PM to join A Curious Evening

[Keene Ward]

Date TBD (18 - 21)

Kalinor was unlike anything he had thought it might be, even more so than Alvadas or the even more mundane Syliras before it. The city rose upwards, like a cascading waterfall of silks and gems, glimmering in the twilight of the massive cavern's upper reaches. Brides, strong and elegant, ran through the murky darkness like veins, carrying upon them the blood of the city's people, delicate men and women who moved with a grace and poise that was as inhuman was it was beautiful. That beauty, however, was lost on the young man who carefully stepped off of the strange contraption that had brought him to the paths edge. He wasn't quite as uncertain of step as he thought he might have been, finding the silken ground beneath him more sturdy than it appeared. Still, it was a strange sensation, one that seemed to insist he keep his arms out to his sides to balance himself, even if there was no immediate danger of falling. The guard who had pulled him up gave him a polite nod, eyes revealing little in the half-dark of the city's misty shadows. "Follow the red path, Krova. It will take you to the Meadow."

The manner in which the spider-folk spoke was reminiscent of a fall breeze rattling through the last leaves of spring, and it was, in its own way, a soothing sort of sound, though Keene only noticed its similarities to the chilly sighs of the colder seasons, the comfort of it lying just under his perceptions. With a nod and a shallow bow in return to the pale man's, Keene squinted through the shadows, a thin ribbon of crimson running under his feet and out into the hazy murk of the cavern. Below, though he was far under the earth and Zulrav's winds, there was the soft stirring of air, whispers of distances far greater than the darkness concealed creeping their way up his spine. Re-shouldering his pack, Keene forced his thumbs under the straps to keep his hands from flailing out to either side of him as he took first one tentative step then another until he was moving a slow but steady pace beside the ribbon's guidance.

Over the lengthy course of his journey from the lift, it quickly became clear that the suspended road led towards the greatest source of light. It was like a beacon, beckoning him like a moth to flame, a singular creature alone in an empty city. Though he could hear the whispered susurrus of people above him, he walked his path alone, the few instances during which his footing felt uncertain, he wobbled in the shadows of his own making, eyes kept focused on his destination to keep his balance centered and directed towards his goal. When he finally reached what the guard had referred to as the Meadow, Keene found that it was far more familiar than the strange structure seemed to suggest from the outside.

Nearly as empty as the street he had passed over to reach the elegant tavern that stretched out before him in a surprisingly spacious interior complete with lush, verdant tapestries and a muted, calming deep ocher that glowed with a natural, earthy air upon the walls. As he passed through the silken door, he was greeted with the pale smile of woman clad in a simple but refined gown of velveteen emerald, its hem just shy of the sturdy ground over which she passed, little bells that hung from a sash of a rich, chocolate brown tinkling with each delicate step she took, stopping a comfortable distance from the newcomer and offering him and deep, welcoming bow. "Welcome, Krova! I am Sonara Acnoite, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to The Meadows."

The greeting was returned with a nod of an impassive head, though Keene offered his name to complete the exchange. "Thank you. I am Keene Ward, and I am looking for a place to sleep." Though his own voice held a similar softness to it, it lacked the airy, near whimsy of the Symenos accent, and there was a fair amount of weariness to it, one that Keene was only able to control so much.

"Of course, Korvard." She bowed once more, bells singing a gentle song in muted whispers as she moved with the gossamer step of a dancer, returning with a pale flower that she offered to him with a soft smile that didn't quite reach her pale, amethyst eyes. "The White Crocus waits for you, just beyond the stairs there, Krovard." Her long, fragile fingers rose and fell in an artistic gesture towards the back of the main room where shadows flickered in the light of the crackling fire's glow. "If there is anything else you need at all, you have only to ask myself or any of the staff here." As Keene took the flower with a careful hand, brow knitting slightly as he examined the gentle curve of the off-white bloom, Sonara's voice slipped from her lips once more, almost a whisper and one he would not have noticed had she not directed it at him. "Are you..." As his pale grey-green eyes rose from the orchid that was pressed in a tender grip between his thumb and forefinger, she shook her head, smile returning even if it curved just shy of the deep, curious eyes that met his. "No, it is no matter of mine. May you enjoy your time here in the city of Kalinor, Krovard."

Questions stirred in the pit of his stomach, but his body pressed him onward after a mute nod in reply to woman's words. She watched him leave, brow rising only slightly as he struggled up the narrow steps, hands pressed against the plush walls in search of whatever minor support he could find. "Is he like the other, I wonder?" As he disappeared, however, so too did her curiosity. Those who came to Kalinor were never exactly as they seemed, and she had little doubt she would be seeing quite a bit of both men in the days to come.

The room above was far more sparse than below, and as Keene's eyes scanned the doors that wrapped around the room, it took him a few ticks to match the flower in his hand to the images that adorned the various portals. Making his way to what was the closest representation of the orchid that was still held with a careful grip, Keene pushed the door open to reveal yet more darkness and a thin - though sturdy - bridge that led to tear's drop of silk at its end. Light emanated from the woven walls, like the glow of a firefly, flickering only every now and then as he carefully picked his way across the bridge, keeping his eyes more on the path than the destination, as there was little to stop his descent should he lose himself to it. When he reached what seemed to be the final door, Keene pushed it open with a weary hand, his aching body suddenly desiring to remind him just how exhausted it was. Sliding the pack from his shoulders in the same movement he passed through the door, he set the bag beside what would have normally been the door's frame. His belt was off and shirt untucked with pants just about to follow before he realized that he wasn't alone.

The room itself was spacious, far too spacious for a single person, and there were two beds at either end of it, slightly off center of the other. Silken rugs of light cream and a more heady pearl adorned the ground, fluttering tapestries with orchids of varying sizes in a delicate, refined style hung from the ceiling, stirred by the soft breeze that had followed the young man in, carrying with it, no doubt, the scent of one who was well traveled. The beds, lavish heaps of silks and pillows, had desks beside them, upon which flowers that matched the room's name sat fresh and in glass vases filled to half with water. There was an elegant tub in the middle of the room, near the back, were silken curtains that were more for show than privacy hung on either side of it, shading it in a gentle veil.

All these things, however, went unnoticed by the pale surprise in Keene's eyes that flickered for a few ticks before he was able to speak, his mind finally catching up to the unexpected unfolding of events before him. "Thomas Cosa." His voice was almost golem-like in the way the name left his tongue, and his eyes, recovered from their initial glimmer of bewilderment, had settled back into their neutral light as they moved up and down the familiar yet unfamiliar figure before him. "What are you doing here?" With the beginnings of his investigation begun, Keene proceeded to continue undressing, eyes rising to meet Thomas' should he speak. First boots, then pants, then shirt, until he stood in nothing more than his small clothes. Keene had changed just as much as Thomas Cosa seemed to, but in a far different manner. His muscles had become more defined, skin still pale but darker on his shoulders and face where the sun had had its way with him. Thin scars lined his arms and Zulrav's mark sat comfortably between his shoulder blades, its pale blues and silvers shivering in the open air. Though he had not been anticipating a single reunion with any of the wizards from the island, Keene supposed, as Thomas spoke and he disrobed, that the animator was not the most undesirable of outcomes. After all, the man had allowed him access to several different schools of magics, even if it had not been expressly intended. He was, in essence, useful, and that, in and of itself, was reason enough to discover why exactly he was there in the first place.

[Thomas Cosa]

"Are you petching kidding me?"

Thomas laughed, a sharp bark of a breath, unbelieving. This had to be some kind of joke. A sick reminder of everything he had lost; the animator had invested everything he was into the Citadel. He'd willingly given them years of his life, a happy exchange for the promise of magical sanctuary from the ignorant masses that filled the mainland cities. Despite everything he'd suffered, from forced starvation to mental torture, Sahova had taught him an appreciate for life and knowledge like nowhere else. Thomas had relished every opportunity to learn, had fought against his with rumors and his own successes, eventually landing him in view of Mashaen.

And then they took everything away. He made one mistake, being human. Thomas had never intended to spend his eternity on that gods forsaken isle, but perhaps he'd stayed too long. Long enough for the supposed masters to realize, that for all his magical ability, the animator would never match the productivity of the nuit -- they couldn't sponsor his research unless that otherwise changed.

Of course, the wizards of Sahova could hardly be so transparent as to give Thomas an offical reason for his forced retirement. The animator had long assumed he was expected to commit to the daek-nuit ritual, and only guessed his reluctance played a factor in his removal from the Citadel. He had no proof, and until he felt comfortable enough with his own talents and creations to gather the nerve to return to Sahova, he could only guess at to their reasons.

He'd been absent from the island for about a year now -- long enough that the cuts of rejection had long since scarred over. Keene's presence upset him, a standing reminder of what he could have been still, had he been willing to sacrifice fully for his place on Sahova.

"Why I'm here?" Thomas repeated, still not entirely believing another wizard had weaseled himself into the spider nest. Especially not one he knew. "No, 'Oh, Thomas, it's been so long. How are you?'," his voice cracked like whip, dowsed in sarcastic venom. It was painfully obvious he wasn't happy to see Keene, something he was more than willing to over-show. A survival tactic, something to detour Keene's attentions from the burning paranoia that was stirring up parts of him that had long been dormant. "I'd imagine that with anyone else, some time away from the Citadel would improve their manners". Thomas wasn't entirely sure why the warden was here, but the wizard promised himself he would find out. Whatever it was, Thomas couldn't believe coincidence alone had decided their meeting today.

When they'd first met, Thomas' auristics had been clumsy -- he had needed chimes of concentration before successfully casting the magic into being. Now, everything was much easier. The energy of the spell excited his body, an electric current rushing from his innermost self to the edges of his fingers, a slight burning feeling, not entirely unpleasant, as the magical current pushed from his body, an assault of colors, scents and textures flooding him until he managed his spell around Keene's aura. "Still frozen," he thought, his magic licking against the hard exterior of Keene's coldness. It was familiar, he remembered it, although not entirely the same as it once had been. The warden had changed.

And he smelled like shyke.

"Gods, you smell horrible. Didn't they arrange transport for you?" Thomas asked, his revulsion obvious, his magic recoiling in response to his own disgust momentarily before he forced the spell back on Keene. The animator was assuming the warden was here via Sahova -- with some questions, he was confident he could figure out why.

[Keene Ward]

Thomas' outburst of a reply was met with Keene stepping out of his undergarments, folding them neatly, and setting them on top of the already concise pile of the rest of his clothes. Pausing, Keene turned back towards Thomas, his stormwarden's mark once more concealed as his body face the animator, "Why would I ask you how you're doing when I want to know why you're here?" His lips had turned into a soft frown, though it was not one of displeasure. Though his voice carried little emotional connotation, if Thomas kept his eyes on his aura, there would have been a flicker of confusion. Ignoring the statement regarding manners for lack of anything better to say to it, as the young man wasn't sure what exactly it was Thomas was expecting of him, Keene decided to address the next question. In his mind, the equivalency of informational exchange had been tempered by his intrusion into a room that had already been occupied by the agitated animator. While technically it was both their room, he was a new addition, and therefore there was a expectation he answer the questions first, though it did not, in his mind, exclude Thomas from his own eventual explanations. "Blood is difficult to wash off without soap." He extended his arms forward, just enough to display rusty stains about his arms and around a few cuts and scrapes that had begun to heal scattered about his knees hand elbows. "He wanted to travel by foot, so no alternative transportation was arranged."

His last answer held only a tinge of suspicion that quickly faded. As far as Keene could remember, Veldonus had not explained any sort of affiliation with the acidic young man who now interrogated him, but it was not something that the mage would put past the silver tongued spider. If Thomas knew of the man who had brought Keene to Kalinor, all the better. It just meant there was less explaining to do, which meant less talking, which meant he could bathe in peace.

With his body shivering slightly in the open air, his temperature lower than even he was used to due to his own physical exhaustion, Keene padded over to the tub, searching around it for a basin to fill it with. Back to Thomas until he had found a source of room temperature water that smelled of a sweet, spicy mix of floral overtones and woody undertones, Keene hefted the heavy basin up, carefully filling the tub to about halfway as that was all the water the bucket allowed. Turning his head so that his voice could easily reach the other man's ears, Keene cocked his head a small amount to the left, pale eyes searching but lacking the intensity of the magic he saw burning behind Thomas' eyes. The aurist, it seemed, had a habit of investigating the auras of those he spoke to. Not interested in mirroring the other man's examinations, Keene chose to keep his conversational magically mundane.
"I would prefer not to play games at this moment. I will answer a few more questions at my own discretion, and I would like you to do the same." It was not a command or imperative, simply a statement, like most of what Keene was wont to say.

As he waited for the animator's reply, Keene dipped his hand into the water, res slipping from his fingertips and spreading out in a thin haze beneath the water's surface. With a twitch of his fingers, the res shifted into flames, small pockets of heat bursting inside the liquid without a single indication they had ever been there. He repeated the spell twice more until a light, airy steam drifted from within the tub, indicating that it was warm enough to help remove the dirt, grime, and gore he'd managed to accumulate over the course of his journey. One a small shelf that was situated within the delicate facade of the room's wall were several different soaps. Choosing one at random, Keene slid his body into the tub, wincing slightly as it rose to the middle of his chest as his behind settled on the smooth surface below. It had felt like a very long time since he had last had a bath, and as he lathered up his hair with the heady sandalwood of his soap, Keene turned his attentions back towards the less important matter at hand. "Why did you come to Kalinor, Thomas Cosa?" He shifted the soap to address the rest of his body, arms too sore to reach much of his back, as he settled into his bath.

[Thomas Cosa]

Auras were incredibly telling things. Extremely individualist, highly expressive echoes of emotion, a collective smorgasbord of tastes and scents, an orchestra of colored sounds, a pretty bouquet of deliciously present textures. Jeweled fruits, auras, each wonderfully ripe for the picking with all kinds of juicy little details. Usually, anyway.

Keene's aura was annoyingly different.

"Forgive me for thinking you'd be anything but blunt Keene," he quipped, almost missing the delicate blush of pink that colored the icy blue-white veil of Keene's aura. Confusion, brief and fleeting; Thomas remembered just how easily the warden was left confused by anything other than blunt conversation. There had to be a story there. Another mystery that made up the man before him. "You'll have to explain one of these days your difficulty with human interaction. I mean, Sahova does a number on anyone living who bothers to survive there. I know that -- I lived it," Thomas paused, realizing that beneath the frozen, cloudy blue-white of his aura, Keene was very much naked. Not an all together unpleasant site; Thomas had regained much of the body he'd lost over his time on the isle too, although his muscles weren't so defined as Keene's, but his face was fuller, darker, and he was overall much prettier than the wisp of a man who'd starved himself living with the dead. "Anyway, I lived it too, and somehow survived with my sense of humor. I know you only wanted to know why I was here, Keene," he added, a biting coldness to his voice that could, very possibly, be confused for pain instead of anger.

It wasn't like they'd been friends -- far from it. They'd only met once, and Thomas' suspicion of the talented wizard had hardly help them become anything more than wary of each other. Still, a simple 'hello' would have been appreciated.

"You risked the wilderness for a corpse?" Thomas asked, more shocked that a Sahovan nuit risked the wilds; Keene was a ward. He trained in Sahova's testing grounds -- it was hardly surprising Keene had tried his hand against the unforgiving. "And your reward was what? A bath in the blood of his enemies?" he asked, his magic leaving the taste of iron as tendrils poked and prodded at the bloodied stains over the wardens porcelain skin.

Thomas heard the sharp crack of suspicion, a delicate webbing broke through the frosty exterior of Ward's aura, but only briefly. Like all of Keene's emotion, it was a flash, and only felt shallowly. Sooner than he would have liked, the aura froze over, becoming more opaque than before. That animator wondered at the cause, all though he realized it was perhaps more his presence than anything. Perhaps Thomas' being here had upset Ward as much as the warden's presence had upset him.

For the next several chimes, the aurist did little more than listen and watch. He'd realized there was a certain sluggishness to Keene's aura, it seemed to move a bit behind the wizard instead of with him, more like a shadow than a true aura. No doubt his little foray into the unforgiving was exhausting, and the immediate sharpening of his aura, like morning fog being burned away by the afternoon sun, when Keene dipped into his bath was perhaps the sign of a long overdue relaxation.

"I don't think you'd understand why I came here," Thomas answered, his magic dipping into the warm, floral waters, the animator enjoying the enveloping senses without actually having to be in the bath itself. A slight glimmer caught his interest, a quick tendril drifting through air hesitantly probing the warden's back.

Golden warmth flooded him, a spirit of excitement possessed him, like the thick nervous that permeated the air before the storm. He wasn't entirely sure what it was -- but he recognized the delicate comfort of faith. So maybe he would.

"I was drawn here, I think. I can't really explain it" Honestly, he kept on seeing signs when he was in Riverfall. Running into Symenstras, seeing books on Kalinor -- Hai, he'd picked Kalinor three times on a spinning globe when he was trying to find another city. Whether Avalis or another deity guided him here, only time would tell.

"What's on your back, Keene?"

[Keene Ward]

He had forgotten how confusing Thomas Cosa was, and as he set to work removing the blood from where it had been ingrained into his skin. Keene let Thomas speak, his words stored and mused over as he rubbed at his face with the soap, the earthy scents of the soap far more soothing than he remembered any incense being. The scathing tone, the veiled implications, even the flat out accusations, they all hit Keene the same, his ears listening and mind mulling over them, but his reaction a constant, passive wall. The water felt good, and he let himself sink a bit more into the bath, eyes closing as the steam filled his nose, warming the chill that had taken resident there. At the final question, Keene didn't answer immediately. Instead, he bent forward, submerging his head to rinse away the suds, revealing the swirling gnosis mark upon his back, the subject of inquiry. When he rose, water trailing down his face in a mix of bubbles and dirt, Keene ran a hand through his hair, pulling a few small twigs and other debris from it and dropping them into the water as he finally spoke.

The mark was, clearly, Thomas' greatest interest, so Keene saved it for last, choosing instead to address all that had been said before in his steady, even tone only slightly softened by the bath's heat. "I do not have difficulty with human interaction." He ran the soap over his body once more, the waxy sensation not yet quite enough to wipe away the feeling of grime and sweat. "I don't understand the frivolity of it. That's all." As far as he was concerned, conversation existed for the sole purpose of learning. Anything else was just useless tedium, like the "humor" Thomas seemed so adamant he had kept. It was a simple explanation for a simple state of being, and Keene let Thomas do with the information what he would. "But," He paused in his ministrations, eyes meeting the intrusive, almost uncomfortable stare that was far less strained than Keene remembered it being. "I did not mean to offend you." Even if he didn't understand why, it was clear that Thomas was upset. Whether it was anger at Keene for reasons known only to the animator or because Keene had failed to follow the proper protocol of etiquette, he held little against the animator, though his stint with trying to elicit emotion almost a year ago was not forgotten. The man was tenacious and dangerous, two things that those who practiced magic often shared, and Keene held none of that against him.

"Had I not escorted him, he would have been a corpse." He spoke through his soft frown, staring into the water as he continued to clean himself, his reflection mottled by the ripples his motions caused. The nuit on the island had often been referred to as such by the pulsers, and Keene found that Thomas' intuition, while superficially logical, was ultimately just residual paranoia from his time as a wizard. It was something he had been able to avoid, more or less, but even the short time he had spent in the Gug Andjak had been enough to hint at the pressures of the undead society. "Are you upset with me because you believe I am still part of Sahova?" He spoke into the water, voice quiet and slightly muffled by the gentle lap of the artificial waves as he shifted within the soothing bath. "After you left, the island was evacuated."

Dipping his head back into the water, Keene rinsed his hair once more, scrubbing his face while it was submerged before sitting back in the tub, the water a mix of soap, dirt, and sweat, though the scent of roses and sandalwood overpowered the smells of the road, slowly washing them away. "You are right. I don't understand why you were drawn here." His pale grey green eyes stared up at the silken ceiling, the tapestries only just drifting back and fourth on a whisper of a breeze. "But I do understand how. I suppose that is enough." With his body clean and skin softened by the water, Keene pulled himself out of the tub, body shivering in the sudden exposure of the air as the water dripped off of him. There were several towels folded neatly next to where the soaps sat, and he took one, rubbing down his hair to dry it before patting the rest of his body down.

"I met a god in the heart of a storm, and he marked me with this." As he spoke, he turned, the silvers and blues of what seemed to be a living tattoo shifting just slightly in the gentle lights that lit the room. Padding across the room, towel hung over his shoulders like a shawl to keep his heat, Keene pulled his clothes from within his sturdy backpack, adding them to the set he had folded before, then returning to the tub to begin washing them. He paused, turning to Thomas and meeting the man's intense stare with one of his own. "I would prefer not to talk of it." Though Boswell's death and Wilhelmina's execution were events he had slowly sorted through, they were not comfortable memories, nor anything he wanted to dwell upon. If Thomas still watched his aura, there would be a shiver of sadness and pain, but only for a moment, just like the rest of his emotions so far.

Starting first with his small clothes, Keene rung them out in the water, liberally sudsing them with the sandalwood soap as he scrubbed. He had talked enough about himself for the time being. "This city is so... quiet. Is that what you were looking for, Thomas Cosa?" He liked the quiet, and the heady scent of the soaps was comforting. There was a peace in the city, one that Keene preferred to any of the others he'd been to so far. Even with the inquisitive and biting Thomas Cosa, the room was still a comfortable haven from the squabbling crows of Syliras, the impossible streets of Alvadas, and even the barren wilds of Sahova. He could hear himself think, and even with the steady splash of his efforts, he found that even with the strange bridges and delicate looking homes, Kalinor was almost pleasant, something he'd never thought to think about a city.

[Thomas Cosa]

"You apologized," Thomas said, he accused, his voice heavy with pointed suspicion. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been forced on the defensive, the times he'd been forced to protect his ideas, his intuition. Thomas watched Keene's aura with a new vigor, his magic sticking to the frozen exterior, forcing it's way around, strangling it; he would catch any changes, any hint that the apology was anything less than sincere.

And there was nothing. The aura remained there, unchanging, cold, and frustratingly opaque. He was still, watching Keene with wide eyes, determined to find some fault, something that would prove the warden's apology anything other than genuine. "You haven't offended me," Thomas offered, the closest he dared to come to offering an apology. He'd always been careful to learn from his own mistakes, but he'd never thought it particularity wise to admit them aloud.

Still suspicious, Thomas continued to feed his spell, commanding his magic like he would a sabre. He poked and prodded, sensitive to the already tried places, desperate to find a nook or cranny, a weakness in what was proving to be an impressive armor. He was getting an impressive feel for Keene's physicality though; cold, taunt muscle wet with bathe water. A floral scent that only just covered the bitter iron smell of blood. There were others like Keene, he knew, he'd seen them wondering the ancient halls of the Citadel, training in Riverfall; if he could only figure out how to read Keene, he could read them too.

"Sahova was evacuated," Thomas echoed, his own confusion coloring his vision pink. He was more aggressive with spell now, pushing it against Keene's aura with an intense focus, now more than ever he needed to know the truth. "Do you know why? How many were evacuated? Who issued the evacuation?" The aurist remembered he'd managed to get a reaction out of the warden last time through an aggressive interrogation -- he caught himself after the third question, remembering they would be sharing a room for Avalis' knows how long. Despite his curiosity, it would be far wiser to watch his questions with Keene this time around. They would be sharing a room, and he cared too much about what little he had to upset the warden enough to 'accidentally' have it catch fire. Or find it frozen into a block of ice.

The aura shimmered in response to something, a thin coating of clear liquid spreading over the delicate ice. Thomas tasted salt, his stomach felt uncomfortably contained. The thing had a certain heaviness to it, a mixture of two emotions Thomas knew well -- pain and sadness. "You don't have to speak of anything should you choose not to," he offered, perhaps one of the few true acts of kindness he'd committed since leaving Sahova. Faith, wisps of delicate light shrouded by gossamer threads, was one of the few things Thomas respected, something he himself had nurtured. Faith was intimate, and divine experiences weren't always meant to be shared. He remembered Ialari, who'd refused to speak on her experience with Dira.

"I'd never really known a city to be peaceful," Thomas mused, only now really reflecting on his time spent in Kalinor. Despite their otherworldly appearances, like humans, except elongated, slimmer, more graceful, the Symentra had produced what seemed to be quite the little society. Safer than Sahova, with all the modernization of Syliras and Riverfall without all of the commotion. "Maybe that's what I need, I don't know," He sighed, not knowing where to begin. He didn't know what he wanted, not now, but he felt like he needed to be in Kalinor at the present. "I think I was guided here, if that makes sense. Divine, maybe, or intuition. Both?" Thomas questioned himself, his choices that had brought him here. "I kept on seeing signs, Kalinor was mentioned over and over again, in books, conversation. I finally found a merchant willing to escort me here -- although we seemed to have a much easier time than you had. I suppose we were just a bigger group."

"Are you looking for quiet, Keene? Or were you brought here by money alone?" He was genuinely wondering, curiosity hungry to find out why Keene decided to come here.

[Keene Ward]

Thomas spoke, and Keene listened. The steady rhythm of his hands pressing against and wringing out the the ragged clothes that had served as meager barriers against the formidable environs of the Unforgiving matched the aurist's cadence, the warmth of the bath a soothing embrace against his tired, blistered hands. He did not answer Thomas' questions immediately; the man had a habit of asking one after the next only to ruminate in the ticks between. It was an expression of those who's curiosities were as great as their intellectual capacities, always seeking, almost never finding. The young mage had little idea how similar the paths they had walked, and though he made no effort to empathize with the gated heart of the man who had become as much an automaton of the island of the dead as the golems he had crafted on its behalf, he did not find what Thomas said nor how he said it to be particularly abrasive. Thomas was what he was, just as Keene was only ever as much as a what Keene could be.

He kept his own eyes on the work at hand, however, the soapy water having since taken on a browner tint as the dirt and blood of the clothes began to lift from the fabrics, swirling in a watery mess and he went over the various articles several times. Though he could not necessarily feel the animator's personal magics upon him, he knew that Thomas watched his aura with an intensity that was better left unaddressed. Magic was dangerous, no matter the capacity it was used, and Keene had used enough of it in the days before he'd stumbled onto the silken lift to warrant an abstention from an arcane retort, one that ultimately would have gained him little anyway. He did not, however, expect Thomas to so quietly abide by his more demanding request. A pause settled over him as he turned a raised brow back at the other man, the shawl of a towel slipping off of one of his shoulders to wrap itself about his lower back, settling into the crook of his stomach and thighs were he bent over the tub. As Thomas had already indicated he had a strong desire for properly expressed etiquette, Keene obliged, if for no other reason than to repay like with like. "Thank you." It was hardly an emphatic, heartfelt expression of gratitude, but it was an honest statement, much the same as anything else that Keene said with as much fact as one could from so subjective a standpoint.

One by one, he pulled the clothes from the tub, wringing them out as much as he could before setting them on the floor next to him, spreading them out in neat, even lines. As he did so, he began his reply, words soft but plenty loud enough in the silence Thomas had left him to speak within. "I only know that the island was evacuated. Anything else wouldn't even qualify as speculation." Steady, smooth, and cool, he continued, his investment in the conversation evident only in that he continued it rather than working in silence. Carefully twisting out the last drips of water from one of his shirts, Keene set it on the ground above his line of undergarments, sleeves stretched out to either side. "A larger group would have been difficult to protect. But I wouldn't have minded..." He paused as he applied an extra bit of pressure on his stubborn, sopping britches. "Some help along the way."

Whether any thought Keene vain or humble, the journey had been harrowing. A group of merchants who knew how to defend themselves or, at the very least, not get in the way of the hired help would have been welcome during the several weeks he and Veldonus' posse had struggled through the aptly named Unforgiving. "Whatever brought you here, Thomas Cosa," He turned, pulling the stopper at the bottom of the tub, letting the water drain out through the bottom, disappearing through an unseen path to drift off into the endless caverns below. As the water drained, Keene folded the towel over the tub's edge, pushing himself to his feet and turning to face Thomas as he rubbed the back of his neck to alleviate some of the pressure that still sat in a knot just between his shoulder blades, like the twisting image of the hurricane. "I'm sure the divinity of your signs will prove themselves true or false sooner rather than later." His eyes didn't try to hold the wizard's gaze, knowing full well the allure of an aura's light, and instead he studied the other man who gazed so intently at a world that was just beyond Keene's comfortable reaches.

He had been too preoccupied with his own exhaustion to truly give Thomas any more attention than his initial surprise and passing conversation. With his clothes now soaking what remained of the soap and water into the floor for the time being, his focus was freed to hone in on the not quite so subtle changes of his unexpected roommate. The very first thing was Thomas didn't look quite as tired nor nearly as gaunt. There was health, however pale, in the delicate, angled features, much like Keene's own changing complexion, but what remained was the same, steely leer, the same closed posture, the same suspicions. It was something that Keene had only begun to grasp during his time on the island, the Wardens a far more open organization than the Wizards of the citadel. Kinapak had been the closest thing to Thomas' seemingly inherent distrust of any and all things that were not Thomas, but even that had been a bit beyond Keene's comprehension.

Shrugging at Thomas' question of his own motives, Keene padded over to his clothes, gathering up the undergarments first before stretching upwards to catch at one of the hanging tapestries, tossing the garments up and over to hang on the thin supports that kept the pennants smooth as they dangle from the ceiling. "I suppose so, in hindsight." He moved to the shirts next, then finally the pants, face only vaguely contorted in thought. "I have never understood a man's greed for money." With the clothes all hung, albeit at the detriment of the room's overall appearance with the appropriated banners acting as temporary clotheslines, Keene finally settled on to the impossible soft edge of the silken sheets, absentmindedly letting his fingers run over the gossamer fibers as he continued, still studying the animator before him. "All I have ever sought is knowledge. Understanding. Power." He didn't seek any reaction, if anything, he only spoke so much out of his own body's weariness and the soothing scents of earth and sky that mingled with the bitter bite of the coppery blood that still clung to the crevices of his fingers and hands. "It still eludes me, and there is a good chance I'm very lost."

He lay back on the bed, his skin already beginning to chill in the open air, even with the plush shiver of the silky spread beneath him. Staring up at the now hampered tapestries above him and the complex, winding weave of the room's arched ceiling, he set a hand across his stomach, fingers just gently tapping against his ribs as he spoke more to himself than the man still listening. "But if there is anything to be gained here, I will find it." Though he didn't say it, Thomas was one of those things. The man was certainly more advanced than Kamilla had been, and a single observation of the animation process, while certainly an educational experience, hadn't been enough. Already, there was the potentiality of learning more, expanding his understanding. Of course, it would require Thomas' cooperation, something that, as Keene let his head drift to the side to stare at the glowing gems that seemed to be woven into the walls, their pale blue glows almost as ominous as soothing, he supposed that the first step would be to take a bit more initiative with what Thomas considered to be proper etiquette. The challenge was hardly appetizing, but its potential reward certainly outweighed the inconvenience of it by more than enough to warrant, at the very least, an attempt.

Though still spread out over the top of his bed, Keene shifted enough so that his eyes could meet with Thomas', a sudden realization that he was, in fact, naked without any way to keep what little heat he had left with in him. "May a borrow a pair of your clothes?" There was, again, very little emotion in his words, though he did make an effort to rise the end of the sentence in question rather than pure statement. "Mine aren't going to dry tonight."

[Thomas Cosa]

Gratitude was a powerful, and obvious emotion. Thick and warm, a champagne colored molasses that clung to the aura examined, evaporating into gentle ripples of soft warmth. Keene, of course, withheld everything but the 'thank you'. There had been a spark of blue thought, a bite of pearly white consideration before he'd whispered his delicate appreciation, nothing more.

Aloof. The realization hit the animator like a stone, his eyes wide with a sudden clarity. Sure, Keene was actually, physically colder than must humans. The frosty aura though, hard and clear like lake ice, was his personality given physical form. A part of why it manifested so cold undoubtedly was a result of his thermal condition, but the overarching reasoning behind it's form was almost completely because who Keene was, as a human being. Keene was cold; he was disengaged, aloof, bored with the generalities of life. He needed that spark, that hidden drive that would crack him, force his interest. Thomas had been so determined to discover the small pieces of emotion, prying out the smallest glimmers of emotion, that'd he'd completely ignored the bigger picture of who Keene actually was -- something far more telling, he decided, than a skittish feeling.

A second thought struck the wizard, just as quickly as the first.

"Could it be," Thomas thought, the seed of doubt slowing taking root in his mind, "That my own thoughts on Keene may be reflected in his aura's manifestation?"

Auristics was existentially subjective. Each wizard experienced different things, and those defining moments colored the way they read auras. He smelled sweet lemon when he saw nostalgia because of his mother, delicate lilies of woven gold sprouted from faith because of Avalis; was his own experience with Keene poisoning his magic? Could it be just as easy as changing his own perception of Keene, would he only have to think of the wizard as more open, would his aura then become simple to understand?

Obviously, the better he knew Keene, the easier the man would be able to understand. This would have happened with or without his magical sense. Would his aura become more malleable with time? Would his emotions become more vibrant? Thomas doubted Keene himself would ever become more expressive, but would his aura change, based on the experiences Thomas had with the warden?

The very idea his magic was hardly as objecive as he'd believed scared him, his spell reacting, pulling away from Keene in his fit of panic. Doubt was seeded by his racing pulse, the hard thump thump of his heart pounding, his magic settling into the accelerating rhythm pulsating around him. "Can I trust anything I've seen?" The icy cold of fear rushed through his spine, his magic chasing the emotion, seeking to understand, Thomas following after whatever he could in an effort to stop his panic. He could feel the thick mud that was his desperation growing, sticking to his own aura, covering the clear, crisp curiosity with a panicked hunger.

"Can I trust this magic?" He took offense, his spell was offended, Thomas wasn't sure; his magic reacted either way, splitting into the pointed tendrils he'd used to fork deeper into Keene's guarded aura. The wizard was confused, clearly upset, and his spell sought to completely understand the cause. Thomas needed to understand if he could trust himself, his abilities, his auristics. In his fit he flung it away, spearing the collective auras or the room, around, of Keene, even his own, a foolish attempt to collect himself. To regroup, to calm.

Information flooded him. The colors of the silk rugs, a pearl white. The coldness of Keene's skin, it's roughness. The general empty space between them. The floral scents of the bath water. The rough, freshly sprouted stubble that decorated his cheeks and jaw. Thomas felt the warmth of the candles, the flickering white yellow of the flame. Instinctively, he knew it would hurt to touch, but his spell was determinedly curious, and he screamed suddenly as pain overrode his senses.

He was burning.

A thousand pinpricks of white hot speared him, the solid heat enveloping him; in his haze he remembered the bath, and rush towards the tub filled with dirty bath water. He tripped over himself, only realizing it when he plunged head first into the bath.

He hit his head, and in his shock, the spell broke.

"Excuse me," he breathe heavily, the only explanation he offered when he broke the surface of the water. The delicate floral scents now seemed too overpowering for him -- but the water was cool, and relaxing, and felt good against his phantom burns.

[Keene Ward]

Thomas' reply was both unexpected and startling, Keene's eyes reflexively widening in surprise as the man let out a pained shout, writhing on his own bed with all the frantic motion of one under some invisible onslaught of acute pain. Pushing himself up from his own state of recline, Keene's eyes quickly darted around the room, finding his feet as he centered his weight, skin shivering in the growing chill of his nudity, but mind whirring as he collected what information he could find in regards to Thomas' attacker. What he saw, however, was everything that he had seen before. There was no one else inside the room with them, and as Thomas jerked off of the bed to stumble towards the half empty tub, Keene watched him with a knit-brow and contemplative frown. The scream had been sudden, but it was not quite as if it had been entirely unbidden. Thomas had, without doubt, been studying Keene's aura since their conversation had began. The magic had its own dangers, many of which Keene was aware of but some he did not doubt were still waiting to be discovered.

At Thomas' aside as he drew his head out of the water with a gasp, Keene padded his way over to where the animator knelt dripping over the basin's edge. His own magic began to flare, priorities having since shifted since the last time he had considered using it, and as the djed was pulled and shifted along the singular path that led to his senses, Keene let the gentle, tingling warmth of the spell guide his eyes to settle on the tumultuous mess that was Thomas' aura. The color of it was something akin to bronze and steel, the warmth of colors faded and replaced with a subtle flavor of iron. Edges of the pulsing light were darker, almost black as if they had been burned, and little pinpricks of light seemed to drift through the radiating aura. There was a soft, almost blurry shock of hazy white that seemed to shiver throughout the entierty of Thomas' person, focused mostly about the man's left hand. Odd, but certainly not the cause of the man's distress. The flickering lights that had slowly begun to fizzle into similar dark splotches throughout the stormy clouds that seemed to reflect a tumultuous mess of emotion and power seemed to be the source of distress, meaning, supposedly, the sudden outburst had been self-inflicted.

Pulling the magic away, Keene forced his djed back to where it belonged, the back of his tongue tasting a vague bitter flavor, like a spoiled lime. Already exhausted from the length day he'd already had, Keene gently pressed his fingertips against the right side of his temple, kneeling down with plenty of space between the two of them, unsure what it was that was expected of him in the current social situation. In Zeltiva, he had seen people interact at the market or even in the library, but he had never cared about the specifics of the interactions. As he tried to recall them, they were all to vague and blurry for him to pull any useful information out of them, so instead, Keene tried to piece together the information he had available to him.

When he had entered, the proper greeting had been a spoken lie of his pleasure at seeing the animator again. "Please" and "thank you" seemed to be held in high esteem with the dark haired man, and then there had been the admission of desire to abstain from causing Thomas undue stress that had been received relatively well. With those things in mind, Keene placed a very light touch on Thomas' back, his voice soft and cool, though hardly soothing. "That looked like more than a headache or blurred vision." As he remembered, those had been the listed potentialities for overgiving with the more supportive magic they shared between them. The thought to ask Thomas if he was alright never once crossing his mind. "What did you do?" The question was asked as he withdrew his hand from Thomas's shoulder, the touch lasting little more than a few ticks.

His voice wasn't quite so disinterested, the words quiet but interested in that they retained a sort of intensity in enunciation rather than a traditional rise of tone or twist of facial expression. Still, if it was sought, care might be found in that Keene had taken the time settle at the animator's level, even if it had been to better study the anomaly rather than to check on the health of the afflicted.

[Thomas Cosa]

The water was disgustedly temped, and despite knowing full well Keene had just dumped every dust-mite he carried to Kalinor from gods-know-where, Thomas was busy enough focusing on his breathing, too desperate to maintain his own sanity against the ever growing paranoia to bother with what was or what wasn't the warden initiate's used bath water.

Thomas sighed into Keene's questions, not caring to fumble his way through an explanation. Instead he sunk into the murky waters, cradling himself in the bath's warmth. Lights played under the water, delicate golden beams lit the murky backdrop, mites of filth floating like dead fish. He cared about this abstractedly. The notion of bathing in someone else mess was hardly his ideal, and had he been thinking clearly, Thomas would have demanded Keene change the water or at the very least, demand that one of the staff clean the tub. Instead he ignored everything, bubbles of wasted air escaping his nose.

His chest tightened suddenly, remembering suddenly how very quickly he would need to submerge for air. Thomas imagined Keene would pry again, considering the wizard's nature -- not that he entirely blamed him, Thomas was very much the same way, if a bit more aggressive.

He resigned, breaking the water's calm, taking a deep, welcomed breath.

"It was a panic attack, not overgiving," Thomas stressed, more to himself than anyone else. He wondered at how his magic had affected him -- he'd burned, or at least, it felt like he was burning. Auristics had always provided a sense of what something would feel like -- but he'd never suffered a panic attack under his own spell. "A leftover from Sahova. My own souvenir."

He sighed, pushing himself out of the tub. "That water really is disgusting. Can you change it? Magic it away or something," He suggested, somehow managing to maintain his condescending while covered in muddy water. He stripped quickly, the gnosis on his left hand catching the flame light. He'd seen Keene's gnosis, he didn't really care at the moment if Keene saw his.