• Mature • Another Attempt

[Alistair]

28th of Ashan, Arc 719
Continued from here.

Zarik's negative emotions had been drawn, largely, from the same sources he might have imagined, as -- like with Fridgar -- he felt that he began to really understand the type of person Zarik was. Though he was glad to know that his sisters were alive, and that Asher truly came from his blood, that they proclaimed him to be dead and had shied from searching for him... it was a bitter reagent to swallow.

And so, the magister allowed him to ventilate his feelings, thick and heavy though they were. They returned to Kaelserad together - a much more humble abode than the Ashvane Estate, though Alistair had always felt a fondness for it, a retreat from the harshness of Quacia and the politics of Rynmere. The two men sat quietly beneath the sun, lain against the grass as they spoke of stories and adventurers, largely shared between Zarik and his family. Alistair realized he'd had the focus on himself for far too long, and he allowed Zarik an unrepentant night to bleed with the memories, painful and loving, of his past. He listened with interest to them, and with love.

And he was kind to him. For all the night, he was kind and gentle, showing how precious the young man was to him regardless of what anyone else felt. That even if no one else seemed to strive for him, Alistair would love him enough for them all, and that he would provide him a better and larger family than them all. Out of all of the nights since they'd first met, only two fortnights ago, Alistair was kindest to him during this night. Zarik, he kept calling him, not 'my wife' or anything else. It was perhaps symbolic, a way of expressing love for the man himself, rather than the identity that Alistair wished to mold him into.

It didn't matter. By the end of the night, they were wrapped around one another, Zarik's smaller frame in Alistair's large arms as he held him close, form in form.

And then, night fell, and the morning came with the brightness of the equatorial sun. It shone through their windows, curtained as they were, glimmering against their sheets with panes of light. Alistair awoke, hungry, rising quickly from the bed as his back curled forward and he drew his chest to his knees in a stretch. "Zarik," he called to his lover, seeking to awaken him before he rose from the bed and stepped towards a set of drawers, bending so that he could peak into the wooden panels as he pulled them out. He... had clothes, though they would be tight now. Alistair had only become larger in shape since he'd last been here, and the outfits he left behind hadn't been properly tailored to him.

He gripped the string of his domain bag and pulled it open, shuffling through it in an attempt to find an adequate pair of clothes. Instead, what he found was his set of Malorite-plated leather armor, some weapons... magical artifacts... right. He had no clothes that he'd brought that hadn't already become sweaty and gross amidst their travels. Mundane linen outfits from the drawer-set it would be, then.

Or... just, the same as the trial before. A pair of shorts, the necklace to show just how little he needed everyone's money, and the two rings; one Venora, silver, gold and ruby and one onyx in the shape of a rose. Both, actually, were roses. And that was fine.

He slipped on some shorts, and sat again beside his love. "Good morning, wife," he said, with a warm smile and a kiss, leaning forward to peck him on the lips. "I figured we might spend some time here before we leave. Are you ready to go home?" he asked. "I don't want to leave Asher and Winston for much longer. And besides, Damien would have arrived a few trials ago. I can't wait for you to meet him," he grinned. "He's a wonderful man. I view him... I view him like my father, in a lot of ways. The one I wish I had, and to him, I am the son he always wanted. I keep telling you this, but, I've realized that family isn't all about blood. There's a family for you there, in Quacia, even though only one of them is blood related. Though it is wonderful to know that he is," Alistair stated a nod of his head, referring to Asher as his mind filled with imagination. Damien would be a good 'grandfather' for the children, the man Kaleb would never be. Alistair was amused, by the prospect.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The night had been rough for Zarik. After returning to Kaelserad, he’d cried some and felt stupid for it… because life was good. He sat underneath a warm sun, on lush grass, in a private estate with his husband-mentor. Conflicted by how greedy he felt for wanting even more, for wanting to reunite with his sisters in addition to all the good fortune that’d brought him Alistair. He wouldn’t even be in Ne’haer if it wasn’t for the magister.

He calmed his tears, sooner instead of later uncharacteristically for him. They had been, though tinged with tears, mostly spurred by absolute frustration. Alistair’s attentive patience, however, eased his confused emotions. Zarik eased into conversing freely with the older man, finding catharsis from sharing about his short family life with his sisters, all that he could remember – the good and the bad – and of his mother and her spikes of hot-cold attention. It became obvious, as Zarik divulged the intimate parts of his life with Alistair – something he’d never done with anyone before – that his father might’ve been even better than his mother. Zalazar’s affections never swung from the extreme of complete apathy to the extreme of a loose backhand, not like Zarik’s mother who’d been undisciplined and negligent in the care of her children.

The more he shared, the more he remembered. And the more he remembered, the more he recalled things his father would say. He pieced together the rest while he spoke aloud, making connections he’d never thought of before and discovering realizations that made him perceive his own self in a much different frame than he had before. He, then, moved to talk about some stories about ship life though and it seemed what he could remember of the ship’s crew had been more positive than his own parents… but not by a lot. He mentioned the ship’s captain, and revealed that was who his mother had left Zalazar for – after a long affair that his father sometimes ranted about in the darker hours of night. A man much stronger and taller and duskier than Zalazar ever could be, a man who didn’t speak much but when he did, people listened for fear of reprimand.

Zarik shared his curiosity whether his sisters had remained on the ship or if so, how it came for them to be landlocked in Ne’haer instead. But his mood soon dwindled at this. He felt as if he’d talked for so much and so long, his throat had started to go hoarse.

Yet Alistair only continued to be nice to him. Zarik did not notice immediately, too spun around by his own emotional baggage, but as the night progressed and he kept hearing his name used, he realized that his husband was actively trying to make him feel better. And this sentiment, in itself, made him set aside his grief and disappointment to allow for some happiness. He expressed it as he often did, through their romantic connection to one another.

By nighttime, Zarik nestled in Alistair’s protective arms and slept with a slight smile on his lips.

Zarik woke to his name spoken by the nobleman’s familiar voice, which he’d grown to love, over the past many trials, when he simply heard it. He especially loved to hear his own name spoken by Alistair, and even more so when his lover was also panting for oxygen. He rolled in the bed, found it empty as Alistair had already left it, and gathered the covers about his form.

He rolled back, wrapped in the light summery blankets, and squirmed to burrow from sight underneath them. For a bit or two, he stayed like this until he finally muttered something inaudible. Zarik rolled out of his self-made wrappings, all the way until he fell right over the edge of the bed. He caught himself neatly on the palms of his hands and the toes of his feet. Zarik stared at the floor, a few trills passing by, then he started swift repetitions of push-ups.

Once he felt a burning in his shoulders and arms, he finally pressed off into an upward lift and landed on his feet. He stretched upward and from side to side, then his legs with use of the bed to help, and by the time he’d finished, Alistair had gotten dressed. Zarik, however, was not dressed. He flopped down on the bed again, lying sideways across the width, and he propped his head up in the palm of his hand with a casual posture. A light sheen of sweat had gathered on parts of his body, aided by the area’s heat that Zarik was still adjusting to.

Alistair sat beside him on the bed. Zarik moved around so that he laid, his svelte body curled around the man’s waist. He rested his elbows on Alistair’s thighs. His chin set between the palms of both his hands, he looked up at the man with adoration in his rose-pink and daffodil-yellow eyes. He smiled behind the light kiss. “Good morning,” he returned simply.

He considered whether to go home to Quacia already. Zarik bit at his thumbnail, contemplating the question while Alistair talked about Damien. He smiled when Alistair reminded him of the family awaiting him back at Ashvane estate, though it would take some effort in adjustment to include more than Asher and Winston in his thoughts.

“We spent so many days coming here,” he said. He lowered his hands and his fingertips traced along the muscular curves of Alistair’s legs. “I… I wish to see Asher of course, Gods, how I do… but it seems a terrible waste to come all this way, only to- to- give up after one trial.”

Zarik lifted up from the bed. He walked over to where he’d set his clothes. The biqaj dressed as he talked more, while looking at Alistair, “Thank you for being so patient with me yestertrial, my love. Your willingness to listen to my blathering has lightened my heart, mended my mind even, and I feel it clearly now in the morning light.”

He tightened the lacings of his dark gray breeches, then tossed simply a basic black vest on, though he didn’t button it and left it open. Zarik returned to the bed, moving to sit on Alistair’s lap in a straddled position. He wrapped his arms around Alistair’s neck, kissed him, and then said, “This is the largest city in the world, and I have never been here before, though I have heard some about it and how my people care for it. I wish to see more, to learn more about my heritage, and perhaps we can practice Rakahi some. And… And… I feel as if, perhaps, we might seek out Tyara. I know what I said in anger before, but I have thought about it again and what more could she do to wound me that Kiara has not already managed to succeed in? It may change Tyara’s outlook to know that we shall be raising the child who came from her totem, after all.”

“But only if you care to,” added Zarik. “I want to spend the day with you, the most, and I’d hate for it to become like how I was yestertrial too. I cannot promise that my emotions won’t get the better of me again, but perhaps I am a bit more prepared this time than before. So… what do you say, my love? Shall we enjoy ourselves and make a day of it? And then we can discuss this evening when we will return to our family.”

[Alistair]

Alistair laid back against the fabric of the mattress as his lover spoke to him, first with his 'good mornings' and then more, as he traced his fingertips along Alistair's legs. The younger male professed, unsurprisingly, that he felt the trip would have been wasted if they merely left now. Alistair agreed in truth, but decided he would not press him either which way, and he was glad when it appeared they both agreed. Even if they couldn't speak to his sisters any further, at least they could enjoy the city as a consolation. It would be a unique experience for the young biqaj, who had probably never seen a city larger than Quacia. Ne'haer, though, was at least five times its size... and the people lived much better than in the City of Stone.

And it was a part of his heritage. There were only two true hotbeds of the biqaj on Idalos: Rynmere, and Ne'haer. Their culture and language permeated all around them, and Alistair wished as much as Zarik did for him to reconnect with what he'd lost, so long at sea.

He'd already begun to compose ideas as to what they might like to see - the Temples, certainly, though Alistair was not fond of the pervasive effects of Immortalism, particularly not when it consumed governmental bodies. The Temples, to him, were merely a feat of human ingenuity, masked by the coding of religious inspiration. The idea struck, though, and his plans were mapped out before long. Right - they had a plan for the trial, then.

Thank you for... he listened, as his lover began to express his gratitude. Alistair seemed to pay it no mind, as if it were negligible, a mere factor of reality. "Of course," he quietly replied, offering little more than the glimmer of a faint smile that curled along the edges of his lips. It was clear that he felt consoling his lover was a requirement or a duty, rather than a gift or an act of kindness. Though the man was stern and unyielding, even to the point of threatening physical harm for breaching his boundaries, his mentality came with its upsides; he would always be chivalrous, always be kind and generous. At least, he would try to be.

The man observed his lover as he dressed himself, despite what feelings stirred by doing so. The vest, left open, drew his eyes to the soft skin that lied between the fabrics, and he felt his blood nearly sprint down his form as the biqaj came and straddled him. Alistair lightly gasped when his lover seated on his lap, even though their bodies were divided by fabric. He kissed him back eagerly, and pulled him into his form, laying his head against the pillow as he stroked his lover's waist, his fingertips gliding beneath the material of the vest. "Zarik," the mage bit his lip. "You know what you do to me with your mere proximity," he spoke softly, restraining a laugh as he stared, almost shyly. The mage blushed; he couldn't help doing so.

"You tame me - turn me into a softer man. How can I deny what you want when you give me all that I need?" Alistair sighed. "Fine. We will find Tyara, and we will seek to reconcile what time has done to your family, if that is what you wish for us to do. But then, Zarik, we must have a candid conversation - a decisive one - on the production of our heirs. You are a noble now, and I have fulfilled my promises to you and more. You must give your husband what he requires." Alistair kissed him again on the lips, and finally laughed, offering Zarik a playful glare. "Tyara likes to gamble, I believe I was told," he said. "She plays at a business known as Ki'eiran Rivers, a prominent location here for games of luck and skill. We could go there now," he said, shutting his eyes. A portal opened before the foot of the bed only a few trills in; it was clear that Alistair knew the locale well.

"But you must promise me, my wife. In the evening, we will discuss everything. And, for that matter," a smirk grew on his lips, "you will submit to my will entirely, tonight, when we lay with one another. I have many things in mind." Alistair said this rather ominously, though without further elaboration. "Shall we go?"

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Alistair pulled them to lay against the bed, with Zarik on top. They kissed and though it’d been many trials since their first time, and in that time, they’d had a great deal of intimate moments together, Zarik still felt a sense of excitement. It seemed Alistair did too, with everything he said. The amber blush showed readily on the magister’s cheeks.

Zarik smirked, amused and attracted to the almost shy demeanor of the stronger man. While if they were talking in practical terms, he might’ve argued with such a claim of taming, he knew that wasn’t the context. Alistair meant specifically the moments between them that were shared only by them, in which no one else could hear their professed words of love and ambition or see the various acts they did together. And so many acts there were too, especially on the journey to Ne’haer when all they had to pass the time was learning Rakahi and each other.

Agreement was had, about how they would spend their day: finding Tyara. But Alistair had a barter for such an aim. A conversation… no, it wasn’t a conversation, he wanted. It was a discussion. A negotiation. Zarik recognized the true nature of the request with ease. The production of heirs, after all, was one of the most luxury products available. He smiled at Alistair’s kiss, laugh, then playful glare. Zarik teased the other man. He sat up with a press of his palms against the nobleman’s pecs. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, he shrugged and airily said, “I guess. If we must.”

He glanced at Alistair, then shimmied his hips and smirked again. Alistair mentioned where they might find Tyara. A portal opened at the foot of the bed. Zarik glanced at it. He started to move away from Alistair but paused when he heard a furthering request for a promise – a promise that he wouldn’t try to dodge the discussion and a foreshadow for what would come after. Zarik became distracted by the latter information as the irises of his eyes burned amber. His mind raced with possibilities. What could Alistair be thinking about? Zarik’s heart pitter-pattered in rapid beats.

“Yes,” he agreed simply, having gotten audibly breathless. “I promise you, my husband. We will have a fruitful exchange… of ideas.”

Zarik nodded, crawling over the bed and away from the other man, toward the portal. He stood beside it and held out his hand. He preferred the slight connection to Alistair whenever they stepped through the ruptured magic.

They walked through together and appeared just outside a large estate building. Sandstone brick walls lined the perimeter of a desert-colored stairwell that led up to a large set of fair wooden and glass doors. Zarik looked at Alistair. Before they headed in through the rusted iron-wrought gate that arched over the stairwell’s entrance, he grabbed the man by the waist. He pulled close and landed a passionate kiss. Once finished with gathering the taste of Alistair’s mouth to temporarily satisfy him, Zarik moved away.

The couple entered Ki’eiran Rivers through the front entrance. While it’d been muffled outside, as soon as the doors opened and they stepped into the foyer, a heavy din of sounds crashed into them. Loud conversations, people shouting at each other – both in jest and in anger, the sounds of a few casual minstrels near in a corner who seemed to be trying desperately to just play loud enough to be heard over the crowd, and the sounds of dice hitting wooden tables and tiled floors, cards being shuffled, dealers loudly bellowing numbers and calls for different results.

Smoke coated the place, from foyer to the very back rooms, in a mist of incense and smoked coastal herbs. It smelled sweet of jasmine and heavy of sandalwood. In the far back, there was a cooking pot set up behind an indoor stall that had sizzling innards and meat in the cast iron bowl. Beside the stall was another long counter that blocked easy paths to rows of mantel shelves that displayed a vast collection of bottles that had different colored liquids in them. The counter was almost jam-packed with people, drinking from tiny glasses in swift gulps.

Zarik held Alistair’s hand tightly, and it was a good thing that the man had such thick skin, because otherwise the grip might’ve felt painful. His eyes were wide and a vibrant shade of gemstone amber in pigment as the irises reflected the paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling. The farther they walked inside, the higher the ceiling seemed to get until culminating at two stories with a couple spiral staircases, set opposite across the interior from each other, leading to an upper floor as well as a lower floor.

Sunlight poured in from large windows though, not letting the lanterns do all the work of illuminating the place. But past the bar counter and the food stall, were a set of heavy drape curtains that people kept walking past to a much darker area. Zarik’s gaze lingered on it and he watched the various gamblers, dealers, and servants go in and out of the seemingly secretive back room.

There were so many biqaj too. The place almost had as many, if not more, than humans. He could hear Rakahi clearly on the tongues of many conversations. Even some dealers spoke in it. Zarik wondered how biqajs could gamble with each other… they’d have to keep to luck-based games, he supposed, or wear something over their eyes to cover the emotive changes.

So, taken by all the senses, Zarik almost… almost… his eyes glimmered in their warm hues, and a faint blue glow had started to rise in his palms. He wanted to absorb it, to take in the quality, though unconsciously and the young mage had not yet become aware that his ether wanted to break free to consume the many pleasant and thrilling senses. At least not until he felt a pain run up his arm. He looked at Alistair, eyes wide and confused as to what that’d been for, and then he realized what was about to happen. He quickly restrained himself and before the ether had escaped, he returned it to where it belonged – hidden away from the public eye.

“S-sorry,” he apologized to the older man. “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? All these things… I mean, I’ve seen dens in Lair, but… they aren’t like this. Not even close. I feel alive just by walking among here and-“

Zarik remembered why they were there. He blushed. The youthful biqaj nodded. He scanned the crowd, then said, “We’ll see better from the stairs. I’ll take the east, you take the west one, and we can meet again near the foyer.” He let go of Alistair’s hand and headed toward the eastern spiral staircase.

He’d only gotten a few steps though before an empty liquor bottle flew past him. It nearly hit him in the face, but instead zoomed past. It crashed into the back of someone else’s head before bouncing on a table and then shattering into pieces on the floor. Near one of the windows, a brawl had started. Zarik took a few steps away, to gain distance, and looked for Alistair.

The brawl, however, didn’t deter the other gamblers at the other tables. People seemed to go along their business, mostly just making sure they didn’t get accidentally knocked over the head like the now-unconscious man - who’d gotten shoved off his seat so someone else could take his seat next to the mess of broken glass.

About seven men, biqaj and human and mixed-blood alike, were exchanging thudding blows with one another. The cards they’d been gambling with had gotten tossed all over the floor. A couple of the men gained the upper hand easily over their opponent, while the others struggled between multiple exchanges that required swift dodges.

And next to them, on the table where they’d been playing cards, a slender biqaj woman had jumped onto the surface. The blonde shrilly laughed, shouting at the brawling men in Rakahi in antagonistic directions for who they should hit next. In one hand, she swiftly picked up all the nel that’d been left and momentarily forgotten on the table. In the other hand, she held onto a dark-glass bottle. She pocketed the handful of nels in her low-cut cleavage, leaping away from the table just as one of the men crashed into it.

Zarik followed her path with his gaze. She slunk to the side, biting at the cork in the bottle and then spitting it out. The blonde drank as she skittered away to the dark curtains that separated the main room from the back room. She disappeared through the curtains.

Zarik grabbed onto Alistair’s wrist and he said, “That’s her. I know it. It has to be. Come on.” He turned and sprinted through the dark curtains, into the back room. Zarik was momentarily stopped by a heavy arm. A Lotharro stood just beyond the curtains, as security. He peered down at Zarik and then gestured to leave. Zarik paused, then looked for Alistair as he trusted the nobleman could figure this obstacle out. Beyond the shadowy VIP foyer, he could see the slight frame of the biqaj woman disappear around the corridor’s corner.

He couldn’t wait. He swiftly ducked under the arm and sprinted out of reach from the bouncer. Whether Alistair followed or attended to the Lotharro, he didn’t stick around to find out. He sprinted around the corridor and paused. The hall was dimly lit with a lamp of sea-green glass that cast moving reflections like ocean waves over the space. Zarik momentarily was awed by the beauty of such an idea, then he saw the woman disappear through one of the many doors. “W-wait!”

Zarik nearly got to the door too, before another bouncer appeared from one of the doors and blocked his path. “Come on!” shouted Zarik, frustrated. “Let me through.”

“Let’s see your pass,” said the other biqaj, gesturing for something to be handed over.

[Alistair]

From the very beginning, it was sensory overload to him. The different-hued lights from lanterns, the natural glare, the men and women's pipes and the drapes that filtered the sun's glow into a multitude of other colors... the smells, both from drugs and incense, and their smoke which carried a variance of different fragrances. The sounds, the people, their bickering and laughing that competed with the music. The fighting, and ornate wooden and leather furniture alongside the spray of shattered glass against the floor. Screams, laughs, shouts of pain and rage and enthusiasm all.

He felt like he was in Burhan, which was no great surprise, considering the people here were largely biqaj. Biqaj had always been, and always would be, a loud and rowdy people drawn to the chaos of life. That was why the people of Venora loved them - for the art that their wild imaginations created, and for the inspiration they offered poets and novelists. In some way, suppressed though he tended to be, Alistair enjoyed them as well. But right now, he was here with his 'wife', and therefore on his best behavior. He was instead almost frightened by their indulgence, and he allowed Zarik to merely lead him around like an infirm sheep.

Zarik seemed to enjoy it. It was a surprise, particularly considering he'd always thought himself to be the more rambunctious of the two, though in the trills leading up to his lover's suggestion that they split their search, he realized - in fact - that he was the rigid traditionalist, and Zarik was the butterfly among them. When he offered that they split, Alistair visibly seemed to tense, as if unsure of the proposition. Nevertheless, he eased shortly afterwards, and nodded before climbing the stairs and beginning his search. His eyes trained straight upwards, though the shattering of glass from Zarik's direction caused for him to avert his gaze.

Fortunately, his lover had not been hit, though he appeared enamored as he stared into the direction in which the bottle flung. His staring ceased and he took a few steps, head turning to catch Alistair in his sight. The mage quickly moved towards him, barging past a man and a woman who were descending the stairs as he wrapped up and around them in order to meet his lover. The two visibly stumbled and nearly fell, yelling profanities at him in Rakahi as he returned to Zarik with utmost haste. It was, in some way, a protective instinct as he caught what appeared to be a look of worry in his lover, who had narrowly avoided being hit.

A full-on brawl engaged, though. This sort of environment was too much for him -- his blessing thrived on other's fury, and sought to sow the seeds of discord, to let violence consume more and more. He felt paralyzed, or... no, he wished to paralyze his own senses, as the shade of his eyes pulsed from amber to blue. He wanted to engage with them, to spread the violence, to incite fury. Even his shoving of the couple on the stairwell was an act that sated Syroa's desire, and made him feel... powerful.

And so, he was distracted. Of course he was. He barely even noticed the woman, even from his peripheral, as he desperately attempted to restrain his desires. Zarik stated that he'd found her, and quickly led them in her direction, Alistair's eyes closing and opening as he whispered calming thoughts. It wasn't only the violence, here, but the sexual tension, and the sensory overload from before. Places like this brought out all of the worst vices in him, the most vulgar aspects of his depraved imagination. But he didn't want nightmares tonight - it would be a special night. He couldn't just wish it all away, like he too often did.

So, he followed him. To the bouncer, who Zarik slipped past, causing for the man to glare at Alistair as the Gauthrien man clearly questioned himself on what his next actions might be. The mage did not allow him a moment of recollection, offering himself the satisfaction of his malignant thoughts. He punched the man in the abdomen, hard, before sweeping his legs out from under him. He quickly fell and thudded against the ground, where Alistair followed with a swift kick to the face. And like that, he was unconscious. The mage sprinted to follow his lover, only to see he was being held up by yet another 'guard', a bouncer as he might be called. He wanted to see their 'passes'.

Zarik was frustrated, and Alistair just... he wanted to get the fuck out. He had no patience for mental games, or bribery, or anything like that. So instead, as the man extended his arm in a request for the biqaj's pass, Alistair grabbed the arm and pulled the man towards him, only to knee him in his nether regions and headbutt him. His blows were swift and with incredible alacrity, both of the men dispatched in clean, high-impact yet measured blows, so that he did not deal them permanent damage.

It was Krenn Maii, a Lotharen fighting style. But that didn't matter.

"Don't learn a page from my book. I'm only doing this because I don't live here anymore," he said. The mage then stepped forward, through the corridor, and towards the door the woman disappeared through. Alistair gripped the knob and attempted to twist it, only to realize she'd locked it behind her. A private room, then. Nevertheless, he simply splintered the knob itself with Rupturing, and gripped the hole it left to swing it open. He did not look to her, though, but rather to Zarik as he gestured him into the room. Alistair tired of his sisters already; evasive and fraught with conflict. They reminded him of his brother, Andraska, a terrible impression to make.

"Tyara Raj'nacj?" he asked, turning his head back from Zarik and into the room. "Before you ask, I'm not here for your fucking money."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik thought how to get around the bouncer, if he could slip past him like he did the other one… but before he could manage, Alistair had arrived. And he arrived in violent force. Zarik startled at the sight of the sudden dispatch of the biqaj man. His eyes widened, flashed red, and then yellow when he realized that Alistair had taken care of it – albeit, in a slightly troubling manner. He did not know of the fighting style and could not tell the subtle act of not dealing permanent damage with what looked like a brain-splitting headbutt.

He nodded simply in response to Alistair’s comment to not follow his violent example. “I-I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to,” he answered honestly. Together, they went through the corridor to where the woman had disappeared. Zarik bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Alistair to open the knob, then the lock when it made itself known.

Zarik walked into the room and he paused. It was a lounge chamber filled with chiffon and gauze curtains of all colors, and wide floor pillows with highly detailed woven rugs covering the floor from sight. It smelled sweet, almost too sweet, with a sickeningly strong fragrance of honey blossoms. His face filled with silvery-blue blush.

He had, after all, just walked in on who he assumed to be his sister – with the top of her short red dress pulled down so that her upper body was exposed to the air. Beneath her laid a dark-skinned biqaj man with a thick black beard and lush turquoise and white striped sailor pants. He drank from the bottle she’d been holding onto. On his muscular chest, the nel she’d taken were spread out to be counted with slight taps of her fingertips against the coins. He barely even noticed the intrusion, his gaze and attentions firmly set on her instead. They weren’t doing anything but sitting together, however, as she’d only just arrived in the last few bits of time.

Zarik, however, didn’t know this as he got one look at the lowered straps of the dress and the slender exposed frame. He covered his eyes with his hand and waved a hand to gesture for Alistair to not come in. But it was too late. He heard the man’s voice and peeked through his fingers. He swore a low Heapish curse word.

“You’re not?” asked the blonde biqaj woman in regard to Alistair mentioning they weren't there for money. She didn’t cover herself up, obviously more than comfortable with the nude form of her torso just as the man beneath her – and Alistair was and even Zarik was with his open vest. Her dress was crimson with a tangerine orange waist wrap to cinch it at her narrow waist. She had bright make-up around her eyes, the same red color as her dress and lips, that splashed outward on her cheeks as if someone had pelted her with tomatoes. The irises of her eyes shone the same orange as the wrap around her waist.

And then they flashed a bright seafoam green as she caught sight of the onyx ring and necklace that Alistair wore. She lifted the straps of her dress back over her shoulders, covering herself, and fixing the low v-cut of her cleavage. Tyara winked at the man beneath her and said in a cooing voice, “Hold still there, my sweetwater, and keep drinking. This won’t take long.”

Tyara lifted her hips first, creating a triangle with her fairly tall form, and then she lifted her upper body to finish standing. She stepped over the dark-skinned biqaj and he simply followed her suggestion, drinking from the bottle, and seemingly uninterested in the other men. On feet covered by thin golden slippers, Tyara childishly skipped over to Alistair and Zarik. The short skirt of her dress flipped from the motion. She folded her hands behind her and smiled in a friendly, charming expression.

“So then, what is it that you’re here for, handsome?” She asked.

“T-tyara.” Zarik lowered his hand, now that she was covered again. He glanced at Alistair, then back to his sister. He wasn’t sure how to explain or where to start. The thought of how Kiara had responded still stung fresh in his heart and mind. He bit on his lower lip then blurted out, “It’s… I… I’m your.. I visited Kiara yestertrial!”

Tyara blinked, then placed her hands on her narrow hips. “…Okay, aaaand?”

“Ah, I just.. I…” he swore again and looked at Alistair in desperation for some help. He couldn’t get the words out, even though they seemed simple in a logical sense.

“Look, if you’re just wasting my time for some dumb reason,” she said, rolling her eyes with a raise of her hand to show them her palm. Her gaze lingered on the nobleman's onyx necklace again. She said, “Well then…” She shimmied her shoulders, looking at Alistair's body with a salacious survey. “You can waste my time whenever you want, big guy.” She winked.

Behind them, the door had naturally shut if not held open and the noises from the main room had become muffled. It created a sense of silence, except for the persistent glugs of the biqaj man drinking the liquor to the bottom of the bottle.

[Alistair]

The first thing the man saw when he entered the room was, of course, the only thing his Sesserian eyes could possibly gravitate towards: breasts. Man breasts and--

"Ugh," he responded to the sight, visibly wincing. This was in fact the woman he remembered, though the last time he saw 'her' it was amidst the deliverance of... his child. It was an awkward thought, one that made him blush in memory. He knew a lot more about her than she might have expected, though of course those stories were for later. The man eyed the two, including the biqaj who appeared too enthralled by his drink to even offer the two intruders a stare. Tyara, though, was fascinated with them... and the wealth that the magister carried, a trinket that spoke of royalty. Wearing it was a sign of strength, too, for it was an open invitation for thievery.

He knew what this was like; he remembered it from his time in Rynmere. All of the vixens who attempted to seduce him, even when they realized he was not fond of the company of women. When those rumors spread, the list expanded to the male actors, the artists and fashionistas, the sons of lesser nobles. It didn't matter; it was a feeling he was familiar with, and one he'd grown to detest across his arcs on Idalos. As Tyara rose and stepped toward him, concealing her breasts once more and attempting to allure him with the 'vivacious' way in which she thought she moved, she would only be offered a scowl in reply, one that was clearly far from amused at her attempts to enamor him.

"I'm a married man," he lowly replied. "And even if I weren't, you're not my type. Tarras, in your language." A man who liked men. The biqaj's brow quirked as he glanced in the direction of Alistair, his eyes also gleaming as they glanced at the onyx necklace. He rose from where he sat, apparently still sober as he walked straight, though with a liveliness to his movements. For a trill, Alistair's eyes lingered . . . and then for multiple trills, far too long. On his chest, on the definition of his arms. And then his eyes, piercing, a bright violet shade like Zarik's amidst the heat of passion.

He held his breath, and then exhaled into a chuckle, attempting to laugh off the pull he'd only just felt. It was just... Sesser doing this to him, he could think, though he knew it was an excuse. Alistair was a man whose eyes wandered, onto men like the one before him more than any other. And of late, his life had become more and more domestic. The atmosphere, drenched with spirits of Lust in the literal sense, was something that pulled on him, the longer he went without exploring a new form. But he had to restrain it.

"We're not wasting your time, Tyara," he told her. "I'm your brother-in-law, Alistair Venora, and this is your brother, Zarik, formerly Ki'enaq. We've only just endured your sister's blatant denialism, and I was... hoping," he continued, visibly frustrated, "at least, that you might be different. Though I suppose a woman who sells her toes for gold only to lose it all in a place like this might not be lucid enough to even care. Or am I wrong?" Alistair asked, his vortexes meeting the shades of her eyes as he finally maintained direct eye contact. The man gripped her side, attempting to make his presence clear as he stared at Alistair with parted lips.

He was still after the gold, evidently. The mage kept from his gaze, focusing instead on the all-too-familiar face.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik struggled… at first, with his embarrassment at having seen his newly found sister like that, and then in his conflict to push past his emotions and fear of another rejection, only for the dark-skinned sailor to stand and approach after the word Tarras had been shared. Zarik’s eyes flashed green. He defensively stepped in front of Alistair, as if about to lay down his life to keep the other two from touching his husband. He, also, wanted to cover Alistair’s eyes, but he kept himself from doing that much. He saw, though, how his lover looked on the muscular biqaj sailor.

Alistair introduced them then, in an easy way that took the burden away from Zarik’s wavering confidence. Zarik fiddled with his vest, fixing it though it didn’t need such attention. He nodded and then closed his eyes when he heard Alistair continue about the toes. The introduction had been so good, but then Alistair had to ruin it with something like that. Zarik winced, glancing over his shoulder at the man with a look of disappointment etched on his expression.

But his husband simply looked past him, as he was staring at Tyara instead. At least he wasn’t looking at the seductively posturing sailor anymore.

Tyara listened. She placed her fingertips against her lower lip, tapping rapidly on the painted red flesh. Her eyes shone bright, flickering through colors as if she were uncertain how she felt and trying them out, until finally it settled into the sea-foam green again. Her smile widened and her expression brightened. She said, “No…”

“Oh,” said Zarik, only hearing the word and not understanding her expression. He turned, readying himself to leave before having to deal with another denial. “Let’s go,” he told Alistair, wanting to retreat already.

“Zarik, you married a Venora?!” Tyara’s voice rose in pitch, almost a shriek.

Zarik paused. He turned back around. His sister looked about ready to burst from excitement, her fingertips still tapping swiftly against her lower lip. He said, “Y-yes? I- Tyara, you recognize me?”

“Ahhh!” Tyara screamed in unabashed elation. She pushed away her sailor companion, squirming out of his grip. She ran at Zarik, and promptly threw her arms around his shoulders. With fierce energy, she hugged him close and she jumped up and down on her feet. “Zaaaarriiiiik! By U’frek’s arse, you found us! Oh my, oh my, and- ahhhh!” She descended into another shrill scream, forcing Zarik’s head against her chest as she squeezed at him in excitement.

Zarik coughed and pressed away. His nerves felt sensitive and his body shook slightly from the overwhelming energy of his other sister. He said, “Y-you didn’t think I was dead?”

“What?” The bridge of her nose wrinkled. She laughed in a boisterous and obnoxious giggle. She slapped at his shoulder. “By the deep sea, why would I believe anything mother said? It’s not like we ever found a body.”

Tyara paused, then glanced at Alistair again and said, “Ohhhh brother-in-law,” she raised her eyebrows and gave him a teasing smile. “Venora brother-in-law, oh hoooo… and wait, wait… did you mention my toe?” She looked down as if to make sure she still had her slippers on. Once sure her toes weren’t showing, she placed a hand on her hip and asked him, “How in the heck did you know about that? Have you two been spying on me? Because if so, I deeply apologize for what you had to witness last night. No man of your regard should have to see that.” She winked at Alistair again.

Zarik felt nauseous, for an entirely different reason than when he’d met with Kiara. His head felt dizzy. He walked past, taking advantage of his freedom from his sister’s hug, and went to sit down on the floor. He leaned against a floor pillow, staring ahead for a dazed moment, before he said, “I’m going to be a fathe-mother… father…” It was as if his promise, set on the precedent that Alistair’s Tyara had been the same as his sister Tyara, had hit him in full force suddenly. Logically and imaginatively, he knew it well, but a flood of emotional comprehension washed through him. He blushed and ignored both his sister and his husband and the greedy sailor. He muttered as if having a conversation with an unseen entity, “Me, truly?”

[Alistair]

A look of realization hit her, though likely not noticing, the young man requested their departure the moment she spoke a single word. No. "Wait, Zarik," Alistair pleaded, requesting his lover stay as he turned his body partway and attempted to halt his movements with a quick strike of his fingers, though halfway through snatching him back, the woman shrieked excitedly and almost directly into his ear. Alistair, again, winced as his arm ceased where it was. "Gods, woman, will you--"

She screamed, pushing away the dark-skinned man and brushing past the magister himself, throwing herself forward and around his neck and shoulders as she enthusiastically, literally leaped up and down. And then she kept screaming, though almost therapeutically as each scream of disbelief hammered in the realization that they would not need to endure yet another round of his family's ridiculousness. "Thank the Fates," the man muttered beneath his breath, not that he needed to mutter as the woman's feminine shrieks sounded over everything else.

But the more he calmed... the more the joy of the moment crept in, and he began to smile as if siphoning what excitement his lover must've felt. Alistair laughed, then, at the display and listened to their conversation intently. It appeared Tyara did not believe him to be dead like Kiara did, and that it was a story concocted by their mother. He wondered why a mother would tell her children that their sibling was deceased without knowing, though he supposed he also wondered why Zalazar to this trial was an unrepentant cunt. Zarik's stories from the trial before about his mother painted a clear picture; she was a foul woman, like the man she scorned, and had turned scornful.

Still, he laughed. By the deep sea, she said. Why was everything they said all about the sea?

Right as he mentally acknowledged her nautically-obsessed dialect, though, she turned to look at him. Brother in law -- Venora brother-in-law. And then her toe. At least the insult flung by.

"We--we weren't spying on you. Gods, I don't need to know what occurred with you last night. I'm the one who bought your toe, and it was back when I lived here. Don't you remember seeing me before? I think we've ran into one another, once or twice," he said. Alistair remembered commenting to Kleine on how beautiful she was, even though she was a woman, and that comment had been what had sown the idea for everything that followed.

"Doctor var Radomir, you might know me by," he said. "I discarded the name Venora after the Templars started making more common appearances. I am a well known mage, and it's not like there are many Venora in the world, let alone here. I was a target for them -- it's why I left."

But she probably didn't need to know that, and likely didn't care. What was more important was what came after. "Your brother has been living in Quacia for some arcs; that's where we met. And we got married, and... it's complicated to explain, but something that you're sure to learn about reminded me of you, and I mentioned you to him, and here we are. Thank you for believing him."

Which reminded him of Zarik, who had slumped to a corner to whisper to himself, speaking with not any living thing, but with his future. Coming to terms with his own destiny.

Alistair smiled, softly, and whispered a silent 'excuse me' as he stepped towards his lover and stroked the biqaj's shoulder with his fingertips, leaning down and beckoning him to stand. "Come on, my love. It's your sister -- there will be time to think on all these things later. For now, it's time you two truly, properly met."

[Aegis]

[anchor=OptionFour][/anchor]

Thread Review

BAHHAHAHA, I love Tyara. About time you got some comedic relief in y'all's posse. I look forward to seeing where this goes with her, well done. I am most amused.

Word Count: 8,654
Review Request Link: viewtopic.php?f=242&t=16103&p=111826#p111827

Alistair

• Skill Points - 15
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
  1. Unarmed Combat: Krenn Maii - Abdominal punching into a leg sweep
  2. Unarmed Combat: Krenn Maii - Swiftly following a knock-down with a head kick
  3. Unarmed Combat: Krenn Maii - Measuring your level of blunt force
• Non-Skill Knowledges
  1. Tyara: A strumpet
  2. Tyara: A lot kinder than Kiara
  3. Tyara: Asher's biological mother
  4. Tyara: Possibly has a gambling addiction
  5. Tyara: Was nicer to Zarik
  6. Tyara: Doesn't mind her totem being used for reproduction
• Items and Other Rewards

Zarik

• Skill Points - 15
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
  1. Etiquette: Barging into another person’s room can lead to embarrassing situations.
  2. Etiquette: Always knock first.
  3. Discipline: Stopping an intuitive act of magic as a novice before it is noticed.
  4. Investigation: To find someone, start in the most likely location.
  5. Investigation: Working together provides options.
  6. Psychology: People Handle Delicate Subjects Differently.
  7. Tactics: Splitting up to search more, faster.
  8. Tactics: Running ahead and leaving Alistair to take care of things left behind.
  9. Tactics: How to use your dexterity to your advantage.
• Non-Skill Knowledges
  1. Alistair: Violently effective and effectively violent.
  2. Alistair: Enjoys visiting grand temples.
  3. Alistair: Enjoys the sun.
  4. (NPC) Tyara: Accepted me immediately.
  5. (NPC) Tyara: Is wild and embarrassing.
  6. (NPC) Tyara: Didn’t Believe I was dead.
  7. (NPC) Tyara: Is happy for me.
  8. (NPC) Tyara: Has a lot of friends.
  9. Personal: My mother told my sisters I had died instead of searching for me.
  10. Personal: My mother is dead.
• Items and Other Rewards

Final Notes

If you have any questions, please PM me.

Code: Select all

      [center][img]/gallery/image.php?album_id=39&image_id=12064[/img][/center]