Cylus 2, Arc 723
Cylus was by far the coldest season in Rharne. Everything was covered by a blanket of snow, and the city was shrouded in perpetual darkness. There was no appeal to and little point in being outside. Life largely took place indoors as the world held its breath for thirty trials. Cylus was a time of gatherings around the fireplace, in somebody’s home or in a nearby tavern. It was a time for hot tea and hot chocolate, anything to fill you with a bit of warmth. It was a time of stories – and rumors. As there was little to do outside, people started to get bored. Gossip ran rampant when there was little else to do.
It was not long before Tristan’s grandmother Ebony Venora who had been one of the most powerful people in the kingdom of Rynmere once upon a time, returned from a visit to one of her friends that lived in the neighbourhood. Tristan was just sitting in a comfortable armchair in the living room, a book on the flora of Rharne in his lap, when the old woman walked in, still dressed in a warm fur coat, a sign that there was something that she really needed to say to him.
“Grandson”, she told him in a stern tone of voice that caused him to immediately close his book, put it away and focus his entire attention on her, just like he had done when he had been a boy. “When did you plan on finally telling me that that cat of yours is a Becomer in disguise? I do not approve of a strange man pretending to be a more or less innocent animal, living with us and potentially spying on us”, she continued and proceeded to cross her arms over her chest as she patiently waited for Tristan to explain this most problematic and highly improper matter, preferably in a way that made sense.
Tristan’s eyebrows rose and rose until they nearly made contact with his hairline as he listened to his grandmother. At first, he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern, but curiosity and concern soon made way to utter disbelief and confusion. He didn’t let those feelings get the better of him though, but managed to school his face into a neutral expression and gestured for his grandmother to take a seat next to him. She refused though.
Tristan inclined his head in acceptance and told her in a firm, but nonetheless very respectful tone of voice as was appropriate when you were speaking with one of your elders, “Mistral is definitely not a Becomer. I’m pretty sure I told you the story about my meeting with the cat people in the Misty Miasma before. Besides, I doubt that any Becomer would voluntarily spend seven arcs as a cat. Where did you hear that rumor though?” he wanted to know and looked at his grandmother expectantly.
“From my dear friend, of course. She saw her cat play with your cat. Several other cat owners in the quarter say the same thing. As for Mistral voluntarily spending seven arcs as a cat, he didn’t do so voluntarily. He is a totem-locked Becomer and a Mortalborn of Aelig. I know that not every rumor is true, and I’m not the kind of woman that believes everything people tell her”, she continued, switching to a more diplomatic tone of voice lest Tristan thought that her mental faculties had decreased, and she had finally grown a bit senile.
“But rumors often contain a kernel of truth and don’t just appear out of thin air. What I heard was concerning enough that I considered it to be a good idea to talk to you immediately. I would very much like you to explain this matter to me. Rumors can turn out to be dangerous, if you don’t know their origin and can’t control them, as you know. You may also be able to use them to your advantage though as we discussed when people assumed that you are Syroa’s son.”
“The story?” she asked, her tone of voice now completely calm as she finally took off her coat and sat down, with poise and elegance, as a noblewoman from Rynmere should. She didn’t wonder why so many rumors surrounded her grandson. He was an extraordinary young man. It was just that those rumors were always a bit too strange for her taste.
Cylus was by far the coldest season in Rharne. Everything was covered by a blanket of snow, and the city was shrouded in perpetual darkness. There was no appeal to and little point in being outside. Life largely took place indoors as the world held its breath for thirty trials. Cylus was a time of gatherings around the fireplace, in somebody’s home or in a nearby tavern. It was a time for hot tea and hot chocolate, anything to fill you with a bit of warmth. It was a time of stories – and rumors. As there was little to do outside, people started to get bored. Gossip ran rampant when there was little else to do.
It was not long before Tristan’s grandmother Ebony Venora who had been one of the most powerful people in the kingdom of Rynmere once upon a time, returned from a visit to one of her friends that lived in the neighbourhood. Tristan was just sitting in a comfortable armchair in the living room, a book on the flora of Rharne in his lap, when the old woman walked in, still dressed in a warm fur coat, a sign that there was something that she really needed to say to him.
“Grandson”, she told him in a stern tone of voice that caused him to immediately close his book, put it away and focus his entire attention on her, just like he had done when he had been a boy. “When did you plan on finally telling me that that cat of yours is a Becomer in disguise? I do not approve of a strange man pretending to be a more or less innocent animal, living with us and potentially spying on us”, she continued and proceeded to cross her arms over her chest as she patiently waited for Tristan to explain this most problematic and highly improper matter, preferably in a way that made sense.
Tristan’s eyebrows rose and rose until they nearly made contact with his hairline as he listened to his grandmother. At first, he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern, but curiosity and concern soon made way to utter disbelief and confusion. He didn’t let those feelings get the better of him though, but managed to school his face into a neutral expression and gestured for his grandmother to take a seat next to him. She refused though.
Tristan inclined his head in acceptance and told her in a firm, but nonetheless very respectful tone of voice as was appropriate when you were speaking with one of your elders, “Mistral is definitely not a Becomer. I’m pretty sure I told you the story about my meeting with the cat people in the Misty Miasma before. Besides, I doubt that any Becomer would voluntarily spend seven arcs as a cat. Where did you hear that rumor though?” he wanted to know and looked at his grandmother expectantly.
“From my dear friend, of course. She saw her cat play with your cat. Several other cat owners in the quarter say the same thing. As for Mistral voluntarily spending seven arcs as a cat, he didn’t do so voluntarily. He is a totem-locked Becomer and a Mortalborn of Aelig. I know that not every rumor is true, and I’m not the kind of woman that believes everything people tell her”, she continued, switching to a more diplomatic tone of voice lest Tristan thought that her mental faculties had decreased, and she had finally grown a bit senile.
“But rumors often contain a kernel of truth and don’t just appear out of thin air. What I heard was concerning enough that I considered it to be a good idea to talk to you immediately. I would very much like you to explain this matter to me. Rumors can turn out to be dangerous, if you don’t know their origin and can’t control them, as you know. You may also be able to use them to your advantage though as we discussed when people assumed that you are Syroa’s son.”
“The story?” she asked, her tone of voice now completely calm as she finally took off her coat and sat down, with poise and elegance, as a noblewoman from Rynmere should. She didn’t wonder why so many rumors surrounded her grandson. He was an extraordinary young man. It was just that those rumors were always a bit too strange for her taste.
Notes
From the Rharne Rumour Mill:
A rumor persists among cat-lovers in the Glass Quarter that Tristan's cat Mistral is actually a totem locked mortalborn mage, who is the son of Aelig.
A rumor persists among cat-lovers in the Glass Quarter that Tristan's cat Mistral is actually a totem locked mortalborn mage, who is the son of Aelig.
