93 Vhalar 706 - Lysoria
"You are to tell no one of this," Terrance Maskarin said, as they sped through the large and opulent house in Lysoria. Hans rose his eyebrows.
"Why would I tell anyone about a business meeting, father?" Hans drawled as he followed his father swiftly. It would certainly not be on the tip of his tongue - guess what? Today I accompanied my father to a business meeting. Yes, like I do every day. I simply had to tell you. Terrance looked askew at his son but said nothing.
Hans mimicked his father, staying silent, walking swiftly behind his father. They moved through winding passages of this grand house; his father had been let in without a word by a servant, ushered quickly inside. The silence struck Hans as odd. For a business meeting, this was strangely clandestine. Hans held his tongue, though. All would be revealed in due time, he supposed. Whatever this was.
They approached a large door, clearly leading to some kind of inner chamber. It was in the bowels of the manor, most likely housing personal chambers, not the usual meeting rooms where he and Terrance met the important merchants and nobles of Lysoria. Hans rose an eyebrow, looked to his father. Terrance, though, was not looking at his son. He seemed to be pausing, collecting himself. It was odd to see his father like this, almost as if he were uncertain, but before Hans could say anything, Terrance rose a fist and knocked on the redwood door.
There was a pause. Hans nearly gestured for his father to knock again, but heavy footsteps were suddenly heard behind the door. A moment or two passed, and then the door opened suddenly. Hans took the man in front of him in critically. He was old. Quite old. His eyes were sunken and the cheeks below them, wrinkled. His hair was thin and scraggly, and Hans had to resist the urge to suggest a cap or a wig for the man. But most of all, he was sharp. His eyes seemed to look right through Hans', through his eyes and into his minds. He shifted uncomfortably. This was not what he had expected.
"This is him?" the old man suddenly said. Despite his age, his voice was startlingly clear. His father nodded. "Hmm. Looks arrogant. Are you arrogant, boy?"
It tooks Hans a moment to realise the man was speaking to him, and a burst of indignation fired through him. He had a name. He was a Maskarin, for Immortals' sake. No one ever referred to him as boy. But again, before he could speak, the man snorted, as if he knew what he had been about to say. "That's a yes then. Come in."
The old man turned, and Hans looked to his father, bemused. Terrance, not making eye contact, gestured for Hans to go first. Never one to back down from a challenge, he squared his shoulders and followed the man in. The room was richly furnished, paintings on the wall and plush armchairs. The old man was already sitting in a chair. Hans took a single armchair opposite the old man, staring back at him in defiance. His father hung back, taking a chair by the door. Hans turned briefly, but Terrace shook his head, gesturing for Hans to pay attention to the man in front of him.
"I am Sylus Tarkin," the old man said suddenly, his voice strong and smooth, filling the room. "Your father has been pleading with me for a while now to meet with you. He has spoken very highly of you. I am here to ascertain if that is true." He paused for a long time. Hans shifted awkwardly. It was almost as if the old man was looking right into his mind and judging what he saw that. The silence stretched on. He thought about saying something, but decided not to. He wouldn't let this Sylus win.
Sylus suddenly grinned, an ugly smile, with yellowing teeth. "Very good. Silence is necessary. For looking inside ourselves and becoming stronger, and for looking deep inside others and seeing truths." Hans could not help himself here; he snorted.
"Are you a meditation coach or something?" He meant it to be derisive, but Sylus only grinned wider.
"In a manner of speaking. Yes, I suppose you could call what I do a kind of meditation."
"And what is it that you do?"
Sylus paused. "Let us begin with why before what, no?" Hans resisted the urge to ask further questions, intrigued, now. Even if the old man had called him boy. "Why. Because it is essential. To know ones self allows you to know another in the most intimate of ways. The most revealing. Because mouths move and do not say what we mean. Because there are secrets hidden that no one will ever expose. Because an enemy will strike and we can pre-empt it. Because we belong on the top, and not at the bottom. Yes? That is why."
Hans was confused. So many reasons, and none of them made any sense. But rather than speak, rather than question, he stayed silent. Silence was necessary, after all.
"Your father tells me you are very useful in his work." Hans was becoming used to the old man's sudden changes of thought by now. He inclined his head, resisting the urge to look to Terrance for confirmation. "You attend his meetings, yes? And you watch? Not just to learn, but you tell your father afterwards small reactions you might have noticed, things that give away how they might be feeling?" He nodded again. "Now you tell me why."
Hans paused, surprised by the sudden direct question. A moment to collect his thoughts. Sylus was strange, but there was something alluring, some promise that this man seemed to hold, and Hans was unwilling to let it go.
"You can tell a lot about a person by small things. Twitches of the hand, swift smirks. Blinking. That sort of thing. And then we can make better decisions based on these reactions."
Sylus smiled his predatory smile again. "Good. And your father tells me you have an interest in politics, no? Not so much merchanting?" Hans looked to his father, briefly ashamed, before nodding his head quickly. "And these sorts of reactions... they'd be even more important in politics, I imagine. No?"
"Well, obviously. Because then it's not just money. It's power, too." Of course, with money came power, but there was a certain elevation of this power in politics. And a politician from a merchant family... what could be more powerful than that? The influence Hans could one day have...
"And if I could tell you how to see even more than you already can? To see beyond what most could see? Would you do it? No matter the price?" Hans felt himself sitting up straighter, intrigued. To see beyond? To see more? To hoard that knowledge and be able to act on it? Yes.
"Yes," he said quickly, without hesitation. He met Sylus' gaze steadily, refusing to look away. The old man seemed to gaze through Hans' eyes for a long time, before nodding.
"Very well." Sylus folded his hands in his lap. "I am an Empath. A magician, if you will. I am able to see emotions, touch them, shape them, move them. Today I will make you an Empath too."
Hans stilled, shocked. A magician? Him? One of these Empaths? How could his father have found one? How could an Empath be nestled into the upper echelons of conservative Lysorian society? But oddly, there was no murmur of fear through his body. People spoke of magic in whispers, as if it were a horror unleashed on the world. Hans knew people became monsters through magic - it consumed them, body and mind, until they were mere echoes of humans. And yet there was no fear. Only agonising, enduring want.
"Yes," he breathed. "I will do this."
Sylus smiled. "Then today you become an Empath, and tomorrow, we learn. Hold my gaze. Do not move. No more questions. Feel it."
It was as if Hans had forgotten his father was even in the room. He found himself mirroring Sylus' pose, straightbacked and proud. His eyes trained on Sylus', and it begun.
It was slow at first. At first he could feel nothing, see nothing. Simply Sylus' pupils and in the periphery, the rest of the room. Strangely, he did not feel the need to blink - it was as if he was captivated. Slowly, slowly, the rest of the room began to melt away, until all Hans could see was the dark of Sylus' pupils. It was like a black hole. They called everything into them. Light, sound - Hans. Hans felt himself falling into the pupils, being swallowed by the darkness, and he was not afraid. He fell willingly. He fell for a long time in the darkness of the pupils, but it felt as though he was floating. He would never crash against the ground, but that was okay, as there was no ground. Simply black and black and black and...
And then colour. A sudden burst, and all around him as he fell were stripes and wheels and flashes of colours. Every shade of every colour, and more besides. Some were colours he had no names for, colours he had never before seen. For a while, he simply fell, falling falling, and then. The colours began to reach out with tendrils of spirit, like ghost fingers aching to touch. One touched him - a vivid purple, and all Hans could feel was disdain for the world. A deep blue, and grief over took him. Slowly, each and every colour touched him, and it was if they were slowly merging into him. Hans looked down and with a shock noticed his whole body was every colour at once, twisting and turning and dancing. His head pounding, he watched as a last colour - a bright and cooling green - reached out to touch him, and suddenly, all he could feel was joy, as his body exploded into fabric, he became fabric, he was fabric, everything in the whole world was made out of string and could be sewn together over and over and over.
He came to. Blinking his eyes open, he gasped. The room was dark, and his father was gone. His chest was heaving with the effort. Where had the colours gone? He looked around, gasping, looking for signs of the colour, but everything was as it was. Finally, he looked back to Sylus. His eyes were black.
"Focus. Feel it. Look inside yourself. Fall inside yourself. You feel it. Yes?" Gasping, Hans swallowed, focused, looked deep. He struggled. And then inside him - yes. A flash of tapestry. Of colours. Of every colour inside of him.
"There. You have it. Sleep. Tomorrow we learn."
Sylus stood and moved out of the room, as Hans lay gasping back against the couch. He was asleep in moments.
"You are to tell no one of this," Terrance Maskarin said, as they sped through the large and opulent house in Lysoria. Hans rose his eyebrows.
"Why would I tell anyone about a business meeting, father?" Hans drawled as he followed his father swiftly. It would certainly not be on the tip of his tongue - guess what? Today I accompanied my father to a business meeting. Yes, like I do every day. I simply had to tell you. Terrance looked askew at his son but said nothing.
Hans mimicked his father, staying silent, walking swiftly behind his father. They moved through winding passages of this grand house; his father had been let in without a word by a servant, ushered quickly inside. The silence struck Hans as odd. For a business meeting, this was strangely clandestine. Hans held his tongue, though. All would be revealed in due time, he supposed. Whatever this was.
They approached a large door, clearly leading to some kind of inner chamber. It was in the bowels of the manor, most likely housing personal chambers, not the usual meeting rooms where he and Terrance met the important merchants and nobles of Lysoria. Hans rose an eyebrow, looked to his father. Terrance, though, was not looking at his son. He seemed to be pausing, collecting himself. It was odd to see his father like this, almost as if he were uncertain, but before Hans could say anything, Terrance rose a fist and knocked on the redwood door.
There was a pause. Hans nearly gestured for his father to knock again, but heavy footsteps were suddenly heard behind the door. A moment or two passed, and then the door opened suddenly. Hans took the man in front of him in critically. He was old. Quite old. His eyes were sunken and the cheeks below them, wrinkled. His hair was thin and scraggly, and Hans had to resist the urge to suggest a cap or a wig for the man. But most of all, he was sharp. His eyes seemed to look right through Hans', through his eyes and into his minds. He shifted uncomfortably. This was not what he had expected.
"This is him?" the old man suddenly said. Despite his age, his voice was startlingly clear. His father nodded. "Hmm. Looks arrogant. Are you arrogant, boy?"
It tooks Hans a moment to realise the man was speaking to him, and a burst of indignation fired through him. He had a name. He was a Maskarin, for Immortals' sake. No one ever referred to him as boy. But again, before he could speak, the man snorted, as if he knew what he had been about to say. "That's a yes then. Come in."
The old man turned, and Hans looked to his father, bemused. Terrance, not making eye contact, gestured for Hans to go first. Never one to back down from a challenge, he squared his shoulders and followed the man in. The room was richly furnished, paintings on the wall and plush armchairs. The old man was already sitting in a chair. Hans took a single armchair opposite the old man, staring back at him in defiance. His father hung back, taking a chair by the door. Hans turned briefly, but Terrace shook his head, gesturing for Hans to pay attention to the man in front of him.
"I am Sylus Tarkin," the old man said suddenly, his voice strong and smooth, filling the room. "Your father has been pleading with me for a while now to meet with you. He has spoken very highly of you. I am here to ascertain if that is true." He paused for a long time. Hans shifted awkwardly. It was almost as if the old man was looking right into his mind and judging what he saw that. The silence stretched on. He thought about saying something, but decided not to. He wouldn't let this Sylus win.
Sylus suddenly grinned, an ugly smile, with yellowing teeth. "Very good. Silence is necessary. For looking inside ourselves and becoming stronger, and for looking deep inside others and seeing truths." Hans could not help himself here; he snorted.
"Are you a meditation coach or something?" He meant it to be derisive, but Sylus only grinned wider.
"In a manner of speaking. Yes, I suppose you could call what I do a kind of meditation."
"And what is it that you do?"
Sylus paused. "Let us begin with why before what, no?" Hans resisted the urge to ask further questions, intrigued, now. Even if the old man had called him boy. "Why. Because it is essential. To know ones self allows you to know another in the most intimate of ways. The most revealing. Because mouths move and do not say what we mean. Because there are secrets hidden that no one will ever expose. Because an enemy will strike and we can pre-empt it. Because we belong on the top, and not at the bottom. Yes? That is why."
Hans was confused. So many reasons, and none of them made any sense. But rather than speak, rather than question, he stayed silent. Silence was necessary, after all.
"Your father tells me you are very useful in his work." Hans was becoming used to the old man's sudden changes of thought by now. He inclined his head, resisting the urge to look to Terrance for confirmation. "You attend his meetings, yes? And you watch? Not just to learn, but you tell your father afterwards small reactions you might have noticed, things that give away how they might be feeling?" He nodded again. "Now you tell me why."
Hans paused, surprised by the sudden direct question. A moment to collect his thoughts. Sylus was strange, but there was something alluring, some promise that this man seemed to hold, and Hans was unwilling to let it go.
"You can tell a lot about a person by small things. Twitches of the hand, swift smirks. Blinking. That sort of thing. And then we can make better decisions based on these reactions."
Sylus smiled his predatory smile again. "Good. And your father tells me you have an interest in politics, no? Not so much merchanting?" Hans looked to his father, briefly ashamed, before nodding his head quickly. "And these sorts of reactions... they'd be even more important in politics, I imagine. No?"
"Well, obviously. Because then it's not just money. It's power, too." Of course, with money came power, but there was a certain elevation of this power in politics. And a politician from a merchant family... what could be more powerful than that? The influence Hans could one day have...
"And if I could tell you how to see even more than you already can? To see beyond what most could see? Would you do it? No matter the price?" Hans felt himself sitting up straighter, intrigued. To see beyond? To see more? To hoard that knowledge and be able to act on it? Yes.
"Yes," he said quickly, without hesitation. He met Sylus' gaze steadily, refusing to look away. The old man seemed to gaze through Hans' eyes for a long time, before nodding.
"Very well." Sylus folded his hands in his lap. "I am an Empath. A magician, if you will. I am able to see emotions, touch them, shape them, move them. Today I will make you an Empath too."
Hans stilled, shocked. A magician? Him? One of these Empaths? How could his father have found one? How could an Empath be nestled into the upper echelons of conservative Lysorian society? But oddly, there was no murmur of fear through his body. People spoke of magic in whispers, as if it were a horror unleashed on the world. Hans knew people became monsters through magic - it consumed them, body and mind, until they were mere echoes of humans. And yet there was no fear. Only agonising, enduring want.
"Yes," he breathed. "I will do this."
Sylus smiled. "Then today you become an Empath, and tomorrow, we learn. Hold my gaze. Do not move. No more questions. Feel it."
It was as if Hans had forgotten his father was even in the room. He found himself mirroring Sylus' pose, straightbacked and proud. His eyes trained on Sylus', and it begun.
It was slow at first. At first he could feel nothing, see nothing. Simply Sylus' pupils and in the periphery, the rest of the room. Strangely, he did not feel the need to blink - it was as if he was captivated. Slowly, slowly, the rest of the room began to melt away, until all Hans could see was the dark of Sylus' pupils. It was like a black hole. They called everything into them. Light, sound - Hans. Hans felt himself falling into the pupils, being swallowed by the darkness, and he was not afraid. He fell willingly. He fell for a long time in the darkness of the pupils, but it felt as though he was floating. He would never crash against the ground, but that was okay, as there was no ground. Simply black and black and black and...
And then colour. A sudden burst, and all around him as he fell were stripes and wheels and flashes of colours. Every shade of every colour, and more besides. Some were colours he had no names for, colours he had never before seen. For a while, he simply fell, falling falling, and then. The colours began to reach out with tendrils of spirit, like ghost fingers aching to touch. One touched him - a vivid purple, and all Hans could feel was disdain for the world. A deep blue, and grief over took him. Slowly, each and every colour touched him, and it was if they were slowly merging into him. Hans looked down and with a shock noticed his whole body was every colour at once, twisting and turning and dancing. His head pounding, he watched as a last colour - a bright and cooling green - reached out to touch him, and suddenly, all he could feel was joy, as his body exploded into fabric, he became fabric, he was fabric, everything in the whole world was made out of string and could be sewn together over and over and over.
He came to. Blinking his eyes open, he gasped. The room was dark, and his father was gone. His chest was heaving with the effort. Where had the colours gone? He looked around, gasping, looking for signs of the colour, but everything was as it was. Finally, he looked back to Sylus. His eyes were black.
"Focus. Feel it. Look inside yourself. Fall inside yourself. You feel it. Yes?" Gasping, Hans swallowed, focused, looked deep. He struggled. And then inside him - yes. A flash of tapestry. Of colours. Of every colour inside of him.
"There. You have it. Sleep. Tomorrow we learn."
Sylus stood and moved out of the room, as Hans lay gasping back against the couch. He was asleep in moments.
. I think you do a great job here characterizing the various entities in the thread...I especially like how you did Sylus though.