Closed A Festival of Light and Magic

[Alses]

“Many people have, many times,” Alses replied with a wry smile. “Personal guides and observations make up the bulk of the Tower library, in point of fact. The problem is simply that auristics is the most subjective of all the personal magics; our impression of the aura of a person will be completely and utterly different to your own, save in a few unusual circumstances – such as when you borrow my stored power with that scroll – and more often than not relating to the written word at the...the depth required is very difficult. Of course, you must also remember that, present openness notwithstanding, House Dusk has long been the most secretive of the great families. Cyphers and codes and reversions and glyphic triggers pepper the books the poet-mages of ages past wrote, just to add an extra soupçon of delight to the mix. As Chiona says, auristics has a dark heart. Secrets and lies are the aurist's bread and butter, and House Dusk has always understood the value of a good secret very well.”

She shrugged, philosophically. “The only way we can think of to do it properly would be with magecraft, to make an artifact of some kind that could assess and evaluate and impress auristic notions straight into the reader's brain. Unfortunately, that's far beyond my resources right now, and even had I the wherewithal, the cost of anything reasonable would take a vast bite out of the Dusk family fortune. Thus, instructors and scrolls galore – much cheaper. Arguably more effective, too; an artifact probably wouldn't be very good for the development of ethics and finesse and all the other, softer skills the Tower tries to instil in its novices.”

Zeran's responses – and subsequent question – satisfied her that they were on the same wavelength as regards instruction. “Of course we agree; I'd be a very poor lookout as a teacher if I didn't.”

Alses shook her head in amusement at Zeran's disparagement of stairs, of all things. “Stairs? Fun? Well...” she paused, considering, trying to put words around the shape of her thoughts. “They're more fun than plunging off the peaks,” she offered.

“Fortunately, the city has a surfeit of stairs between the tiers, so there's really not much need to practice climbing in the city, either. The Unforgiving, though – where I quite agree it'd be an advantage to know how to climb – isn't just a fanciful name. The region would eat most of us for lunch in an instant, whether we imitated the Okomo or not; there's a reason we're traded with by the sea and the air, after all. The Wind Eagles – if you can persuade them to carry you – or failing them, the ships at Port Tranquil, are much safer alternatives, if travel's what you're after.”

Zeran's eyes almost took light at her offhand remark, enthusiasm for powerful magic surging unrestrained – but then something more intelligent applied the brakes before he could even complete his sentence. “Sensible, Companion,” Alses nodded, quietly approving of the restraint which quickly clamped down over his eagerness. Tempered enthusiasm, that was a valuable (and rare) trait, especially in magic, and gentle encouragement was useful in encouraging the trait to remain.

Or so most instructors hoped, at any rate.

Accepting her judgement, his fingers were still eager as he grasped the scroll, eyes feasting on the inky intricacy. An absent comment slipped, likely unbidden, from his mouth as much of his brain was occupied in discerning the meaning behind the carefully-scribed glyphs. Even though it was likely a slip of the tongue, a moment's inattention allowing a private thought out into the world, it still made her bristle. “Does it now?” she asked, keeping her voice level with an effort and a vice-like grip on her own aura. “Well, I maintain Elena Lariat has good taste.”

“A Hypnotist?” Alses, just starting to relax from the comparison, drew in a sharp, shocked breath at Zeran's sudden accusation, her nerves suddenly jangling. Hypnotism wasn't precisely well-regarded in the city, although not outright banned. “What makes you say that?”

Even as she spoke, Alses let the threads of conversation die and sank lightly into her powers, drawing up a little more djed from the great lakes of her reserves and casting it out with practised mental hands in the very thinnest of filigree filaments to wrap around Zeran and the immediate vicinity, targeting and localising her skills to flay any secrets out into the open, hunting for any hint of tampering or poisoning of auras with the subtle, infiltrating fingers of another. Magic, no matter its form, was easily visible to an aurist, vibrant and complex against a more mundane backdrop, easy to sift from the melange and identify.

Well, easy now, at least. The depths of the discipline were her playground, the secrets she'd struggled and striven for in her apprenticeship now locked within her brain, and where once she might have found it difficult to sort the weltering charivari of auras from one another, now they parted and separated at the merest caress of her attention, willingly yielding to her skill.

Nothing.

Alses found nothing, no hint of outside magics; the strongest here were her own, trapped in glyphs or radiating from her own aura. “We can't sense any magic other than our own near you,” she added, “And I'm no Hypnotist.” Despite her reassurances, she was still watching, just in case, tasting the words buzzing against her teeth as they bloomed into red-gold sound and light in her augmented senses.

“We can, of course, watch the fight,” she said, keeping her voice warmly reassuring. “I'm not holding you prisoner here by any means, and I have dispensation to watch the first match or two anyway. But I shan't have it said I desert a prospective or my post...Robert, would you mind holding down the fort for a few chimes? I'll hand out some scrolls, don't fret.”

A smile – and the rosy beginnings of a blush, swiftly fought down – touched her student's features at the request and he surrendered the wicker basket without a quibble. Alses made her rather more stately way down from the dais and the crowds parted readily for her. The combination of glorious Ethaefal, Dusk Tower instructor and burdened lady was a potent one in clearing a path, and it allowed her to easily reach the staked-out perimeter of the ring itself.

As she passed through the respectfully-parted crowd, she handed out scrolls left, right and centre, each one with a clear instruction, until she caught up with Zeran, easily located via his aura, although it took her several chimes. She still wasn't quite sure what to make of him – intelligent and yet unworldly was her best guess, still childlike in some respects. He reminded her of herself a little, especially in the early years of her return to Mizahar, amazed by everything and with little grasp of or care for mortal standards. Some time at the Dusk Tower might help with that; grace was prized, after all, even if not explicitly taught. It tended to rub off, though; she'd found herself more conscious of it lately.

“We can't promise you our exclusive attention, Companion Zeran,” Alses replied quellingly. “The novices are taught in small classes that rotate through the instructors. You'll be taught by me, all right – just not exclusively. When – and if - you reach a reasonable level of skill, though...the Tower does expect its teachers to take on one or two apprentices. I currently have none, so there'd be an opening for you there.”

A raggedy cheer rose in a rippling wave from the crowd – two glittering figures, resplendent in skyglass plate, had entered the ring, saluting the assembled citizenry with their weapons and basking in the adulation of the crowd.

“The sideshow,” Alses murmured with a smile. “Still worth using your scroll, Companion, if only to provide a benchmark for when the masters come out to play. It'll be a short bout; there should be plenty of power left for the main offering.”

[Zeran]

Zeran had almost scoffed at the prospect of safety. The concept of safety was a nice, little thing to ease a person's mind. In reality, it was a better idea to judge something by how harmful it was. Under the right, unfortunate circumstances, anything had the potential to cause harm. From war machines, built for the purpose of damage, to parchment, used to record information only to cut your fingers off. Off the top of his head, Zeran couldn't think of anything that was truly safe. The truth of it, everything was out to kill you. How morbid. Safety, while nice, just makes you vulnerable for when there is an actual danger. The corners of his mouth twitched into a wider smile as his thoughts continued. What's life without a little risk anyway? His intention had been to keep his thoughts on the matter to himself and, for the most part, he'd succeeded. Had Alses heard anything from him, however, he presumed she would disregard it as the majority of other people did. It was amazing what he could get away with sometimes. Things that would normally offend or draw questioning where simply brushed off, just because Zeran 'can't help it' or 'doesn't know any better'. There were limits to risks he was willing to take. Picking a fight with the Shinya, after knocking yourself out to satisfy curiosity, could be considered one of them. At his current skill level, it was definite. As he trained his current skills and learn new ones, it might drop to uncomfortably close, but still not there. "I just thought of 'Yomi-canoch'," Zeran had smiled at Alses as if it were something to be proud of. "I couldn't have planted the thought into my own head, I've never heard the phrase before. The only answer: someone heard me asking for the trigger and planted the thought in my head!" Pursing his lips, a mindful expression slowly took over his face as he thought. The Hypnotist hadn't done anything wrong. He had just been kind enough to answer Zeran's question. "Never mind. They're a friendly Hypnotist. They only answered my question." He had gone back to examining his scroll. Now, Zeran stood amongst a quickly-growing crowd. It felt like any other. A face full of hair so deep any further movement backwards would make it a headbutt, shoulders and elbows in the back frequently enough you'd think somebody was practising the right technique for a tackle, and enough pressure being applied from either side with the obvious hope of pushing him into the void so they'd be free to give themselves a little extra space. Perhaps Alses had been right saying an each-to-their-own philosophy didn't work in a city. He'd revise it. Each to their own, provided it doesn't have an impact on others. That guy next to me with the cloak, smiling widely, looks a bit troubling. The thought was easy enough to send out, aided with gestures masked to look as if bracing himself against the bustling crowd, only reaching those immediately next to him. It had the desired effect a little too quickly. In turn, each of the recipients twisted and bent to find this troubling man, finding him fast enough for it to not be a coincidence. They had already been aware of his presence, taking small steps away from him, as if diseased, fighting against other pushes and shoves that might force them closer to this man. Letting his shoulders relax after being compressed tightly, Zeran wasn't sure if he should be happy with the desired space, or offended by how easily he got it. Allowing an audible laugh to escape his throat would hopefully secure the thought of keeping distance and the space he'd received from it. I'm happy! No sense in getting offended over something I wanted. As quickly as they had moved from him, the surrounding crowd parted like a Zintila had been walking through, only to present Alses holding a wicker basket half-full of scrolls. In a city that worshipped Syna and Leth, it was natural that those that had once joined them in their realms be treated with similar reverence as they themselves were. Or was there something more to it? "Where you using magic? Or did they just part for you that easily?" Zeran let out a groan of discontent, though his expression did not change to match it. It didn't sound like he'd get the chance to try people's patience. If he were in a class, there was a chance it was with children, or others who had started earlier, unless classes were sorted by age rather than skill. It seemed unlikely. A teacher trained to teach children had an almost limitless supply of patience for that type of behaviour, and having younger kids around limited his choice of words and attitude. If his classmates were his age, it was doubtful they'd appreciate him messing around with the instructor's head. "Well then, it looks like I'll have to a 'reasonable' level sometime soon then." Zeran took that 'if' as a challenge. One he'd have to work on a lot longer than a few nights trying to taste the candle on the opposite side of the room with his abilities. The cheers and applause from the crowd indicated it was probably time to activate the scroll. Alses only justified that assumption, reassuring him that the power contained within the focus glyph would last until the end of the masters' fight, even if activated now. Grabbing the edge, Zeran unfurled the parchment, revealing the sigil drawn with practice hands, and raised the glyph facing him. He hesitated for a moment, briefly thinking back to when he saw Lady Elena receiving, not his power in Projection, just his ability to project a limb. He bristled with excitement. "Yomi-canoch." The barrier shone briefly, before the light dimmed to nothing, robbing the parchment of the ink that once decorated it. Zeran sensed djed move across the scroll as it would in Projection, faster and more erratic as the focus glyph unravelled from the centre, burning along the trails of ink to the outer reaches. He felt something gently push itself into his head, his senses, and settle down as if welcomed like an old friend. It felt refreshing, empowering, and relaxing, all in the same instance. Whatever it was, Zeran closed his eyes and took hold of it, letting it take hold of him in turn. When he opened his eyes again, the crowd was mixed with reds, oranges, golds and purples, curling around the spectators, fading as they wandered too far, only to be reborn from the cheers they made. A show like nothing his own abilities could show him. Zeran laughed with an awe he hadn't felt since he first saw the light display of a kelvic's shift. "I'll be getting to that level sooner than originally planned Alses," he said, glancing back at the ethaefal before a horn signifying the start of the bout rushed overhead, met by a greater amount of noise from the crowd. "I'm going to make sure of it." The ring of sword on shield rang through the air, reaching anyone the horn had missed. Reds and golds splayed out from the shield as tendrils, and slowly shimmered off the resonating sword like dust. The colours trailed behind movement, as one guard leapt back from a swing of the second's sword, circling round with broad sword in one hand and dagger in the next as the other half hid behind his shield. The curls of colour twitched as combatants made feints to throw off their opponent, giving the impression they didn't trust their owner's actions, or simply knew he wasn't going to take it. They intermingled as stances were solidified, acting as a barrier as the parry was delivered. Riding at the edge of the blade, shouting their intent to win. The ferocity of the colours, and the instantaneous changes in direction spoke louder than the crowd could cheer. The colours and shapes of the auras told stories of their fighters. Shield had a stronger, heavier build, so he could dig in when defending, or push back when attacking. Dual had a leaner, quicker build, to get in with as many attacks as possible, before jumping back and staying out of his opponents reach until their next opening. The auras praised their fighters, and Zeran heard so much more of it under the scroll's influence. Armour, shield and blade alike continued to ring, encouraging more cheers from a crowd not wanting to be outdone, yet Zeran made no noise along with them. The curls told greater stories in unison with the movements, ones that could be missed by the slightest distraction. The fighters were tiring, though they did not show it, the powerful reds, majestic golds and every colour in between began to wane, losing their integrity. Though the crowd did not know it, anyone who had been using one of Alses's scrolls knew the battle was coming to an end soon. Shield swung downwards, catching his sword in the cross of Dual's blades, as the curls retreated. With practised grace, Dual threw the sword away, directing it so any counter didn't have enough movement to cause any major damage. He faced his opponent, only to have his weapons brushed aside with a shield that had crept between the two. In one final act, aura backing his every move, Dual pushed the shield further out beyond its intended range, ducking into it to prevent retreat. Shield, stepped into him, cutting off his escape. Curls, colours, shapes, sounds, auras from both combatant fighting for dominance over the other. Fighting for the upper hand. They stopped, and the crowd was silent. Shield's sword an arm's breadth away from the back of Dual's neck, and Dual's sword resting in a gap in Shield's armour at his side. A draw. Weapons gave up their ground, happy with the results. Combatant's stood side by side, only just starting to show the signs of their fatigue that their auras had betrayed long ago. And auras unwinding, returning to their owners, breathing as heavily as them. The guards raised their weapons, both in victory, and the crowd raised their voices with them. The parchment crunched in Zeran's grip as he smiled his widest all day, turning to Alses and saying, "I can't wait to see the masters' fight now!"

[Alses]

Alses' sudden, pealing laugh turned a few heads. “Oh, is that all? You needn't worry about Hypnotism; that was the glyphs. Every wizard – by which we mean anyone who's been taught what djed is – can read glyphs. I could write a sentence in Nader-canoch normally and it'd be so much gibberish to you, but I could write the same thing in glyphs and be instantly and completely understood, even though you've no training in the language.” Alses paused, debating with herself momentarily as to how much information Zeran would want, but her love of knowledge and its dissemination propelled her onwards.

“From experimentation, we can tell you that's because glyphs impose a certain...rigidity on the ambient djed of the world, they're unchanging markers that mirror the djed-nous of the glyphing mage, the meanings and concepts behind words more than the words themselves.” She nodded at the scroll clutched tight in Zeran's hands with a faint smile.

“The trigger glyph is slightly modified; it conveys the physical word and the concept together, so anyone can use the scroll regardless of whether they speak Nader-canoch or not. Usually you hear the word in your own voice in your head – we should have warned you that would happen, and saved the both of us a bit of worry.” She smiled, though, to take any sting out of her words; it was a mistake, an oversight on her part, after all, and not something she should rebuke him for.

Alses turned back, quizzical, to observe the closing channel that had let her through, a slight blush on her face even as she swept a short bow of thanks to the crowd in general. “Ah. Lhavit reveres the Ethaefal; we tend to get a little space in all but the densest of crowds,” she admitted. “Wearing the insignia of House Dusk and a master mage's robes helps, too. Understand we don't ask for it or demand it,” she added quickly, “But I can't deny it's usefulness; we've never been very good at barging. Your...unusual...method works, I'll admit, but it is a little disruptive, no?” A brief, impatient gesture forwards, to the sparring ring proper. “No matter, no matter; they'll be beginning soon.”

Zeran's reaction, at the instant of the scroll discharging itself into him, put a slightly smug smile on Alses' face, a smile that swiftly grew wider at the wonder and delight that broke across his face like the dawn, the beautiful shimmers in his personal filigree fantasia a delight to see even as her powerful sense of sight gorged itself on commingling djed, the artist unseen forever refining his picture with ever-new and stranger washes of shade and hue, of pallor and rich darkness impossibly next to burning light and much else besides, laying the deepest secrets of the world open for her perusal, should she choose to take the plunge.

“Then I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labour, Companion,” she replied, keeping the tone of her voice encouraging, feeling the groundswell of wonderment from the crowd as the lucky recipients of her work also suddenly saw the colour-drenched world of an aurist. Alses was riding high on the auras of the crowd itself; whilst they paid attention to the sideshow and delighted in the complex interplay of sword and shield and movement, she rode their meta-memory, surfing on diamond wings and lazily dipping into the rich ocean of information all around, for no other reason than that she could, momentarily forgetting about the fight occurring in front of her – predictable, given that the House Guards weren't aurists; their intentions were easily read – and about Zeran.

Indeed, only his childishly-excited exclamation brought her back, in time to nod over to the ring once more. “Here they come,” was her reply.

Chiona Dusk came first, and this was not the usual mischievous, lighthearted Chiona that most were used to, no – this was a far more dangerous creature. She'd forgone the usual rippling silks, the intricate layered garments of a Lhavitian aristocrat, in favour of something much more form-fitting – fewer things to catch or slow her down during the bout. One of Lhavit's famous Dao swords rested companionably in her hand, a subtly-curved sliver of blinding light with the blue ripple of tempered steel folded a thousand times dancing through it. Opposite her, one of the other masters of the Tower, similarly dressed in form-fitting clothes and equally matched with another Dao sword. Neither had decided to bother with shields or armour beyond their silks – it was evident that this was causing some concern to the Catholicon medics, easily tracked by those who cared to notice such things by the sudden proliferation of white-robed people clustering close to the ring itself.

Chiona's aura was reassuringly familiar and friendly to Alses as the two masters faced off against one another in the ring. It was mostly rich purple and midnight blue – serenity and self-assurance, the confidence of the aristocrat - in a potent mix, but a sparkling and elusive weave skipped through the tumbling curtains of the predominant colours, beautiful and flamboyant flashes of red and gold and a phantom, characteristic laugh that continually wove around Alses' mentor, sometimes subdued, often in ascendancy (especially when she needled or teased her student) but always, always there, that mischievous streak in proud Lady Dusk a fundamental part of her nature.

Her opponent's was viridian green to the eye, a richly tangled melange of a million blending shades of life, other colours bursting like the most beautiful flowers imaginable across the verdant backdrop. His aura was much slower than Chiona's; rather than being afire with energy and the deadly purpose of a morningstar, his thrilled with slower pulses of movement, shivering ripples that set the intertwined vines into complex, undulating motions, making it difficult to pin down any one emotion, any one state, any one action from a vast and forever-shifting array. A powerful defense in the secret world exposed by auristics; Alses could pick it apart with a bit of concentration and a concentrated, needlepoint burst of power to weasel past those winding defences and synchronise with the depths of his djed, the fundamental energies cast off by his soul tick to tick, but those using her scrolls, impressed with far lesser aspects of her power, wouldn't be able to do so, would only see the beautiful, rippling lightshow and marvel at the skill that deflected and dissipated all attempts at comprehension.

A low gasp from the crowd, a thrilling hum of surprise and excitement that buzzed in the bones, signalled the start of the bout, although Alses was unsurprised; she'd seen the mutual agreement flower in the twin auras of the masters in the sparring ring, and by dint of their position close to the ring edge the nod they shared, too.

Both were very light on their feet, in the traditional Lhavitian style, which favoured fleetness of foot and fast, slashing attacks over heavy armour and crushingly powerful attacks; their feet danced a toccata in the dust as each tried to gain the advantage over the other, a split-tick opening of surprise or other opportunity being all that would be necessary.

While the movements on the purely physical plane were impressive, interspersed with lightning-quick clashes of dao swords meeting and gliding off one another, it was in the world that auristics revealed that anything truly impressive went on, a duel of probing, testing intellects that made themselves manifest in the shifting ripple of colours of the auras, in the momentary sounds and sudden surges, even in the overall shape of the energies being radiated; sharp and thrusting one second, amorphous and absorbing the next, quietly defensive and then suddenly stonewalled, frozen into absolute immobility before just as quickly returning to fluidity, a display more dazzling than any fireworks and even more mesmerising.

Back and forth the dance of metal and flesh went, the sideshow to the mental war being waged. Calm discipline, ordered serenity, began to give way to the more visceral emotions – a bright yellow thrill of adrenaline and the excitement of battle spiked in Chiona's aura, a spectacular solar prominence almost blinding in its intensity; in reply, her opponent's aura shut down completely all of a sudden, every single twisting and twining vine, every bursting flower of emotion and intent frozen for a split-tick burst of time before collapsing entirely, fracturing and breaking until there was no aura left around him, all the energy of his soul constrained within his body's bounds, unreachable and unreadable by onlookers. A master's technique, along with its reversal, which was surely coming, and an impressive one to those who understood the difficulty of suppressing one's essential self to that degree – whilst fighting.

Perhaps confused and dismayed by the sudden lack of an aura to read, a moment's inattention rising and disrupting the sharp needlepoint shape of Chiona's probing aura, discohering it into the more usual mantling corona, Lady Dusk gave her sparring opponent an opening. The crowd roared in equal parts surprise and satisfaction as the challenger's dao sword sliced down in a ribbon of light and drew first blood from Chiona's sword arm, sending sword-spikes of pain and chagrin through her aura and drawing a cry of mingled pain and fury from her lips.

Seeking to capitalise on his advantage, her opponent released his vice-like grip on his own aura with a vengeance, perhaps even fuelling its relentless expansion with his own reserves – a suspicion confirmed moments later as the beating colours of his aura showed no signs of stopping or slowing and indeed grew ever more powerful, a brilliant star in the aurist's world that defied examination by its radiant glow, such a powerful forced outpouring of energy that even those without scrolls began to take note, feeling some surge of energy pressing against them and yet quite unable to see it.

Pressing home the advantage, a flurry of quick slashes forced Chiona to give ground; the wound on her right arm bled freely, spattering the dust with red splotches, and her defensive parries were weak even to Alses' untrained eyes.

However, if there was one thing that defined the Dusks above all else, it was deceit, and Chiona soon proved that her family hadn't let go of their historical roots or aptitude, taking advantage of her opponent's momentary relaxation, his shivering silver anticipation of victory that flowered in his aura and a consequent slackening of his assault to dance away and to switch to her uninjured arm, bringing the sword up in a sweeping underarm slash to rest, companionably almost, against her opponent's neck. He gulped, shocked from complacency, and the razored edge nicked his skin, dribbling crimson onto blued steel.

A tick or two of silence ruled before the crowd – and the waiting medics – realised the bout was over; applause and cheers thundered out even as white-robed Catholicon healers swarmed onto the hard-packed earth, fussing over their charges with singleminded dedication.

Chiona, trailing a comet-tail of doctors, made a beeline for Alses, a vast grin splitting her face ear-to-ear and her aura ringing with the strident tones of victory, red and gold and brassy delight sounding strongly, the continual motion of her aura almost a blur, her happiness at the win almost overwhelming the dark star of pain and blood from her arm. “Good showing?” she called, drawing near.

“Very impressive,” Alses replied with a smile of her own. “And a nice lesson in overconfidence for us, too. Is your arm all right?”

Chiona laughed, a bright bark of sound, and then winced as she flexed the muscles. “It's nothing. Shallow wound; neither of us were trying to kill the other, after all. It'll heal in a few days, especially if the Catholicon have their way with me.”

“Mind if we speed things along a little?” Alses asked, already reaching for her mentor's arm now bared to the sunshine and dripping with antiseptic. Pliant, Chiona nodded her assent – a flash of true-blue light lashed out from Alses' fingertips and coiled for just an instant around the wound before vanishing as though the radiance had never been. In the wake of the light, the cut was noticeably smaller, less redly indignant, the edges just beginning to knit together.

Chiona flexed her arm experimentally, evidently pleased with the result. “Excellent!” she cast a glance behind her, to where her opponent was also being harangued. “Well, I'd better offer my condolences and rescue him from the medics,” she murmured. “Lessons as usual tomorrow, Alses! Tenth bell, sharp!”

Alses groaned quietly. “Yes, mistress,” she murmured, sing-song, pasting on an imbecilic smile for good measure, which only brightened Chiona's grin as she turned away to her duties.

“What did you think, Companion?” Alses asked, once Chiona had been swept away once more. “Of the bout, we mean.”

[Zeran]

Yet one more thing Zeran could add to his collective knowledge. Glyphs were capable of breaking language barriers. Each knew fact revealed only furthered Zeran's belief that ancient wizards, around and long before the Valterrian, only learnt magic so they could break the laws Mizahar had written for its inhabitants when it was born. Glyphing, as Lady Elena had said, was used to then break the rules that magic imposed on its users. Wizards are a bunch of rule-breakers! It was a useful tool, no doubt, and interesting as well, but it only led to further questions. What else were glyphs capable of? Were there more than simply focus, barrier and trigger glyphs? Were they each capable working on their own? The numerous questions only caused Zeran's curiosity to mount, but he'd already decided to better the disciplines he did have rather than learning new snippets of new ones. Better to learn disciplines unaided by glyphs as to not become reliant on the availability of paint, brush and time. Zeran watched the crowd, listening to Alses' words on her unbidden admiration, sniggering slightly at the thought of offering such respect based only on appearance. Fortune had it for the citizens that Alses didn't display any attributes that suggested she didn't deserve it and, in the case of her interview with Elena, restraining hastily spoken words, only pushing back when pushed too far. Brushing off her comments, with the wave of a dismissive hand, Zeran explained his thoughts with a bluntness that suggested he didn't care much for it. "I merely made a suggestion. Disruptive, quite possibly, but I hold no power over people. I can't force them to do anything they don't want to do. The fact they acted on my suggestion meant they wanted to move away from me. The speed in which they did so caught me off-guard, but didn't bother me for too long." He fixed Alses with a smile. "I suppose you could say we both have the same effect, but with different impact. I just so happen to be unfortunate enough to be required to deliver a little extra push." The second pair of combatants stepped into the ring, the blues of Lady Dusk's aura in contrast with the greens of her opponents. Serene confidence against calm control, only established by whatever powers Alses had gifted him with the contents of her scroll. The intertwining colours of Lady Dusk's betrayed a sense of enjoyment, or some other similar feeling, where the writing tendrils of the second master's suggest a controlled patience, not letting anything slip until the right moment before the onslaught. And then the two met in the ring, dao swords singing as they made contact, painting waves of colour across the area as their vast auras mixed, tangled, struck, retreated and repeated with each attempted attack. When swords did not meet, each fighter spent time and concentration away from the other, planning, waiting, reading, though not as was to be expected of a fighter that could anticipate the intent of their opponents next move. Zeran watched closely, hoping to find the reason why some flicks of the aura were acted on, where others were ignored. What he found didn't make sense. The pair of auras seemed to act independently of the masters when they felt like it, flicking in one direction to suggest a move when no such move was made, and staying behind when they should've followed the sword. Zeran now understood what Alses meant when she had said the masters were on a different level than simple house guards. Their auras didn't fight with them, in a manner of impatient imitation, but fought alongside them, as a partner to deceive and wear their opponent down. Then his sight was robbed of all green that had once danced through the air, leaving him confused to what happened. Was the scroll running out of power? Alses had said it should last, did he get a faulty one? Lady Dusk's aura still burned strongly. Zeran tried focusing his own senses, trying to find anything that would suggest what was wrong. Even though his sight was lesser than the scrolls, even it didn't see anything. The scroll wasn't the problem. Caught in the midst of thoughts, Zeran was brought back to his body by the sudden burst of living green again. Wherever it had disappeared to it returned with a vengeance, accompanying the shower of cuts being delivered, with an energy felt beyond the abilities of the scroll. The second bout seem won as Lady Dusk was continuously pushed backwards, closer to the edge of the ring, unable to properly defend against the quick slashes and sudden direction changes, further sent into pandemonium as the green aura weaved lies like a tapestry, doing nothing to explain its partner's intentions against Lady Dusk. His aura waned. Her sword was at his throat. "What just happened?" The words slipped from his mouth, echoing his thoughts. The crowd followed in its noise a moment later, matching the intensity of the show that had just been put on before them. The ring flooded with members of the Catholicon, tending to any wounds Lady Dusk and her fellow master might have sustained. Or so Zeran believed until the crowd in front of him parted, like they had done for Alses, and Lady Dusk stepped through. Lady Dusk is an Ethaefal! Zeran hadn't been paying enough attention to see her leave the ring, trying to wrap his head what he'd seen moments ago. Perhaps there was a reason there were no cheat methods when it came to learning magic. A wizard needed to adjust accordingly with his experiences as he got progressively better. Any level below mastering a discipline was a training device, similar to wooden swords for squires. Alses and Lady Dusk spoke like good friends, a common enough occurrence between the two that didn't seem to warrant any worry, concern or friendly reprimand. By the time the blue light from Alses finger dispersed, Zeran stood watching with his mouth shut, not having any words left for anything. He was done. So many knew things in one day. I'm going to have a migraine by the end of the day... At least the loss of sight will leave me with my thoughts. Lady Dusk left and Alses asked her question. Zeran stood silent, letting the slightest breeze, natural or human in origin, rock him on his feet as he tried to think of any words that he could force past his lips. "Why in Lhex's bushy beard did his aura just disappear?" All refinement thrown from the highest peak in the Unforgiving. He started laughing. There was no reason, he just laughed. "Why did the auras not act as they should? Why are you shooting blue ribbons of light from your fingers?" He raised his hands to his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, just to see the exploding, colours that made about as much sense as the rest of what he had just seen. Questions were clashing with what he had already accepted as truth, contradicting what he knew. Was it they were wrong or incomplete? His hands dragged at his face as they slipped down, stumbling occasionally as people bumped into him from the crowd, letting any loose skin caught bounce back in to place. "I think I'm going back to your stage Lady Alses," he breathed out, old habits taking hold as he lost concentration. "Unless you need to hand out any more scrolls, now that the fights are over for the moment, I'll see you in a chime or two." Pinching the bridge of his nose, as if it would help clear his thoughts, Zeran trudged back towards the stage, mirror and bureau of scrolls. "I've got to enroll. Got to learn. Need to understand. Something's not right." His mutterings grew quieter as he moved past Alses and went further into the crowd, getting odd looks from a number of people as he went.

[Alses]

“Chiona won,” Alses announced with a broad smile, reflecting Lady Dusk's infectious pride and joy at the win. “The Dusks always were good at deception; my lady's preferred sword hand is her right, not her left.”

The smile slipped from her face, though, as the sense of delight in Zeran's shimmering aura faded under the onslaught of a set of newer, less-welcome emotions – confusion, worry, anxiety, concern, the sense of a world tilting on its axis and of everything becoming new and strange. Still worse, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, as though to rid them of lingering auras, and all-but fled from her presence, a herky-jerky gait that nearly toppled several other passers-by as he made his way back to her dais.

A cautious approach would be necessary, she decided, a frown creasing her forehead. Something had spooked him, and badly at that, to send him from euphoria to fear in a few ticks. Alses made her way slowly back through the crowd, taking her time and letting Zeran re-establish control of himself – or at least, that was her rationalisation of it.

Despite the Incident with Lu Gavima and a few subsequent problems with her novices, she still wasn't any great shakes at dealing with upset on the part of her students – on the part of anyone, really.

'He's not fled completely,' she noted as she drew closer to her dais once more. 'An encouraging sign, I suppose.' Robert, still handing out the occasional scroll, looked worried askance at the fellow; she moved forward to rescue him.

“Impressive, wasn't it?” she asked Zeran gently, moving closer and gliding up the stairs in a whisper of silk. His absently-asked questions, leaking freely from a mind suddenly hurled into social autopilot, had given her a hint as to what had bothered him so, the problem the that as skill increased more and more of the boundaries of what was possible were broken. “Auristics is about reading and interpreting auras, yes, but it has a dark heart. Secrets and lies, Companion Zeran, that's the currency of the experienced aurist, and when you understand the very bones of the discipline you can lie with even the fundamental energy of the soul.” She paused, just long enough to see how all this was going down, that it was being taken in, and then continued, still in a low and reassuring tone.

“What you saw, that lack of any aura, was a technique known as Diminution: it takes effort and finesse and a master aurist on the top of their form. A master knows everything about an aura, how it works, what forms it, the information it broadcasts into the world, and with that knowledge and a hefty amount of djed it's possible to crush the radiant energy of an aura into nothing for a little bit, if you understand enough about the dynamics of the soul. It calls for a hideously complex dance of djed inside yourself, forming a sort of baffling shield between your naked soul and the rest of the world, and it's a hugely unstable configuration to try and impose on yourself. It doesn't tend to last very long, the djed drain is too great – as we saw. Very few people have the power and skill to do it; you're not likely to see it outside of the Tower. Even then, it's a rarity.” In the spirit of completeness, she added: “A few other manipulations are possible, too – I use them in our teaching, to instruct the apprentices that things aren't always as they seem, even to an aurist.”

A mildly mischievous grin flashed out for a split-second, a brief lightening of the mood. “A good dose of humility every now and then never did anyone any harm.” Alses very carefully did not add: 'And it's useful to fool the more advanced apprentices, who disregard physical emotions as a matter of course and try and read our aura to get a true gauge of our state.' No sense in spilling valuable – and therefore closely-held – secrets, after all, especially to someone she hoped was still a prospective student.

“A master of the discipline can control every aspect of their own aura. We can, as you saw, lie through even that fundamental energy, and only a fellow master of the craft would suspect something was wrong from the aura alone. Even then, it takes time to unpick the thread of truth from the tapestry of deceit.” She nodded back towards the ring in the near distance.

“As we said, you won't find hedge-wizards or self-taught aurists capable of that. They just don't have the elegance and the economy of djed to do it in a combat situation, and that's what a lot of the Tower's teaching is about. We don't tell you how to grab power quickly, but we champion the use of what power you have to the fullest. Technique and finesse, technique and finesse, and power at a point.” The Tower's mantra and unofficial motto, in many ways, causing a thin smile, not particularly mirthful, to flower on Alses' lips.

“Sometimes literally. It's served House Dusk well for half a millennium, may it continue to do so for another five centuries.” She laughed softly, at a thought that had just occurred to her. “Always presupposing some terrible accident doesn't befall us, I'll see that day.”

Alses brought herself back to the here-and-now after her brief sojourn into what-ifs with a bump. “The blue light, now that's something completely different,” she continued, keeping her tone reassuring. “Nothing to concern yourself with; a little gift from Tanroa,” she added, offhand. “A little helping hand, so to speak. It accelerates a small part of Mizahar ahead in time by about a day. I've found it useful for, oh, all sorts of things; speeding up the healing of a wound is just one of many.”

Cautiously, she eyed Zeran, evaluating his state as best she was able. “It can be a lot to take in, we know,” she offered, as a sort of olive branch. “Are you sure you're quite well?” Perhaps the scroll had been a little too powerful, or perhaps Zeran's mind had been more fragile than she'd thought.

[Zeran]

The elaborate design of the stand Alses's aura mirror sat on truly a masterful piece of work. It looked similar to the curls and tendrils of a person's aura in some places, probably to accompany the nature of the colours swirling in the mirror itself. There was no doubt that the thing was expensive before any magecrafting had taken place, now it might as well of had a price only a few nobles within Mizahar could comfortably spend on. He didn't know, he was only guessing. Zeran hung in front of it, a safe enough distance to not be tempted to run his fingers across it. It was doubtful Alses would appreciate that, and certain the man inside wouldn't. Instead, he actively tracked the paths of the many colours, swirls, curls, ribbons and any other shape that sat in the mirror with him, avoiding Zeran's eye contact altogether. "Got nothing to say?" he asked, aware of the student Alses had left in charge in her absence. The question was met with a scowl that looked uncomfortable to pull, and could rip the face off a God. It was safe to assume he was not happy. "I've got plenty to say," he spat. "We'll start with asking this: do you really think it's acceptable to get hysterical just because you don't understand something?" Zeran couldn't find any words he believed would satisfy the man in the mirror, staying silent instead. He seemed to take has Zeran's answer. "Didn't think so. Had a question? Ask the person whose job it is to answer! Don't break down like a child every time things don't go as you expect them to." Zeran still didn't know where the man got it from that he was allowed to speak as he did to him, but found that he couldn't remember a time when he had disagreed with what he had to say. Alses's voice preceded the sound of her steps, as she walked up the stairs towards him. The student looked relieved that he was no longer on his own, no knowing how to deal with the man talking with the mirror. "It truly was. I thoroughly enjoyed what I saw. The members of the Dusk Tower are trained well," he spoke over his shoulder at her. "It's funny really, how I can see colours that very few others can see and get upset when they disappear." He thought for a silent tick. "The colours don't call to you, do they? Like some wizards hear the call of the sweet whisper? I don't fancy killing myself to live a life of shapes and colours that look like they've drawn by kids." There was always a desire to be better, to be stronger. He couldn't say there hadn't been times when he wanted to get stronger only because he could, but at least he hadn't done anything condemning to do it. Stupid and dangerous? Yes and yes, but nothing that led to permanent, crippling damage. "Don't get me wrong, Alses," he replied. "I'm not afraid of the dark. Neither does the thought that Auristics digs up secrets of one person and tells lies to the next." He turned away from the mirror, meeting Alses with an unfaltering grin. "It was its subtle way of doing so that led me to pick up my first book, among other reasons. It's very useful, though it's my belief that some secrets need to be heard and some lies need to be told. If nothing more than to be fair to people who need to hear a certain thing." She spoke with the confidence of one who was use to explaining things to a crowd, such as was needed of an instructor, and the patience that prevented rushing over any finer details. He was thankful for it, as she replied to his earlier outburst with answers to questions that had slipped from his mouth, listening, hanging on every word. He'd made a spectacle of himself, the least he could do was take in the answers he sought. Diminution, a technique for breaking one of the basic understandings that beginning Aurists learn, that the arrogance of the body is to believe it can contain the soul. It only furthered his conclusion that wizards loved breaking rules, but also held a comforting reassurance that it wasn't that what happened had contradicted previous knowledge, but highlighted gaps in his knowledge, even if only slightly. He still didn't like knowing that he had missed such a fact. Perhaps he should've read to the end of that book he'd used when he'd started. "When I'd heard Auristics had a place in fighting, I'd thought it was only down to reading intent." Zeran explained. "I hadn't expected master's to have such control over their own aura as to make it lie to such an extent, and hide it altogether." If what Alses said was true, and there weren't many people outside of House Dusk's reach that had such an ability, it was no wonder it wasn't common knowledge for every prospective Aurist to know. Many thinking it was nothing more than to add colour to a boring landscape, as his slavers seemed to think. None of them had wanted to take the risk of magic, on the prospect they could use it to squeeze more coin out of a buyer's purse. The solution they found was to make the only slave that already knew magic, and wasn't planned to be leaving any time soon, learn it. And so a rather cheap tome on Auristics found its way into a younger Zeran's lap. Zeran's ears perked up on hearing the light from Alses had nothing to do with Auristics, bringing along with it a childish curiosity and fascination that Tanroa would let anyone have even the slightest influence on time. "Can you make me a day older?" He found himself asking, as if it held some importance. "Think of all the small changes you'd notice that take a day to manifest!" Alses looked over Zeran, empathising with him on the amount he had to learn, answering with a sharp, "Yes." His reply had been a little too quick after the question to reliably be taken as truth. In this instance, aura reading probably wasn't needed to see that. The brand on the back of his left hand began to burn beneath his cloak, as Zeran felt a sudden awkwardness wash over him. The man in the mirror had been right once again. He had overreacted, and Zeran knew it, especially when he had been the one who'd gotten so excited over the fight, and Alses was here to help with questions. He hung his head. "Uh, when I normally apologise, I don't usually mean it," Zeran spoke to the ground, a child again as he fidgeted beneath Alses's gaze. "It just has a tendency to get me what I want sometimes." He rubbed the half sun brand. "This time, I truly mean it. I didn't like not knowing and reacted poorly to it, probably at your expense too, Alses. Feel free to check my aura on that one." He only raised his head enough to make eye contact, still with some amount of shame that the mirror man expected him to have. "I'm sorry, Instructor Alses." He felt it better to acknowledge her authority over him this time, for when he joined the Tower's intake of students. He rose his head again, standing straight, lifting his left hand from beneath his cloak. "Please don't misunderstand this, Alses," Zeran spoke plainly as he turned the brand to face her. "I'm not wanting sympathy, neither am I doing this as a sign of unquestionable trust." The charred, black flesh from where the brand had forced his hand to the ground, as the smell of burning meat had reached his nose, showed no reaction to the Syan's light. "People have cared more for my past than I ever have, and I'd like to guess you've seen something in my aura about it. It's not something I try to hide, some people just choose to ignore it. I just feel, especially after my attitude, you deserve to know the kind of messed-up mind you, and any other instructor, are likely to encounter when teaching me. Provided House Dusk is still willing to have me?" With any luck, he hadn't completely blown his chances to fully learn about the things that had sent him into a tantrum.

[Alses]

Was he talking to himself? Zeran was pacing up and down in front of the mirror as she approached, declaiming to his own reflection – or perhaps he was simply admonishing himself for something. Still no great shakes at dealing with distress or anything of that nature, Alses took the path of least resistance and surfed her voice over the cracks, a low and soothing wave she hoped could calm the somewhat-volatile temperament she saw breaking through the polite veneer.

His voice and tone, as he replied to her, were unchanged, however, still smooth as butter and as respectful as she could have wished for. They'd have fooled a non-aurist into doubting their first impressions, surely. “They should be,” she replied equably, moving to stand beside him, looking into the mirror where brilliant purples and reds and golds curled off her form in endless waves and curling curlicue whorls of melting shade and hue, a spangled panoply of lives and emotions past and present. “There are some very experienced aurists on staff, with vested interests in keeping the Tower at the forefront of the discipline.”

Relieved that the conversation had taken a turn back to territory that was squarely in her field, she replied authoritatively: “The call of the colours is subtler than what you might call classical Sweet Whispers. Believe us, what you see in the mirror, what you saw with my scrollwork, is a fraction of what's truly there. There are filigree regressions inside the colours, new hues and changes to the shapes and blocks that refine themselves as you get better at the craft...the world at full depth, to a master aurist on a long dive to the depths of their power, is a masterpiece artists would weep to see, Companion Zeran. There's never a voice – or at least, no-one we've heard of has reported voices – but you can still lose yourself in what you see.” Alses paused, contemplative, eyes resting blankly on the mirror whilst her power probed and prodded at the surroundings and most particularly at Zeran's aura. “It's not just colours either, you know. All the senses can be used in auristics, although finding someone who uses all five is quite difficult.”

She smiled, indulgent at his remarks. “Reading intents is the only really practical use of it in combat,” Alses conceded. “The other stuff is only really useful if you know you're facing another aurist – or someone who's borrowed those powers for a bit, we suppose.”

Alses touched a cool hand to Robert's shoulder, murmuring her thanks and a casual dismissal as she settled back into the reins of her dais, attention half on Zeran and half on the passing crowds, many of whom looked intrigued at the flash and flare of colours in the mirror as they moved, but also slightly reluctant to step up to the stage and ask anything.

Ah well; it was still early in the day, and she had a prospective to talk to – even if he did seem to share her talent for tangents. “We're afraid I can't age all of you,” Alses said, regretful, replying to one of those very tangents. There was time, after all. Plenty of time.“Not because it costs us anything, you understand,” she reassured quickly, “But the power simply doesn't work on something that's too complex. Sentience seems to be the thing; there seems to be no upper limit on plants and so forth, but I can only do small parts of a person, say.”

A lie stood out then, clear and sharp in the numinous plane an aurist descended to, the needle-lance of unpleasant memories shredding the veneer he tried to put over it, the instinctive attempt to hide failing miserably, even from a mundane standpoint. Too quick, too raw, too sharp – and he knew it, too, contrition flowering across his face and his mouth spilling truth, this time. He was learning, that was good.

“The Tower will probably break you of the habit sooner or later,” Alses replied cheerfully. “We can all tell if you mean something or not – and probing one another with auristics is very much par for the course in the Tower walls. Practice makes perfect, and you'll get a lot of practice on your instructors and fellow students, believe me. Excuses about work not being done never pass muster, for instance; the flipside being that reasons generally do.”

She didn't have the heart to tell him she'd been following his aura ever since he stepped into her purview; it was certainly a memorable one, and his antics had only further served to burn it into her brain. She was already anticipating a heated debate over the fellow when it came to interview – although the fact that he already had some auristic talent would probably sway the board; best to have all aurists under the umbrella of the Tower, the thinking ran, where they could be easily taught to deal with the excesses of their magic and the other issues being a wizard tended to raise.

“You could probably get that healed up at the Catholicon,” Alses said at the revelation of the brand, a holding statement until actual thought occurred. The deep black brand looked painful and crude, nothing like the elegant scars and tattoos she'd seen on Johanne; surely it hadn't been done willingly. “We did feel chains in your aura when we first met you,” she added, affirming his guess without trumpeting it from the rooftops, and then continuing by turning his implicit question and challenge back at him.

“How would you like us to treat you? Continue as we have been, ignoring it? It's in your past; you managed to escape somehow or were freed, and you've made it to Lhavit where anyone attempting to enslave another gets thrown off the mountains if they manage to escape the crowd baying for their blood long enough.”Alses sighed, heavily. “Although we do have quite a few former slaves in the population, as it happens. Lhavit used to be a centre for the trade in flesh, after all – hardly the Diamond of Kalea - before the Day of Discord set everything to rights again. The Ethaefal, our leaders Aysel and Talora, do not tolerate perversions of the vision, no matter from whom they stem.”

The flash of dead, staring, accusative eyes, the sickening thump of a suddenly-severed head hitting marble, the poisoned madness of an Ethaefal who'd seen all they'd wanted and worked for slip out of their grasp.

Alses shuddered, convulsively, revulsion fluttering the flamboyant skirts of her aura and causing it to dim and contract slightly, pulling inward, more defensive. Hayani – or more precisely, her memory - had a more powerful effect on her than she liked to admit.

“As for your mental state...we shan't lie and say it won't be a concern. The fact that you know something is amiss speaks well for you, though, and the Tower knows that perturbed minds can be patched up, with care and attention. The Catholicon is quite good at mending the mental scars of overgiven novices, for instance. The Tower might commend you to their care as a precondition of teaching you, and we, as instructors, might watch over you more closely too, just in case. Overgiving with auristics can blur the line between past and present, imagination and reality. Making you relive time in bondage – and not the sort that Madame Belladonna practices at the Red Lantern - wouldn't be pleasant for anyone involved.” A little levity might lighten the mood, she felt, even if it didn't provoke an outright laugh.

[Zeran]

The call of the colours was more subtle. Zeran interpreted that as Auristics was just another thing in Mizahar that was out to kill him. At least it had the decency to do it inconspicuously, leaving him to get on with his life free of worry until he suddenly up and died. It was just another reason Zeran didn't recognise threats as much as a person should. If Lhex and Dira had decided it was your time, you weren't going to escape it. The least you could do was give it a hard time though. Even the divines were prone to changing their minds. Best to buy enough time for them to do so. The way Alses painted images with her words should've been considered an art. Maybe it was. She spoke of the colours as one with the experience of them, not the retelling of speculation passed from one generation to the next. She had seen what she told, and her words held influence. Zeran was no artist, but it sounded like the depths of the colours would be something he would only appreciate when he could see them himself. And he wanted to see. "Good point. Aurists can tell if I'm lying," he bit his lip in concentration, eventually shrugging in response. "I won't lie then. No point if it doesn't do me any good." He began wandering, exploring the dais. Zeran walked over to the edge, lining up his feet one in front of the other, and began his journey around the edge, trying not to lose balance and fall. "Not until I get better, anyway. I'll be able to train and test aura deception against masters, who are likely to come across students manipulating their own aura in an attempt to pass off an excuse as a reason." Zeran assumed it wasn't going to be easy to successfully trick his instructors with his aura, but he was meant to be training himself, so it was fair to try. "Perhaps Lady Dusk would enjoy the challenge when I get good enough." The brand was nothing special to look at, neither did it signify anything above a simple mark of ownership. A symbol that he was the property of Ravok. It didn't need to look extravagant. His opinion didn't matter, and nobody whose opinion did cared. Yet, despite what the half sun represented, Zeran had grown attached to it. It had become a part of his life, his past. He had already lost a part of his childhood, replaced by slavery. He didn't want to lose any more of the years that Tanroa had given him. Especially if they were to be so easily scrubbed out by a group of medics. "The thought is appreciated, but I do not wish to lose my mark." His foot slipped from the edge, leaving him flapping as the Wind Eagles of Wind Reach until he managed to get the stray foot back in line. "I owe a lot to it. If I did not carry my mark, I would not be who I am, neither would I know what I do, including Auristics, neither would I have come to Lhavit, meaning you and I would never have met and this conversation would never have taken place." Zeran stepped away from the edge for the moment, closing the gap between himself and Alses, leaving enough room that he wasn't breaching personal space. "I am no follower of Lhex, as he does not lead, but I do respect his plans. Everything happens for a reason. Or would you prefer to think that violence and corruption happen on the whim of mortals?" He indicated his brand once more, raising his hand just enough to enter her field of vision. "This was the start of Lhex's plan for me, and I'm certain my settling in Lhavit will not be the end of it. If I can't be happy with the way my life has already turned out, how can I ever be if I'm only clinging to resentment from past events that can't be changed. As a being with a form granted to her by Syna, and a gift from Tanroa, I expect you can appreciate the need to move on from things that have happened in the past, surely." His cloak flicked up as he turned, coming to rest over his shoulders again as he returned to his balancing act around the edge. "I don't feel the proper way to reward something that has given me so much would be to erase its existence. If anything, I might visit the local tattoo parlour and give it a much more appealing appearance, suitable of its significance to me. Should a time come I wish to get rid of it, it should be the last to go, when all traces of its effects on me have been corrected as well. It's much easier to offer as an explanation that a history lesson." Many of the crowd members passing by took the time to watch his little acrobatics display. A few watching a little to intensely, hoping he would fall for their amusement. Others kept clear on the chance he did. Zeran had come close a number of times, but found himself regaining his balance, or stepping backwards onto the stage. He wasn't going to be satisfied until he had made at least one rotation around the platform. Alses's question made him consider his answer. How would he like to be treated? He had the choice, but did he really care enough to use it? He wasn't a slave any longer, so he was allowed to deal with anyone that reacted in a way he didn't like. Any other way, he'd deal with it as he had always done. Let them have their say, or their show. Prejudice was worth very little if you weren't able to stand your ground when challenged. "I'd like it if people acted as they wanted." Another slip, and a quick regain of composure. "It's not fair not place restraints on others from acting naturally. Makes things awkward when you know you're not allowed to be you, especially if you can't act and can't pretend to be someone else. Gawk, question it, ignore it, accept it. Do what you want, just remember I talk back." He watched as Alses shuddered. The thought of her city having once dealt in slavery seemed to disturb her. Slavery happened, and it was natural there would be as many opposed to it as there was in favour of it. The hard truth was that it was not a trade that was going to disappear soon. It would require the joint decision of every major figurehead in Mizahar agreeing to outlaw slavery. Considering many of those people had slaves of their own, it was a dream more than a goal. "If the Tower wants me to be permitted so I can be 'patched up', as you so put it, I'll do as they wish. Though, as I mentioned before, I do not wish to change. I'll admit myself, I'll even promise not to cause them any trouble, but I can't promise I'll change permanently. I'll just learn how to act as the Tower expects." Slavery had some positive impacts on him. He knew how to take orders, and usually completed his work with high standards. Slaves who failed on both didn't last long as slaves, and the slavers weren't so inclined to let useless slaves free. It was much better to set an example so the other slaves knew what awaited them if they followed the same path. Zeran did laugh at Alses's assurances that Auristics overgiving was not a similar experience to a visit to the Red Lantern. He hadn't expected her to make such a quip, and he didn't want to say if it was a more informal side showing, or if Lady Elena had left a lingering impression on the ethaefal. "I don't doubt their ability, but first they'll have to distinguish what is novice Auristics overgiving, what is competent Hypnotism or Projection, or if any of it is overgiving at all." Zeran smiled at Alses again, happy with the completion of his one rotation of the platform now, and pleased with the games he could play with the medics. "If they are as good as their reputation suggests, they should have no problem discovering the cause. Besides, we enjoy reliving the past sometimes, and also enjoy adding imagination to reality. You don't have to overgive for that." Zeran sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the dais, watching the people go by, but examining the Tower more. It didn't look like the easiest structure to navigate through, even if parts of it were cut off to visitors. Zeran wondered how much of the building was the original and how much had been additions over the years. If there had been additions, they did well to make them look like the rest of the Tower. "How would I enroll? Is there a procedure? Do I have to talk to someone in particular? I don't get the feeling it's a case of walk through the doors and wait for the next class, is it?" If the Tower wanted to impose conditions for his enrolment, let them. Life was full of conditions already. A few more wouldn't hurt, and Zeran was determined to join.

[Alses]

“Indeed, it could do you rather more harm than good,” Alses replied lightly. “We instructors do enjoy the challenge, more often than not,” she confirmed. “Sometimes we see innovative new techniques, and they provide a useful benchmark to see how some students are doing in their studies, too. Usually the lazier ones; it's amazing to see the amount of arcane effort they'll put into lying as opposed to simply doing the work they were asked to. Still, an element of testing your skill against an instructor in conversation is fairly par for the course in the Tower.” A smile. “And the feeling when you manage to creatively mislead a teacher hugely enjoyable, of course.”

A grin, then, at Zeran's next speculative remark. “That said, if you attain the lonely pinnacle of mastery, Companion, you'll probably find it's too much bother to deceive fellow masters, most of the time,” she added. “There aren't many of us, for one, even in the Dusk Tower.”

Her blazing eyes rested calmly on his form as he began to pace around the perimeter of the dais – he was one of those people who forever seemed to be ever-so-slightly vibrating, the sort you felt that if they stopped for more than a few moments then the pent-up surfeit of energy – nervous or otherwise - in their bodies would catapult them a good distance away. In Lhavit, that would be a dangerous prospect; there were many sheer, vertiginous drops only guarded by elegant but low skyglass railings.

Zeran's attention seemed split between where he was putting his feet – one in front of the other on the very edge, almost comically deliberate – and the brand on his hand, the perversion of Syna's radiant orb up ahead. Alses' skin crawled at the thought, and the understanding of what it stood for – loss of liberty and freedom and status as a person, rather a chattel to be traded and bought and sold like Riverfall champagne or carpets.

If he had been her, she'd have wanted that mark off her skin as soon as possible – thus, his response in the negative to her well-intentioned suggestion surprised her greatly. “You don't?” Alses began to ask, incredulous – before suddenly crying out: “Careful, Companion!” as he wobbled and wavered on the edge of her stage. “For Syna's sake come away from the edge; I don't want to have to cart you to the Catholicon tent with a broken leg!”

Alses shook her head as Zeran managed to stabilise himself after some comical windmilling. “What the mark represents will be burned on your soul,” she pointed out, still confused as to why he'd not want to get rid of the physical evidence. “You'll not forget it, will you, so what's the benefit of keeping that ugly black splotch on your hand?” She listened, restive, to Zeran's explanation, somewhat dissatisfied at the reasoning – such as it was, anyway.

“I think violence and corruption delight some of our darker gods,” Alses countered, “But that some part of all our emotions and actions are our own. Otherwise, if our every action is dictated by the gods, what would be the point of existence, and where would the delight in mortals come for our deities?”

“Anyway,” Alses continued, shifting to another point. “One can be unhappy with the way life has treated you without being unduly resentful. If we had our way, and perhaps Lhex at our mercy – inconceivable as that is – we'd never have left the Goldenlands and our heart would still sing with the gods on high. I am not happy about being here on this ball of mud, but we don't resent Syna for it.”

Alses' eyes took flame and a subtle tension rippled over her body. “We are not like some of our kind, the pathetic, mewling Forsaken who crawl in the corners of the world and rail against the gods at the loss of their fortune! Unfit to be graced with the title of Ethaefal and Chosen, each and every one of them. We might not be able to speak directly and at whim to Her any more, we might not remember what made us so dear to Her heart, but in Syna's mantling radiance there is Her presence, warm at our back every tick we spend in the sunlight, energizing and refreshing us. Proof positive, even had She not incarnated to us, that She still looks fondly on Her Ethaefal, even if for whatever reason She cannot gather us close again back to the Goldenlands.”

Alses cleared her throat and looked away; Zeran had touched on a topic close to her heart, and with that accidental mention had sparked off the old diatribe, a cascade of words uttered time and again down the years against faithless heathens who still bore celestial raiment as though they had a right to it.

“Forgive me,” she murmured, having regained a little composure. “We didn't mean – never mind.”

Silence – relative silence, anyway – enveloped the dais for a chime or two, before Alses felt herself composed enough to continue, a deliberately jaunty tone seeping subtly into her speech.

“If not erasure, then modification, I can see that having many advantages,” she concurred. “Lazuli Ink is our local tattoo parlour – although we only know that from a chance meeting of a tattooist employed there. In truth, I'd not known the place even existed, nor what a tattoo was, before I happened upon her. Mind, it wasn't the best of meetings; both of us were surprised and not at our best. We didn't get on, really. I haven't seen her around for a while, actually, now that we think on it.” Alses shook her head – this was irrelevant to Zeran, and hearing ramblings about her life would probably not be overly welcome.

“She did a lot of work with scars – her own, mostly,” Alses clarified. “She made pictures and patterns on herself with them. Astonishingly intricate, very lifelike. We might not agree with your reasons for keeping that mark, but the staff of Lazuli Ink are very skilled at their trade, and we hear that there's a tattooist who can even make the designs glow. A blazing sun – the mark is supposed to be a half-risen sun, no? might be more appropriate for Lhavit, and for your situation.”

“On that note..." she began, slightly forbidding, "If everyone acted as they wanted, Companion Zeran, the strong would enslave the weak and anarchy would rule, sooner or later,” she murmured distantly, eyes feasting on the sparkling auras barely constrained by her mirror's frame. “The only structure, the only justice that would exist would be that imposed by the strongest, until someone greater came along and cast down the old order. It happened here in Lhavit, when the city's Founders returned in glory on the Day of Discord and broke the back of the slave trade and all who had profited from it – Anchorite Hayani and the Twilight Tower being the most prominent. Be careful what you wish for.”

A smile touched the curve of her lips once more as they pulled away from such charged topics. “I shall continue to ignore your past, Companion Zeran, unless it returns to trouble you here in Lhavit. Chiona tells me it is the arrogance of the Ethaefal to disregard the provenance of any mortal, no matter how eminent, but as you said, you wouldn't care about our lack of concern, no?” A delicate question, a subtle change brought about by the rising inflection in her voice, a subtle check, just in case, to check that he wasn't saying one thing and meaning another.

He knew not to lie to an aurist, of course, but some responses, some reactions, were very deeply ingrained indeed.

“We really do not understand why you don't wish to change,” Alses noted, satisfied untruth had not been uttered. “But that's not within my ambit, in any case. If you still wish to enrol at the Tower, then you should talk to Mr. Secretary. He's by the Tower doors today, for just such an eventuality, actually, but if you want more time to mull it over, his office is easy enough to find in the Tower, and there are always guards and staff around who can direct you. He'll take some details from you and arrange a suitable date for the next stage – which is interviews with a panel of masters and members of House Dusk. It's the only real way to assess a candidate's suitability, a face-to-face meeting or several. If the masters think you have potential and the Dusks think you'd be an asset to the Tower, then you'll be admitted and we'll see you in some of our classes.” She nodded over to where the pearly finger of the great spire shot skywards, presiding magisterially over the festivities arrayed all around it.

“We can walk you over there, if you'd like? Otherwise...interesting to meet you, Companion Zeran, and good luck in your endeavours.”

[Zeran]

Alses spoke with heated, unrestrained words, as Zeran remained silent. A sore spot, no doubt, and one he had unintentionally hit, but glad he did all the same. The well-spoken words of the Synaborn were only half of what she was. There was a passion behind her tirade of some 'Forsaken', and behind her beliefs that Syan was still with her. He had no reason to believe otherwise, but it was comforting to him to know that even beings of the divines were prone to outbursts, even if they like to believe themselves to be above mortals at times. As quickly as she had started, Alses found her restraint again and clamped down with enough speed to cut off her own sentence. "Ball of mud?" He hung on each word, dragging it out with an infuriating calmness. Whether they had been words spoken in haste, or more words to effectively show how she felt, they seemed to be what she truly believed Mizahar to be. "You may not resent Syna for your fall, but you resent something." "True, there is no point in existence if we have no control over our own, but I've never seen Lhex as much of a puppeteer. He's an old man who likes to lock himself up in his own office creating scenarios for others to react to. I see them more as markers in our lives. I was always bound to be a slave and always bound to come to Lhavit. What I did between those markers was my own doing, and what defines me as who I am. How about another example? One of your own, perhaps? You were always going to be chosen by Syna. Not even she is above Lhex's plans. You were always fated to be chosen, and she was always fated to choose you. Her reasons for choosing you, and your own for choosing her, are what defines Syna as the benevolent Goddess you love so." Philosophy was not a strength of his. Zeran wasn't even good enough for it to be considered a weakness, but nothing stopped him from voicing his own thoughts and beliefs as much as nothing stopped Alses from voicing her own. The only difference seemed to be that he spoke as he thought. Alses was able to hold her thoughts before they became words. For each of their personalities and positions within the city, both methods had their pros and cons, but it was the way each of them preferred to go about things. "Regardless of how you like to present yourself Alses, you still have your own thoughts, opinions and feelings. Don't feel the need to apologise to me, of all people, for expressing yourself as you feel appropriate." His focus shifted from Alses, to the crowd, to the events, to the Tower, and back again. Always moving, always finding something to keep his attention. He wanted to see everything, to be aware. Alses held most of his attention, as she was the most immediate person to interact with, and Zeran was enjoying his time with her. "I never look to start a fight, but I hold no reservations about speaking as I see fit either." The half sun suddenly looked different under Alses' speculation. Zeran twisted his hand at numerous angles, and could see what she meant. It did look like a rising sun. "I never knew it to be that. I always thought it was simply half of a black sun. I suppose it does look like a rising sun." Something new every day, and he had no clue how he'd only just realised it now after years of it being burnt into his skin. "Making it glow sounds like a wonderful idea! Thank you Alses! I've felt more at home in Lhavit than I did in Ravok, I think it's time my mark reflected that, wouldn't you agree?" Whether she did or she didn't Alses made no attempts at hiding her disdain for his mark. Explaining to her that slavery, and the mark, had been a choice, rather than a forced ordeal, wasn't something he could be bothered doing right now. Perhaps if she knew his reasons, she'd understand his decision to keep his brand. But now wasn't an appropriate time, and it didn't seem fair to leave her with the revelation that he'd chosen slavery, something she despised, when she still had to work for the remainder of the day. Mulling that thought over in her head wasn't going to be of any benefit when she needed to concentrate on the questions of the masses. "The strong already enslave the weak," Zeran announced, hard and fast. Something he truly believed, but nobody else seemed to see. "If not with physical strength, then mental strength and intelligence. Society is built on layers of economics, politics and rules. Your standard brute can't do anything against such things. A weedy, intellectual man can see the holes in those layers, exploit the gaps in the structure and navigate it all like a ghost. There are those who do greater evils from within the laws of society than a criminal can do outside it." "It's naivety to believe that everyone who has power believes they are entitled to more, and ignorance to believe that everyone who is intelligent knows the difference between right and wrong. Corruption has no prejudice. If Rhysol taught me anything, it's that evil can take root in anyone. If it doesn't show in one's muscles, it shows in their words. If everyone acted as they were, you'd know who the threats were earlier and prevent a lot more damage being caused by taking them out early rather than letting them plot in the shadows." Zeran had seen his fair share of plots and lies. It was too easy to say one thing to a person's face, and another behind their back. His slavers had set many traps based on lies and false security. Had they acted even remotely like they did when it was only the slaves watching, more slavers would be dead than travellers. The Akalaks who eventually freed him had no need for deceit. They had nothing to worry about because their intentions were not to cause harm. "Only those with something to hide are afraid to be themselves around others. Sometimes those things that are hidden are better dragged out in the open to protect others." He stood by what he said. Though it was true to be careful what was wished for, it worked both ways. Things could go badly when expected to go well, and vice-versa. It wasn't like his thoughts held any weight, and he wasn't about to go on a mission to bring down some almighty decision upon the whole of the region. Let him be a madman with his ramblings if that was what people wanted him to be. "Yea, I don't care much for it," he responded accordingly, brushing the thought off. "I only make it known the thought is appreciated if a person feels they must give it to me. Otherwise, your lack of concern doesn't bother me one way or the other." The crowds were building up as the day progressed, and no doubt he had already used up more of Alses' time than any other was likely to for the rest of Syna's watch. The events designed to show off Auristics' capabilities were a hit with novices and mundanes alike. "Think of it this way," Zeran started, "I've spent over twenty years of my life living as I wanted as much as I could. I've become who I am by facing what life has thrown at me and reacting to it. Now a group of high and mighty Aurists want to stick me in a tent under observations of professional butchers because they all think I am 'broken' and 'wrong'." He spoke as if the idea that they could change him was comical. They had no means of forcing him. They only held the offer of a position amongst their classes, and they wouldn't be the kind of people he'd want to be around if they'd resort to blackmailing him to conform with their ideals if he was happy with himself. "If you were happy with yourself Alses, how would you react to being told the way you live your own life is wrong? Each to their own, as long as it doesn't affect others." He echoed the words the two had exchanged from the beginning of their meeting. "Wasn't that what you said?" He looked out into the crowd, daydreaming about jumping off the stage and somersaulting in the air before gracefully landing in the groups of people watching him sit on the edge of the dais. If only he didn't have the acrobatic skill of a netted fish. Instead, Zeran decided to push himself off the edge, kicking his feet forward, and vaulted off, feeling the familiar compression of loose earth beneath his feet, as opposed to the polished wood of the stage. "I think I've kept you long enough from your duties," he decided. Turning back to look up at the Ethaefal, Zeran fell into a low bow out of respect. "Thank you for putting up with me, in all my graces, and thank you again for all your help." He rose from his position, shielding Syna's light from his eyes, tipping his head towards her. "It really has been a pleasure Alses. I can see why my Lady likes you so." A final thought crossed his mind. "You said you gave me a competent eye in Auristics before. Would I be allowed to steal an expert for later use?" I so want to see the colours she tells about.