Lingering Threats, ii. [Yshvold]

[Aurin]

Aurin was well pleased that Yshvold seemed inclined to accept the helping hand he offered; it might seem like charity at the moment, but soon enough, the Lysanrin youth would begin to earn his keep. The helping hand was the opportunity to earn his keep, afford him a bit of dignity of which the world would continue to strip him if he let it. If they were sewer rats, they were much more terrifying in a swarm. He knew that much from experience the last time they were down there.

He canted his head to the side.

"You could pass for a servant in fine livery," he allowed. "You'd have to brush up on your fine manners, though. But these aren't so fine as all that."

As for the rest, he considered before answering.

"I'm working on a fortune, don't you worry. But I couldn't live like they do—not really—not while knowing how their privilege fucks the rest of us over and over again without a by your leave. I don't want to shit on a golden privy. I just want the resources to protect myself and mine, you know? I don't want to forget what the world is really like. That's how it comes back and fucks you again."

Aurin would never be Father of the Year; he clearly saw no reason to mitigate his blue language in front of a boy. But then, Yshvold had surely heard worse. Niceties were nice for people born into silk-lined bassinets and silver spoons. In any case, what did he know about raising children? He just tried to help the odd one survive into adulthood with enough agency to make a life for themself.

[Yshvold]

Aurin's words were those of the adult's that he had suffered for the longest time. The harsh brashness was familiar, almost homelike, in their abrasiveness that he felt a pang of nostalgia from nights he stayed up to stalked the streets for ill means.

Indeed he was like many of the adults that lived down there. It reminded him that this man was still someone to be careful around but his help was still needed. Nothing would be gained from fleeing or quitting, he needed more strength for the many battles to come.

He speaks of making his way to protect his own, but what does that include?

Yshvold didn't need protecting, not in his mind, but he knew what it meant to have protection in the darkest corners of the world. Even up here, in the light, the shadows tendrils still find ways to cast shade over the brightest of moments.

Finally he looked through the bad of clothes and found it was as Aurin promised. The clothes were good, cleaned, and quite normal for the boy to wear. He could walk the streets and turn less heads with these as he did before. The lessons he learnt on his solo journeys around the city taught him that most people do not judge him on his appearance, in fact most didn't even look his way. It was only when he took action that those with authority would look, and attempt to make him kneel.

A blessing to be sure that they never saw his face, a miracle in fact. Even with his nightly activities nothing seemed to change, he never made a single difference.

"I don't care if the world would try to end me. If everyone decided to hunt me for whatever reason, they wont walk away without a limp. I like these clothes, but I can't survive if I only wear clean stuff. When do I learn how to fight better?" Yshvold looks up with two handfuls of clean linen and a spark of determination, and defiance against everything. He came to learn, not to be dressed up as a doll.

[Aurin]

Aurin nodded at the boy's big words. He didn't doubt him, but he knew that attitude would only avail him in certain situations and he would eventually have to learn to be more adaptable if he wanted to survive, let alone thrive. But for all his silences, the boy's words tended to come out like surpise knife attacks and as for his question, Aurin could only smile.

"Lots of sharp things here," he said. "Why don't you come at me?"

Aurin had learned to be almost as lethal without a weapon as with one, and he was curious if Yshvold had learned to keep on keeping on if he should chance to lose his weapon. There were probably better ways to teach, but Aurin wasn't the best teacher. At least, he had never thought of pedagogy or method; he only knew how the woman who liked to deny the fact that she was his mother had taught him: when he needed to learn to swim, she pushed him into the river.

He thought he might be a bit less sociopathic for Yshvold.

So he waited to see what the boy would do, which weapon he would choose, whether he would fling a dagger from a safe distance or close the gap between them to engage. They had a lot to learn about each other, and hopefully, they could learn to work well together. He might even end up with a small army of the young and overlooked who were willing to work for something with someone who was willing to work with and for them, like Arry's little gang back in Antiris could have been if the man in charge hadn't been an utter fuck.

"Tomorrow, we can go down to the Low-City and you can learn from Elwes if you think I'm unworthy of your martial talents."

[Yshvold]

An eyebrow raised is all Aurin got in response for his challenge. Yshvold wonders what could have possessed this man to welcome someone to come at him, with blade in hand.

Back during their voyage towards the deeper parts of the Middens he saw the pair in all of their glory, he thinks about how he should approach someone who could restrain him in a frontal confrontation. Aurin knew he was coming, he couldn't hide in this room, and to flee didn't seem like a viable option. Yshvold felt trapped by this challenge, if he were to propose it then the challenge would span the course of days.

Picking up one of the fallen daggers let his mind slow and relax. He would have to attack Aurin right in front of him, with some sort of surprise.

So with dagger in hand, and his thoughts finally coming to a stop, he looks up at Aurin and found he wasn't looking at anyone at all. Aurin was there but his face went blank as canvas. This wasn't a person, it was a target.

He let his presence and killing intent subside and the empty gaze in his eyes grew to hollow joy and a plastic smile framed his lips, gentle and fake but mayhap it would fool the unaware and naive.

For anyone who would be able to see into his mind, they would find nothing, and all the simmering hate and rage was now as calm as a still lake. Instinct would take care of what he needed to be done.

Yshvold took a step forward and lets the dagger hand in his hand at his side. He lets his gaze fix past the prey as he casual strolls at his target, right until he gets so close that Aurin could look down and see nothing but the crown of his hair and horns.

For a second Yshvold stood there, motionless in his gait. He was still as a board, and quiet as a whisper, then nothing could be heard as Yshvold held his breath in and struck.

The dagger comes around with a swing towards Aurin's chin as a feint and the boy grabs whatever clothing he could on the man to bring him backwards towards the ground. Putting every ounce of his weight he could to push him forward.

[Aurin]

Normally, that challenge would have been followed up by immediately bringing his semblance trick to bear, but as he knew that made Yshvold uncomfortable, he opted not to. And normally, he wouldn't allow someone he knew was about to cut on him to get so close without a challenge. But he took a calculated risk that they were going to spar, see what each other was made of, and he would have to trust that Yshvold wasn't going to try to spill his entrails on the floor of this place he was going to get to stay until he earned enough for his own spot.

If Aurin needed stitches after this, so be it. His hide was already scarred from plenty of knife fights.

With Yshvold's hair right below him, he now knew what Lysanrin smelled like. At least he was clean after using the bathing facilities.

The face the boy had made was worrisome. Aurin could understand social masks. He wore them like costumes himself. But he wondered whether that feral, sociopathic smile was just a way to scare off bigger people or an indicator of what lay beneath the boy's obvious trauma.

His own body tried to find that sweet spot between coiled tension and open relaxation that made these deadly dances easier to survive. He pulled his head back out of the way of the knife, which added to the momentum the boy used to push him back, though he managed to get a foot behind him to prevent him from falling. Using that back leg like a spring, he pushed back, pushed hard, shoving Yshvold in the chest to send his smaller bulk backward. Aurin would always have an advantage if they were farther apart. If he let Yshvold up close, his dagger could do lots of damage rather quickly.

"Could've tried to hook your ankle behind mine," he offered. It was just a suggestion now, and he would see it coming if the boy tried it now. In any case, he might remember it next time he was in a similar situation and then he might end a fight quickly and victoriously, the best way to end one.

[Yshvold]

"What?!" Yshvold exclaimed as he is, instead, pushed back. His mind snapped back to earth as his plan failed completely, not even a small cut to show for his efforts.

Keeping up the pressure was an option, there are plenty of weapons on the ground for him to use. Alternatively he could do nothing, make use of his other skills and make this a test of attrition. He could out wait this man and look for opportunity, but how could he convince him to agree to this.

This is a contest of strength of arms and skill, its terms already agreed upon, to break or mend the rules now might hurt him in the end. Anyone else it would be a simple matter, but he was trying to be on good terms with this man.

A change in strategy? Conceding? Breaking rules? Did this man even set terms for him?

He'll have to try if he wants to save face.

"I see. I don't give up, but I refuse to fight with the odds against me from the start. This isn't how I fight, but you are strong." He stands up straight and proud, eyeing the various weapons on the ground for an idea he could use in this situation.

An image of Aurin moving in different ways comes into his imagination. Throwing a dagger would make him move out of the way and a follow up with one of the daggers on the ground might be met with him grabbing one of his own. He can't match the man this way, and his only other other option would be to use the sword. The very heavy sword.

"What will you do now?" His eyes come back up to meet Aurins, serious and deadpan, and readies himself for retaliation.

[Aurin]

For his part, Aurin observed Yshvold's incredulity and the quiet that followed. He wasn't a mind reader even when he did ply his semblance trick, but he could practically hear the clockwork wheels turning in his horned skull. When he voiced his lack of capitulation, Aurin nodded and refrained from smiling lest the kid think he was mocking him. If anything, he respected Yshvold as one survivor respects the other. Especially now that they were going to be working together and there was no reason to believe they would get in the way of each other's goals, he was inclined to help the kid with his own.

"Never give up," he said with approval clear in his voice. "Pretending to give up is one thing—a temporary ruse—but giving up is the end and things will only get worse from there." Perhaps not giving up in a training session, but it did set a dangerous precedent in Aurin's mind. Whenever he had given up, getting back on his feet afterward had always been more difficult. "I'm strong in some ways, weak in others. I try to hone the strengths and hide the weaknesses. You'll find them eventually. You're clever."

He thought he saw Yshvold's eyes linger on the sword a moment longer than the other available weapons. Considering what he would do for a moment, he decided to doff his coat and hang it flat over the back of the chair. There was no sense in getting tears in the thing; just because he was making good money now didn't mean there wouldn't be lean periods in the future. Best to be somewhat frugal still. He loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves, collecting on kunai and then the other. Between the two, he could block the heavier sword with ease and maintain his speed and accuracy, even if the kid's reach might surpass his with the larger weapon.

Aurin slipped his index fingers through the holes in the pommels of the tools and spun them around and then caught them in reverse grips.

"I'm not giving up either," he replied with a vulpine grin. But it appeared he was patient enough to wait the boy out.

[Yshvold]

"I don't pretend. If I can't win, then I'll make sure they know I'm still hunting them. I'll do this for days, weeks if I have too." Yshvold leans down, with his eyes still on Aurin, and picks up a second dagger.

He scans the room for a moment to cement a mental map of his surroundings and settles back on Aurin. He won't win today, but someday...

"I've only ever done that once, hunted for a while on a single person. I watched them, and followed them, for over a week. At least I think it was a week." His voice goes to a cool calm as his body relaxes with him inspecting the blades he picked up. Simple daggers made with zero elegancy, they were perfect tools for a dark trade.

"Eventually he holed himself up in a tavern room upstairs, but I knew he would go there. He stayed there while he worked in the Middens and I snuck in a day before. I waited under his bed for a day until he relaxed enough to fall asleep. Do you have a way to beat that? Can you keep your magic trick going for weeks without end?" Yshvold took pride in his technique and it showed in his grim smile. He wasn't skillful in direct combat but he knew terror. To instill it in someone that has earned his ire might be just what he needs to finally feel accomplished.

He felt his ego taking over and his gaze drifted to the side. It was silly to talk this much to someone, he was gloating to a person that had bested him, and he started to think something was wrong with him. It felt good, but not quite right.

"I apologize though. I don't think you would deserve that kind of treatment. I just... am bored." He speaks with a half truth. Indeed boredom had been latched onto his mind for the past several days but being out in the open, and in the world of light, felt wrong. He did not belong.

[Aurin]

Aurin listened to his new protégé speak, watching him calculate the values of various weapons again, whether to sell or to use, and memorize the terrain of the room once more. That was all for the best. If he was going to stay here, it were better he knew how to defend himself should someone burglarize the place or one of Aurelio's cultists come looking for him again. That seemed unlikely, though; it had been months of quiet on that front. Rather, he went investigating in the Midden; they left him alone up here. Alter egos and glamours helped cover his trail.

Finally, he nodded. "Terror can be an excellent weapon, but it shouldn't be your only one."

Of course, he knew it wasn't the kid's only weapon. He had seen him in more than one skirmish now. All the same, tactics had to be adaptable to the situation, and eventually, he wouldn't be able to get by on desperation and rage.

"I'm not certain if it's possible for me to keep my tricks active while I sleep. That's something I should look into." It occurred to him that he might get injured at some point and need to hide in a corner, masking himself from eyes and magical vision until he could recover enough to move. He bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

"If you're bored, we might as well take a walk. Get some food. I'll tell you about these weird cultists in the Midden who seem to want to harvest Avialae wings... Something for you to keep your ears open about, anyway. Maybe I'll introduce you to the Avialae they almost caught. He's invested in sussing it all out, but he's not good at being discreet." He almost rolled his eyes. Aurelio was this kid's opposite in a lot of ways, but perhaps Yshvold was just the person to get on the trail.

"C'mon," he said, beginning to weave his glamours on the alley outside. "Once we get a couple streets away, you can eat the glamour. Aether food and real food so you don't stay that height forever."

fin.

[Torin Kilvin]

R E V I E W

Lore:

Yshvold
Stealth:
Unassuming Approach

One-Handed Weapons:
Dual-Blade Daggers: Close Range Feints
Dual-Blade Daggers: Throwing Techniques Novice

Unarmed:
Grappling: Knocking Off-balance

Singing:
Lullaby

Aurin
Deception:
Dress for the Environment
Let Them See What They Expect

Interrogation:
General Knowing to Narrow Down
Pushing for Small Details

Negotiation:
Try to Make Them Comfortable
Setting Expectations
Current Favors for Future Ones
Foundational Trust
Give It to Them Straight

Persuasion:
Accommodation
Willingness to Listen
Keeping Promises
Answering Questions

Psychology:
Recognizing Similar Trauma
Suppressing Hard Memories


Points: 8 Each, not for magic

Injuries/Ailments: None

Loot: None

Notes: Almost sweet, trying to not kill each other.