[Flashback] A Stolen Book (Alric)

[Wrenmae]

Fall 505 AV

"Thief! Thief! Get back you petching little monster!" The howl of the heavy shopkeep echoed harshly through the crowded streets, sinking into sound and fading. The man, for indeed there could be no doubt, stood at a startling six feet of height, padded with so much fat and muscle he might have been a small Jamoura than a man at all. The crowd parted for him as he lumbered along the winding roads, eyes narrowed and knife held out, grasped firmly in his right hand. Blood colored the fist red, but his knuckles were white, a grip so terrifying one would be daft to attempt and disarm.

Ahead of him, light as a feather and running for his life, a boy dashed in and out of bow-legged travelers and the florid colors of autumn dresses. He wore little more than a peasant's garb, patchwork shirt and pants completed with shoes too tight for his narrow feet. Beneath his arm was a book, tucked in safety as though a loaf of bread to a hungry man, or the desperate favor of some god.

The shopkeep was snarling, practically slobbering...violence promised behind the thin veil of red across his eyes. Wrenmae didn't bother to check, however, far too intent on escaping to worry about taking his eyes off the road. Every movement had to be planned, executed on a downward slope of decreasing control. Dust and pebbles were thrown into the wake of his progress, each foot step a lighter compliment to the pounding progress of the man behind him.

Wrenmae sprinted, his narrow chest pushing against his clothes desperately as he forced air into his lungs to aid his progress. He felt lucky it was downhill, and crowded. It was far easier for a smaller boy to navigate the Alvadas marketplace than a man as big as the shopkeep.

He had a few moments time, seconds really, to ponder his act of willful theft...but what he found did not enlighten him at all. He had seen what he wanted and hadn't the mizas to pay for it. Part of him felt that if he wasn't caught, the owner almost deserved to lose the book. After all, there were far more expensive items at the stand than a tattered old book...but wrath had caused the man to abandon them in light of catching the little rogue. More than likely he'd return to find some things gone...or worse, perhaps he'd find the cart gone entirely...dragged away to another's whim.

Maybe a citizen would get to play shopkeep today.

Wrenmae was wrenched back into the world when he narrowly avoided a woman in the street, diving sideways and nearly falling on unsteady and overworked legs. He could feel the hot breath of the giant behind him, flames like a pyre raging out of control. Wrenmae imagined the knife sliding through his ribs and took the best option available to him.

He'd grown up some years on the streets and though they changed, he knew their twists better than most. Rather than offer his small body as an ample target for the ogre, Wrenmae hurled himself over short wall along the street plummeting out of sight into the deeper market place. He heard a roar behind him, but was far too occupied grabbing at anything passing by him to slow his descent. Fabric, wood, stone, and catching the end of a line drying clothes he bobbed for an instant before tumbling to the ground in an undignified heap.

Coughing, the storyteller pulled the book out from under his arm and read the title again. Complete Control: The Magic of Hynotism, the book exclaimed in faded gold letters.

Wrenmae grinned, daring to flip open the cover to see the first page.

The bellows of the merchant, now heading toward his location, cut short his foray into the book and keeping quiet, he slid into an alley and was gone.



**************************

The Wilmot manor was forbidden for Wrenmae, a rule he had imposed on himself from the beginning. Alric was a friend, and perhaps that was why Wrenmae never actually entered the grounds. He would visit no plague on the family, not by his hand at least, and what sickness he gave to Alric was the unfortunate result of inquiry, young minds constantly learning and questioning.

Together they were a team, apart they were just two orphans in Alvadas.

Sometimes Wrenmae wished he'd been chosen by the Wilmot family. Of course he game later, at the age of ten to the gates of Illusion...but still. His adopted parents were weak, fragile in their age. Personally Wrenmae tried to spend as little time among them as possible...and though it was a source of growing separation between them, the boy hoped it would prolong their lives.

Instead, Wrenmae scuttled to the roof of the building beside the manor, clammoring over unused barrels and refuse to pull himself gasping over the lip of the squat dwelling. Alvadas was a curious place and no secrets were secrets long. Only the tops of buildings remained consistant, and so Wrenmae deigned to meet his friend here.

Earlier last evening he'd divulged his plan to acquire the book at the stand, leaving out that he hadn't the mizas...Alric was from a priveleged family and Wrenmae was loathe to borrow any more than his friend's time.

And health.

Alone on the roof for a moment, Wrenmae glanced through the pages of the book. They were marked with stylistic lines, inked letters so delicately carved they might have been spoken onto the page rather than written. Starting at the beginning, Wrenmae laid himself out flat against the roof and began perusing the pages. Hypnotism, it would be the art that would ensure he would get what he wanted...people already found him oddly charming, and harnessing the power of Hypnotism would make him more enticing still...an exciting possibility.

He hoped Alric would share his excitement for the book, enjoying when friends could share times of mutual glee. A cool wind cut across the building and brought a shiver down Wrenmae's spine, but the boy was beyond noticing...already enraptured in the pages, his eyes shifting from left to right like clockwork.

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric sighed heavily. He was honestly thinking of changing his goal of learning everything, to learning everything that was interesting. For the past 3 hours he'd been reading about some fish people in the Suvan Sea. Charodae, the book called them. It wasn't his idea, mind you. It was his Father's. And the only reason he had thought to make Alric learn of foreign people was because they were the last books in the house that Alric hadn't already read. Indeed, Alric had already completed the courses Alvin Wilmot had prepared. These included a study on the Kontinese Language, basic Mathematics, Ionu's basic teachings, and even a study on Eyris. Alric had done well in all of these, and his Father was not prepared for Alric's natural ease when it came to learning. And so, because of that, he hadn't been prepared for when Alric would read them all. He had left the Manor early today to obtain new books and more advance subjects for Alric. Alric appreciated it, but he really wished he had been given a break today. He wasn't sure that knowing Char would be all that important. Granted, he would eventually learn it anyway. But right now, he just wasn't interested. In fact, he had been quite adamant about learning what was useful first. After all, after those were taken care of, it would be a simple matter learning the rest. But it seemed as though his Father just did not understand the definition of useful. Alric would admit, learning Kontinese appeared useless at first, until he noticed that Alvadas had a very decent population of Konti. However, when it came to these... Charodae, he hadn't even been aware of their existence until he read this book. So what were the chances he'd ever use their language? They were minimal, at best. What he really wanted to learn, was magic. Any kind would have been acceptable. After all, of all useful skills, magic seemed the most versatile. Why couldn't his Father teach him a magical discipline? The answer he had gotten from him was "It was too dangerous" but really, how dangerous could it be? Alric was in his thirteenth year, surely he could handle a simple discipline. Granted, he supposed reimancy might be a bad idea. He could end up burning himself, drowning himself, suffocating himself, or who knows what else. But what of the others? What about something like hypnotism? What was he going to do, hypnotize himself to death? Please. Alric, slammed his book shut as he finished the last paragraph. He stood up and stretched. He felt stiff from reading in the same position for so long. He decided he'd go out and have a walk, stretch his legs a bit. He grabbed his mask and hat, which had both been birthday presents by Kinneas ,a good friend of his, and slipped through the door.

[Wrenmae]

A word of warning, this book is written to detail the basics and advanced applications of Hypnosis. Of all the magical practices in Mizahar, Hypnotism is perhaps the most dangerous. While, at surface, Hypnotism does not seem to possess the destructive capabilities of reimancy, the reality of the art uses the mind as a battlefield. Damage is dealt directly to the psychosis of both the practitioner and the victim. Hypnotism reputes the highest fatality rate among wizards, second to reimancy in death but first among all magical practices in insanity. Proceed only if you possess the desire to learn and the will to temper that knowledge with understanding. One cannot unlearn and once the gates are open, the doors cease to hold meaning. You have been warned.

-Robin Davenport


Wrenmae whistled, reading the foreword twice. He lay on the ledge of the building, one arm cast carelessly over the side while the other held up the book to ward off the sun. The leg that followed his lazy arm beat a gentle rhythm into the piebald stucco, defying gravity willfully suspended over the cobblestone.

He was swaddled in his usual patchwork clothes, more a habit of comfort than style. Oil touched his locks with a glisten, the only sign they hadn't been washed recently. Alvadas had a way of drawing his attention from the menial cleanliness, somehow always coaxing him to discover more, explore more, and these days he found restful nights in the clefts between roofs or tucked away in an alley than actually at home. By all accounts he might have been a vagrant, but the summer was eternal and his life sprawled out before him, a limitless horizon. How could he be troubled to bite into the bit of civility when Alvadas waited on no one?

Besides, his adopted father was sick again, some vile sort of cold that kept him snuffling at his desk. Ink stains clung to the skin around his nose, darkening his face like some abominable plague. He was the Chimneysweep of scribing, ink like soot hovering around his face as he coughed into a cupped hand. Of course it was Wrenmae again, the Vayt-touch a vibrant and invisible pulse along the entirety of his being. Not that he liked to think on it, memories of hoarfrost and last gasps a poor memory to season the summer day, but he’d often battled guilt for the illnesses he brought to those around him. Would it not have been more prudent to allow a carrier discretion rather than full disclosure? Questions without answers and Vayt was nowhere to be found. He might have fit here as well, a lord’s stride and the finery of a world upon his back and shoulders. Maybe Vayt knew Hypnotism, it wouldn’t surprise him. Shaking his head, Wrenmae dispelled the thoughts of his patron god, opting for the peak of discovery and the promise of advancement.

Best to seize the day, grasp it by the throat and ride it along the winding streets to undiscovered ends. But he digressed. The faint thump of a closing door drew his attention to the masked boy striding away from the manor house. Alric, of course, and although the two boys knew each other passingly, Wrenmae felt a kinship to the fellow. Swinging back over the side of the roof, Wrenmae shut the book and perched precariously, gargoyle-like, on the cracked divide between surface and air. Djed coursed through his fingers, twisting his skin and nails darker and claws gripped the edge now, a better grip than any human fingers could devise. Alric would have been out of place anywhere but Alvadas, dressed to the nines in a masquerade mask and the well-spun finery of Wilmont garb. His eyes drew to the Hypnotism book briefly, setting it on the roof behind him. If he mastered this art, perhaps he would dress as Alric did one day. Hypnotism seemed the art to deliver the world unto waiting hands, the wizard’s ambrosia for accomplishment.

Scuttling along the edge of the roof and snatching the book, Wrenmae swung down the side and landed precariously on a stack of boxes along the far wall of the building. Crags of masonry, the result of a fire some years ago, littered the lot beside the derelict. Doing his best to mute footfalls, he slid across the wall and held his breath in mute expectation. Alric was strolling in his direction, the well managed steps of the upperclass, an almost unconscious amount of effort maintained to elicit such controlled movements. Wrenmae was all elbows and knees, the tumbled clumsy of an adolescent. They made a mismatched pair, but that’s what Wrenmae like about it all, the very breath of difference dividing their appearance and mannerisms.

As Alric crossed the line between edge and open street, his feet clacking smartly on the cobblestone, Wrenmae brought out his arm straight, book clasped in a clawed hand to cease Alric’s advancement at the end of the gold embossed title.

“Out for a walk?” Wrenmae asked him with a grin, slipping out of the shadows and nodding his head, “How about I offer an alternative?” He hadn’t remembered to change his hands back, the black edged talons a clear aberration on his hands. Excitement had overcome caution.

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric closed the door behind him with a flourish and set out to see where Alvadas would take him this day. It had always been a source of entertainment for him, for as long as he could remember. He had heard tales of cities where everything stayed in the same place, day after day, and he was eternally grateful to Ionu that Alvadas did not do that. He couldn't think of anything more boring than knowing exactly where you were going. He passed by the Wilmot's guest house as he left the grounds. The guest house looked quite extravagant from the outside, but Alric knew the inside was full of dust and vermin and other nasty things. It was a lot like the inside of the main manor, freshly washed walls to keep up appearances, and accumulated broken possessions within. his father didn't have much money, and what he did have he spent on books for Alric. While Alric was grateful, he still wished his father let him choose the books he used. Or, at least get him an extra pair of clothes. He had been wearing his outfit for two years now, for they were the only clothes he had. As such he washed them ever 3 days, to keep them looking new. The Wilmot family was well-known in Alvadas, and as his father said, appearances were everything. It did not matter whether they were rich or not, so long as they appeared so. Due to their lineage, they were considered better than others, and so, they had to act like it. In fact, that was why he loved wearing his mask and hat so much, they altered his appearance, gave him an air of mystery and finery. Granted, such a quality was frivolous and unneeded, but so are many whims of young men. As he left the Wilmot grounds and strolled along the cobbled street, Alric was greeted by a familiar sight. He was stopped dead in his tracks by a an outstretched book. It was titled, Complete Control: The Magic of Hypnotism, in fancy gold lettering. Before Alric could turn his head to observe the intrusive stranger who held the book, he was aware of a familiar sounding voice. "Out for a walk?" said Wrename, "How about I offer an alternative?" "Wrenmae! How good it is to see you!" Alric stepped close and forcefully shook Wrenmae's hand, not bothering to offer it as Alric had momentarily forgotten his manners at the sight of a friendly face. "I haven't seen you in such a long time! You're looking... pretty much the same as last time actually. You know, my offer still stands, you can come live with-" at the last bit of his sentence, Alric burst into a violent fit of coughing. He attempted to finish the sentence, but his throat would not let him, as it filled with mucus, and his lungs violently sought to cleanse it. Finally Alric abandoned the sentence and went on. "W-well, ahem, you know. Anyway, is that what I think it is? A book on magic? And Hypnotism no less! Why, I was just thinking I wanted to get my hands on such a book! I would ask where you got it, but I honestly don't care. I do hope the book is what you meant by an alternative." Finally Alric blinked, realizing that he was acting more a child than a Wilmot. he straightened his back and cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. He was sure that one day he'd be able to act trim and proper, but unfortunately, he could only keep up those mannerisms half the time for now. "Uh, I mean, if that is indeed what you meant by an alternative. Um, Regardless, I'd be happy to participate in any activity you wish to engage in." OOCAlric was inviting you to live as a Wilmot, in case you were wondering. Also, I hope Alric's behavior is believable. I'm trying to imagine how he was before he grew up, and of course before he went crazy from learning Hypnotism.

[Wrenmae]

Alric was the sort of person to code poise and pomp to a simple greeting, highborn manners flavoring his words in such crisp and professional tones. Wrenmae grinned, unable to help himself, and his claws shrank back to fingers once more. Alric offered again, thrice to date, for him to come live with them both in the manor. Much as Wrenmae wanted to become a Wilmot, what a sight he would have made. Tattered from head to toe he was the guttersnipe of Alvadas, better at home on the docks or alleys than in the crumbling manor. Still, the Wilmot name was one Wrenmae, in his own way, coveted. The wealth of knowledge available to Alric, the forays into knowledge of the world and all that lay beyond.

It was alluring.

But why curse his friends and family with his Blight?

It was a double edged sword, really, the need to feel at home and the curse of perpetual illness.

Pulling back the book, he maintained his painted grin. Averting his eyes he cleared his throat and stepped back against the building, waving his free hand at his friend. "No, no," he responded, "I couldn't impose on you two like that...much as I think I'd like the name, I'd rather not stretch your resources to buy it."

It was a lie. He wanted it.

"I've read the foreword," he continued, holding up the book and changing topics, "Fascinating really, but apparently dangerous." He looked down at the gold lettering on the cover and frowned, "Mages who practice this magic often lose their minds...so I guess we have to be sure about it before we start." Sinking down the wall, back to the uneven mortar, Wrenmae opened the book again and pushed past the foreword to the first page, the first chapter.

"Hypnotism is the itch of an idea you never had, the notion to perceive the world as you otherwise might not have. To be Hypnotised is to be invaded in that most sacred of sanctums, your own mind. In order to reach into the minds of others, one must first reach into the potential of ones own and leave the door unlatched. Without sympathy, Hypnotism is nothing. So it is that we, as Hypnotists, must first experience a mental intrusion perpetrated by ourselves."

Wrenmae glanced up at Alric and shrugged, clearing his throat to read on. "Traditionally, Hypnotists have used the mirror in order to facilitate this first and most crucial step, although no unified method of teaching truly exists. The first step recquires a deep introspective look into oneself until one can see beyond ones skin and into the Djed and thoughts beyond."

Holding the book out to Alric, Wrenmae shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Looks like we have our work cut out for us, huh?" Sliding up to his feet he stretched and nodded his head sideways, back toward the manor. "You have some mirrors at home right? Only other place I can think to check is the house of mirrors that freaks everyone out...but for this, I think we need a less traumatizing work environment."

[Alric Wilmot]

"I couldn't impose on you two like that...much as I think I'd like the name, I'd rather not stretch your resources to buy it." Alric figured as much. He had received the same answer every time he asked. However, he had to ask every time they met, out of courtesy. He felt sorry for Wrenmae, misery and misfortune seemed to follow him everywhere and Alric felt it quite unfair. Alric hadn't met many people in his short life, but he still felt as if Wrenmae deserved more than what he had. That was part of the reason he had never commented on Wrenmae's thieving habits "I've read the foreword. Fascinating really, but apparently dangerous." "Mages who practice this magic often lose their minds...so I guess we have to be sure about it before we start." Alric nodded, honestly not taking the words all that seriously. He still could not comprehend the actual dangers of magic in their entirety. Though he pretended he understood, if only to speed the process along. Although, he did become queasy at the words 'lose their minds'. If there was one thing Alric did not want to lose, his mind would most definitely be it. Wrenmae went on, reading an introductory paragraph which outlined the first step. It was wordy, a lot like the books Alric's father gathered for him. And still warned of dangers and problems that Alric could not bring himself to care about. However, his mood quickly changed at the words 'To be Hypnotized is to be invaded in that most sacred of sanctums, your own mind'. Even if he could not see the danger to the hypnotist, it was becoming abundantly clear how dangerous a hypnotist could be, and how much responsibility the discipline carried. Of all the things that made the recognized races different form the beasts and monsters of the land, none was so different and so important as the mind. "Looks like we have our work cut out for us, huh? You have some mirrors at home right? Only other place I can think to check is the house of mirrors that freaks everyone out...but for this, I think we need a less traumatizing work environment." Alric blanched. How... inconvenient. The Wilmot's last mirror was being sold as they spoke. Alvin, Alric's Father, needed the money to buy the next batch of books for Alric's education. Alric did his best from letting worry show on his face, but he did a poor job of it. However, he thought he might be able to find a suitable replacement well enough. After all, a mirror wasn't the only thing they could use right? After all, it was most likely the reflection that they needed to use. And mirrors weren't the only thing that gave off reflections. Suddenly, Alric thought he might have a good answer, and lie to give to Wrenmae. After all, it simply would not do to explain why the great Wilmot family had to sell their mirrors to buy paltry books. "Well, actually, I don't think our mirrors would be all that useful. They are awfully small. I mean, why not use something more our size, make it easier on us? In fact I think I have just the answer! Come along Wrenmae, I know a perfectly sized alternative to our diminutive mirrors." With that he sauntered off back toward the Wilmot Manor, not bothering to check if Wrenmae followed behind or not. It was a bad habit of his. He tried to be considerate most of the time, but Alric still had trouble truly placing himself in other people's positions. A very bad thing to have in a hypnotist, but it was something he could do nothing about, because he was unaware of it. He stopped by one of the large reflective windows of the Wilmot manor, and place his arms in a manner that showed them off. They began at Alric's knees and stretched beyond his head. Also, thanks to the angle of the sun, it was hard to see within, but easy to see the reflections of the surrounding area. This, of course, included Alric as well. "We'll use the Manor's windows! Due to the sun's angle, and the time of day, we should have a good many hours before we even start to strain our eyes looking for our reflections. They are also much larger than the mirrors my family owns, so we won't even have to take turns! We can do it at the same time. That is, of course, if you think it is safe. Now, tell me, what next?" oocSorry for the late reply! This month's been awful. I'll try to be faster next time.

[Wrenmae]

ooc: No worries mate, been tough on me as well, I'll be swifter on the uptake as well.

Alric, Alric, always quick to offer hospitality. Not that Wrenmae meant to insult by refusing, but sometimes he wondered if perhaps the highborn Wilmot boy did not look down on him. Certainly they made a mismatched pair, the prince and the pauper. Not, of course, that either of them had ascended or descended to the level of that idiom, but hyperbole was an established convention of stories. So he took it.

He moved to respond, but already Alric had begun walking back to the mansion. Such poise, such haughty indifference. The world itself would not bend and follow the Wilmot, but he certainly acted as if it should. Shaking his head, Wrenmae followed, tossing the book from hand to hand in the bored attempt of entertainment.

Wilmot manor reared up in front of him, towering like a dark creature over the cityscape of Alvadas. Often he had wondered what it WOULD be like to live there, to walk along its halls, to be inside its walls during the worst of Kalea winters. He shook his head at the thought that there would be no full length mirror to use. It meant their time practicing today would be short...probably even boring. The book stated that to find ones path to Hypnotism, they would need to leaf through the pages of their own mind, enter the brain through use of the eyes. Staring in, staring in, and perhaps they would come to stare out as well.

It was probably easier to someone who had used Djed before, and Wrenmae doubted very much Alric's father had taught him any use of it beforehand. He pondered mentioning Seidaku, his teacher, but the poor old man was sick again and left little room for tutelage.

Stopping in front of the windows, Wrenmae glanced down at the book again and set it at his feet, walking straight up to the tall glass structure and staring at it. He resisted the urge to smile at himself, imagining the confusion and horror if his expression did not follow suite. The thought brought him to grin, which the mirror Wrenmae did as well, winking as he did.

"We stare into the mirror and try to use Djed to flow through our eyes, off the mirror, and back into us. We're supposed to forget everything but our eyes, ourselves...I guess...supposedly its easier to do if you know magic already." He left it open ended, a fish for if the Alric boy knew something of the matter. If not, there was nothing unfortunate about it...they would simply take some time to do it. A few days, apparently, of staring was what some of the more extreme wizards had done. Personally, Wrenmae couldn't be here for that long...he had to push his mind beyond its boundaries first and foremost.

"Hey...Alric, are you sure you'd want me to be a Wilmot with you?"

It was a disarming question, but one he had considered a great deal since the offer was first given. He hadn't met the older Wilmot yet, but he hoped he'd bring a good impression. His friendship with Alric had always been characterized by unspoken envy...envy of his clothes, his life, the family he had...when Wrenmae's own adoptive parents were rather cold.

He stared into the mirror, locking expressions with himself. Clearing his mind proved ludicrous a task, everything jumbling in on itself and pushing at the very barriers of his patience. It came to be that the only forward motion was one that had to be down in layers.

So he started with layers.

The sun glared overhead, painting the two boys in curious positions, staring at their reflection as wind tossed open the book cover and rifled through the pages. But even that was distant.

Only concentration now, only self.

Only his eyes.

Staring

Staring

Staring.

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric stood facing the glaring mirrors of the Wilmot Manor as he waited for Wrenmae to speak. "We stare into the mirror and try to use Djed to flow through our eyes, off the mirror, and back into us. We're supposed to forget everything but our eyes, ourselves...I guess...supposedly its easier to do if you know magic already." Alric nodded along to Wrenmae's words. He had no training in Djed, and had no idea how one would move it or allow it to flow. Yet, he could not bring himself to be concerned. Surely they would be able to figure it out before the sun set? Granted, forgetting everything but your eyes sounded difficult, but Alric was the type of person who would not be satisfied until he had tried something himself. Alric stretched his back and arms in preparation for what he thought would be no more than an hour of hard work. However, as he reached for his toes, Wrenmae spoke up again. "Hey...Alric, are you sure you'd want me to be a Wilmot with you?" It was said in such a way, that it sounded as though Wrenmae would like nothing more than the answer to be yes. Yet it also sounded as though the question made him uneasy. As if he was afraid of the answer. Alric thought it odd, that he would ask a question that he knew the answer to. Alric was not quite certain what his Father would say about it, but he was far too kind a man to say no, surely? Alric would certainly love to have him a part of the family, no matter how dirty and grubby he was. After all, soap and water were easy enough to come across. Alric spoke then, abandoning his usually jovial way of speaking, and doing his best to sound serious, "Wrenmae, of course I'm serious. I don't lie to friends, and if it will put your mind at ease, I'll vow right here and now to never lie again for as long as I live just to get the point across. In fact, I so swear it. From now, 'till the day I day, I shall never tell a bold faced lie." he swore with his hand over his heart, as though that somehow made it more official. "If it is within my power, and my Father's grace, you may become a Wilmot whenever you like." However, Wrenmae was not responding, he had already began to stare into the window, seemingly lost in his own reflection. Alric hopped over to Wrenmae to see if he was merely pretending, and trying to fool him. Though it seemed legitimate. Alric nodded his head once in a show of determination, and stood in front of the window beside Wrenmae. He stared ahead solemnly, determined to accomplish something before Wrenmae in a spirit of friendly competition. As he did so, he found that he could not empty his mind. It was swimming with the words he had spoken before, and of the fish people he had read about. In fact, over the next thirty minutes, Alric found emptying his mind to be the most difficult thing he'd ever done. He could not stop thinking. If it wasn't an experience, it was a question. His mind was full of both knowledge and useless images. The harder he tried, the worse he did. But he did not move from his spot. He would accomplish this. It was useful, it was interesting, it was new. It may have been boring now, but it wouldn't be for long.

[Wrenmae]

One thinks so many things when they are alone in themselves. Wrenmae had the advantage, already knowing the practices of Morphing, Glyphing, and Voiding...especially the Voiding part. The benefit was knowing, in a roundabout way, how to empty his mind completely.

Nothing but echoes remained.

He didn't like the feeling of being completely void, the practice of voiding bringing with it the cold sensation of trepidation, of loneliness...that oneself was so singularly small, that there was no need of its existence, nothing beyond the darkness that opened between user and Mizahar. It was a sort of magic nihilism, the acceptance that onself was no larger than a mite or speck of dust, that the world itself turned and did not care whether one lived or died....the Void demanded oneself entirely, wholly, without excuse or complaint.

In that shadow, staring at himself in the mirror, Wrenmae realized he was missing something. Indeed, as Alric's words echoed quietly against his ears, seeping into his conciousness and sending his mind turning, he had already forgotten one of the more important laws of Hypnotism. Unlike the Void, Hypnotism required connection, the very link between minds in order to work. One could very well not hypnotize the empty air to produce flowers, nor convince the water to hold firm at the touch. Such willful acts of reality bending would be impossible, or at least beyond the ken of what hypnotism allowed.

Instead this was more of a curious experiment, something that regarded the self as the focal point. Bringing his mind back into focus, Wrenmae concentrated on his eyes. Certainly he could use his eyes as portals...right? Someone had once said that eyes were the paortal to the soul...but he couldn't think of who had said it...was it him? Either way, staring at his own mud colored eyes quickly frew boring. There was no spark, no upsurge of Djed, nothing.

The sun drifted overhead sinking and pulling away their ability to see.

Wrenmae, frustrated, nearly blew a blood vessel trying to force his Djed out through his eyes, to reflect it and somehow invade his own mind. With no success, he was left with the gasping failure of irritation, falling back on his ass and punching the ground in frustration.

"Gods! Does it have to be so hard?"

Hypnotists no doubt became the self loathing sort...especially in the beginning stages. Learning this art gave every flaw of his a bright highlight to his eyes, everything he disliked about himself seemed all the more bright by comparison after hours of staring.

He was getting nowhere.

"Hey," he said at last, breaking eye contact with the window to glance over at his friend, "I think....I think I'll take you up on that offer...erm...if you're absolutely sure you'd want me as an adopted brother."

He tried to play it dismissively, almost conversational...but a part of him was at a feverpitch of heartbeat.

A family? After all this time?

In some ways...the failure in hypnotism paled in comparison to having...well, having a home to call his own again.

[Alric Wilmot]

As the sun retreated from the sky, Alric lost his ability to see himself, and with it the desire to continue. At least, for today. There would always be tomorrow he thought, and it may prove more generous than the present. He had not even gotten close, and from the sound of it, Wrename wasn't much better off. "Gods! Does it have to be so hard?" said Wrenmae as he fell backwards and struck the ground in fury. Alric felt sympathy for Wrenmae. True, Alric was used to getting things, but he was also used to waiting long times for them. His father, after all, usually took days trying to get the best deals for their possessions. Which really, explained why he wasn't back yet. Yet Wrename, he was used to working hard for everything, and getting it quickly or not at all. Alric would have bet all the Miza he had that Wrenmae had procured the book they were using through thievery. If he had failed, whoever the book's original owner was would be wary around Wrenmae from then on,and he'd never get another chance at it. Most likely, both of their attitudes toward failure were rather expected. Alric wasn't bothered because he was sure he would succeed. If not now, then later. Wrenmae simply didn't see it that way. Alric thought on this for only a few seconds, however, before Wrenmae changed the mood of the situation. "Hey," said Wrenmae,"I think....I think I'll take you up on that offer...erm...if you're absolutely sure you'd want me as an adopted brother." Alric stared, not believing what he was hearing. Wrenmae... was finally taking him up on his offer? He sat there with a very stupid expression on his face then, for something close to a minute before a broad grin plastered itself across Alric's face. "Why, o-of course! That's fantastic! I-," Alric broke into another coughing fit again before he resumed, " -most certainly would want a brother. Who wouldn't? Why, I never thought you'd actually come around! You always seemed so proud to be living on you own. But trust me, having a family is a great thing. And being a Wilmot? You should read some of the history texts, it would amaze you the kinds of things the Wilmot are known for! Just wait until Father finds ou-" At that Alric trailed off. He hadn't asked his father, Alvin Wilmot. Well, he had, a long time ago, but back then his father was much better well off. Now, the Manor was nearly destitute. His father could barely support the both of them, how would he fair with another child? Almost as soon as Alric realized this, Alvin Wilmot finally returned to the Wilmot grounds. Alvin Wilmot was a rather good looking man for his age, which was around 50. If he had a full head of hair, it would be the same deep brown hair that his beard was. He was also of an unremarkable height and build, and he dressed much like Alric, in fine clothes that were only slightly frayed. Unlike Alric, however, he slouched rather badly. He was hardly intimidating either. His face was soft and inviting, and simply did not give off the appearance of a rough person, or even of a person who was aware suffering was all around him. Indeed, for those just looking on, he looked like a spoiled rich person, albeit a very nice one. He held the fruits of his labor under his arm, which were seven new books for Alric. Still, Alric was most apprehensive about asking his father about Wrenmae. Alric had already said yes, and he didn't want to go back on his word. Suddenly, an Idea came to Alric. "Say, Wrenmae, why don't we go break the news to Father? You can still call him Alvin if you feel uncomfortable about calling him Father though, I doubt he'd mind." With that, Alric walked towards Alvin, keeping a few paces ahead of Wrenmae. oocSorry for the wait.