Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

It had become a ritual for him, after a while. Not just a habit. That was a smoke after a meal or a brisk walk when dew still frosted the grass. That was something one could be ashamed of, something hidden, as a "bad habit". Ritual was different. It was to be observed, not merely indulged. It strengthened through practice, and spoke to a motivation beyond hedonism or necessity.

One of the double doors creaked open, and Kasoria's black eyes beheld a world of knowledge. The thoughts and tales of countless men, great and humble. He allowed himself to relax fractionally. Still on duty, but not in that moment. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, and he was suddenly alone in that tall, quiet room. Full of fierce morning light even at that break, ceiling-high curtains pulled open by some maid, illuminating the frescoes and the chandelier and vases on the carved table and most of all-

Books. A walls of books. Kasoria smiled... but he didn't forget himself.

Never off the hourglass, old man. Not on this job.

He closed the curtains to one of the two massive windows, bathing half the room in shadow... but not so much that a man couldn't read. That done, he walked over to the shelf and started to peruse. He enjoyed this part, too. The choosing. Letting his mind wander along with his eyes. Reading the words on the spines of the books (the ones in Common, anyway). Magic. History. Literature. Sciences. Agriculture. Textiles. Fables. Politics. Nathaniel Dubois was clearly a man who enjoyed being informed on a wide variety of subjects.

Odd for a man of politics. Usually they stick to how to lie, and how to cheat.

His trailing finger stopped on the spine of... ah... a History of the Lightning Knights. Protectors of Rharne. The Devoted of Ilaren. Scourge of Invaders, Traitors, and Apostates. Kasoria quirked an eyebrow as he perused the front cover. He supposed he could forgive the second one. He'd heard tales of the Knights back in Etzos, and fought alongside a fair few during those mad, lost seasons at Storm Edge. He'd killed things that he'd never imagined during that siege, but it was the memory of one old Knight in particular that made his lips curl into a smile.

Hope you're still drinking and fighting and telling stupid stories, ser.

Decision made, he stole over to a chair and angled it just enough to catch the light but not expose him to the rooftops outside. He had a break, at most, before the rigors of the day were upon him. Juggling travel schedules and meetings and personnel requirements, and that was apart from his own, personal duties to Manclin himself. He was the man's shadow, wherever he went beyond the walls of the estate. The ambassador had a handful of visits to make today, individuals in Rharne who were minor items on the delegations agenda. Trade arrangements, Etzori expatriates, "interested parties" was another popular term.

Kasoria didn't care. He guarded the man and kept him alive. He made sure the estate was safe. But when he had a blessed break to himself, he could relax into a comfy chair and-

The door opened.

Fucking typical.

His annoyance blew away the moment he saw a face he did not recognize. Irritation was replaced by icy hostility in a moment. Which was how long it took for him to rise swiftly, tossing the book on the table next to him, call his Sparks and reach for his weapon with his other hand-

"Ah... you're Kasoria."

"Fuck're you?"

The man in the doorway smiled. A knowing, amused stretching of the lips that put Kasoria immediately on edge. He raised a manicured hand in peace, then used it to open the second door... revealing Manclin standing there, perusing a scroll with a furrowed brow. He looked up and managed a cheery smile that waltzed obliviously into the frigid atmosphere Kasoria had made of the library.

"Oh, good morning, Kasoria. I was... um... why are you holding your weapon?"

One break. That's all I wanted.

He let go the sword, and the man he did not know was tactful enough not to smirk in victory. Merely held his arm to let the ambassador enter first, then closed the doors behind him-

-without touching them.

Kasoria blinked.

Then again, this will be interesting, too.

"How find you Rharne, ambassador?"

"Quite eclectic compared to Etzos, I must say. At least, Etzos as she is now... and perhaps Rharne in this season. Some sort of beer festival up until a few days ago, what?"

"Indeed, ten trials of debauchery and imbibing across Earth and Glass. I'll freely admit to indulging myself a few times. Nothing so much fun as a people letting their collective guard down."

'Guard'. Not 'hair'. And that smirk again. Clever shite, this one.

Bright blue eyes flickered over to Kasoria and he wondered again if his thoughts rattled so loud. He knew there were magics that could allow a mage to read minds, and that definitely was what sat across from Manclin. Sipping morning tea and discussing the doings of Rharne. Kasoria stood behind Manclin, gaze taking in the door, the windows, and the mage. Anyone trying anything through and beyond the first two, he would see. If the third tried anything, well...

Kasoria suppressed a shiver of dark enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he'd fought another mage, Spark to Spark. His lesser twins were snarling and straining under his skin, wanting to test themselves as much as he did. But that was not his role, here. He was a guardian, not a champion. Much as the smooth talking of the newcomer rankled him, he knew better than to challenge him. If only for his accent.

Etzori. Born and raised. In the Inner, not the Oh'Pee, but that mattered little, this far from home. He had the same dark features of his people, with a splash of color in his eyes that could have come from some foreign sire. But he did not dress like a merchant, nor travel with the servants or entourage one associated with nobility. If anything he looked like a tradesman, clad in sturdy but simply elegant clothes, no visible weapons. All he bore was a shoulder bag with a quill feather sticking proudly out the top, as if announcing to the world his literacy.

"I trust you have been staying busy, since our arrival, Timur?"

"Oh, you know," the mage waved an airy hair, mouth curling into a half-smirk. "Seasonal quizzes, lessons plans, parental oversight and badgering..."

"Very droll."

Timur smiled and shrugged one shoulder. Couldn't he be forgiven his little jests? So much of his work depended on either silence or duplicity. A touch of veil-less humor was a tonic to such an existence... much as he admitted he enjoyed the work. Tutoring was hardly his sole profession, and Rharne had plenty of scholars and scribes for such work. But it was a fine cover for a man of erudition and letters, especially a foreigner. Rharne was a vibrant and curious city, where Etzos was rich but notoriously close-minded (at least when it came to the Morties). A good chunk of his lessons were about the continent across the Orm'del, and he made a comfortable living from such education.

Yet that was not why Vuda had sent him here, ten arcs ago.

"Your arrival certainly has been noticed by the right people, I would say. Not just the obvious ones, either. Most of Rharne thinks you're the most scrubbed and educated selection of a people who are apostates and pagans in their eyes. Killing an Immortal? Banishing another? Barely an arc apart? Oh, they heard about that here, can assure you."

"You speak as if you're no longer part of us. Going native, old boy?"

The smile vanished. Humor died in his eyes like a man decapitated. The change was so sudden and complete that Kasoria shifted minutely in his stance. Hands closed in half-fists opening a touch more, to summon his Sparks or draw a weapon both. Manclin was hardly so blind as not to see the difference. He swallowed heavily, already working on his apology.

"You know well where my loyalties lie, Fagan."

Kasoria's lip twitched. Again with the wordplay. The unspoken code was that if you were a mage and wanted to survive long in Etzos, or put down roots there, you were sanctioned by Lord Vuda. That was a law as inviolable as a Council decree. Kasoria had been long out the loop as far as the political machinations of the nobs went (save for when he was present for when it all came to shit and he had to play a hand in fucking fixing it) but he doubted the shadow lord had changed the policy. He'd long assumed that he was the exception, for even Lord Vuda thought twice about trying to leash the Raggedy Man.

Fates. Proud old fool, ye be.

Then he'd seen the man in the Crescent Arena. Seen the necrotic pr he had unleashed and the squadron of mages at his heel. Lord Vuda had not avoided Kasoria; he'd simply known he'd do as he wanted. The one thing the two men had in common, was that they loved their homeland. Had a fucking funny way of showing it, but the love was there. Vuda tossed mages like Timur in foreign climes and they reported back to him, by means mundane and magical. Just like the web of spies and contacts he had across Etzos itself. The Council likely did, too, but Kasoria would bet bigger on Vuda having better sources. Magic was useful like that.

Aye, we know where they lie. Etzos. Let's leave it at that.

"Well... I think you've covered everything of note, Timur. When can we expect you again?"

Like scratching a match-head, the smile came back, the twinkle returned. Timur swung himself upright and knocked back the rest of his tea. Enlivened like a man half his age. Kasoria fought to hide his envy. Bastard.

"Let's call it a tentrial. I have some people to see out by the lake and... elsewhere. Some leads to chase down, that may be fruit. About some sort of summit..."

The sentence trailed off with just the edge of a question to it. Bait in the water, and it was Kasoria who chomped at it, the idiot. He frowned instinctively, worried at how this outsider had known the itinerary of the-

Timur caught his look and smirked in victory. That's what he reminded Kasoia of. The thought had been niggling him for a while now, But straight on and standing, looking at those neat sharp teeth lining his lips, he remembered where he'd seen something like Timur before.

Eating men alive in the Orm'del, as pirates and honest sailors both fell into their maws.

Loyal. But not trustworthy. Not that I'm one to judge.

"I'll see yeh out."

The mage kept the smile. He'd learned what he needed to. Part of the security precaution Kasoria insisted on was that only those in the estate knew their schedule. Outsiders would know a trial before, at most. Made it harder to lay a proper ambush... and there was no telling if they wouldn't change the route or the time again, just to be sure. Now at least one soul knew the delegation would be traveling to Korlasir, along with luminaries from across... well, the whole fucking world, it seemed.

"Kasoria, isn't it?" Timur's accent changed in just those three words. By the time he spoke again, so had his posture. "Far frum the Oh'Pee, aincha, mate?"

The Raggedy Man blinked. No clothes had been changed nor disguise donned, but the man's entire bearing had just... shifted. His face had grown tighter, his eyes squinted, his shoulders tucked lower and his stance solid but almost crooked. Like a street rat ready to fly off into a lunge. Timur nodded and gave a half-bow.

"You should see me do a Rharnian. Ten arcs and I've got the accent down pat."

"Aye. m'sure." Kasoria gestured to the door and without looking the mage waved his hand at them again. They both opened, and Kasoria couldn't hold himself back anymore. "What is that?"

"... it's a door, Kasoria."

"Funny cunt, aincha?"

"Kasoria, please-"

But Timur didn't bristle or frost over like before. The smile stayed. The eyes grew sharp. He didn't back down and neither did Kasoria. He stared back, boring black holes into those blue orbs, and crossed his arms with an air of boredom.

"It's quite alright, ambassador. My jest was not quite as keen as I thought. How's does it go? 'The world may be your stage, young man-'"

"'-but yer audience respects no property." Now it was Timur's turn to blink as Kasoria finished the quote. "Aye. I've read that'un."

"Where?"

"We're inna library, Timur."

Now the smile was genuine, and Kasoria couldn't help but return it. What a fantastic piece of shit.

"Walking me out, aye?"

"Aye."

"Sovereign."

"What wuzat?"

"Sovereign. That's what I was using. On the doors."

Kasoria let out a little "ah" of understanding. Bollocks. He should have figured that out from the context. They'd exchanged no other words in the leisurely walk from the library to the foyer of the estate. Moreover, Kasoria had not asked anything else of the man. Timur had been quite carefully silent. He couldn't feel a direct stare as he walked, but he knew he was being studied. Observed. Tested in some subtle, wordless, intangible fashion.

But he had his answer, and names have power. If only as points of reference.

"Sovereign... Sov'rin..." he said, tasting the word and rolling it between accents clipped and gutter. At the bottom of the center stairs he gave a little grunt of amusement. "Like kings an' queens. Power over things. Objects-"

"But not people, mind. Nothing that is sentient, which is to say, thinking creatures." Timur fell into an educational mindset with admirable ease. One hand raised as he walked, finger pointed, as if speaking to a stuffy room of fidgeting kids. "Though certain spells do work, but only because they do not directly effect the living." A mischievous glint entered the man's eye. "Just in case you had any fantasies or throwing folk around like ragdolls or tearing limbs off or... whatever you do for fun."

Kasoria have a half-shrug and let the barb glance off him in the same gesture. "Read, mostly. An' smoke."

"Talbert's Leaf?"

"Cwynar's Stout."

"Share a stuffing with a countryman?"

"Y'can't geddit here?"

"I'll wager yours is fresher."

Answer for bloody everything, this one.

Which Kasoria was not going to complain about: they were his questions, after all. They were feeding off each other, gauging, prodding, learning and building a picture. Both of them know to what end that game was being played, too. The life of a spy and a sellsword weren't that different, in one important facet. You needed a cold heart for both, and had to see everyone around you as an asset. Even as Kasoria thumbed a generous pinch of Cwynar's into the proffered pipe, he knew it wasn't just a kindness. This was a... courtship, of a kind. As long as it didn't interrupt his duties, well...

"How'd yeh learn it?"

"A mage, back home," Timur said, carefully returning the pipe to his pocket. There were room on the estate for smoking; this was not one of them. "When I was wee, as they say. It's the same as anything else. Practice makes perfect. And now...'

He reached out, slower this time. As if for a rapt audience. Open handed, towards the door. Hand then turning to grip... and Kasoria saw the doorknob tremble... then turn, as Timur's hand did. From ten feet away.

"... easy as if my own fingers were there."

The door opened to reveal the majesty of the estate grounds. Which was quite something purely by dint of existing. Space was at a premium in a city. Every building and parcel of land was valuable. To have such wealth that you could leave an acre or more walled off and filled with trees and shrubs, that was some fine dick-waving, in Kasoria's mind. They walked the gravel path to the front gate and he flicked a black-eyed look up at the top of the main building. Somewhere, up there, in cover and unblinking, was Belial. Raand was out, escorting a couple of the other delegates to a meeting with some merchants. Vaul was inside, likely on patrol, and Mikiros...

A wall of bronze armor, flesh, and dark skin emerged from the shrubbery. Timur's eyes widened for a moment, and Kasoria smiled. Nice to know that some things could still surprise the man. Miki hadn't make his presence known until he wanted to. No sound, no movement. For any man, that was impressive. For someone so big, it was unnerving. The expatriate mage chuckled softly and shook his head.

"One of yours?"

"Aye. On contract, like the rest."

"And you?"

"Of course. Man has t'eat." Kasoria nodded to the guards and they opened up the iron-wrought gates. Squealing and creaking, they exposed the estate to the street. Any opening did. Instinctively, Kasoria summoned his Sparks, letting them hover just under his skin. Ready to be swiftly deployed. "Enjoy yer baccy."

Timur did not leave. Instead he cocked his head curiously.

"You're not going to ask me?"

Kasoria paused and met the man's gaze. He wanted to moment to think over the context.

"What would you want for it?"

"I could name my price?"

"Name what yeh want, dunt mean I'll pay it. But if it was reasonable..."

He shrugged and left the rest unsaid. Initiation into any magic wasn't just rare, it was deeply personal and dangerous. Prospects died trying to infuse the Spark of just one technique into themselves. Kasoria had two within him, and while he commanded them utterly, he was a man getting old and knew it. Not to mention that while he was intrigued by what Timur could do, he'd only just learned of it. Literally within the last break. That was not near enough time to decide to expose himself to another magic, another initiation, another Spark taking up roost in him.

Getting fucking crowded in here.

"I might not say 'yes', anyway."

"Oh? Why's dat?"

"Moral reasons."

Kasoria grinned. Timur chuckled. But seriously, folks...

"I can see your fascination. I see it in my students, when they find a subject they truly enjoy. They want to gobble up every scrap of knowledge like starving men. But magic, well... you know as well as I, that one can't rush into it. I've heard tell of what you're capable of. And I can sense the Sparks in you."

Kasoria cocked his head, and sent a silent, specific order to his Abrogation Spark.

"Can yeh?"

Timur's eye flickered. As if he'd been suddenly, briefly deafened by a door or window slamming shut in front of him.

"Well, I did, until you dropped that bloody Mute over yourself."

"Serves yeh right for pryin'."

"That is quite literally my job."

Another pause for breath. The ghost of a smile remained on Kasoria's face. It was hard not to appreciate this man. He crossed his arms and gazed briefly skywards. Sovereign. The ability to manipulate matter around you. Not like Transmutation, where one needed a physical connection to it. But through the air itself. He was sure there was a book in that library that could aid him. And he had tentrials to decide.

"Maybe I'll ask next time we meet. Plenty of time fer youse t'think of a price."

"One you'll pay, at least."

"Aye." Kasoria gave a sharp nod, and met the man's eyes. "Until that trial."

For the first time, Timur's smile reached his eyes. To hear the ancient farewell of his homeland, delivered in a guttural accent so undeniably spawned from the heart of it.

"Until that trial."