eamon-keppel

[eamon-keppel]

Over the course of the evening, words had lead to actions that Eamon could not have anticipated, even with all of the research of the world in his hands. Few things were as complicated as the inside of a person’s mind. Magic was complex, yet it was simple in that it had its rules and limitations. It required action, words, materials to happen, though the ways in which it manifested on this plane was one of eternal fascination for the abjurist.

Eamon also found himself without his glasses at the moment, which had caused the entire room to become a flow of rounded shapes and muddy colors. He could see, hear and feel Thalra leave his side to do something, but he wasn’t sure of it in his current state. Without his glasses, or his clothes, he was indeed quite vulnerable. It was a feeling he did not often partake in, but he found himself unable to mind it in the moment.

It took him a while to figure out where his glasses went as he went messing around in the sheets and the bedside table and the floor next to the bed. He did eventually find them tangled beneath his pillow of all places. He put it on as he took in his bedfellow, a beauty to behold in her sheer fabrics and the moonlight wanting to highlight all of her best features.

“That, my dear, was an experience I will have a hard time forgetting,” he said, his voice rough around the edges, his throat feeling dry for some reason. He sat up a little straighter, wanting to be a little closer to Thalra’s level, although he did not mind the somewhat submissive role he found himself in compared to her.

When she laced her fingers with his, he returned the favor with a solid yet gentle hold. He used his other hand to reach out and stroke her cheek lightly, feeling the softness that seemed to almost hide the fighter underneath. “I can imagine that this isn’t the norm for you. While I am fully aware of your work, I cannot say I will ever know it as well as you do.” He could sense the hesitation in her voice, the way her eyes seemed to search for something. 

“I’m not as young and quick to judge as I once was,” he said, keeping himself steady as he spoke. “If you wish for this to remain an experience, an evening of releasing tensions and concerns, then I will not resist. You are a dear friend to me, Thalra, one who has helped me through a lot. I find, as much as you do, that your presence brings me calm.” He allowed himself a bit of a playful smile. “Even though what we just did was anything but calm.”

He let out a deeply held exhale, leaning back against one of the bed’s many pillows. “I will admit... I think you’re lovely. I think you’re a remarkable soul with excellent taste in romance novels.” He chuckled, quietly. “Whatever you wish to make of this, I will listen.”

Eamon wasn’t normally one to sleep with others without further commitment, but he was also very aware of the fact that it was often more complicated than that. Whatever they had before this moment was going to change, but it didn’t need to be a big one. He would listen to her words, make his own judgements, and they would go from there. What they did had been consensual, a dance of two souls with an uncertain aftermath. He had done all of this, knowing it would mean something, but he wasn’t sitting here and finding himself falling in love with Thalra. He was fond of her and wished to remain her friend, if nothing else.

eamon‌:

Eamon was old by human standards, even though he was a lightborn. From what he had been able to understand about his ancestry, they lived similar lifespans, but they were apparently more likely to have energy compared to same-age counterparts. He certainly had colleagues close to him in age who complained about bad backs, unstable hands and a forgetful memory. His worst struggle was a leg that couldn’t decide if it was great on a good day and less good on a bad day.

Right now, however, for the first time in what felt like decades, he found his attention focused entirely away from his mind. Not entirely, his brain always had something cooking in the background, but the primary focus of his attention was on Thalra. Beautiful and brave, she was sharp in mind and light in movements like an adamantine blade. Risked her life for her brother, gave him sanctuary when he was overridden by grief, plagued by dangers lurking in the shadows. If he could give her some of that same peace she’d provided him years ago and in recent times, he would do all that he could. It was the least that she deserved.

Thalra reciprocated his kiss, although it appeared she had expected something like rejection from him. The small surprised sound that she had made had his stomach feel ticklish like a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering their wings against his insides. He moved his hands from her face into her hair and down her neck, keeping it slow and steady. There was no rush in this encounter of theirs, and none of them knew how far it might go.

When she pulled away from him, he let his eyes open once more, the faded light of them casting a soft glow over the drow’s skin and hair. He raised a hand up to stroke a thumb softly across the expanse of her cheekbone, her skin soft and pliable under his touch. At her suggestion to continue this in more appropriate quarters, he assumed, he let go of her and stood up to reach a hand towards her. His smile was there as usual, but unlike his usual polite or warm smile, this one had a sort of cheeky feel to it.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes ran over her entire being. “With you, there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now,” he responded, his voice lowering itself to levels he hadn’t heard from himself in nearly 20 years.

Thalra thought for a moment, as she was leading Eamon up the stairs, of taking him to the third floor, like she had with Lavender months ago. She imagined laying down in her own sheets and kissing Eamon until the memory of Lavender faded and was overcome by something new and sweeter, like a ray of sunshine held in her hand. It was a pretty dream, impossible as it seemed.

Instead though, she found herself turning once they got to the second floor, and leading Eamon down a hallway into a bedroom she used to use for clients. She didn’t want Eamon to see the only space that had been hers for nearly a century. Thalra didn’t want to give that over to him just yet, when he knew so little about the poisonous pits that lay inside her like traps for him to stumble upon. She wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable again, not when he’d already seemed hesitant to give into the impulse to kiss her. Thalra pulled Eamon into the room and towards the bed, eager to drive all doubts from both of their heads as soon as possible.  

-                                                                     ; )                                                                          -

But afterwards, when Thalra felt pleasantly exhausted and satisfied, she got up from the bed they’d just shared to slip on sheer robe that hid nothing from Eamon’s eyes, and merely drew a final curtain on the events of the evening. She sat down on the edge of the bed closest to him, and reached out to push some of his hair off his forehead. “I hope that was as enjoyable for you as an evening of reading might have been,” she said, teasing and smiling. Truthfully, there was still a nervousness in her gut, a worry that this would have repercussions that she couldn’t expect. It had never been a rule that Thalra didn’t sleep with her friends, didn’t mix business and pleasure, but rather trusted advice from her mentor that it only ever led to trouble.

Her hand slipped down to find Eamon’s on top of the sheet of her bed. “I hope this doesn’t over-complicate things between us, Eamon. I trust you, I respect you, and that’s… very appealing to me as of late.” She squeezed his hand and slipped her fingers to lace with his. Looking down at them, anyone might think that Eamon had lived a life longer than hers, that his had seen and experienced far more. She’d never thought about it before, but now, having known him so intimately, Thalra couldn’t help but see Eamon as a bright burst, shining so brightly and then gone in the next instant. He was so stable, so calming, and yet, for how long?

“I don’t mean to ruin the mood,” she said, trying to push those thoughts from her mind as she looked back up at him. “I only mean to say that I find your presence very soothing, and I hope I can provide something like that for you as well.”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon looked up from the book he’d been working on straightening out to take in the person before him. They were not a student of his, he was aware of that much, but he was uncertain of their status otherwise. To be fair, he was not familiar with too many beyond some of the staff and professors at the university here in Khaggon. Unlike the institute in Arx or the academy in Itresa, he simply hadn’t had the time to take in this particular place of education. They also looked very nervous, and Eamon didn’t have to be particularly insightful to realize that much. 

“A lot of books to carry around in public,” he said, but his voice carried neither disgust nor judgement. “There’s always a certain danger in bringing too much of the good things out in the open. I’ve certain lost a few books in my day, and that wasn’t limited to my time as a student.” He chuckled at the memory. One such that came to his mind was shortly after he’d started courting Nessa, when they were having a reading session in the library together and, in his attempt to be smooth and make a quick romantic move on her, he knocked an entire pile of heavy tomes over and on her foot. He had apologized plenty for it, and she had been mad at him for a good five minutes before they’d abandoned the books to go inappropriate business elsewhere.

Eamon put the repaired book back in the book before he turned their attention back to them. “You were there?” He rubbed his chin for a moment before giving them a bright smile. “Ah, I believe I remember seeing you up there. My sight isn’t what it used to be, but it’s hard to ignore such an eager soul in the audience. I was just glad someone seemed interested in the subject.”

He put another book on the growing pile. “That is correct, yes. There are theories that objects infused with magic can be harder to dispel due to their ability to integrate themselves with mundane parts of the item. Of course, it depends on the type of magic used.” 

Eamon:

As far as afternoons went, it had been a fairly quiet one for Abjurist Eamon Cleartide. He’d held an early guest lecture at the Academy of Arcane on how to understand the balance of an offensive spell and how to adjust the level of which to dispel or neutralize it. There had been quite a few eager students in the midst, and he had even - with permission from the institute, of course - been able to demonstrate it with the help of some helpful casters in the audience.

The lightborn’s daily life had certainly changed in the last couple of years, but he did find himself with a couple of routines still like his habit of going out for tea during lunch hours. It was a little late as far as lunch went, but today had been a long day.

As he walked down the streets away from the campus, he was met with the sight of books falling down the streets. That looked highly concerning to him, the book lover that he was. Either someone had a blatant disregard for reading or a very bad day. Feeling strange about staring without taking any action, he made his way over to the person trying to grab for the books.

“Oh, dear, that’s not good,” he muttered under his breath when he arrived. He bent down to put up the books closest to him, barely skimming over the titles before checking them over for any potential damages. One of them appeared to have a bit of bent spine, but a quick round of Mending had that corrected in no time. The titles made it clear that they were from the academy’s library, so this was likely a student or an associate with the university. “Quite the fall, wasn’t it? They do appear to be mostly in order, fortunately.”

He threw in a calm, comforting smile for good measure.

This had to be some sort of nightmare. That’s what Hanna thought when they looked up into the face of Eamon Cleartide, who was bending down to pick up the books they’d so carelessly spilled all over the ground like some kind of fresh-faced first year student. Hanna had only gone to a handful of his lectures, and always sat in the back, speaking only frequently but always listening intently. They’d read nearly all of his published works too, over the years. Nigh had cited him a few times in his experimentation, and Hanna remembered desperately wanting to take one of the rare courses he taught back when they’d been a student, and mourning the lost opportunity when scheduling conflicts had meant they couldn’t.

They knelt there, frozen for a few long moments, staring wide eyed at the man they’d only saw from across a lecture hall. How could they end this interaction in a way where he forgot their face immediately, forgot their mistake, forgot that Hanna was wasting his time with something so unimportant. “Sorry,” they choked out, their heart hammering in their chest as they gathered up the rest of the books and held them close to their chest. “I checked out too many. It was a stupid mistake. You don’t have to-“ They wathched him cast mending on the bent spine of a book and wanted to sink into the ground. Maybe they could. They’d prepared Stone Shape during their morning meditation. Hanna could create a tunnel and escape into the tunnels, never speak of this again to anyone, deny they’d ever even been at this café!

No. No Eamon’s word would surely be believed over thiers. They had to endure this interaction and escape as soon as possible before Eamon’s opinion of them worsened further. He really did look so kind. Maybe he’d understand? Nigh had always understood Hanna when they’d gotten like this and made stupid, avoidable mistakes. Hanna’s hands tightened around the books clutched to their chest at the thought. “I liked your lecture today. You probably didn’t see me. I was in the back.” They felt their face darkening with warmth and color. “I appreciated that you touched on the factor that time plays on the magic you’re trying to dispel. I’ve always found that the older the spell is the more effort I have to put into dispelling it. But um. You probably know more about it than I do.”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon was old by human standards, even though he was a lightborn. From what he had been able to understand about his ancestry, they lived similar lifespans, but they were apparently more likely to have energy compared to same-age counterparts. He certainly had colleagues close to him in age who complained about bad backs, unstable hands and a forgetful memory. His worst struggle was a leg that couldn’t decide if it was great on a good day and less good on a bad day.

Right now, however, for the first time in what felt like decades, he found his attention focused entirely away from his mind. Not entirely, his brain always had something cooking in the background, but the primary focus of his attention was on Thalra. Beautiful and brave, she was sharp in mind and light in movements like an adamantine blade. Risked her life for her brother, gave him sanctuary when he was overridden by grief, plagued by dangers lurking in the shadows. If he could give her some of that same peace she’d provided him years ago and in recent times, he would do all that he could. It was the least that she deserved.

Thalra reciprocated his kiss, although it appeared she had expected something like rejection from him. The small surprised sound that she had made had his stomach feel ticklish like a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering their wings against his insides. He moved his hands from her face into her hair and down her neck, keeping it slow and steady. There was no rush in this encounter of theirs, and none of them knew how far it might go.

When she pulled away from him, he let his eyes open once more, the faded light of them casting a soft glow over the drow’s skin and hair. He raised a hand up to stroke a thumb softly across the expanse of her cheekbone, her skin soft and pliable under his touch. At her suggestion to continue this in more appropriate quarters, he assumed, he let go of her and stood up to reach a hand towards her. His smile was there as usual, but unlike his usual polite or warm smile, this one had a sort of cheeky feel to it.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes ran over her entire being. “With you, there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now,” he responded, his voice lowering itself to levels he hadn’t heard from himself in nearly 20 years.

eamon:

He couldn’t help the small, soft chuckle that escaped him at Thalra’s initial response, the way she took his words apart and threw them back at him as if they were simple and not weighed down with emotion and affection. She did look absolutely marvelous in the light from the fire, which seemed to warm the dark expanse of her skin and brighten the white of her long, braided hair. It felt like when they’d first met. Even with the grief and the sorrow of losing his wife and one true love, he had to admit that the woman in front of him was among the most striking he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

It would be a lie if he had never thought of taking her up on one of her previous offers, most of them made as a part of their friendly banter; it was the sort of dialogue that always seemed to teeter the line between friend and flirtation, where outsiders who were witness to one of their talks would take it and run with it as worthy of gossip. He had certainly experienced it with some of his colleagues once they’d learned of his affiliation with the Starlight Siren of Myrefall. 

The feeling of soft lips against the palm of his hand pulled him out of his thoughts, and his bright eyes found hers, lilac and outstanding, once more. He wasn’t sure where all of this was coming from, but it wasn’t as foreign as he’d expect it to be. When the offer had been lain on the table, he thought his response was clear, but now he wasn’t so certain.

His stomach felt heavy and tight, like there was a giant boulder weighing down on it, but it didn’t hurt him. It felt like the moment right before something exploded, that second of anticipation and realization of what was about to happen. To Eamon, it was a sensation he hadn’t felt in decades. Not since he had been confronted with the horrors of war, not since he had to leave Itresa for the sake of his people, not since the days when Nessa still walked this plane, bright and bold and so very captivating.

Not too unlike the woman in front of him, in fact.

He leaned in closer, allowed their foreheads to touch as he took a moment to close his eyes and breathe. Inhale, exhale, repeat. It was deep, slow and steady, but he needed it. It felt like forever, but he knew it only lasted a second or two. His eyes, the light in them finding itself reflected in the drow’s gaze, opened once more. He looked from her eyes to her lips to a seemingly random spot in the room before they returned to lock on Thalra. He allowed himself, for once in so many years, to fall.

And he kissed her.

The press of Eamon’s forehead to hers felt much too heavy, and for a moment, Thalra thought of slipping away, laughing it all off, asking Eamon to leave. There was an intensity in his eyes before he closed them that terrified her. He was so quiet, had only said a handful of words since she’d asked for this, and Thalra couldn’t tell what he was thinking. In a way, a rejection would have been simpler. She wanted to be cared for, but she didn’t want to be treated like a child. She didn’t want Eamon’s hands to be gentle because he thought she was fragile, even if she felt as if there were cracks running up and down her spine that were moments away from shattering. She didn’t want to see inside his mind and know that he was coming up with ways to let her down easily.

And then, just as the weight of that moment between decisions seemed like it was too much for her to handle, Eamon opened his eyes again and she saw them flicker to her lips, then away. She thought that was it, that was the rejection, and felt a tightening in her stomach like a hissing snake coiling in on itself in fear. And so, when Eamon did kiss her, she was half way through the motion of pulling away, and she made a surprised sound against his lips.  

But then the heat and the connection stirred inside her, washing away everything else in its torrent, and Thalra moved instinctively. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hands closing in loose fists around the fabric of Eamon’s shirt, pulling him closer and ruining the nice crisp lines she’d previously smoothed down. She deepened the kiss immediately, hungrily but patiently and without any of the desperation she felt. Thalra knew how to take her time, how to take men apart. But more than anything, Thalra wanted to fall into the cavern of Eamon’s chest and be held. His hands on her face, in her hair, on her skin, burning bright like his eyes.

After a while though, Thalra pulled back, kissed the corner of Eamon’s mouth, then pressed another to the edge of his jaw, before looking up at him. “Come up stairs with me?” she asked, voice hushed and pleased.

[eamon-keppel]

As far as afternoons went, it had been a fairly quiet one for Abjurist Eamon Cleartide. He’d held an early guest lecture at the Academy of Arcane on how to understand the balance of an offensive spell and how to adjust the level of which to dispel or neutralize it. There had been quite a few eager students in the midst, and he had even - with permission from the institute, of course - been able to demonstrate it with the help of some helpful casters in the audience.

The lightborn’s daily life had certainly changed in the last couple of years, but he did find himself with a couple of routines still like his habit of going out for tea during lunch hours. It was a little late as far as lunch went, but today had been a long day.

As he walked down the streets away from the campus, he was met with the sight of books falling down the streets. That looked highly concerning to him, the book lover that he was. Either someone had a blatant disregard for reading or a very bad day. Feeling strange about staring without taking any action, he made his way over to the person trying to grab for the books.

“Oh, dear, that’s not good,” he muttered under his breath when he arrived. He bent down to put up the books closest to him, barely skimming over the titles before checking them over for any potential damages. One of them appeared to have a bit of bent spine, but a quick round of Mending had that corrected in no time. The titles made it clear that they were from the academy’s library, so this was likely a student or an associate with the university. “Quite the fall, wasn’t it? They do appear to be mostly in order, fortunately.”

He threw in a calm, comforting smile for good measure.

Time: Early Afternoon, March 2nd  Location: Khaggon, A small cafe outside the Academy of Arcane  Status: Open. 

When one of the librarians at the academy had suggested that Hanna rent a cart for all the books they were checking out, Hanna had almost considered the idea before it became apparent that the librarian had been joking. Now, as they settled down with a cup of coffee at the closest café to the academy, a towering stack of books obscuring them from the streets, they were relieved they could get some reading done without the oppressive and claustrophobic walls that the campus seemed to have as of late. They were just taking their first sip of coffee, ready to indulge in bright, bitter taste, when the screeching noise of a chair being pushed backwards startled them just enough for their elbow to shoot out as their head turned towards the noise. With a clatter, the tower of books on Hanna’s table went tumbling down, cascading across the dirty stone street and flopping open on their bellies like lazy cats in the afternoon sun.

Gasping, Hanna put their coffee down and got to their feet, panic in their eyes. They should have known what a bad idea it was to take so many books out at once. The risk of one of them getting lost or damaged only grew the further away from the academy that Hanna took them, and Hanna could not afford to pay for most of these books if they were destroyed. Scrambling down to the ground, Hanna quickly tried to gather them up into their arms, checking them thoroughly for any tears or stains.

[eamon-keppel]

He couldn’t help the small, soft chuckle that escaped him at Thalra’s initial response, the way she took his words apart and threw them back at him as if they were simple and not weighed down with emotion and affection. She did look absolutely marvelous in the light from the fire, which seemed to warm the dark expanse of her skin and brighten the white of her long, braided hair. It felt like when they’d first met. Even with the grief and the sorrow of losing his wife and one true love, he had to admit that the woman in front of him was among the most striking he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

It would be a lie if he had never thought of taking her up on one of her previous offers, most of them made as a part of their friendly banter; it was the sort of dialogue that always seemed to teeter the line between friend and flirtation, where outsiders who were witness to one of their talks would take it and run with it as worthy of gossip. He had certainly experienced it with some of his colleagues once they’d learned of his affiliation with the Starlight Siren of Myrefall. 

The feeling of soft lips against the palm of his hand pulled him out of his thoughts, and his bright eyes found hers, lilac and outstanding, once more. He wasn’t sure where all of this was coming from, but it wasn’t as foreign as he’d expect it to be. When the offer had been lain on the table, he thought his response was clear, but now he wasn’t so certain.

His stomach felt heavy and tight, like there was a giant boulder weighing down on it, but it didn’t hurt him. It felt like the moment right before something exploded, that second of anticipation and realization of what was about to happen. To Eamon, it was a sensation he hadn’t felt in decades. Not since he had been confronted with the horrors of war, not since he had to leave Itresa for the sake of his people, not since the days when Nessa still walked this plane, bright and bold and so very captivating.

Not too unlike the woman in front of him, in fact.

He leaned in closer, allowed their foreheads to touch as he took a moment to close his eyes and breathe. Inhale, exhale, repeat. It was deep, slow and steady, but he needed it. It felt like forever, but he knew it only lasted a second or two. His eyes, the light in them finding itself reflected in the drow’s gaze, opened once more. He looked from her eyes to her lips to a seemingly random spot in the room before they returned to lock on Thalra. He allowed himself, for once in so many years, to fall.

And he kissed her.

eamon:

Eamon kept an eye on Thalra as he made his offer known, wanting to offer some of that nostalgic peace both of them had known once upon a time. A sanctuary from the outside world, one where only the two of them were present and able to put aside the pain of the present in favor of some harmless escapism. It was something that he hadn’t done much in his later years, always finding himself busy with his family or a student or a personal project of some sort. 

Lately the siege of Arx had weighed heavily on his mind. It had been his home for the first 15 years of his life, after all, and he had always thought fondly of it even with the life he’d made for himself in Itresa. After Nessa’s passing and Nickolas’s ascension to the throne, however, he had gotten a very real reality check and found that he needed to figure out his priority if he wished to continue life in a healthy manner.

Thalra’s ways were not new to him, but it had been years since he had seen them in action. She was a charming woman, there was no doubt about it, and she had a wit about her that Eamon found himself enjoying very much. It was a friendship that he had come to treasure a lot because, whether people believed it or not about him, friends were hard to come by. He had those in his life whose presence he enjoyed and who he could talk with about fleeting topics or matters of work and academia in general, but there were few people he found himself able to be truly vulnerable around.

Eamon searched her expression, looking for any sort of doubt or hesitation in regards to her current actions. As best he could understand it, she seemed aware of what she was doing. With that in mind, he reached out to cradle her face with his free hand as he leaned forward, slowly, to press his lips to the courtesan’s forehead. He let it last for a second before he pulled back, keeping close without making it too intimate at the same time. His hand, gentle against her skin like they were tracing runes on ancient parchment, moved to brush aside some of the braided hair. “What has changed, my dear?”

Aside from their initial encounter, Thalra had never since tried to make a move on the lightborn after he had made it clear that he was not in a state to be in any sort of relation with anyone at the moment. It had been two decades since that time, things had definitely changed since then, but he wondered what had changed for Thalra to be reconsidering her previous stance on their relationship. He had certainly never pressed for anything, so he was curious. Was she looking for close company, other than her brother? He didn’t doubt that she had people out there, but he also knew she lived a dangerous life that often made most people prone to paranoia and distrust of others. What had changed? He was genuine in the question. Not disgusted, just curious.

Thalra braced herself for the kiss, but found that she was still entirely unprepared for Eamon to instead aim for her forehead, his lips as gentle as his hands as they cradled her face. A confusing cocktail of annoyance and endearment roiled in her chest like wild animals prowling on a hunt. She had to grit her jaw to keep from telling him that she was much more than twice his age, that she found being condescended to wholly unappealing, and that she would never ever ask for something that she didn’t want. But were all those things entirely true? It was a fair question that he asked. If only the truth wasn’t so complicated and impossible to explain.

She didn’t move away, and instead leaned into the cusp of his hand, sighing softly. “Many things have changed, firefly. Find me a person in a perpetual state of being and you will have shown me a miracle.” Her smile turned sardonic at the edges. If he wanted it flat out and without any passion, then she could do that to. “But if you mean what has changed for me in regards to you, it’s simply that you’re no longer paying me. You’re not my client, you’re a friend, so the same restrictions don’t apply and I’m making you a friendly offer.”

There seemed to be a thousand thoughts racing through Eamon’s mind, but none of them spelled out rejection just yet. What has changed, was not a no, and so Thalra felt comfortable turning her head just slightly to the side and kissing the edge of his palm, paying him back in full for the one he’d placed upon her forehead.

He looked so serious, that it almost made Thalra move in for more, just to smooth the furrow in his brow, just to see the surprise in his eyes. But this was his decision. And Thalra always did love watching her target teeter on the edge of a decision; to either go into her arms enthusiastically, or walk away. Either way they’d be thinking of her for the rest of the night. And yet now, there was still a lingering, nervous clench in Thalra’s gut. She really did like Eamon, and she found that she really did want him to want her. And underneath that want was a hunger so dark and deep, Thalra found that she could not look at it directly without flinching away.

“I like you. I like your hands and the timbre of your voice. I’d like to think that you could put both to good use, but if that’s not something you’re interested in, we can sit here and read, just as you previously suggested.”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon kept an eye on Thalra as he made his offer known, wanting to offer some of that nostalgic peace both of them had known once upon a time. A sanctuary from the outside world, one where only the two of them were present and able to put aside the pain of the present in favor of some harmless escapism. It was something that he hadn’t done much in his later years, always finding himself busy with his family or a student or a personal project of some sort. 

Lately the siege of Arx had weighed heavily on his mind. It had been his home for the first 15 years of his life, after all, and he had always thought fondly of it even with the life he’d made for himself in Itresa. After Nessa’s passing and Nickolas’s ascension to the throne, however, he had gotten a very real reality check and found that he needed to figure out his priority if he wished to continue life in a healthy manner.

Thalra’s ways were not new to him, but it had been years since he had seen them in action. She was a charming woman, there was no doubt about it, and she had a wit about her that Eamon found himself enjoying very much. It was a friendship that he had come to treasure a lot because, whether people believed it or not about him, friends were hard to come by. He had those in his life whose presence he enjoyed and who he could talk with about fleeting topics or matters of work and academia in general, but there were few people he found himself able to be truly vulnerable around.

Eamon searched her expression, looking for any sort of doubt or hesitation in regards to her current actions. As best he could understand it, she seemed aware of what she was doing. With that in mind, he reached out to cradle her face with his free hand as he leaned forward, slowly, to press his lips to the courtesan’s forehead. He let it last for a second before he pulled back, keeping close without making it too intimate at the same time. His hand, gentle against her skin like they were tracing runes on ancient parchment, moved to brush aside some of the braided hair. “What has changed, my dear?”

Aside from their initial encounter, Thalra had never since tried to make a move on the lightborn after he had made it clear that he was not in a state to be in any sort of relation with anyone at the moment. It had been two decades since that time, things had definitely changed since then, but he wondered what had changed for Thalra to be reconsidering her previous stance on their relationship. He had certainly never pressed for anything, so he was curious. Was she looking for close company, other than her brother? He didn’t doubt that she had people out there, but he also knew she lived a dangerous life that often made most people prone to paranoia and distrust of others. What had changed? He was genuine in the question. Not disgusted, just curious.

eamon:

Eamon sat next to her, keeping a close yet respectable distance from the drow woman. His eyes emitted a weak glow that appeared like a reflection of the fireplace, but shone with less of a red and more of a golden sheen. He had known that asking such a personal question could lead in many directions, from the truth to white lies to deception. It was no surprise to him, from what little he had been told and what he had observed, that Thalra Hylune was a woman of a tumultuous past and many secrets. His experience told him that bards were like that in general, attracted by the intrigue and mystery and - often - getting in above their heads.

He had to strain slightly to hear her words as the fire crackled in the background. His only response was a slow nod of understanding. He could understand the drive and desire to get into the thick of things in order to find and save your loved ones, family being no exception. If he hadn’t heard from Laoise or Breandan when he had to evacuate with his students, he would’ve gone out looking for them. Fortunately, both of them had been resourceful with enough luck to find their way to relative safety. A situation that might’ve changed if the siege had gone on for longer, but that time was now past and he did not want to dwell on what ifs and how abouts.

“I am glad that he appears to be safe and sound,” Eamon responded, throwing her a smile as he gave her hand a quick, comforting squeeze. “You have been apart for a long time, but you found each other in the end. I am truly happy for you, my dear.”

He looked up towards the hall that she was speaking of, making sure to lower his voice as he added, “Oh, I imagine there would be a lot of questions to answer if we were to be so unlucky. For his sake and yours, I hope you both get the time to heal after what happened. It was an awful time, one that I certainly hope does not repeat itself, but I’ve been alive for too long to be blinded by optimism. Still, there is nothing wrong with a healthy dose of it.”

Eamon got quiet for a moment, looked around the room, to the fireplace and back towards Thalra. He leaned forward a slight bit with a smile that made it seem like he had a mischievous plan up his sleeve. “Ms. Thalra, what do you say to a walk down memory lane? You, me, warm drinks and a good book. I know that I came here to talk, but I feel just as comforted just having you as company. Sometimes peace and quiet in the safety of a trusted companion is just as healing as talking. What do you say?”

Thalra’s gaze snapped down towards where Eamon touched her hand as if his palm covering hers was some new, foreign animal to her, manifested right there on the couch between them. There was the swift tensing of muscles as he squeezed her hand in some comforting gesture that likely meant very little to him. But the touch gave Thalra pause. She could feel the gentle grazing of his thumb across her knuckles and, slowly, she looked up at Eamon as he spoke, watching him with a careful, unreadable expression even as he leaned just a little closer with a mischievous, boyish smile on his face. She wondered what he would do—how he would react—if she put her cup of tea down and used her other hand to tangle her fingers into the soft curls of his hair.

He was such a kind, compassionate man, she thought, her eyes lingering on his for just a moment too long, letting the silence stretch until he might wonder what she might do next. The anticipation, that was part of it, the routine of seduction falling back into place inside her life a missing puzzle piece. She could still do this. Thalra could still make people want her. And if people still wanted her, if someone as good and bright as Eamon could still want her then maybe Lavender-

Then maybe Pyrope-

Then maybe she was wrong about herself. Maybe she wasn’t so broken as to be completely unlovable.

“That is a very tempting offer, Eamon,” Thalra said, putting her tea down on the table before she moved back into Eamon’s space so that she could lace their fingers together. She leaned close enough that she could see the dim, swirling light in his eyes and barely distinguish it from the orange reflection of the fire. “But I think I can make you a better one. It could still be very healing, and I know I could trust you to keep me safe.” Her other hand, now free, landed gently on the same crease in his jacket that she’d pressed down when he’d come through the door. 

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon wondered how much Pyrope had been influenced by any of the other monarchs’ way of rule. He didn’t imagine that the fire genasi was much for the way of Queen Kaylynn, who ruled the island of Anari with a strong yet gentle hand and granted her people all the necessary freedoms and means to live. Her brother, King Rolland II, ruled in a similar way, but one that seemed to try and emulate more of the way his father had ruled. A good king, ruling with the aid of his advisors and the support of the nobility.

There was also the matter of the eldest children of Good King Sobek. Ivana ruled the dessert to the west of Hegaehend, with an iron fist that even her twin brother seemed to hesitate to move against at times. Not that Nickolas was any better on that front with his blatant preference for the “perfect” high born nobles and using the rest of his population in the plantation and for his slave armies.

He shouldn’t judge her based on the actions of others, but at this point, he couldn’t exclude it either.

“That’s admirable,” he said, in regards to her first point. He could understand the want to be part of something and to belong with like-minded people, but there was always the concern of whether it was right for someone or not. In the end, only the one in the middle of it would know, either in the progress or in the time afterwards. “You appear to have put quite a bit of thought into it, indeed.”

Her choice of words didn’t go past him. She wanted to conquer. That was not a word used lightly. Pyrope was in for all of it, it seemed. He wasn’t sure whether to be concerned for it or not. The woman wasn’t stupid, however, keeping her plans enticing, yet vague and easy to misinterpret in - seemingly - the recruit’s favor.

“I think your goal to pursue peace and prosperity for the people is a goal that more should have in mind. Not all have the capacity or the power to achieve such a lofty plan. It would take a great deal of resources and people to happen, but if you are successful... It would certainly be a change.” For the better or the worse? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to figure it out when it was too late. For all he knew, Pyrope could be having good intentions about it all, but there was something about her that didn’t sit right with Eamon. And he knew from past experience that for all of one’s intelligence or wisdom, your gut feeling was sometimes your best bet in a given situation.

He offered Pyrope a great smile as he rose from his seat, book in his hand and bag across his chest and shoulder. “I must thank you for keeping me company, Ms. Pyrope. Your ambitions sound absolutely grand, but I’m afraid I do not have more time for more of our talk. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, however, and I do hope we get the time to speak in the future. Good day.”

And with that, he gave her a polite bow and a nod as he turned and exited the café where he had found himself spending his break. This woman was potentially quite dangerous, but he didn’t wish to make an enemy of her before being certain of it. He had been wrong about people in the past, in both good and bad ways. Part of him hoped for the former, but a bigger part of him knew it was likely the latter.

Of Tea and Trying Times

eamon-keppel‌:

Eamon leaned over to do the same, grabbed her hand with a solid yet gentle grip and shook it. He threw in his usual smile while he was at it. “Eamon. Eamon Cleartide, to be more precise.”

He let go off her hand and sat back down, taking her in once more. She sounded like a leader, but the sort of leader that yearned for the position. One who placed herself on the throne because she deserved it, she had earned it, she had seen and experienced enough to be there. In times of need, those types of leaders were needed. Unwilling ones did not make the drastic changes needed during a time of chaos, but they were more likely to take the job seriously. Would she be one to do that? She needed him, or someone like him, for management. This group of hers was either extremely new, extremely lacking or growing too big under too lax of a management.

“You sound confident in your beliefs,” he responded. At the very least, she seemed to believe her own words. “You wish to provide strength to the people. In a way that differs from the current system. That is certainly an interesting prospect.” He leaned forward, folded his hands together. “There is power in a united people. Recent times have left them split and confused. I have had some dealings with royalty that has left a bad taste in my mouth, but I have had good ones also. What would you propose as an alternative, Ms. Pyrope?”

The game they played was as intellectually appealing as a round of chess. Two people walking circles across from one another, eyes narrowed, each word propelling their next step. But calmly, effectively, a battle of wits and syllables across a table in a quiet tea shop. She didn’t mind speaking to Eamon, not when it came with ease and confidence. She had not felt so lulled since her earliest years in Kaivras. Even as she straightened her spine and leaned a bit forward, as she found herself doing often, she felt comfortable. It was as though Afir was sitting there, staring at her, waiting for a perfectly timed response. She, quite suddenly, was overcome by a sense of longing for a close friend. Someone who shared every piece of her without flinching, as Afir had once done. 

But this man was not her old friend. 

“I’m quite confident.” When Pyrope spoke again, the emotions faded away until Afir was, once more, a distant memory. “I’ve been planning this for quite some time, before I began making strides towards accomplishing it. There’s a delicate structure. I could not move forward if the nation was not looking for a leader, or a group to fall in line with. But now they’re divided. They need strength. And I have people behind me already, those who did not have an alliance to begin with, or those who feel strongly towards being a part of something. For making a future for themselves.”

Pyrope had always viewed Quicksand as a brotherhood. She protected her people, had provided them with food and shelter and work. All she asked for was their undying loyalty. That had never seemed like an unfair trade.

“I am the person they need, love. I am going to unite the people and we are going to conquer everything that we need to in order to provide peace.” And a kingdom for her to rule over, of course, but she didn’t allow herself to speak it. 

[eamon-keppel]

Efrain was tense, too tense for a man who simply had too much on his mind. As he spoke, he watched out for his reaction, to see how it changed with his choice of words. That way, he could properly explain himself better or understand what to look out for to avoid any unnecessary triggers.

Eamon couldn’t help the frown in his brow at that. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Efrain, but I am not going to deny nor ignore your apology.” People had all sorts of reasons to be apologizing a lot, mostly because of an upbringing focused on etiquette and manners - as his had been - but often times it was a result of environments that made the person feel like it was necessary. Efrain appeared to be unequipped for his confession, almost confused at his choice to remain calm and acknowledge the error of his ways. He had seen this in some of his students in the past. This was ... not surprising, but not a pleasant discovery either.

When the knight spoke of the former lord - Efrain’s father from what Eamon knew of the Crayhorn family - he felt his heart tighten. It almost became difficult to breathe, but he tried his best to remain steady as the half-elf explained what he had been experiencing lately and the reasons behind all of this.

He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Super soldiers... It’s not the first time I have seen that idea floating around, but I’ve never seen it taken to this level before. I can understand your frustration with this. They have others, you say? That’s ... not good. It means they’re still active and trying to achieve whatever they set out to do in the first place.”

Eamon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll admit, this is definitely out of my field of expertise. At most, I might be able to help when it comes to removing curses and dispelling various magical effects, but it’s something I would need to work on and study, as you seem to have been doing. If you’d like, I could reach out to some of my contacts. I understand completely if you want to keep this on the down-low, but I could ask some trusted individuals to be on the lookout for similar incidents or happenings. Anything that might help bring you closer to this group and put an end to what they’re planning.”

Just the thought of what Efrain might’ve been through made his blood boil, and he could nearly feel the level of brightness in his eyes. When it got very intense, it almost felt blinding, like looking straight at the sun on a clear day.

eamon:

Eamon didn’t exactly jump back at the seemingly sudden turnaround of Efrain’s calm persona – if he had done that, he would have likely pushed over several bookshelves and been at the mercy of the elderly librarian, and he was not about to banned from a library like he’d been in his youth. Efrain’s outburst wasn’t exactly a surprise either, but he didn’t expect it to be as simple to trigger as it appeared to have been by nothing but his words.

His expression turned serious, and he turned to the knight. “So this is what has been bothering you lately?” Eamon sighed, taking on a bit more of a tense posture. “I’m sorry, Efrain. Sometimes I find it so easy to slip into that old role of mine when I was the one that had the answer for those that went looking. It’s such a simple trap to fall into, and I keep walking blindly into matters I know little about. You are right. I forced my knowledge on you when it was far from needed. I have no excuse aside from my own enthusiasm.” 

He suppressed the urge to frown even deeper than he was already. “What you are describing sounds awful. A man who does these things… I can’t speak of anyone’s opinion but my own, but that sounds like the work of an awful person. Aureon’s dogma speaks of using magic as a tool to be used, but there are those that corrupt it for selfish and unspeakable purposes. Magic is a fascinating field, a powerful one, but also dangerous. You speak of geas… That’s a fate worse than slavery. I don’t know who you speak of, Efrain, but whoever it is, fictional or real… If you are out to stop this, I wish to help in any way I can.”

Eamon became quiet for a few seconds, before adding, “Of course, I understand perfectly if you see no need for my assistance. That is valid. I’m just putting it out there. People like that should not go unpunished.”

He inhaled, held it and exhaled slowly. His veins felt like they were on fire, his heart was pumping in spite of his calm exterior – the only part of him betraying his true emotions were the growing brightness of his eyes, visible in the dim light of the library.

Efrain blinked, and blinked again, as much of his rage was extinguished by the care Eamon addressed him with. He slowly became aware of how tight his spine had become, painfully so, and how he’d been poised to flinch back from a fist or a curse. He’d anticipated a rage that would outburn his own; he’d expected retribution. Instead his rage was doused by kindness and he was left with the echoes of broken wrists and boxed ears and he felt even worse for it. Eamon, though he was still little more than a stranger, was no Eobald. That much Efrain could tell even from their limited interactions, but his body had forgotten. “Sorry,” he whispered and choked in a sudden breath. Shame burned his cheeks again and made the back of his neck sweat.

All at once he felt the overwhelming urge to just tell Eamon everything. To rant until his face turned blue, to scream out the pain of his father’s cruelty, to seek even a crumb of guidance. He couldn’t though, he couldn’t put that weight on anyone else, not entirely. He needed to explain himself, though, even a bit, he needed to say something to explain his egregious behavior. 

“The man was Eobald,” he said, his confession little more than a whisper that even the quietude of the books nearly drowned out. It still felt like a betrayal to speak of it aloud. He wished he could scrub his fealty to Eobald from his soul, but he’d been raised by him, tended to by him, and he still rested in the hollows of his heart as a father. Part of him wanted to tear his heart out and be done with it, but then he’d be left even more hollow and without all others who also resided there. “He wasn’t working alone. They intended to make mindless super soldiers with mutations, mutagens, and geas. I learned of this when a geas Eobald placed on me was triggered in my home.” He forced himself to meet Eamon’s faintly glowing eyes once more even as the words continued to spill from his lips without his permission. He could remember the terrifying helplessness of the geas, of how caged he’d been, and couldn’t stop them. “The group still has a test subject. I was… subjected to a fair amount of treatment, and can attest to the effectiveness of their methods, but I was still raised as a son and he wasn’t, like all the others, and I can’t imagine what he’s been subjected to as a result. Eobald used my research, the things he ordered me to research, so I do, but—I also don’t.” Efrain sighed and rubbed at his eyes, his frustration and guilt building in his chest again. “While tracking down the operation I’ve been trying to research the effects of their treatments, find anything I didn’t discover by testing it on myself, but most people who study these subjects are deranged so it’s proven unfruitful.” 

Slowly, as if it would rear back and bite him, Efrain slid another book onto the shelf. “I don’t know if you can help, Eamon, because I don’t know if I can help.”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon sat next to her, keeping a close yet respectable distance from the drow woman. His eyes emitted a weak glow that appeared like a reflection of the fireplace, but shone with less of a red and more of a golden sheen. He had known that asking such a personal question could lead in many directions, from the truth to white lies to deception. It was no surprise to him, from what little he had been told and what he had observed, that Thalra Hylune was a woman of a tumultuous past and many secrets. His experience told him that bards were like that in general, attracted by the intrigue and mystery and - often - getting in above their heads.

He had to strain slightly to hear her words as the fire crackled in the background. His only response was a slow nod of understanding. He could understand the drive and desire to get into the thick of things in order to find and save your loved ones, family being no exception. If he hadn’t heard from Laoise or Breandan when he had to evacuate with his students, he would’ve gone out looking for them. Fortunately, both of them had been resourceful with enough luck to find their way to relative safety. A situation that might’ve changed if the siege had gone on for longer, but that time was now past and he did not want to dwell on what ifs and how abouts.

“I am glad that he appears to be safe and sound,” Eamon responded, throwing her a smile as he gave her hand a quick, comforting squeeze. “You have been apart for a long time, but you found each other in the end. I am truly happy for you, my dear.”

He looked up towards the hall that she was speaking of, making sure to lower his voice as he added, “Oh, I imagine there would be a lot of questions to answer if we were to be so unlucky. For his sake and yours, I hope you both get the time to heal after what happened. It was an awful time, one that I certainly hope does not repeat itself, but I’ve been alive for too long to be blinded by optimism. Still, there is nothing wrong with a healthy dose of it.”

Eamon got quiet for a moment, looked around the room, to the fireplace and back towards Thalra. He leaned forward a slight bit with a smile that made it seem like he had a mischievous plan up his sleeve. “Ms. Thalra, what do you say to a walk down memory lane? You, me, warm drinks and a good book. I know that I came here to talk, but I feel just as comforted just having you as company. Sometimes peace and quiet in the safety of a trusted companion is just as healing as talking. What do you say?”

eamon:

When Thalra approached him, straightening his coat and taking his cloak from his hands, he felt his shoulders drop the slight tension that had remained in his body. He had been concerned for a lot of things lately. His son, Laoise, his students, the institute and city as a whole, Thalra… She’d been in the midst of the siege, using her tricks to weave through the enemy lines (mostly) unseen. Such a cunning heart, so much like his Nessa, although she definitely had a lot more tact and skill for words than his wife ever had. 

Rest in peace, my dear.

He couldn’t help the smile that surfaced at the sound of the nickname. She hadn’t forgotten that one, it seemed. Not that he particularly minded. ‘Firely’ was far from the most damning he’d heard over the years. In a way, it brought a sense of warmth to his soul.

His eyes, in the darker parts of the home, took on a weak glow, more like that of dying embers than a roaring campfire. Nothing like the way he’d lit up when he had raised the wall of arcane flames, a way – a dramatic one at that – to separate his old friend from the opposing force. It had been a dire situation, one that had been high on stress and fear for all of them.

He walked over to the fireplace at her request – a polite diversion as a start of their evening – as she appeared to the picture of casual elegance on the seating behind him. With the flint and steel in hand, he watched as the sparks flew and caused the birth of the warm light before him. It only took a flick of the wrist, which was a little unusual for him, but he was going to take that as a secret moment of pride.

“There,” he said as he turned towards Thalra as if to confirm that the fire was indeed there. It is a start, but a solid foundation is necessary for a strong and long-lasting future. He watched the fire for a second or two more, watched it rise and form and lick at the stones around it, before he joined Thalra where she sat.

He thought about her question, trying to recollect all that had happened in the last month or so. “It has been a process. More and more of them, those that are not attending the institute, are fanning out, finding other opportunities elsewhere. I help them where I can.” He paused for a second. “Jenell. Yes, they’re alright. In the end, we found their missing family and returned to the safety of the school.”

Eamon looked at Thalra, cautious curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? I do not know what you were in the city for, my dear, but I hope whoever you were looking for made it out safely in the end.” In spite of knowing the Starlight Siren for a long time, there was precious little that she had told him of her personal relations. They’d talk about just about anything that suited their fancy back in the day, be it magic, music, literature, funny (and only slightly personal) stories from the past, and sometimes open up about their struggles. With the way she seemed to understand when he talked about his sister, he was of the opinion that she likely (presently or past tense) had siblings of her own.

Thalra watched Eamon as he came to sit down beside her before flicking her gaze over to the fire he’d started. It was odd that he’d done it manually, instead of with magic. Most wizards she’d met did nothing if it could not be accomplished through the arcane. But Eamon wasn’t really like most wizards. He seemed to hold compassion above curiosity, while other practitioners of magic could easily and coldly toss aside everything else at the prospect of power. Or maybe he just hadn’t found his own unique brand of obsession yet. Thalra had long since given up hope that any single being on this plane of existence was beyond corruption, even someone like Eamon.

“I’m glad they’re all alive at least,” she commented, as he talked about his students, only half paying attention. How Eamon could care about so many people at once without exhausting himself was beyond her. Thalra only had a handful of people who she truly cared for and it sometimes scraped her hollow. She looked towards the hall that lead towards where Nil was surely resting, just as Eamon posed his question to her. She froze, posture stiffening.

She considered lying to him, or diverting the conversation away from such a topic. How could she begin to explain that, while she had gone to Arx to find her brother, that there had been others there as well whose deaths she couldn’t allow. Efrain, Pyrope… Lavender. They had all been hers. Or at least that was what she’d thought. The letter accusing Lavender of being an imposter and a thief was still locked away in her desk on the third floor.

“I was looking for my brother,” she said, so quiet that Eamon would surely have had to strain his ears to hear her. There was no use trying to cover it up now. Nil was back, and if Eamon kept visiting her, he would find out eventually. “My twin. He’s been with me for the last few months but before that…” She didn’t want to look at Eamon for fear that he’d see the depth of emotion in her eyes. “I hadn’t seen him in nearly a century.”

The fire crackled, radiating heat, but Thalra still felt cold, so she picked up her cup of tea and began to sip at it. “He was hurt badly during the battle, but he’s doing better now. He’s resting in the backroom down the hall, so we should try to be quiet.”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon didn’t exactly jump back at the seemingly sudden turnaround of Efrain’s calm persona -- if he had done that, he would have likely pushed over several bookshelves and been at the mercy of the elderly librarian, and he was not about to banned from a library like he’d been in his youth. Efrain’s outburst wasn’t exactly a surprise either, but he didn’t expect it to be as simple to trigger as it appeared to have been by nothing but his words.

His expression turned serious, and he turned to the knight. “So this is what has been bothering you lately?” Eamon sighed, taking on a bit more of a tense posture. “I’m sorry, Efrain. Sometimes I find it so easy to slip into that old role of mine when I was the one that had the answer for those that went looking. It’s such a simple trap to fall into, and I keep walking blindly into matters I know little about. You are right. I forced my knowledge on you when it was far from needed. I have no excuse aside from my own enthusiasm.” 

He suppressed the urge to frown even deeper than he was already. “What you are describing sounds awful. A man who does these things... I can’t speak of anyone’s opinion but my own, but that sounds like the work of an awful person. Aureon’s dogma speaks of using magic as a tool to be used, but there are those that corrupt it for selfish and unspeakable purposes. Magic is a fascinating field, a powerful one, but also dangerous. You speak of geas... That’s a fate worse than slavery. I don’t know who you speak of, Efrain, but whoever it is, fictional or real... If you are out to stop this, I wish to help in any way I can.”

Eamon became quiet for a few seconds, before adding, “Of course, I understand perfectly if you see no need for my assistance. That is valid. I’m just putting it out there. People like that should not go unpunished.”

He inhaled, held it and exhaled slowly. His veins felt like they were on fire, his heart was pumping in spite of his calm exterior -- the only part of him betraying his true emotions were the growing brightness of his eyes, visible in the dim light of the library.

eamon:

While it may not be the most polite thing to do, Eamon had this habit of checking out the choices of others when he was having a conversation with them. Be it their choice in drinks, their particular attire or, in this case, their choices in books. Considering Efrain’s connections and widespread knowledge and studies of the unknown, he was curious about what he was currently studying.

Lycanthropy, blood hunters, elemental experimentation, mind control. Either this man was having a curious day about transmutation and enchantment magics, or he was looking into something deep. If it was all a matter of the same subject, it was one that nearly caused a shiver to run down the abjurist’s back. He’d had a long and mostly peaceful career as a professor of the arcane, but his work with abjuration had led him to discover things about history and those around him that provoked a lot of deep and unpleasant thought wanderings.

“There are certainly those that believe in the theory that the magic schools were created as a result of chaos and a lack of balance between the different levels of magic,” he said, pondering over the idea. “Some say there used to be higher levels of spells than the nine we know of today. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for magic to change and evolve over the years, and that is without factoring in the divine magics or the magic learnt from patrons or nature or interplanar beings. Some comes naturally, even.”

He demonstrated the latter by making a small ball of light appear in his palm, before turning it off to keep off any unwanted attention. “It is a field of study that is very fascinating, but also very hard to get a grasp on in person. I understand from your scars and your work that you are a blood hunter yourself, Efrain. I cannot say which order, however, for I am no mind reader.”

“Obviously magic evolves,” scoffed Efrain and forced himself not to roll his eyes like a petulant child. It was truly preposterous to believe anything to the contrary. Even blood hunting, as young a magic as it was, had changed monumentally. As the professor proceeded to lay out the ABCs of magic, a sudden, unbidden rage boiled in his stomach. After the study, the lingering effects of the geas, and the memory of his fear and rage while powerless, had made him quicker to anger. He tried to tamp it down, conceal it behind a veneer of calm, but he could feel cracks and fissures in his mask. The last thing he needed was a useless lecture. 

“I’m one of the last Order of the Mutant, perhaps the very last. When someone cuts me, they too bleed. Monsters, aberrations, and beasts are merely material resources to be dissected and I know the means by which minds can be broken, how to drag a last action from a lifeless corpse, or steal the senses from a foe in the time it takes them to swing a blade or shriek a spell.” His voice was little more than a growl as he met the professor’s gaze. He felt vicious and afraid. He had never complained about the pain of blood hunting before, the marrow deep wrongness of it all, and the words felt ashen and heavy. “The reward is caustic blood that curdles with each experiment, scars that fade only with the strongest magic that can combat the corruption of the hunter’s bane and the ever present threat of losing my sanity to any one of the very beasts I’ve harvested for parts.” He knew that his own gaze had become hard and unyielding and he gripped the remaining tomes tight enough for the spines to creak and the pages to bend. “Believe me when I say that I do not require your base level didacticism on the subject of magics. I am not one of your students, Eamon.” 

“Unless you possess insight into the mind of a man who forces children into the life I just described, and employs the use of geas and mind control to force compliance, I do not have time or interest in your lightborn parlor tricks.” Efrain smiled, but only pain and barely restrained rage touched his eyes. “No offense, professor, but I doubt that you do given that even Aureon himself remains silent on the subject.”

[eamon-keppel]

While it may not be the most polite thing to do, Eamon had this habit of checking out the choices of others when he was having a conversation with them. Be it their choice in drinks, their particular attire or, in this case, their choices in books. Considering Efrain’s connections and widespread knowledge and studies of the unknown, he was curious about what he was currently studying.

Lycanthropy, blood hunters, elemental experimentation, mind control. Either this man was having a curious day about transmutation and enchantment magics, or he was looking into something deep. If it was all a matter of the same subject, it was one that nearly caused a shiver to run down the abjurist’s back. He’d had a long and mostly peaceful career as a professor of the arcane, but his work with abjuration had led him to discover things about history and those around him that provoked a lot of deep and unpleasant thought wanderings.

“There are certainly those that believe in the theory that the magic schools were created as a result of chaos and a lack of balance between the different levels of magic,” he said, pondering over the idea. “Some say there used to be higher levels of spells than the nine we know of today. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for magic to change and evolve over the years, and that is without factoring in the divine magics or the magic learnt from patrons or nature or interplanar beings. Some comes naturally, even.”

He demonstrated the latter by making a small ball of light appear in his palm, before turning it off to keep off any unwanted attention. “It is a field of study that is very fascinating, but also very hard to get a grasp on in person. I understand from your scars and your work that you are a blood hunter yourself, Efrain. I cannot say which order, however, for I am no mind reader.”

efrain:

Eamon couldn’t help the concerned expression that painted his face at the sight of Efrain’s tired and irritable self. He didn’t know the man very well, but he’d seen enough students and professors spending late nights in the library, trying to find the answers to questions and only ending up with more questions that needed answering as well. It was a frustrating cycle for someone to fall victim to, especially if they didn’t realize it themselves.

Lycanthropy. That word jumped out to Eamon’s ears as Efrain made an attempt to explain his research before he clamped up. That part wasn’t too surprising, considering what he had heard and seen himself about the knight and lord, but the topic itself was more of a curiosity. Transmutation in nature, not too dissimilar from the classic polymorphic spells, but closer to the druidic wildshape than pure magic. More like a curse, some would say.

He turned around to Efrain as he passed him to put back one of the books he had been reading. Now, on a closer inspection, he noticed how tired and out of focus the man appeared. Very unlike the put-together and stern half-elf he’d seen at the conference late last year. Was this Efrain more in this natural habitat or a temporary case?

“Interesting point of research, I must say,” he responded. Efrain didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it any further, so he didn’t dig in any further than that for now. He was usually able to live and let live, but he was a curious man, after all. Curses like lycanthropy was something he had studied in his time. It was very relevant of his field of study, after all. He knew of potential spells to remove curses like this one. It depended on the source of the curse, though. Some may need more powerful interventions.

He smiled. “In a way, I suppose you could say so, but I’ve never been one for a light read only. My son says I tend to overindulge my own curiosity, often to the point of forgetting to eat or sleep, so I can relate to your current … situation.” He gestured to Efrain’s state of being. “Today I was planning to just see what the books were giving me to find. I haven’t been to this place before. To be frank, I came to this aisle because the librarian seemed to think it would suit me. I can’t say she was wrong so far.”

Eamon looked down at his current book, which he put back in his place. He needed bigger writing than what this one could provide. “Do you have any recommendations? You mentioned the Blood Hunters, yes? I find their work fascinating, if a bit outside of my comfort zone, but I have always been one for expanding my horizons whenever possible. It is good to be open-minded about such things, don’t you think?”

Efrain snorted in a distinctly undignified manner as Eamon gestured to his “situation.” His current state wasn’t uncommon, not at all, but it was generally confined to his home library. When it was not, he was usually more put together. He could tamp his emotions down, temper his reactions, and say, with complete false confidence, that he was fine. Instead, he was coming apart at the seams and it felt as though no amount of frantic stitching could keep him from steadily coming undone. It was shameful. 

“There are dozens of libraries like these in Crowmire. Donated collections from deceased intellectuals with strange tendencies mostly.” Efrain glanced around at the current aisle with tired interest. He didn’t read for pleasure very much these days. “This library doesn’t offer much in way of blood hunting methods or history. Not unless you want the heavily propagandized version or the highly sanitized version. A good summary of the branches can be found in ‘Blood Hunters: A Reaction to the Beastly’ by Lorentz Bernard. He wasn’t one, but he believed that magic branches like blood hunting and some of the more distasteful practices were created as a direct result of exposure to monsters and pain. It’s a bit melodramatic in parts, but generally reliable.” 

Efrain circumvented the professor once again to put back a particularly thick tome titled “Mind Control Mishaps.” Half of the book had been a comedic play written by the author and the other a drivel of his exploration into geas. He was mildly insane and Efrain would need to verify everything he’d read. “Or if you have specific questions you can just ask me. I’m generally the leading expert and my library contains most of the reliable tomes on the subject.”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon crossed one leg over the other, adjusting slightly to avoid the slight twinge of pain from his bad leg. He folded his hands on top of them, leaned back against the back of his seat. “Indeed,” he said with a smile as he took his glass and had another taste. It was still cool, which was good. “These days, I am more of an independent researcher, you could say. I did, however, use to teach at the arcane university in Itresa, down south.”

He gestured his drink downward, as if to point it out on a map or something of that sort.

“When I do have the opportunities for lecturing, it varies. Abjuration is my field of expertise. It is a protective sort of magic school with a focus of dispelling and warding against threats. Other than that, I have taught history -- magical history, mostly, but more mundane sorts as well -- and I have done a couple of guest lectures on the gods. Nothing too extraordinary, I am no member of the clergy, after all, though I am a follower of Aureon.”

eamon-keppel‌:

Eamon leaned back against his seat and listened to the man’s words, nodding understandingly in places and reacting less in others. He had never been one to emote a lot when he conversed with people like this. It was easier to figure out the style of communication before he threw all of himself in there. “It has been a few years for you, then,” he pointed out, doing the simple math in his head based on what he’d been provided. “That’s understandable. I’ve experienced similarly. Traveling west has been especially difficult with the trouble on the border.”

He took another swig and put his glass down quietly. “You are absolutely forgiven, do not worry, Mr. Rexly.” He tipped his head forward with a smile. “Abjurist Eamon Cleartide, at your service. I am sort of whatever is needed these days: Father, teacher, advisor on the arcane and other such matters. It’s a time where flexibility is greatly desired, it seems.”

Rex perked up a little when Eamon mentioned what kind of work he did. Now here was a really interesting man. Jack of all trades it seemed.  “Oh you’re a teacher? You teach at a university?” Rexly asked curiously. He’d never been formally educated himself. He’d just about been taught how to read and how to do basic mathematics as a child. Being from a single parent family meant that Rexly’s mother hadn’t been able to afford any kind of further education for him. Depending on who you’d ask that’d be a good thing. 

“What do you teach?” Rexly looked Eamon up and down. He did say he was an adviser on the arcane so probably something to do with that. Maybe it could be something totally different like history. He looked like the history type. 

[eamon-keppel]

When Thalra approached him, straightening his coat and taking his cloak from his hands, he felt his shoulders drop the slight tension that had remained in his body. He had been concerned for a lot of things lately. His son, Laoise, his students, the institute and city as a whole, Thalra... She’d been in the midst of the siege, using her tricks to weave through the enemy lines (mostly) unseen. Such a cunning heart, so much like his Nessa, although she definitely had a lot more tact and skill for words than his wife ever had. 

Rest in peace, my dear.

He couldn’t help the smile that surfaced at the sound of the nickname. She hadn’t forgotten that one, it seemed. Not that he particularly minded. ‘Firely’ was far from the most damning he’d heard over the years. In a way, it brought a sense of warmth to his soul.

His eyes, in the darker parts of the home, took on a weak glow, more like that of dying embers than a roaring campfire. Nothing like the way he’d lit up when he had raised the wall of arcane flames, a way -- a dramatic one at that -- to separate his old friend from the opposing force. It had been a dire situation, one that had been high on stress and fear for all of them.

He walked over to the fireplace at her request -- a polite diversion as a start of their evening -- as she appeared to the picture of casual elegance on the seating behind him. With the flint and steel in hand, he watched as the sparks flew and caused the birth of the warm light before him. It only took a flick of the wrist, which was a little unusual for him, but he was going to take that as a secret moment of pride.

“There,” he said as he turned towards Thalra as if to confirm that the fire was indeed there. It is a start, but a solid foundation is necessary for a strong and long-lasting future. He watched the fire for a second or two more, watched it rise and form and lick at the stones around it, before he joined Thalra where she sat.

He thought about her question, trying to recollect all that had happened in the last month or so. “It has been a process. More and more of them, those that are not attending the institute, are fanning out, finding other opportunities elsewhere. I help them where I can.” He paused for a second. “Jenell. Yes, they’re alright. In the end, we found their missing family and returned to the safety of the school.”

Eamon looked at Thalra, cautious curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? I do not know what you were in the city for, my dear, but I hope whoever you were looking for made it out safely in the end.” In spite of knowing the Starlight Siren for a long time, there was precious little that she had told him of her personal relations. They’d talk about just about anything that suited their fancy back in the day, be it magic, music, literature, funny (and only slightly personal) stories from the past, and sometimes open up about their struggles. With the way she seemed to understand when he talked about his sister, he was of the opinion that she likely (presently or past tense) had siblings of her own.

eamon:

ItEamon had spent the aftermath of the battle in the presence of his family and his students. After he managed to find Laoise, who had apparently been part of an effort to make underground bunkers in the city in case of an attack such as this one. If their mother had been alive and seen that, she would’ve been so proud of her eldest. Alas, he could only hope that she was watching them from the realm of Aureon with that warm and knowing smile that held so many secrets and said so much without uttering a word.

Now that he had consolidated and seen to his familial and scholarly connections back in Arx, he found it necessary to move onward. He had work back in Khaggon to take care of, but he also found himself wanting to check in with a few people. One of them being a certain dark elf in Myrefall, whose clever heart had entered the city and done her thing without getting too hurt in the process. He had a feeling that she had some loved ones there, same as him, and she was there to make sure they – whoever it might be – made it out alive. That was an attitude he could understand and even get behind.

For his visit, he exchanged his usual wizard’s robes for a more clean and simple cut, giving it his flair with a long maroon coat with some beautiful stitchings hiding in the fabric, waiting to be discovered by an observant eye. It was a good quality item without screaming for every single thief in the city to take his coin purse and bruise his ego in the process. He wished to arrive at her residence with dignity, after all.

The abjurist smiled widely when he saw her at the door. “Good afternoon to you as well, my dear. I must say you are a welcome sight for sore eyes, as they say.”

He stood in the entryway of her home and took the place in. It had been a few months since the last time he set foot in this building, and it brought back a few feelings that he might or might not be willing to explore tonight. He took off his cloak, a simple dark one with a hood to keep out the remainder of the late winter cold, and folded it nearly together over his forearm.

Thalra’s residence was small, but in a way that did not make the tall lightborn feel uncomfortable or at unease with his surroundings. It was dark in a way that reminded him of his rented place in Khaggon, which was a nice surprise. He spotted some bookcases further into the apartment, which had him curious if she had updated her book collection since they last had a reading session together.

“It’s good to shake off the cold air like this,” he said with a relieved sigh. “The spring is starting to come, but it is likely going to take a bit before the weather manages to follow, isn’t it?” He stepped a bit further inside, allowing Thalra to close the door behind him, before turning towards her. “If I may ask, how are you doing, Thalra?”

His tone was calm and friendly, but it was layered with a sense of concern and light curiosity.

As soon as Eamon was across the threshold of Thalra’s home, she felt something snap into place inside her, a routine reasserting itself on instinct. Her demeanor shifted, posture straightening, the tired look in her eyes evaporating like morning mist as the sun rose. This was her domain after all, and though she hadn’t had a client or many guests in the past year, the weight of all her experience was still enough to prop her up in the face of Eamon’s open concern. In any case, there was nothing she could she have told him that wouldn’t lead towards a messy wound better left alone than to be picked and prodded at. It felt as if recently all she had done was collect wounds to be bandaged up hastily and left to scar.

Instead, she openly admired the cut of his coat, reaching up unprompted to smooth a seam down flat with her palm as she reached to take his cloak with the other hand. “As well as I can be, firefly.” She remembered how his eyes had flashed on the streets of Arx, when he’d mistaken her for an enemy soldier threatening his student. It sent a shiver up her spine, thinking about it now and calling back to the nickname she’d given him years ago, when she’d first seen his eyes light up in such a different setting. Two bright lights glowing in the low light of her home, like the fireflies her and the other orphans had snuck out at night to catch in glass jars.

Her smile was gentle as she stepped away to hand up his cloak by the door and lead him further into her sitting room where she already had tea prepared on the low table between two seats. “You could start the fireplace for me, if you’re still chilly. We won’t be able to enjoy it for much longer, what with the weather changing.” Small talk was easy, and she curled up like a cat in her own seat, legs drawn up in a casual, intimate way that suggested familiarity between her and anyone in the room with her. Calculated, of course, but so was everything else in her house.

“But I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about the seasons.” A slightly mournful smile now. Just sad enough to convey sympathy without inviting questions. “How have you and your students been? The one in the alley, did they make it out alright?”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon couldn’t help the concerned expression that painted his face at the sight of Efrain’s tired and irritable self. He didn’t know the man very well, but he’d seen enough students and professors spending late nights in the library, trying to find the answers to questions and only ending up with more questions that needed answering as well. It was a frustrating cycle for someone to fall victim to, especially if they didn’t realize it themselves.

Lycanthropy. That word jumped out to Eamon’s ears as Efrain made an attempt to explain his research before he clamped up. That part wasn’t too surprising, considering what he had heard and seen himself about the knight and lord, but the topic itself was more of a curiosity. Transmutation in nature, not too dissimilar from the classic polymorphic spells, but closer to the druidic wildshape than pure magic. More like a curse, some would say.

He turned around to Efrain as he passed him to put back one of the books he had been reading. Now, on a closer inspection, he noticed how tired and out of focus the man appeared. Very unlike the put-together and stern half-elf he’d seen at the conference late last year. Was this Efrain more in this natural habitat or a temporary case?

“Interesting point of research, I must say,” he responded. Efrain didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it any further, so he didn’t dig in any further than that for now. He was usually able to live and let live, but he was a curious man, after all. Curses like lycanthropy was something he had studied in his time. It was very relevant of his field of study, after all. He knew of potential spells to remove curses like this one. It depended on the source of the curse, though. Some may need more powerful interventions.

He smiled. “In a way, I suppose you could say so, but I’ve never been one for a light read only. My son says I tend to overindulge my own curiosity, often to the point of forgetting to eat or sleep, so I can relate to your current ... situation.” He gestured to Efrain’s state of being. “Today I was planning to just see what the books were giving me to find. I haven’t been to this place before. To be frank, I came to this aisle because the librarian seemed to think it would suit me. I can’t say she was wrong so far.”

Eamon looked down at his current book, which he put back in his place. He needed bigger writing than what this one could provide. “Do you have any recommendations? You mentioned the Blood Hunters, yes? I find their work fascinating, if a bit outside of my comfort zone, but I have always been one for expanding my horizons whenever possible. It is good to be open-minded about such things, don’t you think?”

eamon:

Crowmire was one of the oldest and most magically-oriented cities of all, and it would be a lie to say that Eamon had spent a lot time there because of it. He had visited the city a few times in the past for the purposes of work and at the request for his assistance on certain arcane matters, but most of the time, he had a tendency to stay further south. 

The old library had been one that he’d encountered the day before, but it had been so late at that point that he had postponed it until the following morning. He had woken up with the sun, as he had a tendency to do, and made his over there after finishing his breakfast. Aside from a select few patrons who were deep in their respective studies, the place was quiet. It was old, very old, and he could hear every step on the creaking dark floorboards and practically feel the old smell of books and cobwebs.

It wasn’t the prettiest library he’d been to, but it certainly had character.

He threw a friendly smile at the librarian, an elderly woman with her hair tied in a braided bun and small glasses resting on the bottom of her nose. She looked up, slowly, as he approached. She looked him up and down and raised a long, thin finger in the direction of the back wall. He gave her a curious look before following her directions. Was he that obvious of a fellow?

He made his way towards the back of the building, where a long shelf of old books stood. The titles immediately caught his attention. Matters of elemental magics and tales of other worlds. The abjurist didn’t have any particular projects going on at the moment, so he was just looking to see what caught his interest.

He pulled out of the books, a heavy one in navy blue, and thumbed through it, adjusting his glasses with his hand as he made attempts to decipher the tiny writing on the page. There was creaking next to him, and he looked up to see a shorter man bump into him. He made sure to keep hold of the book to avoid dropping it, but he brightened up at the sound of the man’s voice.

“Ah, Efrain! What a surprise to encounter you here!” he said, cheerful yet soft about it. This was a library after all. “It’s quite alright. Very easy to get lost in the pages around here.” He eyed the collection of books the man was carrying. “What have you been reading, then, if I might ask?”

“Not lost,” muttered Efrain. “Only blind. Evidently. And plagued with a night of unfruitful research and no sleep.” It took him a long moment to realize he’d been asked a question and he blinked owlishly. “Nothing of your concern,” he replied frigidly, but winced almost immediately. It was something his father would have said and his cheeks burned in shame. “Sorry, Eamon. They’re nothing. I was looking into lycanthropy primarily. There’s a branch of Blood Hunters who are all lycans, but I found my own library lacking. I have found this one lacking as well.” He opened his mouth, about to mention his research into mind control, when he snapped it shut abruptly. He shouldn’t let himself become so tired, so vulnerable and reactive, it was shameful and useless. Besides, Eamon didn’t need to know the details of Eobald’s machinations. 

Efrain reached past Eamon with a murmured “Excuse me” to slide a thin book covering experiments done to genasi several centuries ago. It hadn’t contained any mention of mutagen or intentional mutations, and not even a mention of lycanthropy. What it had contained was, instead, the cruel intentions of someone disguising torture as scientific research into the resiliency of elemental beings. It had been entirely unhelpful and rather disturbing. 

“What brings you to this library? Light reading?”

[eamon-keppel]

Crowmire was one of the oldest and most magically-oriented cities of all, and it would be a lie to say that Eamon had spent a lot time there because of it. He had visited the city a few times in the past for the purposes of work and at the request for his assistance on certain arcane matters, but most of the time, he had a tendency to stay further south. 

The old library had been one that he’d encountered the day before, but it had been so late at that point that he had postponed it until the following morning. He had woken up with the sun, as he had a tendency to do, and made his over there after finishing his breakfast. Aside from a select few patrons who were deep in their respective studies, the place was quiet. It was old, very old, and he could hear every step on the creaking dark floorboards and practically feel the old smell of books and cobwebs.

It wasn’t the prettiest library he’d been to, but it certainly had character.

He threw a friendly smile at the librarian, an elderly woman with her hair tied in a braided bun and small glasses resting on the bottom of her nose. She looked up, slowly, as he approached. She looked him up and down and raised a long, thin finger in the direction of the back wall. He gave her a curious look before following her directions. Was he that obvious of a fellow?

He made his way towards the back of the building, where a long shelf of old books stood. The titles immediately caught his attention. Matters of elemental magics and tales of other worlds. The abjurist didn’t have any particular projects going on at the moment, so he was just looking to see what caught his interest.

He pulled out of the books, a heavy one in navy blue, and thumbed through it, adjusting his glasses with his hand as he made attempts to decipher the tiny writing on the page. There was creaking next to him, and he looked up to see a shorter man bump into him. He made sure to keep hold of the book to avoid dropping it, but he brightened up at the sound of the man’s voice.

“Ah, Efrain! What a surprise to encounter you here!” he said, cheerful yet soft about it. This was a library after all. “It’s quite alright. Very easy to get lost in the pages around here.” He eyed the collection of books the man was carrying. “What have you been reading, then, if I might ask?”

Date: March 30th.  Time: Midmorning.  Location: A half-forgotten library in Crowmire.  Status: Closed. @eamon-keppel​

Efrain made his way through the dusty, moldering stacks without any real hurry. His mind was still entrenched in thoughts of lycanthropy, mutation reversal, and the application and experimental use of geas and similar modes of mind control. He’d already poured through his and Eobald’s collections on the subject, but he still felt as though there were gaping holes in his information. Small, strange libraries such as this one had helped him in the past, but still he came up without any new insights. People didn’t tend to study the curse beyond cures for it, but he needed more. His pursuit had lasted all night and now a headache pulsed behind his eyes as the lack of sleep caught up with him. 

As he pondered, he re-shelved the tomes he’d read. The librarian was decrepit and looked more of a wretched corpse than a living being and he felt cruel leaving the thick, heavy books for her to put away. He slid another into its place, the darker patch of wood that shown through the layer of dust from where he’d dragged it from the shelf hours prior betrayed its resting place. With one left, he turned to cut through the narrow through-way between the tall shelves and turned directly into another patron. 

Efrain grunted with the impact and took a step back, scrambling to not drop the tome. “Apologies—” he began, voice rough with disuse, before meeting the eyes of his victim. “Ah, Professor Cleartide, correct?”

[eamon-keppel]

ItEamon had spent the aftermath of the battle in the presence of his family and his students. After he managed to find Laoise, who had apparently been part of an effort to make underground bunkers in the city in case of an attack such as this one. If their mother had been alive and seen that, she would’ve been so proud of her eldest. Alas, he could only hope that she was watching them from the realm of Aureon with that warm and knowing smile that held so many secrets and said so much without uttering a word.

Now that he had consolidated and seen to his familial and scholarly connections back in Arx, he found it necessary to move onward. He had work back in Khaggon to take care of, but he also found himself wanting to check in with a few people. One of them being a certain dark elf in Myrefall, whose clever heart had entered the city and done her thing without getting too hurt in the process. He had a feeling that she had some loved ones there, same as him, and she was there to make sure they -- whoever it might be -- made it out alive. That was an attitude he could understand and even get behind.

For his visit, he exchanged his usual wizard’s robes for a more clean and simple cut, giving it his flair with a long maroon coat with some beautiful stitchings hiding in the fabric, waiting to be discovered by an observant eye. It was a good quality item without screaming for every single thief in the city to take his coin purse and bruise his ego in the process. He wished to arrive at her residence with dignity, after all.

The abjurist smiled widely when he saw her at the door. “Good afternoon to you as well, my dear. I must say you are a welcome sight for sore eyes, as they say.”

He stood in the entryway of her home and took the place in. It had been a few months since the last time he set foot in this building, and it brought back a few feelings that he might or might not be willing to explore tonight. He took off his cloak, a simple dark one with a hood to keep out the remainder of the late winter cold, and folded it nearly together over his forearm.

Thalra’s residence was small, but in a way that did not make the tall lightborn feel uncomfortable or at unease with his surroundings. It was dark in a way that reminded him of his rented place in Khaggon, which was a nice surprise. He spotted some bookcases further into the apartment, which had him curious if she had updated her book collection since they last had a reading session together.

“It’s good to shake off the cold air like this,” he said with a relieved sigh. “The spring is starting to come, but it is likely going to take a bit before the weather manages to follow, isn’t it?” He stepped a bit further inside, allowing Thalra to close the door behind him, before turning towards her. “If I may ask, how are you doing, Thalra?”

His tone was calm and friendly, but it was layered with a sense of concern and light curiosity.

Time: Around three in the afternoon Location: Thalra’s home in Myrefall Status: @eamon-keppel​

After Thalra and Nil had left Arx and the smoke rising up in the sky on the edge of the horizon as fast as possible, they’d come back home to Myrefall and hadn’t left for much since except for the occasional day-trip to Khaggon. Thalra felt less comfortable leaving Nil alone now more than ever. This would be an ideal time for the Order to strike, when he was wounded and they were both rattled by being so close to battle. Thalra had been spending most of her days suffering increasingly frequent headaches and doting on her brother to the point she thought she’d drive them both insane. The monotony was starting to get to her, the days blending together like swirls of color.

Then, one day, words that weren’t her own filtered through her mind. Eamon, sending a message, asking to come by. Probably to check up on her after their brief meeting in Arx. The thought alone made Thalra tense where she stood in her kitchen, preparing lunch. Did she even want to see anyone right now? Could she trust herself not to snap? After a moment, she put the knife she’d been chopping onions with down and replied with an affirmative, and that she’d put on some tea for him. Eamon had always been a calming, stable figure, and Thalra was quickly running out of people like that in her life.

When the knock on her door came a few hours later, Thalra had changed from the usual casual attire she wore when she was alone or with Nil at home into something more presentable to the public, her hair tied back and away from her face. Nil was upstairs resting, and Thalra hoped he would remain in his trance for long enough that he wouldn’t even know they had company.

“Eamon,” she greeted as she opened the door. “Hello, darling. It’s so good to see you’ve made it back here to me all in one piece. Come in, please.”

[eamon-keppel]

Eamon leaned over to do the same, grabbed her hand with a solid yet gentle grip and shook it. He threw in his usual smile while he was at it. “Eamon. Eamon Cleartide, to be more precise.”

He let go off her hand and sat back down, taking her in once more. She sounded like a leader, but the sort of leader that yearned for the position. One who placed herself on the throne because she deserved it, she had earned it, she had seen and experienced enough to be there. In times of need, those types of leaders were needed. Unwilling ones did not make the drastic changes needed during a time of chaos, but they were more likely to take the job seriously. Would she be one to do that? She needed him, or someone like him, for management. This group of hers was either extremely new, extremely lacking or growing too big under too lax of a management.

“You sound confident in your beliefs,” he responded. At the very least, she seemed to believe her own words. “You wish to provide strength to the people. In a way that differs from the current system. That is certainly an interesting prospect.” He leaned forward, folded his hands together. “There is power in a united people. Recent times have left them split and confused. I have had some dealings with royalty that has left a bad taste in my mouth, but I have had good ones also. What would you propose as an alternative, Ms. Pyrope?”

Of Tea and Trying Times

eamon-keppel‌:

Eamon had to resist the laugh that wanted to escape at her words. She wasn’t wrong with that particular statement. In his younger days, he had been very receptive to flattery and praise, yearning for the attention of those he respected yet understood that respect could not be given or earned freely. It was a part of him that he had toned down in the last decades, but when you’re young and learning to live with yourself in the world as it is, it’s easy to fall for the first positive experience in the vicinity.

He took a hold of his tea cup, which was starting to cool at this point, and raised it to his lips as she spoke. The idea intrigued him in the way most things did. He had a thirst for the unknown, for the unexplored and unexplained, but his curiosity usually ended once he got a taste of it.

“It sounds like you are on the right track, then,” he replied. Her descriptions were vague – be it to avoid raising suspicion or a lack of proper goals – and she had a certain way with words that reminded him of Thalra. The way her words were made with grace and dignity, adding pressure to the proper places and pausing for just the right amount of drama. It was mostly a learnt skill, he knew, although some were inherently better at it than others.

He put his cup back on the table, next to his book. His bag lay under the table in one of the compartments there. As always, he had his spellbook with him. He was considering doing research for new spells, especially after what happened in Arx. Some evocation, perhaps, or illusion. Most of his work was of the defensive and protective sort, after all.

“It appears that you have prior experience. That is a good sign,” he replied with an encouraging smile. When groups grew too large too quickly, it could easily fall into disarray. Especially with a lack of resources. “There is such a single-minded focus when it comes to current affairs, especially if they happen to fall within the royal court and the military’s jurisdiction. Anything else requires … other courses of action, it seems. No matter. Please, tell me about yourself. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

He didn’t recognize her aside from his immediate reaction, but he knew better now than to compare this one to his late wife. Both deserved better than to be put side by side and be the attention of a round of “spot the difference.”

Pyrope was aware that her words had spun themselves into a carefully filtered web of half-truths. The stranger was not a friend yet, not even once pleasantries were exchanged, not until she had deemed him worthy enough to grasp the knowledge. Until that moment, she could not find it within herself to reveal her past completely, or even her ideas for the future. It was sticky territory, and she desired assistance more than argument. Would this man have tsked at her, scolded her for her devilish ways? Or would he have leaned back and accepted the truth, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips? She doubted either scenario were true. He was a difficult man to read. “Of course I’m on the right track.” She spoke with an air of confidence despite the nagging notion of failure that tug at the pit of her stomach. Within weeks she would be out of funds, her group was in the process of recruiting more people, and she was running out of ideas on where to keep them. On top of the sellswords and thieves, the drunken idiots, and the fallen warriors - she was lacking allies. Her next move, beside the desperation for managing her coin, would have to be making unbreakable bonds. Friendships who would die for her, who would aid her in a time of need, despite the cruelty of her tongue. For a bit she knew she would need to play nice. “Pyrope.” She greeted after mulling his words, uncurling her fingers to reach across the table, smiling as kindly as she could muster. “I do have experience, you’re right. I’ve learned many skills in my time of travelling, but perhaps the most useful has been leadership. People follow me, they trust my words and my intentions. I imagined I should continue that on through my time here. I think our citizens need someone to tell them where the strength lies. I’ll tell you a secret, love, it isn’t with royalty.”