87th of Fall, 515 A.V.
Ben’s Apartment
Ben Examined the unlit candle sitting on his apartment table. The modest room was clean. He liked to keep a neat place, probably a successful relic of his mother's impact on him. The scars of past trauma were apparent in the living space though. A hastily repaired bed, bits of wall missing, a more than battered tabletop. He still found pebbles in little nooks and crannies and out of the way spots sometimes. All of that was a reminder of the past, dark memories.
Ben smirked. Just like me. The thought resonated within him. The Alvadan pulled his sleeve back and revealed the seven bulbous scars that dotted his forearm. He too carried reminders of that day. Ben rubbed a hand through a mess of brown hair. He hadn't bother combing it that day. His quick jaunt to the nearby tea house had only rendered him a few odd looks. Ben didn't care about that though. Normally, maybe he would. But today his mind was in an especially dreary state of morose reflection.
The nighttime air outside his window blew playfully through the bars of his railing, making a soft music he had grown accustomed to in the quiet. It was part of why he kept the window open as late in the year as he did. Brown eyes blinked at the candle. What am I doing? Why did I come here? He was overcome with a bout of homesickness that made him press thumb and forefinger into his eyes. He grimaced into the gesture.
He knew why he had come. It was hard leaving ones' family when you were close, but staying would have been worse. The problem with that double edged consolation was that it forced him to continuously focus on the bad elements of his family. He felt guilty about that. Sure his father had been a harsh parent, and an unforgiving mentor, but he had been a father as well. He had gifted Ben with the virtues he survived upon today. Furthermore, upon more mature reflection now, Ben even thought that may have been his intended purpose. How does one thank a father for crafting their nature? How does one forgive a father for doing that same thing? Ben didn't know.
Perhaps that's why I'm here.
Benji reached into the deed that made up his reality and pulled forth a stand of gleaming purple Res. With a flicker of will the Res swooped and ignited the candle wick. Flame, yellow and merry, wavered in the air. It sent shadows and bright rays shimmering across the entire apartment. It alternately hid and brought to life the scars of the past disaster. He watched it's movements with a distracted eye, his thoughts far beyond his apartment.
Lhavit. The Jewel of Kalea. The haven in the mountains. The refuge for young men looking for new beginnings. Sometimes, like now, he thought about how far from home he was and how I'll equipped he felt to be on his own and a nasty surge of panic rumbled deep within him. He had banked his entire future on employment as a mage. He had come here shrouded and protected by his own naïveté, only to find himself serving drinks at one of the shakiest bars in the city.
Now, finally, he was beginning to cultivate the means to start using his real talents to make money and he was scared shykeless. What would the other magic practitioners do when they found out he was making a business? Shyke, what would the petching Dawn Tower do? He had no doubt he would have to maneuver his way rough that snake pit eventually. C'mon what he had heard, the Towers did not take kindly to people outside their influence practicing their magics.
Well, well. They would just have to learn to share. He had worked too hard in the past to allow himself to be bullied out of this dream. It was not their magic alone, it was his as well.
Lori's.
The candle wavered as if it agreed. Ben frowned at the thought. Oh, put a cork in it, you schmuck. She's gone and she isn't interested in finding you. He reached forward, an anger fueled impulse, and flicked the candle wick with thumb and forefinger. The flame was snuffed out and his apartment was sent back into darkness.
He sighed. He was too alone in this lightless room. Thoughts weighed down with bitterness and memories trailed by half-regrets were poor company. The rough surface of the wall in front of his face was little comfort, though he searched it for some distraction. Finally he shot a spurt of glowing purple Res at the candle again and it ignited. For a moment the flame wobbled wildly. Once it stilled to a steady stream of energy he turned his attention to the parchment stacked in the corner of his desk.
A quill sat next to the parchment, and next to that a vial of unused ink. Ben picked up the quill and pulled the cap off the ink. The ceramic vial was a dark brown, and the black ink within appeared like liquid candlelight, reflecting the flame above it. Ben noted the subtle beauty of that before dipping the tip in.
Ben’s Apartment
Ben Examined the unlit candle sitting on his apartment table. The modest room was clean. He liked to keep a neat place, probably a successful relic of his mother's impact on him. The scars of past trauma were apparent in the living space though. A hastily repaired bed, bits of wall missing, a more than battered tabletop. He still found pebbles in little nooks and crannies and out of the way spots sometimes. All of that was a reminder of the past, dark memories.
Ben smirked. Just like me. The thought resonated within him. The Alvadan pulled his sleeve back and revealed the seven bulbous scars that dotted his forearm. He too carried reminders of that day. Ben rubbed a hand through a mess of brown hair. He hadn't bother combing it that day. His quick jaunt to the nearby tea house had only rendered him a few odd looks. Ben didn't care about that though. Normally, maybe he would. But today his mind was in an especially dreary state of morose reflection.
The nighttime air outside his window blew playfully through the bars of his railing, making a soft music he had grown accustomed to in the quiet. It was part of why he kept the window open as late in the year as he did. Brown eyes blinked at the candle. What am I doing? Why did I come here? He was overcome with a bout of homesickness that made him press thumb and forefinger into his eyes. He grimaced into the gesture.
He knew why he had come. It was hard leaving ones' family when you were close, but staying would have been worse. The problem with that double edged consolation was that it forced him to continuously focus on the bad elements of his family. He felt guilty about that. Sure his father had been a harsh parent, and an unforgiving mentor, but he had been a father as well. He had gifted Ben with the virtues he survived upon today. Furthermore, upon more mature reflection now, Ben even thought that may have been his intended purpose. How does one thank a father for crafting their nature? How does one forgive a father for doing that same thing? Ben didn't know.
Perhaps that's why I'm here.
Benji reached into the deed that made up his reality and pulled forth a stand of gleaming purple Res. With a flicker of will the Res swooped and ignited the candle wick. Flame, yellow and merry, wavered in the air. It sent shadows and bright rays shimmering across the entire apartment. It alternately hid and brought to life the scars of the past disaster. He watched it's movements with a distracted eye, his thoughts far beyond his apartment.
Lhavit. The Jewel of Kalea. The haven in the mountains. The refuge for young men looking for new beginnings. Sometimes, like now, he thought about how far from home he was and how I'll equipped he felt to be on his own and a nasty surge of panic rumbled deep within him. He had banked his entire future on employment as a mage. He had come here shrouded and protected by his own naïveté, only to find himself serving drinks at one of the shakiest bars in the city.
Now, finally, he was beginning to cultivate the means to start using his real talents to make money and he was scared shykeless. What would the other magic practitioners do when they found out he was making a business? Shyke, what would the petching Dawn Tower do? He had no doubt he would have to maneuver his way rough that snake pit eventually. C'mon what he had heard, the Towers did not take kindly to people outside their influence practicing their magics.
Well, well. They would just have to learn to share. He had worked too hard in the past to allow himself to be bullied out of this dream. It was not their magic alone, it was his as well.
Lori's.
The candle wavered as if it agreed. Ben frowned at the thought. Oh, put a cork in it, you schmuck. She's gone and she isn't interested in finding you. He reached forward, an anger fueled impulse, and flicked the candle wick with thumb and forefinger. The flame was snuffed out and his apartment was sent back into darkness.
He sighed. He was too alone in this lightless room. Thoughts weighed down with bitterness and memories trailed by half-regrets were poor company. The rough surface of the wall in front of his face was little comfort, though he searched it for some distraction. Finally he shot a spurt of glowing purple Res at the candle again and it ignited. For a moment the flame wobbled wildly. Once it stilled to a steady stream of energy he turned his attention to the parchment stacked in the corner of his desk.
A quill sat next to the parchment, and next to that a vial of unused ink. Ben picked up the quill and pulled the cap off the ink. The ceramic vial was a dark brown, and the black ink within appeared like liquid candlelight, reflecting the flame above it. Ben noted the subtle beauty of that before dipping the tip in.
