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driftward · 2 years ago

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Sorceress’ Apprentice

Rating: Teen

Thanks to @yzeltia for making the header image.

This is the masterpost for Sorceress’ Apprentice. If you’d prefer to read chapter by chapter, check the tag: Sorceress’ Apprentice.

And what a journey it has been! I would like to thank LynMars aka autumnslance for helping beta this thing. She reminded me of some of the landscape changes that would have occurred in history, and made suggestions which I incorporated into the Matoya character, as well as a probing question about tribal politics in Sharlayan which I touched here and will expand upon in a later story (Matoya, unfortunately, just does not care enough for it to have been explored here)

I would also like to thank my partner, Saesama who also helped beta this and was a great source of encouragement while I wrote it. Her long history in fandom and her unflagging support went a long way towards calming some of my anxieties.

And thanks to my FC, as it was a discussion in our Discord that really kicked my brain in the direction necessary to start this off.

Anyroad. The Sorceress’ Apprentice.

-*-

Delving into the depths of the mysteries of the star was Archon Matoya’s stock-in-trade. It was this zeal for the exploration of the unknown that lent her cause to take up residence so close to the Antitower. While it may have been hidden away, her cave existed near to it, near enough that she could perform her work on research into the aetherial sea. Here, she could sit close to the thinning of reality that existed just on the far side of one of her cave walls. She could plumb the depths of the very nature of aether, and fair near felt she could listen to the secret workings of the star itself, hidden though they were, but ready to yield under her gaze.

Which is why it was so frustrating to Matoya that her fellow Archons and the Forum insisted on interfering with her work within it every step of the way. They claimed to be just as keen as her on claiming the answers she sought, but hemmed and hawed on the most unimportant of details. Requests for materials were frequently slashed or modified. Reports were often just shy of demanded, drawing her attention away from her all-important work. Members of the Forum would often drop by to ask questions she had already provided answers for, or which were, frankly, beneath her attention.

And now this latest was nigh-inexcusable.

They insisted that as an Archon, it was necessary for her to not only perform her work, but also to ‘see to the next generation’. That it was necessary for her to 'share her wisdom and experience’ with others. That it was necessary for someone to be taught in order to carry on her work.

More like it was necessary for her to teach someone whom the Forum would unquestionably find more pliable.

Fools. Ninety nine fools, and rarely a sensible thought among them.

Hells take them. She would continue her work, with or without their help. Knowledge sought no man, and most of those ninety nine barely sought knowledge enough themselves for her liking.

To be sure, she was fond of those few who did, but they were of little help to her, and she would not be asking for it.

And she certainly did not ask to be saddled with this latest sorry excuse for an apprentice. She had already chased off several others with her sharp tongue and variations of rigorous schedules that were just shy of being unbearable. She could have pushed her would-be apprentices harder, if she had liked, but she chose not to.

Let nobody say that Archon Matoya was not fair.

And so she found herself frowning down at the latest would-be acolyte that had been sent to study at her knee.

Far, far down.

This one was younger than most had been.

She looked back up at the person delivering the burden.

“I trust there is a reason that you have brought me a boy of barely ten summers into my home instead of your usual milksop bleeding heart ambitions or prattlings about chosen?” she asked.

“I’m seven,” the child said, speaking out of turn. “And your home is a cave.” Typical. Miqo'te boys were all energy and trouble, and now there was one disgracing her home.

“Hold your tongue while your elders are speaking,” snapped Matoya, and was rewarded by the flash of fire behind those young eyes even as he snapped his jaw shut and glared up at her. This one had spark. Blessedly, however, he remained silent. She returned her attention to the elderly Elezen that had brought him, paying the boy no further mind.

“I thought it mete to bring you your new apprentice personally, that I may soothe your humours before they turned to bile. Archon Matoya, may I present Y'thol Tia,” said Louisoix.

Y'thol glared up at her, but after a moment, he bowed his head, and managed a curtsy.

Matoya frowned up at Louisoix, and damn the man for being taller, that she always had to look up to the overgrown aurochs.

“I find that I do not appreciate your sense of humour at the moment, Archon Louisoix,” said Matoya. “You know full well my research is my highest priority just now. Or perhaps you and my fellow Archons are under the misguided impression that secrets hidden will simply turn themselves out and fall into my lap? As I have insisted, repeatedly, I am busy. I do not have the time to spare to wipe snotty noses. The rest of you lot can have your precious apprentices. Leave me to my research in peace.”

Louisoix studied her for a long moment, and she pretended not to notice. He always thought himself so introspective into the nature of his fellow man. Well, let him look. Matoya never pretended to be anything other than what she was. She studied secrets; she was not one herself.

“Surely you do not think so little of me that I would come here with a burden, and not an opportunity?” he said at last. She snorted, but he held up a hand before she could lash out at him. “All I ask is that you give the boy a chance. Humour me, if you will. Place your crystal eye upon him, and observe the wonders that can hide from plain sight, if you would only look.”

Matoya scoffed, but she turned from him, and began to walk towards the back of her cave. When he did not follow, she simply gestured a 'come hither’ gesture over her shoulder. Louisoix was polite to a fault, and she knew he would not approach further if not explicitly invited.

“Fine. Come with me. Let’s get this mummer’s farce over with so that I can get back to work. Place the boy over there if you would have me look him over. But if I see not so much as a speck of merit to this exercise, I will be showing you both the door.”

Louisoix knelt down to the Miqo'te boy, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The fire she had seen in his eyes earlier cleared as the two looked at each other, and Matoya rolled her own as she turned away from them. Behind her, she heard Louisoix conversing quietly with the boy. Matoya tried to ignore them as she removed the protections around the crystal eye.

Her crystal eye. An artifact of impressive power, and one which provided her special insights into the nature of the aether that made up their world. Legend said that it could pierce to the very heart of truths unbidden and could whisper secrets untold. The reality was not quite so fanciful. It was a crystal of light, an artifact supposedly granted by Hydaelyn to one of her chosen champions in an earlier age. And while it would not simply hand over its gifts unbidden, it was still powerful in its own right.

She placed the crystal eye on a cushion on the round, simple wooden table she owned. She was not prone to extravagance, and the furnishings of her home reflected her sensibilities. Here in the back of the cave was little. Her bookshelves. A table, which she used for everything from taking her supper to performing alchemy. Little else. And now, the table would hold the crystal for her at a reasonable height while she looked for whatever it was Louisoix saw in the boy.

“Well, come along then, I haven’t got all day,” she said, pulling a chair up and taking a seat. She looked to the two, and gestured again at where she wanted the boy to stand.

Louisoix nodded, and smiled at the boy. “Show her,” is all he said. The boy nodded, and stood where Matoya had indicated.

He had a wand on his waist, which he now pulled free and held in front of him. He looked at Matoya, and she saw that fire in him once more. “May I begin?” he asked, and though his words were polite, his tone was just shy of recalcitrant, and she detected not one single onze of obeisance in him.

A thread of humour wound its way through her, and she resisted an urge to smirk back at the cheeky little bugger. It was tempting to bring him on as an apprentice just for his fire alone.

Matoya kept one eye on him, as she held a hand out towards the crystal eye. She dared not touch it directly, as the feedback could at times be nigh-overwhelming, and this was an exercise to satisfy Louisoix’s sense of propriety, nothing more. Using the crystal eye correctly required great personal discipline, will, and focus. Most had to concentrate and close their eyes to use its abilities, and even then, many found themselves overwhelmed and incapacitated by its puissant power.

Not Archon Matoya. She kept her eyes fixed on the boy, even as aether poured from her into the crystal eye, and in turn, its gifts flowed back to her. The world around her shifted, and the edges of reality swayed and shuddered. The world became full of colours unseen and warped liminality, even as she felt her mind drift into the realm of aether.

“Begin,” she commanded, and the Miqo'te boy began.

He started simply enough. Cantrips taught to any young acolyte beginning their first steps on their journey. But as he moved through simple spells to more complex ones, Matoya found herself transfixed. The boy was possessed of uncommon talent. Certainly, none of what he did was beyond any but the most amateur of spell weavers, but the power he channeled was impressive for one so young, and the grace - the grace with which he executed. She knew that Miqo'te were generally more agile and dextrous than their fellows, owing to their stature and natures, but in this, she saw an art to the movements and gestures of the boy as he moved through spell forms. The glow of the aura of his aether waxed and waned, but even at its dimmest still shined brilliantly as he shifted to simple restorative spells, and through to manipulation of the elements themselves.

As he finished his demonstration and the waves of manipulated aether fell away, she saw beyond, for just a moment. It was an uncommon boon of using the crystal eye - or a risk, depending on who you asked. Its power was not to be trifled with, and in the beyond, truth was rather more malleable, so one had to be wary and judicious with their interpretations. But here, for just the briefest of moments, as the flare of his aura subsided, Matoya saw something more. Something different about the boy. Something - but it didn’t make sense, now did it? She was a firm believer that what a person saw was what was, and that it was best to not allow any personal illusions to interfere with that.

She closed her eyes and broke the connection to the crystal eye. When she opened them again, what she saw before her was a boy - and she was certain of that point, no matter how young he may be - standing and looking up at her. He had placed his wand back in its place on his waist, and his hands were tensed into fists as his side. He looked like a little soldier at attention, save for the defiance she saw in his expression as he looked up at her.

“Well?” asked Louisoix. “I can already guess at what you saw within that crystal eye of yours. What the rest of us have seen in the boy over the last few seasons, as he began the practice of his art. Are you satisfied that he will be worth your attentions?”

Matoya took a deep breath in and let it out in a put-upon sigh. Well. The child had potential, of that there was no doubt. That fire in him would have to be tamed, it was true. She was free to turn him away, but if she did so, her fellow Archons would just find another to saddle her with eventually.

And Louisoix’s presence aside, she was certain this latest apprentice was an attempt to spite her. Sending her a willful child to waste her time. It was a message, and one which Louisoix was simply too soft-hearted to see around. She looked over at the man. For all his faults, however, he was always genuine, and he shared her zeal for delving into truth, which was why she allowed his presence at all. That he saw an opportunity here for both would-be master and would-be student was as real as he was.

Well. If her fellow Archons saw fit to spite her, she was just stubborn enough to spite them back. But perhaps Louisoix was right, and where would that leave them in this foolish game? And if the child was not up to the challenges she would present him with, well, that was no problem of hers to solve.

“Very well,” she said. She turned to Y'thol. “But don’t you go thinking you will find life easy here just because of your youth or your talent. We will find out the truth of your abilities, and see if you are truly up to the challenge of being my apprentice.”

The young child scowled, and his ears folded back just the slightest amount, but he looked her in the eye before nodding, once. He kept his tongue to himself, but still, she could see challenge in his eyes. She snorted.

“Well, if you are quite satisfied, Archon Leveilleur, you may take your leave. I have a new apprentice to train, it would seem.”

Louisoix bowed deeply, but as he straightened from the gesture, he frowned lightly at Matoya.

“Will you not ask anything before I go? You barely know naught of him past his name.”

“If he lasts so long as two moons,” she said, a trifle longer than her last apprentice had managed, “then perhaps I’ll care. Now go.”

Louisoix looked as though he was about to say something more, but she caught his gaze as it flickered from her to the child behind her. Something went unsaid, and he nodded, before turning and leaving. Matoya snorted, again, and turned around to see Y'thol still standing where she had left him.

“As for you,” she said. “Follow me. I will show you where you will be staying, and then I intend to put you to work.”

—

Whatever scant fondness of him she may have had, she had research she wished to return to, and too much of it could not be done while she had a young charge about. She put him to bed and spent the evening adjusting the schedule she had created for the previous apprentice. Once satisfied, she read it out to one of her ensorcelled frogs. The poroggos, while not necessarily very intelligent, were intelligent enough to be able to listen and provide some feedback. As a boon, she found them a useful sounding board for her ideas, for even if they could not challenge them directly, she found that she could find flaws in them simply by speaking them out loud. This particular plan was sound enough, however, and she herself went to bed, giving another one of the poroggos instructions to wake her early in the morning.

At four and a half bells, she had been woken up. At four and three-quarters, she was dressed and ready for the day. At five, she woke her young charge up by slamming the butt of her staff down on the floor next to where he was sleeping. He woke up with a yelp, arms flailing as he fell out of the bed. Matoya watched him, unimpressed, as he landed on the floor.

“I will be expecting you awake bright and early, boy,” she said. “You’ve much to do, and you’ll find the day’s length challenge enough to do it in. Come along.”

She turned and walked away, hearing Y'thol scrabbling free of his sheets behind her.

The schedule she had created was rough indeed. It was designed to provide him with scant time to get into mischief, and what was in her judgement sufficient time to take to his tasks. Waking up at five bells, getting dressed, cleaning himself up, and breaking his fast was expected to take no more than half a bell, after which he was to tend to the morning chores. Refuse would have to be sorted and delivered to where it needed to be, and various enchantments tended to. A simple enough task to start him out, as they only needed a quick influx of aether to be maintained. After that he was to take to morning studies. She had decided on a regimen of review and practice first thing after the morning chores were done. Once she had observed his progress, if any, drills would keep him occupied and sharp until noon.

At noon, she would allow him a half bell to take his luncheon, and then another half bell to clear away the dishes and clean up after lunch. From the first bell after the high sun he could begin to work on studying new material. Learning the basics of aetheric calculations would suffice for a start, she surmised; he was just of an age where he could be expected to focus on them, and they would serve as foundation for whatever came next. If anything came next. Her prior apprentice had protested the work, claiming herself beyond it. Matoya had a sense of triumph when she had turned herself out under her own volition, cursing the woman’s stubbornness and spite, as though not realizing that Matoya viewed both of those as virtues, long honed.

After the work on calculations and estimates, the child could be used to help maintain the various constructs around the cave, ensuring they were in good health or good condition as was fit, and helping her set them to their tasks. Then would be a reading period, in which he was free to study as he wished, but only insofar as he continued to show that he was, in fact, making progress and not simply fooling around.

Once his bell of self-directed reading was done, the rest of the day would be spent on more varied education, rounding out his knowledge. Spells and enchantments, history and esoterica, alchemy and artifice. At eight bells, he would be allowed a light supper, and after supper, it was expected that he would take to his chores, and any other evening routine, such as bathing and tending the cave. He could go to bed if he wished once he was done, but the next day would begin, no matter what his self chosen bedtime, at five bells.

She was rather proud of the schedule. Onerous, to be certain, but doable with diligence and focus. A Miqo'te child of merely seven summers, she was certain, would have neither, and soon she would be rid of him and could return to her life of relative peace.

—

The child did, in fact, last two moons.

It was a surprise to Matoya, but she never expressed it. To be certain, it had not been a peaceful two moons. Y'thol took to the schedule, and as she had hoped, he had not liked it. Rather than wither underneath it, however, he seemed to see fit to view it as a challenge to match his will against.

The first moon passed well enough between the two. It took him a few sennights to get used to being up at the early hour, and those same sennights saw him up late as he tried to get all of his chores and other tasks done. He often woke up tired and irritable, but despite that, he took to his chore list mostly without complaint.

It had taken them a while to settle into a routine and get used to one another. She forced herself to not outwardly resent his presence. The failings of her fellow Archons were theirs alone, and he would fail on his own merits. Or not. As for him, while his expressions were frequently surly, he did not buckle under her arduous schedule, but instead chose to rise to meet her demands.

The time was not, however, without its little challenges.

He had been sweeping up after breakfast one morning. Matoya had taken to reading during the after breakfast period. She could stay at the table and keep an eye on him to make sure he missed not one speck of dust, and look after her studies at the same time.

“Back in the crèche,” he said as he swept, “we were taught to all work together for cleaning.”

“Well, you are not in the crèche now, are you? And I expect you to earn your keep, boy,” said Matoya, not looking up from her book.

Y'thol swept along quietly for a few moments. “They said it helped the work go faster. And also helped us get along better with each other. They said, learning to work with others was important.”

Matoya lowered her book now and looked at the child over the top of it. The young Miqo'te’s face had an expression of doubtable innocence on it as he kept sweeping, never pausing in his work. His ears were ever-so-slightly back, and his tail was twitching back and forth at its tip merrily enough, though.

Whatever that may have meant.

“Then I suppose here you’ll learn well enough how to work on your own,” she said, going back to her reading.

Minutes slipped by without further conversation.

“It’s okay. Archon Louisoix did warn me you were messy,” said Y'thol.

“That is enough out of you, boy,” she said, snapping her book shut. “If you’ve got enough vim to run your mouth, clearly you’ve enough for more work.”

“Of course, Master Matoya,” the child said, continuing to sweep, with a nonchalance she now recognized as being forced. His tail continued to twitch as enthusiastically as his broom, and she felt her face turn red at having been baited so readily.

She harrumphed to herself, and after giving Y'thol a glare, she returned to her reading.

The next day, after they were done with breakfast, Y'thol took to his cleaning, same as he always did, and let her alone. A few days after that, instead of reading after breakfast, she begrudgingly took to cleaning the dishes once the table was cleared, and let him sweep the floor and clean the counters.

The child was wise enough to not comment on the change in routine.

—

They settled into a routine, Matoya and Y'thol. Every morning she woke him up; every morning, he had his chores. And every day, study, and drills.

“Again,” she would say, as he performed a specific spell or ritual, and she would say little more.

She was pleased to see him grow frustrated over time with the drills, until one day, it boiled over.

“Why?” he asked, after the sixteenth repetition of a particular form.

“I did not give you leave to speak out of turn,” she said. “Again.”

“Is there aught wrong to my form?” he asked, exasperated.

“I think you’re rather a bit too found of flourish for my tastes, boy. You aren’t performing for a crowd, you’re casting a spell. Again,” she said, and Y'thol nodded, took a deep breath in, and adjusted. “I did not say to change! The point of a drill is to do it the same every time, and your form suits its purpose. Three steps. Prepare, visualize, execute, and the drill is about the execution. About the actualization of your visualization, the achievement of your planning. You want to change your form? Fine, do it next session. I make your plan, you make your preparations, visualize the outcome, and then we execute. Execute, execute. Again!” she said as he shuffled his feet. He let out a loud exaggerated sigh, but he performed the spell again, this time without the adjustment.

“Again,” she said. “Again,” she said after that. “Again,” she said again.

“I just don’t understand why we’re doing this,” said Y'thol, stopping once more.

“Foolish boy,” she snapped. “If you want better answers, you had best learn to ask better questions.” She smiled at him, pressing her lips together thinly as she did so, before she spoke, in a voice honeyed and sweet. “Or perhaps, are you admitting this work is too much for you?”

He looked at her defiantly, and held himself tall, jutting his chin out at her as he answered. “Of course it’s not.”

“Then do it. Again.”

Y'thol brought his wand up, and settled back into his stance. Matoya nodded, satisfied that he had been brought to heel, but then he spoke up.

“It’s just - I don’t understand, Master Matoya. Have I mastered the form or not?”

“Mastery. Pah. You know nothing of mastery.”

When Y'thol replied, his words spilled out, going a malm a minute. “But my form is good. I know I’m doing this right. I can feel the aether respond, I know how the spell’s going to manifest, I know what shape the result will be. You’ve had me doing this exact drill every day since I arrived, and it’s not changed hardly at all. I know what I’m doing, but I don’t know why. I just don’t understand,” he said, and at that, his outburst seemed to have ran its course. He bit his lip and frowned, looking down at the ground. And then he held his wand up, ready to repeat the spell again, but he stopped, and looked sideways at Matoya.

“You ask me about mastery, but what you’ve got is talent, boy. Talent enough to be sure, but you cannot rely on that alone. It’s a head start, but it is not the art itself. And I will not have an apprentice that relies on artless talent to muddle their way through life. You will master your magicks as art or not at all. You want to earn mastery? Then do the work, and I’ll not stop until you’ve done it to my satisfaction. Now. Again. And this time, without the backtalk.”

Y'thol frowned, and blinked a few times, but at last, he seemed to be mollified. He nodded, and he continued on through the form, and Matoya watched.

He was good, there was no doubt of that. But he had not honed his instincts yet, and she could tell he was still having to think about what he was doing. That was good enough for a great many mages, to rely upon their concentration, to simply cast as they went along, as good as learning the spell again every time they cast it.

But she could do better than that in her sleep, and she would teach the child the same.

Y'thol paused, and Matoya frowned.

“Master Matoya?” he asked, staying in his form.

“What is it, boy?” she said.

“How will I know when I’ve achieved mastery?” he asked.

Matoya laughed, but she felt no humour. “A question that will take you the rest of your life to answer, boy. You must go past talent and into reliable experience, and from there, you can finally begin the work on mastery. What we are doing here is establishing a foundation, nothing more. Your spell work may well be flawless, but it is not part of you yet. I will see you continue until it is innate, until aether flows from your fingers as easily as air from your breath, until you’ve honed your mind past mere memorization and motion and it becomes part of your very self, do you understand? You’re barely begun on the path to mastery and I shall see you learn to walk it properly or I will turn you out on your ear. Now. Again.”

The child’s ears folded back just a little bit, but he nodded, and he resumed the drills, settling back into his form and casting his spells.

“Again,” she said, and he followed her instruction.

—

“Master Matoya,” said Y'thol the next day just before drills, “I want to start over from the beginning.”

Matoya frowned at the young boy. “You do, do you? Whatever for?”

The boy took a deep breath in and stood up straight as he faced her directly.

“I believe I missed something in your initial instruction, and I wish to try to learn it again.”

“Hmph. Waste of time, if you ask me. Unless you’re going to bother yourself to pay attention this time. Will you?”

The boy’s fists twitched, but he nodded. “Yes, Master Matoya.”

“You’d better,” she said, as she rubbed her chin, pondering. “I’m not going to get in the habit of repeating myself, so you’d best mind my words this time and in the future. If we’re just going to go in circles, I can think of better ways to spend my time, do you understand?”

The boy nodded, again. “Yes, Master Matoya.”

She regarded him for a long moment. There was still defiance in his expression, and his tail was yet unreadable to her, swaying as it was back and forth slowly, looping in on itself at the end of each movement. But his ears were forward. Well enough. She sighed, and gestured to the poroggo that would be the subject of the day’s lesson.

“Very well. Show me your simple curing cantrip, then, and we’ll work from there.”

The boy nodded, and pulled his wand free from where it rested on his waist. He held it in front of him, his other hand curved towards it, and his expression focused on the poroggo. He then curled in slightly inward, pulling the aether necessary for the spell into himself, before he flung it out towards the poroggo, and lifting both hands in the air to finish the spell with a flourish. The cure spell landed successfully, and the poroggo hopped in a dance from its left foot to its right foot, waving its little staff in the air to express its satisfaction.

“Good. Now. From the top. Prepare! What are you casting?” she said.

“An invocation of curing magicks,” the boy replied, still standing in his ready stance.

“Good. Now, visualize! Shape your purpose in your mind, but do not follow through just yet. Make the movements if you must, but do not cast the spell.”

The boy looked sideways at her, and she waved her staff at him. “Well, go on then,” she said. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

The boy looked back to the poroggo, took a deep breath in, and nodded. His hand and his wand came up again, and his eyes squinted as he followed through on the motions he would need to take, but he did not actually draw upon any aether.

“Good. You should be just on the cusp of feeling the aether, just a scant bit beyond your grasp, waiting to be pulled, to be utilised for your own ends. Can you feel it waiting for you, boy?”

Y'thol made the motions of the spell again, his ears folding back against his head just the tiniest bit. His tail swayed and twitched just at its very tip. The child was showing concentration, not annoyance, Matoya decided for herself. And not defiance, either, which was well for him.

“Alright. Now settle yourself. Be calm inside. Repeat the motion thrice more, and then… execute. Let what you’ve visualized become reality. When I say again, you execute again. This is the basis of the drill. Preparing and visualization are different steps, and we are focusing now on execution. Begin.”

The child’s nod was shallow and quick, as he followed her instructions. On the fourth movement, he pulled on the aether, and cast the spell. The poroggo once more did its dance, while Matoya watched the process with a well-practiced eye.

He did not have the same flourish as he had had the day before, but his movements were still graceful. They were just less wasteful, now. The movements all had purpose, and that purpose all came to a point, and she was secretly pleased.

Perhaps this one might be worth a damn.

“Again,” she said, hoping to see more of the same. And she did.

“Again,” she said, walking around him slowly. Each time, the movements were alike.

“Again,” she said, and each time, the result was the same. Each time, Y'thol brought focus and attention. Each time, the same result for the same action, but today, it was on purpose. His every action was more alike to its prior, the shape of the drill finally being fulfilled by its student.

“Again,” she said, and each time, the poroggo danced.

Matoya smiled thinly as she said, “Again.”

Yes, this one was worth a damn, she decided, if he could keep this up.

“Again,” she said.

—

“Archon Matoya,” said Louisoix pleasantly.

“Hmph,” said Matoya.

He arched a brow, but did not comment on her taciturn response.

“I have come to check on the boy, and have been asked to remind you of your responsibilities.”

“You, poroggo,” she said, pointing a staff at one of her frog familiars. “Go fetch the boy, and inform him of who it is.” The little frog stood up at attention briefly before dashing off to follow her command. “Very well, then. I suppose it’s been long enough, hasn’t it.”

“It has,” said Louisoix. “I must admit, I was pleased to report to the Forum that your latest apprentice has managed to last six moons - a full two seasons.”

He smiled, and she saw an edge of wickedness to it. “…for which my pocket book thanks you. That’s a new record, after all. If it is incentives you are looking for, I could offer to split the proceeds with you should you manage a few full summers…”

Matoya sighed, and thumped the butt of her staff on the ground in irritation, and Louisoix smiled as he shrugged at her.

“You can hardly blame a man for trying.”

“I can, and I will,” she groused. “I did not realize your duties required you to aggravate me with your prattle.”

“Well, not require, no,” said Louisoix.

She gave him an annoyed look even as behind her, she heard the slightly dampish sounding pitter patter of frog feet, as well as the rather more solid footsteps of her apprentice. She did not turn to face them, merely making a 'come hither’ gesture over her shoulder.

Fortunately for once, Y'thol was feeling obedient, and he came to her side. He offered Louisoix a bow. “Archon Leveilleur,” he said politely.

“Master Y'thol,” replied Louisoix, offering his own bow in return. Matoya suppressed a sigh. It was well that he could choose to be polite when he wished, and she didn’t want to discourage that.

“May I ask your apprentice how he’s been getting on?” asked Louisoix. A formality, Matoya knew; he could demand a report if he wanted one, and she was not going to waste time beating about that bush. She gestured with her staff to where Y'thol was standing, quiet, watching the conversation.

“Go right ahead, if it pleases you. I don’t care,” she said.

Louisoix turned his attention to Y'thol. “How are you finding your tutelage under Master Matoya, young Master Y'thol?” he asked.

Y'thol glanced over at Matoya before answering. “It’s hard work. But I’m learning a lot.”

“How do you think you’re doing? Are your studies coming along alright?”

Y'thol glanced at Matoya again, and his shoulders slumped a little. “I think I am, but… well, Master Matoya is a good teacher, but…” the child was clearly struggling to say what he wanted.

“Sparing with her praise, I imagine,” said Louisoix, looking back at Matoya.

“Bah. I will not praise him for merely performing what I’ve asked of him. Maybe if he does something of actual merit.”

Louisoix sighed as he patted Y'thol on the head and stood up.

“You’ve got to encourage them, Matoya. Kind words can go a long way to fostering cooperation, camaraderie, a sense of accomplishment. Even just enough to let them know that they’re doing the right thing, and doing it correctly.”

“Pah. You coddle your apprentices, Archon Leveilleur, and call it nurturing. I call it delusion and deception. You have them casting a spell a babe could manage or that an oppo-oppo could mimic, and you tell them what a good job they’re doing. What I ask for is not too much. Competence, nothing more. But acknowledgement of their bare competence is all they’ll get, and they should be able to figure that out themselves. You can baby your charges if you like, but mine will know the truth of their abilities themselves or not at all.”

Louisoix gave an exaggerated sigh with a shrug.

“Well. Perhaps you can share with me what you have covered thus far, then, Master Y'thol.”

“…she has shown me drills for most of the spells I know. For those I don’t, we’ve begun aetheric calculations for making new spell formulae, though I haven’t actually made any yet. She’s shown me how to keep up the enchantments in the cave. I look after the poroggos, though I haven’t learned how to enlighten one yet. We’ve done some enchanting. She also teaches me history, geography, and I’ve learned how to read some foreign texts.”

“…busy,” said Louisoix, looking to Matoya.

“No busier than he can handle,” she replied coolly.

“Well enough then. But hearken unto my words, as I did not come merely to check in on the boy. I have also come to ask when you intended to schedule him for classes with the rest of his crèche, and also to inquire as to when he will be able to fulfill his responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities?” asked Y'thol.

“Well, you were already fulfilling them before your Master Matoya took you on as an apprentice. Service to the community that you are a part of.”

Y'thol nodded.

“There’s a fête soon, which I am asking the both of you to attend. Afterwards I can perhaps arrange a schedule for you that will be agreeable?”

“I did not ask for any favours from you, Archon Leveilleur,” said Matoya testily.

“It is not for your behalf that I take this action, but for your apprentice, Archon Matoya. Who I still consider to be the responsibility of all of us, not just yourself,” responded Louisoix evenly.

Y'thol frowned and his ears folded back slightly. “If Master Matoya needs no favours, then neither do I.”

“You should not be so hasty to turn away a hand offered, young Y'thol,” said Louisoix. “You would be prudent to judge whether that hand is friendly or not, perhaps. But we all would do well to lend each other assistance when it is warranted.”

“Feh,” said Matoya. “Favors owed, known and hidden. I’d rather my business be kept plain.”

Louisoix shook his head. “Must you view everything with such cynicism? An offer may be made that asks nothing in return.”

Matoya frowned at that. “There’s always something asked for in return.”

Louisoix shook his head. “And as for you, young Y'thol,” said Louisoix, “as I recall, you were quite diligent when you were still in the classrooms and fields of Sharlayan. I recall you working quite well alongside your fellows. And surely that’s not changed just because of your newfound apprenticeship. I trust that you and Matoya help each other around her home.”

Y'thol turned and looked long at Matoya. She just shrugged at him in return. He could speak his own mind, or not at all, she thought to herself.

“…it’s true,” he said. “She helps clean the kitchen after we eat. And, well, I maintain the enchantments and look after the poroggos, and she teaches me what she knows.”

Matoya harrumphed. “That’s all well and good, but you’re a child yet, boy. It’s my duty to look after you.”

Y'thol turned fully towards Matoya. “But if you’re right, then as a child, I should accept Archon Leveilleur’s help.”

Louisoix chuckled quietly. “Well,” he said. “I see the boy has learned a thing or two about rhetoric from his master.”

“Hah! If only you were the one who has to tend to him,” said Matoya.

Y'thol took a breath in. “Master Matoya.”

“Go ahead.”

Y'thol stood up straight and spoke confidently, as he had been taught. “I do want to help, though. With or without Archon Leveilleur’s favour. I’m learning much and more here, but there’s more to the world than just your cave, and I want to be a part of it.”

“Very well, then. If the boy’s so keen on it, then perhaps we’ll accept your help.” She held up a hand before Louisoix could speak further. “But it will be on my terms or not at all. He’ll learn, and I would see him taught right. It’ll simply not do for such talent to be wasted at the knee of the Forum’s curriculum. As for my part, I shall send my lesson plan with you, and I shan’t hear any complaints about it.”

“In that, we are in agreement,” said Louisoix. “So if I can find a path that is agreeable, you will continue his teachings, and both of you shall fulfill your obligations?”

Y'thol nodded, and Matoya shrugged.

“Very well, then. It’ll be good to see you out and about once more, Master Y'thol. With that, I take my leave, lest I wear out my welcome.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” said Matoya. “Good day, Archon Leveilleur.”

“Good day, Archon Matoya, Master Y'thol,” said Louisoix, offering a deep bow before turning and heading out.

Matoya looked down at Y'thol, who frowned up at her.

“…if you weren’t planning on helping out, how’d you know to have a lesson plan?”

Matoya smiled.

“Never let them have it easy, boy. Let that be a lesson,” she said.

—

Small children danced and played gaily in the streets, holding streamers high and above them as they ran, or launching simple fireworks into the air, or playing tricks on one another with simple cantrips. The adults milled around the square, mostly congregating in small clumps of threes or mores, but seldom more than five, sharing tidbits of their lives with one another. It was a nice day, by Sharlayan standards. The air was warm, and the humidity was not so bad.

Archon Matoya was off by herself, of course. Those few who thought to approach her found themselves shying away, seeing her arms remain crossed and the scowl never leaving her face, her gaze meeting nobody at all.

She did think to keep an eye out for Y'rhul, Y'thol’s father, but did not expect to see him around. Miqo'te tribes varied in custom, and the Sharlayan ones had taken to raising their children in a communal manner. Some of the few menfolk there helped raise the children, but Y'rhul, as Nuhn, would have been expected to attend more to other matters of population. She was mostly curious as to why a young male had been considered for apprenticeship. As a population matter, such decisions, she thought, would have fallen under his purview. And considering the relative rarity of males among the tribe, she had thought that they would rather keep him in their community and raise him more traditionally. However, she was not so curious as to seek the man out any further than a cursory look around.

Her charge was off and about, and she was keeping an eye on him. She watched as he played with the other little boys a bit, but he mostly seemed to gravitate to where the girls were. He seemed more interested in their dances, which he tried joining in, and in their simple games, which they delighted in allowing his presence in - so long as he was willing to put up with some obligatory teasing. He did not seem to mind overmuch, and Matoya smiled wickedly to herself at least once when he rose to a particularly mean taunt with a cutting retort of his own that left his would-be tormenter red in the face.

She disliked being here on the whole, but it was an obligation that she had to meet, as the master of an apprentice. Generally, she was allowed to keep to her own ends, and her apprentice as well, but Louisoix had been correct - both master and apprentice had duties to the greater society of Sharlayan. Y'thol was to spend time in the crèche, learning things that Matoya could not teach him, and helping out his fellows. And Matoya was to spend time here as well, ideally conversing with her fellow Archons, and spending some time teaching as well.

Hells take them all.

But, she did realize, as she watched Y'thol sway through the movements of a simple Miqo'te dance, that this would be good for him. The child did want for socialization, and watching him in motion, watching him converse with others, watching him as he fair glowed when letting one of the girls clumsily put makeup on him, she decided she would stick with this. For his own good, and none other.

She continued to watch the proceedings, distant and apart, as her apprentice made merry.

—

“I noticed you didn’t talk to hardly anyone at the fête. Is that why you live out here all alone in this cave?” asked Y'thol in the evening, after they had arrived home.

The two were cleaning the kitchen together. Y'thol was sweeping the floor, as was his duty, while Matoya was washing out the cups.

She’d meant to uplift some poroggos for the task, but she never seemed to get around to it these days.

She looked at him, and saw he had that light frown that was so often his hallmark, and his ears folded back just the slightest iota. It wasn’t unusual for him to test how much insolence she’d tolerate from him.

“Speak up, boy. And without that attitude this time,” she said.

He took a deep breath in, and stood up a little straighter, not stopping his sweeping. His ears came forward, at least.

“I was wondering, Master Matoya,” he said, more measured and carefully this time, “why you choose to live all alone out here. In a cave.”

“This is what I prefer, boy. Nobody to get in the way this way. I get left alone, and I’m able to get on with my work without anybody bothering me.”

“Right,” said Y'thol. “Because having somebody help you with your work would just be the absolute worst thing possible.”

“Y'thol Tia,” she said, and her voice carried command and more than a bit of venom to it. Y'thol stilled, and he frowned, looking at her. Matoya glared down at him.

“I ought to box your ears for your mouth,” she said. “And just you watch yourself, for next time I might. You pay attention, now. Criticism without substance is the sort of intellectual dishonesty I won’t tolerate, boy.”

Y'thol folded his ears back again as he spoke. “You criticize everything all the time, though,” he said.

“Oh, to be sure, to be sure. But not without substance! Never without substance, boy. If you wish to cut to the quick,” and here she allowed herself a wicked grin, “then you use the truth.”

Y'thol’s scowl deepened. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“The truth, young apprentice, is a powerful weapon and ally when wielded by a clever tongue. And I believe you can do better than those dunderheads over in the Forum with their snide sarcasm and simpering affectations. No, if you want to point out the folly of man, you need to do so with substance, not with empty flash and flair. Cynicism for sarcasm’s sake is the lazy way out. Oh, sure, you’ll seem wise in the moment, and your peers will surely cheer your oh-so-clever wit, but the hollowness of your words will find you in time.”

Y'thol, still frowning, just looked at the ground, and Matoya sighed.

“You’ll learn eventually,” she said.

“Of course, Master Matoya,” said Y'thol, but he didn’t sound convinced.

—

Y'thol looked at himself in the mirror.

Master Matoya was away, tending to her business down in Sharlayan. It was a day when she taught classes, but he himself had none, so he’d been entrusted to look after the cave for a few hours. It was easy work, especially in consideration of what usually came from her. She’d adjusted their schedule in the moons since they’d started at the crèche again. Y'thol was allowed more time to his own studies now, and they’d settled on a schedule of sharing the work around the cave.

But for today, Y'thol was on his own.

Which was well, because the mirror he was using was Matoya’s, as a part of her vanity. It was perhaps the only one in the cave that was suitable for this use. But, she was gone for now, and he knew how long she would be gone for, and so it was fine.

This was okay.

He didn’t feel okay, though.

Working alongside his peers in the crèche once more had bubbled up feelings that he had harbored, but he had thought he had put away once he’d been brought to Matoya’s cave. He had thought, maybe, that they would stay away. Instead he had been reminded of them once more, and they had come back stronger for the absence.

But he had changed under Master Matoya’s guidance. Now he was different. He was better than when he had started. And Master Matoya, for all her seeming harshness and sharp tongue, was a good mentor. She had taught him how to be better, and he was. And he had learned much, and like she had said, he had talent.

And under her tutelage, he could tell he was beginning to turn that talent into something more, something he definitely had learned from her. Utter confidence in the self. He’d had confidence enough before, but pitting his will against her, winning some, losing often, had taught him much about himself.

But something yet eluded him.

He suspected he knew what it was.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he tugged on his bangs. His hair was rather long for a boy. Matoya had told him to cut it back once or twice, but could not seem to be bothered to do so herself, and he’d made a fuss when she had ordered the poroggos to do it.

He smiled at that memory. She had finally given up, throwing her hands up. in the air, and told him that if he liked his hair that much, he could keep it. And so he had.

He pulled two tufts of hair forward, one in each hand, and looped his fingers around them.

How would one prepare for what he was thinking.

He did not know, so he visualized instead, closing his eyes.

How far into the future could one visualize, and still execute on their desired outcome?

He didn’t know.

But when he looked, when he imagined, he did not see himself. Not like this. Not as he was. No, he saw something different. Someone different. Someone that was him, but not him. Someone not the same.

They would need to make some purchases and try this again, they decided.

They hopped down from the stool they were using to look at themselves in the vanity, and tucked it under an arm, and walked out to the front of the cave to go outside to the garden. The poroggos should have been done with their tasks for the day, and it was their job to tend to them, and so they would. They left the stool in the kitchen, and went outside.

They liked the poroggos. The poroggos were good company, and lively, adorable in their own way, and so much fun. All Y'thol had to do for the day was to make sure they were in good health and that they all had accomplished their tasks.

“Line up!” Y'thol said cheerfully, pushing their prior thoughts out of their mind. “Pedronaine, Gren, Thomallaine, Webby… where’s Frederick?” they asked.

The poroggos looked at each other nervously before one of them spoke up.

“Before she left, Master Matoya asked them to get some mushrooms for dinner. That was bells ago, and none of us have seen them since!”

“Hmm,” said Y'thol. They mimicked a gesture they’d seen from one of the other girls, curling their knuckles and tapping them against their jaw, trying to appear thoughtful. “Well, where did they go?”

One of the poroggos pointed with its staff while another answered. “Down to the valley, underneath the locks, Master Y'thol. Uhm. I looked down there, but I was too afraid to go down.”

Y'thol frowned, putting their hands on their hips and looking off to the side, thinking. The locks were part of Sharlayan’s flood control system, and sort of informally defined the boundaries of their civilization. While going beyond them was not uncommon, it was also further than Y'thol had often had to go.

“At the bottom of the locks… hang on. There’s narbrooi down there!” Y'thol said. They were familiar with the creatures. An interesting sort of seedkin, they floated low through the air. Sharlayan tolerated their presence as part of the local ecosystem. Master Matoya would, rarely, harvest them for the sting in their nettles.

The self-same sting which they would use to attack and kill small animals to feed on.

Like frogs.

Even enlightened and uplifted ones.

Y'thol immediately pulled their wand off their waist, and began to run towards the entrance of the ravine that led to Matoya’s cave.

“Master Y'thol!” cried one of the poroggos. “Master Matoya said-”

“Tell her where I went! The rest of you, head inside!” yelled Y'thol over their shoulder. “I’ll take care of this,” they muttered to themself.

It wasn’t long before they were free of the ravine system and found themselves navigating the waterway system, comprised of natural river streams and corralled canals. It wasn’t going to be a fast trip, but they didn’t have to go very far either. Y'thol paused, panting, and considered their options before picking a path down. They quickly hopped between outcroppings and streams, navigating between canal edge and river bed, climbing down a ladder, and traveling down the steep ground.

The valley was verdant and green, especially this time of year. Y'thol found themselves eventually following along one of the many river paths in the area. The rocks near the river edge were slippery, and they tried to be careful, but they were in a hurry. After all, the narbrooi could be nasty in large numbers, and could even pose a threat to an experienced mage. To a poroggo, they may as well have been certain death.

Y'thol hurried, thinking little of the potential consequences to themself.

At last, they came to an overlook, where they could see a little poroggo, trembling, its staff held up in the air as it tried to maintain a magical ward around itself. The narbrooi were there as well. There were three that Y'thol could see harassing the poroggo, and more in the distance seemed to be gaining an interest in the commotion.

“Help! If there’s anybody that can hear me, help!” yelled the Poroggo.

Y'thol needed no further encouragement. They leapt down from the ledge, wand aloft.

Prepare, visualize, execute.

The three steps were as one as Y'thol pulled from the force of earth, feeling the elemental power surge through them, transforming aether to stone that they flung directly at the middle of one of the creatures. Without even slowing down to see whether or not their spell had succeeded, they were already by the poroggo’s side, weaving a rejuvenating spell from the whisps of aether left over from the first one they had cast. The narbrooi flew away, momentarily startled, their tentacles flailing in the air behind them.

Y'thol frowned, and with a moment of concentration, had erected a field of glowing protective aether around themself and the poroggo.

“Are you badly hurt?” asked Y'thol, not turning away from the narbrooi as they started to gather themselves back up, and looked as though they might be considering another approach.

“I - I - I will be fine, Master Y'thol. Just - just a few sprained ribs, and my arm’s twisted, and I hit my head, and I can’t see out of one eye, but nothing a few moment’s respite at home won’t cure, I assure you!”

Y'thol folded their ears back and frowned, and resisted the urge to look back incredulously at the poor little creature.

“Yes, and perhaps with a few sennights of nursing you’ll just be the very picture of health. Can you run?”

“I- I- I believe so, Master Y'thol.”

Y'thol nodded, determined, as a plan formed in their mind. “Alright. When I tell you to, make a run to go back to the cave. I’ll cover for you as best as I can.” they said. Casting another spell while focusing on maintaining the shield would be impossible, but perhaps if they dropped it fast and leapt to the side at the same time, they would have a brief moment to gather the aether needed for more spellwork.

They tightened their grip on their wand. The narbrooi had recovered, and now were testing the barrier, slapping their tentacles against it, chittering excitedly. Y'thol looked at each of them in turn, paying attention, trying to find a rhythm or pattern.

There.

“Go!” yelled Y'thol. The poroggo immediately took off, running through the barrier and out the other side. The creatures paused, two of them turning to give chase.

Y'thol dropped the barrier and sprang to the side at the same time. They called to the elements once more, and one narbrooi was sent to the ground, crumpled by the stone Y'thol hit them with. Y'thol did not give them time to recover, springing lightly, jumping from rock to rock, and twisting as they called to a different element whose aether had surged to abundance in the wake of the use of earth, the element of air. The spell manifested and tore at two more of them with a self sustaining gale force that ripped into them even as it trapped them to the ground.

Y'thol landed lightly on their feet, panting from the sudden burst of exertion. Matoya would be so mad at them, acting without thinking, casting without proper preparation-

They stopped, and stood slowly to their feet, and looked at their wand, their eyes going wide with sudden realization.

They hadn’t thought the spells all the way through.

They hadn’t needed to.

The spells had come from them, as they bid them, but the elemental magics were coming to Y'thol as easy as breathing, and as such, they’d been able to not just cast them, but improvise with them as well. Y'thol could fair well feel the aether almost as well as they could smell the air.

They almost leapt in the air with joy, but they knew Master Matoya would not approve of such an unseemly display. So instead they grinned wickedly at the remaining narboori, almost daring them to try to get closer, to try to get by.

Y'thol would protect the poor little poroggo at any cost.

“HELP!”

Y'thol’s ears twisted towards the sound of the voice, and they looked over, and sucked in their breath. The poroggo had made it over the river, but had slipped on the rocks, failing to make it above the locks. Some narboori who had not been interested before were certainly interested now, and their fellows were turning away from Y'thol to focus on easier prey, all of them heading quickly towards the helpless frogkin.

Y'thol sprinted over, splashing through the river, not watching out for themself. They slipped and almost went under, but caught themself in time, and instead went sprawling towards where the poroggo was. They saw the poroggo hiding its face, bringing its staff up to try to protect itself as the tentacles closed in.

And then Y'thol was there, in the thick of it. They yelped as they felt several barbs slice into their flesh, as they felt the jolt of an enervating sting from the seedkins’ nettles. They wrapped their body around the poroggo to protect it, and felt the lashes upon their back as they did so, and gasped with pain. Shaking their head, they reached down deep inside of themself, and focused.

They pulled the aether to them, and it vibrated and hummed in their body, and then they shot upward, arms wide. A white sphere of aether erupted from them, momentarily stunning the narbrooi even as it pushed the seedkin back, and Y'thol formed a barrier around themself and the poroggo once more.

“Frederick?” said Y'thol, weakly, looking behind them.

The poroggo lay on the ground on its back, its staff discarded, one arm over its belly, its breath heavy and labored. Its eyes were shut, and it did not respond.

Y'thol bit their lip, and looked back at the narbrooi. They hurt. They hurt all over. The nettles were known to have a nasty deleterious effect, and were not just painful, but arrested healing, and worsened any ensuing injuries as the poison from them was quick to fill in damaged tissue.

A few stings were not so bad.

A lot could be lethal, as the effects accumulated.

Y'thol couldn’t stay here, and the narbrooi were swarming, starting to come back around, angry now.

They had one shot.

Y'thol dropped the shield, scooped up the poroggo in their arms, and they ran.

—

“Alright, you lot, where are you at?” grumbled Matoya.

She was used to being greeted by the poroggos when she got home, and it was part of Y'thol’s responsibilities to have dinner, if not ready, at least in progress when she got home. So she was less than pleased to find none of the poroggos about, the kitchen cold, and her apprentice away.

“Figures,” said Matoya. Miqo'te boys were trouble, and this one was no different. “Probably off getting into mischief somewhere.”

She heard the slap-slap noise of little webbed feet, and she turned towards the sound with a frown.

“Well, it’s about time,” she groused, ready to tear a strip off the creature, but something gave her pause. The poroggo did not seem to be so much rushed as it was panicked, having leaned forward in its running, its eyes somehow seeming to bulge out of its head even more than usual.

“Master Matoya! Master Matoya! It’s young master Y'thol! Come quickly!” the poroggo said, as it came to a sudden stop and waved its staff urgently.

Matoya frowned, and hiked up her skirts with a hand, and began to move briskly towards it. “Whatever is all this racket about? What’s happened to the boy?” she asked.

“They’re hurt!” the poroggo said as they ran. They stopped only to gesture back at Matoya. “Hurry, hurry!”

Matoya frowned. Poroggos were high strung at the best of times, and this could be anything from the child having a bruised shin all the way up to a skinned knee. She sighed, and rushed after the poroggo, out of the cave, and into the ravine that lead up to it. The poroggo and her ran along until they rounded a corner, and she near bowled the child over.

“There you are,” she said, gathering herself. “What’s all this about th-”

She found her words stolen away from her.

Y'thol was in bad shape. His clothes were tattered, and through the tatters, she could see angry welts weeping blood. He was moving slowly, his head down, and his tail muddied from having been dragged through ground and river behind him. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and he wasn’t so much breathing as he was wheezing.

He looked up at her, and when he spoke, it was obvious his tongue was thick in his mouth.

“Master Matoya,” he managed, and, trembling, he held his arms out to her. An injured poroggo, unconscious, lay in them.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Matoya found her wits once more.

“Alright you lot. You two, get in there, draw a bath. You two, go to the cauldron, and begin preparing healing poultices and bandages. Hand him here, boy, and lean on me, I’ll tend to him and get you both back inside.”

Y'thol just stared at her for a long moment, and then he looked back down at the poroggo. Matoya frowned, and was about to repeat herself, but he spoke first.

“Not a boy,” he whispered.

Matoya stared, and almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity.

“Well, this stunt certainly does not make you a man,” she retorted. “Come along now. Let’s get you both cleaned -”

Y'thol collapsed, and Matoya caught him in her arms, careful to not crush the delicate poroggo he held as she did so.

“What have you done,” she murmured, worried.

The poroggos surrounded them both, each of them fretting in their own way. One was nervously twirling its staff in its hands, while another bobbed back and forth from foot to foot. Matoya glared at them in turn.

“Well go on! I gave you orders, now carry them out if you wish to see the child or your comrade well again.”

That seemed to get them moving, and the poroggos practically tripped over one other as they scattered, each tending to their task. Matoya sighed, and walked slowly into the cave that she had shared with her apprentice these past few seasons. She looked down at his face as he lay there unconscious.

She would not cry. That was not her way.

But she would see him better.

Grim but determined, she moved into the cave. Soon enough she had both child and poroggo cleaned up, wounds bandaged, poultices applied, toxins drained, and humours corrected as best as she could manage. She charged the poroggos with taking care of their fellow, seeing it to its little bed, and she took Y'thol to his own bed, gently laying him down in it.

Once he was settled, she left, but only just long enough to bring a chair into his room, and sit down next to him. She looked him over, worried. His wounds were not so terrible, but she knew they would be painful, and she could guess at what had happened from looking at them.

That her own child, and she did think of him as such, would risk so much for what most of Sharlayan would view as so little. That he cared so much for even the least among them.

She wiped her eyes and shook her head. This little misadventure was unlike of the sort to cost him his life, but it was not an impossibility that it may have done so. She frowned, imagining the tongue lashing he would deserve when he finally awoke.

He would be spared it, she decided. He had decided for himself that the little poroggo was worth it, and she would not dissuade that in him. The adventure would be lesson enough.

“Foolish child,” she murmured.

—

Matoya did not see much cause to leave Y'thol’s side for the next few days. He woke fast enough, within hours of her tending to his wounds, but she insisted he stayed in bed and he was, blessedly, too tired to fight her on the point. The poroggo, thankfully, was also quick to recover, but had nowhere near the risk of obstinate willfulness. She left its fellows to tend to it, and after their misadventure, the creature was more than happy to be having a sennight off from its many labors.

Y'thol was rather more recalcitrant. On the third day, she awoke to find his bed abandoned. A quick search through the cave found him in the kitchen, and one scolding later saw him returned to bed. On the fourth day, she had to leave for a short bit to make sure the poroggos carried out her instructions for retrieving supplies for dinner correctly (with a probably unneeded but still added sharp admonishment to stay away from where those damned narbrooi were). He took the opportunity to abandon bed once more, and she found him in the study, hobbling along but looking for a book.

By the fifth day she gave up. He was well enough by then, he no longer needed tending to, and she was hardly a fit nursemaid anyway.

“Well, if you’re going to be out and about anyway,” she had groused, “Then I expect you to return to your studies.”

“Of course, Master Matoya,” he’d responded. And then, “…I’d like to be allowed down to Sharlayan.”

“Hmph,” she said, looking him over. His welts had gone down significantly, and the color had returned to his cheeks, and he wasn’t shivering as he walked anymore.

She wanted to tell him no.

To fight him on this.

To keep him home, and safe.

But, if he was not going to tend to himself as he deserved, then she certainly was not going to force the issue. In fact, she found herself recognizing more than a bit of herself in this sort of stubbornness, and as she thought about it, the desire to fight him lessened. He would do as he willed, or not at all, when he was truly determined.

She’d taught him well, she supposed.

“If you feel up to it, I suppose,” she said. “But you are not yet fit to return to your duties. I will send you down for shopping, and you can attend your classes as you like, but nothing further. Do you understand, boy?”

His ears went flat, and he muttered, “Not a boy,” but after that, he nodded, once.

She decided to overlook his mouthiness this one time.

And so they returned to their routine after a fashion. And a part of her was relieved, to know that the misadventure, dire though it had almost been, seemed to have done little to dull the child. Indeed, it seemed to have tempered him. He seemed more resolute, now. More confident, somehow.

A few days passed without incident. She continued to teach as her schedule demanded, but she admonished him to not travel so far afield or to be so foolhardy again. No fool herself, she also made sure to tell the poroggos to stay rather closer to the cave than they had been, and to engage in no further adventures.

She returned home one day and went to go find Y'thol, expecting to find him busy with his chores. Instead, she found the cave quieter than usual. She resisted a feeling of urgency that threatened to rise up and override her senses. After all, there was no reason to it. She could see several poroggos milling about, tending to their business. And the cave was in good order. A check of the kitchen showed that dinner had been dutifully made, as was Y'thol’s responsibility. Just no sign of the child himself.

Well, almost no sign.

She just about tripped over a broom on her way out.

She frowned down at it.

It was an animated broom.

“Excuse me, Mistress!” it said cheerfully as it moved to one side.

An animated talking broom.

She was intrigued, now.

“You, poroggo,” she said, pointing her staff at one of the little frogkin. “Where is Y'thol? I would know what mischief he’s gotten up to this time.”

The poroggo looked at her, and pointed. “They took their dinner to the study, Mistress,” the poroggo said.

“Very well,” she muttered to herself, and soon enough had made her way there.

She found Y'thol on the floor, surrounded by piles of books. How he had managed such a mess in so short a time, she could not fathom.

She pointedly did not interrogate her own behavioral patterns on the matter.

He looked up as she entered, and stood up to his feet. “Hello, Master Matoya.”

“Don’t 'hello’ me, boy. What mischief have you been up to?” she said, but she smiled as she spoke. “I cannot help but notice the cave has several more helpers than usual.”

“Not a boy,” he said. “And you forbid me from tending to my chores as I usually do, so I chose to take matters into my own hands. Master Leveilleur did warn me you were messy, and I would see the cave tended to.”

“Will you ever tire of your insolence,” said Matoya, laughing. “I should have known better than to try to keep you from doing as you will. Show me what you’ve been up to, then.”

Y'thol smiled, and he pointed to several books that he had left out on the table.

“They’ve got brooms like that all over Sharlayan,” he said. “I wondered how they worked, and so thought to animate no few of our own. It took me a few days to figure out how to make that work, and a few days more to get the supplies. I had hoped you wouldn’t notice that I’d bought far too many brooms.”

Matoya snorted as he continued. “…but I couldn’t figure out how to get them to do what I wanted. I consider the problem, and a solution occurred to me. The ones in Sharlayan are generally unintelligent, traveling on predetermined routes. However, I thought to make some smart ones. The same way you make the poroggos smart. That…didn’t work though.”

“Of course it wouldn’t. With the poroggos, we enhance what’s already there, taking a frog and making it more,” said Matoya.

“Quite so. But I looked through some of your books, about animating familiars. Often they’re creatures, because it’s easier to just make something that’s already there better. But there is more than one way to grant an intellect. So I asked one of the poroggos to help, and I was able to transfer a sliver of a facsimile of its mind. The core of the broomsticks is a sample of a living sapling - enough living aether to take to its new purpose.”

Y'thol smiled here, and Matoya could only imagine how proud her apprentice was of himself.

“I imbued the self-same pattern of the poroggos into said core. I had to give it a bit of a nudge, but I do believe I succeeded splendidly.”

“Ah, and so you gave them a copy of an existing mind, that they may have one of their own. Well done, apprentice.”

Y'thol fair beamed at her, and Matoya chuckled.

“I suppose I have learned there is no getting you to keep to your rest as you should. Well, come on, then. I see you haven’t touched your dinner, and mine’s still out in the kitchen. We can discuss what you’ve accomplished there.”

Y'thol nodded, and grabbed his plate, and both of them headed out to the kitchen, Y'thol enthusiastically explaining the particulars of what he’d accomplished, and Matoya listening intently.

—

“Follow me, boy,” said Matoya after breakfast was done one day. In her estimation, Y'thol was, at last, as whole and hale as he was like to be, and after his demonstration with the broom, she had decided that it was time to advance his training. “We’ve work to do, and I would expand upon your education.”

“Not a boy,” said Y'thol absently, even as he obediently came to her.

“So you insist, but you are still very much a child,” said Matoya, annoyed. She saw Y'thol consider her words, though, and then nod.

Matoya looked at him for a long moment, and he looked back at her evenly. “Very well then, child,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Come along.”

He followed her as she took him to the library that was in the cave. As she approached the door to its space, she waved her staff at it, removing the defenses that she’d erected to keep Y'thol from wandering in.

He could be a right pain at times, all curiosity and mischief and willfulness, especially when she was away.

“You seem to have advanced your training all by yourself, child, which I am glad for. You show promise. But what is a promise, if you don’t fulfill it?” she smiled at him.

He nodded. “I understand,” he said.

“Good,” she said, quickly moving to gather the books she wanted for the day. “You’ve done well with what you were able to learn from the books in the study, and so I grant you access to my library, save for the forbidden section, which I expect you to stay out of.”

She looked at him imperiously, catching him looking around the room, his tail fair twitching in anticipation, his eyes wide.

She banged the butt of her staff on the floor to get his attention.

“Mark my words, young Master Y'thol,” she said, and he looked at her. “I will grant you access to my library, but you -will- stay out of the forbidden section. I shan’t attempt to ensorcell it, as doing so may ruin the magicks some of them contain, but if you thought your misadventure below the locks was harrowing, you will find it but a mild summer’s walk in comparison to the possible consequences of meddling in things beyond your ken.

"If you want to know of them, ask. And I will be tasking a poroggo with keeping an eye on you when you’re in here. Do I make myself clear?”

Y'thol frowned, but after a moment, he nodded. “Yes, Master Matoya.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and reconsidered the wisdom of letting the child into her library, but then sighed, and shook her head. Well. He’d learn the easy way or the hard way, and despite her dire warning, her truly dangerous books were in the Maker’s Quarter, away from the main parts of her cave and guarded by others.

“Very well,” she said. “You’ve shown a knack for familiars, child, so we shall build upon that. I shall show you first how to uplift a poroggo, properly, and then we shall review and refine your work on the broomsticks. We’ll see where we go after that. There are many choices available to us. And I would advance your alchemical education as well. I suppose it is well past time that we delved deeper into the mysteries of magic, as well as seeing about getting you access to other facilities in Sharlayan. Supervised, mind. Anyway, let’s get to it, shall we?”

Y'thol nodded, and Matoya began the work of teaching him, and he proved to be a voracious learner.

Louisoix had been right. Young Y'thol had proven to be an opportunity, and Matoya found herself relishing in teaching him.

—

Matoya entered her cave with a sigh, setting her hat aside as she walked in. She was back earlier than she had intended to be. She had expected her meeting with Louisoix to lead to more argument, but for once, the old man had not seen fit to cause her ire. Indeed, the two had discussed her apprentice as planned, but they were of like mind. Her charge was healthy, and well. He was kind to his fellows, and eager to help around the crèche. She had kept to herself her apprentice’s recent spat of insisting that he was no mere boy, as well as the incident with the narbrooi. All Louisoix needed to know was that she was pleased with the arrangement, and he was thriving under it, and that it would continue unabated.

This satisfied Louisoix without further argument. He had given her gentle chiding that Y'thol should spend rather more time in the shared class settings than under her tutelage, but she had scoffed and informed him that she was more than capable of covering a multitude of topics. He’d pushed, gently in his way, and she had decided to compromise, and acquiesced on his request to allow him to teach the child history. Their business thus concluded, she had returned home.

“Y'thol,” she called out as she entered the main area. She heard nothing in response, and sighed, exasperated.

“Perhaps I shall see to my own supper, then,” she muttered to herself. If he was going to hide away instead of being out and about tending to his chores, he could fend for himself as well.

She made her way back to her own room, to hang up her hat and put up her staff before she got to the work of making dinner. As she walked along, one of the poroggos noticed her, and came over quickly, hopping alongside her, trying to pull her attention.

“Ah, Mistress, Mistress!” the little thing said. “You are home rather earlier than we thought you might be! Ah, perhaps you wanted to, ah, settle in for some reading for a bit? Or perhaps we could see to some tea for you, in the kitchen!”

Matoya scowled down at the little creature as she reached her room. “What is all this noise and fuss about? I do not need minding as to how I choose to spend my time now that I’m home, and anyway, shouldn’t you be about tending to your own business? If there is naught of concern, then away with you.”

“But Mistress-!” the poroggo cried out, reaching a hand for her as she swung open the door to her room.

She was greeted by a most unexpected sight.

In retrospect, it may have behooved her to keep a few more mirrors about the place.

Standing on a stool in front of her vanity was Y'Thol, the child leaning against the top of it. She could see a variety of makeups arranged on its shelf, and they were looking at themselves in the mirror, apparently trying to apply them. They had also gotten themselves a pair of traditional Miqo'te hair rings, and had threaded their bangs through them on either side of their face.

Y'thol froze, as did Matoya. The poroggo caught up to her, breathing hard and leaning on its staff, but as soon as it saw that the two had seen each other, it came to a stop, and snapped to stand at stiff attention.

Nothing happened for several long moments.

“I certainly hope,” said Matoya, carefully, “that that is not any of my things that you are playing with.”

Y'thol turned around, slowly, frowning, hands clenched. The child hopped down off the stool, their jaw set, and they slowly brought their gaze up to look into Matoya’s face.

“It’s my makeup. I bought it at market.”

The room settled into silence once more, but then Matoya snorted, and laughed.

“Not a boy, hmn,” said Matoya, quietly. She then continued at a normal volume, but still spoke carefully. “Little Rhul or little Tia, makes no difference to me,” She looked between her apprentice and the mirror. “I do rather wish I had found you less vain, however.”

The child stuck their chin out at Matoya defiantly. “That’s rich coming from you, Master Matoya, who elects to tell none her age despite the truth of it on her face.” The child then looked down and away again, frowning at the floor. “…and it’s Rhul,” she said.

Matoya scowled at the young woman, considering a biting remark. Instead, she smiled, and laughed. Her apprentice looked back at her, with a slight frown of her own, seemingly nonplussed.

“Well, let this be the start of a set of new lessons I suppose I am now obligated to teach you, young lady” said Matoya. She was pleased, as Y'thol’s expression brightened considerably at being called young lady, but she did not let that show on her own face as she continued. “And that is thus. A woman would do well to maintain more than few mysteries about her person, her true age among them. A man who holds secrets of himself is oft considered craven, but a woman who does the same is considered mysterious, which holds its own kind of power. You’ll learn as you grow older.”

Her apprentice looked at her questioningly, and then after a moment, nodded.

“Very well then. Now, get out of my room, and we can discuss where we go from here. I’m supposing I’ll have to figure a few things out.”

Y'thol obediently moved to walk past Matoya, leaving the hair pieces in and the makeup on. She noticed that the girl seemed to have changed, at this acknowledgement of her truth. Her movements seemed more sure, somehow. Her expression had been one of a mix of fear and defiance, but it seemed to soften to something new.

Determination, to be sure. But a tinge of confidence as well.

Matoya cursed herself, uncertain how she could have overlooked this secret in her own home. Was she so set in her ways as to be blind to what was in front of her now? Where was her vaunted insight? And it was not as though the girl had been very subtle in the weavings of the tale of her life.

Well, problems for later, Matoya decided. For now, she had a young woman whose path would need to be charted.

She began to lead the way to the kitchen “We’ve much and more to talk about now, girl,” she said, “But it can wait until after supper.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Y'thol Rhul beam up at her as the young girl nodded.

—

Supper passed quickly enough, and at last, Matoya took Y'thol into her library, where she would have ready access to her tomes and materials.

“Stand there, girl, and let me take a look at you.”

Y'thol Rhul - and would she change her first name, Matoya wondered? - stood before her, and looked up at her.

“Yes. Yes, I see,” murmured Matoya to herself. She pulled up her sleeves and flexed her fingers. “There is no question as to the truth of the matter, I suppose. It is just a question of convincing reality to conform to it, and there are magicks or alchemies that shall do so, along with chirurgeons-”

“Magicks,” said Y'thol. “I have looked into the matter already. I know what it is that I want to do,” she said, and she walked over to Matoya’s books, running her fingers along the titles on spines until she found what she was looking for and pulled it out.

Matoya huffed. “Have you been sneaking in the forbidden section, despite my express desires otherwise, girl?”

“Yes.”

Matoya looked at her for a long moment, and then laughed, taking the book from the girl. “Such cheek! Why, I’m not sure if I’ve taught you well enough or hardly enough at all.” she looked through the book, and then frowned. “…you’ve chosen a hard path this way. Keep well to my words, girl. If this is truly what you want, you will be embarking upon a lifetime of singular study of the self. Your form will change, but you will need to periodically remind your aether of your truth, lest your humours fall out of rights and you fall ill, or worse. The consequences of mistakes here may be grave. Do you understand?”

Y'thol held her gaze steady, as she always did, never flinching or looking away. Her tail swayed slowly, calmly. And she nodded, once. “I would do such and more.”

Matoya felt pride swell up within her, but she tempered it. This was important, and she could not allow her ego to interfere.

“Very well. It will be a regimen of spell works and ritual, as I recall, that will need to be refreshed and nurtured throughout your life. You will come to know your own self and your own aether as few in life ever do, but it will not be without cost,” said Matoya grimly. “The spells can be taxing, and the work will not end until perhaps towards the twilight of your days, and possibly not even then. You will have to be diligent.”

Y'thol nodded once more. “I understand.”

“Then stay here. I shall fetch the materials we need at once, and then we can get started.”

As Matoya turned away, Y'thol reached out and grabbed her arm. “…I wish to be allowed to perform the initial spell works myself, Master Matoya.”

“Foolish girl! Do you know what you are asking? The magicks you are asking to invoke are advanced indeed. Or perhaps you wish to turn yourself inside out, as instead of manipulating your aether to your desired outcome, you pour it straight into the endless abyss of the lifestream?”

Y'thol’s mouth got that stubborn set to it that Matoya had learned to recognize well, and she prepared to match herself against it once more. Though she recognized she had grown soft with the girl over the moons, on this, she did not plan to move.

“I would control mine own destiny, or not at all,” said Y'thol.

The girl had grown rather too precious to her, she realized, and she found herself shocked by the revelation, sudden as it was. Her will crumbled before such a plain and bold declaration, honestly stated, clearly felt. She set her jaw, and sucked in her breath. It must have shown on her face, for she saw the determination in Y'thol’s face shift to a look of concern.

“…Master Matoya?” she asked.

Matoya shook her head clear, and pulled her arm free of Y'thol as she turned away, and took a shuddering breath. It would simply not do to show herself to Y'thol like this. She would not cry. She would remain dignified. And she would solve this problem for them both. She felt Y'thol come up behind her, her hand on her arm once more, but gentle this time. Matoya took a long slow deep breath in and closed her eyes, stilling the storm in her breast, and let it out twice as slow as she’d let it in. When she was ready, she turned to Y'thol, seeing the young woman’s concern still writ on her face, her tail almost still, swaying so subtly that only one intimately familiar with Miqo'te mannerisms would recognize it for the message it was displaying. A kind of anxiety. Fear, in this case, for Matoya.

Matoya felt the urge to be reassuring, but squashed it. No. This situation called for truth and steadfastness, not for milksop bleeding hearts and tears. She turned away from Y'thol again, and began to pace.

“You are young yet. We’ve caught this before your growth. The spellworks will be easier for it, and it is simpler if we do it now, but if you truly wish to learn the rituals yourself, well, then we must needs accept the consequences of delaying until the relative safety of the time after your growth.”

Y'thol frowned, and stood up straight. “I can do it now,” she said.

“Silence, girl, for I am thinking. And puissant though your abilities may be, what we are proposing is yet beyond your ken. That book contains many techniques that you will need to master, much of them outside our immediate goals here, and I will not have you stumble across them foolhardy in your pursuit of seizing your own destiny. Now be still and let me be, for Twelve’s sake.”

She saw a familiar flash of fire in Y'thol’s eyes, but the young girl nodded, and let Matoya resume her train of thought. Now, where was she? Oh yes.

“…it would take even a true master over a year to gain the confidence, knowledge, and skill those books demand, but you have rather less time than that if we’re to do this your way, or we accept the consequences of waiting, simplicity and ease be damned. It is doable, to be certain, and has been done often through writ history, but… hmn. Hold on. Yes, waiting. Waiting would be wisest, for it is time we need to buy, but not all time is equal, and… yes, I think that’s it.”

Matoya turned to Y'thol.

“If you would not trust me with your destiny for the desire to hold it with your own hand, then perhaps you will trust me to hold the reins of time for you for a spell. There is another spell, no less difficult, but less profound in its changes. I will hold the winds that blow the changes of aether within you, until as such time as you can affect your change yourself. You will age still, of course; time waits for no woman, even though we can slow its march with great effort. But we can delay the onset of your growth until as such time as you can master your own destiny in the way that you desire. Is that agreeable enough to you, young Lady Rhul?”

Her tone was as sharp as she intended, but despite herself, she found herself smiling. Curse her sentimentality. But it was a clever enough solution, she thought, and workable.

Y'thol looked at Matoya steadily. “…and then you will allow me to affect what changes I will upon myself, by myself?”

Matoya looked back, just as steady. “Of course, girl. You are brash, but in this? I will concede your right to your own destiny. It would be churlish of me to deny it, considering how hard mine own has been to fight for.”

Y'thol took several deep breaths in, nodding her head, slowly at first, but then more vigorously. Her tail began to sway back and forth, slowly and then more quickly, and she clenched and unclenched her little fists several times. She looked down at the ground, and Matoya could not see her face for a time, but when she looked back up, her eyes were wide and glittered wetly.

Matoya felt her breath catch. This child would be the death of her.

“Then I ask for your grace, Master Matoya. Please grant me the time I need.”

“It shall be done,” said Matoya.

And so it was.

—

It was incredible what could be accomplished in mere moons with a mix of skill, talent, will, and motivation, marveled Matoya.

Ever since she had learned about her young charge’s truth and desires, the two of them had worked nearly tirelessly. Y'thol was bright and eager, and far less recalcitrant than she had been in days past.

She still had a mouth on her, thought Matoya, but she was less rancorous and more just plain stubborn. Matoya decided she could not well fault her on that. After all, she had taught the girl well, hadn’t she.

The two clashed, same as they ever had, but now it was in pursuit of a greater goal, and of deeper truths in their studies. Y'thol’s challenges to Matoya’s authority and knowledge were not without merit. Often would she push back, but it was on matters of clarifying a detail or exploring a line of inquiry to its end.

And so Matoya taught, and so Y'thol learned. She learned the turning of the aetherial chart from one element to the next. She learned of the waxing and waning of living aether in the world around and through all things. She learned of the intersection of aetherial sea and liminal grounding, where concept met solidity and became reality. Her knowledge was pushed into new frontiers and beyond.

And the world outside did not rest, either. Matoya heard from Y'thol’s other instructors and classmates. There were those who were reluctant to respect her as she was, but Matoya’s reputation seemed fit to make them keep their opinions to themselves. Others noted how she seemed to be blossoming, coming more into her own. How she had greater confidence in herself, how she was more attentive to her studies. It was as though she had a new vibrancy to her, and Matoya supposed she did. She still had a sharp tongue, and it was not uncommon for an instructor to complain to Matoya about some insolent response the girl had given in their class, but such reports only made Matoya smile thinly to herself.

The girl knew how to stand up for herself. And though she was not always right, at least in Matoya’s estimation, she was straightforward and honest, and that was more than enough for her.

More moons passed. Her studies advanced, from broomsticks to poroggos, and at last to a test of her abilities. Another in a long line of tests, but this one would be a marker for greater things.

“Come, young lady,” said Matoya to Y'thol one day, and Y'thol followed.

“Where are we going?” she asked, and Matoya just smiled to herself when she responded.

“Great things do not necessarily require extravagance and pomp, but it certainly couldn’t hurt,” she said. “I am taking you to a place where you can exercise your final learnings, and we shall see the truth of your mastery.”

The two travelled in companionable silence after that, until Matoya opened a door, and ushered Y'thol inside.

Matoya smiled as Y'thol’s eyes grew wide and jaw fair dropped as she looked out into the great cavernous space. Like many of the more impressive areas of Sharlayan, it was hidden from the world, taking advantage of the natural cave systems underneath the land, and hidden behind clever architecture and plain hollows (such as Matoya’s own home) over top.

There were poroggos and magicked brooms wandering the place. Shelves as well as piles of books stretched from the cave floor to the top of its cavernous ceiling, which loomed up many dozens of feet. The place stretched far back and away, the edges of it disappearing out of sight. Despite the books, it did not appear to be a library so much as a laboratory, with cauldrons and tinctures, flasks and fluids, alembics, and lapidary hammers, and other tools both broad and fine.

Y'thol turned around and looked at Matoya.

“Here is where we shall measure what you’ve learned, young apprentice,” said Matoya, “and so long as you succeed, well then. Perhaps I’ll acknowledge that you’re at least ready to at last begin. Come. Bring your supplies, and I will take you to where you can show me what you’ve learned.”

Y'thol followed quickly behind Matoya as she went to one of the portals. “What is this place?” she asked.

“My atelier,” replied Matoya, simply.

“Why have you not brought me here before? Why, the reading materials alone -”

“You were not ready,” said Matoya, interrupting.

Y'thol folded her ears back just as they teleported, and they were still folded back as they both left the shimmering purple portal behind them.

“I may well have been ready before now. I would think it hard to say without at least trying.”

“I had not fully accepted you yet,” said Matoya simply and honestly.

There was silence between them as they walked through the caverns.

“…whysoever not?” asked Y'thol. Matoya paused, and turned to look at her. Her tail was still, and her ears had come forward, but there was some pain in her expression.

Matoya sighed.

“The fault is mine, girl, not yours,” said Matoya. “I knew not better, even with Louisoix’s exonerations, hells take that man. But never mind that for now. We’re here.”

Matoya stopped, having led the both of them to a chamber that led off one of the cavern paths. It was cavernous, and there was water present, as well as a small lava trickle from elsewhere in the undermountain. The water met the lava and formed steam that floated up to the top of the chamber. The ground was solid rock that had been cut to form a flat surface where people could walk and work, or draw aetheric geometries upon.

It was a place where many kinds of aether would tend to pool and could be worked upon, and it was perfect for what Y'thol would do.

“Now,” said Matoya. “Prove him right, and prove me wrong. Show me what you’ve learned.”

Y'thol continued to look at Matoya for a long moment, and then nodded, and took a deep breath in. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, holding a hand in a fist in front of her face, in what might have been prayer. Matoya frowned, and waited, and was on the verge of interrupting her reverie when her eyes snapped open again, and she was suddenly present, and there, as her shoulders rose and her head stood tall, as her tail swung out and her movements flowed, as she pulled the staff from her back and her materials from their pouch.

She was quick from there. She laid out the three materials she had felt she would need for the ritual she was to perform; a water flask, a water crystal, and an elemental orb. She then stood apart from them a little bit, and held her staff in front of her. Closing her eyes, she held one finger to her nose, and began to chant.

“From ocean rise and cloudbank form…”

As Y'thol spoke, energy began to flow up from the ground and around her, affecting a small unnatural breeze.

“From mountain spring and rainfall storm,” she continued, letting go of her staff. It floated in front of her, seeming of its own volition, glowing.

“From river flow and life be born,” she said, taking a step back before she herself was lofted into the air by energy unseen, her toes pointing toward the firmament as she was freed from it.

There was a moment as she hovered, and then she snapped her eyes open, grabbing her staff out of the air. She spun around, and as she let go of her staff again, it spun as well, the energies she was manipulating flowing freely and powerfully, but under control. She grabbed her staff once more with an exaggerated wink, and as she came to land on the ground, she pointed its tip at the materials with a flourish.

“Water water froth and foam!” she cried out, exultant.

For a moment, nothing happened.

But then the energies took hold, surrounding the three materials, and fusing them, merging them into one. They hovered up into the air, taking on the form of what looked to be a single bubble of water, wobbling and pushing against itself in the air, and then it burst.

And from the bubble’s explosion, floated out two little familiars, each looking a bit like an animated water drop, with pale blue colors on one half and a lighter blue on the other, with little eyes and little ears and little droplets that could possibly have been meant to have been hands.

Life from lifelessness, a form of sentience, the formation of living aether into a form, both familiar and useful. Nixies.

Y'thol grinned girlishly up at them, reaching her hands up to them, and they floated to her, playing around her arms and her head, and she spun with them for a moment. Matoya smiled at the display.

“Now,” she said. “We can begin the real work.”

—

Y'thol waved to Matoya and Louisoix as she ran by them, a trail of nixies trailing behind her, seven in all.

“I’m off to the waterways,” she yelled out cheerfully as she went.

“Make sure you tend to the cauldron as well, girl! You’ve still got work to do, and I expect to see it done, what with all that vim you’ve got after you,” said Matoya back, waving in Y'thols direction with her staff.

“Of course, Master Matoya,” called back Y'thol cheerfully, stepping up to one of the portals and vanishing in a puff of purplish aetheric vapor.

Louisoix chuckled. “I am not generally in the habit of telling you I told you so, but…” he said.

“Oh, out with you, you insufferable miasma drifting through my halls,” grumbled Matoya, and Louisoix laughed in response.

“I understand she is about ready to begin her thesis work to present to the studium,” said Louisoix. “She tells me she wishes to go into aetheric studies, much like her master. She has come a rather long way rather quickly, it would seem.”

“Yes, well, she’s the first apprentice that was sent to me that was worth a damn,” said Matoya.

“Or the first who could thrive under your demanding schedules, due to the fire of her spirit. You know, any of the other apprentices you have been assigned over the years may have thrived also, if you had only shown any willingness to meet them at their level instead of insisting on trying to drown them under an obstinate workload.”

“Hmph. The girl had the same work as the others, they just weren’t willing to work for it as hard as she has,” said Matoya. “I was fair to each and every one of them, I’ll have you know. The same opportunities to succeed! It’s hardly my fault she was the only one up to the challenge.”

Louisoix looked over at Matoya meaningfully. She stared back at him, challengingly.

“As you say, Archon Matoya,” he said evenly.

She threw her hands up in the air. “Bah, fine! I may have driven them a touch too hard. But look at what I’ve managed to accomplish with her. She’s learned fast, you’ve noted that yourself.”

“And had you tried to reach out to her earlier, rather than trying to drown her out much as you have your other charges, how much faster would she have learned? The standard classrooms are standard for a reason, they allow everyone to reach some level of potential, but as such they’re designed to also leave nobody behind. As you’ve now learned, there is no speed limit to learning - if both master and apprentice are willing and capable. There is a reason we try to pair our most gifted with our most accomplished, and she may have gone to Studium even earlier if you had not insisted upon your notably onerous schedule.”

Matoya tapped the butt of her staff on the floor, and frowned at the ground.

“Maybe so,” she conceded. “But I’ll not change my ways, and I’ll not be asking for another apprentice. I’ve discharged my duty, Archon Leveilleur, and I’ll thank you to leave me at that. If it’ll get you to leave me alone, I’ll share what I’ve done with you, and maybe you can find some apprentices in the future that you can perhaps mollycoddle into your idea of excellence. Otherwise you can leave me and my methods alone. I am more than satisfied with the outcomes my work has achieved.”

Louisoix sighed. “I should know better than to try to dissuade you from your ways, Archon Matoya. Very well, I’ll speak on the past no further, but rather of your charge’s future. When were you planning on enrolling her in the Studium, anyway?”

“When she is ready, and not a moment sooner.”

“Ah. What is the hold up? I… hope it is not the project the Forum has tasked you with.”

“It is not, and we shall speak of that no further here,” said Matoya. She gestured a hand out to the caverns of the atelier. “She’s been studying by herself here and does not need me to keep a continuous eye on her. I’ve done the work asked of me, but it’s held her up not one iota.”

Louisoix nodded thoughtfully. “I overstep, then, and you have my apologies. But as to your apprentice, might I ask, whatever is holding her back? I have seen lights half as bright as hers begin their work.”

“She’s not ready yet,” said Matoya with a frown.

Louisoix was quiet for a long moment.

“Is it because of the decision she has made regarding her true self? Alchemies are available, to say nothing of chirurgeons. She’s hardly the first-”

“She has chosen her path in that matter,” said Matoya. “She has settled on handling it herself, through aetheric transformation techniques.”

Louisoix blinked, looking shocked. “That is… not without its risks.”

“I am aware,” said Matoya.

Louisoix looked thoughtful, frowning as he bowed his head, holding his chin in his hand.

“But with what I’ve observed… I think she could manage,” he said slowly. “She is one of our best, now. All she needs is opportunity.”

Matoya did not respond.

Louisoix looked up at Matoya, and his eyebrows rose in that way that meant he thought he’d stumbled across something.

“Is it perhaps that it is not that she is not ready… but that you are not?” he asked, gently.

Matoya did not argue back. She tightened her grip on her staff instead, and stared outward.

“…I shall push no further, and apologise again, Archon Matoya,” he said, quietly.

“No,” said Matoya. And she lifted her staff up, and slammed its butt onto the ground.

“You are correct,” she said. “It is time. Thank you for your counsel, Archon Leveilleur. I ask your leave. It would appear that my apprentice and I have preparations to make.”

Louisoix nodded, and gave her his customary deep bow before he left. Matoya sighed as he went. He didn’t even have the good grace to be a poor sport, she thought, as she went to go find Y'thol.

—

Matoya had been woken up early in the morning.

“I am ready,” is all the girl had said, and Matoya had simply nodded.

On this, they were both were in agreement, and she found she could brook no argument. They had prepared for this moment. They had gone over the spell works in exacting detail. The girl had practiced until she had mastered it, and then further, until she had turned the workings of the flows of aether into very art itself, and then into further mastery beyond that. They had delved into the alchemy, and explored the history, and now, there was no doubt.

She was ready, and Master Matoya could ask nothing more.

The day was spent in unhurried preparation. Runes made with silvery enchanted ink were drawn and measured and corrected. The girl’s staff was examined, once, twice, to look for any sign of imperfection or weakness. The rites were gone over one last time, and to Matoya’s immense satisfaction, the girl had mastered them such that it seemed to come to her as easy as breathing.

And at long last, they were here. In one of the deepest rooms of the cave, where the aetheric properties were amenable to the task at hand, and disturbance exceedingly unlikely. Matoya had unlocked and brought her crystal eye with her, and now she sat it down on a wooden pedestal with clawed feet and a clawed hand. It would hold the crystal eye level so that Matoya could watch her young apprentice as the rite was performed.

Matoya stood quietly, and watched as the young girl walked confidently into the middle of the runes that had been inscribed on the floor. Her steps were steady, unwavering, yet gentle as she padded across the floor. She came to a stop in the middle, and raised her staff in the air, keeping it strictly perpendicular to the ground, and brought its butt down to the ground with an authority that echoed in the chamber.

The young girl looked to Matoya. “Now,” she said. “I shall begin.”

Matoya just nodded, and the girl nodded back before her gaze drifted to look dead ahead. She held her staff in front of her in one hand, while her other hand was held nearby as though to steady it, and she bowed her head.

Many of the more complex rituals had many components to them that had to be executed to see them to their success. Some required specific movements to be executed by the practitioner, or for words of power to be uttered as though they were truths from the very soul of their speaker. However, the nature of this transformation spell made it all the more difficult to master and perform. Words could not be uttered, for the very voice speaking them would be changed, and the shift could spell disaster. The movements were helpful in the beginning, but soon the caster would find themself in a body that might be poorly recognized by themselves and eventually by the aetheric stream itself, and so that could also lead to an unhappy end.

No, it required a truly disciplined mind to perform the work correctly.

Matoya knew her charge was up to the task.

And despite that, she still felt a trickle of nervousness that she was quick to shunt away as the rite began. Matoya held a hand out to her Crystal Eye, and she reached her mind out to receive its gifts.

The girl began.

She murmured to herself, as in the early part of the ritual it was safe to do so, and she would need all the help she could give herself. Aether flowed from her hand to her staff, and the gem atop of it began to glow, first with a pure white light, but then shifting to showing all the colors of the full elemental rainbow. The silvery ink on the ground glowed faintly at first, but then more brightly, as the space filled with azure dust from the aetheric stream being brought into physicality. Her hair begin to rise and then flutter as though a wind was blowing from the ground towards the ceiling, and as the energy picked up, as the shining light grew brighter, as the silver ink’s shine flowed upwards as though they were physical ribbons, as the azure dust swirled into a storm, the girl’s clothes fluttered and flowed, and then she was lifted up, into the air. She finished her chanting with a flourish of her staff, and let it go, freeing it to fly in the space around her. She spun, raising her head heavensward, her toes pointing towards the firmament, and her arms outstretched.

Her form became diffuse, and she began to glow, as the light from the top of her staff flowed across the space and into her, and through her. The ribbons of light from the runes on the ground fluxed and waxed as they spun around her, enveloping her into a cocoon of aetheric energies. The light in the room continued to grow, brighter and brighter. Matoya resisted the urge to shield her eyes. She continued to watch, seeing the journey play out in both the material plane and in the aetherial through her crystal eye. She watched as the girl practically became as bright as a star, throwing her head back and her arms wide.

Matoya at last could stand to look no longer, the brightness overwhelming her. She closed her eyes, and fell fully into the crystal eye’s gift. The world of the real vanished, and she was fully immersed in the beyond, of thought and concept and ideals. Transfixed, Matoya watched as the girl continued the ritual. She could see as the girl’s very essence reached not for the easier path of simple transformation, but for a more difficult course. The girl was threading her own aether, unweaving and reweaving it, not merely changing its form in the present but changing what it meant to be her.

Matoya found herself impressed, and even had she been moved to speak, she knew she would have had no words. Her apprentice had come so far, in so few summers, and had now demonstrated not only mastery of her art but a sort of mastery over herself that few could claim.

The girl curled in on herself, now, and the flow of energies slowed, the storm of aether stilling, the ribbons of light now wrapped tight around her form, and the wind stilled. A moment passed like a season, and then, the girl threw her arms out once more. The cocoon of energy that had wrapped itself around her burst as she did so, with a final burst of prismatic spray, and her form became distinct once more.

Matoya opened her eyes slowly, experimentally, and found the brightness fading away. The aetheric dust and silvery ribbons were gone, and the girl’s staff was returning slowly to her outstretched hand. The glow of her body faded, and once more, she was fully present. No longer a being of energy and aether, now she was just a little girl again, physical and present. Her toes touched the ground first as she drifted once more to the firmament, and she swayed as she landed, her knees buckling a bit. She gripped her staff with both hands, and her chest heaved as she breathed heavily. She looked fit to fall over, and she almost did, but she managed to stay on her feet. She looked over at Matoya, and gave her a weak smile, before pushing herself to stand upright. She swayed, steadied, and then gave Matoya a slow, theatric curtsy.

“I did it, Master Matoya,” she said, her voice hoarse and none-too-steady.

Matoya felt a rush of relief flow through her. She had not realized how nervous she had been, had not fully realized the fear that she had felt. And she had not realized that she had thought that she might not see her precious girl ever again, and she laughed.

“Such cheek you’ve got, girl, after such an ordeal,” she said. She was surprised to hear such happiness in her own voice, considering how afraid she had been. “You’re fit to fall over, don’t pretend you aren’t, I’ve got eyes you know. Come over here, girl, let me take a look at what you’ve done.”

The girl stood up straight and walked over, all grins and giddiness, as she walked right up to Matoya, her path only a little wobbly as she made her way over. She presented herself before Matoya with her head held high, standing in front of her, and bowed, leaning on her staff. “Master Matoya,” she said, as though introducing herself for the first time, and in a way, Matoya considered, she was.

Matoya was a little surprised at the end result. She had expected her to have pitched her voice somewhat higher, to make herself look much more different. But, again, the girl had not attempted to perform large transformations on herself, but instead had reached back through her history, and unwoven her aether only to reweave it to what it ought to be. And she had succeeded. Her hair was perhaps a touch longer, her voice a little higher, her features a bit softer. But it was the same girl.

Just one that now held a different destiny for herself.

“Well, go on, then,” said Matoya. “Spin around, let’s make completely sure you didn’t give yourself a third arm where your tail should be or some other nonsense.”

The girl giggled, and she held her arms out as she spun around, her tunic flaring outward and twirling a bit with her. Matoya looked her over as she did so, and found that her conclusions thus far continued to hold.

“Well, don’t we look a fair sight. You’ve done well, girl,” said Matoya. “Though I ought to take you to task for what you did. Weaving of self! I thought we had settled on transformation. You might well have turned yourself inside out.”

“I certainly would not have,” said the girl, and now Matoya did notice a greater difference in the voice. Her voice was clearer, more confident. It had a power to it that it didn’t have before.

Well, if she had been insufferable before, she might be much more so now.

The girl suddenly tipped over rather too far, and Matoya found herself rushing forward to catch her in her arms before she made it all the way to the ground.

“I find I am… rather tired,” the girl said, clinging to Matoya as she had to fight to stay on her feet. Matoya sighed, and reached under her, and scooped the girl up into her arms.

She was still just a child, after all, and had a long way to go yet.

“Foolish girl, pushing yourself too hard,” murmured Matoya. “Let’s get you to bed, then. We can talk about this more tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master Matoya,” she said quietly, as she relaxed into Matoya’s arms. Matoya had to take care as she walked to not trip over the girl’s tail, which was dragging on the floor limply.

It was not long before the girl was tucked into bed, and only moments after that, she fell asleep. Matoya watched over her for a bit, checking her with magicks. Once she was satisfied that the girl would be okay and was stable, Matoya went back to put away the crystal ball and otherwise clean up, leaving the girl to her rest.

—

Matoya was up rather earlier than usual in the morning, busying herself in the kitchen and pretending not to be fretting. She was not fretting. That was beneath her. She had a perfectly reasonable reserve of energy, thank you very much, and she was simply finding a useful outlet for it.

Such as trying to find the ingredients for her apprentice’s favorite breakfast.

She ordered one of the poroggos to go fetch some berries, and had just set a pastry in the oven to cook for a short bit. In the meanwhile, porridge with honey would have to do while she finished making the tarts and waited for the little frog familiar to come back. She found herself squinting at the cabinet, wondering what else there was she could do, when she heard the door behind her.

She turned, and saw her apprentice - her brilliant, wonderful apprentice - standing there. The ritual had been a success. The transformation would take some time to fully affect the fine details of its changes, and she expected to see more over the coming weeks, but for now, her apprentice was hale and whole and in motion.

Whatever changes had been made, however, it was enough that she was here.

“Good morning, Master Matoya,” she said, placing a hand over her heart and giving a short bow.

“Good morn,” said Matoya. “I did not expect you up at this hour.”

Or at all, really. She had intended to let the girl sleep the day away, and possibly the entire sennight, if needed. Even now, as she examined her, she could see the after effects of exhaustion from the ritual writ large across her form. Her tail was low to the ground, swaying back and forth very slowly, and not very far at that. Her shoulders were relaxed and down. Not slumped, no, just not upright and back in her usual confident manner. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she didn’t seem too steady on her feet.

Still, telling her to go back to her rest would probably just prompt a battle of wills, as Matoya well knew. She decided to let the matter go.

“I must needs apologise, then. 'Tis an unusual hour for visitors, I must admit, but I found I simply could not wait any longer,” her apprentice said. “As you may know, patience is ever one of those virtues I am told I could always use more of. But come; surely it is rude to not ask the name and purpose of a guest.”

Matoya stared at the girl for a moment, and then she chuckled, despite herself.

“Such temerity! Will you ever tire of it? Fine then, girl. Tell me who you are and your business, and be quick about it.”

The girl smiled back, and her smile was warm and sunny and softness, and Matoya found herself moved despite herself. “You may call me Y'shtola Rhul. And it is my pleasure to present myself to you, Master Matoya.”

“Y'shtola Rhul,” said Matoya, slowly, rolling the name around in her mouth. It was odd, she thought, how well that seemed to suit the young woman. It was as though the name had been hers all along, as though Matoya was not hearing it for the first time but being reminded of it after a long absence. Possibly the after effects of being present in the room during the ritual, or perhaps something more. “Such a pretty name. It suits you. Y'shtola,” she hummed around the name. “Very well. And your business?” she asked.

“Why, is it not obvious, Archon Matoya? I hear you have needs of an apprentice, and it just so happens that I have needs of a mentor.”

Matoya felt herself smiling.

“So you say. It will be difficult, you know. I have never had a day’s laziness, and neither will you. I will work you until your very bones ache,” she said.

“Oh, I know,” said Y'shtola, smiling as she tilted her head lazily and tapped her chin with her knuckles. “I have heard the stories. Irascible, irritable, stubborn as an aurochs, unyielding as the mountain, uncompromising and exacting, a perfectionist through and through, and sometimes, I even hear, just plain mean.”

Matoya scoffed.

“But also capable of great insight, a kindness she hides away from everyone, and a font of wisdom the star has rarely seen. She shares her secrets with those she deems worthy, and sees the truth of things for what they are, never afraid to speak her mind, or to speak up where others would fall silent. Courageous and wise. Yes, I think I have chosen wisely for myself. If you would still have me?”

Matoya noticed how Y'shtola’s tail had gone still at the end, even as she tried to put up a front of casual levity. She suddenly realized the truth behind the mummer’s farce. Y'shtola had gone through one hell of a fight for herself, but there was one last thing for both of them.

Would Matoya accept her as she was now?

“How could it be otherwise,” said Matoya quietly to herself. And then she rapped her staff on the floor, and smiled at Shtola, for she was her Shtola, and found herself elated to see the expression returned tenfold.

“You are as near like my own daughter as ever could be. Now and forever more, Y'shtola Rhul. Of course I would have you.”

Shtola took one slow step towards Matoya, and then another, and then all of a sudden she was running, and Matoya barely had time to take a step back and brace herself as the full force of the young Miqo'te was upon her, arms around her, face buried in her, Shtola laughing around tears barely held back.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

Matoya, stunned, slowly reached her arms up, and hugged Shtola back, patting her on the back gently.

“There’ll be none of that, now, Shtola,” she said gently. “You’ve proven yourself, nothing more. The rest is up to you.”

Shtola nodded, and pulled back, wiping away her tears, and then standing up. She looked almost regal in her bearing, with head held high and eyes now clear, her tail swaying slowly back and forth in a careful and controlled manner.

“Of course, Master Matoya,” she said, and Matoya nodded in approval.

“Well then,” said Matoya. “If that’s enough of that, then. It’s time to show those fools at the Forum what mastery looks like.”

Shtola nodded, with a flash in her eyes, and Matoya nodded back approvingly.

Well. Louisoix had been right after all, mused Matoya to herself as she and Shtola set about their work once more. An opportunity indeed, and Matoya felt very much that she had uncovered perhaps the most precious secret in the world, and had been blessed to see to its lighting anew.

#final fantasy xiv #one sorceress' story #sorceress' apprentice #202210-02 #biot writes

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second-chance-stray · 4 years ago

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Rp Log: Cravs meets Dornn.

Cravendy Hound ‘s evasive maneuvers have led her far beyond the reaches of Gridania - hell, she’s nearly in Coerthas, at this point. But the ones following her (a pair of clearly Ul’dahn lalafellin adventurers) are equally determined to find her, and Sea Wolves tend to stand out. It’s hard to hide when you’re literally several heads above the crowd. For now, she’s made good distance between her and her pursuers, and she ducks behind a rock to take a breather.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn || In swift trot, and swifter pursuit yet, did the waddling of teeny-tiny Lalafellin feet soon encroach upon the desolate--and terribly Lunar Golem-deprived--platform, cascading upwards to Dalamud's shards. Whether bickering or pants drew more sound was heretofore unknown--but it was not wholly long before the fledgling lass, secluded as she was behind her choice of rock, felt a much more swollen, dark shadow dwarf her from behind. Atop a comparably /larger/ rock (of which there were many >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > around here, surely), twin rubies smote down upon her, embellished with a squint of scorn, as the brilliance of the Moon slipped betwixt the wolven pelt adorning the giant's noggin. "The -eyn- time I -try- to find mohtfryd in the most desolate corner of the Hylt..." His voice rang clear, with a low, guttural thrum as he barked quietly. "Who the blaethyll are ye even, lass?"

(Cravendy Hound) what a glorious entrance (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Ironically she caught him in a time limbo (since this likely happens just a moon ahead of current date likely) (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) AKA at the climax of his current mini-arc (Cravendy Hound) mini arc?! :O (Cravendy Hound) whats been going down (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) You're the first person to get a proper taste of it before anyone else. (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) You'll find out. (Cravendy Hound) oh daym, early access (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Just like with your art! (Cravendy Hound) his 'wild mountain man' arc, I will assume then >:D (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) In part, ish.

Cravendy Hound hadn’t been expecting company, not anywhere...but especially not out here. So focused she was on watching for the two lalafell adventurers that she didn’t notice his shadow cast over her space. It was only when he spoke that she snapped, like a rubber band held tense breaking without warning. She whips around and points a gun at his chest, her teeth bared with a cornered stray. “Who the fuck?”

Cravendy Hound keeps her gaze steady on the newcomer, but the sound of steps echoing throughout the bluff remind her of her present predicament. She brings her voice down to a harsh whisper. Gods, she doesn’t have time for this. “Keep yer bloody voice down! I could ask ye the same.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn || The band upon his hues may've concealed much to him where physical sight was concerned; but in the world of aether, the faint flickers and fluctuations of the pursuers, as well as the pursued, came in clear as crystal. "Keep yer blaetstymm down? Just the opposite, lass." He knew full well--if not too well--the garb of those pledged to Ul'dahn gutters and less formidable circles. A stiff grunt and a flare of his nostrils broke the peace, as he straightened his form upon the rocky outcrop.>

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > To the heavens, his spine had fled; and to the Lalafell, his voice thundered. "Ye who step on soil uncharted, would have yer freedom bartered..." Raising a palm in warning, the aetherial wellspring of Dalamud's remains soon began to bleed deeper into the land, coalescing under the very rock he held domain over. "Turn -back- now or with an axe in yer breast." With each of his words, a star upon the gown of night was drowned out--dark, foreboding clouds began to roll all the closer in, >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > drowning moonlight out, each pale strand waning out with each of his wovels.

Cravendy Hound ‘s face drops from snarl to frown at the stranger’s stunt, but it’s too late now. Voice like that carried far and there was no chance it would go unnoticed. She presses her back against her rock and waits, listening for their response and waiting for an opportunity to flee. Killing these two would simply make things worse.

Cravendy Hound - The lalafell pair turn to look at Dornn. With Dalamud serving as his backdrop, he makes for a formidable foe, and one of them is clearly unnerved by his warning. But the other stands their ground and waves at him in greeting. “Hello, good sir! We don’t mean to intrude on private affairs, but there’s a dangerous criminal hiding in these lands, and we mean to bring her to justice. Have you seen anyone else around?”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn raised his proud chin taller, his vigil unbroken upon the parleying Lalafellin. It wasn't long before the boon of his deep voice interjected, crashing against the offered greeting. "Judged. By. Who." He slowly uttered, the raised limb curling into a commanding fist towards the offending couple. The tresses of aether soon enough began to drench the land from Dalamud's copse, rising to figuratively soak his feet within it. Ever patiently, he awaited their response, even as the crackle of >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > thunder soon began to drift through the blanket of clouds--an eerie downpour of rain carried upon the light sway of wind.

Cravendy Hound - The cowering lalafell tugs at the others sleeve, desperate to leave this place with their lives intact, but the other pays no mind. “Weird weather we’re having! But, ah, of course. Let me refer to my documents.” The foolhardy lalafell pulls out a document. A few words here and there are drowned out by thunder.

Cravendy Hound - “By the order of Lord ------ of the Uldahn merchant’s circle, Cravendy, a Seawolf female of roughly twenty seven summers, is wanted for the following crimes. Theft, destruction of property, attempted assassination, vandalism, public drinking....” The list goes on and on and on, with items both extreme and absurdly mundane. When the lalafell is finally done, they roll up the document, chest puffed and proud.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn appeared particularly unnerved--if not, peeved--the moment the Ul'dahn banner was thrown into the lot of the meeting. Without moving his noggin, through his blindfold, his hues locked upon Cravendy's own, a secluded brow lifting in query. Not that she could see it. Ere long, his own voice rose to combat the claims. "Ul'dahn, aye?" It was with terrible difficulty that his tongue kept his accent under restraints, but so far little seemed to evade him. "Neither scoundrel nor ne'er-do-well >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > passes through these lands unscorned, this corner moreso than any other. No tarrying devil living abides about us now, as the land broke them like as not, long afore. Ye may go back to yer crooked purse-masters at ease o' heart."

Cravendy Hound grows pale, not sure if she should be more concerned about the lalafell adventurers or the strange man. She rubs at her temples as a headache builds.

Cravendy Hound - Fear finally takes hold of the less brave lalafell, who’s sent scrambling away back north and away from these rocky bluffs. Now alone, the other lalafell takes a step back, feeling unnerved. “If that’s so, could you lead us to a body? Our employer was very clear that if the target could not be taken in alive, he wanted proof that they were taken care of.”

Cravendy Hound - “Specifically, and this was the lord’s very words...’Her stupid red bandanna, if not her head.” The lalafell calls out. Cravs looks up to Dornn and shakes her head no. What now?

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn retracted the immense limb back to the swell of his waist, planting his fingers sternly atop it. Maintaining the glare from afar, a guttural growl began to underline his tongue, as the swell overhead grew far more ripe with levin; fit to properly burst. "Those bartering with the Forest's ways must pay the price--you may see the body, most certainly." His voice gradually gained in echo, until the bellow began to ricochet against every nook and rocky cranny. "If you have a mind to offer up >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > your own flesh. An eye for an eye, a due price wagered in blood and bone. Yet, with your companion now perished..." His right paw rose aloft once more, deliberating over the matter with a cup of his chin. "There'd be none left to report to your masters. Provided he, too, has not perished. 'Tis a grave, grave death sentence to wander the Forest alone... And as it stands..." His glare refocused on the gallant Lalafell, his shoulders noticeably squaring. "You are all... Alone."

Cravendy Hound - Upon being outright threatened with death, the lalafell’s courage begins to waver. One step back multiplies into many, though they keep their front facing Dornn. “A-ah, I never quite understood, er, Gridanian customs? I see! W-well, thank you kindly for your aid. It would seem this corner of the woods hides many secrets, a-and it would be foolish to go searching for them alone.

Cravendy Hound - Once they’ve backed up as far as they can go, they bow, and then quickly duck behind a rocky turn to search for their companion.

Cravendy Hound lets out a breath, but the tension doesn’t leave her shoulders. She still has her gun trained on Dornn’s form, and with the other two down, has the freedom to speak once more. “...What game are ye playin’.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn gave a most curt nod to the departing Lalafell, the strength of his voice unwavering ever still on. "Report to your master that your villain is long since perished, as ye claim for it to have strolled through these woods. Of that, ye can be certain as far as Gridanian customs go." Once finally he felt the aether of the land up once more--and the Lalafell were truly dispersed--his hues opened again, steering his steely countenance down at the lass afore him. A quizzical expression formed >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > upon his lips, yet his feet knew little rest; with a light prance, he took abandon of the rock below him, effortlessly finding ground anew. "You place your judgement into the barrel of your... Firearm? -That- quick to hand out hollow justice?" Regardless, he strode fearlessly in front of her, planting both of his palms upon his armored waist. "Go on, then. Pull the trigger."

Cravendy Hound steps closer and closer still, until the other end of her flintlock is pressed against the metal of his breastplate. A familiar sensation washes over her. Ansty and impatient and eager to gun down any who even glance at her in the wrong way. That is who she was - but is it who she is now? Cravs narrows her eyes but pulls the gun away, arm falling slack to her side.

Cravendy Hound: “Why did ye ‘elp me back there? And what are ye doin’ to these lands.” The questions fill the space like hot air, more akin to demands.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn stood near motionless as she pinned the cold steel against his armaments, yet the shot never shuffled through the barrel. "You interrupted my training, merlswys." He chose to, as ever, make his mind known, ere he took to her own query... Not that he'd answer any in particular, either. His lips maintained a neutral bend, as his knees bent ever so slightly lower, his hulking frame descending to match her height. "...Unharmed, ja?" He deeply thrummed, allowing his accent to unfetter once more.

Cravendy Hound pouts, sensing that she’s not going to get any clear answers from this guy anytime soon. She glances behind her at the entrance of this opening, double checking that no ones around. “Bah. I’m fine. I...” A simple thank you would suffice, but the words get stuck in her throat. Damnit, and she had been working on this! Cravs shakes her head and tries to convey her feelings in another way. “I would’ve been fine without ye buttin’ in.”

Cravendy Hound internally dies. Wrong words, Cravs! WRONG.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn momentarily stood half-dumbfounded--not certain as to what to make of her wording, it would not take him long to catch on, either way. A gradual half-smirk decorated his lips, as his fist arose, pounding twice-over against his broad breast. "Aye, I am all but certain those villains rightly -cowered- at yer hidin'-behind-the-rock skills." His smirk soon grew into a nostalgic smile, as his chin respectfully in a bow. "Rhotdornn Aerst-born, syn von Hyrtfyr. At yer service, and yer family's."

Cravendy Hound: “Tch! I easily could’ve dealt with them. Just that’d make things worse, so I didn’t.” She trails off. It wasn’t as if she was in the clear after this. Her pursuer’s lord held a grudge that ran dangerously deep, bordering on obsession. He wasn’t the type to give up easily.

Cravendy Hound: “Rhotdornn Aerst-born, syn...Seven ‘ells, what a mouthful.” She pauses. “Hyrtfyr. Now that’s somethin’ I didn’t expect to ‘ear, and out in bloody nowhere of all places.”

Cravendy Hound: “Ye ‘eard the two midgets. I go by Cravendy, but ye can just call me Cravs.” She shakes her head in disbelief. Either he was pretending, or he wasn’t, but that didn’t change the strangeness of the situation. Two Sea Wolves from the Northern empty, far from any body of water, meeting all the way in the boondocks. Seemed more likely to win the lottery.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn ensured a cacophony of steel and plate arose, as his large arms made their perch across his breast. "Oh, aye--ye were positively -burnin'- with eagerness to tear their faces off behind yer rock. Luckily, I averted such a gruesome an' terrible fate on their behalf." His better spirits soon felled, as his brows knitted lower, the grip of his arms tensing tighter. "...So, ye know. Hrmph." An acknowledging nod was issued thereafter, in the company of a subtle, guttural grunt. "Honour to ye, >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > Cravendy. Rather strange name, now that I think of it..." Regardless, he would dwell even less upon it. With his right arm so far up, he straightened anew, only to notice a faint, crimson flicker come alive; a soft glow swelling beneath his arm-piece. "...Bah, me apologies. Y'mind if I steal that snuggly rock of yers? Jus' clear some good distance, would'ja."

Cravendy Hound: “I’ll deal with my shite at my own pace, alright? I can’t go around blastin’ new ‘oles when I’m barely keepin’ the ship afloat as it is,” she mutters as she takes a step back from the rock. A hint of a smirk perks up her lips. “Just like ‘ow yer dealin’ with yer own, little Hyrtfyr.”

Cravendy Hound has walked a safe distance away from the rock and waves her hand out to it, as if saying ‘you do you.’

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn felt a thin chuckle bubbling within his chest at that. The eight-fulm ice giant took great humour at being titled little more oft than not, no matter how rare it might've been. "Sterrdyn nurture their inner beast by overcoming trials and tribulations. Aye, 'tis true." He idly mused, his left palm aiding with the sleeve of its twin limb. Without much effort, the straps were removed, bringing to bear his massive, pale brawn; yet upon its flesh, vibrant, crimson runes were soaked with >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > terrestial aether. Curling his palm into a fist proper, he assumed a lower stance, focusing his thought. Rolling his burly neck in unison with his mountainous shoulders, the large Sea Wolf steadied his breath, focusing solely on the aether of his arm... And ere long, a sudden lunge saw him spring forth, near-pouncing on the unfortunate outcrop. A discharge of vermillion aether soon bore its full brunt through his fist, imparting a moderate tremor upon impact... And with an instantaneous >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > crackle, the boulder began to buckle, splinter, and break away--only for smaller shards to fly yonder, scattering to the four winds in a mighty, thunderous blow. As he struck, a rallying cry swept the land... Only to die down as quick as it had come, leaving the man panting rather heavily at its end. "...Guh." He muttered, wiping away at his brows with his still-clad paw. "...Blaeti residual aether welled up too much while I entertained... Yer lil' guests... Oughta be fine now."

Cravendy Hound eyes the runes, trailing the scarlet swoops to where they begin and end. With a residual aethersense, granted to her by an ‘old friend,’ she watches with interest as Dornn swells and releases his energy against the boulder. At one point, she turns away, unable to look directly at its source, but the moment passes.

Cravendy Hound: “Ye look like ye can stand to get some sun. Haven’t seen skin that pale since lookin’ at a newborn’s arse,” she muses, though the joke stands to partially cover up her reaction. “Can’t believe ye were serious when ye said ye were trainin’...”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn maintained a focus on his breathing first and foremost, but to little avail--eventually, his own aether would betray him, prompting his bulk to topple just slightly--his fist pounding against the ground, as he knelt low. "Gah... Still more work t' be done, 'twould seem..." Dissatisfaction ran deep in his words, yet he shook his head to clear out the wayward thoughts. "Eugh... Where I hail from, 'tis one o' our staples. I'm a Captain by title, so ye'll have t' take that complaint up t' me Ma>

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > an' Da fer givin' me fairer skin, aye." Not that it was particularly /too/ fair, given the plentiful peppering of crimson hairs dotting the arms generously. "'Course I blaeti was. What else would I be doin' in this man-forsaken wasteland where only aether an' rocks bloom?"

Cravendy Hound: “I’m not foolish enough to face a Mother’s ire, so I’ll stick to pokin’ at ye,” she crosses her arms with a smile. “I don’t know. Maybe yer a rock enthusiast. If ye were, ye wouldn’t be the first I’ve met.”

Cravendy Hound observes his form, and without thinking she shifts into a pugilist’s crouch. “If ye shift yer back leg just an ilm back, like this, it might ‘elp yer balance. Then ye can channel aether a bit more efficiently, if ye catch my drift.” She freezes, and quickly goes back to standing around, though it’s clear she’s a little rattled. “If yer lookin’ for tips.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn did, for a rare wonder, drop his staunch, stoic posture, as she hit the nail on the head. Bellowing out not a storm of arcane, but a raucous laughter, he finally wobbled back onto his feet, turning about to face her--palms finding solace once more upon his hipbones. "Aye, first bloody Sage I've encountered in this laents!" He knew Hell--and then he knew a Mother scorned. It virtually saw his own hairs stand on end. "Aye, a fellow fisticuffer...?" He observed her form with keen interest, >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > craning his noggin with a gentile tilt as he picked up her stance--only to blink in confusion as she withdrew so swiftly. "When I aerst soaked 'pon these shores, I took a muchly similar path. Alas, now once more... I stand on the ol' precipice o' decidin' which path t' take--this time, in the Hyrthymlian art o' runic combat."

Cravendy Hound: “Ye could say that. More akin to dirty fightin’...I didn’t go to no school to learn ‘ow to punch.” Her jaw clenches as she recalls the unfortunate path she took to learn such a skill. But this seemed a good way to repay the favor, and so, Cravs relents. She shifts back into that familiar stance, fists at the ready and eyes wide open. It feels like putting on a second skin.

Cravendy Hound: “If yer trainin’, why not I give ye a live lesson?”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn contemplated the offer in tandem with planting his gauntlet back on--fortunately, the runes glow began to dissipate dramatically, at the release of potent, forceful aether. Humming within his throat as he wagered the options, he idly began to muse out a retort. "Mm... A scrappy fighter, then. Not too shabby..." He wagered, glancing up at her in suit. "While I can't share muchly o' our traditional technique with the outside world, I would 'ardly mind seein what ye got in store."

Cravendy Hound snorts. “Couldn’t give two shites about what’s traditional and what’s not. All that matters is who’s standin’ at the end.” And with that said and done, she dashes at him without warning. A battle waits for no one.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn would, naturally, welcome the pounce without tapping into his runic aetherial reserves. Assuming a squared, defensive stance, the bearish Wolf spread his digits apart, ready to properly grapple the gal's tackle until dawn finally struck.

(Cravendy Hound) so many questions NO ANSWERS but one day, some answers. To dornn's shenanigans (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Oh trust me it'll just be (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) More questions (Cravendy Hound) we're both holding like, mysteries about our characters like playing cards )) (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Naturally, that's the fun of it all~ (Cravendy Hound) and I am awful at poker )) (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Excellent~

#ff14 rp logs #Cravendy Hound #Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn #lmao what a way to meet

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