Shake It Out [Rivin]

[Sivan]

76th of Frost, Year 121 Steel
The Plaza of Jeweled Arches

And it's hard to dance
With a devil on your back
So shake him off

It had been a long day. Master Jacun had been in a mood. Normally, he was gregarious enough, or focused. A bad mood was rare, but it made Sivan's day more difficult, and wore him out by the end. He was exhausted and that led his mind to darker places. A little voice in his head told him he ought to seek out Torin or Destyn or even Laurevere, who had been by the shop earlier for his near daily cup of tea. But he just wanted to go home, have a bite to eat, and putter around in the garden. There were things to do even in the season of Frost, and Geb had made quick work of the moon gate, so there was work he could do to prepare Laurevere's courtyard to become part of the spirits' home. He might even come down to watch, though he didn't imagine the elven lord would help with so menial a task.

Dark came quickly this late in winter, even though the days were steadily growing longer. Glade wasn't so far away, though it wouldn't come on strong this far north.

Wait, Exael snapped in his mind. Sometimes, he almost forgot the ephemeral celestial was there, riding around in his mind. They were observing each other, vetting each other to be sure they wanted to formalize a more permanent contract, a Sacrament, just as soon as Sivan understood exactly how to enact one. He stumbled in surprise, but didn't fall. He smiled apologetically to someone who glanced with a touch of concern. He stepped out of the flow of foot traffic and put his back to a wall, not sure what Exael wanted.

Something wicked this way comes.

[Rivin]

The journey to Kalzasi had been long and filled with terrors. Attempts had been made to relieve him of his possessions, his newly gained autonomy, his life, and, more than once, his virginity. This was the place the Voice had suggested to him, so here was where he went.

The Voice had a name, he had even been told its name, but it was difficult to pronounce and hurt his head when the Voice spoke it into his mind, so he did not ask for repetition. Rivin knew some of Kalzasi from his studies, the basic construct of its government, highest imports and exports, the hierarchy of the nobility. These things had seemed a lot while he had been curled up before his fire or in an enclosed library. Now, as he hunched against the cold in his travel-stained grey cloak, hood pulled up as much to conceal his appearance as to gain warmth, it did not feel like much.

He had some coin leftover from paying a caravan to smuggle him the eight hundred miles from Zaichaer; never knowing if he was being swindled and not caring if he was. But his weatherworn pack had things in it that were worth small fortunes, he had made sure. Where he might sell them, however, and what the value of a coin was actually worth, how to purchase anything, these were mysteries that ate at him as much as his empty stomach did.

Talking to the spirits of the area had not garnered him anything useful, they were small creatures and dull, even more so than those he'd communicated within the Empire. He needed a teacher, and, for the moment, the Voice was not being forthcoming.

The sun was beginning to set, and a wind was rising that smelled wet. It would snow again before morning and he could not spend the evening out in it. Light began to pour from the shops to either side of the walkway, which felt friendly at least. Wandering was doing him no good, so he skirted through the milling throng of people, presumably heading to their homes, to stand under the awning of a place that seemed to sell pottery. Across the way was an inn, with a wooden sign set up outside proclaiming what food it was serving and the prices. Squinting to make out the numbers in the growing gloaming he thought about the gold and silver he had left in his pockets and tried to make a plan.

[Sivan]

Exael was a strange sort of summon. Most of the time, it—he, though that wasn't always the case, confusingly—rode around in his head, observing the world and how he engaged with it. Sometimes, he projected out, most often to mind the shop when Sivan had to run back to fix up something in a hurry, or, more recently, to guard him while he slept so he wouldn't worry about shadowy assassins coming to kill a nobody in his sleep.

Just now, Exael tried to tug at his eyes. The celestial didn't have power over his body, but Sivan obliged until his gaze fell upon a horned man, an eldritch tail flicking back and forth as he considered an inn whose taproom Sivan had frequented before as it was on his normal path between work and home.

Well, he considered as his stomach started to growl. He found his steps taking him now across the street to the door of the inn's taproom. He pulled the door open, then paused, glancing at the strange man. A golden eyebrow hitched up.

"Going in?" he asked. "The food is good and they don't overcharge."

If he didn't, well, Sivan was going to go in anyway. He was hungry and even though Exael was muttering about demonic energy in his head, he didn't know what the spirit expected him to do about it. He did want to impress the spirit enough that it deigned to bond with him eventually, but it hadn't exactly told him what it wanted him to do in this situation. Perhaps a meal for Sivan and some time for Exael would remedy the problem of a plan, at least.

[Rivin]

The wind rose up suddenly, pulling his cloak off his head to expose his horns and whipping it around his hips. With chagrin he accepted that hiding what he was would never be a total thing. Halfway through replacing the hood, he realized that one of the voices sounding around him was addressing him directly.

Blinking grey, cloud-colored eyes at the person in question he let his mind pull out all the information it could from the glance. The advice was just the sort of thing he was looking for and he wondered if he'd been muttering loudly enough to be heard. Looking between the man, or elf, he thought despite being well-layered against the cold, and the door he nodded cautiously.

Entering through the held portal, Rivin took in the room and felt, for an odd moment as though he'd walked into one of the storybooks he'd devoured as a child. The Quintessential Tavern was one of the most common tropes of adventure stories and the room spread out before him held all of the descriptions he'd devoured as a boy. The sounds; a bit of music, the movement and conversation of dozens of people, the clink and clatter of plates and utensils, voices making orders, boasting, laughing. It was warm from the bodies and two hearths blazing merrily in greeting to his travel-stained and chilled form. Scents poured from every direction, most of them pleasant by their own virtue or at least association; soot and soup, bread and beer, warmth and water.

Throwing his gaze back over his shoulder he watched to see if his unexpected adviser followed him to the bar. When he did, Rivin let himself continue to follow his lead, ordering whatever he did and paying the same for it felt safe.

[Sivan]

Sivan did follow him in, offering an awkward smile before walking up to the bar. It took a moment to find enough space along its length to get the bartender's attention, and when he looked around, there weren't really any places to sit with all the supper rush and those trying to sneak a pint or two in before they had to hurry home to their families after work. When the Lysanrin appeared at his elbow, he stepped to the side a bit, trying to make room for him. There was enough room for both of their orders, he figured, but only the one bar stool.

Exael was paying pointed attention, but not saying anything, so Sivan just indicated the stool.

"You can take the seat if you like," he offered. "I spent too much time today on my arse." His smile was more of a wince. Often he went home sweating from all the heavy lifting he did for Jacun, but some days he was largely scribbling in a notebook to while away the time.

"It ought to calm down a bit within an hour."

Then he didn't know how to proceed, so he just glanced around the place, even though there was supposedly something about this man that had piqued the celestial's interest. Exael hadn't struck him as particularly prejudiced against any mortal race, though of course, he was quite judgmental about infernals, which stood to reason. He threaded a bit of aether through his Rune of Semblance, hoping to get an idea of what the matter was. When he didn't feel the resonance of another Rune of Semblance nearby, he was emboldened and poured a bit more of himself into his arcane senses, though it would still take time to sift through all the impressions that came to him.

[Rivin]

The genial equality with which the elf spoke was not something that Rivin had encountered before. Keeping his eyes, and his gaze, carefully neutral he considered whether or not to accept the offered seat. His body was tired, having walked across the length of the city from the gates and not found a place to rest. He was used to working himself into a sweat, but not to the weeks of hard travel he had endured in constant anxiety since escaping Zaichaer.

He gave a little nod of gratitude as he carefully slid onto the stool. It took a moment for him to realize that the other man was referencing the crowdedness of the establishment. Upon entering Rivin had assumed it was always so. How loud everything was, how chaotic, were not welcome, but the heat prevalent in a space filled with so many bodies, and the anonymity a crowd offered were.

Still feeling the chill that had crept into his bones over the weeks of walking beside a covered wagon, his senses caught on a tiny fire sprite flickering around a triple-wick candle on the bartop. Reaching out two fingers, not realizing he was making the gesture in his exhausted state, he sent out an equally tiny flicker of his own aether toward the creature. It perked up immediately too minor to have even what passed as thoughts among its kind, it only had hunger. Forming the slightest of bonds with it was as simple as continuing to feed it while it burrowed into his cloak and let him soak in its warmth.

With a sigh somewhere near comfort, he looked back at the elf,

"Is there something very filling? I have been traveling a long time and I feel empty to my feet."

[Sivan]

Sivan did his best not to look surprised at the subtle bit of summoning that he might have felt even had he not engaged his Rune of Semblance. At the question, he merely nodded. When the bartender came close, he ordered two crocks of the stew and a loaf of dark bread, which ought to still be hot from the oven at this hour, as well as butter for it, and two mugs of ale because that was better here than the wine.

"On my tab, please," he said to the bartender, who nodded and efficiently went to carry the order to the kitchen.

Diffidently to the stranger, he said, "Welcome to Kalzasi. I arrived about a year ago and it was nearly this cold. The winters this far north can be brutal."

Then he looked away because he didn't really know what to say. He wondered if his attempt at a simple act of kindness would be read wrong, as Urs had read his desire to make sure he didn't get into drunken trouble as a proposition. Thankfully, he and Urs had come to an understanding and now he helped the man out with his summoning—the better to keep him from making dangerous mistakes. But this man seemed quite capable, though Sivan had been under the impression that Lysanrin couldn't bear Cardinal Runes upon them; something to do with the magic and curses that had brought their race into being. But that wouldn't be the first time experience had taught him that what he had learned was wrong.

Or perhaps only those who could siphon aether were unable to bear runes. Or perhaps he was of mixed ancestry; Sivan didn't know enough Lysanrin to be able to necessarily tell and he was trying not to stare even though Exael wanted to keep eyes on him like something terrible might happen at the drop of a hat.

[Rivin]

The man he had grown to be under Ilex's care would have been ashamed of the fact that he did not notice the subtle change in the elf's expression that would have informed him the elf had seen his use of Summoning. Rivin would not have appreciated the idea that he was doing better due to the prolonged exhaustion than he would have had all his wits been wound as tightly around him as they normally were.

He would have been huddled in some alley, too afraid of someone recognizing his accent or his face to speak to anyone. The food was ordered and he made no comment, only hoping that the spicing wasn't so different from what he was used to that his stomach would object. This did not seem likely, considering the empty state it was currently complaining of. Having no idea what a tab was he didn't understand the offering.

The drinks came first and it was an effort not to empty the stout mug immediately. The flavor was different from what he was used to, less bitter and it tasted of unfamiliar grains. Rivin liked it. More than he liked the Imperium ales he'd tried. Drinking to excess on an empty stomach was a poor enough idea that he could still remember it, so he only sipped after the first mouth full.

"This is good." He said, feeling like he might be sounding foolish but acknowledging that he was doing his best at the moment.

"I thank you." His Common was fairly heavily accented and the hand not wrapped around the mug made a Rivach gesture for 'gratitude'. Rivin hadn't had anyone to speak the language with but it had felt like a way to connect with another side of his heritage so he had played with the gestures constantly once he'd found a book on them, teaching them to his mother until they could communicate most things without speaking. It had saved them more than once from bad situations and even though he hadn't seen her in years, sometimes he still found himself using the gestures along with his thoughts when he was tired.

"I am not used to this weather and I have been traveling a long time." He'd already said that, but had forgotten. "It feels like my bones have gone cold."

[Sivan]

"You are welcome," he replied in fluent Rivach. He looked more like his Hytori father, but he had spent more time among his Dratori mother's people during his formative years. "I have an elixir that helps stave off the worst of the cold." He pulled the vial out of his coat pocket. The tincture was clear, but had a faint glow akin to a warm hearthfire. "A few drops on the tongue ought to last you for a couple of days. It will hit the tongue like a hot sauce, but quickly dissipate into a gentle burn in your mouth. Within ten to fifteen minutes, it ought to have spread through your body and you should be comfortable with the cold. It oughtn't to give you a fever, just maintain your body temperature more efficiently."

He held it out in offer, then realized that might seem shady from a relative stranger, so he unscrewed the top and let fall a few drops on his own tongue where the Lysanrin who gestured in Rivach could see, and then put the cap back on and set it between their drinks so he could take it if he wanted it.

"I am Sivan," he added. Then, in Rivach because it didn't sound right in Common, "Sivan Sunrunner."

Their food arrived just in time to interrupt their introduction. This flustered Sivan a bit because he was socially awkward and there was a celestial burning in his brain, just waiting for something evil to happen. But there was no harm done, really. The stew was hot and smelled hearty. The bread was also hot, the butter chilled, and there was plenty of everything. Sivan's stomach growled and he could only imagine the other man was starving from the way his eyes cut to the meal.

[Rivin]

The words felt like they made sense, and a deeper part of his mind began to respond before his (barely) waking mind caught up and tried to hold onto the actual words that had been used. Not trusting himself to speak in the language that he'd only ever read he said slowly, in Common,

"Could you say that again?" His eyes fell intently on his new companion's mouth, pulling his concentration of study onto that one part, trying to memorize the sounds and movements.

When they were back to speaking their shared second language he said,

"You have alchemy?" His eyes changed from the neutral, and tired gray they had been since he'd entered the city a shade towards blue. Opening himself to the sense that he had tried not to rely on, or even use, almost his whole life, he watched the tendrils of fire swirl inside the bottle. Alchemy was one of the many things he had theoretical knowledge in, but even that was only slight. He had used the products of the world magic sometimes in his work with the Doctor, but anything that might have taught him more than the basic concept of how it worked had been forbidden.

However much the alchemical aid cost, Rivin could pay it. Even if he was overcharged by this elf, it would likely be worth it, and he doubted he would be outrageously so. Thinking an outlander doesn't know local prices is different than knowing he has no understanding of proper costs at all. Reaching out carefully he took the bottle, noting that it was slightly warm to the touch, or, perhaps Rivin was an idiot and it had simply been inside a warm pocket for hours. The stranger was willing to give him good faith gestures, so Rivin was willing to accept what was offered. Opening the stopper he placed an equal amount onto his own tongue, swallowing as the warmth spread over it.

When the name was offered him, he considered not answering with his own, but, thankfully, he knew that the name was not uncommon.

"I am Rivin." He answered in Rivach, trying to use the little he had now heard to get the vowel sounds right.

The words came out just as steaming bowls were pushed in front of them both. The scent hit the Lysanrin's brain before he had time to think and the spoon was snatched up and filled. He was just about to take a bite when he blinked and turned to look at the elf.

"Will the alchemy keep me from feeling if food is too hot?"