[Kelp Bar] The Old Rot Gut

[Hadrian]

60th Summer, 512 A.V. There was so much going on, but he had sort of known that would be the case. After overgiving in Avanthal, he had rested for the greater portion of his long trip from port to port all the way to Zeltiva. There had been minor achievements, of course: a bird form, albeit too large, being first and foremost. Soon he would be able to fly. He had his duties at the University, Stonemiller's job offer being a heavy burden. There was the auction. He hadn't even had time to seek out his lair outside the city proper. But today he had gone walking to clear his mind and found himself at this old haunt, a mug of kelp beer on the small table in front of him, the chair beyond that empty. His eyes were far away, though, and he was chewing on some food that he had brought in his satchel since no place sold meals around here, so often were they without food. Taking a sip of kelp beer, his nose wrinkled slightly. He had acquired the taste during his student days, but apparently lost it in the years that followed. But he was determined to regain it, else nobody would think him a proper Zeltivan. All the same, he was planning for something in the Fall, and to that end, he kept chewing his food, letting the beer soak the mash of masticated stuff in his mouth, his will working upon it. He felt the change finally, when it alchemized into the stuff that would feed a hungry spirit. Perhaps a ghost would sit across from him, eyes hungry for what Hadrian could feed it like a father bird, regurgitating into his chick's mouth. Much could be learned from ghosts, and they usually only had two needs: sustenance and closure.

[Marcus Dymez]

Marcus spent a fair amount of time around wizards, and often prided himself on his knowledge of the various arts of magic, however limited that may be. That being said, magicians were not the most relaxed and merry people, and a change of pace was a regular part of the young student's routine. Whenever such a change was needed, Marcus often retreated to the Kelp Bar, a quaint tavern on the harbor with sailors for patrons. He had been coming to this bar for almost a decade, his brother originally bringing him along to celebrate a successful trip out to sea. Anyone who cared to call himself a Zeltivan came to know of the Kelp Bar through one channel or another, and the ale was just as renowned. Marcus did not drink often, but he was aware of the social aspect of it, and years prior when he was smoothing over his way into the East Wing he had grown to stomach the taste of the honestly grotesque 'alcohol'. Perhaps it was due to the knowledge of the horrendous liquor that a curious sight caught Marcus' attention. As he glanced around, surveying the people around him more out of habit than conscience, Marcus found himself faced with a curious seeming man who, like the young student, did not quite fit in with the rest of the crowd. But the real curiosity was the chewing this man was undertaking. And Marcus could not stress his choice of words any further, as he took his sweet time with whatever was in his mouth, despite the subtle additions of ale. If anything, the ale should have sped up his actions. His curiosity spread through his mind like a wildfire, as he attempted to connect the dots. Whatever the mysterious man was, Marcus knew this man was a magician of sorts, yet the naive student did not know how much of an understatement that thought was. Marcus got up from his seat at the bar, slowly making his way through the crowd of sailors enjoying their drink. He was determined to find out who this mysterious stranger was, if only to satiate his limitless curiosity. It seemed the gods were congratulating him on a correct choice, as a table to his left broke out in a brawl, a couple of sailors angry about their mothers or some such. Marcus took this opportunity to snag himself a half-flagon of ale, and stole a seat with the concentrating wizard. He nodded to the fight, his mind practicing an unusual amount of subtlety as he spoke. "Quite a nice place to concentrate, eh? The fights make a nice background noise. I know I personally enjoy it for my personal studies." He smirked over to the man across from him, and raised his mug as he introduced himself properly. "The name's Marcus Callus, and I believe we may have quite a bit in common..."

[Hadrian]

Hadrian had become so adept at reading auras that he generally let his senses open just enough that little surprised him. He was aware of the crush of people within the bar, knew the fight was coming before the combatants did, and knew that it was unlikely to disturb him. But the flicker of interest was all that warned him of the other wizard's coming, the student, who sat down before him. Well, that might prevent a ghost from joining him. After he spoke, though, Hadrian merely smiled, his teeth gleaming and definitely glowing with the soulmist he had created from masticated food and beer. The somewhat ghastly effect was held for only a moment, and then he bent down over an empty shot glass to allow the soulmist to dribble from his mouth and collect there, almost filling it. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, his manners too good for this place, though he had always loved it here, and learned to enjoy the kelp beer within its raucous hall. "Hadrian Aelius," he said, "and pardon my manners. I was preparing a meal for a friend." Whether there were commonalities between them, he didn't comment. "I come here to see whether my concentration can win out over the distraction, and because the people are interesting."

[Marcus Dymez]

Marcus watched curiously as the man smiled at him with an off-white glow, before the gel drooped carefully into the glass before him. The student scoured his memory for the familiar subject, before coming upon the mental tome of Spiritism, which in his mind contained little more than a page or two. This stuff was basically ghost-chow, used to bait ghosts to interaction... Ghost-fog or some such. Regardless, Marcus smirked over to the subtle master of magic as his assumptions were confirmed. Taking a sip of the wretched ale, Marcus hid his tongue's discontent at such torture as the mysterious man across from him spoke; his shrewd choice of words reminding him of the University crowd. The fact that he was here with him however made Marcus know that he was different than most of the scholars, and after this Hadrian fellow had used Marcus' favorite word, the young student's curiosity grew even further. Marcus was not too quick to burst out into questioning or magic shows just yet. Dealing with magicians required some amount of tact, and holding back his curiosity proved to be a harder feat than expected, every single time. "Well on that regard, I'd say we share a common interest. Ever since I came here with my brother as a lad, I've always found this crowd a fun sight to behold. To a passerby they seem like grumpy, violent sailors, but they share a bond most never have the pleasure of having, and they really are brethren." Marcus took another decent sip of the over-powered ale, controlling his reaction, as he decided to let slip one small question. His voice carried with it a curious tone, with a volume Marcus was not used to in order to compete with the eager crowd to their side. "If you don't mind the prying Hadrian, does a scholarly magician like yourself often find himself out here tempting ghosts?" Marcus hoped his mention of the practice confirmed his status to his new acquaintance, as making a new connection within the University could not hurt. All that was left to do was wait for his reply... And hope the brawl didn't spread over to their table.

[Hadrian]

His senses already open to the crowd around him, Hadrian had little trouble filtering through the auras of all those present, though he paid special attention to the one before him. Sensing a ghost was a different sort of thing, something he imagined would be easier had he more time to focus on the spirits of the dead in general. "They face death together on the Bay and beyond," Hadrian agreed. "There is a bond there, testing themselves against the fickle wills of Laviku, Makutsi, Zulrav. It is them against the sea." He had studied human nature along with magic here at the university. Older texts called it anthropology, but one might as easily have called it culture or any number of other things. But the Zeltivans had been his most apparent and available case study other than that private time spent with Professor Rochlas learning about his race, the Akvatari. "A scholarly magician like me believes that it is good to know a little of everything," and a lot about many things, and eventually everything. His smile was faint. When he was pretending to be Andry Ellis in Ravok, conversation had flown out of him like water from a pierced skin. He knew the ability was within him, but as Hadrian Aelius, he remained somewhat awkward in social settings. Perhaps that was why his fingers had begun to gently stroke the air over his little shot glass, a bit of something shimmered there, apparently feeding on the soulmist. The dead might be more easy to relate to than the living for some.

[Marcus Dymez]

Marcus could not have agreed more with this man, and his curiosity grew with every word that passed through his lips. There was a strange way this man conducted himself, beyond even the oddities of the University folk. And stranger yet, Marcus felt he could relate to that feeling. If Marcus was a black sheep at the University for his low upbringing and casual attitude, he felt Hadrian was the same, yet on the other-side of the spectrum. His quiet and reserved nature was not that of simple shyness, but rather a dedication towards his work, beyond even Marcus'. The young scholar picked up on slight pieces of this, and extrapolated from there, as he often did. Sometimes assumptions were necessary, but Marcus did his best not to rely on them too much. One thing was for certain though; this man was not an ordinary scholar, and not even an ordinary magician. As he saw his finger sweep above the ridge of the small shot glass, Marcus couldn't help but smirk as he focused in on the real sight to behold. "Looks like your friend has arrived. Better late than never, eh?" Taking another sip of the 'borrowed' ale, Marcus watched as the soul-stuff was tenderly nibbled at by some spirit or another. Ghosts and the like were one of the few things Marcus had little interest in. He felt the dead were not his concern, and in line with one of his darker tenets, he tended to live without them. He could appreciate the skill of a Spiritist or Legate, but they were definitely not realms Marcus himself would be intruding upon. Still... It was slightly interesting to have some thing here with them. Marcus turned his attention back to the mysterious wizard before him, hoping to enlighten himself a bit further as he asked another question. His tone was still polite, but it now held a slight influence of curiosity within his words. "So, Hadrian, I'm picking up a strange aura from you... I just can't place it, but something about you just seems ominous; powerful perhaps." Marcus was unaware of the implications of his diction, but if there was anything to find, a Master Aurist like Hadrian would've already swept over it. Regardless, Marcus spoke the truth. No matter how hard he tried to reason things, this man held with him something that most didn't, knowledge perhaps, but with it an air about him that demanded attention and respect. Marcus drank more of the disgusting ale, his taste buds ignored by his mind as it focused on more entertaining subjects. He was almost done this flagon, and his head was starting to become warm with the stuff. As long as he didn't get another mug or two in him, he would be alright... Hopefully.

[Hadrian]

"I am but a weak and unskilled necromancer," he admitted. "Only the least discerning or most desperate spirits are likely to feast upon my soulmist, but perhaps I'm giving alms to the poorest of the poor who have not moved on to their next lives." He shrugged. There were applications for necromancy that he could see working into his projects, but he generally educated himself on any given topic merely to have context for future ideas. He had sensed the wisp of ectoplasm before Marcus did, but having become even a minor necromancer, his sense for the dead had increased somewhat, and then it was feeding upon his own lifeforce, offered up in the form of soulmist. And it didn't seem that Marcus could hear the thing's whispers, its personality fragmented by its weakness. But Hadrian could hear. "He was a sailor, this one," he said. "He's lost and confused. I would hazard from what I am hearing that he remained after death because he loved a woman. She would be long dead now. Perhaps once he is somewhat restored I can explain this to him and ease him along to his next life. He will accomplish little here now." The young professor rarely bothered to mask his strange appearance or his powerful aura here in Zeltiva. People like Marcus would read what they might read, but they would have to be clever indeed to suss out his secrets. "Is it strange? Perhaps the combination of necromancy and compassion?"

[Marcus Dymez]

Marcus was only encouraged by Hadrian's deft swatting of the young scholar's suspicions. There was a chance he was being honest about his experience, or rather inexperience, with necromancy, as Marcus reflected on the spirits of sailors lost at sea, that perhaps would come back to haunt their old tavern. But even assuming the curious stranger's truthfulness, Marcus felt himself still yearning for answers. Switching up his tactics, this student went along with his necromantic banter, temporarily easing back the throttle on his curiosity. He pondered Hadrian's question for a moment before coming up with an equally obscure answer, his voice coming out above the rumbling of the tavern. "Well, I suppose it is no stranger than either of those individually. After all, I'd say the dead are those most in need of compassion." Marcus was still unsure about this man's intentions, and even his position, but this man he was dealing with, more likely than not, had the power to stop him from getting any information that was unwanted. If Hadrian was a scholar here at Zeltiva however, Marcus assumed he had some connection with the University, if not also other points of the city. Piecing together whatever parts he had been given, the curious wizards mind began to assemble a rough silhouette of this stranger, while the idle conversation continued. "So, do you meet with these ghosts just to have a cup of ale, or do you help them pass on their way somehow?" Marcus had his hunches, but in all honesty he had not read too far into Spiritism, and he wasn't a man to refuse knowledge sitting before him. Meanwhile, he found himself placing together an interesting frame for this scholar. After his remark about being a jack-of-all-trades, Marcus was certain of his connection to the University. That left only the nature of his relationship to be established. If he was a professor in the East Wing, that would explain quite a few peculiarities nagging at Marcus' mind, but perhaps it went deeper. Regardless, it was Marcus' best guess, and characteristically throwing subtlety and caution to the sea-wind, he went with it. His voice came out once more in a calm and collected manner, quick to nullify any threatening implications in his tone. "Necromancer or not, I do believe you have more tricks up your sleeve than most. A man of knowledge like yourself does not get by without lofty ambition and extensive capabilites. Isn't that right, Hadrian? Or perhaps Professor will do..?" Now Marcus simply hoped he hadn't stirred a criminal hornet's nest, and sat back waiting to see the next act of the play.

[Hadrian]

Long, tapering fingers moved languorously through the ghost, and those too bright eyes remained upon the incorporeal thing as if communing with it, and perhaps he was, if his soulmist being devoured gave them a temporary bond, a soul-connection. But he was listening to Marcus too, and he might have expounded upon the appropriateness of compassion for the dead, but he kept speaking, and so finally he answered the direct questions. "Each spirit is distinct and each communication would have a different purpose, but this was just an excuse to exercise my old skill at creating food for the dead. That a poor spirit came to feed upon it is a bonus. I rarely have the opportunity to commune with the dead, though I imagine some of them have great secrets to share." His eyes came up, amused at the last. "You may call me Professor within the halls of the University, but this is not that place and the title is unnecessary." It was new, too, and he was unused to hearing it in conjunction with his name. One became accustomed to all things, though. In time. He wondered if there wasn't some sigil he could devise or borrow from some priest of Dira with which to abjure restless spirits; their time was largely past and it was right they should go once more around the wheel of rebirth. "Shall I call you young master Callus with all the hauteur and self-importance I can muster?" he asked, still amused. "Some professors revel in the obsequiousness of their students. I am not like them."

[Marcus Dymez]

Smirking to himself, Marcus let a small chuckle escape his lips as he conversed with the professor before him. It was simply enough that the young scholar had made the correct assumption, and everything else fell neatly into place. Here was a man who shirked the normal retinue of a professor, yet still went through the necessary politics of the city. Marcus imagined this man was in contact with every major power in Zeltiva, and a quirky picture of Hadrian playing puppeteer flashed in the student's mind. However, that quality which set him apart from the other professors was exactly what drew Marcus to him in the first place. Marcus soon realized his words had sung truer than he could have ever imagined. He was not playing with fire, he was playing with Ivak himself. Returning to the circumstance before him, Marcus simply held his smirk as he spoke, his words infected with his curiosity, rotten to the core by that which is both vice and virtue. "You may call me what you wish, as long as you let me know before-hand. Otherwise how would I know who you speak of? I suppose that is the trouble with names... Or at least, the names we give..." Marcus trailed off, shaking of the digression with a practiced ease. His limitless curiosity often led his thoughts astray, and he had been forced to refine his memory in order to combat his wandering mind. He rewound the words in his head until he discovered the original topic, and once again opened his mouth to speak. "But I'm guessing you have multiple titles, and perhaps even multiple aliases, so Hadrian it is. Hadrian, unable to be bound by a simple name or a simple mantle." Marcus chuckled with a playful smile, obviously over-dramatizing the scene. "I apologize if I offended you somehow, but I felt that was the simplest way to affirm my suspicions." The truth was, Marcus was becoming quite interested in this fellow, despite the shroud of mystery that shot at him whenever he prodded. Indeed, such shadows only attracted Marcus further, the reckless student eager to place his lantern where it had no right to be. Idly spinning a copper in one of his robe pockets, Marcus stroked his chin in thought for a moment, briefly thinking back on the conversation. I am not like them. The phrase rattled around in Marcus' mind for the split of a second, before he rested his chin on the hand below it. When he went to speak, his expression was no longer playful; it was replaced by a deep sense of thought, as if he was talking through the lens of his mind, with a curious tone to his words. "I may not be an amazing magician such as yourself, but I know how people are, and I know the game they play. You seem like a master card-player; never showing his hand, never revealing his bluff, and at the end of the day, even though everyone thinks it is luck, you yourself know it was skill. Skill in preparation and observation." Marcus shrugged to himself as he leaned back in his seat, whimsically taking in the music that had resumed in the setting of the inn. "I suppose that's nothing more than idle guessing however..." That was the half-truth of it, at least.