Completed [Flashback] Favorite Mistakes (Erasmus)

[Krysanthe]

13th Of Summer, 509 AV “Alright, Kryssy. Market Day is tomorrow. Focus. Wait, is it tomorrow? What day is today? Oh gods, is it today? I hope not. No, tomorrow. Maybe in two days. Wait, yes, no. Ugh. Yes. Definitely tomorrow. Okay, Kryssy, pull yourself together. Market Day is definitely tomorrow, and if you don’t get some kind of trade in, your mentor will not be happy. Just focus. You got this.” A mirror hung on a cold, otherwise empty, colorless wall. The wall was not especially dirty, besides a small amount of dust that had naturally clung to it, giving it a light grey pigmint. Even when scrubbed it never managed to truly look clean, filled with small cracks and indentations. Living in a volcano had its downs, and to an outside eye, the walls might be one of them. Still, when you have absolutely nothing to compare them to, you would never know if a wall is ugly or beautiful. To you it is just a wall. A lifeless, empty wall, keeping you separated from the rest of the universe. Upon this solumn enmity that is a wall, is a single decoration. This mirror is not especially beautiful. It was in the room when rented. It was bent slightly, making the image only slightly distorted when gazed upon, making one blink, as if the eye was paying a trick, until they realized the slight bend in the upper right hand corner. Around the frame of this rectangle with rounded corners is a bit of glass, probably a few unwanted bits and pieces, thrown together in a smooth mosaic. In this place everything must have at least a little effort thrown into it, so even a cheap, simple mirror had a frame of glass that on the left, began as a deep, navy blue, slowly transferring through shades of maroon, red, orange, yellow, and then clear, as if fire was springing out of water as you looked from left to right. It was amazing what inspiration a bit of glass could contain, yet at this point, the only living figure in the room was too ‘focused’ to notice. They were too busy looking themselves in the slightly distorted image of their own two, gracious golden eyes. What is this image of which she was so apparently entranced in? It was her own. Long strands of pure red hair cascaded like liquid fire down her head, shadowed at the scalp like smoke eminating from the volcano as lava makes its way down the edges. This molten substance drifts down her neck and gently over her shoulder blades. It is rather beautiful, this feature, but not at all rare in this instance. In many locations such a shade would be rare, possibly even envied, but here, it was nothing new. Nearly everyone in Wind Reach had red hair, unless they were traders or travelers. All of the Inarta did. These people grew up around freckled skin, rough hands, and red hair. This hair was in a natural, gentle wave today, held away from her face by two symmetrical braids tied behind her head, each with a gold-tinted ribbon tied within the strands. This naturally layered hair, however normal, does a justice at framing her less-than-normal features. Her face has gentle, high cheek bones neatly accentuated by absolutely nothing. Her skin is so colorless that the very essence of this white makes all of her features all the more prominent. There is a gentle slope from her cheeks to her chin in a heart shaped way, all kept together by her small widows peak at the top of her forehead, giving her face all the more of the appearance of being in the manner of a heart. Her skin, as stated before, is nearly translucent. It does not contain mole nor freckle, remaining entirely untainted by any substance. She does not wear makeup, she does not go outside. She does not even get piercings that are so customary to this race. Her skin is perfectly pale, and the only part of herself that she is proud of. She refuses to damage it in any way, and treats every cut like the end of her life, for she couldn’t stand for her skin to be damaged with even the smallest of scars. She practically mourns the scars that she does contain, which aren’t many, which have developed from her time as a child, climbing rock walls, messing around with peers, taking classes to find her calling. Really, she only has a few scars on her hands, and one on her leg, from the times that she has fallen, which was not often. Her eyes are a feature that are loved by the world but hated from the depths of her soul. Her eyes carry with them such promise and potential, yet all that they have brought her is disappointment. Her eyes are a shocking shade of goldenrod. The irises are a pure, goldenrod yellow, enfused with threads of iridescent gold. They shine and sparkle no matter the lighting, as it seems their light is coming from within. Around the outer edge of the iris is a ring of a darker yellow, yet smooth like the qualities of a petal of a dandelion. Around her pupil the gold is brightest, almost like looking at the sun. Just like the sun, her eyes give off the same feeling. The emotion in the looks she give you will tell you this: look at them for too long and you will soon go blind. Her eyes are lined gently with naturally long lashes, dark as charcoal, no makeup required. She refuses to taint her natural features with the poison powder substance. No blush, mascara, or even lip gloss will ever touch her. She wouldn’t dare risk tainting her skin anyways. She cleared her throat, tugging on the neck of her turtle-neck topped, sleeveless Vinati, and put her hands on her hips, her eyes glancing to her bare stomach. She was not fat, but she was not ghastly thin. If anything, she was healthy. You could just barely see the edge of her bottom rib bone, and her mid-drifted was lightly sloped inward, accentuating her evenly shaped hips, where a plain pair of Bryda sat. Licking her lips and standing up tall, she braced herself for another day, stepping towards her door, walking with a stride of confidence to the Glass Reverie, where she would begin almost her second year of apprenticeship, as she had been since she was fifteen. The woman was not aware of how repetitive her days had been. Every day, she got up, cleaned up, went to work, ate, came home, and slept, only to do the same thing over and over again. She was stuck in a rut, and she didn’t know of any other way of living. Did she dream of something more? Always. She never felt like she belonged in this place. She could not become an Endal, and she has tried. Glassblowing seems to be her only talent. She can’t fall in love, for all the men just look right through her. She has never liked to talk about what is on her mind, unlike most other Inarta. She is rather unsocial, although she does attend various celebrations and market days. She doesn’t mind being invisible, walking in plain sight although no one seems to see her. Tomorrow is the first day that she gets to run a booth at the Market Day. Her mentor wants her to make a trade. It will be her first. It is safe to say that she is excited, but she is not looking forward to the interaction with a stranger. Oh well. At least it would be something new.

[Erasmus]

He was a handsome young fellow with slick black bushy hair that grew in seemingly all directions. His eyes, though friendly and indifferent, were a lusty blood crimson color that when hit with the right shadow turned a reddish-ebony in scrutiny. Broad shoulders blessed to drift upon their fragile bones a thin smoke-grey cloak, his pants had been made of woven material colored tan that came down to his ankles. His bare feet would have somewhat resembled that of a so-called ‘dek’ in that native social structure had they not been clean and untainted by ash, revealing trimmed black Symenestra nails on the ends of his ashen toes. The male was an oxymoron to the volcanic city if there ever was one; the Inarta population reeked of feathers and sweat, men going bare-chested as women flaunted their stomachs without a second thought of modesty. The half-naked culture increased the newcomer’s curiosity as he made his voyage down the mountain streets. Though he was a definite contrasted to lava-colored hair… and everything else comparable about them, Erasmus seemed to be a rather uninteresting wall-flower that night. With his head hung low not even a glance was bestowed his way. He held a green case in his left hand, knuckles clenched around the brass handle but refusing to turn a whiter shade than already they normally appeared. His right hand took residence in the comfort of his cloak-pocket. Neither a grin nor a grimace interrupted his quiet facial features; lips postured in a straight line hiding all emotion behind those blazing eyes full of intoxicating secrets nobody would dare discover. Yes indeed, this was one of those hideous spider creatures that lived in an underground city reeking of innocent death. They pranced on silk roads suspended in air, lived in houses resembling woven teardrops, and called themselves ‘Widows’ with absolute pride. How could this monster have walked so straight and dignified? Symenestra were disgusting animalistic humanoids that took the bodies of shining gods, a quite satisfactory specimen to study I might add. The tall and delicate kind definitely appealed to sight. One of their worst weapons besides the innocent look they harnessed was their strong and soothing velvety voices. If all that didn’t work, they had fangs and poison. Some would straight out claim Symenestra were even cannibalistic, a ridiculous statement… but the rumor was still spread around like melted margin on warm bread. The being had entered the city approximately two days prior to that night. The inhabitants of Wind Reach were not used to many outsiders, even though the season was summer and the path was clear he had been the only one seeking entrance. This he had molded to his advantage. Why choose a Symenestra trader when another more trustworthy provider could be hired in his place? If he had not been alone or had trashed his charismatic attitude, adding to the equation that his trading items had been requested beforehand, he would not have entered at all. Those humans were odd, but not stupid. Erasmus highly expected someone was set to secretly evaluate him the first few days after his arrival. It wasn’t like the spider’s reputation was based on only rumors. Most horror stories about Symenestra were true tales, no denying it. Erasmus fully understood his position here and that he had to play with caution and respect to ultimately win over ‘freedom.’ If they had been recognized as fools, Erasmus would have found a different city of which to plumage his ultimate loot. This place was most defiantly not like anything he had ever experienced, to just imagine men on the backs of massive eagles excited his every nerve. The being so accustomed to darkness did miss his niche in Kalinor, nevertheless he could very well get used to such a gorgeous land, a city carved in the unforgiving volcano. Attentive to detail, he could not help but stop every time a glimpse of something rustling in the sky was seen. The man’s own innkeeper had remarked just this morning on ‘how this scenery compared to a dark and desolate hole in the ground.’ Though it was poised as a bold insult, it had make the clockworks in his overactive brain start ticking clearly again. To bring a piece of this sacred land to Kalinor would be spectacular. Don’t think it was glass-blown treasure he yearned to return with, Erasmus’s mind was set on blood and flesh… on a surrogate. She had to be special, a challenge for him; a task that would prove his natural abilities as a male of the Symenestra race. It was like shopping for a new tunic, browsing the isles as he marched through the town. The mold she had to meet was very specific. Looking at him you would not have suspect the slightest hint of malicious intent in his outward appearance; the actor knew his art well. Still, he had to have come there with an innocent objective to better secure his docile mask. Erasmus Taxus held a bag full of only the most exotic paints and dyes, material that glassblowers would sell their first born to use. That was the expensive loot he had to deliver to a certain respectable glassblower right away, you see. The glass money there didn’t quite appeal to his greedy fingertips, but every red-head seemed to be so accustomed and absolute with their precise lifestyle… he wouldn’t ask for too many favors. Relying on the bartering system would be his crutch, along with knowing the language of common. He held no intelligence affiliated with the native ‘Nari’ words often spoken. Birds littered the air everywhere he looked. The birds and the people of the birds lived as if one race refusing to be divided. A falcon screeched from behind him while a blue jay pecked at granules left on the stony ground, children cradled bird cages in their arms for dear life. The song of human voices meshing together with tweets and chirps relaxed him, that is, before he realized in their native language the Inarta actually sounded like birds themselves. Erasmus took his time ambling, enjoying the sound of laughing children and squawking pet feathered critters almost too much, or so it would seem. Honestly the trader wasn’t in a hurry; vacation was needed to distance himself from a new bride and newer lifestyle. Months ago he had wed to a fair Symenestra woman that gave his last name a lady to keep it maintained, but living with another inhabitant in the house was always odd and unsettling for such a naturally introverted recluse. He didn’t much care for a family life just yet, and why blame the bloke? He had survived alone for as long as he could have possibly remembered due to the troubling fact his ‘traveling’ father only came to Kalinor on rare visits when Erasmus was young. He had finally disappeared off the face of the world once and for all a few years ago. Like all responsible men of his stature, Erasmus valued the natural ways of his race and therefore decided to participate in the harvest to gain offspring and build an average acceptable web. He needed to be an asset to Kalinor, and this was the logical path to follow. Was it a challenge of ethic principals to impregnate and eventually be the cause of death to an innocent blindly-trusting woman? It was the Symenestra way, Mizahar wouldn’t miss just one little speck of a person in such an enormous world. This was what he was expected to do, therefore he would do not only what was expected, but exceed the expectations altogether. He would find the perfect surrogate from the next-to perfect rejoin (Nothing compares to his beloved woven city), and in his opinion he had found the location his devilish plans would take place. Using his entrancing charm he would set the bait and lure a naive Inarta into his labyrinth. Erasmus would comfort her with lie after lie, she would fall in love, he would take her home, and the harvest cycle would eventually be completed in a timely fashion. That being told, all the Symenestra had on his list of activity for that night included coming back to the new ‘home’ he had rented in Darniva Commonrooms. Making his way to the abode he relinquished his desire to visit many of the locations he had yet to see, trading that drive with the rationalization he was tired and had to meet the glassblower upon next sunrise. Erasmus slipped his right hand from the pocket bringing with it a key. Once he found the door, what he thought was his door, he slid the medal into the lock. This, Erasmus would conclude later, was the logically worst and selfishly best mistake of his life. Symenestra language was mumbled under his breath when the key refused to open into his room. How the man could have slipped up is still a mystery in itself, his actual room sat a few feet away. Erasmus was known for being the most absolute gent’ you’ve ever met; perhaps this was a sign that classification would soon change.

[Krysanthe]

The day went by in such a familiarity that Krysanthe could have sworn she lived it many times before. She made her way back to her room in the evening, after a long day filled with sweat, flames, glass, and hard work. She still dreamed of the day that she got the dyes and other chemicals of her dreams to create truly fantastic works of art with the glass, infused with such color and shape that rainbows would be put to shame at its magnificence. Still, that would only come from trade, and a very very lucky, and unlikely trade at that. Still, tomorrow was market day, and she could dream. Stopping for a moment, she leaned against the cold, stone wall, as if to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, and took a long breath, inhaling the ember-burnt air through her nostrils, exhaling in a thin stream through two pursed lips. She closed her mind and opened her ears for a moment, listening to all the trills and twitters as the people of Wind Reach communicated with each other and the birds in their native tongue, spoken since birth. Krysanthe had learned enough commoner to make a decent trade, hopefully without getting scammed, although this only reinforced her belief that Nari was the most beautiful language that could possibly exist. When she did speak commoner, her voice was heavily accented, and it was hard for her to keep the various whistles and vibratos from her tone. She was still learning, and determined to get better, but she knew enough that she could have a conversation and make sense of it, as long as the vocabulary was not entirely complicated. After a long moment, she stood up straight, realizing how entirely tired she was. The rather introvert young woman just wanted to go into her room and fall asleep, hopefully after getting to her bed. I hope I make it. she joked to herself. She walked through the halls, and spotted something near her door that made her pause and think. Her eyebrows scrunched together and she squinted. After this bit of hesitation, her pace drastically increased as she practically sprinted to her door. Someone was trying to get into her room. “Hey! What are you doing?!” She called to the stranger before she got close, calling in her native language. The cloaked figure didn’t respond. He probably did not speak a word of the language, naturally. She had not seen him before. He was probably a traveler. Naturally. Still, traveler or not, he had no reason to be trying to enter her room. She finally reached his side, and, feeling incredibly frustrated, she took her hand and grabbed his shoulder, shoving it to the side to force him to face her. “Who are you and what the hell do you think you are doing?” She did not speak this phrase with escalated volume this time, but the harsh tone in her voice was enough to cause lightning to strike, if her golden eyes didn’t do that already. She demanded these words in commoner, praying that this moron understood, since he was clearly stupid enough to try to get into the wrong room. Having pulled him around, perhaps even catching him off guard, unaware of his own frustration, gave Krysanthe a chance to give him a moment’s inspection, only a split second impression of what he looked like. Shockingly pale. Black bushy hair. Black nails. Red eyes. Odd, dark, crimson blood colored eyes that is so stereotypical for a villain, yet their friendliness caught her off guard, and for this reason, she kept eye contact, refusing to break contact. A small thought ran through her mind, just one word. Green. She had seen something green in his hand, but had not looked long enough to comprehend what exactly it was. As of now, she was content on waiting for a response from the Symenstra intruder.

[Erasmus]

Erasmus It was then that the stranger realized his ludicrous oversight. A feminine voice in the Nari language roared from behind, oh how he was beginning to loath his inability to make since of all those strange words. She was probably throwing every curse in his direction her mind could materialize. Before he got the chance to turn and face his attacker she grabbed him by the arm and flung the delicate creature aside. Erasmus held back a yell of surprise, Symenestra have very fragile skeletons and it is vital they are always imperatively meticulous not to damage anything. Of course, brief contact such as that wouldn’t fracture any bones. He opened his mouth to politely protest she had blown the whole situation out of proportion; however her sharp voice was much quicker. The woman spoke in commoner this time, a language he moderately understood. Erasmus stood there in silent capitulation as she commenced chastising him. Her voice resembled a stern upbraiding mother, not that Erasmus would know how that sounded... as an unborn infant he had been his mother’s cause of death, and ‘daddy’ hadn’t re-married. She acted in the typical attitude of the race, which would definitely take time to get accustomed to. The lights were dim in the hall yet his eyes thrived in such a condition and he absorbed her overall appearance with ease. Living underground, the darkness tends to befriend you; it caresses you in familiar recognition, aiding your senses like a possessive guardian. Her irises were a vibrant golden hue that served as the eye-snatching centerpiece of her petite features; they highlighted her vivacious smoldering cinder-red hair that cascaded like dozens of individual waterfalls around her heart-shaped face, ending in a perfect array of tangle-less locks that lay disarranged past her slender shoulders. The pallor shade to her unblemished skin made her seem even more like a painted porcelain doll to him, and even though she was tall for her race she still seemed tiny compared to his slim shadow of 6.3 feet tall. Apart from the shade of her hair one could have mistaken this intricate specimen for his own species… if not looking too closely. Though the hair was a dead giveaway, she was the most beautiful Inarta he had seen yet. She was Inarta, no surprise, but something seemed oddly different… perfectly misplaced. At first response the Symenestra language: Symenos, flew from the intruder’s tongue in a friendly yet foreign tone. The syllables are spoken softly, like reciting the words of a well-known lullaby in a soothing and interlacing voice. They fall out of his mouth to bless the listener, much more attractive then random tweets and shrill whistles in his opinion. Symenos was not only a language; it was an art, the ability to spin wonderful pictures into the mind with velvety sounds slipped attentively from the lips. “I am terribly sorry, I’m quite dumbfounded to have made such an idiotic mistake but you see-“ laughing at his foolishness he changes his monotone into the matching ‘common’ with an apologetic dip of his head, his still beautiful voice nervously stuttering at first. “I-I’m sorry. I must have the wrong room, please forgive me… I didn’t mean to frighten anybody.” Erasmus looked away with embarrassment, tossing her a humorous slight grin and then quickly following up with, “if you don’t mind I’ll just get out of your way. Have a nice night.” The malachite case that concealed his life-line connection to this volcanic playground hung from his hand limply, as if he had forgotten it. As he turned from her he didn’t look back, nor did he quicken or slow his regular pace. Slipping the key into its rightful door he shook his head in attempt to clear the unsettled thoughts, and like they key the man veered inside also, the door gently latched behind him. Whatever gods the Inarta worshiped, they had obviously highly favored that one in particular. Her allurement was recherché, offbeat, and spellbinding… yet quite modest were the emotions her optics betrayed. Erasmus would strive to learn more about his neighbor in the future. Ironically, he would soon discover they were to formerly meet in the place he least expected her to be. It was as if fate desired to ruin both so earnestly it had set the pieces of this broken story in place even before the two being’s births.

[Krysanthe]

As the unfamiliar, almost entirely unnatural words flowed seamlessly from his lips, Krysanthe couldn’t help but feel entirely enchanted. Her skin prickled and the hair on the back of her neck stretched, standing on its toes as if hiding from the mice suddenly skittering about on her skin. The language was haunting, ghastly almost, and it seemed it had an uncanny ability to both sooth and terrify. Krys found herself holding her breath, if only for the moment as he spoke in his instinctual language. With a blink back into reality she released the breath that had been trapped in her lungs, listening to his explanation without looking away from his oddly colored eyes. Even when he spoke commoner, his voice was still haunting. It was deep and smooth, yet not what she would call ‘dark’, yet still it maintained an air of mystery about it. It was a voice that she could never possibly forget, for it nearly caused her to shudder, as if she was speaking to a connection between life and death, as if this man was about to tell her something that would change her life. She almost laughed at her own foolish emotions however, for she knew this was well not the case. With no change of expression except a blink of her eyes, she listened to him speak with his natural voice of Symenos enchantment. He was clearly embarrassed, and she would have gladly forgiven him. The woman herself was embarrassed at her own outburst. Out of nowhere she had come upon the man and scolded him, for something that was clearly an accident. She had no right. Still, here he was, chuckling nervously with a goofy grin that made her heart skip a beat. Still, the feeling shifted the moment he stated that causing fear was not his intention. Of course not. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that she was not afraid, much like a child might, but realizing her already juvenile appearance she restrained herself, closing her lips and unconsciously clamping her teeth. Well, at least you get your daily dose of shame, Krysanthe. The words passed through the girls mind without much meaning. At least it made her life a bit more exciting, but for as long as she could remember, something always ended up happening to her that made her feel incredibly ashamed of herself, only more eager to escape into her bedroom and away from society. When he said ‘have a nice night’, she half rose her hand, but it retreated. She merely watched him, her mind not able to form a response. To a passer by it might seem that she literally did not know the word in Commoner to say goodbye, but all in all, her mind was just drawing a blank. What was she supposed to say? ‘Goodnight, sorry for accusing you of breaking in, neighbor’? He put the key in the lock with his incredibly pale hands, and hesitated only a moment to shake his head. Realizing she was staring, she quickly looked away, to her own doorknob, a bit afraid that he had noticed. What would he think of her staring? Would he be flattered or embarrassed? Did he notice at all? Hearing the door open, she couldn’t help but look up again. He stepped in, and closed the door behind him, never once looking over his shoulder. The woman waited outside her door for only a moment, her eyes staying firm on the wooden frame, as if she was waiting for something, anything, to give her more information about the man. After what seemed like a decade, but in reality, was only a few moments, Krysanthe took a deep breath in, and released it in a huff as she thrust her door open, almost slamming it behind her, but catching it at the last second, only to lean her shoulder against it and shut it softly. She didn’t want to make a big bang. She looked in the mirror, never entirely satisfied with her reflection, and then prepared to bed. She forced her thoughts away from the man from next door, and focused on a more pressing matter at hand. Market day tomorrow. The night slipped by in an empty oblivion, as she slept in total darkness without a dream to speak of. Her nerves woke her up early, giving her plenty of time to prepare for the day, get breakfast from The Kitchens, and make her way to the Courtyard of the Sky, where Market Day was held. The courtyard always intruiged the girl. The arches for eagles, the benches and steps, the open sky, but most of all, the mosaic on the floor. She wondered what it looked like from the sky, yet knew in her heart that she would never be able to see it, no matter how desperately she wished to. Her dream was to fly, to be able to soar away and release her transgressions in the clouds, yet that would never happen. She has tried bonding with fledgelings in the past, and it never ends well for her. She wishes that legend of her golden eyes would actually come into play, but aparantly the Gods who came up with her design didn’t get the memo. Naturally. Setting up a table with a few beautiful works of glass on top, Krysanthe prepared for the day, getting a good word from the Avora who trained her, and then sent into the rush, as people began to appear. The day was rather bustling, as Market Days usually were. There were not many travelers, naturally, for Wind Reach was such a tough location to get to, but considering the season, it being Summer and all, she knew there would be considerably more than in the off season. She sold a few pieces of glass for a few pinions, made a trade for various objects her trainer has asked for, and made a few orders for various pieces of jewelry, the sort of glass beads and pendants that Krysanthe absolutely adored making. Jewlery was her favorite, although, ironically, you probably won’t see her wear any of the sort. As the day went on, Krysanthe looked down at her hands, for she didn’t see anyone coming towards her booth. Her flaming red hair fell into a curtain to mask her face as she looked down, and at the moment, she blended with all other of the Inarta society. She examined the glass ring on her finger, it being the only sort of jewelry she wore, and even then, it was incredibly simple. It was a yellow color, enfused with whites and goldenrods. It was supposed to excentuate her eyes. Somewhat frustrated with the ring, she took it off her finger, and set it down on the table, deciding she would try to sell it, to get it out of her life for good.

[Erasmus]

Erasmus A dark windowless hole in the wall hardly worth the money a paying costumer would consider spending: paradise to a child of Kalinor. Countless colorful threads trailed that wooden floor as if the occupant wanted to deliberately re-assemble the underground city in a miniature replica to cope with infamous ‘home-sickness disease.’ It all made the pack-rat’s nest look disorganized, lived in, and cluttered (exactly the way he preferred all his living spaces). Silk, yarn, simple string, the beginning of a small web-like tapestry at one corner and the unfinished braded bracelet hanging limply like an abandoned comrade over a bedrail, weaving was not a hobby for Erasmus, it was habit. Though he wasn’t the best at this art… he wasn’t the worst, and to get better you must do over and over again what isn’t known; then start the process yet another few dozen times until it is learned, and then perhaps if you want to become a master it then must be taught… for teaching opens more avenues to learn, and learning widens the boardwalk of teaching. The most imperative of all malachite cases know to Mizahar slept slid underneath the shabby twin bed, the bed he didn’t use but maybe as a couch every once and a while… furniture felt truly foreign to him the one used to living in suspended tear-drop-shaped houses falling from the cave ceiling. In Wind reach the ground suited him much more comfortably than a ‘mattress.’ Erasmus felt confident the market day would reap successful rewards. In a collection of time the Symenestra was fully garbed and ready to haggle; a few booths sparked his curiosity. Another redhead stopped him and shoved a loaf of bread into his arms chattering on in the ugly bird-language of theirs, when she saw his white face underneath his broad-brimmed grey felt hat she stopped for a moment and then took the food from his hands, glaring at him with those emerald eyes so common for this city. Erasmus smiled back at the unfriendly face and turned to walk on. The wide verity of venders amused the Symenestra while the architecture of the ‘Courtyard of the Sky’ rendered him practically speechless with fascination. His wicked nature yearned to dine at one of the many tables while in front of a ravished greedy green-eyed naked condemned Inarta criminal manacled along an arch for all to despise in public, a true feast that would make! The thought also reminded him he could very well end up the one chained to the arch… starving and ridiculed by such an uncanny collaboration of highly intelligent bird-people, that is, if he didn’t watch his every move meticulously. Erasmus found himself lost in the mosaic stretched across the stony floor as well; sometimes he felt a ping of jealousy he couldn’t bring back the likes of such a desirable location when he returned home, sadly a pretty red-headed surrogate would have to suffice. A little voice spoke in common to the tall bystander, “would you like to buy a songbird Mr.?” A small hand tugged on Erasmus’s long cloak and the sound of a birdcage rattled through his ears. “No,” replied the rather distracted trader in common, he knelt down so the child could look deep into his red eyes. A friendly wink made the otherwise frightened Inarta boy somewhat relax, “I doubt your bird would like me… I can’t speak to him as well as you can, now can I? Tell me lad, what’s your name?” “Robin,” the child replied. He looked over his shoulder but then back at the stranger, “you’re a spider, aren’t you?” “Well, Robin, not the kind you find in your house… but yes. Do I look that ghastly?” This time Erasmus held a tone of sincere concern, the boy laughed. “No, my bird really doesn’t like you though. What’s in the case?” “That’s none of your business, its paints and dyes for a glass maker… do you know where a good booth is?” Erasmus watched the little finger point in a glass-maker’s direction; he caught her face just as she looked down to remove a ring from her finger, “the best is over there,” Instantly recognizing her as his former assaulter, a new excited gleam came into the ‘monster’s’ eyes. He stood up and patted the boy’s thick hair, “Let’s hope she’s not as judgmental as your bird.” With light steps Erasmus silently made his way to the front of the booth, he leaned forward to whisper in Symenos, “please don’t try and attack me again miss, but I personally think that ring looked better on your finger.” Plopping the case on the counter he unlatched the lid before she could react, revealing hoards of meaningless garbage in the weaver’s eyes… she would recognize the inventory as some of the most coveted paints and dyes known to glassmakers, along with a few other helpful tools and such. Grinning, Erasmus took a step back and spoke clearly in common this time. Noted, he wasn’t extremely fluent in common therefore his vocabulary wasn’t as brilliant when speaking the overly-spoken language. He was quiet, a bit docile, trying not to get swept away in the rushing crowd. “I didn’t know I would be meeting you today, I hope my first impression can be erased… I’m very sorry for the incident yesterday and I feel absolutely horrible, miss. I think I’m supposed to meet you here?”

[Krysanthe]

Krysanthe's ears burned at the foreign sound that penetrated her thoughts. Although she recognized not a single word of symenos, it wouldn't take a translator to get an idea of what the stranger was telling her. Even though her eyes were wide with surprise at the sound, her mouth remained glued shut. She did not say a word to her neighbor, as her grip tightened int a fist around the ring. Why was this man acting so charming? Wary of the stranger, her eyes fell to the little green case she had noticed the night before. Without being given a chance to open her mouth, she found herself gazing upon some of the most sought-after glass working chemicals that existed. They were rare and expensive, yet could make the most magnificent of colors when used correctly, although it would be a challenge. She did not speak, although at this point her mouth was gaping open. She lifted a vile between two gentle fingers. She caressed the translucent tube, awe struck. All thought of who this man was vanished from her mind. Any suspicion disappeared. Any question slipped away. They say that you can't buy someone's trust, but it appeared that in this very moment, this man had just traded for it. When he spoke in the more acceptable tone of common, the words nearly passed her by, for she was not listening. His accent was heavy and still pounded on her eardrums, although she imagined that her own accent would be the same way. Although she wasn't listening per-say, she still heard him, and so she stuttered, "How did you... I mean, where did you..." She coughed up whatever words came to mind, which weren't many. She took a breath, returning the vile she had been examining back to its precious case. The green container was not entirely large and there was not much of each chemical, although it would not take much of a substance to color a large amount of glass. These little containers would last several uses. She began to ponder the possibilities of the future. Maybe these chemicals would be the key to gain an avora status. She momentarily forgot the situation she was in, her head in the clouds, but the reality of the moment sent her crashing back to her senses. Her golden eyes flickered back up to the white man with red eyes, and the familiar feeling of suspicion and distrust began to return to her. So he had made his offer, but what did he want from it? A glass fountain? Those were popular. A bowl? No, why would someone like him need a bowl? Perhaps a vase? He didn't seem like a guy who enjoyed flowers, but who was she to judge. She found it hard to read this man's expression to figure out exactly what it was that he had in mind, so she decided she would ask him. First things first, however. She would need to sacrifice something that she would feel like she never had in the first place. Pride. Not a problem. "No need to apologize, just make sure you go to the right room this time. It had been a long day, so I'm sorry I yelled. No harm no foul." After her counter apology, she followed up with her own question. "So what is it that you are looking for, exactly?" After the words slipped from her mouth, her mind wandered a bit again. She wondered if he was shopping for someone special. He was charming enough, so she wouldn't be surprised if he had a girlfriend -or whatever they called it in his culture- at his... well, wherever he lived. She knew absolutely nothing about the syemenstra race. Maybe he was looking for some jewelry. Krysanthe had always wanted to make glass beads. She had seen other people make it, but had never actually tried herself. The curious fire-headed girl had always wanted to try, and maybe this would be her opportunity. What if he wanted a necklace for himself? That wasn't unheard of. She began to draw together a picture in her mind. A hemp woven necklace with beads intertwined into the string, with beads of varying colors and styles... She could see it now, wrapped around his pale, skinny neck. Yes, this could work. Snapping out of her miniature daydream, she blinked. Her eyes of a marigold in bloom rested on his of a dying rose as she awaited for his answer.

[Erasmus]

Erasmus As she looked into his deeply contrasting demonically blood-tinted hues Erasmus saw the scintillate distrust in her auriferous eyes, the eyes of which even the sun’s rays could not hold a candle to. He broke their gaze as his face lowered in the vibe of submission, embarrassed to have been so assaultive. The woman seemed to inspect him through a broken looking glass as she inwardly squinted in a desperate and feeble attempt to rummage through the secret files underneath his eloquent porcelain exterior. He instantly took a half-step back thinking himself much too close for her comfort. There was a stance of nervousness in the way he occasionally shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sticking up in all directions as it was, the wind played with the tips of his hair and brushed Glassblower’s volcanic ember locks smoothly in an oceanic wave of direction too, the hair framing her youthful face in an eruption of red fire as it cascaded from her scalp. Wide-eyed and mouth agape in wonder, Redhead marveled at his offer. Excellent. His deep voice replied cautiously this time. “My price? Hm. That is important, isn’t it miss....” A perplexed expression questioned her name, but he went on without verbal announcement of his curiosity. “It is an unhealthy obsession of mine really: to know as much as possible about something I’m not familiarized with… the hunger to widen my intelligence has brought me to your volcanic city. Not necessarily… ‘glassblowing’ in itself.” He searched for the right words, irritably sifting through the Common dictionary stored inside his brilliant skull to artfully spin a web of fabricated half-truths. “To prove to others I am not here for more diabolical alternative reasons (easing suspicion and what not) I thought it unwise to come through the gates of Wind Reach empty handed. Thus, I stand before you with a case of goodies that particular Inarta, such as yourself, simply cannot refuse. This is… leverage over those many that will recognize my differences, my race, and label me a monster without questioning.” He scrutinized her once again; another silent inquiry slightly hinted without conceiving into an insult-dipped accusation. His hand deftly swept over the merchandise belonging to him, long white bony fingers caressing each individual vile of serous substance. “This is the reason I bought the dyes and such. Do you… do you understand? I only know they are very expensively rare. Perhaps I’m being quick to judge, but it looks as if I’ve struck a deal already?” Erasmus chuckled, preoccupied with diligent inspection of the malachite case’s soft interior. “But of course, I shall not waste your time with riddles. You need a price and I do have one. Let it be known I don’t need money… rather I’m looking for someone who can pay in Time. A teacher, a mentor, someone who can give intellectual company for the duration of my visit.” The case closed quite abruptly, the music from heaven that probably played in her head upon the presence of such objects was flipped off instantaneously. “I was hoping to find a glassblower who could strike a deal like that, for I desire to also watch their trade and learn at least the basics of making such breathtaking work… in Kalinor, you see, we don’t witness so many bright and wonderful masterpieces in our everyday lives. Every culture possesses their own style and I am adamantly insistent on bringing back a little token of this other world home when I do return to Kalinor…” He picked up the ring she had carefully slid from her finger just moments ago, holding it as if the object would spontaneously combust upon one wrong movement of the breeze. Yet in another light, he was a child marveling at a wonder he’d just then discovered… as if a whole new universe had been brought to his attention at the sight and touch of this tiny trinket. He set it back down in its original place. “I know I’m not the ideal species to trade with… what with such a ghastly reputation that shrouds the members of our flock. But I intend to prove myself, I’ll prove to you I’m different if only you’d just give me a chance. I can offer more services if that is required, though I’m not sure if you’re interested in partaking in the culture of a symenestra, or what you’ve been told about us. Shall we talk over the details?” Although the young man, for he was a young… though perhaps not entirely a ‘man’ as much as animal… or beast… creature of the spider people, showed slight proud arrogance when cutting to the chase, afterwards he looked as nervous as the last fragile leaf of autumn. He hoped she wouldn’t mind he hadn’t taken off his hat, beings that he still wasn’t used to the sun clawing at his sensitive eyes. Remembering to at least show Some manners he did however hold out his icy hand. The black nails long and the thin snowy skin frigid to a human’s touch. “If you’d like, you can call me Erasmus. Erasmus Taxus, symenestra blood-drinker with no heart and no mind, on a killing spree just for the fun of it all: at your service. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

[Krysanthe]

Krysanthe’s eyes were unmoving as she tried to figure this guy out. She did not interject as he went on… and on… and on… For a moment, the only thing she found herself thinking was of how much this boy loved to talk. It seemed that he had a nearly endless supply of words, but when it came down to it, he really wasn’t saying anything. Her thoughts on the charm he may have had began to dissipate, for she found his syemnos accent entirely unappealing. Still he went on and on and on, talking about how he wanted to learn and how he was oh so different than his reputation, how he wants a teacher, how he shut the case, and his interest in the ring, and then an introduction. Didn’t he ever shut up? Never in all her days had she heard of a socialable symenstra, and she didn’t know anything else of them anyways. They stole women to torture and make little spider babies. That is what she heard from urban legends. Still, confident in her abilities to stand up for herself, she decided to take him up on his offer. “My name is Krysanthe. People call me Krys.” She took his hand after only a moment’s hesitation, a little startled by how cold it was. The long, black… almost clawlike nails only made the shake all the more odd for her, yet still it was firm. If there was anything the apprentice’s teacher had taught her, it was that when you make a deal, a firm handshake was important. Still, she did not hesitate to release the grip. Something about how frigid his touch gave her chills. Trying to distract herself from the oddity of the moment, she continued with her few short statements. “You have got yourself a deal, but under one condition.” She snatched the ring back into her grasp, placing it on her finger. Other than that, she really had no color to her. A bit of blush in her fingers and the natural tan to her skin, but other than that, pale. She still envied the hollowness of this man’s skin. It was so simple and pure. So… perfect. It always bothered her how her own people will stab holes in their skin. Fingering with the bit of glass on her hand, she stated her condition without concern. “When I am teaching you, and keep in mind that I am no master, you will keep your mouth shut? You sure like to talk, and words are dangerous. I don’t want anyone getting into trouble; especially not my new neighbor.” With a friendly smile, she reached her hand out, waiting for the ‘payment’ so to speak. This was the best deal anyone in the Reverie would have made in years, for all of these chemicals were so incredibly desirable. Finally, a little bit of leverage over the other glassworkers. She was so incredibly excited about this opportunity. All she wanted was to have it in her hands, just as the security that this was real and not just another daydream.

[Erasmus]

Erasmus Krysanthe. It sounded sweet coming from her boisterous lips. However the nickname ‘Krys’ downplayed the alluring quality of her lengthy first name in his disdaining opinion. Krys, he concluded, was much too curt. Though he didn’t mind calling her ‘Krys’ out loud he decided then and there the young woman looked more like a ‘Kryssie,’ therefore mentally he would refer to Krysanthe as Kryssie from then on. Kryssie: pretty, joyful, feminine. He prided himself on completely turning his introverted personality into a 180 revolution from the practically un-known muted recluse to a character egotistically in love with the sound of his own voice. With the impression he gave Kryssie the hinted accusation was perfectly understandable, but until now, never in his life had Erasmus been branded with such a term as talkative. Not as an infant, a child, an adult, or even as a husband, had the man ever been told to quiet down. It was more of a reflex than a deemed decision: she obviously was in no means afraid of him, therefore Erasmus quite quickly inched out of his little ‘nervous’ posture and into the skin of himself, neutral like always. Painfully zero hint of the thoughts going on behind his mask… not even a smile. Statue-like. Erasmus could make for an excellent poker player. Krysanthe was not the least bit hesitant. He adored the fact she still felt so confident, even her handshake was firm and certain… so like the race of redheaded bird people to cling to any respect they could possibly posses. Here he was, offering this girl the world, and she still managed a dry-witted response. She was a lovely little specimen, but she was almost just like them all. Almost. Yet there was in fact something drastically different as well. It bothered him he couldn’t put his finger on it, she was special… not just for her unusually pale complexion and those eyes, it was something deep within her very soul. They said these bird people held keys, each one of them with the potential to change the world. He liked that. No matter how hard he tried to change his complete being into this stranger he had stolen, Erasmus loathed the crowd surrounding him. Like weeds to a rosebush they happily choked out his oxygen. The sooner he left this chaos the faster he would be able to think clearly… though he wasn’t about to toss the life-support away without a solid deal. Handshakes meant nothing in this world. Why should it? The swapping of parasitic germs you get from doorknobs anyway seemed to seal a deal faster than any signature to some people, but he was not as blind. A shake of a symenestra’s hand and she gets the prize? He didn’t Want to trust her, didn’t need to take a step towards vulnerability… he had thought she might ask for her trade little by little. Would that not be fair? She could not just take away Everything… it would be too easy a con. A deal like this, not followed through on her part and brought to her people’s attention by himself, would land Erasmus dead no matter the proof of innocence… a symenestra’s word against any respectable Inarta is unquestionably and intolerantly going to be meaningless garbage. Symenestra live to steal, they steal to live. She showed over-eagerness, only wanting the trade over with so she could get started making a celebrity out of herself. Very unprofessional. Signing her days away as she was, not aware of even the rough estimated amount of precious time he would take... would steal. The malachite case is reluctantly relinquished into her custody despite his slimy speculations. He speaks again in common, the same voice and the same accent. “Those conditions are reasonable, but don’t think me a fool. I trust you.” Handshakes didn’t compare to his burning red yet coldly serous locked gaze, which for him ‘sealed’ the ominous fate. “I’d like to do some sightseeing today. Where can we meet up when you’re finished?”