Legend of Ransera

Ash 7th, 121

Torin threw his bag over his shoulder as he walked down the gangplank of the Blue Star to set his feet again upon the city of Kalzasi. Starfall was as far from home as he had ever traveled, and while he had never thought of Kalzasi as his home before, returning to it felt right.

The sight of the city from high up, the scent of it coming on the crisp cool air of early Ash; it was familiar in the same way that the smell of a forge was familiar, or the forest sounds of his childhood home.

Kala and Kaus had offered to take him home in their carriage, but Torin wanted to walk. The second ride on the Blue Star had not been as frightening as the first, but still, he had spent his time below decks sitting for the entire ride. Now he wanted to stretch his legs, and a part of him that felt childish but not in a way that bothered him, wanted to greet the city again. He had not done so properly on his first arrival, because he'd been mourning and shocked by it all.

Now he was only surprised by how normal it felt as he strolled through the evening streets. It was not dark yet, but the sun was on its way toward setting, spreading streaks over the partly overcast sky, turning the undersides of the clouds all golden and rose. The air wasn't cold, but it was assuredly Ash now, the leaves on the few trees within the city turning dark and ruddy. Back home the apples would be ripened and the harvest would begin in full.

In Kalzasi things bustled on without change, except for the additional layers of clothing its inhabitants now wore, and the fact that Torin Kilvin, Runesmith, now had a place of his own within its walls. The shop and house were not fine, by any means, but they were fine to him Owning them felt fine inside his broad chest, and his steps hastened though he knew that, for that night, all he would be arriving to were a cold hearth and several cartloads of boxes.

So, he was surprised to round the corner that let him see his new property and see smoke billowing all high and friendly from the chimney and light flickering through what little of the windows could be seen through the high fence. Quickening his step he let himself in through the old, worn gate in the fence and then through the door to the house.

"Hello?" He called, wondering which of his friends had seen fit to warm his homecoming, and if they had set him up and departed or were still there. He hoped they were, for coming home to a friendly face and good company felt a far better blessing than spending his first night alone.


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It wasn't the first time Aurin had cursed his fate, but it had been a repetitious sort of thing while Torin was gone. He wanted to make some progress for his boy, but his hands had been trained to destroy, not to build. So he had come by every day when he had time, doing mostly menial work. He moved things around in the yard. He let the workers in to do the things he couldn't, wishing he had been able to pay the bills before Torin had gotten to them, but the young smith was conscientious. If business acumen wasn't his forte, at least he knew to be on time with paying people. It kept mercenaries loyal. He was even present to accept house-warming gifts from Torin's friends, which only made him miss him more. He wanted to see Torin's face when he saw the little proofs of care from people. He had been so lonely when they first met.

Some of his friends glanced askance at the ginger caretaker; others gave him knowing looks. They had all been friendly, though, and he was glad that Torin had people of his own now.

Torin was supposed to arrive today, but travel could be fraught. Aurin had spent the day cleaning those rooms that were habitable within an inch of their lives. What was livable, would be in as good condition as he could manage. He had stocked what amounted to a larder, and was even cooking now. The pot of stew—the extent of his culinary genius—had been simmering over the coals for hours. Slow cooking was often the most flavorful, he had found, though he was out of the habit now, used to the free food at the Cabaret for years.

Thankfully, the young smith's tastes ran toward the simple. Aurin could manage simple.

He had left a light on outside, and now he sat barefoot before the fire, arms around his knees, waiting. Fire was beautiful and it had hypnotized him. Patience was a virtue of his when it came to stakeouts and the like, but anticipation would drive him mad so he let the crackle and dance captivate him. His stomach was gnawing at his spine, but he didn't want to eat yet, not when Torin might still show up.

At some point, weary from honest labor, he must have dozed off. Suddenly startled awake, he realized he had quick-drawn a blade and snapped his awareness wide through his semblance trick. He didn't like to think anyone could sneak up on him, but the place was warm and cozy and perhaps his mind recognized Torin even when it slumbered, knowing he was consummately trustworthy. That was frightening but he could unpack it on another day.

Today, he just as quickly sheathed his blade, bounded up with a grin, and slammed into Torin for a rather rough homecoming hug.

"You beautiful bastard, you're late!"

He wasn't, of course, but Aurin had been waiting. Kissing him hard against the wall, he reached out to close and lock the door and then got grabby.

"I suppose," he allowed when Torin wanted to put his bag down. Aurin had certainly murmured things that might have been Torin's name, but he would never admit to it. He followed as Torin pulled away to investigate the kitchen situation. "I made me dinner," he joked. "Of course you may have some, though."

He grinned as he caught the weight of Torin's return.

"Did you put on some muscle while you were up in the mountains?" He would probably grope Torin more later, but for now, he just gave him a squeeze around the middle. "I want to hear all about it." He paused, wondering if he needed to clarify that he wanted to know whether he had enjoyed it, whether they had treated him well, whether he had gotten to meet the runeforger he was excited about, not whether he had brought secrets from a noble family for him to sift through. He wouldn't say no to such, but he didn't want Torin to think he was only interested in what could turn a profit.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable... make yourself at home... and tell me all about it? I'll ladle some slop into some bowls and you can tell me how bad my cooking is."

Aurin gave the no-longer-apprentice smith a slap on the rump and then started enacting his plan. He wasn't an awful cook, but he didn't really know what he was doing. Things would be cooked through, and he was good with knives. Basic things were fine, but he would never have a job in a kitchen unless it was as an overgrown scullion boy. Espying a bay leaf in one of the steaming bowls, he tried to delicately pinch it out. Cursing, he opened a window and dropped it out before closing it again against the chill.

"Compost," he explained. "Oh, and your friend brought by some honey and other things while you were gone. A spoonful might be a decent desert after this savory monstrosity."

A great deal of things Torin said pleased him, both as he was preparing and as they were seated before the fire sharing the meal. He was, of course, vocal about his approval of learning to fight, and reiterated his commitment to teaching him how to fight without a weapon, even if—or perhaps especially because—it often led to them wrestling in a more provocative manner. His eyes and ears were perked attentively on Torin, and his smirks always seemed to invite him into the joke, even if the joke was unknown.

When the food was finished, he reached out to lazily boop Torin on the tip of his nose. That was a rare gesture from him, but perhaps it was a good sign that he was comfortable in this work-in-progress house.

"I wouldn't share the existence of their illumite field with anyone," he said carefully. He had been handed a secret and he was making a conscious effort not to find a way to utilize it. He didn't know these lords of Starfall, but they had been good to Torin and he wanted to respect that.

"If you are comfortable with how red you will turn when your friend asks how you liked the honey, then you may eat the honey from wherever you like," he teased. "I'm almost surprised you haven't taken the elf into your bed." He was doing it again, the teasing smirk that was a tug to bring them closer rather than a barb to warn him away. He leaned in to kiss Torin, long and slow, then finished with a smile and a quick peck. Getting up, he took the dishes to the sink and quickly washed them. There was a bit of stew left, but he just kept it where it would stay warm without burning in case Torin got hungry again soon, which was likely.

But he returned to their place by the fire, handing Torin the jar of honey with a healthy hunk of comb in it after he settled down. Then he stretched out before the fire next to him, getting comfortable in the sparsely furnished place.

"And I suppose you can decide from where you'd like me to eat the honey, as well."

Aurin wasn't known for being sweet, but he might have been with all the honey. He slept soundly, having made sure the locks were sound; the man had definitely slept in less comfortable spots than on a rug in front of a fire with someone he could relax his guard around. Normally, he would come half-awake several times in a night, paranoid mind wanting to be sure there were no signs of peril before he could sink back into a restful sleep. With Torin, he might still have done so, but he was less aware of those things. Perhaps a part of him felt more confident to face whatever he might wake to with the smith at his side.

He didn't know if Torin had woken him up or if something else had, but he had a habit of waking up instantly, tensed for the worst. Again, that rarely happened when he woke up curled around Arry or, now that he had demanded monogamy of someone, Torin.

Half-raised on an elbow and ready to jump up and fight someone without a stitch of clothing on, he poured aether into his rune of semblance, moreso than was his wont. His senses expanded violently like a flood pouring through an unsuspecting house, chaotic and whorling, and it took him some moments to process.

Torin burned against his chest, the brightest flame of life nearby, but there was a spider in the next room, a moth outside the window, and a raccoon sniffing curiously at the compost bin outside.

"Nobody's here," he assured him, but he slowly stood up, uncoiling like a viper. "But..."

His hackles were still up, though, and there was something off. There was a sort of presence—amorphous, nebulous. He couldn't put his finger on it. There wasn't the sulfur and brimstone, hate and dark desire that he associated with demons of his nightmares, which ought to have put him at ease, but ignorance was not bliss for Aurin.

"Might be the raccoon in the yard made some noise," he ventured, though he didn't sound convinced. "Did you say your honey friend speaks to spirits...?" It sounded silly, but in the absence of other evidence, he didn't suppose there was a better avenue of investigation.

"It's not a demon," he said with some confidence. He didn't explain how he knew that, but he knew Torin would trust him when he said so. His eyes moved toward the ceiling, and he felt something emanating from up there, but it was too nebulous to define. "I suppose that would be a good idea. It might be some sort of spirit that a Dratori would understand better. Mists, it might be a ghost, but from what I understand, they can't hurt you, just harass you."

Hazel eyes dropped back down to his boy.

"I'll go up and check with my own eyes if you want, but unless whatever's up there speaks Common..." He shrugged. "Probably best we go back to sleep and leave it for the experts."

But while he normally took the lead when they were together, this was Torin's home and he wanted Torin to feel comfortable in it, so he waited for the younger man to make a decision. And Aurin had things to do in the morning. His schedule at the Theater was largely his own, but he tried to be the first one in so people assumed he had his shit together even when he didn't. In any case, getting in early meant he could get most of his work done early and go about his other business.

That said, he would stay if Torin wanted him to, but this might be something he wanted to broach with his friend separately.

But he pulled Torin closer, all the same. Sharing body heat would calm him down, he hoped, and they would both be their better selves on the morrow if they got some solid sleep. Sacrifices could be made for the people he cared about, but if they could be avoided, all the better.