Walking On Air

Lupecyll-Atlon home, midday

The world outside is growing colder, the wind biting, the promise of winter fast approaching Alexandria. But there are homes where the fires are stoked, the windows shut against the cold, keeping the warmth alive till spring.

In a two-story home in the University District, Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon sits in his upstairs study, working at his desk. He looks out at his backyard through the window, shaking his head at the flowerbeds which are now bare, before returning to his writing. Pausing, as he thinks, tapping his quill against his inkpot as the sorcerer muses before writing a couple more lines. Dressed in loose woolen trousers, a laced linen blouse, and house slippers, he looks at ease.

A circular pattern of condensation begins to coalesce on the window, from the breath of a wee, pale face that peers into the study, the body cloaked in warm clothing. A small gloved hand knocks at the window pane.

'Hello Telmaon!", calls a familiar voice, Simony's face covered partly by a red scarf.

Telamon's head jerks up in confusion, his eyes snapping up to see... "Simony?!" he sputters, before letting out a laugh. "How in the gods' name -- wait, hold on..." He gets up from his chair, and opens the window -- it's just large enough to let her in, as well as a burst of chilly air.

"Get in here! What did you do, climb up the side of my house?" But he's still laughing as he says it, his starry eyes dancing with good humor and wonder.

The Goblin cackles, hopping from foot to foot there before the window. She strides into the opening, remaining at the level of the window sill above the floor.

"Hiyo, Telamon! How've you been? Snow's coming soon, I can feel it." Simony giggles, rubbing her hands together. "I can fly now. Sort of. More like walking on air. So I uhm... walked up here to say hello."

The Gobbo grins, moving closer, her eyes level with his. "This is great! I can reach all the high stuff now!"

GAME: Telamon rolls spellcraft: (10)+26: 36

Immediately Telamon shuts the window as soon as Simony's inside -- no point in letting the cold and the wind in. Once the window's latched, Tel grins, and applauds. "Well done! Though if I'm not mistaken, that spell may have problems with wind conditions, worse than even arcane flight. So be careful in this weather."

Tel looks rueful. "I once tried to fly to Verna's place when the wind was particularly bad, and it actually knocked me into a snowbank." He shifts a couple books off a chair so there's a place to sit if Simony wants. "So, how are you faring today, aside from 'experiencing what it's like to be taller'?"

Simony giggles at length, 'walking' down towards the chair. "Oh yes, I uh, got blown most of the way down here. The city buildings help a little bit, but it was a little struggle in places. Fun, though. Hah, I'll be walking back the old fashioned way though. Doubt I could fight the wind all the way back. But, the spell is awesome indoors."

She begins to shrug out of the warm clothing, a thick, fur-lined leather cloak and hood, thick leather gloves, and similar boots. Settling back on the chair with a sigh, the Gobber looks extremely pleased with herself. "I've been exploring a few new spells and powers. My studies have been progressing well, and I have been rewarded with more power. I can be super strong now! Have anything heavy that you need moved?" Her fingers lace together, and she flips her hands around, cracking all her knuckles with a loud popping sound.

Of course Telamon is a gracious host. "Sisig bursag," he says, summoning the invisible servitor. "Go downstairs and put the kettle on, with the lavender mint tea." That done, he helps Simony pull off her warm outer garments. "Oh nice, a frostrider cloak. Those will keep you comfortable. You might also consider a scarf -- if you need one, we've got about a dozen." He smiles slightly. "Grandfather knitted them."

His eyebrows rise with interest, but he chuckles. "Sadly, nothing to move here." A pause. "Yet. I'm sure we'll need to have something moved around at some point." His eyes fall back to the desk, and the writing there. A quick cantrip, to dry the ink. "You caught me as I was writing poetry, not moving furniture."

I also picked up another language, influenced by someone we both know." <Sylvan>

Being helped out, she shakes her head. "No, it is just a cloak of resistance, but it's based on a good, bad-weather cloak. My robes are of a heavier cloth, made to resist the wind and insulate against the cold." She shows off a sleeve. Her eyebrows raise up, "Grandfather knits scarves? I would be pleased to have one, if... that would be alright?"

Simony grins, "Ah, I am sorry to have interrupted your poetry writing, I do apologize if I have intruded upon your muse. I just wanted... to show off a little."

Telamon's eyebrows shoot up again at Simony's voice. "Well now, Simony. Now you will be able to greet the queen of my heart and myself, as well as her esteemed sire, in a way they will certainly appreciate." He switches from Tradespeak to Sylvan with surprising ease, and then back to Tradespeak again. "Well done indeed."

He nods, and grins. "Any particular color or pattern you'd like? I'll have the servant get them once it comes back with the tea." His eyes are cheerful. "Oh, don't worry. I was reaching a point where I needed to pause and think about it." He considers, then continues, "It's a poem for my wife, you see. I wouldn't want to turn in anything less than my best effort."

"Am I pronouncing everything correctly? And what would be an appropriate way to greet yourself and Lana? And I am guessing it is something more formal for Grandfather?" Her speech is slow, but only lightly accented, with a hint of scratchiness. <Sylvan>

Simony smiles brightly, "Thank you. Hah, took some time away from art and adventuring to catch up with my studies and learning. You can certainly get a lot done when sufficiently motivated, eh?" She cants her head and ponders. "Something with red and white?" She reaches up to pull back the hood of her robes, revealing white hair that has been streaked with red. "To match my hair? I went to an uhm... all-girls sleepover recently, and they died my hair. I really do like the red." She seems oblivious to a purple streak, down the back of her head. "I uhm may have drunk too much then, I don't remember much of the last bit of the night. Woke up curled up in Slixvah's feathers, with Fidget's foot in my face. Was fun though, there was good food and gossip."

Telamon nods, his eyes focused on Simony. "Slow and steady, my friend. I still have a slight accent because I learned Sildanyari before I learned Sylvan. But you'll be fine." He rubs his chin. "Sylvan lends itself well to poetry and music, I've found."

"Red and white? I think we've got something-- ah, here we go." A kettle and a pair of mugs on a tray come floating in by themselves, and set down on the desk. Telamon begins pouring the tea, passing one mug to Simony as he instructs the servitor, "Go to the bedroom and fetch the scarves in the top drawer." Filling his own mug, he remarks, "Interesting. Granted, I'm not much for hair dye and Lana prefers my hair the way it is. But it's a neat look." He says nothing about the violet streak, instead chuckling. "Ah, the perils of drinking in strange places."

She grins mischievously, and nods slightly. "Well, its script is rather elegant and flowery, like the spoken language, so I am not surprised that it works well for poetry and music. I've tried poetry, but I find my writing and thinking is far too hmmm stiff to be poetic. So I stick to drawing and painting. And tattooing. Does Lana enjoy your poetry to her? Does she blush and smile? Do you blush when that happens?" Her giggle returns.

Simony ohs, reaching for the tea. "Thank you, Telamon." She scratches at her neck, pulling free two feathers, one white, one red, that seem attached to her hair, matching the streaks on one side. "I was at Rune and Harkashan's room in the Fernwood, with Rune, Slixvah and Fidget present, so, I was feeling pretty safe to letting myself enjoy a bit too much alcohol. Worst thing I could do would be embarrass myself in front of friends."

Telamon tilts his head and gives Simony a smile. "Well, take care. You may find your more poetic, more creative side to be loosened with the use of Sylvan." At Simony's inquiry, he chuckles. "Well, I don't mind you looking..." He picks up the sheet, and passes it to her.

The poetry is still a little rough around the edges, with scratch-outs here and there. But it clearly speaks of Telamon's love for his wife, how she stands as a beacon to him even when darkness falls all around him. A symbol of hope for him. What it lacks in polish, it makes up for in passion.

Telamon speaks as she reads, "That's true enough. Father once said a truly safe place was one that was safe enough to get drunk in -- though he didn't recommend making a habit of it." He taps his fingertips together. "Mostly because hangovers are a colossal pain. There's a reason I carry alchemist's kindness."

Simony sips lightly at her tea as he hands over the rough draft. Her eyes flick back and forth as she quickly absorbs the words written. "OH? Is that a danger, though? Perhaps I will spend some time speaking, thinking and writing in Sylvan alone, except when speaking to those not conversant in nit. Perhaps it will allow me to participate in another artform?" <Sylvan>

She sniffles lightly. "It is rather passionate, it is obvious that you worship her as the center of your universe." Her eyes flick to him, and she holds up the sheet for him to take back. "If someone wrote that about me, I would burst into tears." Another sip of tea is had, and the Gobbo chuckles. "I try to drink water before falling asleep when I've been drinking, and I just suffer through it the day after. Penance for my sins." She winks.

Telamon smiles gently. "I know. I am less inclined to poetry than her -- I tend towards stirring prose, it seems -- but I do have my moments." He takes the sheet back, placing it inside a book. "I'll work on it a little more later." He takes a sip of his tea. "It's in honor of her calling me out of a fugue state when I made the mistake of picking up a deific weapon. Let this be a lesson to you, Simony: there are many who will say 'Oh, if the gods would gift me their tools I could fix the world'. This is a bad idea. We are their hands and servants, we should not play with their toys. We might cut ourselves, after all."

The Goblin's eyebrows almost jump off of her face. "You did what?", she says with a curious tone in her voice. "Did you pick it up with that intent, to change the world? To fix things? Or was it accidental? Like, you just wanted to move it somewhere safe or something?" Simony BLINKS. "No, you mentioned it before... the Star of Tears, was it?" Another sip of tea is had, and she leans forward, her expression curious. "Please, tell me what happened, how did you come to pick it up? How did you feel? Did it, or something, speak to you?"

Telamon shakes his head. "To return it," he says firmly. "Which is probably why I'm still sane. We'd gone there to retrieve it, and in honesty I don't think anyone other than Sir Seldan or myself could've borne it." He takes a deep breath, and another sip of his tea. "No, I did not want it, and I still do not."

"The nature of the Star of Tears prevents it from being used casually or easily. It presses upon you the absolute conviction that you are responsible for the death of what you love the most." He stares into his tea. "A clever measure, I admit... but one I wouldn't want to endure again, even if it was illusion. I was buried in the delusion, until Lana spoke from her heart to me, managed to call me back so that I could turn the weapon over to Tanith."

"I can't speak to the weapon itself, its nature. But I would not be surprised that it was intelligent, and it could see into your heart. Which is very likely the reason, as you suspect, why you're still sane. Alive, even. Likely you and Seldan were the few who could safely bear it, however it would still take a toll on you. If Lana was there, she could probably handle it also. Though I doubt you'd have wanted her to."

Simony lets out a sigh. "Still, it would be very neat to have seen it in person, and study it, also. A rare opportunity, you know? From a purely academic standpoint, yes? I am happy and pleased that you have survived such a thing unscathed. Mostly. Does it trouble you still?"

"A little," Telamon admits. "In the end, I was strong enough to give it to Tanith. And while I know what it showed me was not real, it was still very horrific. I will not speak of what I saw." Another long pull from his tea. "That night when we returned, I am not ashamed to admit I clung to Lana. Sometimes in the wake of such things, holding the one you love is the balm you need." He rubs his nose. "Since then the memory has faded, thankfully. But the burned hand teaches best; I will be content with the powers I wield."

"I do not think there is much wrong with looking to improve what powers you wield, as long as your mind and heart are pure. But yes, a weapon of the Gods is probably overreach. Especially when it is not required, unnecessary. One does not smite an ant with an almighty's sword. Especially uninvited." The Gobbo rubs her chin, her expression curious.

"I won't press you on that which you experienced despite my curiosity. And you are right, holding the one you love is a balm to sooth the wounded heart and mind. Though sometimes, any hand to hold will do. As proven in the sewers with that demonic remnant." Her expression brightens. "So Tanith has it, is she unaffected by it... is she an adherent to one of the gods?"

Telamon hehs. "Smite an ant with an almighty's sword. That's a good analogy, Simony. But yes. I do not want that weapon. Let it remain in the hands of Ni'essa Sky-Singer; I am happy to be a sorcerer of middling power." Which is of course a bit of an understatement, but Tel does have some humility.

He hrms. "I thought I mentioned this. Tanith is a servant of Ni'essa, a dragon -- though calling her that barely scratches the surface. In truth, she is a titanic dragon who lairs in Quelynos, but projects herself as a small, friendly dragon here on Ea. So turning the Star of Tears over to her was the best option."

"Of middling power? Kings and conquerors would love to have such middling power, Telamon. I know you don't see yourself as a lord, but you are. And you have the power, the mental fortitude, charm and chutzpah to pull it off. You're with a friend here, you don't need to appear humble to me."

Simony tsks and taps at her temple. "Sorry, Tel, I recall now that you did mention her as a servant of Ni'essa. Eluna. Mistress of Dreams. The White Disk. The fact that she is a titanic dragon is news to me, but not a surprise. I take it her small form is to keep people from being frightened. That or she is incredibly whimsical in nature. Again, not surprising."

Telamon shrugs and grins. "My money is on whimsical. But then, I'm not sure Tanith would understand if you asked her -- even if you bribed her with fish. Perhaps she dreams of being much smaller -- and this is the result. Dreams are funny things, after all."

Tel chuckles, his eyes thoughtful. "Well, maybe more than 'middling'. But I try not to put on airs. That being said, though, I worry deeply about what the Griever may be up to. His castle is built along an unstable ley line, which makes magic use highly unreliable. We managed to penetrate it through mundane disguises and skulduggery -- but in honesty if I had my way, I'd raise an army and lay siege to the place. The machinations he's been up to are far more dangerous than people realize."

"I prefer whimsical over tyrannical, so whether she's dreaming or like that in real life, she's at least on our side. Or friendly enough."

Simony raises an eyebrow. "Griever? So what is his deal then? Where does he fit into the ... myriad of problems we've had of late? Maybe that is what you should do, raise an army and go lay siege to his castle? Knock down his gates and walls, and run him off. Get some peace of mind."

"Whimsical is definitely preferable. Although Tanith -is- a dragon and has -opinions-. Still, there are worse friends to have." Telamon furrows his brow at Simony's question.

"In honesty, I don't know what motivates him. Sir Seldan has more of an understanding. Suffice to say that the Griever seems to have a grudge against magic itself, has secured a strange artifact that lets him scry upon others in improbable ways, and has been gathering divine paraphenalia for some ominous purpose." He pauses. "He may have been ultimately behind the death of Animus, but I stress that last is pure conjecture."

"Well, you are right, worse friends to have." Simony blinks, and sets the tea mug down on the side table. "He killed Animus?"

The Goblin's expression darkens. "And he gathers other divine objects? He should definitely be stopped. To think he caused such... massive trouble." Her hands form little fists, and she seems... bulkier somehow. "And hurt Navos in unimaginable ways, to the detriment of basically everyone. I try not to think or say such things, but he is someone that ought to be put to death."

Telamon shakes his head. "Remember. Conjecture. Theory. He may have had a confederate, though Animus's death was a disruption that left ripples that echo to this day." His expression grows stern. "But his theft of divine items... that alone would be enough to warrant dropping him bodily before the Harpist. But I need time to determine -what- he was doing -- and if it can be reversed."

His eyes grow hard. "I know this: before we were able to flee that place, we discovered he had bound two celestial servants, angels, to guard his trophies -- and it was this binding that forced one to take up arms against us. For that alone, I would consign him to the cold places between stars."

The cracking of her knuckles is loud in the silence that follows, as her fists tighten. "Please tell me that you freed those two angels, Telamon. Please." Her voice is cold, lacking any of her usual warmth and candor. "Else I require directions to this place of his."

He regards Simony with a small smile. "Did you think Sir Seldan would accept any less? No... they are free." He sits back, considering. "Which makes me think. I wonder what powers the Griever has that he could compel -angels- into service. One can bargain with celestial servants -- there's a rather interesting manuscript on such by Archmage Amritt Barna on the subject -- but such entities will not work for evil masters. They will literally sit there and wait for their summoner to fall over from fatigue; after all, they need neither sleep nor food." He scowls. "This might bear some investigation as well... and perhaps a trip. I've always bragged I was a damned good diplomat; it might be time for me to put that to the test and go talk to someone a bit further up the hierarchy of reality."

The Goblin looks visibly relieved. "It depends, removing the Star may have overridden other priorities, which I could not fault people for. But I would expect there would be assistance and an imperative to return to free the celestials." Simony offers a little shrug, "There are means to do so, magical power, favours owed, items of power. Not all Gods walk in the light, and the demon dukes are beings of immense power, rivalling those of the Gods themselves. It would not surprise me if there are... relatively uncomplicated means to coerce servitude from angels. Erm."

The Goblin smiles brightly once more. "I would be pleased to assist you in researching this."

She leans forward, her expression curious and ... enthusiastic. "Oh? Whom would you conver... the Watcher? Though isn't he out of communication range for a time? Tanith? Or Eluna herself?"

GAME: Telamon rolls knowledge/the planes: (4)+18: 22

GAME: Simony rolls knowledge/the planes: (18)+7: 25

Telamon sighs. "I know. But I would not have accepted such a trade-off. No, it is better for such entities to be free. I had toyed with studying such magic, but... it rankles me too much. I'd rather talk people into my point of view, rather than compel them."

"But to the subject: I believe the Griever's actions threaten the very essence of reality itself. In my studies I've found references to powerful creatures that exist solely to maintain this reality: the aeons and the inevitables. I will need to craft an appropriate appeal -- emotion won't work -- but I wonder if convincing one to bring its attention on the Griever might keep him off balance -- or worse for him."

At this point, the invisible servant returns with a stack of scarves in various bright colors, setting them down. "Ah, where is it now... here we go." He pulls out a bright red scarf, emblazoned with white ravens in flight. "What do you think?"

Whatever Simony might have had to say is lost as she gasps, taking up the scarf. "Pothy scarf! Or... Navos!" Giggling, she wraps it around her neck, and bounces from the couch, walking upwards into the air a few steps to hug at Telamon from a proper height for such things. "I love it, thank you!"