[Silver Sliver] Blackhand & The Hypnotist [Crismento Miren]

[Sareth Nitrozian]

39th Day of Summer 511 A.V., 15 Chimes after the 19th Bell. Sareth opened the door to the tavern and crept inside not meeting the eyes of the few people who turned to watch the newcomer. He'd usually never visit a place like this, there was only things to lose and little to gain. Yet now he felt like it didn't matter, like the disapproval of his family and the world was already directed at him. He walked a little hunched, keeping his aching, bandaged arm close to his chest as he made his way to a corner of the tavern. He sat down tentatively, grimacing at pain that flared up as he bumped his arm on the table. His back was to the wall and he looked out at the room with dark eyes as he leaned over the table using one arm for support and holding the wounded one close. It was a busy night - Which helped to hide him, people and barmaids rushing amongst themselves trying to catch a break, a drink or a girl. He was here for the first, and perhaps also the second. He was here because he couldn't go home after being released from the care of healer's and medicians; he couldn't face the disappointment of his father, the barely hidden amusement and glee of his competitive brothers, and the pity of his sisters. Besides, even four days later images of the flames flashed before his eyes, and he could feel the fire scorching his skin and the heat crawl across his face. He was scared of himself, scared of his own power and everything else, even though he refused to show it to anyone and had tried to hide it beneath bravado and anger to everyone. He had lost himself four days ago, and was still reeling to try and regain what he had lost.

[Crismento Miren]

Silver Silver was not his favourite tavern. The food was good, the drinks were great and the people gullible or drunk when not dangerous. But ever since he was drugged there Crismento felt reluctant to open the bar’s doors and walk inside to grab a mug of ale or the tavern’s special and have a chat with some stranger, who might reveal if not give something of value. Not to mention that it was relatively close to the Tarsin’s Boarding House where he was residing, making it a convenient destination. Cris knew that his hesitancy to visit Silver Silver might have been costing him a lot, since it was quite a popular establishment, but even though he knew that the incident had been a special case and partly his own fault, the con artist could still feel the taste of poison in his mouth, despite not being able to feel it at the time he invited it to his body. And still, in spite of these bad memories, that evening saw one of those rare moments when Crismento brought himself to letting the tavern enjoy his patronage. In return he would enjoy the meals provided and, if he was lucky, its patrons. He finished his meat stew alone at one of the tables in the room, or at least he started alone, but was later joined by couple of husky, rugged men when the tavern started to fill up. His conversation with them went little beyond the small greeting, since they didn’t appear the type he would be willing to steal from. The two men appeared as if they could deal with him quite roughly at a drop of a hat and their conversation about the day at the slave market certainly did not encourage him to join in on the discussion. Even though Cris wasn’t one of the guys who usually said the wrong things, the risks of ending up with the chains around his neck seemed too great for an unknown possible reward. The con man glanced at yet another visitor entering the tavern, and although the man didn’t looked back at him, he still noticed that the newcomer stood out from the common crowd in some way. It wasn’t just his rather handsome looks, but the way the black haired man dressed also spoke that he didn’t spend his days working a back breaking and low paying job. Though if whatever he was doing didn’t break backs, it appeared to be dangerous to arms, since bandages were only fashionable in a case of injury. The most important factor, however, was that the man didn’t appear to be very happy, which was the second best state of a person to get close to him. The first one was ‘drunk’, which unfortunately only yielded temporary results in most cases. When Crismento realised that he has been dealt a quite good hand to play, he decided to make a move. He stood up and grabbed his mug of ale nodding to his table-mates a polite good-bye that was left unanswered and swiftly yet slowly approached his target trying to avoid bumping into other clients of the Silver Silver; a task that was only successful to a certain degree. ”In liquids we bury our aches when they are too deep to be healed; to taverns our trails shall lead, for there our soul mates will share the pain,” Cris spoke in a pensive voice while looking not at the man but into the tavern, though his words were clearly directed at him. He then shifted his gaze to the lad, while his small smile washed away the melancholy, which the con artist had temporarily put on, from his face. ”Atelius Kasami,” Crismento introduced himself offering his to the man the way so he would still be able to shake it despite the injury. ”May I join to keep you company for a while?”

OOCI wasn’t sure which arm Sareth had burnt so I left it ambiguous

[Sareth Nitrozian]

Sareth didn't bother to order yet, but rather just watched all of the people in the room. The strong, the weak, the cruel and the kind. Normally, the sight of a pretty waitress would have enticed him to order a drink and see what she was up for, but in his current condition, both mental and physical, such reprieve didn't seem particularily likely. Another poison to swallow, alongside his pride and arrogance. The place was filled with ordinary people, wasting away their time... And he was one of them. That thought stung like an arrow. Even these pathetic nobodies didn't go around scorching their own limbs. It was pitiful and ironic to be arrogant enough to think worse of them than himself with what he was now. He'd been a fool. What he'd tried to do had never even been touched upon by his mentors, making things fly out and blow up was one thing; any idiot could do that. Keeping the Res under control, feeding it and using it as a leashed servant or slave instead of a wild thing or beast wasn't possible for someone at his level. Not to mention trying something never done before. All of those excuses didn't matter. No-one in Ravok, or anyone anywhere else ever listened to or looked for excuses when they heard of someone's failure. They would simply learn he had, and take that into account. He wanted to disappear, or take on a new face and start out again. He was now an embarassment and a risk to his family, and the idea of voiding himself to a dark place or morphing himself into oblivion seemed preferrable. Although, with what he had just achieved to do last he attempted magic those dreams were even more foolish. Which only annoyed him more. A man approached. Talen watched him from his hunched, miserable position at the table with one eyebrow raised questioningly, threateningly, and a tired angry look on his face. Tall. Very handsome, with a face that held confidence, humour and pride. Impeccably clean, and well-dressed. Perhaps a noble, perhaps simply a man that took care of himself and enjoyed doing it. Not a warrior of any kind, he suspected. Warriors weren't quite so clean 'lest they not have to fight anymore. The way he spoke, too, was a man of words rather than action. Or well, words might lead to action. Money was power, and words could summon Mizas, or so he'd learnt at times. The small rhyme he spoke was a good poem, it suited the occasion eerily well in fact. Definetely not some random stray dog, or perhaps exactly that but one with abilities. Was he friendly, or did he want something? Did he know who he was? Why was he bothering him, any patron could read by his demeanour that he didn't want company. People wrapped in melancholy and bandages shouldn't attract the attention of fashionably dressed handsome men... Sareth stayed silent and looked at the man's outstretched right hand with a stare that suggested he might slice it off with whatever was hidden within the black sheath that only was obvious at his hip when he came closer. The dark of it matched his clothes and he'd taken special care not to let it hit anyone or anything as he entered. He let a dead silence reign for a moment, unsure of whether to speak to this man or not. He was weird, and Sareth didn't know what on earth he might talk to him for. Then again, not knowing and sitting alone was more of a pain than talking to him, so he would. "Sareth.. Nitrozian." He looked up into the man's eyes and took his hand with his own as he did so, straightening his back and inspecting the stranger running his eyes up and down in a flash after meeting his gaze. Nothing new under the sun. The pause before he said his last name was very brief, he'd noticed the effect it had on a few people and practiced playing it to his advantage without making it seem too obvious. He continued with a small smile, one that could be interpretated as both mocking, threatening and amused. "You may, at your own peril." The smile vanished and he looked serious, only to reappear a few moments later. Maybe Atelius was intimidated by these small charades, maybe he wasn't, but regardless he'd make them. He offered the man a seat with a grand sweep of his good hand, and turned his head to the side to look at him with a questioning glance that gave him a charming yet childlike appearance. Which was weird with his maimed hand and passionately angry eyes. "So, why do you join the melancholic cripple at his dark table?" His voice was filled with ironic humour that bordered on anger. In truth he was also honestly curious, and this man did not seem boring nor stupid.

[Crismento Miren]

Crismento saw that he wasn’t met very joyfully. It was rather obvious as instead of getting a response he could feel being evaluated by the man. He was beginning to wonder if he would have to leave without getting a verbal acknowledgment, but remained with the same slight smile and outstretched hand as if he was stopped at that point in time. During those moments Cris understood that the man had an air of self-importance surrounding him, which fit with the combination of the first impression he had and the nature of city he found himself in. Soon the reason behind those signs of arrogance was revealed as the con artist received his awaited answer. The man at the table shared the name with the Plaza that both, his accommodation and this very tavern, were located in. It was no coincidence, he assumed, and Sareth must have been a member of one of the most influential families in Ravok. Cris didn’t expect to stumble upon someone like that when he approached the man, so he couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows, though he managed to turn the mien from a surprise to a sign of recognition. Sareth invited him to join, or at least his words did. Crismento had difficulties understanding the meaning behind his smile and change of expressions that were probably meant to hide the true intentions of the speaker in a very obvious manner. Whatever the Nitrozian’s reasons for behaving like that were, Cris knew that he could not dismiss the possibility that the young man simply felt the need to play an intimidating character because of his status. Perhaps he even felt like one. The swindler decided to go with that option and play along with the game in order to leave the nobleman in his comfort zone. The last thing he wanted to do was to piss off his target when he already didn’t look to be in the best mood. ”Ah, then I will be willing to take the risk, Master Sareth, and hope that mercy is smiling upon me tonight,” he said without a detectable hint of sarcasm and smiled before adding: ”One does not simply run away after inviting himself to the table and being accepted.” Cris sat down at the seat offered by Sareth and placed his mug on the table. When he turned his head to look at the man he was met with the strangest look that managed to be both, extremely irritated and inquisitive, yet still remain innocently pleasant. Crismento responded to the gaze with calm and piercing eyes that was accompanied by the smallest gentle smile that appeared to be his natural expression. Even though the young Nitrozian wasn’t openly aggressive towards him, one might have gotten impression that such reaction was somewhere just around the corner. And perhaps it was. But Cris could hear the lighter undertone as well beneath the words and took it as an encouragement to move forward. The con artist tried not to think about what could have been gained from this person, but concentrate on moving the relationship somewhere beyond the exchange of names and see where that would take him, before letting his imagination run wild. He knew that once he will have seen the full picture or even the rough outline, the anxiety about screwing up would creep in and begin tickling him underneath the skin. ”Because if left alone, melancholy would take its roots and keep growing stronger until it will overwhelm the man and begin to rot, destroying him from the inside in the process,” Cris widened his smile, but only slightly, before he began to speak. ”But it can be cured, and the only known medicine is another downhearted man for a company and ale to moisten your lips and wash your throat.” He turned his eyes away from Sareth and let them wander around at the patrons of the busy tavern. ”Look at them, sir,” his smile was gone and the tone turned gloomier. ”Their life is filled with simple delights and simple problems. They are happy because they managed to negotiate a great deal on spices for their dinner, they are sad because the customer before them got the last red apples in the shop. They are delirious because they succeeded to pull into their bed a pretty slave that they had to guard at the slave market; they are devastated because their friends won’t be gathering for a weekly card game this evening. They are men and women who have given up on searching for the path that would lead somewhere and instead willingly chose to lock themselves in a dull repeating circle that only death will break.” Crismento’s eyes returned to the noble Ravokian. ”And then I see you, sir. The thoughts that cross my mind ask me: ’Are these the people that this man could be sharing his sorrow with? Could they even understand him before alcohol took away their meagre minds?’” The small smile then returned to his lips and he began washing away the dejection in his voice. ”There wasn’t one that I found suitable to heal me, so I realized I am the best that the tavern could offer you. Now that we have one part of the medicine, you have to be served with the other one, Master Sareth. If you don’t mind, I would find it an honour to treat you to a drink this evening.” If Sareth didn’t object the offer, Cris would raise his hand to call for a waitress and order a chosen drink.

[Sareth Nitrozian]

He wasn't sure he liked the man's serviceable attitude. He didn't seem genuine, no-one called him "Master Sareth". It threw him off abit; yet when the man continued he was intrigued. Although he dobted that this man was in a position like his own he was right in his theory of cures, and what would happen if he didn't find one. His words were beautiful, and flattering in a way that he'd rarely heard even from slaves. He thought much of what he said was true, but what man would approach someone in such a manner? Usually such flattery was reserved for those you wanted to gain something from, Mizas, influence or other favours. He couldn't help but listen with a curious stare. There was something ineffably charming about this man, and although it was likeable it was also mildly unsettling. "That would be wonderful.. And call me Sareth, I am not a master of anything, at least not yet." He looked down at his bandaged arm in a brief moment of reflection; if anything had ever been there to remind someone they were not yet what they hoped to be this was it. An obvious and permanent reminder of his failure. "But tell me, Atelius, are you too a 'downhearted man' or do you simply seek them out to remedy their sorrow and anger? That seems a strange thing." He wondered at the man, who was he to approach him like this? Still, courtesy demanded he offer something in return. Another supposed way of getting past something was to talk about it... "You tell me why, and I'll tell you how." He smiled and lifted his wounded hand in a small suggestive gesture.

[Crismento Miren]

A pretty barmaid danced her way towards their table at Crismento’s sign and with a smile that revealed her white teeth asked how she could be of service. ”Please bring your fine Silver Silver to the gentleman, darling,” he glanced at his own mug which had not much left in it to hide cover its bottom and looked up at the girl. ”Actually, why don’t you make the order twice as great. It would be terrible to let one’s throat go dry in the middle of the conversation.” The young barmaid just smiled happily repeating the simple order and went to the bar, leaving the two men alone at the table again. Cris felt how the initial Sareth’s aggression turned into careful wariness and even though there was still some road to go towards trust, he satisfyingly declared it as a progress to success. The man’s glance at his injured arm didn’t pass the con artist’s eyes unnoticed. Despite not being able to read what the brief look on Sareth’s face was telling, he made the connection with the words spoken. It suggested disappointment in failure and insecurity in one’s own abilities. In his mind Crismento started weaving the story of Atelius’s sorrow. He smiled at the man’s question, though resisted grinning even more at the offer of somewhat playful information exchange as the opportunity to further breach past the barriers excited him. ”I have to admit, Sareth, that I am too much of an unkind and self-centered bastard to walk around in a quest to heal someone of their sorrow or even feed on their despair. Instead I look for someone to listen to their troubled stories so that I would know that I am not the only one struggling in this life, and someone to listen to my own pain so that I wouldn’t carry it inside me for too long. It just happens to be that the benefits are mutual,” he added with a smile. The barmaid returned with two mugs of the tavern’s special and placed them on the table before retreating again after she had received a nod of thanks from Cris. ”Aches of my soul lie where my father’s expectations begin,” the con man tried to shoot at the target’s general direction. The key was to be a bit vague and very open to the interpretations, so that the person listening could easily find something to relate to. ”Living by the highest standards makes every success seem like a failure and every failure like a complete defeat. And there is just so much a man can take before being broken and sent into the plains of sadness and melancholy.” Cris raised his mug inviting Sareth to take a drink too. He waited to see some clues on how he was doing so far, since moving ahead in the wrong direction might provide disastrous results.