Saevio
Member
Iridonia - Nek'Vyshtal Clan Territory - Nek'Vyshtal Homestead
(Open)
The dark-skinned Iridonian stands before a large stone hearth within his father's forge, staring down into the firepot in silent contemplation, just as he’d been doing for the past half hour. Remnants of old lump coal and coke fuel lies forgotten and neglected within the pit; various weathered tools litter the workspace tabletops; the subtle sound of a slight draft passing over a stack of schematics weighted down by old reference books is heard in the background; and the foul stench of a slack tub reservoir that has sat idle for too long is beginning to fill the air. It has clearly been some time since anyone had worked the forge.
Diffused morning light spills into the building’s interior through three dirty, circular windows on the far wall, illuminating the dusty air inside that the Zabrak had disturbed upon his entrance. A collection of bladed weapons in various states of completion, formation, and disrepair lines the opposite wall--broadswords, bearded axes, spears, zhabokas—all unfulfilled orders from Capital City vendors and Iridonians of neighboring clans that his father hasn't been able to satisfy since falling ill and becoming bed-ridden.
Much work to be done… I could use the distraction.
Wasting no more time, Saevio shrugged off a tattered cloak thrown about his shoulders, blindly hanging it on a nearby rack before proceeding to task. Despite the sorrowful sensation that has settled in his gut since speaking to his father’s physician nearly two weeks ago, his mind was now set on getting this forge up and running again, and fulfilling all of his father’s outstanding orders. It’s the least he could do… It’s all he could do.
Beginning to drain the brine water from the forge’s slack tub reservoir, Saevio found himself staring off at nothing, wondering what transgression could have possibly brought such misfortune down upon him and his family.
First mother…
Saevio’s mother, Sashinae, had gone missing just under nine months ago when contact was lost with the transport ship she had been travelling on. It never made berth and was presumed to be destroyed, along with its twenty odd passengers and crew. Saevio had set out in search for answers, and perhaps even survivors, holding out hope that the ship had simply crash-landed on some moon along its flight path. But every fleeting lead he followed brought him to the same eventual conclusion: his mother, and all of the other passengers aboard the Fairstar were dead.
Now father…
Bad lungs, old age, and a broken heart—there’s only so much hurt a man can take. The doctor said that the best he could offer was an additional 3 to 6 months with aggressive treatments. But being confined to a bed, completely dependent, doped up on a cornucopia of meds, and attached to an array of machines was no way for an Iridonian to live out his final days; especially not this Iridonian. It won’t be too much longer now until the elder Nek’Vyshtal joins his Tai'Shan. In the meantime, Saevio still has some time to get his father’s affairs in order so that he may at least depart this world knowing that his debts have been settled, and his promises fulfilled. And at least this time there’s opportunity for goodbyes.
Without even the dignity of dying on a battlefield…
After several hours of cleaning up the forge and performing restorative maintenance, Saevio stood outside the front entrance of the building, overlooking the cul-de-sac that was also bordered by his father’s domicile, a storage barn, and his own humble abode. He needed a break. Every corner of the forge holds old memories of him and his father—bittersweet reminders of what he will be losing forever in the coming days; bittersweet reminders that test his limits, threatening to leave him indefinitely scathed; bittwesweet reminders that stoke the embers of an ever-present fury that lies just beneath the surface, always on the cusp of breaking free. With a heavy breath and a wipe of his brow, Saevio leans back against the forge’s entryway, squinting against the evening sun as golden eyes settle upon his father’s house.
I can't let him go like this. It’s pitiful… needless. It’s just not right.
The charcoal-skinned Iridonian absently retrieved a hand-rolled cigarra from a thin, rectangular container, lofting it to his lips and igniting the end with the familiar metallic click of a flip-top lighter. Thick currents of pinkish smoke billowed out from his nostrils as he exhaled the first of what would be many much-needed soothing drags. The pungent aroma of Ambrian cheroot filled the air as thoughts of honor, dignity, and familial obligation weighed on his mind, causing his brow to furrow slightly as he grappled with the internal conflict.
I would expect the same of him, if it were me lying in that bed, counting the moments until my final breath.
Saevio shook his head, exhaling another cloud of pinkish smoke as a mumbled curse left his lips, "Haretz…"
His father didn’t have to say it; the look in his eyes explained all that Saevio needed to know. He was ready, and Saevio knew it, but even for Saevio such a request would not be easy, or simple. As much as Saevio wanted to continue arguing with himself on the subject, the truth is his mind is already made up. The only thing holding him back now are the outstanding orders waiting for him within the forge, not to mention that he is now also responsible for the Shrine his family had been entrusted to protect so long ago. And so, with a final draw from his cigarra, he resolved to complete those orders with a purpose, that he may then shoulder the burdens that follow and grant his father his dying wish, allowing him to leave this world with the dignity he deserves.
There is much work to be done…
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[member='Hasjo Hallu']