• Mature • Alone in the Attic

Solo.

29th of Ashan 719

User avatar
Llyr Llywelyn
Approved Character
Posts: 1927
Joined: Sat Feb 02, 2019 12:24 am
Race: Mortal Born
Renown: 830
Character Sheet
Character Wiki
Plot Notes
Personal Journal
Templates
Letters
Point Bank Thread
Wealth Tier: Tier 8

Milestones

RP Medals

Miscellaneous

Alone in the Attic

29th of Ashan, Arc 719


Ashvane Estate had a place no one knew about. Well, almost no one. Alistair, of course, knew. And Damien. And now, Zarik too. The lich had informed him of the entrance, and he’d snuck through the hidden path to the secret attic. Upon the way closing behind him, Zarik found himself encased in darkness.

The attic was a windowless area with no lights. He closed his eyes, summoned the increasingly familiar sensation, and a burst of blue-tinted energy about the size of his fist shot out from his chest. The mage-light hovered in the center of the attic, illuminating the space.

Though it wasn’t large, the space wasn’t cramped. For there was a single crate with a small stack of books on top. He shuffled his feet against the floor. His slippers kept the soles warm from the inlaid stone. Zarik cleared off some dust that’d settled on the floor. Compared to the rest of the estate, the attic appeared filthy. Perhaps the thralls weren’t coded to come and clean the space, which made sense if it was meant to be a secret. Along the sides, he saw the shadows of skittering insects as they rushed away from the sudden brightness in their habitat.

He scooched closer to the crate and stared at the stack of books. Zarik didn’t touch them, for they struck him as important. But he stared at them. Oh, did he ever stare at them. Why weren't they included with the rest of the libraries and the hundreds of books that filled the study and Woodstock Hall? The irises of the biqaj eyes spun in their amber color, the hue of pure curiosity for him. He scooted close enough that he touched the crate with his legs. He bent his legs, pressed his elbows on his knees, and then rested his chin on the palms of his hands. Zarik smiled at the books as if he were trying to coax a small animal to come closer.

But books couldn’t move on their own. So, they sat there, being books. Zarik sighed. He laid back on the floor and stared at the shimmering ethereal light above. He missed Alistair. Why hadn’t the man come back already? In just a few more breaks, it would be dawn. He supposed however Abaddon was faring must’ve been especially bad. He didn’t know the man, but he couldn’t help but feel an empathy toward the past lover of his husband – feeling as if it was obvious who had hurt him and why. He hoped the man would live.

Zarik lifted himself back to sitting. He placed a hand on the top of the stack: a heavy book with a leather binding. Remaining here for several trills, he took a quick breath, then slowly pressed it to shift the stack. He saw, as he did so, that not all the tomes were books – some looked to be loose parchment strung together and journals of a sort. He stopped pressing on the book. Zarik carefully lifted it off, then sorted between what was a proper bound book and what looked to be notes of some sort.

He crossed his legs, sitting in front of the crate, and looking at the two stacks. They were nearly even: four in one stack and six in the other. He looked at the books, then at the journals, then back to the books. He bit on his lower lip, then picked up the first book from the stack. He flipped through the pages, glanced over the language within, and the images he could find. It looked to be about Arcane Abilities. He set it aside.

His curiosity strummed too much and too fast to stop himself. He opened each and every book, skimmed through the contents, then turned to the journals to do the same. He hesitated at certain points, certain words and phrases that stood out, but continued this general survey of the few offerings that the private attic space provided.

Once he was finished, in quick time, he revitalized the brilliance of his mage-light. It had started to dim and weaken in its illumination. He took hold of a thickly bound journal: A Grimoire on Lichdom as it said in the title page. Zarik opened it and started to read.

Ten pages in, he started to get confused. There were a lot of words he didn’t know or understand enough to make sense of the dense paragraphs. It was, however, written in what – from his cursory glances over the rest of the journals – he assumed to be Alistair’s penmanship. Zarik traced some of the inked words. He got distracted, thinking of his husband, and wondering where the man was. Zarik sighed.

His heart ached. He felt despondent at the reminder of being alone tonight. It was their first night back in Quacia since the trip to Ne'haer, and while he wanted to work some, he also wanted to speak with Alistair about the coming several trials – about Asher – about their plans for his sisters' stay – and about his need to start… start a lot. He still felt overwhelmed by how much there was to do.

Zarik shook his head. He refocused his gaze on the grimoire. Wherever Alistair was, Zarik hoped he’d think about returning home soon. He read some more theoretical musings, combined with some clinical observations about liches themselves. Zarik closed the tome. He set it back on the crate with the others. He picked up another journal and started to read… but it didn’t take him long to realize that this was Alistair’s personal diary. Zarik blushed. He shut the diary and set it back, while trying to forget the few lines he’d read. He wouldn’t intrude on Alistair that much.

The young mage stood. He stretched his arms up, then walked around the attic some. Zarik tapped his fingers against the brilliant mage-light. His eyes glimmered white as he looked at it. He returned to the crate. He knelt, in a seated position, then picked up a proper book this time: The Origins of Magic and Mage History

He was surprised to recognize the script as Alistair’s handwriting as well though. Alistair wrote books - or had he copied it from another? He wondered if this was the only copy or not… As he read, though, the book was dry, filled with jargon, and technical language. It discussed sparks, however, and their origins. Then it went into histories… a lot of histories… and Zarik flipped forward some, confused by the sections about Sheor and Hiladrith… though he paused at Quacia and read a little bit of it. His head started to hurt however, and he felt a sense of despair tinged with frustration. Zarik shut the book with a slam. He set it on the crate.

Zarik ran his fingers through his ice-blond hair. He pinched the points of his ears, pulled at them, then yawned. He still hadn’t slept since their last night in Ne’haer and though his body had recovered over the day, he started to feel exhausted in the quiet solitude of the dusty attic. Zarik leaned against the edge of the crate. He watched a small black spider skitter past. It paused for a few trills, as if waiting for something, then hurried on its way. Zarik sighed.

Lifting back up, he picked out one of the strung-together journals that had caught his eye while surveying them all. He bit his lower lip, though, as he wasn’t sure… He’d stopped himself from the private diary, but this one…

He opened and stared at the foreboding title: The Underdark of My Family.

Zarik tapped his fingers against the parchment edges. He shifted into a more comfortable seated position. The biqaj raised an arm. He beckoned the mage-light to lower. The orb of glimmering ray-light descended to hover just above and behind his shoulder

After a quiet few breaths, Zarik flipped the page and he started to read.

What he read, filled him with emotional resonance for his husband. It started with intimate words about Alistair’s origins, his true origins, and of his parents; the father and mother both. Zarik felt, as he read about the nobleman’s sister, Zvezdana, if he should stop himself… but he couldn’t. Here were things that his husband hadn’t told him, not this completely, and might never tell him. Zarik flipped the pages, reading faster than he’d read any of the other books before, and even rereading certain sentences as if to sear them into his brain so he would remember the exact phrasing.

It was not merely about Alistair’s upbringing, about the horrid man who served as father, and though he thought the man horrid from the very start of what he read – it only seemed to worsen as he continued through the hastily written longhand. Perhaps this was why Alistair treated what he knew about Zarik so differently than most others… perhaps this was why the nobleman seemed to understand Zalazar in ways others couldn’t. The anger Alistair had expressed in regard to the biqaj’s father felt all that more understandable as well. It wasn’t out of pity for Zarik, like the reactions of others, but from resemblance – as had been hinted on their very first night of conversation as near-equals.

Despite the resemblances, there were also many differences. Those differences glared blindingly bright from the words that Zarik read. For Alistair was noble-born and Zarik had never lived that life, nor understood it in the slightest, but in the stories he read – the vile secrets that Alistair confined to these pages – a faint realization grew in him. This was what people meant by the depravity of nobles. And yet, it didn’t differ all that much from peasantry still except for perhaps, the context of it. Where Heaps did such things and felt no need to excuse themselves beyond the roughness of life, or perhaps the sinful nature of intoxicated judgment, nobles had to find reasoning and logical excuses for the same behaviors.

Zarik paused in his reading. He wondered about this, while he watched a spider stalk after a wandering beetle along the slanted attic wall. People were, truly, the same when it came to the natures of themselves. It didn’t matter what neighborhood they were born to, or as he’d spoken with Damien a few breaks before – the filth in which they writhed – people were simply people in all their faults and glories alike. Perhaps this was what Alistair meant by equality. A recognition of this fact, of the inherent nature of consciousness regardless of race or creed or status, and that intrinsic behaviors – whether repulsive or attractive – could respectively fester or foster in anyone, anywhere, for any sorts of reasons.

He looked back down at the journal. His sight stuck on the concluding line of the entry. Zarik’s mouth dried. He felt tense. Was this the real reason for Alistair's ambitions to return to Rynmere? Revenge? It didn’t fit with what Zarik had thought before. He tried to understand… or why Alistair had never mentioned any of this to him already. He considered that he never planned on telling Alistair about what he’d found in Zalazar’s house when he’d gone and visited before they left for Ne’haer. But unlike Alistair, Zarik would never write such a thing down and he felt little animosity towards his own father. He couldn't fault Zalazar for madness since it'd been Zarik that had exacerbated the older biqaj's tendencies by his awkward treatment of how he'd handled the sudden transition in both their lives.

Zarik moved on, reading still, for he felt that he might never learn such things in conversation with the man himself. The excerpts moved away from the burdens of Alistair’s upbringing, but rather to the nature of nobility and in specific: House Venora. The house that Zarik, now, legally belonged to under the admission of the Theocratum – though he supposed, it wouldn’t truly be official for Rynmere until the ceremony in Saun. It was, certainly, a very thorough and quick lesson in specifics rather than the vaguery that it felt Alistair spoke whenever he talked about nobility. Now Zarik knew what details looked like beyond vague comments. These were more useful, effective, with names and deeds and understanding of the willingness of people who he possibly might meet, once he was taken to Rynmere by Alistair.

Fear brewed in him, though. And perhaps this was why Alistair had kept it vague. For with the illumination of details, he felt concern and worry and apprehension and vulnerability coincide with all his other stresses – many of them new to the last several trials. Zarik shut the journal and placed it neatly back on the crate. He stacked them all as he had found them when he’d entered.

Zarik laid on the floor, on his side, and stared at the edge where the floor met the slanted ceiling. He drew his finger through the dust, in a circle, then he held out his hand. He outstretched his fingers, and then closed them swiftly into a fist. The mage-light vanished. Left in utter darkness, Zarik remained motionless. He stared through the shadows, then lowered to lay on his back. The quiet felt nice, soothing, and he liked being alone up here – even if he felt as if Alistair would not be pleased to know he’d found the place on Damien’s suggestion of it.

He would return, he decided, and he would read all of the books in time. And then he would reread them. Zarik ran a hand over his chest. There was a faint sensation as if something was pulling from the inside near his heart. He closed his eyes, though in darkness, and he focused on the sensation. He missed Alistair. His soul longed for his mate. Zarik drifted to sleep, for a little while, before he would wake to watch the rising dawn.
₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪
word count: 2390
Please — consider me a dream.
User avatar
Aegis
Prophet of Old
Posts: 2378
Joined: Thu Jan 11, 2018 5:04 pm
Race: Prophet
Renown: 0
Plot Notes
Office
Templates
Point Bank Thread
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Featured

Contribution

Milestones

Staff

Miscellaneous

Re: Alone in the Attic

[anchor=OptionFour][/anchor]
Thread Review
Oh ho ho, discovering truths and secrets. Most interesting. Nice little research endeavor.

Word Count: 2,406
Review Request Link: viewtopic.php?f=242&t=16103&p=112252#p112257
Zarik
  • Skill Points - 10
  • Renown - 0
  • Skill Knowledges
    1. Research: Considering individual words.
    2. Research: Skimming many books to decide which to delve into.
    3. Research: The priceless value of intimately written accounts.
    4. Research: Rereading to retain information for recollection later.
    5. Psychology: The similarities and differences of people, their instinctual behaviors, and consequent reasoning.
    6. Transmutation: Quality: Shadows in Pitch-black Darkness
  • Non-Skill Knowledges
    1. Book: A Grimoire on Lichdom
    2. Book: The Origins of Magic and Mage History
    3. Journal: House Venora Secrets
    4. Lich: Ether/energy is their life blood.
    5. Lich: Burning has limited effects on them.
    6. Lich: Halfway between life and death.
    7. The Originals: The Source of the Spark
    8. Quacia: History of Magic
    9. Quacia: The Seekers
    10. Alistair: Abusive, sadistic father.
    11. Alistair: Desires revenge on his house.
    12. Zvezdana Venora: Alistair’s sister.
    13. Lyanna Solange: Courtier and Betrayer.
    14. (NPC) Duchess Ebony: Alistair’s grandmother
    15. (NPC) Duchess Ebony: Deals in the black market for wealth.
    16. House Venora: Cruel and secretive.
    17. Cyrene Venora: one of the Sacred Seven
    18. Ashvane Estate: The Secret Attic: A source of intimate knowledge.
    19. Ashvane Estate: The Secret Attic: Creepy, but quiet and comforting.
    20. Personal: Ask Damien to teach me about Sheor.
    21. Personal: Ask Alistair about the Seekers.
    22. Personal: What is a phylactery?
  • Items and Other Rewards
Player 2
  • Skill Points -
  • Renown -
  • Skill Knowledges
  • Non-Skill Knowledges
  • Items and Other Rewards


Final Notes


If you have any questions, please PM me.

Code: Select all

      [center][img]/gallery/image.php?album_id=39&image_id=12064[/img][/center]
word count: 277
Locked Request an XP Review Claim Wealth Thread

Return to “Threads”