[Surya Plaza] Unequal Worth (Solo)

by **Julian** on March 22nd, 2011, 6:33 am

Day 18 of Spring, 511 AV

He knew he looked a fright. Lhavit received tourists and visitors every day, and certainly Julian was no different than the others. A pack slung over his shoulder, he swung his loose black hair out of his vision, staring up at the impressive architecture throughout the city. It was different than anything he'd ever seen in Sylira, and the change was nothing but refreshing. Naggingly though, he felt the tug of his self consciousness when he thought about what he must look like. So many times, Julian had laid eyes on a tourist in Syliras, lost to its mazework of roads, and shook his head in pity. It was a humiliating realization. Fortunately, it was barely before dusk, and the streets were mostly empty.

Julian had heard of this: the reverse schedule of the night-loving Lhavitians. He couldn't help but interpret the concept as the carefree lifestyle of a wanton teenager, losing oneself to the night and the siren's joys it offered. It was a life he'd known himself, slinking into the local musical halls to eavesdrop on musicians practicing their orchestral compositions. He'd met Liara that way too - when she'd stolen his purse. He had chased her through five dark streets to get his money back. And he'd threatened to turn her over to the Syliran guards unless she let him steal what he'd wanted - a kiss. Yes, yes, dismally romantic, but he was much younger then.

The memory brought a faint smile to his face as he walked. It was some time later that he would bring Liara to his favorite night time haunt at the concert hall. That was the night they were composing a musical score for a newly written romance play scheduled for later that month. The music was moving, the air was warm, and the night felt right. Julian would never forget that evening with her.

Behind him, the Amaranthine gate grew slowly smaller as he ventured on. He knew he had to find a place to stay, but he had all night to look. His belly was empty, and the quiet ache of hunger sat stubbornly in the pit of his stomach, but he ignored that too. He had other priorities. Living was only existing if he didn't have his music.

The city was nearly too much to take in. He was told to find the Cosmos Center when he arrived - it had all the information any new visitor to Lhavit needed. The mountain guide had said to go directly right after entering the Amaranthine Gate to find it, but the sheer view of the city had stolen the advice straight out of his mind soon as he was past it. And now that he'd finally remembered where it was, he couldn't exactly be sure where he was anymore. Had he taken a right at the last alley? Or three lefts at the first block? Flames, he was lost.

Hours must have passed as he wandered the city, half-heartedly searching for the Cosmos Center again. Part of him enjoyed being lost - being at the whim of the cruel and fickle Lady Fate. The personification of such a ridiculous notion had become more real in his head which each passing day. It was beginning to worry him how much he began thinking of her... it... as a real person. It seemed as if all of his own choices went so terribly awry that he might as well not make any at all.

The floating, merry voice of a wood flute brought about a song of disheartening confirmation. The sun had just set, and the roads were beginning to fill with Lhavitians. Above the noise of shuffling footsteps and muffled conversation, the flute's playful melody played directly to Julian, beckoning him. Julian had a keen ear for music, and he instantly recognized the resonance of the musician's soul hidden in the flute's chirp. Despite the youthful pacing of the song, there was an air of experience to the expertise with which the flute was played. Julian was hooked almost immediately, and began to drift toward the song.

Through the growing crowds, he arrived at a small wooden stand in what must have been Surya Plaza. An older man, possibly three times Julian's age, sat in a chair near the stand, his gnarled fingers manipulating the flute the same way a spider so lovingly wraps its prey in silk. That was a bit how Julian felt now, lured in by a predator's trap. If music was to be his captor, then he could only be a happy prisoner.

Julian lingered near the stand, watching the man play for a short while. A delicately crafted sign above the stand read, "A Knife's Gift to Music." Displayed were several smoothly polished violins, an array of flutes and woodwinds, a decoratively carved lute, and a plain harp. Entranced by the expert craftsmanship, Julian drew closer and reached out toward one of the violins, stained a dark grayish brown hue. Gently, he traced a finger along one of the strings. Taut and smooth.

The flute's music stopped.

"If you're not gonna buy it, don't touch it," the old man rumbled, the flute still in his lips. Immediately, he began playing again.

Julian turned toward him. "I'm sorry."

The man ignored him and continued playing. Julian's steely blue eyes watched him a moment more, though the man seemed keen on pretending he wasn't there.

"Dance of the Winds," Julian said lowly.

The man stopped playing again and looked up.

"In D minor. Your personal choice, I presume."

A row of crooked teeth bared itself as the old man smiled. He set down his flute and turned in his chair, eyeing Julian like a bear would eye a wolf who'd wandered into his territory. Too small to be a threat, but like-minded enough to respect. "What's your poison?"

"Cello," Julian replied smoothly, turning to look back at the violins. "Can you make one?"

"Cello?" the man gasped hoarsely in such a way that Julian could only presume was some kind of eldery laughter. It was unpleasant, and he was forced to suppress a shiver. May he never grow that old. "What are you? Some kind of poet?"

"I dearly hope not." Julian examined the woodwinds. The work was exquisite. He'd never seen expertise like this in Syliras. "Would it trouble you to make one? A poet's instrument or a fool's, my soul isn't complete without it. I'd be willing to pay you extra to see that it's done quickly."

The man leaned back in his chair, rubbing his grizzled chin. How hands as arthritic as his could be so dextrous was a mystery Julian would never understand. He hovered near the stall, waiting for the old man's answer. The crowd continued to buzz behind him. As the sky grew darker, the streets grew thicker. Still weary from his stay on the trading vessel, Julian was growing more protective of his purse by the minute.

"Don't be naive, boy. 75 kina will do it."

"75?"

The man brought his flute back up to his lips and resumed playing. The song he choice to begin brought a quick laugh out of Julian - a mocking choice, Fool's Bargain. The man pulled the flute out of his mouth and chuckled himself. "So you do know your music, eh boy?"

"It's all I really do know," Julian sighed, smiling in his chagrin. He glanced aside uneasily. "75 kina really eats into my funds, however. I... have something for barter if you're willing to trade."

The man eyed him questioningly.

Julian snuck a hand into an inner pocket. His searching index finger hooked onto the smooth loop of a ring too small for him. Drawing the item from his pocket, he presented a gold ring in the pit of his palm. He stared at it coldly, as if it were a plague upon him to bear. The man focused his old green eyes on the object. He thoughtfully tapped the flute against his cheek.

"What is that?"

"It's a ring. It's worth thirty gold-rimmed mizas in Syliras." Julian stared at the man. He didn't look like he was going to take it.

"Is that a wedding ring, boy?"

Boy again. THAT was getting old fast. "My ex-wife's."

"Heheh, she doublecross you?"

Julian hesitated. "Something like that."

The old man scratched his stubble and tongued the inside of his cheek. After a few moments, he shook his head."Don't be a fool boy. I don't want your memories."

"You can sell it again. It's worth nearly half the cost to make the cello."

"Keep the ring. It's worth more than you realize."

"I don't want it."

The man snorted. "Nope. Still gonna be 75 kina."

Julian closed his fist around the ring in annoyance. He'd nearly been rid of it, too.

"Fine."

by **Julian** on March 28th, 2011, 6:55 am

"This must be it." Julian stopped in front of an ornate gazebo, noticing a painted sign. Lhavitian lettering was lovely. It would be nice if he could read it.

Fortunately for him, the old man at his stand was once a Syliran - a bard and carpenter from Zeltiva who had come to Lhavit some months ago. He understood Julian's being more or less lost in such a starkly different place. Though talking to him and being called "boy" every five words was about as pleasant as dancing barefoot on broken glass, he was able to lift some useful directions to useful places in Lhavit. He'd spoken well of the Shooting Star Inn, and considering his over-obvious high standard for people in general, that must have been saying something.

Julian made his way inside, still holding a crumpled receipt for his cello order in one hand. The luxury of the velvet-covered tables and the warm golden hue of the walls was immediately pleasing. The aroma of food was thick in the air, and reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything in nearly two days. Dishes laid out with fresh fruits and vegetables called out to him, but he resisted for now. He had been carrying his pack around for days - what he needed more than anything was rest. Food would make sense, but...

As he stood there, staring like a complete idiot, one of the attendants must have noticed and had started walking over. She greeted Julian with a smile and said something in a language he didn't understand.

He tilted his head.

"Excuse me," he replied politely. "I don't speak Lhavitian. I'm from Syliras, only passing through."

"Oh." The girl stared at him for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. "I said, welcome to the Shooting Star. Can I get you anything?"

Julian returned her smile half-heartedly, but turned toward the stairs longingly. "I need a room. I was told you offer week-long fares."

"That's right, fifteen kina for our standard room. Only ten more for the suite."

Julian glanced down as he dug into his purse. He'd been able to trade some of his money for kina back on the trading vessel - they had really told him all he'd needed to know about the currency exchange in Lhavit. In retrospect, picking up a few helpful phrases in Lhavitian might have been prudent.

"Where can I register?" Julian asked as he began counting out fifteen dark, gem-like coins in his palm. They were quaint things - a nice change from the dreary gold-rimmed miza coins he grew so weary of in Syliras. It was still money, of course, and still controlled every aspect of his life whether he liked it or not, but he enjoyed the way the light glittered off their faceted surfaces. For what little that was worth.

The attendant indicated the desk ahead. "I'm sure you'll love it here, sir. Can we offer you anything to eat? The Shooting Star has a fantastic menu."

"I'm sure it does." Julian began counting out the dark gem-like coins in his palm. "I will see about that later. I think better on an empty stomach. Thank you for your help." That said, Julian left her to approach the desk.

"But..." The girl was left standing in mild bewilderment. What an odd man. He seemed so distracted. "That doesn't make any sense..." she whispered to herself thoughtfully. With a dismissive shrug, she returned to work.

by **Julian** on March 28th, 2011, 9:36 pm

It didn't hit him until he finally got inside his room, then backed against the door to close it behind him. The moment the it latched, a sudden wave of fatigue sapped all the strength out of his knees. His pack fell off his shoulder and hit the floor, followed by the light clatter of the brass room key. Surrendering gladly to a fortnight's worth of absolute exhaustion, he whimpered gently as he slid to the floor. The lights hung outside and the pleasing sconces already lit in the room gave everything a calming, warm glow. It felt... safe in here, for the first time in weeks.

Everything that had happened - his sins in Zeltiva, his wife's death, and the abandonment of everything he knew in Syliras, he hadn't faced it yet. Not really. All he had been doing was looking forward, getting away from what he knew as his life and finding somewhere far from all his worries. He knew before setting out that it would be useless to try, but he didn't care. He just needed to get out of Syliras. He didn't feel any less empty here in this room than he had before, but here in this new place, he no longer felt sick in his soul. That would be enough for now.

After a few minutes of digging his fingers through his hair and pointless self pity, he got back on his feet and picked up his belongings. Pulling them over to the table across his room, he opened his pack, drawing out the leather bound journal inside. He paused to flip through it quickly. Rowan Meredith's posthumous words played out in a fluttering display. Setting the book down and looking at his pack again, he suddenly remembered how little he was carrying with him. Money, yes, but aside from that?

It was for the better, really. Purchasing an all new wardrobe in Surya Plaza would help refresh his mind, and ease the realization that his life had taken a completely new turn.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled his out wife's ring. He set it on top of Rowan's journal as some sort of half-hearted tribute to the dead, then made his way to the bed. Slowly and very carefully, he laid himself down as if his entire body were made of glass. Drawing in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and rested his hands on his stomach.

Julian was absolutely exhausted. However, it's in this weakened state that he could more easily meditate and sharpen his Hypnosis on himself. If he was too lucid, he'd become swallowed by his own distractions. Fatigued, his own mind was more pliable, and he could enter a trance much easier. It was a bit like sleeping, but anything from restful. That was fine. He had been letting himself forget about the entire reason he wanted to become a Hypnotist in the first place.

"And why is that?" A familiar voice echoed in his head.

Hm. That was fast.

Julian sat up and opened his eyes. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see that his body was still lying on the bed, looking fast asleep. This was all happening in his head, of course. He found it easiest to meditate by imagining different scenarios and places. Leaving his body, entering a library, standing in a room of mirrors. Whatever felt appropriate. And, occasionally, his darkest fears would take a form and a face - his father.

Turning, he saw Rowan standing by the window, staring out at the plaza. His right sleeve was folded and tied shut - he'd lost that arm decades ago. Despite that, he was dressed quite finely - wearing the same silk and rich fabrics befitting an aristocrat. His three piece suit was an attractive ebony and dark scarlet. The man was the same build as Julian - tall and slim, with the same raven dark hair, but streaked with gray. Parted on the side, it hung untied around his head, and if Julian didn't already recognize him, he might mistake his father for a tall woman. People certainly made that mistake enough with Julian himself.

"Rowan, it's been a while since I've seen you." Julian got up.

Rowan smirked. "Since you were young?"

"Since Zeltiva, after I betrayed my wife." Julian stared at his own body a while longer as he made his way across the room to Rowan. What he felt, looking at his own representation of his father, was a mixture of resentment and respect. Rowan Meredith was undoubtedly brilliant. As a child, he grew to believe that no one could outwit him. True, he never had a taste for books and ledgers, but he was cunning in his own right. When he'd run off on his own, in games he played, even when he spoke - always with just a touch of bitter amusement at the useless dithering of the people around him. It was as if the world simultaneously humored and disgusted him.

Of course, the only thing anyone else remembered about Rowan was that he was troubled, even sick. He murdered his wife - Julian's mother - but no one truly understood why. Julian thought he did. The secrets were all in Rowan's journals: the unraveling of his mind under the constant weight of a revolting reality that slowly wore at him over the years. A similar discontent slept in Julian, and every day he could feel it growing stronger.

"When I meditated soon after, you appeared to me." Julian stared at the back of Rowan's head. "I think that you represent everything I hate about myself."

"Cheery." Rowan turned from the window and fixed his single gray eye on Julian. Matching his missing arm, a slim eyepatch was tastefully tied to conceal the eye he had lost. He leaned against the table and shoved his hand in a pocket. "So then, what do you do now? Do you kill me in some droll ritual to perfect yourself?"

"Maybe." That was an amusing prospect. Julian ineffectually copied his father and pocketed his own hands, then sat on the edge of his bed. "Or accept you and all my flaws as part of my whole being. Sounds scholarly to me."

"And even more droll." Rowan snorted in boredom. "So then, what's the point of this exercise? How does this help you master Hypnosis?"

Julian rubbed his chin. "The power of Hypnosis comes from intimately understanding the mind. However, that's nearly impossible if I don't first understand my own."

"Oh please," Rowan groaned and rolled his eye. "There HAS to be more to Hypnosis than self-righteous platitudes." Pushing himself from the table, Rowan slowly walked toward Julian. "I really hate to think my only son has become some tool who's willing to believe whatever he's told. Is that what you are now?"

"No, of course not, I—"

"You didn't answer my question, Julian." The very way Rowan said his name seemed to send a paralytic shock through his body. In life, Rowan had almost never uttered Julian's name, barely even paid attention to him. For him to say his son's name with such sternness, such power, it sent a wave of intimidation through him that he wasn't expecting. Frozen where he sat, he watched his father draw closer, then come to a stop in front of him. "Why do you want to become a Hypnotist? Do you want to feed on other people? Con your way around to get everything you want? What is it, Julian?"

Staring at Rowan made Julian's blood run cold with sheer terror. A genius, and a monster, poised behind a scarred face that looked so much like his own. Might as well have been his own - this Rowan wasn't real. It was only the personification of a facet of himself, but it was so unafraid of him. It commanded such power that Julian had no choice but to answer the question. This fear, it controlled him.

"I don't want to become like you," Julian told it through a frightened snarl. "The better I can understand my mind, and those of the people around me, the more I can trap the seed of madness you left in me. I will never become the same self-absorbed killer that you were."

At first, Rowan seemed surprised to hear such bold words. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and stood back a moment, putting his hand on his hip. An impressed smile crossed his lips momentarily as he turned to stare contemplatively through the window. Or... what it impressed, or only amused? When Rowan turned to face him again, the expression had dropped into a scowl.

Suddenly Rowan surged forward at Julian, knocking him on his back. A hand, Rowan's only hand, clasped firmly around Julian's neck and held him down as he leaned over top of him. A mad fire danced in his eye that - no, no, this was only a hallucination! It couldn't harm him, this wasn't real. No matter how vivid it was.

Then why couldn't he shake it? Rowan had him pinned down, and Julian couldn't breathe. He could feel the pressure on his windpipe choking off his air. He could even smell the merlot on Rowan's breath as he drew near, an enraged glare darkening the one gray-blue eye he still had as it bored into Julian's.

"It PAINS me to see what an IDIOT you've become, Julian," Rowan growled. Julian clasped his hands around Rowan's at his throat, but no matter how he tried he couldn't peel it away. "Hypnotism? That practice BLEEDS more madness than I could EVER give you. You're walking STRAIGHT into the fire."

Unable to pull Rowan's hand away, Julian's hand slipped down, blindly searching his own pockets.

"You will NEVER be rid of me, Julian." Rowan began to chuckle. "I'm your FATHER, whether you and I like it or not. I will ALWAYS be here gracing your thoughts, bending them in ways you can't prevent. Sooner or later, you'll end up like me. It's inevitable. You've already killed your wife."

"N-ghk!" Julian DIDN'T kill her. She killed herself. He could have prevented it if... if he'd stayed with her! If he saw her through the devastation she faced after losing her child, he could have helped her... but he didn't KILL her. He was just... too selfish to see that he could have stopped her.

"You might as well have been the one to take the knife to Liara's wrists, Julian. It's your fault."

"SHUT UP!"

Rowan shuddered as the blade of a pocket knife dug its way into his ribs.

He drew back suddenly, grunting in pain and surprise. The knife had been in Julian's pocket, the only way he could think to defend himself. Julian rolled on his side and coughed as he finally found the air again. With both hands he cradled his aching throat, gasping for oxygen. At the foot of the bed, Rowan was clutching the knife in his side.

Clenching his teeth and squeezing his eye shut, he slowly pulled the knife from his own body. A river of crimson poured into and over his silk shirt, spilling onto the bed. His hand shook as he held the knife like a sacred relic, staring at it in wild disbelief. Julian glanced down at him. Wasn't that the point of this trance? Shouldn't it be over?

"It's not... nnrh... that easy, Julian..." Without warning, Rowan lashed out again. Before Julian could react, Rowan plunged the knife into his chest.

"Ahh!" Gasping out loud, Julian reached for his chest to futilely remove the knife. But... nothing. Julian lifted his head to look at himself. Rowan wasn't there, and his own hands were clawing helplessly at his shirt. Nothing. There was no injury. The trance was over.

Julian let his head fall back down, desperately trying to catch his breath. Running a hand over his face and into his hair, he let himself breathe for a few more moments, calming himself down. That was almost too much, but it was those kinds of visions he needed to have. If he could gain control of that, it would be a significant accomplishment for himself as a Hypnotist. For now, however, he needed a bit more practice.

Perhaps Julian should see about the Shooting Star's menu after all.

by **Julian** on March 29th, 2011, 3:38 am

Day 19 of Spring, 511 AV

It was early dusk as Julian set out into the Plaza again. He hadn't been able to forget the memory of his Hypnotic meditation the night before. Why couldn't he have taken after his mother? In some ways, he knew he did. Alcoholism was a brief period in his life he didn't remember a great deal of. He knew he had a penchant for easy addictions, and decided years ago that a steady flow of wine and brandy would not define him. Evelyn was just as selfish as Rowan was, but at least she wasn't out-of-her-sodding-skull CRAZY. At least she didn't hate the world she lived in.

Julian shook the nonsense out of his head. Why dwell on this? He was better than that, moping around in his self loathing. That wasn't why he'd come to Lhavit. Focus on what's around you, Julian. The streets are beginning to fill with new and interesting people. A street worker was beginning to light the evening's lanterns. His room, true to the old man's word, was splendid and the Lhavitian cuisine at the Shooting Star was excellent. He had no obligations to anyone, and he could leave whenever he wanted. THIS was the life he'd yearned for. This was what he wanted.

Forcing himself to think positive thoughts, Julian approached the old man's music stand - A Knife's Gift to Music. There was a new piece among his wares - a large, red cello with a black neck. It was lacquered and polished to a mirror shine - the evening's early lights were reflecting gaily off its bright wooden surface. A well strung bow was threaded between the strings, modestly carved but hand-painted with a gold floral design. It stood on its single pointed leg, leaning against the stand. It was so large and expertly crafted that it easily outsung the violins and flutes on display nearby.

The old man who owned the stand was playing the lute today. He wasn't playing any melody in particular, but softly plucking the strings with the memory of a song he couldn't seem to remember. As his gnarled old hands chose the chords with careful precision on the lute's neck, he licked his lips and carefully followed the neck to the base, as if trying to remember which strings struck which note.

Taken aback, Julian approached the old man, shock and awe frozen on his features. His legs felt like molasses as he walked toward the work of art the old man had created.

"What you starin' at, boy?" the old man muttered, stilling the strings of his lute with the palm of his hand.

"You built THAT in one day?" Julian indicated the cello, ignoring the familiar sting of 'boy.'

The old man turned to look at it. He snorted and looked back at Julian, grimacing. Oh, no, it wasn't a grimace. Looked like the old man might be smiling. "Course not. I had it lying around at home. Wife wanted me to play it, some years ago. It needed some sanding and polish and re-stringing. That's all."

Julian stared in disbelief. "You're giving me your own cello?"

"I'm not giving it to you. You paid me yesterday, or did you forget already? 'Sides, ain't doin' me any good sittin' in a corner. Just reminds me of my dead wife." The old man looked back down at his guitar and resumed playing. "I didn't want it anymore."

Julian narrowed his eyes. Certainly poignant. So the man wanted to teach him some sort of lesson about remember loved ones? How arrogant. How typical. Julian may have been young but he was no child. The old man thought he could share some wisdom on the loss of his wife? Presumably, he'd at least grown old with his. Miserable coot.

Swallowing his impertinence, just to be polite, Julian moved over and reached for the cello. He laid his claim receipt on the stand. "Thank you. It's extraordinary craftsmanship."

The man stopped playing. "You goin' somewhere, boy?"

"Back to the inn. I'd like to put this somewhere safe."

"I don't think so." The old man got out of his chair and moved to the side. He motioned for Julian to sit with the end of his lute. "Before I let go of that, you show me that you know how to play it. I'm not giving the object of my wife's wishes to some young idiot who thinks he's a maestro because he can play 'My Little Dog.'"

An unexpected smirk came on Julian's face. It was a challenge. It'd been some time since Julian had played, and this cello was completely new, foreign. Very well, if the old man wanted to hear this young idiot play, he would. He could use the practice anyway. Nodding in acknowledgement, Julian took the man's chair and pulled cello up close.

Taking a moment to acquaint himself with the instrument, Julian ran his fingers over the strings. They felt properly taut. Good. Drawing up his bow, he pressed his thumb into the bristles. He gasped suddenly and jerked his hand. He turned his thumb over, revealing that the bristles had been so sharp that he'd actually cut his thumb. He heard the old man laugh at him, and Julian chuckled at himself too. He brought his thumb to his mouth to lick it clean, then pressed the bow against the cello's strings.

"Follow my lead, boy," the old man said as he began to strum out a slow, melancholy melody. "And try to keep up."

Julian first began playing the underlying chords to the lute's plucked melody - a fairly simple thing to do. Melodies were fairly predictable and easy to follow - in a surprisingly comforting way. As he became more confident in the song's rhythm, he began to add his own flair.

For nearly an hour, Julian played duet with the old man in Surya Plaza. There were no insults lobbed, no 'boy,' and no unimpressed glares. Though the Nocturne they played spoke of a latent, hidden pain, a permanent smile fixed itself on Julian's face as he played. Perhaps the old man was arrogant, and perhaps Julian didn't care for him in the slightest. But as they played their music together, their souls mingled on equal ground. Both of them knew the pain of loss, of helplessness. Both of them shared their musical vision with the patrons of the plaza.

As the people either paused briefly to listen, or stayed to watch, the music reignited something in Julian that night. All the worries from yesterdays trance were completely extinguished as the smooth hum of a refurbished cello resonated through the cool spring air.

Nocturne for the Lost :

by **Ophelia** on March 29th, 2011, 11:44 am

Julian: +1 Hypnotism, +3 Meditation, +2 Play Musical Instrument (Cello)

Julian: Lost in a New City, Recognition of Tunes and Keys, Layout of Lhavit (Poor), A Knife's Gift to Music, Cello

Subtract 75kina from your ledger and add your cello to your possessions.

Your writing style is very beautiful, almost gentle. I like it a lot. I just need to be somewhat strict about your use of hypnotism in this thread. The Lore says that Hypnotic trances are available, and you have indeed rp'ed out one magnificently. But it does say only "Competent hypnotists" can do this. Your hypnotism level is only 15 - it needs to be at least 26. Train your PC up a bit and then you'll be able to do this. We just need to make sure it's realistic levelling.

Any questions or concerns, my inbox is always open. <33333