Flashback A Mist Collection

[Marina Agamand]

510, Autumn 14 Again, she was home. After completing yet another world-around travel, here was where the end of the circle connected to its beginning. But there was no feeling of warmth or nostalgy. There was no feeling of accomplishement. Instead, there was only vast, bottomless frustration, that grew stronger every time she returned here to the steps of her house in Zeltiva, after completing another fruitless lap around Mizahar. These feelings were not foreign to Marina. Every time she set her ethereal foot in this city, they consumed her. Why was there even a need to return, when dark emotions were the only things that greeted her? Surely, she could simply have erased Zeltiva from her traveling route and be rid of this needless angst. She could have done that before. But not anymore. Zeltiva was no longer only "home", an abstract value with little meaning to an unfettered spirit. To Marina, Zeltiva had obtained a face. A face she couldn't forget, and one she was willing to return to this wretched city for. The night was young, and the streets serene, blanketed by a thin veil of mist. Just like a parrot with a blanket cast over its cage, the whole city went dormant, commanded by the darkness to forget their worries and rest. Of course, there were those who played by different rules. Occasionally, Marina felt intense gazes directed at her as she walked through the utterly abandoned and deathly silent street. The owners of those gazes, the shapeless figures appearing and vanishing in the shadows without a trace or sound, never made a move against the helpless little girl dressed in expensive silks, who strutted through the quiet night all alone. Marina snickered. Even when materialised, she could not fool those shadows. Not even the most desperate of them would waste their time on an apparition. The girl slowed her pace more and more, and finally came to a halt. Looking around herself, she understood that she was lost. Although the mist was no so thick that it obscured vision completely, it did make all the dark silhouettes of buildings around her look the same, leaving no clues as to which way her destination was. This orientation syndrome was a common problem for Marina, who seldom stayed in one city for very long. Even though she was native to Zeltiva, her knowledge of the urban geography was very limited. She knew how to get from her mansion to the University, and from the University to the closest concert hall, but that was it. One turn off the beaten path, and she might as well have been dropped into a Myrian jungle. The situation, although annoying, didn't pose much of an obstacle to the spectre. She had one highly functional trick that she used when she got lost. Making sure that she was de-materialised, Marina let her feet leave the ground, and floated upwards, rising just above the one-story wooden cottages that lined the uneven road she was traveling along. As her field of vision spread over the nearby part of Zeltiva, the ghost began operatively scanning her surroundings in search of her distination, rotating her entire body in the air. In just a few seconds, she had already found what she was looking for. The tall, dark masts of the Zeltivan navy rose proudly over the low-profile dockland facilities, lining the night sky almost like a forest. After confirming that she was facing the right way, the ghost blinked down to the ground and materialised again. Despite other, much more practical methods of locomotion available to her, Marina preferred to use the road, mainly to avoid being conspicuous, but also out of old habit. Now that she knew where to go, reaching the docks was without difficulties. With absolutely nobody in sight, only the soft splashes of the waves and the occasional creaks of the wooden hulls could be heard here. The spectre didn't know anything about ships, so they all looked the same to her. Disconnecting from the ground again, she floated up on the deck of a large vessel and surveyed the docks. The place seems to have developed since the last time she was here; the walkway networks seemed denser, and the the forest of masts was thicker, as if some huge hands had gathered the ships closer together while the girl was gone. Those observations floated idly through Marina's mind, but one detail was what caught her full attention. Some of the bigger piers had sturdy, iron railings on each side that hadn't been there before. The phantom slipped down from the vessel onto the pier nearby, which was one of those graced with railings. A ironic smirk touched her lips as she stroked the iron bar with her materialised index finger. Did the city authorities decide that it was high time to improve the dockworkers' security, or did the noble families take initiative to protect their goods and hirelings? She didn't know. Either way, it was all done too late. Removing her hand from the iron, the ghost turned to the vast sea stretching beyond the port. It was such a pristine, windless night. Soft patches of mist floated lazily across the water, resembling tufts of cotton. The dots of stars twinkled confidently in the sky, letting the mortals on the ground know that there were no stormclouds brewing. If only she could bring him to this place, on this night. Marina cried, but as usual, there were no outward signs of her suffering; her feelings only left her as subtle emanations. To the naked eye, she was just standing on the pier, lost in thought, lost in time.

[Khazius Raine]

Tomorrow Khazius was going to turn twenty-nine. A young age by human standards, who could live close to a century of years should life, luck and the gods permit. But age was merely a number, a way for the races of Mizahar to make sense of the passage of time and attribute some form of order to their lives. But, wasn't it how one filled those years that really mattered? Experience had much to answer for rather than just chalking up the years.

If Khazius was honest, he felt old. Not that he had been an intrepid explorer or some great and legendary warrior. He'd probably have needed to leave Zeltiva for that at least. No, his feelings when it came to age were due to the monotony of repetition, the days joining hands and marching by in unison with the passage of time. He could wake up tomorrow and be forty, and he'd probably not have been surprised.

Not one to complain publicly - he saved that for the privacy of his own thoughts - the young human did have to concede that not all was as dreary as he made out. True, there was the burden of caring for a recluse and silent father while working to bring home a few coins each day. But on the other hand there was his 'other' life. He considered it the 'other' as it was akin to being a secret agent, roaming the streets at night fighting the bad guys and bringing peace to the land. At least that's how he humored himself about it sometimes.

It did at least take place at night though. There the similarities ended and the facade of fantasy dissipated in a proverbial puff of smoke. Draw back the curtains and all that remained was the ugly truth, Khazius sitting hunched over a desk while his mentor Farris rambled on about something or other for the umpteenth time.

"A competent spiritist must master this technique with swift resolve. If not, there's the risk...and a very real risk I might add, that the ghost could overcome you in that moment and...Khazius? Are you listening to me?" Farris poked the younger man in the ribs with his cane, bringing Khazius to startling attention before grumbling over the wrong done to him by his student.

"Mind I don't stick that bloody cane somewhere else!" Khazius' warning was half-hearted as heavy eyelids fought against the weight of sleep, or lack of. Farris, dismayed at his student but not disheartened, took a seat across from the desk and allowed a moment before deciding he was comfortable.

"You are without the necessary amount of sleep to function in my class. Shall we be done for the day?"

Khazius cracked his knuckles, trying to keep his hands busy rather than scratch the back of his neck. That was his tell, and Farris knew him with alarming accuracy. Simply put, he'd have better luck catching the moon than outsmarting his elder. Fair play to Farris though. He could have gone on and scolded his pupil. But Khazius' situation was known to him. He had family to care for. He could not at this time commit fully to the spiritist's calling. It would for now remain a 'hobby' if it could be categorized as so.

The lesson was over then, and Khazius decided to evade sleep's calling for a while longer. The night time had only just sauntered up on Zeltiva after all. While he spent a large percentage of his life working on the docks, it was also an ideal location for a stroll and one he headed to now.

The docks would be the death of him, he was sure. Loading and unloading ships all day, and for what? To buy bread and that foul tasting fish water they call alcohol? At least he didn't have to drink it. That joy was one for his father, one of the last things the man seemed to care about. Khazius wondered the old fool might even speak if his precious alcohol was kept from him for long enough.

Sparing no further thought for work or family, he carried onwards in nowhere in particular. Often on evenings he would lose himself this way, thinking of the teachings of Farris while wondering what the long game was. After all, it wasn't like Zeltiva was hiring spiritists in a rush. Of course, Farris was no ordinary spiritist, nor was he teaching Khazius as such. "We must strive to help those poor, lost souls, and return them to Dira." That was the short of it.

An interesting concept really. Traditionally spiritists were trained as a force to fight ghosts, or enslave them. Helping them was perhaps uncommon. Certainly Khazius had never heard of helping a ghost before. If anything he'd have opposed the idea, what with almost being killed by one. Since then though, Farris' opinion on the matter was both enthralling and persuading. Using the tools of the spiritist, one could effectively mount a campaign of salvation for those that were accepting of it. And for those that weren't. Well, you'd already amassed the tools necessary to defend yourself.

Onwards he pressed, keeping only his thoughts for company.

[Marina Agamand]

The surroundings were so quiet and serene that Marina's senses could pick up a single set of unhurried, stready footsteps in the distance, coming from the streets somewhere behind her. The soft patter A little startled, she spun around and surveyed the docks, trying to spot the source of the noise. The spectre rapidly began to fade, turnining from a relatively solid image to a transluscent set of sizzling lines and contures, nearly invisible against the night sky. Only her dimly glowing purple orbs betrayed her camouflage as they locked onto a male figure emerging from between the dark shapes of two docking facilities. The tall man walked leisurely along the endless row of ships, still some fifty meters away from the pier Marina was on. He hadn't noticed her yet, evidently. Frozen in place, the faded wraith narowed her smoldering eyes suspiciously, trying to think of a reason why someone would be strutting around this dangerous part of town at night, alone. As the coat-wearing figure was coming closer, she could get a better look at him, noting his large build and somewhat rough countenance. The girl concluded that he looked more than tough enough to take a nighttime promenade without having to be afraid of the shadows. She could have easily hidden herself by sinking through the pier, but her curiosity forced her to stay and observe this rare night-walker. She hasn't met anyone since entering Zeltiva tonight; it was a little unsettling to see the streets so deathly quiet and empty, so she was relieved to see someone strolling around. Deciding that she should pay attention to him until he's gone, the phantom traced the man with her gaze, taking in more and more details as he came closer. Bleached by the pearly moonlight, his calm features gave him an air of mystery; his long coat reminding Marina of a private detective on the prowl for clues. After a few moments of being lost in her imagination of who this man could be, Marina felt a sense of danger creeping into her, slowly but surely gripping her ethereal mind with its uncomfortable fingers. Something told her to blink as far away as possible from this place; the nagging feeling that she couldn't hide her rippling shape, no matter how well concealed, from those eyes. But some even stronger, unknown feeling held her there, unable to tear her gaze away from him. Oblivious to the struggle in her mind, he continued walking, without breaking his pace, and without changing his expression. Just a few more moments, and he would pass by her and vanish forever. She had to stop him. Against all rational thought, against the warning bells ringing loudly in her mind, she thought that she couldn't simply let him go. Were he an unimportant stranger, she would not have this feeling of urgency, the feeling that she had forgotten something important. She wanted to materialise, to make herself as vivid as she could, and cross his path to demand an explanation of why his very visage tormented her so. But she was too afraid to do something so bold. Walking right past the pier, his tall figure was right in front of her. There was no more time to think. Torn between those alien feelings and her cowardice, the chaos in Marina's mind finally pushed her to action. Still only a transparent non-existence that would hardly be visible even if someone were looking straight at her, she timidly reached out with her hand and touched his sleeve as he walked past her. It was an immaterial touch that carried no substance whatsoever. A human would not notice it at all. As her fingers brushed across the fabric of his coat, Marina hoped that in the next moment, he would simply round the corner and vanish, liberating her from this strange uneasiness.

[Khazius Raine]

Khazius might have relied on his size, helped by the bulky coat, as a deterrent when walking the streets at night. He boasted too an aptitude for observation, keeping his senses on their toes and on the lookout for signs of possible danger. But in truth, Zeltiva wasn't Sunberth by any means. Certainly it couldn't claim to be as crime free and safe from peril as, say, Mura perhaps. But chances were, you could go from one end of the city and back again without encountering much of trouble.

There was also the element of luck to consider, or lack thereof. Making that trip across town was all very well, but one day it might have coincided with a down on his luck vagabond looking to replenish his purse. Zeltiva, Sunberth, or anywhere. Desperate men were desperate men wherever they heralded from; wherever they were headed.

So it was that Khazius moved on without having given any of this a moment's thought. Born and bred Zeltivan, he was damned if he was going to be afraid of walking his own streets. Coupled with years of working the docks, he knew this area like the back of his hand. But in being overconfident, subconscious though it was, this lack of regard due to his familiarity with his surroundings proved costly.

It was even more insulting; more so to his mentor than himself, that he'd allowed a ghost to come to within touching distance. A competent spiritist should have sensed it from several feet away. Telltale signs; the sudden coldness in the air, a faint whisper of something not quite right, yet just not audible enough to decipher, and that good old fashioned gut feeling. All these qualities should have been ever present, but tonight the spiritist student had allowed his mind to wander.

Good fortune then that Marina had not come at him with ill intent, at least for now. Her touch was fleeting, but enough to bring Khazius to his senses. His chastising would have to wait for now, since the more immediate problem of dealing with his current situation was more pressing. After all, it wasn't every night you walked the city and were presented with a ghost.

Continuing to walk past Marina, Khazius acted as though he had seen or suspected nothing. His face, expressionless, did not betray his deception as he quickly went over in his head what his next move would be. An offering of soulmist perhaps, he pondered, before realizing he had none with him right now. In fact, that seemed to be the downfall of further suggestions, as he fruitlessly worked down a list of things he didn't have. No soulmist, no ghost beads, no embalmed weapon.

As a spiritist, Khazius was failing tremendously well right now. Since he had not the means to defend himself should the spirit attack, he decided instead to employ a little faith. After all, perhaps the ghost was not here to cause harm. Wouldn't it have done so without hesitation? Why would it have afforded him the chance to reconcile with his earlier lack of attention?

Questions questions. They swarmed about his head like a tempest of insects, chittering all at once until the sound was deafening and he was unable to think. What to do? Where to go? Questions, questions, questions!

Enough! Just breath. Khazius stopped dead in his tracks, as though some cruel and spiteful god had stricken him immobile on the spot. But the sudden pause was his own choosing, as he cleared his mind of all questions until only one remained. It was the same question he had asked once before, so long ago and at a time that he no longer remembered.

But perhaps she did.

"Excuse me? Um, are you okay?"

[Marina Agamand]

His words struck her like a hammer. Unbidden, sudden flashes of memory flooded the spectre's mind. A timid voice. A cheerful smile. A beautiful sky. A violent storm. A slippery walkway... Marina resisted the urge to shake her transparent head, since that wouldn't help clearing her mind in the least. Trying to digest the visions, she stared wide-eyed at the tall, obstructive figure that caused them with just a few words. For just a moment, she indulged in the illusion that Khazius was in front of her. But that was impossible. The person in her memories was a young boy, not much older than herself. No matter how hard she focused her eyes on his features, trying to find a resemblance to the boy in her memory, she was faced by a large, adult man. Moreover, and most importantly, Khazius was dead. He died right in front of her eyes. And yet, the flashback from earlier, as well as the oddly familiar, jaded face this strange man wore, made Marina infinitely confused. The wraith was oblivious to the passage of time, and the fact that the boy she knew may have survived and grown up didn't register in her mind. Perhaps this was his brother? Or even father? But even they wouldn't be able to mimic him so perfectly, would they? The heavy sense of uneasiness still crushed Marina, while her mind spiraled into a nearly panic-like state as she tried to rationalise the situation. But no matter how hard she tried, the ghost couldn't come up with an explanation why an adult man she has never met was impressing such a strong sense of familiarity on her. Worst of all, after having confounded her so, he still had the nerve to as if she was okay. While her mind produced that ironic accusation, she clutched the folds of her skirt frustratedly, lowering her head as she gave up on explaining the scene she had gotten herself into. She should have just let him pass. Even if she reached out to him, why did he stop? It's not like he could have felt her touch, so why didn't he just round the corner and vanish? Suddenly feeling angry with the coated man for throwing her in such turmoil, the spectre finally regained enough composure to flatly answer his question, still staring down at the ground awkwardly. "No." This was all just a fleeting anomaly. There was an easy way make that certain; after that, she would be satisfied and leave here as soon as possible. She was far too upset to calmly return to stargazing at the pier, wishing only to escape as far from the docks as possible for tonight. She wanted to shout the question at the tall figure, then grab him by the collar and shake out an answer that would satisfy her, so impatient was the ghost to clear the chaotic doubts and memories from her mind. But she couldn't let her anguish show, not with her actions, not even on her face, which remained completely calm, aside from the haunted purple orbs that drilled the coated figure with disdain. Even in such a strained emotional state, the angry apparition forced herself to observe manners; her mortal values still planted firmly in her immaterial heart. Her first act of courtesy when greeting strangers was to materialise, in order make the collocutor less conscious that they were talking to a monster. Without moving any limbs, she relaxed her forcibly faded image, and the thin contures that made up the phantom's body began to fill with color, gradually becoming more opaque. Eventually, the coated man was faced with a rather fuzzy and flickering, but somewhat more human-looking girl. Making sure that her feet were on the right level with the ground, Marina raised her head to find eye contact with her nightly disturber of peace. He was so much taller than her that she had to tilt backwards slightly, so that she could see his face properly. Still locking gazes with him, she slowly held up an opened hand. "I am Marina. May I know your name?"

[Khazius Raine]

So here they were again. Khazius and Marina exchanging pleasantries on the docks of Zeltiva. It wasn't too far from here where they had parted company, so many years before. That night a fierce storm with snarling rage had swept through the city, laying waste to a number of wooden structures and not so sturdy trees, few as there were in the city. A particular ship under the authority of a certain Mr. Raine Senior had fallen victim too that night, a distraction that had proved most fatal to Raine Junior.

At least, that was what Marina had thought. Before her eyes the young, foolish Khazius had been swept from the pier in the night, like a greedy child grabbing for candy off a shelf. Into the inky water below he went, while Marina's outstretched hand clutched only air. Well, nothing in fact. She was a ghost after all.

It was true that, with the right combination of trajectory, weight, reaction and plain luck, a boy falling into the ocean at night during a storm did present good odds for not walking out alive. Or rather swimming out. In Khazius' case, he had managed to enter the cold arms of the water head first, no mean feet considering the distance between the pier and the ocean proper. It was perhaps the lucky part of the equation - if any luck at all could be attributed to falling off a pier into the sea, then this was it - that his slip had caused his body to fall in such a manner that it turned in midair. Granted, this might have been an irrelevant detail for some, but for Khazius on that night it had proved life saving.

Having entered the water in a dive, involuntary as it was, it had still put Khazius into a forward inertia that carried his body through the watery surrounds for several feet. Had he gone in any other way, he'd have been splashing and fighting for something in the dark to grab onto. But diving in as he did, he was able to push forwards and come out head first with almost a graceful execution. His prize was a misbehaving line of rope, playing truant at one end where it dangled tantalizingly off the edge of the pier adjacent to the one he had come off to begin with. Within reach thanks to his lanky arms, young Khazius was able to grab hold of the rope for dear life. The pier was literally a climbing frame, constructed of timber in a crisscross pattern that proved little challenge to conquer. By the time he had pulled himself onto the pier, the storm had swept up even more angrier, as if enraged at the boy's escape. Or perhaps it was loudly cheering him on, such was the deafening applause of thunder that rolled overhead.

In any case, Marina hadn't seen any of this, or she would not have been in the situation she found herself now. Only, if this was indeed Khazius come back as an older man to mock her, why had he not recognized her? Those purple orbs were not to be forgotten in a hurry. But as she materialized, she was presented still with the man's secretive expression, giving away nothing as his eyes met with hers.

The answer, again unknown to poor Marina who by now was in quite a state, was due to a dash of bad luck, no doubt designed to restore equilibrium for Khazius' earlier fortune with the rope. No sooner had he stepped off the pier onto solid ground, a poorly constructed roof consisting of rotting wood had been plucked from a nearby warehouse, as though the storm had lifted the lid off a cookie jar and discarded it without a care. Tumbling in midair, the roof crumbled and broke into a hundred segments, cascading down in random order like some bizarre jigsaw puzzle tossed on the ground. One such piece had chosen Khazius' head for its final resting place. The end result, as Marina now saw before her, was an older, maybe wiser, Khazius Raine, who had literally had the memory of her from that fateful night smashed out of him. He knew he had met a ghost that night. It was a life changing meeting that had led him here. He just didn't know that ghost was now stood in front of him.

So here they were again.

Marina had offered her name, waiting with anticipation for the man's response. His name, the key to this riddle that would put a stop to the crazy notion that he was Khazius Raine. Only, he was Khazius Raine. Not that she was going to find out just yet. Back then, years ago, he'd offered his name in return without hesitation. But no more the innocent and naive boy. Khazius was a spiritist now. A competent one no less. Stood before the ghost on a dark fall evening, he wasn't ready just yet to offer his name. No no. Farris hadn't taught him to chit chat. This was serious business and the game was only just about to begin.

"Marina, I wish to let you know before anything else that I am a spiritist. I'm telling you this first so you can decide whether you want me to move on or... if you want to talk further."

Khazius was going to need all his skills now. His intelligence warmed up, recalling thoughts, lessons and advice from Farris on the process of first contact with a ghost. His observational skill took in the details presented to him, trying to decipher them for any advantage or clue he might gain. And his persuasive manner was designed to put the ghost at ease, to let them feel that they had control of the situation.

It might all have sounded devious or some such, but these skills were deployed not to gain an upper hand over the ghost, but to attempt to steer the situation towards one with an ideal outcome. Ultimately, if at all possible, Khazius was going to offer his help to the ghost. That was after all what he was being trained to do. The end game was to help ghosts figure out why they lingered in this world. In doing so, it was possible to then guide them on the path of rectifying that, so they could then accept reincarnation and return to the cycle.

Those were the good cases, like a medic every now and then being able to bring someone back from the brink of death against the odds. It didn't happen often for Khazius and Farris, since ghosts were a hard nut to crack. But for the ones they did get through to, it was certainly worth it. That feeling of triumph, not for themselves, but on behalf of the ghost. Well, it was hard to put into words.

Even though reincarnation was the final aim, it would be too naive and too presumptuous to shoot for the jackpot from the start. It wasn't something that could be rushed. So delicate and fragile, it had to be tended with care, like the building of a deck of cards that could come tumbling down with one careless move. Even if reincarnation didn't seem a likely outcome, ghosts could still be helped in other ways. They might have been after some decent soulmist, or perhaps even they were just looking for some conversation. Khazius had had one of those a few months back, a much too talkative and cheerful character to be a ghost.

But whatever he could do tonight, be it help Marina in some way or just see to it that the encounter ended without violence, Khazius had to ensure she didn't see him as threatening. She might have appeared to be a young girl, but that offered nothing to the question of what she was capable of.

That he was still breathing was a good sign, at least.

[Marina Agamand]

As soon as the word "spiritist" left his lips, Marina quickly withdrew her outstretched hand and vanished into thin air. A moment later, her head was timidly peeking out from behind the corner of a wooden warehouse, some five meters away from the coated figure, which now seemed even more menacing than before. Having blinked away instinctively, she watched him with a strained gaze, ready to skedaddle at his first sudden movement. The spectre's purple orbs oozed a mix of confusion and hostility, but despite that, she didn't escape. She didn't want to stay here a second longer, but if she left before slearing this up, it would most certainly weight on her mind for a long to come. "Why will you not tell me...?" Her voice was low and trembled slightly, betraying her anger and impatience. While she herself was unable to gauge it, she has already been around for a rather long time, and has met many different spritists from all over Mizahar. She was not at all surprised by someone calling themselves a spritist, and she knew what it meant. Bad news is what it meant. The vast majority of spritists that have ever approached her eventually turned out to have depraved intentions. Some tried to bribe her with soulmist. Some pretended to offer help. Some attempted to persuade her that they were in need of help, themseves. Some simply attacked. Ultimately, they just saw a weak ghost that could be abused, in the context of everything from a test subject for new soulmist recipes to souldart practice target. The few honorable examples she has come across didm't warrant any trust in spiritists as a whole, and after narrowly escaping being dusted on once occasion, she has lost faith completely. But there was a feeling that even surpassed her hatred of spiritists. That's why she was still here, using every gram of her will to stop herself from fleeing this cursed city. If she had a body, she would probably be sweating profusely from the stress, but right now, her blurry visage didn't betray the emotions that boiled within her. Leaving the awkward position behind the warehouse, the spectre walked out on the street and faced the tall mage, though without coming any closer. Her piercing gaze locked with his, signaling that she desired conversation. "I need... your name. What must I do to earn it?" While calm, her voice held an edge. Moreover, it seemed to come from the wrong place; somewhere from behind him, making it sound very ghost-appropriate, somewhat unlike Marina's usual high manners. The wraith had already resolved to see this through to the end, but deep down, she already knew the answer. She knew it ever since he evaded her question; that was something the boy she so vividly remembered simply wouldn't do. There was not a trace of that childish trust and honesty on the spiritist's face, that trust and honesty she valued the most. The signs were too numerous and too telling: this man was not Khazius.

[Khazius Raine]

At the mention of spiritist the ghost had vanished and retreated to a safer position. Khazius had continued with his opening statement and was pleased to see that Marina had not fled completely. That was a big step in the fledgling relationship he was trying to construct. After all, she had thus far traveled the most preferred route of three, the the others being to attack him or leave. The fact that he still had her attention meant there was a chance to progress. Though he was in no doubt that he would need his wits about him, for fear of scaring her off or indeed invoking that great temper that seemed commonplace for ghosts.

So what did he know thus far? His observations had already taken in Marina's appearance, for what little glimpse she had allowed before blinking away. Standing before him now he was able to reassess her, trying to pin a time period to her outfit that didn't quite fit today's passing fashions. It also carried with it the style and cut of an expert tailor, by no means cheap to come by and most likely funded by a rich family. He didn't like to resort to stereotypes, since more often than not they only served to misdirect people's opinions at the cost of taking the time and effort to elaborate on them instead. Still, with time ticking and in the constraints of the situation - talking to a ghost was by no means an easy task - he had to make do.

Twelve or thirteen perhaps. From a wealthy family and well raised, judging from her manners. And I'm going to say we're dealing with an older ghost here. He was right to think that there was something about her that made her seem wise for her years, and he could only wonder for now what tragedy had befallen this poor spirit. Worse still, to what evils did it owe blame that she had refused reincarnation at such a young age?

At the mention of her need for his name, Khazius found himself in somewhat of a quandary. She was certainly persistent. The thing was, he didn't like to offer his real name at first contact, simply because he was also without trust. It didn't pay to go handing out your name to a ghost that might have more malevolent intentions. Not that a ghost would have much trouble seeking you out. But still, there was a certain feeling of security from keeping his true identity obscured, as if it might in some way keep any wrong-doing on Marina's part at bay.

But quandary was also that he didn't want to hold back on her. She had reached out, in a sense, by offering her name up. That deserved something in return at least, so he opted for a white lie of sorts. It was a fact little known across all of Mizahar, more because nobody probably even cared, that Khazius had a middle name. It was a rarity among Zeltivans to have anything beyond the standard first and last name, but his parents had been undecided on which of two names to use as his given, and had compromised by using both. The winner in that bout had of course been Khazius, the name of his mother's father who had been a professor of herbalism himself. The other name, now his middle name, was taken from his uncle on his father's side, who had done so much for Khazius' father but who had tragically died in a riding accident.

That name, that he now offered, was Adama. He hoped that his deceit would not come back to haunt him later on. There were plenty of ghosts to do that as it was.

"Forgive me. It seems I forgot my manners. My name is Adama."

With that done, he prepared himself for the next stage of their joust, figuring out what he might be able to do to help this lost soul, if indeed she wanted help at all.

[Marina Agamand]

As soon as the mage's name left his lips, Marina felt as if a titanic weight was removed from her small shoulders. Finally, she could focus enough to trace the older man's form with an analytical gaze. His eyes, while clear and attentive, still held a hint of melancholy in them. Regularly socialising with the dead would gradually estrange a person from the living; it was clearly not a healthy habit, and it would surely take a true masochist to become an advanced spiritist. He didn't look old, but he had a weary air around him, as if his mind has aged faster than his body. His large, sturdy form was draped in a voluminous coat, making him look even more imposing; the callused skin on his hands gave away his familiarity with manual labor. It was only natural that a spiritist wouldn't be able to make a living just on his magic, seeing as ghosts tended to steer clear of large population centres such as Zeltiva. He would be able to make more than enough money to sustain himself if he moved to a smaller city, one that feral ghosts were more likely to haunt. Marina was about to mockingly recomment that, but stopped her words before they became the end of her. As much as she wanted to express her spite, a spiritist was the last type of person she could afford to provoke. Running away was probably futile, he'd catch her if he really wanted to. Attacking was out of the question. Keeping up a civil conversation was the only thing she could do now; with some luck, she'd find out why he's prowling around the harbor at night. Looking for innocent little ghosts, perhaps? As rare as those were in this area, going out at night was still the only chance to meet one. Marina wasn't sure what he was planning to do, though now that the question of his identity was cleared up, she hoped that he'd just be on his way already and leave her alone. She certainly couldn't enjoy the meditative atmosphere of the harbor with a spiritist staring at her. Although, even if he left, her ruined evening could hardly be repaired by it. Not holding a trace of her former agitation, Marina's tone was completely calm, and permeated with an unchildish yet subtle hostility of a creature that has been around long enough to develop a bias. "Very well, sir Adama. What seek you to find here at this late hour? Neglecting sleep will damage your health." Having grown up surrounded by nobles, it was a matter of course to her to address someone as "sir". She was technically aware that using the title when talking to a lowborn was against etiquette, but getting rid of a lifetime habit as a ghost was nearly impossible. Not the least bit apologetic for prying into what should be his own business, the ghost waited for an answer, drilling the spiritist with a skeptical stare. Unwilling to look up at him, she instead let her feet leave the ground, floating up so that her face was on level with his. Now that this strange wizard had forcibly occupied her attention, Marina wanted him to take responsibility. No, it wasn't her fault for reaching out to him, it was his fault for reacting. For a moment, the girl let herself forget that she was playing with proverbial fire. With a bold movement, the spectre raised her hand and rammed her materialised finger into the mage's wide chest, sending a prickling sensation through him. After that accusatory gesture, she uttered something that would normally be a polite question, though her forceful tone made it obvious that she was stating a demand and wouldn't accept no for an answer. "I am a little bored, so would you wish to keep me company for a short while?"

[Khazius Raine]

Khazius had never gotten used to the sensation of being touched by a ghost, and certainly it had been a few times over the years. The worst of it had of course been that ghost that damn near tried to kill him. He'd come away from that encounter with a ruptured disc in his lower back. On that occasion he had also met Farris of course, though on some mornings when his back was particularly stiff, he wished he'd met neither ghost nor mentor.

With the statement that she was bored, Khazius regarded Marina with half a smirk. Had she been human and, oh, fifteen years older, he'd certainly have had an idea or two to quell that boredom. But as far as twelve year olds went, there wasn't a great deal to do on the docks of Zeltiva at nightime. Add to that that this was a ghost he was dealing with, and the list of entertaining options had all but dwindled.

Glancing overhead at the clear starry night, he spared a thought for back when he had met his first ghost. He couldn't remember the spirit in question, only that a storm had been brewing that night which had ultimately led to his getting his head whacked. Still, he could at least recollect most of the other details, such as the magnificent display the lighting and foggy night had put on for the audience of two.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said there was much to do here in Zeltiva at this hour, unless you like the fish piss they call alcohol." He snickered to himself with that, apparently pleased with the pun before realizing he was the only one amused.

"Erm, otherwise you might join me on my walk if you wish. It's nice and peaceful down here on the docks at night. Unless a storm comes in of course. Quite the spectacle, especially if its foggy." Khazius sub-consciously raised a hand to rub his head where that roof had once bashed him, as though the thought of it suddenly occurred to him when remembering the storm. It seemed odd to him, something that he couldn't quite put a finger on, but there was a certain familiarity about this Marina.

"Actually I was hoping we might talk a little about you. What is it you're doing here in the city?"