Year 765 Crawlers Sing

An older male, past his fifty's moons based on the wrinkling around his soft eyes, pokes his thinning graying hair out of the hole. He wore this strange black tailcoat, with white scriptures sewn onto the buttoned-up collar and the edges of his sleeves. The man drops a broom on the roof floor and hold his weathered hands up. His steady posture suggests that he must have been standing on some stairs. His hands are riddled with scratches from working on chores, the loose sleeves slid down to show more of the scars of a hard-working man. He regards her differently too, not like a normal reaction she would receive from anyone else before. He looks shock for a mere second, then the shock wore off and he smiles with chocolate-buttoned eyes full of kindness.

It is not something she is prepared for, always tensed for battle, but he isn’t doing anything to cause her to be this way. It is the only way she knew how to deal with strangers, especially the kind with skin as light as her father's.

"Hello child." The man spoke, his voice made her wince, and he carefully lowers it to a whisper, as if that was the reason why she winced in the first place. "Are you hungry?"

Rhea bounces to her feet, her own gaze never leaving the strangely dressed man. Maybe, it's time to leave. This is my chance.

"Don't fret. Stay. I made some fresh porridge." The old man forgot completely about the fact that she points a knife at him, and he was already walking back downstairs. Her heart thumping slows the further away he got, and now she notices that the man had left the hatch wide open.

Rhea's curiosity got the better of her and she moves closer to the opening. The sounds of other tenants can are heard from up here, a lot of small children's noises. Some of them call someone 'Vicar' or 'Father'. Her father mentioned once that there were people who passed the wisdom of the Gods as their only profession and named themselves Vicar, discarding any selfish materialistic need for the better good. The people of Moarin dropped any magic and solely relied on the teachings of Chemuk, since the empire had renounced any Magic because of the All-Mage War a millennium ago.

But even now, Manuk is revered as the life provider and Anukrin the bringer of emotions. Chemuk is just a continual deity that provides land and materials to improve the mortal kind.

Vicars aren't supposed to be violent either. Rhea had a strange predicament before her. She was fighting the urge to either brandish her dagger or put it away. There weren't many Vicars on her travels and oftentimes people have betrayed her trustworthiness, so instead she slid to sit down against the border of the roof. Replacing her dagger with a poise bow and arrow, expecting him to come back with a gun this time for sure, but she is too curious about the Vicar to leave.

The sounds of steps got closer, her hands move to tighten the string of the bow and pointed the tip of her handmade arrow directly at the hatch opening. Any moment and he could...come up and...

What is this smell? Her nose twitches at the aroma of boiled grain, seasoned with vegetables. Although she prefers meat over grain or vegetables, her stomach rumbled at the aroma. The Vicar pokes his head out of the hatch, arms full of a giant bowl of the culprit. The grain mound is white with flakes and particles of many different vegetables. The poor don't really have a lot of food, so they often cook a mash up of many fractions of things. Grains were just cheap and easy to grow, which is a great staple food of Moarin people. The Vicar was no different, he must be sharing whatever he could with her. Why?

The Vicar grins, placing the bowl and spoon down on the roof floor, ignoring her poise to kill. "It's not much but please take it...you look so thin."

Rhea's eyes flits from the bowl to the Vicar's face, unmoving, but even she starts to lose her composure. The drool pooled in her mouth; her flat stomach rumbled loudly. Thin is an understatement when she can see her own ribs during her river rinses.

Rhea is a proud being who craved to tell the Vicar to take a hike, but the kindness in those eyes lessens Rhea's rage. There really isn’t an ounce of filth in this man's presence, he is not even annoyed that an intruder claimed his rooftop. She did not know what to say or do about this, overwhelm by the unbiased kindness.

It has been a long time since she ever had this kind of interaction.

"Oh my. How foolish of me! I'll give you some space! Please stay till you gain some strength." The Vicar grabs the hatch door to close it behind him as he returns to the children downstairs. He forgot the broom...

Rhea finally put away her bow and arrow, staring at the hatch, then at the porridge for a few more breaths. It isn’t long till she caves in, crawling over to it just in time. The bugs flew over it and threaten to soil it, which got her to react quickly. She spoons up her first bite. The heat of the food would have burned a normal person's mouth, but she swallows the first spoon full and munch on the next. It didn't have a lot of taste, but her hunger trumps both her first common sense and pickiness. Besides, no poison can kill a mage-born like herself. She proved that once when a stupid local tried to take her out with one, the contents always burned away in her fiery system and passed on as a bad cough.

This bowl of porridge was clean of ill intent, just like the man that served it to her. Wetness streaks on her face, the droplets landing on the pile of porridge. The tears would not go away, even her shoulders shook with the sudden crash of her emotions.

Because she had forgotten how it feels like to be fed and cared for, the only other time being her mother serving her a cooked leg chop. That piece of meat tasted good not because her mother was a good cook. Far from that. It was because her mother cooked it just for her, a sign that she cared a lot for Rhea.

Nothing Rhea could ever make would match that piece of meat...this porridge got close to it.

That day, the Vicar kept a good distance, but he was a remarkably busy man. He was either outside tending their garden or aid to the children while they play outside. He didn't tend the children on his own, there was an older female with a headpiece covers her hair modestly and worn similar robes as the Vicar. These children varied in age, skin color, and hair color. It confused Rhea when they referred to the two adults, either 'Vicar Jal and Grace Risa' or 'Father and Mother'. None of the kids look like the adults. It is something done out of respect?

She would not get the answer, not until this Risa person came up the roof next. This woman is older than the Vicar, the sign of it is how she strains to reach the end of the stairs. The woman assures her that she is just here to pick up the broom and the bowl, straining to bend her fragile knees to get them. Rhea couldn't watch the woman struggle any further, grabbing both items and handing them to the older woman. The first fear was long gone; the wild woman lost her desire to keep a strong front.

"Thank you, child..." Grace Risa's age spotted hands wrapping around the broom, then the bowl, letting out this grateful sigh. The next question meant to be just as friendly as her smile, "Deary...are you seeking refuge in our orphanage?"

Rhea didn’t know anything about orphanages. Children in the Kraxxian clan were taken care of equally, as her mother claims. Food and clothes wer shared with each-other, there was never an issue of a child going hungry. Her father wasn't very vocal on what they do about kids in the Moarin world, only mentioning that his best friend was an orphan and became his brother quickly after. Any time she pressed for more information, he hit her with another crazy re-telling of the Thieves of the Angoran Isles.

So, when she let her voice slip out, it came in the form of a question, "What is...an Orphanage?"

"Yes, where the parentless children go. Vicar and I are proud to keep this place up for so long. Though it's gotten harder with these old bones." The older woman beams, making the wrinkles of her face curl with it. "If you stay...please tell us what to call you?"

She sounds like the owner of this place based on the way she carries herself, even having the Vicar and the parentless children run to her beck-and-call. This lady is important in this orphanage.

When she described the orphanage, it seems like a place Rhea should have found sooner, being a parentless child herself. It saddens her to think this was just a few miles away from Tristanope. Maybe she wouldn't have killed so many people. These people are just kind beyond what she ever expected out of the Moarin world.

Her cold center warms, hope dares poke through her mind. Giving her just the mindset to share her name, "My name is Rhea."

"Rhea! If I'm correct, it means cherished moon fire in old Moarin. Your parents must've loved you." The woman chimes; her sweetened tone made Rhea blush.

Not only blush but the corners of her eyes sting, threatening to release more tears. She sniffs it away, "Yes...they were nothing but loving..." Are you two still proud of me after all this?

"Oh dear, I am sorry. I have grown very irresponsible with my age." The worry pushes that smile away, now this lady is scanning all over Rhea's face. Trying to find anything that will show forgiveness.

"They....have been gone for a while." Rhea didn't know why she was trying to reassure the older woman, turning around to hide away from the speculative gaze. The last thing she needs is an old woman to know that her parents' death still affects her. This woman and the Vicar are nothing but strangers to her.

Grace Risa clicks her tongue, "Well, you are in the right place then! Come and sleep-"

"No...I am more comfortable out here." Rhea had already looked for a spot to lie down but everywhere up here was a little too dirty to be good for sleep. Plus, the roof is hard on the surface, trees and the jungle floor are much more acceptable surface compared to it.

"Then...wait here. I'll send Vicar up here with some blankets." The older woman left before Rhea could retort, somehow gaining just the right amount of youth to descend the stairs faster than the way up.

Just as promised, the Vicar drops off some blankets. None were lacking with additional patchwork, but Rhea is not the type to be picky. She is still very apprehensive about getting too close to the Vicar. Watching him leave the blankets on the ground and grabbing them when he left her alone. The distrust towards men is still as strong as ever...it didn't help that she still lived through the nightmares of the slave encampment.

Many weeks passed and she took complete refuge on this orphanage's roof. Although she was never comfortable enough to sleep inside the building, she made her presence known throughout the household in the safety of the late afternoon light. The children were very impressionable, calling her by her given name and trying to involve her in all their games. Rhea loved the game of hide and seek, since she was exceptionally good at it. The children helped warm her heart, the warmth help her beat her fears of this place.

Ten children live at the orphanage, and she can finally remember their names. From the oldest to youngest are Kana, Luan, Beva, Wenrys, Nedo, Nasyra, Pyke, Krisia, Eloso, and little Echo.

She could talk to the Vicar more; her life isn’t part of the conversation, usually talking about the children or if there were any chores that she could do. Since she was always on the roof, her chores mostly consisted of that. Cleaning the debris off or cleaning the roost, though the avian creatures have barely visited since she laid claim to this section of real estate.

It is relatively peaceful for the most part. Not once did Rhea feel the urge to hunt down slavers or slave owners, feeling her wounded heart healing from the time spent there in the orphanage. A few times already, her plump lips forms this smile that she thought she had lost. It was a smile of joy, big, proud, and stretched way across her face.

One day, Manuk's home was set so gorgeously on the glittering blue horizon, casting this deep red everywhere. Even painting the docked ships red.

That day was especially gorgeous. Rhea braves enough to enter the house and shares a meal with the whole 'family'. She remembers one of the children saying it was their birthday and invited Rhea to eat dinner with them. How can she refuse? Not even a cold-hearted Stormcrawler would decline such an invitation.

The food lacks meat again, but it tastes great anyway with all this company. For a real darn second, it felt like she was eating with her family again. Just what she needs to warm the very center of her wounded heart.

She wouldn't trade the day for anything in this world-