I Actually Kinda Like You

[Alistair]

72nd of Zi'da, Arc 716

He woke up from the dream . . . though he couldn't wrap his head around what it was even about. It had gone from nightmarish to tranquil to nightmarish again, though ultimately the final impression left a confusion in him more than anything. Near the bedside, as his eyes flickered open, he caught an image of Rio -- his slave -- preparing food for him, an early meal. That wasn't a surprising thing to wake up to - it was something he seemed to wake up to every trial.

He was a dedicated man, and he'd had a strange obsession with ensuring that Alistair's days went by smoothly, despite the man being fairly self sufficient otherwise. He always wanted to clean, but there was nothing to clean, as Alistair made sure to clean after himself. As a result, uniquely considering his station, he asked his master to leave behind his messes. Now, he informed Alistair that he would no longer be allowed to cook for himself, as he wished to do so instead.

Really, the nobleman had begun to wonder who the slave was between the two of them. Certainly it wasn't Rio, at least when it came to determining Alistair's morning rituals.

Not that he minded. The man's presence had allowed him to focus on his work, not needing to clean or cook . . . hell, not needing to pull in chairs or prepare books, or recover his own mail, or gather supplies from the Coven. He had it all covered.

"Good morning," the nobleman said quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed. He was empty of upper attire, rather only wearing his undergarments, with Kaiser - or Rio - adorned only in seemingly decorative shackles and a pair of trousers. He had been dressed in little more since he'd arrived in Ne'haer with his master, as much of his days had been spent cooped up in this shabby interim room with not enough open air to justify long pants, a shirt or a jerkin.

The slave, seemingly happy to great his master, smiled and whispered "hello". Clearing his throat, he said it again, though much more resoundingly. "Are you well, Alistair?" he asked. He did not call him my lord, or master, like a typical slave would. The Venora had commanded early on that he refer to him by his first name alone, or Ali. "You seemed . . . uncomfortable. Restless. I swore I saw a thick outline in your undergarments at one point, too. Wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a lewd fantasy," the man said, laughing. Alistair rolled his eyes.

"No lewdness to be found, my friend," he replied. "I dreamt of . . . that man. You know the one I told you about, last night, when you noticed some bruising near my cheek? The one who punched me - and got punched eight amplitudes harder? Yeah. I dreamt of him. Yet it wasn't negative. It was . . . something else. I can't wrap my head around it."

The nobleman stood up, beginning to gather his attire for the day. His slave seemed perplexed.

"Is he attractive?" he asked. "It could be a subliminal message. You know -- even though he punched me, I'm just glad that he touched me. It made me feel loved. That sort of thing," he said, holding back a laugh. Alistair chuckled.

"I don't think that's it," he dismissed him. "He is fairly attractive, but I don't generally base my opinions of people on their looks. I actually . . . found myself wanting to talk to him, in that dream. You know -- here. In reality. I still sort of want to see him."

The slave raised a brow. "Should this be something I keep from Patrick?" he asked, teasing.

"No," the man replied. "Patrick would want to know, anyhow. He'd ask me for the gritty details," the man said, rolling his eyes. "It's not like that, anyway. Don't be silly. I'm a career man, as you well know; can't have three bachelors in my life. Two is more than enough."

. . .

Hours later, Alistair found himself waiting at the bounty board outside of the tavern room Patrick and he had been staying in. He didn't know why he was waiting here - aimlessly - but he knew that he wanted to see Avrae. Desperately. He couldn't get the man out of his head. Rio stood beside him, keeping him company until he found the Aukari or gave up.

He only questioned why he was even bothering.

[Avrae Kyric]

“You have a mages’ soul, Avrae.”

Those words were still running through Avrae’s head as he sat on the end of his bed at the inn. He had been pulling on his socks and boots, but now he was staring at his foot- where his middle toe was once. Now it was gone, nothing but a nub. He tried not to think of it much, but this morning his totem felt like it was burning in his pocket. He hadn’t used it since Fridgar had taught him. In fact, most days he left it at the inn. Today was not one of those days.

With an aching nose from the day before, Avrae sighed as he finished pulling on his boots and got up. His body still hurt from the massive blow Alistair had given, though he wasn’t as irritated about it. Not after the fading memory of a pleasant conversation.

“You ready?” He quietly asked Ailluin as he pulled on his jacket. Gently scooping her out of his pocket, he gave her a brief, slightly sad smile as he reached up to put her on his head so she could ride between his very red hair.

For a while, Avrae walked in silence. He had his daggers, his totem, and he was wearing the only piece of armor he had- a leather chestpiece, with his leather jacket thrown on over it. However, the more he walked, the more he wanted to share with Ailluin what had happened in his dream. Hesitating, Avrae sighed before speaking.

“I saw him last night… His name is Alistair.” He told her, hands stuck in his pockets. “He… was nicer. I think… I don’t know, but I’m getting this really weird feeling that… That we’ll see him today.”

It was more than a feeling. Avrae’s dream was getting foggier every minute, but he knew that he felt… antsy. He felt like he needed to find Alistair again, needed to see him. Maybe it was because his dream ended in flames, and he wanted to make sure Alistair was okay. Maybe it was… something more. Whatever it was, that dream had left Avrae with goosebumps.

However, when they stopped at the gate leaving the city, Avrae hesitated. He could have left, could have gone on the quest with just Ailluin. But he stopped, and turned, eyes gazing back into the city, which was bustling with life that morning.

"Ail... I'm going to run back to the bounty board. I... want to read it one more time before we go. Wait here, okay?" He lied, clearly distracted. Scooping her off his head, he sat her down on a post near the gate, turning to walk back into Ne'haer.

His footsteps made the snow crunch beneath his boots, clouds of fog coming from his mouth with each breath as he made his way towards the bounty board. If there was a place he thought to look, it’d be there. Even while he had hoped, when he saw the blonde noble standing at the board beside another man he didn’t know, his heart skipped a beat. Avrae’s cheeks were red, and not entirely from the cold.

Coming to a stop, the hand he had taken Alistair’s with in his dream twitched from his pocket, still envisioning the flames engulfing Alistair. Because of this, Avrae kept his distance, giving a terse nod.

“Alistair.” He said his name in greeting.

[Alistair]

Surely enough, the man arrived. He didn't expect him to, but a part of him felt that it had to happen. They'd been running into one another constantly. Why would the tempo shift now, right as things were beginning to grow truly interesting?

He calmed himself, ensuring that he wasn't hijacked yet again by the same glaring fury. Avrae wasn't an enemy, necessarily. The nobleman kept repeating that, in his thoughts, as he watched the Aukari draw closer and call his name. And then it hit him. It hit him hard, one singular word: his name. He'd never told Avrae his name, except for in that dream. But that was... Alistair's dream. Or at least, he thought it was. How did dreams even work, really? No one knew. Certainly not Alistair, who always tended to avoid dwelling on such subjects that invoked superstition, unless he could provide evidence for their effects. He believed that the dream world was unique, and that it had impact. But what sort of impact? And unique in what way?

Snapping back to reality, he fully took in the Aukari's features. He definitely looked different than the last time they met in person. Now, he had a very visible bruise from one side of his nose to the other. The Venora kind of felt bad. He just . . . couldn't help it. He got so angry, and . . .

"Avrae," he replied. He'd feel a fool if he was wrong about his name, but he was willing to take the gambit that somehow that dream meant something more than an allegory. That it was tangible, in a way that he couldn't predict.

"Rio," the slave motioned to himself, given that everyone around him had their names spoken at one point. The Venora gave him a deadly, but in truth humorous, side glance. "What?"

Given the noble customs he'd been raised with, Alistair felt it would be a crime to not introduce them. He gestured to Rio, the exceptionally tall and masculine man beside him. With one look at his size and physique, and his naturally unkempt demeanor, the Aukari would likely realize that he was a Lothar. Even standing next to Alistair, who could appear quite intimidating, Kaiserion came off as someone you wouldn't want to mess with. He even seemed to posture himself towards Avrae in a territorial way, as if he were offended by his presence. That was the public face he presented - Lothar were protective of their own, and knowing that Alistair had been physically harmed by this man a trial before caused for him to be on guard.

"This is my... servant," he said carefully, knowing slavery to be illegal in Ne'haer, "Kaiserion Par Thogg, of clan Nordhoff. He's Uthaldrian," he said, the Lothar nodding as he was introduced. "And this," he began, turning to Avrae, "is Avrae... Kyric, if I recall correctly. He's from Sirothelle, in all likelihood, though you can correct me if I'm wrong."

The slave nodded and bowed slightly, his facial features lightening up as he allowed himself to appear... more cordial. Less protective.

"Greetings, Ser Avrae," he said. Shortly afterwards, however, he turned to his master and asked an unrelated question. "Can I return home, now? I'd like to finish preparing your books, and sorting out the bookmarks on the Idalosian Global Index. We shall be adding ticks to our sundial, yes?" he asked. The nobleman nodded.

"Very well, then. I will be taking my leave, My Lord," he said. Bowing to Alistair, and waving to Avrae, the Lotharen male left as quickly as he was introduced. He was a restless man.

As he left, though, the air stilled. Silence took over. Alistair hadn't the faintest clue what to say. He kicked around ideas in his head, of a conversation to begin. But he wasn't sure what Avrae was interested in, or what he cared about, or...

"Avrae," he said. "Did you dream of me last night? I can't help but feel that we... clicked, somehow. Not in the waking world, no. You seem to be much more of a punk-shit outside of your nightly fantasia. But in the dream... I remember a conversation. And telling you a story. And learning of ways in which we were both held back. Do you recall any of that, or did I accidentally replace my medicine with Night Sky again?"

[Avrae Kyric]

In truth, Avrae hadn’t realized his mistake. The name Alistair had slipped off his togue so naturally, he hadn’t given it a second thought. He didn’t realize that he had gotten it from the dream- not until Alistair said his name. Hearing it from him was like being washed in cold water. For a moment, Avrae forgot how to breathe, standing stiff as a board before he remembered how to relax. He felt dizzy and weak kneed as he took a few more steps towards Alistair, involuntarily shivering.

“That’s my name… don’t wear it out.” He mumbled under his breath, letting his head tilt down and gazing up at Alistair through his dark eyelashes. Could that dream have been… more than just a dream? He had heard rumors, and stories. People who learned information from dreams, or heard someone say something that no one had said to them in waking hours. He had heard of people who had seen people in their dreams- people they had never met- and then seen them in real life not long after.

But… It couldn’t be a shared dream… could it? No way… Alistair was much nicer in my dream. He was… pleasant, and kind. He understood. The brute that threatened Ailluin and hit me could never be the compassionate, soft-spoken man from my dream.

Giving the "servant" a strange look, Avrae wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself awkwardly. He was guarded, and quiet, only speaking up to say, “I lived in Sirothelle for a time, but that place is not my home.”

He couldn’t help but tense at knowing that the bulky, intimidating Lothar was a slave. Yes, he did recognize he was a slave. Avrae had Ailluin and had been hiding her for quite a while now, it wasn't hard to spot when you'd used the same lies before. After meeting Caedhe, Avrae paid attention to every tall, bulky man, wondering if it could possibly be the same Lothar hunter he had met in the Willow Woods. To this day, however, he hadn’t had any such luck. As for this particular Lothar, Avrae would have guessed it was the man Alistair loved, or that it was a bodyguard to make sure Avrae didn’t punch him again. (though they both knew who packed a better bunch, now). Avrae didn’t approve of slavery, having his own reasons for having Ailluin. But he said nothing. Still trying to convince himself his dream was just a dream, he thought absently, Slavery fits the prick personality Alistair seems to have… No guy who could be such an ass in reality could be so pleasant in a dream.

That didn’t stop him from wanting to believe the dream Alistair was the real Alistair, however. Avrae waited, watching Rio leave, before he turned to Alistair. The silence was unbearable, Avrae keeping his eyes on the snowy ground. He wanted to say something- anything- but it felt more like talking to a stranger than ever.

He could filter through bits and pieces of his dream, but it was even clearer when Alistair spoke. Biting the inside of his mouth, Avrae lifted his head, his eyes in a bright glare as he gazed at the human in front of him.

“I had a dream… but it was not you I dreamt of.” Avrae’s voice was thick with emotion. In a way, he felt betrayed. Betrayed because he liked the dream Alistair, and couldn’t see a way the two could be the same. “I clicked with the man I dreamt of… because he understood. He… he cared, and he felt emotions, and he was nothing like you.”

Before Avrae realized it, a tear was sliding down his cheek. He almost never cried, lifting his hand to wipe it away with shaking fingers. Falling silent a moment, he took a deep breath, tearing his gaze away. “I wish it had been real. I liked him better.”

It had been really nice to have someone who understood… someone who got it… even if just for a little while. To wake up to a reality with the actual Alistair was hitting harder than Avrae expected it to. All he wanted now was to go back to sleep, and back to his dreams.

[Alistair]

I had a dream . . . but it is not you I dreamt of. The man blinked, taking a breath. He already knew what the man was going to say. That the person he dreamt of was far too charming to be Alistair - the real Alistair. And he was right, entirely. The man he knew from the dream and the one outside of it . . . they were two different men. One was vulnerable and exposed to fear - countless nightmares - while the other was wealthy, empowered, and proud. He was not the same man now as then, though Avrae did not appear all too different.

What surprised him was that he seemed to . . . begin to tear up. Alistair looked at him almost with shock, before his face staled out and his expression became flat; stoic, as usual. He leaned back against the wall of the tavern, from the outside, raising his arms to express a lack of strong feelings either way.

"You can't always have what you want," he replied, coldly. "I'm sure it would suit you if I was a nice guy, a gentleman. Like that dream me that you imagined. But life's never so simple, Avrae. I'm not simple, that's for damn sure. My moods, my wants, change from one day from the next. It used to be simple - I was cold all the time. Nothing to express to anyone, nothing to gain or lose. Nothing but compliance, rules and virtue. Now, I'm always flitting between extremes. That man that you met at first, angry and uncontrolled. Barbaric. Then the man with understanding. Empathy, I'd even say. The dimmest, most infrequent version of myself of them all. And now . . . this. The cold. The uncaring. The man I was at base, before everything. You see, I've begun to understand something about myself. Knowing who I am began with the Immortal that chose me."

He looked to the blue skies above them, soon to be replaced with a colder shade, then a pink hue as the sun set . . . and a blackness in the night. It meant something, all of it. The changes around him. They resembled his inner spirit.

"It was Syroa," he said. "I have her mark upon my back. And you know, I thought it didn't make sense at first, her choosing me... but now I know: it does. Not because of Lust or Fury, like one might expect. I've always had a strong, controlled grasp on those forces. A natural ability to suppress them. It's the Transformation . . . and the Act. Always pretending to be something I'm not. Always controlling, restraining myself. I'm not a nice gentleman, in truth. The people of Venora might think I'm one, but those thoughts they hold are skewed. They only see my controlled state. They only see the act."

He leaned forward, pulling himself back from against the wall, and standing straight. The nobleman drew closer to Avrae, though not close enough to infringe upon his personal space. He merely wished to make a point.

"I'm not good with tears," the man said, bluntly. "So I won't say anything to make you feel better. I'll just tell you the truth, Kyric. The man you met at first, the man you met in the dream, and the man you met now . . . they're all me. I'm pulled, all the time, by these extremes. I thought something was wrong with me, when these changes first started to occur. When I grew lustful, or mad with rage. But I realize that these facets of me were always there." He looked down, his eyes absent of any extremity, and waited for Avrae to calm himself. When he did, he would offer him an ultimatum, of sorts. Something he could only say because he did, at least to some degree, have some level of compassion for Avrae that he didn't have before.

"I wish I was perfect, but I'm not. I'm changing, and I'm trying to learn to control the impulses that have grown in me. But it's not easy, and it's never going to be the way it used to be. You can accept my imperfections, my anger, and we can move forward from that - or you can walk away and forget I ever existed. I'll survive either way. I just wanted to show you that I'm not just some angry... psycho. That's why I'm here. For my own pride."

Truthfully, he didn't know entirely why he was here, but it was easy to say that it was for himself. He didn't know if it was really because of Avrae. This was Avrae, after all. The man that made him want to seek therapy. Even so, he came here, and he talked to him. He could feel the slightest part of himself want to make it all different - better.

He just didn't know how. He was never good with emotions, or people for that matter. With Patrick it was simple - he was easy to please. Avrae was a different creature entirely. He, too, was pulled by extremes. It made for a disasterous formula.

[Avrae Kyric]

At the least, Avrae had the self control not to release any more tears. But what he realized, as Alistair spoke, was that he was right. It was the same man… though very different sides to him. In a way, Alistair was like an onion. That was the way Avrae thought of it- that he had layers. The outer layer was this cold, emotionless man, who put up a guard and didn’t care. Avrae thought it was because if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be afraid because nothing could hurt him. It reminded him of the dream, how initially Alistair was naked and vulnerable because he was afraid. He had no guard, but this extreme first layer was nothing but guard. The next few layers were emotions- rage, lust, happiness. All getting peeled through to get to the middle.

The middle was the Alistair Avrae had seen in his dream. At least, this was how it slowly began to get understood by Avrae as Alistair explained. Despite this, as Alistair came closer, Avrae took a step back, arms growing tighter around his torso. It was his own guard- when he was uncomfortable, upset, frustrated, he would hug onto himself and keep everyone at a distance.

However, as Alistair finished speaking, Avrae had time to process. He stood there a minute in silence, going over everything in his mind. Then, he stepped closer again. Hesitating, he reached out to grab Alistair’s hand- just like he had in the dream. His own was warm despite the cold, and for some reason the touch brought immense comfort to Avrae, because it confirmed what he knew to be true.

“I don’t believe everything you just said… because I know the man I met. In my dream… You had no guard. You had no… no concentration on how to act, or who to be. It wasn’t a man who was cold, or a man who was controlled by the whims of an immortal. It was a boy… who had passion for magic… who loved another boy… who wanted to make a difference. That boy, the one who offered to help me… that had nothing to with pride. You saw me in you and I… I saw you in me.” Avrae believed this, and it was clear as he met Alistair’s gaze.

Slipping his hand out of Alistair’s, he spoke again. “I can understand being pulled by extremes… and I do believe these are different sides of you. But the boy I met in that dream was free. He had no expectations thrust upon him, no titles, and no one judging him. He was real. I believe in that part of you.”

Because he barely knew Alistair, Avrae had no idea if he was right. He could just be spewing thoughts and be entirely wrong. But he knows the impression he got, the Alistair that understood him. Everyone has layers, and different sides. Their emotions determine who they are in that moment, and emotions are always changing.

However, Avrae knew that Alistair may not be as bad as he seemed. Because he knew, deep down, Alistair was doing a nice thing by offering to help him. He was saving Avrae’s life, and that wasn’t something to do just for pride.

As a final thing to say, Avrae dropped his voice to a whisper, "A noble man... who likes guys and knows magic. That kind of person can never do anything right- there's always someone who will chastise him for his choices. That's the kind of guy who can never be himself... except when he has nothing to hide, like in his dreams, in his own self conscious. There's no reason to be angry, or lustful, or cold when it's just you... right?" His eyes briefly met Alistair's. Avrae believed he had seen through Alistair's layers... maybe he had. Or maybe he was just fooling himself, trying to make Alistair into something he wasn't. All Avrae knew was that dream had felt real, and there was nothing fake about the Alistair in it.

Taking a step back again, Avrae took a deep breath, averting his gaze again. Giving his answer, he asked simply, “Have you ever even fought a Lurker?”

[Alistair]

Listening to everything Avrae said... he could only... shrug. Was it all wrong? Was it all a lie? Was Alistair really that emotional layer underneath, merely waiting to break free? It was all speculation, really. No one could assure him of anything, let alone certainty. It was much more complicated than all of that. Even though Alistair had a facet of him that was... good, by Avrae's standards, he also had a facet that was very bad. And the issue was that the Aukari simply didn't know that facet. If he had known the things Alistair had done, and witnessed, he would be singing a different tune. It was easy to claim someone was good, or bad, without witnessing the whole complex view; there were nuances to each individual.

So Alistair didn't claim to know who Avrae was, either. He would know over time, if they decided to befriend one another, and get to know each other. Until then, the man was merely a book to be read. He'd seen the introduction, but not yet the climax, nor the conclusion.

"The man you saw is a rare sight," he said, his voice firm. "I don't wish to discuss my... self-actualization further. It's not a topic I'm familiar with, or comfortable with, Avrae." Mercilessly, he shut him down; Avrae tried his best to reach out to Alistair, but the man was far from ready to be reached out to. He'd not had a conversation like this with anyone, not even Damien, who was his dearest friend. Not Patrick . . . not Duncan . . . and certainly not his siblings. Something about Avrae was special - but regardless of who or what he was, Alistair's guard was a thing that remained committed and resolute. He was not going to just . . . spill his heart out to this person. It was a shameful thing to do.

The topic was changed, fortunately. It moved onto the Lurkers, and whether or not Alistair had ever engaged with one in conflict. He shook his head, no. "I have not," he said. "It wouldn't be all too difficult, however. I vastly overpower them in mobility, and I have the ability to destroy large portions of their body in an instant, by inviting -- or forcing -- them into my portal and then closing it off or dismantling it. Unstable portals are some of the most lethal things in the magical world, and with my level of mastery, I can stabilize or un-stabilize a portal at will." That was his trump card in most combative situations. Pulling foes in, or creating portals in their trajectory, and then fracturing them. It was instant death.

Typically he'd also utilize his mobility to do things such as . . . appearing behind someone's back and stabbing them, but he didn't imagine that was so good an idea against a Lurker. He'd rather keep his distance.

"How about you, Avrae?" he asked him, though he expected to know the answer. Certainly it was a no to him fighting a Lurker - he'd be dead if that were the case. "Not a Lurker, necessarily, but anything. A Sylvithia, a Skinbane, any dark creature of the Willow Woods. You may not find assurance in that I've never come into conflict with a Lurker, but I have to ask..." he looked at Avrae inquisitively, "have you ever come into conflict with... anything?"

[Avrae Kyric]

Avrae didn’t know why he felt the way he did. Shouldn’t he believe all people were cold and heartless? They had been to him, more than once. Most people who had been treated the way he had by others would have written them off. They would have an opinion that the world is screwed up and that the people in it were rotten. Alistair was standing here, telling him the same thing- that he was a bad person, cold, messed up- and all Avrae could do was not believe him. He didn’t know why. Alistair was a stranger to him, after all, and considering Alistair and him had punched each other, it would not be a stretch to chalk him up to being a bad person. Yet Avrae couldn’t do that.

He gazed at Alistair with bright eyes as the lord shut him down. Not able to find the will to argue, Avrae just gave a terse nod, taking in a deep breath. As he listened to Alistair admit he’d never gone up against a lurker though, he frowned. “So… A monster that few few people have ever survived… you just happen to know enough about to be confident facing? What, did you read about it in a book and think it was all the information you’d ever need to know?” Admittedly, Avrae was a pessimist. If something could go wrong, it could- which was why he accepted this was a suicide mission.

He opened his mouth to say more, but Alistair’s question stopped him, mouth agape. Closing it awkwardly, Avrae averted his gaze as his cheeks went a lovely shade of red. Taking a breath, he mumbled, “...Not exactly.” He bit his cheek as he reluctantly looked back at Alistair. “I’ve… killed men before-” His mind went to one man in particular. “-and I have hunted animals-” He remembered a hand over his, the words trust yourself whispered in his ear as he released an arrow from a bow. Swallowing hard, Avrae met Alistair’s gaze as he admitted, “-but I have never faced anything like this before.”

[Alistair]

The man rolled his eyes. Of course I haven't fought a Lurker before, he thought to himself. There were so few in the wilds of Ne'haer, now, hunted down ceaselessly by mages and warriors alike. He'd never even seen one before. But he'd studied them, to some degree, and had heard the words of the one Ellasin Dathlande.

"Every confrontation with a new being is your first confrontation. You can't expect to know everything about that entity, but they also don't know anything about you. I highly doubt Gorgolas has met with a mage of my caliber before. It will be an immense challenge for him." He was confident of that fact. Alistair was, quite assuredly, one of the strongest mages he knew. He was already significantly stronger, he imagined, than Talia Eisenwald and Vincent Galloway of the Coven, and he'd heard that Vincent - personally - had dealt with a Lurker before. He could only imagine that he'd be capable of such as well.

That being said, he didn't expect for Avrae to have much experience hunting beasts, or creatures of significant caliber. Which led him to wonder why the man had even decided to embark on this hunt, considering his clear cynicism of Alistair's ability to properly dispatch Gorgolas. If Ali couldn't, how could Avrae expect to be able to? He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We'll formulate tactics once we see him. His size, his weight distribution, his general health. I should be able to keep us away from him before he notices us, so we can observe him and search for... weaknesses, or such similar things."

The man nodded his head, affirming the plan. He wasn't sure if he needed either Avrae or Ailluin, but as long as they didn't jump in front of the creature's maul they'd probably not be of detriment. He wouldn't say anything to rekindle their disagreements - such as that Avrae shouldn't be bothering. Instead, this was his form of agreement, that they'd do this together. Whatever the outcome was.

"Avrae," the man spoke, "I'll be making preparations for the expedition. Come see me around here, this time tomorrow - okay?" He eyed the man, then turned back to the bounty of Gorgolas, ripping the sheet from the board. It was theirs, now - they didn't need any suicidal adventurers interfering.

Briefly turning around to wave at the Aukari, the man returned to his inn room. As always, he was... aloof, though he could begin to feel himself warming up to the red-head. He'd just need time.

[Pegasus]

Alistair

Points!:

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/ 5
Structure: 5/ 5

Knowledge:

Avrae: Knew your name from a dream
Avrae: Cried because you're different in dreams
Avrae: Emotional
Avrae: Thinks you've got layers, but he knows the real you.
Avrae: Very limited combat experience
Discipline: Reining in your fury
Rio: Not your average slave

Loot:

NA

Fame:

NA

Devotion:

NA

Magic:

These points may NOT be used for arcana

Avrae

Points!:

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/ 5
Structure: 5/ 5

Knowledge:

Alistair: Marked by Syroa
Alistair: Claims to be many different people
Alistair: Trying to understand the changes in himself
Alistair: Like an onion
Alistair: Thinks he's that good. Might even be so.
Deception: Lying to your friend.
Rio: Alistair's slave
Rio: Lotharro

Loot:

NA

Fame:

NA

Devotion:

NA

Magic:

These points may NOT be used for arcana

Overview:

General comments.
Story An interesting story of two very different pcs. Ali is so cold, composed and collected and Avrae is so totally emotional ~ very interesting juxtaposition there.
Structure No problems all good!

Please do PM me if you think I've missed anything or you have any questions!