'Tis Folly to be Wise

[Hart]

5th Ashan, 721
early afternoon

It was an hour after noon, and like every day in Egilrun, Hart had worked hard for the privelege of standing outside Wren's school when school let out. He had arrived at the labor company two hours early and done the early morning work that the labor warden had laid out for him.

There had been paperwork this morning, like every morning; but unlike every morning the paperwork had involved mathematics. The numbers had slowed him down significantly, and the labor warden hadn't been happy with the results. But, when the paperwork was done, Hart had managed to get a work assignment. So, the labor warden must not have been too unhappy with him.

Hart had arrived late at his work assignment. But by working through lunch he'd managed to make up the time. At thirteenth break Hart had run, literally, to get to the school.

He made it just in time; he was at the school in time to hear the school bell ring.

Wren was, without exception, one of the first kids out of the door every day. Wren ran over, his arms comically full of books for a boy so young, and the group of parents standing near Hart smiled.

Wren looked up at him. "How was school?" Hart asked, and accepted half of Wren's books when the boy offered them. They turned to walk to the North End Lodge, Wren by Hart's side.

"Good," Wren said, and smiled. "I got another book."

"Another?" Hart said. He looked at the books a moment, reading the titles. "This one?" he asked. He pointed to one of the books Wren was holding, a title he hadn't seen before, and Wren nodded. The Sands of Scalvoris: The History and Mystery of Scalvoris Sand. "And the school librarian said you were allowed to bring all of these home?"

"It's one of the books the older kids read," Wren said seriously.

Wren was quite intelligent for a boy so young; but he was seven years old, and he had his limitations. The book, like many of the books Wren came home with, was for the older kids. That didn't stop Wren from wanting Hart to read them to him. "The library teacher lets me bring them home," Wren said.

Hart smiled. "Today we'll have to drop the books off at the room. But we can read tonight, okay?" Wren nodded, but Hart noticed his small fingers clasping worriedly at the books. "Is that okay?" Hart asked.

"It's okay," Wren said.

They were living at the North End Lodge in Egilrun, and when they arrived, they went up the stairs to their room. They lived in a community room with a number of other people, but right now it was just them. Thirteenth break was early in the day for the others to be in the room. "This morning, you said..." Wren frowned. "You said we would go to meet some people?"

Hart nodded. They had been invited to Woe Morandi's house.

Wren set down the books he'd been holding, and Hart did as well. The boy looked through the books for a moment before he selected one. He set it down on one of the beds in the room. "Mr. Sawyer said he likes books about science," he said, quiet. Then, looking up at Hart, his dark blue eyes serious, he asked, "What if it's like at school?"

"You mean the people we're meeting?" Hart asked. Wren nodded.

"I know school is difficult for you," Hart said. Wren, though he excelled at his studies, had difficulty making friends. "But we've met a lot of people in Egilrun, right? We've met Mr. Sawyer, and all the others here at the North End."

Wren was a quiet kid; making friends at school was difficult because of it, but he had less difficulty with other people, people outside of school. "I would guess meeting Mr. Morandi and Iago," Woe Morandi's son, "Would be like meeting them," Hart said.

Wren frowned. But he looked down at the book he had set on Mr. Sawyer's bed.

"...Okay," he said.



Standing outside Woe Morandi's house, Hart thought it was possible he had the wrong address.

The house he and Wren were standing in front of was big, and Hart looked up at the house, curious. Most people in Egilrun, like Hart and Wren, lived in community rooms or barracks. It was curious that Woe, who was new to Egilrun, would have a house like this.

It was very possible they had the wrong address.

Wren looked smaller standing there without all his books, and Hart asked, "You okay?" Wren nodded, and so Hart asked him, "Would you like to knock on the door, or me?"

Wren knocked.

It wasn't Woe Morandi who answered the door. A tunawa looked up at them, very tall for his kind and with rabbit ears. The tunawa didn't look happy, and Hart thought he must have misremembered the directions to the house. "My apologies if we're intruding. My name is Hart and this is Wren. Mr. Morandi said to meet with him at this address?"

But the tunawa, named Gloom, led them into the house.

They walked down a long hallway to a well-appointed sitting room. Wren promptly sat down on a chair, polite and quiet, though Hart noticed him looking around curiously.

Hart addressed Gloom. "I'm sorry if I'm prying," he said. He was aware it wasn't a polite question, but... "But you seem unhappy. Are you alright?"

[Woe]

Gloom answered the door, his ears drooping at the sight of more visitors. The tunawa sighed, and then stood aside, gesturing for the two of them to enter, "Come, welcome enter..." He sighed again.

"I think my buddy Woe wants to meet you in the sitting room... way at the far end of the house." So saying, the tunawa strode over down the hallway. After a bit of walking, they arrived at the door, to which Gloom knocked politely.

When Hart asked him if something was wrong, Gloom sighed. "I'm well enough." Then his ears perked up, "Say, would you and your son like something to eat?"

But then, presently, the door opened and there stood Woe, leaning on a cane in his left hand. He smiled and nodded at Hart and then down to Wren, gesturing for them to enter. There were three plush seats set up near to a fire.

It'd be safe to converse here, so Woe felt. He'd already scoured the immediate area with his arcane senses, to test if there were any eavesdroppers. After finding nothing conclusive, he was satisfied.

Once the other two were seated in their chairs, Woe called to Gloom, "Gloom, would you like to make us some soup? Three bowls?"

Gloom's droopy ears lifted at that, and he nodded eagerly, then bounded off down the hallway, toward the kitchen.

"So, Hart, we're about to discuss some serious issues that may not be best for sensitive ears to listen to. I regret that Iago couldn't be here. He's with my fellow Order cloak, Soraia, who speaks his language. He doesn't know common yet, and that may be why your boy hasn't met him yet." Woe sighed, "I will teach him soon though, before too long."

Woe turned his attention toward Wren after saying that, and spoke in an even tone, not at all condescending, but the same tone as if he'd been talking to an adult. "Wren, perhaps you'd like to go read, or have a chat with Gloom while he cooks? I have something very important to talk to your father about, and I'm afraid it won't do for you to hear all of it... It'll be his choice whether to share it with you later, although I'd of course caution discretion."

This said, Woe pulled out a longish leather pouch from his pocket, which he handed over to Hart, before Wren would be dismissed (If Hart allowed that he should go). Inside the pouch, a pair of spectacles.

The shaded spectacles had lenses that were round, about an inch and a half in diameter, and wire-framed with bronze alloy. The pair of them had a one-piece half-frame that cradled the spectacles themselves from the bottom of the lenses and along the bridge. The material for the frame was carved from dark lacquered goat’s horn. The lenses at first glance were black and almost entirely opaque. Only upon putting them on one would see that while they reduced the glare of ambient light, and were entirely unsuitable for roaming around in the dark, they provided good visibility in the brightness of day. Similar to the half-frame cradling the lenses, the temples and temple tips of the glasses were of the same bronze alloy wire, reinforced with dark lacquered goat’s horn.

If Hart protested, Woe would shake his head, "If we're to find the truth of matters, we'll need you to wear these. There aren't many who can tell our kind apart from others, but we can't afford to take chances."

Woe waited for Hart to make a decision, to dismiss Wren or not. Either way, Woe would respect his decision, as he knew better than Woe whether Wren was safe to overhear any of what they discussed.

[Hart]

5th Ashan, 721
early afternoon

warning for the depiction of a panic attack

Wren sat in one of the armchairs, polite. He looked interested when Woe said that Iago wouldn't be here.

Though there would have been some difficulties... Iago was older than Wren, and they didn't speak the same language... Hart would have liked for them to meet.

But at least there was Gloom. When offered the opportunity to go to the kitchen with Gloom, Wren nodded. He'd been worried about meeting Iago, specifically, Hart noticed; he didn't seem worried at all anymore. Wren got down from the armchair, and looked at Woe questioningly.

But when he spoke, it was to Hart. "What does discretion mean?"

"Discretion is like being cautious," Hart answered. "Specifically about difficult situations or subjects. It's being cautious about what you say or do."

Wren nodded. He looked once more at Woe, a question in his eyes. But whatever it was, he didn't inquire. He moved to go to the kitchen with Gloom, and Hart said, "Be mindful of Gloom, please, and follow his directions." It was nice that there was another person here to be with Wren. But Hart didn't know how Gloom would like a seven year old following him around the kitchen.

"Mr. Gloom," Wren said seriously, "Do you like apples?" But then he and Gloom left, and Hart didn't hear Gloom's reply.

Before, Woe had handed Hart a leather pouch, and now that the others had left, Hart inspected it. He was surprised initially by the glasses; but then it made sense. They were for the lines in his eyes. The glasses were beautifully crafted, the lenses shaded; Hart thought of Melrath, of the man who had lived when he himself had been dead. He would have liked glasses like these.

But the glasses looked expensive, and Hart didn't have much money. "I'm sorry, but I can't afford these," he began to say, but Woe insisted. "If we're to find the truth of matters," Woe said, "We'll need you to wear these. There aren't many who can tell our kind apart from others, but we can't afford to take chances."

When they'd met before, Woe had said, And how long have you been a mage? He'd noticed the lines in Hart's eyes, and said that they identified him as a mage. But the lines had been made when Hart's eyes had Fractured.

Carefully, Hart put the glasses back into the leather pouch. Then he set the pouch down on the arm of the armchair. "Excuse me a moment, if you would," he said politely. "I need to look at something." There was a fireplace near the armchairs, and Hart walked over to it. With a smooth movement, he removed his coat, and then his sweater. He folded them neatly and set them aside. He had a shirt on underneath the sweater, and he rolled the sleeves to the elbow.

Then he knelt by the fire. The added light of the fire illuminated his skin and he inspected his right arm.

He hadn't thought to do this before. But he saw right away that the skin of his arm was unlined. He looked at his left arm as well, from the inside of the wrist to the elbow, but the skin there was unlined too.

When Hart had come back to life, he had been healed of many Fractures. His eyes had been Fractured, and he'd attributed the subtle lines in his eyes, like glass that had been broken and glued back together, to that. But the inside of his arms, up to the elbow, had been Fractured too; as had either side of his back.

If the lines in his eyes had been a result of their Fracturing, then why were there no such lines on the skin of his arms? Looking at his arms, Hart knew there would be no such lines on his back, either.

"It's just my eyes," he said quietly.

Kneeling by the fire, he attempted to control his thoughts and emotions. But it was difficult. He looked up toward Woe.

"Woe," he said, "Would you... would you look at me, a moment?" Should Woe allow, Hart would walk to stand beside him, and then lean to look carefully at his eyes. He didn't need to look long. The lines were subtle, but Hart knew what to look for. Woe had the same lines in his eyes.

There was very little chance that Woe Morandi's eyes had Fractured and healed, like Hart's had.

His heart drumming wildly in his chest, Hart went back to the fireplace and picked up his coat and sweater. He attempted to hide his emotions, though he knew that Woe, who seemed quite perceptive, would likely notice that something was wrong. Hart went to the armchair he had been sitting in before and sat, setting his coat and sweater on the arm of the chair and the leather pouch with the glasses on top of them. The sun-bright light of the Fractures on his chest were visible through the material of his shirt, though he wasn't thinking about that.

He was thinking about the fact that, without knowing it, he was a mage.

Hart leaned forward in the armchair and rested his elbows on his thighs, his hands folded together, his head bowed.

"Sorry," he said, attempting to control his breath and failing miserably. He was feeling a bit panicked, and he knew he wasn't hiding it well.

"Sorry," he said again. "Just, just a moment."

His breath harsh, he thought about the implications of the lines in Woe Morandi's eyes.

"I have some questions," Hart said. His voice was quiet, tight, and he kept his gaze down. "You said, the other day." He needed to get his breath. "You said I was an attuner."

"What is that," he asked, and the fear was bitter, metallic in his mouth. He thought of what little he knew about magic,

he only knew about necromancy,

and he couldn't help the fear that attuners were like necromancers, that whatever magic was in him was like necromancy.

"Magic," he said. "Magic requires an initiation, doesn't it," and then he wasn't able to speak. The thought that someone had initiated him into a magic without him knowing overwhelmed all else. Hart shut his eyes, attempting to get himself and the fear, the fear, under control.

Notes: I just happened to have an image of Hart sitting in that position, so I couldn't help myself.

[Woe]

It's Just A Kiss

Gloom perked up once more when Wren mentioned apples. ”Oh yes, they make great jams, and go well with all manner of staples. Apples are one of my favorite fruits! Do you like candy?” So their conversation went as Gloom led Wren toward the kitchen.

When Woe spoke about his nature as a mage, Hart seemed to panic. Yet Woe was calm in his chair. It was unusual, to meet someone who may not be aware they were a mage. He ran over the possibilities in his head, how a man might become a mage without knowing. Amnesia perhaps, or perhaps this was where magic originated, from the unintended arcane phenomenon in the environment, not just intentional foisting of a magic entity into the soul of the willing… and unwilling.

Woe had been on the receiving end of both in his time, and yet he’d come to accept his gifts, more o rless, even as they warped his body, corrupted his mind. He’d found a way through it, to finding worth in the foreign entity sharing space in his soul.

Woe could feel the emotions, as he followed quietly, moving toward where Hart sat by the fire. He knelt there with him, waiting for his words. ”It’s just my eyes.” Hart said.

The emotions were thick in the air. Woe’s tangle positively strung out on end over the waves of feeling. Such pure and delicious emotion, that he couldn’t resist when Hart told him to look at him. He did so, though he feared what would happen if he got any closer, so he braced himself against the floor. He took off his shades, showing him the lines of web-like divisions in his irises.

As Hart sat in the chair, Woe knelt in front of him. Waiting for his emotions to die down. Woe felt their full brunt, as he stopped soothing his Empath spark. He wanted to feel those emotions, to internalize and consume them, to reshape his destroyed tangle. Emotions of concern, of love for Wren, the concern of what he was and what it might mean to those closest to him. It all washed over Woe, and he felt it in its fullness.

All he had to do, was reach out, grab him by the back of his neck, and kiss. A long, siphoning kiss to flay the divine ether that resided within Hart. Mage souls were a meal beyond compare, as Woe knew. But what of mage mortalborn? Surely those must be as the most delicious of ambrosia…

”Magic, Magic requires an initiation, doesn’t it.” Hart bleated. Woe stared intently at him, wondering why he was so upset for the bestowal of this gift. Did he fear what he was? Should he?

The son of Sintra couldn’t bear the urges he was feeling. He had to find an outlet for what he was feeling, as Hart's emotions radiated off and through him. "Hart..." He held out his hand, and touched the other man's cheek, gently caressing him. Slowly, he relinquished the soothing of his sparks, his hair turned white, his limbs spindly, revealing the corruption that magic had wrought upon him. He strummed Hart's emotions, targetting his sorrow, to tamp down on his panic. As he did so, the sorrow refracted upon Woe, feeding back into his own tangle. He wanted to feel what other people could feel. If he could just reach out, and taste the emotions radiating from Hart.

He drew his face close, and gave him a kiss, long and searching. He felt a panoply of emotions that he might've fed upon, but the emotion he was searching for, love, wasn't there. Where he searched, he found only a blind miasma. Aknock sounded at the door. It was Iago. All at once, Woe wrenched control of his body, and threw himself backward, or perhaps it’d been Hart who did the throwing. Either way, He scrambled backward, and muttered, ”I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. Hart, you should go.”

He cowered, covering his face by the fire as he waited for the other mortalborn to flee, leaving him, and to fetch Wren from Gloom.

[Doran]

Woe:

Knowledge:
Seduction: A forceful kiss, when the mood is wrong can end awkwardly.
Teaching: There's no easy way to inform someone that they're a wizard.
Teaching: Telling a younger mage the signs of bearing an attunement spark.

Loot: -
Lost: gave Hart some glasses.
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

Hart:

Knowledge: -
Loot: A pair of masterwork, bespoke black glass shades
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

- - -

Comments: I love the way Hart and Wren interact. Wren is very intelligent, but still obviously a child, and you described that well. And Hart gives me the impression of being a good parent.

I think this is the first time that I’ve read about someone not only commenting on Gloom being, well, gloomy, but asking him if he’s alright. Glooms adorable in my opinion, and it seems as if there is at least one thing that makes him a bit happy. Making soup!

There was a lot of emotion in this thread – Hart suddenly realizing that he was a mage and being worried that Attunement was like Necromancy, Woe’s and Hart’s business, and then that kiss …

I didn’t find Woe kissing Hart weird, by the way. I understood why he did it, and what more, it was a very impactful moment in my opinion. It’s a pity that we’ll never find out how Hart reacted!

With that being said, enjoy your rewards!