Legend of Ransera

Aurin's Cottage, Plaza of the Jeweled Arches
55th of Frost, Year 121 Steel

Aurin had determined that the best place to do the thing was his own cottage. Arry had his own place, but the throes of threshold sickness could be traumatic and Aurin didn't want his minstrel worrying at him when Aurin could take care of things himself. Perhaps the minstrel could sing him to sleep, soothing him with the mesmer trick they shared, but Aurin didn't want to rely on anyone else for this. Besides, he supposed Arry could self-soothe with the trick if necessary.

He had stocked up on food and drink, toiletries, and various and sundry things that might be required. He didn't intend to leave Arry's side until it was over. And it should be over fairly quickly. His own had been long and drawn out because of how certain people had seen fit to mark him and mask the effects so that everything came out slowly in fits and starts, leaving trauma in its wake.

Dragging the edge of the scalpel across the pad of his thumb, he deemed it quite sharp enough. The medical supplies were on hand. Everything would be as safe as he could manage. He was nervous, of course. Magic wasn't his bailiwick, but he had done a little research and knew how the process of initiation ought to work. There were bandages, antiseptics, and sleeping draughts so hopefully Arry would sleep through the worst of it.

The fact that he wanted to drink was probably a good indicator that he had been wise not to stock up on alcohol. He sat down at the table and forced himself to breathe. Looking around, everything was as ready as could be. His weapons were put away so that they wouldn't look threatening in Arry's line of sight. Everything was still rather spartan, though improvements had been made since his paycheck increased with the new job. Arry would probably not approve all the same; he did like his finery.

Aurin sighed and waited for the knock at his door.

"Hi," he replied, letting Arry in and locking the door behind him. There was nothing suspicious about that; he had always been overly careful about such things. Perhaps Arry would glance askance less now that his lover had been severely beaten on the safe streets of Kalzasi. "Thanks." He took the wine and put it away. "I'll probably want to keep my wits about me, though, at least until I know the worst of it is over. Might be easy, might be difficult. No way of knowing until it's done. But I'll be here."

He wasn't the best at setting people at ease, but if Arry felt safe with him at all, then hopefully the promise of his presence would be enough. The throwback to how he had seemed that first time on his doorstep, half-starved, exhausted, and torn between hope and experience, it gave him pause.

Aurin smirked at the last bit, amusement and a flare of lust in his eyes. Their bodies knew each other, and there was a part of him that ached for that intimacy, and a part of him that wanted to manipulate situations so he could remind Arry of what he was missing, but those parts of himself he denied. But he may have taken a little more time peeling his shirt off than he had to, just so he could show him the rune on the inside of his right bicep where it was hidden when his arms were down.

"This is what the mark will look like because... that's what it looks like to me." From what he gathered, more literate mages who were experts of scrivening might alter the pictograph, but he wasn't going to err from what he knew. "So you should decide where you want it. I make the mark. I pull aether through it. That initiates you. Then we wait. It'll be disturbing, like you're tripping on a psychadelic, so I'll basically be babysitting you through that. No looking in mirrors. No going outside. You just have to remember it isn't real. It's just your mind projecting things without real control. So try to stay calm. Try not to lash out with your other rune. Best not use it at all, or just self-soothe if you can. I have sleeping draughts in case it gets bad and you just need to sleep through it. You might have intense dreams, but at least it'll all be in your head.

"Anyway, sit down, lay down, whatever. Relax. We'll start when you're ready."

Aurin nodded acknowledgment of Arry's thought process behind the wine and where he wanted his second rune.

"It's going to be disturbing enough, probably," he said, "without looking in a mirror and watching your face melt off or something. There's disturbing and then there's disturbing." He paused, thoughtful. "I always knew it was an illusion. In theory. It was still a lot... but they got me with two at once and drugged me up so it ended up... I don't know, I had periods of lucidity and then it would get weird. Mine took longer than yours will, anyway."

He took a seat on the edge of the bed with the scalpel and what he would need to tend the wound. Hazel eyes caught gold.

"Remember it's in your head. Remember I'm here with you. If it gets awful, remember that you're safe. I won't let anything bad happen."

That said, he gently but firmly took Arry's wrist. His thumb stroked the skin there for a moment, and then he swabbed it down with alcohol far too pure to drink. That done, he picked up the scalpel and quickly cut the pictograph into the skin. He was no surgeon, but he was handy with knives. He had the blade so sharp and his cuts were so deft that it barely hurt at first. He immediately applied gauze and bandaged the wound, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding. He hadn't cut deep. It ought to be fine.

That done, he concentrated. With one trick, he could sense the shape of the wound from the energy of Arry's body. With the other, he pulled aether through that rune, the sort of patterns that allowed him to spin illusions of sight and sound and scent. He wasn't doing anything with it, really, just moving it around. It flowed through them until it seemed to catch and the pictograph became a Rune, knitting itself into Arry's own peculiar pattern of aether. Aurin let his own cease and he could sense the activated rune through his other trick.

He smiled tightly.

"It's done. Easy as pie. How do you feel? Might take a while for you to feel anything. I made some tea that ought to help keep you relaxed..."

Arry's tells were enough for Aurin to know he was nervous, which was entirely understandable. He didn't react well to pain either, but Aurin had minimized that as best he could, done it quickly, and now they only had to wait it out. Of course, Aurin hated waiting. He had developed the knack for it, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. He was up and in the kitchen area when Arry commented on it being pretty. He glanced back over his shoulder to find the man peeling back the bandaging to look, which was irksome, but he let him. Hopefully, the blood wouldn't turn into tentacles and try to pull Arry's eye out.

The tea was still hot, so he poured two mugs, preparing Arry's how he liked it, and brought them back over so he could sit on the bed with him.

"Here you go. I figured we could just fuck until it's over, you know?"

He kept a straight face for a beat, then smirked. They had certainly fucked plenty on this bed, and if he wanted it still, he wasn't going to give Arry the satisfaction of hearing him say it. The too-clever elf had probably heard the undercurrents of lust in his symphony the times he had allowed him to listen anyway.

Aurin shrugged.

"This could all be passing mild for you. It's just you never know, so I'm preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. If it starts to get overwhelming, there are the sleeping draughts. If that doesn't work, I might be able to reinforce reality with my own trick so no matter when your fledgling powers try to show you, I can show you what's real."

"I mean..." But he didn't elaborate on what he meant. Aurin would have preferred maintaining a physical relationship with Arry; it grounded things in a visceral way for him, but he wasn't going to force it or even make a halfhearted attempt to manipulate it into being. He had hoped that with time, Arry would see that Torin hadn't taken anything from him, but perhaps that just wasn't meant to be.

The note in Arry's voice after that, however, made him turn and instantly play his semblance trick to see if things had begun, but he didn't sense any activation in the rune. If anything, there was a glimmer in the half-elf's aura, a humming resonance in the air, the smell of burning sand. He approached carefully, tea in hand.

"I saw something with my trick. Not the one we share. That wasn't a masquerade... at least... your mum was here?"

He was really going to have to invest in a warded saferoom if mysterious deadbeat elf mothers were going to scry into his humble home without permission. From how Arry was speaking, it seemed her presence was gone, but he turned around, his magically augmented senses open as wide as they would go. There were hints of something, but it was magic beyond his pay grade. He knew how to make his tricks work, but he wasn't really an expert on things arcane.

"Going to tell me what she said?" he asked, sitting on the bed and handing him one of the mugs of soothing tea. A part of him was considering a trip to Antiris to see if he could dig up anything on Arry's father, thence his mother, and follow the chain of investigation to wherever she had gone—Sol'Valen or otherwise.