Sands of Spirits Lost [CLOSED: Fajar, Claria]

[El]

Odd. What an unusual song the sea sung, the hush of its crashing waves akin to that of her homeland's trees, their dried foliage rustling against the burning bite of the desert's wind. It was not as coarse. Nor as eloquent. There was a savagery to its tides as they ebbed and flowed, tempestuous and loud: at one moment violent, only for the next to apologise in retreating whispers. Yet for all its fickle moods, the pattern itself was constant, a melody woven into a lullaby for the spirit. Fajar understood now, why some of the vai talked so fondly of the sea. Its behaviour was not unlike a lover - its voice just as sweet.

For how long she stood there, a monument upon the open grasslands of Lodrum Headlands, Fajar did not know, nor did she care. Despite the erosion which plagued her form, time was not a commodity she troubled herself over. There was peace to be found in watching the glittering waters of Lanayru Sea, and though the depths of its colours were lost upon her she enjoyed them still. Gales rattled through her jewellery, fluttered through her draped cloth. Salt filled her nose.

Then the sun began to set and darkness yawned wide its maws. Only then did her rigid silhouette creak back into motion, an ache to her bones as they groaned.

The ruins here were of an unusual variety.

Considering Hylians' characteristic arrogance in building structures tall enough to reach the heavens whenever worship was involved, Fajar presumed they held some sort of religious significance. Or, well, they used to. In the midst of their fight for survival the people of this land had long ditched such 'antiquated' beliefs and left them to rot, neglected until the wilds consumed them and no memory remained to preserve them. Despite having not been in Hyrule for long, Fajar had seen this sad sight too many times.

Fools. A scathing sigh hissed past her lips. What was left to separate voe from beast, if not at least a respect for history and all its wisdom once taught? Not even that long ago they had dug through the earth with a savagery desperate, clawing at the dirt for tools their ancestors had left them, only to abandon them all over again once they'd served their purpose. Like a spoilt vehvi bored of her toys. The lack of due reverence left a sour taste in Fajar's mouth. Of course history kept repeating itself - their short-sightedness brinked on stupidity.

They weren't all like that however.

One Hylian voe - no doubt having earned wisdom through his developed years - had learned the true value of his discarded history. Despite the clamouring of his peers to not approach a monster for such a 'foolish waste of wealth' he had persevered. Fajar had admired his courage, given his diminutive and frail frame: even though she was no warrior worthy of title, he'd have proven a brittle twig between her teeth. But above that - more importantly - she respected his values.

She had to see the site for herself however, before truly committing to the job. The need to decide the cost aside, Fajar had to verify that the ruins were genuine. Some pompous noble's manor was likely of no interest to her, but houses of hope and faith held the potential of far greater value. It seemed - so far - that her worries had been unfounded. A small smile crept upon her lips.

Barefoot, the Gerudo now stalked across the cooling grass, treading from soil onto stone with languorous strides. A large hole gaped from the floor of the central structure but she paid it no heed past a cursory glance. Around a grand, fallen column she wove, over piles of discarded rubble, until upon a corner still decorated with elaborately carved tiles, she brushed aside her clothing and folded down into a kneel. Claws traced the hazy patterns, her bracelets jingling against her shackles. Then, drawing in a deep, wheezing breath, Fajar prostrated herself entirely. Down onto the stone she pressed her head, hands folded before her in respect as the last rays of the sunset waxed golden over her form. She felt the ruins respond in kind, a hum of life warming her withered fingertips and kissing her brow.

They communed like that for a short while, the necessary procedures of honour performed in a meditative silence. Only when Fajar felt it was appropriate, did the time come for her painted mouth to open and twist and murmur. Syllables familiar were woven together with archaic grammar, the consonants hissing with serpentine grace, brushing her own face before washing through the surrounding grass in a tremor. Around her, light began to glow. Structures began to grow. From between the mossy crevices and eroded corners began to sparkle a mist of golden sand, pooling, then extending, multiplying, pouring, waves and swirls of old magic channelling the forgotten spirits of old. The imprints. The recollections. What the stone remembered was brought back up to the surface, whispered into life by the cloaking tides of sand which clung to the phantasmal forms and rebuilt them - at least for a time.

The stone remembered, and Fajar observed the memory.

Sensing that the revitalisation was complete and she could now observe its guidance in its entirety, she lifted her head and sat upright, a tremor deep and booming reverberating throughout her frame.

DING-........

...............DONG

DIIIIIIIIIIIIING.........

..................DOOOOOOOOOONG

With great weight and misting trails of sand, a friar's bell swayed above head. Across the broken shorelines and mountainous cliffs it resounded.

[LuckyBlackCat]

The sea stretched out ahead, reflecting the sunset's fading hues, its rhythm like hissing, mocking laughter.

Most of the time, Claria avoided venturing anywhere near it. Odd behaviour for someone of her kind, but some said she was a poor excuse for a Zora anyway. She sighed, her steps across the peninsula beginning to drag, her scarred gills aching as they clenched. Enough time had passed that looking out over the ocean no longer felt like being punched in the gut, but a heavy lump still welled in her chest as her mind wandered to the world far beneath its surface, ink-dark yet vibrant with life, history, treasures, secrets. A world lost to her, even though the call of the deep had never hushed, resonating in every fibre of her being, taunting her even now.

Averting her eyes, she quickened her pace back to a stride through the grassland, towards the distant pillars. She couldn't allow herself to dwell on the past. Not when she had a mission ahead of her.

A spirit of some kind, Jiahto's apprentice had recounted, wide-eyed with panic. Or an undead monster. Either way, the historian in training had fled straight back to Zora's Domain, not having dared approach the figure near the ruins, with the deathly, decayed look about her. And, naturally, it had fallen upon Claria to head out and investigate. After all, if Stals were anything to go by, the one thing undead beings feared most was strong light.

Her luminescence stood out in sharp relief against the evening's shadows. She glanced this way and that around crags and trees, watching out both for any hostile attention she may attract, and for the revenant - if this even was a revenant at all. With only a few scant details to go on, and various potential reasons for such a sighting, she couldn't assume anything just yet. Not so long ago, she'd inadvertently caused a rumour of a haunting herself, having taken a swim in Woodland Stable well and lost track of time without factoring in how eerie the emanating glow would look. A mix of a wry smile and a grimace crossed her face at the memory.

Yet she couldn't be too careful either.

Another light, strange and golden, flared in the distance. Blinking, she recoiled as a cloud of what looked like glittering sand spiralled around crumbling stone. It gathered, solidifying into ornate columns and walls, the ruins taking on a shape they must have once held in a time long gone by. No longer decrepit, the phantasmal structure towered and shimmered, grand and proud. The sonorous peal of a bell reverberated through the air.

"What in Lord Jabu-Jabu's name...?" Footsteps slow and cautious, fins spread wide, Claria advanced towards the reconstructed remnant of history.

[El]

The scent of flesh. Warm. Fresh. Aquatic. Pre-seasoned by the salty ocean breeze. The Zora may have been obstructed by the grand golden columns which caged Fajar, but she could still smell her.

'Twas a distraction for another time however; it was rude to allow her attention to wander. A discourse was in session. A memory was on show - so interruption was not an option.

Focus, Fajar.

With a wheezing shudder of restraint, the Gerudo inhaled deep and long, parting her painted lips just wide enough for her tongue to wipe clean her dripping teeth. It took a hard swallow, but eventually stillness returned. Clarity - softened - flickered back into her eyes.

Raising her chin, Fajar took in her revitalised surroundings in all their antiquated grandeur. As suspected the monastery had been a feat of beauty, made all the more illustrious for the laboured love it had taken to erect and build and sculpt with slabs large rather than countless. Hylian architecture at perhaps its finest, the stonemason mused, admiration abundant as her gaze traced from plinth to cornice. Unimpeded by the decay of age, the ridged fluting of the columns' shafts were silken smooth. Geometric and elegant, their bases were dressed with a jewellery of patterns, a satisfying symmetry which was mirrored upon their crowns. The arches were bold, the ribbed vaults of the ceiling elegant, the main arcade vast and flooded with the shadows of painted glass. Fajar had expected more embellishments given the ornate nature of the tiles upon which she sat, yet - remarkably - the masters here had been tasteful in their enrichment of the stone. They had allowed it to breathe, standing tall and clean, with only the most refined of patterns framing the swooping contours and strong horizontals. Whether it was the morning light or the ocean air which was worshipped here, she could bathe in the abundance of both without the distraction of visual noise. Remarkable.

Sadly, she was without the means to record their entirety with the accuracy they deserved. Even as she lifted herself to her feet, heavy with gravity, Fajar scarcely blinked for fear of eroding her memory prematurely. She strode with a gait distracted, her widened eyes drawing, then retracing, marking out landmarks and whispering measurements. When the soles of her feet kissed grass, she halted, frozen, and turned back to twist her neck right up to peaks of the monastery's roof.

DING...
................DONG.....
DING...........
............................DONG.

"You." She did not look towards Claria, but she addressed her nonetheless, the rasp at odds with the authority her voice exuded. Despite the constant clanging of the bell, she could still be heard: as if her words existed on an entirely different plane of sound, a wavelength separate from interruption.

"Quickly. Take note-"

"PIRATES!!!"

Ah. Too late.

It was over.

Fajar had delayed too long, her time squandered on a hope already suspected futile, for scarcely had the last of her syllables parted when a shade of shadowed sand rushed by only to explode upon the steps and shatter. One scream. Then three. Hollering voices and a babe's echoing wail. Up somewhere, high above, an explosion erupted, rattling the rafters and silencing the bell with a cacophonous final death-throe. The booming tolls had not heralded the sunset, Fajar realised - it had been an alarm.

Blasted. Pummelled. Splintered. Shards of stone and ruptured glass cascaded in broken tides of golden sand. Where at first the canonfire simply punctured holes, it soon found purchase in the temple's vital supports, cracking them in half and cobwebbing destruction across their elegant facades. It had begun suddenly, but ended even more abruptly.

Down came a whole column, crashing in a billowing cloud of dust just inches from Fajar's gnarled toes. She did not flinch. She simply sighed, the wistful echo of it filling her lungs with the tired poison of sorrow. The last whispers of chaos subsided. The sand evaporated. No more was the illusion - if it had even existed at all.

How much more barren this plateau now looked, scantily clad as it was with mere crumbs of what it once was.

"...Nevermind."

[LuckyBlackCat]

Approaching the towering archway of the monastery - or rather, the sand-sculpted illusion of a monastery - Claria spotted the figure.

She stopped by the front stairs, the glow of the fins on her arms and head-tail brightening, solidifying into blades. Raising her left arm in front of her chest to shield herself, she kept a safe distance, her chin tilted up, her cautious gaze sweeping over the source of the sighting. An undead being all right. The revenant rose to her feet at the heart of the mirage on legs shrivelled almost to the bone with rot, her hands withered and clawed, several vicious gouges at her neck, a grey-green tinge to her skin. Yet, strangely, parts of the woman's flesh remained intact. Her arms and shoulders still bore healthy muscle tone. Her sharp facial features and close-cropped red hair made her recognisable as a Gerudo - Claria sometimes met the desert folk as they travelled through Lanayru, trading goods and seeking a change from their home region.

Stranger still, instead of shambling like a Stal or the living dead in tales the Gerudo told, the figure strode around the structure in the multicoloured shade of stained glass windows. Violet-pupilled eyes glowed as they seemed to study the artful carving of walls and columns. Bulky shackles on her upper arms, wrists and ankles, their verdigris tone and golden horns marking them as Zonaite devices, weighed down her movements, but her gait on the stone slabs was purposeful. She made no hostile move, appearing at first not to even notice Claria's presence until her voice rang out in a deep thrum.

"You."

The unearthly rasp, audible over the chiming of the bell, sent a shiver down Claria's spine. She spread her feet apart and poised her tail above her right shoulder, ready to defend herself if necessary. Yet the woman, instead of following up with any threats, simply asked her to take note. Despite the odd echo of her voice, her tone held no animosity.

Before Claria could ask what was going on, chaos shattered the calm. Someone screamed a single, frantic word. Pirates. She startled as a spectral figure rushed forth and exploded into a cloud of sand on the steps, right in front of her. Piercing cries filled the air. Pillars crumbled and crashed to the ground, disintegrating into dust, which in turn evaporated as if it had never been. Through it all, the Gerudo stood unfazed as the memory-turned-nightmare splintered into nothingness around her, leaving nothing but ruins and remnants of ancient times.

Claria exhaled through her teeth, the drawn-out sound carrying on the salted breeze along with the lapping of waves that replaced the cacophony. Her luminous blades dulled and shrank, yet she kept her fins flared wide in case she'd need to manifest the sharp edges once more. "Well, to say that was brutal would be the understatement of the year." Slowly, she lowered her arm, tilting her head as she studied the mysterious stranger. "What even was that?"

[El]

"...A memory."

It was an over-simplified answer, but more times than not simplicity was exactly what was warranted. Fajar would not waste her breath on a proper explanation - that was unnecessary. Besides-...

The Gerudo's luminous eyes finally drifted towards the stranger proper, then locked still. Perhaps it was her warped sense of time, or maybe she simply didn't care for social proprieties, but for the longest stretch of a moment she didn't even care to blink. She simply stared. Unmoving. Silent. Save for the jewellery which continued to jangle in the same ocean breeze which echoed through her ears.

Hmn. Interesting.

The Zora was a guard of some sort? Perhaps a soldier or mercenary. While the intricacies of both her appearance and expression were lost on her, the blurred haze of the Zora's silhouette and the way it gleamed made her armour apparent enough. The stranger's voice too was an obvious clue: while its depth could've been natural, the stern quality of it was characteristic of a trained warrior. As was her alert but inoffensive stance. This was certainly no stray sardine who'd flopped upon the shore to come gawk out of mere curiosity or happenstance.

About time these creatures paid greater care to the security of their waters, Fajar wordlessly quipped. With a twitch of her decaying left cheek, a phantom of a smile stirred her lips. Though their response time could be vastly improved. It certainly wasn't up to Gerudo standards: though Fajar supposed that was in no small part to blame on their lack of adequate military discipline.

"Bold."

The stonemason grew bored of examining her company and returned her attention back to the silence of the ruins. "Are your numbers so slim that they can only send out injured warriors to investigate threat-reports, or is the ointment I smell upon your scales just a peculiar choice of perfume?"

Or a deterrent, she mused with a faint smirk. Whatever acridly medical concoction of herbs or alchemical ingredients the Zora had used, it was doing a fine job of making her less appetising. ...Moderately, at least.

[LuckyBlackCat]

Those eyes settled on Claria, fixing her with a glowing, unblinking stare. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but the stare reminded her of something - back during her deep sea exploration days, some of the expeditions had started off in the waters of Lurelin Village, and she remembered cats prowling around fishing boats with a similar look as they hungrily studied the fresh catches.

The lights pulsed all along her arms and tail, bright against the encroaching darkness, a warning for the undead figure not to try anything. The woman merely smirked, that rasping voice slighting the military prowess of Zora's Domain... and her physical condition.

Claria's composure faltered. Eyes widening, she flinched as if struck. The Gerudo could tell, even from where she stood. Could somehow smell the herbal ointment she applied to her scarring on a regular basis, particularly to the seared and distorted flesh of her gills, sensitive areas on a Zora. A salve that eased the tightness in them, the tugging sensations while submerging in the shallows, the throbbing pains that sometimes set in especially after overexertion - the reminders of her old wounds and what she'd lost. Old wounds she really, really couldn't be doing with someone mocking her over right now. Someone with unknown motives and a predatory touch to her mannerisms, no less, who seemed to be sizing her up for weaknesses.

"It-It's nothing." Although Claria had bitten back what she'd truly wanted to say - it's none of your business - the words came out sharper-edged than she'd intended. Steadying her voice, she continued. "Nothing of any consequence for this matter. And funny how you call me bold while making such an assumption. You can't tell me you don't know the various uses and effects of alchemical concoctions." She hoped she wouldn't be expected to elaborate, but had to disguise the fact that, by mentioning a physical weak point, the Gerudo had hit a psychological one. Emotional restraint was paramount for an investigation like this.

"Anyway. I'm not here to cause needless harm," she explained. Her muscles remained taut, primed for combat, yet she'd only resort to it if truly necessary. "I'm merely here for answers, about who you are, and about the magic you displayed. The one who made the report is an apprentice historian, who seeks to learn about these ruins, and I'm sure would find such a memory intriguing."

[El]

Ha! A defensive rebuke. While returning the insult to its sender was not the wittiest of responses, Fajar did acknowledge the Zora's mettle: she had only stuttered once, at the very start. And while it was clear that her comment had rattled the soldier's spirit, the stench of fear - true fear - was absent. Her grasp on her composure returned swiftly, with professional haste. ...Even if it did pulsate rather oddly. And literally. Fajar cocked an eyebrow at the sight.

Simply a matter of wounded pride then? She could empathise with that. The smirk upon her painted lips evened - just a smidge. Calling it a warm smile would've been an exaggeration though.

Regardless, she might've found a chink in the Zora's armour but she had no interest in prodding in any deeper. (Every warrior of any worth had a scar or two that still stung.) So back to the ruins she turned once more, where she was going to simply resume her thoughtful sentry: to allow the emotions of the witnessed memory and all its vivid details to sink in and fester and fertilise... But of course, it wasn't going to be that simple, was it? For as large as Gerudo noses were, she couldn't help but think that it was all the OTHER races who were far too nosey for their own good. Once upon a time, unwelcome curiosity was 'rewarded' by lopping the appendage off...

"...Sav'oten." A tired sigh leaked from Fajar's parted mouth. The very weight of it seemed to drag down her eyelids, narrowing her gaze beneath the thick swafts of charcoal.

With a quiet shift of cloth and a groan of joints, the Gerudo twisted to face the Zora proper. A laugh, chopped and breathy rattled in her chest. "I do not acknowledge your authority, Lantern Vai", Fajar spoke plainly. "Yet this historian you speak of may be worth my time. Take me to them."

If this was perchance a free ticket inside Zora's Domain, she'd be remiss to pass up on it.

[LuckyBlackCat]

Lantern vai? Frowning, Claria tilted her head. Not only did this stranger go out of her way to avoid answering even the most basic questions about who she was, or the magic she'd just used, she had the nerve to demand a visit to the historian whose apprentice she'd terrified. As if bringing a potentially dangerous half-Gibdo to Zora's Domain was anything resembling a wise idea. Claria knew the stories from Gerudo travellers, of the reanimated corpses that roamed the desert in single-minded pursuit of flesh, of the soldiers who'd braved the sandstorms to fend off the hordes and never returned. This woman didn't act like those monsters, showing intelligence and restraint, yet she had an air of the wily hunter about her, and her evasiveness amplified the warning signs.

"Pro tip, you might want to prove yourself trustworthy first," Claria replied, slowly advancing, stopping at a safe distance. "Which means answering my questions. One, who are you? Two, how did you put such a memory on detailed display like that? And three..." Her sharp stare flicked up and down the shackles clamped around the woman's limbs, with the curling golden horns. "I'm pretty sure those cuffs aren't fashion accessories. What exactly is their purpose?" While the high-tech devices only seemed to minimally hinder the Gerudo's movements, they'd hopefully restrain her from inflicting any harm on innocents - yet if that were the case, the fact that she needed them was still cause for concern.

Claria braced herself for a retort about how she hadn't exactly liked being asked a personal question herself just now - which would, admittedly, be an understandable response - but she needed to assess the situation before taking any risks. And more sass would be inevitable in any case.

"If you can respond without dancing around crucial information, and prove that you pose no threat," she continued, meeting that annoyed, luminous gaze once again, "then I will honour your request. Also, for your information, my name is Claria."

[El]

For the longest time Fajar did not respond. She did not move either. The moments dragged, the dusk bled black, yet still she did not answer, the ocean winds rattling through jewellery and cloth doing little to fill the void of her silence. The decorative noises slipped into the abyss like sands into a pit, swallowed by an impenetrable stillness. It would've been understandable on Claria's part if she assumed the Gerudo hadn't heard her at all - had simply stopped listening. It wasn't out of the question.

It was an assumption that still could not be discredited when finally the stranger began to stir. She did not creep closer to the Zora, but away, a daydream of languid repose to her slow strides as she advanced just close enough to the fallen grand column for her to touch it. Touch it she did, her ivory claws tracing the ridges, clipping on the chips, grinding against the weathered stone with its irregular grain and dimples. Eventually she paused though, her hand halting upon a particular crevice. Down, Fajar knelt, and with a rough sweep of her palm a small pool of golden sand dispersed to the wind: below it a small, demure yellow flower poked out its head. The scent was sweet.

"Interesting, is it not?" A rotten finger brushed down a vein of moss. It felt colder than the stone, yet clearly so much more full of life. "Just because memories are forgotten, does not mean that they die. Often they are simply slumbering, awaiting someone patient enough to listen.

A breath long and bracing wheezed in through her flared nostrils. It hissed as it escaped, deflating her chest with a shudder. Tongue whetted she swallowed, tracing her drying lips with restraint. "The living are so eager to trample upon their pasts," Fajar lamented after a pause. "Ignorant in their negligence that those same moments they buried serve as the very foundations below their feet. And the longer you ignore them, the harder you shall eventually trip. I am sure, you, Claria," The name rolled off her tongue like the rattle of a snake's tail, caressed and savoured, coiled into suffocated syllables. Every vocal aspect of its structure was examined and swallowed. Fajar would remember this name - that much was evident. "-Know perhaps better than most that the past does not simply stay in the past. We carry it with us, always."

Distracted for a moment by the glitter of stars in her periphery, the Gerudo lifted up her chin to admire the heavens. A minute later she stood upright once more, turning first her head, then her body towards the direction of the prying Zora; silently remarking with bemusement the tempting allure of her luminosity as it glowed so prettily in the newborn night. What was that saying again...? Like moths to a flame...?

Perhaps it would be best if she DIDN'T gain admittance to Zora's Domain. Fajar's own curiosity had overruled her better judgement but now she noticed - and acknowledged - how cruel a torture that could be: imagine walking amidst a banquet, only to know that even just one bite of its fruit would spell your demise.

Ah. She was so, so, so hungry.

Lifting a skinned, moistureless arm, Fajar gave the shackle upon her wrist a gentle rattle. Stirred by the movement a harmless, faint spark of electricity danced visibly across its golden spiral. "This too is a relic, albeit a very functional one. It tracks me you see, Claria, and punishes me too if need be.

"Interesting, is it not?" The glow of her eyes settled on the ancient contraption bound around her atrophied limb. By all logical deductions it looked like it really SHOULDN'T be able to bear its weight, and yet it did - with ease. "Why do people savour and value only certain aspects of history...? Is it because of its potentiality for violence? That it can be weaponised?" A dry laugh tickled her throat. "I am not sure it is me you should be fearing, bared as boldly as I am. It is the rot hidden within people's hearts where the true danger lies.

"I wonder, Claria, would you allow yourself to be shackled by your own kin if it meant you could see the sky again?"

[LuckyBlackCat]

At first, it seemed the Gerudo wouldn't answer. Watching her wander back to a pillar and trace those near-skeletal fingers along its surface, Claria wondered whether or not she was still listening. Yet despite her focus on streaks of moss and a single yellow flower, signs of life blossoming in a long-abandoned place, the stranger finally spoke up.

From the sound of it, Claria wasn't going to get a straight answer out of her. She held back a sigh. Nonetheless, for all the woman's continued evasiveness, her words about rediscovering slumbering memories rang true. How could they not to someone who explored the forgotten underworld that was the Depths?

The woman paused, with a long, shuddering breath, before stating her low opinion of the living and their attitudes towards the past. Something about the way she addressed her, that eerie voice dripping condescension as she drew out every syllable of her name, drew the tension tighter throughout Claria's entire body. As did the acknowledgement that she of all people knew the past stayed with a person, ready to resurface.

Although the Gerudo's attention drifted from the ruins towards the stars, rather than towards her, Claria turned the left side of her face away from her with a frown, the movement of her head slow as her gills twinged once more. Dammit, that comment hadn't been another reference to her scarring, had it? Was she going to be defined by that yet again? Despite the livid red marks only being visible at her jawline, this stranger seemed to know the damage extended much further and deeper from the scent of the ointment, instincts keen as those of a shark that smelled blood from wounded prey.

"As important as it is to preserve the past," she replied, facing the stranger once again to meet the piercing gaze now trained on her, "and you may have seen from the stone monuments around here that we very much value doing so, I'll have you know that in some cases, I prefer to move forward." Not that doing so was easy with the distant waves washing up fragments of former experiences in her mind, like debris onto the shore.

The Gerudo's eyes turned towards something she carried around herself, one of her shackles. She raised and shook her atrophied wrist, producing a tiny spark that crackled along the metallic swirl. Startling, Claria gasped and flinched back. Electricity. Meant as punishment if necessary, as the half-Gibdo explained. Although her heart thrummed a violent rhythm, Claria straightened her posture, her gaze on the golden horns. If there was any proof of the potential threat the stranger posed, this was it. And yet... Unless it truly was the only way to stop her should she snap, the use of something as painful and deadly as electricity seemed extreme.

Shadows shifted and moths scattered as, slowly, Claria lowered her tail behind her back, folding the fins at the tip. The ones on her arms, however, remained fanned wide open. She couldn't let her guard down completely just yet, not even as the Gerudo made her resentment clear.

"I wonder, Claria, would you allow yourself to be shackled by your own kin if it meant you could see the sky again?"

For a moment, Claria remained silent. Her people's attempts to constrain her out of so-called concern were infuriating and humiliating at best. Yet if she became a danger to others, would she accept such treatment and more, with the threat of violence added in, as a necessary evil? "It would depend on the reason," she replied, "but... I can't deny how stifling it would be, no matter what."

She wasn't yet sure whether it would be a good idea to take her to Zora's Domain, but the stranger seemed to have lost interest, from the way she still refused to fully answer her questions. "Well, even if it's obvious you'd rather wax philosophical than tell me about yourself," Claria continued, "you could at least give a name. But if telling you a little about myself makes things fairer... I also have an interest in history, in old monuments. Mostly in the Depths, yet I have to admit what you said about the past being buried is especially true in that case, in a figurative and literal sense."

Asking direct questions wasn't going to work, but maybe conversing would get the Gerudo comfortable enough to reveal more about who she was.

[El]

"'The Depths'..."

The name left Fajar's lips in a wistful wheeze, her eyes lowering as if to watch her own breath carry the sound away from her grasp. Her throat rattled with a hum. But as her attention wandered down once more to her shackles a realisation appeared to strike her, firming her mouth as decaying fingers coiled into a resigned fist. "I go by Fajar," The Gerudo muttered, distracted still by her own musings. "Fajar Du'Kana.

"I suppose you could call me a relic of time itself, Vehvi of sands long forgotten and Vaba of Gerudo honour. However-" Her glowing gaze flicked back at the sleeping ruins behind her, the rustle of long grass in the sea breeze hissing through the hollows of her skull. "While I too shall one day return in ashes to feed the dunes, as the sun rises and falls, it is not yet my time. ...I have barely finished bidding this new age sav'otta." Another sigh slipped free, heavy and draining.

"You spoke of stone monuments, Claria."

A flash of renewed vigour in her eyes, she looked back to the Zora with a quiet smile. Despite the soldier's insolent attempts of enforcing authority, Fajar was finding she was growing fond of this lantern-vai and it was starting to show. ...Though certainly not as ardently as the moths were wont to: Claria's lights were far too cold in hue to offer her the same comfort. Gerudo lamps glowed like the sun, not the moon.

"Is one nearby?" Assumedly there were at least several. Fajar could not recall having come across any, but then her journey here was rather-... unconventional. She had avoided the majority of Zora's Domain, skirting around its southern border to trail across Brynna Plain and circle past Horon Lagoon's crown. Too much moisture was unsettling - uncomfortable - even if its presence offered a cooling relief from the heat of her curse.

But even if one wasn't close at hand, it was time for her to depart. She would need to report back to her client in good time, and though she was certainly, easily capable of the physical feats of trekking and climbing back to the hermit's hut on Rabia Plain, it would take her considerable time - even if it was on the eastern edge. Time which the withering Hylian did not have much left of. He had told her not to rush, neither in her decision nor her investigations, yet time waited for no soul.  If he was dead by the time Fajar returned, then that was simply the Goddess's will, but it would do her honour no good to purposefully delay without reason.

So the Gibdo began to move. Her strides were sure and strong, but heavy. And though she wasn't intentionally heading towards Claria specifically, the Zora WAS stood in her way.

[LuckyBlackCat]

"Fajar..." Claria repeated. Naturally, this Fajar remained as cryptic as ever in her explanation of who she was. Vehvi of sands long forgotten and Vaba of Gerudo honour. While Claria knew some words of the language from the way Gerudo traders and travellers peppered them into their speech, the meanings of ones like vehvi and vaba still eluded her. Sav'otta, however, she recognised as a greeting, specifically "good morning" - were the ages like mere days to Fajar? Even though she spoke of her mortality, just how old was she? Zora could live for centuries, but this woman seemed to have lived far longer even than the elders Claria knew, and the more their conversation went on, the more she felt as if she were talking with an ancient spirit.

Fajar's eyes took on a curious glimmer as she asked about the stone monuments and their whereabouts. "Not around here, no," Claria replied, then paused. Fajar clearly hadn't travelled here via the route to Zora's Domain, otherwise she'd have noticed the large stone slabs with the ornate lettering carved into them, detailing the stories so painstakingly preserved. Should Claria set her on that path, though? Suppressing a sigh, she continued. "They're around the lakeside mountains. Stone tablets inscribed with the history of the Zora. You'll spot them easily at night, with the blue torches at their sides."

Again, she wondered if directing her anywhere near a populated area was a good idea. Yet, on a rational level, she knew that if Fajar meant to seek out prey, she'd have done so by now rather than exploring old abandoned ruins. She wouldn't have lost interest in travelling to Zora's Domain, in any case. And those shackles... For better or for worse, they restrained her from causing trouble. Even if they indicated she'd be highly capable of doing so without them.

With slow, heavy strides, doubtlessly due to said shackles, Fajar moved forward. It seemed anything historical piqued her interest. "I can take you to the nearest one, if you'd like," Claria offered. Best to keep an eye on her, just in case, and try to figure out what she could about her. She could only imagine how people would panic if they saw a half-Gibdo climbing the cliffs in the middle of the night - if Fajar was at least accompanied, it would be best for everyone involved.

[El]

Pleased, Fajar made her satisfaction known with a wider smile: the prompt crack of her lipstick reminding her that a flesh application was soon in order.

Not only had the Lantern Vai offered up her companionship without fuss or faff, but she didn't even flinch at her purposeful approach, as creeping and languorous as her strides had been straight in her direction! Good. Good, allowing the air to settle had been a wise move. Creatures were always more relaxed when given ample time in visibly permitted safety, leisure affording them the comforts of careful observation and the composure of collected thoughts. It made them feel in control.

"Then let us depart, Claria."

Whether the warrior could even reasonably afford such time was not of Fajar's concern. Surely, any woman of worth knew how to set boundaries and promptly voice them when the need arose. Though she supposed this escort probably qualified as 'work'.

Smirking, the Gerudo finally passed her new companion. It was hard to tell if her movements were so slow out of choice, or as a result of her condition(s) - perhaps even both? Though regardless it was a clear sign of the task Claria had volunteered to undertake. Fajar would not rush. There would be no sprinting. No jumping. Apparently - as it was eventually revealed, many, dragging hours later as they reached Rutala River's head - she would not swim either.

Into the depths the half-Gibdo strode, without even pausing to brace for impact! For the way in came with no incline - there was no slope for a gradual introduction. Instead their entrypoint came with a sudden drop and a giant splash, the blackened waters trembling from the invasion... and yet no bubbles arose. Did Fajar breathe? Had she breathed at all during their hike? Yet there were no signs of struggle. No movement either. Though perhaps even if there was a stir such mundane trivialities would be unable to penetrate the thick, suffocating depths.

However, Fajar was not 'dead'.

No, if Claria sought her out in the waters herself she'd discover the creature in the midst of her usual languorous pace, resumed as normal and making her way across the disturbed clouds of the riverbed. Miraculously the current did not appear to affect her - each strike of her bare feet piercing deep and finding sturdy, clawed purchase. Her progress was unyielding. Perhaps the Zoran warrior had suggested a different route at this conjunction. Perhaps she had expected the Gerudo creature to swim. ...Nonetheless, this is the approach Fajar had chosen, and whether investigated or not, she would eventually emerge at the other cliffside, the jangle of her jewellery and the rush of breaking water as it spilled off her decaying form preluding her ascent up Ruto Mountain.

What an ascent it was! Though Fajar did not complain.

She did speak however. Throughout their entire journey she had proven quite the enthusiastic conversationalist whenever matters pertaining to history or Gerudo culture had arisen. Otherwise...? She gave curt, disinterested responses - if she even replied at all. At times her language 'degraded' into completely cryptic sentences thick with a husky desert accent, laden ever heavier with the serpentine-charm of her sisters' native tongue. While in others she mispronounced foreign names and stumbled over modern jargon with the struggle of her tongue and a rasp of irritation. She was as prone to unprompted rambling as she was to great swathes of absent silence. ...Though remarkably, their perilous and no doubt arduous climb did not impact her cadence in the slightest.

Then finally - FINALLY - they made it. And there, they both stood, Zora and Gerudo-Gibdo, admiring the giant plaque of engraved blue and its sentient torches.

Though Fajar was unable to make out every word - squint as she did nonetheless - there was enough of its contents grasped to decipher its story. It was not the sort of legend she had expected, (modern as it no doubt was, in its re-telling of a Lynel slain at the hands of the Hero they called Link), but she smiled nonetheless - pleased, once again.

"I have underestimated your people's virtue." Fajar admitted, giving a curt but prompt nod of apology towards it. "King Sidon of the Zora carries the legacy of his people honourably." ...Arguably even more so than her own sisters, the Gerudo silently mused with a wither of internal despair - knowing how much history rotted in their beloved desert. Alas, she would never speak such blasphemy aloud.

"Do you permit me to touch it?"

Turning her head upon her shoulders, Fajar's glowing eyes sought out the Claria beside her - though their illumination was not as startling as before. The sun had risen by now, its golden rays already at work in drying the once sodden fabric which groped at her form. It was quite obvious - no doubt - that by 'touch' the Gerudo did simply mean to poke the stone slate.

[LuckyBlackCat]

With leisurely strides, Fajar headed away from the ruins. It was difficult to tell if the shackles or her Gibdo-like limbs hindered her movements, or if she kept her steps slow by choice, as Claria accompanied her along the grass and dirt path. Yet even as hours passed, the sky reaching its darkest point before shifting from near-black to deep blue once more, Fajar didn't seem to tire. No matter how far they hiked, she never so much as broke a sweat.

Although the prickling feeling of wariness hadn't left Claria just yet, Fajar's attitude became almost friendly as she conversed. Almost. She ignored some questions and comments, yet the subjects of history and the desert land held her interest, prompting passionate discussion that sometimes gave way to cryptic ramblings, seemingly without her realisation. As much as the perceived evasiveness had annoyed Claria earlier, now she started to wonder if it had even been deliberate.

Rutala River came into view, shimmering in the light of the setting moon, as they neared their destination. "We can go via the wetlands, if you'd prefer, although it'll take a while," Claria told her, "or I could swim you across if you don't mind climbing..." Fajar simply shuffled forward like the river wasn't there, and stepped off of the bank, vanishing into the blackness with a splash.

"Shit! Fajar!" Claria stared down in horror at the rippling surface. The Gerudo didn't resurface; not even so much as a stream of bubbles marked her presence. Arms outstretched, lights flaring, Claria dove in after her. There was to be no pacing herself underwater as usual. With frantic sweeps of her fins and feet, she propelled herself down into the deep as fast as she could.

The effort against the current forced her to take sharper breaths than was comfortable. She winced at the sting of scar tissue pulling at her gills, and the ache of limbs underfuelled by her laboured breathing, but pressed on at full speed, until her luminescence revealed a figure casually walking along the river bed. Fajar moved through the water as easily and tirelessly as she did on land, those claw-like feet digging into the mud, anchoring her against the flow.

Claria's strained muscles relaxed slightly as she let her pace falter. Of course she'd been worrying about nothing. Goddess damn it, she wasn't letting herself turn into her mother, was she? Fajar knew what she was doing. She's better underwater than I am, in any case, Claria thought with a bitter smile. She shuddered, the dirt clouds drifting up from Fajar's steps and from the rushing water becoming increasingly difficult to tolerate, and mustered her strength as she swam upwards despite her body's protests.

As soon as she broke the surface, she caught her breath. She headed to the cliff face with gentle kicks and finbeats, and clung to the rocks, tail drooping, as she waited for Fajar. Would the Gerudo wonder why she hadn't remained submerged with her? Would she take offense? Thankfully, when Fajar rose from the water with a metallic clink of jewellery, she didn't mention it, instead resuming her chat about history while they started their ascent.

An ascent that was far from easy, for Claria anyway. Climbing was something she'd grown used to in the Depths, and knew how to do relatively safely, but her arms and legs trembled, a reminder that she'd pushed herself too hard in her panic. The straining of her shoulders and upper torso set off stabbing pains in her gills, and she yearned to reapply her salve once she and Fajar reached the top, but... no, she wouldn't, not in front of her. The thought of revealing not just the extent of her injuries, but that she'd overexerted herself, made her insides squirm. Gritting her teeth, she focused on clambering higher, ever higher, until finally the duo pulled themselves up on to the cliff.

Stretching out a cramp in her back, Claria stood at Fajar's side, looking over the crystalline plaque in the torchlight. Its polished surface made it appear newly carved, and despite its age it might as well have been, its former eroded text replaced by King Sidon's elegant recounting of a more recent story. One about Link defeating the infamous Lynel at Ploymus Mountain, allowing the Zora to reclaim the area.

Fajar, humbled, bowed her head towards the majestic structure.

"I have underestimated your people's virtue. King Sidon of the Zora carries the legacy of his people honourably."

Claria gave a soft smile. "That he does. It's a shame the old legends told by the former King Dorephan wore away, but we still preserve them with books and word of mouth." As modern as the new inscription was, she hoped Fajar would find it worth the arduous journey - not that travelling all night had appeared to faze her in the slightest. Now, dawn spread streaks of pink and gold across the sky. It was a good thing Claria found the night particularly invigorating, but she couldn't say the same about early mornings. She blinked away bleariness. It would be an idea to head back to Zora's Domain soon - otherwise, people would undoubtedly think something had happened to her.

At Fajar's question, she frowned. "It's probably best not to." She doubted that Fajar, with her respect for history, would damage the monument if she touched it, but the historians preferred people to keep their hands off of the plaques, having no desire for them to grow grubby. Besides, this was the King's writing inscribed on it. Letting someone casually touch something he'd put so much care into would feel like an insult to him.

[El]

Worn away...

An unsettling but all too familiar statement that drew from Fajar's lungs a rasping sigh. Yet despite the subdued dismay she smiled, a peculiar pleasure warming her engrossed expression alongside the sun's rays. "Our Golden Vaba - the Goddess of Sand - shall come for all in time, in spite of our best efforts." A wry twist of humour tickled her enough to pause at that statement then, for she was as good an example of such a case as this grand tablet was. A relic with life.

"Yet, as she erodes so too does she renew: one skin shed in service of the new below it." It was a fine balance to toe - keeping respect and yet not bowing below the weight of loss - but King Sidon appeared to have grasped it well. Perhaps it came with age? The Zora were known to possess a longer lifespan than her own sisters, allowing ample time for maturity to bloom no doubt. It did not need to be forced below a brutal and ruthless heat, pounded and honed like a smith's blade in the hot coals of survival, instead it could be nurtured with waters of patience. ...Tch. 

Yet, to no surprise Claria turned down her request for a more intimate look at the tablet. Fajar did not bother hiding her disappointment - a sharp click of her tongue reverberating against her tapered teeth - but she did not press the issue either. Simply because she couldn't have it now, did not mean she could not have it in the future either. She would wait. Opportunities came to the patient.

That aside... there was a far more pressing issue. A distracting one.

Nostrils flared, Fajar glanced backwards, her eyes sharp with admonishment. "You reek of exhaustion." She hissed. It wasn't said with disgust - on the contrary, really - but it was clear the intent wasn't genial either.

Nonetheless... a reluctance to be truly harsh with the young warrior cooled her snarl, recent memories of her efforts - and submerged desperation - softening the sharp edges of her perturbed appetite. "It may be honour which swells your heart, but do not allow it to burst from its pressure." She acquiesced with a twitch of her mouth. "That would be-... unfortunate."

She licked her lips as she turned away, regarding the illuminated tablet with a hum of thought even while their nose remained perked with tempting aromas. "I wish to see all of these," The Gerudo confessed. "I shall file an official request, if such procedure pleases your people."