Closed A Town Called Lhavit (Cynthea)

[Sal Mander]

Day 9, Fall of 514 A.V.

Not far from the Aramanthine Gate - which stood like a sentinel over new arrivals to the city - could be found the famed Cosmos Center; a splendid marvel of architecture that was more than worth it's extravagant name. It tended to stick in the mind of most newcomers to Lhavit, since it was in fact the first building they came across. Nestled between buildings on either side, that forever bore the curse of being caught in the Cosmos' grandeur shadow, the Center was across the street from the city entrance, a street that ventured off in either direction, or three directions if one was inclined to turn about and depart.

But rarely was that the case, such was the tenacity and unforgiving nature of the wilds. Those that had braved the less traveled land route usually arrived in large groups, proving the worth of such theories as safety in numbers. Only fools traveled out there alone, most of which never returned. Most of the arrivals tended to be merchants, caravans, and traders heralding from the east, having brought wares from Sultros or even further afield in Alvadas. Some would spend a limited time before making the return journey, else they might have opted to settle down for a while longer, taking in the sights and sounds of Lhavit and putting to rest any notion of traveling again any time soon. For a handful more, arriving in Lhavit was to be a long term solution to a myriad of problems. Some came looking for their fortunes, or to exceed in the realms of magic, a variety of which were taught here. Others were running from something, looking to start anew in a new place. For some, it was merely the destination they had arrived at, the name of the place unimportant, so long as sanctuary was to be had.

The Cosmos Center hummed like an ant's nest, workers scurrying between the maze of old, rickety tables and long columns of shelves that held countless rows of documents. Beneath the ground floor were several more archival chambers whose walls were said to reach the edges of the peak itself. Newcomers filtered into the Center, questions on mind and hopes to be explored. The basic need of most was lodgings, coming in the form of rented apartments for those with a long term plan in mind, or a simple room to be had at a tavern or inn. Jobseekers too came here, sifting through posted advertisements from various employers, or hoping to catch a tip from the well informed staff. Sometimes it was merely a matter of being in the right place at the right time.

While newcomers frequented the Center, they did not have it to themselves. Existing citizens too would venture here, seeking a host of answers to yet more questions, questions that pertained to all manner of functions and topics within the city. At its essence, the Cosmos Center was more a hub of information, where Investigators were employed to trawl the city collecting every little tidbit of news, announcements, and so forth. It was common knowledge that if you wanted to know something going on in the city, visit the Cosmos. Such was it considered a bastion of tidings that many people used it as a meeting point, to trade their own morsels of gossip and, in some cases, enlightenment.

As one of its Investigators, Sal was usually to be found amidst the throngs of people out on the streets, talking with contacts and tipoffs, or performing more mundane tasks such as collecting census information or employee status from businesses. There were hospitals with birth and death certificates to file, such paperwork being fed into the Cosmos where it would remain forever more. Collecting paperwork and such was not one of Sal's preferred duties, since from his perspective it did not offer much in the way of a challenge. Hardly was it an investigation when all he was doing was picking up a parchment and delivering it home. But interspersed between those tedious yet necessary tasks were the more engaging activities of the investigator. The joy of it was that nobody but they really knew what that entailed.

Sadly, there was to be no such fun on this particular day. Having returned from collecting some papers from a nearby hospital, Sal had arrived just in time to find a Cosmos worker had gone home sick. There was an unusually large amount of traffic coming through today, and so his boss had asked - or rather instructed - that Sal would man one of the desks just for the afternoon. It was a necessary evil that he had to perform from time to time. If he was honest, he did not mind so much. It was not difficult work, and sometimes it led to meeting some interesting and new people. But out there, that was where he truly belonged.

"Next," he called without looking up from his desk, since he was busy scribbling his signature on a piece of parchment before it was to be filed away.

[Cynthea Wode]

_________________

Cynthea had been staring at the building, 'The Cosmos Center', if the sign was to be believed, for longer than was perhaps necessary. It had taken her a frustratingly long amount of time to find the place, which, given the building's likely-deliberately large stature and prominent placement, was embarrassing, or would have been at least if Cynthea was one to let herself feel embarrassed. After about half a bell of searching for a likely looking place, Cynthea had decided that enough was enough and approached an older lady with immaculate black curls and large dark eyes.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she had said with an apologetic smile. "I'm a little lost, I think. I only arrived this morning and I'm looking to find housing. You wouldn't happen to know-"

"You'll be wanting the Cosmos Center, dear," the lady had said, and smiled a friendly smile."It's just back by the gates, on the right going out; you can't miss it." She said, gesturing back the way Cynthea had come. "I can show you, if you like?"

"That's quite alright, thank you ma'am." Cynthea said. "I'm sure I'll be able to find it by myself now." The woman looked uncertain, probably, Cynthea thought, worried that she'd wander straight past the building a second time - or quite possibly third; when Cynthea eventually located the building, it definitely looked more familiar than it should, had she only glanced at it once in passing.

In her defense, Cynthea had been distracted by the sheer beauty of the city she had found herself in from the moment she had seen the gates. She had spent most of her childhood travelling with her parents' caravans, and had visited many cities in the past, but not, she thought, Lhavit. She would have remembered the splendor. Delicate towers spiraled up into the air and, she wasn't sure if it was her imagination and excitement, seemed to glow in the air, and the shimmers of light were so entrancing she was fairly sure that she'd been too busy staring at them, wondering if they were real and, if so, how they worked, to pay attention to where she was walking.

Even the buildings around her were elegant and graceful, and the more she had looked the more she had realised that each one - houses, she tentatively decided based on the small number of people going infrequently inside and out of them - was completely unique. In the brothel the bedrooms had been, for the most part, identical. Oh, there had been different tiers; the more a man spent the nicer the room he was sent to, but Cynthea had only been made available in the most opulent bathing chambers and bedrooms, and they had been indistinguishable only through the view through the smell of the room and, occasionally, the placement of some of the furniture. Nia had sometimes joked that -

It had been then that Cynthea had spun around and marched down the street. Bitterness had replaced her lighthearted enjoyment as she had efficiently brought her spontaneous sightseeing to an end, there would be plenty more for that later, she had reminded herself, and she really did need to find somewhere to live sooner rather than later. Only a short while after that, she had approached the woman, and nearly a bell later found herself standing where she should have stood so long ago: in front of the Cosmos Center.

It was a large building, with elaborate designs on the walls and a large, welcoming entrance. Despite its outer elegance, Cynthea quickly realized, with some degree of disappointment, that the inside was a great deal simpler. It was by no means poorly designed, cheap or shoddy looking, but she had simply expected... more, based on the outside of the building. She hoped that this building was an anomaly, and the others - specifically, the one she would be living in - would be more suited to her taste.

Copying the pair of women in front of her, Cynthea slid smoothly into one of the queues. She regretted her decision to look around before purchasing a room even more so now than she had earlier. Had she gone straight to the center, she would have been unhurried, and had plenty of time to deal with her appearance. The ride to the gates had disheveled her hair a little, and her casual stroll through the city made the bun all but pointless. She deliberated briefly, then slid the tie out of her hair, and slipped it around her wrist instead. It took only a few seconds of careful adjustment before she decided that her hair was, again, satisfactory for the moment.

"Next," the man behind the nearest desk said, and it took Cynthea a few moments before she realised that she was next in line. Straightening her back and tucking a wayward strand behind her ear, she approached with a friendly smile, designed to charm.

"Hello," she said. "I was informed that this was the place to come for those seeking permanent lodgings, and jobs, in the city."

[Sal Mander]

"You were informed correctly," Sal replied without looking up. Instead he was busy neatly adding the parchment he had just signed to a much larger pile on the desk. A glance around the place revealed that, in most cases, papers and notes seemed to be piling up and in disarray. Not so much in a completely discarded manner, but rather the chaotic fashion where despite the outward looking mess, the denizen of each desk could find what he or she was looking for in a few moments. Organized chaos. But Sal's desk, considering he had only been stationed there for a short while, had been the victim of some stringent tidying. The stacks of papers were uniform and regimental in their order, leading to the feeling that this was a man who took his work very seriously.

In truth it was more a strange habit of his, to keep things neatly in order and everything in its right place. It was a small telltale sign of his grander mission in life as an Azenth, to attempt to keep order and balance in Lhavit. That or he was simply trying to pass the time in between visitors. Having finished with the parchment, Sal had plucked a fresh sheet from one of the other piles, before dipping the nib of his quill in one of the ink wells. The quill hovered over the page, ready to make its mark, waiting for its master to unleash it. At that moment, Sal finally looked up to behold the exquisite sight that stood over him.

There was no denying Cynthea's beauty, radiant looking as she was under the skyglass ceiling that seemed to sparkle and dance on her now freed and glossy hair. Had Sal been told it was made of the finest silks of MIzahar, he would have been in no position to disagree. Her smile was disarming, yet there was something there that instilled a hint of unease, as though it was but a mere whisper that beckoned from the shadows, just a little too inaudible to make sense of. His mind cast back to familiar faces from the past, plucking out one in particular that was relevant now. A girlfriend of one of his brothers. She had been a goddess back then, the criteria of which was far easier met in the eyes of an adolescent. But he recalled how she had known fully of her beauty, had wielded it like a weapon and with all the expertize of a grand master.

Regarding the woman stood before him now with genuine interest, he wondered what had ever happened to that girlfriend of his brother's. Like so many other people who had entered his life at one stage or another, so to had they departed, leading lives that invariably meandered off on tangents of their own, to be intertwined with countless others, so on and so forth. Such was the depth of his musing that he had completely forgot to say anything, a distant look having glazed over his face to signal he was deep in thought. A moment more passed, before he seemed to realize where he was, and the man had flickered back into reality.

"What is your name?" he asked bluntly. "Er, for the records I mean," he added, motioning to the page before him to emphasize his point. Before Cynthea could answer, Sal half stood from his chair, motioning to the seat that sat empty on the woman's side of the desk. "And please, by all means, have a seat. I appear to have left my manners at home today'," he added with a genuine smile of his own, momentary as it was. It seemed that his thoughts had brought him into a somewhat nostalgic mood, giving the impression that his mind was not quite on the task at hand. But with a resolute clearing of his throat, he repositioned himself comfortably in his own chair, determined to see to this woman's needs without further delay.

[Cynthea Wode]

The man looked up and stared at her. This she was used to. Sometimes, when her back ached in the rain and nightmares had kept her up for nights on end she hated it, glared back with unimpressed fury until they lowered their heads in sheepish, blushing shame. Today though, was a good day. She would finally be able to sleep properly in a real bed without the knowledge that the following morning would be spent trudging through mud, or tripping her way over rocks and stones in the wake of fitter and stronger men and women. So, a good day. She arched one eyebrow and let her lips part slightly in a hint of a smile, waiting until he focused again.

"So kind, thank you, sir," Cynthea said, smiling at him again from under her lashes. She took a seat, smoothly, as gracefully as she could, and crossed one leg on top of the other, deliberately letting her skirt ride up. Up to show a mud-splattered leg and sturdy, worn shoes. She slid her leg back down, folding her ankles instead, and hoped that the dirt had gone unnoticed.

Her name. For a moment, the barest of pauses as she drew breath to speak, Cynthea considered lying, giving a different name. Her mother's, perhaps. That would be poetic, in a way. She must have walked into a building like this so many times, holding her mother's hand, and heard her confident, poised, Isabel Wode,. Nia's name, too, would seem fitting, although Cynthea doubted that she could fake being a Konti for very long. Perhaps if she dyed her hair, although, no. The scales would be nigh impossible to replicate, even with makeup.

It was something to look into later, perhaps, if something happened and she needed to go into hiding. As it was, "Cynthea Wode," she said confidently. Had she been her mother, she would have tossed back her lustrous locks (for her mother's hair had always been smooth as silk and dark as night) and flirted the price down by at least half. Once, her mother had taken one look at the man behind the desk, a man that even Cynthea, young as she had been, had found objectively attractive, and had insisted on getting separate rooms for herself and her husband, had laughed and hinted until she was given one for free. At the time, Cynthea hadn't realized what that meant, and her father's easy laughter and light teasing when his wife returned the next morning had always confused her.

Cynthea was not going to be doing any of that, of course. The very idea of it, of touching and being touched like that, made her feel physically sick. She shivered and interlocked her gloved hands nervously, rubbing her covered fingers together. The soft material was reassuring, a barrier between herself, her body, and the world around her. "I was also told I could exchange my money here for the local currency, she added in a hurried rush, suddenly eager to get this business over and done with. "Is that correct too?"

[Sal Mander]

Good fortune for Cynthea it seemed, as her momentary flash of muddied legs went unnoticed. The table was in fact tall enough to shield her from possible shame while keeping her modesty intact. In any case, Sal was busy scribbling her name on the yellow tinted parchment before him, taking care not to smudge his neat handwriting. With the name complete, Sal sifted through the various piles of papers, plucking from them further required documents to aid his current customer.

"Let's see then. Do you have any preferences in terms of living arrangements? That is to say, are you in need of a single occupancy, or are you to be joined by other family, or friends?" The last part sounded almost like an afterthought, as Sal reminded himself that not everyone subscribed to the same definition of family that he had been brought up in. Back then, it was mother, father and siblings. These days, there were all kinds of pairings and groupings, some involving love, others convenience, and many, many more besides. Not that Sal had anything against those others. It was just that having grown up happily as he did, he sometimes forgot that it was not always the same for others.

Pressing on after hearing Cynthea's answer, he presented to her a list of current available vacancies, if renting was her preference. Things were rather simplified for newcomers to the city. Most, if not all landlords, advertised their vacancies through the Cosmos Center, who in turn acted as the intermediary, placing tenants at various locations, preparing and signing contracts, and collecting rent. It cost the landlords a small fee, but it was an exchange for the convenience of not having to collect and deal with numerous tenants themselves.

The finding of Cynthea's new home would be the easiest task of all. Sal mentioned the possibility of viewing any place that sounded interesting, or she could take it sight unseen. In any case, if she wanted him to take her for a viewing, Sal suggested it might be prudent to square away the rest of the lady's requests first. Next on the agenda was the matter of job vacancies. "Unless there is something in particular you were looking for, or are skilled at, it can be a case of right place at the right time, so to speak. The jobs change almost daily depending on Lhavit's needs. Was there something in particular you were hoping for? What kind of work have you done in the past?"

The final matter was that of currency, with Sal confirming that indeed Cynthea could switch her coins for kina, should she of course wish to do so. There had been a few occasions where, at this stage, a newcomer to the city had opted to hang onto their coins and decided to leave the city the next morning, usually by ship. Lhavit was not for everyone, while not everyone was for Lhavit. With that said, Sal hovered over the current piece of parchment with his quill, ready to add yet more information once Cynthea gave him the go ahead with regards to the currency exchange. She might have wondered why this strange new city took such great pains to record all this information, or indeed where they kept it all. If Sal was honest when asked, he would reveal the Cosmos Center's dark secret, that perhaps most of the documentation they recorded was in fact useless. But every so often there was great worth among the masses of documents, especially where intriguing investigations were concerned.

Indeed, Sal hesitated for a moment, wishing that he was out on the streets today doing his regular work, rather than stuck behind an old desk filling out papers. Still, as restrictive as the current task was in terms of locality, at least the view was a pleasing one. Sal was a well mannered man though, not one to stare for longer than was deemed appropriate. That said, he did notice a slight unease come over Cynthea as she played with her fingers. Resting the quill for a moment, he gave her a sincere look while he spoke softly. "It must be daunting coming to an unfamiliar place for the first time." It had not taken a genius to figure Cynthea was not from these parts. Sal had of course spent his life here in Lhavit, so had not experienced the feeling of starting somewhere new. Still, he could at least try to empathize, a worthy effort in that his intentions were kindhearted. "Don't fret Miss Wode. Lhavit has a certain grace about her. Think of her not as a stranger, but a friend you've only just met."