Closed A dip in Kelp Beer

[Valo]

36th Winter 512AV
Morning, some time past sunrise
The docs

Death is a wound in the mind of the witness. Some wounds are merely small scratches, others terrible tears; but what Valo had witnessed that night left a great gaping hole within the substance of his very soul. A cruel and savage murder. A graphic reminder of the sheer evil that resided within the hearts of men. A corpse with the letters 'WEAK' carved within it's flesh. Those were the images that Valo could not shake from his head, for they have been burned into his imagination, haunting him forever. He was now a man with a ghost in his eyes.

At times like these, good men turn to alcohol.

He had been meaning to return home, do hide within the safety of his four walls and allow his companions, Lance and Wyatti, to comfort him in his misery. But fate had other plans for him. At day break, the Kelp Bar suddenly seemed too good a choice to pass up and so he flooded his system with the salty alcohol. The taste of the substance began washing away at the negativity, in fact it began washing away at his very wit. It was surprising how much he could drink before looking his mind to kelp beer; but when that invisible line was crossed and he had downed the very final mug, Valo was well and truly intoxicated. The intricate weave of those terrible memories now washed away into the sea of pure bliss. Ah how he had missed this feeling.

So in the early hours of the morning, the drunken Inarta with a face as red as his hair, strolled though the awakening streets of Zeltiva, completely oblivious to the frosty weather. The chill upon him has subsided to the heat of kelp bear coursing though his veins. He would skip and sing to him self in his drunkenness, shift in a direction unknown. Existing the whereabouts unknown. Until finally he passed the familiar structure of the World's End Grotto from where he strolled right down to the docs.

A man's feet can prove to be his own undoing when in such a state. And that morning Valo had learned one of the more unpleasant life lessons for his undisciplined feet had led him right over the edge and into the sea.

For a moment he was at please, allowing the waves to engulf him. He rose and fell with the rhythmic harmony of the waves. The cold cut like glass upon his skin. The water penetrated into his lungs, the kelp beer-like taste scratched his throat raw. He had taken a dip in kelp beer. His eyes open, watching the diffused halo of blue light above him as he sank lower and lower, like a doll he fell. And then it dawned on him... he was going to drown...

With a sharp thrash of his limbs Valo had somehow managed to reach the surface of the water. Ivory fingers grabbed the bank, clenching it for dear life, before the rest of him hurled it self upwards. Water burst from his lungs in a fit of coughing. The taste so foul he felt nauseous, soaked though and shivering. His vibrant red hair now hung in strands of dull crimson like blood, clinging to his face as if a powerful blow to his head had been executed. And perhaps at first sight he would look like a human sacrifice to some vengeful deity. A body sprawled over the edge with feet still dangling in the water below.

[Wrenmae]

Sea-born, God-drunk, the figure at the end of the docks might as well have been a phantom, a shadow, some silhouette of nothing creeping over placid waves.

It barely turned when Valo hurled himself from the waves, clutching at the frozen cobblestone with pale, claw-crooked fingers. There was nothing but the idea, the struggle of it all. Sea frothed and whispered, singing briny tunes of old dark places, secret hollows in the earth where only sea resided. It promised the drunk those strange places, trips without ticket fares, without the clink of mizas in a leathery sun-strong hand.

Are we going to help him?

Not yet.

So we're going to...watch him?

Yes.

Creepy?

Strength is something measured in the little moments no one is watching.

But...we're watching.

He doesn't know that.

That matters?

Zan, if he does not know we watch, we might as well not be.

But we are. I just...what?

Forget it Zan. Keep your opinions to yourself.

But they don't want to be locked away, Wrenmae, they want to erupt. They want to hug, they want to cling to your tiny brain and force their unique perspective!

Unique for a blob of water.

That hurts....especially from a blob of flesh.

Wrenmae wore no disguise tonight, had instead opted to walk as himself a spell. The steel-cloth cloak lay around his shoulders like the pall of night across twin-peaked hills. Both blades glittered by moonlight, cold shining fire silently flickering off the hilts of both the long dagger and rapier. He, was nothing to the Zeltivan evening...no more than eyes and purpose, masked and sinister.

Or...perhaps not so much sinister as instructive. Zeltiva long languished by evening and morning, too stagnant in their ways to accomplish much of their dreams. The lap of knowledge, perhaps, but what did the students do with their hard won academia? For five hundred years and more, mankind...nay, all of Mizahar had kept to their own devices, made no pursuits in uniting the world into even a specter of what it had been.

Indolence was punishable by death.

Much like this struggling man, awash in spirits and weaving in and out of damning sleep and forgiving consciousness, Mizahar would choose whether to drowned themselves or rise above their station.

Personally, Wrenmae hoped they chose the latter.

Hoped this man chose the latter.

He'd only help him if the fellow helped himself.

[Daishira]

What had drawn the Kelvic initially was the dreadful, out-of-tune singing erupting from some poor man's drunken stupour. As it was morning, there wasn't the usual commotion of people in the streets and the singing was easily, and regrettably, heard. Daishira intended to follow the sound and shut the man up for polluting the air of such sounds. Luckily, he didn't bring his horse, Holly. She would rear up at the ghastly sound and what happened last time was something Daishira felt like he could live without. Indeed, he left him at the stables, his temporary home. He should really let someone know that he was hitching there, it made him feel almost like a burglar, just sneaking into someone's property and making it your own home.

He reached the sea, the salty air which already hung in the city was so much stronger here and hit him with a refreshing morning breeze. Among this was the faint tinge of beer. Daishira's sense of smell was heightened, owing to his wolf features, so no-one else would have picked it up. The mix of beer and brine did not compliment each other. At all. He coughed a little at the foul concoction. His disapproval of the atmosphere was dashed at the horrible sight of a man with blood red hair coughing, dangling on the edge of one of the wooden extensions that jutted out into the sea. He recognised the almost dead man. He was paler than he was upon first encounter, but there was no mistake. The same guy about two weeks ago! He bumped into his horse in the middle of the streets!

Every fibre of his being urged Daishira to sprint, to aid the poor acquaintance. However, maybe it would be fun to watch this guy for a bit. After examining the guy soaked through, Daishira concluded he would not die if no help was given straight away. He loosened his knees, lowered himself into a crouching stance and crept up the the nearest wooden cylinder that rose from the ground. His back mimicked the shape of the curved piece of cover as he pressed against it, remaining unseen to the acquaintance. I'm like an assassin! Daishira thought excitedly to himself. He was still young. He can still dream!

He peered round ever so slowly and carefully. His vision was blocked by the wood and only marginally could his eye just make out the man, still laid down. He spied on him. This should be interesting...

[Valo]

Intoxication had been washed from Valo at the impact of the ice cold salty water. The chill which penetrated into his bones, awaking him from the sluggishness, removing the blissful anaesthetic which was his condition. Bliss had turned into pain. It's a truly terrible thing, when one realises they are well and truly alone in this world. And a worse one still, when the true nature of this world unfolds before a kind man's very eyes. The ultimate proof that no one would go out of their way for a random act of kindness, for it was easier to simply turn their cheek. Zeltiva was just as cold and unforgiving as the sea into which he fell. A lovely metaphor to hammer a truth into his mind; no one cares. Not a single soul. And for a moment he blindly watched as patrons went about their daily business, not noticing the man who had nearly drowned. His heart grew as cold as his skin. His heart began turning to stone. Valo wondered; what would happen if he was to surrender his very life to the sea right now? What would happen is he simply let go of the bank and returned his body into the cold, grasping hands of the waves? Would people scream and panic at the sight of his cadaver? Would there be a funeral? Would anyone inform his family back in Wind Reach? Or would the people simply walk by, pretending not to notice the red spot on the canvas of water. Foolish thought! He was still young and had so much to do with his life, so much to learn and so much to paint. It would be a shameful death and a gentleman did not die in shame. A gentleman did not surrender. A new kind of fire sparked inside him, a determination to cling to life at all costs, just as he clung to the bank. He wasn't afraid of death but rejected it will a spit in the face. And perhaps this determination sparked due to his thirst for knowledge, his unjustifiable thirst; or perhaps it was something deeper which he did not yet understand. Whatever the case, he pulled him self over and finally kneeler, shivering on the wooden platform, hands rubbing together in a desperate attempt at regaining some feeling. He was young and he was alive and that was the only truth. Valo must have looked pitiful. His clothes soaked though, clinging to his slender form. His his had turned a bloody shade of crimson and snaked onto his shoulders as if he had taken a blow to his head. A young, beautiful man now rendered pitiful by his unstoppable shivering. And with some effort, he struggled to his feet, week in the knees from both the chill and the intoxication, the final threads of which still lingered within him somewhat.If he didn't return home soon, he'd no doubt freeze to death in this ungodly weather. "Alcohol is a curse upon men." he grumbled beneath his breath. "Let it be known that from this day onwards I shall never look upon Kelp Beer again." Though it wasn't only kelp beer that he now detested, but the very nature of human beings. A selfish and self oriented nature. Had he not been raised to believe the best in people, he would not feel this disappointment now.

[Wrenmae]

"The only curse of men and spirits are that the former fails to understand the latter and makes merry with little thought to the consequences." The darkness detached itself from the end of the dock and took the form of a man in heavy cloak. The phantom made no effort to hide the steel on his hips, but took the care to slide through air and earth to cut the young man off from swift retreat. Only the sea promised a swift escape from this voice and shadow, should it come to running.

"I wondered if you'd pull yourself from the sea, so much so that it gave me pause...I'm glad to see you found the will to live, but you'll catch your death so soaked in a Zeltivan winter." The voice was anything but caring, almost...sardonic. If they did not make haste to warm the poor man, the Blight would seep into his lungs, burn them, kill him in a fortnight or less.

"Allow me to volunteer an alternative."

Pale green res seeped from his skin, bathing it in an ephemeral luminescence. Reaching out, he upended a discarded barrel, far too damaged to be of any use, and poured the res across it. Snapping his fingers, flames erupted from the pale green with a dull roar, racing across the barrel and bathing the entire dock with flickering brilliance. The wide brimmed hat across Wren's head obscured his features, but the head tilted toward Valo almost questioningly.

"What will it be? Wander through the streets and hope to find safety before freezing to death, or warm yourself by my fire and tell me something of your struggles."

He smiled, pale teeth in shadow, "Tell me what drives a man to drink and make a pass at Laviku's domain."

...are you hitting on him?

What?

Are you hitting on him?

No.

Oh. I wasn't sure. You fleshbags have strange mating rituals and I wasn't sure you weren't coming on to him.

Why on Mizahar would you think that?

I dunno...all mysterious, made him a fire, asked him to stay with you...

I'm guaging his character!

And if he were a girl, you'd probably try to petch with him...err...her...in this situation.

What?!

He does have long hair though, maybe if you pretended...

Shut up!

Why? I know what burns deep inside your soul.

....

No answer? It's alright. Love blooms in such strange places.

Come out so I can show you how much I agree with your perception.

....no. You're irrational with love. You can't be held responsible for what you'll do.

Oh I can be held responsible. Very responsible.

Don't take kindly to jokes about your sexuality, do you? Must be terrible to live in such insecurity.

One of these days...Zan.

You'll buy me a pony?

I...you...no. No. No I won't.

And that's why you'll never woo that drunkard there...you have no appreciation for personal desire.

I hate you.

I know.

[Daishira]

Daishira's eyes widened at such mysterious events. Mizahar is a wonderful world, full of magical and unexplainable occurances. One could be dazzled by the glorious features. However, there was a certain... dark side of the world, one of opportunity, making the most of weakness in man.

The darkness manifested itself in the form of a man, approached the almost drowned figure with no intention of kindness written in his stride. He... No, it... barricaded the poor, red-haired soul, a mouse in a corner, a soldier with no retreat... a drunkard with no choice. I have to do something! I can't let this man die! Daishira was convinced a murder was imminent.

A fire was lit, seemingly out of nothing, much like the darkness itself. Daishira looked on, almost tripping over his first step was he halted himself from running. The blaze invaded the dock, conquering the wood. That familiar choking odour reached Daishira's nostrils, a dull thunder echoed throughout the docks. He could not escape the smokey odour and felt as entrapped as the unfortunate drunkard. After a moment of adjusting to the new atmosphere, Daishira refocused on the two figures, and saw that the darkness was still talking to the acquaintance. Or maybe not? It seemed distracted by an invisible force, a subtlety in his stance changed as if it was communicating with the fire he had just ignited. Or to the thin air? He couldn't tell from this distance. However, one fact remained. I still have to help him.

The very presence of this great fire burned Daishira's courage though. He could not find it in himself to run and save the acquaintance. It was almost as if the whole scene was a sacrificial ritual. Some creepy music would be all that's needed. Daishira breathed in. Deeper. Quicker. And choked on the sudden uptake of that burnt toast smell. Although the smoke would not choke him, the smell was enough for the Kelvic, highly susceptible to strong scents. He pushed his lungs' problems aside. This man needs me, not a choking fool! His brain worked in overdrive, a machine generating its useful products of solutions and alternatives. These turned to waste quickly, smoke could have appeared from his ears. This strong smokey smell was not helping. His brain felt like it was overheating, a steaming organ against the wintry air.

IDEA!

Daishira parted with his wooden post as if it too was on fire, rushed to the side and into the shadows. He was not going to run away, though it appeared that way to any onlooker. As soon as he left, the Kelvic, now a great wolf, broke from the shadows again and leaped into the icy sea. He did so from the same distance from the pair, which was enough to conceal his movement.

The freezing water surrounded and submerged Daishira. The icy sensation laced through his individual strands of dark fur, pressing against his skin. The fur could only hold off so much of the cold onslaught and soon, it was as if he had no fur at all. The water tortured his nerves and enticed the wolf to give in, let the water take care of that heavy body. 'Why must you carry such a hefty loud, in such extreme conditions?' the water seemed to talk to Daishira.

No. That was his brain. His body could not take the constant barrage of extreme temperature, the cool water numbed his entire form. Soon, he would not be able to swim effectively. Better make this quick... With sudden determination, Daishira went under and torpedoed through the water, using his hind feet to thrust himself through the sea. His skin kept telling him that icy needles were picking at his body, pulling him apart. He refused to listen. Sound was dulled. The thunderous roar of fire was now reduced to that of a single piece of tinder. Daishira pushed himself, forced himself, hard yet silent as he minimised noise. He didn't need the fire making demon to know of his unwelcome presence. His spine was big enough to support even a tall man such as the drunkard in distress and he was determined to save him.

Soon enough, Daishira reached the end of the protruding dock. The drunkard was still near the end of it. Daishira positioned himself to catch the man if he was to fall back into the water, which was one possibility in Daishira's racing mind. Still unnoticed, he thought of escape plans. If the darkness looked away, he could burst out of the water and strongly suggest to get on his back. Then ride away back the way he came, and hopefully put enough distance between them and the evil. This sounded all well and good in Daishira's head, but...

It all depended on chance.

[Valo]

Before he even had the moment to fully compose him self, a dark figure appeared seemingly from nowhere. A wide rimmed hat that obscured the face that spoke to him. A voice completely void of kindness. The stranger positioned him self between Valo and the only root out of the docs, perhaps a strategic move, imposing his presence upon the crimson haired, soaking wet artist. There was something so fundamentally ominous about this presence but perhaps it was Valo's own imagination. It didn't take long before the artist realised this source of the ominous feeling for the man's display was indeed admirable. Something Valo had previously witnessed. Something which amassed him every time. Something he decided he would one day learn. Of course the problem was doing so without spending too much coin. There was a lone barrel that lingered on the side with little purpose to it. It was damaged by both elements and age and did indeed serve the stranger's purposes, for he opened it and began seeping an ethereal pale green substance from his skin. It was unmissable. This man was a mage just like his friend Reaver was. Though his res was different, had a different hue to it completely. And without much hesitation the barrel had burst into flames, bathing the doc in it's orange hues, casting long slender shadows. A dazzling display of flickering flames. Had he been wrong? Had he jumped to conclusions too soon? For there seemed to truly be kindness in people and an abundance of it. And a crescent of a smile appeared on the artist's face and a nod of gratitude before he stepped a little closer to the raging fire. The warmth licked his skin. He held out his most precious possession just a little distance from the fire to warm it up as soon as he could, his hands, the very limbs that keep him fed and clothed. "What will it be? Wander through the streets and hope to find safety before freezing to death, or warm yourself by my fire and tell me something of your struggles." asked the stranger, his voice suddenly not so sharp to Valo's ears. "I believe I shall take my chance with you and your fire sir." replied the Valo politely. "I must thank you for your kindness and compliment you on your reimnacy. I am truly in your debt." It was strange how this man held no fear of performing his magic in the streets. So bold, he was. So confident. But as far as Valo was concerned, not many people shared his natural thirst for knowledge- to the point where it became an obsession- and not many were so open minded. Where as Valo truly wished to question the man about everything and anything to do with his craft, others may turn hostile against it. "Tell me what drives a man to drink and make a pass at Laviku's domain." questioned the stranger. His white teeth loomed from beneath the rim of his hat, causing Valo to wonder whether it was a display of honest curiosity, or in fact prying. Valo fixed his stare on his feet for a moment, taking in a great breath of the war air that elevated his chest significantly,before releasing it in a muffled sound though his teeth. His dark green eyes stared into the fire almost absently. "I tell you most solemnly sir, there are things in this world a man wishes not to witness. And upon this witnessing he wishes solely to gouge out his eyeballs, only to never witness anything like that again. Tragically, eyes are the tool of an artist and I must keep them in my scull so the image cannot be erased." he said, his voice shaking for every time he thought back to that event, tears rolled into his eyes. He could not possibly start weeping before this dark stranger. That's nothing other than embarrassing. And so allowing him self a moment to compose his entire person, he then looked to the man beside him, an expression of somewhat absence in his eyes. "But forgive my manners sir, my name is Valo and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

[Wrenmae]

"Valo," The stranger said, tasting the word by tongue and letting it flow back to its master, "A simple name, but strong." He said nothing of his own, offered no identity in trade. There was silence between them, only the pop and crackle of flames consuming the barrel. Neither heard the paddling of the wolf behind them in the bay.

"Few things so motivate a man to hurl himself to winter's sea," the stranger commented, "What did you see, Valo, and why does it haunt you so?"

Stepping closer to the flames, Wren held out a hand and pulled the fire away from spreading with a simple exercise of res and will. He couldn't overdue it, not tonight, but he would certainly begin a followup part of his plan. Valo, a beloved artist and guest of Zeltiva, would be the perfect catalyst to begin his terror in the Zeltivan side streets.

Hey. I figured we could take a little time out of our busy schedule to talk.

Talk? About?

What do you mean about? Isn't it obvious?

In far less ways than you might imagine.

My cut.

Cut.

Cut.

Cut?

Yes. My cut. What do I get paid?

Paid?

Yes. Money. Mizas. Currency. Bones. Coins. The metaly bits you fleshlings use to trade for stuff!

You want to be paid?

Why is this concept so difficult to grasp? Think around your fat! Around! Not through it!

What does a familiar want with money?

Oh. I dunno. Maybe...buying stuff?

Like?

Shoes! Or...a better belt! Or I dunno...stuff. I just want options.

...fair enough, I suppose. How will you carry it when you're in your usual blobby watery self?

You will.

I will?

Yes.

For a retainer fee perhaps.

Oh...a retainer fee. Crafty little snake.

I simply call them as I see them.

You may have won this round...but I'll return.

...

For my money. When I need to be paid. Cause we just talked about it.

I got that.

Good. Because I can't be troubled to repeat it. Honestly I only half paid attention to what I was saying.

[Daishira]

As Daishira approached the couple amidst the fires of the docks, he overheard bits of the conversation that leaked through the icy surface of the water in which he was submerged. Valo was actually... being nice to him? What? This guy was as creepy as a tall lanky man with a trimmed moustache hanging out in the kids' playground. Never mind the fact that he cornered Valo with his magical, sinister powers, the fire now limited somewhat, but still presented a threatening wall of heat which encircled the two.

When the dark figure replied, Daishira still could not feel any tone of kindness explicitly on his voice, and this made him shiver more than the chilling sensation of the water.

I don't like this...

Nevertheless, Daishira stuck it out another moment and resisted the pinching feelings of the wintry sea to hear what the two had to say. Valo didn't sound like he wanted to be saved. As a matter of fact, the crazy drunkard wants to stay next to him! Maybe Daishira has it wrong, maybe this dark guy is actually a hero, just with a socially awkward characteristic about him. Maybe he does want to help Valo. Still, Daishira could not completely fend off the instinct within him that screamed in his ear, "Save Valo!"

Within the next few seconds, Daishira would choose to leave the two alone or grab Valo and escort him away from the dark figure. What the two said next will influence Daishira's decision.

[Valo]

To the artist any conversation was as good as the next one. He had always though the best of people, until proven wrong and even then he would scour his brain for the explanation. Many evil deeds were made of a noble substance when looked deeper into. Besides, he was a man who'd abandoned his primal instincts in search of knowledge. He didn't feel particularly threatened by the figure before him, nor did he feel threatened by his magic. A good friend of his was a reimancer. Why should the stranger be any different? And perhaps this meeting would open up an opportunity to learn something about this mystical power, for there was nothing that interested him more than the prospects of gaining yet more new knowledge. "Valo," The stranger said. "A simple name, but strong." "Oh yes." the artist smiled pleasantly. "It means light." However that stranger had not in turn offered a name of his own. Perhaps unfamiliarity with the notion of manners. "Few things so motivate a man to hurl himself to winter's sea," the stranger commented. "What did you see, Valo, and why does it haunt you so?" was the next question. A perfectly logical question to be exact, for the artist truly had bathed in his own embarrassment just moments ago. It was only natural than the man would enquire as to such a thing. The notion of prying had not even crossed Valo's mind. The artist's keen green eyes watched with somewhat a sparkle of hunger as his the mage held out a hand. The fire began subsiding a little, becoming more contained. No longer had the flames retained their wild nature and now lingered within the barrel like a broken animal, a domesticated animal. Even the fire was scared of this man, but not Valo. To him this was truly interesting. Exquisitely interesting. "Oh few things indeed." Valo agreed, nodding his head yet eyes still focused on the fire. And word by word his expression fell. A distant look formed within the green surface of his eyes. And the memories, those horrifying memories, which before had subsided to alcohol, began flowing back uncontrollably. "But perhaps a mutilated body of a wave guard in the arms of your good friend. A brutal murder. Flesh with the word WEAK slashed into it. Perhaps that would qualify." Shaking his head a little, Valo's eyes returned to the stranger with a forced smile. One that was carved onto the ivory face with the knife of his very will. "But I'm sure you'll hear about it soon enough sire..." pause, though it had been intended. "I must apologise dear sir but I seem to have forgotten your name. It must be the alcohol. Would you mind sharing it once again?" Of course the artist had been very aware that the name was not given in the first place. And interrogation into such a seemingly minor detail would have been rude, so this sneaky method was a much better idea. He was indeed far from stupid at times.