60 Vhalar, Arc 719
He'd returned to Viden, but this time he didn't follow the path through Emea to his initiate's brand. Instead, Llyr Llywelyn made his way to a different brand. Not of either initiate that lived within the cold northern city, but one that wouldn't look at him when he arrived. One that wouldn't expect things of him. He stepped out from Emea and into the corridor of the Carnelian Prism. He looked ahead, then behind him. It was sheer luck that he'd arrived without any witnesses. Then again, it was the darkest of the night when most people were fast asleep and dreaming.
Llyr closed his eyes for a moment, to gather his thoughts and bearings, then he cloaked himself from detection. It was as if he were no longer in the world... yet he was. He most definitely was. The student tightened the belt of his winter coat, then found his way through the corridors to the outside. It was cold in Viden, but he'd dressed for the weather. He was learning this city, of its cold and its people, and he'd started to get a grasp on certain things regarding it.
He left the Academy dorms, headed into a different part of a city... not to the library, nor to the Obsidian Prism. Llyr had business to attend to. Even here, in the north, where it seemed he went to escape into his research...
Things were not always as they seemed. For Llyr, this often was the case.
The blond made his way into the poorer districts, where voices could be heard muttering in the frigid alleys and crashes, brawls, and screaming echoed within the boarded-up homes...
…
…By dawn’s light, when the morning came, Llyr found himself in a completely different place than where he’d began the night. He stood in the center of Doran’s kitchen. His hair would have been disheveled, if it weren’t for the Edashan magic that made it as attractive as it would otherwise be. The biqaj sat on the countertop and stared up at the ceiling… though he didn’t stare at nothing.
Llyr had a journal in his lap, and a charcoal stick in the other. Dark inky smudges of charcoal were all over him, ether-cracked fingertips coated in the dust, patches of it smeared over his pale silvery skin. He wasn’t wearing much, only in a pair of tight black undershorts and a tall pair of stockings that went to mid-thigh, so his crystalline legs were covered from view. His wings stayed spread out behind him, like a dragonfly’s wings laid in wait. Above his platinum blond hair, the ether light in his halo slowly spun to one side within the bounds of the thin ring shape.
He scribbled on the journal while he stared up, his elfin-shaped eyes filled with the iridescent colors of his ether. His feet lightly kicked out, in gentle sway, while he tracked the various shapes he saw within his own ether. He tried to sketch the shapes onto the journal pages. A light sweat gathered on his skin, which caused him to glisten in the morning light that streaked through the kitchen windows.
The Ambrosia in his system helped him focus on the tiny little shapes, but it also made him breathe a bit shallower and his body temperature ran higher. Beside him on the counter, an ashtray with a rolled stick of half-burnt ambrosia laid smoldered and forgotten. The young mage had snuck into the kitchen not too long ago… or had it been hours ago? He’d lost track of time. He’d sneaked into Doran’s home easily, under the cloak of his imperceptible dreamwalker magic, and he didn’t realize that the sunlight meant that the servants would likely soon arrive to prepare breakfast for his lover and initiate, Doran Thetys. He, also, didn’t fully acknowledge that it’d been nearly thirty trials since he’d last seen the alchemist. They had parted on good terms, blissful terms even, and he’d promised to trust that Doran might help him overcome the thirst caused by his flaying but… things in Etzos had gotten busy upon his return, and he’d lost track of time.
Llyr heard footsteps and a noise nearby, but he didn’t look away from the various drifting symbols that remained within the ether that filled his own eyes. It was easier to distinguish them when he used the ceiling as a backdrop, he found. He quietly scratched the charcoal against the journal page, and attempted to draw the overlapped sphere and pyramid shape he witnessed.
He'd returned to Viden, but this time he didn't follow the path through Emea to his initiate's brand. Instead, Llyr Llywelyn made his way to a different brand. Not of either initiate that lived within the cold northern city, but one that wouldn't look at him when he arrived. One that wouldn't expect things of him. He stepped out from Emea and into the corridor of the Carnelian Prism. He looked ahead, then behind him. It was sheer luck that he'd arrived without any witnesses. Then again, it was the darkest of the night when most people were fast asleep and dreaming.
Llyr closed his eyes for a moment, to gather his thoughts and bearings, then he cloaked himself from detection. It was as if he were no longer in the world... yet he was. He most definitely was. The student tightened the belt of his winter coat, then found his way through the corridors to the outside. It was cold in Viden, but he'd dressed for the weather. He was learning this city, of its cold and its people, and he'd started to get a grasp on certain things regarding it.
He left the Academy dorms, headed into a different part of a city... not to the library, nor to the Obsidian Prism. Llyr had business to attend to. Even here, in the north, where it seemed he went to escape into his research...
Things were not always as they seemed. For Llyr, this often was the case.
The blond made his way into the poorer districts, where voices could be heard muttering in the frigid alleys and crashes, brawls, and screaming echoed within the boarded-up homes...
…
…By dawn’s light, when the morning came, Llyr found himself in a completely different place than where he’d began the night. He stood in the center of Doran’s kitchen. His hair would have been disheveled, if it weren’t for the Edashan magic that made it as attractive as it would otherwise be. The biqaj sat on the countertop and stared up at the ceiling… though he didn’t stare at nothing.
Llyr had a journal in his lap, and a charcoal stick in the other. Dark inky smudges of charcoal were all over him, ether-cracked fingertips coated in the dust, patches of it smeared over his pale silvery skin. He wasn’t wearing much, only in a pair of tight black undershorts and a tall pair of stockings that went to mid-thigh, so his crystalline legs were covered from view. His wings stayed spread out behind him, like a dragonfly’s wings laid in wait. Above his platinum blond hair, the ether light in his halo slowly spun to one side within the bounds of the thin ring shape.
He scribbled on the journal while he stared up, his elfin-shaped eyes filled with the iridescent colors of his ether. His feet lightly kicked out, in gentle sway, while he tracked the various shapes he saw within his own ether. He tried to sketch the shapes onto the journal pages. A light sweat gathered on his skin, which caused him to glisten in the morning light that streaked through the kitchen windows.
The Ambrosia in his system helped him focus on the tiny little shapes, but it also made him breathe a bit shallower and his body temperature ran higher. Beside him on the counter, an ashtray with a rolled stick of half-burnt ambrosia laid smoldered and forgotten. The young mage had snuck into the kitchen not too long ago… or had it been hours ago? He’d lost track of time. He’d sneaked into Doran’s home easily, under the cloak of his imperceptible dreamwalker magic, and he didn’t realize that the sunlight meant that the servants would likely soon arrive to prepare breakfast for his lover and initiate, Doran Thetys. He, also, didn’t fully acknowledge that it’d been nearly thirty trials since he’d last seen the alchemist. They had parted on good terms, blissful terms even, and he’d promised to trust that Doran might help him overcome the thirst caused by his flaying but… things in Etzos had gotten busy upon his return, and he’d lost track of time.
Llyr heard footsteps and a noise nearby, but he didn’t look away from the various drifting symbols that remained within the ether that filled his own eyes. It was easier to distinguish them when he used the ceiling as a backdrop, he found. He quietly scratched the charcoal against the journal page, and attempted to draw the overlapped sphere and pyramid shape he witnessed.