Bring Out Your Dead! (Open)

[Isikais]

Bring Out Your Dead 10th Night of Spring 510 AV The crew of the Zephyr were a superstitious group. Isikais did little to ease those suspicions at first, rather hoping that fear of the unknown would keep them at a suitable distance for the duration of the trip. His desire for privacy was not born of antisocial sentiment, rather he was preparing himself for what he knew would be a whirlwind of motion, speech, and activity, the likes of which he had not seen in centuries. The constant rhythm of the ships rocking, the occasional clunk and thud from above were a constant reminder that he had left behind the still silence of the halls of Sahova. It would be a different world, and he would have to assimilate or be immediately cast as a pariah. Isikais laid his head against the creaking wood walls of the cargo hold. He thought back to his time living outside of Ahnatep, the fertile fields of his farm, and the small crossroads near his land that served as a market and a gathering place for those headed to the massive city. He remembered back to the times when, as a child he would wander the streets of the Eypharian capital with his father, on the way to some important meeting or delivering a report to one of the Pressor's advisors. It was a cacophany of noises, fragrances, and motion. Women dressed in their finest to walk those streets. Even the common man wore fantastical arraignments of gold and jewels. Isikais knew that such cities did not exist anymore. The Valterrian had destroyed nearly all of the most glorious cities. But Zeltiva, if the stories were to be believed, was built up from the wreckage of one of Alahea's finest cities. Isikais' thoughts drifted to the many possible models he would find for his practice, the myriad possible hosts such a city would present. "We'll be tying up in 15 minutes." The gruff voice of the first mate bellowed through the door to the cargo hold interrupting Isikais' daydreaming. "Thank you." Isikais replied, and began to change into his clothes. On the other side of the door the first mate shuddered at the reply, turning quickly and heading back top side. There was a flurry of motion as the ships hands prepared for docking. They used the same pier they always did, a small dock away from the congestion of the main loading area. It was where the Zephyr would remain until it was brought in for regular repairs and reloading. The crew of the Zephyr moved with an unusual speed, every one of them anxious to unload the cargo they had been saddled with this time. Amidst the hustle and bustle Isikais' arrival topside went unnoticed. He had stored the dark cloak in his traveling bag, in favor of more inviting garments. Trousers, a button down shirt, and a snug jacket, as he usually wore when required to be clothed for travel. He added a new pair of fingerless gloves, to cover the glyphs he had drawn onto his hands during the voyage. He knew how to dress himself, but the act of concealing his body irritated Isikais every time. It seemed illogical to him to put clothing on a body that was, to him, a dressing itself. Entering a new city, though, he knew the inhabitants would be even less patient with his penchant toward nudity than the Nuit of Sahova had been. He walked over to the edge of the ship silently stepping up next to the first mate. At first the man did not notice who approached him, thinking instead that it must be one of the crew members. Then, from the corner of his eye he noticed that he was unfamiliar with the person standing so close to him. A few blinks and a double take later he managed to voice his confusion. "Is that what you really look like?" He asked timidly. Isikais turned his head to look the man in the eyes, trying to ascertain the intent of his query. Finally after a few moments of consideration he said plainly. "It is what I really look like today, and that is all that matters." The first mate was content enough with the answer he had been given, not to push any further. He made his way along the side of the ship as the men tied her up and slid the gang plank down to the pier. Isikais walked swiftly to the men, eager to stand on solid still ground again. They eyed the new man with wonder as he departed as silently as he had arrived. The Zephyr had never carried such terrifying cargo before and if the crew could help it, they never would again. Isikais walked from the docks, listening to the voices of people and animals along the waterfront. Carriages carrying unloaded cargo to various destinations. Even though it was night time the dockside streets of Zeltiva was more animated than Isikais was used to. He walked slowly, clutching the strap of his bag with both hands, and staring at the people that passed him by. He watched for just a bit too long at each person he passed, remembering only occasionally to maintain his disguise by blinking and breathing. It had been so long since he had seen such vibrant activity, and he wondered if anything in this city would stay still long enough for him to learn from it. Passing through streets with no particular destination in mind, Isikais wandered for the rest of the night, learning the streets of Zeltiva one step at a time. It was by no means a small town, but compared to the maddening labyrinth of Sahova, it was easy to navigate. The sun would begin to to peak over the horizon in a few hours. He paused, standing against a fence and stared at the facade of Zeltiva University. It seemed a logical choice of destinations for one interested in learning. Isikais only wondered how long it would take them to realize he was Nuit, and how long after that he would find himself unwelcome in yet another city.

[Hadrian]

Traditional wisdom taught men to fear the dark. There were times to master fear and take a risk, but in a post-Valterrian world, there were more things to fear that went bump in the night. Still, in large human settlements like Zeltiva, the idea of strength in numbers held sway, and people would spend the vespertine hours in the darkness, stumbling from one pool of light to another, seeking the warm embrace of a bright tavern or another. But Hadrian was another matter. More than many, he knew about bogeymen and other dangers unique to the darkness. They existed in the books he carried from the College of Magic toward his humble cottage just outside the Old Quarter's impressive pre-Valterrian neighborhood. He had that habit of falling asleep in his little study nook in the library, and then deciding when he woke whether it was better to stay or to seek his bed. Tonight, he decided a bed was for the best, but when he saw the stranger staring up at one of the university buildings, he paused. "Are you looking for something, sir?"

[Isikais]

Isikais had been staring for hours at the building, watching the people come and go even at this time of the day. When the voice interrupted his focused gazing he found himself a little confused. Looking at the man who stood before him, in modest but practical clothing, Isikais tilted his head slightly before replying dismissively. "I do not wish to buy any of your wares, merchant." There was no other reason Isikais could imagine for a complete stranger to approach him. Unless he was Zeltiva's version of a Lark. Isikais ran his eyes up and down the young man again. "Are you a Zeltivan LarkLarks are the Eypharian term for prostitutes, so-called because of their history of singing to passerbys. Before the Pressorahs pushed Larks to the Pillars of Dust, they would walk streets and hum a particular tune to potential customers that discreetly identified them as on the market. Now that the Larks are kept mostly within the pillars, the habit has waned.?" He asked plainly and without a hint of judgement.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian stared at the strange man for a while, as if he were speaking a foreign language. To any Zeltivan native, his status as a student would have been obvious: the books, the student robes, et cetera. Luckily for Hadrian, perhaps, he had taken quite an interest in anthropology and so the word finally clicked. A lark, Hadrian. He started laughing. "No. No, I'm not a lark. Somehow I don't think I would be able to support myself with that career choice, but... thank you for the vote of confidence?" He started to move away even though he was intrigued by the man who used Eyktolian slang, but didn't look like a Benshira. It was obvious he didn't want any help navigating Zeltiva's nocturnal streets.

[Isikais]

Isikais watched as the boy turned and moved away. If not a merchant, or a lark, then what inspired the young man to greet him. Could it be that this was a custom in Zeltiva that Isikais had not yet read about? "Wait!" He called after Hadrian. "I...I am new to your city." He tried to decide where to begin. He couldn't just start by declaring his interest in magic. Humans engaged in social formalities. What was the first step. Isikais scrunched his brow in thought, eyes opening wide when he finally remembered. "I am Isikais." He willed a smile, an expression he had practiced many times in solitude aboard the Zephyr.

[Hadrian]

The young wizard turned again, a vague, tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He liked the fact that Zeltiva's port and university made it quietly cosmopolitan, and this encounter was setting his weary mind to working again. "Isikais... isn't that an Eypharian name?" he asked. Then, remembering his manners: "I'm Hadrian."

[Isikais]

Isikais blinked surprise as the you man so easily identified his homeland. It was unusual for non-Benshira humans to be so well versed in the region, even in the years before the Valterrian. "It is the Ancient Tongue, meaning 'faithful', but you are right to guess that Eypharians of long ago did use the language for naming their offspring occasionally. You are a scholar, then I take it." Isikais stepped closer to the boy, careful to observe the human custom of 'personal space'. "Perhaps you can help me. I'm new to Zeltiva, and have little knowledge of how things work here...Hadrian." Isikais pondered the most effective way to use this unexpected gift. "I don't know what I could offer you in return, but I could use any information you might provide."

[Hadrian]

"A scholar, yes." A practitioner also, but he didn't feel the need to share his life story with a strange expatriate. "Well, ask away. It costs me nothing to answer some questions, so you needn't worry about payment." He happened to believe that interacting with different people reaped its own sort of reward; he was a student of the world and so he studied everything and everyone he came across on his path. To that effect, he let his vision shift ever so slightly to include the aura-spectrum. While still a novice in that arena, he liked to see if he could pick up anything, or analyze patterns, in what he saw. In any event, it was practice. If practice didn't make perfect, it certainly brought more information into his mind with which to work.

[Isikais]

Isikais' aura was an amalgam of incongruities. The aura itself ran slightly shorter than his body, radiating with the gold glitter of residual magic. His body showed no sign of warmth, remaining instead the cool still of room temperature. The only spot that showed any semblance of reconcilable detail were the clearly marked auras of the glyphs on his hands beneath the gloves. Isikais watched as the boy gazed at him with a look he had seen from Mashaen many times before. Curiosity piqued, Isikais smiled again. "Well, well. You can start by telling me where you learned to do that." Isikais removed his left glove, offering Hadrian an unobstructed view of the carefully drawn glyphs on his palm. "You intrigue me young human." Isikais did not know how much Hadrian had gleaned from the colors of his aura, but few were those who could not recognize the unique curiosity of a Nuit's aura.

[Hadrian]

"I'm a scholar," he averred, shrugging. In Zeltiva that amounted to a tacit connection with the university before which they stood. But a magical conundrum made Hadrian's manners recede. He took the proffered hand, noting its coolness, and memorizing the glyph to look up later, both the lines and the way Isikais' Djed flowed around it. There were always power vertices in people's hands; not so great as the seven leading up the body from perineum to the top of the head, but majors of the minors. "A scholar of magic," he said, chlorine eyes shooting up to the man's face. There was a flicker of something, then; not fear, not alarm, but wariness. He had gone to Caelum too many times to be patched up after over-reaching in his studies to have gone without picking up a bit of caution. "You intrigue me, too," he said. Then he let go of his hand. "Pardon me. A scholar's excitement."