his class partake in such killjoy activity? Fear, of course.
Zekuseeyros had somewhere along his life learned the importance of remembering. Perhaps it was when he discovered about his incoming fate, about an inevitable death by fire brought for reasons he could not understand. His father and all that came before had managed to find solace in the fact of writing down in their books. In his readings, all those arcs ago, he had witnessed this. They scribbled down their lives in hopes of teaching their heirs about this, and that. They’d speak of what they had learned so that, should they fail in their quest, the next in line knew better and, hopefully, manage to beat the odds. Zekuseeyros’ journaling came from a far less altruistic place. It was a deep fear of his to forget, to wake up one day and ask where was he or what he had done - or what was to happen to him. In that journey, he’d scribble down a detailed account of his day, of his actions, of his surroundings, and, if they did not compromise his strength with a depressive nature, of his thoughts as well.
It would take a very experienced scribe to understand what he wrote. It was in common, yes, albeit written in a very uncommon manner. He wrote in diminutive script and in cursive for the fact it was faster to write. Faldrun knew he hadn’t much time to spare. And he was thorough. Should he turn some pages and read around back, he’d find he could relive trials not even worth a memory, let alone a thought. He’d find his thoughts on a man or a woman he had met only once, regardless of how plain and simple they were, how inconsequential they’d be in the grand scheme of life. It was through journaling he discovered people were, truly, rarely worth a thing. A sheep or a pig were of more use and more consequence than the vast amount of mortals.
By the time he had finished accounting the events of his arrival, he’d unfold the map loaned by the bartender. It was a redheaded man with a large beard. He reckoned it was Zana’s father, albeit there had been no introductions nor any attempt of conversations from both parties. He took a good look at the town and the island, then formed a travel plan. Scalvoris held two of his heirs, both of which he had to visit. It had been almost ten arcs since he had been last visited, and the layout seemed foreign to him. Somewhere in the grimoire he could find a bad and outdated drawing of it, albeit the aukari felt no need to revisit the journal. He’d flip the pages and go to the ending, a place filled with the names of his women, the type of transaction made, and their location. It was a long list, which clenched his heart. Many names were striked out, others were added a small index to another page wherein he had journalled about his visit. He hated this list. He felt like ripping it off and setting it on fire.
Dïonetheey - Agreement - Egylrun - #4564
Oleeya - Unwilling - Darbyton - #4575
Unwilling. The word bore a hole through his heart. Trying to distract himself, Zekuseeyos sipped some firebeer and studied the scalvoris map. He found the town, then looked at the roads. He began forming a travel plan towards Egylrun.