Love's Labor

[Volutional 935]

A somewhat perfectly written note; clearly retried time and time again; is making it's way to Natayshi, the Sage. Whether she gets it, the note-carrier doesn't know.

 

 

Tayn Orm'Hydyocre,

Xiunyg ryc tecbmyoat rec cehlana ybumukeac du Dmydmyhhe Sundryfm, naknaddehk dra meva Xiunyg ryc mat. Pid ibuh rec meva myoc dra cramm uv yh akk dryd Xiunyg fuimt ryja lymmat ruba. Sadwdme syo lymm ed muja. Xiunyg ryt lrucah Hydyocre yc rec meva byndhan pid luimt hajan pnehk cilr haf du Hydyocre. Rec puhtc fana syta ibuh paehk dumt dryd Hydyocre fyc cfunh du yhudran. Xiunyg rubac dryd dra uha kuut drehk ra tet eh drec funmt fyc cbyna Hydyocre dra byeh uv lruela un dra linca uv dra bycd. Xiunyg rubac dryd rec uha kuut taat fyc hudelat po dra Cyka.

Xiunyg tet hud sayh du pak un knujam vun ouin ryht eh meva, yht femm hud tu cu eh taydr. Sadwdme femm hud vunkeja Xiunyg'c cehc. Xiunyg ec kmyt ra tet hud tecknyla Hydyocre'c aqecdahla po yddasbdehk cilr yldc uv yvvaldeuh.

Xiunyg fyc vylat fedr taleceuhc dryd ra luimt hud yjuet. Ra ec tecybbuehdat eh rescamv vun hud ryjehk dra cdnahkdr Sadwdme ryt kejah res eh druca tyoc. Fayghacc, lufyntela. Drao fana ymm rec. Hud Sundryfm, pid Xiunyg. Hydyocre cyjat Xiunyg vnus yh ihvniedvim meva.

Fedr vecrehk mehac un fedr vena, Xiunyg tet hud seht ruf Hydyocre muugat, ra uhmo muugat yd Hydyocre. Dra dnia Hydyocre. Ra lysa du ghuf fryd ra ghaf yht ihtancdyht fru ra druikrd fyc Hydyocre. Xiunyg tet hud ehdaht uh cmyikrdanehk rec maytan. Ed fyc hajan rec kuym. Ra yddylgat palyica ra fyc hud fundro uv Sadwdme, yht luhviceuh buecuhat rec seht palyica uv drec. Xiunyg fuimt mega du aqbnacc rec taabacd uv ybumukeac yc ra vehymmo ujanlusac du Sundryfm, du Sadwdme... Du Hydyocre.

Mad ymm Grynyzon ghuf rec cehc. Yht mad ymm Grynyzon drneja eh dra ghufmatka uv so ajem. Mad dras ghuf dryd ed fyc Xiunyg fru pnuikrd teckicd yht tecrayndah du uin culeado, du uin baubma. Pid mad Hydyocre ghuf uv Xiunyg'c ehdahdeuhc, Xiunyg'c muja. Yht Xiunyg'c lruela. Vun Xiunyg luimt hud pa rybbo fedruid ghufehk dra dnidr. Ev ra't ajan ryja cilr y lryhla fedr cilr y sykhevelahd Grynyzon.

Fedr hu pmuut, fedr vena, fedr zicdela yht hu jahkayhla. Xiunyg crymm fryd ra ryt cufh, yht tea ghufehk rec teckicd.

 

Dear Yhl'Natayshi,

 

Quorak has displayed his sincere apologies to Tlatlanni Morthawl, regretting the life Quorak has led. But upon his life lays the shell of an egg that Quorak would have called hope. Metztli may call it love. Quorak had chosen Natayshi as his life partner but could never bring such new to Natayshi. His bonds were made upon being told that Natayshi was sworn to another. Quorak hopes that the one good thing he did in this world was spare Natayshi the pain of choice or the curse of the past. Quorak hopes that his one good deed was noticed by the Sage.

 

Quorak did not mean to beg or grovel for your hand in life, and will not do so in death. Metztli will not forgive Quorak's sins. Quorak is glad he did not disgrace Natayshi's existence by attempting such acts of affection.

 

Quorak was faced with decisions that he could not avoid. He is disappointed in himself for not having the strength Metztli had given him in those days. Weakness, cowardice. They were all his. Not Morthawl, but Quorak. Natayshi saved Quorak from an unfruitful life.

 

With fishing lines or with fire, Quorak did not mind how Natayshi looked, he only looked at Natayshi. The true Natayshi. He came to know what he knew and understand who he thought was Natayshi. Quorak did not intend on slaughtering his leader. It was never his goal. He attacked because he was not worthy of Metztli, and confusion poisoned his mind because of this. Quorak would like to express his deepest of apologies as he finally overcomes to Morthawl, to Metztli... To Natayshi.

 

Let all Kharajyr know his sins. And let all Kharajyr thrive in the knowledge of my evil. Let them know that it was Quorak who brought disgust and dishearten to our society, to our people. But let Natayshi know of Quorak's intentions, Quorak's love. And Quorak's choice. For Quorak could not be happy without knowing the truth. If he'd ever have such a chance with such a magnificent Kharajyr.

 

With no blood, with fire, with justice and no vengeance. Quorak shall reap what he had sown, and die knowing his disgust.

[ĔṀĔŔĨĨČĶ 519]

Zarek scratches his furry chin with his paw, thinking over the news he had just heard. He has been told Quorak was exiled, banished, or something of that sort from the Kharajyr. He nods in approval before looking around, and slowly walking off to do some Ape'Kha things.

[Wretched 2075]

Natayshi shuffles through the various parchments atop the stubby little wooden excuse for a table, yawning tiredly as the muffled cracks of thunder beat through the thick curtain of rain pouring down the slope of her mountain hovel. A prolonged sigh escapes her lips as she moves a soggy sheet of parchment to the bottom of the pile, her head peering up longingly to the door, impatient for the relentless torrent of rain to cease when her gaze is drawn to the next item that has found its way to the top of her pile. How odd. She hadn't seen this before, nor had she seen anybody deliver it.

 

The old sage held it out before her at arms length, her eyelids squinting in her gradual attempt to make out the words, unsure of how long this note had been awaiting her. A brow begins to roll up her forehead as she gathers the identity of the writer, Quorak, the Kha' that had only recently been the cause of a dagger plunging into her hip. Her whiskers twitch once in slight irritation as the memory rolls across her mind, a spiteful sentence inaudibly playing over her lips, but the remainder of the letter continues to draw her attention, and gradually these thoughts of anger dull into mere, bland thoughts.

 

Natayshi quickly tucks the note beneath the pile, her thin claws drumming against the creaking surface of the table in slight rhythm, her eyes snapping back and forth along the wall as she drifts into a state of pondering, unsure of how to interpret the situation. Natayshi only finds herself back in her hovel as the hammering of the rain dies down to a soft pat against her door. She promptly hobbles her way over to it, scooping her familiar staff from against the wall to hold her weight, reaching her free paw for the door's handle. She halts in her advance only to tilt her head back round to the desk, eyeing the small corner of the note she can see beneath the pile of documents before blowing softly against the flame of the lantern to plunge the hovel into darkness. With a deep exhale, she leaves, gently clicking the door shut behind her.

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.