Sigil and Flame

[Taelian]

2nd of Frost, Year 119
Eiroldas

Though it was a chilly day on the streets of Kalzasi, Taelian had a thing in common with the city-state's winged elite: The cold hadn't really bothered him much, not for a very long time. Since receiving the Black Sigil, drawn and woven through the arcane and onto the back of his neck, he had experienced little discomfort from the season of Frost. This was his first true Frost, though; in Silfanore the season was one of mildness and lingering warmth, and as he'd passed through Daravin he found the drylands and savannahs cool at their worst, and often smoldering. It was interesting to know what cold really felt like, but at the same time, to not know.

He felt it, to some extent, the wind upon his cheeks. It was a gale of shocking cold that at first was unwelcome; until his Beacon remembered the feeling, and adjusted from within. The Beacon did to him as he did to himself as a child, back when he drew up blankets from his shoddy orphan's pile, experiencing for the first time exposure to nighttime chill.

But this was different - and somehow his body knew. Somehow the Sigil did, as it paternally guarded his flesh, protecting him yet again from the inconvenience of a feeling. Though he did not think of it so grimly: he was glad to be able to wander the streets freely, even as the few others of his knife-eared kin so engaged in their dramatic complaints; shivering and retaining their arms within their coats, complaining of the sudden change to the previously mild winds of Ash.

Taelian wished to step away from the crowd for a while, and the intervention of his Sigil inspired him to pursue its graces more. He'd felt his Beacon almost come alive, of late; whether it was the weather simply bringing note to his internal flame, or even Taelian's bored illusions, he wanted to pursue the art further than he had. He stepped into his wooden hovel, traditionally built with tatami floors and sometimes frustrating sliding doors. Filtering his gaze towards his equipment, never remembering where he'd left it, his eyes quickly latched onto the sheen of his steel Claymore which he strapped onto his back. The Silver Elf set out, somewhat glad that his wooden cottage was already built on the edges of the city. He stepped eagerly across the cobbled floors towards the entrance gate, adorned with the crimson colors of Kalzasi architecture.

Stepping through the enormous door, the mage made his way towards the treeline's edge, where he often played at being a hunter when his meager wages were not enough to sustain his need to eat. He'd never been particularly successful, then, but he was going out for an entirely different reason. Pressing his palm upon the handle of his Claymore from behind him, he narrowed his eyes and concentrated on his over-active Beacon, trying to remember how to entwine the two. It had been a while since he'd fought a Dranoch, and he was fortunate that he'd forgotten how hard it had been. But with everything he'd heard of late - of their emergence in the region - he knew he had limited days to remember.

Wrapping around the edge of the city and stepping on a path towards the woods, the Siltori exhaled. He pulled his sword from its sheath and held it confidently forward, before running his thawed fingertips against the much colder steel contours. He continued to step, poorly concentrating, enough to lose awareness of his surroundings. The Pyromancer stepped into what he thought at first was a chasm, a narrow corridor between pillars of rock, though it grew darker as he stepped into the gap. There were blue lights hot from within, and he could smell their kindling warmth. Stepping forward, he saw the figure of a man, a different sort of beacon that drew attention to his frame.

He was tall; enough for Taelian to blink, twice, as his eyes wrapped around his muscular shape. He was still consistently alarmed by the stature of the wardens of this city. In the past it had almost been a sort of deterrence; simply from first glance, with their wings and head above the rest of men, he knew of their status and willed himself not to bring trouble upon his stay by speaking. He was not here for them, regardless. They were as unrelated to his purposes as could be.

He huffed, and the warm breath quickly became shrouded by cold. His blade lit faintly, as the eminence of the blue flames brought his focus back to his sword. It was Enkindled, finally, and so a different shade of light accompanied the two men that were still somewhat far apart. Taelian realized his quiet, almost combative presence would perhaps alarm the other, and so he rushed to speak once aware he had been noticed.

"Sorry - I... saw your fire," he blurted, with a nervous tone. And that, for the moderately shy Siltori, was enough. His lips closed from their slanted parting, as his view shifted face-level to stare at the man's physique, nervously and thoughtlessly alike.

[Riven]

2nd of Frost, Year 119
Eiroldas

Riven's duties for the day were done; he had properly watered the garden, quickly visited the Sanctuary to check on the adapting species, and had already checked five different books by the old directors of the academy on Icewing Eagle ecology. Until he could organize a new expedition to the mountains, which he still needed materials and permissions for, he didn't have much to do... Fortunately. It had been a while since he had quality free time for himself; the first days of Frost were making temperatures drop and the skies looked pretty gray and windy, but other than that, it wasn't a bad day to do something different, invest some time on himself. Besides, Talon and his siblings seemed particularly busy those days; other than them, Riven didn't have many friends in the city apart from his work acquaintances, so he guessed it was just a lone wolf day. Not that he cared; sometimes even a simple conversation felt heavy and devoid of any enjoyment.

He dropped his notes on his bed and took his cloak off; the hearth wasn't lit, but his heritage and his affinity to fire made it hard for Riven to actually feel cold; he did notice the chilly wind on his feathers, but after so many years it just felt like a background sensation, one he actually had to focus on if he wanted to notice it. Besides, he didn't want to waste firewood if he could save it for actual cooking. He let his mind wander as he grabbed a piece of bread and some cheese from a shelf; sitting on his bed and laying back against the wall, he thought about some of the past Frosts in Kalzasi. A quick smile crossed his face: he actually liked the cold, not because of what it was, but because of what it brought. He grabbed a book that he had borrowed in the academy; The Biology of Iceborn Species. He actually spent an hour having lunch and diving deep into wing structures before he decided he was getting lazy.

He had changed his mind; he wasn't going to let a day go to waste with more of his usual work. And he missed the practice of his art; the most he used the elements lately was to lit his fireplace or to blowdry wet puppies. Of course, he hadn't been wishing to go back to the strict martial upbringing he had endured, but he still liked to feel the adrenaline, the sensation of the elements channeled through his body. He left the book back on the chest and grabbed his twin swords; it had been weeks since he had a good excuse to wield them. He didn't even bother to grab the cloak; the cotton shirt he was wearing would be more than enough for a good training session. He just grabbed a few farthings in case he needed them, the keys to his cottage, and walked through the door, breathing in the fresh air that so many inhabitants of the city complained about. He knew exactly where to go; a small opening between rocks, unreachable for anyone unable to fly... Or so he thought.

He quickly reached the outskirts of Kalzasi; the forest covered every small corner among the large rocky spires that dominated the landscape under his widespread wings; he quickly spotted one of his favorite places; a peaceful meadow well protected by solid stone walls that reached past 150 feet in height. He carefully landed there; as usual, he had no more company than the small rodents that had made themselves a home in the small crevices between the rock spires. As soon as Riven stepped in their playground, they quickly rushed back into their holes. Shaking his head with a smirk, the Avialae stretched his arms and legs a bit; he took off his shirt once he had warmed up, carefully bending it and putting it in a higher rock, kicking his boots off as well. He lit up a small bonfire, profiting one of the dry bushes that spread next to the walls of the glade. A permanent source of fire would be less tasking for his aether reserves.

With all set, he began a basic routine. He left his blades rest in their sheaths in the meantime; it was just a display of pure blue fire for the time being; a deadly art that Riven had transformed into something akin to dancing. He breathed in and tried to clear his mind, controlling the power of the fire in his hands. He sculpted it into a small ball that hovered over his hand, and then started his practice. He formed blades projected in front of him; punches and side kicks that left fiery trails before them. He combined them with his own agility, using his wings to propel himself bacwards and backflipping in the air, producing a deadly vertical ring that scorched the grass and the walls. He repeated the basic moves all over again: blades, fireballs, concentrated jets and whips. He had just ended with a strong blast that overheated a wall when he heard a noise that startled him, turning back with fists aflame.

He breathed in when he saw a Siltori man staring at him; he blinked, surprised; he seemed to have gotten through a small crack in the wall, but he had always assumed it just ended in a dead end like the rest. As the Silver elf apologized, Riven managed to react and extinguished the flame he had lit, burning in both fists. How long had he been there? What had he seen? Upon realizing that the newcomer's vivid gray eyes were staring right at his chest, Riven realized he was still barefoot and barechested, and he had just been shooting blue fire and flying kicking like a madman. He blushed, suddenly nervous; he considered getting his shirt, but he guessed the Siltori had already seen whatever he had to see.

"Er... Don't worry about it. I mean... I thought you could only get to this place from above... But I was clearly wrong." He said, his voice a tad broken. Curse him and his luck. "I was actually intending to practise some moves, but then..." He shook his head; he had no ordered discourse, he was in front of a stranger and to make things worse, he'd caught him in the middle of a firebending frenzy, sweaty and shirtless. He took a few seconds to decide what he really intended to say. "I guess I should introduce myself. Riven Kyon... Researcher and Elementalist, if you need a category. I didn't mean to scare you either... So sorry if I have." He said, scratching his messy hair. Damn, he was awkward.

It took him some times before he actually noticed the sword the man held in his hands; it seemed lit aflame, a characteristic red, flowing through the blade like a slow flame. "And you are also a pyromancer... But not an elementalist, am I wrong?" He asked on impulse, clearly impressed. He had read about Sigilic Pyromancy in the academy as he had investigated magic; he had never seen a true practitioner though.

[Taelian]

When the stir of initial bewilderment had faded, Taelian looked to the other man with analytical precision. He fully mapped out his upper body, if only to assess his threat, viewing weaknesses and other flaws; scars, movements that displayed hesitation, or perhaps other things his investigative glance might have determined. All that he saw was a man, peerless in form, tall and robust like many of his brothers yet this one... particularly so. The Siltori stammered an exhale, uncertain if he could even win a fight if it really came down to it. Fortunately the man, who had already drained his aether somewhat with all of his rigorous practice, seemed to escape the cornered combativeness Taelian had initially predicted. He felt embarrassed now for the words he'd so hastily blurted, and felt his nerves calm if only a small bit.

Raising his gaze to meet the other's, he noted the blush that had begun to recede. Taelian blushed too in reaction, realizing the compromising way in which he'd viewed the other, and how the Avialae might have interpreted his fixated gaze.

"It was easy to get here," he coldly replied. Listening to him more, he noted the thin accent that bled into his voice, reminiscent of people he'd met as he wandered through Turoth the first time. He couldn't remember where they were from -- perhaps they'd never told him. He would always fail to ask, as others did not wander with him for long. There was no point, he always had thought, in learning of them.

The man introduced himself. Riven. An interesting name - he'd not heard it before. Kyon; that name also evaded memory, meaning he was certainly not from here or perhaps even Karnor. His suspicions were closer to being correct: Turoth, somewhere, though the Siltori often failed to recognize the difference between a Daravinic traveler and a Rien, particularly as he'd never been to the latter country. He had only heard of their viaduct, their megalomaniacal birds, and the war that raged.

"I thought you might have been," the Famished nodded as he replied. "An Elementalist, I mean. Our art is fairly different, but--"

He stopped.

"Sorry. I'm Taelian... Ela'Rannoch. It means, I'm--I'm from Rannoch. If you were curious."

Awkward. He noticed himself stammering in more than just his breathing; he was practically choking on his words, unable to speak them with any manner less distracting than a half-deluded ramble. Taelian, perhaps, still felt somewhat intimidated. Or distracted, instead. He wasn't entirely sure, but he knew that if he focused on regaining his composure, the Beacon could work to keep his nerves calm as his mind refocused on the following words.

Speaking with greater clarity, and without a break, Taelian spoke once more. "I am a Sigilic Pyromancer. I'm impressed that you noticed -- we haven't really been around outside of Sil-Elaine since the Kingdom of Silor. Where are you from? I feel familiar with your voice. Well--not your voice, but... ah..." Taelian sighed. "Voices. Like yours. You're Turothian, too? I haven't met many of... 'us' in this city." He spoke almost as if they were unified as a people, when in truth they were constantly engaged in or on the verge of war.

[Riven]

"It was easy to get here". Riven could have taken Taelian's answer more seriously if the elf hadn't blushed as well; Riven half smiled at that answer, the sudden cockiness after both men's initial nervous displays losing a great deal of impact. He studied the Siltori more cautiously; there obviously was more to him than what met the eye, especially after that strange dialectic retreat. He seemed to be a pretty good looking young man, with a spotless face, free of any hair or markings as most pureblood Siltori were. In the small occasions in which he tilted his neck, Riven managed to spot a dark marking in the back of his neck, protruding over his hood. He assumed that was the famed Black Sigil, the rune that allowed him to use his magical abilities. He wore a pretty thin black tunic with a hood in the back; it showed his overall body structure pretty well, and even if the claymore was the biggest hint, that was a warrior's body. A strong chest, powerful shoulders and built arms on a lean, athletic body; it was obvious the man had been building himself for years. And still he looked young, maybe younger than Riven... But it was true that Riven looked older than most men his age, and with a Siltori nobody really knew; their regal look was consistently ageless. Riven was inclined to think that he was around his age; his speech wasn't as inflated as older Siltoris' used to be.

Riven's thought process got interrupted by his new acquaintance though; there was the nervous man again, not sure of what to say. Though, if he had to be honest, Riven had kept his mouth shut because he hadn't known what to answer, so that was better than silence. And Taelian finally introduced himself. From Rannoch. He was trying to remember, but he didn't know any city with that name. He guessed it was somewhere in Sil-Elaine though, given the sound of it.

He tried to answer, but he decided it was best if he didn't interrupt the elf; he was breathing in and the agitation seemed to be sort of gone, and suddenly he seemed a bit more determined, a tad more sure of himself. Riven wondered if he was making him nervous; his size usually had the effect on people. He tried to relax his shoulders a bit and allowed himself to have a more affable expression; he was relating to Taelian, he knew that awkwardness very well. And he finally told Riven about his art... And asked about his voice. His homeland, really.

And Riven gulped. That was a touchy subject; although almost everybody that knew who he was in Kalzasi knew, no one really talked about it; he himself didn't like to talk about it either; the horrid bird spirits and the black castles still appeared in his worst nightmares. And black wings and amber eyes. He tried not to show his reaction, but his face was already cold as ice and he was reflexively clenching his jaw already. He breathed in. "It's good to meet you, Taelian. You are the first Sigilic Pyromancer I've ever met... I read about the Sigil in a book. You're something like a mythic beast to me." He said, smiling a bit. At least he could try and use humor. "I... I was born in Lorien. Nivenhain. I left the city many years ago. I don't want to go back." He said, almost not breathing. "And it's true, not many Turothians in Kalzasi. But the people in Karnor are good, and life is peaceful here. You could say I'm one of them, more than saying I'm from Turoth." He said, letting his breath out with a bitter smile.

"Do you want to sit down? There's no more to this glade than... Well, this glade. But if you were worried about taking a walk through the forest..." He asked, pointing at the sword "Well, this is the safest place around, I guess. But this part of the forest itself isn't too dangerous anyways, I don't think you needed it."

[Taelian]

Over the course of Riven's... answers, Taelian found himself consistently confused and bewildered, noting frequently the odd way in which the man spoke to him. It felt as if he was attempting to be charming -- or something of the like. Noting how special it was that he was a Sigilic Pyromancer; that he was the first he had ever met, and that he was a mythical sort of thing. The Siltori's brows quirked, and then again, and his eyes eventually narrowed and settled curiously on the other man's stare. He became less nervous, feeling the threat diminish. Still there was a feeling of being caught off-guard, but by now he felt that he understood what it was.

The man professed that he was from Lorien; Nivenhain, to be exact. He spoke of it in a dreadful manner that, to Taelian, appeared to overstate the difficulties of the city. Perhaps arrogantly, he felt that he knew the life others proclaimed they did; a world that was truly difficult, where oppression was the norm. Where people who expressed themselves freely were sent to the chambers below to be mined like a resource, the pick an assortment of jagged fangs, digging into them while they breathed. Perhaps he was callous to dismiss whatever restrained sorrow Riven had narrowly expressed, but he did so all the same.

And perhaps mistakenly, he even made his thoughts manifest, in a brief chain of words kept simplified by a flat expression and tone. "Nivenhain isn't that bad."

Of course it wasn't. Siltori died trying to get there, guided by the Adh Nuaihm. Even though they would be class-less and confined to the city's outer ring of slums, it was better than Silfanore. Anything was.

Whatever the case, the man's following statement was something he could easily agree with. "Karnor is easy, yes," Taelian said in affinity, nodding as he did. "They are good enough, too. They complain a lot, though; they seem to think things are bad. To me, it almost feels gross living here, knowing that back home, everyone I knew is still living in the dregs."

Brooding was a natural part of who he was, and it was difficult not to brood. He had met with a phenomenal amount of suffering, and many of his people still lived through it. Hunger, want, loss; these were words, but he knew their name. He knew what they were beyond the conceit of the people around him now, pretending they understood. And that... frustrated him. All the time.

"We can sit," he nodded. "Or we can walk. Or you can stay, and I can go, or... I... I shouldn't even really be here. But--" Riven seemed nice. He wanted to say it, but it wasn't easy to admit to being a little lonely. He hadn't really had the chance or will to befriend anyone here, yet the isolation of a glade had brought out at least some of the introvert's social urges. He wouldn't have minded, he thought, a bit of a walk through the forest. But--

"You won't disarm me so easily, though," he smirked. Taelian rarely ever attempted humor, but there it was. "I hear people from Lorien snatch little Elves like me and sell our organs in Nivenhain-3. Considering our difference in size, I'm going to need to keep my blade handy."

[Riven]

Taelian's answer left Riven flabbergasted. Looking at him dead in the eye, an emotionless face and a flat voice. He must have heard his pain; Riven knew his face had tensed while he talked about that... dreaded place, and still that arrogant man just dismissed it like he just new a thousand places worse than Nivenhain. There was two options that could fit in Riven's mind to explain that response, and they were either bad or worse. An option was that Taelian didn't know about the atrocities happening in Nivenhain every day; the other option was that he knew about the oppression, the murders and the constant violence, and he didn't care much about those. In any way, that dry disdain managed to hurt Riven's core. He resisted the urge to punch the elf, though. There didn't seem to be any ill intent behind it; just plain indifference. It still was awful... but he managed to keep a clear head.

"Listen, boy. You don't know what you're speaking about, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut. I've been forced to watch elves like you ripped in half by a terrible man's sword, who actually enjoyed to cut their guts open and force them to talk to see how long they stayed alive. I don't care what you think; I was there to see that fucking horrifying place and don't you dare fucking tell me..." But he interrupted his enraged speech as Taelian kept talking about Karnor, almost as if he hadn't heard him, and mentioned his homeland. Riven's expression immediately softened; still, he didn't forgive what he'd said, but he could understand it a bit better. Somewhere, deep down, Taelian had also been hurt; that was something he could understand. They seemed to have different ways of coping with it though; he wasn't sure about the reason, but Taelian talked about it with just a sliver of concern, even though his face hardened slightly to show the... Powerlessness? It was hard to say; Taelian's face was a blank slate most of the time. "I'm... Sorry to hear that, Taelian."

Riven sat in the grass in front of the Siltori, staring upwards at him for once. He was puzzled by the man. Taelian was hard to understand, but he didn't really seem like he was a malicious guy. He was terribly insensitive, but the Avialae didn't think that was completely his fault. "Why don't we sit for now? You're welcome to stay. And if you want to go, there's no one stopping you here." He offered, getting comfortable on the grass, leaning back as his arms supported the weight of his back and head. He tried to smile a bit, show Taelian he was not too angry about his comment. And then the elf took the wrong step again.

"Do whatever you want with your sword. I couldn't care less." He said, undoing the knots that kept his blades' sheaths in his waist, and tossed them aside. "But if that was meant to be a joke, it's not fun. I'm not from Lorien. Not anymore. And if you think I want to see Siltori intestines again, you're dead wrong." He said, a harder expression on his face.

[Taelian]

Riven quickly grew agitated. It wasn't unexpected from the standpoint of common sense, that by dismissing one's deeply held feelings - good or bad - you would elicit an impassioned response. In fact, it was almost clinical in a way, which was why Taelian understood his rage before he'd ever even emitted it. If anything he expected it, and so when it came he remained straight-faced and dismissive as he was before, digesting and discarding all of the many plentiful words the tall man used to describe the supposed 'hell' he'd come from. Nivenhain... really wasn't that bad. The dramatization of what it was like, versus what he knew it to be like, was almost laughable. But the dismissal of Nivenhain as a fairly unremarkable place was not the joke. It was just a comment, one that he knew was true. Of all the places in Turoth, that city - chilled and without love though it may have been - was perhaps among the best to dwell.

He understood that it was his infinitely restrained emotions that held him back from feeling offended or assailed by Riven's brash reaction. Still, he'd lost the will to try and forge offense at such outbursts. The other Ebon Knights would try to provoke him before, and always he tried to play along with their game, but each time his deceptions were dismissed as inhuman and unsettling. The almost demure expression of calm suited him better, and so when given the chance to speak, he said only two words.

"I'm sorry."

An apology. Riven followed it up with his own. I'm sorry to hear that, Taelian.

Yes. He supposed the other man showed empathy far better than he did -- he didn't know what Sil-Elaine was like, either, but he was willing to assume it was as bad as the Siltori said it was. A thought crossed into his mind; weren't the Avialae a part of the upper-class in Lorien, too? He tried not to bring that concern forth. He did not want to act even more dismissive, particularly given he was still somewhat uncertain of the proclivities of the other man, who may or may not have been violent. It was possible that his current peaceable nature was nothing but a guise.

The Siltori sat, nodding along to his words. He stared at him, sitting across from a few feet away, before -- failing to understand how to make a conversational recovery -- commenting on the grim way in which Siltori were treated in Outer Nivenhain, playing into the other man's words around the cruelty he'd seen. He somehow thought it would validate his perspective; perhaps play into the grim fantasy the man had constructed of his home. Perhaps make him calm and forgive Taelian for his earlier ignorance.

Instead, he was upset, because he was associated with such violence. He did not even identify as a Rien anymore - but the Siltori knew better than to think one could discard their past identity. He had already accepted that he would always be a dreg-colored rube from Sil-Elaine.

If you think I want to see Siltori intestines again, you're dead wrong.

"At least that plays into my favor," the Elf thoughtlessly replied. A witty remark, but poorly timed. He followed it up with something, he thought, would be more tactful.

"I'm sorry, again. I guess I just didn't realize what a fucking mess that place is. Are you done? I'd like to talk about something else." He rolled his eyes. "I can see that you're touchy about this; my bad. I'll keep our discourse to... I don't know, the weather or something. Perhaps how great Kalzasi is? You seem to like it a lot better here. I'm charmed by your optimism."

[Riven]

I'm sorry.

Taelian's answer had caught Riven by surprise. He had actually apologized; he had to stop there and make sure he'd heard him well... But he actually had. Right before Riven could have reacted and stopped talking, so both apologies kind of overlapped... But he had. That actually mattered a big deal to Riven; the elf could realize the harm he'd caused, even if it had taken him some time and a heated answer from the Avialae... And he didn't mean it. It wasn't just an apology; it was an acknowledgement of the mistakes he could make, and the fact that none of it was intentional. His lips remained parted, not sure of what to say, but he decided to just nod and acknowledge it.

The joke had been unfortunate as well; if Taelian expected Riven to laugh about it... Well, he was not going to get the best answer. In fact, he didn't... But being so hard on someone that couldn't have known exactly the pain had caused (Riven could count with a single hand the number of people that knew about his rough upbringing) made the winged man realize that he might have been a little too sensitive with someone that at least, had had it bad as well, and had no possible way of knowing how Riven felt about that. The fact that his feelings were real didn't mean he had to dump them on Taelian and expect him to understand.

And then the Silver elf kept going with the joke. "At least that plays into my favor" He was hopeless. Riven closed his eyes, tilting his head down for a bit; he then shook his head and smiled; and the fact that Taelian had realized what he'd done and slipped in a ramble of new topics to switch to and avoid Nivenhain... He was worth getting another chance. He was actually making an effort that seemed hard for him; Riven couldn't just turn his back on him without doing the same.

"I guess it does, huh? I guess I'm done talking about that place. It is... A touchy subject... And I wasn't right to blame you. You didn't do things right, if you ask me... But you couldn't have known." He said, half smiling at Taelian; he wasn't angry at him, not anymore. "Thanks for apologizing though. You don't seem used to it... Also--" He stopped for a second, rolling his eyes at the uneasy Siltori. "Talking about the weather is stating the obvious; You agreed that Kalzasi isn't that bad yourself; I do like it a lot better here, and you're not charmed by my optimism; you're just thinking that I don't seem dumb enough to be this happy." He said, chuckling, and looked up at Taelian. "You're still standing up. Why don't you sit down? The grass isn't that bad and I promise I won't try to disarm you." He said, leaning forward to pat a spot on the grass right in front of him.

[Taelian]

He was surprised. Taelian almost did a double-take as Riven didn't appear to take offense to the crass way in which he regarded him, rolling his eyes and pointing out his sensitivity, and all the like. Aside from Riven's initial outburst at being dismissed, he had the patience of an Elven God. And fortunately, not their temperament.

And he was right. Taelian wasn't used to apologizing; he only felt, at least to some degree, guilty that it wasn't in earnest. His apology had almost been another attempted sting, attempting to display his apathy by pressing forward with simple, two word lines that had meant nothing to him. But now, being treated with a level of... sincerity he was not familiar with, he almost sort of wished his apology had been more real. Perhaps Riven didn't deserve to be treated so poorly, as he too often treated others. He wasn't a bad man -- apparently, far from it.

The man rolled his own eyes, and began firing off answers. To his first remark, Taelian actually lightly laughed, finding himself chuckling beneath his breath as he lowered his gaze in embarrassment. It was true. He'd always wondered why people talked about the weather -- it was such a drab thing to discuss. He supposed it gave everyone a reason to complain, especially among the Siltori, as the year entered Searing and Sil-Elaine became the lowland swamp that it was; hot and unbearably humid. For the Silver Elves, who valued their presentation and hygiene, being drenched in sweat a quarter of the year was far from suitable. But they always knew it was coming, and so he always wondered why they acted surprised.

And... yes. He was correct. Taelian did not think Kalzasi was all too bad, though--

"I've always felt out of place, here," he admitted. It was a fairly personal and direct admission, but somehow he felt the other man trustworthy enough to hear it. It felt right to tell him, and nice to tell anyone at all. He'd never managed to speak to anyone, here, about anything that mattered.

The man kept going. Taelian started to smile, faintly, as the rare rush of emotions came surging through his chest, filling him with a strange sort of sensation. It was like... these tingling things were dancing around in him, almost like hunger but far more benign, and the Siltori started to lightly blush.

Riven invited him to sit right before him, not feet away. Taelian, withdrawing his stupid grin, did so--he stepped fairly close to the other and seated himself readily before the taller man.

"Alright... Riven," he began. He hated to admit it, but attraction was more an instinct than a complex emotional weave, and it remained a part of the palette that was his personality. The man that sat before him, robust and undeniably strong, and more than that kind; it was difficult not to feel drawn to him. Already.

"Let's talk more about the present. I think... neither one of us wants to linger on the past."

[Nyx]

Come Get Your Rewards

Taelian

Experience Earned: 8/8

Magical?: Sigilic Pyromancy, 5 points awarded due to only being a partial focus.

Lore Earned:

Sigilic Pyromancy: The Beacon's Warmth
Sigilic Pyromancy: The Beacon reacts to the body
Sigilic Pyromancy: Enkindling
Sigilic Pyromancy: Enkindled Weapons
Investigation: Discovering hidden entryways
Investigation: Exploring an unknown area
Investigation: Following visual signals
Investigation: Using scent to identify
Blades: Unsheathing a two-handed blade
Deception: Faking an apology

Ills and Ailments: N/A

Loot: N/A

Riven

Experience Earned: 8/8

Magical?: Elementalism, 5 points awarded due to only being a partial focus.

Lore Earned:

Flight: Controlled Landing
Unarmed Combat: Side kick
Acrobatics: Wing-boosted Backflip
Elementalism: Bonfire
Elementalism: Martial Fire Barrage
Persuasion: Making a Friendly Suggestion
Intimidation: Veiled Threat
Storytelling: Revealing a Painful Past

Ills and Ailments: N/A

Loot: N/A



Reviewer Notes: These two. These two. I adore both of you, and honestly, this thread was such a wonderful piece. Taelian is a wonderful disaster child. Riven is a wonderful disaster child. What could possibly go wrong? It takes a little bit of nervous build up, but you quickly go in for the sucker punch I've come to expect from any thread involving Taelian. Riven's own emotional issues paired with Taelian's methodical prodding and general inability to empathize was an interesting combination throughout the whole thread. Empathy is such an interesting thing. Even people with empathy can be really terrible people, and sometimes it's the people without empathy that are the most compassionate. Then we have Taelian, who is just an ass. We love you Taelian. Meanwhile we have Riven who obviously has very strong emotions. Despite the intentional pushing of buttons, Riven takes it in stride, and that I can appreciate. It ends on a pretty nice note that leaves it pretty open for a second thread, which I'm assuming you two are probably going to do or are currently doing. It'll be interesting to see how their relationships develops and I can't wait to write with the both of them.

I could only award partial magic experience due to the focus of the thread itself shifting after the first half, but I did err on the side of heavy so I hope this'll still be good.