• Graded • A Palliative Start

[Yeva]

12 Vhalar 719

Yeva sat cross legged on the disheveled mattress with an embroidery hoop nestled in her lap. She was pulling apart a floss of yellow thread and softly singing a song from the taverns of Rharne,

"When your head is hurtin' and your mouth is dryyyy,
Have a drink, dear boy
Have a drink, dear boy...

And when ya lady's lonely
and the babe begins to cryyyy
Have a drink, dear boy
Have a drink, dear boy..."

The arcs are getting longer, and the end is on the nighhh,
Have a drink, dear boy,
Have a drink."

As her craft demanded more of her attention, Yeva's singing softened to a hum that resonated off the cavern walls, mingling with the steady hush of thread pulled through grey linen. More than once she had to stop and pull out her stitch, struggling with the french knots. Pulling the thread up through the back of the cloth, she tucked the sliver of sharpened against the working thread, "Wrap the thread around twice..." Yeva carefully twisted, "And pull back down the fabric next to the working thread." Keeping a bit of tension on the thread, she held it as she pulled until it was nearly gone and then released, grinning when a little knot dotted the fabric. She liked the bit of texture and already began practicing a few more, the stitches not meant for any particular image, just practice. These would make good detailing for eyes or maybe polka dots. Maybe even the stamen for flowers - inspiring the redhead with ideas for adding texture to her needlework.

After a few more attempts to solidify the knowledge, she tried to make a bigger one, wrapping the thread around the needle three times before passing the needle back through. Little yellow freckles dotted her handiwork and she thought she could change the color, fancying the idea of turning her practice into a field of flowers, "Yeva!"

Azrael's sudden shout and landing at their cave entrance sent her jumping to her feet, heart pounding as he tore through the room like a whirlwind. He closed the space between them quickly and tore the craft from her hands, shoving it into a trunk.

"What's wrong?!"

"Get up!" he ordered, throwing the comforter to the ground and snatching her upper arm with such force she cried out as he dragged her from the bed and began yanking her towards the back room, "Go hide!" His silver eyes flashed towards the door and he ignored her, shoving her behind the curtain and stopping only to glare at her throat, "Where's your collar?"

She hesitated and he barked again, "YEVA. WHERE IS IT?"

He was unrecognizable and his fury stole her voice. She pointed to the chest at the bed, "In there."

The Avriel cursed, shoving her back behind the curtain where she stumbled, "You only speak Dehasin to me, you understand?" Was that fear in his voice? Something was wrong but she said nothing, he wasn't acting himself.

"Az, what's-"

"Dehasin!" he snapped, yanking the separator back and shoving the leather collar into her hand, "You have to listen to me. My..." he glanced over his shoulder, talons clicking rapidly together, "My sister's coming."

Yeva blinked, "Seket?"

He shot her a look, shoving away any sign of her existence away and she shrunk back. This was serious. Perhaps a huge moment of her disguise; she needed to make sure Seket believed she was truly Azrael's slave. With difficulty Yeva tried to recall any words in Dehasin she could, stomach dropping when the sound of landing sounded at the door. She was here.

[Yeva]

12 Vhalar 719

For a long time, Azrael and Seket spoke in hushed tones, Yeva's panic brewing and she waited, frozen until her legs tired from standing. Just as she began to get ready to sit, the curtain to the front room was torn back and Azrael's face scowled at her in disgust. Cast in shadows, his features looked sharper than usual and his silver glare was haunting, "A-" she began to speak but remembered his reprimand, struggling to take on the role he had ordered her too. What was the word?

"M-master?"

It was as if someone else possessed him, "Time to earn your worth, you useless slag."

"Since when did you get a slave?" Seket's voice was silken fire, "Hm. I see. So this is the woman you've been visiting... So much time wasted for a single piece of property."

Azreal tore her from the dark room, snapping, "No," he scowled at his sister, "This is coincidence."

Amusement played on her words, "Liar." Black wings stretched out as a woman with a great plume of feathered hair slid forward. She had a delicate chin, a thin build and was slighter than her brother. Azrael had always been tall for an Avriel and she regarded the human woman. Yeva kept her gaze downward, too nervous to speak. The conversation between her friend and his sibling was in Lorein, too fast to fully understand, "I could have given you one of mine, but you never come to visit. But this one..."

But then, Seket addressed her, "Hello, Obsession."

Yeva didn't know the title she was given, but looked up to meet Seket's eye and was met with a sharp boxing to the side of her skull. Yeva stumbled and yelped, and had it not been for Azrael's vice grip, she would have gone tumbling to the ground.

"How dare you look at me, you red worm!"

"Don't touch her!" Azrael shouted, tearing the girl behind him. Tears were springing to her eyes, she couldn't see his fury clearly, but she heard it. So raw, Seket stepped back, her indignation gone. She was grinning. She knew.

Azrael struggled to maintain control, eventually dropping Yeva to try to justify his emotions, "She's mine to scold, not yours!"

"Easy, brother," the female Avriel tilted hr chin with arrogance, "I was only teaching her a lesson. If she's to come with us, she needs a firmer hand. Unless there's a reason you're being soft?" she stepped forward and Azrael said nothing. A tense silence passed between the siblings, "That's what I thought."

This seemed to cause him pause and his jaw tensed. Meanwhile, Yeva cried unwillingly on the floor, clutching her face in fury and confusion. When Azrael helped her up, his hand was softer but he did not apologize for Seket's behavior. He wouldn't. Avriel would not apologize to slaves.

"Get the medical bag," he gripped her shoulder, not daring to touch her face while his sister watched, "Now."

***

Yeva feared Seket.

Even as they were flying, an experience Yeva would have relished in prior, she kept her head tucked downward as Azrael carried her, the warm winds whipping around hem of her dress and the trio soared upwards, weaving between the great pillars of stone to come to a cave with its canvas covering drawn tight.

Seket landed, and then Azrael, who set her down and muttered an order to straighten her skirt. Yeva did as she was told and risked looking upwards, just as a man's voice, hoarse and impatient shouted. The sour smell of urine permeated the tight space, "What is the meaning of this?"

He was laying in a bed, thin as a reed, with head feathers matted against his forehead. She guessed he must have been an elder, although from the sunken cheekbones and hooked nose, any former Avriel beauty had molted away to leave a vulture-esque figure, "I told you to leave me be!" he boomed at Seket, reaching over to grab a clay cup and throw it in their direction. It shattered, droplets of liquid spraying at their feet, "And yet you bring him!"

"Uncle- stop this," Azrael stepped in front of Yeva, lifting a hand. This was his family? "I have a slave now, a woman-"

"Oh, I can see that," the man leaned over, scowling at the bundle of red hair, "You! Come here!"

Azrael reached out to stop her, glaring at the stubborn old bird, "You are sick. She is not yours to torment," he pointed to the ground where the cup had been shattered and she understood. She began to gather the pieces, straining to translate the words as they talked, "Yeva is going to make you medicine, and you will take it."

"How dare you order me-" the old Avriel threw the blanket back and went to rise with fire in his eyes, but gripped his chest, hissing in pain and struggled to gain his breath while Seket ran forward to stabilize him. He shoved her hands away, furious.

He is ashamed, Yeva realized. Ashamed to be weakened, to be seen in such a state. He doesn't want to ask for help...

The pieces were gathered in her hand and set aside on the table, Yeva using her skirt to wipe away the water. Tucking her feet beneath her, she began to unpack her mortar and pestle, selecting the herbs she would need. Pain management. Something to ease his mind. Yeva began to unbind her herbs and pluck away their leaves and stems, cutting roots and dropping it into the bowl. She began to grind them, while the Avriel argued, their voices rising and dropping in pitch, it was easy to hear their resemblance to birds.

A small vial of clear distilled alcohol was poured into the mush and she stirred the tincture, adding an agent to increase its potency to remove the time needed to brew, "May I bathe him, Master?"

All three Avriel silenced to stare at her incredulously, "He risks Aloplumia," she said softly, "His feathers are fraying. Allow me to wash him and line his wings with dust."

[Yeva]

12 Vhalar 719

This began another round of arguments, but it was Seket who silenced the elder.

"Should you die from this ailment, will you have wings of glory, or be reduced to tatters?"

Azrael reached for Yeva, nodding, "Stay here."

He moved through the cave, collecting a basin of water and a sponge, a philter of oil and fine dust. Lastly, a change of clean clothes. Wash away the grime, change him, oil and powder. Yeva had watched Azrael do the latter two steps and had grown familiar with its practice. That did not mean the act of bathing the bird was easy. He fought tooth and talon, both Seket and Azrael having to wrestle away his clothes and hold him down until a spasm of pain weakened him into a gasping state. He growled at Yeva, wishing for nothing more than to pluck out her eyes, threatening her in gruesome and detailed manners.

She was scared, but kept a straight face, dunking the sponge to wash away the smell of sickness. Each stroke was methodical, first his skin and then his wings. With these she paid special attention, careful not to break the delicate membranes of each feather. She dunked the sponge and squeeze away the grime, more curses slung her way.

Whore. Fire-fuck. Worm. Cunt. Bitch. Maggot. Fod-sack. Foul-born. Skich.

Some where in Lorien, others in Common. She would not take it personally. As much as she appreciated the older community, some could be extremely irate, and she had seen it in her Order apprenticeship in Rharne.

Azrael stopped her before she could clean his nethers, begrudgingly doing the job in her stead. Yeva, thankful to be alleviated of such an affair, looked away respectfully. While she was no opposed to doing her job, she had not touched a man's anatomy in any context. Seket watched them both closely, and snapped orders when it was time to apply the oil, both for scent and wing protection.

While laced with arrogance and disdain, she gave important pointers on how to finish the bathing properly, and how to spread the dust. It wrinkled her nose and she sneezed, the action getting an 'almost backhand' from Azrael. She wished they could go back soon.

"The medicine should be ready now," she finished, wiping her hands off and going to pour the drink and collect her things. There seemed to be a visible relief in all of them, Azrael's uncle slumping back against his pillows. There was hatred in his yes when he watched her.

Yeva knew Azrael's family would not have approved of her, but the aggression had been unexpected. It... hurt. Trials ago she would have begged to be allowed to leave and experience Athart... But she had somehow forgotten how someone like her was received. She wanted to go back home, already missing the cave.

The whole experience had been scary and miserable, but... for the ill and dying?

She would endure.

[Doran]

Yeva:

Knowledge:
Skill Knowledge
Needlecraft
Separating Embroidery Floss
How to Make a French Knot

Singing
Rharnian Drinking Song: Have a Drink, Dear Boy

Endurance:
Recovering From an Undeserved Backhand

Caregiving
How to Give a Sponge Bath
How to Wash the Wings of an Avriel

Non-Skill Knowledge
Lorien: Athartian Slurs
Dehasin: How to Ask Permission

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: 5, for providing pallative care.
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10

- - -

Comments: I like the song that Yeva sang at the beginning of the thread. Did you write it yourself? If you did, I’m impressed!

I’m not sure if I ever read a Yeva thread that takes place in Athart.

The scene where Azrael rushed into the cave and shoved her crafts into a trunk was quite exciting in my opinion. His panic was almost tangible.

I read a few newer Yeva and Azrael threads. Their relationship seems a bit different here - which is understandable, considering where they are.

I have to say, they played the role of master and slave well, and Seket was an interesting (and very arrogant!) character. I couldn’t help but wonder why she decided to visit her brother when she suddenly showed up.

I understand why Yeva feared her.

Some things are obviously different in this thread, but Yeva is just as caring a medic as she is in her newer threads. Her treatment of Seket’s and Azrael’s uncle was very respectful. I appreciate that she didn't take the insults personally, but remained professional.

I loved how you ended the thread, with stating that Yeva would endure for the ill and the dying. That was a great way to end it in my opinion.

Enjoy your rewards!

P.S.: I might have added “Acting” or maybe “Deception” to the list of skills used as Yeva was pretending to be Azrael’s slave.