[Khar'Shan] Mended Pieces (Closed)

Ikraen, before the war, was a popular resort city and vacation destination for batarians who flocked to the beaches for a spell, and a center of affluence for the wealthy.

Like many cities of opulence, the Reapers cared not for its lavish majesty, even now, signs of the devastation were evident everywhere, the resorts, and towns along the coast were demolished to set up processing plants, the core of the city reduced to a smoldering cinder. Only now were the signs of rebuilding becoming seen, as Ekarn helped load another crate of supplies off the shuttle to the work crews.

"This the last crate?" Asked one worker.

"Pretty much." Ekarn replied. With that, he and the others climbed back into the shuttle for the return to the camp. It was almost lunch time after all.

She'd never seen the ocean before. Khaljah had been an isolated area, the plains fed by rivers and the odd lake, an old aquaduct and the pre-space flight irrigation systems. Valleys, surrounded by mountains...the Cha'lev Mountains, where the Faith was renewed and the Mantras given to the People by the Speakers.

Here, though, in the ruined decadence that had once been a city, there was the ocean, and the water that stretched to the horizons - and beyond, she knew. The air was moist, and had a scent to it that had first made her nostrils curl, but once she was used to it, she appreciated it, if only for it's ability to hide the stench of the 'processors' that the Demons had placed here during their short reign.

The chimes sang in the breeze as Chana walked near the beach, her pale green robes fluttering around her like wisps in the wind. It was a nice breeze, light and cool, a good way to banish the heat of the mid-day sun that burned down on the ruins. It was hypnotizing, the with the soothing rhythm of the waves crashing down on the shore, the deep blue that expanded for miles and miles with no end in sight.

Across this wide ocean would be another city, like this. A chain of islands drifted somewhere south, five hundred miles or so past the edge, where the higher castes would lavish in luxury - islands that might now be rubble, perhaps, or burnt crisps of their former selves. Shame, and pity, upon the world the People had been given.

She held her sandles in her hand, watching quietly as the waves lapped at the ruined shore, the water still washing debris from the sea, even after all these months. She sighed, closing her Anya-eye, and shaking her head. Compassion to lives ruined by ignorance.

Chana would pray for them, tonight, that they might pass through Urakh with some semblance of ease. Or, at the very least, find joy in dimness of the Grey Wastes.

The chimes on her staff sang again, joyful and bright and melodious, as voices carried on the winds from not too far down - from here, she could see the tops of dirt-colored linen tents and shambling roofs. A worker's camp. She blinked, curiousity rousing in her, and slipped her sandals back on before walking along the water's edge, towards the camp, her chimes happily adding to the sound of waves.

A line of workers formed at the head of the makeshift kitchen as the cooks prepared pots and heated trays of food. Tsyplionik, er'thak, qunai, basic batarian foodstuffs for the most part. Not that anyone would complain, food was food after all.

"Hey, no cutting!" One worker yelled at another as he tried to budge his way between his and Ekarn's spot.

"Come on Talak, I'm starving here."

"So are we!" Said another worker in the back. "Wait your turn like the rest of us!"

The foreman quickly noticed the commotion and stepped in to restore. "Enough! There's plenty of food for everyone. Hiral, go to the back and wait your turn." He ordered as Hiral left his spot, grumbling all the while.

As the line slowly moved forward, Ekarn whispered to Talak. "You happen to have some yi'thira sauce?"

"Yeah, I do, got anything to trade?"

"Found a carton of chark sticks when we were digging last week."

"Thought you didn't smoke."

"I don't, that's why I'm giving it to you." Ekarn said as he handed over the carton, Talak in return handed a small bottle containing a black sauce with white seeds.

"Next!" Said the cooks.

As she drew closer, the voices - loud, cheery, obnoxious voices - grew clearer. She'd seen worker's camps in her travels, but those had always been empty, or something else had drawn her attention away from exploring them further. Some had been abandoned, even, as the majority of the destruction and the rubble had been cleared, and the workers moved on to some greater Purpose.

Now, though, she wondered if perhaps she should...

Later tonight maybe, after the work was done for the day, and she would not be a distraction to keep them from their food and their Purpose. Until then, she could sit of the rocks that jutted out from the beach to the water, the natural crags and stones, that the waves crashed around. She wished to Learn a bit about the ocean, from the sea itself, and where better?

The rocks were slick with water under her feet, her sandals once again in her hand as she used her staff to balance herself. Not too far out, as the tide was coming in, but far enough that water surrounded her and the spray would coat her vestments in small, misty drops of water and salt.

She knelt on her knees, the staff now perched in the cracks, the wind playing with the chimes at the end. For now, for a few hours, she would Learn from the ocean, and Pray for those it had taken into its depths.

And, with the soft music her voice now added to the chimes, a Prayer for the workers who lived on, and found their Purpose in the Great Order.

At last it was Ekarn's turn, as the cook piled food onto his plate. Satisfied, he turned away from the kitchen, walking outside the perimeter of the camp towards a small outcropping of walks nearby. It wasn't that he was a loner, but he had never had much of a chance to see the ocean. Ivoraq after all was a mining colony, and that meant valleys, plateaus and mountains.

As he sat down to eat, pouring sauce on his plate, he noticed he was not alone. A woman was kneeling by the shore, staff in hand. He had seen that before, the priests at the Kalnekh temple on Hethiz wielded them.

A priestess perhaps? Ekarn thought as he returned to his meal.

The man that was nearest to her went unnoticed until Chana had finished her chant, her back now straight as she looked out towards the sea, and back to him. He was eating and hadn't seemed to give her more than a cursory glance...

Perhaps he didn't wish to be disturbed?

This could, afterall, be where he always ate, away from the others - for a reason, she was certain. Though, perhaps it was not so much him wanting to be left alone, but the others not wanting him with them. Which lead to more questions, like what had he done to be outcasted, or what was he that made them despise his very presence so?

A slave, or a casteless, maybe? No, his caste signals were different.

She could always just ask. But that would be disturbing him, and she had no desire to inflict her presence on someone else. She was a Walker, here to Learn, not to Teach and offer the Words and the Names to all those within earshot like the Mouths and the Elders.

Hmm.

All thoughts of the ocean were temporarily banished as she stood up, walking carefully. Maybe a simple greeting at the very least, to acknowledge his presence and test whether or not he would be open to her ask why he was out here, alone, while all the others enjoyed each others company. And maybe see how the restoration of this city was going, and if --

Once upon a time, Chana had been a young girl, who'd fallen into the river nearest her family's farm, and decided she'd never try and cross the stepping stones again without good sturdy shoes. Ten years later, as she fell the short distance into the ocean below, the rocks slipping under her barefeet, she was vaguely reminded of why she had made that decision.

Ocean water tasted arguably worse than river water.

Ekarn looked up from his meal, to see the woman walking towards him. If she was indeed a priestess, he was curious as to what she was doing here. A Walker, a Kemati perhaps? They tended to avoid the work camps, preferring to stay at the refugee camps or settlements that had been reestablished. And it was only recently they had started moving beyond the countries that neighbored Khaljah, which Ikrean was situated far from.

And then she fell.

He set his plate aside as he walked up to the woman, helping her up. "Are you alright?"

This was most undignified.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," she said softly, taking the offered hand and pulling herself up, blinking the sea water from her eyes. Her robes were soaked near through, the material no longer flowing, but clinging to her as she shivered.

Suddenly, the cool breezes off the waves were no longer a great blessing.

There was a clanging noise, and Chana let go of the worker's hand, running after her staff as the waves and tides started to carry it away. "Oh," she half-groaned under her breath.

Eventually, it was back in her hand, and she'd made it back to shore, to offer a tilted head to the worker still standing there. "Again, my thanks for your aid. I'm...not used to the rocks."

"Your soaked, we should try and get you to camp and get you some dry clothes." Ekarn said as he offered a hand to the priestess. "Your a long way from Khaljah, my friend."

She blinked up at him through her top set of eyelashes, ignoring the desire to put him back into the Order. He had yet to introduce himself, or even ask her name, and he was lower caste than she - 'friend' was hardly the appropriate title to address her by. But, she was here to Learn, and, as often happened, it required the Faith and the Courage to set aside the Meanings and the Names for a time, in order to better appreciate how others Understood them, and to better appreciate what they Meant.

Chana wondered why he had done so in the first place, and then the shivering set in.

"My thanks once more," she said softly, pulling her arms around her shoulders. Dry clothes would be much appreciated, as would a warm place to lay out her belongings to let them dry as well. She almost glanced up at the chimes on the end of her stave in petty annoyance, as they seemed quite happy for the unexpected swim, singing in the wind as the waves started crashing at her feet again, but retrained herself. Such looks should never be offered to the Speaker's Tools, and most certainly not in front of a lesser caste.

This man - whomever he was - was...different, from the many of the other People she had met in her travels. It took her awhile to place it, studying him as he led her back to the camp, until she realized that it was his accent that set him apart. A colonial, perhaps? "If I may be so bold," she said politely, "you are even further from your homeland than I am."

It would certainly explain the gross informality, were that the case.

Home...Those words brought Ekarn back to what he saw had become of his beloved Ivoraq, the wrecked cities, desolation, the ruins of a once proud world. Was it any wonder that he couldn't stomach coming back.

"You would be correct, Ivoraq to be precise." He said as he guided her towards the camp entrance.

"Ekarn!" Talak shouted out as he approached. "Who's your friend?"

"She fell into the water." He explained "Do you have any dry clothes for her?"

"I think we do, hold on, I'll be right back." Talak responded as he went into the shelter. "I doubt we have any garments fitting a priestess of Khaljah, but you should be alright. My name's Ekarn, by the way."

So he understood who and what she was. Interesting.

Ivoraq. She wondered where that was. Galactic geography had always been very limited in the Khar'Shanian schools, in Khaljah more so than anywhere else. The People there rarely left the valley they were born in, and only the Kemati and Esahi ever traveled beyond. And to leave the country itself was rarer still; it was only after the war and the People had seen what Faith could do, and what their corruption had wrought, that had opened the borders for those like herself to travel. She had known no one who'd Walked the stars personally.

She made a note to ask, once she was in dry clothes, or once they returned from their duties tonight. The burning Harsa was still high in the blue sky, and she was certain they still had work to do. The last thing she wanted was to distract from crucial rebuilding efforts.

The mention of fine garments made her glance down at the rather modest and simple robe she was wearing, albeit wet. "Dryness would be preferable to quality," she mused, smiling a little. "Though, please, do not strain your resources on my account." She had no idea what resources they had, and while dryness would be appreciated, stealing the literal shirt off of a worker's back was hardly favourable to her Honour.

At the introduction, she paused, all four eyes focused on him for a moment. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but it might have been a common one. "I am Chana," she replied, forgoing her family name for the moment. Such things were personal, and not to be offered to any without trust. "You may address me as Te'heri or Kemati, which ever pleases you."

"Very well then, Ta'heri"

Then Talak arrived with a fresh set of workman's clothing. "Obviously, its kind of a loose fit, but its dry and it should keep you warm." He said as he offered the garments to Chana. "If you need a place to change, the showers are over there, no one uses them this time of day."

Chana nodded, taking the bundle from...Talak, was it? The fabric was warm against the wetness, and thicker than her robes, if not softer. She found the shower he was speaking of, and went inside, carefully making sure that no one else was around to preserve her modesty.

The workman's clothes were slightly too big and broader in areas where she was narrow, but fit well enough for the time. Once she'd struggled out of the complex knots and into the shirt and pants, she stretched. It had been ages since she'd worn something other than her robes; not since before her Trials, at least, and dry clothes felt nice.

She picked up her bag cautiously, suddenly aware how soaked that would be, as well. Her copy of the Mantras, the most valuable thing she owned, would be waterlogged, the ink possibly smeared and the pages vulnerable to tearing. She nearly cried out at the thought - she may have had every verse memorized, but by the Names, it had been an heirloom, a gift...

Grandmother will never forgive me...

She sighed, and allowed herself a quick prayer that she might still be able to save it yet, and stepped back out to where Ekarn and Talak had been left.

Ekarn was waiting outside, Talak having left to perform some other function as he saw Chana come out in her new attire.

"Feel free to keep it, its mostly a hand-me-down anyway." He said. "Also, if you are hungry, we may have some leftovers available, if you want."

She would likely thank him a dozen times before the day's end, Chana decided. Another murmur of thanks slipped past her her lips, accented by the chimes as she moved. Such acts of hospility were not unknown to her, but she was, at this point, quite certain that she was likely intruding upon her hosts - host.

An act that she was, rather guiltily, about to take even more advantage of. "You...wouldn't happen to have a fire, or a heater, would you? I'm afraid I soaked more than just my clothes with the fall..." She didn't have much in the way of possessions, so it shouldn't - wouldn't be too great of a disturbance, she hoped. The work they were doing was far more import than her own singular comfort, at least for the moment, but her Mantras...

"If it isn't too much trouble," she added hastily. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your duties. The rebuilding..."

Batarians were many things, proud, spiritual, stubborn. Perhaps one of their qualities that tended to be overlooked though was their capability to show hospitality whenever it was possible. It was even a popular stereotype for Ivoraq that they were gracious enough hosts even to that of the lower castes. Ekarn was certainly living up to that mantle.

"Its fine, our next shift doesn't start for another few hours, managed to finish the morning work early. As for a heater, we have a radiator near the barracks, though keep in mind, its an old model and an absolute handful just trying to keep it functioning. Been hoping we could request a newer one for some time actually."

Ah, so she was not intruding. Good, that was very good, and she smiled, relieved. And they had a heater - if they did not mind the company, she would spend as long as it took to get the heater to function long enough to dry out the pages.

"That would be sufficient. It's just..." she pulled out the book to emphasis, the beautifully bound and embossed leather cover the only the that wasn't water-logged and wrinkling. Paper made from the trees in Khaljah was very thin and fragile, often taking several layers for most sheets of parchment. For the Books, though, they only used two-layered sheets, which made it very light and fine - and incredibly vulnerable to wear and tear.

One could only imagine what the ink looked like. Hers - at least, not the copy she carried - was not handwritten, like some of the old family Books, but even pressed ink might not stand to sea water.

"I'd like to dry it out," she murmured sheepishly.

Ekarn's eyes laid upon the book Chana held, and immediately it brought to mind his own copy of the Mantras, printed, not stored in an omni-tool or apparatus like the majority of literature these days, just as the clerics wanted it.

His mind wandered back again to Ivoraq, before he had left for his enlistment, to Tor'Naht, whom he gave to Ekarn his copy as a gift before leaving, saying "For when you'll need it most".

Ekarn never saw the point of Faith, didn't deem it to be necessary to live his life. Then the war came, and through the words of the Mantras, he would often find the strength to stand up when all he wanted to do was lie down.

He of course, never learned what happened to Tor'Naht, or anyone of his old life on Ivoraq for that matter. And it saddened him, knowing that he would never have the chance to thank his friend for his gift.

Finally, his mind returned to the present. And noticed the book's rather delicate condition "Right, the generator is in that building to the left."

She nodded, cradling the Book carefully as she walked to the 'building on the left', not sure if Ekarn would follow. It was sparse, just the generator and a few cables and pipes, a tad dustier than her liking, but suitable. She carefully set the Book down, and threw her robes over a pipe to dry, her bag and a few other things that had gotten soaked through as well. The spare set of clothes, for example.

At least her omnitool - as heretical as it was, save for someone who was Learning - had remained unharmed, as such things cost far more than their worth to her to replace. But her Mantras, the Tar'isi, that was worth more than all the uranium of Dezda was to the People of old.

She sat down next to the generator, the book in front of her, and the sharp blade of her knife nearby.