Atop the Illusions

[Marius Valdemar]

5th of Winter in 511 AV There was a straw dummy up here. The Iron Philosopher had set it up for him to practice on, when he was still around. It was still here, unaware of the everyday bustle in the world below. It was covered in dry bird droppings and was falling apart, a shameful testament for the one who disappeared. For reasons unknown to him, young Marius Valdemar had suddenly remembered this spot and the weeks of training up here with Crow overlooking with a sardonic grin on his face. Occasionally the old assassin would clear his throat when Marius did something wrong, or throw a pebble at his head, or even creep up behind him and scream "Wrong!" into the boy's ear. He was weird like that, and Marius had never once heard him move. The clawed gauntlet rarely ever left his hand, though Marius convinced himself that it was merely for protection. You never knew what could come up behind you in Alvadas after all! Marius would think this and laugh whatever he was doing and wherever he was. The truth was thinking of the Iron Philosopher brought up weird feelings that Marius did not quite get and thus resolved not to think of him at all. It was as if when Crow left his mother died all over again, and he was alone in the world with no one to look out for him. He had no idea what he was even doing up here. He had just remembered it and then the next thing he knew he was up here. In fact, just looking at this stupid, rotting scarecrow made him angry. So angry he could shout. In fact, he did. Marius shouted and lunged at the straw man and dug the gauntlet into its belly, once, twice, three times. He felt angry and confused that he was angry, and that just made him all the more angry.

[Ifran]

How exactly Marius had gotten the message to him in the Crooked Playhouse, Ifran was not sure. Nobody had brought it to him, it had merely been pinned to the door to his room, seemingly right before he arrived or someone might have taken it down. There was little privacy here, which was why he was considering a place of his own at some point. But Marius had given him an idea of where he wanted to meet and so here Ifran was, his bronze khopeshes strapped to his back in a curved X. Marius was already practicing, it seemed, that claw of his effective in its own way. But he was upset over something and it showed in the violence of his violence, the wildness of it. He did not even seem to notice when Ifran arrived, though he kept a little off out of respect. Also, the upset made him wonder if perhaps he had not written the note, but that was one more canny illusion, another way for Alvadas to usher its resident alien whither it wanted him to go. The boy did not seem to be expecting him, nor anybody for that matter. When he paused, Ifran spoke, quiet, but full of strength. "A thousand apologies for interrupting, friend Marius," he said, "but I think, perhaps, Alvadas itself has sent me to you."

[Marius Valdemar]

The boy whirled around mid punch and kept his arm at the ready, as if he intended to strike out at the voice. However it was only Ifran, and he was too far for Marius's short arm and he also did not want to punch his friend. After all, Eypharians were not stuffed with straw. He believed. "Huh?" He said bewildered. "You're not interrupting anything anyway. I'm just... uh, checking the stuffing in this guy. What in the name of Ionu do you mean Alvadas sent you to me? Eh, nevermind. Hey, wanna hear a joke?" Before Ifran could reply Marius jumped right into his jest. "An adventurous lord from Syliras was preparing to ride off on a quest. Before he leaves, he locks up his lady with a chastity belt and calls in his most trusted friend and knight and hands him the key. 'Sir Percival, here is the key to my queen's honor. Should I fall in battle, it is to you to release her from her belt so she might marry again.' He then leaves on his journey. At the top of a hill, he turns back for one last look at Syliras and is surprised to see Sir Percival riding breakneck in pursuit. 'My lord, my lord....wait! You have given me the wrong key!'" Marius finished with a grin. "I didn't get it at first, so the man from the tavern had to explain it to me twice. So what brings you up here Mr. Six-Arms?"

[Ifran]

Ifran chuckled appreciatively at the joke, assuming perhaps that Marius was too busy keeping alive to think about what lay beneath a woman's chastity belt. So young, but Ifran had learned such secrets younger; the court of Ahnatep, it was said, was quite decadent. He considered for a moment, then spoke his short tale: "There was a note on my door within the Playhouse," he explained. "It invited me here to practice, and it was signed Marius. But if you do not remember sending the note and sneaking into the Playhouse, then perhaps Ionu did indeed send me to you, or the city itself. I fear it might be sentient." He took note again of the sorry straw men. "I don't suppose you want to practice against someone who can fight back?"

[Marius Valdemar]

"A note...?" Marius inquired, confused. It was true, Marius had always seemed to have been favored by the illusions of Alvadas, but they had never been so specific. Did Ionu really lead Ifran to him? That would mean he was more than just another faceless citizen to the deity. Or perhaps Alvadas simply took care of its own, and Marius was a child of the illusions through and through. His smile wavered somewhat. True, Marius definitely needed someone to tell him why he felt this way and that everything was going to be okay, but he wasn't going to ask that of his friend. Besides, that would make him seem weaker, and those on the streets that depended on him depended on his strength and ingenuity, not his hurt feelings. The boy looked down at the clawed glove and picked some straw that had caught in it and looked back to Ifran. "If you think you can handle it." He replied, his grin as wide as ever. "I'm pretty good with this." He was, of course, bluffing, but Ionu knew he could use a distraction right now.

[Ifran]

The question made him think that perhaps Marius himself had little to do with the note, which did not bother Ifran. He had liked the lad, though he hoped he was learning a lighter touch to the pickpocketing if he meant to make a career of thievery. If Alvadas nudged them together, all the better. And if his smile wavered, well, Ifran set his face to be open and friendly, though most of his expressions were understated when not on stage. If Marius wanted to confide in him, he would happily listen and keep his secrets closer than the grave. But with a child raised on the streets and learning larceny from his mother's teat, forcing the issue would send him from cagey to outright gone, and Ifran did not want that. He wanted to train somewhat himself; he could go through the forms on his own, seek meditative perfection, but an opponent helped keep the violence more real, and he did not want to fall upon an assassin's blade. He had to hone his skills at survival. Perhaps the training together would help Marius open up. "Little kittens can scratch," he allowed, drawing his matched bronze khopeshes and falling into an elegant guard, "but a blade can kill in an instant." Six arms, two exotic, curved blades, and Marius had a daunting opponent indeed, but Ifran's smile was, if anything, encouraging. They would improve together, and the taunting was all in good fun.

[Marius Valdemar]

His smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as the blades sang from their scabbards and settled into a pose that suggested their use could be deadly. Truth be told Marius had never fought against anyone, much less seen a man die. He glanced at the points of the gauntlet encasing his hand, somewhat dull from lack of attention. The boy had only ever used the weapon in aid to climbing, or simple intimidation. Briefly he wondered what it would be like to draw the claws across a man's skin, like painting red lines on a canvas. He shuddered and banished the thought. He was not capable of killing most animals, let alone a sentient being. Still, defense was defense and he streets were getting more and more rough with every passing day. If he were to continue to survive and protect those who relied on him, he would need to learn how to fight. Who better than his six armed friend who was surely more than a match for any possible cutthroat in the alleys of Alvadas? "I'll show you just how hard this kitten scratches!" He shouted in a good-humored battle cry. He lunged forward at Ifran, using all of his strength in a clumsy slash at his chest that was bereft of any sort of skill whatsoever. Even a kitten would have laughed.

[Ifran]

It was clear to him instantly that Marius had some skill, but only some. Were this a fight in earnest, the boy would be dead. In Ahnatep, one wanted to disarm and disable an assassin, the better to counter-offer (as he had with Cyrah), or to milk them for information regarding their employer in exchange for their life. But ultimately survival was most important. His mind saw three obvious counters, and each would have ended the fight immediately and likely have tripped all the alarums a street thief boy would have set up to keep him alive, and Ifran did not want that. He, and apparently Alvadas itself, wanted to take the boy under his wing, to teach and encourage him, and then take him into his services. He could be a prince of the pillars, this lad, patronized by a scion of the House of the North Winds. And his loyalty would be true blue, true as the river that flowed through the Ukalas: Royet. So one khopesh merely batted the gauntlet away, the other coming in at a fraction of its normal speed as if they were dancing, the which they were; a deadly dance. He had been instructed in the art of war by dancers and grandmasters of chess. Grace and control, foresight and discipline. These were the things that saw a man through. "Good. Faster. You cannot be afraid to hit me. A weapon is useless in the end. A good opponent will know whether you have the mettle to use it."

[Marius Valdemar]

His hand moved by influence of the khopesh, and he felt himself waver on his feet. Marius was, if anything, as agile as a kitten and managed to dance back to balance. The Eypharian's other weapon came slowly towards him, obviously at a pace meant for his novice fighting skill, but even then he had some trouble ducking underneath it. Though he knew it to be folly, Marius was still wary of actually hitting his friend. He didn't want to accidentally hurt the man by some lucky blow. The boy glanced down at his own offense and almost laughed aloud at the thought. This was not a tool for killing, only for climbing and scratching. Nothing at all like the sleek blades of his six armed friend, nor the daggers black as death that the Crow used on those he targeted. He had once held those daggers, and liked the feel of them. The Crow had told him that the blades were coated in a poison obtained from a rare plant far away, which turned them dark and ensured pain and death with every cut. Marius kind of wished he had those now, with the exception of the deadly poison. He might have been doing better. He realized now if he had any hope of not looking like a fool in this mock battle, he would have to keep on his feet. Ifran may have six arms and move like a dancer, but Marius was small and quick. In an attempt at a feint, he lifted his arms and shrugged, but a moment later was darting to the side and swiping the meager points at the Eypharian's ribs.

[Ifran]

Ifran moved with Marius, pulling back before the boy could fall over, even as he ignored an opportunity to snag the dull hook of the khopesh behind his ankle and topple him entirely. Claws and teeth were all an animal had; they simply had the instincts to make them effective, the which Marius could have with ardent practice. His muscles were still young enough to take the lessons to heart. Marius' movements belied untapped talent, and Ifran gave a small nod and smaller smile of approval. One must be sparing else a student would grow to love it too much, expect it too much, and, in the end, praise mattered little when it came to a deadly serious fight. His khopeshes swung to the side, away from Marius, while various of his other arms moved toward the boy to compensate for the shift in weight, one batting his gauntlet-clad hand down, another catching it and twisting it behind his back, but not so far as to be painful. Yet another arm caught Marius' shoulder to steady him. "Dance with me," he said simply, and spun Marius away, his khopeshes coming back to the ready.