Kaira Yehven

Kaira Yehven

feeling the celestial grief
Weaver
When glory was synonymous with a family name, the people looked to them for all that a name could promise. Many names in Astravore were deeply rooted in it's history, but where as old names had built the structures and foundations of the coastal city, it was the names that went down with blood that lived on in memory.

Yehven became a name amongst others that intertwined with the many generations the Blades of Astravore produced. In her family, Kaira could trace many ancestors that served this city... but she had wondered how many had wished for more from this life.

Two months since she succeeded in the tournament, and had earned her first piece of Astravorean steel. Two long knives, something she insisted on as it had been the weapon of her grandmother. Kaira's sisters had chosen swords for their first steel, and for year's Kaira had longed for her own. It was never easy to grow in the shadows of others. It soon began to feel as if it were not her will to become a soldier in the Blades, but rather a life sentence passed down.

After two years of service, Kaira would be free to take on new roles, and that was the final push she needed in order to win. The role of Ranger appealed the most to her. A life that was able to take her away from here, to travel and see more of this Empire... to break free from the promises that ran in her blood. Saints, it was all she had wanted... but Fate was cruel as it was beautiful.

"I am running behind... apologies." The armorer rushed by her, dumping an armload of scrap gear onto a table.

"I could come back..." She offered once again, even turning to go, but the man grimaced and shook his head. His face almost pleaded that she not at all. Kaira pitied him. "Truly, I will only wander around and give you ten more minutes..."

"I just need the help from the apprentice... Saints know where he's wandered off to." The man ran a hand down his face, smearing some ash down his cheek. Kaira chose not to mention it.

"I will go find him." She smiled, and this time she would not take no for an answer. "You sort out what you need and then I will return with your apprentice so that we can finish measuring me for my armour."

"Aye... that may work... thank you, Cadet. Asar may be by the docks. He likes to drink at Redtail's ship."

"As does everyone else." She muttered beneath her breath after she turned to leave the workshop.

Towards the docks she went, descending down the polished stone path where she could glimpse Redtail's ship. Every step she took begged her to ditch tje entire afternoon's plan and to go do her own thing, but this appointment was far too important. The kind of important that would only come to bite her later if she did not get it over and done with. To Astravore, her name carried far too much promise. She had been named after a Saint, someone from her bloodline. There were not many Kaira's in her familial history, but the few to carry the moniker were always Chosen One's.

It seemed to be inevitable when her ancestor had been the Saint of War.

Armour had been commissioned for her, the ceremonial sort. Steel armour was not to be wasted on Cadets, except for her.

Saint and Soldier, it had been whispered amongst the people whenever she passed them by. To Kaira, it felt as if she were a ghost the way the Astravori spoke of her. As if she were already martyred.
 
The gulls screeched in outrage as Knight Rakshem interrupted their feast. Taking to the pale blue skies in a flurry of feathers, the squabble circled noisily, drawing curses from the inebriated warrior and his fellow drunkards, of whom there were several. And not a sober mind amongst them, thought Mabbon, trailing behind the group as they departed Redtail's in search of solid ground.

'Cat got your tongue, boy?' Rakshem barked. Like a dog. 'I can't recall seeing you drink even a single drop back there,' he continued, smiling derisively. 'Are all men abstinent where you come from?'

Rakshem's coterie of sycophants snickered and smirked as they glanced over their shoulders at the scarred orkin. One tripped over his own feet in the process, careening into the man walking alongside him. Both were destined to end up in the harbour, but Mabbon pulled them back from the edge just in time to save their skins. Not that they were particularly grateful. 'No, saer,' he replied, holding his tongue. 'I don't drink before midday.' Or with arseholes, he mused, releasing his grip on the two men.

At least half of Rakshem's drinking companions haled from Astravore. The rest were like him: outsiders, here today, gone tomorrow.

Following the harbour wall, Mabbon did his best to blend into the scenery. His cadet's tunic had been red, once upon a time. Now, it was ruddy as Rakshem's cheeks, more pink than crimson. The trousers he wore were light and airy; had to be, in this heat. 'Uh-oh!' The Apprentice -Mabbon didn't know his name- hiccupped. 'Here comes the Saint Herself,' he grinned, only to cry out as Rakshem slapped him.

'Show some respect!' The Knight slurred. 'Mamzel Yehven's a -*hic*- descendant of the War Goddess. Look how radiantly she shines!' For all Mabbon despised Rakshem, he could not help but agree with the observation. And yet...

Where were the gods the night my family burned? He wondered, averting his gaze, lest his eyes betray his thoughts. Where were the Kaira Yehvens when my parents were slaughtered like swine?
 
Her steps had slowed and her boots taking her to come to pause at the side of the path, allowing the soldiers to pass her. Only they did not. Lopsided smiles and staggering feet that fought to keep the people upright gave away the intentions of one that opened his arms and declared her: "The Goddess of War! An honour!"

Kaira winced herself through bowing her head before bringing up a closed fist over her heart. A warrior's salute. "You are too kind." How long could she keep her face hidden before the believers would walk on? Of course, she was not ungrateful of the love from the people of Astravore, but there were a certain level of being seen that made her all the more eager to hide away. After a long moment that could only be seen as an appropriate amount of respect, Kaira lifted her gaze and looked to each face.

Her eyes caught the orkin. Gaze settling on him longer than necessary before it became apparent she was staring. Quickly, she averted her gaze. They found the scarlet sails of Redtail's ship, and there she could hear the merriment being enjoyed. Above the noise, the loud and droning voice of Lieutenant Orvari could be heard over the soft crashing of waves beneath the wooden docks.

"Be sure to tell Red you saw us! He will fix you up a drink on the house when you mention us!"

Kaira's lips quirked with amusement. "But, saers, I have not had the pleasure of learning your names."

Each of them were too eager to give their names. At long last, she drew her gaze back to the orkin at the back of the group. A dark brow quirked as she waited for him to tell her his name. It was all the more likely she would forget whom he just was, but Kaira wanted to latch on to what he had to say. This was no curiosity. This was interest. Intrigued, and yet she needed to get Asar, sober him up along the way, and then present herself the dutiful soldier she was.

The sooner her day was done, the quicker she could return home. To her quiet halls.
 
The Chosen's piercing gaze settled on the orkin overlong, and Mabbon felt himself cringing away from the attention, as if exposed to some divine light from which he could not hide. 'Well. Lookee! Pretty Boy's gone red around the gills!' One of the sailors laughed, nudging the others with his elbow, before fixing Kaira with a grin. 'My name, mamzel? Of course, of course. It's-'

The gaggle surrounding Rakshem and Kaira vied for attention as Mabbon turned back to the harbour, like he was searching for a means of escape. The moored ships were promising, the jetties equally empty. If he was quick, no one would notice him-

'Novice! Where do you think you're off to? The Goddess here asked yer name. Need I teach you manners as well?'

Tensing, Mabbon turned back to the group. Rakshem had that look on his face, the one he wore when in the presence of his superiors, or someone he wanted to ingratiate himself with. It was often remarked by the other novices that the Knight's ambition far outstripped his ability, though never in his presence. Mabbon suspected the man held a grudge as well as he did his drink.

A part of him looked forward to the day he could make up for all the slights Rakshem had dealt him over the months.

'Mallum Draekos, Chosen. It's an honour to meet you.' Bowing his head, Mabbon studied the stone at Kaira's feet, her gaze sharp enough to cut. Interested. Perhaps dangerously so. He had already discovered what it meant to allow anyone close. The Raj's Red Hand did not know the meaning of mercy, or innocence.

'Better.' Rakshem glowered at the orkin. 'Now. How might we assist you, Chosen One? You appear to be looking for someone.'
 
It was odd to be considered living divinity, when all she had shared with the greatest Saint of all was a name and bloodline. Even if there were other Kairas before her, they were never their own person. They were always seen as the Saint. Saeyna Kaira. Saeyna Warre.

When Kaira would be laid to rest, it would be the eighth time the Saint had died.

Her lips quirked, amused by the many titles that were awarded to her, but she listened. Heard and learned their names through the slurring as they introduced themselves while inebriated. All but Mallum.

Kaira's eye fell on him again, and her lips twitched as he most definitely avoided her gaze. It gave her entirely too much pleasure and power, that simple act. In some odd way, she felt triumphant.

"Well, Rakshem. I was on my way to Redtail's ship. The armourer's apprentice seems to be deep in his cups and left the poor man alone and stranded. I am to have myself fitted for armour, you see. It is not in every lifetime a Saint lands herself in the Blades of Astravore." And she would have armour, a costume, to parade herself and spread moral around the soldiers. To bear all that now would be preferable. A torture best handled sooner rather than later.

Kaira nodded to the ship in question. "A lad named Asar. If you assist me, then I am owed to give you all Blessings."
 
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