We'll light up the sky [open]

[bearshermark]

WHO: Eleven & OPEN
WHEN: After dragon shenanigans to mid-month-ish?
WHERE: Taravast's gardens, artisanal district, canals
WHAT: A catch-all?
WARNINGS: None so far, will update if needed



1. garden magic (late morning)

His spirit was no longer a fragile, shattered wisp so weak he barely felt it even when he sought it. Now, soothed and nurtured over the course of two months, it sat warmly in his chest, resonant with the light of the sun and the breath of life in the grass and leaves around him. The next step was as simple as it was taxing: regaining strength much like a weakened limb. Meditation was no longer enough.

Eleven shifted up to his knees and folded his hands together in an echo of prayer. Slowly, a band of runic light circled into being- at first close to his body, then gradually expanding outward. His brows furrowed, hands clasping tighter in concentration as sweat beaded his brow and the flicker of holy energy wavered, then blinked out.

He breathed a hard exhale, settling back down in a daze. Eyes slotting open, unfocused until movement snapped his awareness to his more immediate surroundings, onto someone he hoped hadn't been there before (or for too long)- but then, his eyes had been closed since he'd begun to meditate some hour or so ago.

He blinked, a sheepish smile spreading over his face. "Ah, good morning.."


2. forging (late afternoon)

[With a handful of tasks to get through and a decent amount of coin to manage it with, Eleven manages to broker a deal to rent the forge for a span of hours a day. Most of it in extra work, but it's wonderful, simple, honest work and in another time, another dimension, it could have been the beginning and end of his worldly concerns.

In the present moment, dressed down in a blacksmith's practical wear, thoughts of politics and the undead take a backseat to the heat of the forge and the shape of molten metal beneath his hands.

Given that this isn't his forge however, he blinks to attention whenever he catches the shape of someone hovering nearby. With his hair tied back and soot stuck to his face, Eleven spares a thought to wonder if he'd even be readily recognizable if anyone from court were to spot him. Concerns and a thread of backstory to think about weaving later. For now-]

Can I help you?


3. ferrying (early-mid evening)

As the sun set and the sky darkened, Eleven donned his half-mask and the familiar comfort of his coat for a quiet evening on the water.

He drifted down the canals, a practiced hand now with near-silent strokes of the oar and ripples of a gentle wind left in the gondola's wake. Something that felt near-to an artform, and a point of quiet, insignificant pride as he slowed up to a spot at the bank where he'd made out the silhouette of someone waiting.

Eleven called out with a friendly voice and a smile lit by the edge of light from the single lantern hung from the prow.

"Where would you like to go?"

4. wildcard

[ooc: anything we've spoken about before, or otherwise adjacent to these prompts that you think might work better is fine! hit me up if you'd like to thread something else! also happy to match formatting]

Comments

[soloritur]

[ He was tortured by undead witches when he came here, so he has some feelings about that. It's all a little hard to wrap his head around, even now. They have an entire necromantic district, and it sounds like they need it. ]

...Do you have any idea how it's spreading? Is it like a disease?

[bearshermark]

[The man has a lot of questions. It's only natural of course, but he's grown wary. There's more sensitive information he isn't comfortable with sharing. Eleven gives him a smile]

Why don't we get a drink later and talk more then?

[soloritur]

[ Maybe he pushed too hard, but it's troubling that he doesn't answer. There's so much he doesn't understand, especially about the undead. He takes a breath and nods. ]

Yeah. No, that's fine. I should let you get back to work.

[ He steps back and smiles again, like he doesn't have fifty more burning questions about this. ]

I'll just take a look around.

[bearshermark]

[Eleven's brows hike, but he lets him be. He does have work to do, after all. He turns back to it and leaves Marcos to his own devices for the next few hours.

As the sun begins to set, Eleven lets the forge cool and sets the tools back in their place, then stretches and looks about]

How about that drink, then?

[soloritur]

[ Marcos honestly wasn't working the entire time Eleven was, but he hadn't strayed far while he explored and tried to learn what he could from the locals. He was fairly familiar with the forge by the time he finds him again, and to his utter surprise, it paid off to hang around.

When Eleven voluntarily asks him if he wants to get a drink, it takes him a second. Here he thought that was just his way of politely blowing him off for asking too many questions. ]

Oh. Sure. [ It's weird to hear that from someone so young, but he's going to go with it for now. ] Sounds great. I think they've had enough of me for the day.

[bearshermark]

[Eleven grins, chuckling shortly, and makes a vain attempt at brushing some of the soot off of his work clothes. Oh well, it isn't as though they'd be patronizing an upscale establishment. He stretches his arms out with a satisfied grunt]

Follow me. I know a good place with decent fare.

[He leads them along a short walk along the street where crowds get a little thicker, but he keeps an eye on Marcos and before long, they're seated at a small table in a crowded tavern. Eleven is bright-eyed and comfortable in the din, tucking into his ale and simple meal with a pleased smile]

You were one of the ones from the tower, then?

[soloritur]

[ It only strikes him as slightly strange that Eleven takes to him so easily, but he smiles back and follows him anyway. He hasn't taken the tour, so he tries to pay attention to their surroundings on the way to get a sense of where they are.

Marcos appreciates the tavern they wind up in, and gets settled at the table. He only lets his gaze linger on the ale Eleven has in front of him for a moment, but doesn't comment on it after he asks about the tower. ]

Was I too obvious? [ Said almost like that wasn't a horribly traumatic experience. ] Me and a friend of mine were there together. Gotta say, I wasn't expecting to find a place like this when we got out of there.

[bearshermark]

[He smiles, all good humor]

Not for me, but I'm not terribly bright. It's just that some of things you said seemed like the sort of thing we came into, here.

[The amusement in his eyes fades to something more earnest] But I'm glad you're all right.

[He takes a sip of ale] You had questions?

[soloritur]

[ Marcos assumes he's being kind, so he shakes his head. This isn't the type of place he's used to blending into, but he hasn't had that long to adapt. ]

Just a few. [ Or nothing but. It's a lot to take in, which makes it hard to find out where to start. ] I feel like I've gotten in the middle of something I don't have any business being in. Do you think what happened in the tower is going to happen again?

[bearshermark]

[He takes a breath, the words to uncertainty rising easily to his tongue, but he hums a short note instead, expression shifting as he thinks it over]

The first of us arrived here in a similar state. The second on slave ships. There have been scattered appearances since, but with all that and now the tower, I'd guess it's rather likely.

[Eleven taps a finger on the table, frowning] We were told once that we had been summoned at the behest of an undead warlord, but that force was- has gone. I don't know much more about how or why it happens.

[soloritur]

[ He looks up at that. Not that he entirely believed that Eleven came from a nearby farming down, but it was a smooth lie. Which makes him wonder how often he's had to tell it.

As far as undead warlords summoning them... that's harder to wrap his head around. ]

Were you a part of the first?

[bearshermark]

[Eleven ducks his head in a nod, idly swirling his soup before taking a sip]

Of those that survived, anyway. According to Bloodbonnet... [He frowns, expression going tight] Well, killing people like us didn't solve anything.

[soloritur]

[ Marcos studies him for a moment, more questions popping up after he alludes to what he went through. He'd been given a brief rundown of what happened before he got there, but at the time it was hard to take it all in. ]

Bloodbonnet? [ Look, he's heard some strange codenames mutants come up with, so he can't be sure that's a nickname. ] I heard a little bit about you being summoned for your powers. Is there a reason to hide them now?

[bearshermark]

[Eleven offers a sheepish smile, reminded not everyone's familiar with the nickname]

A merchant.. acquaintance of ours who refuses to give us his name.

[But for Marcos' other question, he blinks surprise] I hadn't thought of it that way. We've been trying to avoid drawing attention to ourselves since we first arrived, it seems. Even before then, I..

[He shakes his head] We have reputations to maintain, so I've been trying to be careful. Though perhaps my skills are a touch beyond what's expected, but they're all rather practical and everyone knows I've apprenticed in the healing halls since shortly after arriving.. But we're playing our parts while we're here. No one's meant to know we're all working together or what we are.

[Eleven shrugs, dipping a bit of bread into his soup] Still, magic seems common here.

[He pops the warm, softened bread into his mouth and chews thoughtfully] Whatever you think is best for you.

[soloritur]

[ He kind of wants to push about the name Eleven gave him, but he finds himself listening a little closer to what he says next. When he goes back to eating, he keeps looking at him in quiet consideration. ]

What we are. [ They locked him in a cage, man. It's hard for him to see beyond that and how he's lived as a mutant. More strange that magic is so common. He has to think that there's more to it than acceptance. ]

That's good to hear. [ He smiles briefly, trying to shake off any tension he's showing. ] So it's just the different types of magic, then. Like the rivalry between the groups of witches.

[bearshermark]

[Eleven hums an absent note, nodding]

I know less about that than I likely should. The Bessis specialize in fire magics, and the Attaryl more mental and spiritual magic. There aren't many male sorcerors among either of them, though I'm not certain why that is.

[Another shrug] It's a very political city. I don't understand half of it. But I hope I can help some.

[soloritur]

[ He shifts in his seat. Of all the people Marcos could have been lumped in with, they toss him in with telepaths. Although he distinctly remembers the visions the Bessis showed him, so there probably isn't a way around that. ]

I don't know as much as I should, considering. [ He looks around them, just making sure nobody else is within earshot. But again... telepaths make this a moot point. ] ...I was hired to promote the Attaryl at the expense of the Bessis, but I haven't has much contact with them since then."

[bearshermark]

[He glances up, surprise plain even as it takes him a few moments to decipher what that promotion bit entails. Eleven blinks, then frowns]

More politics. I don't envy your position. [He folds his hands together]

The Attaryl helped me.. or a class at one of their minor schools did. You could say good things about their instruction for something that isn't too.. tense.

[soloritur]

[ He nods, looking less than thrilled with it himself, for more reasons than he's mentioning. He wasn't expecting Eleven to say he was taking classes, and he leans in slightly. ]

You've been studying under them? Do you mind if I ask what kind of class it was?

[bearshermark]

[His glances off, face heating behind a sheaf of hair]

Soul purification.

[soloritur]

[ He tilts his head, curious. It's obvious Eleven is uncomfortable with the subject. Since he's not sure why, he treads carefully. ]

Spiritual magic, huh? ...Is that how your powers work?

[bearshermark]

[He reaches for his drink, eyeing what remains]

Mmn. Some of it.

[He drains the rest of his drink, then breathes a sigh and leans back in his chair. Lets the haze settle pleasantly over his mind and relax some of the tension in his shoulders]

I'm okay now. It helped.

[soloritur]

[ He eyes him a little more closely. So he needed to purify his soul through magic. That's... heavy.

He wants to ask what it helped with exactly, but he continues on after another moment. ]

Well. I guess it says something about them that they're willing to share their techniques. Especially if they're not asking you to join them.

[bearshermark]

[Eleven nods absently]

They took pity on me, I think. I'd expected they would ask something of me in return, but I'm happier if they don't. I'm only a horse expert of a newly wealthy farmer, after all.

[He stretches a moment, then turns his attention back to Marcos] But what did the witches want with the lot of you? Did they know you were.. not from here?

[soloritur]

[ His brow furrows, but he leaves that alone for now. Not that he thinks he's lying to him again, it just sounds... like an incomplete story.

At his next question, he reaches for his own neglected drink while he thinks about how to answer. ]

They had to, but they didn't seem to care. I don't know if the incident at the tower reopened old wounds, but they seem to still want revenge on the Bessis.

[ He's reminded of Lorna again and slumps back in his chair. ]

They probably saw it as an advantage. After I was freed, they would have known that I had nowhere else to turn to. The same as the people I was with.