[Silver Sliver] Scion of Ravok [Sareth]

[Hadrian]

71st Summer, 511 A.V. The tavern had quickly become one of his favorite places in Ravok, its brew pleasant in his mouth. He wasn't sure he liked the idea that he had a favorite place or a pleasant experience in this place that was supposed to be anathema. His mind was always tallying information, the which he would have to send back to Syliras before long, but he hadn't discovered anything particularly useful, which was upsetting. Its implications were unsettling. Intellectually, he could play games with the idea of evil, but the visceral experience of Evil's city should not have gone down so sweetly... But here he was known by the name Andry Ellis. Here he was doing actual business as a magecrafter, not depending on the goodwill of university dons or Syliran knights. Here he was doing good, he believed. For Kendall, for Clyde, for Syliras. He concentrated on his closed fist, letting his will work unseen in that damp darkness, pulling matter apart and away from a center until he opened his palm to reveal a spot of utter blackness, something nobody could even see unless they were at his table with him, a view of the Nitrozian Plaza out the window. But his little black hole tugged at everything, ever so gently, and he wondered if that was the nature of evil: an emptiness, a need that pulled, devoured. There was a dualism between expanding and contracting, giving and receiving, ...thus, good and evil? Or duality was a lie. Reality was a lie. He sighed, seeing no answers in his little portal to the Void. He banished it and reached for his mug, taking a mouthful of Silver Sliver to savor before swallowing. Another sigh and two marble sized balls of dim energy appeared in his hand, one transmuting into a mixture of res and water, the other into res and stone. He rolled the two around, keeping them discreet from one another, then weaving them through his fingers like Lhavitian meditation balls. Some berated him for 'useless' displays of magic, but he felt that fine control was important, a casual familiarity with magic helpful, developing instincts for working greater magics that might could go terribly wrong.

[Sareth Nitrozian]

He had recovered, but not fully and not completely. It was Thirty-Six days since his... Accident. The magic he'd attempted to create had left him a cripple for a week, although he was slowly regaining the use of his arm. It was still blackened and dry, the mostly healed skin having a strange gray-black tone from the magical fire and Rhes. He still wore bandages around parts of his hand where the burnings had been particularily severe, but overall his arm worked again. Though the same could not quite be said for his magic. He looked up at the Silver Sliver with a dull stare; it was now becoming more of a bad habit to come here than a one time mistake. Perhaps it was The Sliver that eased the phantom pains in his arm or perhaps it was the oblivion of responsability and self that existed in the place. Whichever the case, it was a reoccurring vice of his now. He went inside, carefully avoiding his sword hitting the door on his way in and not making too much noise. He wasn't very fond of undue attention, at least since he'd torched himself. He smiled at that thought. Perhaps he could make jokes about it soon, though he didn't think he would like anyone else to just yet. Besides... He was still marked by it. For weeks on end he had been unable to create a single flame, even creating the Rhes itself left him sweating and in terror for a long time. Most attempts had left him frustrated and angry, but in time he had gained a resemblance of self control again. He looked around the tavern, and his eyes zero'ed in on a man in disbelief. A man sat at a table, playing with magic in a public place completely unawares that he was already being eyed warily by everyone around him. He didn't know whether to be amused or startled, but he was definetely curious. He made his way to the stranger's table; deliberately walking fast and looking dramatic with his dark jacket, hair and longsword. Like a black winged bird of prey settling down on the chair opposite the man, but with a curious friendly smile when he looked at him. He was past the point of hiding his arm, and used the black hand to support himself on the table as he sat down. People were always disturbed by it, and that could be used to his advantage. His curse would become his blessing. "Greetings Sir, may I join you? Sareth Nitrozian sitting before you, in case you were wondering." he never stopped smiling, humour in his voice evident though in truth he was more curious and wary than he showed. This man looked like some tall pale scholar, but his demeanour wasn't exactly what he expected from such a man. Obviously a mage, and probably a better one than himself. That reminded him to beware; he knew firsthand how dangerous such men could be.

[Hadrian]

Little tricks were one thing, but few could sense magic as clearly as Hadrian. Only blind Stitch had rivaled him of late, and so Hadrian tracked the aura approaching him from the door as soon as a flare of interest coruscated through the patterns of his soul. Some sort of fire damage to his arm, but no danger emanating from him. Not yet. He too was dressed mostly in black, the costume he had acquired in Syliras to fit in with the denizens of the city of evil. But his smile was only half-guarded when he looked up to meet the native's gaze. The injury didn't faze him, having burned himself on magic before, for attempting to invoke Ivak, no less. "Please sit down," he said with a faint, wry twist to his smile. The young nobleman was already seated, of course. Nitrozian, so they were at the edge of a plaza named for his family. He kept his aura cool and calm, hoping that would ease the sudden acid burn in his guts. He could not be discovered or Ethan, Kendall, and the others would come to harm. "Andry Ellis," he said, his voice lilting with a bit of a Zeltivan dialect to his Common. Putting out the hand opposite of Sareth's injured one, he spared him any pain. "I sit in awe of your august lineage," he added, offhand, not awed at all, but the sarcasm was good natured. Andry Ellis could deal pleasantly and glibly with people. Hadrian Aelius could not.

[Sareth Nitrozian]

Sareth took his hand and shook it briefly with an amused smile. "In awe huh'? That's too bad, here I was hoping we could have a civilized conversation." He liked the joke; people often became strange and fidgety as soon as they learned who he was. It became an annoyance in the long run. He looked up and around calmly, and waved at a barmaid standing watchfully nearby. "What are you having?" if the answer came promptly, he'd order whatever was Hadrian's preference alongside a Sliver for himself. As they waited for their drinks he turned to look at his table companion with the same curious smile he'd worn for the duration of their brief conversation. He thought of it as the "Nitrozian smile", one with a little confident twist to the side and the shimmer of intelligence hidden behind humour. Whether it was there or not was anyone's guess. "Am I right if I guess you are not a native to our fair city? What brings you to Ravok?" He leaned back in his chair as he asked and shifted his head to look around the tavern briefly. Eyes were averted when he met them for the most part, and the drinks were already on their way. Somehow they almost always arrived quite timely to his table. Of course, he turned his eyes back to Andry politely when he answered his question. He was obviously a mage; yet whether he was one who created things or ruined them was anyone's guess. Perhaps he was both.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian, or rather, Andry, laughed, his awe clearly underwhelming. Zeltiva had its fare share of civilization, its sophistication coming from its educational system, with even most of the lowly folk literate. They also were a trade hub, receiving news and ideas from around the continent, as well as ideas pulled out from the past with books and such. He let the Nitrozian order him another Silver, though he would be careful not to drink too, too much and lose the game. Whatever was the game they played. "I'm from Zeltiva," he affirmed. "My father's a merchant. I'm ... well, a dabbler. Study this, study that. Father wants me to be more closely allied with the family trade, though, so here I am, scouting for opportunity." He looked around. "Most of what I find is alcohol, though. I'm a connoisseur of that. Our kelp beer is the perfect marriage of intellectual and sailor. It can be brewed such that the academicians call it an acquired taste, cite its evolution from a time when raw fish wrapped in rice and seaweed was the height of sophisticated culinary art... but really it's just a pirate's rotgut. But this, your Silver. This is evil." He drank the rest of his to make room for a new round.

[Sareth Nitrozian]

Sareth let his eyes trail absent mindedly around the tavern as Andry talked. It wasn't as if he wasn't listening, he heard it all but the allure of looking at a pretty barmaid or the simple curiosity of finding out who were who in the tavern was greater than the man before him. Some people were unnerved or offended by it, undermining their confidence in a subtle way. Some were not so easily phased, and which Andry was didn't matter all that much to him. However, some of it was indeed interesting. If he was a merchant, what did he sell and how much of it? Such information was important to check up on when you had a business as large and influential as his family's. The Nitrozians did not only deal in money, but also in knowledge, information and influence. Who knew what things a merchant magician might bring to town. He looked back at Andrys with a smile as he came to the end of his tale about kelp beer, a sly grin in fact. "Evil? I find it to be quite beautiful; although it is just as you said of the kelp beer abit of an aquired taste, although less ... Fishy." His eyebrows arched slightly and elegantly as Andrys emptied his Silver so quickly. He sure could drink, but for a connoisseur he did so quite quickly. Hopefully he would have had enough before Sareth's pockets were empty. He raised two fingers in the air, without looking away from the man opposite him, and asked another question on his mind. "Scouting for opportunity? What do you seek, then? Not to jump to business instantly, but perhaps I can be of assistance; my father does quite abit of trade in all of Ravok." He awaited his response and listened to it politely, only to nod and change the subject. It was always improper to talk business so shortly after striking up a conversation; or so he'd been taught. "So, I saw you do Reimancy but a moment ago. The University of Zeltiva is supposedly one to rival our own Institute of Higher Learning. What other abilities have you got up in your sleeve?" The question was delivered with an innocent curious smile, but in truth he wanted to know if he posessed some of the more troublesome magics to deal with in a conversation. Hypnotism, Auristics, things that would suddenly mean his own mind was an unsafe place that secrets could be stolen from.

[Hadrian]

Andry didn't mind at all that Sareth seemed to find the surroundings more interesting than him despite the fact that he had taken a seat unbidden in the first place. Hadrian's mother would have boxed his ears for such poor manners, but many a rich man's son thought himself above etiquette. In some ways they were, but it could easily backfire or come back to haunt them. And if the man were looking for Cassandra, well, she was a glorious-looking woman, to be sure. In that brief space of time, he studied Sareth, both his face and his aura. Anyone could be dangerous in Ravok, but the son of a prominent family all the more so. "Evil is often beautiful," he answered glibly, "though the best kelp ale isn't fishy at all. We don't export much of the best, though. Perhaps we should." At Sareth's question, he smiled. "He has bought and sold just about everything in his time, but he seems to be looking for a way to make a land route more lucrative. Our port is unmatched, but passage through the Zastoska Mountains is difficult enough on foot, let alone with wagons full of trade goods. But really, business is just my pretext for being here. Pleasure is the true aim." He mixed in enough truth to make his deceptions believable. He was, after all, the son of a merchant and had lived in Zeltiva long enough to be considered a resident. He held property there, and could obviously answer questions about it on the fly. "Ah, yes. Pretty tricks I can do with water. I went through two or three teachers of Auristics, but it was too much mental discipline for me." He laughed, remembering how difficult it had been. Of course, he had worked through the growing pains and now Auristics was probably his greatest skill. Sareth didn't need to know that, of course. Like I said, I dabble. I know enough to help with things, but mostly I know enough to know I don't know anything... That's from a philosophy class by the bye. And I'm sorry, but your Institute cannot rival our University," he said, hand held to his chest with pride for his alma mater. But he was still smiling. It had to be the Silver.

[Sareth Nitrozian]

Sareth emptied his own Silver few moments before their next two arrived, more out of courtesy than wish. This Andrys spoke quite well, some of what he told about himself had an eerie resemblance to Sareth's own life. He seemed to be the noble's son with a lack of responsability, one who drifted around doing abit of that and the other without settling down. Just as he was now, enjoying life but not making anything of it. "Oh yeah? You shouldn't go yelling that around every street corner though, I'm sure some of the more avid students would be most unappreciative." Their new drinks arrived, and he took a small drink of it, savouring the flavour for a moment before continuing their conversation. "I never was the true scholar though. Perhaps I should have been, abilities like Auristics would probably come handy no matter what goal or assignment I were to take up." He wasn't quite sure what to make of this man's arcane skills. Either he was just a dabbler as he said, or he was simply hiding the fact that he was gifted. It made Sareth abit doubtful, perhaps not obvious by his demeanour but clear to one who used other senses. "My less than excellence in the magical arts is what earned me this arm. It's not the prettiest sight, but unlike you most people are quite intimidated when I pull out my black hand before their eyes. So I suppose there's good in all bad things." Sareth smiled, a thought ocurring to him. Perhaps this man wasn't fond of "evil" things? Many foreigners were paranoid of Ravok, fearful of Rhysol and ignorant of how he and The Voice were the center of the entire city's existence. Indeed, when they came here they expected death to be everywhere but as far as he knew the city was much more beautiful than for example the dungeon fortress called Syliras. Well, parts of it anyway... "If you're truly here for entertainment, perhaps you're going to visit the House of Immortal Pleasures? It's quite the place to be for any man, or woman, who has coin and seeks pleasure." He grinned suddenly after that little speech and drank more of his Sliver. Perhaps he'd come upon the topic of slavery next, just to see how his new friend would react. Business, trade deals and caravans were things they could talk about later. Now was the time to get to know each other, even if it was difficult with half-truths and deceitful smiles.

[Hadrian]

Andry laughed. "I never intend to make enemies. I'll not speak ill of your Institute, but I will defend the University. But while I do have some pride in my home and my alma mater, I don't have a stick up my arse. Not worth fighting over." He drank while Sareth spoke, nodding along with his words. When he saw the flicker of doubt in the man's aura, though, his own reached out to touch it, reassure it. He laughed again, a short, easy chuckle. "If you want to see auras, just wait until you get a migraine. At least with the migraine you aren't constantly wondering what the hells it all means. Just pain." Drink. "Oh, yes. For a while I was upset that I was stuck with Water when I wanted Fire. I even prayed to Ivak for fire, but all I got was scalding hot water and burns. Perhaps that was my answer... Hm..." Drink, but he almost spluttered as he laughed at that last. "Oh, ho! I've heard you do have some of the best brothels in the world. Perhaps one of the old clods my father wants me to talk shop with will try to grease the wheels with paid amorous companionship!"

[Sareth Nitrozian]

"If you wish I can show you the way, although don't worry about me trying to grease the wheels. I'm not paying for your women." He drank more of his Sliver and felt in a better mood, somehow the alcohol seemed to have a lessening effect on the pain in his arm. Besides, he felt a little reassured about Andry's magical prowess. A merchant boy looking for fun didn't sound like any avid student of the arcane arts to be sure. "As for wanting fire... It has it's drawbacks." He looked down at his left hand with a dismissive look. Come to think of it, one of the city's Druvin were called Blackhand. Strange coincidence, hopefully that person would not take offense to someone accidentally adopting the trait of its name. "What's it like in Zeltiva generally? I think I went there once when I was just a boy, but all I remember is rough sailors and aloof scholars both thinking they ran the town." It had been an educational trip, though he'd not learned as much as he perhaps should. Compared to Ravok, it wasn't much but a port and a single university. Not that he meant to show any disrespect to the Zeltivan in front of him.