ꙮ Not every clan hall on the Beast has a space like this.
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- Yazhn Ravhi, the Hierophant
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ꙮ Many of them do. The older ones, certainly. Old names from old hills, who were slow to come to Queenstown, or who came not at all, they have small forests of stone monuments in their stomping grounds, inscribed with stories, an entire art form of engraving devoted to the premise that a person isn’t gone as long as their story is still told.
ꙮ The newer clans, the ones in Queenstown - they still hold those beliefs, but they’re more willing, by and large, to let a story go, or let it become myth, greater and grander than it ever was in life. Mostly the former, a little of the latter. Stories are told about a person at their pyre; their story’s celebrated, and then eventually, fire comes for those who knew them– but, the clans say, we breathe the smoke of all who came before. We walk on their ash. Whether or not their story is remembered, they are present, no matter what; a carving could break, or be eroded by time, and it would not matter. It would not mean that those who came before us had not lived.
ꙮ Clan Straylight is, as things go, a newer clan; their clan-hall is in Queenstown, distant enough from the city core that they either couldn’t build closer, or didn’t care to. (They didn’t care - there’s a tram line close to the clan-hall, after all, and building here meant they had room for an enclosed space where you could go out, and look up at the stars. And, as well, in that space, behind the Clan Hall proper, where there are a few carved stone monuments, because someone in Clan Straylight felt a kinship with the old ways, and wished to preserve them, in their own form.)
ꙮ One of those monuments - the oldest, certainly. Not the grandest, but one which was carved with tremendous care - in the furthest corner of the yard is surrounded by an astonishing multitude of stone-carved birds. All different types, and stone from every corner of the Beast. Nearly every bird you can find, here, and then a couple that only exist in the imagination besides.
It has been a year since Luĉja has walked the halls of Clan Straylight. Just like their body, their appointments here are clockwork. The original members are stories that would have been forgotten in other new clans. Some of their children, now grown, carry on the legacy of safeguarding and stonecarving. The ashes of the fallen are always with us, but stone holds memories with much more fidelity.
walks up to the monument, somber. They take out the carving they had started on Almachadta and hold it up, inspecting it for the last time before finding its new home. “Hello Friend-Aidas. It’s me, again. I come with stories to remember, but this time, also a story to share with you. I have traveled farther these last two months than I have in the sixty years since your Song became Smoke and Stone. I think you would be both envious and proud of me. I no longer wander the Beast, hiding from former friends. Though I fear I will still not be returning to active duty with the Straylight. Not just yet, anyhow.” ⁂
pauses, gears grinding the ever-present song in their heart. A hiss of steam. “I have been to worlds beyond our own. You would have liked the one. I made friends with this bird while I was there and I carved one, just for you. You wouldn’t have believed how small it was. It didn’t have razor sharp talons, or a barbed beak, or steel-tipped feathers. It ate seeds and bugs. Nothing like either of us could have ever dreamed up. I didn’t know that one place could have so many trees. Big trees - trees that make Endjinn look small. “ They place the little finch down directly in front of the monument, next to the very first statuette, rough-carved, and without the decades of experience. ⁂
: “You would have hated the second one though. Nowhere to go. Nothing to fight. Mostly water. More water than our entire world’s got.” They shudder a bit. “It was okay for me. Turns out, I can swim pretty well.”
: “And that’s kinda why…I’m still not coming back. It turns out that all these different worlds are in danger. And some people I met are gonna help save them all. You’d really like one of them. I think she wishes she could fly too. She had wings made of fire for a minute. I don’t know if they’d’ve worked though. Anyways. You were right. I’ve got friends again. You were wrong though too. It wasn’t any easier. But once we’re done, I’ll make sure you meet them.”
takes out a small flask, and pours a healthy measure of liquor onto the ground before the memorial. “You are remembered, as long as stone stands, Friend-Aidas. Longer even, for as long as I continue, I carry you with me. You who stood alone in the path of a full pack of Scalebeasts. Fearless rope-slinger turned Oliphaunt-rider (It’s a miracle you made it as long as you did, given you could not actually fly.) First-Friend of Endjinn, Keeper of the Old Ways. In stone, you survive. In ashes, you walk with me, Aidas-Who-Would-Have-Wings.”
sits in front of the memorial for a while. Remembering. If they could cry, they would. But they would also smile, if they could. 🙧
ꙮ You stay there, like that, for a while. Eventually, from behind you, you hear- rather deliberately, you think, so as to warn you of their approach, the tip of a cane tapping against stone. Even now, even with so much of their weight on the cane with every step they take, Scira could still be more stealthy than that, if they wanted to be. They played a Claw strategy, when they were a hunter, when they hunted alongside you, after all, and it’s never quite left them, even if they’ve left their hunting days several decades in the past, at this point.
: “Hello, Friend-Scira. I am glad to see you. Has the year been kind to you?”
grins rakishly at Luĉja. Their hair is still dyed shockingly bright, Sundered-Wolf blue; their good eye is still grey and sharp. “Now that you’ve returned to the clan-hall on schedule I can say that it has, my friend. I did not -try- to overhear you, in fact, I rather tried not to. But it sounds like you’ve certainly seen some sights.” They slowly amble over, lean against a stunted tree in the yard, their eye fixed on the monument, and on another one, nearby; they bow their head, and are themselves silent for a time.
: “Indeed, I have.” They rise, and place a hand, gently, on Scira’s shoulder. “It turns out, that there’s more to life than wandering the Beast. Now I must save it.” Gears, filling a slightly too-long pause. “I am sorry for leaving. I could not bear to stay here any longer. I needed answers that I could not find in the past.”
shakes their head, rather dramatically, although they lean slightly into the hand on their shoulder. “Ach, don’t you apologise, old friend. You went where you needed to go. Heard from Orit that you’d vanished into thin air. Told her you’d be back, and look at me, right as ever.” Another wry smile.
: “How much does she owe you?” Luĉja laughs. “It would take more than an interplanar abduction to keep me from here. Though, I find the irony palpable. The very first year I would be comfortable staying longer, I am unable to. One of my companions is off to hunt glass-sharks, and I’m sure that will hardly be the end of our business with the Queen.”
snorts softly, incredulously. “So old Lauritz found someone to sucker into carrying on his legacy, and it’s -you- doing his dirty work?” The grin widens. “Good hunting, my friend. The fiends seem strange this season. I’d tell you to stay safe, but we all know I wouldn’t really mean it. So. Good hunting it is.”
: “The fiends have been strange since before you’ve been born, but yes. Their strangeness seems to have greatly accelerated. I’m not doing any work for Lauritz.” Luĉja folds their arms. “One of my companions was bold enough to enter the competition before he ever even met Lauritz. Though I will not complain in his choice of mentor. The man is skilled.” Steam. “I would tell you stories you wouldn’t believe of my travels ere I depart, but I think I have something even you won’t have seen coming, Scira.” The grin is audible, despite the unmoving metal. “Despite our one companions love of cuisine, my new companions enjoy my cooking.“
raises one eyebrow, and then the other, at the elaboration, and the grin goes positively wicked, and then they grin and laugh! “What, first you say there are unimaginable, faraway lands, and then you expect me to believe that the people there share a taste for fancy minerals and burnt toast?”
: “Oh no. But the look on their faces when I ate my first rock in front of them was to die for! Come, let’s go inside. I’ve got some ingredients from strange new worlds, and I don’t intend on burning any of them. It’ll be quite the story, even if you leave out the parts where I went to two and a half different worlds.”
outright cackles at that, leaning against the tree, shaking their head. “Ohhh, you never change, do you, Luĉja? Anyways, your companions have good taste, and I’m glad of it-” -they push themselves off the tree, and settle their weight on their cane carefully. “Looking forward to hearing every word of it. Erek and his posse ought to be back from hunt soon, too, they’ll be happy to see your face, although, woe is me, you might have to repeat some of the stories you already told…”
takes up a place in the kitchen and gets to work, both on cooking up a traditional noodle dish with vegetables and beef (and of course, some of their stash of Samudran chili) and on telling the last almost two months of story, in broad strokes, to Scira and the rest of their clan and family. They go into magnificent detail of arriving in each place, trying to paint a worthy picture, but naturally, the scenes that stick out most are the battles. Burning the nectar-beasts in the Tangle, the island rising from the sea filled with fire spirits, and the wicked Ahriman they faced not a few days ago, culminating in their (expected) loss to the Scorpion Queen, but not before Wolf beat her bloody. The stir-fry is remarkably unburnt for anyone used to Luĉja’s former fare, but pleasantly spicy, sending a few people running for extra water.
ꙮ And so they feast, and tell stories - the Clan’s got stories of its own for Luĉja, filling them in on everything they’ve missed, both in the last month and in the time since they last stopped by– it’s warm, and loud, and joyous, and there’s been enough stirfry perpetrated for everyone, and it is, in fact, delicious.