The Nrevacians lived in one major city, etched into the walls of their underground home. No torches illuminated it, for they had no need, though many were kept in reserve for any surface traders who came down for their jewels. But, even these might not be needed soon, for there were talks of cutting off this trade.
After all, the only ones who seemed to gain from it were those on the surface. The Nrevacs would pick away chunks of their home, making crevices in which creatures could hide and pounce out at those who pounced by. They had no attachment or need for the jewels, but the things brought from the surface for them did more harm than good.
Foul smelling drinks that robbed men of their wits, odd herbs that stained the lungs, or odd metal tools that the 'cultured' men of the surface said were used for eating. A Nrevacian needed his senses to survive, stained lungs made it harder to escape tough foes, and there was no need for tools to eat when they had hands and teeth.
But, such politics did not matter to the woman who now walked the streets. She was similar to many others of her race, with a slight frame, and eyes that would show crimson in the light of the surface. Her hair, once the standard jet-black of her race, was a lighter shade, almost gray.
This was not due to age, for she had just entered her twentieth year, but rather a result of her own vanity. She had noticed a trader from the surface who, though old and wrinkled, still had hair that was a shade she had called 'blond'.
Curious, she had convinced her mate to get her some of the 'dye' the old woman used for this magic, but rather than the lighter color she had sought, she had only succeeded in making her hair look like the grey the old woman had hidden. Her mate had insisted it looked nice, but she had seen him hiding his laughter. Perhaps she should not be angry, for her family had made no such attempt.
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She walked along and gathered various foodstuffs. The wings of the massive bats from one booth, each as long as her arm. The bones of one of the cave predators, aged to soften so that the marrow could be consumed. A few mushrooms, carefully coated in the blood of some beast or another, a delicacy. She hummed a bit as she passed a few carved stone coins to the shopkeep, for she was excited for this night. Her mate would be back from a hunting trip, and she had good news to share with him.
She smiled and waved over, seeing a few of her friends. One of them, an older woman with her belly swollen with child, seemed pleased."Ximay! Goodness, quite the feast you're preparing!"
Ximay smiled, looking at the others. There was the first woman, Zola, the oldest of them(Though she'd vehemently deny it.). Beside her was Fiva, a slightly taller woman who kept her hair tied back similar to what she had seen a trader do. Off to the side was Ruven, a man who had cropped his hair just above his eyes.
They, like herself, were Jascuril, or 'Those at home'. They were in charge of the city infrastructure while their mates were out hunting, and had been placed in this position due to a lack of skill with hunting, tracking, or any jobs that required leaving the city.
They were also in charge of raising any children that resulted of their union. Ruven himself had a boy on his shoulders, one who was tugging on his hair as though it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Ruven sighed a bit, looking at her."...Aren't you glad Maijah isn't like this?"
Ximay smiled at the mention of her daughter, who had been left at home with her grandmother."Maybe if she actually showed interest in her father, he'd stay home more often instead of volunteering for everything."She replied.
For though she loved her mate, Gexiro, very much, he was perhaps too eager to aid in the duties of the city. He was one of the Jascuban, or 'those who leave', who dealt with affairs away from the city, normally fighting. Whether it was driving off swarms of nuisance bats, using Nrevacian hunting techniques to trap the horned Gorxi or many fanged Nizrai that would serve better as food than as predator, or even the occasional trip to fight bandits who took refuge in the upper levels, Gexiro was always the first to volunteer for such duties.
Their roles in society were essential, for much of the food needed to keep the city running provided only by them. So essential were they that many priveleges were bestowed upon them. Unlike those of the surface, who traced their lineage through the side of their father, Nrevacians traced it through the Jascuban, male or female.
Fiva sighed."You're lucky. Mine's a guard, in our district, no less. Never get the house to myself."
Ruven chuckled."Oh really? Bah. Mine's half my size, but's still just about as bossy as you can get. Picky eater too."
Zola rolled her eyes, smiling and patting her stomach."Hmph. Trust me, I think we'd both rather trade places with you, right? Better to have them around to deal with all the stress of having kids with us, hmm?"
Ximay smiled a bit."Hmm...I don't mind it too much. Nice bonding time with Maijah."She replied.
Zola grinned and winked at her."More than Maijah soon, unless i'm mistaken."
Ximay gasped, putting a hand on her stomach."...H-how did you-"
Zola laughed."I've had five and have two more on the way. When you get to that point, you'll be able to tell too."
Ruven smiled and clapped."Congratulations!"
Fiva grinned."So...boy or girl?"
Ximay sighed a bit."Not sure. Another girl would be nice though, give Maijah a nice playmate."
Zola peeked in her basket."Oh! Explains those mushrooms, right? Plan on telling him over dinner? Smart. Men always like news over a meal."
Ruven frowned."Hey, that's-"
Zola and Fiva both looked at him knowingly.
He sighed."...Fair enough."
Ximay laughed, then bid her friends farewell, going home.
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She walked home, and the smile on her face vanished. She saw Maijah, her child just a few days shy of five years old, wrestling with a boy her age. Maijah was the spitting image of Ximay herself, though she had a look of innocence (Or perhaps boredom) on her face.
Maijah growled and tackled the boy to the ground, covering his mouth as he tried to scream. She raised up her fist to punch him, but Ximay narrowed her eyes.
"Maijah! You get off of him this instant and let him up!"
The girl looked up, startled."Ma-Ow!"
The boy bit down hard on her hand, drawing blood, and shoving her away, standing and staggering off as fast as his legs would take him.
Ximay glared and walked over. Perhaps she should be grateful that the neighbors boy was gone, or that the girl was not more seriously hurt, or even that Nrevacians were immune to their own poison and there was no paralyzed child before her. Right now, however, she was furious with her child for picking fights."What the Depths were you thinking! You're-"
She trailed off, seeing Maijah sniffle and cover her hand, blood slowly dripping to the ground.
Ximay sighed, carefully lifting her up and walking back inside the house."Silly girl."
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She took a damp cloth, carefully cleaning off the bite."Now, what were you fighting with the neighbor boy about, hmm?"
Maijah sighed."He was insulting dad."She muttered."He said he was a bad Jascuban since he always comes home with bites and scratches and his mom never gets hurt."
Ximay nodded."Ah, I see! So you were defending him?"
Maijah nodded."Yeah, it was just to-"
The girl yelped as Ximay flicked her nose."Silly girl. You don't have to defend your father over bites and scratches. He's proud of them!"
Maijah tilted her head, curious."Proud? Of being hurt?"
Ximay nodded."Proud...Have you ever seen his sword before?"She received a shake of the head in reply."Well...I think he has a spare here, let me get it."
Maijah grinned and followed her mother excitedly into her room. She walked to a place with pegs nailed into the wall, and upon that was the sword. It had a brilliantly carved sheathe, made from white quartz that sparkled even in this darkness.
Ximay looked at her daughter and sighed."I'll never understand your father. He's probably the only one who uses swords these days."
Maijah tilted her head to the side."Why's that Mama?"
Her mother sighed."Well, most people don't see the sense in them. You wear away at the metal to keep them sharp, and metal's rare enough down here. Most prefer a nice spear, since they're easier to make. But, with your father's sword, at least, sharpening isn't an issue."
She pulled the sword out of its sheath and ran a finger along its edge. Maijah gasped."Mama, wait, don-" She blinked in confusion, seeing Ximay's finger was left uncut.
Ximay smiled."That's why he's proud of his scars. Just more proof that he tries so hard not to kill his foes. If he actually sharpened this thing-"She tapped the blade against her palm for emphasis."-Then he'd come back unscratched, just like that neighbor boys mother!"
Ximay smiled."He's even come up with a little rhyme for it. Listen to this:"
"Scars are for those who wish not to do harm,
Accepting that pain is life's greatest charm.
Every mark a sign of a blade that was stayed,
And of a foe who one has left unscathed."
Maijah smiled."Wow....I wanna be like that someday! I'll be a Jascuban just like dad and get all kinds of scars!"
Ximay sighed."I think you're missing the point."She began, then saw twinkling pride in her daughter's eyes and sighed."Well...I suppose you can become that sort of warrior, if you truly want."She said, wiping a rag across the palm of Maijah's hand."And look there, you have the first one already."
Maijah looked, seeing a few tiny white marks where the boy had bit her palm and grinned brightly."Alright! I can't wait to tell Papa!" She exclaimed, running back out of the house, presumably to try and earn more scars for herself.
Ximay watched her and smiled, sighing and putting a hand on her stomach."...Let's hope you're a bit calmer than she is."She decided.
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Gem awoke shortly after that, frowning to herself. What kind of odd dream was that? She felt as though she had never seen that gray-haired woman before, and yet...there was an inexplicable feeling of familiarity as well. Why?
She thought for a moment, then looked at her left hand. There was, of course, the prominent scar she had given herself to resemble her masters, that covered much of the hand. But, she held it closer to her face, and saw them. A few tiny, almost completely faded dots, some covered up by the wounds of the knife she had used.
So that girl...was it her? Or was this perhaps a coincidence? It was possible, but she did not know. Most of her memories before Black Griffin were nonexistent, or cloudy, at best. She glanced at her sword. She had thought they were a common tool used for killing, but...had she just imagined that as well? Had she turned a tool of mercy into a tool of destruction?
She shook off these thoughts. It was, after all, just a dream. She had heard that sometimes people who suffered from memory loss would imagine new memories to fill the gaps of their mind. That was what was happening here, wasn't it?
She stood, satisfied with this conclusion. She grabbed her sword and walked out, hand grasping the hilt tightly. There would be more work today, after all.