Lingering Threats, ii. [Yshvold]

[Aurin]

...continued from Lingering Threats.

Aurin's Cottage, Plaza of Jeweled Arches
63 Ash 121, After Midnight

Yshvold's monosyllabic response and the strange look on his face made Aurin wonder if he was being too harsh, but the truth of the matter was he didn't really know how to deal with children. He looked at the Lysanrin and saw at least echoes of himself at that age, and so he tried to see him both as himself and as that echo of himself. He tried to think what he would have wanted to hear or needed to hear, but what the hell did he know anyway? Torin's apprentice Timon was easy to talk to, but while the boy had troubles of his own, they hadn't seen him on the street or a victim of violence. Suffering was suffering in the end, but Aurin didn't really know how to connect with Yshvold, or whether that was a thing the kid wanted or needed.

Aurin could be bad news.

But the kid continued and Aurin listened; if he thought the question childish or sentimental, he didn't show it. A shred of normalcy might just help him.

"Sure, I can help with that. Why don't you tell me what you know of your origins—parents, names, locations, dates of interest. I'll clean up while I listen, then leave you to your dreaming. When I come back tomorrow, you can fill me in on any other details you remember, maybe we'll train, and then I can start an investigation for you."

He tossed the wax paper from his meat pie into the rubbish bin, then began preparing what it didn't look like Yshvold would get to for storage in the icebox. He would glance at Yshvold from time to time or make small noises to let him know he was listening, but he also afforded him a weird sort of privacy in not keeping his gaze affixed. Memories and histories could make a man feel vulnerable, let alone a kid.

It almost seemed like Yshvold was reaching out for a hand to hold, but Aurin wasn't good at reading those sorts of signs.

[Yshvold]

For once someone was willing to listen. It was an odd feeling, something he couldn't quite put into words with his limit vocabulary.

First and forth most he is grateful, discovering someone that might be a kindred spirit of sorts lifted his spirits more than the thought of a comfortable bed and food to eat. Aurin didn't say much about himself, and kept his distance emotionally, but through his actions and mannerism Yshvold saw something familiar. Beyond that was a mixture of sudden grief for past mistakes, hatred for those who tried to keep him under their boots, anger for the injustices he had to experience to get to this point, but hope for what might be a chance to start again.

"I remember being alone before coming above ground for a long time. I don't remember how many cold seasons that passed, but there were many. Before that I was with a girl, she treated me very well but never told me her name. She was killed by a gang, the treasures we stole from a group of adventurers was taken from her and they cut her body deep and took out her eyes. I killed the man who did that, it wasn't easy." As Yshvold talked he began to stare, unblinkingly at the table as the food was taken away. It looked as though he was being whisked away back in time to relive those moments.

"I never bothered to learn their names, but I found they had marked both of us to die. I stalked the man who did it for over a week, and found where he slept. Then I hid under his bed and killed him in his sleep. They hunted me for a long time after that, but they never got me. They were slow and clumsy." Yshvold's lips twitched into a smile at that last part before going back to a neutral frown.

"Before that I only remember hearing a woman's voice, she sang something to me. It wasn't in words we speak, but it was nice. There was a man, but I don't remember him as well, he disappeared and she went looking for him. Then she disappeared as well. I think the girl found me after that. It's all very fuzzy around that point." Yshvold kept his voice monotone as he remembered everything as best as he could, not omitting a single fact in case it might help Aurin piece together a puzzle even he couldn't put together.

There was a lengthy pause as Aurin put the last of the food away, the boy could only keep his gaze on the table as he flicked through the memories in his mind. Most of it being days of starving or killing to stop starving. He cursed himself for not learning names of people that came after him and survived. For not thinking to remember the faces of the woman who sang him the song while she had him in her arms.

"If I ever find out who my parents are, and if they were killed because of that place down there. I don't know what I'll do. I don't think anyone would be able to stop me." Yshvold considered himself a survivor and top predator when under the city, but not a mass murderer. Every kill had a purpose, whether it being to improve himself, living to see another day, or vengeance. Not once did he do it out of sport or malicious joy. If he continues becoming more powerful in his gift, and the rage he held deep inside was to become uncorked...

The thought scares him.

"What would you do?" Yshvold wanted to be honest for once, to build the trust that he knew he must have if he would be a proper partner to someone of equal or greater skill. While much was said, it had to be in this moment. Even if it was too much.

[Aurin]

Aurin listened. He really listened, both because he was undertaking a new investigation on Yshvold's part and because he would prefer if they became friends, at least. He could work with people who weren't his friends—both the Velvet Cabaret and the Golden Peacock were proof of that. But then, he couldn't really see a way to offer a hand that Yshvold wouldn't glance askance at. He was used to taking care of himself and Aurin's magic offended him; the best he could do was be true to the promises he made to the kid and let the kid decide when enough had been done to prove his integrity. Aurin might lie to get what he wanted, but he didn't tend to lie to those he worked with; he wanted there to be some small foundation of trust at least.

There wasn't a lot to go on, but enough to make an attempt, at least. Then, Yshvold dropped an emotional bomb and Aurin just blew air through his lips and answered honestly.

"I would put my parents into the ground," he said bluntly. "They were worse fucking monsters than the tentacled shit show, the hentai wall, the butt beasts, and the swarm of rats put together. Or fuck... I'd burn them and pour their ashes oversea."

He shrugged.

"Maybe I'm a monster. But all we can do at this point is investigate, and then when you have something to go on, we can decide a course forward. I mean, you can. I'll try to answer the question better then if you still trust my answer."

He paused.

"Can you sing me the song she sang to you...? Or hum it at least? I'm not fucking with you. It's just you never know which little clue might turn up more clues, you know? I'm not going to judge your voice or anything. Just need the melody or something."

[Yshvold]

Yshvold scrunched up his face as he put every bit of effort he could into remembering that far back. Sometimes it would come to him in a dream, in bits and pieces, and other times he would find himself softly humming some strange tune before he slept.

Aurin would think he was silly, spouting gibberish words to a tune he could hardly carry. He would have to make a fool of himself even more than he already has today for almost no gain. He is no singer and had no aspirations to be such, there were plenty of other street performers who worked to master the craft and thus did not need him to further their numbers. Although, he thought, this is just an excuse to weasel out of embarrassing himself.

A deep breath in. Then his lips parted slowly as a single note droned on with the first word. Every word spoken made no sense to the boy, and would make even less sense to Aurin, but the song itself seemed to speak without the context of its message.

Even as a talentless singer his voice ringed out like a tiny angel. Yshvold tried to work through the little cracks in his voice and sudden tone drops but persevered as best as he could with what he had.

Each note sang spoke of a melancholic joy.

The feeling of watching happiness from afar, and enjoying it vicariously, while suffering on your own. Of holding a child in your arms and knowing they will live a life better than yours when you are no longer there, and finding that it is enough. Through even in death a warrior would know that their family is safe, that their efforts were not in vain. Then that a thief might find friends to help carry him from a life of wretch and villainy.

What words he didn't know was hummed but he never lost the feeling the song kept as hums transitioned between words and back again, but the words themselves made no sense. A language that seemed to have lost its way, and was found through a boy's lullaby.

As Yshvold finished, he found himself feeling something entirely new. Cheeks flushed red as he waited for the laughs that would no doubt come. Whatever this feeling was, he wished to kill it.

[Aurin]

It was a strange sort of song, and it brought uncomfortable thoughts to the surface, most of which involved wondering whether Ava had ever sung him a lullaby, or Galeas held him with any sort of paternal feeling. He shoved those aside, though, and shoved them down. Yshvold needed his undivided attention for something that was obviously important to him, important enough to be vulnerable around Aurin, who was quite disreputable despite the veneer of civilization he had acquired for his new job. If the Lysanrin boy's treble faltered, he got the point across. A part of him wanted to walk over and put his arm around the kid, but somehow he imagined that would go terribly wrong.

Instead, he swallowed and nodded.

"I'd heard there was some ancient Lysanrin language. Akiroth or something... but I'd heard it was extinct. I don't know if that was it, but... that might help narrow things down." He tried to hum at least what he had identified as the chorus, as it had been repeated more than twice. Perhaps he could find a few Lysanrin folks who might fill in some of the gaps.

Aurin hummed it one more time, eyebrow raised by the end. "Is that about it? If I have that much down, I can relay it to other people who might have heard it."

He didn't want to make false promises lest disappointment sour their working arrangement and any friendship that might develop out of it, but he didn't feel right killing hope in its cradle either.

"It's a cold case," he warned, "but I'll try the hustle from a different angle and see if I can get you anything to work with. If you want to check up on my progress, you're welcome to ask questions. Otherwise, I'll just let you know when I have enough that it seems worthwhile to tell you, all right?"

[Yshvold]

Only a few times Yshvold had to correct Aurins tune, as he hummed back. Whatever he meant by some ancient language meant nothing to Yshvold, the words of the song never meant anything but the feeling of the tune gave him all the context he needed when remembering.

Yshvold held out some tiny sliver of hope that Aurin could find some piece of information. Something that could lead him to a target to throw all of his rage onto, someone to blame. Otherwise he can only blame himself for his ill fate, and who knows how he'll punish himself for it.

"I think I'm ready for today to be over. I'm sorry for not eating as much as I could, but could you let me sleep now? I would rather be training instead of... this." Yshvold awkwardly shifts in his seat as he sniffs and rubs his face with one of his sleeves. Withdrawing as much as he can to keep his composure, the song he recited brings out emotions that he would rather not show anyone.

Elwes is much better at handling knives and daggers than him, and he very much looks forward to seeing what he can learn from her. Likewise Aurin can handle people in a way Yshvold only dreams of being able to do, his studies are paltry compared to what Aurin can teach him.

What Yshvold can do now is only good for stalking down unfortunate souls and making them hurt. While some out there would pay well for that, its not much for helping him settle into a good life. Although at this point, was it still possible?

Only time will tell, and that first step starts tomorrow. It all depends on what others can do at this point, and giving that control to another puts a pit of unease in Yshvold's stomach.

[Aurin]

"Sure," he said, reacting immediately to Yshvold's discomfort. Feelings were awful; on that point, they could agree. Having people he cared about and people who cared about him was a vulnerability, but he recognized now that his life without those things had been a matter of survival rather than actually living. The stakes were just higher now.

He didn't know how to express that to this kid who might or might not want to be taken under his wing, or if that was even appropriate. If the Lysanrin lived to adulthood, he'd have his own opportunities to choose whether or not to let people in.

"You've got food and water, you've got a bathroom and a bed, you've got the key and I have one, too. I'll lock up behind me and you'll be as secure as can be while you sleep."

No defenses were unassailable, of course, but it was always a matter of reducing risks. Aurin couldn't think of anyone who hated him enough to break into his cottage in the middle of the night in an attempt to murder him. The noise would wake him up and they would be greeted by many sharp objects

For once, Aurin didn't leave with a wry, sardonic quip. He just nodded shortly instead of deflecting with shitty humor.

"See you tomorrow, kid."

Later that day...

Aurin did return, though it was after noon. He figured the kid needed time to hibernate and recuperate. When he was safe after a long period of instability, his mind and his body would conspire to put him down long enough to gather his strength. He imagined the kid would be similar. And in any case, Aurin had responsibilities with his day job at the Golden Peacock Theater.

His dress was more expensive now, though not flashy despite Arvalyn's best efforts to make a fop of him when he had landed the more prestigious position. He did have a package under his arm, though, containing old costumes that would likely fit Yshvold. They were a bit shabby from wear, but they were clean and well made and all of them in a contemporary style that wouldn't draw undue notice to him. His horns would do that, anyway. Or his mask if he continued to wear that in public.

He knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, and then slowly unlocked the door to let himself in. It was just a little warning that might lessen the anxiety. Then again, it was possible the kid would be gone, Aurin's spare blades in tow.

"Hey, it's me," he said before the door had fully swung open.

[Yshvold]

Whatever Aurin had expected when he walked in, it must have been something other than one of his display daggers sticking out of the dining table they sat at, or a couple stabbed into the wall with a few laying uselessly on the ground underneath them.

Yshvold was already awake, dressed in the same clothes he had fallen asleep in, and struggling to pull a sword out of the floorboards. Stuck as it was, it wasn't budging with the weight of the boy hanging on from the other end.

All along the room the many weapons were lined up, assumedly ready to be used in practice, with only a few seeing some sort of wall or floor action.

"Come. On. Damn. You." Yshvold's grunts in frustration as he yanks back at the sword, falling off in defeat before noticing Aurin.

His eyes grow wide as they dart between the man and the many weapons out of place. He wasn't sure if he should be touching them, but he was bored and grew impatient with waiting for Aurin to return. He didn't think about how carried away he had gotten with the unfamiliar weaponry he had access too.

"You are... what are you wearing?" Yshvold stood up and brushed himself off. He took another look at Aurin before resting a hand on the holy sword floorscaliber, the sword that only the worthy could pull from its wood, snorted in amusement. "I have the strange urge to mug you for your coin."

It had dawned on him that Aurin also had a bag of sorts with him, and an awful thought came to him. "I don't like cloths like that, it tells everyone I have money. How can I sneak around like that?"

[Aurin]

Aurin surveyed the scene without the flicker of an eyelid, locking the door behind him for security's sake. He scooped up a dagger or two that had been in his path to the table, and set them down.

"A battlefield littered with debris can be as much a hindrance to you as to your enemies," he shared, summarizing a maxim more poetically described by someone else long ago. He did smile a bit at Yshvold's struggle with the sword. He didn't know where he had gotten the sword—all Aurin's blades were smaller, more easily concealable or at least called a tool rather than a weapon, as if weapons weren't tools themselves—but he supposed the lad would be a better employee if he was industrious. Aurin would just have to keep an eye on him until he knew where industriousness and taking stupid risks collided. They all had that point.

"It's a costume," he admitted. "I tricked my way into a fancy gig at the Golden Peacock Theater around the corner on the square. I have to talk to artists, who wear all sorts of things, but I also have to talk to rich benefactors and prosperous tradespeople, and they need me to be this. To look like this anyway." He shrugged and tossed the bag onto the bed.

"Those are old costumes, as well. None of them this fancy, but well-made and well-used. About your size and some a bit bigger in case you grow anytime soon. You should still be able to sneak in them. Sometimes, though, it's easier to sneak if you camouflage to the situation. So I have these clothes to sneak through gilded environments. You'll learn." Of course, the horns would always draw attention and there was nothing to be done. From what he understood, he couldn't gift the boy with his masquerade trick. Runes didn't take on the cursed race.

"And you can try to pickpocket me, but I'm going to pay you anyway. Be smart and you can make more money without thieving, or call it a higher order of thieving if you like." He took hold of the sword's hilt and gave it a mighty yank. It came free and he held it up to examine it before twisting the grip so he could offer it pommel-first to the boy.

"I'm not much for big blades. They require a different sort of strength. I aim for swift and explosive. Works better with daggers."

[Yshvold]

Yshvold's eyes dart away from Aurin on the mention of the sword. It was not his, nor Yshvolds, and the boy didn't know how the man would react if he told him he stole it on a quick trip outside.

"I don't think I need to take your money, I'll earn my keep." His prideful boasting is cut short when he takes the sword by the handle again, and it drops to the floor. The boy's spirit is willing but the blade is not suited to his physical strength, yet.

Embarrassing is a word one could use at his display at wielding weapons outside of his expertise, it is also a word Yshvold would rather avoid at all cost now. To many stabs at his pride have happened in the last 24 hours, he may not survive anymore.

He takes the moment to lean into the sword and play it off like he intended to let it drop, pointy end first, onto the floor. Anything to keep the man from laughing at his foolishness.

"I doubt anyone would believe that I belong to a group of rich nobles and such. I'll wear them anyway, and you're the boss. I do wonder tho..." Yshvold takes another look at Aurin again, finding that the clothes do suit him, in a fashion. "Why don't you join them? You look like one of them, couldn't you make a fortune and enjoy it? If you could, why don't you enjoy it?"

The man is still much of a mystery to the boy. He has skills that are leagues above his own, in some regards, and yet he still lurks in the shadows of this world. The stench of sewer garbage sticks to Aurin no matter how much he dresses himself up to disguise it. Even the boy has learnt that once a sewer rat always a sewer rat.