Legend of Ransera

The Low-City
10 Frost 121

Aurin had always been a shoe made for the city, but it had been nice to get out and enjoy the wilderness with Torin and Timon before Frost got well and truly frosty. The boys were busy getting the forge up and running, and Aurin had plenty of things to tend to himself. The Theater hadn't missed him too much; he had things running like clockwork on his end, but of course Yserloo wanted him there all the time and Elric had begun to rely on him for moral support. Aurin knew how to make himself indispensable when he wanted to. But when Yserloo left early for a "meeting" with "potential donors" that Aurin knew for a fact to be some sort of cocktail party some other noble was throwing and Elric was going to be in rehearsals until late, Aurin made sure the clockwork would run, and then he did, making for the Low-City to connect with Elwes and see what he had missed in his three days out of town.

The Low-City too had survived without him, and she had kept an eye on Yshvold for him. He knew the Lysanrin lad was capable or he would be dead; he still wanted to keep his investment safe.

It started as a prickle between his shoulders, but while he was taller now, he had grown up like any urchin on the streets of Cathena City and he knew when he was being followed with ill intent. He didn't know if it was some sixth sense or just heightened intuition from a lifetime of trauma, but he was careful not to alter his gait, nor his breathing, nor anything else. But winter was the time for voluminous clothes, and so he was able to slip his knuckle duster onto his hand before the tail's partner yanked him into an alley.

Aurin attempted to shout, putting on a bit of a show, and got a gloved hand over his mouth. The tail followed him into the dark, and so he was able to tell there were only two of them. He twisted and turned to keep them busy, felt the tail slip her hands into his pockets until she snatched out the eldritch key he kept only because he didn't know if it was safe to leave it anywhere else. As soon as he had their intentions and their numbers sussed out, he dropped the façade and dropped them. With a twist, he caught his feet under him and rammed his shoulder into one's sternum, battering him against the wall behind him. He drew back his elbow and punched him in the mouth, splintering teeth on the knuckle duster and the back of his skull against the wall.

The woman attempted to flee, but he clicked his heel just so, then spun around, the blade sprung out of his boot catching her just below the knee. When she went down, his hand catching her wrist, he pulled a blade and shoved it quickly three times into her side before flinging her back deeper into the dark. He hadn't aimed for the lungs, wanting her to be able to speak, but she was going to need a physician or she was facing a slow, painful death.

She was cursing and he clucked his tongue at her even as he stepped hard upon her wrist, stooping down to pluck the key from her hand and sling it back into his pocket.

"Now what could you possibly want this for?" he asked quietly, voice soft as velvet but not quite hiding the sharp menace.

"...fffuck you," she spat.

He clucked his tongue again and backhanded her thrice methodically.

"You fucked up and failed," he said reasonably. "No hard feelings. Now tell me why you want this particular key."

"Mmm..." she mumbled, either from the pain or the effort. She looked like she was working something around in her mouth, a bit of supper lodged between her teeth perhaps. Memory shot through him and he realized what she was about. Then he was kneeling hard into her chest, a hand on her throat. But she started laughing. He hadn't been quick enough to fish the poison out of her mouth. "The Mad King will return!" she hissed, and then her body started flailing beneath him so hard that even his greater weight lent him no advantage in riding her death spasms. He stutter-stepped backward, not wanting any poisonous froth hitting him. One never knew if one might become collateral damage that way.

He surveyed the scene as best he could in the dark. The semblance trick only showed him their fraying patterns.

"Fuck." He wiped the blood off his blades, using the soon-to-be corpse's clothes. With a click, the blade disappeared from his boot and the other was once more secreted upon his person. Even though he had been the target of the violence, he didn't want to be caught here if the Sky Guard or less illustrious constabulary appeared, and so he pulled aether through his masquerade trick and cloaked himself in a deceptive weave, doing the same with his aura with his other trick. He was scuffed and bruised, but nobody would notice him as he quickly departed the scene of the crime.

Aurin had made one mistake, though. Assuming the man's own teeth had shattered a suicide pill, he had left the both of them for dead, but the blow to the back of his head hadn't killed him, and he stumbled back into the growing vespertine shadows as Aurin made his way back to the safety of the Theater. If he wasn't the most skilled with his tricks, he at least knew how to use his limited power cleverly, and eased himself out of his own illusions, so he returned seamlessly to the land of the visible.

Rehearsals continued. His secretary had gone home. He locked the door behind him once he was in his office, grabbed two tumblers and the good spirits from a sideboard, and made his way out into the blustery cold of his balcony. He poured himself two fingers of the amber stuff and then poured it down his throat before pouring another one, and then another into the spare glass in case Talon answered in person. He didn't have a candle lit; it wouldn't live long in this wind. But he had an offering, at least. He rested his hands upon the cold stone of the balustrade, willing the chill into his hands to stop their shaking.

He tried to clear his mind, tried to picture the Shinsei, visually and with all the other impressions he had from the demigod.

"They've tried to kill me for the key," he said, willing the wind and his thoughts to bring his words up to the sky palaces of the Avialae. "They spoke of a Mad King and I don't think they meant your father. I've a drink here for you if you want to discuss. If not... I thought you ought to be aware."

When the dark-winged Avialae landed upon his balcony, Aurin stepped back—not from fear, but cautious until he could be sure his expansive wingspan wouldn't buffet him. At the introduction, which jived with his memory of seeing the man a few times at a distance, he nodded and held out the drink he had poured for Talon.

"Sir Knight-Captain, may I offer you a drink?"

Regardless, he eventually led the man inside where it was warmer. From what he understood, Avialae scoffed at the cold, but he had been waiting out on the balcony for a while now and the spirits weren't keeping him quite warm enough and he daren't drink too much too quickly lest he lose his wits. When Talon arrived, he was pouring him a drink, the which he offered him from the flat of his hand, his other hand clasping his wrist as he half bowed in the manner of priests from a more southerly realm.

"Libations, o Holy One?"

There wasn't a hint of mockery in his voice, but that wasn't conclusive evidence that he wasn't taking the piss. In any case, it was likely to cover up the surprise at seeing the demigod so battered and bruised.

"Right, no foreplay, straight to the penetration it is—I've taken to carrying the key on my person because, ahem, certain cultists know where I live and have attacked me on my own street. Unrelated, I believe. I'm working on a secure place to store things, but that might be a while. So I was returning to the Plaza from a meeting in the Low-City when I was jumped and pulled into an alley. I subdued them, got the key back, but they swallowed some poison pills before I could properly question them. All I got was 'the Mad King will return' and some fanatical laughter before I quit the premises. Didn't want to deal with the Sky Guard." He shrugged, took a sip of his drink.

He cleared his throat and dove in because he was certain the news wouldn't please the Shinsei, but he had to hear it anyway.

"I wasn't in the city when Jacien Novalys was deposed, but I've heard the story. I don't know if he could have survived the Dead Legion this long, but..." He shrugged again. "It sort of fits, doesn't it? I wouldn't rule out other possibilities like Sheoth being reborn just as Arcas has been, but I'm no Ahtivan mystic to know about the Gods. Mists," he shook his head, shaking off the thought that the Moritasi has returned and was using the deposed Shokaze as a puppet.

"Or it could be people using the nickname to inspire fear. Terrorism is a powerful force to destabilize a state and tensions are still high with Zaichaer, no? In any case, I only have that bit of information and not enough to speculate further. He fished the key out of his pocket and held it out to Talon. The fox-like man was battered from his scuffle in the shadows, tired now that the adrenaline had been burned through.

"I'm difficult to kill, but I'm only human. I may not be the best steward for this thing, and if you can't figure out where the keyhole is, perhaps one of your mages might." He didn't like ceding a piece of the puzzle, but it was better to give it up and survive than wait to get sloppy and get dead when more people came after him. He didn't even know how anyone had found out he had it. Aurin was so circumspect.

Aurin had spent enough time keeping the party going at the Velvet Cabaret that refilling the Shinsei's glass was something he did almost without thought. He eyed Aoren's as well, though the prince's dark-winged shadow seemed more inclined toward sobriety. To each their own. But he most assuredly didn't like the sudden weight of Talon's thoughts as they manifested in the room. He wasn't used to the strange heaviness of divine presence, but he recognized it from their last meeting. This was something else, something foreboding.

He frowned in thought. If Arcas and Sheoth were fundamental forces that kept reality going, then people would forever be meat in the grinder of their struggles against each other. But this was some metaphysical shit that Aurin couldn't truly wrap his head around; he had to focus on the things he knew, the people he cared about, and how his skills could best be applied in the situation.

"Evil things seem to be seeking me out as well," he reminded the demigod pointedly, but he raised a hand to indicate he wasn't arguing. Things that went bump in the night were much closer to hand than he was comfortable with, but he had chosen to put down roots in a city that sat atop an entrance into the Warrens, so it was only his own fault.

A brow arched at the reveal of a rune. His own were kept quite hidden. When he realized what the offer actually entailed, his mind began spinning out possibilities and calculations. Protecting himself and other people from whatever evil wanted the key was one thing, as well as the wondering whether this might be a way to protect his hidden cache of collectibles, a way to protect his loved ones when the Dread Mists came or when war between Kalzasi and Zaichaer broke out. He also wondered whether there were strings attached; in his experience, there always were.

But this wasn't divine magic like the healing gift of Ioniri.

"Yes," he said decisively to the first. "I would like you to ward it to the best of your abilities. As for the second part, I don't imagine I would be able to match your wards for some time." He laughed. "I'd have quite the collection of magic tricks for someone who doesn't consider himself a mage. What will it cost me?" He had to ask, not to offend, but because he needed to know the terms rather than be surprised later.

He felt the tingle of magic being worked and threw caution somewhat to the wind, engaging his trick so he could observe what the prince was doing. While he had seen wards before, he hadn't seen someone build them up close before, so it was a learning experience. The key's appearance changed through the refraction of the ward, managing what his masquerade trick could via different means.

"Huh."

Then, he saw something he recognized: his own aetheric pattern. Talon wove it into his work, and then even with only his eyes, he could see through the glamour shield. The demigod explained his work, and Aurin only nodded. His trick engaged, he sensed quite a bit more about this creature before him, and his bondmate as well; even their bond was clear to him, deep and abiding. It almost made him jealous.

"All right," he said. It seemed that carrying the key was the price he would pay, and he was paying that anyway. He gave the key another hard look, then slipped it into a pocket. He finished his drink in one gulp, then shrugged out of his coat and pulled his shirt up over his head. He drew a dagger, flipped it, and caught it by the blade, holding it and his free hand up and making eye contact with one Avialae and then the other so they would see he meant no threat by it.

"You can carve it next to the seeing trick," he said, holding out the pommel of his dagger to Talon and holding up his left arm where the Rune of Semblance hid in the inside of his bicep. The Rune of Masquerade was hidden under his right arm so nobody would see it unless he raised it. If a Rune could be transferred without pain, he didn't know it. His had all required blood and pain, and he was glad he lived close by so he could lock himself in his cottage and suffer through whatever threshold sickness came.

Aurin frowned when the prince pushed aside his blade, not understanding. But he supposed a God, even a newly reborn one, had powers that men could only dream of. His eyes darted to Aoren and the common calligraphic tools, then to the Shinsei. The man wasn't shy about his body, but he felt quite vulnerable supinating his forearm to reveal one of his hidden tricks. He had spent so many years hiding the Runes that had been carved into his skin and his soul, it took a certain amount of willpower to let this man he barely knew, this God he barely trusted, to see his secret and write another one upon him.

This was the first time he was able to watch a Rune given, as well, and he could see it with his eyes and sense it with this seeing trick. Talon Novalys was changing his aetheric patterns, a gift of power so he could protect the key. Of course, Aurin would use it for any number of other purposes, but certainly, he didn't want the key going to anyone who might unlock the terrors below the city. This time, he could feel the change taking place, as well. Though he wouldn't be so deft at it when the time came, he was glad he could see this before he gifted Arry and Torin with a Rune.

The Rune glowed when Talon finished. Aurin hoped that didn't linger lest it be more difficult to hide. It was better one's enemies didn't know the tools one had at one's disposal. It was neater, more aesthetically pleasing than his Semblance, which was as much scar as Rune. He still wasn't sure how he felt about this, though his utilitarian mind decided his feelings didn't matter as long as he had this power.

"Ah, no," he said. "Thank you. I don't live far." And he wasn't the best at accepting help, even from someone he trusted. He would just hole up in his cottage until he felt normal again, and then he would emerge. He had sick leave now, which was new. And he could probably tell with his seeing trick when his patterns were back to normal, though altered forever by the new Rune.

"I suppose that means we had best adjourn, though. Me with limited time and you with royal responsibilities awaiting you."

A smirking smile appeared on his face, a deflection as he shrugged back into his clothes, collected his blade, and downed the remains of his drink.

"I suppose if you're leaving the way you came..." He glanced to Aoren. "Just please close the balcony door on your way out." He offered them a jaunty salute. "Here's hoping this doesn't kill me."