memories like poison

It was....loud.

There were too many people, too many scents, too many noises. Flashes of memory, there and gone, poisoning her perception of innocence. Her eyes flashed as chaos cried out in the midst of calamity - but it was only a merchant, hawking their wares. Taloned fingers gripped the hilt of her sword as a harsh, discordant note rose over the murmur of the crowd, a scream sounding in the distance - but it was only a child, playing betwixt and between the puddles accumulated by a recent rain. Everywhere around her there was movement, proof of light and life and love, but overwhelming in respect of sheer volume. Another woman, scarred as she had been, tainted as she had been, might have flinched or shied away, taken shelter in the relative silence of an inn or wayhouse - but Katriel only became more and more still, sinking deeper into herself with each new, novel encounter.

The Warden had been making her way through the market, a distracted frown marring the elemental beauty of her elven features. A bubble of empty space opened around her as she moved through the crowds, and most of the populace instinctively gave the severe-looking Warden a wide berth. She had been on patrol, one of her first so far from the Peak, with several others of the Order. When they had neared Arlathan, they'd deemed it prudent to venture into the city to resupply and restock. Katriel had thought it a sound plan, but she had not been prepared for the sheer magnitude of stimuli the city might offer. Though her fellow Wardens had assured her that Arlathan was barely large enough to be counted a city proper, it had been many, many years since Katriel had been surrounded by so many people. Even Soldier's peak was quiet in comparison. The stone muffled things, quieted even the clink of armor and the clash of swords. Katriel had grown used to the sounds of soldiers and librarians, and the rhythm of the Wardens had long since been relegated to a soothing song in the back of her mind.

Arlathan's song was...different. Louder. More chaotic. She had not yet figured out how to introduce herself into the rhythm of it.

Her appearance seemed to draw a different sort of attention here. She had been expecting fear, wariness, perhaps even hostility. Instead, the populace seemed to take her eyes and talons and scattered scales in stride. She still got the occasional look, the flashes of brief insecurity - but she rather suspected that was more a result of her uniform, and less a byproduct of her ancestry. There were more aberrations here, in Arlathan, than Katriel had ever seen before. They bought and sold produce and textiles along with every other long-eared elf in residence - and wasn't that a miracle in and of itself?

Katriel shook her head, her hair drifting over her armor like smooth black silk, and pushed onward through the crush of the busy midmorning market. She'd need to rendezvous with the other Wardens in a few hours, and she was altogether uncertain of how she was meant to spend the time betwixt then and now.

The market was not one of Sivene's favorite places, but she had migrated to Arlathan shortly after awakening a in the ruins of the small village she had been raised in. The wonder in her eyes, and awe on her face, probably told how soft she was. She knew she stood out because she worked hard to be individual, different from every other Cetacea Aberration that there was. It was not an easy task, but one she took very seriously. She needed to be noticed, but not for being an Aberration.

In fact, unlike most of her kind, she wore none of their tells on her human self. But should a single drop of water touch her, all would be revealed and her entire game ruined. So, as she transversed the market, she was very careful to avoid anything liquid...

The bane of her existence. Arlathan bewildered her, now that there were no slaves toiling at the feet of gods. Though had they ever truly been gods, she wondered, when their powers were akin to her own? They were just smart about how to use them... She frowned at the thought, bumping into someone else while she was busy looking off to the side, watching an elven child run to its mother. That brought thoughts up that she had thankfully avoided and ignored for many centuries; what had happened to the scientist who had stolen her away?

Distracted by the bustle of the market, by the ebb and flow of discordant chaos around her, she did not notice when another figure brushed too close. She was all but shoulder checked as the other woman attempted to move past, and the careless force felt almost like a blow to her animal brain. Katriel was spinning into the resulting momentum and retaliating all in the same breath as her reflexes flared to the surface.

Katriel immediately reached out and seized the offender, her instincts screaming at her to strike back, to rend, to tear, to kill. Her claws sank in, piercing cloth and brushing skin - before the Warden withdrew her hand, jerking back as though scalded. Her eyes, slit-pupiled and draconic, sharp in their own right, widened as she took in the figure that had 'assaulted' her. Her sharp features offered immediate apology, her expression flashing through dismay, guilt, and chagrin all in turn. A civilian! She had almost attacked a civilian over nothing but a bit of careless contact!

Ghilan'ain would have laughed. She would have been so pleased. Sadistic bitch.

Silence held her tongue in a rough grip, but Katriel immediately fell into a half bow, her body language begging the other's pardon.

Sivene stared at the stranger, whose claws pierced her clothing, brushed harshly across skin. She watched as Katriel bowed. After a moment, Sivene bowed back, hands clasped in front of her.

Ara seranna-ma. The ancient tongue left her lips with precision, and she straightened, dipping her head in respect. She was curious, but not certain how to bring her questions about. She had learned, that these days people could be defensive about questions.

And about not having... money, whatever that was.

Katriel was not sure what she expected, exactly. Rage, fear, disgust, perhaps? For her victim to cower, or strike back? She had stiffened her shoulders instinctively, prepared for whatever reprecussions might come, though she was already internally berating herself for the error.

Had Katriel made this mistake before the Veil, she would have been punished for her error...or, perhaps, rewarded, depending on her master's whims that day. Here and now, however, Katriel certainly did not expect this human - not human, scent wrong, salt and sea and something else - to bow back to her. And Katriel certainly did not expect the woman to speak Elvhen. Shock warred with relief as Katriel straightened, her serpentine golden eyes taking in the stranger's face, dress, and manner. Certainly a civilian then.

Some Warden she was turning out to be.

Her expression registered a soft scowl, her clawed hand coming up to wave away the other woman's words. It was a relief to be able to speak in Elvhen, which she was much more fluent in than her still-stilted Common. [color=gold]"Ma tel'abelas."[/color] Her attention lingered in the small rents she had left in the other woman's clothing. [color=gold]"Ema ar nuem ma?"[/color]

Sivene shook her head. No. She was fine, albeit trying to figure out the woman in front of her. You smell... like Ghilan'nain. The words were carefully considered. Draconic? She inquired, tilting her head to one side.

She smelled like ash, like their creator. It mingled with the scents of Arlathan in such a way that Sivene was struggling to pinpoint what else was there. What was this woman versus the great land around them?

It is... nice to be home. Though Arlathan had never been her home; but her cage. And she'd been smuggled out eventually.

The rush of relief she felt at knowing that she had not harmed the other woman was suddenly burned away by a swell of instinctive indignation - all within the space of a few words. 'You smell... like Ghilan'nain.' It was a damning observation, when her whole heart rebelled against the very memory of their creator. Katriel stiffened, the concern in her eyes rotting away, replaced by rage and pain and the promise of vengeance. She took a step back from the other, the chainmail and plate of her armor clinking in a dangerous counterpoint. The other pressed for detail, and Katriel glanced down at the talons that she had never quite been able to hide beneath platemail gloves. "Yes," she answered. Yes was good. Yes was safe, simple.

She did not elaborate. Even as a phantom touch of darkness skimmed across the surface of her mind, a whisper of laughter tethered to the root of her consciousness. If she did not acknowledge it, then it did not exist.

'It is... nice to be home,' the stranger said, bringing the Warden's attention back to the conversation at hand. Katriel's eyes shot back to the other's face, a troubled expression settling upon her own. "Is it?" she asked. The common tongue sat strangely on her own, but she could make her meaning clear....usually. She glanced around at the hustle and bustle around them, and slipped right back into Elvhen. "Ar ema telam era'mana i min an." She shrugged, and then focused again on the woman's face. She was not familiar to her. Nor should she be - she'd certainly been given little cause to know most of Ghilan'nain's other toys. Still... "Ahnsul ema ma garas tu arlathan?"

Sivene smiled, brightly, bubbly. Tel'memories are n'fond, leha sen are changing Tel'meaning Ath arlathan.

The next question, receives a shrug. Sal wanted lor nae Aletenial. She had limited memories as she was a stolen experiment, but Arlathan had always seemed like it could be more of a home if the right peoples were in charge...

And now?

The right peoples were in charge. She hoped.

' Tel'memories are n'fond, leha sen are changing Tel'meaning Ath arlathan.' It was an evocative line, like a piece of poetry plucked straight from a falling star. Would it prove as fleeting? Katriel eyed the other woman thoughtfully, wondering at her origin, at her background, that her outlook could remain so optimistic. She had trouble picturing the stranger trapped in one of Ghilan'nain's laboratories, to be so cheerful now. Katriel felt old and jaded by comparison - and then wanted to laugh at herself. She was old and jaded, even if her body would never faithfully reflect her age.

"Ina'lan'ehn sil. Ar las ma ama ra." The other's shrug spoke volumes more than her actual answer, and Katriel repeated the other woman with a somewhat incredulous air. "Arla?" She straightened, looking around - and then shook her own head ruefully. No, this place was not her home. Still, she had no desire to belittle the other woman's joy. Life offered so little of it. "Ar itha."

A pause. "Ir abelas. Ar tel'din av’ahna. Ahn mar melin?"

Sivene listened to the other, and explained quietly: Ghila'nain made tel'quiet Ath Tel'alu foam, leha sal did col / n' (prefix) stay aul Tel'Iqua's possession. She felt like she had to explain; Arlathan was neither home nor was it not home. She had not been subjected for long to the mad scientist.

When the question of her name was brought up, she answered easily. Sivene. Experiment Cetacea Number 1.2, Version 3. She spoke brightly, as if she had not just called herself by her experiment name.

The explanation came softly, but it did little to quell Katriel's misgivings. Then again, any reminder of their creator was often enough to get her hackles up. She huffed. "Fra halam, vindhru sul ga em'an den revas." There was a savage sort of satisfaction in that knowledge, in the end result of centuries of pain. Even those that had not managed to escape in life were set free in death. Some were even able to enjoy that freedom, after the Veil's creation, and Ghilan'nain's subsequent imprisonment.

Katriel's musings were cut short when she asked for her fellow aberration's name - and received her experimental designation. In a split second, her hand shot out, claws gently hovering beneath the curve of the other woman's jaw, points of pressure that gently hovered over unmarred skin. Her expression clouded, yellow pupils contracted to whisper-thin slivers of diamond. "No." In common, the word cut, and something like a draconic rumble underscored the simple syllable. "You are not that. Not any more." A pause, a breath, as her hand flexed, and magic rose. She forced it down as she forced down the instinctive rage, as she swallowed the memory of pain, and drowned out the terrible laughter that hovered at the back of her thoughts. "Remember. Only Sivene. Sivene is enough."

Her words in this younger language were simple, stilted, but perhaps more impactful than the lyric of ancient elvhen could make them.

Another breath - and she realized what she was doing, and lowered her hand. "Ar ame Katriel.."

But I am? She frowned at the thought that she was not an experiment anymore. That felt wrong. Strange... befuddling. I was a creation, an experiment, at birth. Therefore I always will be one? She's confused, obviously. She'd never experienced the full extent of the horrors of being Ghilan'nain's toy.

The other introduced herself, finally, and Sivene smiled brightly, as if her confusion melted away with the name.

Maybe it did.

Maybe she just didn't want to linger.

Are you okay?

Katriel's teeth clenched, her eyes flashed, and she fought the urge to growl at the girl. But...The innocent confusion, the befuddled stare...No, Sivene knew not what she said. She could not know. Katriel blinked at the oceanic elvhen, and slowly, helplessly, her indignation bled away. Perhaps the point of her words had been lost. Perhaps - shockingly - Sivene had no frame of reference. Unfortunately, Katriel did not know how to explain herself any better in common, and she thought that if she tried in elvhen, that the subject would only serve to distress the other woman even more.

A millennia of horror, of blood and pain and rage and helplessness, of fighting - only to come face to face with an aberration who had never known a drop of it. Could she convey it through words?

Should she?

Her shoulders dropped, and she averted her gaze. No. No, she wouldn't, she couldn't, she shouldn't. "People change. Prisoners...set free. Take new names, to become new. Numbers no more." It was all she had, all she could offer. Rage would not help her here. She sighed, and when the other woman asked if she was okay, Katriel shook her head and took a step back. "Din. Ar ame tel'din. Tel'din mala mar."

She glanced down the street, and then back. She was already angling her body to go, unsure whether or not it was a farewell...or if she was merely running away. "Dareth shiral, tessa'len."

[Exit]