Ro's incredulity is deserved. While Vesrah's location can't be unknown to those who sail the waters around it, from what Orym understands it's out of the way enough that most people don't really go there. Much like Zephrah. People know about it, but it's on top of the Summit Peaks. Not exactly an easy hike.
So he gives a gentle shrug, acknowledging that he's a little out of his depth here. "Vesrah. This ship will get me close, and I have a contact there."
He has no way to reach out to them without them reaching out first, but they've been contacting him periodically since Keyleth made introductions for him. Hopefully that's enough.
"You planning to swim from there?" he asks, eyes bright. It's difficult not to try to get the measure of a man - especially one his size - who might actually be willing to do just that. Or who's willing to hop on a ship toward Vesrah without a plan to get the rest of the way there.
"Here, come with me. I have some sails to mend, apparently."
Hardly the worst job, and it isn't so bad to do it on deck while the sun is out. Easier than doing so by firelight at night. At least on deck, he'll be on hand should something else need doing, and close to the masts to get into the rigging if the wind turns or a storm kicks up.
Though Orym has what he hopes is a more practical plan, he smiles at Ro's teasing. "Whatever gets me there," he replies lightly. Since he's expected, he hopes he'll be able to arrange some kind of pick up. But that all depends on timing.
Making a friend on board (another halfling, even) on the first day out of port is a good start, though. Some might consider it lucky. Hopefully an indicator of how the rest of the journey will go.
"Sure," he agrees easily, happy to keep Ro company while he gets started on his work, and happy to learn if he'll teach him. Orym is good with his hands; mending sails should be right up his alley. He's real curious about Ro, too, just as it seems like Ro might be curious about him. He finds he doesn't mind that. He's got nothing to hide and everything to learn.
Ro exchanges passing greetings with some of the crew as they pass on their way to the pile of sails tucked out of the way. He wrinkles his nose as he takes a large pouch off his belt. Then he flops down and gestures for Orym to find a place for himself. It won't exactly be hard for the pair of them to keep out of the way.
He pulls on a odd leather glove: it covers just his thumb and the thickest part protects the lower half of his palm. The rest of the tools he sets out between them, making sure Orym can get a look at them since he seems so keen.
Ro puts his back to the wooden wall behind him and examines the rip in the sail - it's long, but not badly jagged. He peers at Orym.
Orym is keen, and he looks curiously over the tools as Ro lays them out, having unstrapped his shield from his back and tucked himself against the wall as well, close enough to Ro that he can see what he's doing.
The tear in the sail looks big to him, but he has no idea where it rates between simple and difficult to fix. But when Ro asks about his experience working with similar materials, he nods. "Yeah. Just the basics, though. Mostly small repairs and upkeep on my armor and clothes."
He lifts a hand to his leather breastplate. Though its design of textured leaves makes it beautiful, it's clearly not a decorative piece. The years of constant wear and the care he's taken to keep it in good condition are clear to anyone who knows what to look for.
"Shouldn't be hard to catch on if you want. Best as we can do now is sew it up - this won't need a full patch."
Ro looks at the armor, having noticed it when he first set passing eyes on Orym. It's a beautiful piece, well-crafted and clearly well-worn. He flashes a little smile.
"Promise I'm not going to stab you with this if it'd be comfortable to have it off," he says as he wiggles an awl that would most certainly be wicked should he use it as a weapon. "I'll put holes in it if you'll follow with a stitch. Should look like this."
His fingers brush a part of the armor near the shoulder that's clearly been mended - he can see the leatherwork that's done it.
"That's a lot of trust to put in the strange halfling who just rowed up out of nowhere," Orym teases, and notes how comfortable he feels doing that already. It's...nice, actually. Some proof that he can still relax around other people, when lately he's felt almost incapable of being anything but polite and distant. "Honestly, I wear it so much I hardly notice it."
He follows Ro's hand as it lifts between them to his armor, brushing a small repair he'd done after a horned wyvern's claw just grazed his shoulder several years ago. He and a team of other Blades had tracked down and slain the dangerous creature that had moved into the western peak and started snatching livestock, and he was lucky it was a near miss--that thing could've carried him off as easily as it had been snatching up sheep. But he'd insisted on joining the hunting party.
The touch is oddly intimate. Orym can't remember the last time someone who wasn't him laid a hand on his armor. But he pushes past the strangeness of the moment; it's just him. He's been traveling on his own for nearly two years now, but sometimes he's really made to notice just how isolated he's let himself become.
"I can do that," he says with confidence, looking to Ro again. "Can't promise I'll be fast, though."
"You're already stuck on a ship with me," Ro quips back, pointing with the awl. But then he smiles and looks down to start his work. "No need to be fast. There's the needle you'll need there and the twine."
The twine is some tough fibers that've been covered in stiff wax. It'll make for some hard work, but it has to withstand the wind and water. Ro keeps the holes he makes even by sight alone; he uses the leather on his hand to push the awl or to catch it as it comes through to ensure the only holes in the sail are the ones he means to put there.
"What's sending you out to Vesrah?" he asks after he gets a bit ahead. Ro is straightening the pieces of the sail as he goes so that Orym will have an easier time following with the twine. "That doesn't seem like a casual destination, especially if you're hopping a ship like this to get there."
As Orym noted earlier: he's cargo as much as a passenger, and there's only one other person who's paid to be here. The rest are all crew.
Once they get started and Orym begins to get accustomed to stitching up something much larger than he's used to, it isn't difficult work. His hands are tough and strong and quick, and as he tends to with most repetitive physical work, he falls into a rhythm that's almost meditative. He follows a bit behind Ro, diligently weaving the needle threaded with rough twine through the path he creates, drawing the split pieces of the sail together. He doesn't glance up when the other man asks about his destination.
"Work, sort of." Trying to find somewhere, anywhere to be useful that isn't home. "I'm Ashari. Not from Vesrah, though. My leader arranged for me to be sent there to help out."
Which isn't unusual, but it isn't exactly common either, especially if you're not a druid on your Aramente. He's only ever met a few Ashari from the other villages visiting Zephrah, and even fewer stayed for very long.
"How about you?" he asks in return. "Why sail out here on your own rather than sign on in Emon?"
"Honestly, I wasn't coming from Emon," he admits. "I've been sailing down the coast a couple of days, thinking I'd catch a larger ship when I reached the city. It's sheer luck that the Intrepid sailed out today and was willing to pick me up."
It doesn't hurt that he's served on the crew before and has a decent relationship with both the captain and sail master.
Ro doesn't doubt for a moment Orym is serving the Voice of the Tempest on some errand, though he's surprised to hear it. It didn't take him long to learn that though the Ashari are all bent toward the same purpose, the tribes aren't all that close in contact unless something dire is happening. Perhaps things would be better if they were, but that's not for him to say.
"And it's your luck they picked me up, too," he adds casually. "I'll disembark as we pass near Vesrah and I can take you the rest of the way in."
Orym looks up from his work with an owlish blink, which becomes a look of pleasant surprise. Turns out he was right about luck. Halflings.
"That is lucky," he says. "I'd really appreciate a ride in."
Still, there is something undeniably odd about that offer. It's hard to sail casually into Vesrah's harbor. Vesrah is remote, and from what he understands, people may know it exists, but not usually where to find it. If you're going there, it's because you have business with the Water Ashari, and they let you be there.
"Is that a stop you typically make?" is what he decides to ask, green eyes bright and curious and, because it's just his instinct, a tad suspicious.
"With a frequency," he answers, and that's honest. Ro meets Orym's gaze and flashes a playful smile. "I travel these waters a lot."
Maybe it's so easy to be evasive because it's hard to think of Vesrah as home, even if it should be. Even if it properly is. And he knows the other Ashari there think him odd for his willingness to set out across the sea with barely any reason for his comings and goings.
He wonders if he's right to think of himself as Ashari at all sometimes.
"It's not easy to get to, but once you've been you never forget where it is."
Interesting. If Ro is there often, he must be welcome among the Water Ashari. He might even be one himself, which would be an amusing coincidence. But why not say as much? Does he want to make Orym guess?
"Zephrah's the same way," he says, finally offering which tribe he originates from, though he thinks it'd probably be obvious to another Ashari. "If you don't know the trails it can be a treacherous climb, but they're well marked once you learn what to look for."
His eyes linger on Ro for a beat longer before he returns to lacing the oversized needle through the thick sailcloth. But as always, he's still paying attention.
"I always thought Zephrah and Vesrah should be on friendlier terms," he says absently. "Not that they aren't. But wind and water, y'know?"
He spares one hand to gesture at the ship they're on. It wouldn't be making much progress without the wind in its sails, and it is by far the easiest and fastest way across the water short of being a swimmer of impressive endurance and considerable fortitude.
Ro keeps tension in the sail as Orym stitches it to ensure there aren't any wrinkles as they go.
"I heard there's skysails in Zephrah. I've wanted to try my hand at one for as long as I've known they existed."
Orym follows that gesture to the wind in the sails above them and the water stretching out in front of them, further than the horizon. He might not have spent much time on ships, but the relationship is obvious. To a sailor, the wind and the waves are inseparable.
"Maybe I can help with that," he says with a wry curl of his lips, mostly joking. He doesn't expect his presence to have much of an impact, but it'd be nice if he could foster some good will. Though he's indirect about it, Ro has all but confirmed he's Water Ashari. He can start here, then.
As he gets used to the motions and his confidence with the task grows, his needle slides through the sail more quickly, and he glances up at the other halfling more often. He can't deny his own curiosity, and there's plenty about him to find curious.
"They're how we get around," he says, somehow unsurprised that Ro would be a thrill-seeker. His apparently regular solo sailing on that little craft of his is a strong indicator. "The village is spread out over the Summit Peaks. There are bridges, so you can walk, but..." His head tilts in an approximation of a shrug, smile tugging a little wider. "Skysails are a lot faster. And a lot more fun, if you have the skill and the stomach for it. I probably don't have to say how dangerous it is if you don't." Orym glances down as he pulls a stitch tight, bracing the other hand against the sail, then back up again. "If you're not afraid of heights, you'd be good at it. You already know how to read the wind."
As Orym gets more comfortable with his task, he's able to look at Ro more; Ro, for his part, pays equal attention. He knows how the sail should feel, and he only has to look now and then to ensure the tension is where he wants it, or that the pieces are still overlapped just so.
He smiles as Orym describes the skysails.
"Why walk when you can fly?" he says with a grin, finishing the thought that Orym ends with a shrug. They might be dangerous, but Ro imagines they could be in the same way a sailboard is, though the fall is farther and the landing harder if a skysailor gets it wrong.
"Depending on the weather, I'll send a good third of my time in the rigging," he admits. "There's less of me to catch the wind."
He might not be quite as fast as climber as someone with longer limbs, but he's also a smaller target and can hide against the masts and arms better to avoid getting swept off.
"Did the Tempest say what you're meant to be helping with?"
Orym looks up again, eyeing the rigging above them. He could probably make himself useful doing something like that, too, if Ro is willing to teach him. Heights definitely aren't a problem for him either, and like every Tempest Blade, he has exceptionally good balance. His small smile lingers as he looks back to Ro, still very curious. But they have a whole voyage ahead of them for Orym to suss him out. It's been a little while since he stayed somewhere long enough to make a friend.
"Hard to give a lot of details in 25 words," he shrugs. "She said someone will fill me in when I arrive."
The Tempest knows his skillset, and Orym is a fast learner who works hard. He isn't concerned about what task he might be assigned in Vesrah, but about being out of place there. According to the Tempest, Vesrah was largely isolated even from the other Ashari tribes until fairly recently.
"What's it like there for outsiders?" he asks, glad for the opportunity to learn more before he actually arrives. Meeting Ro now really is a lucky break. "I'd guess that there probably aren't a lot."
"I'd say someone found you before you arrived," he says with a little grin. The bright look fades when Orym asks about outsiders. Ro shifts, moving higher up the sail to leave more room for Orym to catch up. He keeps the fabric taut.
"Not unkind," he answers. "And it depends on the outsider. The waveriders pick up people lost at sea, especially after storms or after a wreck. Some choose to stay, but it's a matter of proving themselves if they do. I don't know how long it takes any of those who stay to feel like they really belong. I never got the hang of it."
He glances up with another smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I hear things are better than they were when the Tempest was doing her aramente." Which was before his time there, so he doesn't really have anything to compare it to.
Ro's shift in mood is palpable. Orym doesn't stop his work, but he does pay close attention, serious and sympathetic. He regrets having unwittingly brought up a sore subject. His new friend has such a bright smile, and it's a shame to see it dim.
It does answer some questions, though. Ro wasn't born in Vesrah, yet it seems like he lives there now when not at sea. He doesn't feel like he belongs. Orym can relate to at least part of that, though he can't even begin to guess at Ro's circumstances.
"That's something," he sighs. "I've heard it was pretty closed off back then."
He does pause then, setting the needle down and sitting back on his heels to look at the other halfling, returning Ro's thin smile with an apologetic grimace.
"Sorry if that was the wrong thing to ask." Extending a hand between them, Orym concentrates, drawing on what little nature magic Nel and Maeve had been able to teach him. A small cluster of pale blue and red pulmonarias grow from nothing between his fingers, and he offers them to Ro. Giving him soldiers and sailors seems appropriate for this meeting. "You sure seem like you belong out here, though." With a nod, he indicates the sea itself.
"How would you have known?" he says with a small, forgiving shrug. Orym might have hit a bruise, but he didn't aim for it. He couldn't have even known it was there until he hit it.
He blinks when suddenly there's little flowers growing from Orym's fingers. It takes him a few seconds too long to realize they're being offered for him - were made for him - and that earns a faint blush and a shy, warm smile. Ro lets go of the sail so he can take the flowers. He looks at them, not sure he's ever seen them before. Then, without hesitation, he slides them into his hair, making sure to tuck the stems beneath the leather tying it back. The blue, red, and green are bright against his dark hair. Ro meets Orym's gaze again, then gets back to the sail.
"The sea is possibilities," he says by way of an answer. "I've always wanted the horizon."
It might not have been his intent to cause any pain, but even doing so accidentally is worth an apology. Thankfully, the flowers have the intended effect; Ro smiles again, and Orym returns it, flushing lightly himself. Ro tucks them so readily into his dark hair, where the vibrant colors make a statement. He gives an approving when their eyes meet. The magic is hardly anything special, but Orym is glad it could cheer him up.
Ro takes up the sail again, and Orym follows his lead. This could become meditative if he let it. Another time, maybe.
"Not content to be in one place for long, huh?" Within an hour of meeting him, Orym feels like he's come to understand some fundamental things about Ro. Daring and wanderlust go well together, he supposes. "I expected to stay in Zephrah my whole life until a couple years ago. This seeing the world thing is still pretty new to me."
"Maybe if things had been different I could've been content in one place."
Ro wonders that sometimes. Would he have been happy fishing for the rest of his life if he hadn't known he had people out in the wide world? Would he have been content to stay in Vesrah if he'd been raised there? There's no way of knowing now, but sometimes the thoughts still creep in.
"Too pulled by the tides to have roots, I guess." And even when he starts in one direction, he knows the tide will change eventually, as sure as the winds and as sure as Catha.
He glances up at Orym, studying him for a moment as the other man continues his stitching. It sounds like Orym did have roots... and there's something in the way he speaks of Zephrah that makes Ro wonder if they got yanked up.
"And how are you finding it? The world." he asks with a grin.
Orym glances up and back down again, wondering what different looks like for Ro. Why he decided to let the tide pull him--if it was easier, or if he just had to.
Feeling a little guilty because he knows his answer won't match that grin, Orym briefly considers fibbing. But Ro had been willing to let him see some of his bruises around the topic, and it'd be a disservice to do less. Orym's expression softens with a rueful smile, and he looks at his stitching rather than Ro.
"Honestly? Lonely." It's not something he'd admit to most people. He wants to seem okay. He wants to be okay. "I mean, not always. I've seen amazing things and met some good people." Like you, the nod toward Ro himself says. He'll go with his instinct on that one. "I like helping out where I can. But I don't have a reason to belong anywhere. I miss my family, and it's not as simple as going home."
What he really misses is his life. The soft, constant breeze he'd always taken for granted became a violent whirlwind that day, and he's drifted aimlessly ever since. The future he expected to have died that day with Will and Derrig. There's no staying in Zephrah. They are woven into the fabric of the place. He would forever be listening for a second set of footfalls beside him on familiar paths, forever waiting for a sword-calloused hand to clap his shoulder approvingly in training, forever enduring pitying looks from faces who have known WillAndOrym as one inseparable entity since they were children, and have no idea what to do with the sundered half remaining.
There is no going home. The home he knew no longer exists.
"It's never as simple as going home. Not when you had a reason to leave in the first place." Ro understands that, even if he doesn't know what might have put Orym's feet to the road in the first place. "But I miss my family, too."
He reaches the end of the sail and holds the edges tight so that Orym can finish without the heavy canvas pulling. He thinks of the chances of meeting a man from Zephrah fresh out of Emon on a ship he's served before. The weight of the pendant beneath his shirt reminds him that chance and luck are what one makes of them.
Ro looks at Orym, waiting for the other man to lift his gaze so he can catch it.
"May you find friends on the sea, Orym of the Air Ashari, with good currents and fair winds." His smile brightens. He can't take away whatever pain has turned Orym away from his home, but he can try to make the next leg of his journey more bearable.
When Ro smiles at him this time, it's the first time in months that Orym doesn't feel alone. He's not the only one missing people, who doesn't know where he belongs. Who's searching for something unknown. For this leg of his journey, at least, he has a companion. And so does Ro. His smile is uneven, but grateful. "Might've found one already."
He learns a few other things from Ro that day. He doesn't have to work, but he likes to. If he's going to be in Vesrah for any length of time, he figures he should know a few things about sailing, anyway. And it's especially helpful to learn from someone his own size, because they often have to do things a little differently from bigger folk. It's nice not to have to figure out the workarounds himself, for once.
That night, he's just settled into his hammock--human-sized, so practically big enough to swallow him--when he spots Ro trying to find a place for his, the rest of his things in tow. He'd come aboard well after the rest of the crew (and their two passengers), so space is limited. Making a quick decision, Orym leans out and waves to catch his attention.
"We can share, if you want," he offers quietly when he comes nearer, keeping his voice low so they don't disturb anyone already sleeping. "There's enough room for at least two of me up here." His smile reaches his eyes, gently amused. The idea of not sleeping alone for once is also just...nice. He'll leave it at that.
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So he gives a gentle shrug, acknowledging that he's a little out of his depth here. "Vesrah. This ship will get me close, and I have a contact there."
He has no way to reach out to them without them reaching out first, but they've been contacting him periodically since Keyleth made introductions for him. Hopefully that's enough.
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"Here, come with me. I have some sails to mend, apparently."
Hardly the worst job, and it isn't so bad to do it on deck while the sun is out. Easier than doing so by firelight at night. At least on deck, he'll be on hand should something else need doing, and close to the masts to get into the rigging if the wind turns or a storm kicks up.
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Making a friend on board (another halfling, even) on the first day out of port is a good start, though. Some might consider it lucky. Hopefully an indicator of how the rest of the journey will go.
"Sure," he agrees easily, happy to keep Ro company while he gets started on his work, and happy to learn if he'll teach him. Orym is good with his hands; mending sails should be right up his alley. He's real curious about Ro, too, just as it seems like Ro might be curious about him. He finds he doesn't mind that. He's got nothing to hide and everything to learn.
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He pulls on a odd leather glove: it covers just his thumb and the thickest part protects the lower half of his palm. The rest of the tools he sets out between them, making sure Orym can get a look at them since he seems so keen.
Ro puts his back to the wooden wall behind him and examines the rip in the sail - it's long, but not badly jagged. He peers at Orym.
"Ever stitch anything or work leather?"
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The tear in the sail looks big to him, but he has no idea where it rates between simple and difficult to fix. But when Ro asks about his experience working with similar materials, he nods. "Yeah. Just the basics, though. Mostly small repairs and upkeep on my armor and clothes."
He lifts a hand to his leather breastplate. Though its design of textured leaves makes it beautiful, it's clearly not a decorative piece. The years of constant wear and the care he's taken to keep it in good condition are clear to anyone who knows what to look for.
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Ro looks at the armor, having noticed it when he first set passing eyes on Orym. It's a beautiful piece, well-crafted and clearly well-worn. He flashes a little smile.
"Promise I'm not going to stab you with this if it'd be comfortable to have it off," he says as he wiggles an awl that would most certainly be wicked should he use it as a weapon. "I'll put holes in it if you'll follow with a stitch. Should look like this."
His fingers brush a part of the armor near the shoulder that's clearly been mended - he can see the leatherwork that's done it.
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He follows Ro's hand as it lifts between them to his armor, brushing a small repair he'd done after a horned wyvern's claw just grazed his shoulder several years ago. He and a team of other Blades had tracked down and slain the dangerous creature that had moved into the western peak and started snatching livestock, and he was lucky it was a near miss--that thing could've carried him off as easily as it had been snatching up sheep. But he'd insisted on joining the hunting party.
The touch is oddly intimate. Orym can't remember the last time someone who wasn't him laid a hand on his armor. But he pushes past the strangeness of the moment; it's just him. He's been traveling on his own for nearly two years now, but sometimes he's really made to notice just how isolated he's let himself become.
"I can do that," he says with confidence, looking to Ro again. "Can't promise I'll be fast, though."
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The twine is some tough fibers that've been covered in stiff wax. It'll make for some hard work, but it has to withstand the wind and water. Ro keeps the holes he makes even by sight alone; he uses the leather on his hand to push the awl or to catch it as it comes through to ensure the only holes in the sail are the ones he means to put there.
"What's sending you out to Vesrah?" he asks after he gets a bit ahead. Ro is straightening the pieces of the sail as he goes so that Orym will have an easier time following with the twine. "That doesn't seem like a casual destination, especially if you're hopping a ship like this to get there."
As Orym noted earlier: he's cargo as much as a passenger, and there's only one other person who's paid to be here. The rest are all crew.
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"Work, sort of." Trying to find somewhere, anywhere to be useful that isn't home. "I'm Ashari. Not from Vesrah, though. My leader arranged for me to be sent there to help out."
Which isn't unusual, but it isn't exactly common either, especially if you're not a druid on your Aramente. He's only ever met a few Ashari from the other villages visiting Zephrah, and even fewer stayed for very long.
"How about you?" he asks in return. "Why sail out here on your own rather than sign on in Emon?"
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It doesn't hurt that he's served on the crew before and has a decent relationship with both the captain and sail master.
Ro doesn't doubt for a moment Orym is serving the Voice of the Tempest on some errand, though he's surprised to hear it. It didn't take him long to learn that though the Ashari are all bent toward the same purpose, the tribes aren't all that close in contact unless something dire is happening. Perhaps things would be better if they were, but that's not for him to say.
"And it's your luck they picked me up, too," he adds casually. "I'll disembark as we pass near Vesrah and I can take you the rest of the way in."
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"That is lucky," he says. "I'd really appreciate a ride in."
Still, there is something undeniably odd about that offer. It's hard to sail casually into Vesrah's harbor. Vesrah is remote, and from what he understands, people may know it exists, but not usually where to find it. If you're going there, it's because you have business with the Water Ashari, and they let you be there.
"Is that a stop you typically make?" is what he decides to ask, green eyes bright and curious and, because it's just his instinct, a tad suspicious.
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Maybe it's so easy to be evasive because it's hard to think of Vesrah as home, even if it should be. Even if it properly is. And he knows the other Ashari there think him odd for his willingness to set out across the sea with barely any reason for his comings and goings.
He wonders if he's right to think of himself as Ashari at all sometimes.
"It's not easy to get to, but once you've been you never forget where it is."
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"Zephrah's the same way," he says, finally offering which tribe he originates from, though he thinks it'd probably be obvious to another Ashari. "If you don't know the trails it can be a treacherous climb, but they're well marked once you learn what to look for."
His eyes linger on Ro for a beat longer before he returns to lacing the oversized needle through the thick sailcloth. But as always, he's still paying attention.
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He spares one hand to gesture at the ship they're on. It wouldn't be making much progress without the wind in its sails, and it is by far the easiest and fastest way across the water short of being a swimmer of impressive endurance and considerable fortitude.
Ro keeps tension in the sail as Orym stitches it to ensure there aren't any wrinkles as they go.
"I heard there's skysails in Zephrah. I've wanted to try my hand at one for as long as I've known they existed."
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"Maybe I can help with that," he says with a wry curl of his lips, mostly joking. He doesn't expect his presence to have much of an impact, but it'd be nice if he could foster some good will. Though he's indirect about it, Ro has all but confirmed he's Water Ashari. He can start here, then.
As he gets used to the motions and his confidence with the task grows, his needle slides through the sail more quickly, and he glances up at the other halfling more often. He can't deny his own curiosity, and there's plenty about him to find curious.
"They're how we get around," he says, somehow unsurprised that Ro would be a thrill-seeker. His apparently regular solo sailing on that little craft of his is a strong indicator. "The village is spread out over the Summit Peaks. There are bridges, so you can walk, but..." His head tilts in an approximation of a shrug, smile tugging a little wider. "Skysails are a lot faster. And a lot more fun, if you have the skill and the stomach for it. I probably don't have to say how dangerous it is if you don't." Orym glances down as he pulls a stitch tight, bracing the other hand against the sail, then back up again. "If you're not afraid of heights, you'd be good at it. You already know how to read the wind."
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He smiles as Orym describes the skysails.
"Why walk when you can fly?" he says with a grin, finishing the thought that Orym ends with a shrug. They might be dangerous, but Ro imagines they could be in the same way a sailboard is, though the fall is farther and the landing harder if a skysailor gets it wrong.
"Depending on the weather, I'll send a good third of my time in the rigging," he admits. "There's less of me to catch the wind."
He might not be quite as fast as climber as someone with longer limbs, but he's also a smaller target and can hide against the masts and arms better to avoid getting swept off.
"Did the Tempest say what you're meant to be helping with?"
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"Hard to give a lot of details in 25 words," he shrugs. "She said someone will fill me in when I arrive."
The Tempest knows his skillset, and Orym is a fast learner who works hard. He isn't concerned about what task he might be assigned in Vesrah, but about being out of place there. According to the Tempest, Vesrah was largely isolated even from the other Ashari tribes until fairly recently.
"What's it like there for outsiders?" he asks, glad for the opportunity to learn more before he actually arrives. Meeting Ro now really is a lucky break. "I'd guess that there probably aren't a lot."
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"Not unkind," he answers. "And it depends on the outsider. The waveriders pick up people lost at sea, especially after storms or after a wreck. Some choose to stay, but it's a matter of proving themselves if they do. I don't know how long it takes any of those who stay to feel like they really belong. I never got the hang of it."
He glances up with another smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I hear things are better than they were when the Tempest was doing her aramente." Which was before his time there, so he doesn't really have anything to compare it to.
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It does answer some questions, though. Ro wasn't born in Vesrah, yet it seems like he lives there now when not at sea. He doesn't feel like he belongs. Orym can relate to at least part of that, though he can't even begin to guess at Ro's circumstances.
"That's something," he sighs. "I've heard it was pretty closed off back then."
He does pause then, setting the needle down and sitting back on his heels to look at the other halfling, returning Ro's thin smile with an apologetic grimace.
"Sorry if that was the wrong thing to ask." Extending a hand between them, Orym concentrates, drawing on what little nature magic Nel and Maeve had been able to teach him. A small cluster of pale blue and red pulmonarias grow from nothing between his fingers, and he offers them to Ro. Giving him soldiers and sailors seems appropriate for this meeting. "You sure seem like you belong out here, though." With a nod, he indicates the sea itself.
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He blinks when suddenly there's little flowers growing from Orym's fingers. It takes him a few seconds too long to realize they're being offered for him - were made for him - and that earns a faint blush and a shy, warm smile. Ro lets go of the sail so he can take the flowers. He looks at them, not sure he's ever seen them before. Then, without hesitation, he slides them into his hair, making sure to tuck the stems beneath the leather tying it back. The blue, red, and green are bright against his dark hair. Ro meets Orym's gaze again, then gets back to the sail.
"The sea is possibilities," he says by way of an answer. "I've always wanted the horizon."
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Ro takes up the sail again, and Orym follows his lead. This could become meditative if he let it. Another time, maybe.
"Not content to be in one place for long, huh?" Within an hour of meeting him, Orym feels like he's come to understand some fundamental things about Ro. Daring and wanderlust go well together, he supposes. "I expected to stay in Zephrah my whole life until a couple years ago. This seeing the world thing is still pretty new to me."
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Ro wonders that sometimes. Would he have been happy fishing for the rest of his life if he hadn't known he had people out in the wide world? Would he have been content to stay in Vesrah if he'd been raised there? There's no way of knowing now, but sometimes the thoughts still creep in.
"Too pulled by the tides to have roots, I guess." And even when he starts in one direction, he knows the tide will change eventually, as sure as the winds and as sure as Catha.
He glances up at Orym, studying him for a moment as the other man continues his stitching. It sounds like Orym did have roots... and there's something in the way he speaks of Zephrah that makes Ro wonder if they got yanked up.
"And how are you finding it? The world." he asks with a grin.
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Feeling a little guilty because he knows his answer won't match that grin, Orym briefly considers fibbing. But Ro had been willing to let him see some of his bruises around the topic, and it'd be a disservice to do less. Orym's expression softens with a rueful smile, and he looks at his stitching rather than Ro.
"Honestly? Lonely." It's not something he'd admit to most people. He wants to seem okay. He wants to be okay. "I mean, not always. I've seen amazing things and met some good people." Like you, the nod toward Ro himself says. He'll go with his instinct on that one. "I like helping out where I can. But I don't have a reason to belong anywhere. I miss my family, and it's not as simple as going home."
What he really misses is his life. The soft, constant breeze he'd always taken for granted became a violent whirlwind that day, and he's drifted aimlessly ever since. The future he expected to have died that day with Will and Derrig. There's no staying in Zephrah. They are woven into the fabric of the place. He would forever be listening for a second set of footfalls beside him on familiar paths, forever waiting for a sword-calloused hand to clap his shoulder approvingly in training, forever enduring pitying looks from faces who have known WillAndOrym as one inseparable entity since they were children, and have no idea what to do with the sundered half remaining.
There is no going home. The home he knew no longer exists.
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He reaches the end of the sail and holds the edges tight so that Orym can finish without the heavy canvas pulling. He thinks of the chances of meeting a man from Zephrah fresh out of Emon on a ship he's served before. The weight of the pendant beneath his shirt reminds him that chance and luck are what one makes of them.
Ro looks at Orym, waiting for the other man to lift his gaze so he can catch it.
"May you find friends on the sea, Orym of the Air Ashari, with good currents and fair winds." His smile brightens. He can't take away whatever pain has turned Orym away from his home, but he can try to make the next leg of his journey more bearable.
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He learns a few other things from Ro that day. He doesn't have to work, but he likes to. If he's going to be in Vesrah for any length of time, he figures he should know a few things about sailing, anyway. And it's especially helpful to learn from someone his own size, because they often have to do things a little differently from bigger folk. It's nice not to have to figure out the workarounds himself, for once.
That night, he's just settled into his hammock--human-sized, so practically big enough to swallow him--when he spots Ro trying to find a place for his, the rest of his things in tow. He'd come aboard well after the rest of the crew (and their two passengers), so space is limited. Making a quick decision, Orym leans out and waves to catch his attention.
"We can share, if you want," he offers quietly when he comes nearer, keeping his voice low so they don't disturb anyone already sleeping. "There's enough room for at least two of me up here." His smile reaches his eyes, gently amused. The idea of not sleeping alone for once is also just...nice. He'll leave it at that.
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