Ruin and Reflection (Bel Solo)

[Belinda]

Belinda found herself in her room. She was curled up in her small cot, illuminated dimly by candle light, a black bound book in her hand. A jar of ink and quill lay precariously on a small slab of wood near her. The Ruin tome she acquired from the Academy fascinated her in an almost unhealthy way. She was slowly but steadily getting the hang of conjuring up the threads of Nether magic. She scribbled her own little notes within the margins. Within a week, her yarn-width like strands of Nether magic, became thicker, almost stick-like. She couldn’t maintain the tendrils of Nether magic for long though. Thirty seconds at best. The power and complexity of Ruin, took a harder toll on her than Flux ever did. And it wasn’t for a lack of trying, Belinda, knew her limits. She knew her strengths. She knew the damage that awaited her should she ever go past that limit for a lengthy amount of time. The image of a shriveled up, barely living, dirty, old man on a prison bed, flashed in her mind.

Belinda pulled her eyes away from the text. She let out a deep sigh. She put the book down gently and crossed her arms. I need a break. She uncrossed her arms and put her supplies down on the floor so as not to dirty her simple sheet. She pulled herself up on the cot to look out the “window” above her bed. This window was a literal hole in her wall. It was about half a head tall and wide. There was no glass to separate the room and the outside. She removed the rocks which kept the curtain in place and simply stared out into the sea.

It was late. The moon loomed high up in the sky above her. She couldn’t see it from her tiny vantage point. If she looked up she’d simply see the top of her ceiling. Though she could see the sky above her if she somehow managed to stretch her head through the hole in the wall. But, at least she could see the ocean. She could see some of the topsails and masts of ships docked at the harbor. Most of the ships had their sails furled in for the night. The winds are unpredictable after all. She took a deep breath in. The cool, semi-spice mixed, slightly sandy air was comforting.

Two years. It’s been two years since I've moved here. Two and half years if she was really counting. But two years of hard, semi-hazardous, but honest work. She rested her head on her hands for a moment. How are the others?She wondered.

It’s been a few months since her last trip to Lycia. Since, she last saw Cid, her mother, brother, sister in law, niece, nephew, and baby in development. And yet despite this, relatively recent visit, she felt homesick. Her brother’s home wasn’t her home, hell it wasn’t even their original family home. but, she missed it all the same. She missed their cooking, their laughter, their smiles. Cid isn’t due back for months. She knew this. She was there on the docks, waving at him, at his crew, when they departed Khan Yunis. Her half uncle promised he would return with new stories and a casket of the good Lycian wine.

She wondered what her older sister, Annabelle, was doing. Bel, and her sister never saw eye to eye. As a matter of fact Bel was convinced Annabelle hated her. They say that’s common with siblings with a large age gap. But, Belinda had proven the opposite with her older brother. I wonder if she had the baby yet. She remembered their last encounter at the party back then. She had to have been at least six, maybe seven months then. Another sigh escaped her. I just.. Have to hope.. That she.. No that they are alright. She rubbed her palm over her sleepy eyes.

“Perhaps.. I’ll write her a letter.” She yawned. Not that she replies to them anyway. The shamaness figured her husband screened through her letters. Or perhaps Anna didn’t care. After all, according to their last fight, Belinda did “ruin” her chances at being a nun. Not my fault, you choose to follow our “pagan” father's orders and marry. Her mind repeated her words. As well as other words that were horrible and exchanged between both siblings. She shook her head. Belinda decided to call it a night. She closed her curtain and put the rocks back into their place on the sill. She slowly slumped back down onto her cot. She blew out the candle light and tucked herself in under the cover. She was grateful that at least tomorrow was Sunday, her day off.

[Belinda]

Sunday.. the seventh day of the week.. Or the first day of the week depending on which religion one follows. Either way the day's result was still the same. Bel had the day off. She didn't need to march herself any where near the library of the Academy today. Despite that she had a whole boat load of chores she needed to do. Things needed to be washed, cleaned, written, cooked. And she had to do it all herself. The shaman roused herself out of bed at the first shout of the wee hours. She lit her torches for the day and worked on her morning routine. She washed her body with what she could. Cold water that she had left out in a pitcher and bowl last night. The shiver she felt woke her up quicker than any cup of tea ever could. Once, she felt clean, the shaman went to check on her dough. She left it rising in a bowl over night and hopefully with enough covers to keep the bugs and rats from nipping at it. Once she deemed it satisfactory to eat, she shaped them into little rolls. And covered them again to let them rise once more. She gathered some kindling needed to work her tiny stone stove and set it to light. The warmth and light the small hearth provided put her into a slightly better mood. While waiting for her little rolls to proof and her oven to heat up, she decided to do a little bit of meditation. Simple, breathing exercises, and a few stretches. Healthy body is a healthy mind. 

With the hour done Belinda once again checked her rolls then popped them into her small oven. Barely large enough to hold the tiny tray and to "close" the door with several loose bricks. The top half of the oven had a small stove where she put a small ornate copper kettle on it. The kettle was half way filled with clean water. If she were a wealthier woman, then she would have had a better stove. A better place. Perhaps. But, what life would that be? Trapped in a gilded cage. She shuddered to think. She pushed the thought out of her mind and went about cleaning her small flat. The daily sand was swept up and thrown into a bin. Loose pages of notes were divided out by subject, organized into little piles, and plopped into the right books. She grabbed a blank piece of paper, the ink from the night before, and her quill. She sat in her chair and looked at the page.

Hmm.. now how do I start this? Dear sister? No.. that is too warm. To Whom it May Concern? No.. that makes it sound too.. generic. She scratched her head with the quill. Eventually, she settled with a more professional response. Dear Annabelle, Wife of Duke so and so, lady of this land's name here, and so on and so forth. She wrote her letters neatly, carefully, so as not to rip the parchment page. With the hard part of writing each of Annabelle's titles done with, her little loaves were just about finished. She got back up and removed them from her little oven. She carefully collected them and would leave them to cool on the same table she was writing on. So she may keep vigil over the little loaves from the vermin. She had enough trouble with rats and mice on Cid's ship and she will not tolerate them stealing her food here. She went back to the kitchen once more to make a tea. She let the dried herbs steep in the hot water for a moment. Then she fried up an egg she picked up at the market the morning prior. Plated it. And returned to her desk. The loaves were cool enough now to pick up with her hands. She picked one up and are it with the sunny side up egg. The little circular loaves were made of simple rye and possessed a faint grit of Nabatan sand. Nothing she could do about the sand. She just knew not to chew the bread down all the way so the gritty texture wouldn't affect her teeth or her tastes. She sopped up egg yolk with the bread and enjoyed her morning brew. The other two loaves were wrapped delicately and then put into a sturdy bread box. 

Now. Back to the letter. She wrote down a few more words. In the best not-passive aggressive tone she could muster. She really did want to know how the woman was doing. How was the baby doing.. and so on. If her sister ever bothered to contact their mother and so on. She wrote what she knew of Christobell IV's and his family. They were little and generic details. Small things. She didn't want to give away all her brother's secrets. It was not her place to tell. She sighed softly. And then she got up the the point in the letter where she had to talk a bit about herself. How was she doing? And.. that's when the Shamaness stopped. How am I doing? She asked herself. And before she could answer the 10th bell rang. Four hours had passed since she first woke up, and she still had laundry to do! crap. The wash house is going to be full of gossipy and judgey wives. She put the quill and ink away but left the parchment on top of the desk.

She grabbed her clothes and a fancy soap. One that was gifted to her from a client. She wasn't too fond of the scent, it was too piney for her tastes. But, the soap did a good job at cleaning out the clothes and getting rid of stains. She grabbed a bottle of concentrated ammonia. The shamaness then realized she was still in her sleeping clothes and went to change. Once, she looked decent she went out towards the local wash house. 

[Belinda]

The streets of Khan Yunis were lively as always. Vendors shouting about the location of their latest wares. Street performers were out in their usual corners dancing for coin. Guards were out and about making sure things stayed in an orderly manner. The clergy were out in droves preaching all about the wonders of Elimine and her religion. While, Elimine's words weren't unfamiliar to people here, but rather it was dulled out by the other various religions that congregated here. Belinda passed by these Elimine worshippers daily, and this time their crowd seemed to be a bit larger than average. And these priests liked to put themselves in very popular places. Such as the city's main square, the end of the market, outside government buildings, and so on. This time one of them decided to park their priestly butts right in front of the wash house. Ugh. Belinda grimaced. She ignored the man, paid her small entry fee, and claimed a small corner of the washroom to herself. Only a few people turned their heads to see her come in. Some people turned to their neighbor to whisper something in secret. 

She crouched down and touched the cool water. It was clean in the sense that one could see their own reflection on the surface of the water, but the bottom was full of sand, and other material that was deposited from the various patrons. Belinda got herself situated and began to wash her clothes. She filled her bucket with some water, mixed some of the ammonia with it, and let her clothes sit for a moment. She grabbed clothes that had particularly difficult stains out and rubbed it with her pine soap. A thin white film saturated the stain, and then she scrubbed it down with a small boar's hair brush. Belinda was doing her best to remain focused on scrubbing out the smell and stains from her clothes. She could hear bits and pieces of the preacher man's words outside. Calling for a ban of witchcraft and dark magic, as if the city didn't have a world renowned school of magic within it's walls. She thought she saw, people glance her way at the mention of dark magic. The young shamaness pantomimed a mouth with her hand and mouthed "blah blah blah". This caught a smile from one or two of the ladies.

Belinda was one of many citizens within Khan Yunis. She knew it was impossible for every person in the city to know of her, and her magic. But, her some of her clothes had the brand of the school embroidered on them. And while she dressed plainly, she still somehow stood out. As most women of the area tended to cover their hair with a hood or head scarf. Belinda did not do that, at least not today. Her favorite hood was currently in the bucket of now soapy water. But, she knew she stood out among the masses. Few native Nabatans had purple hair like hers. Few Nabatans cut their hair short like hers. Don't think about it Bel. The tension her anxiety brought was broken by the pitter patter of little feet. A small child had wrested free from their mother's grasp and was now running around the outer edge of the wash house.

Some of the conversation turned to little bits of local gossip. Most of it wasn't particularly interesting to Bel. Belinda gave her clothes a good rinse in the cold water and did her best to wring them dry. She emptied her bucket and put her crinkly wet clothes back in it. She retrieved her items and made her way back to her flat. She ignored the turn to her little apartment and went up to the roof. Here the inhabitants had a bit of a communal space. She put her wet clothes onto the drying rack and pinned them in place. She returned to her flat briefly. She knew that in this heat and with full blaze of the sun her clothes would be dry within the hour. Plenty of time to sit down and write that letter. She put the ink and quill back on her desk.

Then she just sat there and stared at the middle of the page. Unsure of what to say. Or how to say it. Does she think of me as some sort of hell spawn witch too? Belinda sighed. She knew the answer to that question was a big fat yes. What else would an former nun call her pagan sister? Belinda kept looking at the page. And she kept thinking. Long and hard about their last meeting. And about the nasty words that were exchanged at the meeting before that one. She kept thinking about her sister and her big belly... and what sort of stories she would tell that child when it came into the world. No doubt that child would be raised to be a believer of Elimine's faith. What sort of lies would that child would be fed about it's aunt? As much as Bel wanted to bury the hatchet between them, she knew it would be impossible. 

Come on now.. She moved her now trembling hand closer towards the parchment paper. She put the quill back down onto the desk. Tiny droplets of her tears fell down onto paper. Bel quickly pulled away from the table so as not to let her tears smear what was already written. She let herself cry for bit. But then she realized how silly this all was. She was a grown woman for skies sake. She shouldn't have to subject herself to this. It was only a letter! Just a letter. To someone she loved, loathed, and respected all at once. To someone who thought of her as scum and might not even bother flipping open the wax seal. And yet.. this was the reaction.. each and every time. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. She repeated this simple breathing exercise and calmed down. We.. can't do this right now. 

She grabbed a book from her small collection, parked herself in a comfy corner of the room, and started to read. Ah, One thousand and one Nabatan Nights. A classic. These stories would distract her long enough until it was time to grab the hanging clothes.

[Belinda]

Belinda was about a quarter of the way through the story book before she remembered about the laundry on the line. She peeled herself out of her little reading nook, folded corner of the page, closed the book, and returned it to the shelf. Then she marched herself back up to the little rooftop, grabbed her now bone dry clothes, and returned to her flat. She took a small sniff of the slightly piney scented mass of linen and sighed softly. She quietly folded her clothes and put them away into a simple wooden chest. She separated out her favorite black and white cloak and hung it up on a hook by the door. She tugged at ends and straighten out the wrinkles. She dusted off the sand that accumulated on the edges of the yin-yang embroidery. This cloak was one of her most prized possessions. A gift from Uncle Cid after he heard her talk about the Sacean concept of Yin Yang. And while she had been given many gifts by her family over the years, this one, she held dear. Captian Cid understood her trials, understood her goals, and didn't belittle her for it. He knew the horrors of what Elder Magic could do to the body, to the mind, and soul. He had seen it first hand in his travels. And he had read about it second hand through various letters between him and his sister. Elder Magic was something that was beyond his understanding, but he knew it was something old, and should be respected. 

The shamaness sighed again. She pulled away from the cloak and returned to her desk and chair. Back to the letter. And back to the anxiety that came with it. Back to the thoughts of her Sister and of her child. I can do this. She grabbed the quil and ink for what felt like the millionth time today. Her hand started to shake again. Calm thoughts. Simple thoughts. She closed her eyes. Her thoughts slowly shifted from the dread of the letter to that of nature. She thought of water flowing down a stream in a small quiet part of the woods. Her breathing steadied with the thought of nature. She opened her eyes slowly, she put the quill to the page, and just started to write. Just let the words flow out of the mind and onto the page. She was still conscious enough with her writing to keep it semi formal. But, the words on the page were a reflection of what she felt at this moment. Of what she's wanted to say. Even though she knew that there was a large chance that this letter would be lost to the world. Either thrown out at sea or put to the flame upon arrival. But, she still felt the need to write the words. To write her feelings. How she wished to bury the drama between sisters and let her have a chance to learn about her new niece or nephew. She expressed her fear over the future and of her own magic. And once the shamaness felt comfortable with what she had written she stopped writing. She put the ink and quill away and let the letter dry. 

By the time she had finished writing her letter it was well past lunch. She got up and ate one of the other loaves of bread she made this morning. When she returned the letter was fully dry. She carefully folded the letter and packaged it into a previously addressed envelope. She sealed it with wax. Belinda packed her letter carefully, grabbed some money needed for postage, and put on her cloak. She made her way back out onto the streets. She went back out through market and the gauntlet of vendors and out towards the postal dock. She went towards her favorite letter carrier. The clerk recognized her write away. The pair chatted for a bit, and Belinda was happy for that. It had been a while since she had a reason to send anything to Lycia. She had recently returned from Lycia and got most of her business done in person while she was over there. Belinda got her usual mail rate and paid for the service as usual. She carefully handed the letter to the letter clerk. Happy trails little letter. I hope you get there. She mentally told herself. The clerk examined the envelope for a moment. Put it's own special seal and proof of purchase on the back end of it. Then put the letter aside to be sorted. With luck the letter would be on the next mail boat out of Khan Yunis and out to sea by the end of the week. Belinda dismissed herself from the postal clerk and went back on her merry way. 

She bought herself some fruit from one of the vendors and returned home. Satisfied with her accomplishments for the day. She carefully peeled fruit and ate half of with slight glee. She was feeling better. The shamaness wiped her hands with a wet wash cloth and set the fruit aside. She put an empty cup down on the floor in front of her. She grabbed the Ruin book once more. 

Let's try this again.  

 

[Belinda]

Belinda's fingers traced over the words on the Ruin's page. She read the ancient writing and repeated the syllables that they sounded out. She did so slowly, so as to better commit the ancient writing to memory. She shifted her gaze between the book and the cup, she let out a sigh. Right then. Once more. With the words of the tome committed to memory for this brief moment Belinda went to work. Slowly. Her gaze never once shifting away from the cup. The power of the Nether swirled menacingly at the base of cup and slowly crawled upwards. The flow of the Nether came in waves, the thin spindles of Ruin would pulsate towards the cup's rim. The spindles would bubble briefly before binding together with their other stringy brethren. Once, again the spindles twisted and merged to form slightly larger threads of Nether magic. Those threads of Nether strengthened each other and eventually lifted the cup off the ground. The writhing mass of tightly bound tendrils continued to push upwards towards the sky eventually coming up onto Belinda's eye level. This was the highest she's been managed to ask the coiled mass of concentrated Ruin magic. The thickness of the Ruin's tendrils was about that of a grown man's fist. 

The Ruin's mass was holding steady, Belinda could feel the pressure of the Nether magic on her mind. She could feel her pulse racing through her temples. Ruin Magic was hard. It put a much stronger strain on her mentally than any Flux tome ever did. And she knew she was only barely scratching the surface of what this magic could do. Her breathing changed. She was slowly becoming more and more physically distressed. But, her mind was strangely calm. Her sole focus was on the connection between her and the Nether. The couldn't quite feel the distress of her body. At least not yet. While in the strange state of connected with the Nether, her head felt like it underwater. And things felt like it slowed down. She moved her finger's slightly, and a tendril of Nether peeled away from it's base. It moved in the motion of her finger. Mimicking it in creepy way. She moved a different finger. And another section of the mass broke away and moved along with it. A searing pain started to sweep over the Shamaness. The throbbing of her temples leached downwards towards her ear, jaw, and neck. That pain was enough to snap Belinda back to consciousness. The Ruin tome's tendrils wobbled then faded away. The cup fell to the floor with a small thud. 

Belinda pulled away from the book and put her head in her hands. Then she pulled away from her hands and lied down on the floor for a good while. Just staring up at the celling until the throbbing stopped. She put the Ruin tome over her eyes to block out the light. The shamaness was usually very careful with her magic. But sometimes, you just get lost in the Nether. Getting lost in the Nether was dangerous. If a Shaman couldn't find their way back out, they become damaged. All it took was a little tug in the wrong direction for the Nether, to entice a mind further into it's depths. That is what happened to Bel a moment ago, the Nether swarmed over her like an ambitious ocean wave. It knocked down her mental barriers, and pulled her "underwater" for a second. And now she would be miserable for the rest of the day as a result. 

Good thing I took care of every thing else earlier.

[Belinda]

Belinda wasn't sure at what point she fell asleep. But, she remembered dreaming. Dreaming of a simpler time, of a time of when it was just her, her mother, and her older brother. She remembered swimming on a beach in a Lycian shore. She remembered sand between her toes and her brother teaching her about crabs. Then she felt something or someone pull her away and then Bel woke up with a jolt. She stared up at her ceiling for a moment. Blinking twice. The breeze blew her tiny curtain open. And from that small opening Belinda could see that the sky was red. She peeled herself off the floor and took a look outside. It's Morning? It took a moment for the gears in her head to click and whir her thoughts back to life. 

"Oh.. wait.. it's morning!" 

Meaning Belinda was going to be late if she didn't get a move on. She scrambled around her room and gathered her needed belongings. She skipped breakfast, but made sure to grab a few coins for lunch later. She ran locked her door and ran off to Akedemia. She had to speed run through the usual gauntlet of people. She waved at old beggar, who helped her out once for a few coins. He was taken a bit aback at the fact that Belinda didn't stop to talk to him like she usually did. 

"Running late talk later!" She blurted out as she zoomed past him.

She passed ran by the small orphanage that she volunteered at a few times a month. One of the Patrons was about to stop her for a quick chat.

"No time today! Late!" Again she blurted. The Patron nodded and moved aside. Belinda continued on and managed to make it to the gates of Akedemia. She checked herself in, greeted her coworker, relived them of his shift, and went to start hers. And of course the other coworker left her a big old pile of books to organize and return. Belinda sighed softly and got started on the organization. Lets see.. subject... year... volume.. title.. 

She organized the books into separate neat little piles, then loaded those books onto a small cart to be returned to the shelves. In between shelving she was greeted by a few students. Most of which needed help finding a book or two about specific subjects. She guided them to the specific sections. Once, the shelving was done, she began the duty of examining the shelves. She needed to make sure each book, scroll, or paper were in their proper place. She dusted off the empty tables and picked up any miscellaneous bits of trash. Then she returned to the front desk again only to see another small pile of books. And again. She repeated this pattern of work for hours until the bell rang and she was relived to go to lunch. She stepped back out into the hot Nabatan sun and went to the nearest little stall for lunch. She bought herself a little flat bread that was folded down the middle. Within the middle there was a bit of salted fish mixed with various pickled vegetables. She enjoyed her small snack and drink of water. Then returned back to the library. Back to the books. Back to the grind. Back to the organization. Back to the painfully boring, order of things. When she finally did get some down time to herself in between the monotony, she sat herself down and read through her special Flux tome.  Special in the sense that it was a fake Flux tome. It was an old Flux cover of a long dead book that she had fastened over a different book. An action adventure book that was most definitely not meant for women. She smiled softly at the adventures of this specific swashbuckler. She ended her day feeling oddly satisfied with herself.  

--- ENDING THREAD