Whispers of the Gods

[Mara]

41st of Spring 513AV
The Bharani Library

Midday had arrived without fair cautioning from Syna. The scorching orb was tucked away, clear of view. Murky thickets of dreary silver patched the entire heavens in an opulent and serrated quilt of storming clouds until not a solitary morsel of troposphere could shoulder through. The draught that sauntered between erected skyglass was damp, chilly, and scented by the peak of the mountain. The icy air whipped at Marvasa’s uncovered cheek, clawing down the slack hems of the cotton top stretched out beneath the leather coat draped over him. It was divine. The consecrated snowflake impressed to the interior of his forearm pleasingly quavered beneath its coverings, glistening a paler shade than even the inkless mars of skin his body was parceled so tidily in. Summers in Avanthal, he recalled, would at times bear a resemblance to this. A frigid waft of Morwen’s breath upon her return, the clatter of mutt drawn sleds scraping across the moist terrain from freshly melted snow and ice, and the stain of maroon on the snow boot of every Vantha from the abundance of trodden berries that had flourished and fallen from their bush before being picked.

Rain was descending in the pitter of tiny dips upon the delicate lusters of cut-glass. The sound traversed the rooftops before the first peck of moisture daubed the slope of his nose in a hospitable salutation. Mara tilted his chin toward the sky, lost deep in a reminiscence of home, stilled in his tracks and observing the rushed downpour. The sky was swiftly riddled with extended streaks of tumbling rain, like paint being streaked off a canvas. A whitish glow occupied the shadowed space in the crook of his vision as if the sun had precipitously found its potency and reemerged from behind the barricade, but trailing behind was a stomach-turning detonation that left his ears ringing. The sound assured him that it was thunder instead undulating athwart the city once more.

Making haste in light of the advancement of the tempest, the healer’s steps splashed on the dappled path leading him to the yawning cavity of a prodigious structure. He knew it well. Standing tall amidst the great city, the Bharani Library was renowned for its splendor and knowledge. It was all he had desired, no, required when he disembarked for Lhavit. Now it seemed an empty reminder that he had run out of time. An amassed material at his disposal, and it all was for naught. It was misspent for there was no victory in the information he had learned. He could not help but sense he had investigated erroneously, and though the building could not be to blame, the sight of it reminded him he harbored some irrational ill feeling toward it.

He took an unsure step backwards. Clumped strands of sodden raven now clung to his face and chubby globules dripped down his chin. He grumbled to himself looking back at the emptying streets, and hurried himself headfirst into the building. A hot huff of breath made a vapor of a cloud to contrast his chilled soggy form. Darkly tipped digits streaked the sky’s residue from his expression and then encircled the reedy chest from arm to arm as he continued inside. The sole of his boots squelched and squealed across the marble as he lurched on a neglected puddle. Lacking grace, he caught himself along the frame of the vaulted entrance. The structure effervesced, even in the shortage of light strewn through the exposed crystal gables. Floor after stacked floor twisted around the buildings frame, imbibing him into the recesses of its bowels.

Another citizen of Lhavit, a female, with choppy rust colored hair and a rounded figure, was positioned at the mouth of one of the rackets of shelves. She crooked to her side at the sight of him, some recognition satisfying her tensed reaction, but a sense of apprehension stirred in along with it. She gave him a nod in acknowledgement as their eyes locked and then reverted to the spines of the volumes she was skimming across.

Marvasa thought it superlative to meander across the way, out of her path. He pivoted and made his way to a less acquainted area of shelves. A towering marble sculpture of a man with open arms stood between the edges of two neighboring rows. Across from him, on the opposite end, a female with a similar bearing mimicked him. The half-blood made his way past him and in between the tall edifice. The backs of the books whispered their titles in undersized golden script and an assortment of burnished relics crowned the display. If there was any previous doubt, each tome proved to resolve it. The name of Leth glowered down at him from the perched ledge. The god of the moon, the sacrificial lover, he was not well versed on the matter. It was unnerving now to be standing amidst so much of it, his clasp squeezed about his own arms, digging into the fabric of his sleeves, an exhale stolen from him.

[Lyall Gaius]

It was a foggy day, and dark storm clouds hung menacingly above the mountain peaks, the weight of the water they carried seeming to drag them down. Deep rumbles emanated from the sky, threatening rain, and reminding Lyall very much of a wild jungle cat as the sound resonated in his chest.

Syna's golden rays had been hidden from view, and if it hadn't been for the gentle shimmer of skyglass, Lhavit would have looked rather bleak. Skyglass had enchanted the Kelvic since he'd first layed eyes on it, and in fact he would often find his fingers trailing over it as if of their own accord. This surreal city was a complete mystery to him, as were most things, but he'd gotten into his head the notion that he should unravel this particular puzzle. Deciding where the best place to begin his search would be had been simple enough, the Bharani Library would hold plenty of information, and no doubt intelligent citizens, locating it however was proving to be the problem.

He had bypassed The Shooting Star Inn upon his arrival, instead deciding to head straight to the library, it wasn't as though he possessed any personal items that couldn't fit snugly inside his pack. Still, he was regretting this decision more and more with every faltering step. The journey to the city had been tiring enough when combined with the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach, but it had been far too long since he'd had the pleasure of a full nights sleep. His eyes reflected this fact in full, the once vivid green now dull, and underlined by dark purplish bags.

Small pin pricks of cold water against his over heated skin seemed to revive him for a moment, shocking him into awareness, and slowly dampening his filthy black hair. Raindrops landed in succession against him, catching particles of dirt, and running down his exposed face and neck, leaving telltale trails behind them. As the sprinkle quickly became a downpour, Lyall picked up his pace, jogging now instead of walking.

Just as Lyall's clothes had been sucessfully soaked through, and he had just about decided on giving up, he found himself standing before the very place he had been searching for. Whether by fate or by chance, he didn't care, the colossal building promised shelter, and... knowledge, a thing he couldn't recall seeking for some time now. Looking down at himself, Lyall couldn't escape a strong sense of dissatisfaction at his own appearance, surely mud and scripts weren't a fantastic combination. Kneeling down before the building, he quickly dipped his hands into a nearby puddle, scrubbing them as clean as he could manage before making an effort to do the same to his face. With a sigh and a scowl, he decided there was nothing else to be done about it, and moving with a grace that almost dignified his mangy appearance, made his way inside.

It didn't take long for him to realize that he wanted to seclude himself from the people nearby. It was clear he was an outsider, and at the moment he wasn't feeling particularly charismatic. Hungry, exhausted, and soggy, he quietly searched for a place to be alone. Evidently it was not to be, as, while making his way into a smaller room of the library, Lyall found himself unknowingly standing in the presence of another being. His eyes flit across the spines of the books peeking out at him. It had been a long time since he'd read, and even that had been basic, childish material, still he didn't need to look twice to see the name Leth staring at him from various titles.

[Mara]

The Kelvic’s arrival was overlooked by the half-blood. The predator possessed a bearing that had silenced the impending approach with the inaudible padding of a proficient hunt. For normally being heedful of his surroundings the tarnished Symenestra stood stagnant, embracing his own sodden outline, while he roamed over the infinite quantity of stone faced literature. A hand bladed in the black needle points fluttered toward a ribbed spine. A hesitation faltered the path, swaying fingers contemplated in the exposed breeze before alighting with the levity of a frightened sprite.

The hem of the book was nudged by the pad of his index and coaxed from the acceptance it shared with its identical. The tomes looked as if they mirrored one another along this particular perch, a succession of volumes with numerals tagging them in their proper order. Leth: Moon, Mind, and Change was embossed across the sable leather cover’s focal point in a shimmered golden Common font of thick square letters and atop them a crescent moon sheened in the diffuse candle flame. The prints were silky and felt cool against his palms. He held it away from his chest, watchful as to not permit the sheets to soak in the precipitations that still bowled from crinkles and segments of the varnished skin of his leather sleeve.

The book slipped open and laid its back flatly amid his cradling clutch. Each page beseeched a fresh breeze of longstanding papyrus bark and the soot of dried ink lingering within the margins. He began to skim over the bends of the scribes characters and procured a limited number of dispassionate strides down the aisle. It only took a moment before along the horizon of the pages a shadow loomed of shady and dripping fabric much like his. He halted abruptly on the stagger of toe tips that swayed him frontward to weakly collide with the underside of the stranger’s rib upon the open plain of his reading material.

Mara’s nimble feet scrambled backward until the whereabouts of their collision was some bounds between them. The man before him effortlessly dwarfed his diminutive height and reedy construction. The mere spectacle of him seized his shoulders and slumped them further into himself, only substantiating to diminish his appearance even more so.

A cough cleaned the grating in his speech and the book shut with an exaggerated thump between bracing extremities. “My apologies.” The sincerity was hollowed by the pitch of his uncertainty as he glanced over the other man through the sight of flushed cratered ponds as he spoke. The glint of emeralds perforated into the darkened chamber with a reflective sheen that was unnatural and unnerving though he could not place the exact thought before the gleam had dispersed and the crystalline clarity of their jaded hue returned. “Are you alright?” He drew his eyes back down closer to his own eye level to catch a glimpse at the side where he had brushed against. “I was distracted and not looking where I was going.” He continued to explain ruefully.

They were alone within the quarters of this area, the dribble of rain sung along the cambers of the roof in the suspension of silence. Mara realized he had more than neglected seeing the man, he had not heard a sound of his entry. A rutted suspicious sprouted in his gut, but he swallowed hard and tugged a morsel of tender cheek between the pinch of sharp ended molars. “I suppose I was not the only one seeking refuge from the storm.” A blinding illumination filled the room as he finished and hastily the deafening cymbals followed as if confirming its existence. The healer flinched and abruptly pivoted away from the Kelvic with a precarious inhalation.

“Perhaps it will pass soon.” He offered on a prolonged exhale and crooked his neck back toward the other. “The city has had enough rain.” It had not been long, days it seemed, since the former unforgiving tempest had struck the city and some disheartenment still haunted him its wake.

[Lyall Gaius]

Lyall couldn't have been standing in the room for long, when he noticed a presence he had previously overlooked. He tilted his his head to the side curiously before stepping towards the stranger. The man was very delicately built, standing a good deal shorter than himself.

He seemed quite absorbed in the gilded books lining the walls, and as he extended an elegantly fingered hand towards the spine of an ancient tome, a spiral of inky black artwork was revealed, wrapping around the mans pale flesh, and encasing it in its dark designs. Lyall's pupils dilated as he zoned in on the designs, curious about their meaning, and his legs propelled him forwards.

A sudden jab to the ribs brought him back to reality, and the Kelvic jumped back in surprise. Realizing that he must have walked into the preoccupied man, he was mildly confused when it was the delicate stranger who apologized first. Despite the meaning behind the words, Lyall couldn't help but pick up on the hollow note to the mans voice, tense and wary.

"Are you all right?" A silken voice asked him, speaking with an enviable ease and clarity. Lyall parted his lips to reply, when he caught sight of the mans haunting crimson eyes. They seemed to burn into him, sizing him up, and Lyall couldn't recall ever having seem something so terribly transfixing. He wondered what could have caused this abnormality, the word Symenstra flitting through his mind.

"I'm alright..." He spoke in the common tongue, reveling at the way the words rolled --or tripped-- off his tongue once again."It was my fault. Your tattoos..." He trailed off, motioning to the designs with his hands.

[Mara]

The stranger was warm, at least in contrast to the natural chill of his own body. The heat trundled off of him and steamed the cavity of air between them in the subtlest of ways. As a general rule, he loathed the feverishness, sheltered from it when the dread of midsummer rolled into season with a brash arrogance. Surprisingly though, he did not protest this, despite the way it made him squirm in the embrace of his covering. In fact he held his stance in their communal corridor, rose flush tinged into his frozen completion. The color played over his swathed chest and pulsated into the tips of his ears, but most notably it seeped into the rounded plateaus of his cheeks. The heat made him precipitously drowsy, a honeyed lungful sighed in soundless contentment from the gloss of nearly breathless lips.

He continued to soak the other in, pleased by his unhindered and economical rejoinder. He gave a unambiguous nod, his jaw dipping against the hem of his shoulder and eyes stumbling farther even to the fine layer of dust across the petrified smirk of the bottom shelf. A new scent of dewdrops and thin mountain air intermingled with the fragrance of fresh ink upon longstanding paper and the coppery aroma of lifeblood that was congealed so deeply in the rumples of his finger’s ridges that water alone could certainly not hoist the affliction from him.

The promptness in which the Kelvic transitioned his topics was unanticipated. Mara peeked up at the vast discs of emerald rimmed eyes with fleeting enquiry in sight. Cast downward, his hands flattened against a tabletop of air, fingers spread wide as unfolding wings from stagnation. He regarded them once over in silence, as if he had forgotten them some time ago under the scabbarding of his jacket and was only now discovering the dormant ink filled scars. “Mmmm” a hum of amenable amusement tickled in his throat.

“I have many.” He offered in response to the fragmentary request. “Most positioned a bit more intimately than these.” He waggled the exposed digits and then crossed them transversely along himself, massaging up the stretch of his arms. In spite of the uncharacteristic toss of a friendly gamble his statement presented, he was still fortified, unsure of the company he kept. Though he was consoled still, irrationally so, but he found it easier to speak to him unabashed the more he looked over the simplicity of his actions and observed him to be to some degree almost childish but isolated.

Lightning struck again, closer, so the cut-glass of the roof’s ceiling thatches rattled in their hold against the roar of the thunder. Mara’s eyes pinched shut, fingers burrowing into his own limbs. The notion of water flooding the streets in makeshift tributaries and rapids dragged panicking tremors through his body. He composed himself quickly. The flicker of the tallow candle only swaying a couple strokes before his experienced respire slackened his frightened tense grip. “I’m much better with needles.”

“Do you have any of your own?”

OOCAgain sorry this was so late, I should be keeping up much better from now on. Thank you for being so patient.

[Lyall Gaius]

OOCI don't even have the words to express how sorry I am that I made you wait this long! I'm so sorry, and I won't let it happen again. Thank you for your patience.

The soft spoken man grew in confidence as time passed, losing his bearings only when the thunder sounded, and then once again returning to some distant place in his mind. Lyall retained a habitually predatory stance; shoulders thrown back, eyes locked unwaveringly on the strangers deep crimson pair. Momentarily oblivious to Lyall’s presence, the stranger looked down at his tattoos almost curiously, as if he’d forgotten their very presence inked into his skin, before making any move to answer Lyall. An amused hum passed through his lips, and although it was innocent, it set Lyall on edge.

“I have none. Did you draw yours out yourself?” Lyall asked after a moment, wondering briefly if there was any meaning to the labyrinth of ink etched into his skin.

His own words sounded blunt and simple to his own ears; like a crude wooden sword against this mans polished blade of playful wit, and a part of him envied the smaller man the words that seemed to flow off of his tongue as smooth as silk, wise and toying. Often times, Lyall knew what he wanted to say, but couldn’t quite phrase it, and it was a dreadfully frustrating experience.

As they spoke, Lyall gave in to the whims of his rather short attention span, allowing his eyes to travel back to the books lining the walls. The title of each was embossed in bold golden letters on the spine, and each one was filled with page after page of knowledge waiting to be absorbed. They were of absolutely no use to him. He’d come here to enlighten himself about the ways of the God Leth, hoping someone knowledgeable would be present and able to assist him, and as carried away as he was by the intricate tattoos decorating the man opposing him, he hadn’t thought to ask him for help.

“I’m Lyall, by the way.” He added, deciding that an introduction was a good place to begin.