A meeting in the streets. [Tsalmaveth]

[Ihnar]

Time stamp: ____th winter.


The little pycon wandered around in 'The bizzare' as it was called. He really had no idea why the place was called that. None of the shopkeepers seemed.. bizarre in anyway. Except maybe that one old looking lady. Ihnar was really bored, he had nothing better to do, so he had come window shopping. He was mainly there to silently study herbs, while he stared in wonder at all the different things people were selling.

Quite silently the living statue lurked around any herb booths, keeping his distance still. He had no intention of having to make contact with anyone. He'd rather mull things in peace than have to interact with someone. He tried to recognize the herbs he saw and the ones he had seen quite some time ago in a book. Ihnar was hoping he'd somehow absorb some knowledge of some rare herb and manage to surprise his teacher. Maybe if he brought some herbs to him, he would be happy.

Ihnar shoved his little hands in to the only pocket in his dress, only to find nothing. Well nothing people would trade for a herb. Feathers, while pretty weren't money. He let out a sigh and removed his hands from the pocket, straightening his dress as he did so. For a moment he felt like pretending it was a real piece of clothing, not a part of him. He made his dress move a bit, as if the wind was nudging it ever so slightly.

He quickly noticed that he shouldn't be playing around, but focusing on the herbs. The shopkeeper was starting to look like she wanted the pycon to leave her booth alone. Maybe it was Ihnars paranoid mind, or maybe she really did want so. Miserably the pycon sulked away from the booth. Seeing all the people made him regret coming to this place.

[Tsalmaveth]

Tsalmaveth grew angry with the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, repeatedly getting knocked over or nudged by weaklings. The stank of sweat was present in the air as swine shoved past him to get to their troughs, no doubt hungry for the sweets and pies that various stalls were offering. Fat, incompetent and lavished in ridiculous garb; meeting those in the marketplace was not so unlike going to a show of troubadours. The filth and stank of this place clung to his clothes and permeated every pore. He realised - quite suddenly, in fact - that he was still quite unused to the bumbling, harsh life outside of Kalinor. Without the graceful, dark caverns and well groomed, albeit harsh relatives of his Web.

Tsalmaveth was quite out of his element. Turning a lip at his own weakness, he thought, "What sort of fool am I to not be able to handle such things?" A cool mask of indifference fell upon him as naturally as a shadow in the night. It creased away the disgust from his mouth, curved his brow into relaxation till he looked blankly past the group which jostled him so rudely. He was a Symenestra, proud and strong, to show such weakness was to be weak.

It was not ill fate which brought him to this place nor was he merely passing through. He was constantly searching, using every sense his body had to offer to see through the shade of filth and find the traitorous scum whom shared blood with Tsalmaveth. He was impacted so furiously by the stench merely because he opened himself to it, whether or not his senses were sharp he would extend every option to find his brother and the young he had stolen from their fathers grasp. It seemed not long ago that he had been given the task to search for his brother, yet he had traveled from Kalinor to Alvadas.

He pushed away memories of muggings and other atrocious abuse this realm had visited upon him. Hate for the Symenestra was strong, yet so was fear. But, it was evident that Tsalmaveth did not inspire fear. He cursed his ill fate, to be unable to express his warrior spirit yet feel it so strongly. Subconsciously, he reached for where his chain should have been, however it was currently stationed within a barrel outside a tavern. Tsalmaveth had learned quite quickly not to take anything he held valuable with him. Unarmed, if trouble came to him Tsalmaveth would have his own failing physical strength to depend on. He would still be more than a match for his brother, he thought, while the infant would probably attract attention in such a populated place. That would be the real threat.His joints began to ache with the stress of moving through the crowd, beaten tender and soft Tsalmaveth shifted away from the crowd to regain his strength in by a shady booth. Deep breaths filled with pain, he cursed his physical weakness. The beating his eldest brother had given him still hurt occasionally to this day, broken ribs that once had healed felt shattered once again.

Dhalvorex, that parasite, had bested him in a way that shamed him to this very day. Shuddering, his cold mask shifted to one of shamed rage and unbelievable pain. He could still feel the blows, each and every one when the memory struck him. He had been foolish in his younger days, more prone to irrational action. Years of solitude after his shame and searching for his sibling had tempered the chilling blaze of his rage. Lifting his gaze, he saw someone not so far from he, hiding from the crowds. He observed his own position and found that was what he was doing, aloud he spoke, "Weakness is for those whom are blind." Something he had come to find in his travels was that strength was brought from knowledge of the world around. He hadn't known how to defeat his brother, so he had failed. Strength meant nothing, knowledge was true power. Animation had been his source of power, his way to becoming a warrior. He drifted into deep thoughts of his many attempts to gain power through the knowledge that World Magic had provided him.

[Ihnar]

Ihnar heard a voice in his over paranoid state. Weakness is for those whom are blind? Surely that couldn't be true. He wasn't strong at all in anyway, but he wasn't blind... or was this one of those deep phrases that you had to dig deep in to understand the true meaning. His eyes turned to his red scarf and he began to investigate the fine knitting skills used to make it. His mother had surely been strong, managing to release all of the pycons from the cruel master. Ihnar investigated himself. He wasn't strong. He was a coward who hid from crowds, and wriggled in front of bad guys if it saved his hide. Truly he was a miserable person.

He let out a sigh and turned to scan his surroundings. Nothing had really changed. The slightly creepy old lady was still there... so was the herbalist who looked like he had given up hope on selling anything. That's when he saw it.

It was Dhalv! His teacher! Who else would look like that. White hair.. slightly creepy. Maybe his teacher would be proud if Ihnar showed him the herbs and possibly tried to sound clever while doing so! The pycon rushed with haste in to the crowd, avoiding ever so many feet trying to ignorantly step on him. The humans should really learn to watch their step. Ihnar rushed out of the crowd and stood in front of Tsal, shaking from excitement.

'T-there are some herbs there, Dh-' He stopped as his eyes turned to take a second look at 'his teacher'. This... was not Dhalv. The man did kind of look like him... a bit. Possibly.

Judging by the slightly angry look on the mans face, Ihnar had come at a really bad time. A rather risky time. The pycon had no intentions on getting smushed by this thug and quite possibly the man had other defense systems, such as hidden weapons. Most thiefs and shady people Ihnar had heard of kept weapons hidden in their sleeves, incase of emergency.

Clearly he should appear as harmless as possible. Ihnar nearly laughed out loud on that thought. He didn't have to pretend that. He WAS harmless. Even if he would end up wishing to hurt the man (which was strongly against his morals) he could not do it. The pycon silently hoped that looking like a child would save him from those cruel cruel chains.

'I..uh.. t-thought .. y-y-you were s-someone e-else.. s-sorry.. sir' He stuttered looking at the mans cruel looking red eyes. Ihnar had still not gotten over the fact of how much this man looked like his teacher. Luckily for Dhalv, Ihnar didn't ask about it. Hurriedly the pycon turned around, eyes seeking for an escape route. He didn't want to make closer contact with this thug. Unfortunately a group of people were blocking his route. Slowly he turned back to face Tsal and started to back away, praying for the group of people to move out of his path.
Why does all this keep happening to me... he lamented in his mind.