[Surya Plaza] All Stories Start Somewhere...

[Dra-Modus]

Season of Spring, Day 34, 511 AV Dra-Modus' lithe body had finally cooled down from the heat it built up from scaling the stairway to the Amaranthine Gate as he entered the Plaza, reaching the bluff known as the Zintia Peak. He looked around in slight aw; this city was so unlike his own, or at leas the only one he had been too prior: Kalinor. Lhavit was full of wondrous, brightly-lit beauty. Large gardens and pools in an amazing (or amazing to him) display of placement were correlated with each other geometrically, which to him was a huge act of engineering as buildings and decor before consisted of hanging walls with webbing. His first good look at the Surya Plaza was nothing less than stepping into a whole new world for him. The awe he felt from these sights didn't wear off immediately, either. Instead, he simply gazed at the greatness of the city. His dark red eyes darted from place to place, eying the gardens and pool and towers and even the walkway before resting his eyes on the Koten Temple. Dra-Modus took a good, long look at the temple, taking in every detail of it. Only now would he realize that aside from the bridges and gate, this entire peak was centered around a design meant for that Temple. This alone sent Dra-Modus' artistic mind into a flurry of thoughts, mainly of the possibilities of architecture that he had never before considered. Dra-Modus began to chuckle lightly - something he rarely did - from all of the new thoughts and sensations from the spectacular sights. He ran his slender fingers through his long, silky hair, then traced his fingertips down his neck and rubbed his shoulder slightly. He walked forward finally, sliding through a small mob of people to a bench. He sat down and started staring around the city, hoping no one would think of him as different or odd for just looking around a bit. Maybe because to him... this was odd. Odd or not, Dra-Modus' artistic nature got to the best of him; he wanted to express how he felt. He was taught a sort of expressionist painting by his mother. How to paint what he saw and meld it with how he felt all at the same time. It of course wouldn't look like the real Surya Plaza - he didn't even begin to have the skill for that. But, he would try his best and hope that whatever he painted might even begin to show how he felt seeing it. He pulled out a canvas - one of three small ones he carried with his paint set. He looked at it, not even caring about where he was to begin painting and smiled. He took out his paint set, which consisted of cylindrical tubes full of different kinds of paint. He literally dipped the tips of his claws into the paint and began to trace them along the canvas - the painting method taught by his mother...

[Wrenmae]

"I hear tell, that in the beginning the Isur were only rocks who dreamed of being man." Wrenmae stood near the back of the Shooting Star inn and spoke, his tone quiet, almost conversational. In the days since he had begun working, some of the patrons had taken ill more than once, leaving the inn oddly quiet. Still, Wrenmae took pride in his job, speaking stories when he could and helping serve the guests when he couldn't. "They saw the footsteps of man, how man took them and shaped them to be weapons or furniture or houses...the stone could see mankind was a master of his environment, gods in possibility. So they spoke to the sky, to the earth that housed them...pleading for shape to move and craft the stone as man does. But the sky had no hands to forge them, and the earth did not know the secret of mans tools. Saddened, the stones turned their gaze to the gods." Taking a seat, Wrenmae tipped his hat at a woman near the bar. She smiled, charmed by his easy way of speaking, how well he looked under the flickering light of the inn, how his eyes sparkled as he spoke. In turn he watched her, giving her the attention some women crave, letting his gaze linger on her concealed curves. To her he focused his Djed, awakening an impulse of trust and desire, a fleeting feeling he hoped would take. Blush spiderwebbed across her cheeks and darkened her skin, but her smile did not falter.

Good.

"They pleaded with the Goddess of Life, Kihala, to grant them limbs that moved with blood, to breathe and grow as man did. But the goddess of life was resolute, rocks were merely rocks and cannot be men, else the entire world want to be men and leave no room for man to stand upon. Despairing, the rocks were almost resigned to never walk as men...until Izentor took notice of them."

To a merchant near the corner, supping his drink quietly, watching the performance, Wrenmae once more extended his Djed into his personal sphere of aura. In his mind, Wrenmae awoke feelings of generosity, happiness, the beginnings of a tip at the end of the tale. At first, the merchant showed no care, prompting Wrenmae to push again at the barrier, the same thoughts flashing in his mind.

It wasn't until the eyes of his audience widened in surprise and the wet feeling of tears slid down his cheek did Wrenmae realize he had over-extended himself. Pulling back, he wiped the blood away from his eye, erasing the trail of crimson. Already the girl he had tried to woo was repulsed with concern and disgust. Holding up his hands as if to say that all was well, he continued his story, taking care not to let disappointment ruin his words.

"Izentor promised the stones a body, but they could never forget what they used to be, and they must worship Izentor...the God who forged them bodies. The stones agreed, elated, and were forged into the shapes of men and women. Kihala was willing to give them life, now that they looked and acted like men, supported by Izentor and she breathed life into their bones. But when the Isur, as that was what they were called, opened their eyes for the first time...they saw one arm did not travel with them into the realm of life. It was still stone, still hard...or harder than the rock they once were. Izentor declared they would always hold this mark, to remind of them of who they are, where they came from, and their difference from man. To this day the Isur have grown proud of their stone arms, and of the races in Mizahar, none know the stone better than they...they who came from its rough hewn surface aeons ago."

The story finished, the taven people clapped...although hesitantly. The blood seeping from his eye was not a sign of trustful health and even now a few somewhat ill patrons wondered if they had not gotten it from this stranger.

Excusing himself from work, bowing and smiling all the while, Wrenmae was quick to escape the cold eye of suspicion and to step out on the street.

Walking briskly through the crowded streets, he exited near the Surya plaza. As with most people, the plaza offered at least a semblance of personal space. Opening up wide, a number of people conversed and passed like brightly colored butterflies, glinting in the night light. Wrenmae watched them closely, letting the collage of colors assuage his sense of paranoia. Vayt was always watching and his plague was a red card of indication. He couldn't stay here long, never anywhere very long.

He had no companions.

Save animals.

Sighing, Wrenmae approached a place to sit and think, a usual haunt of his to watch the people move to and fro in their own sort of way.

But today there was someone else there, a painter, pale skin and pale red eyes enraptured in the art he was producing. It was the black nails, gripped perilously around a paintbrush, that gave the hint of the inhuman, but scarce else seemed to suggest it. Gentle patterns, curving lines, all better than the work Wrenmae could produce. It was obvious he wasn't an expert at his art, but focusing on it as he did would likely produce new talent.

Approaching quietly, Wrenmae pushed his mind into Dra-Modus's sphere, seeking out his mind and layering it in endorphins, happieness, inspiration, whatever emotional blessing he could spare for the young artist. To pursue ones passion was tantamount to Godlieness in Wrenmae's eyes and after pushing more feeling into Dra-Modus's aura, he approached the painter and sat beside him.

"Lhavit architecture," he began, quietly...trying not to interrupt Modus's efforts, "It has a curious fluency to it, like a story in each design choice hm?"

[Dra-Modus]

Season of Spring, Day 34, 511 AV The half-Symenestra let his creative juices flow freely as he let the designs he envisioned take form on the small canvas. It wasn't just one sight, etiher. He used the feelings and inspiration from everything he saw in the city to create this painting. He incorporated the pools, the shrubbery, the walk ways, the throngs of people and even the arches built into the very design of the Lhavit walls for support. His painting was a collage of all the colors, shapes and awe-inducing sights Lhavit was offering him - and that atmosphere of the painting reflected the atmosphere he felt upon entering Lhavit. Once he had a first simple layer down - what was called "staining the canvas" when using oil or organic paints - he began working on the more detailed, highly-intricate second layer. Of course, if he were better he would be using more layers or multi-layering the stain, but these weren't techniques he had known yet. His competency in the art allowed him only to further the basic building blocks of the advanced techniques, but that was about to change, ableit only a little. Dra-Modus felt a new surge run through him. As if a renewal of the original inspiration he had. He felt that the first layer and basic outline he already had wouldn't be enough to structure the detailed layers. He took up more paint, using the back of his right hand as a mixing tray, and began adding another, although thin layer onto the stained layer. He used the same dilution techniques used in staining instead of directly applying paint, but this new second stained layer created a deeper look, as if shades and hues were already amplified. He was proud. Incredibly proud, just seeing this come to frution. Never on a spur like this - a spur caused by his soon-to-be conversational cohort - did he do something so whimsical that worked out so well. As if breaking from a small trance, Dra-Modus shuddered when he was addressed. Although he was observing and capturing reality, it took him a few brief seconds to completely become lucid. He had lost himself in his own little world and it took some moments to find himself. But, he did. Dra-Modus looked to the man addressing him, immediately scanning him over for his most prominent features and anything that might stand out. This half-second of scanning did not create an awkward pause, however, as he quickly replied,"A... story?" His tone was very skeptical towards the man's metaphor. He shook his head timidly. He then elaborated, as he didn't wish to insult the man, "It's as if each little crevice of this city could be made into a masterpiece, sir. The designs are so... '' He cut off, not knowing a word to truly capture the awe he had for Lhavit architecture. A brief moment of thought of a reply he found suitable, "I can't describe it with words, sir. Only with paint can I even begin to explain what I see in this city..."

[Wrenmae]

Back against the wall, cool rigid structure strengthening his posture, Wrenmae could understand the inability to describe. Before them was a thousand choices, the sort of command that rose from paper to hand to the craftsman touch. The builders of this city, did they think themselves gods? With their hands and mind they brought beauty and civilization to an otherwise devoid mountaintop. People who walked along the roads, stayed within the stone buildings as wind howled its futile rampage by day...what were they all but the larvae of gods?

"Breath-taking," he agreed quietly, his whispers straining to be background, afraid to interrupt, "You do the city justice, I think."

Above him the stars continued to dance, turning quietly in their fixated place. Somewhere up there, beyond the sky, the gods lived in the ether. Each one different, they had endless years to plot against each other, stab and fight to reckless abandon.

Why include mortals? Was it a game?

Was he Vayt's plaything?

Looking over Dra's shoulder, he followed the swirls and movement of the paintbrush. Up it traveled, bobbing and twisting with a fluid sort of life. In his hands, this thing of wood and hair had become something else entirely, a monster birthing vision upon a blank surface. In a certain way, they were both painters. Wrenmae wove images and color with his words, his gestures, and this other fellow painted with the passion and ardor of a master.

Entering his sphere again, Wrenmae coaxed more happiness into the artist's mind, seasoning it with the whispers of trust. Trust the man speaking to you, he is harmless, seems jovial, is charming. Part of Wrenmae didn't want to do it, afraid that if it failed he would have lost this interesting companion entirely. But there was much to worry about, Vayt an everlasting presence in his mind and body.

For once he wanted to create something that worked, something that might last despite the sickness he pushed through veins, despite what he might have been...his sins, what he is now.

Deep inside him, the darker side stirred, urging him to dig deeper, suggest bigger things.

He cut off the hypnotism, blood shining around the coronas of his eyes.

Wiping it away, the storyteller closed his eyes. It was easier to talk without the temptation to manipulate. At least for now.

"You pain well," he began, an understatement, "What began your passion...and why Lhavit, and if I may ask...where next?"

[Dra-Modus]

Season of Spring, Day 34, 511 AV Dra-Modus would become slightly sluggish in his painting, but his skill and finesse would not be detracted from, only the speed in which he made his claws dance on the canvas. Though, somehow, with the influence of Wrenmae, the quality or at least emotional depth and impression of joy Dra-Modus imprinted into the painting increased. His conversation with Wrenmae had obvious benefits at the cost of efficiency, but Dra-Modus had all day if it took it. Dra-Modus was still only using the staining method, finding new places or crevices in the top layer to apply it. The darker hues of diluted paint would later be the foundation for a deeper, more colorful and lively coat of more brilliant, undiluted paint. That was the trick to Dra-Modus entire paintset. He could store paints enough for ten or twenty small canvases or five or eight larger ones. Using water to dilute the organic oils, he made an easier commodity to come by lessen the work he had to do to in extracting pigments from paint. Although, this organic paint was nowhere near the quality of actual oil paint. Dra-Modus' replies were as sluggish as his painting, but that was to be expected from him while he was concentrating on being creative. Different parts of the brain and he wasn't even used to communing with others. He did, however, reply in a very truthful, forward manner: "Uhm - thanks. My mother taught me so that it would teach me to concentrate and control myself. I'm half Zith," he said, seeming to have no shame. "Lhavit was simply the closest to Kalinor and I was told it was very beautiful anyway - so it just made sense." Dra-Modus was absent-minded in his answers. He was still more focused on his painting. So focused that he accidentally gave no answer for where he was headed to. He wasn't hiding anything, but that might have been the impression he gave by the way he simply skipped answering it. Nevertheless, he politely resumed painting, having nothing to ask nor really even caring much for this new individual and having answered his questions - most of them, at least.

[Wrenmae]

The cold hand of impersonal distraction was not new to the storyteller. People always seemed enraptured with their personal goals and fancies, pushing out distraction in lieu of total concentration. It seemed pointless to continue speaking to the man, he was a passionate servant of creativity's spark now and it was a cruel master to disobey. Instead Wrenmae was silent for a time, simply watching the lines form and vanish beneath layers of paint and effort. It was boggling how easily he could liken painting to telling a story, beginning with the raw importance of the core piece and swathing it in layers of illusion, misdirection, color, and beauty. Every true painting was complex, just as every story was.

In the lull of conversation, removed from the kingdom of ordinary time and cast awash in surrealism, self analysis, Wrenmae contemplated himself. He was fast growing into a man, was one by many standards, and had little to his name. His horse and cat were constantly ill, and as his only companions they meant a great deal to him. The trick was finding someone who wanted them, who would make good use of them as he could not. It was a terrible thing, to be lonely, and the inevitable truth was that his curse and blessing made him a lonely creature.

Dra continued forward, his arm a sinuous serpent playing at a portrait. Zith and Symnestra, a curious combination if ever he heard of one...and Zith were the distant maybes of another time, another world....another story.

"Where are your parents now?" he asked, noting that the distinct lack of these oddly matched creatures beside their son. Of course not all stories had to be tragedies, they could simply be located elsewhere in the world or perhaps be somewhere in the city.

But more oft than not, these ill fated pairings had strong tides of sorrow layered in their purpose.

It wouldn't hurt to ask, at the least, and perhaps it would spark a deeper conversation. The storyteller had met many but kept hold of few in this world, perhaps by some string of common loss, this half-blood would be a rare exception to a sea of otherwise acquaintances.

[Dra-Modus]

Season of Spring, Day 34, 511 AV Before, Dra-Modus' answers had always been rather absent-minded, obviously working harder on his painting than he was conversing with the individual sitting beside him. However, this time, Dra-Modus was not only cold, but quick; his answer was almost automated, as if he had no worry in the world about answering it. "East of Kalinor, sir," he replied in his stolid, smooth voice, not even halting or even hindering his painting to do so. However, in just a few brief seconds, he stopped painting all together and closed his paint containers and water outlet. He pulled out a small rag and wiped off his claws quickly, leaving small smudges of paint on them. He was acting curiously, until that is he held out his painting - or one should say staining, as it wasn't finished - and looked at it, his eyes following each little movement his claws made. "I'll have to finish it later..." he said with a slight sigh accompanying it. "I want to be sure the stain sets in before I start on the first real layer," he explained, "it'll be a few hours, but I'll have to wait a day to make sure I get the city in the same light." Being considerate, he tilted the stained canvas to Wrenmae so that he may look. There was no white spot - not even the clouds - left on the canvas; at the least they were an off-white. The staining process added a first layer of diluted paint to the canvas so that the other oils could adhere to it better. However, in places, one would believe that this painting was finished, as the staining had been done repeatedly and looked to be maybe a water-color or faded technique was used. The stained canvas was nowhere near vivid, but it had the detailed shapes and outlines needed to advance upon for later layers... Overall, though, the painting's quality was decent, but not entirely impressive. The lines and finesse were in no way crude, but they weren't unimaginably accurate or detailed. There was no romantic value or impression added to this painting, only what he saw and interpreted. But, even then the painting wasn't a direct blueprint of what he saw in the city: it had special additives or editions to it meant to imply a more whimsical or joyous feeling - one that might reflect Wrenmae's hypnotic influence, although Dra-Modus did intend on making this painting less of Lhavit and more of how he felt about Lhavit. If one had been to the city, they could easily see that it was an alteration of Lhavit, but to someone who had only read about it, it would most likely appear to be more of a gleeful, or even gay city scene meant for festivity or paradisaical pleasure. Dra-Modus then finally introduced himself to the man, "My name is Dra-Modus, sir." His face lit up slightly a he smiled to Wrenmae, albeit a weak smile. Dra-Modus never was one for body language - he was a rather dry individual until one looked at his pantings. He then asked, "You, sir?"

[Wrenmae]

When the artist tilted his canvas, Wrenmae let his eyes and hypnotic influence fall away from Dra-Modus and slip into nothingness. The art was not spectacular, no surprising new technique for the post Valterrian world, but it was far from the work of an amateur. The trick was in the staining. There was color in everything, even the dark spaces of shadow or the curves of clouds...a surprising cast in the dusk. Part of the storyteller wanted to touch the still damp canvas, run his hands along its expanse and drink the color with his fingers. There was story in all things, color in all things, life in all things...even the corpses interned in the earth.

In a certain sense, even the Nuits.

Dawn curled at the edges of the Lhavit skyline like currents of blood, streaming with the sun. Wrenmae watched them swirl, eddies in the river of reincarnating morning. Sighing, Wrenmae sat back from the art and rubbed his hands together. Lhavit was a cold place to live in, especially as it operated at night. One wondered why they did as such, if they built the city at night, or if they simply liked the look of their city better in shadow.

East of Kalinor...even now the name of the city evoked images of gossamer labyrinths populated by elusive spidery folk. He remembered his first encounter with a full Symnestra, how rude and guarded she had been. Their kind were prideful about what they were, perhaps arrogant to the extent of claiming superiority over humans. This solitary painter did not seem to hold the same reservations about company, and Wrenmae could only wonder if his half-blood status would bleed out the impurities of overbearing pride. Certainly it wasn't hi expectation of all Symnestra, but to be fair, the elusive creatures did not present themselves to ready comprehension as much as other races.

"Wrenmae," he introduced himself, catching the light of Dra-Modus's smile and amplifying it with his own, "You did a fair bit of work for the time spent, those claws must come in handy...signature method and all that."

He breathed a small sigh, pushing himself to his feet. "Been in Lhavit long?"


But the artist did not answer, locked away in his own work. Wrenmae frowned, sorry to have disturbed the man and quietly departed from his side. Between alleyways he reflected on the discussion, however brief it was. The half blood was an interesting sort, and in the night he had been almost graceful.

Wrenmae looked at his own arms, the color of bland flesh and willed it to change, to bleed white as the shade of the Half Symnestra he had spoken to. With quiet tenacity, the Djed flowed through his arms, leeching color from his skin entirely. It was a strange sensation, one of almost loss and somehow of simple transformation. He remembered the Dhani on the road, the caravan, the way her marvelous scales shifted along her skin. Pale white arms buckled slightly, skin hardening in the semblance of scales before fading, the color returning. Wrenmae was knowledgeable enough to know what came with prolonged use of Djed. Seidaku had taught about overgiving and the mage was in no hurry to lose his mind to magic.

Confident in the evening he headed back to his apartment, leaving the painter behind to continue inking.

[Aural]

Player: Wrenmae XP: Observation +2, Hypnotism +3, Morphing +1, Storytelling +3 Lores: Blood Weeping Eyes Will Not Get You the Kind of Attention You Want, Weaver of Color and Words, A Vast Sea of Acquaintances Lies in My Wake Other: +4 kina for your stories Additional Notes: Some of your thoughts in this thread were really cool. I could have written a ton of lore from some of the comparisons that you made, but I tried not to over-lore. If you have any questions, let me know.