2nd of Cylus 720
Kalortah stood in front of a full-length mirror in a room in some Almund dive. In his hand, the gem that the Grand Aeolian had gifted him. He had another, at his tower in Scalvoristown, one he'd picked up before making it to Yaralon. Tied to that one was the impression of his alias, Larza Impre. Black, salt and pepper hair and of average height and build, with pretty features. Kal could become Larza once more, could don that mask. The gem was still somewhere in that mirror room. Yet with it would flood back the reminders of his failure in Athart, missed opportunities and broken oaths. No, he would become someone else entirely.
And why would a glorious winged creature wish to become a drab humanoid? Well, the reasons were many-fold. Kalortah was being hounded currently by a woman, his professor Ilpa de Fleur. She had an unhealthy love and obsession for all things avian, which as it turned out extended to Avriel as well. He remembered with some shame how he'd earned his Certificate, and lowered his gaze before the mirror, fractionally. This mood established it was the right time to forge his new identity.
He pricked his hand, and let the blood drop on the virgin Transformation Gem. Then, as he looked into the mirror, he willed his appearance to change. Shoulder length white hair shortened and thickened, into a copper-colored head of hair. His glorious red eyes, trailing red tears as the former sign of his witchmark, became hazel. The witchmark scars disappeared with his avriel form. Still, the abrogation scar remained where it had cut into his breastbone, that would never go away, however many times he transformed or however many gems he acquired.
His glorious red wings retracted into his back, lending mass to the rest of his body and filling his bones with human marrow. Finally, he grew a few inches in height. Once he stood at the height of 5'6", he stopped the transformation, and fine-tuned the details of his face, sculpting it to his wishes. While he didn't find humans all that attractive, there was a certain handsome charm to this form. It would doubtless escape the notice of both nosey council members and the degenerate professor and her avian predilections.
He dressed in a white linen shirt, black tweed trousers, blackened leather boots, and finally threw over it all a red, tweed longcoat. As he fastened his belt, as an afterthought he hooked his blood-metal rapier to the belt. That settled, he began jogging down the stairs to the common room, placing the transformation gem in his jacket pocket.
Before long he exited the backdoor, at the bottom floor of the tower. The suns were still lightening the sky, even in the 2nd of Cylus. It wouldn't go dark for a few days yet, probably, not entirely. And yet people were celebrating and throwing festivals of light all along the coast.
Milian le Moigne, as he dubbed this form, walked off toward the beach, intent to see what he could see and finally get some fresh air without the threat of finding that terrible woman following his tracks.
Milian was reminded on his walk toward the beaches, of the time that Naer had cornered him in an alley, and taught the young avriel the meaning of humility. In fact, it may have even been the very same street he was walking that very moment. A chill was in the breeze, crisping the air and the scent of bonfires in the distance. They had the scent of various perfumes that had been tossed into the open flames, as well as the wood scents that so reminded him of the pit fires back home in Athart.
Milian could see men and women dancing in the distance, as he closed on the beach. The sun was just beneath the horizon, signaling the advent of Cylus Dusk. From there, an aurora of orange light spread across the far side of the sky, until it began losing its light, showing through with the stars and moon above.
He ignored these party-goers, however, and made straight for the docks, to walk aboard a pier on which he'd arranged passage for his 'servant' Milian. Boat-travel was far less preferable to that on the wing, and slower. Yet there was no other way to ensure discretion. He gave his note of passage to the captain on arriving at the ship, and swiftly boarded, making for the private cabin Milian had arranged. His stomach churned at the rumbling of the hull. It was going to be a long trip.
"Avast! Redhead! Unlucky lad!"
Milian was leaned over the edge of the boat, fighting a bout of queasiness that had hit him since seeing a barrel of rotten fish, taken down to the mess for cooking. The idea of eating whatever cooked from that slimy slop made him feel green in the head. His throat beginning to swell with sickness. By the time the man that'd accosted him came upon him and slapped him across the back, he was spewing again into the waters below.
"Come now, the first voyage?"
Kal... no, Milian Le Moigne, looked up and nodded at the man. In fact, it was the human's first time upon a ship, and Kal's first foray on a ship without the aid of wings to take him off when he needed fresh air. He didn't much enjoy it but supposed it took getting used to.
"Ya like ta sing? I heard you hummin' on the way up the gang plank when we set off from Almund."
Milian shrugged, then nodded. He didn't dare use his voice, afraid of scarring his throat even more with his own stomach acids. Then the man took out a harmonica, made of wood, and began blowing on it. A loud, multitudinous series of notes made an interesting noise on the air, and then from elsewhere on the boat, Milian heard the crew beginning to hum along.
"C'mon lad, sing along, it'll make the time pass and us feel better! Ye've got a fine voice, it sounded!"
Having said that, the sailor began belting out a chant, and continued until it's conclusion.
Milian listened carefully. There was certainly something stirring about the Scalv sea shanty. It almost made him forget how sick he was, stuck on the deck of the ship. He pushed himself away from the railing, and made for the old salt's side. "I'll lead you all in a chorus... I think I've got it now..."
Thus having made the offer, Milian did go on to lead them in a chorus:
In the Black Ball line I served my time
To me way-aye-aye, hurray-ah
And that's the line where you can shine
Hurrah for the Black Ball Line
The Black Ball Ships are good and true
They are the ships for me and you
For once there was a Black Ball Ship
That fourteen knots an hour could clip
They'll carry you along through frost and snow
And take you where the wind don't blow
Milian began to forget about the sickness he was suffering, for those moments he recited the sea shanty. Before long, he was using the full strength of his voice to lead the crew in a stirring song. He more or less conducted the rest of the crew, making up for their lack by projecting his voice over the more raspy voices in there.
Even so, there was a certain rustic charm to the cacophony of a crew that sang in harmony, yet had very little individual talent. He could see how some of these men sustained themselves on these miserable vessels, sitting still for so long.
You will surely find a rich gold mine
Just take a trip in the Black Ball Line
Just take a trip to Gunvorton
To Gunvorton, that Scalvy school
The Scalvish sailors you'll see there
With red-top boots and short-cut hair
At Gunvorton docks we bid adieu
To Poll and Bet and lovely Sue
And now we're bound for Egilrun
It's there we'll drink, and sorrow drown
Credit The Black Ball Line - Heaving Shanty 00 Andrew Draskoy's Version (Adapted lightly to Idalos)
He finished the song with great applause from the ship's crew, which heartened him with pride. However, it didn't last long as the old salt slapped him on the back, whereupon he promptly emptied his stomach's contents directly on the deck.
"Oy! You clean that up lad! Swab that wood until you see yourself in it!"
In a few breaks, they finally arrived at Gunvorton. There, Milian swiftly departed from the ship and onto the pier, his constitution finally settling now that he was on stable ground. As he made his way down from the pier to the Wharf, he searched the crowd for signs of his family. They wouldn't be hard to spot, he thought, with their bright white hair and wings. Not too many avriel lived on Scalvoris, although it was fairly tolerant to them in turn.
Then, in the crowd, he spotted them. Curiously, they stood beside a large, man-sized crate. Milian walked up toward them, "Well, the Satravials I take it? My master bids you welcome to Scalvoris."
Aizaries, Kalortah's father, grunted roughly. Ophiriel gave him a subdued smile, and shrugged, gesturing toward the crate. "This is a gift for our son... We trust it'll be safe aboard the ship?"
Lenuzie chimed in, blushing at Milian's charming illusionary disguise, "Do you have a name, sir? And will you be accompanying us on the journey?"
The expression on his sister's face made Milian profoundly uncomfortable, yet he tried his best to hide that. Instead, he took her proffered hand and kissed it briefly. "No I'm afraid I have a business to attend for the Councilor here at Gunvorton. Then I will be making my way by road to Scalvoristown."
This was partly true, but he wouldn't exactly be walking back. He intended to return to form after changing into a different set of clothes. Yet, his curiosity was piqued at this 'gift' from his family. What could it be? In the end, he thought it impertinent for his human servant to ask, so he didn't. Instead, he unhitched the blood metal rapier from his belt and handed it to Aizaries. "Your son wished for you to have a gift as well, sire. And the rest of you I'm sure will be given bits and baubles when you're reunited with the Councilor, but for now, we must hasten you onto the ship, with your cargo..."
Having said this, the avriel family nodded, while Milian barked an order for the lugs to take the crate over the gang plank and into the hold of the ship via pallet. Faintly, he could hear it chime as whatever was within rumbled on its base. Was it some kind of ceramic? Milian would have to satisfy himself with the surprise when he met them again in Scalvoristown.
For now, they were off, and he was onto the road toward Scalvoris. The ship would take them around the island, over Egilrun way and back around to the central town of Scalvoris.
