Timestamp: The 39th of Winter
Sesha rarely left her home in such a state and it made her edgy. Even worse than the fact that her hastily braided hair now floated inelegantly behind her, was the knowledge that she couldn’t smoke in this cursed library to soothe her nerves. She wore no makeup, no frills, no feathers and it infuriated her. She felt bare and floundered in the watery aisles of the Sunken Conundrum, her uncomfortable gills sucking liquid frantically.
Only once had she ventured into the Conundrum before, as a means of casing the interior for a friend of her fathers. The experience had cleansed the colors from her face and stripped her hair of its volume instantly, the memory of which only served to rile her up further. Sesha was unsure whether or not lifting a piece of Hinrane’s precious annals was even possible, but a spark had ignited within her, a desire to learn magic. And she was far too uncomfortable in this place to linger longer than need required.
Illumination had come in the form of a minor observance. Magic was not uncommon within the walls of Alvadas, but much of it was divine, unattainable. Sesha chose her marks for their gullibility and their desires. The easiest to take advantage of were those already soaked in drink, the common filth of the taverns whose pockets were already bare. The streets were little better. Sesha had piles of scarves and kerchiefs, buttons, worthless notes, and a smattering of broken trinkets and fakes. Fake jewels, fake Mizas, and fake forgeries, amusingly enough. Magic could change that.
Whilst perusing the local madness of Alvadas, Sesha had seen a very peculiar thing outside the entrance to Ionu’s Wager. A vagrant, little more than a fleck of discord against the otherwise bright and merry streets, had approached the door and knocked determinedly. She’d stopped abruptly, curious about the ambiguous interior and darkly expecting a little rough treatment from the similarly mysterious doorman. The spoken riddle hung on the air like a threat, something about eagles and fish. But all the old man said in reply was, “Open the door.”
Sesha was nearly compelled to do it for him, realizing suddenly that she stood almost twenty feet away and such a thing would be impossible. The creak of hinges and slack jawed expression of the doorman startled Sesha more than anything she’d encountered in a very long time. Even in Alvadas. She had stayed for more than three bells, wondering if a body might be carted off as the sun fell. None left the Wager save the same poorly clothed vagabond. His eyes fell on her only briefly and in that moment she felt as though time stood still, a fog unlike anything else had overcome her senses and she could not move.
As quickly as the sensation had come it was gone, his eyes averted, the drifter continued up the street; the sound of Mizas echoing faintly, but unmistakably in her ears. A Wizard, she thought, awed by his display of power. A Hypnotist.
Returning to the present, the memory drove her forward. She swam awkwardly through the water and to a section she had avoided on her past visit. The books here made her uneasy, more so than the constant fear of drowning. She browsed the titles hastily, praying to Ionu that she was alone. |
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