not forgotten. (hadrian)

[Caelum]

Timestamp90th of Spring, 511 A.V. An envelope crafted of heavy parchment and sealed with dark wax had been buried for seasons upon seasons in a pile of similarly forgotten things at an administrative office in the Old Quarter of Zeltiva. A heavy, archaic penmanship addressed the letter to one Hadrian Aelius, student of the University of Zeltiva who, as fortune would have it, no longer resided in the city of scholars and shipwrights and had returned into the arms of great Syliras. Somewhere in the midst of five-ten's winter a particularly industrious administrator finally finished sorting through the office junk, recollected the ambitious young Syliran and sent the letter sailing with a maritime merchant. Storms, ambitions and unconcern caused Hadrian Aelius' letter to be further delayed; and so it was at the very end of spring's cruelty in the year 511 A.V. that the letter arrived at the household of Trajan Aelius in the city of Syliras and, ultimately, into Hadrian's hands. 90th of Winter, 509 A.V. Dear Hadrian, Ought I be praying to you yet? No? Better luck next year. I don't have a great deal of time, so this will be short. I am unhappily en route to the Spires. I will be stopping Sahova on my way there and, no, don't ask me how that is even possible. I am alive -- I failed to mention that part -- and free, but the bloody gods are at it again. Now here is the important part: Lillis is also alive, but I don't know where or in what condition. Cheva's mark reveals little. Do you bear me any regard at all, look for her as I am. It is likely she is somewhere enslaved as we both were before separation. I will repay anything, everything, some how or way. Expect another missive when I stumble across a chance to send one. And the next time and the next though it is my deepest hope that I will not have bide so many next times to find her, to hear from you. I remain, Caelum.

[Hadrian]

When the courier came, Hadrian was so surprised that he gave the man a golden miza for his trouble and then nodded distractedly until the door closed on him. He didn't even rush to his room the way he normally did like some moody adolescent, but broke the waxen seal and devoured the words calling out to him from the past. As he read, his fingers tensed against the heavy parchment, wrinkling it, threatening to tear it asunder. "Shyke," he muttered. Then louder, fist slamming against the wall because there was nothing he could do with this information. Caelum was a live, had been enslaved, and had gone to Zeltiva looking for Lillis and, perhaps, Hadrian, only to find them both gone. Sahova and the Spires, but that was over a year ago. "SHYKE!" Even as he strode away, he could hear the door, improperly closed, swinging open. The squeal was soft, apologetic, but he turned back to shut the door, thinking he would have to leave a note for someone to oil it. That's when the door swung wide enough to let the sun in, or at least a vision of the sun's avatar. Blinking, he fought the urge to hug the ethaefal. Lifting the missive long overdue, he shook his head for a moment to dispel the shock. "So I just got your letter..."

[Caelum]

Syna’s forgotten son stood within the doorway staring back at Hadrian with eyes that ought not have been so shocked. He was the one unexpectedly dropping in on the young mage after years of silence after all. Amber eyes, bits and pieces of galaxies trapped in them like archaic insects, took Hadrian in hungrily, wearily, familiar and not forgotten as he finished stepping over the lintel and nudged the door closed behind him. Out of direct sunlight, it was easier to peer through the haze of luminous skin and shimmering colors and see the thinness, the wear harbored in him and his attire. He was at once unchanged and vastly different from the healer and scholar who had set up shop in the shadow of the University of Zeltiva all those years ago. “Ah, which one?” He asked, voice clotted with the dust of a thousand roads. The corners of his mouth twitched towards something resembling a smile. “Hello, by the way.”

[Hadrian]

"90th Winter, 509 A.V.," he said ruefully. "I haven't seen Lillis." No good news, certainly, to offer the poor, weary world-walker. "But come in... Enjoy the hospitality of my father's home. He's currently in Lisnar conducting some business or other and I mostly have the run of the place to myself other than the servants and if any of my siblings drop by. We've food, drink, and beds..." He stepped back out of the way of the entrance that Caelum might join him, relieved that there was no need to seek him out, wondering whether or not Syna was looking out for her son after all. Hadrian had always expected there was some higher purpose to the ethaefal, even if Caelum assumed it was some problem he had to fix in order to return to the Ukalas, if he would return to the goddess who had failed him in his mind. "Hello," he added at the end of everything, and his smile wasn't as ironic as Caelum might remember. The young enchanter was capable of real emotion, it seemed.

[Caelum]

"Fuck," the wise and ancient soul proclaimed while stepping inside. The frown that took otherwise striking features was familiar as he cast a curious glance about the foyer, slightly huddled shoulders relaxing a few degrees to learn that there was not any strangers common courtesy would force him to greet. When he returned his regard to Hadrian, there was an element of expectation within it. That gaze dropped, moving slowly down his host as if searching for something. He was looking for signs of injury. It had been a rare meeting in Zeltiva when Hadrian was unharmed by the determined yet dangerous learning of magics. The brave might surmise it was as much a distraction from the severe disappointment of this hope of Lillis being crushed as it was concern for Hadrian's well being. Clearly, Hadrian was not in any mortal peril at present. "Of course you haven't," he muttered under his breath. "Nobody bloody well has. That was the first letter I sent you, by the by. Have you learned some magical method of long distance communication yet that might prove to be more reliable? If not, gods, get on it, will you?" A pause. "Wine?"

[Hadrian]

Hadrian colored slightly when he recognized the appraising look that had been so oft repeated during his daring days at the University, before he realized that he could not change his basic nature from phlegmatic to choleric merely by force of will. A hydromancer he would be, which meant fewer burns from attempts to play with fire. All in good time, perhaps. Some people managed to master more than one element. "I've been getting headaches," he offered. "Rarely go into full blown overgiving, but... I skirt the edges more often than I should. Ahh... I haven't a magical solution. Well, sort of indirectly a magical solution. I've developed a Kelvic student in Auristics who flies... I was going to send him as a courier from time to time. I think he's bonding to me without meaning to, so as long as I feed him... "Here, come," he said, leading Caelum to his room, which was at least as big as his little cottage in Zeltiva. He was holing up in there with a bit of a supply of wine for his headaches. "It's been a long time. We'll have to catch up before you fly in another direction looking for her."

[Caelum]

"Headaches," he echoed his host while rubbing fingertips against the height of a cheekbone. It left accidental ink smudges behind, fingerprints blurred into the dull glow of flesh as he followed a memory deeper into the house. "Does he wear pants? Your kelvic?" Strange humor twitched at the edges of his frown, threatening to disrupt it. An especially comfortable seeming chair was chosen once they were within Hadrian's room and he sank down into it with a smothered sigh. "I always have this image of some poor knight assigned to maintaining an acceptable level of public decency amongst the kelvic population in Syliras. Oh --" Lean shoulders pitched forward as he dug a hand clad in a fingerless glove into the folds of his riding jacket. Ultimately, he produced a carefully wrapped package and an battered little book whose binding was all but flaking away. "Here," he muttered, dropping the package into his lap to flip through the book's pages. Faded illustrations were detailed by cramped but legible handwriting. "Whacked, wild physician -- honestly, she was half mad and half genius, bear claws and all -- gave me this potion once. It was supposed to settle the stomach, which is only did when it felt like it, but I discovered that it worked wonders on headaches. Took some chicanery and bribes, but eventually I worked out of her a handful of the primary ingredient. This." The page was marked by the stab of a finger and he flipped the book around to show Hadrian a drawing of a flowering plant. "You see, they look kind of like daisies, but they grow on a bush, eh? Smells of citrus. It's feverfew. You're working on your magical divinity on a regular basis, might want to take a couple of its dried leaves daily with a glass of water. I have some here. They're plentiful in the forest this time of year." It was, as ever, easer to attempt to fix problems that belonged to other people, to gods, to the world than it was to focus on his own army of issues. "Right," he said at length, head dropping so as to tug at the bow holding his leather packet together. "We should. Catch up. That sort of thing." Sometimes it was just so obvious why he had no friends. "So what's new?"

[Hadrian]

And just like that they had returned to their old, comfortable roles within the friendship. At least, he thought of it as a friendship, but what did he know? Of late, he had managed to form relationships with people who seemed to genuinely care about him, the occasionally pantsless Kelvic, but Caelum was one of those rare few who seemed to crop up from time to time, and few matched the fallen sunlord's thirst for knowledge. Hadrian could understand that, and there was their common ground. He smirked just a little. "Kelvics don't give a rat's ass about human propriety, and when he is human, there's a sort of childlike quality about him. The nakedness... it's like the joy of a child running around without pants because the air feels good on his bits. I don't normally notice, but I suppose I will when it happens in public. Ahhh..." He looked over the book, nodding at the feverfew and quickly turning pages because his mind could never just rest upon the laurels of one discovery. Comfrey. Gentian. Peyote. "Interesting. I do think I've seen feverfew locally. I'll have to collect some soon..." He nodded at the specimen Caelum had brought with him. "Dried leaves with tepid water?" he asked, looking at the book again to verify whatever Caelum said, not that he wouldn't believe him, but there was something about reading it in a book as well, that silent expert. "Hm. Thank you." He paused. "Oh. Oh, yes. Well... against my better judgment, I am accompanying a group of acquaintances... well, perhaps they are friends yet... to Ravok. I had meant to avoid the place, but I believe I can help them stay alive and safe and there's strength in numbers, so it's an opportune time for me as well. I'll say nothing of magecrafting until I reach some safer port, I'll pass myself off as a scholar or simpler reimancer or something. Something more common and less likely to be pulled into their wicked schemes. "From there, I hope to make my way around the coastal cities to Lhavit. I haven't been to Avanthal since I was a boy and I've never seen the Spires, Denval, Wind Reach or Kalinor. If I can safely get in, I might learn new things, both anthropological and magical. But Ethan will be handy to send messages, I think. And Lhavit is the goal, roundabout though it may be. I have business with the Queen of Heaven." He paused again, his face falling a bit. "That sounds pretentious, doesn't it? Ah well, can't be helped. Can't be helped. This might interest you, though. You know, of course, that Zintila sacrificed a good deal of her power to fall to earth and heal Semele... Well, while I was in Alvadas, I found a book referencing what I think is a historical precedent for opening a summoning portal to the surface of a star, which blazes like the sun. There are some who posit that our sun is, in fact, a star... as well as a goddess. In any case, I have begun to work simple summoning circles, relying upon my previous work with sigils for magecrafting and other endeavors... mostly pulling Memosites from Swalden to steal their secrets. Actually, you have to trade knowledge and memories for what they give you. I found the coordinates for another common world. But if Zintila knows the coordinates of this star... or any star, really, and is willing to give them to me... and if I can get my skill up to par, I might be able to open a portal to the surface of a star. With her in it. Which... I think it might recharge her. Bump her up toward her former glory. I don't know if it will be a complete recovery, but it might be a start. And if she knows how to heal Semele, she might know how to heal Syna and Leth, or their realms. You know?"

[Caelum]

At the mention of Ravok, Caelum leaned back in his chair. A shadow settled on his face, dimming the already dulled glow of day that tended to thrive within his flesh despite all of the tribulations of the world. An elbow came to settle on the armrest and he bowed his head, eyes closing while he listened to Hadrian go on about his intended journey, his ultimate destination. He pinched the bridge of his nose and watched the stars wink out against the backs of his eyelids. "You terrify me, Hadrian," he said at length, when all the young mage's words had run out and silence had begun to spill between them. He lifted his head, still slumped and indolent, to peer with a new sort of intensity at the one person he might dare name friend. "In all of your words is danger," he gestured, a helpless attempt at communication. "Grave danger. Ravok teems with the faithful of a dark god, faithful who are often incapable of seeing through the pitch to realize the degradation and inequity constituting nearly the entire, cursed city's existence." The unexpected fervor in his words could have belonged to a born and bred Syliran, a knight and ages old enemy of the never-too-distant Ebonstryfe. "What do look for in Rhysol's lair? Not having seen it is neither a good or smart reason to go now. Travel a different route towards your.." He verbally fumbled, a frown slashing his mouth. Emotion drove him to his feet, through the haze of fatigue to spin on a heel and pace the length of the bedroom. Loose hipped, helplessly elegant. He should have been dressed in fine silks and tailored leathers rather than near rags. "Your stars," he located the word, forming it out of the muddled constellations ever at odds with the rest of what dwelt in his head. "You're the only wizard I've known of whom I've not been afraid, but with this. This," another gesture of his hands as he about faced back to his host. "Have you no fear of over giving? Or have you already given right over the edge? I'm not," he exhaled, tried again and more slowly. "You once asked me if I considered my ascension an apotheosis. I didn't. I still don't. Back then you wanted things like armies of shambling undead and a harem of sex slaves. Hadrian." The old soul -- old as the stars, some might wager -- sought his friend's eyes. "You are no great devout of Zentila. Your interest in helping me to heal the fissue in Syna and Leth's realms is more for the brilliant curiosity in your soul than a genuine need to aid a goddess or god. So tell me, why are you doing this?" It might have been the first time in Hadrian's acquaintance with the fallen sunlord that he had heard Caelum say the name of his goddess without it being at least half a curse. Of course, neither was Caelum yet remarking on Hadrian's theory regarding a recharged Zintila and the potential healing of the crack in the Ukalas.

[Hadrian]

This resistance was not unexpected, though he was still thrown for a loop by Caelum's sudden presence. He could not help getting his back up at the assumption that an educated, clever young man as Hadrian thought himself to be could not get into Ravok and get out again. There had been almost a season's planning going into this: faux slaves, stories, training. Of course there was danger involved and of course Hadrian was frightened, but he was also an adult and sometimes had to work through his fear to do what needed to be done. "Ravok is anathema to any right-thinking Syliran," he said with uncharacteristic fervor. He was not what the more close-minded might call a patriot, but he was a son of Syliras, black sheep or not. "I go there in support of a friend, as I would go for you if you asked me to. If I had known..." He frowned quickly, looked away. It hadn't been said in plain words, but he could assume from the ethaefal's disappearance and his sudden vehemence that Ravok had been involved in his troubles of late. A surge of guilt welled up within. Why hadn't he gone to more trouble to find Caelum? Of course he had his studies to worry about, and then the winding journey of learning and loss. "I am taking all possible precautions," he assured the diamond in the rough before him. "And I accept the risk in order that I might increase the chance that my friend survive. As for my... my stars, overgiving is not a common side-effect of world magic, especially summoning. The greater danger is in losing control of what one summons, but I have no desire to loosen an alien creature's leash. In fact, I have only been summoning Memosites from Swalden, mining the stars for knowledge. It's slow going, and provides time to develop that knowledge into wisdom. As ever, I seek knowledge, and now I seek the Queen of Stars for Her wisdom. I'm not summoning... shambling hordes... or alien harems. If I help a goddess and She helps me, then I am doing good, am I not? If I empower a fallen goddess, and we learn how to heal the rift in the heavens, are we not repairing what was broken five hundred eleven years ago? If I learn and gain power from these endeavors, does that make the possible accomplishments worthless? "This is a painstaking progress, iota by iota, to prevent pulling something into Mizahar that does not belong, that will harm anything." There were mentions in the writings found in Alvadas of nam-šub transmitted via Memosite memory transfer, but nothing confirmed. "Whatever gods made me gave me curiosity and the ability to make my ideas manifest. I had the idea. I did research. And now I take the next logical step, preparing myself for the degree of skill it will require, and getting myself to the goddess Who will either agree to work with me or not. If not, then I will move on to another idea. Perhaps back to Denval to find out why more ethaefal seem to fall there than anywhere else, at least according to rumors I've heard..."