Closed Fire, Stars and Shadow (Yazata)

[Konrad Venger]

16h Day of Fall, 516AV|| Border between Radacke and Askara Plantations, East of Kenash

True to form, Konrad had sought out the dead and imposing in this landscape of vibrant beauty, at the death of the day. Syna was starting to burrow through the horizon, fading rays like a kaleidoscope's final yawn. It still touched the tops of the indigo plants, burnishing them dep purple like sunsets taken to ground, but below them shadows were growing longer.

A turn of the head the other way, and the other horizon was a black and creeping thing from the far east. The lantern swinging from Three Eyes' hand was unlit, unneeded, bit Konrad knew that by the time they were done, they'd damn well have use for it.

"What're we looking for, Kon?"

"I'll know when I see it."

He wasn't wrong. Clawing at the pretty purple rows was the outline of a dead tree, sprawling upward but bereft of leaves and bark and green and life. Konrad's boots stomped through the sucking mud as he made a beeline for it off the path. He ran his leathery palm over the dead, white surface. No warmth, there. Nothing at all but something solid that had yet to rot away. Caiyha's own corpse.

"This'll do."

"Aye..."

Konrad ignored the edge to his long-time associate's voice. "Friend" would be too far with Three Eyes; men like them in general, come to think it it, didn't have such things in their lives. A friend was one trusted and appreciated above others: Konrad and Eyes had seen what trust could lay a man low, and all they appreciated could be spent, drunk, smoked, scarfed or petched.

They had each others' backs because they benefited each other. Eyes had a... well, eye, for knowing who to back in a fight, and so far Konrad hadn't failed him in the guessing. Likewise, Kon knew he didn't have eyes in the back of his head and he could always use some back up in a brawl. Not to mention Eyes knew his place, and an unpaid somewhat-servant was always enjoyed.

Then Konrad had learned the mage's craft, and things changed.

Three Eyes leaned against the timber fence running from one horizon to the other, splitting purple indigo and rough brown tobacco from each other. A sloshing bottle told Konrad he was knocking it back heavy tonight, though he wasn't about to waste time watching Three Eyes drink.

Instead he looked down... and saw the star-shaped scars gouged into his palms. They'd never heal, he knew that much. It wasn't a brand or a burning coal or naked flame that caused them. It was the djed of Trevin, the carter and mage who had inducted him into his wyrd. Poured into him through wounds made by a knife, now made sharp and strange thanks to the wyrd inside him.

Konrad smiled and forgot the malcontent behind him. It was inside him. Power. An ocean of it, a river with a thousand tributaries, pooled in his stomach and chest and spreading out to every inch of him that he'd blood and bone. He closed his eyes as he paced back from the tree. Stopped when he reached about ten yards or so, and yet he did not open them.

Konrad could hear the blood in his ears. Not pounding, but flowing, pulsing... and beneath that physical flow, there was his djed. A sizzling surge of lightning that seemed to crackle with every breath. He had to focus on it usually, but now he knew it was there. Dormant his whole life and no empowered and awakened by Trevin's initiation.

Seventy or so nights later, Konrad had smashed his brains out with a carved globe. He wanted his money back, but alas, he never got it.

You served your purpose, old man.

Konrad breathed in... smelled the dirt and heat and blossoms and heady tobacco from the plantation over the fence... and when he exhaled, his whispered words in his own skull that became orders as they traveled down his arms-

Come.

-and a slimy, sickly-green gas oozed from the scar on his right hand. It curled out like smoke given life, twisting up until it was a minor cloud-

Form.

Konrad opened his eyes and watched the Res burrow into itself, turn, spin... become a ball. The size of an apple or an orange, ragged and flecked with streaks of black that vanished and reappeared like shark fins, and when it was big enough the gas stopped, and the globe spun.

"Fire."

The words wasn't needed in the strictest sense; Trevin had told him that in all things it was the mind that commanded a man's djed, not his words or even his body. The latter was just a receptacle; the former was a learning tool. Since Konrad was still learning...

The green globe burst into flames. Like an invisible taper had been touched to its side, the gassy, moist ball became a flaming, spitting sphere, dancing with yellows and blacks and orange and beneath, beyond, blue and beyond that-

Green. The core. It's still a gas. It has to feed on something.

Konrad flicked his glance up and marked out a spot of the dead tree with his eyes. About chest-level, and almost as broad. He drew back his arm like he was about to throw a spear, and the fireball stayed spinning above his palm like it was attached to him through the empty air just above it.

It's all in your mind. It stays because you think it should stay.

Go!

Three Eyes looked up as Konrad's arm snapped forward and the fireball burst out of his grip and flew towards the tree. The sour gin coating his mouth made him spit again but he didn't take his eyes off it. His friend, all those years, a solid Sunberth Bastard, and he was throwing petching fire around like some mage bastard. He made Syna in his hand and hurled it like shit he'd scooped up off the street.

The ball smacked into the tree lower than intended, splattering flames like it was a burning bottle of brandy. Light bloomed against the growing shadows, a brief beacon on that boundary between Radacke and Askara, and Konrad had made that.

Three Eyes spit again. He didn't need to, but did anyway.

And what about me, mate? When do I learn to throw fire? Never even told me how he got it...

Konrad ignored the spiteful spittle and focused instead on that faint tremor in his arm; a hundred needles pricking him ever-so-softly, just enough to tell him that, yes, he was still little more than a gifted amateur. He had limits. So he flexed his hand and rolled his shoulder and held up his left for the second.

Long evening ahead.

[Yazata]

Yazata. What was an Ethaefal to do? There really was no going back, that much was already far too clear by now. So all the forlorn fallen could do, was soak in her warm brilliance while she hung up in the sky, and await her next, inevitable ascension. Going out during the day when he had finished what chores he had, and gotten permission from his owner, was a habit the boy started to recently develop. While he did like the man’s company, and found all the things he was being taught to be enjoyable, there was still the desire to explore what lies beyond the small confines of Gile’s apartment. Being inactive only served to make his mind reel towards times bygone and a home he can no longer reach. And for that, Yazata never allowed himself the chance to be idle. The newly arriving being, fresh off his heavenly dwelling and into the swamp-rimmed city, was not about to sit around through the mundane happenings of daily life without taking any opportunity to go out. What was a boy to do? Play. Sing. Laugh. Marvel at the world. This strange, cruel, ugly, yet beautiful world. Wandering with amazed awe, pale green eyes took in every little detail, every small thing, with utter intrigue. The cobbled streets, the lamp posts, the neat lines of trimmed rosebushes, the shops and buildings, and the people. Oh, the people. They were of all ages and sizes, regardless of how the streets were generally more empty than he expected. At least, compared to how they were at noon, for example. But nonetheless, he was entirely immersed in this experience. During his aimless trek, Yazata had hummed full songs to himself, leaned forward to walk on his hands for a few seconds when no one was around, and followed a trail of flower patches to a fence that was all too tempting to climb. Walking the narrow edge, was something he found entertaining. The fence was not all that tall, too. It took the slowly moving youth a few seconds to register what was the reason for the fence to be there in the first place. Where was he now, again? Only the dying light alerted Yazata, who was very much lost in his own playful indulgence, that he had been out for long. And by the looks of it, he had gone far. To a place he had not visited before. It was colorful, or rather, it would have been so if the light was not going out at a rapid speed; leaving darkness to creep over everything. Nimbly, the boy kept walking with arms outstretched. It reminded him that he had to go back before his form changes. No one but his master had seen his ‘other’ self, and he was not entirely sure what anyone else would do at the sight of him changing colors and growing two extra sets of limbs. But here lies the problem-- How will he go back? Before he could mull over his little crisis any further, his eyes caught a flash of light in the distance. Pausing his movement and quickly whipping his head to the side, the boy could see a person lit up by the light of an orb not unlike a miniature version of Syna. The sphere of fire was hurled and with that, Yazata’s eyes went wide, being a awe both by the sight he had stumbled upon, and the presence of a person nearby just when he needed one to help him. The blending hues of warm and cool colors painted the stretching skies of dusk, with a thin screen of clouds forming white patches in an otherwise colorful expanse. Very faintly, stars began to wink and twinkle in the darker parts, while the dying light of day was disappearing slowly behind the horizon. It was Syna’s due to leave, just like she always does. Quietly and with only one agile hop, the youth dropped down to the ground and slowly -if cautiously- made his way towards the figure he had only vaguely seen for a split second. It was difficult to tell details from this distance, but the recognizable form of a man was still there. No, wait, maybe two. There was also no mistaking the other form that became more visible the closer he walked. So far, his interaction with residents of Kenash had been fairly limited. Only the faintest glimmer of illumination reflected off the crystalline horns that sprouted from the Ethaefal’s head, as he softly cleared his throat and called out in a voice that was barely louder than his usual. “Excuse me, sir?”. He was not willing to go any closer, at least for the time being. As amusing as it is to see, he was still a little wary. “Where am I? Do you happen to know how I can go back to Gile’s home?” The latter question was asked in spontaneous ease, as if the boy expected every local to know just who Gile is, and where he lived.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad was sure it would have been the perfect shot. The first one had wobbled, for want of a better word, a mere yard before it had struck the tree. Concentration, unwavering and yet simple, was the truth of Reimancy. The fireball didn't just flame or fly simple because one threw it; it did so because the caster believed that it should, and believed he could make it so.

In that last tick before the fireball landed, Konrad had let his mind wander. Why focus further, after all? The deed was done. But even as he'd lowered his hand and let the unseen thread of his focus fade, the ball had drooped, landing short before it exploded against the bark.

Still a dead 'un, he consoled himself as he rose his left hand. But not what I wanted...

Again he cleared his mind, made it am empty vessel caressed by the cooling wind and the sounds of warring armies of crickets and cicadas. He held his hand palm open and words whispered in his mind willed the djed above it again. As Syna fled, the glow became brighter in the clearing. A green pulse marred with black, like shadows trapped in the jade orb of light that flickered around Konrad as he worked his wyrd. At the proper size, he gave that same command and-

The light was no less magical, but at least it was the honest white glare of familiar flame. Three Eyes was reassured a little by that... until he realized that it was just another deception. Oh, it looked ordinary, looked honest... but it was still emanating from a hovering ball of burning foulness above his comrade's hand.

"Not bloody right," he murmured, trusting his voice to be hidden by distance and the crackling flame so close to Konrad. "Actin' the soddin' mage."

If Konrad had heard him, he gave no hint. He focused again on the tree, and the blackened smudge he laid on it before. It still smoked and glowed where the fireball has splashed onto it, but it still wasn't right. Konrad reared back again, knocking back the brim of his hat with the thumb on his other hand. A clear look. Perfect shot. And as his hand started to rocket forwards-

“Excuse me, sir?”

"Shyke!"

"What in theBOLLOCKS!"

“Where am I? Do you happen to know how I can go back to Gile’s home?”

Everything happened in the time it took for that quavering voice to ask its question. Konrad's head snapped around out of instinct, fireball already well on its way to the tree... though nor anymore. Because that wasn't where Konrad's focus was anymore. As he turned, so did his arm, so did his throw, so did the flame that he hurled-

-towards hundreds of acres of dry, closely-packed crops. Konrad saw his future in a blood-soaked blink if he allowed that kind of damage to be done, and he clamped down hard on the fireball with his mind as it hurtled towards the sound of that voice.

Out!

He slammed his hand shut and the fireball died like a candle with a stopper shoved across the top of it. A scorching miniature Synas vanished into itself, growing smaller and smaller in the space of a half-tick until it disappeared entirely in a puff of smoke-

"Hells' petch-!"

Konrad cursed savagely and gripped his hand, now alive and writhing with an army of biting ants crawling under his skin. But it was just pain, something he knew well enough. With a snarl he unsheathed his kopis with his other hand, a bright slash of silver splitting the darkness around him as he did so. Fierce eyes burned under his hat as he scoured the line between the plantations, seeking out the stupid sod that had called out.

"Kon, there!"

Three Eyes had a blade in each hand, as was his way, pointing with one of them towards a patch of darkness no different than any other. But as Konrad glared at the spot, he could see the twinkle of eyes... of more than one eye... then he frowned deeper, stepping forward.

Horns. Two glimmers in the dark, round and wet and soft. Eyes. But above them, gleaming like metal or bone, curved and catching the last memories of Syna as they raised up.

Horns. As he realized what those meant, attached to a walking, talking being, Konrad felt his sword lower bit by bit.

Ethaefal. Another bloody Ethaefal.

"Kon, what do-"

"Quiet."

Scarred man and strange boy regarded each other over ticks of silence... and much more happened than the latter may have realized. Konrad was familiar with his kind: he'd captured one on the road to Kenash after raiding an encampment along the Kabrin. Slavers were always seeking to bolster their inventory, after all, and the Sky-Born commanded top miza. He still thought of Coryn in odd, uncomfortable moments; her ability to stir feelings that were as unnatural to him as flight was to a fish.

So he's valuable. If...

Ah, yes. If. Because he was on the other side of the fence, and Konrad found it hard to believe the Eth had just wandered deep into Dynasty territory on a lark. So he must have belonged to someone... right? The other Ethaefal he knew, the sad and curious Achenar, he was branded the moment he was purchased.

So he's property. But...

The final part of the equation that would define his actions. If he was Askara property, he could sod off back to this "Giles" wanker and they'd take their leave. Konrad had no desire to play host to a petching audience, child or not. But if he wasn't marked, and they'd got lucky, well...

Konrad judged the distance. Those scrawny limbs and the fading light. He wouldn't get far before they ran him down. Konrad had chased down more desperate souls than some starry-eyed kid before.

He licked his lip and rubbed his mouth briefly, lowering his kopis and taking a few easy steps forward. Closing the distance. Nothing threatening... well, that would only last until the boy got a good look at the nightmare Konrad had for a face, but until then...

"Where's yer mark, lad? Show me. Can't imagine yer master wants you running around inna' dark like this."

Konrad thought a tick later that mayhap a name was the first thing civulized folk asked for. But he was not that, and this wasn't civilization: it was Kenash. There you were not your name, unless you were Dynast. You were what was branded or tattooed on your flesh... and based on what this boy had on his, in a moment he would either be alone and ignored, or running for his freedom.

[Yazata]

Yazata. There was not a way, nor a reason, to deny that the spheres of radiance this person -whoever he happens to be- were, in fact, quite beautiful. Natural? No. Beautiful, yes. The red-haired youth was willing to admit to himself at least that much. It was mere amusement that kept Yazata rooted in place, and staring with awe-filled eyes at the light play that was taking place in front of him. It was mere fear that told the Ethaefal to not take a step closer, lest he gets caught in whatever business this is; and it was clearly business he has no place in. It was mere hope that prompted the boy to remain firmly standing where he is, waiting with bated breath for a reply, an answer, any sort of recognition at all. And when he finally got it, it had not been what he hoped for. The greeting he would get back, was two distinct cries of surprise, and a hurling orb making its way towards him, like a swift bright piece of death coming to claim him. It might have been Syna’s fading grace, it might have been his innate legerity, it might have been fortune and nothing else, No matter the factor, Yazata was fast enough to react just in time before he ate a glowing globe to the face. In a single tick, the Ethaefal’s form dropped down into a low crouch with hands braced against the loose soil, barely sparing himself the fate of colliding with...whatever that was. While he was not sure about the the nature of it, the boy did not really want to find out. Not this way. For the fleeting tick the ball whizzed over his head in its ongoing path, his heart skipped a beat. A shaky exhale escaped Yazata’s lips, as he turned his head around to see...nothing. There was no longer a floating ball illuminating the creeping darkness. There was only the stretching expanse of black-soaked scenery. The exclamation of expletives that was growled while he carefully picking himself up from the ground, did not bode well. There was no need for him to understand everything that was said, in order to detect the edge of vicious annoyance in the tone. Even under the blanket of newborn night, the flash of a blade being drawn was still clear enough. Not only one, much to his dismay. He was, no doubt, being mistaken for an intruder-- But then again, her really was treading on lands he did not know belongs exactly to whom. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to startle you...um...sir.” Hurriedly, he uttered the apology while taking a single step backwards, but he did not dare turn his back to approaching man. His only comfort was that the man was walking towards him. He was neither running, nor charging, so that meant no hostility in the Ethaefal’s mind. A closer view of the man’s face, however, changed the expression on the youth’s face instantly. Pale green eyes blinked, lips parted slightly, and a little gasp was exhaled softly. It was neither disturbance nor fright that he gazed upon the other’s mien with, but rather, thoughtfulness. This man, this face, was in all ways, very demanding of the boy’s attention. It was mostly the the eyes which his own lingered on. There was something in there. Something beyond colors, shapes, and outwardly veneers. What is he to call it, though? Feral was one way to put it, although further musing eluded him as he was plucked out of his contemplation. If he was not spoken to, he might have stayed there, staying at the stormy orbs, trying to figure out just what is it that he sensed was lurking behind them. Mark? Oh, the mark. He was being asked about the tattoo. Belatedly, the boy reacted by looking between the speaker’s face, and the back of his left hand, before he presented it forward. “You mean...this?” The Askara tattoo that he bore on his skin was to be his protection, his owner had said previously. The mention of his master elicited a nervous chuckle that was awkward as much as it was guilty. Yazata felt like a child who was caught doing something he should not, and very much looked like one as well. “He does not...know that I am here.” Admittance came easily, if somewhat shamefully. Gile did not know he was here simply because the Ethaefal himself did not know he would be here, for most times, the boy went wherever his feet and fate would take him. “But I really should go back, can you please point out the w--” The sentence was abruptly cut by a small yelp. With the last bit of Syna disappearing into temporary oblivion, the beloved celestial took his Ethaefal visage with her. He had forgotten, he had lost track of time. The switch in appearance would not take more than a chime, leaving him looking unlike himself and more like his ‘former’ self. The crown of jet black hair rivaled the very night in hue, and the pale green eyes gained a more vibrant shade. Horns were no more, but their disappearance was in tandem with the growing of four additional arms; two sets on each side. Fortunately, his mind supplied, he was wearing a tunic that kept his sides largely exposed, which allowed room for all four of his new arms to emerge without ripping the garment. The last thing Yazata wanted, was for Gile to keep having to replace his clothes because of careless transformation. Sheepish, clumsy, and not knowing what to expect from the taller man who loomed over him, the now Eypharian boy met the other’s eyes once again, a slight flush tinting his cheeks. “Um, yes, I should really go. Would you please tell me how to return to the master’s home? Sir…?” The quiet question was made with the intention of being told the man’s name, if he is willing to give it.

[Konrad Venger]

“You mean...this?”

Ah, shyke.

Yazata wasn't naive so much as innocent, and there is a subtle difference between the two. He probably wouldn't have known what to make from the fairly obvious relaxing of Konrad's body. The way his shoulders slumped slightly, his legs went from almost bent to straight and lazy again. Most of all, his eyes lost some of their hawkish intent and... well, they didn't soften, but they glazed with a vague, irritated boredom.

"Bollocks."

Konrad agreed with Three Eyes for the first time that evening. The prospect of a thousand gold mizas in their pockets (well, mostly his) had been cruelly snatched from their grasp. In their place was a half-idiot who couldn't even navigate a plantation without getting lost. The Sunberth killer rolled his eyes and dug around for his pipe as the boy rabbited on.

Could have been a nice payday. Ah, well, bugger it.

“But I really should go back, can you please point out the w--”

Konrad was about to will a wisp of djed into his finger to light the bowl when his eyes snapped up to a small, pitiful sound, like a dog being kicked. His eyes widened a touch as everything about the boy just... shimmered. Like he was viewing him through a haze of heat leagues away, his outline and contours blurring and shifting and morphing.

"K-Kon, what in the f-"

"Just give it a tick."

Gods, he almost sounded bored. But what did he expect? You can get used to anything if you see it or do it often enough, and he'd seen this little magic trick before. Coryn. The memory of her made his eye twitch, just once. He watched with interest as the waif of a boy with black hair and horns sprouted fresh limbs and lost the bone spurs in his head. The hair grew darker, the eyes even brighter, and Konrad was left frowning and trying to remember the name of that race.

Hmm. Begins with an "E", doesn't it?

"S'what they do when Syna sets," he said, words tumbling from his lips but his mind focused on his hand again. "The horns and shyke? That's just fer the day. Got a whole 'nother body at night."

"Bloody weird."

"Aye, well-"

Before Yazata's eyes, a dirty green glow blinked into life, cupped in Konrad's hand. A tendril, like a tiny tentacle, grew from the man's forefinger and as those moss-green eyes focused intently, it became a slim, hissing flame. Konrad touched it to the tobacco in the bowl and puffed away until each breath expelled a minor cloud and the bowl was growing a merry red.

"-such is the petchin' world, Eyes."

He could have sworn his partner muttered something about being "sodding poetic" but when he glared his way, Konrad found the shadows had already hidden Three Eyes' face. More than just that, in fact. Syna was near to dead, and only the memory of her eternal bonfire was spread over the distant horizon like melting butter. Soon that lantern would have to come into play.

“Um, yes, I should really go. Would you please tell me how to return to the master’s home? Sir…?”

"Just head north," he said sharply, pointedly ignoring the questioning tone. Since when did sodding a slave get to question him? "You know which way that us, aye?"

He didn't wait for the boy to answer, just pointed with his free hand at the western horizon, still light without being bright, Syna's last stand.

"That's where Syna sleeps, so that's west. He comes up in the east-" he pointed the other direction, expelling a generous cloud of tame narcotic and passing it to Three Eyes. "-over there. So, if that's west and that's east, that's south-" he thumbed over his shoulder "-and where you came from's north. Keep goin' that way 'til y'get over the Kabrin, then keep goin' 'til you hit the water. Then make a... right, yeah, right along the coast and you'll find yer master's place."

Part of Konrad hoped he was right about those directions. He remembered seeing the map in Mica's office, a sprawling, detailed monster that covered every plantation of note for leagues around, with room enough for every building in Kenash to boot. He'd been to the Askara plantation once, in the Spring, playing bodyguard for Mica when some "business" had to be discussed and only in the presence of his rivals.

Part. A small part. The rest of him didn't give a shyke if this boy get lost. Wasn't like he'd ever see him again, and he had no other reason to help him, after all.

"On yer way," he said, taking back the pipe and flicking it vaguely in Yazata's direction, already turning back towards the south, and Whiplash. "Tell yer master t'get a decent leash on his pets."

A thousand gold rims, walking around without a petching clue, he thought mournfully as Eyes fell in behind him, fiddling with the lantern. I see him again out here, screw it, I'm taking it as a sign from the gods. Just carve the ink off his arm and get a Radacke brand on him...

A good plan, to his mind. But today, Konrad decided to play it a little more careful. The Dynasts were like demented children when it came to their toys, and he knew the Radacke wouldn't appreciate a new shapeshifting slave if it came with a minor war with their neighbors.

[Yazata]

Yazata. A sigh of relief was the first thing to come out of Yazata’s lips following the other man’s words, although, they were clearly not directed at him. The crude explanation of his transformation, from one man to another, kept him silent, albeit still smiling. So good, so good. Much to his fortune, this stranger did not seem to mind his abrupt change of appearance. It was nearly as if he knew it will happen, as if he had seen this take place previously and with how easily he made the comment about it, who is to say this person had not seen people like himself before. This was, by far, the most logical explanation. Green that rivals even the intensity of his eyes was given birth, right out of the taller male’s fingers. The light it shone with added even more glint to the already bright and widened eyes. Clearly enough, the boy was far more interested in that than in keeping up with the ongoing conversation between the two other men. This ‘petchin’ world’, as the person had put it, was full of wonders. For Yazata, everything is fresh and untouched and is there for him to explore and experience. Although, regardless of how much he wanted to reach out and touch the light, he knew better than to go along with that urge. North? He was asked if he knew which way that is, and immediately, the now raven-haired youth beamed. I know, I know! North is up. Eagerly, his mind chimed the answer before his mouth did, but by the time his lips parted to allow spoken words out, the other was already talking again. Some of that enthusiasm died down the instant his gaze was redirected towards the sunken disc, following the gesture of the man’s hand. Soulfully, but only for a passing tick, he stared. Syna leaving him, once again. It was merely the cycle of days, but it was no less saddening for a soul that drew its very essence from Syna’s blessed presence. Alas, there were more pressing matters to pay attention to than his internal whining. Attentively, Yazata listened to the elaborate description he was being given. The man is kind enough to teach him this, and for that, the youth was grateful. West, east, south, north. In his mind, he recited the instructions inwardly. Whether he will get it right or not, was another matter entirely. “Kabrin, water, then go right. Thank you so much, sir.” In what can perhaps be the most earnest he could muster, Yazata offered the peculiar person a bow of his head, then started walking away towards the ‘north’ he was told to head towards. “Ah, okay. We do not have any, but I will tell him.” Came the easy reply. Gile owned no domestic animals as far as he is aware, and he would know, seeing that he is living with the Askara.regardless, a message he is asked to deliver was not for him to alter or think about, he was merely the carrier. The fence was but a minor obstacle in his way, which he got over with ease. Nimbly, like a large cat, he jumped and four pairs of hands held the ledge before he hoisted himself up to hop over the edge, and land on the other side. The lithe body hit the ground feet first, and Yazata took a deep breath then straightened himself up, and began to walk. But… It was dark, and only getting darker. He might not have been ‘human’ but he was no animal and seeing through the shroud of black the world was being wrapped in, exceeded his natural abilities. It would not be long before he turned back, jumped to hold on the ledge again, allowing half of his face to peek over the wall of wood, eyes seeking the odd man whom he still did not know the name of. “It is dark…” He started quietly, making a statement that was far too obvious and needless. “You have the little Synas...can you please, kindly...come with me?” What else would he even call those miniature stars the man seemed to be able to will into existence with such apparent ease. The request was more a plea than anything. What was it that his master had said before, during the eventful first day of their meeting? “Gile said--” Quickly, he caught himself and corrected the error of his sentence. “The master said that he does not forget a favor.”.

[Konrad Venger]

“Ah, okay. We do not have any, but I will tell him.”

"Gods above, less talk, more walk..."

There was a slithering, skittering thing that could have passed for a chuckle, rumbling from Konrad's lips along with smoke. The blazing bowl was now the only thing giving his face illumination, deepening his ugly scars, making his cruel amusement all the worse. Ah, there was another reason to keep Three Eyes around: he was good for a laugh, now and again.

He didn't look back as they started to put some distance between them and the boy. No longer their concern, as if he'd been such in the first place. Syna had now vanished entirely, only the ghostly afterimage of light still clinging to a sky already crowded by stars. Konrad blew a stream up into them and listened idly to Eyes fumbling further with the lantern, scratching matches against the side.

"Y'know I could just-"

"I got it, just gimme a-"

“It is dark… You have the little Synas...can you please, kindly...come with me?”

"Oh, for the love of-"

Dirt crunched under his boots and then hissed as he stopped and spun on his heel. The kid was... already over the fence, which was mildly impressive. It was as tall as Konrad and he was no small man, but the boy had scaled it like a prize monkey. But he was still talking in that insipid, lost little voice, a babe in the wilderness that Konrad realized he had to put to rights now.

"'Come with you'? Do I look like a sodding Askara toady?" No, you look like a Radacke one, a wry corner of his mind chided him. "I told ya how to get home, petch more d'ya want? Yer afraid a' the dark?"

He gestured heavenward with the stem of his pipe, as if all the constellations and celestial majesty of Creation were just another street lamp.

"Use them. Leth ain't out tonight, I think, but as long as y'don't waste time-" he stressed the words, a thing called "subtlety" that he was learning. Better that than just tell the boy to petch off and stop bothering them. Well. Theoretically. "You'll make it well before-"

“Gile said-- The master said that he does not forget a favor.”

Konrad stopped talking. Three Eyes stopped fiddling. Mayhap Yazata might have been unnerved at the sudden, contemplative stillness that came over both men. Peering at him from the shadows, the ones made by Konrad's hat all the deeper and more menacing. But anyone could tell whom he was staring from under there. Pondering. Weighing his options.

"Never hurts to have someone owe ya..."

He nodded slowly at Three Eyes' muttered words. They were true enough, and one thing he'd learned about Kenash, and the Dynasties, was that they put deep stock in honor. Repaying favors. Sticking to their word, even if they tried all manner of mental and linguistic acrobatics to wriggle out of them. But when a debt was owed by a Dynast, that was a boon for a Freeman like Konrad.

Providing, of course, that he is a Dynast.

"Who's yer master, boy?" He said slowly, gait matching his drawl as he started moving back towards the boy. The sounds of the night were growing thicker now. Animal calls in the night, predator and prey starting their mortal dance in the rows of crops. Scratch-scratch-scratch from Three Eyes' candles. "An' what kinda favor would he owe a man for returning his boy on such a... dark'n dangerous night?"

It wasn't by Reimancy, but a little Syna did rise again as Three Eyes barked lowly with satisfaction. The lantern was lit and a circle of baleful yellow light spilled around them, catching killers and slave in it's glow as Konrad waited for an answer. And a reason.

[Yazata]

Yazata. Had Yazata been a puppy, his ears would have perked up with anticipation for an answer, before flopping down at the mouthful of reproach he got from the hat-wearing man. This person was, clearly enough, wayward and excitable--for the lack of any better and more fitting terms the boy could think of. Nearly half of what this man said, he did not get to an extent, but this seemed like a rather poor time to ask more questions. And so, his inquiry about what an Askara toady is and why was it bad to be one went unspoken. The agitation in the speaker’s voice was obvious enough to anyone who was not deaf or had half a brain. Boyish pride prompted him to blurt out a heated and defensive ‘No!’ when he was accused of being afraid of the dark. He was a man and he could handle himself in the absence of light, but it does not mean he is actually able to see in it. And the other thing that he was not willing to openly admit, was that his fear was directed elsewhere entirely. The constant droning of crickets denoted night like nothing else. The fields around him were alive with their chirping and that only made his skin crawl. Insects. Terrible nightmarish creatures, lurking in the dark where he cannot see them. Hope died just as fast as a flickering candle flame would be snuffed in a tempest. This man was unbending, and very much upset. The knowledge that even Leth would not come to his aid was not making matters any better, either. But then, there was a pause. A long, heavy, somewhat sinister pause where the silence of evening was only interrupted by noises that were more or less not human. The crown of jet black dipped a little lower behind the fence that separated him from the two strangers, and the animalistic eyes that stared at him. Bracing himself for more scolding from the older male, Yazata’s eyes -the only thing that was above fence level by now- slowly blinked in mild confusion when instead, he got a calmer inquiry instead. “Gile Askara.” The answer was shaky, but still spoken with innate spontaneity. He was not certain if the name was familiar to this man in any way, but Gile did tell him that the Askaras are well-known, influential, and very much a large family. Perhaps, this person was an acquaintance of theirs? Another question. And this time, it was even harder for the youth to answer. His arrival to Kenash, to this world, had only been a few weeks ago. He had no idea how things went here, or rather, anywhere that is not his master’s home. But if the dour man was asking about what Gile can do, then this was a manageable answer to give. “I am not sure…” As desperate as he was for the help, he was neither going to lie, nor was he capable of pretense even if he wanted to. Nervous honesty spilled forth from his lips, while his eyes were still very much locked on the approaching figure. Dark, this night was indeed. Dangerous...he was not very pleased to hear that. It made him even more wary about going back on his own, if some sort of peril was known to linger around. “He said that he owns a business in the city, and that the Askaras have a lot of property.” Granted, the slave had no idea where that property is. His master lived alone, away from his supposed family. “If you need help with something, maybe he can help you? And I...I will help, too.” It was the extent of his ability, given his lack of anything to give the man in return for his assistance if he did decide to give it. He might not be a Dyanst himself, but he would not leave a debt unpaid, one way or another. Labor and handiwork were nothing the Ethaefal turned Eypharian shied away from. Definitely not with six hands which he can put to hard work when needed. “He can touch you nicely, too. It feels good.” He added, chiming smilingly. That was another nice thing his master can do, too.

[Konrad Venger]

"Name ring any bells?"

"Sod all. You?"

"Would I be askin' if I-never mind. Dynast's a Dynast. Wouldn't gave the name if he wasn't."

Konrad swallowed his irritation with Three Eyes' penchant for stupid questions and focused on what mattered. The name didn't mean anything to him, but he'd heard the punishment doled out to those that went around using Dynasty names without a shred of blood to justify it. Only those for slaves that killed their masters were harsher. But that was only one half of the equation: not just the who, but the why should I bother?

“I am not sure… He said that he owns a business in the city, and that the Askaras have a lot of property.”

Konrad breathed out noisily through his nose like a bull about to charge. How could a slave not know things about his master? They were the eternal eyes and ears of Kenash. They saw everything in every way, they always knew something. But the more the boy spoke, the more Konrad was starting to form an understand that he was... not quite all there. In more ways than one.

"Get some coin outta it, leastways."

"Aye, could be. Finder's fee."

"Heh. Good one."

"Hmm?"

"Nothin'."

“If you need help with something, maybe he can help you? And I...I will help, too.”

Konrad didn't even bother hiding his eye-roll that time. He didn't know his name or his purpose, but aside from being an agile little turd, he had trouble believing this kid had any means or skills that could help a man like him. But the first part... that left him sucking at his pipe reflectively again. A favor was a favor, after all. They were a worthy currency in Kenash, even if-

"Kon?" Three Eyes shuffled a little closer and kept his voice low. "Youse sure about this? Mean, they're Askaras. We work fer-"

"I know who we work for. What? Y'think I'm gonna keep this to myself? S'far as the Radacke'll think, an Askara owing us a favor means they owe them a favor."

"Think they'll us it?"

Konrad smirked, and the flickering lantern-light sent daemons and shadow-things skittering over a face simply not designed for the gesture.

"Probably. But I'm plannin' on usin' it before they do. We're the ones doin' the work, we're gonna see what this Askara doss can do fer us. This' just what we tell the Radacke so word don't get back to 'em that we're out helpin' the Askara."

Three Eyes blinked a few times as he digested this, then shook his skull and took another pull of wine. "Godda' mind like a corkscrew, Kon. Hope it-"

“He can touch you nicely, too. It feels good.”

Three Eyes hacked up his wine even as he swallowed it. Konrad blinked and his pipe went untended. Both men stared and replayed the words in their minds and could find no other conclusion. Slowly, carefully, lest any misunderstanding show, they turned and faced each other, silently trying to read the others' mind.

"... er... I don't think we'll need that."

"Yeah... kff! ... no touchin'."

"Still!" Konrad said, a touch too loudly, in the unmistakable tone of a man who wants the last ten ticks to be utterly forgotten and steamrolled by those following. "Looks like a good deal t'me, Eyes. We get a favor, kid gets home... agreed on that?"

Three Eyes nodded like he actually had a choice in the matter, and Konrad walked over to the fence.

"Give the lad the lantern through the gap, Eyes. We've gotta get over this sod first."

[Yazata]

Yazata. These two men, they were weird. They talked among themselves in terse, cryptic codes that he only managed to barely understand. There was no comment made about Gile’s name when he gave it, nor in anything he had said really. Instead, one of the men was hesitant about something, the other was huffy. This one, the hat-man, seemed to be somewhat the higher authority, given how he had been the one to address him so far. In and out, the suspended boy breathed quietly. The round one called the hat-man Kon, the names ‘Askara’ and ‘Radacke’ were tossed around a couple of times, and nothing went unnoticed by the silent yet intensely attentive youth. Catching the gleam of surreal and ghostly yellow light, his green eyes watched, unblinking. Again, there was an abrupt interval of silence after he made his last statement; only interrupted by the sound of someone choking on their drink. Did they like the prospect of this kind of favor? Did they not? Bemused, Yazata peeked over the fence a little more, eyebrows furrowing slightly in wordless confusion. Perhaps he should have elaborated to paint a clearer picture but then again, the eventual declining made him reconsider that, and just huff a small sigh. No touching. Well, it was their loss, then. Gile’s hands worked wonders and they will be missing out on that, but if they did not fancy the idea of a massage then that is too bad. It was no major issue. But fortune did not abandon him still. The hat-man had told his companion to give him the lantern, which Yazata took eagerly. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” If his relief did not show in his tone, it definitely did on his now beaming face. A single easy hop landed him on the ground again, but he did nothing except hold up the beautiful captured light his hands now carried. The other two did not seem to want to just climb the fence like he did, so he opted to stand where he was and wait for them to make their way around. The stillness only lasted for a scant few ticks, though. By the time his two temporary guardians came around, Yazata was tapping his foot against soil to a rhythm of his own humming, in complete disregard of anything else around him. Only when the sound of shuffling on the side interjected on his softly sung verses, did he stop and turn his head around to greet the men with a smile and a wave. “You could have just jumped, you know.” The now Eypharian giggled in mirth that belied his earlier apprehension. It was merely how he worked. Oftentimes, what he thought or felt was exactly what he spoke. They gave him no names, they told him nothing about themselves, so for now, they will remain Hat-man and The Round One. In his head, anyway. Two of his hands securely held the lantern, the fingers of two others entwined behind his back, a fourth went up to tuck his straying bangs back behind his ear, the last free hand moved to reach for Hat-man’s own, in a silent request for his hand to be held. Just like his master did when they were out. “Shall we? Oh, and I forgot to say, I am Yazata. It is a pleasure to meet you~”.