Adrift [Azcan]

by **Koroshtoph Ephael Petyr** on September 24th, 2018, 9:15 pm

His actual savior?

The drummer had said it after a bout of uproarious laughter, but Koroshtoph was not as amused, despite his own attempt at a joking tone. It was true that the rescue was not as straightforward as intended, but if Koroshtoph recalled correctly, Azcan might well have ended up pulp on the tavern floor if help hadn’t arrived when it did. Granted, the drummer did return the favor shortly thereafter; still, it seemed to Koroshtoph that the favor was not given in the same sense. After all, not abandoning a fight after someone joined it to help was not a favor in the same way as joining a fight at someone’s side, not having had any obligation to do so. All in all, it was clear that the drummer’s skills at appreciating help were rudimentary at best. Unless of course one inhabited the form of a pretty woman; in which case, the well of ‘appreciation’ proved bottomless.

What redeemed Azcan somewhat in Koroshtoph’s eyes was that he claimed that the Syliran had seemed as if he were in control of the situation with the brute. And though that piece of flattery was far enough removed from the truth that even Koroshtoph had trouble bringing himself to believe it, the former squire had no intention of dispelling that particular notion—having already been demoted to merely a ‘notional savior’—and so he let the matter of accolades rest along with the talk of delights and lips.

Besides, the talk of this ‘Illusionist’ and his mark intrigued him. If not the manipulation of senses as such, the manipulation of the mind was something with which the hypnotist believed himself familiar. He was not however familiar with the exact deity that bore the moniker of Illusionist, and he continued to wonder what Azcan had done or what he was that would make this god, whatever its name, gift the drummer with such an ability. Certainly, he seemed proud of himself over it, eager to talk about it at length should Koroshtoph care to listen. This made the Syliran, already in a mood where he did not wish to be outdone, want to share his own skill, though he did not believe it to be wise to make that explicit quite yet.

“Yes, I’d like to hear that,” he said with a tone which implied that that much was obvious. “I believe I’ve dabbled in something similar before,” he added carefully, his desire to assert his knowledge tempered somewhat by an uncertainty of how such a revelation would be received. To be sure, it was a skill that had many a uses in a city such as Sunberth, bur possessing it here was also that much more of a liability. So he had heard, at least. ‘Mage’ was a dirty word here, and though he had never referred to himself as such, he knew very well that his ability would put him into that unfortunate category. Moreover, his mother had made it very clear to him that secrecy was an important foundation for the power of toying with thoughts.

by **Azcan** on September 25th, 2018, 12:27 am

It wasn't Azcan's fault that it was the damsel that truly saved the day! It seemed like Toph grew offended at the drummer's assessment of the situation. It was very obvious with the shift in posture and the snarky tone he took. If Azcan had to guess, by Toph's gaze he was fighting some sort of battle. An accurate impression was difficult to make, the meeting of a new face and culture surely created a shock. From what Azcan could tell, Syliras must've been a boring place, to be host to such prudish and moral people such as Toph. However, the drummer didn't hold it against him. The environment of upbringing was a massive factor in the shaping of personalities, and when the drummer watched his companion's assessment he formed his own.

Azcan relished the unfettered freedom of his youth, parents he scarcely remembered so willingly allowed the drummer abscond with Svefra to parts unknown. Of course, even if they hadn't Azcan would've gone. There was no way the adventurous soul within him would've been content to stay at home with that sort of offer on the table. The past was a whirlwind of highs and lows, one that shaped the drummer into welcome indifference. At least, that's the face he chose to show.

A smirk set upon Azcan's lips as he listened to Toph's retort. The Syliran obviously wanted to know more, Azcan teased him with the promise of knowledge. But it seemed that Toph wanted to show him up? Similar to Ionu's gnosis? Unlike the drummer, Toph dressed like a civilized person. Fabric covered much of his new friend from Azcan's scrutiny, but he didn't need to see the lack of Ionu's presence to know that Toph wasn't one of his marked. The Bolt Hole, when Azcan worked in it, was overflowing with the presence of Ionu's favor. Three bearers of gnosis, two of which knew the Illusionist far better than Azcan did. In front of Toph, there was nothing.

Ionu did not connect the two of them together, and certainly, Toph had never met the deity. He seemed unfamiliar with the moniker that Azcan called the Trickster by, which only further drove the drummer into curiosity. What did he mean? Was he just saying this, trying to look smarter or better? Azcan wasn't so quick to judge, and he was perfectly fine with deception, but surely Toph wasn't so foolish as to lie about something like that? Azcan decided to withhold his laughter, for his chest pulsed with the dimming pain that such laughter created.

"Oh, then you might understand what I tell you!" he said, winking at the Syliran before he elaborated,

"So, while all of that nonsense was happening there was some fellow on the way out. I tapped into that beastly guy, the one you were shouting at... Made him see my tattoo on the other guy's back. Then, when I got up I warped his perception of how my face looked. So when he saw that tattoo... it's not exactly a regular thing. You don't see dozens of 'Boy Wonders' galavanting around Sunberth," he mused, a soft chuckle escaping him. He clearly wanted to laugh some more. It even bothered Azcan, not being able to just burst out and revel in his ploy. Azcan was proud of his abilities, reveling in their use. Ionu asked him to explore, to test and see what gnosis did. And so, he heeded his patron's advice. It was that simple to him.

"So obviously the big guy runs out after 'me.' That's how I saw things, anyway. As awesome as getting more bruises, or seeing you hurt, or even having other people join in and the whole bar goes up in fists... I think this is the better result," he said, winking at Toph before he motioned to the alleyway and started to walk out of the darkness.

"In any case, we shouldn't linger for too long. It's raining out and I could use another drink. Do you live in the Sunset Quarter?" he asked, not waiting for an answer before he continued his invitation, "We can go to the Drunken Fish, if you'd like. I don't like bar hopping in the rain, but it's better than stickin' around and getting into more fights," he mused. Azcan kept an eye out, raising a hand as he trained his gaze on the somewhat dead walksways of the Commons. The drummer really didn't want to meet the same guy twice.

by **Koroshtoph Ephael Petyr** on September 26th, 2018, 5:46 pm

As previously stated, Koroshtoph did not take a drink well. Now that the adrenaline began to wear off, the ale’s influence took center stage once more. His tongue felt looser and his mother’s warnings were but a distant echo at the back of his mind. The illusionist’s wink signified that the hypnotist’s claim of peerhood had not been taken seriously, and the smirk spread across his face seemed to be holding back laughter. Indeed, he seemed ever amused this ‘Boy Wonder’, and Koroshtoph wondered if there was a thing on the face of Mizahar that held the power to dampen his effervescent disposition. In this aspect, Azcan reminded Koroshtoph somewhat of his patron knight from Syliras, Norn. Though it surely must have been a superficial resemblance as that man was, after all, a respected knight of The Order whose good humor was tempered by a great measure of honor.

As Azcan recounted the tale of the unfortunate man whom he had set to be beaten in his place, it became quite clear that consequences either weren’t a familiar concept, or the drummer had little care for them. Perhaps the lunatic would realize that it was not the drummer that he was chasing in time not to visit undue vengeance upon him. However, the better question was probably if he would even care at that point. Koroshtoph was glad not to have had to bring the whole tavern upon him to fight the brute, but the fact that a complete bystander might have taken the fall for it left a bitter aftertaste.

He was of half a mind to run off and try to assist the unwilling decoy. To what end though? To have the whole of Sunberth united against him in condemnation of gutting the brute? Besides, who’s to say that the man was not, or would not have been, among those faces that had disarmed him? Yes, perhaps he should feel on his own body what such principles were worth! The resentment welled up within him, and the poor man became the undeserving conduit for all the scorn Koroshtoph felt for the cheering patrons within the tavern. The feeling subsided moments after, overcast by doubt, but whether it was due to the drunkenness or the more pressing matter of needing to prove his ability as equal to the illusionists, Koroshtoph set aside justice, reverting his attention back to the drummer.

His suggestion of going to someplace called ‘The Drunken Fish’ didn’t appeal to the Syliran at first glance – especially not after having sampled Sunberth’s night life at The Pig’s Foot. However, it was dark outside and, being unfamiliar with the layout of the city and disoriented by the events of the night, he was not sure of the way back to his apartment. He considered for a moment if he should answer the question of his residence. But Azcan did not seem dangerous, so it seemed that it would be pointless to waste time on the matter.

“Yes, I have an apartment there. I suppose ‘The Drunken Fish’ is on the way?” he asked absently as he moved to follow Azcan’s motion, not sure if it really mattered. He stopped at the Illusionist’s raised hand, but as there was no sign of the brute, continued onward.

He considered what Azcan had said. Disregarding the collateral damage, the drummer was clearly quick on his feet when he needed to be. The ploy was clever and indeed not too dissimilar to what a hypnotist might do; a manipulation of the mind through illusion or through suggestion were like means to the same end. Though hypnotism, at least at the level Koroshtoph mastered it, was much more... subtle. Yes, subtle was certainly a better word than ’weaker’. In its subtlety, however, the power was also difficult to demonstrate to the already incredulous drummer.

“I’ve seen those with marks before. The knights in Syliras bore the gnosis of the slain god of civilization. Yours I haven’t seen before, and I don’t know the name of this Illusionist that gave it to you, but skills like these can be learned as well. They may not be as”--he paused a moment to find the word--”ostentatious as what you demonstrated, but they’re every bit as effective.” He wondered if the words would intrigue the illusionist, or if he would continue in his thinly-veiled disbelief.

As they passed The Pig’s Foot, Koroshtoph tried to keep his distance, but in the darkness he thought he saw an outline of a man lying on the floor close to the tavern entrance. He frowned, but chose not to approach.

by **Azcan** on September 27th, 2018, 7:26 pm

The Illusionist often lacked any sort of competitive nature, preferring to let things pass him by with a measure of gracious indifference. Or, at least, that's how he saw his reception of things. However, when Toph mentioned that she could perform feats similar to Illusionism, there grew a desire to goad. He wished to see what Toph meant and compare their talents. The same happened with Maze when he first started with him at the Bolt Hole. The drummer didn't see the competitive side in himself, but then again... he wasn't so introspective all the time. Azcan, instead sought to look into others. The Illusionist relished in it, a boundless energy present within them when it came to the games of the mind. He took a breath, the pangs of his chest flared through him. It bothered him tremendously, and he hoped the two of them could walk slow so that he need not strain himself. Of course, Azcan could've stayed on Toph's shoulder earlier, but returning to that place seemed unlikely now.

When Toph answered his question, in the man's eyes he saw a letting loose. Sunberth was known for distrust and the need to be distrustful, to watch one's back and guard themselves against others. While the drummer understood the need for such caution, he found he preferred to take the blows of life as they came. More than once it'd ended poorly for him, but he had Ionu and his gift to help him through the darkness that was Sunberth. In the light of the Illusionist, Azcan felt liberated.

"It's... sort of on the way. It's closer, for one," he answered him. It seemed that Toph lacked a sense for the city, and while Azcan wasn't a great speaker so as to explain it to him, he could guide him easily enough. Listening to what Toph said next threw the drummer off somewhat. First, it struck him when he brought up knights and Syliras again. A dead god? Azcan wasn't aware that gods could die. He thought of Ionu and how it was debatable (looking back on it) if the Trickster was even truly present with him at all. They vanished without a trace, and yet he knew without a doubt that it was an Illusion.

The thought of such a being dying confused Azcan, and he was more than a little disgruntled as Toph pressed on. The swordsman paused, which allowed the drummer a moment to consider before a very long word came out from the man's lips. The Illusionist arched his eyebrows, but pieced together context and figured he didn't need to ask the meaning of the word from it. The hesitance also indicated that Toph was referring to his kiss with the lovely damsel and laughed again at the notion Toph implied.

Azcan nodded in understanding, but otherwise didn't consider him to be telling the truth. Given time, the Illusionist might believe in Toph, but for the moment he was eager to step away from the Pig's Foot. Azcan and Toph stepped out of the alleyway and the young drummer saw rats scurrying about in the wake of their ascent. Azcan didn't move quickly, plagued with his injuries, but he kept his pace in the shadows, doing his utmost to keep from attracting attention in the middle of the city. When there was light, and there were roofs around his head, he was jubilant and carefree. In the streets of Sunberth there was very little room to be so whimsical. He led Toph through the Commons and out into Baroque Bay. The Seaside Market remained abuzz with light activity, though it seemed mostly drug dealers on the prowl.

While Azcan loved drugs, he wasn't in the mood for it at the moment. Alcohol was his lubricant of choice in the evening, and if Toph was incentivized to prove himself right... then Azcan wanted to see what he could do free of the grip of intense intoxication. Illusions, after all, were just as beautiful as any high. Azcan led Toph into the Drunken Fish, the familiarity of home arise within him. The drummer wouldn't notice it, but another figure followed in Azcan's and Toph's entrance several moments after. By then, the drummer was already at the bar, an easy wink set towards Father Manowar, whose massive girth seemed impervious to gravity. He swung forth and served Azcan two pints of ale. He ordered them without a thought, passing one of the glasses to Toph as he reveled in the mirth of the tavern. Less populated than the Pig's Foot, but also cleaner and blessed with a greater ambiance,

Azcan shifted his weight and let his drum fall into his lap. He'd begin to play, fingertips beating at the worn and stretched surface. A frown cast upon his features and he undid the strings that kept the drumhead bound to the surface. The drummer cleaned the drumhead with a rag Manowar provided him before replacing it on the surface. He'd tie the strings back in place, carefully tuning his drum anew before the slow, steady beat emerged anew. He looked towards Toph with a grin, letting the steady rhythm cast throughout before he said,

"This place is much better, you know. I go to the Pig's Foot to switch it up. See how the swill is at other places."

by **Koroshtoph Ephael Petyr** on September 28th, 2018, 10:44 pm

Azcan was clearly still in pain from his altercation at the Pig’s Foot, so Koroshtoph slowed his pace to follow him. It was truly a shame the actual savior was not around to help the drummer along. As they walked, Koroshtoph tried to keep track of his surroundings so that he might remember the way for when he was without a guide. Some landmarks seemed familiar from his passing earlier, but most of the streets seemed so alike in their chaos that he had a hard time finding something on which to anchor his memory. Perhaps it was the alcohol as well, though he had not had enough to impair his recollection. He considered that the drummer had in fact not had the chance to order a drink a the Pig’s Foot. A man of leisure, as Koroshtoph had pegged him, he wondered how often it was that Azcan had the opportunity to keep company that was less sober than him. Furthermore, how drunk would the company have to be to act less sober than the back-walking drummer? Regardless, Azcan seemed quite sovereign in the streets of Sunberth, no doubt to be perceived in his steps as he guided them towards a hopefully less rowdy tavern.

As they stepped inside the Drunken Fish, Koroshtoph was struck by the expense of the main room. Looking up, he could see that the ceiling was quite high, a balcony overlooking the first floor. Judging by the name and the décor, this seemed exactly the kind of place Gruder and the rest of the crew might enjoy. They would probably not be there tonight though, having most likely already set sail back to Zeltiva. Perhaps their next voyage would be to Syliras? The thought, compounded with the reminiscing about the fortress city he had done to Azcan, threatened to turn into homesickness. This would not do. He was glad for the ale when Azcan handed it to him. Giving a curt nod, he immediately took a big gulp then set the half empty pint down on the bar. Though the alcohol was sharp against his throat, it washed away the onset of a bitter nostalgia.

Looking away from the drink, Koroshtoph saw the drummer bearing a grin. Azcan had just finished fiddling with his instrument which now emanated a pleasant thumping beat. Koroshtoph couldn’t help but agree with the drummer on his assessment of the new locale.

“Maybe it has something to do with no one spilling the patrons’ drinks?” he said quizzically, shrugging his shoulders and giving a short exhale. His mood had improved markedly with the ale, and he took another gulp to finish off the pint. Turning back towards the drummer, he thought he noticed something in the background. Some feet from where they were seated he saw a familiar figure looking in their direction, an expression on her face that he could not quite decipher. It was clear, however, that she was not as pleased as she seemed when Azcan left her at the Pig’s Foot. It was not anger that rested on her face, but rather a mild annoyance, as if she had tried but failed to get the drummer’s attention. The pint of ale having well secured its influence, a mischievous idea came to Koroshtoph’s mind – an opportunity to demonstrate his ability to the drummer, who up till then seemed decidedly unimpressed with the hypnotist’s claims. He focused a substantial amount of djed to his eyes, feeling a vague warmth where it accumulated. The first step would be to plant a small suggestion to support what was most likely already in her head.

“Well, illusionist, observe how quickly minds can change,” he said meaningfully, throwing a glance at the woman. It was an obvious enough look that she noticed it and locked eyes with him. This man’s already forgotten all about you, was a vague approximation of what would creep into the back of her mind, to be brought to the surface only by any similar ponderings of her own. It was a start, but it might still be possible for the drummer to turn things around. You were just another one. With the last suggestion, he also conjured a vague feeling that was to flavor the previous manipulations. It was a tapestry of doubt and offense, woven from the hypnotist’s own offense at the drummer’s apparent lack of gratitude. It would manifest slightly differently in the woman’s mind, colored by her previous amorous feelings.

The plan was solid, the foundations there, but in his inebriated state the hypnotist’s control over djed was tenuous. Seeming to not have quite accomplished the desired effect, he moved his gaze away from her, withdrawing the tendrils of hypnosis. He tried to hide the annoyance from his face as he turned back to Azcan.

“Hey, isn’t that your savior over there? Seems rather suspicious that she’d turn up so quickly,” The last words were laced with a new thread of hypnosis, and he motioned with his head to the woman. He thought quickly, unsure that the hasty suggestion would land, or that it would have an effect if it did. He clenched his teeth in frustration. His ability, in contrast to the illusionist’s, seemed rather difficult to demonstrate. This was usually its strength, but it sure made bragging difficult.

by **Azcan** on September 30th, 2018, 8:54 am

Azcan always relished in his manipulation of Illusionism. The effect was invisible to all but the target, which provided an intimacy in the illusions he wove. The drummer didn't attempt to control or contain much of anything with the practice, but instead he sought to distract the senses and provide a moment for whomever saw the illusions to interpret them for themselves. Illusionism was a powerful tool, given by Ionu to Azcan for the sake of bringing joy to others. It was Azcan who learned to use it for other purposes. He'd saved his life with it more than once, he'd used it to seduce, drawing shivers and moans alike with the gift he bore. Was it an abuse of such power, to utilize it for a different purpose? Azcan doubted it very much, for his patron entrusted him to have fun with its use.

It seemed that the living Illusion saw through the lies that covered Azcan's heart. Though, admittedly, it was also the only being that the drummer never lied to in his life. Lies and deception were the gifts that Azcan gave to the world, illusions painted over them both to draw either pleasure or dissuade the negative feelings of the world from catching favor in the mind. Azcan worked at the surface of his drum. Shoulders were squared as he leaned against the ledge of the countertop. The drummer reveled in the ease that began to settle. It seemed that a number of patrons nodded their heads, presumably carrying the beat of the drums on their shoulders. Music spilled forth and filled the bar, and it was several moments of the coins he'd handed to Father Manowar laying on the counter before the owner of the bar tapped on his shoulder. Two more glasses of ale made their way, given to Toph and the Illusionist both as his hands clapped at the surface in a slow, sensuous beat.

A young couple rose to their feet and pulled one another into dance as Azcan listened to the words so close to his ear. It seemed like Toph still held some measure of resentment. Toph noticed the woman well before Azcan did. He was busy playing, his eyes closed and his heart wrenched open. He pulled at the well of joy that dwelled deep within his soul. He pulled from it a quick, easy beat that had the drummer dancing in his seat. He didn't register what Toph said for a long moment, but once he did, he opened his eyes to find a very familiar face. Azcan winked at the woman but didn't approach. He caught on to what Toph wanted to do right away. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he allowed him to do so without interference or speaking. The play continued as Toph performed his unknown, unseen magic. Azcan felt nothing from the experience, and it seemed... neither did the woman.

There was no visible reaction to whatever it was that Toph was doing. Instead, she turned away and when Toph sought to recover, he pointed out a woman he'd already seen. It didn't occur to him, what the swordsman said. Suspicion? It was odd that she arrived, sure, but was it really that quick? Azcan was injured, and their approach was slow. However, his mind began to carry upon it the possibilities. The woman didn't seem very angry upon her arrival, but what if she was? What if when Azcan rose she'd have a knife waiting to stick him with? Or even worse, the dastardly slap in the face, the heaviest of all punishments! At least the kiss of death was swift. The mark of shame on his face... that didn't fade so fast! Azcan didn't like the idea of being hit by women. Of course, he'd experienced it countless times, but still, he'd much rather hear the moans of ecstasy than the crack of a hand lashing out at skin.

"It is kind of strange... What should I do, Toph?" he asked, intent on keeping his voice low so that his words did not carry over the sound of his drums that carried along through the Drunken Fish.

by **Koroshtoph Ephael Petyr** on September 30th, 2018, 10:35 pm

"It is kind of strange... What should I do, Toph?"

Hypnotism, when applied well, had the potential to sow discord and harmony alike. Even at Koroshtoph’s level, it held the power to put a stranger into a pliable mood where their desires could subtly be shaped to align with the mage’s goals. With clever maneuvering, enemies could be turned into friends and friends into enemies. A more skilled hypnotist could impose on a mind thoughts and emotions which were completely foreign to it – induction of violent obsession and driving the weak-willed insane were all in the purview of a mage of the mind. Indeed, at times, a well performed act of hypnotism could be a sight to behold, rivaling even the most ostentatious feats of reimancy.

This was not one of those times. A drunken snort of defeated amusement escaped Koroshtoph’s nose as the hushed drummer asked his advice on this fabricated concern. Ooh... behold, illusionist, my power! Without a word, he turned his gaze to the bar where another glass of ale invited him to drown his embarrassment. He took its invitation, beginning this portion with an even bigger gulp, such that scarcely any liquid remained for the second attack. As ale burned its way down his throat, the alcohol invading his bloodstream, the intoxication grew stronger and making it to his apartment tonight seemed more and more like a lost cause. Perhaps he would pass out on the bar, hoping that the good-natured people of Sunberth would not take advantage of his state.

The reason for letting himself drown his senses in ale blurred along with the world. Perhaps it was the disappointment of having under-performed his expectations, perhaps it was the looming homesickness, but he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep to the lull of booze. As the blurred vision of the tavern slowly faded, the events of the night creeped into the Sunberther’s addled mind. The sound of drums reverberated in his head and he felt as if they shook every bone in his body. Cheers of excitement were slow and labored, sounding in the distance and grotesquely stretched across chimes. A glass shattered on the tavern floor.

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Oh, big britches brings a sword to a fist fight?

The words all echoed and blended into one another, uniting into a terrifying crescendo.

See what happens ye petc-

...actual savior.

Suddenly, silence.